Saturday, August 23, 2008

Baby steps

I don't have many words of wisdom this week, no startling insights or revelations. (Not that I usually do.) I've seen, done, said and heard things since I last posted that served as painful or reassuring reminders that I am still alive.

Splashing through a slip 'n slide and always landing where it hurts, sitting alone in my dorm room with tears in my eyes as another country song reminds me how torn I am, laughing so hard I can barely breathe as my friends hone their skills of song improvisation.

And I revel in the small accomplishments. Not losing my temper with, er, boisterous people. Going to bed well before 2 a.m. (my favorite bedtime, but not conducive to a schedule full of 8:50 classes). Doing laundry before I run out of clothes. Praying, in my own quiet way. Letting go. Letting God.


I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do. -Edward Everett Hale

Friday, August 15, 2008

Planes, trains and cardboard boxes

Geez, has it been two months already since the last time I updated? Well, pardon me, I've been working full-time all summer and had neither time nor inspiration enough to think of any reason to blog.

I'm back at school now; day two of the first day of my last semester is complete. Still with me? Good.

Oddly enough, I'm actually a bit excited about some of the classes I'm taking this fall. It's only day two though, so whether or not I come home bald at Christmas after ripping out all my hair in frustration remains to be seen. I'm working with a stellar team in Mass Comm Strat (which is pretty much the make-or-break senior communications class). The team selection process yesterday was extremely scary, I won't go into detail because it's hard to explain, but I think I handled the pressure of helping choose my team pretty well. I felt like I was on a reality show the whole time, though. Or in the middle of a human trafficking sting. We were paying with fake money to outbid each other and get the teammates we wanted. It was a bit disturbing. Seriously. I kept waiting for Donald Trump or somebody from "48 Hours" to walk in with a camera crew.

I'm also working with another small-but-mighty team in PR workshop to boost readership and community support for the University Oracle. I'm also taking Interviewing, Principles of Advertising and Volleyball.

And speaking of the Oracle, I've willingly been demoted from section editor to staff writer. It's not like I'll have a whole bunch of free time this fall, right?

After one or two brushes with awkwardness and some really ridiculous reunion scenes, I'm hanging out with my friends as much as possible before Strat consumes my life. They've reminded me just how much I miss being here, but is it silly of me to want to put down roots in Tulsa because of them? Because most of them are moving away after graduation and scattering to the four winds. And I'll kind of need to get a job and eventually move out of my parents' basement into something that is not a cardboard box. The nice thing about a cardboard box, though, is I can pick it up with surprising ease and carry it a remarkable distance. I could get some job that would allow me to work from anywhere in the world, but then I'd need a wireless connection and some way to charge my laptop battery. The cardboard box's electrical and wireless capabilities have not yet been perfected, I'm afraid. Also, it's terribly drafty and not at all weatherproof.

I could try strapping myself to a lawnchair propelled by helium-filled balloons, like that guy in Idaho or Oregon or wherever. Then again, a priest in Brazil tried the same thing and they found his body in the ocean several months later.

Too bad I can't be some rich jetsetter and fly somewhere different every weekend to spend time with all of them. Like I just wake up one morning and say, "I'm going to see Aandra in California." Bam. I'm there. Then I'll go see Rhema in action at her newspaper job in Colorado. After some hiking and taking pictures of mountains and whatever else is in Colorado, I'll fly back to Tulsa.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I need to marry a wealthy pilot.

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