Holly Gruntner's Aha Moment

Everyone has moments of clarity in their life.

Some people probably have theirs atop mountains and on tropical islands.

Mine tend to happen on buses, during rush hour, when the driver slams on his brakes.

It is then that the real "aha" moment comes: I realize that my body is hurtling into thin air, and that I've neglected to secure a proper handhold.

And so I tumble to the floor, landing, as only I can land, on my butt with my feet in the air.

As I pull myself upright (against the dead weight of a Finals Week backpack, I might add), I begin to laugh hysterically. And the Austrians on the bus are staring at me politely, probably hoping that the crazy American girl will get off at the next stop, and my friend is contorting her face, deciding whether to laugh or look sympathetic, and when my stop finally comes I give everyone on the bus a big smile and make my exit.

Two hours later Salzburg receives her first snow of the winter, and 2.5 hours later I discover a large bruise on my arm.

I decide these are reasons enough to put off my Literature paper for yet another evening.

Ultimate

Have I ever told you about Ultimate Frisbee?
I probably should now, because the sport makes me so, so happy. In every way.

I was going to sign up for badminton, or volleyball, or basketball, but by the time I got to the registration office, everything was full. Every sports class I had ever dreamed of taking was full, leaving me to take the one class I had never dreamed of taking.

Ultimate, of course.

And I love it. I loved it from the first day, when I could hardly throw a frisbee, to the second day, when we all discovered that I can catch. Not to brag, but I can catch, my friends. I attribute this talent to many years of tossing footballs and softballs (no frisbees) around the front yard with my Dad. Our coach proclaimed me the wide receiver, and I went home happy.

The best part of Ultimate, however, is not the sport itself. It's the people. I'm one of four Americans on the team (the other three are some AIFS buddies of mine), and the rest are Austrians. Frisbee came during a time when I was really feeling down about being in Salzburg. I felt like I didn't have any friends, my roommate treated me like the devil's spawn (well, not everything has changed), and I was desperately, daily, gut-wrenchingly homesick. And then I'd go to Ultimate, and I would be on a team. And everyone would be helping everyone and making jokes and speaking a confused mix of German and English and I felt like I fit in without a hitch.

I was worried initially that since so many people on the team are really good players, they would grow impatient with my sorry incompetence and shun me forever. They did not do this. Everyone has been helpful and friendly. They even refrain from laughing when I fall on my butt, legs up in the air (which, let's be honest, happens at least two times every practice).

And sure, I'm still not the best player out there. Like I said, my catching is fairly good, but my throwing definitely needs some work. I'm still getting used to using my wrist instead of my entire arm, and I currently can only throw backhand. But I have glorious amounts of fun on the field.

Tonight it was my friend Maggie's (an AIFS kid) birthday. We had talked about it casually at the last practice, and I guess everyone remembered, because two different team members showed up with baked goods to share. Let me tell you that eating a piece of raspberry cream sponge cake and a piece of brownie, and then running two large laps around the field is not a fantastic idea. But it sure is delicious.

Anyway, we all sang to Maggie, and she blew out a candle, and then we did our drills and scrimmaged for an hour. And then we ate more cake.

And now I'm back in Internationales Kolleg (my dorm), sitting with Mac on my lap. I'm still in my Ultimate clothes. I should probably take a shower, but I don't really want to. I don't really want to wash this evening off yet.

A Few Things

A few things:

1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.

2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.

3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.

4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.


****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.

A Downer Day

It's been a downer day for me.
In order to write last night's brilliant post (you can chuckle at this. I am.), I had to sacrifice quite a bit of sleep.
Lack of sleep meant that I was pretty much a space cadet the entire time I was at work.
I bumbled around stupidly.
I punched in when I wasn't supposed to.
I banged my arm against a shelf (bruise is appearing slowly but surely).
And last but not least, I somehow thought that I worked 8-4. It was 3:00 when I finally figured out that I was actually only supposed to work until noon.

On the way home I stopped at the library. Libraries usually cheer me up, but somehow, it didn't work today. I got 8 books, but only 1 that I really want to read. Outside of the library, there was a big construction zone where they were tearing up part of the sidewalk. I'm tired of construction. It seems like all of Forest Lake is one big "CONSTRUCTION GOING ON, PLEASE TAKE DETOUR." I'm tired of detours. I don't care what anyone says, roundabouts are not all they're cracked up to be. I have yielding issues.

Now I'm sitting in bed dragging myself down slowly but surely (mentally bruising??? (see above)). It's a sad sad thing to be doing on a Tuesday night, but when I'm in a funk like this there's not much of an escape. I worked on my Press article for a while, but it started to give me a headache; council meeting coverage not only requires an annoying amount of precision, but it's also kind of boring. Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I can read, but I'm currently stuck in the middle of "The Handmaid's Tale." This book disappoints me. I'll probably explain why once I've finished.

Sorry for lack of eloquence, optimism, excitement, etc. I'll try to be up to snuff tomorrow.

In Which Holly Gets Off The Couch

I haven't done much today.

Actually, I haven't really done anything all week. Well, that's not true. Yesterday Mom and I went to the Apple Store so I could get my computer's battery replaced. Once that was done, we walked through Macy's on our way out to the parking lot. Darn Macy's! I knew there was a reason why I hate department stores!

I dropped my laptop in Macy's.

And even though it was in its case, the bottom right corner of the screen got bent, so that whenever I try to close my laptop, the bent corner scratches the corresponding corner of the base.

So tomorrow I get to bring Mac back in to the Apple Store for another repair.

Anyway, I haven't done much today.

Amy's working on sewing her prom dress (long story), Mom's grading middle school science fair projects (she has the same spring break as me), and Dad's at work...working.

As for me, I've been lying on the couch all day reading the Duggar's book (how I love that family) and petting the dog, who has finally gotten over her traditional 2-day aversion to me (happens every time I come home on a break from school).

To make up for my lack of productivity, then, I volunteered to make dinner. Now, this isn't really such a big deal. I'm not one of those kids who has never had to make dinner in her life. On the contrary, one year both my parents had to work extra late, so guess who had to cook every night? Plus, I watch the Food Network religiously. Plus, I actually LIKE to cook.

But still, you just never know how things are going to turn out.

So here goes-Pizza Margherita, courtesy of Emeril Lagasse. It's nice to be off that couch.

Weekend Update

Here's what's going on with me right now:

1. I want to study abroad in Salzburg. I want to so very, very badly, but of course there are things to think about like money and credits. And money.

2. I went to talk to my advisor yesterday about me prospectively studying abroad, and how I was worried about the fact that I've never taken a journalism class (and probably won't ever at UMM, as it's not a major offered here). I wanted to know if I would have to go to graduate school to study journalism in order to proceed with my career. My advisor assured me that plenty of UMM English majors have gone on to be journalists, and that journalism school isn't really necessary unless I want extra credentials (which would be nice, but if I don't need them, why waste time and money?). Furthermore (and this is where things really got good) my advisor informed me that he had recently received an email from a UMM alum who is the editor of an Arizona newspaper. This editor was wondering if there were any English majors who would be interested in a job at his newspaper. And my advisor gave me his email address, saying that I should contact him, and ask him some of the questions I have about a career in journalism. Can you believe it? I mean, only at UMM can you walk into a prof's office, intending to ask a few questions, and come out with an email address that may lead to an actual job after graduation. A job, my friends! For an English major! My Dad will be so proud.

3. So far the New Year's work out resolution is going swimmingly. My quad has healed (with the help of intense icing (with ice, not with frosting), and my roommate and I have been at the gym almost every single day since Spring Semester began. On Thursday, we went to the first meeting of the newly-formed Pickleball Club. I haven't played Pickleball since middle school gym class, so I struggled a bit at first, but it got easier after a while. The funniest thing was that the club president was standing behind Maddie and I as we played against two other people, and he kept pulling me aside to say things like: "Are you a tennis player or something? Because, no offense, but you just missed the ball by a good two feet." Well, thanks. Thanks very much. And no, I'm not a tennis player. I was simply having some hand-eye-coordination problems. Happens to the best of us.

4. This week I've been watching (whenever I get a chance) the A&E (BBC) version of Pride and Prejudice. You know, the one with Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth? I used to think that I infinitely preferred the newer, Keira Knightley P and P, but now I'm not so sure. I think I love them both for different reasons. The A&E is longer, so I think it develops the story a lot better, and gives us time to really get to know the characters. It's also way funnier. I just about die laughing whenever Mary opens her mouth. The Keira version, however, is a lot richer. I think the locations are more authentic, and the filmmaking highlights the story beautifully. (Ex: that scene at the Netherfield Ball when Lizzie and Darcy dance for the first time, and everyone else suddenly disappears. I love that). As for the big Jennifer Ehle/Keira Knightley Elizabeth Bennet showdown? I don't know if I can choose one. Not being overly familiar with the book version of P and P (forgive me, but I have trouble reading Jane Austen unless I'm in a very specific state of mind. Otherwise I get bored), I can't say who is the most Elizabeth Bennet Elizabeth Bennet. They both play her so differently, but both performances in my opinion are equally effective. They both deserve Darcy when they finally get him, and vice versa. And that, I think, is the main point.

Pains, Classes, Plans

Honestly, I don't think I've ever ached so much in my entire life. My muscles seem to have aged about 50 years overnight. I can't roll over in bed without effort. Walking is done gingerly and very, very slowly. Stairs are nearly impossible. When limping around campus nowadays, it's not uncommon to hear cries of "gimpy!" aimed in my direction. Snowballs, too. I'm the Tiny Tim of Morris. I'm Terry in An Affair to Remember, only without the nice painting.

All my pain, humiliatingly enough, is not the result of a romantic accident or even a knife fight. Nope, it's the result of two hours in the RFC on Sunday playing volleyball, and an hour yesterday of playing badminton. Both activities might have turned out all right, but when I play sports, I tend to perform uncoordinated lunges and dives that stretch my body in ways it's probably not meant to be stretched. Three hours of acrobatics, I suppose, were bound to bring pain.

In other news, I'll give you a list of my spring classes:
American Literature 20th century and forward
Beginning German II
The Trial of Galileo (Honors)
Art History Renaissance to Modern

In other other news, I've recently begun planning for my Great Study Abroad Semester. I know I want to go somewhere where I can practice my German, and I obviously need to go somewhere where I can take courses that pertain to my major. The search is currently narrowed down to Austria and Germany, with Austria inching ahead. Salzburg especially is looking really good right now, probably because of my passionate devotion to The Sound of Music. Will keep you updated.

An Appropriate Fall

I didn't sleep very well last night. Earlier in the evening, Annie (our older dog) had gotten into my Christmas stocking and eaten 3/4 of my peanut M&M's, plus part of a hand warmer (I don't know either). Thanks to Google, we learned that to make dogs throw up, you can dose them with peroxide. We did, and she threw up a few times outside before settling down on her pillow in the kitchen to gaze at us with mournful eyes.

I think the reason I didn't sleep well was because I was worried about her.

Anyway, when my alarm went off at 9:30 this morning, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was downright cranky. Mom, Amy and I were supposed to go cross country skiing in a nearby state park, and this morning, I had absolutely no desire to go.

I had every intention of going back to sleep, when I suddenly had a thought: "you should really go, Hol."
Why should I go?
Because it'll turn out well I think.
Honestly? Right now I'm in no condition to go on some family outing. I'm tired and I'm crabby and I just want to lie in bed and pout for the rest of my life.
Just go please. You won't regret it.
Oh, fine.

So I struggled into my long underwear, wool socks, long-sleeved shirt, snow pants, jacket, hat, mittens, goggles, and boots, and we set off.

Wild Rive State Park is really a beautiful place. Even I admitted that this morning, despite my moody impatience.
We've been going there since I was little. Initially, Amy and I would just sit in our big pink sled, plump with layers, and be dragged through the woods by Mom and Dad. As we got older, though, we'd go there to cross country ski, often going on the special nights when luminaries were lined up along the trails.

It had been a while since I had seen the park, though.
In fact, it had been a while since I had skied period.

Once at the head of the trail, I clipped my boots into my skis easily enough, threading my bulky mittens through the straps on my ski poles expertly.
Amy finally managed to wrestle her own boots into her bindings, and then we started into the woods.

Not 10 feet down the trail however, and still in plain sight of the chalet filled with people, I suddenly lost my balance,
flailed my poles uselessly in the air for a few seconds,
and tipped over backwards
landing flat on my back
in the snow.

Now, still being rather cranky, my first inclination was to just remain on the ground and burst into angry, humiliated tears.
What I did instead was start laughing.
I laughed as Mom stuck her pole in my bindings to release my boots so I could stand
I laughed as Amy retrieved my own poles from where they had landed in the deep snow to my left.
I laughed as I turned to see perfect strangers laughing at me from the warmth of the chalet.

And you know what? I felt better after that.

We skied to the visitor's center to look at the fascinatingly disgusting display of pelts and stuffed birds, and then we skied back to the chalet, where we gathered our stuff and walked out to the parking lot.

I don't think I stopped laughing all day.

Sometimes I think that the reason I'm so painfully, annoyingly, incurably uncoordinated is because it helps me not to take myself so seriously.

Nothing gives you perspective quite like a good fall does.

Carrying the Cross

I attended a Catholic school all the way from preschool to 8th grade. Did you know that?
Well I did. I won't go into detail about the experience, although I will say that while I felt all through my public high school years like things would have been easier for me in the friend department if I had just started public like everyone else, I still value my time at private school. I made tons of friends there that I still have, I got to go to school where my mom worked (that's right, I was a teacher's kid all the way up. Even had Mom for homeroom in 6th grade), but best of all, I got to be a server at various Masses (services) in the adjoining church.

What is a server, you might ask? A server is someone (usually a child age 12-15, although for important services and at important churches (i.e. the cathedral), they use adults) who assists the priest throughout the Mass. Servers (usually 2 or 3 at a time) bring the book for readings, help set up the altar for the blessing, and most impactfully, carry the candles and cross down the aisle at the beginning of Mass, and carry them back after the Mass is done.

Now, being me, I had a number of clumsy experiences while serving. There was the Candlemas Mass when I spilled hot wax all over the hand of a small boy who's candle I was trying to light with mine (his parents glared at me as he screamed). There was the time when I went to kneel when there was no kneeling going on.

The incident I remember the most, however, seems to top all the rest in my mind. It's also incredibly ironic (which only just occurred to me as I began writing this post).

You see, as I mentioned before, the servers are in charge of carrying the candles and the cross in at the beginning of Mass with the rest of the procession, and carrying them out again at the end. The candles are light; each one is about as thick as a can of tomato paste, and mounted on small posts only three feet high. The cross, however, is another story. The crucifix itself is as wide as a checkerboard, with Jesus in the middle of course, and it's mounted on a solid wooden post that is (or so I was told) a piece of railing leftover from when the new school was built. The whole cross together, then, is about 7 feet tall (much taller than a 6th grader), and extremely heavy.

It had always been a tradition among the servers, at least as long as I could remember, to fight over who got to carry the candles and who had to carry the cross. Usually the first two servers to arrive would call dibs on the candles, or in the case of 2 girls and 1 boy serving, the boy would be on cross duty. On this particular occasion, however, no one was late, and we were all female.

I think all three of us were thinking about the cross beginning the second we donned the scratchy cream-colored servers' robes, but being friends, we put off discussing it.

Suddenly, though, it was almost ten o'clock, we were at the back of the church, the candles were being lit, and the priest was looking at us expectantly. "So?" He said impatiently, "who's carrying the cross this time?" His eyes wandered over the three of us, and settled on me. Oh no, I said silently to myself, but it was too late. I was the tallest by far, solidly built, and (I suppose), fairly strong-looking. I was to bear the cross.

As soon as I lifted it, I knew there was going to be trouble. It wasn't unbearably heavy, but it was heavy enough to make my hands shake as I clutched it. Not only that, but the crucifix made it top-heavy and unbalanced; a slight tilt to the side and the weight would shift, making the whole thing just about crash to the floor. The cross was also (as I said) much taller than me. I had to constantly look up at the top of the thing, and even then it was hard to judge how close I was to bonking it on something.

The procession down the aisle was excruciating. Despite reassuring looks from the kindly old ushers, I was sweating bullets and praying that I wouldn't drop the holy cross onto anyone's newly-christened infant. I didn't, though, and breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the steps up to the altar. There was a pause while the priest bowed, and then the lucky candle-bearing servers started up the steps after him. I started to follow, but neglected to lift the cross high enough to clear the first stair. The resounding clash made my ears turn red. Even worse, I wasn't even supposed to take the cross up to the altar. The priest's wild hand-signaling reminded me that I was supposed to go around to the back, and prop the cross against the wall there.

Forgive me a slight rant, but first of all, who in their right mind expects a 12-year-old to successfully manage a huge, heavy cross without some incident? Second of all, who in their right mind expects said cross to lean peacefully against a wall (with nothing holding it in place) for the better part of an hour? Just saying.

Anyway, once I had managed to successfully balance the cross against the wall at the back of the altar, I went through to my seat beside the priest. My ears were still bright red, but I figured, most optimistically, that the clank against the stair could have gone unnoticed by a lot of people. They had been, after all, in the middle of singing the opening hymn. Yes, that was it. No one had even heard it.

The next noise, however, cut through the now quiet congregation like a gunshot. The cross, leaning against the wall, was starting to slide. Everyone could hear the slow, screeching scrape it made as it slid lower and lower. Then, as I held my breath, there was a pause, and in the same instant, with the loudest crash I have ever heard, the cross hit the floor. Wood on marble, it continued to bang as it settled.

After what seemed like an age, there was only silence again. That was when I noticed that the priest was looking at me. Kate and Claire (the other servers) were looking at me. My mom and dad and sister were looking at me from a few pews back. Yep, the whole congregation was looking at me.

My ears,still red from the first clank, now felt like they were on fire. I briefly considered crawling under the altar to hide, but as everyone was staring at me, I decided hiding wouldn't be the most effective plan. Instead, I just sat there. And fiddled nonchalantly (or so I hoped) with the ends of the rope tied around my waist.

Eventually, the priest regained his senses and continued on with his prayers. The Mass went on as usual with no more incident. Heck, I even managed to get the cross safely back down the aisle at the end (after picking it up off the floor).

Mom and Dad were surprisingly silent on the car ride home. I guess they knew how embarrassed I was and didn't want to make things worse. I certainly appreciated it.

I was back at that church a few years ago for the first time since I attended school there (nowadays my family goes to a Catholic church closer to our house). Mass began with the same old procession down the main aisle, and when I turned in my pew to watch, I saw that the cross I had carried, the tall, solid, unbalanced one, had been replaced with a new cross. The new one was small and light; the server held it easily out in front of her. She did not clank it on the stairs (she knew to go around), and this new cross did not tip over in the middle of the service.

While I'm happy that no more generations of preteens have to bear that old heavy cross, I sometimes wonder if it would be any easier for me to carry now. I wonder if I have something that I didn't have back then. And not just strength or coordination, but something deeper. I wonder if I now have the peace of mind and sense of self needed to carry that cross. I wonder if I have the faith. Some days I think I do. But other days, my ears still turn bright red as I hear that ungodly (forgive me) crash behind me.

Another 2 a.m. Paper

Why do I do this to myself?
Why am I sitting here at 2:02 a.m. typing a 5 page research paper draft that's due tomorrow?
I've had weeks to work on the thing.
I've done pretty much zero research.
I've spent minimum time thinking about my topic (not that it's uninteresting).

The result of this lack of diligence?
Tomorrow, I will doubtlessly be turning in a draft that consists of me vomiting out my opinions on my topic.
It will a be a research-less research paper draft.
Of course, I will have b.s.-ed in my cover letter.
Something like, "I felt it was best to use my draft to discover what I think about my topic, and then implement my research later on."
My writing professor, being an extremely sharp person, will certainly see through said b.s.

Darn it.
You just can't win at 2:06 a.m. 2:07 is looking bright, though...

Anyway, said procrastination was actually not entirely procrastination. Most of it was actually lack of time to work on something long term. It's hard, you know, to make time for a paper that's due in a few weeks when you have a German test tomorrow, and an Honors paper due on Monday, and a 400 page novel to read in six days.

Plus I have work. Lots of work. Information Desk, Writing Room, Social Science Office.
And then there's writing an article a week for the campus newspaper, MCSA meetings, and various campus events.
Also social things. I need to have a life. I'm not one of those people who can just shut themselves off from everyone for a week on end. If I don't have time where I can hang out with my friends and not worry about anything else, I go crazy. Certifiable.

You know, it's suddenly striking me that I've had a lot of negative posts lately. I'm sorry. My life is by no means negative.
For example, today I had my first three intramural badminton matches. I'm afraid I lost all three, but they were all certainly interesting. Badminton has never struck me as a very intense sport, but let me tell you that I was absolutely drenched in sweat by the time I was done. I was also pretty sore; as you know, I'm not a coordinated person, so I was tripping over my own feet and getting my legs tangled and doing awkward lunge-type moves in pursuit of that darn birdie.

Overall, though (and here's the happy part at last), I had a lot of fun. I've always enjoyed playing sports, even though I'm by no means a great athlete. Next time, however, I'd like to win a little bit.

The Evolution of Man on a Bedroom Floor

It is exactly 6:29 a.m. here in Minnesota, and I've just returned from our fair capital city, where I dropped my mother off at the airport. She's going to New York to visit my aunt and grandma, and since Dad had to work at 4:30, it was up to me to navigate the van (okay, okay, with the help of our Garmin GPS) through city traffic and ridiculous airport ramps.

The actual driving was okay (see previous parentheses), but I had some issues getting out of bed at 4 a.m.
It may have had something to do with me only getting two hours of sleep, or maybe I was still in a semi-dreamlike state, but for whatever reason, when I put my feet on the floor my legs collapsed under me and I fell. I tried again to stand, and once again found myself in a heap on my bedroom floor.
Maybe it doesn't sound too strange now, but this little clumsy incident felt incredibly strange at the time. I've never experienced anything like it before.
I think that when my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed before I was even awake. My body reacted to the alarm before my brain was actually functioning.
Even now, the whole incident is really fuzzy, like it happened in a dream. And who knows? Maybe it did.

I think if anyone had been watching my 4 a.m. struggle, It would have looked a little bit like the evolution of man (you know, slowly creeping up from the primordial ooze of messy bedroom floor). My muttered curses could have been mistaken for caveman grunts, my sleepy dullness matched that of an early, small-brained human, and my morning hair probably looked just about right for that period, as well.

Conclusion? Sleep is weird. Dreams are weird. Waking up from sleep and dreams is weird. I wish I knew more about how it all works; we briefly covered the topic in high school psychology, but unfortunately I don't remember a whole lot. Nevertheless, I have a prodding suspicion that we are more ourselves when we dream than we are at any other time. Because we dream about the things that really matter, right? We cut right to the chase, whether we want to or not. Our unconscious takes orders from no one. Not even ourselves.

Well, I'll be going back to sleep now (ironic?). Blessedly, I can squeeze in about six hours before I have to wake up again to get ready for work.

Post Work Injury Log

I got a bit beaten down by work today (quite literally). All of the beatings did not, contrary to popular opinion, stem from me provoking certain abusive members of the Target team. No, they stemmed purely from a lack of sleep and the resulting clumsiness.

I figure it this way: when I'm tired, I get cranky. When I'm absolutely exhausted, not only is my already existing awkwardness amped up by about one million points, but my clumsiness is as well. I need to start counting sheep or something, because I do not need to get bumped around again like I did today.

Here are the injuries:

1. While putting up signs in the infant aisles, I was having trouble jamming a particularly stubborn metal bar into its slot. I was up on a step stool, I was sweating a bit because the store wasn't open yet so the air conditioning wasn't on, and I was really having trouble with this bar. I think I was actually talking to it. Don't laugh, but it was something like, "you and I both know that you need to just work with me here. If you don't snap into this slot right now I'm going to throw you in the trash. How would you like that? Huh?" Needless to say, the bar responded quickly to my threat and locked into place.
Unfortunately, it took its revenge on me in the process. The skin on my thumb somehow got pinched in between the fixture and the peg board, and a blood blister the size of a tick rapidly formed.
This was the point in the day when all of the tiredness almost crashed down around my head, and I almost sank down onto the floor of the infant aisle and sobbed. The blood blister was gross, it hurt a lot as well, I wanted to go to bed, I was hot, and break wasn't for a whole thirty minutes. It would have been a good aisle to cry in, I'll admit, but nevertheless I managed to man up (so to speak) and keep plugging away.

2. Injury number two was a little bit less dramatic. I was stepping down off the step stool and I bumped my knee on the way down. It actually wasn't a hard bump or anything; it was just a bump in a painful spot. It swelled up, and I'm fairly sure that I'll have a nice bruise to show off for tomorrow.

You know, this has been a whiney post, hasn't it? I really do love my job, so here are some positives:

Good Things That Happened to Me at Work Today:
1. Someone gave me a high five.
2. A customer in electronics needed some help that I wasn't able to give (I know about some technology, but I don't know much about TVs, unfortunately), so while we waited for the real electronics guru to come, we had a really great chat. I'm not one of those people who will just strike up conversations with random strangers (although many members of my family do indeed have that gift), but I do like talking to people.
3. I had a definite bonding moment with a team member that I've judged rather harshly in the past.
4. I got to check out the new market area that's finally been unveiled. It looks great, and it's wonderful to be able to see the product of the remodel team's hard work.
5. I overheard some adults swear rather graphically. I think maybe I looked startled, because they apologized profusely, but afterwards I went into the back room and laughed.
6. I remembered to turn off my car headlights! Yes!

That's all for now. I bought the movie Creation (newer film about Charles Darwin and his wife, starring Paul Bettany (one of my very favorite people) and Jennifer Connelly (his actual real-life wife, which I think is awesome)) after work today. I felt sort of bad spending my school money on something like a movie, but I knew that I would have to buy it eventually anyway. I'm a sucker for period dramas.
Anyway, I think I'm going to put away Jane Eyre for a bit (on page 350!) and get my natural selection on (wow not literally).

All Hands on Deck

I was studying my hands just now. I have a slight obsession with hands, you know. It's not creepy or anything, I simply think they're rather amazing. Where would we be without hands? We do so much with them, from writing to fixing cars to carrying things to making rude (though sometimes deserved) gestures.

You can also tell a lot about a person by looking at their hands. For example, I have a gash across my right thumb from when I broke a glass a few nights ago. So, I'm a klutz.

Most of my fingernails are regulation length, but my index and second fingernails on my left hand are short. So, I recently stopped biting my nails, but it's a work in process.

I have small lines of ink randomly spattered across the fingers of my left hand. So, I write.

The life line on my right palm is long and very pronounced. So, I will live to be 108, have 60 grandchildren and 60 dogs, and write a dozen bestsellers, all of which will become part of Oprah's Reading list.

(Just kidding on the last one, by the way)

Besides vainly gazing at my own manos, I haven't done a whole lot this fine evening except read and watch Glee. I'm trying desperately to finish the book series I'm currently working on so that I can switch to something harder. I think this summer I'll go back to the old pattern of alternating lighter, easier books with dense classics. It seems to work, and then I don't feel like reading the classics is such a chore. Not that I don't ever enjoy the classics, but I'm not going to pretend that they're not difficult to get through sometimes. Depends on the book, of course.

Here's the list of classics I definitely want to get through this summer (note: I haven't read any of these before):
1. King Lear
2. Jane Eyre
3. This Side of Paradise
4. The Bell Jar
5. The Stand (Yes, I consider Stephen King to be somewhat of a classic author. You would too if you had dated the boy I did last year)
6. Crime and Punishment (or SOMETHING Russian)
7. Ivanhoe
8. Either Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn (or both, if I'm feeling ambitious)
9. Dickens (I sort of want to do David Copperfield first. Don't ask me why)
10. Uh oh this list is getting long. But I just can't leave anyone out!
11. The Picture of Dorian Gray
12. The Old Man and the Sea
13. Invisible Man (I guess...Since it was the only assigned book I didn't finish in high school, and because I hated it so much, and because everyone else in the world loves it...I'll try again)
14. Let's do another Toni Morrison. What has she written besides The Bluest Eye? Beloved? Okay.

Okay I'm going to stop before my entire reading list for life ends up in this post (I have one, by the way). How about if I read 8 off of this list I'll be satisfied that I didn't waste my summer reading rubbish? If I read 10 I'll do a happy dance and pat myself on the back a few times. If I read 13 I'll treat myself to a trip to Barnes and Noble and buy more books for next summer's list. Deal? Deal.

Shower Shoes

Do a lot in the area of fungus prevention.
Don't do a lot in the area of protection from giant shower floods caused by clogged drains.
My feet-ankles are soaked.
My curse reverberated off the bathroom walls.
But overall it was a funny moment.
Feel free to laugh.