September 20, 2011
I attended my first day of an RCIA program, which is a program that people go through to convert to Catholicism. I have never felt so good about something in my entire life. I've never felt so....right.
I feel like I'm exactly where I need to be. I'm beginning a journey of faith. And it's such a big step for me, because no one is asking me to make this journey. The only person motivating me and pushing me is...well, me.
I crossed myself today. This may seem like a little thing to most people, but it was an incredible moment for me, and I can't exactly explain why. It just impacted me in a big way. I felt God. I felt like I was a part of something larger than myself.
Tonight I have to fill out a form with all of my information so that I can be eligible for the Rites of Initiation (Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist). I also have to name two god-parents, and a sponsor. These will be people who I feel comfortable going to when I have questions about Catholicism and life in general.
Another thing I have to write down (which I'm pretty excited about) is my Confirmation Name. A religious name that I identify with, that somehow speaks to me, and represents who I am as a new Catholic man.
These are all very important things to me, and will require a lot of thought and consideration. The form is due next Tuesday, at our next meeting.
My fellow Journeyers are a wonderful group of people. I feel like I belong with them. We come from many different backgrounds, and yet I feel a connection with each of them. We are all going through this together, and hopefully we'll come out at the end as new people.
One thing that I'm looking forward to learning from these classes is what the various rituals are that take place during a Mass. As a non-catholic, I felt very left out during my first few Masses. It seemed like everyone knew what to say, when to kneel, and all of the prayers. And I didn't know a thing! Our priest said that during one of the upcoming classes, we are going to go into the church and he will walk us through everything that goes on for a Mass. I'm excited. :)
Hopefully, I'll be able to keep this blog going as I make my journey towards becoming Catholic. But, you know how that goes...
Until next time!
20 September 2011
26 August 2010
Home
In 51 days, I will be boarding a plane to return to a place I've come to know as a second home. My heart lies there. Even though I've only ever spent one week of my life in Italy, they are counted among the best days of my life. They changed me.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, traveling abroad for two weeks to study in Italy and France, spending one week in each.
Now it seems that this has become a twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This time, however, I'll be living in Rome for two months rather than only two weeks. I'm excited beyond belief to be back in Italy. To be back on a rickety train rolling through the countryside. To be in a pizza shop, shouting my order in broken Italian over the crowd, and the amazing feeling of success that hits when my order is heard. To be standing inside the ruins of what used to be the emperor's palace, and rebuilding it in my mind. To sit in a cathedral as a group of monks chant prayers in Latin, their voices rising to the heights of the domed ceiling before showering in echo down upon me.
I left my heart on that train, in that pizza shop, in the stone of those ruins, and in the voices echoing through that cathedral.
I saw a preview for the movie "Eat, Pray, Love", and the character couldn't have expressed my feelings better. "I want to MARVEL at something!" she says. Before I traveled to Europe, life was mundane. My day consisted of school, homework, fast food, video games, and sleep.
And repeat.
Those two weeks that I spent in Italy showed me that there's much more to life than that. There's food. GOOD food! And fantastic, friendly people! I discovered that Americans live in one of the only cultures where a strict schedule has become an integral part of our everyday lives. We are one of the only cultures who say that there "isn't enough time in a day." We have to get up, get ready, get to work, get home, put dinner on, do the laundry, clean the house, pay the bills, shop for groceries, and maybe, just maybe, have enough time for ourselves to relax for a few minutes before we need to go to sleep.
Italians don't live such a structured life. Relaxation, overall happiness and well-being are the most important aspects of life. There is hardly a sense of being "late" in Italy. A priest told me during my last visit, in broken English, "If you miss a train in the morning, no worry! One will come soon to collect you, and take you to where you are going. You will get there. No rush. No problem."
What an absurd way of life, I thought then. Don't worry about being late? Are you kidding?! We have to catch the train, so that we can get to a restaurant to eat a quick lunch, and then we need to get to the museum, so that we can have time to go see the Colosseum before we have to come back for dinner! We can't just be late. We don't have time!
And of course I thought that. That's how I was taught to think. It took almost the full two weeks for me to discover that this way of thinking doesn't really apply in their culture. So I tried to fit myself into this new way of life.
No rush.
No problem.
Ever since my first taste of that style of living, I found that it was difficult to adjust back to the American "rush-mode" once I returned to the States. Some one will say, "hurry up, we're going to be late," and I think... what's five minutes? Why don't we slow down, enjoy the drive? Maybe take the scenic route? The party will still be going on when we get there.
I don't dare speak it aloud though, because I know that the idea will sound just as crazy to them as it did to me a year ago.
I just can't wait go to "home". To feel like a person again, rather than a slave to time.
No rush.
No problem.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, traveling abroad for two weeks to study in Italy and France, spending one week in each.
Now it seems that this has become a twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This time, however, I'll be living in Rome for two months rather than only two weeks. I'm excited beyond belief to be back in Italy. To be back on a rickety train rolling through the countryside. To be in a pizza shop, shouting my order in broken Italian over the crowd, and the amazing feeling of success that hits when my order is heard. To be standing inside the ruins of what used to be the emperor's palace, and rebuilding it in my mind. To sit in a cathedral as a group of monks chant prayers in Latin, their voices rising to the heights of the domed ceiling before showering in echo down upon me.
I left my heart on that train, in that pizza shop, in the stone of those ruins, and in the voices echoing through that cathedral.
I saw a preview for the movie "Eat, Pray, Love", and the character couldn't have expressed my feelings better. "I want to MARVEL at something!" she says. Before I traveled to Europe, life was mundane. My day consisted of school, homework, fast food, video games, and sleep.
And repeat.
Those two weeks that I spent in Italy showed me that there's much more to life than that. There's food. GOOD food! And fantastic, friendly people! I discovered that Americans live in one of the only cultures where a strict schedule has become an integral part of our everyday lives. We are one of the only cultures who say that there "isn't enough time in a day." We have to get up, get ready, get to work, get home, put dinner on, do the laundry, clean the house, pay the bills, shop for groceries, and maybe, just maybe, have enough time for ourselves to relax for a few minutes before we need to go to sleep.
Italians don't live such a structured life. Relaxation, overall happiness and well-being are the most important aspects of life. There is hardly a sense of being "late" in Italy. A priest told me during my last visit, in broken English, "If you miss a train in the morning, no worry! One will come soon to collect you, and take you to where you are going. You will get there. No rush. No problem."
What an absurd way of life, I thought then. Don't worry about being late? Are you kidding?! We have to catch the train, so that we can get to a restaurant to eat a quick lunch, and then we need to get to the museum, so that we can have time to go see the Colosseum before we have to come back for dinner! We can't just be late. We don't have time!
And of course I thought that. That's how I was taught to think. It took almost the full two weeks for me to discover that this way of thinking doesn't really apply in their culture. So I tried to fit myself into this new way of life.
No rush.
No problem.
Ever since my first taste of that style of living, I found that it was difficult to adjust back to the American "rush-mode" once I returned to the States. Some one will say, "hurry up, we're going to be late," and I think... what's five minutes? Why don't we slow down, enjoy the drive? Maybe take the scenic route? The party will still be going on when we get there.
I don't dare speak it aloud though, because I know that the idea will sound just as crazy to them as it did to me a year ago.
I just can't wait go to "home". To feel like a person again, rather than a slave to time.
No rush.
No problem.
07 July 2010
In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritus Sancti...
A few months ago, (yes, it's taken a while. But I needed time to organize my thoughts), I attended my first Mass. I was raised Protestant, with a vague knowledge of God. My parents never took me to church, though they did buy me a Children's Bible, which I read few pages of. (Besides, there were adventures outside to be had!) I was never a very religious person, and viewed it from a more academic perspective.
When I was 15, I met my girlfriend, whose family were avid church-goers, and I attended a Non-Denominational church with them. I learned quite a bit, but it wasn't exactly what I wanted. After a while, I started to dread going, and would get very bored with the sermon each week.
After I graduated high school, I went off to the University I'm attending now, which is Catholic. Students are required to take at least one Theology class, and I found myself extremely interested in mine. I looked forward to the class every day. I simply couldn't get enough of each lecture.
That was slightly over a year ago. Then, just a few months ago, as I've said, I went to Mass for the first time. Not being Catholic, I had my reservations about going. But after talking to one of my girlfriend's professors, a priest, my mind was eased a little. I knew that taking communion was much more serious in the Catholic church than in Protestant churches. In Protestant churches, the bread and the wine (err...grape-juice) are meant to be representations of the body and blood of Jesus. For Catholics, however, the bread and wine, once blessed by the priest, undergo an actual change and become the body and blood of Jesus. And there is a rule that taking communion in a Catholic church when you are not Catholic yourself is a big no-no. So not wanting to sit awkwardly in the pew while everyone else went up to take communion, I just avoided going to Mass for the two years I've attended the school so far.
The priest told me that non-catholics may attend Mass, and can even go forward when everyone is called to take communion. But instead of taking the bread, the person instead crossed their arms over their chest, thus signaling to the priest that you are not Catholic, and the priest will instead bless you.
And so I went. The Mass was beautiful. It seemed like every person in the church was smiling, and honestly happy to be there. This was a huge contrast from the church I attended before, where attendees were falling to sleep throughout the service. The morning sunlight was flooding through the large stained-glass window, illuminating an impressive rendition of Jesus on the cross. I took my seat next to my girlfriend, two nuns-to-be sat behind us, and a professor of Philosophy sat on the other side of my girlfriend. Throughout the service, as everyone seemed to know exactly what to say, what to do, and when to do or say it, the professor (knowing that we are not Catholic) would lean over and explain each part of the Mass to us. This insight helped me appreciate the service much more than I probably would have otherwise.
From the moment I entered the church, I felt...a presence. A pressing weight on my mind and heart. And as the priest spoke, the weight only got heavier. I bowed my head, both out of respect, and from the.... I have no idea how to explain what I felt. It was a pressure. A pounding in my head, but not painful. It was simply heavy. And it surrounded me. I had never wanted to sing in the churches I attended before this one, but when music began playing, I sang loud, and I wasn't ashamed of it. The message was beautiful, and also completely different from a Protestant church. A Protestant sermon is an interpretation of a part of the Bible, and how it can be related to some part of our lives today. For instance, the sermon may be about parenting your children properly. And the pastor will quote a few verses from the Bible to give us an overall image of how a christian should parent. In the Catholic church, at least at the one I attend, the priest does not speak about parenting, or adoption, or relationships. He speaks about the Bible. What was happening. Why John said this. Or where Paul was when he wrote this, and what was going on around him. I was amazed by this, and my hunger for knowledge made my ears perk. Not once was I bored. Not once did I have to fight sleep.
It then came time for communion. I followed in line as people filed up to partake in the Eucharist. When it came my turn, I crossed my arms over as I was told (by the priest who was now standing in front of me, in fact) and received my blessing. "May God's everlasting love shine on you, Nick." And a tear trailed down my face as I walked back to my seat.
I was just blessed, I thought. And I FELT it! The weight that had been pressing on my the entire service had lifted. And not only had it lifted, but it pulled me up along with it! My spirits were raised. I was uncontrollably happy. And I had a hunger. I needed to learn more. I needed to feel that presence, that weight again. And I was slightly scared by this. I had never felt a closeness to God. Never felt a strong desire to know Him. I always capitalized my "God"'s and my "Him"'s out of respect for the people who would see my writing, and not out of respect for the one I was writing about.
And now I feel everything changing. I walked out of the church with mixed emotions. Fear of the change I wanted to make. Determination to make it. Happiness at the thought of making it. And uncertainty as to how I would make it.
But absolute 100% certain knowledge that I would make a change.
That day showed me that a Protestant church is not the place for me. I just don't feel God there. And I know that I feel God in a Catholic church. So I'm going to explore the Catholic faith more. I am not converting (yet). But I can't exactly ignore the presence I felt that day.
I am very excited to see where this path leads me.
Until next time
The Librarian
When I was 15, I met my girlfriend, whose family were avid church-goers, and I attended a Non-Denominational church with them. I learned quite a bit, but it wasn't exactly what I wanted. After a while, I started to dread going, and would get very bored with the sermon each week.
After I graduated high school, I went off to the University I'm attending now, which is Catholic. Students are required to take at least one Theology class, and I found myself extremely interested in mine. I looked forward to the class every day. I simply couldn't get enough of each lecture.
That was slightly over a year ago. Then, just a few months ago, as I've said, I went to Mass for the first time. Not being Catholic, I had my reservations about going. But after talking to one of my girlfriend's professors, a priest, my mind was eased a little. I knew that taking communion was much more serious in the Catholic church than in Protestant churches. In Protestant churches, the bread and the wine (err...grape-juice) are meant to be representations of the body and blood of Jesus. For Catholics, however, the bread and wine, once blessed by the priest, undergo an actual change and become the body and blood of Jesus. And there is a rule that taking communion in a Catholic church when you are not Catholic yourself is a big no-no. So not wanting to sit awkwardly in the pew while everyone else went up to take communion, I just avoided going to Mass for the two years I've attended the school so far.
The priest told me that non-catholics may attend Mass, and can even go forward when everyone is called to take communion. But instead of taking the bread, the person instead crossed their arms over their chest, thus signaling to the priest that you are not Catholic, and the priest will instead bless you.
And so I went. The Mass was beautiful. It seemed like every person in the church was smiling, and honestly happy to be there. This was a huge contrast from the church I attended before, where attendees were falling to sleep throughout the service. The morning sunlight was flooding through the large stained-glass window, illuminating an impressive rendition of Jesus on the cross. I took my seat next to my girlfriend, two nuns-to-be sat behind us, and a professor of Philosophy sat on the other side of my girlfriend. Throughout the service, as everyone seemed to know exactly what to say, what to do, and when to do or say it, the professor (knowing that we are not Catholic) would lean over and explain each part of the Mass to us. This insight helped me appreciate the service much more than I probably would have otherwise.
From the moment I entered the church, I felt...a presence. A pressing weight on my mind and heart. And as the priest spoke, the weight only got heavier. I bowed my head, both out of respect, and from the.... I have no idea how to explain what I felt. It was a pressure. A pounding in my head, but not painful. It was simply heavy. And it surrounded me. I had never wanted to sing in the churches I attended before this one, but when music began playing, I sang loud, and I wasn't ashamed of it. The message was beautiful, and also completely different from a Protestant church. A Protestant sermon is an interpretation of a part of the Bible, and how it can be related to some part of our lives today. For instance, the sermon may be about parenting your children properly. And the pastor will quote a few verses from the Bible to give us an overall image of how a christian should parent. In the Catholic church, at least at the one I attend, the priest does not speak about parenting, or adoption, or relationships. He speaks about the Bible. What was happening. Why John said this. Or where Paul was when he wrote this, and what was going on around him. I was amazed by this, and my hunger for knowledge made my ears perk. Not once was I bored. Not once did I have to fight sleep.
It then came time for communion. I followed in line as people filed up to partake in the Eucharist. When it came my turn, I crossed my arms over as I was told (by the priest who was now standing in front of me, in fact) and received my blessing. "May God's everlasting love shine on you, Nick." And a tear trailed down my face as I walked back to my seat.
I was just blessed, I thought. And I FELT it! The weight that had been pressing on my the entire service had lifted. And not only had it lifted, but it pulled me up along with it! My spirits were raised. I was uncontrollably happy. And I had a hunger. I needed to learn more. I needed to feel that presence, that weight again. And I was slightly scared by this. I had never felt a closeness to God. Never felt a strong desire to know Him. I always capitalized my "God"'s and my "Him"'s out of respect for the people who would see my writing, and not out of respect for the one I was writing about.
And now I feel everything changing. I walked out of the church with mixed emotions. Fear of the change I wanted to make. Determination to make it. Happiness at the thought of making it. And uncertainty as to how I would make it.
But absolute 100% certain knowledge that I would make a change.
That day showed me that a Protestant church is not the place for me. I just don't feel God there. And I know that I feel God in a Catholic church. So I'm going to explore the Catholic faith more. I am not converting (yet). But I can't exactly ignore the presence I felt that day.
I am very excited to see where this path leads me.
Until next time
The Librarian
01 July 2010
5 Years
Six years ago, I met a girl with waist-length straight brown hair, deep grey eyes, and a shy smile. I remember her most fondly in her black combat boots, camo pants, and black t-shirt. She wrote books about vampires and far away lands, and drew the scenes and characters from her books as well as her dreams. And as she laughed with her group of friends in the back of our English class, I watched out of the corner of my eye from my seat in the front row.
The following year, that girl sat next to me in Study Hall. Again she brought her books that I had been so curious about the previous year. She passed one to me with a smile. "It's about Vampires" she said softly. I grinned back "I like vampires."
From that day on, we began talking more and more. I was in a relationship with another girl then, but I told my new friend that she should go to Homecoming. She laughed at me. "Me? At a dance?" And luckily some friends who sat around us were on my side, and we convinced her to go.
At the Homecoming dance, as I awkwardly swayed with my date, I glanced around the room, and saw a shocking sight. The girl with combat boots and camo pants walked shyly into the cafeteria wearing a dark red and black dress, and long curls in her hair. I was happy to see her there. I never danced with her, but I was happy nonetheless.
The following summer, I broke up with my girlfriend and shyly asked "Sarah Rebecca Rogers, will you be my girlfriend?" And she responded with a yes.
For months after this, she proceeded to tell me that she wasn't worth my attention. She would only hurt me. She could never let anyone into her heart. "Everyone leaves me eventually" she said
She told me anything she could to discourage me. But I smiled through it, and never left her side. I'm not sure when it happened, but eventually she must have realized that I was not going to give up or leave her, and she relaxed slightly. Though she still kept her guard up slightly.
This is how I fell in love for the first time. Five years later, we're celebrating the fifth anniversary of our relationship. We've grown closer and closer together with each day, and we continue to do so.
We've gone through a few rough patches, but always managed to work it out. I've found that communication and honesty are the key to a relationship. If you're honest with one another, and tell each other how you feel about things, difficult situations become much easier. The trust that is built between two people through the years is so important. If there is no trust, there is no relationship. Constantly accusing each other, or worrying if the other person is being faithful every day, will lead only to ruin. There can be no happiness without trust.
Today, I can say that I am happy. I am truly happy. And it's an unbelievable feeling.
So thank you, Sarah, for making my life so incredibly wonderful. For inspiring me to reach higher, dig deeper, and love stronger than I ever could have on my own. You are the best part of my life.
And five years later, I still stand by your side, and I'm not leaving.
I love you.
The following year, that girl sat next to me in Study Hall. Again she brought her books that I had been so curious about the previous year. She passed one to me with a smile. "It's about Vampires" she said softly. I grinned back "I like vampires."
From that day on, we began talking more and more. I was in a relationship with another girl then, but I told my new friend that she should go to Homecoming. She laughed at me. "Me? At a dance?" And luckily some friends who sat around us were on my side, and we convinced her to go.
At the Homecoming dance, as I awkwardly swayed with my date, I glanced around the room, and saw a shocking sight. The girl with combat boots and camo pants walked shyly into the cafeteria wearing a dark red and black dress, and long curls in her hair. I was happy to see her there. I never danced with her, but I was happy nonetheless.
The following summer, I broke up with my girlfriend and shyly asked "Sarah Rebecca Rogers, will you be my girlfriend?" And she responded with a yes.
For months after this, she proceeded to tell me that she wasn't worth my attention. She would only hurt me. She could never let anyone into her heart. "Everyone leaves me eventually" she said
She told me anything she could to discourage me. But I smiled through it, and never left her side. I'm not sure when it happened, but eventually she must have realized that I was not going to give up or leave her, and she relaxed slightly. Though she still kept her guard up slightly.
This is how I fell in love for the first time. Five years later, we're celebrating the fifth anniversary of our relationship. We've grown closer and closer together with each day, and we continue to do so.
We've gone through a few rough patches, but always managed to work it out. I've found that communication and honesty are the key to a relationship. If you're honest with one another, and tell each other how you feel about things, difficult situations become much easier. The trust that is built between two people through the years is so important. If there is no trust, there is no relationship. Constantly accusing each other, or worrying if the other person is being faithful every day, will lead only to ruin. There can be no happiness without trust.
Today, I can say that I am happy. I am truly happy. And it's an unbelievable feeling.
So thank you, Sarah, for making my life so incredibly wonderful. For inspiring me to reach higher, dig deeper, and love stronger than I ever could have on my own. You are the best part of my life.
And five years later, I still stand by your side, and I'm not leaving.
I love you.
18 June 2010
Into the Future
As I've just reached the half-way point of my undergraduate college career, I've begun to wonder what I'll do after graduation. I have definitely decided on graduate school, but choosing where and what I'd like to study has become difficult. My interested cover a wide range: History, Literature, Philosophy, History of Music, History of Art, Classics, Foreign Languages...it goes on. I am most interested in History, Literature, and Classics. Which sounds perfect because Classics is historical languages and literature. So that makes things a little easier, but it's hard to just forget about my other interests.
Then I began to think of where I'd like to go for graduate training. First I started looking close-by. Then my girlfriend encouraged my to reach higher, and I looked into Harvard. It seems pretty perfect, offering most everything that I'm interested in. The expense is actually not as high as you'd think, but their expectations certainly are. If you drop below a B, you have to take the class over. At least, that's how it sounded to me.
Then my mother, ever-supportive, (and I lover her dearly for it!), turns to me and says, "Why settle? You could go anywhere! Why stay in the United States?"
I blinked. It had never even occurred to me that I could go ANYWHERE. This was both very exciting and very intimidating. Now my list of potential schools has grown tenfold. But there are so many amazing schools to choose from, I don't mind the hunt.
I still haven't decided on a school, or even a program, but I'm narrowing it down slowly, day by day.
Then I began to think of where I'd like to go for graduate training. First I started looking close-by. Then my girlfriend encouraged my to reach higher, and I looked into Harvard. It seems pretty perfect, offering most everything that I'm interested in. The expense is actually not as high as you'd think, but their expectations certainly are. If you drop below a B, you have to take the class over. At least, that's how it sounded to me.
Then my mother, ever-supportive, (and I lover her dearly for it!), turns to me and says, "Why settle? You could go anywhere! Why stay in the United States?"
I blinked. It had never even occurred to me that I could go ANYWHERE. This was both very exciting and very intimidating. Now my list of potential schools has grown tenfold. But there are so many amazing schools to choose from, I don't mind the hunt.
I still haven't decided on a school, or even a program, but I'm narrowing it down slowly, day by day.
10 June 2010
Too tired to sleep
Have you ever been so exhausted that you lose all motivation to do anything, even to smile?
Well, my friend, I'm there.
I believe that the most amount of sleep I've had in about a week is 5 hours one night. I wake at 7am each day to get ready for work. And I stay up late watching movies and talking with my girlfriend.
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret these long nights in the least.
Lately, I've noticed that I'm much less motivated to do anything. Eat, walk, laugh, work, even sleep. I feel angry, or sad, but I have nothing to be sad or angry about. Sure, work is a little boring, but the rest of my life is fantastic. I don't see any other reason why I would feel this way, other than the lack of sufficient sleep. There is no reason for depression. So it must be sleep?
It just feels like I have no time in the day. I get home from work around 3pm, then I have to give the dog her medicine and check the pool, (which is always having a problem), and fix it. Then I go visit my girlfriend, we go get something for dinner, maybe watch a movie. Before I know it, it's time to sleep (at 2 or 3am), and then repeat the process all over again. My room is a mess because I haven't had time to clean it. My face is scruffy because I haven't even had time enough to shave. That's a sad statement, not even enough time to shave my face.
So I get my 3 or 4 hours of sleep each night. And lately it's been taking a toll on me.
In other news, I am officially traveling to Italy this coming Fall Semester, and staying for two months. Also, I've planned a weekend trip to Greece while I'm there. That was quite a difficult feat! First of all, I couldn't use any of the websites I needed, because they were all in Greek. So it took a few days, looking at a multitude of websites, while changing back and forth between the website I needed and a greek translation website. A lot of work, but I'm finally done. I am also officially going to Greece! Also through this experience, I've learned some Greek!
Hopefully in my next entry, I'll be able to say how much better I'm feeling.
Until then.
Well, my friend, I'm there.
I believe that the most amount of sleep I've had in about a week is 5 hours one night. I wake at 7am each day to get ready for work. And I stay up late watching movies and talking with my girlfriend.
Don't get me wrong, I don't regret these long nights in the least.
Lately, I've noticed that I'm much less motivated to do anything. Eat, walk, laugh, work, even sleep. I feel angry, or sad, but I have nothing to be sad or angry about. Sure, work is a little boring, but the rest of my life is fantastic. I don't see any other reason why I would feel this way, other than the lack of sufficient sleep. There is no reason for depression. So it must be sleep?
It just feels like I have no time in the day. I get home from work around 3pm, then I have to give the dog her medicine and check the pool, (which is always having a problem), and fix it. Then I go visit my girlfriend, we go get something for dinner, maybe watch a movie. Before I know it, it's time to sleep (at 2 or 3am), and then repeat the process all over again. My room is a mess because I haven't had time to clean it. My face is scruffy because I haven't even had time enough to shave. That's a sad statement, not even enough time to shave my face.
So I get my 3 or 4 hours of sleep each night. And lately it's been taking a toll on me.
In other news, I am officially traveling to Italy this coming Fall Semester, and staying for two months. Also, I've planned a weekend trip to Greece while I'm there. That was quite a difficult feat! First of all, I couldn't use any of the websites I needed, because they were all in Greek. So it took a few days, looking at a multitude of websites, while changing back and forth between the website I needed and a greek translation website. A lot of work, but I'm finally done. I am also officially going to Greece! Also through this experience, I've learned some Greek!
Hopefully in my next entry, I'll be able to say how much better I'm feeling.
Until then.
28 May 2010
I don't know what to say
Am I alone in my inability to have a normal conversation with someone? It seems like it's simple for everyone, and it should be! But the prospect of speaking one-on-one with someone is terrifying to me. An impossible task.
I want to give people the change to know me. And I want to know them in return...
But I freeze. I make small-talk instead.
And I'm having trouble pin-pointing exactly what makes conversation so terrible.
I just blank. I approach someone, ready to get into some deep conversation, and suddenly the words just leave. All I can come up with is "How was your day?" "Good"
Then I think "Can't I just do this through e-mail?" And I'm ashamed to think it.
Really? You can't even have a normal conversation?
I want to give people the change to know me. And I want to know them in return...
But I freeze. I make small-talk instead.
And I'm having trouble pin-pointing exactly what makes conversation so terrible.
I just blank. I approach someone, ready to get into some deep conversation, and suddenly the words just leave. All I can come up with is "How was your day?" "Good"
Then I think "Can't I just do this through e-mail?" And I'm ashamed to think it.
Really? You can't even have a normal conversation?
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