The End of a Year.

Sometimes I wonder if there are a limited amount of chances in life. It's hard to explain exactly what I mean; I don't think that the world works in such a way that you get, for example, ONE SHOT to find your "soulmate," and if you screw that up you are over. On the other hand, I also don't think that the powers of the universe, whether God or destiny or chance, gives everyone an unlimited amount of chances to make mistakes, to do it wrong, and to screw up.

I guess the reason I think this is because sometimes I wonder if I've used up my chances. My chances to find true love, my chances to be a good person, or to become someone great in life, or things like that. I certainly haven't made the best use of my time these past few years, and as I look back upon 2009, I just see how I wasted my time: spending it with the wrong people, or isolating myself, wasting it away on things that really didn't matter. The years before weren't too much more profitable, but I think 2009 was the worst spent year of them all. I look back and all I see are ruined relationships, lost friendships, regret, hurt, people I wronged, and situations in which I shouldn't have been. I don't know what good I have to say about this year. I even don't think I can use the, "My mistakes at least taught me something," loophole, because I doubt the lessons learned here are even significant enough to make a difference on how I view this year.

However, I've also learned more about love than I expected. I more fully understand the unconditional love of family. I never realized until now just how important it is that, no matter where I've been in life, I always had their love supporting me like a backbone, through the worst and best of times, and that no matter how my life goes, I can always return home to these people who will love me the same. Additionally, I've learned about the importance of friendship, those lessons you hear throughout life and never acknowledge. I only have a few friends, but their of the close variety where I know that they will still be there when I'm having a rough time or a rough day. They are the people that I'm not afraid to be myself around, even though I may sometimes be a little odd or irritating, because I know that they will love me nonetheless. I can tell them anything, and they will believe in me far more than I can figure out how to believe in myself.

I started this blog feeling dejected, and in writing it I've begun to smile, because what started out as a feeling of hopelessness evolved into a realization that I'm not alone, and life still holds hope for me and the future, no matter how the past looks.

So here's to 2010. I'll go ahead and look forward to it, since it's going to happen whether I welcome it or not.

Outside.

I went outside today.

To many of you, this statement may sound obvious or even ridiculous, but when I have nowhere to go, I sometimes forget to leave the house. I get engrossed in the television or being in my computer, without even taking so much time as to step on the porch, let alone cross the threshold of my front door. Also, I've effectively reversed my sleep schedule, so there is little daylight, and there's less cause to be walking around in the middle of the night. Also, it's been Thanksgiving break, so there have been no classes.

However, last night I was outside briefly to find Dustin (he was cleaning out his truck) and glanced at the sky and noticed a bright star. Having taken both astronomy and astronomy lab, I knew the brightest star in the winter sky is Sirius, so this was a planet, and judging by the size, brightness, and lack of red color (eliminating Mars) it was probably Saturn, possibly Jupiter.

Moving on. Tonight, at about four, I was instant messaging a friend when suddenly I was struck with the intense urge to go outside. So I typed "brb," and put my computer down. In the middle of the night, I unlocked the front door and stepped outside. I didn't even know what temperature to expect, what weather I would encounter, or what the world would be like at this hour.

The first thing I noticed was the cold. It was more refreshing than anything, being in Florida, chilly enough to make me uncomfortable in a t-shirt, but not unbearable. It woke me up, drew me back to reality and out of my world of computers and projects and irrelevant hobbies. I stepped out further on the driveway and looked up; there were some clouds, but the sky was mostly clear, and stars were visible. The planet had set by this time, but I recognized other constellations, and searched for familiar landmark stars, jogging my memory for facts, names, and terms. Then, pausing, I noticed the stillness. The stillness of the world, of the air, the cold, the stars, all of it. Even myself at that moment. Everything everywhere paused to wait, paused to hush, paused to rest. I couldn't help but feel calm with the quiet world, silent air, enlivening cold, and hopeful stars.

I say that one of my favorite times of the day is morning, and it's true; I love the feeling of a new day, a fresh sun, and a dewy world. But there's something to be said for the peaceful night, when everything sleeps and even the world pauses to prepare for a new day. There's something to be said for those wise winter nights.

Meal Plans.

(Note: This blog, unlike most of the others, was written spur of the moment and created in the rambling style in which it appeared in my mind.)

This is my third year as a student at college. The most significant difference, to me at least, between these years, is my living conditions. The past two years, I lived in a dorm where I shared a room with Judy and didn't have a kitchen and was required to by a meal plan. This meant that for a major part of the week I could depend on always being able to have a hamburger or salad or fries or something of the sort. Also, I never really palnned on making anything big in my dorm, because when your cooking space consists of a sink and a microwave, options are limited. (Though with foil and a clothes iron, I can make a mean grilled cheese sandwich.)

However, this year I am in the apartment style dorms. This means I have my own bedroom and a kitchen with a full sized refrigerator. Whoa! I know, impressive, eh? However, this means that my diet has significantly changed. I know over the summer I had grand ideas of cooking meals all the time and making tasty dishes that I was accustomed to making at home, where Mom does the dishes and buys the ingredients and I don't have to worry about obscure spices or kitchenware or things of that nature. Here at college, it's different. I don't have most of the little ingredients and items houses seem to acquire, I have only what I'm willing to buy from the store, which usually isn't much since I have to carry whatever I buy up three flights of stairs, making my shopping list as short as possible.

So, I basically have reverted back to my high school diet: frozen pizzas. Tostinos pizzas at that. In high school, I lived off of these and bagel bites. Now, again, I find myself stockpiling these in the freezer, ready to make for any given meal of the day (yes, I do eat them for breakfast on occasion.) I also have a box of cheerios I've eaten from once. Milk goes bad faster than I actually use it. That's the same reason I don't make the macaroni and cheese as often as I would like. Sandwiches have become a possibility after my grandma explained to me that you can freeze bread. Now I can actually use an entire loaf! With this bread, I can make the peanut butter and jelly described in previous blogs, or a turkey sandwich, provided I have turkey at the moment. And mustard and mayonnaise and pickles. Also I eat Eggo waffles alot. They're nice: put them in the toaster. Syrup. Meal.

Other than that, I'll buy food from somewhere on campus or drive somewhere to get something. Pollo Tropical and Quiznos, being on campus, are particular favorites.

The issue, besides the fact that there is little variety in my diet, is also that I eat less. At the meal plan place, it was basically all you could eat or fit in your takeout box. I didn't overeat, but I certainly never under-ate. However, now that I have a limited supply of food, I eat less than I did. I'm still eating a normal human amount, but I think the issue is when I'm living off of frozen pizzas and waffles, from where are my vitamins coming? I really don't know.

Anyways, it's 6 at night, and all I've had all day were two frozen waffles. I think I'm going to Subway.

Mathematics Education.

As I may have said previously somewhere in this blog, I am a mathematics education major. I love math. I think it's fun, enjoyable, puzzling, beautiful, and intriguing. However, most people don't.

In fact, usually when I tell people my major, I am met with various distaste. There are those who look to the ground saying, "Oh... I was never good at math," while the look on their face tells you that they are recalling terrible experiences of fractions, ratios, and trains that left two different towns and for whatever reason were going to meet in the middle. (Why were they on the same tracks? Why do they need to meet? Why don't all trains go the same speed? I have many more questions for the inventor of this train scenario.) There are the people who look at me in some mix of awe and pity, as if I had said I was going to single-handedly enter into a fight against the greater terrors of the world, where I of course would lose but I blindly still believed in victory. There are the people who stare at me in utter horror and just ask, "Oh God, why?" as if they can somehow plea for my soul to be saved from whatever evil has led me to this choice. And lastly, there are the few like me, the mathematicians, who light up at having found another as we enter into discussions of what classes we've taken and what we thought of calculus and linear algebra and what we plan to do with our mathematics degrees.

The thing is, I wonder when it became acceptable to mock the mathematics students in their choice of education. For some reason, all other majors are met with, "Wow," or, "That's cool," or ask enthusiastically what inspired them. But mathematics is universally recognized as the major that is allowed on which to be picked (I wanted to say allowed to be picked on, but I shan't end sentences in prepositions.) I think it's rather unfair, seeing as I don't make fun of majors which I detest. When I hear that someone is a literature major, I don't stare at them in utter disbelief, wondering if they actually plan on doing something after they graduate from college or if they are just wasting four years of their life for giggles. I don't roll my eyes at art majors and ask them what in the world made them think that was a good choice. I don't tell business majors that they chose a boring major, though I appreciate their practicality and think they should knock some sense into the previous two majors. And pre-med! Everyone loves pre-med, but I'd like to shudder and ask them why they would submit themselves to so much organic chemistry! However true or not these aforementioned feelings may be, I always express nothing but enthusiasm, because even if I didn't enjoy their topics, I still realize that they have different tastes than me.

I don't know if you believe in destiny or a calling. Or maybe you think it's all random chance. But if there is some sort of purpose to where we are supposed to go, or some career to which we are called, somewhere that I was intended to be, it's this. Whether I made this path for myself or I was led here by something higher, teaching mathematics is what I think I was meant to do. My life has prepared me for this and led me here. I am passionate about my major and the task I am undertaking, and I believe whole-heartedly that math is an art and that I can at least help students to appreciate that some people find it as beautiful as poetry or music or paintings. I at least have to try, and I don't know why people can't appreciate that just because they have yet to see math the way I do, even if they never do, that it's still exciting to some people.

Besides, to y'all who don't like math: you are n00bs.

The Perfect PB&J

Peanut butter and jelly is a classic sandwich, commonly used as a last resort meal in cafeterias and at camps, or a common lunch food parents pack when there's nothing more creative. It is treated with an amount of necessity, accepted as edible, perhaps tasty on occasion, but it is never really appreciated.

However, I am going to tell you today how to make a PB&J that deserves not only appreciation, but general excitement and enjoyment.

See, peanut butter and jelly is one of my favorite sandwiches, especially with a cold glass of milk. My father feels the same way. My mom doesn't like PB&J, she eats PB&B (peanut butter and butter,) which everyone else in my family feels is unacceptable on a number of levels.

The first thing about PB&J is the jelly choice. Grape is acceptable, but it will only make a decent sandwich. Raspberry is good, but the key choice is strawberry. Everyone knows strawberry is the best candy flavor, freeze pop flavor, cake icing flavor, the best part of Neapolitan ice cream, and the best jelly. The next key is that you can't buy the jelly. It has to be home-made. In our house, this is a yearly tradition. We buy a ton of strawberries and make a dozen or so jars of home made strawberry jelly. If you want a good sandwich, I recommend you either make jelly or find a way to get some of ours. Jess has effectively gotten a hold on some of our jelly, so it is possible. (The secret is to ask. We're very friendly about giving it out. We have more than we can use.)

The second step is to use crunchy peanut butter. Crunchy sandwiches are better. That's why we put lettuce on subs. Lettuce has no flavor, vitamins, or purpose other than adding that crunchiness to sandwiches. So buy crunchy peanut butter.

As for bread, I've only ever tried white and wheat bread in my life. I suggest one of those over something weird and abnormal.

Now for the actual assembly. When most people make this sandwich, they usually just put the PB on one slice of bread and the J on the other. These people are WRONG. This just makes the jelly seep through one piece of bread, leaving the consumer with a semi-soggy mess. You put the peanut butter on BOTH pieces of bread. And you spread it all the way to the crusts, leaving no exposed bread. This way the sandwich isn't soggy and the crusts are even tastier. Then you spread the jelly on top of the peanut butter, and place the two pieces of bread together.

This leaves you with a non-soggy sandwich with exceptionally good crusts, a necessary crunch, and a home made strawberry flavor.

Also good if the bread is toasted.

Past, Future, and Lack of Present.

I live a life of regret. I don't mean to say that my life actually should be regretted; rather, that I live my life regretting overly and unnecessarily.

I either spend my time worrying about what I've done and wishing I could take it back, wondering how to atone for all of the mistakes I've made, or fretting that the mistakes I've made will irreparably damage my future. I regret what I've done and fear what I haven't. All of this worrying leaves little time for my ability to live in the present and appreciate what's happening in my life at the moment.

So I decided to stop worrying so much about consequences and the effects of my actions. I decided to live "in the moment." I didn't worry so much about all of the little things that usually plagued me, refused to ask my usual questions, and ignored the signs that things would go downhill. I didn't stop to worry about consequences or what would happen in the future with my actions now. I just let myself live, and took whatever options came my way. I chose the options that would better allow me to "experience life" rather than the wise choices.

And I was left disappointed.

When I spent my life worrying, I was too preoccupied to be able to enjoy life. However, when I stopped worrying, I spent too little time making smart decisions that I ended up in a place in life where I didn't want to be.

I guess it really comes to a balance between knowing what's worth worrying about and what's not.Another situation of life being a balance . It's funny how my whole life I heard that things weren't always black and white, but shades of gray, my whole life, and still to this day I see it more and more in my life. It's never going to be one thing or the other, it's never just right or wrong. It's always a delicate balance somewhere in-between.

I can't live my life with crippling worry. But I also can't live my life care-free. Both just end up hurting myself and, in some situations, others.

So, one goal for this upcoming year. Find a balance where I can enjoy life, but I'm not just going along with every option thrown at me for the heck of it. Learn to appreciate life and take mistakes as a learning experience without allowing them to preoccupy my ability to enjoy what's happening.

This summer I learned quite a bit about the person I know I don't want to be. Here's to never being that person again. And while it may have been a mistake, I can move on from this. Take what I've learned and continue living. So welcome, next stage of life.

Perception.

As I walk around the pool at work, sometimes I think about certain things. And a few days ago, this was the train of thought that I had.

When I come out of anesthesia, I don't remember alot of what I do. In fact, there's usually a good fifteen minutes of yelling and thrashing that I apparently did of which I have no memory. This intrigues me because technically, I was awake, I interacted with people, and I existed. However, to me this time doesn't exist because I have no memory, not even a slight recollection, of this time. Although I apparently talked, moved, thought, and lived in these moments, because I cannot recall them they, in a way, don't exist to me.

It's sort of like we build our lives on our memories, on what we can recall and what we know happened. What's the significance of a moment if it never seemed to happen? I mean, yes, it did happen, to some people, but to my perception of the world, that moment may as well never have happened. I cannot recall it, I cannot think about it because for me it might as well not have happened.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend, I think Gauraw, once. When I was taking astronomy, I learned that the universe isn't still, it's expanding. The other stars and galaxies are all moving away from us, and as such the light waves are expanded so that we don't see what these bodies are emitting, we see an altered form of them based on their position and speed. It's kind of complicated, but it made me think. We aren't seeing the universe as it is at all objectively. We just see some convuluted image on earth of a stretched out, distorted sort of universe. I began to wonder what the universe looks like objectively, without the distortion. But then Gauraw was like, does it matter? The thing is, we see the universe as we percieve it. And we build our understanding of the universe based on what we can perceive. Maybe it's distorted, but does that make it the wrong view? If that's how it is from where we are, if that's how the universe actuallly appears to us, if our perception is the universe as we know it, then what does an "objective view" of the universe really mean? The universe only exists to us as we can see it.

I also thought about this because Dustin is slightly colorblind. He just has trouble with greens now and then. He can't see green fireworks, for example. This made me wonder how the world was different to him. Sometimes I used to wonder if I saw color like everyone else. What if I actually saw everything in what would be the negatives to anyone else? What if my entire color schema was opposite of every other person? As long as it was consitent, I'd never be able to tell. Then I realized it doesn't really matter if I do or not, because either way I'm functioning in a world which I completely understand based on the colors I can see. Does it matter if my red is someone else's green or my green fireworks are white to Dustin?

We all interpret our world as we perceive it. We base our lives on the experiences we have had and can recall. Our life is based upon the perception of the world as we see it. Sometimes I wonder, what if I'm not seeing it all? What am I missing that other people see? If I could perceive the world from someone else's view, what would I find? Does it really matter?

Faith.

When I hear the word faith, I typically think of faith in the religious sense. In the God an Bible belief in Jesus O-ye-of-little-faith sense. More specifically, I usually think of these two verses:

"...Truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you."--Matthew 17:20

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." --Hebrews 11:1

I've thought about both of these verses often throughout my life. The first one is always intriguing, because the thought of moving a mountain by sheer faith is impossible. I have tried and found that my faith does not exceed the size of a mustard seed. However, eventually I learned that the verse is also a commentary on how little faith man has in addition to an example of the power of faith. The second verse is interesting because of the wording. Sometimes I'll stop and pick apart the wording little by little to try to better grasp the meaning of faith. The assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. In my words, it means that faith is having certainty in things for which you hope, for things in which you have no proof. Faith is knowing when you have no reason why.

I have always struggled with faith. The first verse leads me to believe that every Christian struggles with faith, but at the same time I feel as though something so frequently mentioned should not come so difficult. My whole life is a struggle to find the faith I need to live as I should. The problem is that faith is the conviction of things not seen. Faith means I have to believe in something for which I have no absolute proof. I have to decide that I know something which I will never actually know.

For this reason I have struggled, because I always have doubts and questions. What if I'm wrong? What about all of the other faith-based religions? Someone has to be wrong, why not me? Eternity is a long time to have made the wrong choice. Or the right choice, for that matter. What if I screw up? What if I can't ever find enough faith? It's a terrifying cycle when I actually try to wrap my mind around all of the concepts. I've never felt like I've had as much faith, or ever can, as the people I see at church. I always feel as though my faith falls short of expectations, which apparently are less than a mustard seed already.

Then, the other day, a friend pointed out to me that I don't just struggle with faith in religion, but in everything. At first I blew him off as arrogant and wrong, but later I stopped to consider what he actually said. And I realized that he was, in fact, correct. I have no faith, in or out of religion. I have very little, if any, certainty, in all aspects of my life. I question the loyalty of those closest to me, I question the motives of those around me, I doubt the love of those whom I love. I even have no faith in myself and my own capabilities. My friend had also suggested that I start by finding faith in something, in anything. Just to have any faith. So I also took that into consideration.

I don't know why it's so difficult for me to have faith. I don't know if it was something that happened to me, I don't know if it's just my personal mindset, if every person struggles with faith every day, or if some people have found a way to overcome their lack of faith and have found something, if anything, in which to believe, without proof or evidence, they still have certainty. I at least know that I can't live my life with no faith in anything. There has to be something, religious or not, in which I can believe.

I know that this blog sounds pretty pessimistic, but that's not how it was written. It is more of an explanation of some interesting conclusions to which I have recently come. It's difficult to end this on a happy note, but I'm hopeful for what the future brings and the opportunity to change and maybe find faith in something. Now I know that I don't have faith in anything, I have a starting point. The first step to finding a solution is to recognize the problem. And, if anything, I have faith that I can find a solution.

And I hope that you also have found faith in something.

Addictions.

Quick post to kill time and pause from my current addiction.

Today at work I asked Dustin for a dollar. Dustin refused, claiming that I only wanted the dollar to buy a Mountain Dew. I said yes, but it was my business to decide what I wanted to drink. He said he refused to feed my caffeine addiction. I told him I wasn't addicted, since I hadn't had caffeine in quite a few days, I just happened to want a Mountain Dew that day. Our boss overheard the conversation and loaned me a dollar. The Mountain Dew was amazing. It's possibl one of the tastiest, though most caffeinated sodas.

I'm not addicted to Mountain Dew right now. I am addicted to The Office at this moment. See, ever so often when there's not much else going on in my life, I'll discover a book series or a television show or an online comic and become obsessed with reading or watching whatever it is I've found. This has happened with XKCD, House, The Office (prior to this time,) Scrubs, Chronicles of Narnia, the LOTR books, and probably other things that I can't remember right now. Eventually I'm going to watch through all of LOST again, but I haven't had the energy yet. However, recently I decided to watch all of The Office again, on the basis of it being probably one of the most amazing shows I have ever seen and because I had nothing else really going on at the time and spent a good amount of time in my room trying to find things to do. Watching The Office isn't particularly productive, but it is funny and time-consuming. I'm halfway through season four in less than a week. One of the reasons I don't blog so often anymore is becuase my life consists of going to work, coming home, and watching an entire television series in the course of a week, which gives me little to write about and little time in which to write what little happens.

Dustin also loves The Office. He and I actually started each other on watching it. We'd both seen a few episodes and thought it was okay, so for Christmas I bought him season three (they were sold out of season one.) We both watched it nonstop, and have been hooked ever since. We sometimes just talk about the show at work, reminding each other of hilarious moments or great episodes. There was once a camping trip where Dustin, Kailey and I sat around the fire and talked about The Office for about four hours. It's a great show for conversation if you know someone else that loves the show. "What's that one line Michael said to Toby? 'I hate...so much... about the things you choose to be...' That was a great line!" Or, "I think the Rabies episode was possibly the best episode ever." The list of conversation material inspired by The Office is endless.

Back in Tallahassee, we would always watch the new episodes in my dorm. Daniel, Leah, and I were always there, including occasionally the other Daniel, Mary, David, or someone else.

Moral of the story: watch The Office. You won't be disappointed.

Furiosity.

I'm exhausted from a day in the sun at work, and my mind is a little fuzzy. However, here's my thoughts of the moment the best I can write.

The other day, I said to myself, "I am furious," even though I was only slightly agitated and knew that very well. However, using the word furious caused me to think about other forms of the word furious. What is the noun version of furious, I asked myself. Furiousity. That didn't sound right. Oh. That's because the real word is Fury. Then explain curious and curiosity. Oh well.

Now, the reason for my agitation? I have a brother. The relationship between siblings is a very interesting one. Dustin and I are very close. Well, at least I think so. If you were to ask him, he'd say no. I sometimes say we should pretend we're twins. He says we should pretend we aren't related. I give him hugs. He informs me that he could break my wrists with one hand and proceeds to push me.

Because he and I are less than a year apart in age, Dustin and I have always spent time together. As children we'd play together, even with each other's friends. We have alot of friends in common now, and also work together. When we are off at college, we are pretty consistent about keeping in touch. I could go on for hours trying to explain all the little things that make up our relationship, but the topic of today's blog is not about that.

The most interesting thing about being siblings is the fights. Although Dustin and I get along really well, even though we still can goof off like we're six-year-olds, even though sometimes one of us purposely irritates the other, sometimes we actually argue. It's never about anything serious; usually it's something very ridiculous and usually we aren't even upset, we're just in bad moods about something else. Tempers rise, conversation gets heated, and we sometimes say some pretty harsh things.

After these fights, we go seperate ways for a few hours. Then, things are back to normal.

No matter what stupid things we argue about, we always are fine again afterwards. Without even having to talk about it or bring it back up, or even apologize, though I think maybe a few times in the past we've apologized.

While I was thinking about furiosity and being agitated at Dustin about our argument, I knew at the time that in a few hours we'd be fine. Because that's just how we are. And I love Dustin very much.

In the Belly of the Whale.

Let me preface this blog by saying that I will be talking about a Bible story. Please don't comment to criticize the Bible or its validity, or anything of the sort. Any critical remarks should be toward my personal opinions and content, not that of the reference I used for this blog.

If you grew up going to Sunday School and church almost every week of your life, you certainly heard the story of Jonah, from whence came the expression used as the title of this post. Now, the story of Jonah is found in the book of Jonah in the Old Testament of the Holy Bible. This is one of the story most Christian children learn. Here is a summary of the story told to children:

Once, there was a man named Jonah, a prophet of God. God told Jonah to go to a city called Ninevah and preach God's word, but Jonah was scared and boarded a ship for elsewhere. On the ship, God sent a storm, so Jonah confessed and the sailors threw Jonah overboard to save the ship. However, in the water, God sent a whale to swallow Jonah. After three days and nights, Jonah prayed, and God told the whale to spit Jonah up on land. Jonah immediately went to Ninevah, where they all turned to God. The End.

Now, this story is simplified for children. It has a happy ending. It has a rise and fall. It is very similar to fairy tales or bedtime stories. I am not calling this story a fairy tale, I am simply saying that the way people simplify Bible stories for children has this effect, possibly because children would have difficulty understanding the full story.

Last semester, I decided to actually read the book of Jonah in the bible. The first part was very similar to the above story. Jonah flees to Tarshish, the sailors throw him off the ship, he gets swallowed by a whale.

Now firstly. Think about the concept of being swallowed by the whale. The illustrated children's book I have of Jonah shows a man kneeling in a cavernous, well-lit area lined by ribs. He is even smiling as he prays to God from this spacious, suite, stomach. Assuming there were a sea mammal alive today capable of swallowing a man and keeping him alive in its stomach, imagine what it would be like. I don't think I would be happy, smiling, or even calm. It is completely dark and devoid of light, leaving you completely alone. It isn't incredibly large or spacious; rather, it is small and wet. Being without sight, you rely on your other senses. The smell is terrible, as food is being digested around you. Have you ever heard your stomach digest? The odd gurgles and rumbles? That is all around you. And it must feel warm and wet, disgustsing everywhere. There isn't any dry ground on which to kneel, and you are forced to be in the yuckiness. And let's hope there is no need to use the sense of taste, though your tongue is dry from no water and your stomach yearns for a morsel of food. You do not know if you will ever see light or land again, if you will ever eat, drink, or breathe clean air. You do not know if this prison can be escaped, so you have no option but to wait for death and wonder at how you still live.

This is what was painted as a wonderful, safe option to children. This lovely room is where Jonah obediently smiled to God. Children's books, you got the story wrong. There is nothing happy or safe about the belly of the whale. Miraculous and amazing though it may be, it was not pretty.

Now, the next interesting thing is that the story does not end here. This is only two-thirds through the book of Jonah. As we know, the King of Ninevah is shocked. He orders all men and animals to wear sackloth and fast to be shown God's mercy. Which God does. Jonah should be rejoicing at an entire city saved and shown the true light of his God! Does he do this? No. Instead, Jonah gets angry and goes outside the city. He tells God he is angry and never wanted to come to Ninevah because he knows God would be mericful. God sends a plant to give Jonah shade, but the next day sends a worm to devour the plant. When it withers, Jonah wishes he were dead. He tells God he is so angry he could die.

So angry he could die? Over God taking away plant that he had only just sent to help Jonah?

The book ends with God basically telling Jonah that he just doesn't get it. Jonah is fuming about a plant that wasn't saved, and yet he would wish that fate upon all of Ninevah. Really, Jonah?

After reading this book, I burst into laughter. I can't help but laugh at the idea of a man crouched on the ground, staring at the remains of the withered plant and livid with anger. Through gritted teeth, he shouts, "I'm so angry I could die!" at God.

There is so much more in this story that they can't contain in a children's story. There are so many more messages than the few that they give: Don't run from God. Also, God always provides for his children. It's about so much more! It's about the inevitability of running from God, about how even though you are saved it isn't always pleasant. God provides, but the provision is so much worse than the original fate. And then the entire last chapter is about how ridiculous people can be. God blesses people, but when the blessing isn't there, when life gets difficult, people become enraged with God for things about which they have no right to be angry. The concept is absurd! And so many more messages embedded in Jonah's prayer, in all of his reactions, in the reactions of the sailors, the Ninevites, and the other characters in the story. The story is so much larger than a man who gets swallowed by a whale.

I have the children's story of Jonah memorized. But somehow, it seems to fall short of what the Bible actually intended.

Fishin'.

I went fishin' the other day. Not fishing. It is called fishin'. So, when in this post you see the word fishing, make sure to read it properly in your mind.

Now, I have been fishing once or twice before, always on the intercoastal waterway. The thing about people who fish on the intercoastal is that they use live shrimp as bait. I am not such a fan of this. Firstly, the shrimp are still living, though that doesn't bother me as much as the other point. Second, they look very creepy and flick around. They have these weird insect legs and long feelers and seem to be the locusts of the sea. I have an intense fear of locusts. Like locusts, shrimp are virtually harmless, but this fact in no way decreases my fear.

The other times I have been fishing, the guy with whom I went, Larry, understood that I didn't like the shrimp. He gladly would put the shrimp on the hook for me, and I could fish peacefully never having to worry about the writhing crustaceans. However, this time I was with my friend Seth. Seth apparently believes in overcoming fears. Usually I don't have a problem doing crazy things or being fearless. I rarely ever do high-pitched stereotypical girly screams. However, this was no ordinary fear. This was sticking my hand in a bucket of water amidst these completely gross critters to wrap my hand around only one, avoiding the adjacent ones, pulling it out and ignoring the numerous legs and feelers on my palm long enough to stick a hook through the length of its body. Doesn't sound very pleasant, does it?

I tried to reach in the bucket. I got as far as the lid and one made a jump to the surface. I screamed and backed up. Seth tried talking to me. Seth tried calming me down. Seth decided to throw a shrimp at me. I screamed. He threw another. I screamed, jumped back further, and threatened him. He threw a shrimp at my face. I screamed and tried to make sure it didn't get caught in my hair. I punched Seth. Not lightly. He gave up on his mission, and we continued fishing.

Later, I decided that I needed to get over my problems. I couldn't go the entire day not having gotten the shrimp on my own. So I counted down from three and stuck my hand in the bucket. I got two of my fingers in the surface when one of them made a sudden movement. I retreated. I also screamed. This went on about six more times before Seth was a little sick of this.

In the midst of this, I remembered so many cliche movies or songs or whatever, where the idea is to "jump in." To whatever fear or anything. I remember thinking I just needed to "jump in." Close my eyes, and just reach in and grab a shrimp.

I never did that. I did, however, learn to gently reach into the bucket and hold a solitary shrimp between my finger and thumb long enough to take him out of the water and hand him to Seth to put on the hook. If Seth took too long, the shrimp would eventually flick, at which point I would scream and drop it. Either way, I was eventually able to adapt.

The thing is, I don't think anyone always can just "jump in." I'll never be able to act on stage. Some people will never donate blood, or stand at the top of a cliff, or go underground in a cave, or in a tiny closet. Everyone has fears, and its not always possible to completely overcome it with no uneasiness. However, we can always adapt. I can't put my hand in a bucket of shrimp and pull one out effortlessly. But I can get a shrimp out of the bucket, even if it's not exactly how most people would. And I think that's what matters, that I eventually found a way to do what I needed to do.

And I caught more fish than Seth anyways.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident..."

This is possibly one of the most well-known quotations in American society. I assume that almost immediately your mind continued:

"...that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."

Now, there are a few problems with this. Firstly, everybody isn't equal; there exists a great deal of diversity and uniqueness among humankind. Luckily, the purpose of the quote wasn't to say that everybody was identical. Rather, it was meant to portray an idea that no man could be held above another for any reason, as we are all humans together. Another issue is that originally the quote didn't refer to all men, only white property owning males. However, as time has progressed, the minds of people opened and were eventually able to realize that all people, regardless of age, race, gender, social status, religion, or any characteristic or individuality, are all equal to one another. Nobody under this philosophy can be born a slave to anyone else without consent.

I bring this up to precede a more sensitive issue: my job. I work with persons with disabilities. These people are mentally disabled. Most people, upon hearing this, think, "Retarded people," or some variation, and have a stereotype in their head of any sort of idea picked up through peers or the media of what these people are like. However, they are nothing like this. When I first went to my job, I expected a bunch of the same, vegetable like people, with little diversity and little in which to be interested. I soon found that I was greatly mistaken. There is as much diversity within a home of 80 persons with disabilities as there is in any sort of society. These people have personalities. They laugh, they cry, they have fun. They make jokes and play jokes. They get angry, frustrated, and any other emotion. It takes time to get to know them and understand them, but they will be your friend, if given the chance. Going to my workplace and meeting the residents is like meeting anyone else, with or without disabilities. They are people.

Situations at work frustrate me, however. Because of the circumstances of the residents, they have to have people care for them. When I hear of staff members stealing clothes from the residents, I get angry. When workers won't allow the residents to do something fun, like the pool or other activities just because it is extra work for themselves, I am annoyed. When the employees treat the residents as less than people, as just a job, I become upset. When we refuse a resident because of their safety, it is one thing, but when we deny them because we don't feel like putting in the extra effort, it is another entirely.

I want to be a math teacher. One of my professors last semester always said, "Teaching is not for the faint of heart." This is because teaching is a selfless job. Teachers do their jobs to help others learn. It's not for money, fame, or guaranteed success. It is to help others, to open minds and change the world only through this help. Work at the home is similar. You cannot work with these people and agree to care for them if you only wish to do it for yourself, the money, or for an easy job. It is not always easy, nor is it always fun.

"...Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."
These are the rights with which our Founding Fathers said all men were endowed, including the residents. We fail if we merely provide a means of existence for these people; rather, our job is to give them a life. They are not blessed with the ability to achieve these rights on their own, so in taking this job we accepted the responsibility of helping them obtain these rights. We agreed to help the residents to live, to have liberty, and to find happiness. Even at the extent of our comfort, our ease, our time or energy, we should help the residents. To put ourselves first at the job and to deny the residents their wishes for the sake of our laziness is to deny them their unalienable rights.

Therefore, we who work with persons with disabilities need to stop thinking of themselves first. We cannot be lazy, selfish, or greedy. We must constantly remember that this job is to help them live, to help them obtain these rights to the best of their abilities, with our assistance. We must never decline their wishes on the sole grounds of our comfort, ease, or desires. We must strive, every day, to remember that our job goes far beyond giving them the necessities of existence; we are called to provide far more.

Codes.

Once, in middle school, I invented a language. Or rather, an alphabet. More specifically, I just created a new symbol for every letter in the alphabet.

Using this, I was able to record messages for myself that were so completely secret that nobody else could read them. Angsty middle schoolers are very secretive creatures, to the point of needing communication methods which nobody else could understand. I was no different.

Also within friends codes are created. Stephanie and I used some sort of code where you added certain syllables after a specific number of letters, though I don't know if she created it.

Once I let her know my code so we could pass notes, but it didn't last long. She only wrote me one note. Not being as acquainted with the symbols as me, she was unable to read it well. I also couldn't read it well. I could write it quickly, but trying to re-read what I wrote is almost as difficult as it would be for an outside source. Probably because I get some letters mixed up, and I think a few letters have the same symbol.

Sometimes, I still use this system to write down really secret things.

The Importance of Sleep.

First, let me say the sun actually shone today. It was a wonderful, life-changing fifteen seconds.

Sleep.. is a necessary thing. It is sometimes welcome and other times a hindrance. This past week it has been a hindrance, which has only helped to emphasize the necessity.

In the past, I have found that a busy day full of things like school, activities, and even work, interferes with other activities, such as spending time with friends or talking on the phone. Now, usually people will try to balance the two in a normal day's hours. Or so I would guess. However, the others of us decide to just create more time in the day. This is done by spending less time doing other activities. Like sleeping.

There have been times that I have talked on the phone much more than necessary. In fact, talking on the phone got me into trouble more than anything else in high school did. Mom, don't cringe when you read this, please. I used to spend hours a night on the phone. This was done by either using my cell or the portable phone. Eventually I was caught, and received punishment, since my parents at least understood the importance of a full nights sleep. This is one of those cases of parents knowing best. Looking back, there were a number of rules I didn't understand at the time. "Why can't I stay up all night? It's me who has to be tired.." And in retrospect, parents are just trying to look out for us, keep us from failing school from being too tired or falling asleep at the wheel or thinking that we can shirk on sleep and still function as normal people.

However, let us reminisce on those days.

There were times that I stayed on the phone for hours, and times where this severely coincided with sleep. I remember, more than once, getting on the phone before I had gotten any sleep and staying on the phone until the sun rose, leaving me less than an hour to sleep before I had to be up to begin the next day (which usually involved a lengthy nap.) Usually, though, I got two or three hours on such nights. There were times I could barely stay awake in school or church. And somehow I would do it again the next night. I sometimes wonder how I made it through those days, but that's all in the past. In retrospect, it wasn't the best idea I ever had, for a number of reasons. However, I can't change the past.

Either way, eventually I reached the age where I could actually hang out with friends for hours. Now that I'm an "adult," my parents let me figure out how to balance sleep on my own, since they gave me more than enough lessons as a teenager. I took those to heart, and am somewhat more careful in my balance of time, though not up to their wishes, I suspect. For example. Over Christmas break and this summer, the issue is that I have to be at work at 8 in the morning. It's a half hour commute, so I have to be awake a little before 7ish. This isn't a problem as long as I'm in bed at 10ish. However, eventually other friends come home, and for whatever reason, hanging out between the hours of 6 and 9 is completely impossible. People don't even begin making plans until 9. As such, I'm usually out with friends until about 2 am, which is my unofficial curfew. The rule is as long as my parents know where I am, I can be out, but there is a point where I'm out ridiculously late. So we settled on 2 a.m., I tell them where I'll be, and I'm back on time.

This only leaves me four or so hours of sleep a night. Usually this isn't a problem. I can handle a night of four hours. It's actually a step up from where I've been in the past. The problem occurs when this happens 5-6 nights in a row. Then my body begins to function oddly. I also suddenly find taking naps, something which has usually been difficult for me, to be involuntary.

Without sleep, work seems much, much longer. Time, instead of passing at the speed of a drizzling rain, seems to slow to the crawl of a snail trying to outrun this rain. (He doesn't, by the way. He is much slower.) Also, these are the days that I end up sleeping on the bench in the locker room on my break. Instead of appreciating my hour long combined lunch, morning and afternoon breaks, I scarf down my food and find a way to balance myself on the foot wide wooden bench in the locker room, until I'm awakened by the sound of the gates and jump up all too soon to help with the residents. My head is pounding the entire time, and everything irritates me. Being irritable is probably the worst side effect, as it involves people trying to make friendly comments. This is why I decided to nap between getting home from work and going out. It greatly reduces these side effects.

At college, this was less of a problem. Usually I could just sleep in the next day, though I'd feel like I wasted a day if I slept in past noon. Which happened too frequently for my liking.

Looking back, I'm thankful my parents wanted to look out for me as a kid. I remember being so frustrated with them at times, and now I'm beginning to truly appreciate their true motives for me in their discipline. I'm glad that they now let me make my own decisions, and realize on my own that having a curfew means I can still be back earlier, like midnight, and get the sleep that I know I need. I'm glad that they trust me enough to allow me to make my own decisions and discover how to act intelligently on my own.

And I'm glad that I can finally fall asleep in the middle of the day to make up on lost sleep.

Rain.

So. Monday morning, I woke up and began to get ready for my job as a lifeguard, which I've done most every day for the past few weeks. It's a fairly simple process. The windows in my room face east, though, and as I was searching for my swimsuit I noticed the light seemed different, as if it were cloudy outside. I peered through the blinds, saw some clouds, but the sun was still low and sort of shining through, so I attributed the odd sunlight to the fact that the sun hadn't risen fully.

As I walked to the kitchen, with a west facing window, I noticed it was actually quite cloudy and raining. This is somewhat abnormal for where I live in the summertime. Usually it starts out cheery and sunny, with clouds slowly building all day until the afternoon, when we are in serious danger of rain and the entire pool staff is usually watching some area of the sky suspiciously for lightning. So, intrigued, I turned on the weather channel. I wished I hadn't. The radar showed this huge green mass, slowly approaching. As I walked to my car alone (usually I go with Dustin, but he had been summoned for jury duty) I heard thunder in the distance, and ran back inside to get a change of clothes other than my swimsuit, since I was fairly certain that we wouldn't be swimming for a while.

Yesterday, the storm was circling central Florida, Deland in particular. I didn't even bother wearing my swimsuit to work. Or staying the entire day; my boss let me off early since we weren't actually lifeguarding and I'm not as talented at indoor activities with the residents as the other staff members. And Dustin was still at jury duty, since they chose him to be on the jury. Go figure.

Today, I check the radar. The storm seems to have significantly decreased in size. However, it is still circling one general area in central Florida, continuing to encompass Deland. Another rainy, cold day. With no chance of pool time. And even when the pool does open, it will be freezing.

I haven't seen the sun since Sunday... Ha. Sunday. But seriously, it's like back in the hurricane days of '05, when I hadn't realized that the sun has the ability to cheer someone up until I spent a few days with solid clouds. It was somewhat depressing, and I didn't even realize it until finally, after days, the sun broke through the clouds again and I saw exactly what I had been missing. The sun is a wonderful, beautiful part of life. Yes, the sun is part of life, it affects all of our lives daily in hundreds of ways.

People in Seattle (since they obviously read this): I have nothing less than the greatest respect for you.

Cooking.

I love cooking. I don't know if many of my friends actually know this, because I rarely cook for people. Especially in dorms, since the kitchen is a good ways away and trying to transport ingredients and supplies and such is a large hassle. Occasionally I cooked in the crock pot, but it just got complicated, so that died out, too. I've probably said it before, though, so maybe they know.

I also love the movie Ratatouille. It's about cooking and much more. I recommend it.

Anyways, ever since I was little I loved cooking. My dad always said, "If you can read, you can cook," and it's true. If you can follow the recipe, you can cook just about anything. My biggest problem is impatience. I don't often like to follow through the whole time it takes to complete a recipe. Also, I can get a little careless in my impatience, and sometimes the slightest alteration of ingredient amounts can ruin a recipe. I've since learned to be slightly more patient and meticulous in my cooking.

I love cooking desserts. Nothing is so fun to me as cooking desserts. I spent most of middle and high school making brownies, cookies, cakes, and the like. I spent a Saturday with my Aunt Teresa learning to cook candies, cookies, and fudge once, maybe one of the reasons I like desserts. And it's so dang tasty.

Anyways, I had cooked actual meals on occasion, but last summer I really decided to get into cooking meals. I spent most of the summer experimenting with recipes I found online and ideas I created on my own, and learned both some great meals and recipes which I have decided never to even look at again. I like stir-fry the best. And I think casseroles are interesting. I think probably because the foods we ate growing up rarely were in these categories. One of my favorite stir-fry meals was yellow rice and chicken and vegetables, something which Dustin also enjoyed. However, nobody liked my attempt at some sort of marinade chicken. Either way, I enjoyed trying and learning, and enjoyed the trips home where I could again cook.

Of course, upon returning home this summer, I decided to begin cooking again. Mom cooked alot for Dustin and me, but sometimes when Dustin was hungry or I hadn't eaten, I'd cook a few meals.

Today, at work, Dustin said, "I want to try making sesame chicken." Or something along those lines. So, during lunch, I looked up a recipe, wrote down the ingredients, and we went grocery shopping after work. We needed bread, milk, and some other foods for packed lunches anyways. We called Mom and asked her to cut up and bread some chicken.

We tried the recipe. It was terrible, and we had wasted half of the chicken in it. However, the Gills do not give up so easily. We took this into consideration and decided to give it another go.

We all gave input on tweaking the recipe, and tried again, with three pieces of chicken this time. Dustin sprinkled the sesame seeds on top, and we all tried our piece. Well, Mom watched Dustin and me to judge the edibleness, while we were the guinea pigs to our creation. Better, but not at all good. I had put way too much red pepper; it would have been good otherwise. So, we split up. Mom went to the internet to look up different recipes, calling out random ingredients for us to consider, and we all created our own sauce. Mom's had ketchup. Dustin's had alot of everything; he decided to mix ingredients until the sauce turned what he deemed the correct color. I merged two different recipes from online and hoped for the best. We kept this up until we ran out of honey.

We all sat around the kitchen table, which held numerous cereal bowls full of sauces, ranging from light brown to burnt red-orange to darkish brown, all topped with sesame seeds. We dipped chicken in the different sauces, trying all of them slowly. Mine failed, again. Mom's... I wouldn't try Mom's, because it smelled too much like ketchup. Surprisingly, the winner was Dustin's batch. It didn't taste like he intended, but it was quite edible, which was a welcome change. Unfortunately, we have no idea how he created it. Or if we would even want to duplicate it.

In the end, we all left the kitchen, no longer hungry, even though barely any food had actually been consumed.

I'm glad we tried.

Deja Vu.

This morning was the first day the full staff was back again at the pool. As Dustin and I walked to the gate to the pool where Tracey and Kevin stood, waiting for Cindy to arrive and unlock it, Dustin said, "Oh, wow, this feels just like last summer." I smiled. I understood exactly how he felt, because I felt that way last week. My first few days waking up early and getting things together I kept reminding myself that it wasn't last year, I wasn't going to the YMCA to work out, or that I wasn't going to go and spend the day with residents. It was just cleaning. Even as I walked toward Cindy's office after clocking in, I felt as though no time had passed since last summer, as if the entire year of school hadn't ever really happened.

It's weird how time does these things. I can come home for breaks and it feels like a break. I can drive back to college and know that it's a new school year. But something about the summertime leaves me feeling like I never left the last summer. Summers are their own continuous time line, separated from the rest of your life.

A few days ago, Dustin and I were talking about music on the way to the store, about how some songs always bring up certain memories. For example, the song "The Scientist" by Coldplay always makes me think of Jeff, although this wasn't exactly what he meant. He was, again, talking about the summer, and how different songs always felt like the summer. For me, it was mostly the songs that were on the radio at the pool all of the time. "Walking in Memphis" and "Drops of Jupiter" are two such examples. These songs will always make me feel like I'm both in the summertime and working as a Lifegaurd at the Duvall Home. Dustin named a few songs. Also country. I guess neither of us listen to country unless we're at home, and usually we aren't at home except in the summer.

I guess Christmas is the same way, but I don't think about it right now. Right now I just think about how as I'm up, early in the morning while the sun is just rising and the temperature is perfect, it feels like so many summers past. I'm reminded of being small and Mom packing up all up to go to the springs. I remember riding my bike all middle school to the library every week to read through the entire Animorphs series. I remember sleeping too much and spending days on the computer, until VBS or camp interrupted this monotonous cycle. I remember the more recent, difficult summers where I could drive, where friends went through difficult times, and where I spent more time away from home with my first job as a camp counselor, where camp itself is another life within the summer. And I remember my summers at Duvall. Last year, I was so busy with lifegaurding and playing piano that time just flew by.

On my last blog, Jess asked why she and I lose contact over the summer. It's not just her with whom I lose contact; it's the entire world. Over the summers, I'm 8 again, I'm 12, I'm 16, I'm a young girl again at her house, where life is more about playing with her brother and bothering her older sister, where days are spent in the sun and school isn't on anyone's mind, and where the focus of each day is to figure out how to have the most fun. I still love all of my friends dearly, it's just so hard in this other world to remember that somewhere else, to somebody else, I'm a twenty year old college girl with friends whom I love and miss who feel the same way. It's difficult to keep in contact when here, I feel like I've stepped out of my usual life into a completely different life that runs on a timeline seperate than the rest of the world.

I could go on more, and elaborate on the different summers and the emotions and memories associated with each, about the places I went, the people I met, and the experiences from which I learned. But I realize that no matter how many words I type, I don't have the gift to give justice to the memories that are slowly becoming dimmer in my mind. As such, I'll leave you to think back on your summers, of the experiences and memories you will always associate with summer, and hope that this summer will be a memorable one.

Summertime.

And the living is easy..

WHOA! Bet you haven't heard those lyrics quoted ever in the summer. Actually, maybe you haven't, I don't know. We sang that once at a choir concert, which was the first and only time I've really listened to that song.

It is the summer. This means I've been quite busy back at my job as a lifeguard. We haven't started guarding yet, we've just been cleaning the pool, we being me, Dustin, and the boss's twenty something year old daughter. She's the only new addition to our staff this year, but she's worked at Duvall before. She's cool. The rest of our staff is the same as last year. We have:

Nathan, an artist in his late twenties who doesn't act like it. He's incredibly fun to be around and great with the residents. He's also really good at crossword puzzles, and got me into them. His last name is Creech, only significant as Dustin and I refer to him as "The Creech."

Kevin, a student in his mid-twenties. He's studying something medical, but it keeps changing. He's the head lifeguard and has worked at Duvall for years. He's cool.

Tracey, a woman in her early forties. Her husband works for maintenance. She's a little crazy, neurotic, and difficult for me to handle at times. Probably because she clashed with my mother, and I was frustrated at her for that. Since then, I've begun to like her alot more.

Dustin, my brother.

Melissa, the boss's daughter. She's funny, but I still don't know much about her.

Cindy, my boss. She's a fun, and a very nice boss. She's worked at Duvall for years, and loves the residents.

These are the people with whom I spend the majority of my summer. We work pretty well as a team, I think. None of us have any problems with each other, but at the same time there's always bickering behind everyone's back, which can be pretty frustrating at times.

At home, I spend my free hours with Dustin. We have been reunited! Some trainees at work asked if we were twins. I'm currently trying to convince Dustin that we should pretend to be twins. He says no. The trainees were 12 new hires to work in the building, not the pool, and Cindy trains them. We were all in the class, too, just to be able to have more training. Some of the people seemed to think it was obvious that Dustin and I were siblings, while others were shocked. Sometimes people see a strong resemblance, other times we look nothing alike.

This is a quick update, with hopefully enough information that you will understand any following posts about the summer. As for now, I am going grocery shopping.

Early.

My finals week is easier than most, giving that education is one of the easier majors. While I appreciate the slack, sometimes I also feel as though I'm getting an undeserved break from the more difficult aspects of college life. Either way, today I had a final that is no part of my grade, but that I had to arrive for anyways. She allowed the students to take it with either section, so I could take it 7:30 this morning or at 3 in the afternoon on Friday, and since I plan on being home Thursday, I opted for the 7:30 option.

All week, I've been preparing for an expo thing in the Union Ballrooms. In our last Reading class on Monday, a graduate student asked for volunteers, and since my finals week is already easier than most, I offered to be there from 8:30 to 1, the complete duration of the expo. I figured I could head over at the conclusion of the final, and maybe even have time to get a mocha or something, since an ungraded final exam couldn't take that long.

Tuesday evening I begin to feel the beginnings of a sickness, mainly by frequent sneezing, constant scratchiness in my throat, and a runny nose. It's the kind of sickness where the entire back of your throat area feels as though it's got millions of tiny scratches, and every time you swallow you get a taste in the back of your mouth that say "By the way, don't forget that you have some sort of virus." Not that you could forget, with the constant sniffling and sneezing. So I decided to go to bed early because of the sickness and the fact that I'd be up super early. I took some NyQuil for the illness and was asleep by 11.

The next morning, I'm up at 6:20, and out of my dorm in less than an hour. I'm always paranoid on my way to things that are scheduled once. I'm always afraid I have the times wrong. The entire walk to the final, I kept ignoring the scenario where I showed up and nobody else was there, leaving me alone with a good wasted few hours. I told myself that it was a ridiculous fear, and even if I was wrong, well, it happens and nobody would care. However, I showed up at 7:30, along with the teacher and a good number of students. I finished the short, multiple-choice no-grade test in fifteen minutes, and was on my way to Einstein Bros. for a mocha.

Having gotten my mocha and still having time, I went to sit outside the ballrooms with my mocha, a good twenty minutes early. The expo was supposedly starting around 8, but everything was empty. Maybe it wouldn't start until 8:30, the time I was supposed to arrive. I laughed at the sight of myself in the reflection. I was dressed in "business casual"--dress pants, a blouse, and a vest. However, I looked much less professional with my bookbag next to me, and how I was sitting: knees together, ankles apart, and toes pointed inwards. Some grown-up I am.

Anyways, I kept waiting for someone to arrive. Some maintenance workers said they were there for some training, which I knew nothing about. I walked to the post office to kill time, figuring that maybe she wouldn't be there until 8:30. I had a slip for a package that wouldn't fit in my tiny box, but I couldn't pick it up until 8:30. I came back. Other people in dress clothes walked by, also there for the training, and looking confused when I asked about an expo. I sighed and walked back to my bench to wait.

"Hi, um, what event are you here for?" I ended my sentence with a preposition. Leah said that doesn't matter in speech, though.
"The training, are you here for that?" The woman smiled. That made me less nervous. I'm always nervous about talking to strangers, especially when I'm already on edge about not knowing what is going on with this event.
"No, I'm here for some expo. The training is in the last door, that one down there, though." I pointed, and wandered away.

I began to get frustrated. What was happening? Had the event been canceled? I had been planning on this for a good week, knowing when to arrive, what to wear, and now nobody was there; was I going crazy? This sort of thought process continued until 8:40, when I knew for sure I must have gotten something wrong. I went and picked up my package, a box of candy and snacks from Aunt Jane. I smiled. I walked back to the ballrooms, but nothing had changed.

I saw a computer lab, but the sign said it wasn't open until noon. However, other students were entering and using the computers. I decided that I needed to check my email. I opened the email from the grad student, "RE:RE:RE:Education Expo" and scrolled to the first email she had sent, about the expo. 8am-1am, the email said. I stared, perplexed. It didn't say Wednesday, just April 28th. I scrolled the mouse over the time to see the date, just to confirm.

April 29th.

I paused. Checked both dates a few more times. I sent an apology to the student, explaining my absence. Then I stood up, took my bookbag, and began walking back to my dorm, frustrated. I was tired, sick, I had let down that grad student, and waited outside of the Union Ballrooms for a good half hour, like an idiot. Walking back, I wonder if anyone is awake. Checking my phone and wishing I could talk to someone, I see a text message. "Hugs! You can do it!" from Jess. Jess, thank you, I needed encouragement at that moment, even in the form of digital text hugs.

Now, back in my dorm, I see the situation more laughably. I was worried about the exam being canceled and was so certain that the expo was Wednesday, when in reality the exam was correct and I was completely wrong about the expo. I roll my eyes and smile at myself, and remember, as I've said before, what my grandfather tells me. "You need to be able to laugh at yourself." I'm kind of an idiot, and it's pretty funny that I spent half an hour waiting for something of which I was so certain, when in actuality I was completely and totally wrong. At least I got the exam done. At least I got to spend time walking around in the early morning, my favorite time of day. At least I checked my mail. At least I had another opportunity to learn to laugh at myself and not to be too hard on myself over trivial mistakes.

What a morning.

Reading.

.Firstly, I'm slightly wary of attempting this blog because I am writing with a semi-specific purpose, and I know that if I touch on something as important to me as reading, I'll want to say every thought and feeling I have on the matter, which would make a quite extensive entry. However, I'll do my best to keep it of a normal length, and in doing so I suspect I will be sorely disappointed at the completion of this blog, realizing I said what I intended while leaving out so much more.

I love reading. When I was a child, I always loved reading. Most of my friends feel the same way, as we have entered into countless discussions about the hours we spent as children pouring over books when other kids were staring at Gameboys or playing sports on some community team. Perhaps this is why I do well on grammar portions of standardized tests; after seeing so many sentences and words for so long, I usually have a feel of which option looks the most correct.

When I wasn't running around outside with Dustin as a child, I was reading. As young as second grade, I remember loving books. In first grade, the teacher gave me The Velveteen Rabbit, one of her childhood favorites. In third grade, the teacher let me choose any book from the shelf to keep because I had so frequently borrowed books (I chose Roald Dahl's Matilda, still a favorite. To this day, I love children's books and juvenile fiction and the like.) I spent the summer after fifth grade riding my bike to the library weekly and checking out ten books from Applegate's Animorphs series. I'd finish them, then next week ride down to check out the next ten. I was one of the kids who finished the fourth Harry Potter book in around twenty four hours, picking it up early in the morning and refusing to rest. I'd spend free time, car rides, before school, sometimes during lunch, reading. My best friend in middle school was the same way, so we made quite a pair.

Somewhere in the midst of high school, life became too busy to read regularly like I used to back in the days of middle school, and I realized I'd spend long amounts of time not doing any pleasure reading, since I was more focused on high school, homework, extracurricular activities, and my social life.

College is also busy, but sometimes I still manage. Last semester I bought the first two books of the Pretties, Uglies, Specials, Extras series. It's another take on a futuristic Utopian society, one of my favorite types of books, like The Giver, Anthem, or Brave New World. I have yet to read 1984, but I have recently purchased it and will be reading it in the next two weeks. Anyways, I spent the next 36 hours completing the first two books of the series, and immediately had to get the next two, completing the series in less than three days. I forget what schoolwork and sleep I sacrificed to accomplish this, but I don't think my grades were as good that week. When I start reading, the book consumes my life. I'll go get food, but read while I eat (a habit I assume I picked up from my father, who, like me, loves to read a great book while eating a meal alone.) I'll read during lecture, I'll read during my free time. I'll put whatever else in life--sleep, school, social life, cleaning, etc.--on hold for the sake of the story.

I guess the reason this is all on my mind is because yesterday I read Confessions of a Shopaholic, and have just completed My Sister's Keeper. It was an amazing book. I could have blogs and blogs of commentaries on my opinions of the books I've read, the messages they convey, the depth they reveal that movies never can, and so many other opinions, feelings, and thoughts on the matter. Thanks to IB, I could even write you literary essays about hte author's use of diction or narrators or some other feature. But that is for those other blogs, and the essays I will never again have to write. This blog is to tell you that in today alone I completed this book. I sometimes wonder at my habit of reading books so quickly, without pause. It's almost exhausting, to live through so much time of other people's lives in what is just hours of my own life. (Unless I am reading One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, which does take place in one day and therefore works perfectly in this scenario.) However, today I lived lifetimes of other characters. How much of the novel have I actually retained? What will actually stay with me? Sure, I got the big picture, the message, and some of the finer details, but are books more meaningful if you take time? Do you understand more if you go slowly, stopping to meditate on what you read as you take a break from the novel? Are you supposed to go through so much in so little time? What exactly does the author intend for you to do?

Maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe it's just the process of reading, of absorbing, and of living that novel. After all, a thousand people can read the same novel and draw different conclusions from it; maybe I see the book slightly differently just because that's how books are seen, and the rest is less relevant.

Whatever the answer, I probably will never know, because I doubt I will ever be able to take my time going through a novel. I will become so engrossed in the book that I won't notice that it's two in the morning. I will be so involved in the story that I'll stop noticing the world passing around me, and I'll keep reading until I reach the last page, the final word, at which point I will stop and let time re-settle and I'll remember where I am, who I am, and when it really is. And I'll look for another book, another life into which I can fully throw myself.

I guess all I am really trying to say is that I love reading.

It's All a-Changin'.

So, I know it's been a long time. While in class, I had been figuring on writing a blog with some sort of checklist explaining the different assignments on which I've been working and what I have left, just to sort of explain where I've been and what I've been doing besides perfecting Something Mathematical. By the way, the completed result, with subtitles, is now up at andreagill.com/math. I think it turned out quite nicely, and that Leandrea will be the next big thing. Also, Leah, the name is subject to change if you wish. Or we can add the H in there somewhere so both our names are in there.. Like Leandreah. That has your name like 1.75 times, though split up and such...

Anyways, the point was that I was going to write that blog, but my plans changed, just as my daily agenda today changed. That happens alot, for the record, plans changing. It took me years to learn to be flexible enough to handle plans being altered last minute, and even now I still struggle at times.

So today I had finished my last class of the semester, which I spent writing my last paper of the semester for another class while people presented their projects. After it finished, I decided to get Quiznos, both in celebration and in an attempt to use up the Flexbucks that will dissapear in less than two weeks. I have $50 left that need to be spent. As I was walking, I was listening to my iPod and thinking, something regular for me, and wondering why there were tents in front of the Union, while customarily avoiding walking into people without making eye contact, a walking style that I think has become habit for most people, unfortunately. As I looked at the tent, I subconciously moved to the left to avoid an oncoming fellow pedestrian. This pedestrian intentionlly moved to her right. I looked up to prevent the collision, and realized that this pedestrian was none other than Leah Wells!

What started as a conversation about the choir concert that evening somehow changed into a theological discussion about the fluidity of religion, the interpretations of the Bible, judging, psychology, the fact that religion, society, and people are always changing and growing, the movie Revolutionary Road, which we'd seen recently, and any other things that came to mind until it had been half an hour and the relentless sun was burning the tops of our feet such that it became necessary to continue on our ways.

I just thought it was wonderful that my day involved me going a different way for lunch, and Leah coming from a different way for lunch, and the consequence was a conversation that was thoughtful, interesting, and even encouraging, despite some of the less encouraging subjects on which we touched. I appreciate the fact that my friends are all people that are open to conversations deeper than day to day topics, or even topics only about ourselves and our current lives, if that makes sense. I really enjoy the variety of topics we talk about regularly. I suppose all people in all friend groups do, but I still am thankful that I, too, have those sorts of people in my life, not just Leah, but all of my friends--Daniel, Jess, Jeff, Judy, Mary, Dustin, and others.

I'm just glad that random events can change my day for the better so easily. And I'm thankful for the people in my life. Things just seem to happen at the right times, and sometimes I hear the things that I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear them. Maybe it's all not so much random chance as I believe.

And I'm glad that everything and everyone, from things as small as daily agendas to things as large as religious interpretation, is always growing and changing.

Cross Multiplication Continued.

My world has been shaken, the mathematical core inside of me has been drastically affected.

The book we use for History of Mathematics used cross-multiplication.

I feel so lost.

Math songs.

Short post, more to come at a later time and date.

Someone thought it would be a good idea to make the math kids be creative. I had to make a song, book, or webquest. With my musical background, I chose song.

Click Here to view the rough draft of my song. Then comment. Lyrics are below, since I know it's hard to understand. It still needs some work, I know.

Verse 1:
An angle is a figure formed by two rays that share an endpoint.
The three most common types of angles are acute, obtuse, and right.
The directions the two rays travel relative to each other,
Affect an angle’s size and help determine an angle’s measure.
Usually we measure angles in units expressed degrees
but sometimes we use something else, radians are what we mean
a straight angle would be expressed as 180 degrees, it makes a line
but the equivalent in radians is expressed pi
Chorus:
The followings a list of words
That you should sing so you can learn
the words you need to know to study for geometry,
Angle, right, acute, obtuse, degree, supplementary,
Congruent, radian, straight, complementary,
Verse Two:
Congruent angles are angles with the exact same measurement
And two lines would intersect so angles formed were congruent
The angles would have measurements both equal to 90 degrees
And therefore also would be called right angles, you see
And if the measurement was between right and straight, it'd be obtuse
And if it was between zero and right it would be acute
And if two angles both together added up were 90
The angles relationship would be named complementary
And if again the angles added to be straight, or 180
The relationship of the two would then be supplementary
Chorus:
I hope you now have learned the words
To sing in order that you learn
The vocab you should know for angles in geometry
It's angle, right, acute, obtuse, degree, supplementary,
Congruent, radian, straight, complementary,
Oh, angle, right, acute, obtuse, degree, supplementary,
Congruent, radian, straight, complementary

Cross Multiplication.

Many of you, somewhere in middle school or high school learned how to cross multiply. From what I can gather, cross multiply is a way of solving when two fractions are equal, and you draw this X and the numbers move around magically. I was never taught to cross multiply.

I was, however, taught that if you have two fractions equal to each other, you should multiply both sides by both denominators, because the denominator will divide with the numerator you have just multiplied in, (preposition end, I know) and leave you with the same result as the cross multiplied answer, only with more mathematical relevance and a greater understanding of the functions of multiplication, division, and fractions.

Mr. Ebbert taught us never to say cross multiply, and now I know why. Because it's a cheap shortcut that cheats students out of mathematical understanding. It's a way for teachers to give students a formula in a few minutes rather than take 15 minutes to actually show them mathematics that they can always remember, even when they can't quite recall how to cross-multiply. If you teach students mathematics based on the fundamentals of math, rather than a bunch of odd rules and shortcuts, they won't forget. What's more is they'll be more able to synthesize the information when presented a new problem.

Mr. Ebbert also taught us to never say "plug in" the number. It does sound ridiculous. We substitute in numbers. I've always said that. Mr. Ebbert taught alot more about math, too, but my blogs are too long these are the two relevant topics of the day.

I'm now at college, a mathematics education major. Frequently I hear people saying they are plugging in numbers, and my mathematical soul cringes a little. I feel that they are wronging the mathematics of the proper terminoogy it deserves. However, knowing that I'm probably a very small minority that ever even was told not to say "plug in," I know that it's not of great importance.

A bigger deal is that today in class, a student was giving her presentation to our group of three. It's part of microteaching. She set up the proportions, then asked for one of us to come up and cross multiply the fractions on the bored. I stared, perplexed, knowing full well how to solve the proportion and having no idea how to follow her directions. I could very easily solve for x, but I had no clue how to perform or even properly show my work for cross multiplication, if such a thing existed. Luckily, she proceeded to demonstrate for the class, where I quickly realized what to do for further reference.

Thank you, high school, where I learned real mathematics, wihtout stupid rules and meaningless shortcuts. I learned how to actually solve for a number, not to just perform some weird pattern.

And yet, for some reason I still find myself in classrooms with no idea of how to follow the stupid directions.

Donations.

Not donations of money. Donations of blood. Today I donated blood.

I like to donate blood, oddly enough. Maybe I like feeling like I'm doing my part. Maybe I like the free extra large t-shirts or blankets or coupons they give me when I'm done. Maybe I like the bottle of orange pineapple juice they give me so I won't pass out. Maybe I like needles. I think it's a combination of the orange pineapple juice and the feeling that I'm accomplishing something.

I used to always have low iron. They prick your finger and drop your blood in this liquid, and if it sinks, you're fine. If not, they centrifuge some blood, and take the exact count. Usually I fail the centrifuge. However, today it fell down. And I passed all the other tests that they ask, too, though those usually aren't a problem.

The first time I tried to donate blood, I was 17 and my iron was too low. The second time, I was 17 and my iron was fine. However, the donation process took much longer than I expected. I had signed up at the beginning of second period and had plans for lunch, which was after second. We were on block scheduling, so second period lasted an hour and fifty minutes. However, I was intent on getting Moe's with Jeff, so when they sent me from the bloodmobile to the classroom nearby to eat a cookie, drink juice, and rest, I asked if I could leave. There was no adult supervision, just two students, one of whom said, "Well, someone else thought they could leave and she's unconscious in the other room right now..." I left, eating my cookie as I walked across our extensive campus to find Jeff at a rather hurried pace as the bell had just rang. I caught up with him, and we began to walk towards the parking lot. Something was wrong, though. We reached the main office, and I was feeling faint. My head was light, there was a buzzing in my ears, and light was dimming. I sat down and put my head between my knees, knowing that I should have rested. I waited a few seconds, intent on at least just getting to the car. Thirty yards later, I was sitting again. However, the car was in site now. Jeff was concerned, but I refused to stop. We made it about half the remaining distance, and I stopped again. I decided to make it the rest of the way, and stood up. Jeff supported me, helping me make the final steps.

Now, this is where things got interesting. I should have stopped, but the car was 20 feet away, so I kept going. However, everything in the world changed. Usually the world looks like this:


However, colors began to get more enhanced, and things got a little trippy, or at least as trippy as anything I've ever experienced, more like this:


It was crazy, I remember thinking as Jeff sat me in the passenger's seat and prepared to drive my car out to lunch. I leaned the seat back, then sat up and looked in the mirror. My face was white and my lips were gray and colorless. I looked... kind of like i'd fallen in a bowl of powder or something.

Maybe I donate because I want to see the crazy colors of the world again, all trippy and enhanced. I don't know. Probably not, because I also associate that with the odd helplessness that I couldn't make it to the car, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make my body remain conscious enough to complete those few steps. It was an odd realization, that I couldn't overcome a little faintness after donating blood.

Listen to medical person's advice, they're not idiots. The people that think their advice doesn't matter are the idiots. They're the ones that end up passing out on the way to a car, or the ones that realize the hard way that the medicines prescribed actually work.

And lastly, some of you may have wondered why I didn't just leave late for lunch. The answer is because then we wouldn't have time to eat at Moes. And Moes was worth it.

Themeless.

I'm Andrea Gill. I think this is one of the first time I've typed my last name, due to my irrational idea that if I never mention anything in the actual text of my blog no personal information will be given. However, my blogspot name... argill... Also the link to my Facebook and Myspace.. I never noticed those were both fake compound words.

The semester is ending, the summer is rapidly approaching, and the pile of unfinished schoolwork is looking more and more impossible. However, we are all doing our best to take it one step at a time and not lose our minds. Still, the worst for me is the observing. Five hours sitting in the back of a classroom with no other option but staring intently at the teacher whether or not she's actually lecturing causes me frustration to no end, especially when I realize that I could spend that time working on the final project for geometry.

The purpose of today is an update on life. I've been too busy to really have any inspiration for topics, and I have a webcam, so I've been video chatting recently, which is something new. Also, I own the domain andreagill.com. Another reason it doesn't matter if I say my last name. Now, the story behind this is that David owns his domain name, and Daniel was thinking of buying his. David said I probably should, too, and I remembered that I bought it last year in one of my classes when the teacher suggested we should. However, at the time I didn't know how to upload content or even make content. I looked up the information and found that I still owned another year on the domain name. I didn't realize until now that Web Design would teach me the elements necessary to actually use the FTP thing and upload content to the site. However, I don't have a program and right now an relying on my HTML and CSS skills to edit templates. I also know some JavaScript and even PERL now, though I expect to never use them again. (If you want to see that work, go to myweb.fsu.edu/arg07f/cgs3066/a4, click on survey and see the actual assignment. I only added a few questions to the pre-made survey and pre-made CGI file. I'll get your answers on my computer, so say awesome things in the comment box.) And with the schoolwork to do, my web design has reached a standstill. Over the summer I expect many changes. Keep checking, and feel free to offer any comment on the website or for what purpose it should be used. Or if you want to design it for me because you are that bored.

Yesterday, there were many tornado warnings. The school kept texting us alerts and all clears. My favorite, the last all clear that warned of flooding, followed by "Turn around don't drown." Text creating people, I want an explanation. Is texting your one creative outlet, as blogging is mine? The one place where you can say crazy things? And not have the entire class tell you to slow down because your explanation of how you find the radius is so rushed that you can't properly pronounce all of your words? I don't realize I'm talking that fast, I just get so caught up on a thought that I have to get it out before I can forget it. Maybe one day I'll learn to control the speed of my speech and hold on to my words better. Until then, frequent blog posts, because text is one of the few places where I don't lose words and can express all the thoughts that I have in my mind without getting tongue-tied.

Today had no theme. Maybe the next post will. Sorry if you read this post on nothing.

Fires.

RREEAANNGH...RREEAANNGH...RREEAANNGH....

Through my somewhat sound proof dorm doors and walls, I hear the fire alarm and sigh. The fire alarm goes off when there's a fire, or when someone burns something pretty badly, or when someone just pulls it for no reason. One of these happens once a month or so. When it does, we all have to exit the dorm and stand across the street, staring at the dorm until we can re-enter. Or we can walk away and do something else and come back later when we're allowed in again.

I find some shoes and my purse, exit the door, cringe as I stand next to the alarm to lock my door (they are very loud. Probably so they can wake up people in their beds and be heard by people in showers) and walk to the nearest staircase. I don't use the elevator. (I never would, cause I'm only on the third floor, but even if I did, I wouldn't in the event of this supposed fire.)

I, along with many other students, cross the street to stare at the dorm as the campus police pull up. Most people look kind of ticked. One person is dripping wet, she probably got caught in the shower. Someone else is holding a basket full of laundry. Apparently in dorms people steal clothes. I spent two years faithfully guarding my clothes every time I went to do laundry. Then, once I accidentally left a shirt in the washer. Later that evening, while walking by the laundry room, someone had left my shirt on the counter. Either nobody wants my clothes, or people actually have no use for stealing my clothes. Last week I left my clothes in the washer and went back to my room, only returning to move them to the dryer and collect them. Seeing as I did collect them, they weren't stolen. Either way, these people hadn't yet realized that nobody else in the dorm wants their clothes.

After a few minutes, we hear the approaching fire truck siren. The truck pulls up in the road we crossed, partially obstructing our view of the dorm. Two firemen, in gear, enter the building, looking less than worried at the smoke free dormitory. I sit on the curb and wonder how long it will take them. In theory, they check dorms for students. I've always considered just staying in my dorm. However, I'm afraid of breaking rules, so then I consider hiding in my closet. Then I remember the alarm also goes off if there actually is a fire, so I decide to exit the building.

A student exits the dorm. A little late, eh? A few minutes later, the firemen exit with two RAs that accompanied them on their sweep of the dorm. The firemen return to the truck. Instead of getting in, he waves us closer. We gather around. Over the quite loud sound of the fire truck engine, he begins to lecture us. He shows us the ID he confiscated from a student that didnt' exit the dorm. "When the alarm goes off, you'd better leave. I know some of you want to stay in your bed or..." He turns to the crowd opposite of me, and his voice is lost in that stupid engine. "Next time, for every ID I confiscate, you guys will wait here an hour. Is that clear?" I scowl at him in return, though the crowd sort of nods and murmurs in approval. He gives us the clear, and we walk back into the dorm. I think about what he said, while I reopen the doors in the building. Certain doors, like those leading to stairwells, are always propped open, held back by a magnet that releases when the alarms go off. When we re-enter, I try to reprop some of the doors, though eventually they all are back to being opened as usual.

I think his claim was unfair. I paid my dorm fees, and this is my one home within four hours, in which I keep most of my belongings. The majority of students don't take anything that could help during a four hour lockout from the dorm. I figure we spend the minutes waiting for the all clear contemplating what it would be like to actually lose everything in that dorm room to a fire. Some people are dripping wet, others carrying baskets of clothes. And he's threatening us, the ones that followed the rules and evacuated as quickly as possible, to have to stay outside longer just because someone else didn't feel like leaving in time?

Seems unfair to me.