untangling thoughts

Dad makes me laugh.

2009-08-01T14:16:00.001-04:00

Email from Dad after reading previous post:

Guilt has overcome me after realizing the tragic mistake of teaching you to pedal before teaching you to steer, I am so glad Brian was able to teach you correctly.

Love,
Dad

Ne te quaesiveris extra

2009-07-29T01:52:00.000-04:00

I just realized I hadn't updated my blog after the forecast of doom/gloom. That's ok, as no one reads this anymore.
So anyway:
This is a semi-public announcement that the liklihood stated in the below blog post was proven wrong. I passed my qualifying exam, thus admitting me to PhD candidacy. Unbelievable. (Reasons for this being unbelievable are touched on in the following and previous posts.)
After passing, I was relieved, but a bit perturbed because I didn't do as well as I should have. Ideally, it would have ended with my committee declaring that, had they been NIH, they would fund me immediately and without question. Unfortunately, it ended with them suggesting that I should probably learn the downstream pathways of the Insulin receptor. True, but not as glamorous.

The fact that I'm an advanced graduate student studying neuroscience seems to be in direct contradiction with the many basic bits of knowledge and skillsets that I lack. Following are some examples of things that do not befit a neuroscientist.

Things every 3rd grader has mastered, but I have not:

I cannot remember which months have 30 days, and which have 31. I have asked Brian to teach me this at least twice now. All I remember from his trick is that some of the months are on knuckles, and some in the valleys, but then you skip one in between...I don't know. Ask him about his complicated knuckle mnemonic.

Despite being an excellent speller, I still have to recite "i before e except after c" 80% of the time I am writing a word with the I/E vowel combination. Really, though- I'm in the top tier of spelling awesomeness. (Ignore typos here. Blogs do not count.)

I could not ride a bike until about 5 months ago. In case you were wondering, learning that skill is quite difficult for an adult. (Particularly so for an adult who has poor gross motor skills, and is a survivor of "floppy baby syndrome" (a.k.a. hypotonia). I have overcome.) Although I won't be racing any time soon, Brian says he will let me on the road once I can stand up and pedal. Not there yet. Still too wobbly. (I don't practice often.)

This deficiency was for many years a closely held secret, until I reached college and decided that it was kind of hilarious. College is a time when all the cool people become comfortable with who they are, and as such are able to laugh at themselves. People usually laugh along.**

I also preface the bike riding information with the fact that this is the only area in which my parents completely failed me. Way to go, Mom and Dad. I sometimes leave out the part where I ran directly into a cement post after Dad "let go" of the seat for the first time, thus nailing what I thought was the final nail in my bike-riding coffin. It should be noted that there was a wide expanse of street, sidewalk and grass surrounding that one post, but my bike was drawn directly into it.

I suspect magnetism, but whatever.

**All the uncool people think that the laughter surrounding said cool person's stories is directed at them, when, in fact, the cool people are laughing with the storyteller, and not at them. (This is indeed a direct reference to the least-cool person we know, in case family was amused and suspicious.)

observations

2009-03-29T04:57:00.003-04:00

1. After sitting in almost complete silence for a few hours, the sound of myself eating chips is almost deafening.

2. I am likely to fail my imminent second qualifying exam. It will be my first major failure in life. I will have another chance to remain in grad school, but failure will stress me out greatly, and will have the following consequences:

a. huge blow to my delicate ego

b. increase in Id, decrease in super-ego (e.g. possible abandonment of hard things like science)
NOTE: I actually think Freud is an idiot.

c. explanation of failure through various pre-qualifier difficulties

(e.g. complete hard-drive failure (happened), full week spent re-analyzing data lost with previous hard drive (true), car going up in smoke thereby stranding me in another town (true), car going up in smoke again the next day thereby stranding me in...nowhere (true), total death of car, and subsequent organization and roadtrip to sell car (happened), husband deciding to buy new car on critical thesis work day, and needing me to help with financing (also happened), car dealership taking as long as humanly possible to do everything, thereby stranding me there (of course)...

but that's only the last couple of weeks.

you know, it probably isn't healthy when I've already considered walking haphazardly into the parking lot of my apartment complex as a car was rushing around a corner (but not too fast, because we are in a parking lot, you see?). The idea would be to get hit just hard enough to break a leg, but conveniently I'd be wearing a helmet to protect my favorite organ (brain). That should easily buy me a few extra weeks to prepare, right?

NOTE: IF the previous event or one similar actually happens, please know that I am joking. I mean, the thought crossed my mind, yes, but I wouldn't actually go through with it on purpose. I generally walk through the street in a daze at 5 am though, so it's possible that it happens without planning.

Laundry quandary

2009-03-13T01:58:00.004-04:00

In the culmination of what can only be described as seething, burgeoning rage, she succumbed to the impractical solution necessary to redress the manifestations of an immature house-keeper, and threw away every single sock in sight. "From this point forward, only endless copies of the same sock will reside in this house", she resolved.

Match. (point?)

vanity*

2009-03-11T21:43:00.004-04:00

Although it looks like I pasted by face into this picture, that's not the case. It was just a lucky, very in-focus shot. (difficult to do in a mirror, actually.)

I think about how people will respond to me much too often. This is a difficult thing to admit, as I loathe self-consciousness. Lack of self-consciousness is one reason I love my husband, who cares not what people think when he decides to climb the rock wall outside of an uppity shopping mall, and who wears a rotation of two or three outfits to work in any given week. To turn this around to myself (as perhaps I am prone to do), I generally fear that all his coworkers will know I am a terrible wife who doesn't do laundry or iron his shirts regularly. (Correction often made by Brian: awesome wife, but mediocre housekeeper. This, however, is justified since I work 70 hour weeks and am getting a PhD. See how I did that? Turned it around to make myself look not so bad. That's my modus operandi. lame.)
Anyway, this paranoia about people and their undoubted scrutiny (of me) often is expressed through ridiculous actions I take to avoid their disapproval. Note: this applies primarily to strangers, which is totally illogical.

One Saturday Brian was working, so I decided to spend my time reading my book (Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius- excellent). I planned on taking it to Barnes and Noble, and curl up on an overstuffed chair to bask in the rare gluttony of reading for hours.
When I drove up to the bookstore, I pictured myself, curled up, reading amongst the books, and then walking out after several gratifying hours with the book in my bag...

---Dream sequence begins here: Imagine harp music and foggy vision, or something.---

The store manager stops me.
"Ma'am...I notice you have that book in your bag."
"Oh, it's mine...I bought it a while ago" (smile!! I love books so much that I buy them brand new!!!)
"It looks brand new."
"Well, I am only on page 92, so, it isn't quite broken in." (I am gentle when reading...no cover creasing.)
"Hmmm- I'd like to take you to the back"

I know deep in my heart that "the back" isn't a glorious, book-stuffed room with sun rays beaming in to highlight the dust. It's the interrogation room- complete with a bucket of water to threaten my book if it must come to torture. (You see, water-damaged books are one of the tragedies in life**.)

---Ok, end dream sequence. Imagine the harp again, but in DESCENDING melodies. That's how you know it's the end rather than the beginning of another dream. Important.---

I needed to prevent this inevitable interception by the B&N manager. I am constantly frightened of people thinking I am stealing things. I blame this on my sister, although she doesn't know it (until now):

When I was very young, I was in an electronics store with my family. My Mom asks a simple task: to hold the calculator we were going to buy. I: obedient, unquestioning, and valiant, follow through. I follow through until we leave the store. In the car, I realized I was still holding the calculator, and it wasn't in a bag.
"Mom! I still have the calculator!"
"Oh- we decided not to get that! Ooops."
No one relieved me of my duty.
Anyway, it was my sister who went off on a dramatic spiel about how I stole this calculator, that it was a really serious crime, how the cops were already after me, et cetera, when we conveniently heard sirens in the distance.
I panicked.

My mom laughed more, and ran it back inside the store.
My sister continued to goad, and wield her power as the elder for evil. (She's since grown out of that habit and apologized. I took that apology as confirmation of my perfectly righteous childhood.)

But back to Barnes and Noble: I had to find a way to undeniably prove the book was mine. I decided that the only irrefutable proof would be an inscription...to myself...as if it were given to me. I know. Ridiculous. Why am I admitting this? (To unload my shame.)

So I had to write something in it that NO ONE would EVER write to themselves. I sat in the car outside of B&N thinking on a clever inscription to myself.
I settled on this: "Kara, I hope your genius appreciates his. -B" (The book is entitled "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, just as a reminder")

I chuckled at what I thought to be an exceptionally personalized and creative inscription.
Two months later: loan book to a friend. mistake.

H: (reads inscription aloud) "Who is B???"
K: *uncomfortable chuckle* "Brian gave it to me." (quickly diverted eyes to floor.)

Summary: I wrote an unnecessarily flattering inscription to myself in my own book so that I might avoid an imaginary scenario of being accused of stealing, and then lied to a friend about it.

end story.

* title is referring to both the "trivial/pointless" use of the word, and the pathetic fact that I actually think people are caring enough about my presence to scrutinize my actions.
** Seriously- one time I saw a bag of encyclopedias on the street in Memphis sitting out in the rain and destined for the dump. I almost cried. You think I am exaggerating, I can tell, but the destruction of knowledge AND books in one sitting was too much to handle.

itunes is a monster

2008-10-21T01:05:00.005-04:00

I'm just writing this to avoid the very necessary work I should be doing right now.
I don't really expect anyone to care which songs get stuck in my head, but if you happened to be looking for a new song to download, these could be good places to start.

*Monte Montgomery on fire. One of the best guitarists alive. Jaw-dropping in person. The blue thing in the middle of the picture is a guitar pick necklace.

So, every once in a while I hear brilliance in a song, and cannot stop thinking about it for days on end. It pervades my thoughts and is a constant soundtrack. This sometimes happens after I've heard a song several times, and sometimes it clicks after the first few chords.

I'm going to go ahead and claim impeccable music taste... but don't we all? There is this strange phenomenon I've noticed:
people my age tend to think that the more unknown the band, and the more of these unknown bands they know, the cooler they are. (In defense of Ian, who probably doesn't know this blog exists: he is so extreme that I totally believe him when he says he likes an artist...even though they might never have sung outside their parents' garage.)
I'm sometimes late to pick up on artists, but I think I'm reasonably open to the abstract while remaining fairly discerning in my taste.

Of the 7 songs I've been moderately obsessed with in recent memory, Patty Griffin has been responsible for the latest two.

Recent ones:

7. Should've Known Better/ Green and Gray- Nickel Creek
These two songs were concomitant. I totally wrote that just to use the word "concomitant". I don't have many opportunities to interject it into daily conversation, ok?

6. Hallelujah- Jeff Buckley
This song becomes an obsession at least once every 15 months or so. It's a classic. The classic (original) version, however, is trash.

5. For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti- Sufjan Stevens

4. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart- Wilco
Don't you want to assassin down the avenue? Forget that it refers to a drunken state- it sounds awesome.

3. Shadowfeet- Brooke Fraser

2. Up to the Mountain (MLK song)- Patty Griffin

1. Every Little Bit- Patty Griffin

Most of the songs that I really fall in love with have slightly abstract lyrics (e.g. 7#2, 6, 5, 4, 1). I appreciate that in a song because it reminds me of a good poem- you have to dig through it a bit. In the end, you may or may not understand exactly what the author was talking about, but you will definitely have a personal understanding of the song.
Some of these songs are musically fantastic, or overtly moving (7#1, 2), while another is a song sung by a voice I would have assigned myself had I been calling the shots in heaven (3). The song itself (while great) wouldn't normally fall into the brilliant category, but I really want her voice.

I'm glad God didn't give me a great voice, because if He had I'd probably be sitting on sidewalks with my guitar and singing in coffee shops. There isn't anything wrong with that, but I like my job, and I like having a semi-secure future. (In academia... secure? HA!)
I also tell myself these things to feel better about having a mediocre voice and being stuck in a lab all day.

I'm still in an "Every Little Bit" phase, so luckily the guitar part is easy. Singing like Patty, however, proves not to be. *Sigh*

-------------

**Late addition: Say It to Me Now by Glen Hansard. It's so raw, and so fun to scream along. (From the "Once" soundtrack) Another fantastic voice- the accent helps.

just random things...

2008-09-29T02:04:00.000-04:00

*just a random picture for a random post. Rain caught in a spider web in San Diego.

my computer always makes empty threats like: "DON'T EVER pull that flash drive out without telling me first. I SWEAR I will ruin it, I will mangle it, and then I will follow up with an honorable suicide- Seppuku. Et TU Kara?"
I don't believe it. After years of clicking the little green icon and waiting for permission, I have just started pulling it out indiscriminately. Mac doesn't seem to mind all the time, being the more practical sort.

Why do keyboard makers put the caps lock in the position that my pinky frequents? I will be happily typing and then suddenly I AM YELLING ALL OVER THE PAGE.
I hate you, QWERTY. I want Dvorak.

possible public service announcement:
I despise words that don't exist, or rather, the user of them. Shakespeare got away with it, and actually commands my undying love and respect. You using the word funnest, however, makes me want to gag.
It slipped out the other day.
Granted, I was definitely doing a silly voice with the hubby (he not only puts up with this, he participates). When it came out, like excrement from a pristine mouth, I think I heard him gasp. HE gasped- the master of typos, the one who not only spells every word wrong, but ACTUALLY DOESN'T CARE to edit emails, or resumes, or other things with words on them! (He does not speak that poorly, of course, seeing as I would not have marrie....ok ok, this is going too far: I love him, word-mauler and all.)

Don't tell me you read my blog, because it kind of weirds me out. I will wonder: "does it make me more endearing...do they like me more? Or maybe less...yes, I confess so much that they certainly have an inward disdain for me now!"
I always want to keep this pure, as a true journal: a heavily thought-over, pondered, edited, and publicly acceptable journal.
(Every time I have tried to write a real under-the-bed journal, this is inevitably what it becomes, just in case I become an icon and my children sell my journals to the Smithsonian.)
Anyway, I would prefer not knowing you read my blog. Except for comments... comments are heartily encouraged and appreciated. In person, it is strange, though. Actually, I'd kind of like to know in person too, but you should slip it into the conversation slyly, as if it were an accident. Yeah, slip it in as if my blog is your secret hobby, the thing you do at night when the rest of your household is asleep. You could say something like: "Wow, you are really much more interesting on your blog than in real life!" (true? possibly.)
Ok, so you should let me know if you read my blog. This way I can specifically think about each reader (all fit on my fingers) and edit entries accordingly.
Haha.

I'm going to write something real soon.

who has time for blogs?

2008-07-06T23:32:00.003-04:00

Dear person studying behind me,

You swallow loudly.
I've never known a person who couldn't manage to slake their thirst quietly, but you, medical student, never learned to drink politely. A hint: it's like chewing with your mouth closed, but easier.
"Gulp" as an onomatopoeia is more of a figurative thing- people aren't really supposed to make that sound.

Ah- this time there wasn't even a sip of water, and I swear I still heard your epiglottis slam shut. You might have an abnormal throat. I should be more empathetic.

I hope you cannot read what I am writing. That would be awkward. Really- drink on. I will put in headphones.

I want studying to be over.

a comment

2008-03-07T01:51:00.004-05:00

In response to a certain someone's worry:

that 'poem' below wasn't inspired by any ahem...how do I say it...old people. All of the older people in my life should actually serve to strip me of those fears, since they prove to be the most amazing, interesting, and insightful of all my family/friends.

Poems never fully make sense to those who don't write them, or mine don't. They might not make any sense at all, I don't know.
This one came from my personal fear of becoming boring. I already feel it happening, which is why I worry about what I will be like down the road. I'm getting more science, less soul.

I think the sparkle is leaving my words, and setting up shop in the science part of my brain. I do cool things, and unfortunately I find this subject to be all that I speak of with passion lately.

See how boring this post is? I told you. I'm transboring. (get it? like transFORMING into someone BORING. ha. I still amuse myself, at least.)

I need to reconnect with my friends of the non-science variety. I miss them.
I need to do spontaneous, artsy, and adventurous things.

2007-12-27T02:58:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading slaughterhouse-five. I'm not sure that I fully grasp what it was trying to say, but it made me think. Although this poem has little to do with the subject of the book, time was an important character in the story, and time made me think of this:

I worry
That I will dry up, and shriveled,
Tell turgid ones of my years wet and splashing,
Then scare them, as they see no more sparkle droplets
Fly from my eyes

I fear
That the chaff of my voice will rattle,
Then fall empty and broken,
To bend the corners of sausage lips
Writhing with chagrin and distance

I know
That my thoughts will always wrinkle,
To form crevices deep,
Brimming with gold veins and quartz
Waiting for bold plunder

But, I wonder
Will the pick always reach?
Will the wheelbarrow carry?
Will the jewels reach air?

…Will the canary sing of warning?

my chosen path (part deux)

2007-12-17T01:03:00.000-05:00

I know...
I have been finished with school for an entire bliss-filled week now, and people have been waiting, wondering, becoming desperate for an update.
Right.
So when did I start writing as if there were an audience? It is an unsettling thought, as I use this merely to ramble for my own sake: to collect thoughts, remember funny stories, wax poetic, etc.

So this is part deux, a follow up to My Chosen Path (available below with a quick scroll). It is necessary to use deux instead of two, as this reveals my increasing maturity, my ever-expanding outlook, and the inherent supercilious attitude that accompanies one in graduate school and all things French.

To expound upon the realization that I was perfectly formed (fearfully and wonderfully made) to be a professor due to my absent-minded nature:
Much like a future engineer takes apart and rebuilds random household implements when they are young, and much like a future actor creates magnificent home videos of rock concerts using only a red plastic guitar and nakedness for props, (oh...wait, that might have just been my cousin- Clay, we always knew you were born for the stage),
I was famous for forgetting. I was also known for being virtually unable to find things, when, as my mom repeatedly told me, "it" [thing looked for by me] would have bitten me if it were a snake. Still today, when I search for my keys (every day), I hope that they will rattle when I come near.

After deciding the profession was perfect, I sought out research experience. This is a necessary step to becoming a professor, as at least 5 years of research and suffering are required to earn a PhD. Research, to my surprise, was not tolerant of absent-mindedness. Quite the opposite, in fact. How do all these loopy professors with paper-laden desks pull it off?
It was at my first research job that I amazed myself with my ability to forget. I would attempt some tissue staining, but midway through forget what I had and had not done. "Have I put the antibody on yet? I guess it is better to have too much than too little."
I later asked, and found that the 5 mg of antibody cost $500.
(mg = milligrams for you non-scientists who actually think the english measuring system is valid. I mean really, do you even know how many pints are in an ounce? Oh, pints are bigger? You already knew the milligrams thing too, huh.)
This is also when I found out how expensive science is. You can sell a scientist what are essentially steel tweezers for $100 if it has F.S.T. stamped on it (Fine Science Tools- real company), or the scientist could get the same tool for $5 at walmart. If the cheaper option is chosen, it must be made clear that they are called "forceps", not "tweezers".
At my next research job, I saw the practicality of my advisor, who had a device made from coffee cans that was perfectly effective (except when you touched the right lower side where all the knobs were, and it shocked you. "You" was usually Steph, who always cussed loudly when this occurred, or if she was reading email, or if she was just present in the lab. I miss her.)

Anyway, I didn't forget as much in my second research job. Upon my graduation I had successfully completed an undergraduate thesis! (it's true, just google my name-and PLEASE don't read it. You will quickly tire.)
All of this experience (2 solid years of research, 4 solid years of class) was supposed to prepare me for graduate school.
It did not.
I entered my first neuroscience class thinking, "yes! neurons, action potentials, saltatory conduction...I got this covered!". Within the first 5 minutes, Paul (whom I have come to know and love/fear) gave us all our very own electronics learning lab. He then describes the class (Intro to Neuroscience Methods- cutely abbreviated as "Meth lab" on our schedules). This class could have also been named "Electrical engineering and biophysics class for which Kara was sorely unprepared!"
Generously, Paul gives us the chance to make up half of the points missed on the midterm exams. To earn these points we take an oral test with him.
TORTURE.
He actually makes us do math in our heads, on the board, in front of HIM (human calculator).
It is terrifying.
I never believed my mom when she told me I have "math anxiety", but it sure is clear now. Though, I am not sure how much of it is actually Paul anxiety.
The first time I went through this, he implied that going back to "basics" (i.e. elementary school) would be a good idea for me. The next time I did the oral exam for Analysis of Neuronal Function, it was better. I was much more confident, and all he said was "you are showing a weakness in algebra here"
YES. Algebra is totally high school level. I'm movin' on up.

Anyway, classes panned out just fine, and I hold my own. (That's self-effacing code to let you know that I ROCK.)

I will make it through this graduate school thing. Although I have contemplated quitting more than once, I am resolved never to do so. I quit piano lessons when I was young, and to this day it remains my biggest regret.
(Really? Biggest Regret? Yes. I was a careful child. No drunken mistakes or anything of that sort.)
Now that I have written that I won't quit in a semi-public venue, people have to hold me to it.
Exception: Accidental babies (but only if there is more than one, otherwise, I still have to go through with it.)

I honestly wouldn't have made it through grad school so far if my wonderful husband had not been there every night to make me laugh, calm me down, reassure me, and remind me that I am not stupid. Thanks my love.

studying too long

2007-12-06T13:22:00.000-05:00

After hours of silence in a room all alone, I noticed ticking. Regular but subtle, and certainly present. I took note of my pen. It was ticking? How could this be? I pondered the spring inside, and thought, "perhaps". Why was the ticking so frequent and consistent? I gently laid it down on the table. Still ticking. As I timidly lowered my ear to the level of the pen, my head turned, and I saw the face of a clock on the wall.

Ah. More likely source.

a first?

2007-12-02T18:56:00.000-05:00

This is an old wooden wheelchair behind Brian's grandma's house. So quaint.

I never hesitate to choose the handicapped stall, as I had gone a full 22 years without ever seeing a handicapped person in a public restroom. My justification for this was destroyed the other day, when I saw a wheelchair parked outside of the restroom, and crutches leaning against the inside of the handicapped stall. A moral obligation had now fallen upon me. No more roomy stalls for me...or so I thought. The girl then walked out carrying her crutches. Fake. I'm not changing.

After studying spinal cord injury for my undergraduate thesis, one would think me to be more sensitive.
I AM profoundly against parking in a handicapped parking space when the person to whom the pass was given is not present.

There will be a "my chosen path pt.2", but not until finals are finished. I will then be better able to judge the efficacy of my schooling.

Oh...it turns out I had written similarly about why I am more suited to be a professor than a doctor, but it was back in '04, so that doesn't count. Upon inspection, I was fearful of using many paragraphs back then.

my chosen path

2007-11-21T03:15:00.001-05:00

Picture taken on the 6th floor of evan's library. The color of the carpet is completely real. shocking, I know.

When did I first decide academia was for me?
I have never told anyone this. (Naturally, I choose to write it online- the most private of venues. Actually, it is quite private other than a few family members who might give it a pity-check periodically.)

Cut to freshman year:
I was quite down on myself after forgetting that I left my car parked illegally outside my dorm. I parked it to run up to my room, change clothes quickly, and drive accross campus to a meeting. I did change clothes, and then proceeded to walk across campus to the meeting, and didn't realize this fatal mistake until 1.5 hours later. This resulted in a hefty fine and a towed car.
Such stupidity, and I wasn't very surprised with myself.
Let's just say, similarly mindless actions had caused me some trouble before.

Anwyay, I was pondering: What job in life is friendly to absent-mindedness? WHAT? Nothing. This tragic character flaw will haunt me all my days! I cannot be a doctor, for doctors cannot begin replacing a knee on the wrong leg. Doctors cannot leave a woman on the brink of labor to grab a cup of coffee, get caught up reading the paper, and forget about the imminent baby struggling for escape. Doctors cannot finish surgery, sew the last suture and say "Well darn it...I left the scalpel inside."
These are all things I could imagine doing. My life a a doctor would make for a ridiculous film noir sitcom (new genre) where about 3 times per show I would make a mistake, and the camera would subsequently cut to my face as I gave a sheepish grin, rolled my eyes, and shrugged my shoulders, and a goofy voice said "wuh-whoa" in the background.

Other things precluding me from doctor-hood:
1. I don't like sickness
2. I don't like people (en masse)
3. I really don't appreciate sick people in my close vicinity, coughing, germs, snot, or other things about which my mother
effectively scared me. This is also why, if by chance you offer me a sip of your drink, I will find a reason to turn it down
despite just having proclaimed my infinite thirst.
4. three (?) words: methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus. (MRSA)
white : rice :: MRSA : hospitals
5. So cliche. I mean really, everybody's doing it these days.

Nonetheless, I have this really absurd passion for anatomy/physiology and disease (on paper, not people). I also would look impeccably intelligent in a white coat.

Anyway, I was pondering my absent-mindedness when the well known epithet came as music to my ears:

absent-minded professor.

PERFECT!
The cherubim sang, and the prototypical Jesus-on-a-cloud came surfing down from the golden rays of heaven, winked, and gave me one of those single handed gun shot gestures as if to say "this one's for you, kid".

That's how I decided on my profession.

More to come.

Happy Birthday...to me?

2007-10-15T00:04:00.000-04:00

I have a pretty poor track record with birthdays.
It stems, I think, from an awful memory for dates. It took me 20 years to learn my parents birthday, and I still am not exactly reflexive about knowing the current date, and connecting it to the day a person was born.
Last year, I was actually in San Antonio the weekend before my mom's birthday. She made a point to preemptively chide me about the fact that I wasn't going to call her that wednesday, and I indignantly replied that I would OF COURSE call her on her birthday. I followed through with that promise.
She didn't answer when I called, so I left a message. She told all of her bible study friends, "oh, that was just my daughter calling to wish me a happy birthday". She later listened to the message, and I think it went something like this:
"Hey momma! I was just realizing that I am actually getting kinda low on funds, so since rent is coming up I should probably get some money. Anyway, call me later... love you!"

IDIOT...freaking IDIOT!!!

I called my mom on her birthday to ask for money. I am a massive failure.
I was actually pretty torn up about it when she told me. I cried and stuff. My roomates had to do the whole pat-on-the-back "she still loves you" kind of pep talk.
Anyway, she does still love me, and the incident was written off as " oh...we know how you are, Kara. It was funny. Don't do that next year."
I also have to point out that I really de-emphasize my own birthdays, since I had very traumatic experiences with my birthday parties when I was young. They aren't the kind of stories that one looks back on and laughs. These are stories that made me teary when I retold them only three years ago. After a first grade party it took me a few years to recover, and I tried again in the 5th grade. I vowed that night to never have another bday party. I followed through. Nothing for 16, nothing for 18, and nothing for 21. Dinner is as far as I go.
Even dinner stunk for my 15th, when I went to Logan's roadhouse with my Mom and Aunt. They told the waitress it was my birthday, which is a bad idea in certain restaurants. This is one of those restaurants. They dragged me into the middle of the place and yelled "It's this girl's birthday! Throw peanuts at her while we sing!". The audience followed through, as this is a peanut-laden restaurant. Who the hell thought that throwing peanuts would be a pleasant birthday celebration? What happened to the clapping and free dessert accompanied by a copyright-safe song? Small projectiles and happiness don't mix except at 4th of July and New Years.

So this is all to lead you up to tonight, when I was at a lovely wine party hosted by my sister. First, her friends asked which one of us was older. ? Five years apart and you can't tell? I have young features! One time a lady almost didn't sell me a ticket to a PG-13 movie, so I had to show her my drivers license!! (I was 16). A high school teacher thought I was still in high school only four months ago!
Anyway, I guess they saw my grey hair, which is starting to become quite prominent when I part on the fault line.
I answered them, "I am only 21!". Or something to that effect.
My sister paused. "You are 22, Kara"

*Critical moment of social awkwardness. fight or flight kicked in. I chose fight. fatal mistake*

"Haha, no I am not! I am 21!"
"You were born in June of 1985. It is October" she said, with a wry smile.

I paused.
Crap...I am 22.

Who has arguments about their own age, and LOSES?

You know, we all have our lapses. Age forgetfulness is well accepted past 60. (I am 22, however)
As a single incident, this is just really funny. I was under the influence of a little wine, so silly mistakes happen. It was during that pause, however, that I realized I had been telling everyone I have met in the past 3 months that I am 21. All the people in my neuroscience program were surprised by my youth! I affirmed...yes! I am young for my grade!
I truly only became aware of the fact that I was 22 last night.
Tomorrow I have to confess to them all.

In my defense, my 22nd never really sank in, since it was right before my wedding. Who thinks about birthdays when your wedding is just around the corner?

But still...come on. I am supposed to be sharp, and with it and all.

So don't feel too bad Mom. I don't even keep up with my own birthdays anymore.

wow

2007-09-01T23:47:00.000-04:00

I hate to make a spectacle of people, but the laughter she has provided me was well worth it. It's just that she fulfills her stereotype SO WELL.

Watch this video...or read the overview seen below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQdhMSEqhfg

Question:
Recent polls have shown that 1/5 of Americans can’t locate the US on a world map. Why do you think this is?

(Said with a lisp and the gravitas of a 10 year old chewing bubble gum.)
I personally believe that US Americans are unable to do so (blink blink) because uh suuma (pronounced Osama) people out there in our nation don’t have maps and uh I believe that our education such as like (nonchalant shoulder toss…as if this is evident) South Africa and the Iraq everywhere like such as and I believe that they should uh are education over here in the us should help the us and or should help South Africa (which she probably thinks is a war torn region rather than a country) and should help the Iraq and the asian countries so we will be able to build up our future …(Mario takes mic away) …for our children (smile)

Mario (AC SLATER!) suppresses laughter.

OK, if you thought her quote was funny, you might also enjoy:

http://www.flicklife.com/d20ec3c5885d805db8a3/Jimmy_Kimmel_Explains_what_Miss_Teen_said.html

domestication

2007-08-30T00:46:00.000-04:00

As my life comes to the border of that country they call adulthood (brought about by the title of Mrs., and nothing else), I think on what prepared me for this. Marriage is utterly fantastic, and although I am only two months in, I can't imagine a more wonderful "institution". How can something so adult be such a rollicking good time? People always speak of marriage with such disdain and warning. What a tragedy- even if it is in a joking manner. Ball and Chain? More like trampoline and water hose. Ah, what a brilliant combination.
Anyway, as my newlywed mind wanders, I think about the fact that maybe we aren't really grown up yet. In fact, maybe I never learned the facilities for grownupness or good wifery.
Baby animals (at least in most mammals) play, just like children do. The play time is supposedly biologically beneficial to help the animals learn and hone vital skills needed in adulthood.
When I learned this in my animal psychology class, I immediately thought of common child pastimes. The most typical and applicable example is "playing house". That particular game arose in any gathering of children where a small plastic kitchen with accessory plastic food was present. I distinctly remember that every time this game was suggested, all the girls immediately claimed the role of mother. There was usually arguing involved, until eventually the more outspoken girl won and made her least favorite girl the father, and assigned child positions to any other remaining children. This game always made me nervous, because whenever it was suggested, I wanted my position in the family so much, and I was always afraid someone would try to take it.
I had to be the dog.
My frantic worries proved to be unwarranted, as no one ever challenged me on it.

I can't help but think that maybe I missed out on some essential childhood learning because I always chose the role of family dog.
Mine was a non-speaking part, but I made up for it with ample panting and tail-wagging.
Did I never learn how to become a proper domestic wife/mom because I never played the part? I don't fix meals every night...or any nights, really, and life with Brian is full of childish giggling. Often our meal is a frozen pizza (for financial reasons AND convenience)...however I do own an apron.
I have been known to wear the apron while putting the frozen pizza in the oven. After it comes out of the oven, I also sprinkle with basil, oregano, and paprika, which evidently justifies the apron, I think.
Perhaps, in time, I will learn to be more domestic. Maybe one day I will always have a meal prepared, and the house will sparkle with cleanliness, and our bed will be fluffed and appropriately adorned with multiple sizes and colors of pillow. For now, it is still sort of ...what's the word...
College. With an awesome roomate.
Is this quasi-adulthood such a bad thing?

I think not.
I rather enjoy it, and so does he.

commence

2007-05-13T04:33:00.000-04:00

That is it. I am no longer a college student. I am so very stuck in the middle of uncontainable excitement and twinges of sadness or nostalgia that I can't very well say just how I feel. Thin is the word, maybe. The fullness of being a college student, with the joys of impractical late nights and sleepy mornings, the incomprehensible amounts of learning (or in many cases, I hate to admit, just memorizing/regurgitating), and the impromptu hang outs...all the joyful stuffing of life for the past four years... is finally taken out of my plans. It wasn't ripped from me, and I certainly have no insecurity about handing it over, but with change comes adjustment. There is so much that will fill my life so soon, but still the unfortunate reality is that it isn't here yet. So for now, life is thin, but enjoyable.
You know, I had a grand time at graduation. Three hours is long, that mortarboard is unflattering and itchy, and about 6 people could hang out inside my graduation robe and no one would notice, but is was neat. It was sort of a mini reunion with many of my classmates and friends from over the years. Since we are nerdy biologists, we entertained ourselves for a while by looking at optical illusion cards (provided by Caroline, my organic chem lab partner and alphabetical neighbor) while I excitedly explained the neurological mechanisms behind them. Appropriate you think?
I hate to admit this, but having to wait while the announcer said lots of stuff about me before I walked across the stage was pretty cool. I worked for that, even though it feels like I was so lazy sometimes. I got a nice yellow stoll with some extra patches, and I was internally proud enough of it to confirm my academic vanity. I might throw it away in a couple of years, but for now it will hang with my belts.
Graduating and leaving this place is easier for me than most, I think, because of how much I have to look forward to! Marraige, moving, starting a new life with the man who will be my favorite roomate ever, and starting graduate school are all sufficiently exciting to make leaving College Station easy. That doesn't mean I do it without looking back fondly, though.

I will miss roaming campus on those perfect fall days.

The boot of Lawrence Sullivan Ross. All his friends call him "Sully", and Ags lay pennies at his feet for good luck on tests. It gets really full around finals.

the skin of things

2007-04-04T04:43:00.000-04:00

I have such trouble explaining the heart of things that I often settle for explaining the skin of things. It proves to be a hazardous and fruitless habit, bringing only frustration and constricted feelings -conveying a mere penumbra of the truth. Yes, I use the word penumbra naturally and I will not hide the fact, damn it. (My lexical prowess has degraded over the years of simplifying for the sake of the less nerdy collegiates (!) who lack my appreciation for precision AND accuracy in the realm of verbal expression. I want it back.)
The propensity to jump around the center of a question, and to trade what I wish to say for something far easier, has only served to make me mull over past conversations continuously. I revise and refine them, hoping that the new polished conversation will somehow be converted into future “real-time” conversation and consequently replace the old conversation.
An example of this insufferable defect in my communication skills (perhaps not skills, so much as tendencies) is found in conversations with my new friend from London. She is the most delightful person I’ve met in a fairly long time, and as such I can spend hours talking to her and remain completely fascinated. She is quite excited to experience College Station, and at one point during lunch she asked very decisively, and in a manner indicating that she intended to listen at length, “So. Tell me everything about College Station!”
My mind was full, and a lengthy discourse was shooting through my head as I intended to explain that “although I love this city and the spirit of its people, it is shocking for its homogeneity and congruent resistance to the influx of diverse people and thoughts which make for a rather narrow-minded population that overwhelmingly claims to be Christian but shows few signs of such allegiance other than a Sunday ritual and an elephant-like stumbling around the precepts of a supposedly grand old party which actually no more accurately represents their aforementioned ‘faith’ than the donkey upon which Jesus rode- but rather has stolen their faith to use as a platform upon which it elevates itself while it wipes its dirty feet… and all of this consequently drives the few who know they aren’t followers of Christ far away from ever wanting to know Him. Oh yeah, and the guy that stands on campus periodically yelling at the sinners passing by while singing a song about how all homos go to hell doesn’t really help their ‘cause’ either…”
*NOTE: no I am not really a total democrat, nor am I a republican hater, and yes, there is a guy who has sung an ‘all homos go to hell’ song and several guys who frequently yell at sinners walking by on campus.*
So as this discourse runs through my head in response to her question, my mouth actually says, “well now, let’s see… there are four main streets that form a square around campus. You have University Drive at the North…”
Useful information? Absolutely. Is it what she was interested in finding out about the cultural climate of this place? Not really. Would I actually ever have expressed the inner discourse? Yes, but in a much softer manner. I really just want to warn her. Coming from a largely secular country, (not to generalize, but hey, I fully realize I am grossly over-generalizing College Station, so it is only fair to do it to both sides.) I feel the need to prepare her. This place can either be an amazing and life-giving resource to people who are open or desiring to hear about God, or it can be an utter turn-off.
Basically, this is just one example of my issue with communication, and I used it because it is a recent example, AND one that allowed me to indirectly stand on a soapbox for a bit.
The most prominent example in my life is when people ask me about Brian. What I want to tell them is how he laughs contagiously like the most endearing little boy, and I want to tell them how his eyes lose their ever-present laughter when he is stirred up with passion, and I want to tell them that he is passionate about the RIGHT things, and I want to convey how he is the most singular and fantastically unique person I’ve ever met…but those things are so hard to explain. I tell them what they are expecting. The dissatisfaction comes, however, with the understanding that the measure of a man just cannot be explained through age, height, eye color, or college degree. It also comes from knowing that what people think matters is skin. We communicate on surface levels not only because it is easy, but also because we rarely notice or prescribe value to much that is deeper.
A fried chicken leg gets some flavor from the skin, but it’s the meat that fills you up and it’s the bone that gives it strength and structure.

I don’t want to only value the heart of things anymore, but I actually want to be open to letting others know what I value.

God is the most difficult to explain, because I truly cannot. There are no skin-deep things of God. Platitudes and clichés, perhaps, but when examined closely they are plenty difficult to fully grasp. As I am vastly dissatisfied with incompleteness, inaccuracy, and diluted power in words, He remains rarely described by me. A thorough vocabulary just won’t do it.

another thing

2007-01-19T01:14:00.000-05:00

So after it is all said and done, after museums, new years party (pinata included), enchanted rock, numerous photographic expeditions, riverwalk rambling, running around with friends, eating at the best Mexican food restaurant in the world (Guajillo's), and lots of fun family time with blood fam and (future) in-laws...
after all those great fun things, my absolute favorite was seeing Brian every day. The best of all was him coming over to my house in the morning and waking me up. I've never been happier to wake, and it was such a delightful preview of the joys to come.
One thing I look forward to most in marraige is waking up with him next to me. sigh...
I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'll stop.

photo of us courtesy of Wes Kitten - taken at the Mcnay

Painting by Robert Indiana, who unfortunately didn't copyright his work and thus it was ripped off for all sorts of uses.

The Mcnay

2007-01-18T17:31:00.000-05:00

Over my incredible month-long break, I realized something very important: I LOVE museums. I did lots of fun things, but I think visiting the Mcnay art museum was my favorite activity. (Sad you couldn't come, Katherine- hope you feel better!) Actually it ranks behind the trip to enchanted rock, but what indoor activity can possibly compete with the coolost chunk of granite known to man? Much like our trip to erock, a large amount of our museum time was devoted to taking pictures. At the Mcnay, we probably spent as much time doing that as we did looking at the pictures inside.

*Brian, the photographic fiance, trying out his nice new fancy digital SLR (canon XTi)

The Mcnay is located in an enormous Spanish-style mansion, and houses ALOT of great art. What made the trip even better was the fact that I had use of some bad a** camera equipment courtesy of friend, photographer, and constant winter-break companion Wes Kitten. All the pictures I took here were taken by me with his Canon 20D. great camera.

Anyway, back to me loving museums. This is all thanks to my parents, who used to take the family hiking and to museums fairly regularly. I loved both of those things, and still do, so thanks, Mom and Dad. Brian and I plan on taking museum and hiking excursions with our family, too.

this world is not so brave

2006-12-09T02:59:00.000-05:00

The distance of our bodies
Does not equal the distance of our souls.

With heavy thoughts our hearts not sparing
We give light and cheery smiles
To break ice but never melt it

What is it that meets there, in your eyes?
I think it pain and longing
But white teeth bare much less trouble

So please administer your soma
And I’ll give mine to you-
A reminder that this world is not so brave.

**NOTE: the fact that this picture includes Brian does not imply this is about him, in fact, he is probably the only person in my life that this poem does not apply to at all. I just am trying to include some of my pictures on here as they fit with the mood.**

Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms

2006-12-04T20:43:00.000-05:00

Cat and Josh

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
~Thomas Moore

"Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised"-Prov 31:30

shallow death

2006-11-18T04:01:00.000-05:00

A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. ~Charlotte Brontë

it's not insomnia, no no. something...softer, more muted and less painful.
sleep confounds me with the way it addicts, and yet right now, it eludes me. maybe my body has revolted. maybe this is me saying in a vindictive whisper, "you don't own me".

difficult occurence, it is, because always I want it, always I love it, and always I am so happy to get it. Yet, somehow it upsets me that I need it. What a waste of precious hours.

So if I had all those hours back, what would I do?
My favorite thought: (...besides living out nonsensical dreams...)

just run around places at night, at the MIDDLE of it- When no one else is around, and you have large empty places with yellow and green lighting all to yourself.
I love large empty places that you know will be bustling, or were bustling, at a different time.
civilization at a pause, it seems- as if all the characters in a movie were removed from the plot to soon be rewritten, but the set still remains, and you are left there to enjoy the in-between of stories.

sleep is almost like a shallow death to me... where do you go? Once in a world with others, it lets you be alone.
actually, it's kinda the same as when you don't sleep.

2006-11-07T23:48:00.000-05:00

so I never cease to amaze myself with my apathy, my distant complacence, and overall disobedience when it comes to following God...because I want to, you see, that isn't an issue. But are my actions in line with my supposed desires?
To the world, I've been the same. To the world, I'm plently of things. In my heart, I've just been a child, as if I've regressed in my spiritual life. This isn't like being a Matt 18:3 child, this is more like the child who cries about nothing at all...who cries about a cut not because it hurts, but because they saw blood come out, and decides that blood warrants crying regardless of pain.

I took this picture in a Barber shop, and the little kid didn't know what was going on, but was sure pitching a fit. I know that haircuts don't hurt, so was he crying because he was unsure, or afraid? His parents were right next to him...why was he afraid? I don't understand kids sometimes.
I'm sure God feels the same way. What is it that so easily draws them away from Me? Why must they whine about nothing at all?

I haven't really been crying about petty things lately, or even doing "bad" things. I've never really done "bad" things. Maybe that's my problem. I get into routine, into school, into work, into life, and forget about LIFE, and the source therein, and why I NEED HIM.
The world slowly starts taking over, but not in a drastic immoral way, because that is much to conspicuous.
God is always on my mind, but not always in my heart, and I often do things for Him, but rarely with Him.

In fact, I have stopped doing things I love all together. Music, poetry, reading, writing, and God have all just become distant shadows of who I am "inside"...this enigmatic essence that used to makeup me. I want it back. I've spent more time with rats lately than I've spent in the word, and that's when you know priorities are a little out of whack.
(The whole rat thing is because of my research, I'm not like some freaky rat-lover...haha the thought makes me laugh...kinda like those old cat ladies who take in every stray they find and their house becomes something of a cat brothel with pee stains everywhere and cardboard boxes strewn about the yard. Ok, this digression has gone too far.)

Anyway, I'm quite transparent when you know me. I haven't written...REALLY written, in a a few months, and that means I haven't taken much time for introspection, which subsequently means I haven't spent much time with the Lord. Always a bad sign. I'm giving Him my leftovers, and these days I don't have anything but crumbs left on the table.
So I'm starting to rebuild me (secondary goal), by rebuilding my relationship with Him. That's what has been going on these past couple silent months.

One of the most humbling verses:
" 'What a weariness this is,' you say, and you sniff at me, says the Lord. You bring what has been taken by violence or is lame or sick, and this you bring as your offering! Shall I accept that from your hand? says the Lord." Malachi 1:13

p.s. this is maybe one of my favorite pictures that I have taken...ever.

apologies!

2006-09-13T01:45:00.000-04:00

So according to comments, I've left the four people that read this a bit wanting lately. sorry y'all! I hate to post when all I have time to talk about is the fact that I have no time to talk about anything...in fact, no time to comtemplate, write, sleep, eat, breathe or other necessary parts of living. Between 17 hours of coursework (3 of them graduate-level), what amounts to a part-time job in the lab, an undergraduate thesis, 15 hrs/week at Sweet Eugene's house of Java, and a DESPERATE attempt to enjoy senior year in the social realm a bit, I have pretty much lost my "mind-time". (Note: don't read that as I have lost my mind... although maybe you could read it as such and get the right idea... I don't even know anymore.)
Unfortunately I have thought it through, and something has to go. I am afraid the activity that must decrease is not only my favorite, but also the only one that is actually making me some money instead of taking it from me. It isn't essential that I work seeing as I am particularly blessed (a.k.a. spoiled) in the parental finance department, but I can't stand not trying to help out a bit. At least I can pay for bills by myself, since they pay for everything else. Being a barista is probably one of the greatest things I've done in the past few years, and I always look forward to work, so I couldn't wholly quit. Maybe I will just ask to go down to 10 hrs/week.

See, look how boring I am right now. You don't want to hear from me! I'll figure it all out in good time, and maybe think a little bit sometime in the near future.

For now, I'll just leave you with a picture I took back when I had a couple hours of free time.

this = my life

a bit disorderly with far too many compartments.

(don't worry, I still enjoy it.)

slam

2006-07-10T15:10:00.000-04:00

So every sunday night there is open poetry in downtown Bryan at a little place called Revolution's. I have gone twice now, and have to say it is the neatest thing I've found here. Revolutions is quite hippie, and the poets are inspiring and often angst-ridden. I'm not very angst-ridden, but going there does make me want to write again. The angst isn't exactly what inspires me, but their passion does. I wrote this the other night after the poetry slam.

I don't know if I can show this, but what's inside insists I grow this
see poetry sometimes if flows but sits and stutters as is stops beneath my nose
and yet it's seething, no one knows this
but when I see what's left in me I wanna show this
to he who watches me and wonders:
is she bleeding deep beneath that placid core?

you see the struggle lies within though I feel it's not for you to break or bend
because these trifles that I tickle with my mind just will not mend
if left alone

but see they're small the things I think on
and maybe all the time I can't go wrong with leaving them to dissipate away

but I want to participate in action and react to any passion
that arises as my thoughts await the day
for anticipation of revolution however small deserves some resolution
even if it just stumbles out through fumbling words you say.

summertime

2006-05-29T14:59:00.000-04:00

...and the livin's easy

Short weeks of blissful langour unhindered by deadlines, and unencumbered by dates or hours. That has been my summer, and though it will soon change form with the approaching blocks of time cut out for work and school, I plan on keeping the breeze about me- that breeze in my step that only summer brings. The ease is what I love.
I've had freedom to take pictures, have long conversations, watch countless movies, read a little, sit and listen to music, dance around my room to music, and just experience life in its daily form with the one I love-all of this with no raincloud lingering overhead, waiting to end the fun and holding me captive with a tight squeeze of responsibility. During the school year, there is always something I should be working on, and I have found that it is difficult for me to compartmentalize work and fun, because the work overwhelms. Even when I have fun, no matter how deep I bury it, there is part of me thinking about the fact that I have plenty to be doing, or that I will be doing, or that I should have been doing already. Horrible bondage. Perhaps if I take the ease of summer into my schooling in the next 10 weeks, I will learn to carry it over into the year.

plans:
10 hours of summer school (genetics+lab, polysci (puke), abnormal psych)
working at Sweet Eugene's
working in the lab- starting thesis research
hopefully taking various roadtrips

2006-05-11T13:00:00.000-04:00

I took this of lovely Nicole (my roomate) on her birthday. I love this picture- for the color and the composition...but mostly for the feeling. Those, to me, are the best sorts of pictures. Ones that speak to you on a level deeper than your eyes. I like pictures that invoke a feeling or an emotion, or just capture it in its moment of existence, however fleeting. I enjoy photos that make you stop, pause a second, and look at a snippet of life a little closer. I appreciate the purely aesthetic photos too-photos that make you see ordinary life and commonplace objects in an artful manner. I always prefer art over crisp documentation.
That is the beauty found in photography. Not so much what is does for other people, but what is does for the photographer. Maybe it is a selfish art- but then maybe all art is selfish in some respects. The eyes of a photographer can see objects, places, and moments in ways that no one else can. Whatever the viewer gains from the photo may be similar, seeing that viewing other photos always gives me inspiration, but it is always a graded, secondary response.
I remember back when I was in my photography class, ALL I saw was framed in pictures. Driving home on 21, everything around me was a landscape worth saving, and it was all I could do not to sweep my eyes along the scenery instead of fixing them on the road. (Mom, don't worry- I am past that phase.) I haven't had a chance to take pictures for the sake of mere art lately, and I think some of that has faded in me a bit (along with all my other creativity). My love for it is still there, and hopefully I will reignite it over the summer. I will stifle its effects while driving, though.

2006-04-23T01:58:00.000-04:00

a view from the bridge (a.k.a engagement site) near Lamar street- I took it the first time we went there.

So. I am engaged...ENGAGED!!! It still feels a bit unreal to me, but in a great, wonderful, awesome way. I have been floating for a over a week now. Most people get to spend lots of time with their fiance after the engagement, but sadly that wasn't the case. A short weekend where he had to work half the day on saturday just doesn't cut it, and I think that is why I have a hard time believing something this great just happened- but then the sunlight reflects off that new piece of jewelry and temporarily blinds me. That usually serves as a good pinch letting me know it's not, in fact, a dream.
Fun Fact: Fiancee (with an accent on the first 'e') is the feminine form, while fiance is the masculine. Most people just interchange the spellings at random. They both come from the french word to betroth, which comes from the Latin word meaning to trust. To trust. I like that.
It is kind of different adjusting to calling him my fiance and not my boyfriend. It generally comes out something like "biance", and people wonder whether the lead singer of Destiny's child and I are buddies.
Things you should know: The wedding date we have set is 07/07/07. (whoop!) Don't laugh. You are just jealous that you didn't get it first. Our wedding will be awesome, and casual. I don't plan on wearing shoes. (My mom might have something to say about that.)

I have told this story over 8,000 times this week, but I figure this is a good place to explain it in slightly more detail. I generally give people the 30 second rundown, and they miss some fun details:

On Friday, April 14th (2006...obviously), Brian and I met in Austin to go on a date. We do Austin dates periodically when I am not able to stay the weekend in San Antonio, and he isn't able to come to College Station. The plan this time, however, was to go back to San Antonio for easter weekend. Anyway, so we met, hugged each other for probably 10 minutes without stopping, and then ate a wonderful dinner at one of our favorite places (Magnolia Cafe). I had noticed that he was acting a little different from normal, but I couldn't pin down exactly what it was. It wasn't better or worse, just different. When told him he was acting funny, he said, "yeah, I have been getting more exercise and drinking lots of water lately. I think that must be it." And herein lies the brilliance of Brian: he can pull off silly answers like that because he is just that random. So I was like, sure, whatever. (I have since pinpointed the Brian I saw that night- it was "incredibly nervous inside but trying everything in my power to not seem that way" Brian.)
After dinner we went out to a Lamar Street bridge over town lake (a place we had been on a previous date- and it is a pedestrian bridge, so don't worry, there weren't cars whizzing by). It was a beautiful night, with a full yellow moon slung low over the water, and just enough breeze to need his arms around me.
There was one complication though: the bridge, normally empty, was TEEMING with people. I still have no idea what they were doing. The other times we have been out there, it was empty except for the occasional late-night biker. He was pretty frustrated at the people, and so we just walked up and down the bridge a couple of times before settling at the end, where we had plenty of privacy. I had suggested we just go somewhere else, but that clearly wasn't an option in his mind. Eventually the people dissipated, and I just layed on the ground with my head in his lap, looking out over the water. We were pretty quiet and comfortable, both understanding how much the other enjoyed just resting there and being close. (We never take time with each other for granted, even after more than 1.5 years together. We soak up every second, and relish them all. This is how we plan for it to be for the rest of our lives.)
He then reminded me that he had a surprise, which ended up being the journal we write back and forth to each other in. I was excited to read it, because it had been a while since he had written.
He asked me to read out loud, and when I started I promised myself I wouldn't cry. My reasoning was that if this wasn't the proposal, I would feel like an idiot. Anyway, as I read it became more and more apparent that it was exactly what I had suspected deep down, and after I started crying, I looked up to see him eye to eye, on one knee. He then created in me a feeling I have never known before, as he slipped on the ring and asked me to marry him. It was the best moment of my life, and will remain so until the day I marry him. I sobbed an unintelligible yes and hugged him so tight that he couldn't finish getting the ring on my finger.
We went back to my car, and I called plenty of people, and cried the ENTIRE way back to San Antonio. I'm not a crier, but I was definitely a mess that night.
Now remember, we had met in Austin in separate cars and combined when we got there, but I didn't think about this fact until we were practically in San Marcos. "BRIAN?, What about your CAR!?!?!" His eyes got really wide and he looked at me with surprise. I couldn't believe we had forgotten it! He told me a couple minutes later (after watching me squirm a bit) that his best friend John had been in the parking lot, and drove his car back when we left for dinner. He had me going for a second.
On the drive home I read the rest of the journal entry that I was in the process of reading when he proposed. He had written every day for the 5 days leading up to the proposal, and he documented all his feelings and thoughts that he couldn't tell me. It was great to read-especially the day where he had to call my dad. You would think Dad were a former wrestler with a knack for hunting and boyfriend-killing or something. (My dad is probably the least- threatening person I know- and that is coming from a completely objective stance, mind you.)
Anyway, that is the story. My parents waited up that night, so we got to see them (I cried all over again), and then we went to his apartment where many of our friends were waiting with champagne and sparkling cider [they are mindful of the underaged :) ]. I was quite puffy and red from all the crying by the time we got there.

It was undoubtedly the most amazing night of my life.
I am SO blessed that I get to marry Brian Marshall- the most incredible person I have ever met or known, and the only person I have ever loved like this.

to my fiance

2006-04-18T22:51:00.000-04:00

you, my love, unclose me
breathing out what I let in

for when we are alone,
you are fire
telling me I am the kindling
with cold and shadows chased away,
there's no doubt about how you love me

how you love me! oh How!
you grasp my head,
as if it plans to leave
but it will stay forever
just to be near the flame
that lives in your soul
and leaps out through your eyes

but even through the rapturous cries of your affections
remains the gentle constance of your service
...As if I deserve to have my feet washed every day

you, my love, have learned
(from what is surely Grace)
how to love me
through the very love of God

in the dark you whisper
(with your eyes still shining blue)
sweet somethings- that resound
and your lips meet my forehead
while your fingers trace my chin

you, my love, do for me
what spring does for the cherry trees.

--------------------------------------

i wish i could do a better job of describing who he is, and how he is, but words always come up short

2006-04-10T01:41:00.000-04:00

I do not want to go on being a root in the dark,
hesitating, stretched out, shivering with dreams,
downwards, in the wet tripe of the earth,
soaking it up and thinking, eating every day.
~Pablo Neruda, Walking Around (excerpt)

I think Neruda is my favorite. Oh to have Neruda's imagery, his vision, his expression! ...and for that matter to have Donne's conceits, Eliot's genius, Frost's perception, Hughes' rhythm, and Wordsworth's rhyme!
I long for a much more eloquent self.

you should read poetry

2006-04-10T00:09:00.000-04:00

I found out that April is national poetry month, and having recently lamented over the shameful state of my own creative output, I decided that I should celebrate this glorious month by searching through my favorite poems once again. It always stirs me up inside. Good poetry can keep me captivated for hours, but is sadly underappreciated by the general populace I fear. I am going to try to post many of my favorite poems this month- maybe from here on out. These are simply words that people (if anyone really reads this) need to be exposed to. It is good for the mind and the soul. I will start with a standard from everybody's favorite metaphysicist.

Holy Sonnet XIV: Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God
John Donne

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.

fruit jenga

2006-02-01T17:31:00.000-05:00

"The various liberations (in education) wasted that marvelous energy and tension, leaving the student's souls exhausted and flaccid, capable of calculating, but not of passionate insight."
Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind

I never write anything that requires thought. I have slowly drifted away from that, and I think it is mostly because of my major. That is right. Biology has sucked my soul dry. I haven't written a song in ages, and very little of what I write is creative anymore. I don't have time for those sorts of mental exercises. No, it isn't quite like exercise- it takes the time and the work (in a mental sense) but is more like an exhalation. It is letting everything that is already inside just come out.
Everything I love is artful to me, and that includes science. Most think that science and the arts are opposing forces. In the sense of practical and abstract, that may be true to a certain extent...but somehow I see them as intricately connected. Science is art to me, but it is art that we cannot make-we can use it, uncover it, and build off of it, but it was never something able to be created by human hands or contrived by human minds. Perhaps science is comprised of what we take in, while art is what we let out.
I get really excited and worked up when I start thinking about certain aspects of science- I just can't get over the complexity of it all, and the incredible processes that must go on unseen every day for someone to function even for a millisecond. You wouldn't believe it. I know maybe 0.02% of it all, and I can't believe it.
I get just as worked up about literature too- words in general I guess. If I start reading Neruda or Marquez or T.S. Eliot or a host of others, I get carried away. Even a book full of good photographs could keep me occupied for hours. I have often thought that I would be just as happy as a liberal arts major as I am in the college of science. I am not so sure anymore. Science is mentally exhausting, but all the arts are emotionally exhausting for me. I love them too much.
Things I would like to major in: English, Linguistics, Art History, Visual Studies (like photography and design stuff), Spanish, Anthropology, Geography (yeah I am one of about 5 people that really enjoy it), sociology. I think I would find plenty more if I perused the list of majors.
Anyway, back to the topic...I don't think deeply much anymore- I think on complicated things, but those things are more like biochemistry rather than social issues. I sort of figured out why today.

I was in HEB and looking at all the fruit, when I reached for an apple. Upon pulling it out of its place, another apple rolled, and then the entire display cascaded downward. It is one of those cartoonish nightmare kind of things that one might imagine, but never actually have it happen. Well, it happened to me. There were granny smiths rolling all over the floor. It was like I had just lost a high stakes game of fruit jenga. Carts rolling by had to be stopped and routed around the apple obstacle course as their drivers supressed (or didn't supress) laughter. It was quite funny, looking back. I laughed as it happened, as apples were careening off the display and falling to my feet in slow motion. I didn't bask in the glory of the humor, though, because inside I was mortified as I frantically ran after all the renegade apples and tried to retrieve them all before the management made me buy them, or something
But that is exactly how it is when I start thinking about social issues, or art, or literature- I start and then cannot stop. I get so carried away by it all that it is completely time consuming. My mom never had to worry about me being entertained when I was younger, because if I had a book I would be set for hours on end. That life and passion is still in me I think, but I am always held back by responsibilities, and what the world deems utterly necessary. I just do enough to get by in school, and that is most of my life. It takes so much out of me that I make no time for other things. It is kind of sad. I miss that side of me. Everything that I feel was thoughtful, contemplative, and artful inside of me has atrophied, I fear.

Dang, I can't beleive it is this late. I was supposed to be studying for biochem.
and therein lies the problem.

back home

2006-01-16T17:25:00.000-05:00

It gets harder to leave every time, but every time, I muster up the strength to do it. So here I am, in College Station. I am never happy about being back until I walk in the door, and it actually feels like home. Then people start coming over, and it is confirmed: I am back in the villa. Never alone, but never bored. We had our regular Sunday night Grey’s Anatomy party with the special addition of chocolate fondue. I was tempted to lick the pot, but withheld to abide by social convention.
I woke up late this morning with nothing to do, and stepped in the shower only to remember that showers here were more like Methodist baptisms. A little sprinkle on the head is all you get. This is one thing I miss about Mosher Hall: every showertime, the water had this experiment to see if scalding heat and extreme pounding were effective methods for removing skin. It felt dangerous at first, but after a few sessions I couldn’t wait to get beat up by my shower. It was addicting- it was like my very own version of a “fight club”.
Anyway, I settle for a vigorous misting from my shower. The villa is worth the wimpy showers.

I miss my best friend/boyfriend. I miss my momma, too. Love you both.
-------------

I wanted to cry last night when, through a mistake of extreme carelessness, I accidentally erased ALL of my pictures from Josh’s ring party at the villa (there were probably over 30), AND all the pictures of my little 8-yr-old soccer team. I thought they were saved on my computer, but failed to remember that the transfer didn’t actually work.
Just for the record, I DID have some great pictures of Josh with his face covered in lactose-free ice cream and pudding.

2006-01-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

TV systems keep improving, and this scares me. I think this could be very bad for the sports industry, considering watching a game on the tv allows one to pause, rewind, and get a good look at the individual sweat beads on the player’s foreheads. Hi-def is really amazing. Watching football has never been such a delight. I have to stop myself and wonder, “do I like it because it is football, or because it looks pretty?” Generally if I am in an honest mood it is the latter.
Anyway, my house in SA was recently equipped with one of these DVR, hi-def, big screen wonders, and I have never felt so inept in my life. I consider myself pretty good with technology and computers and stuff- I can ctrl-alt-delete with the best of them, but I was stumped by this tv. We had three remotes,(before we got the super-computer remote with an lcd SCREEN on it. Yes a screen- that is for later), none of which were simple-looking. I found that I couldn’t even turn the tv ON or OFF. What happened to the big red POWER button? I usually just kept pushing buttons until the screen turned a shade of blue and noises were coming out of our sound system as the tv set itself to record every episode of an obscure show on channel 2,349. That, or my mom had to come help me.
How embarrasing.
I am young, hip, and in accordance with my generation should be totally technologically adept. If I were a REAL twenty-something, I should not ONLY be able to turn on a tv, but also hook up my super trendy itty-bitty ipod to the sound system and make it log onto the internet for me while simultaneously answering my phone calls and taking pictures.
(NOTE: I am not in possession of a super trendy itty-bitty ipod, or any sort of mp3 player. Perhaps this is my problem.)

A south texas christmas and death chairs

2006-01-16T16:52:00.000-05:00

Holidays are all about family, and so for Christmas my family took a trip down south to the bustling metropolis of Raymondville, TX- Home of my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and that large Mexican family down the road that blasts mariachi music all day. I hadn’t been there in a long time, so it was nice to return.
I pretty much just read all day and watched tv at night. I hate to be anti-social, but that is the way I always am around family. I set this precedent of the quiet, shy bookworm when I was little, so now I just slip right back into the role any time I am around them. I really wish I could be different, and show my outgoing, conversational side. I always vow to do that when I go see them, but it never happens.
Anyway, it was a fairly low-key christmas.
My aunt and uncle are the type of people that take a bi-weekly cruise and have had a tv with the square-footage of my bedroom for years. They have a newer, cooler tv now, and lots of other gadgets, like a piano that plays itself, and a treadmill that takes you on all sorts of runs, measures your heart rate, and when necessary performs open heart surgery. The newest addition to this house-of-wonders is one of those intense massage chairs you see in the front of stores like brookstone and sharper image. You know, the ones that draw you into the store knowing you won’t (and can’t afford to) buy anything. Admit it, you always go into the store just to play with stuff and lay on that mattress that is eerily hard until you sit down on it and it begins to eat you.
This chair they have is one of those that is always on display in those stores, and that you never get to try because some middle-aged man is laying there with his eyes fixated on the control panel, while his kids run around playing with alarm clocks that jump on the bed and give you a wet willy when you try to hit snooze.
When you sit down in this chair, it is not advisable to put it on the “shiatsu” setting. Shiatsu is the Japanese word for “beat the shi...at out of you”. The only tolerable setting is “gentle”, and even then is makes me attempt escape at times. Only problem is that it doesn’t let you escape. This is due to the fact that there are grooves for your legs that tighten to the point of inescapable pain. I expected at any point for metal clamps to shoot out over my arms and legs, and for a computerized voice to explain that I was being held hostage. Luckily it let me go after the 15 minute beating every time. I will admit, I did it more than once. It was almost masochistic.

It was during one of these pummel sessions that my aunt was the last one to go to bed and wanted to teach me how to turn off the tv. Little did I know, this requires a short class, and actually counts for credit at some smaller universities. Unfortunately when she started to teach me, I just kinda nodded and said, “yeah, yeah, I think I got it”. I said this out of complete ignorance, but in my defense I was busy being punched in the kidneys by this chair.
Well later that night when bedtime came, I was left all alone, just me and the wall of electronics. I wanted to turn off the TV, so I found a few remotes and started pushing buttons. Apparently I was choosing the wrong ones. After struggling for 10 minutes, I got the screen to turn off, let out a relived sigh, and then a pitiful whimper when I realized the sound was still on. I sincerely considered just leaving it until someone took care of it the next morning, but I wanted to conquer that thing. So I kept pushing buttons. Eventually I decided to go right to the device since the remotes were not working. I counted 9 different electronic boxes by the tv. Great.
The electronic battle wore me out, and the next day was full of adventure. While preparing for lunch, the ham was stuffed into the last remaining oven space, and apparently dripped into the bottom.
This makes smoke…lots of smoke.
My aunt possess a posse of (4) small dogs (you know- the yappy kind). Each dog she buys gets smaller, and eventually I am convinced someone someday will sell her a rat, which would be nice, because then it wouldn’t bark. Anyway, the smoke alarms went off, then the dogs went off, and all I could think was cacophony. (haha family joke. Yeah all our jokes pretty much center around nerdy words or something.) The house was full of smoke and piercing noise, so I just went outside and sat in the porch swing while the rest of my family tried to actually fix the problem. The sad thing was that this occurred right as all the food was ready. And then I saw the brilliance of my grandpa...
He just walked right into the smoke-filled kitchen, piled up a plate of food, walked to the table, sat down and ate contentedly. Everyone else was running around and yelling while trying to stop the smoke detectors, and there he was, amidst all the smoke, just eating. I guess one benefit of being old and hearing-impaired is that smoke alarms don’t stop you from food. That is when I decided to join him.
The two of us were still sitting there eating when my uncle walked in authoritatively with a leaf-blower to rid the smoke detector area of smoke. They had managed to stop one detector, but the other was still bleeping just as loudly as ever. The leaf-blower was a great idea, until it blew smoke back into the other smoke detector and got it going once again. I found all of this rather amusing, but given the panicked nature of everyone else I just kinda chuckled to myself. Turns out that one smoke detector wouldn’t stop because they needed some kind of code to stop it. They didn’t know the code, and didn’t really know what to do. Their house was too advanced even for them! It is like that house Ray Bradbury wrote about in that creepy story...
After 20 minutes, they found a phone number to call, and there was a noticeable silence…until my aunt tried wiping up the oven with a pee pad (What her little dogs “go” on) and it caught on fire. HAHAHAHAHA- I am sorry, it was just too funny. It wasn’t serious, and she took it outside and beat that fire down.
So my south texas christmas was full of joy and glee and smoke alarms and death chairs, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am always up for a good story.

vignettes from 205

2005-10-16T12:58:00.000-04:00

No one else will possibly enjoy these stories as much as I did- this is more for documentation purposes. Like a scrapbook of words. I guess that is my purpose for this entire thing.

My roomates are wonderfully...funny (among many other great attributes). The other night I was in my room and they were in the kitchen. I heard them whispering but didn't concern myself with it, as I was having an unusual productive spurt. I suddenly heard a weird crash and lots of ambiguous noises that sounded bad. Nicole started screaming OH MY GOODNESS ARE YOU OK RACHEL? in an extremely dramatic voice. She kept yelling. Finally I thought, " hmm...maybe I should check up on them". As I got up from my exercise ball (a.k.a. the desk chair- which is currently deflating due to a slow leak), Nicole cried " Kara KARA come HELP!". For some reason I wasn't very worried. Maybe it was Nicole's tone. So I walk out and there is a plastic plate on the floor, broken completely in half. Both of my roomates were laughing hysterically, and I was very confused.

Turns out they had been planning a scene to scare me and have me come out of my room. They couldn't find anything else that would make a loud noise but not break, so they used our plastic plate. (BUT it broke nonetheless) When I say plastic plate, I mean it entirely in the singular sense. We own about 50 mugs, 30 bowls, and a plate. Not a microwaveable one, by the way. You have to use a bloody potholder to take it out of the microwave without suffering 2nd degree burns. (Ok so there are really three plates, but the two non broken ones are the size of my fist.) Somehow Rachel managed to break the plastic plate. Fear not, plates have been bought since then.
Only my roomates would accidentally sacrifice the plate for some laughs. They are silliness embodied.
I can't say I am much different, though.
I really love them.
--------------
We had a fly problem recently. This problem is resolved thanks to our stalking skills. We don't even own a swatter, so we had numerous rolled papers with fly-gut splatters on them. I always enjoyed walking into the kitchen to see Rachel unmoving...in a wide-legged crouched stance. She immediately shushed me to let me know she was fly-stalking. Then WHACK. She was the best fly killer I have ever seen. My role model, in fact.
Due to the newfound personal space I need around my ear, it was especially disconcerting to wake up to a fly buzzing around it one morning. I think I screamed a bit.
I wasn't the best fly stalker, but I tried. I think it was particularly awkward when I was getting dressed one evening and a fly threatened to violate my earhole. I went into killer mode as nightmares of previous flying bugs crept into my mind, and immediately began swinging wildly at him with the shirt I hadn't put on yet.
Note: t-shirts do not make good fly swatters. there is an obvious air resistance problem.
It was during one of my serious predator-like pauses to re-sight the intruder when I realized, hey...I am naked. I am running around my room flailing a t-shirt in all directions..AND I don't have clothes on. Good thing my door was closed.
Anyway, I think I weakened the fly's strength significantly with my wild t-shirt swings. He probably got very dizzy with those compound eyes and all.
At least all the flies are all gone now. We conquered what was our rightful territory, and the fly kingdom lives no more.
------------------
I came home from Austin to find that my toilet was clogged. This is the third time it has been clogged... and NONE of them were when I was home. This can only mean one thing: there is a phantom pooper in our house. My roomates fereverently deny that is was them, so I figured it must be a sticky-pooped ghost. clearly.
It remained clogged for sometime seeing as I was not aware of any plunger in the house. I usually managed to just go at school, or when I was desperate run upstairs to the roomate's bathrooms. There was one night however, when neither of these things would have worked. A major dilemma I was caught in, seeing that both of my roomates were asleep and I was feeling a need. I considered going upstairs, but it was either wake them up, or leave them with a present for morning. Neither of these options seemed considerate. (their bathrooms are right off their rooms and have no doors.)
There is alot of construction going on right next to our home because they are building more or our homes. This seems unrelated until you realize that construction workers need a place to go potty too. That is right. a portable place. (just across from my front door.)
I did in fact get dressed to venture out into the night and brave the port-a-potty. This is how much I love my roomates. There are two blue plastic utilities sitting across the way, and so I timidly approached. After looking about furtively, I held my breath and opened the door in a pained, slow manner. My foot lifted to go inside.... and then my body said no. I couldn't do it. It was too dark and suspicious and awful.
So I went back inside and held it 'til morning.

I am sure you are thrilled to hear it.

When Henry met Kara

2005-09-29T01:50:00.000-04:00

Every night when I return home to the trusty townhouse, I am greeted by a veil of unwelcome visitors. It is an entomologist's playground. They congregate around porch lights like Americans to reality TV. It took me about 10 minutes to actually walk through my doorway and get inside tonight. I stood from a safe distance ruminating on the creepiness of bugs (especially the flying ones), and every time I would build up courage and step up to the door, I would lose it before getting my key in.
Don't get me wrong, bugs have always been creepy: but they were nevermore so than after this weekend, when I became fairly well acquainted with one.
It was about two in the morning and Brian was getting ready to leave my house. I went downstairs to the back porch and let my dog outside to do her thing. As I was waiting beneath the infamous porch light, a moth made a dive for my head and I calmly swatted away. Well, apparently this meant war, and with the next swoop he got me good- real good.

HE FLEW INTO MY EARHOLE.
We are talking all the way in folks.

Panic followed.

I am not sure who was flipping out more, me or the bug. But apparently I freaked out enough to drop the s-bomb. This is quite a rare occasion indeed.
As he flitted about against my eardrum I let out whispered screams for help. I couldn't yell because my mom was sleeping downstairs, so these hoarse noises of desperation were sounded repeatedly as I ran to the stairs calling Brian. He ran downstairs and found me crumpled at the bottom... in the fetal position while swatting frantically at my head. Very high-pitched, unintelligible rambling was emanating from my mouth, which was on a face contorted dramatically with fear.
I was pretty calm about the whole ordeal.
The bug on the other hand, was totally freaking out. I knew, because his wings were BANGING against my EARDRUM. It sounded like a humming bird got stuck inside a bongo or something. Every once in a while, he would calm down, and for a moment, just a moment, my insanity resided. Then he would freak out again.
I really couldn't take it. Now I know what makes me go uncontrollably wacky.
After 10 minutes of me convulsing in utter terror and anguish, I totally wanted my mommy. So we woke her up, scared her a bit when she saw me cupping my ear in a death grip, and cried for help. After shining lights to coerce him out, he let me know that obviously he was flipping out because he could not, in fact, turn around. The two of us came to sort of an understanding at that moment. Neither of us stopped panicking though. Through his wild flitting and exhausted gasps, somehow I became aware that his name was Henry.
After about 30 minutes we knew we had to go to the emergency room. Henry was still just as energetic and desperate as ever, and I couldn't take it anymore. So before we left I convinced my mom to pour olive oil down my ear and suffocate the trapped fellow. I had never felt a more tangible and immediate sense of relief flow over me than when that olive oil was flowing down my ear canal and Henry stopped moving.
I never thought I would be so thrilled with death. I guess bugs are an exception.

We went to the emergency room at Christus Santa Rosa (this is about 3:00 on a saturday night/sunday morning) And a nice man squirted my ear with a plastic syringe full of warm water. This cost us $75 - even with insurance, mind you.
The beaten body of Henry floated out into a tray, and for the first time, I looked him in the...abdomen. I couldn't really see because I didn't have my contacts in, but as far as I could tell he looked analagous to a large grain of black wild rice. The sans-contacts issue was interesting when signing all the paperwork. I had to bend down and practically put my nose on the paper to see where the X was. The paperwork took much longer than the bug removal process. It is a good thing we gave them all that information though, because if I had died they would have known that I did not, in fact, have a will. Also, they would have been aware that I am associated with the United Methodist Church. This way they know who to call to deal with the burial and such.

Anyway, after a crazy night with my two favorite people (Mom and Bri), we stopped off at whataburger and had a little breakfast biscuit party until about 4:30 or so. Then it was time for bed.
So when you see me wearing earmuffs in the summertime, now you will understand why.

2005-09-17T22:58:00.000-04:00

the aftertaste of langour
rests...
displeasing subtleties of fall
for these soft wild dreams displace
so much now
leaving footprints of perfect past and certain future
tainting what lives presently
with just enough sweetness
to taunt me far away

Ya know, I am kind of a big deal around here...

2005-09-08T18:37:00.000-04:00

disregard title if you do not recognize the phrase from an unspeakably lame (but mildly funny) movie.

The one thing I struggle with most is wanting to debate and reason out everything. Some would say this isn't a bad thing and I would agree- to an extent. That extent is faith. Not that there is no room for logic and reason in faith, but it dilutes it a bit- makes it pointless.
Herein lies the problem: debating is too easy, and rarely does anything come with it. People can say they are going into a debate with an open mind, which I am sure they believe. They are wrong. Ultimately, facts never change a person's heart. Often they are too busy getting their panties in a wad while debating.
This is one of those lessons that God doesn't just teach you. This is one of those lessons where God has to teach you, and teach you, and teach you, and then bang you over the head with it, and then bang some more.... etc.
It is difficult for me to learn, because I like facts, and I won't lie... they like me back.
I know alot. I can argue lots of things, and especially if they are God things. This often leads me, (or I am constantly afraid that it does/will lead me) to feel rather self-important. [LAME. As if I could take credit for knowledge, and as if it makes me important.] I hate that. Then I end up trying to appear humble by claiming that I don't really know much. (When it comes to the grand scheme of things, I really don't- and I understand this.) But that is false self-deprication.
Folks, self-deprication is a sad excuse for humility. If humility is a woman(and it isn't..at ALL), then self-deprecation is like a man who cross dresses and calls himself a gender neutral name. He might fool some people, but dude, when he talks, it is all over.
Humility should not require stifling of knowledge, but rather, the realization of its vanity in light of the truth.

2005-08-23T14:38:00.000-04:00

The other day I found out that those baby cheese wheels are covered in a hard yellow wax. You have to take that off before eating it. I was miffed when I comented on how hard the cheese was, and my mom cocked her head in confusion, and then explained. I felt sort of baffled by my ignorance. Surely being 20 means I should know the simpler tricks of the world. It was like when I was little and I tried to eat the skin of the kiwi. Once I found out that I was, in fact, normal for not enjoying kiwi skin, I felt sort of a bemused disappointment tainted with a strand of stuffy humility.
If anyone can make humility stuffy, it would be me.

For some reason I get a similar feeling when I go to the doctor's office, and sit on that paper-covered table/bed thing. I always want to swing my legs, and every time they hit the drawers underneath. For some reason I keep swinging. Then I feel embarrased when the doctor arrives 30 minutes later and I am sure they enter the room only because they hear a slight banging and wonder what I might be doing damage to.
Anyway, it makes me feel young and childish. Sometimes it is a refreshing reminder of the truth, though.

lazy days

2005-08-06T18:00:00.000-04:00

My time in the lab has finally come to a close, and it feels SO good. I was really sick of the full time job, even though I loved it when I had stuff to do.
Turns out many things changed since my initial week of the lab experience.

Just to update, the scruffy Asian guy is Qing Hui (ching way). He thought that when I told him I was a junior, I meant in high school.
I guess that is no worse than the time I was carded while buying tickets to a PG13 movie (I was nearly 17). I showed the ticket lady my drivers license, and we laughed.

Sean and I actually became pretty cool with each other, and were always talking and joking towards the end. Don't get me wrong, he is still quite obviously pompous and such, but I like him. You can't totally blame him for his attitude- he played football in college, and is super smart and successful. He has the double whammy ego- jock and smart guy. So perhaps you can imagine that every time you address him while he is sitting down he leans back importantly and puts both arms up behind his head in the classic "I am a dominant male" body language sign. It is funny. I owe him though, there were lots of days where he kept me sane just by talking to me alot, or giving me some work to do.

Alfred and I never talked towards the end- he was always off doing his own thing.
Andrei spoke to me a few times, so that was interesting. I felt really bad one morning when he said "hello", and I had to ask him to repeat it 3 times before I understood. Finally he was just like "HI" (flem added of course). He never greeted me again.

After Dr. Toney and I became much more comfortable with each other (ie I could admit to him when I did something stupid, and he could openly agree), I found out he is hilarious. Absolutely a trip. Most of his humour is contained in long rants, so they aren't really quotable, but oh how I wish I had recorded them.

Quotes from the Lab

Toney: just had a brain fart huh?
Me: Yeah...I think the majority of my brain function lately has actually been farting.
Toney: (Laughs, but doesn't disagree)
---
Sean: Damn, it looks like a horror film in there Andrei.
(Andrei was learning a lumbar recording surgery- it(the rat)was a bloody mess. Pretty sick)
---
Me: Hey Sean look! I got good staining!!
Sean: It is probably mostly background.
Me: Man you are such a downer
Sean: (grins, leaves room and comes right back in) HEEY!! THAT is AWESOME staining you have there!
Me: AWW thanks Sean! You are always so encouraging!
---
Toney: Ok lets rock on down to the PVN and see what we can find! MMM MMM thats a beautiful structure.
~He gets excited in the microscopy room
---
Toney: I would KILL someone just to see them fire One neuron. ONE- that is all I ask. Imbeciles!
~His frustration with the people that installed the cabinets in such a way that the corner ones couldn't open because the doors ran into the adjacent cabinets. Pretty funny- his frustration was entirely understandable.
---
Toney: when I was on the admissions board for med school, we would always have to ask them why they wanted to be a doctor. their answer was always "I wanna help people" blah blah blah. Why the hell don't you become a PRIEST! There are PLENTY of ways to help people. Just for ONCE tell me you are in it for the money!...Sometimes to spice things up a bit I would start off by telling them, "OK, today in this interview, I really wanna focus most on quantum physics."...
~He really despises med students and doctors because they don't do real science. It is an interesting form of intellectual discrimination.

Blue Hole

2005-07-22T20:58:00.000-04:00

Blue Hole: Wimberly, TX

Picturesque-looks like a painting doesn't it?
This picture kind of represents my summer so far. Fun, exciting, but relaxed, and serene. Just lovely all around.
This was after a morning of horseback riding on a 400 acre ranch in Burnet. I went with some girls that are in the summer research program with me. (Florrie is in the picture.) It wasn't one of those measly nose-to-tail rides, but we were in a group and could go through the trees or where ever we wanted. It was a grand time, and well worth the bruised butt I had for the next two days. We stopped in Wimberly on the way back.
My job is over in one week, and although I am admittedly excited, I will miss it. I will miss the people especially.

[By the way, what you don't see in this picture is one second later, when Florrie bombs into the water ungracefully because her legs weren't up. Quite humorous.]

Monte on Fire

2005-07-17T18:33:00.000-04:00

That there is the greatest guitarist I have ever seen or heard. Monte Montgomery, folks. He is incredible. His technical brilliance is obvious even to people who have never touched a guitar. Brian, the fam and I all saw him live in Fredrickburg on July 4th weekend. I think it was the best concert I have ever been to. It was simply Monte and Phil (a guy with a snare drum). You can't beat a raw guitar and a snare drum. It was also nice that there were only about 100 people there. Very intimate.
Anyway, if you ever hear of a Monte concert near you, strongly consider attending.

I also happen to be fairly fond of this picture.

the lab

2005-06-09T21:52:00.000-04:00

Some have been complaining of my absence in the blogging world. *cough heather* You want an update? OH.. I will give you an update…

Here is what has been tying me up lately: I have a real job. We are not talking like the average summer job. I work 8(ish)-5(ish) EVERY day like a real adult! On the first real day (after orientation day) I arrived excitedly at 7:30 AM just to be safe- because I really wasn’t sure how long I would be lost before finding the physiology dept. (Although I had orientation the day before, they failed to actually orient me in terms of direction) I held my head high with my id badge proudly clipped onto my shirt, just waiting for the day ahead. I parked, climbed out of my car, and then began the trek to the actual building (approximately 12.3 miles away from aforementioned parking spot). I traversed vast empty plains of parking spots reserved for the important people who get the close lots, and then made my way through endless halls that all look the same. I got to the physiology department at 7:45, and found…nobody.
This was why there were vast empty plains of parking spots, apparently.
The secretaries wandered in a little after 8, and so I waited. I found a comfy chair located in the hallway and sat contentedly. I had many papers published in journals by Dr. Toney, which he had given me the day before as "some light reading" for "background info". Light reading my butt. So I read until 8:45 when Dr. Toney strolled in. Turns out that researchers keep a later schedule than most.

Anyway, UT Health Science Center in San Antonio is my kingdom, and Dr. Toney's autonomic neurophysiology lab my playground. We are researching several aspects of the paraventricular nucleus and its role in cardiovascular control- among many other things. Oh, and when I say "we" I mean "they". I can't even find my way to the bathroom, much less implant flourescent microbeads in the rostral ventrolateral medulla of rats.
Dr. Toney has a project that I will "spearhead" (which could be a synonym for "ruin miserably"), but I can't start until I get some rats of my very own. So for now I remain the useless summer student/intern/peon/slave. I guess if I expect them to think of me as any more than "the undergraduate", I should first learn how to say the word immunoglobulin without stuttering. A pang of fear seizes me every time I know it is coming up in conversation, because no matter how hard I try it usually comes out sounding something like "emooonugoblilun". It reminds me of 6-yr-olds that consistently say pusketti instead of spaghetti, or of 21-yr-olds named David Pyle who consistently say ambleance instead of ambulance.
Needless to say, this difficulty kind of embarrasing.
I work with some interesting folks, so here is the lineup:

Dr. Glenn Toney - P.I.
This is my boss, and since he only researches and doesn't teach, he is offically a "P.I." It took me a while to realize that PI meant primary investigator and not private investigator. It is too bad, because I had all these fanciful dreams going in black and white. I was just waiting to walk dramatically in his office with a tear on my cheek- and see him sitting smugly at his desk, feet up, gum on the bottom of his shoe, and a hat cocked to one side...
(In a desperate, raspy voice, almost a whisper) "Toney, I need your help"
"Ah, you again…well you've come to the right place, darlin’. Tell me what you need"
"It’s just that..no, no I ..I can’t" (turns head away and covers mouth)
"It’s not…?!?"
(Sobs) "It is.. it is….."
(With disgust) "that rat!"

Anyway, once I found out he was merely a primary investigator and not a private one, I decided not to disclose any dramatic secrets in hopes of retribution and safety. Ok, so I don’t have any dramatic secrets-especially none that would require protection. In reality, we really do talk about rats though. Our conversations are usually him talking, me nodding. Literally this is how one of our conversations went the other day when he called the lab from his office…
"’Hey there Kara, it’s Glenn here"
"Oh hey" (I feign peppiness as fear wells up inside as I imagine him quizzing me on the ins and outs of neuroscience. This always happens, even though he has never come close to quizzing me.)
"So I have been reading the literature, and it looks like the hypoxyprobe kit has a primary antibody conjugated to FITC, and then the secondary is anti-FITC and labeled with HRP"
"OH… ok"
"So this replaces the avidin-biotinylated system we talked about and serves as the amplification step"
"uh huh…ok"
"I am not positive...but maybe since it is FITC labeled we will need to incubate in the dark to prevent photobleaching, but I really doubt the binding of the secondary antibody will depend on the fluorescence of the primary FITC because I can’t imagine they would make a system that is thrown off by such a small part of the molecule being changed"
"yeah."
"Now I am going to ramble on with lots of scientific things that you don’t understand, but in such a blasé manner as to indicate that either you really should know them or I am so far removed from the real world that I forget these are not normal things to know."
"I am gonna keep on nodding and saying such radically profound things as yeah, and ok, pretending I comprehend every word and concept in hopes that it really isn’t important to know for my study, and if it is, maybe I can look it up on the internet later."

So that is usually how it goes.

Alfred
Alfred is the lab tech that I shamelessly follow around. I am like a little puppy. It probably gets annoying, but he is sort of the one in charge of me, and so I watch all his surgeries and help him take care of rats and such. He also is a very sweet guy, so he has no problem allowing me to go almost everywhere with him.
Sometimes I think that maybe he finds some really simple task for me to do just so he can have a little time to himself, kind like when a person throws the tennis ball far into the woods to keep the puppy occupied for a while. I promise I have gotten better, and don’t totally follow him around all the time anymore.

Andrei-the silent Russian
Andrei doesn’t speak. The only sound I have heard from him is the slight grunt he gave to accompany the head nod when we were introduced. Well, that is all I have heard out of him in English, anyway…assuming it was an English grunt and not a Russian one. Apparently the world of research attracts lots of Russians, because the physiology department has plenty, and they all congregate at Andrei’s desk and speak Russian together.
I have never actually seen the man do any work. He just sits and talks to other Russians…in Russian. Whenever I am near his desk I feel like I am on a Hunt for Red October. What if they are planning something? They could easily be conspirators, and the physiology department would never see it coming.
I heard on the down low from Alfred that there is some drama and bitterness with Andrei, because he thought he was getting a faculty position but instead they put him as a post doc in Toney’s lab. It is not talked about, and I was told I absolutely must never refer to Andrei as a post doc- which is fine, because even if I were to speak to Andrei, (equivalent of speaking to a wall- a foreign wall), I would never say "what’s up, post doc!". That would require a carrot in my hand, large ears, and a name like bugs.

*Please in no way think I have anything against Russians. I am all about glasnost.

Sean "I am way proud of myself" Stocker
Sean is the post doc, and is very quick to tell you that he actually has a faculty position at University of Kentucky, and they are in the process of building him his own lab, and oh yeah, if he can find a way to slip it in… they are investing a whole lot of money in him. Cool, Sean. Good for you.
In all fairness the guy does have a reason to be cocky. He is really intelligent, and has accomplished quite a bit. It isn’t easy to get a faculty position- and I really am happy for him. In fact, he is really nice towards me, and I have every reason to like the guy. I probably would like him a whole lot if he weren’t such a jerk to Alfred. He treats Alfred like dirt, and always has some snide comment that accentuates Alfred’s "lower education" (with only a bachelor’s), and his innate superiority. GET OVER YOURSELF.
He also tends to be something of a drama queen, and just LOVES to diss Dr. Toney behind his back. What is great is that he always tries to soften his insults. " Ya know, Glenn is really one of the smartest guys I have ever met..BUT…" OH shush. We all know that you think you are the smartest person you have ever met.
Peng( pronounced pong)
I really keep wanting to type Pong since that is how it’s said, so I think I will. Pong is a really sweet graduate student. Well, she seems sweet. All I have to judge by is her demeanor and tone when she says hi to me in the morning. We smile at each other too. Our interactions stop there. This is due to something of a language barrier.I really would like to talk to her more though. My dream conversation goes a little something like this:
"Hey Ping!"
"No, it’s Pong"
"Ping?"
"Pong"
"Ping."
"PONG!"

Just kidding…I would never really do that.

The scruffy little Asian man
I don’t really know who he is, but he’s cute. He just kind of wanders into our lab, takes an instrument, and leaves. Sometimes he brings a mouse with him, sits down, and does surgery in one of the rooms in our lab that isn’t used much. I am assuming this is ok since no one ever says anything. Maybe they just let him go because he is a scruffy Asian, and lets face it, those are hard to come by.

(-)H(-)P01
This was my first rat, the first one I saw die for the sake of science. To be brutally honest, he died just to teach me how to kill him, but lets not get semantic. With him, I learned how to perfuse a rat.
I actually held his little beating heart between my fingers, and then pierced the left ventricle with a catheter. It was maybe the weirdest and most disturbing thing I have ever had to do.
I just didn’t realize how warm he would be inside. It makes sense- but everything in the lab is so cold and clean- me cutting him open and sticking my fingers in his warm blood was just startling. I later found myself in the role of Lady Macbeth, washing my hands obsessively. Out damned spot!
Anyway, since then I have perfused many rats. When I was recently talking about work with Brian, he excitedly pointed out, " Oh yay, babeh! You are already desensitized to death!" This is true.
The basic idea of perfusion is that after you stick the catheter in the rat’s heart and open the right atrium, you replace all the rat’s blood with PBS first, and then PFA, a fixative. This is to fix and preserve the tissue for later. After he becomes a "ratsicle" as Dr. Toney likes to say, we chop off his head French-Revolution style (yes we have a rat guillotine) and crack off the skull bit by bit to retrieve the brain. Do realize that they are anesthetized /knocked out while we are doing this...and after we cut from the abdominal cavity up through the diaphragm, they can’t wake up because they have no way of breathing. Their heart does still beat, however.
Sorry, that probably grosses most people out.
Anyway, I am forced to give the rats a name for my study, and so as my system goes, he is (-)H(-)P01. (no hypoxia, no probe, #1. My personal study is hypoxia in the brain.) In my heart, however, he was more than that. In death, he has a name, and his name was Ricardo.
Thank you, Ricardo.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Was that a long enough entry to count as four, Heather?

WHOOP

2005-05-08T19:04:00.000-04:00

Yep. That camera is MINE. oh happy happy day. As you can see I couldn't even wait to get out of the car to play with it (jeff picked me up and brought it to me because it was delivered to his place.) Many more pictures will follow I am sure.

2005-05-03T00:59:00.000-04:00

I guess I finally figured out how to post pictures. This is my favorite picture, of course. Hopefully this new step forward in my infrequent blogging life will give me a jumpstart of sorts. It should ideally be followed with the purchase of a digital camera don't you think? Yeah. me too.
A huge pet peeve of mine is seeing people with digital cameras who never use them. Maybe I am what they call a "picture freak", but I know that if I had one it would most certainly be used- much to the chagrin of those around me in some cases. I am currently bound to stealing pictures from my friends websites. Those make up about 90% of my collection, and the rest are through email. In my defense, I do physically take some of the pictures (such as the one above) with their cameras. That gives me some right to owning them I hope.
Some day soon maybe I will write about why I love photography. It is a good topic. Time doesn't allow for such ramblings during finals week, unfortunately.

2005-04-30T17:46:00.000-04:00

So I think people were under the impression that I liked my old blog background. I guess since I chose it, that is a fair assumption, but really I have always thought it was kinda ugly. Perhaps I am the only person who would purposefully choose the ugliest blog template, but it was different, and I like different. The green was actually ok, the orange with the green was not so cool. I am not really crazy about this one either. The sides kinda remind me of my grandma's couch. Anyway, I would actually like black best, but I fear it would be too boring. I don't think my words hold enough interest to make it compelling with merely a black background. It would also be really cool if I knew how to put links on the sidebar and stuff, because I definitely don't. I go to the settings area, and all I see is HTML and that scares me. I don't mess with that stuff. If anyone has any helpful hints as to how I can add things like links and pictures let me know. then maybe I will get a better background. (In my defense, I don't like any of the ones they offer. I want to design my own.)

sidewalk chalk vandals

2005-04-20T17:22:00.000-04:00

So today is April the 20th, and this very much excites all 5 hippies on the campus at A&M. ( The number 420 means weed. awesome.) They banded together, and in a valiant effort to spread the word about the "ultimate relaxing tool", decorated the sidewalks with that oh so mature sidewalk chalk method. There were drawings of five-pronged leaves all over the place, along with various phrases indicative of drug use. (There was one particularly humourous spot where someone drew something that looked very much like a peacock. Going by context, I am guessing this was supposed to be a marijuana leaf, unless NBC was somehow involved in the whole ordeal. Maybe it was the vandal's first try at a leaf. The other vandals had formerly restricted him to the simpler job of writing 420 as large as possible everywhere they went. Now we understand why.) At the same time they used the sidewalks of campus to push their political leanings. OK, fine, express your love of THC, but implying I should vote for Bob Marley as president? Too far. I understand that along with my freedoms as an American comes the necessary allowance of free speech, but sidewalk-chalk propaganda? I didn't see those words anywhere after We the People...
There were also numerous peace signs. Perhaps that is part of the platform of Bob Marley. I am sure he would promote peace as president of the US. oh wait, he is DEAD.
It was nice that one of the vandals used the opportunity to write love notes to his sweetheart mary jane though...

I really thought that as a college student I wouldn't run into things this silly, but alas, some people never grow out of it. It kinda brings the nostalgia back from high school when I sat next to that kid in computer class who drew marijuana leaves on word art EVERY SINGLE DAY. The teacher would always make him erase it, and he would promptly start over. As the rest of the class was entering data into excel, he would painstakingly form each point of the leaf. This was, it seems, his primary concern and solitary pleasure in life. He sure had success written all over.

-------------------
I am sitting in the student computing center right now and somehow I got the chair that is considerably higher than everyone elses. We are talking a solid foot and a half higher. This makes for awkwardness. At first I felt around the chair bottom for a little chair-putter-downer lever, and then realized that these are the ones that spin to adjust height. I don't think it is worth the embarrasment of sitting amidst a full row of computers and spinning in circles. I shall remain hopelessly teetering above the CPU's and heads of all the computing students. It is strange to look down at my neighbor, who happens to be about 6'3''. I believe it is strange for him as well, considering the look he just gave me as I leered down at him. Don't worry, I looked away really fast. You know, maybe I don't mind this. I have leering power.
Imagine me sitting in this chair, and as people walk past just turning towards them and slowly staring them down at eye level. That would seriously freak some people out.
But I remain a shy giant in this world of seated folk, and so will continue to loom in an embarrased, appropriate way.

the spring break entry that should really be made two separate entries

2005-03-21T23:53:00.000-05:00

wow I haven't written in like nearly two months. That is fairly sad.

spring break summary:
it rocked.

I got to spend lots of time with my best friend, my boyfriend, and my favorite person in the world. I also got to hang out with the person who can make me laugh more than anyone else, the person who inspires me and awes me like no one else can, and the most passionate person I have ever known...oh, and I got to spend time with the person who never fails to remind me of God's infinite grace and love. The fact that these are all one person is too beautiful of a coincidence to take lightly. I love him in a intense, startling, deep-seated way- and I dare not use the word love lightly. Never have-not when it comes to the romance of men or God.
It is a special person with whom you can spend an entire week straight and feel it is not nearly enough time.
I never knew I was such an emotional sap until I met him.

----TOTAL TURN OF SUBJECT MATTER AND MOOD----

It was a good spring break.
There was lots of driving and beautiful weather, and quite frankly I couldn't think of a better combo. I thoroughly enjoy driving on warm sunny days along city streets with my windows open. It is second only to driving on warm summer nights with my windows open.
There was one time I was really cruisin'...and when I say cruisin' I mean I was ultimately chill in the protege, and if there were a soundtrack to my life, a really rad song would have been playing at that moment. Anyway, I was on my way to Brian's apartment with my windows down, the volume up, and honestly, I was feeling pretty cool. You know when you have those times where you just feel cool? They don't happen often for me, but this was certainly one of them. So I was driving along babcock road with my windows down, my hair blowing back in the breeze, and breathing in the air with a cool smirk on when ....SMACK....there was a plastic bag plastered to my face.
Yeah.
Not cool.
So wind moves things, especially things like plastic bags.
I was a little too startled to take the time to figure out if it had flown in from outside or the floorboard, and I flailed wildly to get it off my face and out of my car. Flailing wildly is not synonymous with being (or feeling) cool. Then again, having a plastic bag on your face is not either. Having a plastic bag over your face is also not good for safe driving, and thus I believe the wild flailing was very much called for.

This story is now definitely my "most startling experience ever" story. It could also be cross-referenced with "most ego-shattering experience ever", "most drastic mood changing experience ever", or "experience that was surely the most amusing for others to watch", but it was primarily just startling. The story that previously held the "most startling" title has now been moved to just plain "scary"- yet it is still a worthy story. Perhaps I will share it on the blog sometime.

2005-02-05T02:01:00.000-05:00

I saw Hotel Rwanda. If you ask me if it was good, I will say necessary- ask me if it was well done, and I will say intolerable. This is not a movie that can be judged, criticized, examined from afar like so many movies- for it is not fiction. Either you watch without feeling emotion because you convince yourself that it's not true, or you get hit upside the head with truth too shocking to just swallow. I tried to swallow emotion. I didn't want to taste salt. If I let go and allowed compassion to grab hold of me then I was afraid it wouldn't stop. I don't cry in public.
I knew the story already, but knowing somehow doesn't dilute the horror of it all, and there are not enough tears that could fall that would ever dilute the blood.
Part of me was too pissed off to cry.
The worst part is that I am the minority. Few even know the story- nor do they know about Burundi... Sudan. They might have heard a blurb on the evening news, but no one wants to listen to that for very long. Their dinners might get cold.

I think the saddest part of the 2 hours was the college student sitting behind me, who assured his friend halfway through: "naw dude, it's just a movie."

It's just a movie. It is easier to think that.

Rodrigo: my favorite toe

2005-02-04T21:23:00.000-05:00

Highlight of my week: my suitemate bought shower crayons. As puerile as it may seem no one can honestly say they wouldn't be excited. I get to write all OVER my shower walls!! As if showers weren't enough fun already! I immediately took to writing spontaneous shower poetry- I hope my roomates enjoy.
I had my favorite dream EVER the other night! ( except for the one where I was chasing penguins and I had to run like they did. I was waddling all OVER the Arctic!). Many have heard about this, but bear with me. You see, my toes were interviewing for positions on my feet. (Before God of course) As could be expected, they were all fairly nervous. In case some of you are not aware, I have one particularly long toe on my right foot. I call him my turbo toe. (He definitely outgrew the big toe.) Well, turns out his name is Rodrigo. He was super nervous for his interview because he originally intended to be a finger. He was rejected from the hand seeing as he was just a little too stubby, but pleaded with God so passionately for an appendage position that he was placed on my right foot. His argument was that he could make up for being a possible stub risk by helping immensely with balance, and giving me some extra height if I really needed to do the tip-toe thing. So, Rodrigo, thankyou. Your fight for foot placement really encourages me. I love you even more now. Never again will I make fun of you, and when others do, I will stab them with you.

I am not sure why my toe is Hispanic. Perhaps I DO have a little Latin influence in me after all!!

MereBo

2005-01-31T14:29:00.000-05:00

It has undoubtedly been a grand time living with the one and only Meredith Border. I decided there were some stories worth sharing about my lovely quirky roomate- though the funniness is most definitely intensified when you see the expressions on her face that go with the scenario.

The other night....
Mere: Oh...just in case you were wondering, that butter tub in the fridge actually has fruit in it.
ME: Um, yeah...I know. It's mine.
Mere: *Long pause as her eyes get very large and a look of horrified guilt comes over her* Oh nooooo.....
(she thought her mom had sent it for her or something, and ate half my fruit. I didn't care, but we got a great laugh out of it)
-----------------
Kim and I are playing guitar together and tuning the guitars to each other...
Mere: um, so I am not supposed to touch those knobby things am I...
Me: you mean the knobs that tune the guitar strings? No- that totally changes the note
Mere: Ok I am sososososososo sorry but you see I just can't help it and when I talk on the phone I just play with them naturally and I didn't mean to I am soo sorry I will never do it again!!!!
Me: OHH, so THAT's why my guitar is always out of tune!
(again, I really didn't care but we ended up laughing about it for a long time)
----------------
I was getting ready for bed at like 2 in the morning, and walked out of the bathroom to see Mere, who had been sleeping for about 3 hours, standing at the door all discombobulated...
Mere: (sleepily with eyes half closed but with a very urgent tone) Kara I was supposed to tell you that you only have 30 seconds! 30 seconds to get your multicultural film! It's gonna be ruined you need to hurry!
Me: Um, multicultural film? What are you tal....ohhhh, you are still asleep. it's ok mere, just turn around, go back to bed...
Mere: No, hahaha...but you have to hurry! (as she wakes up, the conscious side begins to laugh at herself while the unconscious side is still very worried about my multicultural film...)
Me: you were dreaming..multicultural film?????
Mere: ummmm multicolored? I don't know. (promptly goes back to bed, lies down, and falls asleep)
-----------------
AS I walk into the room...
Mere: I burned my feet in the sink!!!!! they realllly hurt and I can't walk!!!
(she washes her feet in the sink...often twice a DAY. kinda abnormal. apparently the water was too hot that day.)
------------------
When Meredith laughs, one eye squints much smaller than the other. Someone pointed this out to her once in high school, so for a long time whenever she laughed she would hold her left eye open with her fingers.
------------------
There are so many funny Meredith stories that I can't remember- lots from high school. but oh well- these were probably much funnier to me because I was there. Her stories about her family are even better though. There is the time she walked into the bathroom to find her sister putting a cd in the toilet and flushing. Apparently she thought this was the best way to clean a cd. Then there is the time she walked into her house to find her little brother running repeatedly into the wall- just for fun.
I am telling you- constant entertainment from this girl.

my God

2004-12-03T02:04:00.000-05:00

The one thing in my life I hold above all others is the thing hardest for me to write about. The very thing that sustains me, fills me, astounds me, permeates every minutia of my being- the very thing that can make me jump and sing like a fool for joy, and the very thing that can knock me to my knees and make me weep in contrition: this is what I can't ever write about. (The closest I have come is blog on 4-29.) This is not out of timidity, not because it is not continously present in my heart and mind, but simply because I lack words to do so.
There is no way to descibe the love of God, and the joy and peace found therein. To those who do not know Him intimately, it is utter nonsense- a security blanket, a pacifier for an immature soul. There is nothing that can convey the power, the reality, and the immediate necessity of Him. No strings of eloquence, no expressions of profound emotion- for these are the nominal external manifestations of an internal truth, the penumbras cast by a blinding light. They are viewing something perfect after it is reflected off of a mirror covered in vaseline.
That is where my problem lies. I cannot stand to write about what can never be adequately expressed. But I must, for holding captive the life within me does no good either.
So daily I must do my best as that inadequate mirror.

His fingers still my heart at times,
and pause my life to feel His touch.
--------------------------------------

with eyes closed
forehead on crossed arms
arms draped over bent knees
everything fades

and from dry parted lips
comes a cracked whisper
meant to be a song:
this is all, this is all that I can give right now,
and Lord I know it's not much,
but this is all that I can give...

2004-11-12T01:57:00.000-05:00

And for the second organic lab in a row, I spilled a dangerous reagent on my hands. Last week...(Lab notebook: " WHATEVER you do, DO NOT get the bromine solution ANYWHERE near the skin, Kara, seeing as it causes severe burns and hard-to-heal blisters." [yes the safety section of my lab book feels the need to address me by name]) And of all the many chemicals dispensed by me that day, which one did I spill prolifically on my fingers? That's right- the bromine solution. Luckily I react quickly to such things, and so I am still in possesion of a hearty layer of skin over my hands.
Today it was ethanolic potassium hydroxide. I was marvelling at the soft texture of my finger when I realized, hey, that's not just soft, its soapy!! Then it hit me. Soapy skin= base burn= intense pain. So as my skin was saponifying I made my way (very very quickly) to the sink. Yes, my fingers are fine thanks to sodium thiosulfate and a fifteen minutes of water running over them.
Basic lesson: Kara plus chemicals = liability.
Perhaps the best solution would be for me to wear a large protective suit like those space explorers in old sci fi movies do. Apparently goggles don't cut it for me. At the very least they should require me to wear yellow rubbber kitchen gloves that go to my elbows. This, however, would leave my already challenged hands thick and unweildy, which would undoubtedly cause even more accidents.
I think I should star in one of those safety videos that everyone has to watch for chemistry lab. They could just follow me around for examples of what not to do. It is about time they film a new one anyway. Apparently there has only ever been one lab safety video made, seeing as I have watched the same video four times: twice in high school and twice in college. I think they keep the 80's masterpiece around not only because of the supreme acting display, but also because of the creepy shower scene which never fails to amuse students. (A guy spills acid or something all over himself and has to undress and go under the full body shower...as the narrator encourages students not to be modest because the teacher will escort everyone out of the lab, the video shows a male "friend" holding the burn victim's clothes and staring unabashedly at the poor naked boy under the safety shower! It is shockingly hilarious.) On second thought, I think I would pass up the opportunity to be in a lab safety video. I couldn't handle the scandalous shower scene.
In my defense, all these accidents arise from intrinsic need-lunch is on the line. Due to poor scheduling, I only have time to eat lunch if I get out of lab early. This means I rush through everything. I will sacrifice my skin for food.
Despite my reasoning, I still must admit that in general, I am fairly absent-minded. This may not explain the spills, but it does explain many other things. At least it fits nicely with my career goal, seeing as "absent-minded" is commonly paired with my dream job of "professor". Good thing I don't want to be a doctor...I would end up as one of those surgeons that accidentally left a large metal instrument in a patient while performing surgery. I would realize about the time I got to the last stitch. That's when you just have to shrug and say, "well we will just give him a note for the airport security working the metal detectors."

2004-10-25T02:35:00.000-04:00

I can’t wrap words around this.

I sit staring at my computer reading countless poems because I can’t find words for my own. This, you, certainly cannot be described adequately in prose. So the dilemma comes. For I am here with so many feelings and thoughts that can’t be put together to describe you, us. I can still feel the warmth from your arms around me, and the feel of your hands hasn’t left me yet. It still tingles.
Nothing is coming out because this emotion is not found within the realm of ink and paper. It is so much harder to describe things that much deeper than the head. I have to get it while its fresh. But could it leave me, could that really fade?? I don’t think it ever will. You said you went head over heels - that flip was fast for me too.
I caught you every time. Sometimes I was too shy to look back, but I knew when you weren’t watching the movie or the night. Your eyes were on me. You were unashamedly staring.
I like it that you are too shy to admit that you are romantic.

2004-10-18T20:50:00.000-04:00

A one windowed room impairs vision
but what I see from here is clear enough

I see them pass
veneers of sincere laughter
with shallow sneers inside
souls like mirrors
feigning depth and clarity

frought with the void of ever-lacking
from wisdom unsought
ideas bought and sold for ego

and those thoughts worth a penny
are good enough for them
as long as that copper shines

--------------------------------

I am not really in a "disillusioned with humanity" sort of mood right now, I just wrote that a while back as an observation. It does sadden me that the above came not from a fit of anger or a bout of despair, but merely from stepping back, opening my eyes to truth, and watching people. A depressing observation it might be, but it creates within me a realization of whom I hold dear in my life and why. The people I find who are real to me shine like gold. They stand out so brilliantly that I can't help but love them entirely. These are the people I am drawn to, and that is the commonality found in those whom I hold close to my heart- whether they know I hold them close or not.

2004-10-06T01:37:00.000-04:00

This post should have been written a while back...
Weekends have been splendid lately. More so than normal I would say. I spontaneously drove down to San Antonio the weekend before last for two very worthy reasons. I was only there for 24 hours, but I needed it desperately. The 6 hours of driving was surely part of the vacation time as well, since driving for me is much the same as letting a washcloth unwind after wringing out any remnants of water. Me being the washcloth of course.
On the way home I called my roomate to wish her a happy birthday, and after a short chat she asked if it was pouring rain (seeing as the hurricane was supposed to have hit the area by then). My mom had warned me of the same hurricane and even suggested I not drive home, but I was pleasantly surprised that the sky was clear. After marveling at my luck, I hung up the phone and was promptly introduced to Ivan. We drove the rest of the way home together, and he was not pleasant company. I was actually driving 35 on a highway with my windsheild wipers set on "spastic" speed (you know the one where you are convinced that this swing around they will certainly fly off)- and I still couldn't see the lines on the road. He (Ivan) let up around Caldwell, which was convenient seeing as I needed to drop off my defensive driving certificate at the courthouse.
I figured the certificate was due dangerously soon for it to save the speeding ticket from being on my record, so before I left San Antonio I wrote down the address of the courthouse on a slip of paper. This was in case the courthouse wasn't open and I needed to mail it through the post office in Caldwell in order to have it reach its destination as soon as possible. I even had the foresight to put a stamp on an envelope. So I proudly reached Caldwell, found the post office (courthouse wasn't open), and slid the certificate in the blue steel box with a sigh of relief. I was thrilled to have it taken care of. As I lightheartedly drove away, every fiber in my being suddenly cringed in peripeteia as the utter horror and shock of a realization fell swiftly and forcefully...
I never addressed the envelope.
Blank. Nothing on it. Just a stamp.
My first instinct was to try to force my arm down the curved slot of the post office box and desperately sob NOOOO in a fit of sorrow. I withheld that urge knowing it would be fruitless. So my certificate was gone. I could not, however, have it gone. My future flashed before me as I saw my speeding ticket being marked in large red letters across my record, and my insurance company throwing back their heads and sneering those powerful executive sneers as they jacked up my rates. I could not let this happen. So the next day I called the post office in Caldwell. I explained my situation. After what were assuredly inward giggles disguised as incredulous silences, Bruce promised he would try to find the blank envelope. That he did, and he even addressed it for me. To him I owe many thanks. What would I have done without Bruce? I would perhaps be in a much worse situation after finding some intense metalworking tools and driving back down to Caldwell to tear apart the mail drop-off box myself, and would consequentially be charged with some sort of felony. That surely would have gone on my record.

Me, dramatic? absolutely.

classes

2004-09-17T04:02:00.000-04:00

Somedays you just want to erase everything and start over. This was not one of those days. This was one of those weeks. Actually not at all- it would be for most people I guess, but I have come to see the merit in my floundering.
**If entirely uninterested in science I would skip to the asterisk**
In organic chemistry lab the other day, we were doing what was supposed to be a pleasantly short and easy experiment involving vacuum filtration of some impure aniline. So I went along at a steady pace and all was going well. I then spilled half my sample, but you know what, I can live with a ridiculously low yeild. No problem. I also took about 30 minutes longer than I had to, because while I was waiting for what seemed to be a disfunctional vacuum to do its job, I could have connected the hose to the aspirator. But no, I didn't check that part, and instead waited while what was supposed to be vacuum filtration filtered in through gravity. The TA eventually came by and laughed after he saw the unhooked hose.
**Basic idea of the previous story: I am a retard.**
In Organic chemistry lecture, I am just constantly reminded of the thin line separating genius and insanity. My professor is assuredly the first, and seems to cross that line and dip heavily into the crazy side of things every once in a while. I am quite convinced that he does not sleep or shower except when absolutely necessary. I also speculate that when he does decide to sleep, it is most defnintely in one of his labs at school. He does, after all, have his own little wing in the chemistry building.
That, however, is not what tipped me off to possible insanity. I think it was the wide-eyed, mad scientist aura he exudes when he can't help but contain his ferverent excitement in dealing with organic molecules. In lecture he shoots these looks-I try desperately to avoid eye contact, because when he catches you it is over. That is it. His eyes get wide, and the thin lopsided grin curls onto his sleepless face wreathed in long greasy unwashed hair. And everything about that look draws you in and you can't look away. It is like when people can't draw their eyes from the very things that disturb them most. Despite this, I love him. One of the best professors I have ever had. Maybe it is exactly what makes him so good- he is entirely absorbed in what he does. I guess I can't blame him for being a tad insane- his life's work deals with things he can't see. It would drive me nuts too.
After leaving the lair of chemistry, I head to history with another of the best professors at A&M. A young Brit straight out of Oxford, Bickham is wonderfully informative and entertaining. The best part of it is that he lives up to his British accent and mannerisms by wearing tweed coats and such- as every good Englishman should. This is in the Texas summer heat, remember. I would not be surprised if the button up shirts underneath are long sleeved too. I always feel terrible in that class, for as interesting and funny as he is, I am always drowsy. I can't explain it, but something always gets me. The worst part is that I had him last semester for an equally interesting senior level course which consisted of only 15 people and almost all discussion. Unfortunately the same narcoleptic tendencies haunted me then as well. He ALWAYS caught me. Every time I would come to the realization that my eyes had been closed much to long to be considered a blink, I would fling them open only to find him looking straight at me. I took another class from him determined this time to prove that I really did find him interesting, but of course the same thing happens this year. I have tried desperately to prevent it with all sorts of methods. Generally stabbing myself with my mechanical pencil brings me out of my haze somewhat, but I have found that inflicting pain only works for brief periods. There is a good chance that he holds an irrepresible bitterness for me somewhere in his being because even in a class of 300, he still catches me with my eyes closed.

2004-09-13T03:07:00.000-04:00

If you were here
first thing I'd do
is knock you down
you left me cold
to meet your ghost
all over town

so grind the stone
spin the wheel
lock the doors
on what you feel
looking back, it's like I always knew...
~David Gray

Para ti... Ze, mi inspiracion. Deseo que podría ser diferente. Su honradez es increíble, pero deseo a veces que no sabía la verdad. me haces falta. te echo de menos.

2004-09-04T02:51:00.000-04:00

Deseo sabía qué pensar y qué para conocerme
deseo que podría vivir esa manera
en seguridad de sabiduría **

Echoes of footsteps linger, because I opened the doors to these unseen halls once. So imprints of the visitor remain. The steps taken inside were carved with permanence, and now the shape of him serves to make the feel of anyone else uncomfortable. For now, anyway. Thankfully I am not encumbered by the past. What was is not the problem. The problem arises when the what is combines with the what will be prematurely. That is why he doesn't fit in right now. Not comfortably. There just needs to be time to stretch out again.

**What I meant for that to mean:
I wish I knew what to think and what to know
I wish I could live that way
In assurance of wisdom

2004-08-20T23:11:00.000-04:00

The beginnning was somewhat defined by an end, and it seems that the end now is most notable for a beginning. Funny how things come full circle when you least expect it. Months went by disguised as days, with enough curiosities to be thought of as years. And I still haven't grasped it all. Part of me wants to step outside myself, and replay it over again just to experience everything one more time. I want to have it all frozen in 3x5's and 4x6's. Little flimsy traps of time. But the other part of me thinks things are sometimes better in reflection. What the images and moments lose in clarity, they make up for in immediate emotional pull and beauty. Looking back gives a picture of the whole. And so everything can be drawn in with one deep breath of nostalgia.
One thing I can be happy about is that I never took it for granted. In every moment my thoughts of enchanted appreciation would rise up like a child who lives in black and white looking into a kaliedoscope with new eyes. And I told myself over and over that this moment would be one of the ones I would remember forever. I would squeeze my eyes shut as if that could preserve it in the fireproof archives of my mind. So I am left with still frames of a summer. Buying mangoes at a stand in a flea market downtown, sitting on the street against my car for hours of talking, laying under shooting stars on rocky ground, and just driving with good conversation as the music. It shall all remain with me for as long as I can muster. The future creeps up behind me as I am looking back, and manages to add a new dimension of excitement, But I view it with contempt, as if it is responsible for making the past a memory. I am so torn between looking back and looking forward that the in-between is blurry. The present is caught up in what isn't there. So I have tried to loosen my grip and focus on all there is momentarily. But I will always be Lot's wife, and life as a pillar of salt won't leave me soon I think.

2004-07-19T01:27:00.000-04:00

So the performance was great fun...
sorry for the late response to your question Daniel T (aka my favorite person because you asked). We had a great time on stage and afterwards. It was at this really neat little Jamaican place downtown called tycoon flats. It had a great laid-back atmosphere, and the stage was outside among light-strung trees and tables. The most shocking part was that I sung a duet with Danny....in SPANISH. We wrote it on Wed (and by we i mean mostly he) and performed it that friday. Yo creo que mis amigos no tuvieron gusto con el concierto porque son gringos y no podrian comprender las palabras; por lo menos vinieron. I don't know if I said that right. We did play 3 songs that were in English. Anyway, playing that Friday night was the coolest thing I have done in a long time. I am sadly a temporary member of the band because I am leaving, but I will always have the memories. Wow that was a disgusting line. Let's ignore that unecessarily sentimental comment and move on.
So I am exploring cooking, and it is everything I thought it would be...suspense leading up to the good part (eating). However, I do really love it now. I also decided to teach myself guitar. I own a top-of-the-line acoustic that my dad purchased off of ebay for a total (shipping included) of $9. Oh yeah, it is quality. Not only is it the ugliest I think a guitar could ever be, it has the notable distinction of playing the second fret when I push the first one because it was made incorrectly and the string touches. The highest string also broke when I was tuning it. It is the special-ed guitar that all the other mean guitars point and laugh at on the playground of the guitar world. It does, however, have a bit of charm because it so desperately tries to be a real guitar. We will see how far it takes me.

2004-07-11T23:05:00.000-04:00

dedicated to anonymous commenter. congratulations on being the first comment. comments make me happy. but no, it isn't about love. (hint: read first line: don't start means it isn't there) Nor is is about anyone in my past, which I am sure many will consider, and it is not about anyone in my future, which undoubtedly comes to the minds of most. All you need to know is that it is about tension without a string that leads to nothing. Actually you didn't even need to know that.
but please, comment more. should give little leading questions like marcus to induce commenting...but i shall not stoop to the level of threatening baby seals. (only understandable if you are a marcus blog reader.)

conclusions

2004-07-11T21:18:00.000-04:00

I think I will want to burn this after I am finished, (the reason for putting in a non-burnable form), but considering I don't entirely know what it is about maybe i shouldn't jump anywhere. Especially a place of conclusions. Conclusions. That has been a place distant from my mind lately. always I guess. A wanderer of a mind doesn't like to visit it often no matter how peaceful of a place it is said to be. So I go back and forth, oscillating in somewhere in between the place of confusion and obstinate but purposeful indecision. So I guess I have decided not to decide, which in itself is a decision. Oh what tautology.
Maybe this sort of dynamic tension is a good place to be. Tension forces things to stretch. Stretching helps things grow and prevents injury later on. So I am growing. With risk of small injury now, I stride forward in semi-confidant nonchalance. movelike a jellyfish rhythm don't mean nothin ya go with the flow ya don't stop. (jack's way of describing my current state of cognizance)
and now my way:

don't start lovin me I am afraid that you won't finish
but let's enjoy this delicious suspense while we both fish for more

i can't tell if this is a fork or a curve in this new road i'm windin down
so maybe i will just go straight on a path undefined.

and if I could just find a way to say where I am headed then i would tell you right away
but uncertainty precludes such courtesy

and maybe i am fighting an ant with a gun, but i still feel the need to either shoot it or run
rather than letting it fester.

but letting it bask in a hesitant sun, while frustrating, just might prove to be fun
on a crazy summer hot day

so I am forging ahead at the risk of sunburn because an experience is only worth what you learn along the way

so I will lay back, let it grow, and stay calmly excited,
for whatever it is, it's not unrequited.

none of you understand this, and that is because i didn't write it for you. no offense- this is just cathartic rambling, remember.

2004-07-01T16:54:00.000-04:00

It has been a while, and nothing much has happened in that while. I just accidentally ended up in a band that is performing Friday night. You know, the normal stuff. OK, so it is highly abnormal. But yes, Kara is doing percussion and singing backup with two coworkers Danny and Ramon, both of whom happen to be incredibly talented. I have already had a blast practicing with them, so I can't wait until Friday. By percussion I mean tamborine, bongos and shakers...not like an actual drumset. So that is a new development which should be interesting to those of you who know that I have never played anything in front of anyone before (except for piano recitals long ago). At least I can't play the wrong note on maracas.

an explanation...

2004-06-19T16:38:00.000-04:00

sorry the previous entry was so vague. I decided that copying part of a conversation would be easier than re-writing it, so for all who are not aware, this is the explanantion:

JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: aHHHH
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: what happenenenedned
KALYHU: ?
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: sad post in ur blog!
KALYHU: haha- yeah
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: :-(
KALYHU: bittersweet i would say
KALYHU: jason and i broke up that day...had i not told you?
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: nope
KALYHU: oops, sorry
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: u told me about how the trip to austin would reveal that though
KALYHU: yeah, well he ended up coming down here
KALYHU: it was good though
KALYHU: we were both at the same place by that point
KALYHU: it was hard for both of us, bc we still care about each other alot
KALYHU: there's no bitterness or anger or anything btween us
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: beautiful break up
KALYHU: we just knew it was the right thing to do
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: thats how they all should be
KALYHU: it really was beautiful
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: nice and clean
KALYHU: our breakup was indicative of our relationship
KALYHU: we just held each others hands on the couch, faced each other and each told the other one how amazing they were
KALYHU: how much we had learned
KALYHU: and how wonderful it had been
KALYHU: we never even had to say the breakup words
KALYHU: it was just understood
KALYHU: so after tears from both sides
KALYHU: he kissed me
KALYHU: and left
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: but i wonder if that was the real end
KALYHU: not the end of our friendship
KALYHU: but the end of our romantic relationship, yes
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: yea i know that, but ending it with a kiss leaves an opening for a sequal
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: well to me anyway
KALYHU: yeah, i just don't see it happening
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: maybe ive seen too many movies
KALYHU: probably
KALYHU: i think the kiss meant more than one thing, to both of us- it was sealing our feelings, and also sealing the ending while giving us both one last taste of what had been
KALYHU: if that makes sense
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: awww
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: awww²
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: thats too good
KALYHU: haha
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: i need to like write that down
KALYHU: it is really movie like isn't it
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: hahah
JuStIfIeDMiStAkE: novel-like
...

Tonight I can Write...

2004-06-13T02:20:00.000-04:00

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: 'La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.'

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo lo quise, y a veces el también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta lo tuve entre mis brazos.
Lo besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

El me quiso, a veces yo también lo quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no lo tengo. Sentir que lo he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmnesa sin el.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guadarlo.
La noche está estrellada y el no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido.

Como para acercarlo mi mirada lo busca.
Mi corazón lo busca, y el no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto lo quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no lo quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez lo quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta lo tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberlo perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que el me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.
~Pablo Neruda (adapted)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...
To hear the immense night, still more immense without him
the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture...

But I am ok. Nostalgic, sad, but at peace.
I could never thank you enough for being in my life, so I won't try.

a poodle named princess...perfect

2004-06-06T19:03:00.000-04:00

While I may not have found a real job yet, I certainly am hooked up with a nice fake job for a few days. House-sitting is a fantastic deal. Especially when it is for your neighbors across the street: one essentially reaps all the benefits of having an entire house to oneself while all the amenities of one's actual home lay close at hand. Can't beat it. Well, I could beat it one way- by killing the dog.
There is a certain perfidious poodle that goes along with the house which somewhat hinders the glorious setup. Now do not jump to horrible conclusions about my peaceful nature- killing the dog wouldn't be nearly as bad as it sounds. The dog is probably about 160 years old (and I mean in human years mind you), so the senile canine really needs to be put out of its misery. Consider it more of euthanasia than killing. This dog has perhaps 60-90 minutes of wakefulness every day, which doesn't sound so bad for the dog-sitter, except for the fact that these minutes are inevitably taken somewhere in between 2 and 5 in the morning. The dog sleeps intensely ALL DAY and cannot be stirred except for an occasional bathroom break, but then magically wakes up by using some special sixth sense that lets it know when I have just fallen asleep. Since it sleeps on a pad in the same room as I do (it's name is princess, after all), I am awakened with a sharp "i need to pee...haha I woke you up yet again...I live to torture you" sort of bark. So I submit to the dog because I prefer not to deal with doggie doo doo, and I let her outside. She then trots back in and spends all the energy that 23 hours of sleep has given her on the unrelenting pursuit of rubbing her head noisily in her dog bed while her tags cheerfully jingle. Her pad is next to my bed I will remind you. This playfulness is accompanied by loud wheezing, attributed to the fact that she has lived longer than most of the old-testament characters ever did.
Also, I can't leave the dog outside late at night (the time when I am generally gone of course) because she barks incessantly and the neigbors get a bit ticked, so I usually leave her in the garage or in the house if I am not going to be gone too long. The other night I left her in the garage for about five hours, and was of course worried sick that she had done her nasty excretion business all over the place. I shared my worries with the guys I was hanging out with, and got great advice: such as, "just rub it in...it might pass for oil stains" etc. This increased my dread. I returned home, and walked towards the garage door with the funeral march playing somewhere in the distance, only to find that I had been spared, and nothing wet or brown was on the garage floor. Much relieved, I really liked the dog for a while (until I fell asleep, that is). So excited was I about my fortune, that I loudly excalimed " the dog didn't poop!" to each of my friends immediately when I saw them at church the next morning. This was much to the dismay of the pious elders passing by who undoubtedly mistake solemn and religious to be the same word. But oh well, I had to share the good news.
So that day, I left the dog sleeping and went to my other residence across the street where the one of the aforementioned amenities (mom) had cooked a nice meal. It was a pleasant, worry-free hour, seeing as that it was daytime, and the nocturnal dog was assuredly sleeping.

I found the pee spot on the carpet when I returned.
Perfect.

So in my sleep-deprived stupor I have come to the point when I must chant the only mantra that gets me through it all..."I am getting paid for this, I must keep her alive, I am getting paid for this..."
After all, in theory it is a good fake job.

2004-05-26T01:22:00.000-04:00

So I went driving the other night. Not the deliberate "I'll go for a drive alone" driving, but rather the "I just drove past my neigborhood, and I am pretty sure it was on purpose" sort of driving- led entirely by impulse. I was in a thinking mood, and driving facilitates thinking somehow- especially middle of the night driving. Same with walking. Anyway, I discovered that random, capricious driving is not intelligent for one so directionless as I. Thus, instead of just driving until I found my way home, I was forced to retrace my path. It's ok though, I still got good thinking time. I was lost, but eventually found a major highway. In the end, I drove in my driveway with thoughts still as unclear as my mental roadmap. I guess things have to get less orderly before they can be ordered again. Let entropy take precedence, let the natural order of things go for a bit, then maybe clarity will come. It is like pulling everything off a shelf to reorganize. So I went backwards, but made progress in doing so, if that makes sense.
See, I told you my thoughts were tangled.

2004-05-19T02:17:00.000-04:00

I thought that starting this thing would make me feel obligated to write. Turns out that doesn't work. Well, I feel mildly obligated because people have asked about my long hiatus, but it just hasn't been overwhelmingly important. Finals came quite viciously, and didn't go away for a bit, which is one excuse for not writing. The funny thing is that I had plenty of free time to write, but I wouldn't because guilt would have overcome me when thinking of what I REALLY should have been writing- history essays. I think that I might still be caught in the high school "I don't need to study" mode, because, well, I did much less than I should/could have. The thing is, I don't really care. (*GASP* Kara doesn't care about SCHOOL!! What has college done to her? Has the freedom has led her astray and into the world of binge drinking and wild nights of uninhibited partying?)....ok, hopefully reading this means you are aware that the previous statement is stereotypical of many people, and vastly untrue for me, the anti-person. I mean, no, I am not an ANTI person...I guess un-stereotypical would be a better way to describe it. Anyway, the importance of school remains in my mind, but my mind has less sway with me these days. This is the major change that has occured in me this year: my heart is taking over. It has always been there, but it was wrapped in plenty of chain linked fence and barbed wire. Jason (the boyfriend for you unacquainted folks) has been working pretty diligently with the wire cutter for quite some time now, and has made plenty of progress, but for some reason the freedom of college expediated the process. Perhaps the liberty to hang out into all hours of the night with no curfew encouraged the roaming of my heart (night being the best time for it to show itself, since my mind generally shuts down rapidly after midnight. During the day it is overbearing, but at night it runs away like cinderella. It is such a pansy little princess. Typical of those bully types. [heart talking-time is 1:50]) Anyway, so the more the heart got to breathe, the more I became used to allowing it to do so. Or maybe the heart finally gave a braveheart-esque (need i point out the pun?) pep talk to itself and the surrounding visceral tissue, and after shouting freedom and painting the right ventricle blue, it just went from there. It wouldn't be THAT much of a stretch- the textbooks paint the right ventricle and atrium blue already anyway. wow. see- i am still bookish and nerdy.
Anyway, I learned to place relationships far above the books I love so dearly, and I am in the process of learning to share my heart in those relationships. It is a good change to have undergone, and was a step toward the maturity of balance between heart and mind. Unfortunately I don't think maturity is really a place one ever reaches- it is just the journey towards a very abstract destination. The world may view it as how seriously one presents themselves publicly, but I think it truly lies in the depth of what one thinks internally, and with what sincerity they examine the external as it relates to the internal.
So, I guess that is my "what I learned this year" entry. It is funny how those cliche essay prompts from elementary school seem to be legitimate now, like "what do you want to be when you grow up?". I DON'T KNOW. STOP ASKING.
(frustration exaggerated. go ahead and ask)

2004-04-29T04:32:00.000-04:00

Whatever it is, whatever reigns in the depths of my mind that allows me to love and hold the world so dear bewitches me. I am repulsed by the sick deceptions and the sad malevolent lust encompassing all the actions, thoughts, and rationalizations that come so quickly and flippantly to the minds of men. Perhaps they don't come, but they arise from their natural resting place, which accounts for the swift ease of deliverance. I don't understand. the more i see and experience and observe, the more i realize i am foreign here. there is an inherent awkwardness present in one who lives in one world, yet belongs in another. a desperation uncried, but a hope sustained covertly. thankfully hope is not a form of wishful thinking, but confident expectation (shout out to butch). an expectation of the pure things i do see, for there are still things untainted. caught in a moment seen as ordinary by multitudes, the artful milieu grabs that passionate part of me. the cool smooth stone under my back, the covering overhead just large enough to put the sudden downpour at a distance to be observed, but allowing the light mist to coat the eyes looking toward it. and against a deep purple sky, shining drops covered over that place in my mind filled with an intercessory sadness. the smell of wet earth inflitrated the recesses knowingly blinded by darkness. and so i saw, there, a tiny bit of Him. and even that was enough to create a longing awe. For the artist puts only an abstract dash of himself into every work, so how much more indelible the real beauty of the Artist must be.
and so hope remains.

a little bit about myself

2004-04-20T13:10:00.000-04:00

I have often described myself as a "socially adjusted nerd". This means that upon first meeting, people rarely pin me as the 'I love learning' type. We will chat, have a good conversation, I might make some corny jokes, but for the most part, they think I am fairly cool. Then BAM. I accidentally let a word like obsequious slip out and every preconceived notion they might have comes crashing to the ground as the real Kara shows through. There then passes a short period of stunned silence and perplexed facial expressions which they try to pass off as "what on earth does that word mean??", but in reality the primary thought going through their head is "why on earth did she use that word??". I have become fairly adept at using normal language, but my nerdiness is so inherent that the comments i make often give me away. For instance, when my mom asked me to describe the crack in my windshield, I said without hesitation, "it looks like the graph of negative x cubed". Well, it does. But WHO SAYS THAT? And I HATE math, so you can only imagine the science analogies that come out of my mouth. At least I have come to embrace my nerdiness. After all, I will actually enjoy these many years of school that are before me.

2004-04-15T19:31:00.000-04:00

I haven't quite figured out what this is for- why i want this online expose. I do know that I want people to understand who I am outside of the shallow small talk held daily, because I inadequately relate to most people. That doesn't mean I will necessarily bare my soul all the time because in some cases it is better for that to remain private, and just between the few people who are allowed fairly unlimited access to it-(there aren't a huge number of those.) I think I am just afraid of it becoming me writing for an audience instead of me writing for me, and merely allowing an audience to view that foggy window to my thoughts. I want this to be cathartic, not a show. I know how I am, and I am so unused to this open rambling that I am fully aware of the danger. Then again, it doesn't matter. I will just write what I write, and it will evolve as it must.
I was going to apologize for my cynicism in the former entry, but then I realized that a) I already wrote a very long disclaimer, and b) I can be cynical sometimes. ( I prefer the phrase "realistically perceptive"). I don't think that it is to the point where i am hardened or unhappy because of it though. Why apologize- that is who i am, and i am not going to speak with sugar. Salt is what i want coming out. The only problem lies in the people who view it as horseradish.
I rediscovered my friend Katherine's blog, and being the remarkable girl she is, she eased my discomfort with my open cynicism. She wrote, "A cynical person is hardened, often sarastic and stubborn, but insightful. To be cynical, you have to be aware; you understand and therefore are compelled to dissect, ponder; feel as though you must struggle for conclusions, answers. It is rare to know all you know and embrace it all, to think about it and not have frustration or even outrage at times - so long as you are paying attention. " Thank you Kat. I could not have said it better myself. In fact, I can't really say anything better than you can, and I love that about you. You might be far in distance and relation, but at least I still have your blog.
Anyway, I had taken the link to this off of my profile because of discomforts with the whole idea. I am putting it back on now. I need to stop caring anyway.

2004-04-12T01:58:00.000-04:00

I am writing yet another Easter entry. Two in one night... that spells schoolwork procrasitnation.
Anyway, I went to Easter church of course, the other time of the year when people decide they really DO want to be Christians. Mike Lowry, my pastor, was looking rather monkish as he tends to do on special occasions. I can't help but think so. When he wears a white hooded robe with a rope belt over his less than thin tummy, his short stature and bald head wreathed with thin hair screams monk. It isn't a bad thing at all, in fact it is rather endearing. The only problem is that it invokes another religion's style. Dye the robe a brick color and we would have a Tibetan on our hands.
I think Christianity is the only major religion without some sort of style. How very un-American of us. We like style, I am surprised we haven't classified one for oursleves. The orthodox Jews have the black, the tassles, the yamaka, the curls...Muslims are typified by turbans, or for women hijabs, niqab, or the more all encompassing burqa....and we have already discussed Buddhism. Now, some would say..."well Kara, all of the other religions somewhat classify these standards in their beliefs, their dress is also built on deep traditions, and the other groups are rather ethnically homogenous, and that is the reason for the apparent 'style' that appears when compared to Americans' relatively diverse dress".
I say no. The difference must lie in Planning. Somehow, their forefathers worked it out for them. What happened with Christianity! We need to know what to wear!! The problem must be because all of our American clothes are made throughout the Third world, so there is no central and consolidating authority on what the American sartorial standards should be. What a travesty. We should get all the Kathie Lee's to come together on a single unifying element for the deprived American Christians who can't find unity. Maybe James Avery could count for Texans, but what, I say WHAT will people do who don't know of the hill-country legend? I guess we will have to settle for the common theme of wearing something different every Sunday because Heaven forbid that an item of clothing be recognized by all those people who undoubtedly scrutinize your clothes every week.
Actually, the more I consider it, the more I realize that maybe there is an American Christian dress. The Chaco sandals and Christian T-shirt wearing Nalgene bearing camp-types. Wait...maybe that is just the Aggie Christian dress.
***DISCLAIMER***
In case you aren't familiar with me, this entry was dripping with sarcasm towards our culture...no one elses. Sarcasm isn't always a good thing, sorry I am really trying to cut down a bit. Also, just to let you know, I in no way claim immunity from all the things I criticize. I am annoyed by the things that I see in myself (like the rampant materialism and full satisfaction with wearing a million things we don't need that are made off of the exploited children in poor nations-we all do it) I also own about 500 Christian t-shirts from various organizations, events, and trips. This is not really a bad thing, it simply typifies the Christians where I live. It is rather humorous. A friend has a shirt (ironically) that says it best:"they will know we are Christians by our t-shirts". How true, and how sad. They should know by our actions. So please do not think this is a self-righteous rampage, it was merely an overtly sarcastic commentary.

2004-04-12T00:34:00.000-04:00

So today was Easter. The most important day of my faith. And what do I think of on Easter? CADBURY EGGS!! (just kidding- although they do follow the risen saviour fairly closely). How sad when little chocolates and pastel colors come to mind on a day so ridiculously glorious that it is sickening to think of bunnies because they are so grotesquely insignificant.

A note on Cadbury eggs... Though I consider them to be perhaps the most delightful elliptical spheres of sugar ever allowed to rot my teeth, I truly understand people who are disgusted by them. The idea is really quite sickening. (Can the phrase elliptical sphere be used in place of egg-shaped??) It is made to resemble an egg, and so the inside is full of a white pasty substance reminiscent of thick influenza-ridden mucous. To top that off, they decided it would be a good idea to make it more "realistic" by putting orange food coloring in the middle to remind the eater that there is a runny YOLK there. Now just when someone might think they have gone too far in recreating an un-boiled egg, we see that the outside is of brown chocolate. An odd choice considering white chocolate would have gone right along with the unsuccessful yet nasty realism of the whole thing...but then it gets you thinking about the implications of a brown egg. Of course there are plenty of light brown eggs layed by hens round the world, but the darker brown throws you off. Lets not discuss this farther because I prefer not to bring in dramatic fear-factor ish ramblings on what you might eat. Oops-too late for those of you that have already thrown away the foiled eggs from the fake grass of that colorful Easter basket. Don't throw them away, give them to me! (Ok, so this whole thing was merely a ruse to get you to give up your Cadbury eggs. Maybe it didn't work, but it sure made ya think twice about them, didn't it?) If I have turned you off to them, well hoorah for distasteful rhetoric, and at least I saved you some calories. If it didn't at all work, congratulations. Fear is not a factor for you.

2004-04-05T03:43:00.000-04:00

I feel like i could have titled this "nighttime revelations". Not revelations really, just mental clarifications of feelings or situations. But they always come at night, when thoughts are coming untangled, unhindered by reality...those expressions of sorrow, or far-reaching experience and understanding, only met through dismantled words put together blindy but with reason. Usually, sleep dulls them, and lets them slip away before they are preserved. Then at least they are not tarnished by the imperfection of language.
Everything I think during the day doesn't always make sense to me, and I can't ever get a good grasp of what exactly I feel. Day thoughts often remain shallow. I guess that is why I must "untangle" later on. The big question is why are my thoughts tangled in the first place? I think I use the phrase untangling thoughts in place of delving into thoughts. My mind just doesn't stand still long enough to delve during the day. My mind refuses to do work responsibly during the day also..see, it is a doubly destructive thing. It wanders without wandering profoundly, so absolutely nothing but leisure is gained. I think leisure is wonderfully necessary, but my mind ends up trading sleep leisure for awake leisure without my permission. It decides to daydream when it should be working, and then I have to stay up until the butt-crack of dawn to work...or delve. One would think that after 18 years I could have worked this out with my mind, but no, we still have some communication issues. This is very apparent in the present situation- it is now after 3 in the morning, and I have a test in less than 7 hours (with a class before that) for which I have not studied. And yet I continue to delve. Actually it is becoming less and less delving-ish, so I shall cease now.

2004-04-03T12:53:00.000-05:00

so I am giving in to the time-consuming blog trend. It will be good for me though...I think I need a place where I force myself to write and clear up all the jumbled mess of thoughts packed tight in my head. I actually wrote a song last night that inspired me to start this. I am sick of how limited my relationships are with most people because I am inherently closed off to others, so I figured that the easiest way to start easing my way in to a slightly more vulnerable social position is to practice by writing in a semi-public place. Everything I have ever written has previously stayed in my obscure little black book. No More I say! This is a big step for me.
Here is that song:

She Remains a Mystery

A single tear
blurs the confusion on the page
erasing constrained passion
that leads to muted rage
I'm too afraid to cry,
I must remain opaque
because darkness is what's safe
and glass is prone to break

the life that I can't live
the person I can't be
is all trapped up inside
this mind that cages me
I long for them to feel
I long for them to see
the person that I am
but she remains a mystery

but it's getting much too hard
to throw my weight against the door
because the pressure's building up
and I don't know what I'm holding for
the stain of imperfection
against the white sheet of my creed
seduces me to cower
I can't let them see me bleed

the life that I can't live
the person I can't be
is all trapped up inside
this mind that cages me
and I long for them to feel
I long for them to see
the person that I am
but she remains a mystery

I can't forever hinder
who I'm supposed to be
It's time now to unveil
and expose the naked me.