Out of Avalon

June 11th, 2009 by Ascelyn

Tonight is a Thursday.  I’m going to go home from work, find something to eat, and do laundry.

That’s it.  Nothing else.  No running around like a madwoman trying to eat on the go plus remember the kids’ snack plus get the church ready plus teach plus shuttle kids back and forth plus not go insane.  Just…go home.

It’s over.  Last night I cleaned out the office and locked the door for one last time.  I handed the keys over to the pastor, who will in turn give them to our replacement tonight.  This Sunday or next, we’ll start looking for a new church.

It’s really, finally over.  I’m free.  Still connected in ways beyond my immediate control, but no longer bound.

Is it bad that I miss the kids already?

April 23rd, 2009 by Ascelyn

We informed the pastor several weeks ago that we will no longer be running the kids’ group as of the end of the school year.  J, as usual, managed to make it sound perfect and not like we’re leaving because of the pastor himself or our new kid-stupid overlords.  Which, you know, we kind of are, but at least the pastor’s pretty well convinced that we’re not.

What he doesn’t know yet, because I want to tell the kids first, is that we’re also leaving because we’ll be having a child of our own.  If I thought I could leave without telling them at all, I would.  I’m pushing it physically trying to hide even now; there’s no way I’d make it to June.

I’ll miss “our” kids.  I worry about them, the ones who have moved on and the ones just arriving, the quiet and withdrawn ones and the ones who act out.  I’ve worried for years what would happen to them when we’re gone, all while planning my own escape.  Some go to other churches and will continue on there.  Others may very well hear the name of God again except when it’s used in vain.  Have we done enough?  What more can we do?  Am I just abandoning them, selfishly casting them aside when my own needs grow too great?

I grow angry every time I walk into that sanctuary.  That’s presumably not a healthy attitude for a Sunday School teacher.  I dream of a place where I can be around people who share my faith, but who also share my…what?  Ability to think?  That certainly sounds arrogant.  But it’s true–this congregation takes anything that’s fed to them without a second thought.  Worse yet, it actively despises any attempt at bettering yourself.  Education, reading, computer literacy, even delving deeper into who God is and what He wants from us–it’s all looked down upon.  I’m one of the most educated people there, both in “worldy” ways and the ways of the Bible.  Considering that I quit my schooling earlier than I’d anticipated and that I essentially dropped out of church for the first time at the age of fourteen in response to the money-loving attitude of that pastor, that’s not something that should be hard to top.

Since the lady who currently leads the music Sunday mornings is gone for the month (and “leads” is a very loose term here), J is stepping in.  It reminds me of how painfully incompetent the music team is there.  Many don’t bother to show for practice.  The singers can’t sing a note and like it that way.  They don’t bother learning words or melodies.  The guitar players can’t play, hitting the wrong strings at the wrong times.  The drummer, after asking J if he was doing okay, responded with, “Good.  I wouldn’t have changed it anyway.”  So if it’s bad, you still won’t change?

Nothing is done well, and that’s intentional.  If they “fix up” the bathrooms, they do it poorly and boast about it.  If they install a projector screen, they bolt it crooked to an unpainted two-by-four.  If they do a Christmas play, they put the fake thatching backwards on the manger…and they like it that way.  To do well is to be “rich” and elitist.  I’ve been accused of being both…for shopping at Martins.  Sorry, I like my meat the proper color and my canned goods without passed expiration dates.  I was scolded for reusing those Martins bags to transport a craft, thus exposing a lady’s child to my “rich” ways.  A baby gift was turned down because parts were bought at JCPenneys.  I worked there and got a discount, plus the stuff was already on clearance.  That “expensive, ritzy” outfit cost me $0.29 after I worked the system.  That mom preferred poorly-made clothing of the Dollar Store brand that cost her $7 per outfit.  I’ve been told that I was bragging when I turned down going to Roy Roger’s, saying I had a roast and some potatoes and carrots waiting for me in a Crock Pot.  Those fed me well for a few days, and it was all on sale.  It’s like being a reverse yuppie.

These people rejoice in mediocrity.  If they find themselves getting better by accident, they intentionally hold themselves back.  They refuse to try to improve.  And that goes for the whole church, not just the music team.  Sure, some good people wander in occasionally.  They leave as quickly as they can extract themselves, which is sad, because I’ve really gotten along well with some of them.

And that’s harder than one might think.  Once you’re put on the “prayer list,” your name, number, and address is public knowledge.  No one asks to be put on the list; others put you there to “help.”  It quickly becomes cultish.  For example, a young couple with two small children came one Sunday morning earlier in the year.  The man walked up front during an alter call, leaving his wife to stay with the kids.  A lady from the church scooted over, leaned back, and demanded their phone number so that she could continue “praying” for him.  The wife didn’t want to give it, but finally caved.  Church Lady then asked if they had cell phones, email addresses, or anything else, and essentially held the poor woman captive until she handed them all over.

This is the same person who called me repeatedly after my miscarriage and demanded that I speak to her so she could pray for me.  She threatened to come to our house and wait for me there.  She’s also the person who has repeatedly told me that she knows me from another church in town, one I’ve never set foot in before and never intend to.  When I told her for the millionth time that she must have me mistaken for someone else, she informed me that “the devil must have erased the memory of that blessed time from my mind.”

I wish I could say that she’s the worst of them, but she’s actually a fairly normal member of the church.

I’ve already started changing my phone number and making sure only certain people have it, like the girls I have to pick up.  KG doesn’t have my new number; she’s been instructed to call J if she needs me.  Her mother would get it and hand it out to everyone else.

I told J long ago that I will not bring up a child in that church.  It’s hard enough for me to deal with, but to see an innocent baby corrupted by that attitude?  By the ignorance and laziness?

If I’m going to make an offering to my Lord, whether with physical goods or by my actions, it’s going to be as spotless as I can get it.  There will be effort put into it.  I don’t care if it’s singing on Sunday, or mowing the grass, or making a cake to donate to the spaghetti dinner–it’s going to be the best I can do.  And since my best will never be enough, I’m going to work hard to get better.

If I’m going to be a witness for Christ, I’m going to be the best I can be.  My people skills aren’t the greatest, but I can try.  I won’t be creepy if I can help it.  I’ll know what I’m talking about, and admit it when I don’t.  I’m going to love them for themselves, not for who I want them to be.  That’s really, really hard for me sometimes.  As mentioned, I don’t like people very much.  “Getting to know them better” doesn’t generally help.  We all have flaws, and that’s one of mine–but I’m working hard to fix it.

If I’m going to serve God, I’m going to know Him as well as I possibly can this side of heaven.

I serve a God of order, not chaos.  If we’re supposed to be His body, we need to work together.  No one accomplishes anything during a seizure.

I will not let these people touch my child, body or soul.  I will not let them corrupt her.  If I have any say in the matter, none of them will ever see her or speak to her.  They’ve done too much damage already.

Amen.

December 31st, 2008 by Ascelyn

Note to my Jeep:

You’ve always been good to me.  I love the way you don’t throw a fit like the car does when I drive over that big stick in the driveway that I’m too lazy to get out and move.  And the way you handled the massive gusts of wind and sudden layer of snow and sleet this morning?  Nothing short of brilliant.  Seriously, though, this hopping around like an epileptic jackrabbit thing every time I hit 40 mph has to go.  If I wanted a carnival ride, I’d buy tickets.

- The Owner

***

Note to Sheep Man:

Thanks for stopping by my cube to chat and wish me a happy new year.  It would have been nice if it were someone whose presence didn’t send me into a homicidal rage.  I’m sorry, but I don’t like you.  Honestly, I’ve tried.  It’s not you, it’s me.

- Your Former Officemate

P.S.  It’s totally you.

***

Note to the Youth “Leader”:

So you’re supposed to be the children’s pastor at our screwed-up little church.  In theory, this is good; I was, after all, the one who requested last year that there be some form of oversight tying the two or three children’s programs at church together.  I just expected it to be…not you.

While I understand that you’re not really that into teens, you’re still the interim youth minister/leader fellow until you find a permanant one.  They’re minors, and that’s pretty much your job.  Your full-time, soon to be paid job.  The whopping two or three youth you and the previous non-administration haven’t driven off ask very little from you:  just show up and pretend to care, even the tiniest bit.  You’re failing utterly.  When you came down to my office two weeks ago after church to “see how things had gone,” I wanted to scream.  The point of inviting your youth to our kids’ Christmas party was for you to have a chance to hang out with them without having to teach–exactly what you’ve been saying all along you wanted to do to “get to know them” before teaching in a formal capacity.  I didn’t mean for you to simply not even bother to come down, leaving your teens sitting alone in a room once again and wondering where you were or if they had wasted another night hoping you’d learn to care. 

When you found out that we always give gifts to the kids, and you said you thought it was a great idea and you wished you could give something to the youth but didn’t know what…and when we gave you recommendations and felt like banging our heads up against a wall because of your cluelessness…we assumed you would actually get gifts for ALL of them, not just three.  There were four there, one of whom idolized you at the beginning but has lately come to think you hate him.  And when I told you that night that I’d had to quickly write his name on the “extra” boy’s present (because I at least have enough forsight to stock and extra present for a guy and one for a girl in case of a newcomer), I wanted you to be somewhat ashamed and regretful, not just say “okay, fine” and leave.  It was bloody obvious, you fool!  The three teen’s presents you left on a table for them were wrapped in shiny paper and had a ribbon tying the two books and stuffed animal together.  His was in the paper used on the kids’ gifts with his name written in Sharpie, because I’ve learned that the kids just shred the paper and don’t care.  I told the youth that their gifts were from you, but he thanked me for his before walking away.

They don’t ask for much.  Just smile and ask and ask questions when KG talks to you about Naruto.  Compliment her on her artwork when she opens up to you enough to not fear your criticism, and maybe someday you’ll find out why she wears long sleeves in the hottest days of August.  Listen when T tells you about his band’s latest trip, and let him borrow your computer to show you the video of them playing at the summer festival.  Find out from JD why she and her mother can’t always come, and why she’s afraid of her father.  She’s got big dreams, but they revolve in large part about not ending up where her mother is now.

Think of me what you want, but Do. Not. Hurt these kids.  That’s what you’re doing, you know.  You’re hurting them deeply, just when they most need someone to trust.  Heaven forbid you find out about their home lives.  I don’t think your sheltered little brain could take it.

I have just under a half dozen kids I should have graduated to youth at the beginning of the school year, then at the start of the calendar year.  You no longer seem to be aware of that, and right now if I send them to you, they’ll stop coming altogether.  I need somewhere stable to send them, and soon.  It’s your job to make that happen.  Get to work.

Yes, the church “leadership” party Friday ought to be interesting….

- That Girl to Whom Your Youth Come When They Need Anything

***

Note to Self:

Your supervisor isn’t here.  Neither program manager is here.  Nobody else is here.

Why are you still here?

- The Voices in Your Head

December 20th, 2008 by Ascelyn

1.  Jason’s gone for the weekend, and I’m equal parts bored, irritated that I’m forced to stay home because of his family’s issues, and dreading housework.

2.  Steampunk looks cool.  I think.  But I don’t know anything about it except that people have cool costumes.

3.  The kid’s Christmas party went well, but I’m about ready to shove the youth “leader” against the wall and start screaming at him.  Jerk.

4.  They’re coming.  Be prepared.  Current Zombie Threat Level:  guarded.

5.  I’ll never look at the LOTR characters the same.

6.  I feel like I ought to eat things I typically can’t when I’m cooking for both Jason and myself, but that would involve either doing dishes or eating out alone.  Plus, my only curry recipe isn’t exactly what I was hoping for.  I’m not even going to attempt making it for one.

7.  I really need to email several people back, but my brain won’t function when I try.

8.  What on earth does one get one’s mother-in-law for Christmas when she isn’t even speaking to you?

9.  How much longer can I put off visiting M and the new baby without being unforgivably rude?

10.  Sigh.  Did I mention I’m bored?

November 6th, 2008 by Ascelyn

Hopefully the kids get their costume issues worked out by tonight.  I’m still getting calls about it.  The same rules apply that have for the past two years:  avoid anything scary, and no witches or devils.  I went as a witch and a vampire for Halloweens years ago and have no problem with it.  The church, on the other hand, would.

Jason’s going as Joe Christian.  He has black dress pants, a very early-90’s dress shirt, a jacket, and an American flag tie.  I’m 100% sure the kids won’t get it and 90% sure the adults wouldn’t.  If they did, they’d be horrified, but I couldn’t talk him out of it.

I wanted to be a Browncoat, but it’s not worth trying to explain to people.  I’m wearing my cotehardie instead.

Little over two hours before we can leave and get this show on the road….

November 5th, 2008 by Ascelyn

I’m at the church trying to decorate, but people’s constant pilfering of the supplies I buy has sort of got me stuck.  We’re down to two half rolls of orange streamers and a half one of red, so it won’t be anywhere near the elaborate set-up it usually is.  No worries; I’ll throw some balloons into the mix.

We have two tape dispensers in our office.  One is now missing and the other empty.

The majority of the pencils that I so carefully sharpened and to which I affixed new erasers are missing.

We’re missing most of the Sharpies, which I constantly have to restock anyway.  I buy the massive, multi-color packs.  They’re not cheap.

My last big container of Kool-aid mix is gone.  It was unopened.

We did, however, apparently have a bag of newspapers and some candy dumped on our floor.  Unsolicited, mind you.  Hoorah!

November 5th, 2008 by Ascelyn

Tonight I need to finish prepping for the kids’ harvest/halloween/fall/lots of orange and candy costume party.  Unlike the last two years, though, there won’t be any candy.  Nor am I giving out elaborate goody bags, baking my most excellent pumpkin cookies to take with them, or letting them make caramel apples.  If they have time to remind me what a total killjoy I am, then I’m not running the games properly.

We will, however, have a cake that looks like a pumpkin.  I made a few mistakes, and it’s not much like the picture, but it was a valiant attempt and the kids will be thrilled.  Basically, it’s two yellow bundt cakes together with orange frosting and topped with a green-frosted cupcake “stem.”  I have a better idea for next year that will work better, if there is a next year.  They’re also getting honest-to-goodness apple juice instead of koolaid, but they didn’t like the cider we got them last year.

There will once again be the Ultimate Ghetto Hayride ™, a cart with four hay bales crammed in and pulled by a lawn tractor up and down the back alley.  Bobbing for apples–beloved by the kids, but even more enjoyable for the adults who get to watch–and relays will round out the evening, as will a ring toss involving long-stemmed pumpkins.  They get to keep the pumpkins as prizes.  The “decorate a duck” contest should be a hit, judging by one girl’s enthusiasm, so I’ll try to get pictures.

I honestly don’t remember how the ducks got started.  I bought a green rubber ducky, which was quickly named Spitwad by one extremely eloquent 11-year-old, and brought it in for them.  Spitwad was joined around Easter by Rosie (pink), Amarillo (yellow), and Bluebird/Lucky Larry (blue).  We’ve now progressed to a black-and-white duck calendar that gets colored with highlighters, and many games have been created to involve our avian mascots.  One of the more effective displinary threats is that I won’t let them see the ducks that week, and birthday kids get their pick of a duck to hold all evening.

For the party the kids will be divided into four teams, one per duck, and provided with construction paper, scissors, Scotch tape, and markers to make their duck a costume.  I couldn’t find any “fancy” ducks (like Joey, the green sailor duck who sits on my monitor) at our local Mart of Walls, so we have Spitwad’s long lost brother for the winning team to decorate with Sharpies and add to the collection.  Maybe it’s weird, but they’ll get a kick out of it.  And it’s sugar-free!

Wish me luck.  I’ll need it.

November 4th, 2008 by Ascelyn

Yesterday, today, and pretty much the rest of the week is wasted time here at the Rocket Factory.  Monday mornings are taken up with waiting for meetings, meetings themselves, and waiting for lunch, and the afternoon proved even more unproductive.  This morning was all about the election, and after lunch about three quarters of the team left for a business trip, not to return until Friday.  And Friday…well, it’s Friday.

So I’ll complain about church and politics, because certain people who shall remain nameless wrote about it, and now I’m angry.  (Not at him.  At the church.  And politics.)

This is not a Christian nation.  If it were, it would be made up of Christians, preferably of ones who acted like Christians.  It was not founded entirely by great Christian men or entirely on great Christian principles.  This is history, and the use of the word “God” in our nation’s important documents does nothing to change this.  How many other religions call their supreme being “God”?  How many unbelievers use the term abstractly?  The mention of God in the Declaration of Independence doesn’t make this a Christian country.  Frankly, if it were Christian, I’d be horrified even more than I already am.

On that note, I couldn’t care less if “one nation, under God” is taken out of the pledge.  First, it was only added to irritate the Communists anyway.  We were more homogenously Christian before the 1950s than we are today, and we survived just fine without those words.  Second, Christians, do you want unbelievers invoking the name of your God?  Third, and on a more personal level, I dislike saying the pledge anyway.  I just can’t say I’m entirely comfortable pledging my allegiance to a single country run by man.

I’m extremely happy that prayer has been “taken out of schools,” and extremely irritated by the bumper stickers I see regarding it.  An example from the church I attend reads something like this:  “Dear God, why didn’t You help me pass my test last Thursday?” “I don’t know.  They won’t let you talk to Me.”  Um…’scuse me?  No one’s stopping you, or anyone else, from praying while in school.  You can even start your own school group all about praying.  What’s been stopped is having a teacher pray before class starts, and I’m all for that.  Think about it.  Do you really want a teacher whose beliefs may or may not concur with your own teaching your kid how to pray?  That’s my job, thankyouverymuch.  The teacher’s job is to instruct the kids in English/history/math, not religion, and I’m quite glad of that.

Never mind the fact that Bumper Sticker Kid probably should’ve studied instead of shooting off a last minute plea to the ruler of heaven and earth.  Tough love, kiddo.  That’s how you learn.

And then there’s sex ed.  If done right, great, and by “right” I mean in a factual, academic context.  Here’s the anatomy, here’s how you get pregnant, and here’s how to avoid it.  Note that it isn’t at all the same as saying, “Sex is great!  Condoms make everything okay.”  Throwing a hissy fit because you don’t want your kid exposed to the biology at a particular point is just juvenile; simply return the permission slip for younger kids with an explanation or write a letter for older ones requesting that they leave during those times.  Teach them yourself at home and on your own schedule with your own beliefs.  Voila!  Better yet, teach them well enough that they can sit through the classes at school and stand firm in what you’ve taught them to believe.

The problem is that, while you’re obviously going to put forth the effort to make sure your kid grows up to be the best person he or she can be–which presumably includes not getting knocked up at fourteen–not everyone is going to do that.  If little Janie’s mommy is too high to explain the facts of life to her and she can’t get it at school…well, it sucks to be her.  That’s the same reason abstinence-only will never work.  It’s fine and dandy if you’re going to reinforce it at home, but not everyone’s kid is so lucky.  And frankly, not everyone has the same beliefs and desires for their kid–those parents who care, that is.

Back to biology (and physics, and geology…), we have evolution.  I’ll risk having anyone reading this who isn’t already hating me now think I’m somewhere between stupid and a sheep and say it outright:  I don’t think evolution is correct.  I think there are serious scientific flaws in the theory, and I think there’s a lot of evidence for certain theories of Creationism.  But when it comes right down to it, I believe what the Bible tells me.  I’d have concerns if it couldn’t be backed up, but it seems to be.

Science in general is way off base lately, especially in the schools.  Rule number one of science:  we make observations.  Rule number two:  we don’t know anything.  This is important to me, and should be to all who call themselves or wish to be scientists, for such overwhelming reasons that it can’t even really be called into question.  All we do in science is observe and record.  When possible, we make connections, slowly trying to put the puzzle pieces together in a systematic and logical fashion.  At times, we have to give props to Rule #2 and tear half of what we’ve done apart to do something different.

Observations.  We don’t see how things work, and we can’t make assumptions about what we can’t observe.  Don’t go into science set on proving something; go with hopes of what you might discover.  If you do the former, you’ll be tempted to play with numbers and data to construct a picture that fits your own needs.  You can come to conclusions and publish them as being the most reasonable explanation, but be prepared to admit that nothing is ever certain.

I love it.  I love the uncertainty and the knowledge that there’s so much more to learn.  I love the moment of epiphany, the startling clarity when everything you’ve been working on suddenly clicks.  Not knowing the hows or whys just makes it that much more fun.

But getting back to the point, I think the drive to prove or disprove evolution has cast aside the objective observations that make up true science.  It might sound trite, but I’m fine with having evolution as a theory.  Just theorize about it in a truly scientific manner.

And Creationists?  Stop making comments along the lines of “if evolution’s true, why are there still monkeys?”.  Your smug little looks just makes it more unbearable, and once again I’m ashamed to be in any way connected to you.  Disagree if you will, but disagree intelligently.

A final topic, and then I’ll leave well enough (or angry enough and having-no-friends enough) alone.  Here you go:  I don’t think homosexuals should be allowed to marry under the current system.  Hear me out, though.  I don’t think heteros should be allowed, either.

Who gave the government the right to decide my union?  For tax purposes, fine, but what’s the difference between that and an extremely long-term housemate who shares everything?  Frankly, I’ve seen people cohabitate or live with friends longer than some marriages last anymore.  Shouldn’t they get the same breaks?  And why does it take, unless at a courthouse, some twisted junction between government approval and clergy’s signature to claim that I’m “married”?  I would propose that the government have some title for people who will live together and have a certain tax status, but that they leave “marriage” to the religous organizations.  If, and I choose them simply at random, the Catholic church refuses to marry you because of your sexual orientation, you somewhere else.  If it’s that important to you, take it up with the church.  Or, hey, don’t go anywhere at all.  You’re covered under the government.  And you know what?  The Catholics wouldn’t have married J and I anyway for religious reasons, so you’re not alone.

I’m married in God’s eyes by the church, though I wonder if that’s how marriage was intended (sort of like I wonder if the modern church is how our fellowships were intended to be).  The government needs to butt out.

If you’re reading this, you surely already have your own opinions, and mine doesn’t matter in the least to you.  I’ll put out a plea, though.  If you’re a Christian and going to vote today (please, please do!), vote with your heart and with your mind.  Don’t blindly take what some pastor preaches at you from a pulpit, and don’t vote party lines just because that’s what some party preaches at you.  Read the Bible for yourself, understand as best you can what it means, and take it to heart.  Am I necessarily right?  Of course not.  But at least I’m actively trying, and that’s more than some can say.

September 11th, 2008 by Ascelyn

…Because the day couldn’t go that perfectly, right?

Jason’s cell phone is turned off, and he’s apparently not at his desk.  The guy he’s been working with lately has his cell disabled or turned off or something.

I was supposed to be leaving over half an hour ago since I got here early today.  We needed to go home and get the Bronco, since we’ll be picking up the two girls we typically drive to church plus one of their friends.  The car has no middle seat in the back, and that’s what we drove to work.  Going home would also allow me to eat something and get changed.

We’re supposed to pick New Girl up between 6:30 and 6:45.  It’s in the opposite direction from home.  It just ain’t gonna happen.

We can’t pick her up without going home, though.

And I can’t function this evening without food.

What. The. Heck.  Pick up your freakin’ phone, dude.

June 11th, 2008 by Ascelyn

It has been a trying week so far.

I’m not pregnant, but nor did I expect that I was.  There’s something to be said for pessimism.  However, now I get to suffer all the consequences.  Much as I didn’t like some of the side affects of the pills, by all that is good and holy, this hurts.  I almost can’t wait to get back on them again.

I finished The Silver Chair last night, which means I’ve reread all the Narnia books except The Last Battle.  One girl at church has already tried to trick me by watching the movie instead of reading the book, but I caught her easily with the questions they had to answer to get the points.  Sorry, M, but there were no windows broken in the book.  Rather than go straight onto The Last Battle last night, I started Magic Kingdom for Sale–Sold! by Terry Brooks, who I love.  I’ve been wanting to read it for ages after seeing it in the back of the Shannara books, but I just found it in a box of sci-fi and fantasy given to me by a fellow Freecycler.  By the second page, you find that not only did the protagonist’s wife die a few years before, but that she was three months pregnant at the time.  I stared at it for a moment, then threw the book at the floor and started crying.  Yes, I’m a hormonal sack of crazy wussiness.  Jason, sitting three feet away checking to see how well I’d stuck to my budget in previous months, stared at me for a moment and said not a word.  A few moments later he asked me whether a particular purchase at Lowe’s was for the house, the church, or an SCA project.  It was my turn to stare at him, blurry-eyed, in disbelief.  I love my husband with all my heart, but have a little sensitivity.

I abhor the country station more than usual lately.  Not only does the music generally make me want to puncture my own eardrums, but every. freaking. song. is about pregnancy, children, or death.  Give me some variation of acoustic instrumentals, screaming metal and punk, or driving electric and drums, please.  Preferably baby-free.

I’m having a rough time with the company building my tent.  More on that later.  Suffice it to say that I have gone from being quite hopeful to extremely displeased.

I’m beginning to lose my patience with Obnoxious New Guy and Annoying Intern.  Sleepy Intern has been reduced in status to merely juvenile and amazing in his unflinching refusal to abide by typical corporate protocols.  You know, the ones like “don’t prop your feet up on the conference room table and sleep through your first day in the office.”  Work stories, however, deserve their very own post.

KG’s pain has worsened again.  I’ve been forced to give her another “get help for yourself or I’ll get it for you” ultimatum, but have not yet set a date.  That will be discussed after church tomorrow evening.

I will likely be driving a Scadian lady new to our area down to Highland River Melees this weekend.  This means that I probably won’t be able to head down early and visit Steve, who leaves for good on Saturday.  I’ve met this particular lady exactly once, for about half an hour, and she makes me nervous.  Not in an “I’m going to stab you” sort of way, but in a typical Cumberland sort of way.  Also, she likes to talk about herself, to the extent that she talked at me for about half an hour on the phone while I was in Lowe’s the other day.  Just repeating the same things over and over–much like KG, actually, only an adult.  I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, nor convince her that I really had to go.  And yes, she knew I was in a store and that my phone battery was dying.  While I “talk” a lot when writing–my entries here and my emails will certainly attest to that–I try to be more courteous in actual conversation.  I’m also very bad at interrupting after spending my formative years being constantly interrupted by my father, who would tell me quite plainly that “[my] opinion doesn’t matter, so shut up about it.”  This is actually to the extent of being a fault, especially when it comes to the kids talking to me and needing to take control over the conversation so that we can continue with the lesson.  Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to the ride down.

The following whine might sound callous and selfish, but pray don’t take it that way.  It is simply an observation of what I’m finding about my inner self, which is essentially what this journal is meant to be:  records and observations.  So here it is:  I’ve never had a friend die before.  Oh, I’ve been around death, even the death of people with whom I was close or of younger people, but it’s always been older relatves or people I didn’t know all that well and with whom I had no real connection.  With Adam, it’s been hard.  I knew he was sick, but while I knew in my head that death is always a possibility even for the healthiest of people, I never really believed in my heart that it would come to that.  He was like a light in the room that is our world–you can’t really imagine it being gone.  Dimmed for a while, maybe, but not gone.  Now whenever I allow myself to come out of that mode of impartial observer, I find my eyes burning.  I can’t imagine him not being at HRM, or leading the Hagerstown group as it forms the canton, or waiting for the other gamers when I go to the community room to sew.  I hadn’t seen him in a while anyway, but I can’t seem to convince myself that I never will again.  I miss him.  And you know what?  It’s nothing like missing a grandmother who’s not been “herself” for some time, or a person you knew long ago but never really liked much.  I’m 22.  I’m not supposed to be losing friends yet.

So in other words, the week itself has kind of sucked.  But take heart! for the weekend was far better.  No, before you ask, I didn’t even touch a needle and thread.  As the pain in my abdomen seems to be less curl-up-in-a-ball-and-scream intense today, I hope to get some done tonight.  That leaves tomorrow after church and Friday morning for the mini pineapple upside-down cakes for the bakesale.

What I did accomplish was filling my new herb garden most of the way with dirt.  Very lovely dirt, actually, rich and black with an abundance of worms.  Unfortunately, also an abundance of ants (thousands! millions!), but they’ve settled down over the last few days.  Better yet, it was all free.  Most of it was dug up when Randy helped us level the site for the shed.  I’m not sure where it came from, considering that the rest of the cleared property is a massive shale bed, but I’m grateful for it.  We’ll top off the last inch or so with bought topsoil, I’ll work in organic fertilizer (basically chicken droppings) and corn gluten meal (keeps weed seeds from sprouting by impeding the growth of the first roots that emerge from them), and I’ll transplant my poor little herbs.  About half have died since taking them outside, and the rest get watered twice a day and still dry out in between.  The weather’s been up in the 90s for days.

I also hung the hammock I bought in Honduras over the weekend.  I heart my hammock.  Too bad it took about a year to the day to get it up.  It’s heaven made from fibers, hanging in my own yard.  We even found the perfect place for it, though I didn’t think there would be one.

I made strawberry daiquiris, sans alcohol.  I’m working on perfecting my own mix so I can avoid the glut of corn syrup present in the cans of frozen daiquiri goo from the grocery store.

I bought a quart of fresh strawberries from the farmer’s market yesterday.  The ones on the bottom were half rotten.  No worries; there were three other people selling them.  I’ll go elsewhere with my $3.50 next time.

I made meatloaf for the first time in my life and chicken cattiatore.

This has become long enough already, so the rambling will stop here.  I need to go make some phone calls anyway.