Tongan Chronicles

Okay friends, hop on over to
www.tonganchronicles.blogspot.com
for my official new blog! I won't necessarily discontinue this one, but I want to start a new blog specifically for my Peace Corps experience!
Thanks for following! Toki sio! (See you later)

Jamie

Just Add Coconut Milk

Greetings, American-lings. Sorry for my extended alienation from the communicative world, but I am alive and well, about 10 pounds lighter, much more freckly, a bit more blonde, and slightly more faka-Tonga (Tongan). I am back on the main island (Tongatapu) as of yesterday, when I flew in from Ha'apai as the ending of my PST, pre-service training. PST included 4 weeks of language training and 3 1/2 weeks of technical (education) training. It was a bit tiring and slightly overwhelming at times, but it was amazing! My host family was sooooo great!
Here are some brief hilights of my time on Ha'apai:
--My morning exercise (fakamalohisino) was accompanied by 3 great lady friends, a hilarious pack of dogs, pigs that the dogs loved to chase, and occasional chickens that squawked at our Palangi (white people) intrusion.
--I now speak a Tongan-English creole mix. Just wait until I talk to you on the phone. Then you'll understand. Or maybe you won't understand. Tehe.
--I sang in church with my host family, who I call the Von Trapps faka-Tonga. (Like from the Sound of Music.)
--My house was very Palangi...running water from the sima vai (water tank that Australians donated to all Tongan houses), a sink, a cold shower (which is great in such hot weather,) and 3 ovens! The ovens are because my former host mom is the bread baker for Foa, the island. She's pretty terrific.
--Baking was a huge event for my village group...pies, cakes, fried rice, potato casserole... my mom also loved it, because I taught her new recipes and gave her a journal of recipes for a going-away present!
--Tongans cook many dishes with coconut milk, and it is ifo aupito! (very delicious)
--I've probably swallowed a decent amount of small bones of fish and chicken and mutton because boneless meat does not exist here.
--Lava-lavas (sarongs) are ingenious. They are great for lounging AND going to the beach. Here, unless you're in the capital, you only wear pants/long shorts for fakamalohisino (exercise...remember?) :)
--For Thanksgiving, we Peace Corps Trainees and staff had a feast and it was great. My group made caramel pies, sweet potato pies (used with the delish purple sweet potatoes here...the pies were so pretty), a strawberry/yellow marble cake, and brownies. We were a hit.
--I've sang and played ukulele more here than I probably have my whole life, if you can beleive it. It's great though!
--For culture day, our last day in Ha'apai, I did the tau'olunga, basically a single ladies' dance. I wore tapa cloth, which pretty much turned into a strapless dress that they had to pin so my huhu (boobs) wouldn't fall out, and I was coated in oil so passers-by/supporters of the dance could stick money on me. Oh yeah, I rocked it. I'll post the video as soon as I can.
--My PC friends here are AMAZING!!! I have friends from all over now...so when I go back, I can tuh-ravvvellll, woot woot!
--Surprisingly, there are more midwesterners and southerners than far-Westies or North-easties. It's definitely not what I expected.
--There are 26 PC trainees (future volunteers...as of in a week and a day!) in our group, Group 76.
--I have a friend from Maine! Isn't that exciting?!!
--Coconut water is brilliantly awesome.
--I have a cell phone... please let me know if you want my number!
--Tongan choirs are great....a bit loud sometimes when they scream, but all around, it's awesome.
--I nicknamed my former host dad "mui mana", which translates to 'butt thunder." You can probably understand why.
--I'm constantly debating whether or not to cut my hair. Surprised?
--I can't believe it's almost Christmas. Holy moly. Hot weather and coconut trees do not communicate Christmas to me.
--Research "kava ceremonies" in the Pacific Islands... I will probably talk about it in the future. In a nutshell, I was a toua, which means server.
--I've read two great books, one is "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula Leguin...my friend Whitney (whose wedding I was supposed to be in in Oct.) gave it to me, along with a million other books, and I loved it!
--So far, I've gotten two cards and one package. I've sadly not written as much as I thought I would during training, but I will have lots of free time in January, so hopefully i'll get more letters out!
--I have an awesome traditional Tongan outfit that my host family had made for me... it's a yellow with a top and tupenu (traditional skirt thing) with sea shells, turtles, and a kava bowl on it. Super cool.
--Google 'kiekie' or 'ta'ovala'. That's what we wear every day.
--It is now weird for me to see a guy in pants. I often do a double take.
--I have sexy tanlines on my arms. Really sexy ones.
--I wake up every morning to roosters, who, despite what you see in movies, do not only crow at 4-5 am. They also open their obnoxious beaks at 7 and 8 and 9 and 12 and 2 and 5 and 7 and 9... I friggin hate roosters now.
--I've been to one putu (funeral), and it was interesting. I have a video for it, too.

That's all I can think of now. In really important news, I will be sworn in (assuming all goes well...which means passing the oral Tongan exam and the policies test) on Dec. 15th, so my service starts Dec. 16th.
*Just a side note, I can't tell specific info. such as names (without permission) or my specific location. Oh, and my views and opinions are not the views and opinions of Peace Corps. I kind of had to do that.

Peace out, homedogs. I shall update soon, I hope!

So long, Farewell, I'm Going to Tonga!

We're pretty much leaving as we speak, so I wanted to say thanks! Thanks for reading, thanks for supporting me, for encouraging me.
I haven't made the new blog yet--I want to get a clearance from the PC, but hopefully I'll have one up and running soon! Also, if you guys are interested in my mailing address, no worries, I"ll post it on here as soon as possible--and if you guys ever want to email me, please do! My email is jamie.ogles997@wku.edu. I would love to hear from you!

Anyway, thanks for everything!
Tau kamata! (Let's begin!...in Tongan) :D

Holy Last Day, Batman!

8am- wake up to my mysteriously-set watch alarm, snooze it about a million times
9-ish- official wake-up time
-shower
-eat breakfast and watch cartoons
-start curling hair
-put on church clothes that resemble Mr. Rodgers' wife...if he had one. (collared shirt, long baggy cardigan...yessss)
-play piano to keep Ella from screaming/crying more...I think it worked! woop!
-anxiously remember things I have to get done today, which may include my 5th trip to Bowling Green since Tuesday.

Things to come:
-celebration lunch
-last-minute shopping
-packing
-paperwork
-more packing to break up the paperwork
-friend time
-family time
---DQ Blizzards!
---movie (?)
-more packing
-bedtime

Monday morning shedule (I spelled it like this to get that British effect.)
-sometimes between 6-7...shower. Or I may skip it, depending on my hair.
-sometimes between 7-8 leave
-eat breakfast
-airport btw. 10-10:30
-fly out at 12:05
-get to LAX at 4-something
-Registration at some hotel at 6

Tuesday
-orientation begins 8am-all friggin day
-leave for Tonga at 11:15
-10 1/2 hours later, land in Samoa
-1 1/2 hour flight to Tonga

Begin....life. :)

Sentimentality-Cramming

I think I'm pushing myself to do things for 'the last time' before I leave, and isn't that funny?
"Oh, I wanna eat sushi one more time before Tonga!" "Let's walk the farm one last time!" "Let's get DQ blizzards ONE more time" (which I'm sure will be like...every night. Let's face it, I love a blizzard.)
I'm eating lunch with a friend in 15 minutes, tonight is my last day of church at Hillvue, tomorrow is my last haircut and my last party with my Bowling Green friends/best friends in the world, Friday will be my last day with my brother in law, Friday night will be my last time of seeing Beauty and the Beast (live! woohoo!) AND my last night on campus, Saturday will be my last get-together with the family, and Sunday will be full of packing, stressing, preparing, clothes-scrambling, dancing (it relieves stress for me), and playing the piano for the last time.

UGH. Sentimentality gets on my nerves. I think it strikes a nerve in me where my anatomical alarm system says, "Abort! Abort! Detach! Get away!", yet my human self wants to sit in the middle of my ginormous suitcase in a pile of zip-lop bags and long hippie skirts while singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" between sobs.

6 Days Left! Update

I just got back from a wonderful weekend in Louisville and, let me tell you, I've hit the ground running. I tutor tonight, have Bible study tomorrow, church on Wed. (as well as my sis and her family come in), haircut and party on Thursday, Beauty and the Beast the Musical on Friday at WKU (yay!), party on Saturday, church and extreme-packing on Sunday, and I leave from Nashville at 12-something to fly to Dallas and then LA for staging. Holy crazy brain, batman!

A lot of you have asked about postage info and all that jazz. Let me just TELLLLL you the small plan that I know :)
I arrive in Nuku'alofa (the main Tongan island) and stay in a guest house for a few days. Then, we take a 35 minute plane ride (8-10 hours by boat...holy cow!) to Ha'apai, where I will live with a host family until early December. I will receive my PC training in Ha'apai and, if and when I get sworn in on Dec. 15, I will find out where my service actually is...AKA "Name That Island!"
In Nuku'alofa...or maybe it's Ha'apai, we will receive cell phones and I'll buy phone cards to call America. Also, there are internet cafes on both islands, so I'll have email access, etc. However, I won't get a lot of opportunities to do the whole email thing during training because the program is pretty darn intensive, and they encourage us to use most of our down time to hang out with our host family and socialize with others to improve our Tongan speech and relationships with others. That was a huge run-on sentence and I'm too tired to fix it, so sorry.

Also: several of you have said you wanted to send care packages. That is AWESOME and greatly appreciated! I'm sure in a few months I"ll know what i DEFINITELY need, but a lot of it also depends on which island I'm on once I start teaching. I know that feminine products there are either crappy or nonexistent, so any box of tampons/ pads/pantiliners will be welcomed with open arms. Other things like shampoo/condit., razors, soap, American candy, and letters are definitely and warmly accepted.

I should warn that the mail takes 4-6 weeks...the mail service in Tonga seems a big lax, and they also warn not to send anything valuable. If at all possible, send stuff in a padded envelope...boxes tend to be opened and swiped, so...yeah! (Silly Tongans.)

Another word about communication: I hope to start a brand new blog that is only for my PC service. I know it has to be approved once I'm there, and I can't reveal certain information, but I'm hoping that will work. If you have any ideas as to a title, please let me know. Right now, I'm still feeling "LOST: the Tonga Chronicles." It may be a little melo-dramatic, but I'm totally up for suggestions. :)

I Am Jamie, Dragon-Fighter of the High School World

Last night I had my third dream of fighting a dragon. The dragon is the same one from Sleeping Beauty, so I guess I was the female Prince Phillip. The other two times, I had this awesome sword--a really long one, one only a super strong heroine could handle--so upon my entry in my high school's gym, AKA Dragon Lair, I immediately poked out both its eyes and as it thrashed around, I cut off its head. Bam. Done. Heroine, woot woot!
Not this time. This time I kept running through the hallway where all my math and science classes were, watching the brave souls go in and out of the gym. As far as I know, no one was hurt/killed, but I do remember dressing up in this weird costume and watching two random people from high school dress as Hansel and Gretl in the wing bathroom.
Then someone gave me a dagger. He said, "Here's your dagger, Jamie. You must poke out both its eyes" (which I remembered,) "and then cut off its head."
Woah, turbo: problem here. First of all, I weighed the dagger according to my human calculations as the blade broke off its plastic handle. I snapped it back together thinking, "Okay, not my uber-awesome sword, hmmmm."
Basically, I spent the rest of the time in the bathroom, watching Hansel and Gretl discuss their distraction plan, then I would go in the double doors of the gym and just wait in the lobby, watching the dragon throw a security card across the gym and out the window. Oh yeah, there was one fatality, I assume.
Then, before I knew it, the principal came in, called for lunch break, and the dragon was tamed while all the students went into the gym/cameleon cafeteria to eat hoagies and such. I kept snapping my dagger on and off its handle, thinking there was no way to poke out the dragon's eyes with something the length of my forearm. And plastic.

The Single Lady's Blues

(an excerpt from "The Happy Blues", an unfinished/un-started work of Jamie Ogles.)

Would you be a doll? Would you do me a
small
favor, see, I don't want
your flavor,
I want your arm,
see? The shoulder and elbow, no harm
done unless your fingers go numb with the weight of my head
on your bicep, the dreaded
tingle that bites around the nerves;
the single favor I ask won't hurt--
I'm an unskilled tease and a dreadful flirt,
and I want no funny business, mister;
I want the shoe without the blister,
the cake without a fork,
the wine with an inpenetrable cork--wait,
no, I like wine.
Nevermind
then, I'll just take
the arm for sanity's sake,
where I'll sleep and dream of shoes and cake
and wine while you
choose how to intertwine your fingers in mine,
and please,
take your time.

Conrad, Shakespeare, and Poetry-Reciting Sex

I finally finished Heart of Darkness today. It was my nemesis in AP English my senior year of high school, and when I read the last word (darkness, of course,) I felt a burning, putrid passion of I-hate-Joseph-Conrad-ism, combined with an overwhelming relief of "Oh thank the LORD I can finally read something else now!" Of course, that "something else" became Jane Austen. And hopefully by now, you know that Jane Austen is my girl crush of the 19th century. Her writing is boring and it is formulaic but it is awesome! I love her characters. I swear Mr. Darcy lives in a tiny little tube thingy of my heart. He does. It's probably why I'm still single.
Anyway, that's neither here nor there. I'm writing about Heart of Darkness because my literature-loving nerd-self now likes this book. I can't say I love it. But I like it. I respect it. I understand (in a sense,) its essence. Yeah. Anyway.
My favorite part is when Marlowe says,
"You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavour of mortality in lies--which is exactly what I hate and detest in the world--what I want to forget."
Ohhh, it is so beautiful! I mean we're taught that lying is bad. It is sin, it is dirty, it is detestable to God. It is natural to we humans because we are dirty and detestable, and let's face it, sinning is what we do best.
But for a human to hate lies. That's pretty awesome. He hates it because it APPALLS him--the TAINT of death, "the flavour of mortality in lies" (that's my favorite part...oh, the language!)
I watched Shakespeare In Love today. I hadn't seen it in forever and I love Gwyneth Paltrow, and I forgot how GOOD Joseph Fiennes was. And his brother Ralph, who I totally have a crush on after The English Patient. But anyway, so the writers of this movie did such a creative job in mirroring the life/written works of Shakespeare to the life of the author and his new lover, Viola.
They meet when she, a total lover of Shakespeare's works, disguises herself as a man to try out for one of his plays. (Men were only allowed to act...no women. Ugh patriarchies.) So she ends up being pretty much the best, so she gets the part of Romeo, then he discovers she's this dreamy beautiful woman, they get hot and steamy while simultaneously reciting the lines from Romeo and Juliet to each other. (It totally beats Nora Roberts' sex scenes. For real.)
Of course, she has to marry this terrible a-hole (Colin Firth...ahhh, love,) and by the end she is discovered as a woman, but Queen Elizabeth totally defends and lies for her, but Viola still has to leave for America with yucky Wessex. However, because of this experience, Shakespeare writes Twelfth Night, one of my favorite comedies.
To make a long story long, the lying passage from Heart of Darkness just reminds me of this love triangle thing from Shakespeare in Love. The love between William and Viola is true, but the pretense is all false... they can't marry, they can't defy the whole social network, lalala. Lies are mortal because they eventually fizzle out, they have an end, they fester until they ooze out, leaving nothing but a scab behind.
But if you've ever read Shakespeare's sonnets (My Mistress' Eyes, for example), the lies of men bring out the truth in other men.
Maybe I'm getting all "love is truth, truth is beauty, beauty is freedom" and whatnot, which totally makes me want to watch Moulin Rouge again, but I guess this is what happens when I read literature and ponder over it for a couple of weeks.

And I'm considering taking a book of Shakespearean comedies with me to Tonga. Hmm...

i'm too tired to say something metaphorical

bedtime- 12:30/1-ish am
wake-up time- 5:55 am
singy choir time- 7:15 am
breakfast time- 8-something
singy choir time over- 11:30
friend time- 12:45
hikey time- 2-something
homey time- 6
supper time- 6:01
movie time- 7-present
bedtime- now? (8:45 ish)

leavey time- 14 days

Woohoo! I love good days!

I look totally awesome right now. I just cleaned my car--literally--for 2+ hours straight. I vaccumed it, cleaned/polished the inside, (even INSIDE the doors...like the gross greasy parts,) and finally washed the outside. It doesn't sound like a lot, but it was.
I broke a major sweat and I even have grease swipes on my arm. It makes me feel sexy, you know. Reor.
Then the mail lady drove up to hand me the mail, asking me about my life in a nutshell right now. Her daughter just got back from China and is about to head to England, so I decided she was probably open-minded enough to accept my Peace Corps life with enthusiasm. She was absolutely kind, and said to have an extra eye, because no matter how good of deeds we try to do, people are always eyeing Americans. So she asked me to be careful and then said "God will be with you, sweetie!" She was nice. I love meeting kind strangers. It makes me happy.
I also had a good time with my grandma today. I've been doing a lot of stuff around the house for her--I mean she's 90...holy cow--and so she pays me just to do little odd jobs. Then we ate lunch together and she asked a lot of questions about Tonga and what I'd do, etc. Then she said something really funny--she and my mom both do it ALL the time. Like when a bad word is appropriate, they both say "sht" like that or "sssst" and it's kind of a fill-in minus the vowel. It's hilarious. So I told her a story about when Mom said shit when she and Dad were having a playful argument-- seriously, it was hilarious--and Mema laughed so hard she was wiping tears.
It was nice--I like when Mema laughs and tells stories. It's fun. It's always been hard to bond with her because she's always been so much older; plus she always tried to talk me out of playing ball and talk me into taking piano lessons even after I quit. But now she's become a lot more accepting of me. Or maybe I've become more accepting of her.
As of now, the countdown is 17 days. Isn't that crazy? I don't feel crunched for time or uber stressed. Maybe my subconscious does because my face is breaking out again and my fingernails are bloody and down to the nubs. Oh well. I'm happy.

I Know What I Am

I think I'm still recovering from my America's Next Top Model Marathon because after I took a bath tonight, I totally ripped out most of my closet and tried it on. I was trying to coordinate outfits for different things...for choir on Sunday, for my going-away party (#1, 2, and 3), etc.
I was feeling creative tonight, and when I feel creative with clothes, and I kind of do strange things, but I like strange, so it's okay. I started with normal dresses (2 of which I am now getting rid of, because I've worn them once or twice. I hate when I do that), then tried some dress-jean combinations, some dress-tights combinations, la la la. Then I kept eyeing my long skirts--ones I purposely bought to take to Tonga, and decided to take my long green skirt, pull it up above the girls, and cinch a brown chunky belt around my waist and let me just say...I'm good. I mean the fabric is a bit flimsy so I may need double sided tape or something...(keep the girls tucked in, you know,) but it totally looked cute. Then I tried it with a couple other skirts and realized I've been wasting my time buying dresses.
Maybe my faux-dress will make an appearance. I hope I'm feeling ballsy enough that day.

Now I'm exhausted from the extensive self-fashion show, and I'm rambling at this point, but I've always dogged my brother Travis about how much he plays video games. We call him "Thumbs" now. I just hate video games. They make my eyes hurt and I'd much rather be reading a book.
HOWEVER, Trav turned on his PS3 a minute ago and the background music was "I Know What I Am" by the Band of Skulls (who are spectacular, by the way...I think they're like a modern day Jefferson Airplane.) Anyway, so I started grooving and what not, so I decided to look up the lyrics.
This is totally gonna be my catwalk song.

High ho,
Triple sow cow,
I got a feeling like I'm tired of the flow
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Gasoline
Saccharin,
I got no reason for the state I'm in,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Hotel,
Taco Bell,
I got the hit that you know damn well,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Cut, tease,
Better believe,
I got the feeling that I'm underneath,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

But it's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay.

Flick flack,
No slack,
I got the wit that my enemies lack,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Trick some,
Just begun,
Giving you more when you only want one,
Cause I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Hot sweat,
Got debt,
Keep your licker in the locker cause you don't know yet,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

Ship shape,
Ticker tape,
Looks to me like a narrow escape,
But I know what I am,
They know what they are
So let me be

But it's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay,
I got the time,
But the time don't pay
It's alright,
It's okay.

So I was watching America's Next Top Model...

I couldn't help it. It was an all-day marathon of a cyclce I hadn't seen yet. Cycle 12 or something. Geez, I can't believe there have been that many. ANYway, I've pretty much always resisted the MTV/VH1 vices that a lot of teens and young adults have like a sickly tumor, but ANTM is my shiz. I love that show because it's artsy and it deals with girls of different ethnicities with different looks and okay, maybe mostly are all skinny, BUT in this cycle there were girls who actually looked normal, which was cool. I mean they were kicked off by halfway through, but I felt content as I polished off a box of those mint chocolate cookies--the kind that are like the Girl Scout Grasshopper cookies. THOSE. I seriously ate like a bunch.
ANYWAY. So I'm watching this marathon thing for 3-4 hours when I finally decide I should work out while doing it (thank goodness Mom and Dad bought an elliptical to put in the basement...that sits in front of a tv), so I shocked my cardio system while watching these girls wear crazy things like poofy hair pieces and feathers on their faces and such.
Then I started thinking about how much I LOVED all the girls with short hair. It was like I was drawn to them. I am drawn to girls with short hair for some reason. To me, it's such a statement. Like BAM. I don't have to have long flowy locks--I can rock a boyish haircut--bam!
I totally want to chop all my hair now. Fo real. I'm amazed I've lasted 2 years without cutting it (other than a mere trim, which I'm in dire need of as we speak), but I just LOVE short hair. Mine is looking so boring lately.
Maybe I'll just eat another roll of cookies.

Trippin' in a Grocery Store

I was so productive today...after I got out of bed at 10:30. Don't judge me. My sleeping is way off right now. And I had strange dreams that involved a fastpitch softball tournament in Tonga, being lost on an island for 5 weeks, and the emergence of my parents ON the island as they screamed about how financially irresponsible I was. Suddenly, as they were yelling, I was 12 again in my old bedroom with the blue and yellow wallpaper. Weird.
Anyway, I woke up with a monsoon headache, drank some juice, and drove to down with what LOOKED like sex hair (I was way too tired to fix it,) a splotchy red face, and a list of errands to run. I found out yesterday that all volunteers had to get the H1N1 vaccine before we leave for LA, so I called the Health Dpt. who won't get the vaccines until October. Then I called the Primary Care Clinic, who thank goodness has them. So I waited in the office, got my vaccine, had to get an updated copy of my immunization record, dropped off a movie for my brother, deposited a check, got my glasses tightened, and ran into the IGA to pick up some 'essentials' for my adventure that now starts in 20 days. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, deodorant, toothpaste, razors, tampons, pads, lalala.
So I check out at the counter and the lady says, "Looks like you're goin on a trip!" and I said, "Well, yeah, actually I am." She looked happy that she guessed it right. After I paid (and could've kicked myself for not going to the Dollar Store, which could've saved me 5 or 10 bucks,) the lady said "Have a good trip", but I thought she was gonna say "Have a good day" so I automatically said, "You too!"
Then we both stopped and I said, "Well, I mean, have a good day."
She says, "Oh well it don't matter, honey, I'm always on a trip!"

It was definitely funny. A bit strange.
Even stranger, when I walked INto the grocery store, one of the cashiers walked outside for a smoke. I don't know who she is--probably a woman of mid-50s or older-- and her eyes got real wide and said, "Wull HEY! How're YOuuuuuu?" I said, "Um, I'm good! How are you?" Then she got a real crazy look in her eye--they got so big where I couldn't see her lids--and she said, "Wull, I'll be doin MUCH better after I have a SMOKE!" cackle cackle cackle.
I think I need to get outta here, guys.

Growing Up Beside You

I've just been singing this all day. Don't know why. It's by Paolo Nutini. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside :) AND it makes me want to speak in a Scottish accent.

Sitting beside you in school,
While we'd paint I'd make you laugh.
Mine was never very good,
Yours looked exactly like the photograph.
Looks like I'm growing, I'm growing up beside you.

I don't always get the way you feel,
But now I've learned to live with that.
It's like I'm a part of something real.
I was hittin' the bottle, now I've broken the seal.
Looks like I'm growing, I'm growing up beside you

And the sun sets the scene,
While the rain misses me.
And all the time I'll be growing, growing up beside you.

Oh, The sun sets the scene,
While the rain misses me.
And all the time I'll be growing, growing up beside you.

Possibility

Second post today. I know...psycho, right? I guess I'm just blogging as much as possibe before I'm an island-dweller for the rest of my early twenties.
Holy crap. I'll be almost 25...
Okay, I won't think about it. Anyway. Moving on.
It's been a really weird day for a number of reasons. It's ended well. But it's had a lot of loopty-loops and I hate loopty-loops. I get way too nauseous and I have too many headaches.
I just feel like my head is screaming. I mean I've had a headache all day, but I've got that swimmy racing-thoughts feeling and it has a lot to do with that whole fear thing. To be honest, I want this whole fear thing to be good; so I'm making myself vulnerable to God, lalala, but now I feel like Satan could possibly use it, too, and it's driving me fuh-lippin crazy. I think I need a tranquilizer.
I mean today, I was driving home, and I just started saying, "Satan, get away from me. Go back to hell, I don't want you here." And I just kept saying it over and over until I felt like stopping. It was weird.
I was praying on the way home, too, mainly because I knew my dad and I were due for a really intense talk. I needed to apologize and I did, and he took it okay for a little while. Then it got tense, then it got shitty, then I started crying, then I almost left to sulk and cry in my room, and Dad said, "No no, don't leave--this is exactly why we haven't worked things out." So I stayed. I mean a lot of the reason I always leave is because fighting with them takes a toll on me. Big time. I mean 2 years of fighting is a lot to me. I'm normally a happy, conflict-free being when it comes to relationships. Not so much at home.
BUT the conversation turned out well. We got deeper than we've gotten and he hugged me at the end. It was nice. I opened up with him about Mom and my constant back-and-forth-ness with her, and I talked to him about spiritual things and such. I didn't get to the bone of things, but now I think the possibility is there.
I still feel weepy, though. I think it's PMS.
Anyway, so you KNOW a music reference is coming here, right? (Gosh, I'll miss some music. Thank goodness I can take my mp3.)
So Lykke Li is an artist I'd always wished I'd looked farther into. Buy an album, la-de-da. But she has a song called "Possibility." It is haunting and chilling and amazing. There's this bridge. It's awesome.

So tell me when you hear my heart stop,
You’re the only who knows
Tell me when you hear my silence
There’s a possibility
I wouldn’t know

Tell me when my sigh is over
You’re the reason why I’m close
Tell me if you hear me falling
There's a possibility
It wouldn’t show

I guess I'm in a very contemplative mood...big surprise. But I just feel so much of this. Sometimes, I'm not aware of my silence. Sometimes, my fall seems much more discreet than obvious. Just the whole "there's a possibiity thing." There are a lot of possibilities right now. In the world, in our country, in my life, in your life, in my family, in Tonga.
My head screams with possibilities, with hurt, with goals and sorrows and sucky memories and friends I'll miss. It screams with things I want to write, things I want to read, languages I want to learn, people I want to meet, baggage I want to get rid of, words I want to forget, words I want to hold onto.

Change of plans, kind of

For a week or so I have been internally FLIPPING OUT. Mainly because I leave in under a month, but I had also not heard from the PC as to which domestic city I would visit for orientation, which is called "Staging" in PC lingo. I mailed my PC Passport application (kind of like a visa) the day after I got my invitation, but I read that if we filled it out wrong, we were pretty much out of luck. They had the rights to ask someone else to go in my place, and I may not hear if I filled it out wrong.
Yikes. Nonetheless, I was freaking out.
It's been a weird couple of days, and last night at Bible study we talked about a lot of God stuff, but we ended with a Basic video (Francis Chan in all his brilliance) that totally focused on fear. Fear has been my roadblock in my faith because I don't fear God a lot. Not that I don't want to, but I just don't fear a whole lot. Being afraid means I'm vulnerable and I feel all weak inside, and any relationship that I've ever had based on fear has been a crappy one, so... I mean why shoud I fear this Almighty God who loves me and who has done so much? It just seems weird.
I don't like being afraid. I don't watch scary movies (without completely covering my face with a blanket,) and I hang out with people I trust. Fear is just not a part of me very often. Except for when pigeons are around. Or if I have to play the piano in front of a lot of people.
So I've been diving into discomfort. Finding my fears, dealing with them, asking God to place a fear in me FOR him...because I need to fear him.
Here are some fears I have:
--Being comfortable for too long
--Losing my nieces
--Well, actually, losing my family
--Suicide (it's such a mystery and it terrifies me)
--Romantic relationship (didn't realize it until recently)
--Having kids
--Finding a person. Like that 'one person' person.
--Pigeons
--Labels
--America
--Cooking Bacon
--Being dismissed from the Peace Corps if they think I'm not up to par

So I prayed over some of this stuff and this afternoon I realized that this whole PC thing is totally in God's hands. SO I asked for peace for it.
I got up, peed, and went to the computer to check my email.
And there it was. My directions for Staging. So I leave for LA on Oct. 4th, then on Oct. 5, I leave for Tonga.
Jesus is awesome :)

Umm...

I'm reading Heart of Darkness on a Tuesday afternoon while listening to Florence and the Machine before Bible study.
What the hell?

Dark

A girl killed herself about 3 days ago and it's bothering me. I don't even know her name. She was my age. 22.
It makes me do a lot of psychological pondering when I consider motives and emptiness. How can someone want to give up after just 22 years of life? It's hard to imagine and hard to think about a beautiful girl blow past consideration, beneath the realms of depression, and make herself stop living.
I've known people who have done this, heard about people, actually KNOWN people. This girl...I don't know her. I've never seen or met her. I don't know her favorite color or her preferred ice cream flavor. I don't know the color of her eyes or her favorite pet.
A few months ago, I heavily considered giving up my faith. God didn't seem real to me. I questioned everything and logic seemed much more possible to believe rather than spirituality. But I remembered that I love spirituality. It keeps me sane. God keeps me sane. (Check out Charlie Hall's "Mystery.") I couldn't just deal with my thoughts and random actions all the time. I've read a lot of books about faith and spirituality and it's been good for me. I don't just love Jesus, I love God. And I accept that I don't understand him all the time...because let's face it, he's not just a 2-dimensional box we can rely on for spiritual supplies like that whole 'armor of God' metaphor and other practical things like hammers and nails and such.
God isn't a tool box.
So anyway, I had a good cry last night and talked to God about my loneliness and how I never wanted my loneliness to be a bad thing. A thing so consuming that the only way out is a relief that ends things.
This entry is probably getting weird already, but I keep singing Damien Rice in my head. I mean let's face it, if I were to go for the drinking Irish type, he would be my musical soul mate.
He has a lyric from "Accidental Babies" that says, "Is he dark enough/enough to see your light?"
How beautiful is that? I've always wanted my future man friend/husband to have that--that quality that wants to fully know my darkness to see the light I guess I can bring. But then I keep thinking that it's God. God IS light, but he's dark enough to see mine--I mean shoot, he placed it in me! He plunged through all that dark junk and cleaned it--beyond shininess. He's not a tool box OR a tool man that just spit-shines something until it looks presentable. He put a little glow in there.
I guess that I don't want to feel like I've lost that glow. I imagine it like a little burning ember--maybe on the edges of a beautiful, rising fire. Sorry for the predictable Christian metaphors, but I'll take my place there where it's a bit darker. I feel comfortable in darkness a lot. But I always want to feel like God penetrates that darkness. I never want to feel empty enough to end things.

2+2=5

About once a year I go through yearbooks. It's funny to see who I was in that year. My hair (which took on more radical changes in college,) my clothes (which, let's face it, nothing can beat my patchwork vest from 3rd grade), and the hair and clothes and signatures from other people.
I spent the night with a friend and read her yearbooks, snooping through gossipy farewells that revealed relationships, crushes, memories, and typical Scottsville stuff. Then I read my signature to her.
Oh, dear.
I mean--I must admit, it was a "signature" Jamie signature. Sloppy, an italicized mixture of cursive and print, one pretty funny line to provoke a funny memory, and then, there it was.
"Never change!"
Oh sweet Lord, what was I thinking? Then I realized that EVERYBODY wrote it.
Can you IMAGINE if we stayed our high school selves?
I shudder at the thought. If you only knew me. I mean, my body would be cuter, my muscles and such wouldn't hurt so much, but holy cow.

Why is there such resistance to change? It' a stupid question, honestly. Comfort, Fear, Stasis, lalala, the list could probably go on for paragraphs.
I'm one of those weird people who likes change, I suppose. A "Yes We Can" person. A "Why Not?" person.
I would love to philosophize this, but I think Radiohead says it best. Please listen to the whole song because this is only the beginning, but here are the lyrics to
2+2=5.

Are you such a dreamer
To put the world to rights
I'll stay home forever
Where two and two always makes a five
I'll lay down the tracks
Sandbag and hide
January has April showers
And two and two always makes a five
It's the devil's way now
There is no way out
You can scream and you can shout
It is too late now
Because you're not there
Payin' attention

Woops...slight roadblock

I am a financial nut.
No, no, I don't pour myself over the world of finance--I've never taken accounting or any business or economic class whatsoever. I am a financial nut because my brain is about the size of a nut when it comes to the whole money thing...mainly because I hate money and to be honest, I hate having money. I have zero security in money. It's paper. It's metal. When people have a lot of paper and metal, they get excited and go give away their paper and metal for things of substance--cotton, leather, heels, giant machines made out of more metal. I give away money a lot. Not only in the good sense, either. I don't donate to things as much as I used to, so I victimize myself in money masochism and switch my credit card balance for my bank balance. Woops.

UGH I hate money. Hate hate hate. I wish we worked on a bartering system.

So I applied to be a substitute teacher at the school system I went to. 2 years ago, I applied and everything happened in less than a week. I did test thingies to make sure I wasn't a criminal or pothead, and everything was peachy. Little did I know my cousin worked me up the ranks that week, so I didn't have to go through standard protocol, apparently. I applied to be a sub almost 3 weeks ago. I called 2 weeks ago to see what was up. The lady said I'd get a call in September to complete the next steps.

I just recently found out (as in last night) that whenever I get that call, it would be 2-3 weeks afterward until I actually got to sub. It would be slightly impossible to do that from Tonga, SOOOO I am back to square one and my parents think I am a total re-re because now I am freaking out over paying bills and such. Because I don't see the paper and metal on my online bank statement.

So I call employment services today and got this really cool guy on the phone. I told him my situation, and he gently let me down, saying that most people who are need employers are looking for longer commitments, but that I should check back on Tuesday. Then he asked where I was going for the PC. I said, "Tonga, it's in the Pacific Islands," and he said, "OH wow! I lived in Hawaii for years and I met lots of Tongans. Oh, they are such great people and let me tell you--you've never heard a choir sing until you hear a Tongan choir." My mouth kind of did that gentle little "pop" where my chin falls to the bottom of my neck and I blubbered "awesome" a lot and then he told me to email him my resume. So we'll see where that goes.
I also drove through Scottsville on my way home, carefulling keeping an eye out to see if any businesses had a "Now Hiring" sign in front. Dominos had a sign saying "NOW HIRING DRIVERS: you could earn up to ___" and then I looked away, not even wanting to know how much I could earn. Hmm. A Domino's Driver. I could drive.

Then I thought about how I need to sell my car soon. That would take care of my minute financial crisis, but then I couldn't be a Domino Driver and I wouldn't be able to go anywhere unless I borrowed my parents' or my brother's car...which, let's face it, may suck because then they'll be perturbed about my asking to borrow what I sold. Then they'll think I'm too irresponsible because I already sold my car.

THEN I cleaned out--literally--half my closet, to my sister's delight, and took the rest to a boutique in Bowling Green, and thank GOODNESS they took most of it. So maybe I can sell my car, my clothes, hopefully babysit, and maybe be a Domino's Driver.

I still think I should use my mad ukulele skills, pull up in front of the library, plug in my keyboard, and make it as a street performer. I think I have enough charisma.

Things high school prepared me for...and didn't

God bless Ms. Adkins, my high school Spanish teacher, who blessed me with the strategies to learn foreign languages (in a sense...because technically, I'm only fluent in English. Oh well.) To be honest, I think she was in the Witness Protection Program because she vanished once in the middle of the semester, and then she just up and vanished one summer and never came back. Strange. Anyway, she was the first to introduce the "Flash Card" technique, and I feel very proud to be using it now as I learn Tongan.
Hehe. Did you hear that? I'm learning Tongan. It just SOUNDS cool!
SO: Tongan is a cool language. It has 17 letters in the alaphabet (including the ', which called a faka'ua), and the ng (pronounce like in singing...it's soft).
My favorite word so so far is fakamolemole (sorry), and I also like the sound of pa'anga (money), although I won't have a lot of pa'angas. However, the PC gives me a stipend of the average income sum in the village/city/island where I'll be.
An island! I'm living on an island! AHHHHHHHHH!
Anyway, I've gotten the first load of paperwork/homework done (apply for PC passport, read 3-4 diff. handbooks, contact loan officials--damn student loans,) and now I am giving away half my closet (I mean, I don't want them to sit in my closet two years to collect dust and minor borrow-age from my sister,) researching shoes to buy, painting, etc. Within 1-2 weeks I will receive my traveling information for "Staging", which is the orientation event in a major US city. I'll stay there 2 days and then ship off to meet my new Tongan life! The PC will give me the information--city, hotel, lalala, and then I'll have to make the reservations with this travel agency place.
I thought flying by myself to Belgium was one thing--I felt very grown up and adultish when I did--but NOW I even have to arrange my own transportation from the city airport to the hotel...as in a taxi or something! I know my small town-ness is definitely showing up, and I've even been in a taxi in DC for the inauguration, but my mind is just wobbling with all these small and huge details.
This is also quite shallow of me, but the obesity rate in Tonga is either the 1st or 2nd highest in the world. I'm scared. I'll leave it at that.
BUT I'll also get to eat mangoes and papayas! Now that is flippin cool.

Mental Processing

I don't know that I've ever been so mentally preoccupied in my life. I'm a mental pinball, bouncing from mental reminders to call the loan department, call the clothing boutique, call friends to hang out before I become a Tongan for 2 years; write my statements for the Tongan office, write updates in my journal, write on my blog, write messages to people I won't see for a long time, write thank you notes for mission supporters, clean my room...once a week, clean out my closet, organize my closet, organize the clothes I'm getting rid off (hence the boutique), organize my shopping list, organize my necessities, organize my bank account (yikes), do my language exercises, start running, find ways to make quick money (without selling my body), make my own skirts for Tonga, research the best hiking boots and sandals, make Jamie time for ukulele and piano, try to resist the mountain range that's trying to grow on my chin, find my electrical converter, go through my underwear drawer (woah, I remember these! I bought these when I was 14!), figure out insurance things, read through the handbook, get rid of more clothes (holy cow, Jamie, why did you NEED this many hoodies?), stop biting my fingernails, pay credit card bill, try to fix mp3 player, paint things--like my dirty white Tom's that need life in color, study more Tongan, remain calm, breathe, read books, mail things to the Peace Corps, email things to the PC office in Tonga, study more Tongan, try to stay sane, watch movies I won't see for a long time, just breathe...

Tears, Travels, and Tonga

Weirdest 3 weeks of my life. I get home from Belgium after a summer of living in my suitcase for SportQuest Ministries. I started in Indianapolis, worked as in intern, co-led the Indy Project for 10 days, then went to Belgium for a 3 week mission. I returned on a Saturday in Indy, went to Louisville on Monday, stayed until Saturday, and got to Scottsville on Saturday night (Aug 14), where I've been since.
I applied for the Peace Corps at the end of January/beginning of Feb. The day I submitted my application, I received an email from the founder of SQ, asking me to consider moving to Belgium next summer for at least 2 years to work with the SQ Belgium team as a missionary. Wow.
To be honest, I didn't pray about it a whole lot during the semester. I wanted the Peace Corps. Then I graduated, moved home, and within 3 days I was driving to Indianapolis for my adventurous summer, living with a host family who I didn't know, working in a church where I'd never been, and rooming/working with a girl I'd never met. In the SQ atmosphere, I felt like I was learning a lot about the organization... well, about missions in general. I did things way out of my comfort zone (like soliciting for food, for example,) and I worked in an environment that doesn't particularly suit my working preference (at a desk, in front of a computer... doing computery desk things. My ADD kicks in a lot. And my eyes hurt.)
The Indy Project was mine and Laura's baby--we organized it all. The hairiest details, the largest activities. We (wo)manned the thing. But it was frustrating. I felt at the mercy of people rather than God, and I felt spiritually suffocated. I thought, "No, No way. There is no way I can be a missionary when I can't even handle a 10-day project!" I cried a lot in a 10-day period. I was utterly frustrated with myself because I could not reach God. I was supposed to be a leader here, yet I couldn't even feel God's presence. Frustration.
Then Belgium happened, and in case you have never heard me talk about it, Belgium is pretty much my heart-home. The people there, the churches, the youth, and of course, the SQ peeps. It is all just absolutely amazing. I could work with these people, cry to these people, talk about things I actually LIKE to talk about with people...and only get slight "you ARE weird" looks. These people understand me, they love me, they make me feel comfortable. Then the wheels started turning, of course, and I thought, "OH no. Maybe I AM supposed to be here."
So I come back. In my week at Louisville, I felt nearly committed. I gave an 80% Yes to the director for my moving to Belgium, which would've required 10 months of hard-core fund- and support-raising. I talked with a lot of people about it. I couldn't come to a peaceful conclusion...it was still a little murky. Then I started questioning my motives for things. I figured out some selfishness on both ends (PC and SQ), and I even made a Pros and Cons list in my notebook. I had a Skype Date with my Belgian Mission BFF Girl Mentor until 3am because I had 6 days until my decision was to be made to the director.
Here was the dilemma: I was nominated for the program in Africa to leave in November, and they usually send you an invitation 6 weeks in advance. Which meant I still had another month...yet I hate 6 days to decide! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Frustration to the max.
I had my Skype date on Monday night/Tuesday morning...the 23rd. On the 24th, a Placement Officer from the PC called to touch base and to ask my permission to be switched as a nominee to a different program leaving in October. Pacific Islands. Picture: big eyes, open mouth, slight stutter, rumbling thoughts, rumbling excitement, rumbling interjections...
The story gets a tad more complicated.
**PS, I apologize for the length. I just want the story to go down in history! Okay.
The story gets a tad more complicated. My former roomie is getting married Oct. 16. I'm a bridesmaid, I tell the lady officer. "Oh," she says, "You'll leave before then."
Basically, the Pacific Islands were my only shot unless I wanted to leave after January and risk my file even being considered. I said DO IT.
She sent the invitation THAT day, as I received an email the following day to tell me my invitation was sent.
I didn't know the country, I didn't know any details...when I would leave, la la la.

Drum roll...
I leave on October 5th for a 2-day orientation in some major city that I"ll find out in a couple of weeks, and on Oct. 7 I ship out to TONGA! I receive training until Dec. 16, when my service as a teacher starts. The kids are out of school the first 6 weeks my service begins, but I"ll be put into various community projects to become more unified (and talked about, I'm sure :)) in this dominantly Christian culture. On an island. For 2 years. ON AN ISLAND! Like a Pacific one! Surrounded by the Pacific Ocean...!

When I found out I was getting the invitation, I immediately called the SQ director, and told him that I was 100% PC. I can tell you exactly why. Because with PC, I had confidence out my ears. With SQ, I felt hesitant and not fully at peace. With PC, I felt 100% excitement, but with SQ, the hesitancy lessened the Jamie Excitement Factor. You know what that is, right? The JEF? If you have known me long, you know when I'm excited. It can be obnoxious and sometimes overwhelming, but if you're reading this, you love me, so you can deal. :D

So NOW...Jamie is leaving in 5 weeks and 3 days. For Tonga. A kindgom in the Pacific Isands with a constitutional monarchy and papayas and mangoes, where I have to wear long skirts and dresses, where I'll bike and boat a lot, where I'll struggle under a more conventional patriarchy (Lord help me,) where I may or may not live alone with or without electricity, where I may have to eat corned beef (Lord help me more), where I can hike up a volcanic mountain, where I can swim in the Pacific Ocean, where I can dance traditional dances and sing in church choirs, where internet could be twice a week or once a month, where men try to marry me off, where I'll stutter through my beginning stages of Tongan, where I'll have 3 pairs of shoes (what a relief, too,) and where I'll probably be nicknamed the Pale Face, only in Tongan. Guys, the Jamie Excitement Factor has exploded.

I see it as a new season of LOST.
LOST--Tonga: The Jamie Chronicles

It has potential.

Peace Corps Update...Holy Cow

So I got a random phone call from the Peace Corps Placement Office today. They wanted to just brush up on basic concerns, etc. Then the lady said that she felt like I would fit better with a different program. The Pacific Islands.

Yeah, those. Like the ones to the east of Australia, little specks of...specks on a world map.
She asked me if I would feel comfortable biking, boating, and swimming for transportation. Check.
Would I feel okay in a setting where I might deal with loneliness, or a tad bit of locational seclusion? Check. I'll have my composition notebooks. Double check.
She said that the program leaving for Africa in November has fewer slots--a small team going over, and she was afraid my qualifications weren't what they needed. She was afraid the positions would be filled before they even got to my file.

The program leaves in October, she said, and I said, "Well, that's fine, but I'm in a wedding in October...like the 16th."
OH...well, you'll leave before then. You'll leave like the beginning of October.

Hmm. Oh. Okay. So I asked some more questions. Would I still be considered for Africa? Not likely. What other programs could I be considered for? Nothing until after January, at which point your file may or may not be considered.

Sign me up for October, I said. I'll talk to the bride.

I should hear back within 1-2 weeks.

HOLY CRAP!!!

My Life, the Musical

In Belgium I was in a skit like they do on Whose Line Is It, Anyway?--the one where there's a party host, then he has to guess what's wrong with all the guests who arrive. I was the character who thought her life was a musical. I was easy to pick out as soon as I sang "The Sound of Music" upon entrance and when I sang my name to him for introductions. He pegged me after that.
I'm feeling musical-y today because my emotions are so manic-depressive and manic-expressive that only music could fit the mood.

"Maybe This Time" from Cabaret brings out my stuck-in-a-rut-and-trying-to-get-out-of-it mood.

"I Have Confidence" from The Sound of Music is the song I'll sing, I think, once I've figured out my life. Okay, that's a bit of an understatement. Once I've figured out the next move, then I can sing it, I think.

"Say it to Me Now" from Once is one of my all-time favorites. Glen Hansard sings this with so much...heart and gusto and brokenness. Sometimes I sing it to God because it goes with our relationship as much as it does a broken romantic relationship, which I, thank God, do not have right now. As Charlotte Lucas says to Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice, "Some of us cannot afford to be romantic." Amen, sister.

"Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin'" from Oklahoma. Only I would sing it satirically. Not that the mornings are beautiful, but things are definitely not going my way.

"Don't Rain on My Parade" from Funny Girl. Okay, I first heard this on Glee, so my knowledge of musicals is slightly delapidated, but this is that gusto I've been lookin' for.

"La Vie Bohem" from Rent brings out my hippiness and my philosophical/spiritual obsession with... well, philosophical and spiritual hippiness. And sometimes when I don't care what others think, this is my anthem. Yessss.

Peace Corps Update...Finally

My medical evaluation has been cleared...meaning the next step for me is...

to wait. Some more.

BUT the next step for them is to compare me with applicants and, if they so choose, to send me an invitation to leave! If I get the invitation, I have to apply for a Peace Corps passport and probably do a million other things in preparation.

I've been deliberating whether or not to do the PC based on other opportunities. I'm still not sure about it and I don't seem to be getting any answers from the man upstairs, but I can't help but get excited about this.

By the way, only 15% of applicants are medically cleared in the first go-around, so I feel relieved. And thankful to all the 5-6 nurses who ran around crazy trying to get everything together for me. The physical was friggin INTENSE. I got either 2 or 3shots, had to get a pap, (yikes), blood drawn, things in the blood tested to make sure I wasn't diseased, etc. My favorite nurse said, "Poor girl, we've poked and prodded you from all angles!" She wasn't kidding.

But now I'm not being poked and prodded anymore. Now I'm waiting. Waiting on acceptance from one organization, waiting on answers from God, waiting on the go-ahead to join another organization.... oh, life. Maybe I am being poked and prodded.

Now I remember why I don't like it here.
It gets lonely now that I'm different.
I stare through the kitchen door to the wide
open field during the prayer before dinner
and I stare at the tv as you watch;
I stare into the traps of wasted time,
wondering if you would give up
your television shows to see me. You
told me you wouldn't visit me,
wherever I go. You told me I better be careful
because despite my new life, I was
"raised right" but that alliteration
is exhausting because now I
realize that in the latter half of my life,
I haven't been raised--I've been pushed,
stifled, crammed, smothered
into your box, and it wasn't 'right'
because the only right is something
we're both defending. Something we say
we're defending, but we're defending pride;
you're defending your Box-God, I'm defending
the God of the wide open field that
feels the loneliness of my thoughts
as you finish the prayer with
"Amen".

Me and My Keyboard

Oh how wonderful it is to caress my favorite instrument.
Haha. That's a funny line. I'm leaving it.
I hate saying tickling the ivories because tickling makes it sound way too un-serious. Caress sounds a bit too sexual, but sometimes I think musicians and the music they play...it's all sexual anyway, isn't it?
Moving on.

So I've played my little keyboard several times--I've yet to make it to the basement to the real thing, but that time will come. I love that old upright piano. It's between 80-100 years old, it's a little beaten from a fall, and it's twangy. But it's awesome. The D in the next to last octave doesn't play anymore, but I can manage it.

I love musical scores. The Legends of the Fall has one of my favorite scores in it--I don't even know what it's called, but I love it. And I just recently figured out the score to The Painted Veil (with Edward Norton, my favorite skinny boy with the nice voice and great nose,) and I LOVE IT. Please listen to it. I know it takes a big dork to obsess over movie scores, but I don't think you'll regret it. It's amazing.

Well, back to my filling out job applications and eating melted Belgian chocolate and reading books that really shouldn't be in my presence but are. I laugh with sneaky indulgence. Ha-haha!

From Louisville to Scottsville

I'd nearly forgotten how beautiful Kentucky was.
Do you know how beautiful Kentucky is? Well, it's beautiful. Even on the interstate, where lightpoles lead to billboards which lead to cities and their adult bookstores, it doesn't matter. Kentucky is beautiful. Billboards (by the way, did you know that I hate them? I feel like they're one big obnoxious hiccup in nature,) are totally swallowed by the big green hills. Billboards look like a tiny sore amongst a huge beautiful field with hay bales and cows.
It stormed most of the way to Scottsville, but it was beautiful. It didn't rain a lot, but it threatened. To my right was a spread of bright orange and soft gray/blue puff-clouds that held the most beautiful sunset I've seen in a while. To my left was the pissed-off looking sky, dark stone and a blue so cold it makes your eyebrows raise. It was awesome!
The lightning started just after E-town and got more prominent as I passed through Glasgow and into my hometown. I thought that if it was an omen, I may have rough times ahead. But ya know, it barely rained on me, which is lucky because I need new windshield wipers.
Everything was beautiful and wonderful and I actually listened to one whole Praise CD (which is kind of a big deal compared to all the non-Christian CDs I own), and I actually talked to God and had some worship time. And I didn't worry about what the other drivers thought (as if I ever did,) and I just talked to God. Discussed the upcoming months with him. I asked him questions, which, let's face it, remain unanswered, but I'm okay with that. I don't feel super pressed to find answers right now. I think I need to relax.
I can relax and embrace the storm, I can relax and watch all the colorful sky-mosaics just fade, watching the orange blink into gray, blink into dark.

Dustin' off the Blog

So it's been a month since I've frequented poor bloggy-woggy, but in Belgium I went through another notebook, so another one (now green...the last two were that ugly mustardy yellow color that I like) has been started. Oh, I love wriitng words. And drawing pictures.
I like going through my old notebooks, too. I read through the last finished one (or part of it), and realized that I write more poetry than I thought, I like writing in different directions, I like drawing funny pictures, and I title nearly all of my entries.
My favorite entry was on the back of a page (which I hardly ever do), and halfway down, it says, "F you, Ann Coulter."
Must've been a bad day, because I normally don't care about politics, and I hardly ever watch television where political figures (no matter how stupid or smart) are speaking. She really pissed me off that day.

Here are some updates:
I just got back from Belgium 3 days ago...it was amazing. I reconnected with old friends, made new ones, and realized that I really AM in love with Belgium. It's home in a very odd sort of way.
I officially left Indianapolis yesterday. It's been my home this whole summer, and my family there was incredible.
Now I am in Louisville with my sister and her family, and it's great. My nieces absolutely have my heart...they are beautiful and hilarious (yep, even 4 month old Kendall), and I love the personality Ella is forming. It's awesome!
No word from the Peace Corps yet. Frustration.

This weekend, I'm going home to my parents' house to live for a while. It will be very challenging because I've been on my own for 4 years, just bouncing where I please. But this is a totally new dynamic. It should be interesting.

In Jesus land, I've gained a lot of perspective this summer. I've learned lots of things, I've met lots of people, and I feel like I know myself more. Most of all, I think I know God more. He and I had some struggles this year because I didn't understand him and honestly, I didn't want to a lot. We kind of got on each other's nerves a little...well, I think I got on his nerves. If I were God, I would get on my nerves. ANYway, I got a bit self-indulged this past year, which happens, but I feel like my inner Christian hippie is growing and waking up to more opportunities and more growth. I even hope to start making my own clothes this year! Even if it's just socks and beanie hats, I'm totally okay with that.

Nervous Stomach

Tomorrow, Laura and I pick up the Belgians from the Chicago airport. On Thursday, the Indianapolis Project begins.
I'm second-guessing myself to the nth degree at this moment. I'm afraid of conflict, of plans that may need to be rearranged or of things that haven't been fleshed out yet. I'm afraid of making mistakes right now and I feel as though I'm surrounded by an alarm system that has those little laser lines that make criss-cross zaggy patterns. I'm scared to make sudden movements, but suddenly I look down and my shoestring is a fuse that is scooting faster and faster, a beautiful spark that runs and runs and runs, threatening to completely blow me to smithereens or to make an explosion so chaotic that I do a slow-motion twist in the air and finally hit the ground running.

I think that fuse runs in my stomach, too, in winding, constricting loops.

Thoughts on the 4th

I celebrated the fourth by putting strawberries and blueberries on my waffles.
Obviously, I'm nearly friend-less in Indy. I don't mean that in a mopey way, just that most of the people I DO know already had/have plans, and the people I would normally chill with on the 4th are 4+hours away.
It's actually kind of sad, I think. Maybe it isn't. But I feel so disconnected from this country right now. Politics are lightyears over my head, and I don't particularly care about them, either. I keep thinking about where I could be in a few months. If I go to Africa, there will be no fireworks at all hours of the night. There will be no fireworks at all. No grill-outs, no parties, no potlucks. I wouldn't have my Mom's famous Cherry delight with added blueberries to look like our flag. (It really is quite adorable.)
Today at church, there was a slideshow of THE Independence Day, and there were these famous quotes from one of those famous dudes, and, of course, it mentioned God and the glory of freedom, freedom from the oppression of a dominating, selfish country. Yet, if we're in such a free country, why do I feel oppressed and anxious to get out of it?
Mostly, it's self-oppression. I layer on the hurt of years (since I am SOOOO old and have SOOOO many years of pain.) I still let people affect me terribly, which tells me that my heart is just as tender as it was 10 years ago.
I remember the first time I ever heard of the Peace Corps. Coach Roberts, in freshman Biology, showed us slides of his PC service in South America and Africa. The one I remember the most is a picture of this beautiful black boy. The first picture was of his face, the second was of the top of his head where maggots were infested. Coach Roberts had to remove the maggots, taking away a little of the skin, if I recall. I remember feeling so GUILTY. So IGNORANT of how other children lived in faraway places. I remember that his eyes were whiter than the maggots, but dark in the center like his glossy black skin.
I'm not sure why I bring this up now. I guess because sometimes I need perspective, and it's amazing that something that happened 8 years ago brings me back to a humble perspective.
Because I may feel oppressed by people, by institutions, by rules. But I am 22 and I have clean hair (or will in 20 minutes,) my teeth are straight, I have access to feminine products, I can still taste Mom's famous Cherry Delight, and I can go to a church. I'm appreciative of that, and I know I should be thankful for it. But I my sight is zooming past the sparkle of the fireworks and the smell of the grill.
I have work to do.

Toilets

I went to the bathroom today and I SWEAR it took me 3 minutes to choose a stall. I tend to either go in the first or fourth...mainly because the first stall is the least frequented and the most clean(I read it somewhere once), and the fourth one is...I don't know. I just go to it the most.
ANYway, the first one smelled like poo. The second one had pee spots on the seat, the third one had a skid mark, and the fourth one had that sewery smell PLUS a large wad of toilet paper inside. I never go into the fifth (and largest) stall because I feel that since I'm not handicapped, I don't need all that extra space.
I went back to the first and noticed a twitch in my nose. Smell=gross. The second one was out. No, thanks, I'd rather not sit on someone else's piss.
Then, this line popped in my head.
"Bird's got a job, seed's got a job, shit's got a job."
Do you know this quote? It's from the outdoorsy lamb-lady in Cold Mountain who takes care of Jude Law's war wound and feeds him this goopy gun powder stuff to ease the pain and make him sleep. She's a cool Civil War hippie. I like her.
I stood between the third and fourth stalls thinking about this quote, thinking about the cyclical nature of...nature. I thought so hard about it that I cannot remember which stall I peed in.
To be honest, I'm not sure I've reached a conclusion. I'm not sure what I think about it. Bird's got a job, seed's got a job, shit's got a job.
I think I'm applying this to my spiritual life, and it sounds really strange to relate bodily waste to serving Christ or improving a lifestyle, but I really think there's something. We all have a job, we all have a talent, we all have a purpose to benefit life and to change the world.
I guess I just don't want to be the shit.
Maybe I can convert this to fertilizer. I'll think on it some more.

Letter to Donald Miller

Don,
I think we're soul mates, but not in the way I wrote to Zach Hanson when I was nine. Do you remember him? He was the little drummer boy for Hanson, that poppy group that sang all those silly songs. I loved them because in their song "Yearbook," they mentioned my name, and so I played it over and over, dramatically acting out the song and responding so passionately when they said "Jamie."
But I don't think we're soul mates in that way. You bring out my inner Christian hippie and I would not make you feel uncomfortable because just as you feel uncomfortable taking off your shirt, I'm not so aggressive in showing off my ta-ta's either, so it's perfect!
Also, we tend to have the same stream-of-conscious writing style, like a more put-together and un-Irish James Joyce. Do you like James Joyce? If so, I can deal with that as long as you can deal with Henry James and Jane Austen and Sylvia Plath and William Wordsworth. If you don't like Wordsworth, well, maybe we're not soul mates. Although a love for Byron and Keats would partially regain my respect for you.
Also, your church makes me feel happy inside. I've never been there, which is strange that it makes me feel all happy, but the idea of it seems familiar in that home communal sense. Because I struggle with that Christian community thing, if I were around artists and people who need alone time as much as I do, well, then I wouldn't feel so alone.
Also, I love your cartoons. Especially the sexy carrot and the one about Don the Astronaut. Did you know that I wanted to be an astronaut when I was in 3rd grade?
Also, Portland is one of the cities I MUST see before I die. It's tolerant of others, it's near-ish Seattle (because I love all things rain), and I've never been to the west coast.
So, Don, when I get the fundage and maybe after the Peace Corps (2 years) and the completion of my MFA in Creative Writing (another 2 years,) and a year to chase Damien Rice all over Ireland/Iceland/wherever else he may choose to be a recluse for an extended period of time without an album, I will be knocking on your door. I'm gonna say, "Hi, Don, I'm Jamie the Soul Mate, and I'm ready to move in. You don't have to take off your shirt, so can we go hiking tomorrow?"
And I think you'll let me in because though I tend to think strange thoughts and write strange letters, I'm nice and I think you're nice, and, well, I have Million Miles autographed by you as a gift from my friends. Speaking of that, you may need to work on that signature. D and M are not particularly loopy capital letters, yet your signature looks like an intense hurricane wave.

Your future soul mate,
Jamie

ummmm wait, it's summer.

I have been in Indianapolis for a MONTH (on Sunday). One MONTH! That is ridiculously crazy. I just realized that in like...3 years, I haven't been to a pool or beach to actually lay out, soak up some Vitamin D.
I don't even remember the last time I wore my bikini! (Which, to be honest...is a bit purposeful, but whatever. I'm over it.)
Summers are no longer "summers" anymore. I'm still pale (which I like most of the time,) and I've had the same bathing suit for 3 years (which my wallet appreciates). I don't spend hours on a diamond playing ball and getting major shoulder tan lines, I don't overstay my welcome at friends' houses with pools, and I no longer beg my parents to go on vacation.
Is this the mark of growing up?
It's funny, I have an overwhelming desire to go to Dollar General and buy a noodle and a beach ball. Take THAT, adulthood!

everyday things

Blueberries are my favorite berries.
I hate purses. HATE. HATE.
Coffee is the best. laxative. ever.
I like watching people bicycle up hills. I like to see if they show any facial twist and I like to see bulging muscles. Oh, the joy in watching pain without feeling it.
I've learned that I cannot write songs. They are SO weird.
I want to live in a cabin. In Maine.
If I have kids, I definitely want more boys than girls.
I have signature spastic hiccups.
I just painted my fingernails gold to keep me from biting them. I've scraped off the bottom part of polish and have proceeded to peel the skin around the cuticle. Can you say... self-masochist? Yikes.
Laughing Cow Cheese=felicity.
I haven't read a whole book in like...4 weeks. This is strange.
Stein is a fish who lives in our office. He is a goldfish. I call him Steiny. Laura feeds him because she remembers these things. I like to watch him swirl around in his floaty string-poop and quote Finding Nemo.
I eat Tums like candy. In 3 weeks, I've almost eaten half the bottle. :/
My bladder...is an exact replica of my father's, I think.
Ella's hilarious quotes are finding their way into my everyday vernacular. Great progress, Jamie, now you're talkin' like a 2-year-old.
Here me COMES!
That's right, world. Me is coming.

Silence

I'm writing a Bible study right now with Laura called God Plot.
You know that I write a lot. And I write a lot of things. A Bible study is a bit difficult because
1.) It's a form of instruction. I'm not good with instruction--with handling it, with giving it. I am 22. I am young. Instruction is weird right now.
For example, Regan (the 4 year old in the house) keeps jumping on Laura's empty bed... asking me to paint her toenails, to get out the ukulele, to watch her perform tricks, NEEDING my attention. But I'm writing. And when I write, I need silence. I need to think, to meditate, to relax, to be away from the world for a moment.

2.) Anything I've ever written from a Christian standpoint is bitter. Bible studies can be contemplative, but ultimately, they are positive and motivational. Oh dear.

3.) I'm trying not to sell out as a cheesy Christian writer. I am extremely picky with what I read--especially when it comes to God stuff. I don't do tearful miracles or surface instruction. I need to see different perspectives, a new light to Christianity. Didacticism is way too prevalent in Christian literature. I'm over it.

Regan is now asking me about cotton balls (that I use for finger nail polish removal), which makes her think about how I haven't painted her nails purple yet, but then she keeps repeating cotton balls until she starts singing "Cheetos! Cheetos! Cheetos!" Now she is muffling "Hey JAMIE" with her head down on the bed. "I'm aLIVE," she says.
"Jamie?"
"Yes?"
"I'm alive."
"You're alive?"
"Yes,I'm STUCK on Laura's bed!"
Then she stands up on the bed and stiffly falls down on the bed.
"I'm a WO-bot! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Giggle, Giggle.
"I'm a wo-bot! Isn't that funny, Jamie? That's SO funny!"

I wonder if that's how we are with God sometimes. He has all this other stuff going on, and you KNOW God needs silence sometimes. I mean geez, he kinda has this whole world to look after. God has a great sense of humor, I think. He knows how to deal with our lives, he knows when to block us out and when to listen--especially when our train of thought jumps from an organic, earthy, fluffy substance to fake-cheese-infused, uber-fattening junk food.
But sometimes, I think we're jumping on this mystical, metaphysical trampoline, trying desperately to get his attention.
(Jump) Hey God!
Silence.
Hey God! Look at me, God! Look! I'm jumping!
Silence.

Maybe when we're trying desperately to get his attention, when we focus on jumping toward him, we have our priorities right. Maybe this is the worship part of Christianity. Jumping on a trampoline, reaching toward the sky, calling for God.
But we can't jump forever. We have work to do. And when we work, things may become quieter for us and for God, and this isn't bad. Because in the silence, God may give us an answer for something.

My Own Salt

So my inner hippie likes to document things: particularly my growing love for people and nature and my new, subtle discoveries I'm making.
For example, I've decided that if I were to take ONE ITEM with me to a deserted island, it would not be pen or paper,it would not be a television, it would not be a pillow or a Bible (sorry, God), or anything like that. It would be a piano. An old, upright, wooden piano. I mean, I would take a baby grand, of course, but there's something comforting about an upright piano.
Also, I don't react well around homophobes. Luckily I can internalize and suppress my violent tendencies. A therapist may soon be needed.
Also, I am becoming more spastic and less "here." Maybe I smoke pot in my sleep. Laura says I've been sleep-talking, and the other night, I woke up mid-reach across the room, touching the foot of her bed. I think in my dream-like trance, I was trying to swat a bug away. Strange. Pot? Maybe.
Also, I am SOOOOO moody sometimes! It's like I"m getting more and more patient on the outside,but on the inside, I'm saying not nice things. (Sorry again, God. We'll talk later.)
My fingernails are gone. I'm a beaver.
Writing a Bible study makes me much more aware of the Bible. Wow! What a coincidence!
I still can't stand Naomi. If I ever got married, I would die if my mother-in-law was a Naomi.
Esther is friggin awesome!
I don't think I ever knew Joel was a book in the Bible.
I've discovered that Indiana is much like that of the Bible Belt. Ehhh...
It storms when I'm in a mood. I like it. I feel power in my female-ness when it storms.
I'm starting to get tired of my hair again.
I am becoming much more passionate at defending people who are gay.
I constantly chant "I love Jesus I love Jesus I love Jesus" when I get rejected by selfish restaurants as I ask for food donations. In stead of calling them bastards as I hang up the phone, I tell Jesus that I love him. It's a nice trade, I think.
I love being pale. It's nice. But if I go to Africa, Miss Pale Face may need to get more Vitamin D. Eesh.
My evenings are spent swapping bipolar moods with a four year old. Sadly, I feel like she expresses what I internalize. Especially the moping about, stomping up the stairs and screaming with fury part.
I'm starting to like my singing voice a little more. Not really in an egotistical, I wanna-try-out-for-American-Idol way, but in a "Hey, this is my voice, uncorrupted by forced influences. I can make things sound different. Sweet!"
My tattoo contmplation is being squashed by my tiny bank account. But I'm not giving up hope.
I love bracelets that tell a story. I have three right now, one from Belgium, one from Belize, and one from Uganda. I requested one from Kenya today (along with the request for a black baby,) so hopefully I'll have four in a month!
I don't want to follow any marriage tradition if I get married. Well, except for maybe a cool celebration part.
I'm only eating ice cream two days a week, and I'm OKAY with that. It's crazy.
I've taken a slight break from reading whole books so far. It's weird.
I can sit down with my amazing, Jesus-loving host family and relax while watching the Bachelorette or some other crazy silly show and sip a beer or a glass of wine. It's amazing. They love gay people, too.

What I'm Learning: the Middle Ground

I have a problem with being in the middle. Middle child, I live in the mid-west (kind of), the middle of the Bible Belt, I'm from the middle point between two big cities, i'm in the middle of two big life transitions, i'm often in the middle of extreme politics (especially as a Christian), and as a Christian, I feel very in the middle about how faith should be practiced.
Today I went to a church where I enjoyed the whole service. I didn't know all the songs, but I felt free to sing them and worship anyway. I didn't know anyone (except for my newly-developed twin Laura) and we just sat near the front and it felt nice. The pastor was intellectual, honest, and dove into subjects in which most Christians either deliberately avoid or aggressively announce their extremist opinions.
Politics. Law. Authority. He preached out of I Peter and NEVER sided with one political party or the other. He said that we as American Christians are the most free with religion as any other country. Yet the most oppressed, restricted places are exploding with the most Christian spirit. Why?
Because they have motivation--they have a purpose--they have things to PROVE. They are restricted and oppressed, they are told to follow the rules of governmental authority, and you know what? For the most part, they do. Generally, these people respect their government. They show authority the respect that authority calls for and arguably deserves. But spiritually, these Christians submit to God.
This pastor also said that complacency is just as sinful as rebellion.
Maybe being rebellious for religion isn't always the best answer, but being passionate in pursuit of God is a great reply to what we can do for the world.
One problem I find with Christians is the lack of respect. Some Right-ists and Left-ists completely disrespect each other. I am guilty of this. Very. I think my current situation with leaving my church and continuously head-butting my family is because of miscommunication and a lack of respect. Because I felt bitter and hurt, I lost respect for people and for the way things have surfaced.
I have contemplated this a lot. I become so defensive with issues because I'm passionate about them. I'm passionate about being a strong, independent woman. I want to keep that drive, but I want to channel it more positively through Christ. I want to love people more. The rich people, the poor people, the plagued people, the pretty people, the believers, the unbelievers, the pro-lifers and the pro-choicers.
Jesus wants us to be peaceful, loving people. He wants us to respect everyone--he wants us to value the biblical way of marriage, but he wants us to love those who have been ostracized and alienated for their lifestyles. He wants us to value the life of an unborn child, but he wants us to value the body and decisions of the woman carrying it.
Do you see? Sometimes, the middle ground is okay. It's tough and it's sticky because ultimately, we don't know the right choices or the right decisions for our country or for our lives. We're not Jesus.
You know why I love Jesus? Because he lets me love him... and other people, too.

oh, what beggars we are

this week= food donations for the sportquest "indy project".
laura and i travel through hotels, restaurants, and grocery stores in desperate need of food donations.
we have visited 20+ and have only been down two roads.
my eyes are floating, my tongue is twisting, my feet are fumbling (as always), and i am somewhat tired of people.
oh, the life of an intern.
i'm so tired i don't even feel like capitalizing.

If I Were Ingrid Bergman/Ilsa

If you've seen Casablanca, you know Ingrid Bergman's magic. She is Ilsa. She is beautiful, she is compassionate, she is secretive, she is distressed, she is strong. She falls under terrible circumstances, and luckily Rick (the amazing Mr. Bogart) makes the decision for her in the end out of his surprising/unsurprising chivalry and honor.
Ingrid Bergman/Ilsa startles me with her firmly-set chin and calmed nature compared with the polar softness and intensity of her eyes. Her eyes give her away. They tell stories as we flash into their former life as unquestioned, secret lovers.

If I were Ingrid/Ilsa, I would approach someone that I dearly loved with a gun--maybe a baseball bat, because guns increasingly freak me out-- and then I would explain why I was so frustrated, like a super-intense adrenaline-infused therapy session--and then this person would wrap me up in a loving hug, take away the bat, and say, "Listen, Ilsa. I love you [whether platonic or romantic], but you're being a tiny bit crazy right now.I know I don't understand your life. I know your writing style is strange, I know you're confused about all things life, and I know you like to do things differently from most people. But killing is quite barbaric, and I don't think you wanted to do it anyway. You just needed a moment of near-explosion."

I get to these moments about every 3-4 months. It's a bit of an exhausting cycle and much worse if a boy is in my life (and thank God I am very, very single.) I am having a bit of an identity crisis. I'm pondering how conditional love is, and I'm trying to control anger that bubbles up. You know, anger is a funny thing. Anger can show us what we are truly passionate about. Anger can be intense. It can cause very bad things to happen.
I tend to ignore my anger. I know it sounds strange, to ignore such a strong emotion. But I really can. Then boom, all of a sudden I BLISTER with anger. It's like these anger blisters hurt me SO BAD that I have to pop them. I have to get rid of them, only the toxic (remember, these are serious blisters) liquid runs all over my world and threatens the people in it. Sometimes, these people cause my anger blisters. Sometimes I get angry at myself. Sometimes I get angry at something that happened years ago.
Here's a question: If you've not forgotten, have you forgiven?
I used to think no.
Now I think differently.
I've been sexually abused, I've felt innately wounded by family and friends and my former church. Angry. PISSED, even. Disgusted and betrayed and sick. Every now and again, I feel angry. Of course I do. Bad things suck. However, I have forgiven these things. I feel like I can easily forgive (well, except for the sexual abuse thing. I may still be working on that, actually.) I can forgive because 1.) well, I kinda love Jesus, and he's pretty awesome at forgiving; and 2.) I used to be the causer of anger. I have treated people with pure disrespect and I have judged people in a terrible, terrible way. So I want them to forgive me so I can forgive.
Ultimately, Ilsa seems to leave Rick for the dogs, but she actually learns that her declared-dead husband is in fact NOT dead. So she rushes to him amongst a terrible war. She hurt Rick in a terrible way, but she wants his forgivness. (Enter soft, watery eyes.)
Now, I am human... I ironically forget that I own a cell phone and I forget that most people don't read Jane Austen; however, my forgetfulness rarely excludes the times I've been hurt. Sometimes I get slightly angry at a persom; however, mostly, I get angry at the situation, at the way I let someone phase me so much. I get angry at the fact that people unconsciously or QUITE consciously make people feel like the granules of earth beneath someone's big, steel-toed boots. I become squashed and embedded into my own squishy pile of misery and I HATE that.

You know, I think happiness is often a fake emotion we conjure ourselves to believe we experience. But I would like to feel happy with myself. I would like to be more understanding to the world. I would like to open my arms to people who don't believe in God and I want to mentor AND look up to people who do.
I, however, do want to keep battling things. Because struggle leads to growth, and growth leads to self-happiness.
Because even if I have to leave something I love on a tiny airplane, I can allow my developed character and watery, soft eyes to save the world or get a husband or something.

Indy Happenings

So far...

-Host family=awesome
-I work in a pseudo-igloo, but it's cool. Haha.
-A man on a bike roared at me.
-I will drive to approximately 30 restaurants asking for food for the Indy project
-I live with my twin. We were separated at birth.
-I take my ukulele everywhere.
-I'm as poor as I've ever been. No joke.
-I'm eating a lot of organic food. Woop woop!
-I ate a flying cupcake.
-I still don't know what to do with my life.
-I'm considering Indianapolis as a potential live-in city.
-I still want Maine.
-I'm learning how to be organized.
-I forgot to send my grandmother a birthday card (BUT I called her :))
-My writing is at a pace of zero. I've scribbled out some weird and terrible song lyrics and I have one journal entry about respect. It's strange. Involves the book of Esther.
-Ever fingernail is down to layered nubs beyond the quick. And the skin beneath is bloody and peeled.
-I'm spacing out more than ever.
-All I wanna do is sing. Or listen to people singing. Or play my ukulele. Or play a piano which is not accessible to me. :/
-I like duck!

I am unpacking, packing, listening to Muse, and taking a break

Craziest weekend of my life. I moved out of my apartment today with a car completely sardined with accumulated nonsense of college girl stuff.I took out two bags of trash, washed my windows, vacuumed the disgusting hair-balled carpet, all while Season 5 of Lost played in the background (I watched Season 4 in two days...it's my favorite, I think...other than Season 1). In 3 1/2 hours, I made many trips up and down our scary wooden steps, sweating and panting more than making my decreasing steps sentimental. Well, then I read a card from Whitney, got a bit sentimental, threw away some food, felt terrible for wasting, and left my roomies a note.
My car was packed, everything in its crammed place. I took one last trip to the recycling bin in the front yard to rid my last bottle of wine and kept thinking "This is my last trip here, this is my last trip to the mailbox," lalala. I think we all play that game.
So tonight I'm unpacking in my parents house, where my room, though a good size, looks like a 5-year-old hoarder lives there, and things will remain in boxes because tomorrow, I leave to pick up my Cali friend and fellow intern, Laura, from Nashville's airport as we make our way to Louisville on Saturday night, then to Indianapolis, our final destination, on Sunday, where we will stay for 2-ish months, head to Belgium mid-July, get back August 9th, and proceed with our post-graduate lives.
Crazy, people. Crazy.

Elizabeth, my now former roomie (oh my God, that's sad), makes the best CD mixes EVER. We share nearly the same musical passion, only I like Bon Jovi, and she has patience for country music. So I'm pulling out of our concrete driveway, making sure to avoid the blonde guy moving in the apartment above us, and I put in Elizabeth's "Gone Three Months" CD.
The first song is the musical song from "The Painted Veil," which is arguably my favorite piano piece ever written, followed by a "Poker Face" rendition with Lea Michele and Idina Menzel from Glee.
Then I got the whole lip quiver, eye squinty thing where I thought tears might spill. They didn't. But that was possibly the saddest car ride I've ever been in.

This is a bit of a weird entry, I think. I don't really have a lessons learned thing, but this whole graduation thing is becoming very apparent. I don't feel thrown into the "real world" yet--I plan on avoiding it as long as I possibly can--but it really sucks to leave a way of life.

Beauty in Storms

My favorite sky is a murky one, one with layers of cool colors.
I love gray. Because grey looks simple and drab, but I see purples and blues in grays. Gray has layers of colors, combinations of emotion and aesthetic amazing-ness.
I love a stormy sky, especially when it reflects into a mirror-image body of water; one that looks beautifully disturbed and rolling with swelling emotion.
A gray sky heightens the colors of nature, too, in the spring and summer. Trees look Ireland-green, flowers look more bold, as if they're bringing out their best colors in stormy preparation.
I hate to sound didactic here, but I think I love storms--physically and metaphorically. I don't think I purposely put storms in my life, but I have this attraction to them, to conflict, in a nearly-masochistic, self-sacrificing sort of way. I think there is beauty in conflict because I discover more of myself, my reactions, my spitty defense. I learn more of what I do and do not like about myself, I learn how to emotionally train myself.
I try to bring out my raw colors in storms, but when a storm lasts a long time, I can't tell if the beauty of those colors has disappeared--maybe the blooms have long since been beaten to shrivel in the soil.
But (and again, I apologize for the didacticism) that's the beauty of nature, of the relationship between the sky and earth; things grow back, things always resurface.

Letter to the Concert Grinch

Dear Sir with the pubic-esque curly hair that smells like stale cigarettes,
I hope you know that you ruined 15 minutes of my hypnotic submersion into concert mode as the Swell Season flawlessly performed their amazing duets. I was preparing my camera, allowing it to sink into "standby" as Glen explained bits and pieces into their #1 hit, "Falling Slowly," until your musty face crept right onto my shoulder. I hope you know that your chin touched my shoulder, and I am NOT okay with that, you boundary-crossing prick.
You said, "Did you KNOW how distracting that is, to leave the screen on like that? Did you KNOW? That's distracting, did you know that?"
By the end of your stupid spiel, YES, asshole, I WAS aware of that.
Are YOU aware that we were at a concert? One in which people perform? One in which people play instruments and sing into microphones, one in which the singers encourage the crowd to get involved? And when the crowd gets involved, that includes singing melodies and harmonies, reacting with laughter and smiles, connecting with the amazing talent? Part of that connection is via cameras, whether it be pictures or videos. If you've not been to many concerts, maybe my bright camera screen was a bit distracting for you. Yes, I scanned through my camera to delete things in order to create more memory space to record one of my favorite songs of all time.
Lucky for you, it didn't matter--my memory was full anyway.
BUT I'll have you know that 4 rows ahead of me, a drunk woman stood up every 2-3 minutes in an alligator clap, alternating screams with throwing her head back to the Ryman ceiling.
THAT can be distracting, you prude, but you know what? It's NOT. That woman, though off her sobriety rocker, let herself go with the music. She became part of the scene, she could zone out everything else, even the hundreds of camera screens that shone throughout the 3+ hours of total performance.
So: a word to the un-savvy concert grinch,
You should be shot by the aesthetic police. Learn to love art, in all its forms.
And the next time you go to a concert, brush your damn teeth.

A Concerned Concert Junkie,
Jamie effing Ogles

Grad-uu-way-shon

So. I'm graduating today. I don't have to be at Diddle until 2, so I figured, "Hey--awesome. Sleeping-in day."
Not so. 8:11 stared at me this morning until I willed it away and closed my eye curtains. An hour of rolling around forced me to say, "Oh, never mind," and I got up. It is now 9:27 and I have nothing to do. Oh, I mean I do have things I could do. Clean my room, clean the apartment, maybe go for a run. All would be good for me and would take up a considerable amount of time.
It might be appropriate to go for a run on graduation day. Awfully symbolic, I think, not because I'm "running away," but because I'll hit the ground running these next few months.
Honestly, I'm a bit lonely. It's a SATURDAY MORNING and I'm awake and one room is graduating at this moment, the other is getting ready to have lunch with her family, and I'm pouting, bathing in my own pathetic I-can't-sleep loneliness, creating a piss poor mood for such an awesome day.
What the hell?!
Wake up, Jamie! Clean your room! Clean the apartment! Run your little heart out!

Then, at 3, graduation is MMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEE! [evil laugh begins... ba ha ha]

What I'm Becoming

I rarely watch TV other than on Tuesday nights when I flip between Lost and Glee, but it seems like these shows about Hoarding are always being previewed. I am polar from a hoarder; my parents used to yell at me for discarding birthday cards and throwing away little trinkets and things that meant nothing to me. During yard sale season, they always cast me a speculative, disappointed glance as I let them down by getting rid of my cat collection my grandma gave me over the period of my childhood. I don't like collecting things.
But now, I'm becoming an artistic hoarder. I don't think it's a bad thing, honestly, unless you count a fast-paced road to being a recluse as a bad thing. I've loved to write since the 3rd grade, I've played piano since the 5th, I've sang since...well, forever. In late February I received my ukulele as a birthday present from my mom, and more recently I've acquired the desire to paint.
Painting was always okay, but I hated coloring when I was little. Everyone had such evenly-shaded, in between the lines pictures, but my hands seem to spaz out in disorganization and I would have random swipes of color where the space outside the lines should've been white. Oh, the frustration.
But painting is fun for me now, and I have 3 painted canvases at the moment.
I think all this artistic hoarding is a psychological reaction for me to develop as many artistic skills as possible to keep me from getting tired of one. I'm like that, you know. I eat peanut butter for so long, then I can't touch it for 2 months. (That is my current and very sad condition.) And relationships, of course, are as interchangeable as underwear.
I think everyone is an artist, yet I hesitate to call myself one. But I am an artist, I suppose. I love art. It's one thing I could collect because it takes place in so many forms. Music, writing, paintings, coloring book sketches, floral arrangements, photographs. Art can be anything, and now I want my life to rotate among artistic improvement. Anything can't be art, but anything has the potential.