I'm not capable of this anymore. I simply cannot continue to be the way I am. I feel at some times so happy, yet at others, so unhappy. It is tempting for me, stoic-faced to tell myself that "that's life" and that dealing with happiness and unhappiness is a part of it. But at the same time, I feel that there is the one who, having been gone, has returned and is, like me, mingling happiness and unahappiness, but perhaps doesn't think of things the best way. One must allow onesself to heal from psychological trauma, not constantly wallowing in one's suffering.
At the same time, there is the one that was here and is leaving. This is the one that all too often is the cause of my happiness and of my unhappiness. I fear being lied to again more than anything. I feel that it is wrong of me to give this person anymore leeway. It is wrong of me to be so understanding, so justifying. It is wrong of me to allow this person not to treat me the way, someone said, I deserve to be treated. I deserve to know where this person is, I deserve to know how they feel and what they are thinking. I deserve loving attention and I deserve a person who doesn't constantly cause me grief in one way or another.

At the same time though, I feel selfish in asking for this attention that according to a friend, I deserve. There are deeper things involved here than my happiness or unhappiness. There are bigger things in this world than the offense I feel when I am blown off or not cared about. There is more than the simple fact that to some people, I don't matter...and never will.

Every person thinks of themselves as number one.

I knew going into this thing that it would not be easy to be a part of. But then, one reaps what one sows. If I give this person enough attention...if I love this person enough...someday things will be alright between us. And the "alrightness" will mean more to us than it does to most people. How much sweeter will the contentment be that was fought for?

Much.

The Fire-Eaters

Bloodletting, Earth, Fire, Water, Air....yes, a discourse on Alchemy is in accord.

Alchemy was the midieval version of physics, psychology and medicine in one. The main purpose of alchemy was to convert base metals into gold, but aside from that, the study and practice of Alchemy in the midieval world was also to cure disease and ultimately find immortality.

Death is one of those things that people feared, especially back then. The Black death raviged people. Whole populations were lost.

Medieval thinking was largly based on heiarchies. This general idea can probably be traced to the time of the Romans. I'm not certain to whom to give the due of coming up with the "four basic elements" theory, but Earth, Water, Fire and Air were symbolic of four characteristics that, in the medieval mind, made up everything: dry, cold, moist, hot.
Earth was furthest from heaven, therefore the lowest of the elements, then water, which goes up and comes down as rain, then air, which goes up and stays up, and then fire, which the Sun is made of.

They believed that each person contained four humors which were made up of two characteristics each that symbolized and element.
Blood is hot and moist, and therefore of the element of Air.
Yellow Bile/cholor is hot and dry, therefore made of the element Fire
Phlegm is cold and moist, therefore made of the element Water
Black Bile is cold and dry, therefore made of Earth.

While the modern mind can see a great deal of problems medically that can come of this type of thinking, one must also marvel at it's partial accuracy.
Blood carries oxygen to the cells. Oxygen is found in the air. The midieval mind knew this, even without knowing truly what blood is, nor cells, nor oxygen. In the medieval mind, they knew that one's humor needed to be in balance and that each humor was largely affected by diet. The stomach and liver, to the medieval mind were the entities which converted food into each of the humors.
The idea that one is psychologically affected by the food one eats has enormous truth to it. I know because I've tested this theory on myself. It's a tremendous excercize, if one enjoys eating quite alot, but the practice of fasting should have a moment here in the limelight. Fasting is a fantastic way to clear your mind, not because of hunger pains (if you fast, I encourage you to eat enough to avoid those, but eat things which have life... citrus, leafy greens and water-bearing vegetables and fruits: watermelon more than a banana, celery more than a potato) but because of the profound feeling of being clensed.

Here in America, we eat highly-processed food, that which is usually hot and dry. So we, then are the Fire-eaters. Who also has been at war? We eat fire and therefore have an overload of yellow bile. Are we like Shakespeare's Hotspur, then, ruled by our spleens?
Perhaps our international and internal problems would be solved if we embraced the Spinach leaf...quit babbling about fears of ecoli and ate something healthy for a change.

It was only a harmless musing.

Ah, what evil thoughts lie brooding within my brain! Have I yet died unto my failings? For what end has this person used my fears to make for his or herself a wayward mess to dote upon, perhaps even clean? Is it to my failings that I die? Or to someone elses, my grandfather's perhaps...
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.

And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.

But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!

It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.

Benedick: ...it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my hard that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear by dark bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep Your Ladyshihp still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an' twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird fo my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer. ...

Fair is foul, this is my testimony: If I release my inhibitions, I will lose. I will be driven by my release and then I will lose my focus on all the other things in my life. I have to focus on Shakespeare, Theory, History, the play, the poems, the essays, Russian, German...I don't know what to do. It's all too much, but I have such passion for all of it. The songs, the compositions...my requiem...his tango. Piano, voice, guitar...the things I want to do, I spend my time rather wisely. Nothing I do is something I don't enjoy. But my problem is that I don't have time for all of it all the time, and if I spend my time with him..."releasing" my inhibitions, I allow the focus of my life to shift, and I cannot allow that now. I cannot allow that to happen. I have built my life, my entire life, for as long as I remember, dreaming dreams and living life as fully as I can (except for those times when demons found me) ...
The truth is, I feel that we went too far. We didn't, we really did only play by the rules, but I feel also that how DARE he insinuate that we would get boring without that journey toward a release of inhibition. Inhibition...what is it? Is it my conscience? Perhaps.
The truth is, I love him more deeply than anything else in my life, but I strive to show him who I am, be everything that I am capable and more because that way, and only that way is the way I show myself love, and through that I show him my love too. I just worry that he doesn't see it. He is content to see love the conventional way. Touch.
This has created a problem because I don't see anything the conventional way. In fact, I have made a point in my life not to look at things the conventional way. I have to change my whole theory of thought around if I am to do justice to this man. He is so amazing though...truly, truly amazing. So honest, so loving...so pure. It's impossible to explain how he can be so exciting and so pure at the same time.
I love things that complete one another. Peppermint coffee is hot and cold at the same time...peanut brittle is salty and sweet at the same time, I laugh at cynical jokes, I cry at beauty...Fair is foul, foul is fair...God is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the almighty-all powerful, yet He came and became powerless and died. I love music because it is both objective and subjective and will always be both. I love Don because I am a poet, he is a philosopher, I love him because he is a thinker, I am an artist; he is an amazing man in every way that I am not, and that brings me strength and life and hope. I can only marvel at that love.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.

Thunder Shakes the World and its place is faced with many jabberings.

The thing that gets me is all the people of the world who are anti-catholic. For all of their accusations, for all of the fingers that point at us saying, look at how vile and sinful the Catholic Church is...for all the times I've been the butt of a joke, the object of scrutiny, and judged for my faith, I have yet to go to church and hear a homily of hatred. I have yet to hear a sermon putting someone down. I have yet to hear a priest say that any group of people is damned.

It hurts me. It has always hurt me, that anyone would judge an entire group of people based on the examples of a few.

I suppose I am simply paying for the sins of my Catholic ancestors. They were wrong. Faced with crucades and inquisitions, myriads of people killed for no reason other than the hatred that was the catholic church. That was hundreds of years ago. Since then, to be catholic is to live in humility.

So damn me, world. Yes, world, I am addressing you. Judge me. Damn me. I've been the object of scrutiny all my life for my faith. I dare you.

I have done no one wrong. I have lived my life to honor Jesus Christ, to spread His love. I have never sought to be anything other than an instrument of His peace. I have tried to bring love where there is hatred, I have tried to bring forgiveness where there is hurt, I have tried to bring light where there is darkness, faith where there is doubt. Comfort where there are tears...
But they judge me anyway.

That is life. Just because I face hatred in this world does not mean I will give up my faith or cease to live my life as I have. I am His and His alone.

Fair is foul. Foul is fair.

Madness

I had a strange dream last night. It involved a peanut festival. There was this farmish place and five or six peanut-celebrating events. Steve, my brother and I were playing dice to win some peanuts somehow, and he kept throwing in more dice than were needed. He wasn't cheating, he was teasing me. I was furious and stormed off. Then there was this Cathedral, because for some reason the choirs from Concordia were there. We (Chapel Choir) were all in our robes, and Tim the Amazing was there playing an electric piano and screwing up the acoustics. Rene Clausen was furious but nobody knew it was Tim because he was under blankets and a big beach umbrella in the balcony. And in the building below there was a hallway leading away from the church and there was a room, rather a wall that read: "The Recovery from Oostburg" and something to do with lemons. When I opened the door to the room it had a bingo bar in it, and the wall collapsed and made alot of noise so I ran down the hallway and woke up.
It was so much more vivid when I was sleeping.

Cast off thy nighted cloak.

Forgive yourself, Hamlet. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't all your fault.

Letter

Wouldn't you like to do Hamlet? I think he could be organised delightfully into three pictures: 1) Elsinore and Hamlet before the appearance of his father's ghost; (2) Polonius (scherzando) and Ophelia (adagio) (3) Hamlet after the appearance of the ghost. His death and Fortinbras...After Hamlet I considered Francesca, and she really is beginning to please me!...Then, if Iago worries you, why not do the tale of Othello by himself? Indeed, he does merit a symphonic tableau! As you see, Hamlet is the only new subject I've devised...but if only you knew how much I wish you'd write music on my subject....


Modest to Petr Tchaikovsky
"The Lives of the Great Composers"
Schonberg

Blue

If I am blue, I'm not certain that I want to change to another color. It would explain why certain things happen; it would explain my cycles of various shades of blue.
So I could go to an artist and ask him or her what color I am. And he or she may say that I am red, blue, or yellow. Because they're ARTISTS! They get PAID to tell people what color they are. They have no interests except to make money and to paint you. And even if they're RIGHT; even if they ARE right and I am in fact, a color I oughtn't be...even then...do I really want to change? I felt such joy when a certain magic penguin asked me a certain question concerning the rest of my life. I remember the profound joy I felt at that moment. But I don't feel that way all of the time. In fact, sometimes I feel more depressed than ever about my answer to him. If I were a shade of blue, it would explain this change of color. Varying from light to dark blue would be natural.
What if I'm being rational though? Given my age, the circumstances of the question, the circumstances of the answer...given the loneliness we'd both faced this semester, given the intensities and pastinesses of our lives...I don't see how I am not being rational in wishing to rethink this. It is most dramatic to say that I am a color I oughtn't be. Perhaps he's a color he oughtn't be. In fact, that thought is far more plausable than my color being ary.
As far as desires go, I feel that he is quite too hung up on them. I feel that this entire pallate can easily go badly because, after all, Boo Radley is involved in this, isn't he?

And then I remember my tearful frenzy of colors and personalities that never ceases to amaze even myself. I've got much to do, and extremely little time. But if such minds could save from death Astronauts of Apollo 13, certainly my far inferior one can accomplish a far inferior task such as studying for this silly final.

I don't want to switch to Google!

There are certain people on this earth that I cannot stand. I grant myself that I am not a perfect person. I also grant myself that I don't always make the correct choice or the right decisions. But I also don't know what I can do about certain people who look at me with their condescending eyes, knowing that they have succeeded and I have failed, and smirk because they are pleased that it is so. The thing that gets me the most angry about it is that they have the right to do so. They are better at this than I am. They also are loved by most other people and I gradually have become more and more bitter, even to the point at which I seek simple things, worldly, fleshly things to sedate my anger.

When it was boys, everything was fine with her, but a five minute conversation with my dad on the phone was altogether unacceptable. I find it a direct derivative of my gender versus her gawdy anger.

I love the look of things on other things, or in other things. Like when mixing paint or glue.

Magic Penguins

So, I've decided that I should create an insanity club. Perhaps akin to the Benevolent Mad People of our most gracious Captain. Of course, now things are much different. For one, stress is a part of life, like breathing. Or peanut butter. Stress is like peanut butter...
My roommates do not understand me. Simply put, they don't. They try. They do really try. But they don't understand my need to be crazy and "random" as they put it. There's nothing wrong with the way I am. I don't hurt anyone or wish them harm. I'm just different, I try to be, and it's not a bad thing. I just annoy them, I guess. So I'm taking this next couple of minutes to balistically type in the library, thus making as much noise as one can in an acceptable fashion.
So, on the subject of magic penguins, one has entered my life and reaped some havok, in fact. This particular magic penguin came into the room and stole all of the vending machines. Yes, and because of the lack of vending machines, I cried. Yea! I wept with tears of joy for my over-caffeinated existance was finally coming to an end as the great mountain dew spread upon my brow and itched.
Until of course, you realize exactly what I'm saying. Realize. Real eyes. Realize. Real lies. Real eyes realize real lies. Alright.
The benevolent madness hath permeated my existance for some time now. Per meat. Ed.
He came into my life, I welcomed him right in, not knowing what he'd be to me or the things he'd bring with him. I think that this problem is easily remedied.
No.

Fair is foul, foul is fair. I feel that because of my underlying foulness somehow I must have done something right along the way. After all, there is now a magic penguin in my life. I wonder about him though. He seems to be an aloof magic penguin these days.

How is it that I care so much about this person? This person I don't know. This person who is so different from me? It isn't sane. But what about my life is sane? What about my life has ever been sane? Partially I think he realizes how insane this is. But partially I think that if I disappeared from the face of the earth no one, no, not even he would notice. And that is a dangerous thought for me to be thinking this year, for, with all the ice in the sky, with all the glass on the trees, the world is full of edges. And, edges become chasms and chasms are things that will allow me to fall through. Sinisterly, I must go out into the darkness of midday and sing merry songs of hope, even though my present demeanor is strung so thin. Almost as thin as the strings of lights on the trees.

Fair is foul
foul is fair.
Hover through fog and filthy air.

I'm in a smoke filled room. My immune system is down. I need to focus on homework. Everthing is going so slowly. I feel awful. I am set up to go back to school early. I'm being very selfish. I'm missing out on Steve's birthday and missing all my friends. Elizabeth.
But this is of my own making. Damn. Why is it that I can never do anything right?!

If I only could, I would tell you just how fair foul is and just how foul fair is.

Many a day passes with Fair and Foul

I hate two things in the adult life I am entering. Money is one. Politics is the other. I hate politics not because I'm ignorant of them, snubbing them like so many people do. So many people are so ignorant of the current state of our country that it's rediculous. People don't use their right to vote, and it sickens me. How busy can you be America? The only power that we have is the right to vote. Millions of people have died fighting to preserve it in wars. The only foreward steps we have are the steps we take when we vote.
But then I think: if I could have voted in the last presidential election, who would I have voted for? I value almost everything the Democrats value. I value peace and government funding for higher education and better health care for the lower class. I value sticking up for the little guy in business, I value equality and justice. I value these things more than lowering taxes, fighting wars for reasons that change: oil, to stabalize the economy, to find weapons of mass distruction or getting a tyrant out of office. I think that to protect this country, we build a better funded CIA, and fund the institutions at which scientists may develop weapons of mass defense.
But the Democratic party has twisted their values to become something altogether different than what people are willing to vote for. Kerry in the last election was an abomination. Who wants to support public education? The democrats. Largely, the democrats want to increase funding so that everyone gets a decent education K-12. Kerry went to private schools. He studied abroad...there's nothing wrong with that, but it's the you-practice-what-you-preach thing. How can he improve public education when he never experienced it? HE volunteered for Nam? The single most outspoken democrat I know, a former teacher, was drafted and went to Nam too. He would make a great president, but he opposed Nam then, he generally opposes war altogether...and he would NEVER have volunteered for Nam. The only reason Kerry said that was so that he could appeal to the Right. But he doesn't appeal to anyone. I couldn't have brought myself to vote for him. This next election scares me too. I want someone who will try to find an end to Iraq. We need to fight terrorism with understanding and unite this nation before we try to fight the wars of other nations. I won't vote to the right, I refuse to vote left if they are as weak as they have shown themselves to be. That's got to be why many people don't go to the polls. The fate of all mankind, I see, is in the hands of fools.

Fair is foul

Things are every bit as muddled as they were in the 70s. They're also every bit as clear. This is the beginning of another epic battle. The East versus the West. The two main groups that almost everyone on earth fits into. There are Pink monks eating Blue raisins. And there are Blue monks eating Pink raisins. Studiously I have observed. And I myself eat blue and pink raisins, but never, never have I ever eaten a monk, nor have I ever seen a raisin eat a monk.
It is when the food that we eat eats us that the trouble starts. And I'm not just talking raisins. I'm talking our religious beliefs, the food we live on, the mother's milk of our lives. The life we live is going to be hard and rough, much rougher than our parent's lives. I don't know if it's America that will be invaded, or if it is Saudi Arabia, or if Lebonon will attack and kill all of the people of Israel, or if Israel will attack and kill all of the people of Lebonon; Perhaps this whole thing will blow over peacefully and be forgotten in ten or twenty years. Kosovo was forgotten by many. I remember it only as a word repeated on the news as a child. I'm still not certain what it was about. There is no more great rallying for peace with thousands of people coming together to protest something. There is so little shouting in the streets, not like the 60s and 70s, when everything was a mob-scene-bordering-on-riot. I'm not saying I want to see rioting. I want to see people caring about the world and it's state. The world could be a beautiful place if people would step up and register to vote.

I'm so lucky to have a family who loves me.

Housework, the doldrums, and living with your folks, the beginning of the end.

They sit me down and decide that they want to have a serious discussion with me. I'm only going to be living at home for a few more weeks. Then I'm going to be stuck in a car mit sie for a few weeks. It'll be different, but I know from my memory and from journals that I'm the most difficult one to travel with in my family. I'm also the most difficult to live with. I know this, but there isn't much I can do short of sulking, in which case they pester me into confessing what is wrong.
My biggest fault is NOT that I am lazy. It is that I have alot on my mind. For so long I beat myself up thinking I was a slug, a rotten, good-for-nothing slug who was bound for failure because of lack of modivation and effort. Not true. My parents think that it's immaturity. It's not that either. I'm not a naturally organized person. I am naturally chaotic, not to a disgusting state...I like things to be sterilized, but cluttered. And who are my parents to judge me on that, they-who-invented-the-word "Glom"? My parents are every bit as disorganized as I am. And I admit that sometimes things don't get done that they ask me to do...however, when things DO get done, they go unnoticed. I clean the kitchen nearly every day, many days twice. But the kitchen is a place that is constantly being used, and because everyone has different schedules for eating...so the kitchen is never truly clean. If they decide to tell me that the kitchen must be clean at the end of every day before bed, I could understand that...maybe that's what I'll suggest. I also clean the bathrooms before any company comes over. The parents never ever notice this. I vacuumed the other day, and dusted the piano, and folded laundry and mopped the kitchen floor and brushed the dog. All of this went unnoticed. The only things that get noticed are the things left undone. But that's the way life is too, that's the way it is in any workplace or in any school project. Except with my parents it isn't a matter of passing or failing. It is a matter of appeasement, and I DO try to make them happy and proud of me.
I've never defied them, I've never gone out drinking, never played with fireworks or knives, I've never made a serious life-affecting choice that I regretted, I have a higher GPA than either of them did when they were my age. I am going to a much smaller, safer school than either of them went to. I have denied myself of every great rebelliousness to honor them...TV, videogames, pop music, materialisticness. I became a musician because my father is a musician, I remained shy and reserved because my mom is shy and reserved. I don't regret my strong bonds with them.
But this is my life. Not theirs. I shouldn't NEED them. I should love them. I should love them not because I need them but because I love them for raising me and because they are the wonderful people that they are. I shouldn't have come home this summer. It was a mistake, a grave one, because now my relationship with them has gone from "dependant minor" to "independant adult who is mooching off us and being immature about it to boot"
They worry about me, mom says, because I forget to do things around the house. She has told me that I am flaky. I agree. At college, I write everything down. They also think that I'm tremendously immature, or at least it seems that they must think that.

On my maturity. I connect with adults very very well. If Mom or Dad ever saw me in action at either of my jobs, they'd see how well I interact with adults. I had TWO intelligent conversations with customers today, one about Opera, the other about Russia. More often than not, I find myself knowing far more than they do about things. I never try to come off snobbish, and it's very arrogant of me to even have such a thought, but I am quite certain that I read and write more than and am all around better educated than many adults in Luverne. And I generally enjoy the company of those people who are as intelligent or more so than myself. Logan for instance...that kid is WAY more intelligent than I am...I have a year on him, so I keep up, but he knows alot, and if I make an error, he knows. Jessa and Bethany are the same way. Elizabeth is four years younger than I, but FAR better read than I am. In fact, there isn't a single one person whom I consider my friend whose talents or capabilities don't surpass my own. Thus, I hold every single friend in very high regard.
They don't think that I'm necessarily think that I'm immature in that sense, the connect-with-people sense. They think that I'm immature in the "small-town naive girl who knows nothing of the big bad world sense," that I don't know how to manage myself, a career, or money on my own without their guidance. But I haven't asked them for a cent since I left for college. They've given me plenty, and I've accepted all of their gifts with thanks, but not once did I write home saying "send me more money" and I was reluctant (and remain so) to ask for anything at all. They should not have to pay my phone bill, they should not have to pay any sort of loan bill at all...even though they are. I'm not going to give myself an ulcer worrying about my education and how I will pay for it. God will provide, and I am His and His alone. But I won't hold them responsible for "bailing me out" either. I understand why they are so worried about my financial security: they've experienced financial instability and they don't want me to feel that same way ever. They also don't believe in the "good debt, bad debt" philosophy. Good debt is when you take out a loan for a house or a car or an education, bad debt is when you go into credit card debt, debt because of things that prove little worth to you later on. My parents worry that I will choose the wrong thing and be unhappy for the whole of my life. But if I go the way of God how can I be unhappy? My life doesn't belong to them, my life doesn't belong to me, nor to Debt, nor to Happiness. My life doesn't belong to any thing of this earth. It is the things of the next world that I concern myself with, and therefore any debt or surplus is meaningless...something that will be left behind. But I don't think I can say that to them. I think if I said that to them, they'd have me committed...they'd accuse me of using my religeousness as an excuse for being immature about life choices. I think that they're torn themselves. I'm a musician, a dreamer, a poet, a scholar. None of those things make any money. Musicians, dreamers, poets, scholars...those people face lives of poverty (Mozart had a pauper's grave), hunger(Handel lived on the streets for 8 years when he was young), depression(Van Gogh killed himself). My parents are simultaneously impressed and dissappointed that I am this musician/poet/dreamer/scholar. They'd been hoping for someone who would be "successful" as well. They don't expect me to become a millionaire, but they seem to be disappointed that I don't have any monetary goal in mind for the future. They seem to be disappointed that I'm around the house so much. I think they'd hoped that I'd be living with them, but hardly ever around because of my work. I think they'd hoped that I'd be driven by money this summer, not by these dreams and rants and bursts of inspiration because of the wind or the Bible or an opera. Or perhaps they don't think that I'm inspired at all. I could be the most fabulous opera singer in the world, and my Dad would think I was so so. I've studied voice classically for nearly four years now, and he's never once shown any appreciation or even iota of being impressed. I've also composed things, and he doesn't even seem to like my compositions, though I've been told by upperclassmen at Concordia that my knack for it is extremely impressive. But I don't do it for him. He's a silly old man who made many sacrifices for his family, for his career as a means for that family. While that is terribly valient of him, he lost his creative edge. He hasn't composed, unless in secret, since his college days. Reality struck him, he put his musicianship and composership aside and he made a way for himself to have a family. And the fruit of that bounty is that he has one, one that loves him and always will. But that doesn't mean that it's going to be my path too. He expects it to be. They both expect me to fall deeply in love with someone very soon, and then decide that I too will want a family and a normal career and financial stability. But I don't know that. I haven't met anyone, I don't intend to go out looking, I DETEST most college boys and the ones I don't detest are all either gay or taken, and even if I DID find a college boy who wasn't gay or taken and I didn't detest him and I fell in love, well, then of course life will take it's due course and we'll manage somehow. But for me to plan all of that out at the age of 19 is a rediculous thing. They don't expect me to plan that all out at this age of course, but in order to keep my edge musically and intellectually and linguistically and spiritually, I have to close some doors. I don't have time for a computers class, nor do I have much interest in computers right now. I don't have time for a business class because I have no interest in running a business, at least until I'm retired, then I fancy running a little shop that would sell books and bakeries and candies and candles and coffees and soaps and my own knit scarves and all sorts of pleasant, comforting things. I can't keep all my options open. I won't live anyone's dream but my own, and that is to fulfill my calling, which isn't entirely clear to me yet, but at least I'm LISTENING and PRAYING about it, which is more than many people do. So many people follow only their own desires and they often wind up very unhappy.
I'm not unhappy, though I do have the doldrums. I am worried about my parents. I want them to be happy, but I know that regardless of who I was or what I was as long as they can still reach me and influence my life, they will push me to be more than I already am. I only wish that that push was coming from God and not from them. Perhaps God is going through them, perhaps that is it. I hope so. It's so hard to listen to what they have to say because they both can be so inconsistant, and I'm a basketcase half the time too. It's so hard because they are completely and TOTALLY wrong about some things, they are completely and totally RIGHT about some things, they are bad communicators at times, bad listeners at times and I am the same. It causes the situation to be full of ultimate frustration which gets nowhere.
They want to talk with me about something tomorrow, and all I know is that it has to do with my whole life and that it probably has to do with something that they feel is wrong or amiss with my whole life (otherwise they wouldn't want to have a discussion).