Realism

Unfortunately, I am not completely out of touch with reality. I just can't seem to get away from it, no matter how hard I try.

It caught up to me before Christmas even got here, when we were visiting my grandmother on my father's side. My aunt asked me about my college plans (which are currently limited to the fact that I'm going.) I got so stressed out just talking about it. My throat started getting really tight, and I almost started crying.

I don't know! I don't know where I'm going or how I'm getting there or what I'm doing once I get there! I have no idea! I'm not there yet. I'm here. But There keeps haunting me here. It won't go away.

Shoo, College, it's not your turn yet.

So later on, my sister and I were chatting with one of my father's cousins from Germany, who is this really smart professor type and happens to be quite knowledgeable. He asked us what we thought of certain recent global events, which we happened to have heard nothing about. Needless to say, we didn't have much to say on the matter. Anyway, he was really encouraging us to read the newspaper or subscribe to email updates on this stuff.

But I don't really want to know. That might be horrible and immature, but I don't want to hear about wars and rumors of wars, of politics and destruction and terror. I don't want to know what is going on in the rest of the world or even in the rest of my country, because I'm safe right here. I want to curl up in a little ball and shut my eyes and plug my ears and pretend that everything is fine. I want to live in blissful ignorance, because in my little corner of the world it is bright and sunny. There might be rain coming, but I don't want to hear about it now. I'll deal with it when it comes. In the meantime, why should I wring my hands and count clouds?

My father's cousin said it had always surprised him that Christians were not more active in certain charities. Shouldn't our beliefs give us more urgency?

As far as charity goes, I don't do much. I do not volunteer anymore outside of my church and my school. I don't always tithe like I should. I co-sponsor a little boy through World Vision, with a friend from church. His name is Alex and he lives in El Salvador. Reality is, though, I should do more. I should write him more letters, send him pictures. I should give more of myself, my time.

And then there is reality on a much smaller scale: homework. Yes, homework over Christmas break. Gee, thanks. Merry Christmas to you too, teachers. Anyway, I haven't finished and I won't be finished when school starts back. I'll be behind before I ever go to class. (I sort've left a textbook necessary for one of the assignments in my locker...oops...)

Rather than blogging about reality and how much I hate it, it would make much more sense to pick a side. If I'm really hiding from it, I shouldn't be acknowledging it like this, right? But if I've decided to face reality, shouldn't I be doing something about it? Either way, this post should end right...

Here.

Feliz Navidad!!!

This season is always an interesting one for me, being involved in various choirs and such. Life seems to crescendo around Christmas. Usually, exams at school fall right before Christmas break. The year wraps itself up like another present under the tree and families gather around tables of food. Traditions are upheld. Everyone takes a deep breath. And then we hold it as we watch the clock. Everyone cheers and toasts to another year.

Well, right now I'm at the 'taking a deep breath' step. I love Christmas. I love the music, the rush of activity, the decorations, the air! Christmas air is definitely different than regular air. I love the lights. Mateo recently hosted a lovely little party the night before Christmas Eve at this adorable little village-of-sorts on the beach. It was so beautiful there. The beach, the night, the lights, the streets, the houses, the fountain. There was a little gathering of trees all wrapped in pure white lights with luscious green grass and a little brick pathway and benches. There was a tall Christmas tree with sparkling ornaments in front of a bell-tower. There was a glistening sea on the other side of a stretch of cold white sand, all under a clear and calm sky. Everything was picturesque (except the random glimpse of Winn-Dixie in between two houses...I pretended it wasn't there).

Christmas Eve, I played! I played the organ with a little ensemble of a cello, a violinist, three sopranos, and a bass. I messed up so much, but it was just incredible. I love playing with other people. There's just something magical about the way it all comes together. About the way the music shifts and changes when you layer it like that. About the way each part sounds so simple on its own, but is vital to the whole. The service was long, and somewhat foreign. Lutheran churches have a different fiber than Baptist churches, but the heart is the same. It was raining when I left. I had to run through a curtain of diamond raindrops to get to my vehicle.

On Christmas day, my little sister was ecstatic. I had opened all my important presents the night before. Santa only brings me candy these days (he threw in a flash drive and a Starbucks gift card to pacify me). But I had more music. My mother bought me the cd's I have been begging her for. This Italian composer, Ludovico Einaudi: I am obsessed with his work right now. We listened to it on the way to my grandmother's house. The route itself is actually quite beautiful. I was driving, and taking in the view, and listening to Einaudi. I had a grey Christmas, full of barren trees and empty fields, of grazing cows and narrow, winding roads. Of piano music and a warm kitchen and family games. It was grey, but it was gorgeous.

So I'm a little starry-eyed right now. Go listen to some Einaudi. Divenire is one of my favorites, I think. You'll see why.

Little Girls are Brutal

My youngest sister had a party today. She and six of her second grade friends governed our house for two hours, and the rest of us barely survived. Squealing, screaming, bouncing, yelling, jumping, skipping, running. Thankfully, nobody broke anything and none of the little girls got their feelings hurt. I was on edge the whole time, though.

They were supposed to be scrapbooking. "Ew, Christian. Look, guys, Christian is in this picture." "I don't want him in my picture!" "Where is he?" "Right here, in the front." "I'm going to cut him out." "No way! Really? Are you really?"

She did. She cut the little boy out of the picture. Then she shredded the exert and threw it away. "Look, Mrs. Cabrera, I cut Christian out of my picture!" Laughing. So proud of herself.

"Poor Christian," my mom said.

After the cake, they ran wildly about, chasing each other, screaming. My grandfather turned his hearing aids off.

Watch out for the lamp!

Watch out for the Christmas tree!

Watch out for the dog!

One girl, bored and disatisfied, announced, "I'm going to play in your room." Now, my little sister inherited some American Girl Dolls from the two of us older sisters, and she has one of her own. I made it a point to tell the girls one of those was mine. I thought the idea of Big Sister's things might would scare some respect into them. (They play rough!) It didn't do any good, though.

My mom suggested we just remove the dolls. So when they started screaming and chasing each other again, I sneaked in and scooped up the trio. However, before I could escape, they flooded back in.

I felt like the Grinch. I was cornered, caught red-handed, and the girls were staring at me with wide eyes. "Why are you taking the dolls?" "Uh, I'm just going to put them away. To be safe." "Where?" "Aw...you mean we can't play with 'em?"

No. No, you cannot.

At one point, to be funny, one of the girls decided she'd lost her thumbs. She tucked them under her other fingers to make fists, shoving them in the others' faces and yelling, "Look! I don't have any thumbs!"

"Me either! Mine fell off!" "Oh no, I lost my thumbs!" "We don't have thumbs. Waaaa!" And then one of them threw out a word heard in this context, though I'm sure none of them understood. "We don't have opposable thumbs!" "No opposable thumbs!"

How appropriate, because you're all animals!

I was absolutely thrilled to see the parents at three o'clock.

Confession...

I am not green.

When I go to the grocery store, I use plastic bags. I do not recycle them. I am not on a mission to save the planet. I was totally disgusted when the fourth Maximum Ride book turned out to be Global Warming propaganda. I didn't like Wall-E for the same reason. It gets under my skin when the green agenda manifests itself everywhere.

The prompt for our Spanish essay went something like this:

"Imagine that you are a fish, bird, or whichever other animal and that one day human beings arrived to the region where you were happily living in a perfect habitat. Narrate how they arrived, what they did, with what they experimented or what they constructed, how it affected your habitat and what you did in order to survive."

Is it just me, or is that prompt a little skewed? I felt like words were being forced down my throat for me to cough back up on cue. Now, it's not like I hate the planet or don't acknowledge that, yes, we've made a mess of things. We're human; we mess up. It's what we do. Sure, I think we should do the best with what we've got and take care of the world we've been blessed with. But we're not going to save it. This life, this world, is temporary. We have to quit pretending we're in control.

Besides, I think most of the media that supports everything green has their own secret agenda, motivated by money.

I made the mistake of telling my Spanish teacher I felt like I was being brainwashed. She was very offended and swore up and down that she would never brainwash us (which, I really don't believe she would. She's very nice and has our best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean she's always right). And Mateo, who was present, said, "That's exactly what a brainwasher would tell us!"

She walked away.

I wrote about sheep, who had a shepherd, who saved them from wolves.

Playing House

...When my mom sends me to the grocery store with a brief list of requested items. I call her two or three times to verify brands and quantities. I casually walk up and down the same aisle before I spot what I am looking for.

...When I bake cookies or make mac 'n' cheese for my youngest sister. I keep the instructions at hand and reference them often. I ask my sister for permission before I adjust the temperature or set the timer.

...When I call the auto shop with questions about my car. I sound informed and knowledgeable as I ask and answer questions. I read from a cheat-sheet my mother made for me with terminology and facts about the vehicle.

...When I clean. I use the supplies my mother bought and follow the steps she set down for me. I scrub, and spray, and wipe, and dust, and vacuum.


I feel like I am playing house. Pretending to be what I am not. Posing. Lying. Hiding behind a facade. At what point will I transition from this dependence, the hesitance and uncertainty, to confidence and independence? When will it not be playing anymore?

If I had two hands...

So this week has been pretty off-beat. No school yesterday - it was a hurricane day! Today was Veteran's Day, so no school again. I am going to a concert tomorrow night (Barlowgirl, woot!) and on Friday, I have a field trip. Yup, this is the life. We should have weeks like this all the time.

Last night, though, I didn't sleep so good. I took a prolonged nap yesterday afternoon that made it hard to fall back asleep last night. Then, around four in the morning, something spooked my dog. She started pawing at her crate and whimpering and half-wolfing, trying to get my attention. It's a fairly regular occurrence - my dog is terrified of bad weather, and we live in Florida, so she wakes me up all the time. It took me a while to notice that it wasn't raining. As I slowly surfaced from my dreams, I noticed this high-pitched squeak that went off, like a shoe scuffing just right on a gym floor, or the warning that the battery in your smoke alarm is dying. I kept hushing my dog, listening intently. I heard it again, multiple times in the next ten minutes, but it was irregular, sporadic.

When my dog is spooked, I get spooked. So, I used my cell phone as a make-shift flashlight and searched the room. Nothing. I put my ear to the door, but couldn't hear anything over my dog's complaints. So I let her out of her crate. She was watching the door, too, which further creeped me out, so I locked it. Now my room and my youngest sister's room are connected by a bathroom, so I peeked in on her. She was fast asleep and still alive, which was considerably reassuring. I had almost convinced myself it was nothing and I should just go back to sleep, when I decided to flip on a light. Nothing happened. I frantically flipped it on and off, tried the next one, and the next, and then realized the power was out.

Now I'm not afraid of the dark or anything, but I do watch a lot of murder mystery shows, and the first thought that occurred to me was - does our alarm system run off a battery or will it be affected by the power outage too? Is there someone in my house?

I finally steeled myself enough to peek out my bedroom door to see if the alarm was still activated. (Yes, it does run off a battery. It was still working). I tried to tell myself that if the alarm was on, there was no way anyone could have broken into our house without our knowledge. Our alarm is not subtle - it kills your ear drums and about stops your heart every time it is set off. Still, I couldn't get the image of some stranger standing over my little sister's bed out of my head. I jumped when I heard the squeal of someone's tires nearby, spinning and swerving away.

Taking deep breaths, I scooped my puppy up onto my bed and laid back down, my cell phone still in my hands. I had just managed to close my eyes and relax just the slightest when, from the bedroom next to mine, I heard a little girl cry out.

My heart in my throat, I shot up and ran to her room, calling out her name. I felt sick. She said she was scared, because there was no light. But she was fine, and there was no one in her room.

In the end, we woke my mom up. Because my little sister wanted her, of course. I'm a big girl - I can handle stuff like this. My mom lit some candles and we sat around in the living room until 5:30 when, exhausted, I finally decided to try sleeping again. My little sister climbed into the bed with me, and just as we were falling asleep, the power kicked back on and this high-pitched squeak sounded. This time, there was no doubt - it definitely came from our alarm system. My mom thinks it just announced that it was running solely on battery, but who knows.

This is why I don't watch scary movies.

Anyway, after such a strange night, with less sleep than usual, I still managed to have an amazing day. My car, Winston, went to the doctor yesterday. He came back, having been diagnosed and operated on. He no longer groans when I turn, and he's much better about stopping when I tell him to.

I did a teensy bit of homework, practiced piano, took a nap to make up for the lost sleep the night before, and then reported for Praise Band Practice at church.

We have a new record - I had three whole friends at church tonight!!! Santa Maria came for the third time (she's such a good friend!), and I finally bullied Mateo and Chero into attending!!! (I so badly wanted to put a Spanish y for and just then...I resisted the urge, though.) So tonight, I actually had the immense privelege of sitting in between two people I know! I can't remember the last time that happened. I always end up in the aisle seat somehow, and the past two weeks, I've had to latch onto half-acquaintances to find someone to sit with. Anyway, it was good fun, and I hope they enjoyed themselves and weren't totally bored to tears.

And I think that's all I have to say...

(By the way, the title for this post comes from a Jars of Clay song. Good song. Me gusta. It makes more sense in context, though...)

Mail Time!

So my mother and I took my puppy for a walk today. On the way back, we went ahead and picked up the mail. As usual, there were a couple envelopes addressed to me from colleges. Cookie-cutter 'come here! we're awesome!' letters sent out to any and all likely candidates.

One envelope happened to be from one of the colleges I have applied to (my back-up choice, my least favorite). The letter read:

Dear Ms. Cabrera:

Congratulations! Your admission to the University of [insert name here] has been approved for the Fall Semester, 2010. Final admission will be granted when the Office of Admissions receives your successfully completed...

blah blah blah...

Important info here.

Less important info here.

On behalf of our faculty and staff, welcome to the University of [insert name here]!

Sincerely,

The Associate Director

My first college acceptance letter!!! Hopefully, one of three, but we'll see. I'm in! They got back to me really fast, actually. I've got a bit of a wait before I hear back from my other two choices. Anyway, it's kind of gratifying how fast they replied. I like to tell myself it's because they were so eager to have such a decorated student as I grace their school with my presence.

Yet another significant step in my senior year of high school. I wonder how much longer I have to wait until I hear from the others...

Epic...

Fail: math take home test, due tomorrow. Didn't finish. Can't finish. Oh well.

Poem: Just wrote one. Well, not really. The poem itself wasn't epic, but the fact that I actually wrote something is.

News: I made ALL STATE CHOIR!!! And so did SANTA MARIA, which is SOOO exciting because that means we're going to get to go TOGETHER! (I DON'T THINK TYPING IN ALL CAPS QUITE CONVEYS THE EXCITEMENT AND THRILL HERE, SO I'M GOING TO ADD SOME BOLDNESS AND ITALICS!!!)

Surprise: people actually read my blog. I feel like I should post more often now, out of obligation to these faithful (and few) readers.

Adventure: I went to the dentist today. My mouth is sore now, but my teeth are clean. I will probably undo all their hard work at removing the stains on my pearly whites when I drink my morning coffee tomorrow. I feel slightly guilty.

Date: I purposefully didn't blog about it the day of, but this past month, I turned EIGHTEEN!!! I'm old. The older I get, the more suspicious I become. I think growing up is a myth. Adults don't exist, just big kids in disguise. It's all a ruse!

The Other Girl

"It's because she's living in that house alone," my mother explains.

"And she doesn't eat right. Day-old hamburgers," my grandmother adds.

"I didn't realize it was that bad," my grandfather mutters.

But she is in a more amiable mood than I have ever known her to be in. As we step into her house, she is smiling. There is a wiry strength in her hug that I do not recognize. "She taught me how to smile again," she begins, as if this girl is her angel, her savior. She wants us to meet her.

We sit and politely listen to her monologue of happy confusion. She speaks of a cat she saw the other day, and of church, and of my mother's childhood. "I love children. You know," giving a nod to my mother. "My grandchildren mean the world to me," as if introducing us to them. "You favor her," she breaks off, smiling at me with a distant fondness. "That's a good thing. A good thing..." My sister's eyes are pained.

Now she talks of my youngest sister singing at church. "Children love singing. You know that, baby" nodding at my mother. Then she says, "I sit right here all the time, I love to see her smile, and talk to her. I don't know why she doesn't talk back. Yes, I do know. She's a picture." She laughs. "I've got another in the back, on the dresser..." Her voice trails off.

"Has she had dinner yet?" And she points, one wavering and bony finger, at the picture whose frame is a halo in her eyes. The smiling picture who keeps her company, the picture she loves, the picture she is concerned for.

The picture is of me.

*fanfare*

If I weren't so eager to announce this publicly, I would be in bed right now, but I'm so excited I'm not sure if I can fall asleep. (That's a lie. I'll be asleep before my head even hits the pillow tonight.) But that's not the point of this post.

May I have a drum roll, please?

Do you happen to recall my announcement when I first initiated the long, drawn-out, exhausting, overwhelming process of applying to college? (Sorry, I have to work up to this). Yes, well, I remember the announcement, even if you don't. It seems as though it were just yesterday...(that's another lie. It feels like eons ago. But these hyperboles just work better with the context of what I'm saying.)

And now, after much procrastination, stress, complaint, confusion, and paperwork, I have completed not just one, but two college applications! That's right, two!!! I submitted them today, and now I just know I'll wake up in a cold-sweat at 3:30 this morning having forgotten to edit some aspect of the applications.

I also began the torturous process of applying to a third college that I just recently added to my list of possibilities. I flew through it, and have only one section left. However, it can wait. I think two in one night is plenty of applications to submit.

This day might be significant. No, this day IS significant.

(Shouldn't each day be?)

Luck of the Draw

So, I was just letting my mind amble a bit today, and for some reason it occurred to me that I'm really lucky. This thought is not very common. I typically focus my ponderings on all the negative things about life, and expend all my energy complaining. Well, today I was reflecting on the Holocaust for some reason.

I am not in a concentration camp, stripped of all dignity and freedom. Nor am I enslaved because my skin is a different color. I am not living under the fear that a missile may be launched at any second to obliterate my city. I am not starving, I am not persecuted, I am not oppressed. I have the opportunity and the privilege to attend school and further my education. I may freely worship the God I believe in. My family is whole and healthy and so am I.

Most of these things, I have no control over. I did not personally earn my freedoms. I did not choose the time and place I was born. I just happened into all of this, and often I take it for granted.

I am blessed.

Treading Water

(Santa Maria came to church with me yesterday! YAY! I appreciated the company so much. She also came with minimal bribing and manipulation. Actually, she's been wanting to come for a while now, and just finally had the chance to get over to my side of town.)

Change of topic:

Sometimes the day feels really long. This morning feels so distant and unfamiliar, like a dream I had years ago. I remember my sister waking me up and saying something about sleeping in, which surprised me because I was right on time. I remember having breakfast, and making coffee, and I remember falling asleep in Art History. But it's hard to believe I did all that stuff today. All my classes, and then everything I did at home: I practiced piano, and watched a movie...

I actually did a significant amount of homework tonight! I'm so proud of myself. I had some major deadlines this week (Tues and Weds) and those projects so consumed me that I thought of nothing else. I didn't touch any other school assignments, I didn't study, I didn't think about studying. I gave myself a break Wednesday night and was lazy. :) I think a little self-indulgence every now and then can be healing, as long as you return quickly to your policy of discipline.

And so that's what tonight was supposed to be. Getting back on the horse. Anyway, I actually buckled down and accomplished a good chunk of an assignment that isn't due until sometime next week. At the same time, my work ethic isn't at its best right now.

Honestly, I feel really lame. I've got a little cloud of guilt building up over my head, following me around. I'm turning into Eeyore! I can't take this accumulation of guilt anymore! I'm getting claustrophobic.

"Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." James 4:17

Life's a Wreck

So, today my youth group moved into our new youth building! It is quite interesting. Personally, I'm not that big on themed rooms but everything about our new youth building slides under the theme. It's a bit too much for me. (Shh. Don't tell the adults. They're very pleased with themselves.)

In all seriousness, I do like it. We're more high-tech now, and we'll draw more kids to our youth group. I just have very classy, traditional tastes. (I'm picky).

I play in the Praise Band and my perspective is an interesting one. I love to watch the various faces. We had 118 kids show tonight. I like to see kids worshiping. I like to hear them singing with me. However, even though we had a big turn out and the stage was tricked out and we had all these nifty gadgets, I don't think that many kids really got into the music. Which was slightly disappointing.

However, the highlight of my night, was before the event even technically started. It was 5:00 and I was on the stage practicing real quick with the band (we seriously could have used another hour of practice or so, but we started late...grr...) I was starting to stress, and was incredibly upset with the band, honestly. I get frustrated so easily. Anyway, I was reaching that breaking point where I just have to hit something or burst into tears and then I look up and who do I see but WONDERBOY to the rescue!!! My most-amazing friend showed up to check out the new building and be supportive and helpful! I almost started crying. But it's hard to cry and sing at the same time (I lose all breath support), so I tried really hard not to.

But seriously, WonderBoy and I think we have this connection. He was just sitting at home and totally recieved my telepathic distress signals and so leapt up determinedly to come salvage the night! That's exactly how it happened.

This week was also our school's homecoming week, so we had our parade today, and I feel slightly guilty for refusing to pose for Santa Maria, who wanted pictures. I did, however, take at least one specific picture that I remember before the parade and before I got really sweaty and nasty. After the parade, though, I just felt really gross. I was sticky and hot and red-faced and ready to go home and shower. I'm quite convinced that Santa Maria already has plenty of pictures of me looking exactly like this, from various volunteer projects she's headed that I've attended, such as a camp clean-up weekend and Relays for Life. I really did not feel like adding to the collection.

To make up for the lack of pictures of Nina on parade day, Nina promises to behave very well and pose for as many pictures as Santa Maria wants on Game day and Dance day. Hopefully, Nina won't be quite as nasty then.

So I seem to always blog at night, and the last thing I typically say is something along the lines of 'tired, sleepy sleepy, bed time now'. But really, I am going to wrap this entry up, shut down my computer, and then get some sleep.

Here's to rest and good dreams, to memories and hopes, to today and to yesterday and to tomorrow.

Once Upon a Time...

I was talking to Santa Maria yesterday about this music test-of-sorts we just took. (We both did well, by the way, and have advanced to the next round of testing. Yes, that's right. Our reward for doing well is yet another test.) Anyway, while she was talking, I found myself thinking about next year's test and then realized, to my dismay, that there isn't going to be a next year. We will be off at college, and will not be participating in silly little high school music theory and sight-reading tests. We will not be concerned with such minor and trivial grade school affairs.

I'm sure we'll still be worried about something. That's our nature, after all. To challenge ourselves. Santa Maria, Pinta, and I are all like that. It didn't bother me too much to realize that this particular test would not matter next year. What bothered me was the realization that, whatever we end up worrying about, we'll be worrying about separately.

Pinta will probably be somewhere very far up north, stressing about some class I don't have. Santa Maria will be in a neighboring state, caught up in the level of mathematics or science or what have you that I have nightmares about. And I will be here, in the South, no doubt finding some exam to wring my hands over. We'll all be separate and our lives will be very, very different.

We will have new sets of friends. I am not very comfortable with this idea. I am quite attached to the friends that I have. But as much as I'd love to scoop them all up and cart them off to college with me, they don't seem to be very compliant. We will scatter to the four winds.

I will probably bug them a lot the first few months. After that, I don't know. I'd like to think that every holiday, we'll all end up back home, and we'll make a point to spend time together and catch up. I'd like to think that we'll still have a lot in common, and we'll remain close. All of us. I tell myself that we'll stay in contact all through college, and beyond. That Pinta, Santa Maria, and I will continue to write together. That I'll still be in that first wave of people that receives phone calls delivering exciting news.

But hey, the future is unclear. Who knows what will happen? It's scary being right here. On the brink of extreme change. You can hear this distant roar, and you're braced for it. Anxiously waiting, with only a shadow of an idea of what is coming. It's the anticipation that kills me. I'd rather not think about it.

So I think I'm done contemplating it for now. :)

On a lighter note, I just sang Christmas music for 3 hours. Good fun.

If all the raindrops...

So Santa Maria brought it to my attention that I have not blogged in over a week. So here I am, shocked and apologetic. It didn't feel like it had been quite that long.

So life is busy, and messy, and no - before you ask, I am not just figuring this out. I am simply testing the hypothesis and confirming prior results. There is so much to do, and so little time in which to accomplish it all. Something is always left undone, or neglected, or fudged.

All these little things, the homework assignments I turn in that I know are of little quality, the days I skip over practicing the piano, the mornings I sleep in rather than do my Bible Study, all these little things build up a list in the back of my head. They stack on top of each other and stress me out. The guilt.

Because I know what I was doing when I should have been working on homework. I know that if I hadn't have watched that hour-long tv show, I would have had time to put real thought into the paper, and give my teacher substance rather than half-supported fluff. I know that if I would have resisted that nap, or would have cut it short, I would have been able to get to sleep that night and wouldn't have been so tired in the morning. I just shoot myself in the foot all the time when it comes to time management.

But the way I see it, eventually I'll get it all done. Not perfectly, no, but I am human, remember? And sometimes my mental sanity depends on that nap or that mind-numbing TV show. It's a trade-off, true, but the little breaks are worth it. If I don't take little breaks, I end up burning out completely and taking a week's vacation instead. :)

Business as Usual

Yay for lazy Sunday afternoons! I have refused to change out of my church dress so far, because I love this dress. It is comfy, but now it is all wrinkled. I took a small Sunday afternoon nap, which was lovely! I have been slightly productive, but basically I am just taking it easy.

So on Friday, I went to a football game. We lost, but being that I'm not a total crazed fan of the sport, I can't say that I cared overly much. I enjoy the bands and the cheers more than the game itself.

On Saturday, I slept a lot. I actually woke up early to begin with, no alarm clock or anything! I was up at 7. But as I tried to fight my way through some homework assignments, I ended up falling asleep again. I then ventured to the other side of town to hang out with friends and watch a movie (I predicted everyone would die, and I was very very close.)

We have moved into our new Sunday school building at church. I like having a door to shut and real walls and not hearing everything all the surrounding classes happen to be saying. It still feels really new, though, and not much like home.

So I've taken notice recently that I contradict myself. I'm not actually sure what my stand is on certain things. For instance, I believe it is wrong to lie. And yet, I want to write off excuses for little white lies all the time. There are also certain instances when I want people to lie to me. An example: when I ask if my hair is frizzy, I don't want to be told that it is. I already know it is. I want to be assured that it isn't totally atrocious. There are also times where I will knowingly not tell the truth. I concealed an incredibly painful sunburn from my parents, knowing they would never let me go to the beach without adult supervision ever again. (I guess that's not true, because once I graduate and move out, there's really nothing they can do about it, so...) But anyway, I'm confusing myself. Because my morals are mostly Biblical, except for that. And a couple other things, I suppose. It's not that I think lying is okay. Lying is wrong. It's just convenient sometimes.

And then I was doing my Bible study yesterday (yay! I actually did it!) and the passage was on servant hood. Listen to this: "You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you." Matthew 5: 38-42.

It's not like I haven't read this passage before, but I guess it's been a while, and I think I've grown up a bit. I freely admit that this is hard for me to do. When my sister wants to borrow my clothes, I don't say, "Yeah, sure! And here, take my perfume too!" And if someone hits me, I usually hit back. Sometimes, I hit first.

Everyone is so afraid of being taken advantage of, and they say don't be a doormat, and don't let people walk all over you. Take charge. Stick up for yourself. And everybody likes this doctrine. We're comfortable with it. It's easy.

So anyway, point being, I've caught myself compromising my values and beliefs. This is bad. It's one thing to admit, yes, I lie and I am selfish, because I'm being honest and truthful and humble about my faults. It's another thing completely to say, yes, I lie and I am selfish and I don't care.

*sigh*

I should care.

Miracle of all Miracles

Well, today was a good day. I took a biology test, and I felt like I mostly knew what I was doing. I gave a presentation in my Theory of Knowledge class, and again had the general sense that I knew what I was doing. Today was pretty laid-back, and mostly fun. It wasn't perfect, of course, nor was it blissful. It was just a good day.

I wrote a poem, for Pinta. It was quite exciting to write a poem. It started something like this:

Pinta is sleepy,
Pinta is tired,
But Nina had coffee,
And Nina is wired.

Very nursery rhyme-ish and cutesy, but it felt good to write. I also tried writing happy poems since Mateo complains that all the poems our writing club produces are morbid. But they didn't turn out as good. I don't think I spent much time on either project.

However, I did devote a large portion of my time today to writing, and this project was inspired by a very insistent Santa Maria. At the end of last school year, we had decided to begin a summer project where we wrote a story together. We made a couple plans about what characters we would use and what would happen, but we never started. Well, Santa Maria definitely did not forget. So today, I obediently pulled up our old emails and shifted through all the information I had collected on dear Jaqi. I figured out where she was in life, wrote up a quick synopsis to make sure I had her history straight, and launched into an introduction.

I enjoyed it so much. It felt so good to write again, to just get the ideas flowing, even if I was simply recycling an old character from ages past. I will never be an author unless I write, right? And when I don't have any ideas for an epic novel, and when my poems are all elementary, I should still continue to practice. I will not be defeated by myself, my busy schedule, my dry fountain of creativity, or my discouragement. No sir, not Nina. I'm going to write anyway, even if every piece of work I produce is somewhat amateur and inarticulate.

I'm just that stubborn.

Love and War

So WonderBoy pointed out how most of my code names were Spanish related. I totally didn't notice as I was doling them out. Gregory is normal, though! That's actually a real name! (WonderBoy also requested that his name be one word. It makes it more super hero-esque.)

It's surprising how many of my dear friends have taken the time to read this. :) And it's also really funny to think that I write it as if people I don't know might read it, too. Hey, who knows: maybe strangers run across it and amuse themselves for a brief second before moving on. I'm just being cautious and taking all possibilities into consideration. *nod*

So when you google my pen name, my blog comes up on the fourth page! How exciting is that? It is the 34th link to appear. I guess there aren't many famous Nina Cabreras. (I also tried typing in the URL and the title of the blog, but those weren't as effective. I gave up after about 12 pages of river essays and online Bible databases.)

I really don't have the time to spare to be doing this. :) I should be studying bio or history or working on my extended essay or cleaning my cluttered room or anything productive! Instead, I am testing the googlability of my blog. And making up new words to describe the meaningless ways I wile away my time.

So my right shoulder is peeling but my left shoulder is not. I have patches of brown, burnt, dry skin; soft, pink patches where one layer has come off; and raw, red patches were two layers have been removed. I get impatient and start picking at it. It comes off like a sticker, or that really thin layer of plastic that packages the stacks of looseleaf paper. You can hear it peeling off. It's actually really gross.

Not to abruptly change the topic or anything, but my favorite band has just released a new cd!!! Barlow Girl's latest album, Love and War, actually hit the shelves earlier this month but I wasn't up-to-date on things and totally missed it. :) I listened to their whole CD on Rhapsody.com and absolutely LOVED it! I am also completely psyched because they are coming to town in November! If all goes well, I will be attending a concert soon. And if all goes well, you will definitely hear about it.

What You Will

In English, we're studying Twelfth Night right now. (That word just looks so funny to me. I don't hear an f when I say it, but if you spell it without the f it looks so hollow and naked: twelth. Look at that! I think that is one of the strangest words in the English language...) I enjoy Shakespeare's comedies so much more than his tragedies, but something about Twelfth Night really stresses me out.

I don't handle dramatic irony well. When I know something that the characters don't know, I start guessing where the plot is headed, where the next big problem lies in wait. (I'm a pretty good guesser, too. And the credit for this goes, of course, to my great skill and not to clever foreshadowing on the part of the authors.) It absolutely eats at me that I can't communicate with the characters, warn them of their impending doom or what have you. Why can't they see this for themselves?

If I had my way, I would swoop in with intense theme music, whisper advice in the protagonist's ear, tweak a few stage positions, point out the obvious that would solve all their problems, and flee, having corrected all misunderstandings and confusion! I may also quickly replace some costumes and/or actors, but that would be a matter of personal preference. With a satisfied sigh after a day's work well done, I would reclaim my seat and recline to watch the rest of the action.

Only then would I realize, that was all the action. That's the whole point of plays like Twelfth Night: there is confusion and chaos and yet all things work out well in the end, and everyone gets a happy ending (except Malvolio, but nobody likes him anyway).

Besides the fact that I can't literally step in and alter everything, it would completely negate the purpose of the storyline for me to fix it. So as we study the play, discuss it, watch a video of one production, I tensely bite my nails and hold my comments in. I don't find it particularly enjoyable.

But I do like Shakespeare. :)

It's Snowing Somewhere

So Labor Day Weekend was awesome!!! The whole Pack hit the beach on Monday, and we decided to rotisserie ourselves! It was a grand success, and come Tuesday we were all very sore, very red, and very grumpy. :)

I guess if I'm going to talk about my friends, I must give them codenames. Just in case. Can't be tossing out their identity to the world wide web, now, can we? So I guess I'll introduce the line-up.

Well, there's me, known as Nina for all intents and purposes. And then Pinta and Santa Maria, the other two ships who sailed with Columbus to explore the New World. (We had history together two years ago, and adopted the names then.) We are the three ships, a nice little trio of friends, and we complement each other very well. We all like to write. Both Pinta and Santa Maria are more athletitically inclined than I. Pinta actually plays on sports teams! Santa Maria plays the piano for sport. :)

Then there is Mito, who I've known since sixth grade. He goes by many many many names, but I really call him Mito so it's not much of a code name. Wonder Boy is this amazing kid who hates being touched and yet accepts the hugs we force on him with only mild protests.

Mateo and Chero are friends that typically get grouped together, but they're actually very different. Chero is a lot taller, for one. ;) But I love 'em both!

Ooh, and Gregory, who actually doesn't have any classes with any of us and yet goes out of his way to see us at lunch or in-between classes or after school.

And I have to figure out a code name for the last one...suggestions are accepted! If she were another ship, she'd be the Commodore, but that name is such a manly name for such a sweet and girly girl! So, any ideas?

Anyway, that's basically the Pack. The Core group. All my buds!!! YAY! So if I ever need to share a story about one of them in the future, I will use their CODE NAMES!!! But I really don't plan on talking about much personal stuff that has to do with them, because I don't think they'd appreciate it. :)

So, I'm going to bed now. I have a Spanish test tomorrow!

(Voy a dormir ahora. Teneré un examen del español mañana!)

This Day Might Be Significant...

I have just polished up and printed a mini-essay (it's really more like a trio of paragraphs) for my English class tomorrow, modeling a college admissions essay. Most of us were practical and chose the prompts from our favorite colleges to write our essays on.

So, I might have just printed the beginnings of my college admissions essay. The real deal. It's another moment that may or may not determine my future!!!

I also attended my first football game of the season, and went to a Pep Rally of my own accord! Yes, that's right! You read that correctly. I chose, opted, made a conscious and thought-out decision, being of sound mind and body, and I went to a Pep Rally.

I'm just taking all kinds of great strides today, aren't I?

Just to keep in theme, I'm going to end this post here. Shortest entry yet!

Oops.

So I'm absolutely convinced I had something really relevant and entertaining to say, a valid point to make, an interesting story about some event or other. Something happened today (or was it yesterday?) that made me think, "Ooh, I should blog about that!"

Well, that something is now eluding me, and so the urge to post is not accompanied by any inspiration. So...I apologize. The next few paragraphs will most likely have no point.

Speaking of inspiration and all, I have found that it seems to hide from me when I actually have time to pay attention to it. Take right now, for instance. I found the time to blog, yet nothing to write about. However, great ideas (or at least, they seem pretty fantastic to me) always spring up when I do not have the opportunity to pursue them! It's like my muse is really shy. She only comes out when there is a lot of noise to cover up her presence, when there is an abundance of distractions to keep the attention off of her.

Ironically enough, I wrote a poem once about inspiration having awful timing.

So, I guess I can talk a bit about myself. I believe in my very first post, I promised to talk more about the nature of the blog and the blogger in later posts. I'm not sure I explained much, though. So, an assortment of random facts about me:

I have a penny whistle, because I asked for it for Christmas. I can only actually play one song on it. I have never broken a bone before, or flown in an airplane, but I have flown in a helicopter. I literally lost my first tooth: I think I knocked it down the drain. I watched Grease for the first time last spring. When I was a kid, Scooby Doo gave me nightmares. Now, my favorite TV shows are both murder mysteries. I once sang an impromptu solo at a concert at my church (I was probably about 8). I've never left the United States. I love road trips. I collect flower petals and attempt to preserve them - all the petals I have so far have been taken off of someone else's flowers. The first story I ever remember writing was about a giant bumblebee. I took organ lessons for a short period of time - I think I left my organ shoes at the church after my last lesson. I like to name things. My car is Winston, my first iPod was The Eddie Shuffle, and now I have Solo-Man the iPod. However, I have failed to give my dog a middle name.

Okay, I think that's enough. :) Learn anything new?

The Behinder I Get

So, I got on the internet to look up some definitions of mathematical terms so I could continue with my math homework. (My algebra is incredibly weak and it's coming back to haunt me.) Of course, the internet is a snare and one thing led to another and now I am blogging rather than puzzling out number 57 in my homework.

I don't know what it is, but the tv and the computer just suck me into their vast voids of thoughtlessness. I'll be on my way to the kitchen or the piano, just passing through the living room, and the TV will hypnotize me, completely erasing all thoughts of whatever mission I was on. I immediately shift into zombie-mode and sink onto the couch to view whatever mind-numbing show my little sister happens to be watching.

The computer doesn't quite invoke zombie-mode, but I am definitely addicted to it. Time ceases to exist and I can lose hours to idle web-surfing. This state of stupor takes over and then something triggers an abrupt return to reality. The next words out of my mouth are typically, "Crud..."

The truth is, I really don't have the time to waste. I have a nice little daily-planner with a list of tasks I need to accomplish each day, things I should probably go ahead and begin now rather than later, and things I just really want to do. While I enjoy the entertainment these outlets of media provide, there are much more rewarding ways to entertain myself (for instance, writing, or playing the piano, or reading). And so, I always feel really lame when I realize how much time I've wasted on the computer or watching a children's show that doesn't really interest me.

Blogging is an exception. This is incredibly productive and beneficial, of course. Granted, math homework is a higher priority, so...I have to conclude this entry here.

>'o'<

(Look, it's a kitty cat!!!)

The Hurrier I Go...

So, yesterday was the first day of school, and I did not post anything about it. Oops! I meant to. (I'm already not getting everything I want to get done finished. *sigh*)

It feels like we never left; like summer was a dream; like we'll be here forever. It feels like free time is a myth and stress follows me like a shadow. But I can't get stressed out so quickly, so easily! How pathetic is that?

I am becoming suspicious of myself. I think I might be...a drama queen...(Egad!) I think I am so in the habit of worrying and stressing that, when life doesn't do a good enough job of providing me with problems, I make some up.

I also think I procrastinate on purpose subconsciously. I am always late to everything. I think some part of me senses when I'm close to meeting a deadline or getting to school early, and I slow down every action by just a fraction, but it adds up enough to make me late.

But I'd really rather not think these things of myself. It makes me seem crazy, and we all know how far that is from the truth.

So, I'm really proud of myself: I exercised today!!! Now, my idea of exercise is inside, in the nice controlled air conditioning, with a big glass of water, a high-powered fan directed at my face, a diverting tv show, and my mom's stationary bike. I cannot understand why people like my dad and some of my friends would elect to jog outside, under the blazing Floridian sun, in the heat, on the hard concrete, in front of people. I have no problem sitting outside, or maybe riding a real bike, or swimming...but jogging? Running? Impacting the asphalt time and time again in an unbroken rhythm, jarring your poor ankles and knees, sweat streaking into your squinting eyes that are now blinded by both the sun and the sting of salt? That's just not my idea of fun.

My idea of fun is playing the piano! YAY! I had my first piano lesson of the season today, and surprised my teacher by having actually progressed over the summer. ("Tada! I can play the songs you mentioned last spring...") But I have to, have to, have to make this year worth her time and worth mine, worth the money my parents spend on lessons, worth the previous years that all led up to this.

When I go away to college, I may or may not pursue the piano. I would love to progress always, but you have to make priorities, and considering all the money that will be pouring into my higher education, it will probably take precedence over the fun things. Besides this, my teacher was supposed to be retiring this year. She is making an exception and teaching me for one more year because I am a senior; this is my last year. She saw me through all the way from the very first lesson, and she's going to be the one to send me off into the world of college. I owe it to her to give it my all this year.

That said...I need to go. If I am going to have time to practice tomorrow, I need to get some more homework done tonight. ;)

Firsts and Lasts

Last: My last day of work was on Thursday. It was probably the best day I've had at work, and one of the longest. But...it is over now! I am now retired, and fairly well-off financially. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that I continue picking up babysitting jobs; otherwise, my savings will diminish significantly this year.

First: It isn't a total first, but it does feel like it. My dad gave me a compliment today. He went out of his way to seek me out and made a point of telling me that he thought I was a pretty good pianist. Now, this is huge for my dad. Typically, I'll accept things like, "That piece seems kind of hard" as a compliment; I interpret that to mean I'm fairly advanced. No, this time, he even said, "I just wanted to compliment you." He told me I was good at chipping away for a long time at things that were really important to me, when it is easier for him to look at the big picture (concert pianist vs. daughter who takes lessons; no comparison). But I think what he meant to say was that he is proud of me for sticking with it so long and coming this far.

I gave him a really big hug and a really big thank you. This is a sort of sore spot for me. Since I was young, I would listen to my daddy play the piano and I wanted to be able to do that. (I still can't; he plays by ear. But that's not the point.) And when I started to take lessons, when I began plugging away, I guess I expected him to be proud. I think he was; I think he's always been proud of me. But it is my daddy's habit to offer constructive criticism (which I have never been able to take well) and not praise. I wanted to hear how good I sounded. I wanted to be told that I had potential, and I wanted someone to recognize how much work I put into it and how much progress I made.

I have been taking lessons now for seven years (wow...it doesn't feel like it's been that long). I stuck with it because I love it. My piano teacher told me that I picked it up pretty quick and was improving rapidly. My mom handed out compliments like peppermints. My grandparents told me to stick with it, to keep practicing. And by comparison, my dad's silence felt like disapproval.

So I learned to give myself pats on the back as I went. I was proud of me. I learned to look at where I've been, where I've come from, and find satisfaction in the fruit of my labor. I learned to look ahead at where I could be one day; to dream and hope and aim for new heights; to believe that it is possible to go anywhere. This gave the present meaning; it gave the song I was currently plodding away at a purpose.

Today, I stood on an outcropping and looked down to the valley. I saw how far I had come. Then I lifted my eyes to the hazy mountain top, snowy and majestic, ethereal and distant. I saw where I could be. Then I turned my focus back to where I am now, on the rock face in front of me and the solid ground beneath my feet, and carefully took my next step.

And I take it one day at a time.

A Last First: Monday will be the last time I experience the dreaded, long-anticipated, first day of school. I finished all my summer work earlier this afternoon. (I am such a bad procrastinator). I am not looking forward to Monday. At the same time, I want to launch myself into the new year, energetic and enthusiastic, and blaze through it with flying colors! So...we'll see. ;)

Christmas in July (or just after July)

I celebrate Christmas all year. I will burst into "Let it Snow" any season. If your Christmas gift is late, I'll still accept it. I also sing in the choir at my church, and for us, Christmas starts now.

Today, I returned to choir practice after a prolonged absence. Summer scheduling is so fluid and unpredictable. I can't remember the last time I actually came to rehearsal. One week we were scoping out colleges, one week we had company, one week I attended a party, one week it was my mother's birthday, etc. But today, I specifically kept Wednesday night open because I knew...

Tonight, Christmas began.

We only glanced at a few songs, but I am so incredibly excited. I live for this stuff. This is one of my deepest joys in life: singing Christmas songs.

It also made me really nostalgic. One of the songs we looked at was a sort of medley. Pachelbel's canon acts as a motif throughout the song, and Michael W. Smith's song "Emmanuel" is threaded in there too. I grew up on this stuff! This is my heritage, my childhood! My sister and I would fall asleep at night listening to an arrangement of Pachelbel's canon. And during the fall, we would wake up to a bustling mother, doors and windows flung open to admit the smells of a perfect Floridian fall day, and Michael W. Smith sounding through the speakers of our bulky black cd player.

This song thrills me, and awakens that little girl who is so often silenced. Work, school, college: there is no place for her there. But she perks up for the little things: a song, a Disney movie she loved, the first chill of winter in the air. Those things stir her still.

However, it is the teenaged-girl she became who was ecstatic to learn that this year, her church choir of stiff southern-baptists would be singing a Christmas song by her all-time favorite band and constant inspiration, Barlowgirl!

I couldn't help myself. I was sorting greedily through all the new music, and paused when I saw the title, "Hallelujah, Light Has Come". It sounded familiar, so I pulled it out and then released a choked yet obnoxiously loud gasp. I knew this song!

I was disappointed that we didn't get our practice cd's this week: I think I would've stayed up all night listening to them all and picking out favorites. But I guess that can wait until next week.

Time is SO Not On My side

It is not supposed to be this late. School is not supposed to start next Monday. And I'm supposed to be able to sleep in tomorrow.

However, reality disagrees with me.

This is my last week at work (hallelujah!!!) I work at a grocery store, and because I plan on ranting later, I think it might be in everyone's best interest not to disclose the name of the company. Anyway, my poor feet are so tired. (I'm such a wimp. I worked all of four hours...) And I have a long shift on Thursday. I have to be at work at 7:30!!! In the morning!!! Oh, the horror!

I don't know how adults can do it. Working eight full, back-breaking hours in one day? With only one break? And they come back and repeat this process five days in a row? I can't grasp the concept. And goodness, having to use that money to pay bills and rent and taxes and to buy food? I am so incredibly blessed. My paycheck is puny, but most of it stays with me. I pay for the gas in my car, and I sponsor a child through World Vision (more on this later). The rest goes straight to the bank - my College Fund. *fanfare*

Point being: I'm spoiled, and I know it.

BUT! Keep in mind, I have held a job, which is more than many teenagers in the modern American society can say. A very humbling job, at that. Bag-girls get to clean bathrooms, and heft heavy grocery items around, and chase down carts in the parking lot, and bite their tongue when rude customers insult them...Anyway, this experience has been good for me, I think, looking back on it. It's the kind of stuff that builds character (even as it breaks your spirit...)

But that's enough melodrama for tonight. Those four long hours at work have exhausted me. I have to rest, because tomorrow is another long day. Well...long in a loose sense of the word.

Say cheese!

I have to admit, I feel pretty ridiculous writing about myself and throwing it out into the Internet as if someone is going to find it interesting...so let me explain the real purpose of this blog.

School starts in a week, and I will be a senior. (AH!!!) I'm so excited, for one thing. I'm about to step into adulthood. College and all the new freedoms that come with it are just a year away. I'm choosing my future right now. As I look at different schools and start applying, as I write my college essays and as I take my final classes at my high school, I am uncovering the rest of my life. I am deciding it, molding it, defining it.

And that terrifies me. Life right now is so simple and comfortable. I know where I will be a month from now: right here, in the same town with the same friends. (Unless something drastic and life-changing happens *knock on wood*).

But a year from now? I have no idea where I will be, who my friends will be, where the friends I have now will be...it's all one big question mark.

I guess tomorrow is always like that, though. We can plan as much as we want, but we are never really certain what the next second holds for us. Life gives us no guarantees. But that reality hasn't ever been as clear to me as it is right now.

So anyway, this is my last year of high school and I want to make it count. I want it to be epic. I want to remember it always!

And of course, I love to write. One day I want to be a novelist. (Yes, I'm incredibly ambitious). It has been suggested to me that it would be quite practical to start a blog. If nothing else, I can practice communicating in a lucid and creative way every day. So...I hope most of what I'm saying is fairly lucid and somewhat creative...

*topic change* Guess what? I had my senior portraits taken today!!! I spent more time on my hair and make-up than I ever have before, and you know what? I looked just like I do every other day of the week. Nothing special.

Another notable topic of discussion: how casual are casual pictures really supposed to be? Because I don't know about everyone else, but I was planning on wearing something a bit dressier than everyday for this picture. These pictures will represent us in the senior yearbook, after all. However, due to a slight misunderstanding and a lack of preparation, I did not realize we were taking the casual pictures today and so I dressed...very casually, in just a run-of-the-mill t-shirt.

I was a bit disappointed, over all. But at least my yearbook pictures will be genuine, right?

All Streams Flow Into the Sea

First of all, a brief explanation: the URL is a reference to Ecclesiastes 1:7, "All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full." Why that verse? Well, I love Ecclesiastes, for one. I was really struggling not that long ago, over-burdened with work and school, with decisions and ambitions and failures. So I read the book of Ecclesiastes...which really depressed me.

Right off the bat, second verse of the first chapter: "Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless!"

I read the whole book in two days (which isn't really that impressive, considering it's only 12 chapters long) and everything that I had been working so hard to hold on to, all the balls I had so diligently juggled for so long...one by one, they were knocked to the ground. Meaningless.

It took me a little while to figure out how uplifting, how liberating Ecclesiastes can be. This life, the things of this world, everything under the sun is temporary. Everything. So things don't matter as much. When you have everything all neatly in perspective, stress isn't a factor anymore, and you don't have to waste time chasing after the wind.

Of course, I have trouble maintaining a realistic perspective. I need constant reminding. If I'm going to be keeping this blog up, and writing about all these temporary meaningless things, I need to be reminded where they really fit in the big scheme of things.

Besides, Ecclesiastes is just so poetic. :)

More on the nature of this blog (and it's author) later. For now, sleep.