Crazed Machinations of the Failed Female

Enjoying the simple things.

I almost ran off the road today when I was driving home because I suddenly realized that the only way to get telephone poles is to find really tall straight trees and cut them down to size. I couldn't stop looking at them after that, I was trying to find seams.

I like to lay in the grass in the front yard and watch the shadows move with the sun. On really small scales over short periods, it becomes quite noticeable.

I love turkey dinners, because I love gravy, and I love tryptophan.

Sometimes I suddenly realize I am humming, and I can't help but wonder how long I've been doing it. It makes me grin.

I love baby carrots, but it kind of makes me sad that we have to chop up and shave normal ones to be willing to eat them. Maybe we just like inherently tiny, cute things. Maybe making them little appeals to the fussy toddlers in all of us. Maybe when they're small and all the same size like that they seem more like candy pieces than vegetables. Wish I had thought of it though. Then getting my Ph.D. wouldn't seem so financially shaky.

I like working in the Math Lab, for what I like to consider is a noble reason. And I like it when people in classes bring their classmates and tell them I'm "the good helper". But I also like how that cute guy I helped with his algebra said hi to me as I walked past him today. I like being known.

My pets are just like me....rather spoiled, fond of treats, always vying for attention, a little soft around the belly, and most of all, uninhibited with giving and recieving affection. I like how Oreo has made himself the neighborhood's cat. I was down the hill the other day and I saw him go up to greet the nice old lady around the curve. She bent down to give him a pet, and he curled around her legs.

I like the national anthem. Because it's our national anthem, of course, but also because it's a great song. It's one of the hardest songs to sing in the English language. But it has that great key change and that nice strong ending. I like that.

I like sleeping. Sleeping is good.

I find that I must echo the author Sarah Vowell about how three-year-olds tell knock knock jokes.
Knock Knock.
Who's there?
I have a bug in my nose!

I like going to movies in the theatre. I like the big screen and the darkness. I like twizzlers and three-dollar sodas.

The other day I was buying my American Lit book in the school library and the lady at the counter told me to be sure I grabbed one of the free campus welcome packs. I picked up the box and noticed the big white eyes and brown shorts on the yellow rectangle. "It's SpongeBob," said I, oh-so-disdainfully. The lady laughed. I really liked that.

I like my sister's cheerleading photos.

Kevin's car died today and we couldn't find his battery terminals. Because they were underneath his washer fluid tank. Who designed underneath the hood of the Monte Carlo, and where can I meet him? I must learn the ways of passing off absurdity as practicality.

I love a good cup of coffee and discussion of relativity at a 24-hour cafe the night before spring break.

Sometimes I wish I completely understood why the human brain uses the verbal hemisphere to speak and the spacial hemisphere to sing. I'm sure it has to do the with the rhythm and pattern quality of song. Most of the time I'm glad it remains slightly obscure.

I like colored socks and comfortable shoes.

I like this.

I like Kenneth Branagh's version of Much Ado about Nothing. I also like Kenneth Branagh. In everything. Even when he was Iago from Othello. Even then.

Do you ever wonder where the rocks in your driveway came from? How old are they? When did they become a part of the crust, when did they break from it, and how far did they travel before coming to rest there. I have this mental image of pebbles getting picked up off the road by my tires in Kentucky, and finding themselves suddenly in Georgia, entirely confused. I mean, I know they're not concious, not even alive, but...it's an interesting thought.

I like typing. I like the sound a typewriter makes. I have an old typewriter. It makes me want to write noir novellas. I like the sound of the keyboard too. It makes me want to be with people.

I love liking too many things to list in one sitting. That's the part I like most of all.

I am MathLab, hear me roar

So school is starting again on Monday...I won't be starting the Physics tutoring until the week of Labor Day from what it sounds like, but Math Lab starts right off, so yay, I get to help people again, yay! Please tell me M. learned multiplication tables. I could not believe it when she told me, I think my jaw even dropped, all I could think was "How on earth did you make it to college without knowing your basic multiplication tables?"....I wrote her up a big twelve by twelve one...hope she tried learning it. That will seriously hurt her if she didn't. I don't know if she's still at Dalton this year, but I hope, because I liked her and she came in a lot, and the usuals are always pretty nice...man I'm not looking foward to the first month though, campus is always crowded beyond crowded...it's such a small school and it's also a commuter's school, so there is always a problem with finding a space, but by dropdate there are plenty of them because all those crazy kids who come to Dalton thinking it's going to be a cakewalk dropout...which is probably why it makes me so angry that they paved over the sports field to make another parking lot...grrr...man the locals used that thing too, it sucks...how many petitions did I sign about that? Anyway...I need to go talk to Dr Harrelson...need to get into American Lit...because if I don't take an English elective this semester I'll be ass out next summer, and might miss getting my associates by fall by THREE FREAKING HOURS, or ONE ENGLISH CLASS, and damn would that be a shame...Dr Wycherly was cool enough to write me into Astronomy even though the class was full, but he knows most of those kids will drop (half the people always drop from Wycherly's, and if they don't he tells them too) and I won't and I'll do pretty decent, he told me that I would enjoy it, which is a good sign...Dr Wycherly may seem pretty gruff but he's really pretty nice, he just doesn't waste words. And he is the most brilliant man alive, just ask him. Note to self: try to talk to him more. Don't be afraid to ask him about mistakes, he may act like you're an idiot but he will remember you came to see him...I'm a little nervous about starting but I think it will be good...if I don't get that english this will be a very easy semester, Calc 3 will be the only hard class...man I need that english...if I don't get it I'll have to take that class in the summer, which will suck because it's a short semester, and the research paper will be rushed, but also because I'm taking Chem 2 in the summer and it's the hardest class at Dalton, so I was going to take it all by itself...ugh...that's what I get for being a science major. It's really sad though...I'm having trouble at a school like Dalton...guess where I'd be at Tech?

Pieter van den Hoogenband is A-OK.

I have decided that to one day win over Pieter van den Hooganband's heart I will disguise myself as a young man and become an Olympic class swimmer so we may one day compete and he will fall in love with me.

Or I might just become distracted by something else.

PS - Paul Hamm is my new hero.

O God, let me bite my tongue. Let me be kind and gracious. Let me be understanding and not angry. Let me be an example through that. I do not want to be one who creates hatred or anger. I do not want to be one who spreads unhappiness. But I am smothered and startled by what I see and what I encounter and I lose hope, and I lose faith. But I have not given up yet, and I know as long as I don't You won't give up on me. Do not let me forget that life without works is dead. Life without works is dead. Life without works is dead. Life without works is dead.

Reading The Blind Watchmaker

"I don't know that you should read that book," he says.

"Why?" I half-laugh at him, so serious his expression has become.

"Because sometimes things can be presented in such a way that it becomes easy to believe them instead of the truth."

The book in question is the one on evolution by Richard Dawkins...in Salmon of Doubt, Douglas Adams said it was The Blind Watchmaker that he would suggest that everyone read. And four chapters in, I find myself understanding why, not only because it is an amazing look at an amazing theory, but also because it is so startling...suddenly it becomes clear, the brilliance in every aspect of the design of every living creation...and more than anything else it is made very clear that natural selection is so unbelievably misunderstood by so many that it is no wonder so many try to disprove it, or find they cannot accept it. I am not afraid of it. My faith is not that I have lost it in the glory of modern science. What is your God, that He can be made smaller by those theories that make his creations that much more magnificent, that much more unique?

The interchangeability of "penile" and "peanut"

The more I read from Dooce, the more I think I want to be just like her...you know...except for the baby....though she does have the cutest baby, but wow, I can't take care of kids, it's impossible for me.

Alex and Bonnie and Charlie, oh my!

Hurricane awareness is your friend.

Even if Chattanooga is landlocked. *cough*

Oh come on, some of the pictures are cool.

No, you're a dork.

Over my can of soup

I got a call a little while ago from a woman who wanted to hire Amber as a nanny, I was listed as a reference, and I told her the truth, I told her how Amber has a way with children, how they love her and she loves them, how she is one of those people who has the soul of the caregiver, the mother, and the woman was so nice, and I hope Amber gets it....

The lonely emptiness of the end of summer spreads into my brain, and all I can think about over my soup from a can is that I revel in it, I sit and think "This is a good pain, this is a worthy pain" and such a thought shames me. The day stretches long before me, but I know if I can just keep busy until the evening this day will pass like any other, and I will make it further than this emptiness, and it is a foolish lament.

A lament for Jared Bean

My sophmore year of high school was an interesting year for me. It was the year I had Mr. Ingle's class for the first time. It was the year that Ashley and I became friends. It was also the year that I met Jared Bean. Jared Bean, the senior with the dashing smile and the eyes like faded denim. Jared Bean, who played guitar and wore old converses to prom. Jared Bean, with the perfectly sculpted arms and magnetic personality. He had that effect on people, you just liked him, because he was so funny and so warm, not to mention cute as hell. I think probably half the female student body had a crush of some form or another on him; how could they not? Jared Bean with his fanclub who would sit behind third base...One look from those baby blues and every estrogen-influenced cell in my body would turn into wobbly mush the consistency of warm red jello...

I had Japanese class with him. It was the first year LFO was trying out Japanese as a language class, so we were the guinea pigs. There were only a few of us in the class... I can still picture where everyone sat in my mind, at least during the second semester...in the corner was Phatsy, who was cool but devoted to her studies...Chrystal and Jennifer on the other side of the classroom, in the front, away from me thank god...Chris and Ashley behind me, beside one another of course, Matt behind them wanting to be in the center but still on the outskirts, and Jared Bean in all his casual glory in the desk beside me. Jared Bean, who would practice his sentence structure with me. Jared Bean, who let Ashley and I write "orgasm" on his arm in Japanese characters. Jared Bean, who, on the day after the mess with Gary, asked me if I was alright, and listened to me, and talked to me, when I told him about it. Jared Bean, who loved the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, who laughed uproariously at the sentence "Holy Jesus, what are these goddamn animals?!" and dressed as Raoul Duke on movie day during Senior Week. Jared Bean, who the Japanese teacher never managed to call Jared, but always Calvin-kun, for Calvin was his first name. Jared Bean who once went to Sushi Nabe with Ashley and Chris and I, and then hung out with us afterward...

The end of the year drew closer and I knew I would miss him, but it was a blessing just to get to know him like that... Jared Bean with his funny college admission essays, Jared Bean with his soft baritone voice. I made cookies for the class alot, mostly for him, because he liked those oatmeal butterscotch cookies...he'd bite into them and look at me and make some noise of mouthy contentment and I'd feel warm all the way to my toes...to be complimented by Jared Bean, with his shag of brown hair and long eyelashes, Jared Bean with his perfect personality and handsome face. For a graduation present I gave him a copy of Fear and Loathing, and the recipe for the cookies, with the advice to taste the batter everytime he added something. Ashley and I went to his graduation, and afterward I went down on the floor to see him, and he gave me a hug. He told me I should look around downtown for him that summer, as he was often around listening to music and hanging out. I said I would, but I did not.

I saw him again, over a year later, when he was working at Ruby Tuesday's...I went with my family and there he was, carrying a tray of food. "Paaulaa", he drawled, easing past me, smiling that same lazy smile he had. Oh, Jared Bean, with his perfect blend of youthful elegance and exuberance... I would see him once more, another year after that when he was working at O'Charley's, and we would raise eyebrows at each other from across the restaurant, 'hey, I know you'. Oh, Jared Bean, who never lost the ability to make my face heat... And then one week in the summer of 2004 Krisitina would call me and say in a sad, sympathetic voice, "Paula, Jared Bean died."

Jared Bean, who played baseball for four years. Jared Bean, who was going to college. Jared Bean, who was only twenty-one. Jared Bean, who was in a car accident and died last Sunday. Jared Bean, at the top of the obituary list.

Jared Bean. Jared Bean. Jared Bean.

On a very irrational fear

A little earlier this evening I noticed the battery of my cell phone had run down, so I went to stick it on the charger, but when I came to the spot on the desk where the charger always sits I encountered...nothing. A moment passed in which I stood there, gazing at the little space normally inhabited by that little black box with the little green light on it with all the sluggish puzzlement my bovine brain could conjour. After a time it occured to me that, ah yes, I had never taken it out of the car after taking it with me to Kentucky last week. The car is parked outside (of course) in my usual spot...at the little back end of the driveway where cars are supposed to back up so they can turn around and not careen down the long driveway backwards, underneath trees which overhang from the woods that touch the edge of the driveway and extend around the back of the house. Herein lies my dilemna...it is dark outside, and to get to my car I must run past the length of these trees...

These woods frighten me beyond explanation. My heart begins to pound and my hands shake, and the more I try to talk myself out of it the more they terrify me. I have no idea why, because no other clumps of tree frighten me, and mine only frighten me at night, when I am by myself. And I know those woods! I've tromped around in them so many times, and even braved them long enough to win at a game of manhunt...and yet I am so utterly paralyzed by fear of them...

...this evening, I stood at the back door as still as I could manage, listening to the sounds of those woods, gearing myself up, telling myself yet again that it was only trees and underbrush and maybe the occasional squirrel, stepped onto the sidewalk and walked to the driveway, and began to step across to my car...

...and here the fear started to grip, and my pace quickened, and then wind blew and made all the trees rustle, and I ran full out until I reached the car, scrambling for the doorhandle and diving inside, slamming the door behind me...

...waited in the heavy silence of my car until the fear subsided...

...found my charger on the passenger side floor...

...took a deep breath, clutched the charger to my chest, and reached for the door...

...and then made a mad scramble back to the safety of the lighted back porch, away from the darkness and rustle of the trees at night.

Mom and Dad laugh at how I run across the driveway at night. "The raptors gonna get you?" they say.

I don't know what I'm running from.

Only a trick of the light

Ever feel like you were meant for something, your entire being pulling you toward it, and yet, for whatever reason, being unable to attain it?