A Charlie Brown Christmas

This year I've been feeling a bit like Charlie Brown. 

It just seems like I can't do anything right. And (gasp) I can't get into the Christmas spirit. 

 I feel like I need Linus to sit me down and tell me about the true meaning of Christmas.

Then all my friends would come and wave all their hands around. Out would come a beautiful Christmas tree and we would all sing, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing."

But in all actuality, there are a few reasons I've been out of my normal cheer.

First and foremost, I could feel the holiday season coming on about three weeks ago. I told myself, "Lauren, once finals are over, you can watch every Christmas movie, bake to your heart's content, wrap presents, listen to Christmas music, frolic in the snow, etc. all after December 11th (my last day for finals). Don't ruin it now by celebrating under stress! It will only make you mad at the season!"

Finals took so much out of me. I was writing pages of mediocre work just to get through. I was so tired and mentally drained. Finals have never been this difficult for me to get through.

After it was all over, I let out a truncated sigh of relief. My mother and I started fighting. Julie and I were supposed to have a much-needed girl's day, eating McAlister's and watching girly movies. Then, came the snow. Schools were canceled. Long story short, our day did not come to fruition.

Then, the mother of all cheer-draining took horrible form: my job. As previously mentioned, I work at an outdoor shipping business, 3rd shift. This Wednesday, we had an ice storm. Every piece of our equipment was covered in a layer of ice. We would have all fared better walking around with ice skates on. The docks and rollers that help move the thousand-something pound containers were also ice-laden. If walking were difficult in itself, imagine walking on ice-covered rollers pulling said cans.

I went to work that night at 11PM. I got off work at 7:35AM. And I know it could've been so much worse. Other people got off later. Some people signed up for double shifts and had to work until after 1PM. But alas, it left me horrible, haggard, wet, cold, ugly, and all sorts of grumpy and fatigued.

I was at my worst. I was swearing like a sailor and all I could think about was the Marilyn Monroe quote: 

 "I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."

 Easy for her to say. She never worked at UPS.

But lately, all I've been is my worst. I say things I don't mean. I complain incessantly. I can't seem to get my life together. I'm in way too many clothes. I'm sweaty and cold. My hair looks bad. I'm wearing hats so warm they make me look homeless. I'm sleeping all day.

After getting to bed at around 1PM yesterday, I woke up at 8PM. It was dark, I hadn't eaten all day, or accomplished anything. But the worst part was realizing that I was only waking up to go back to work again.

So, Tuesday I had a duel with a woman over a Christmas present.

I know she saw me eying her like a hawk about to swoop down and claim my rightful prey. Unfortunately, she won. So, I had to place an order. Hopefully it will be here in time...

Thanks to everyone. For accepting me at my worst. For helping me find my way. And for singing my praises when I feel like giving up.

A subtle thank you

It's days like today that I miss high school. Or rather the idea of high school. High school was so easy that it hardly necessitated studying or hours of homework. College on the other hand, college is about work. 

When I think back to high school, I think back to the days I spent with my three best friends. We would go get coffee at Caribou and find a seat in the narrow cafe lined with carved wooden seats that resembled logs. We would talk about our plans. Julia was obsessed with anything international. Kelsey was choosing between music and science. Ruth wasn't quite sure. I was of course going to be pre-med (ha). 

 After finals, during breaks, on Fridays, or just anytime we could find reason to celebrate, we would all meet up at Potbelly's Sandwiches and walk around the Commons. We loved going into Francesca's and snapping photos of ourselves in oddly-framed glasses. We also loved the dresses that always seemed to be slightly out of our budgets. 

Anytime someone had a birthday, which was February, May, and twice in September, we would go to Coldstone Creamery for icecream to accompany our cupcakes. 

 I remember Kelsey patiently teaching me how to knit, showing me how to make blankets, and ceaselessly repairing the broken strap on my favorite gypsy bag (which now has an un-repaired zipper). 

 Ruth and I would always celebrate the first day of spring. Of course it wasn't the official day or anything. It was just the first day you could really feel the warmth of the sun when the snow mounds began to melt. We could feel the end of winter was near. One year we went to Chipotle for burritos and to Hobby Lobby for paint and posterboard. We had a project in our History class over WW2 that required a presentation so we decided to paint the board in camouflage. It was decided that trench warfare smelt of "poop and licorice." We later met up with Kelsey at school for a fundraiser that would lower the cost of our choir trip to Disneyworld. The next year we got coffee, walked around town, got followed by geese, met up with Kelsey and went to the Scholastic Bowl/Chess Club banquet and celebration. We had pizza and went bowling. Then we may or may not have partaken in a cigarette, which at the time felt really cool.

 At Disneyworld, we all shared a room. We rejoiced over small things together. We discussed God. We learned a lot from one another. Julia would wake up, open the curtains, letting the sun in and say, "Hello world!" When a chocolate chip from her trail mix fell on the floor she regrettably decided that someone was going to think a bunny pooped next to her bed. We all got henna tattoos; Kelsey and Julia on their shoulders, Ruth on her wrist, me on my ankle. Sharing a bathroom with three other girls was not quite the crisis situation one would imagine. But then again, these aren't any ordinary girls. 

We all shared a traveling blue notebook which we named "The Notebook." We would all write in it about our lives and pass it on. It was a way to keep up with one another when times got busy. Along with the notebook, we passed around a heart necklace that we would wear when we had the notebook. A lot of people were curious about what we were writing about and would question: "WHAT is in that blue notebook?!" I'd always tell people that I could tell them but then I'd have to kill them.

When we had an AP English paper that required library research, we took it as an opportunity to get coffee, lunch, and to take photos of ourselves with Mark Twain's statue out front. And also we did a bit of research for our papers...

We all encompassed so much diversity but all saw the world through a similar lens. Julia was the quiet redhead that put in hours at the school newspaper. Kelsey was the blond science nerd that was also a Drum Major, choir president, and captain of the Scholastic Bowl Team. Ruth was sardonic with hair so dark it was almost black... she hated almost every subject in school and wanted to graduate so she could start doing something she actually liked. And I was the I was the busy brunette and Spanish nerd. Since 16, I was working at a grocery store almost every day after school and on weekends. The girls began to refer to my job as the "taker of my soul." Plans always had to be at my convenience... which I felt terrible about.

And even though we all wanted to get out of high school as fast as we could, I miss them. They helped me through a lot of sadness and helped me develop into the person I am today. I can never thank them enough.

Capture It

Do you ever have so many thoughts running through your head that you wish you could just make them into a picture book you could flip through?

 I've been obsessed with these long hippie-style dresses. I wish it were spring. Even if just for one day.

A recent search of Amazon.com left me drooling over more than a few items I would love to obtain. Again, I am such a hippie when it comes to these things.

 Here's Alexis Bledel returning from a film festival in Canada. Isn't she the cutest? I can't believe she's 28 years old. I always had this image of myself approaching 30 with frump. I hope I can still look as fun as Alexis at 28. Makes me miss old Rory.

 Well, I can't wait for December 21st. I need some Emma Stone magic in my life pronto.

J'adore. One day my room will be this color. And I will construct a similar gypsy-style bed.

 I've been dreaming of a bohemian apartment. (Okay, and a White Christmas). But seriously, I just can't live in my parents' house much longer. It's time for me to put my big girl pants on and buck up. That's not to say that I expect any apartment I could afford in the near future to look anything like these above. But a girl can dream. And be inspired.

I wish to one day obtain a professional-ish camera. Like a Canon or a Nikon that has a protruding lens and a strap you wear around your neck. I love taking photographs and love capturing scenes of life that I can relive over and over again; in the moment and in retrospect. Just like writing. Certain cameras just don't capture what your own soul sees. I edited the above photos from my personal album. One's from this September, a few days after my 21st birthday, of a bridge in the city I call home. The other is from over a year ago at a fall festival. Carnivals and festivals are just the perfect places to snap photos. People exit their seemingly stressful lives, if only for a few hours, and retreat into the whimsy of childhood. The food, the lights, the colors, the rides, the sounds, the smells. It's all a combination for impending magic. You just have to capture it.

Best Choice

I'm not sure if this is something I made up or have heard somewhere else. Either way, it keeps resonating in my mind:

Sometimes you just have to make the best choice for yourself.

It may be simple. It may not mean anything to anyone else. But I think about it everyday.

Whip It

So lately I've been obsessed with the "Whip It" soundtrack. It's, like, so good. And it makes me want to see the movie really badly. Because with a soundtrack this good, how can the movie go wrong?

Four more days 'till sanity returns.

Aphrodesiac

Strawberry muffins + hot apple cider = best Spanish-paper writing aphrodisiac. 

Lord, help me.

Fears

First and foremost, I apologize for my exodus. Stress, finals, and sadistic professors demanding page after page of dissertation has reduced my brain to a mush-like consistency. I'd like to think the myelin sheaths protecting my neurons are still intact but I fear for the worst. Urgency is what brings me here tonight.

There isn't much I fear in life. But the things I fear are vast:

• Needles
• Wide open spaces, especially when dark and unfamiliar
• Death in vain
• Failure to express myself in the way that I intend

I can get shots. That doesn't bother me. The needle enters a muscle and a thick layer of skin. You're good to go. But needles that enter veins makes me nauseous just thinking about it. The skin on your wrist is so thin and fragile, who would ever want to touch it?? The body can fail to function at any moment. There isn't much lying between us and death. I guess the thought of the body being compromised exacerbates this fear.

The second one is self-evident.

No one can anticipate death. It's inevitable. Death is this unique destiny that all human beings share. I know I will die. But I can't imagine dying without some sort of internal peace and acceptance.

And now for the point.

In this time of finals, projects, and papers it's a struggle to express yourself in the very best way for each and every task. But that's not what's important when it comes to real life, your last breaths, the moments in which you anticipate death. Have you ever had an insert-foot-in-mouth moment you wish you could take back? Did you ever rectify the situation? Would you be worse off to try? Did you ever give patronizing advice to someone who didn't need it? Or regret not giving advice to someone who did?

The importance of communication is invaluable. Jean-Dominique Bauby published an entire memoir transcribed solely by blinking his left eye. After suffering a stroke, he lost movement of every body part except his left eye. A speech-therapist developed a system for Bauby to respond to spoken letters by blinking, to form full words and sentences. Urgency provided him with inspiration to say what he needed to say. He was determined to prove that he was more than just a vegetable.

I complain about having to type some papers or speak in front of people. I have all ability to express myself and yet oftentimes falter. I say things I don't mean or I don't fully express what I mean. I feel like I offend people all the time. My greatest fear is pushing people away because of the words that spill out over my tongue. There are people in my life that I hold to very high esteem and I feel like a chamber of my heart would cease to function if I were ever to lose them. I just don't think I'd ever get over it. Especially if it were a result of my words, my silence, my actions, or my inability to act.

Just as I feel apprehensive upon approaching a traffic light, fearing the green will turn to yellow and I will be crashed into, I think about this all the time. Last Tuesday, I was on my way home from school, ready to begin my Thanksgiving break. A lady on the interstate in front of me slammed on her brakes. I subsequently braked quickly, narrowly escaping a wreck. Just when I let out a sigh of relief, I felt a vehicle slam into the back of my car. I rolled forward, all of my things flying to the front of my car, my glasses landing near the brake pedal. Luckily, everyone involved was relatively unharmed but the back of my car received subsequent damage, that is still impending repair. Now every time I see a brake light ahead, I brake immediately so I don't have to slam on them ever again. I am so fearful that every car in my perimeter has the potential to crash into my car. I'm hyper-vigilant and paranoid.

Caution scares me, almost as much as not being cautious. Will I caution myself out of living? Will I always hold my tongue in fear of saying the wrong thing? Is saying the wrong thing just a process that one must go through to be more certain of themselves in the future?

Alas, with my hazard lights on, I check my rear-view window, and slowly make my way back onto the roadway that is life.