Sumatra

Call me ignorant, but I used to think that Sumatra was just a name for coffee. Yes, I know that coffee comes from specific growing regions, but for some reason, I never really associated an actual place with the coffee (Sumatra is a bold-bold-bold coffee that taste a little like dirt). But now Sumatra, along with several other southeast Asian countries have been severely affected by this tsunami, and I find myself appalled by the devastation that's been created.

I have to abandon the idea that events such as these are a part of "God's plan," because I can't stomach the idea that human suffering, is scripted for his entertainment...judgement...what...?! I can't even ask why anymore. It's not the right question, and it's one that I will probably never have the answer to. But what is the right question? Which question will give me an answer I can process at least process? What can I match with the Way of peace, hope, and love?

Why is it that when I go to Atlanta on a chilly night, and a retarded homeless man approaches me (and it's not as if I'm alone, I'm in a group of people and relatively safe), that I don't even look at him, try to ignore him, and drive away complaining about no places being open late enough to get some decent food and a rum and coke? How is it possible that I can have Christ inside of me and then do such a thing? I'm angry at my own helplessness, angry because I feel completely impotent in a situation like that...I could've given him money that would've only temporarily solved the problem. I could've offered to pray for him, which is a useless offer to someone who is cold and hungry. I could've done something...but what can I do that will really HELP? I didn't even try to help though. I did nothing. And the longer I sit avoiding my conscience, the more I fester.

Yes, there is pain and suffering in the world, and it is not likely to go away. What do you do with that? What do you do? I know that growth cannot occur unless something is broken. Works that way with seeds, works that way with our muscles, works that way with life. But something can break so much that despair takes over, or mutilation occurs, and no life comes out of that. Where is the line drawn?

I can't allow myself to get overwhelmed by the world this way. I don't even want to allow myself to get overwhelmed by God. This may sound heretical, but I could be overwhelmed by Jesus. He makes more sense to me then the idea of "G-d" ever will.

celebrating our wallets

I believe this might be the first holiday season that I really am beginning to understand why people hate this time of year. Working retail right now is insane. I'm almost sick to my stomach when I go to the mall and watch people caught in the trap of consumerism. I'm sick that I'm caught in it myself. Sigh and sigh again. It's strange considering that Jesus wasn't born this time of year anyway, and yet we claim we are celebrating his life on earth, when all we are celebrating is our wallets.

I guess that isn't not entirely true. We do celebrate our families and friends as well. Speaking of friends...I have truly amazing people in my life. My friends are awesome. Erin, my little kiwi, sent me the perfect gift all the way from New Zealand this year. It was totally unexpected, and unexpected gifts are the best kind! My extended family is awesome. Mike (boyfriend) has this very large Italian family who cook wonderfully delectable things all the time, but especially so for Christmas. They know how to make food ecstasy. And I hope to be eating Christmas lunch with them. Mmmmm.....Learning how to balance Christmas craziness with friends and food. Sounds good to me.

CNN would be great to work for, would they not? I'm applying for a position there. I don't feel very news savvy though and that worries me. I'm also going ot be applying at the AJC, which again gives me cause for worry. But, what else can I do? I write. I do basic desktop publishing and design. I edit. I was a journalism minor for goodness sake. But, I don't even know if I really like journalism. I think I just need to seriously try it out and see before I pre-judge. Since my dream of living off of my creative writing isn't reality yet, I've got to do something else....and something else other than Starbucks, SOON. I may put in my notice and just go to a temp agency while I'm waiting to hear back from CNN. Poor management, cranky customer addicts, and long, long hours without breaks make for a bad Starbucks working environment.

I should've ended on the happy, yummy food and friends (not yummy friends, just good friends) note, because now I'm thinking about work again. Okay, happy thoughts--Sarah McLachlan's song The Rainbow Connection. Sounds cheesy maybe, but these things make me smile. Happy times and good night.

Just Scream

Ever have one of those bad days that is only bad because you let little irritations get the best of you? I tried not to today, I really did, but sometimes you just have to scream. And then you know you have problems when that doesn't even help, when screaming your lungs out is just the tip of a large Freudian iceberg. What do you do when everything stored inside you can't be released through a scream, or exercise, or journaling (all the healthy ways to alleviate stress)? What do you do?

You look at Xmas lights. You think of Phil stopping to look at Xmas lights too and smile because you appreciate the he appreciates things like that. You suppress. You make do. You quit being so angry at God because that tends to lead to further disillusionment. You make fun of the D.J.'s on star 94 because they just aren't very cool. You go home, and write about your bad day on your blog, then erase 3/4 of it because it sounds so meaningless and trivial. You realize that it was just another day, and hope that tomorrow will be a better one.

My love goes out to Fuzzy Mike (Mike Moore, a guy I work with, there really are a ridiculous amount of Mike's in my life) for keeping me laughing, and Jenn for watching out for me.

I'm going to go and salvage the rest of my day!

Age Will Smell

Happy Graduation day for Berry December grads!!!! Specifically Sherri Thomas and Emily Flick! I love you!

I am currently swooning to Damien Rice...Move over Mike, I think I'm in love.

My grandad is old, appropriately enough. 78 years on this earth to be exact (not counting the time in the womb I suppose). He lives with my family, and lately, he's been having problems that occur when you reach that age. I'll have to admit that I would never be cut out to work in a nursing home. To my shame, I have never, ever enjoyed volunteering at nursing homes...it's too depressing for me (and here in the South, I always worry that remnants of racism are still floating around), so I selfishly avoid it whenever I can. But now, I can't avoid it, and I don't even particularly want to avoid it because this is someone I care more deeply about than I would a stranger. I think this is one of the hardest things to watch, someone growing old...One of the hardest things to smell too. My nose is so sensitive, please, if you're thinking about getting me a Christmas gift, make it a gift certificate to Bath& Body Works.

Ever feel like a whale?

Time for work...

While working for Starbucks, I get to see the sickening display of addictive behavior in humanity. People are very, very, peculiar about their coffee. Since I work at a Starbucks in Douglasville, I have people who come in and say, "I ain't never tried coffee from here before. Gimme a frappacini (rhymes with Houdini). Uh, mocha. Uh, grande (rhymes with land)." Those people are fun. But then I have the people who come in and say, "I need a Venti, six shot, vanilla, breve, mocha please, and could you add toffenut and caramel syrup to that whip cream? Oh yeah, and make sure you stir it really well! You do know what breve is don't you?!" Those people, the ones who are manic about their drinks, the ones who come in almost every day, the ones who drink enough expresso and sugar to give them a corinary bypass...those people are hard to deal with. They eye you with the evil eye while you are making their drink, monitoring how much milk, how much syrup, how much expresso you are putting in, as if you, as a barista, had decided to single-handedly take down the Starbucks empire by steaming their milk two degrees off standard, thereby forcing them into a siezure because the milk has scalded their throat, and further forcing them into making a complaint loud enough for Seattle to hear, and then, well, the end of the world is nigh. Because Starbucks couldn't have a stain like that on their record. And if Starbucks closes down, their will be those to start a revolution. Especially during the holidays, when they're already cranky because they couldn't find that last tickle-me-elmo doll (or whatever the new kids toy craze is). Sigh, and sigh again. I LOVE WORK!!! I must depart now. My green apron awaits me.

Closer

Last night I went to see the film Closer at the Midtown Arts Cinema with Emily, Jenn, Michael, and my Mike. It's crazy when worlds collide like that--Jenn and Michael are new friends from work, Emily reminds me of my old Harverster youth group days, and Mike...well, Mike's been with me through everything.

Anyway, it was with this group of people that I saw the movie, and I'll have to say that the conversation afterward was definitely interesting. Infedelity, forgiveness, selfishness, love. Everyone's different ideas about those themes and how they play out in real life. To my surprise, I discovered that I am an idealist when it comes to love. A naive (maybe innnocent is a better word), idealist about love. Me!

Yes, I like to pretend that I have a dark mysterious side, that I am tragically and unrecoverably damaged by life (what writer isn't after all?), but then I find myself bubbling over with all these Amelie-like, goodie-two-shoes, loving everybody kinds of feelings, and I can't help but feel depressed if others don't have what I have. Love. It's painful, it's exaltant, it's beautiful, it's horrendous, it's insane, and it's itchy (like puting on a wool sweater sometimes. you're grateful that it's keeping you warm, but man can those things itch!). For whoever's reading this, now you know my secret. I think love can work. I believe in love. I am a ridiculously loving and open person--if you can pry it out of me.

It's kind of amazing that Closer could draw this admission out of me. I was on the verge of shooting myself after I saw it, but then, well, I got happy again. Mike helps me be optimistic about love. He inspires some crazy, stainless steel kind of confidence in me about the whole thing. I would love to talk more about the actual movie, but then I might ruin it, because it hasn't been out that long. Go see it! If nothing else, you can just enjoy the beautiful people on the screen (I'll have to say that I found Clive Owen infinitely more attractive than Jude Law in this one).

Fuzzy Outlines

I wear contacts. I think I'm pretty much blind without them. So, in the morning, before my fingers begin their sleep-laden scramble for my glasses, I can't see much but the fuzzy outlines of my surroundings. This particular morning, I woke up facing my window. It's been so long since I've actually taken the time to watch the sunrise, and even though work at Starbucks was calling, I laid in bed an extra few minutes to watch the rose-pink slashes of light fade into a light blue sky. Quiet moments like that keep me. Keep me sane, keep me healthy, keep me aware. The rest of my waking life may be chaotic, I may be angry at God, questioning the "meaning of it all," and whatnot, but in that small moment, I was able to whisper a simple thanks.

Old Sheets and Window Seats

Well, I've succumbed to peer pressure and finally decided to set up my own blog. Everybody's doing it these days, right? If I have a blog as an excuse to get in front of the computer screen (which I hate doing), I may find myself writing more, which, for a writer, is always a good thing. So here I go, for better or for worse...

When I was a little girl, I dreamed about living in a house with these huge bay windows with window seats where I could curl up and let the sun's rays warm me while I read or daydreamed. I think every kid wants their own "secret" place--C'mon, who didn't force their parents into creating makeshifts tents with the dining room chairs and some old sheets? There was just something magical about having your own space in an adult world that didn't really belong to you. Anyway, I didn't ever have a window seat , but it's kind of fun to create this space, even if it's virtual and I have to sit at the computer to do it.

That's all for now. My little sister will kill me if I don't watch the newest episode of "Smallville" with her soon. So it's off to the dramatic teenage exploits of young Clark Kent and friends. Thrilling stuff.