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  • Life is so amazing! There are a multitude of things which are beautful and awesome and wonderful—Sunrise this morning was fire in the sky, the wind last night was Wendigo between my ribs, and this blueberry on my lips is actually a grape.

    Things I'd like to say soon:

    Well, second service.

    My kitten is a killer. I have a cat, unfixed, which means that from time to time I get a batch of kittens. Cute little furballs which grow up and about the time they're not cute anymore they disappear and never come back. My mind knows that cougars and coyotes find them tasty, while my heart knows that they go on in beatific life. Silly heart.

    Anyway, this batch may not disappear. The other day as I was loading some firewood onto a trailer when I saw one of my kittens—Mild, a tabby-orange kitten with swirly patterns down the sides—dragging something. Being familiar with the kitten, I didn't think much of it. Until she got closer.

    It was a rabbit. A full-grown rabbit. My kitten has slain a full-grown rabbit. Over the next 16 hours, the three kittens and Tortice their mama ate the rabbit.

    I'm not sure that these kittens will ever disappear. I may start finding the coyotes and the cougars, dead, lying on my front doorstep.

    I'm going to start carrying my machete, just in case they ever turn on me.

    Also, some of the young men who go to church with me are doing an accountability thing on Thursdays. It's very encouraging—and it uses a rather simple formula to spark relationships. The youth pastor (who was just hired at the church) brought it with him from his previous job at a Christian camp. It's called P-PAIN. And it has nothing to do with cranberry juice.

    Anyway, it's very encouraging. I would encourage everybody to get into something like this. Ask me if you're interested in the questions, or I'm sure I'll post more on P-PAIN later.

    Sidenote: Pastor is announcing right now that in Revelations, at the end of the world, an angel will be the mediator between Christians and God, an angelic high-priest. Oh, cancel that. The angel is just a symbol of Christ, not the actual mediator. Oh, whew. Heresy missed by that much.

    Um, yeah, so last night I passed out at the bar.

    It's not something I'm proud of, (I've always wanted to say that) but kinda funny. I go to the local bar, Turbo's, because it's the only place in town that makes burgers worth anything. As it was Valentine's, most of the people at the bar were single, lonely, bitter, and trying to avert it all with chemicals—I was rather unhappy with the table next to me, they were smoking heavily. And I was suffering from the secondhand smoke.

    I started getting very warm under my collar, down my arms, clammy sweat, nausea, feeling very confined by my jacket, agony. I decided to get to the bathroom, just in case. As I passed the lady's room, I stopped remembering things and came to a few seconds later (I hope it was only a few seconds!) and finished slipping into the bathroom.

    I didn't end up throwing up, but it wasn't pleasant.

    Later I was talking to Becca (my Valentine), and she looked it up online. She blames it on the secondhand smoke. I agree, but think the overall bitterness in the room probably didn't help. And the fact that they were showing a Peanuts Valentine Special on the TVs seemed to be taken as an insult.

    So yeah, I guess I've passed out at the bar now.

    Mkay. Pastor's wrapping up his second sermon now, I'd better get to paying attention.

    Happy Valentine's Day!

  • Mm. Tonight feels like my execution. I don't know why

    The wind is wild and petulant, the moonlight glowing like a second sun, a dead sun, a cold sun. Something about the night air is different than day air, colder, smoother, more apt to find the chinks in the warmth and to creep inside. And it feels like it has crept inside of me, deep inside of me. Tomorrow, I know, the sun will rise. But inside of me, I don't know if next week will ever come. It feels like the end of the world, the end of an age, like I'll wake up on some distant ground that spins about a different sun. I really, horribly, badly want a different skin to crawl into.

    And I don't know why.

  • I just got a call from the school that I've been not feeling good about for the last week and a half. It was a man this time, for the first time. I was so relieved. When I explained that I just didn't have the time, he understood. No pressure. Dudes are so much more easy to work with than chicks.

    In other news (since I'm posting, and I don't want to go back outside yet) I've been tinkering with my mandolin again. I think my memory works in such a way that if I cram for a couple weeks then leave whatever I'm trying to remember alone for a few months, I remember it better than immediately after cramming. Like my brain has time to re-wire itself. Maybe it means I'm not getting enough sleep, since dreams are supposed to be the brain working through the memories and events of the day... Anyway, I could actually recognize my playing as a song, and not a series of sounds... played... at... long... intervals... It might be even more helpful if I knew the song before I started, so I could get the rhythm right. Meh.

    Snow day!

  • Women are trouble.

    I say that half-jokingly, but I'm half serious. I was filling out FastWeb information the other day (it's a scholarship-search service) and apparently they passed my phone number along to an online school. Apparently, because I received a phone call from a lady at the International Academy of Design and Technology, or something like that. I must not have been thoroughly aware of what was happening, because the next thing I know I'm "officially enrolled" in the school, and the only step I had to take to begin classes (on the twelfth of February!) was to fill out my FAFSA (Pretty much all financial aid—including most scholarships—requires that). Well, that's not a big problem for me, I have to fill out the FAFSA anyway, unless I'm paying cash from my pocket. And I can't afford that for a Bachelor's degree, not right now.

    After I fill out the FAFSA, I figure out that the school isn't running on a semester-by-semester plan, more of a month-by-month plan. Which translates to several times the cost that I was expecting. I'll be honest, I was probably foolish to think that a B.A. would only cost 12 grand, but SEVENTY!?! No. I can't afford that, and I won't take out the loan that they're pressuring me to. I'd rather work with my hands and be relatively free.

    Unfortunately, I had already allowed myself to be pressured into paying the application fee—I should have realized that a school that tries to get you to commit within hours isn't a school worth pursuing, but I didn't. Fortunately, in the Application Agreement, (which the lady didn't want me to read, but I did anyway. Thank God!) I agreed to a 72 hour period during which everything would be refunded, including the application fee—a fact which I shall have to dig up and have in front of me when I call back tomorrow.

    Which brings me to reason that I'm posting this: I have to call the school and confront (ugh!) a lady (ugh!). I hate doing that. I don't want to. I'd rather just "disappear", let them keep the application fee and refuse to talk to them. But that's not what's good, I don't think. I need to make it clear that I'm not interested, at least not at this time. And it feels like I'm disemboweling myself just thinking about it. My stomach hurts from the emotions that I'm dealing with. I'm such a wuss when it comes to this kind of stuff. Bleh.

    Anyway, if you guys would remember me in prayer, that I grow a bit of a spine and learn to say "no" to sales-women—also salesmen, but that's not quite as much a problem—I'd appreciate it.

    I love you guys.

  • The speaker at church today is Toby, not the normal pastor. Normally, this wouldn't thrill me—Toby speaks to businesspeople using their jargon, and so it takes a double-translation for me to accept anything that he says, and I'm lazy—but today I'm pretty excited. Before service began, Toby trotted up stairs to the Crow's Nest with a jump drive. He has only one picture that he wants to show during the sermon, which makes it easy for me; more importantly, though, is the fact that it's an early picture of the guys at Microsoft. Let's see if I can get this uploaded...

    Early-Microsoft

    Ah, yes. There it is. Now that's a reason to get excited about a sermon.

  • Oh, my. I just read my last post (made late at night when I thought my cat died) and I realised just how muddled I get when I'm mostly asleep. Woah.

    I think I'm getting ready to move... Into an Airstream Travel Trailer. IKE's been trying to get rid of it for awhile now, and it's a step up from my current living situation. Which isn't saying much, but every little bit counts. I've been spending my odd moments fixing the electrical systems, which have brittle wires and broken switches throughout. It's been coming together nicely, though. Nothing to complain about. I also need to get the blackwater tank fixed, and probably the outhouse. And I need to be looking at some sort of vehicle to move the trailer with—maybe a pair of oxen, but more likely some sort of truck.

    In short, I'm excited to see where I will be in this chapter. Maybe I'll go to Brazil by mule train. Ooh! That's an even better idea than the pair of oxen! I should totally hook up a mule train to the Airstream!

  • Score:

    Lower brain function: 1
    Sleep: 0

    So a little while ago my lower brain woke me up with the urgent news that my baby needed me. Something (which sounded remarkably like a baby crying) needed me very desperately, and Mister Reticular Formation sitting at the bottom of my brain suddenly went wonky.

    After hearing the Scary Noises or seeing the Scary Things before going to bed, I assumed immediately that my cat was wounded and dying on my front lawn with her kittens surrounding her, mourning her with the cat's version of a dirge. And no, that's not just me being morbid. It's happened before. (Except that there was no dirge last time)

    So I got into all my grubby clothes and pulled on a pair of shoes. As I went down the stairs, I could still hear it, so I expected that it would be quite audible when I stepped out onto the front yard.

    It wasn't.

    In fact, nothing was very audible. There's a little bit of a breeze, but nothing unusual. No dead cat, or skunk, or Mexican Crying Moth, or baby tucked into a picnic basket. Well, maybe she just died, something suggested in my head. I think it was my reticular formation again, trying to make excuses for waking me up at a terrible hour. But I decided to check on her anyway.

    She's fine. As are the kids... er... kittens. So I crawled back up the stairs (they're very steep) and into bed.

    I think that's all I care to say. I'm awfully tired. Go to sleep, people. Go to sleep.

  • I'm feeling melancholy. I ran into one of the girls that I used to work with at the coffee shop at Wal-Mart tonight—she's just a kid and already two months' pregnant. I mean, I love babies and all, but I wish she wasn't pregnant yet, not until she's older... not until she's got a good solid man who's giving up his life for her minute by minute.

    But I'm kinda excited too. She's been on my prayer list forever and now I can add her baby to it, too.

    In completely unrelated news, I'm having an uncomfortable night as a gigantic bird keeps calling and swooping at my window. It's creepy, even though I'm sure that most of the creepiness is caused by the fog and the moonlight glistening on the barn owl.

  • Well, according to the original schedule, the church I'm going to is finished with its study over Armageddon any day now.

    But we're not. The most recent schedule promises that Armageddon will go on through February. I'm dying inside, just a little bit... Not a pleasant feeling. And what's worse, I feel like a sneak and a blackguard when I admit or suggest that something's not right here. I feel like a sneak and a blackguard right now. I've tried to post for the last month on the subject, but I chicken out each time. (At least, I think it's chicken outing. Chickening out. Whatever.)

    This is the third week of studying different ideas about the rapture, and we haven't even talked about whatever position the pastor thinks is right, just the "wrong ones".

    Now I'm debating inside of myself (because I know that I've been a rebel for so long, and old habits are hard to keep killing) whether I'm just rebelling against the preaching of this subject at all, or if there's something deeper that I'm pulling back from. I want to say that it's the latter; I want to say that if a preacher isn't preaching the Truth, he shouldn't be paid (1 Corinthians 9:14). I want to say that if somebody isn't teaching the Truth, that I shouldn't be sticking around (1 Timothy 6:3). But I also want to say (sometimes) that the moon is a great grin on the sky. What I want to say sometimes is just a pretty little story.

    In any case, my stomach isn't at peace right now. I want to know what to do.

  • Anticipation comes in different flavours. Remember the taste of the night before you turned 18? The weekend before your first "real" valentine? Five minutes before the dentist's chair? The second before that poorly-pitched baseball took out your front teeth?

    Anticipation. They're all anticipation. Some are sweetly, vibrantly humming—eager anticipation—while others are terrifying, gritty, bitter. I like the first kind better. Also, I don't like the taste of gritty things... Ugh.

    Tonight I'm feeling an anticipation which is new each time I feel it: The anticipation of taking my last final. It's new each time because every semester is different; different teachers and classes bring different moods, environments, expectations. I'm used to the fact that it's exciting, but I never actually get used to the excitement.

    I like that. Knowing what to expect but being surprised by it anyway. That's a flavour of anticipation that I can really get into.

    Knowing exactly who God is, but finding him new every morning.

nsmith

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