Oh, spite.

How often are we in genuine, open dialogue with one another?

How much of my life do I spend listening with a conclusion already drawn or an answer already anticipated? I have yet to do the actual math, but I am sure the figure would be staggering. My ability to automatically assume what someone will think of what I have to say is uncanny.

Case in point, today the woman from University Laundry decided to engage me in a little dialogue. We began talking and it was pleasant because she was a pleasant person. She mentioned that she had lived in Fort Worth before while attending seminary. I immediately asked, "Oh? Did you go to Brite?!" looking to foster another DOC connection. However, my hopes were crushed when she told me that she attended Southwestern Seminary. Guess where my mind went next . . .

Later on in the conversation, she asked me about my future plans career-wise, major-wise, etc. I told her I was thinking seriously about ministry and going to seminary. She nodded and asked me what I wanted to do with that. This question from anyone with a presumably conservative background tends to boil my blood, because I automatically assume everyone should accept and affirm that I can preach from behind a pulpit despite my obvious inferiority as the weaker sex! . . . Oh, and that I am about to be judged as stepping outside my intended role as a woman of the Lord.

Instead this woman told me that was nice and asked me if I had had the opportunity to do anything ministry related yet. I told her no and probably wanted to cry a little because I knew who of the two of us was really the closeted, close-minded bigot. Luckily, I was chopping onions so my eyes were already fuzzy.

This may be customary but . . .

I was just looking at pictures from a friend's wedding and there was a picture of the groom removing the bride's garter at the reception. This allowed for me to meditate on how uncomfortable that seems as an experience.

"Hey, we just got married. Why don't you reach up my dress while I hike it up in front of our family and friends and pull this lacy garment off my thigh?" I think that exact dialogue is exchanged everytime this takes place. This only serves as a reminder of the several "socially acceptable" things that happen, which I consider completely unnerving. Other choice examples include:

1. Parents putting their children on leashes. Unless your child is going to try and eat me, I hardly think forced restraint is necessary. I've never seen any parent who I would consider "attentive" with a kid on a leash. Maybe he or she lets her guard down because they have the security of the leash . . . or maybe they were never good at watching the child and that's why there is now a leash.
2. When people walk around department store dressing rooms only partially dressed. We are complete strangers. You half-naked is nothing I wish to see upon our first encounter, especially when there are mirrors everywhere so that no matter how I try to avert my eyes-- I am looking right at you.
3. Men going inside strores that are explicitly for women. If he is accompanied by a woman, I can get over it, but why are you alone in Victoria's Secret, creepy? I promise your wife/girlfriend/pretend playmate would appreciate your gift a million times more if she had the solace of knowing you didn't creep out other female patrons while buying it.

I may be petty, but I am convicted. Some things that we "turn the other way" on are not okay. No one should have to stay on their leash while watching half naked men peruse Victoria's Secret. That will be my presidential platform when I run in 2036.

"I can't stop your memory."

I have a deep propensity for memories. I remember so much . . . not due dates or appointments, but important things. There are certain perfectly controlled climates and instances that make my memory of events and people and feelings infinitely sharper. Today is one of those days.

When the wind chaps my lips and the cold bites my skin, and every sharp intake of air travels through me to the point that my stomach feels a little colder, I remember so many things.

I remember sitting in my tree swing listening to The Sex Pistols because I was so hardcore. I remember raking leaves so I could jump into them before my dad was home. I remember begging my dad to make a fire and then forcing him to play guitar while we sat by it roasting marshmallows on wire hangers. I remember running barefoot in the creek even though it was fifty degrees.

I do not know what I will remeber about today, the first authentically fall day of this year. Maybe nothing.

That poem I wrote that one time about rain.

Because it started raining on me while I was walking to class today:

I dreamt the sky wrenched open and left me covered,
A clean and tidy canvas where colors ran.
Hydrated. Saturated. Satisfied.
Form less defined-- hue more vivid still,
A comfort in the raw stillness.
Still- I shivered in distaste.
Embarassed and so flushed.
While thickly concealed,
In clearest paint--
Call attention.
Drip. Drop.

I've given up on counting. I hate math.

I think it is vital that I report to a this extremely read and praised journal that the pumpkin pie in The Main today was the worst thing I have ever experienced. First of all-- when I put my fork into it, it oozed water. When I tried to pick it up with my fork, it did not move from the plate. When I finally shoveled it into my mouth it immediately melted and turned into water. This is not a joke. My favorite gourd could be ruined forever.

Day 235: A bottle of water.

My mouth was ridiculously dry all day today. While this is completely literal, it could be figurative too. Today was so lack-lustre and I hated every restless minute of it. There are of course a few hours of exception to the previous statment, but as an overarching generalization-- it is quite accurate.

Day 234: A dinosaur.

Today in a class the observation was made that our thoughts and opinions do indeed change. I do not believe the same as I did when I was ten years old. I still think dinosaurs are awesome, but I have found other passions in life. It was introspecitve for awhile, but then I just got caught up in this one thought:

I used to be in a club that drew pictures of weird dinosaurs we "invented." We then assigned each other new dinosaurs to be. As if this is not ridiculous enough . . . I was cool in fifth grade. I did things like this and I was popular. I am not even kidding. I did weird things like this and I was really cool.

We'll say 233 . . .ish.

I have yet again let time and committment elude me. I think it is a little funny that I do not manage to make an entry in this everyday. I used to be extremely devoted to my online journalings. However, I have been experiencing a journal writing drought not only electronically, but with my inkwell and scroll as well.

I could say it is because I have been busy. I could accredit my neglect to apathy. I could even invent an excuse involving alien abduction. However, all three of these are equally far from the truth. The reality is that I received an e-mail from the TCU English Department. The aforementioned e-mail included an invitation to enter TCU's Creative Writing Contest.

I thought this sounded utterly appealing so I decided I should enter. After looking over a few working drafts I already had in what could very loosely be considered "my portfolio", I decided that I find my writing poor and childish. I rarely read over my creative writing because I know I will find it insipid. I never let anyone else read it because I am worried they will agree. This is why I abandoned any dreams of being a writer because I fear criticism.

So I have been battling my own critical eye the past two weeks. The battle was so fierce that I stopped all writing (with the exception of academic, non-creative formats) so I could focus in on why I think I am so terrible. I still do not have an answer. The only quasi-answer I have formulated is . . . maybe I am not terrible. Perhaps I am simply a coward.

Then I remembered: I am a coward. I prefer maintaining the status quo to taking the risk that may cause me to fall flat on my face. This is a ridiculous way to live my life, especially in regards to something I am passionate about.

So come November 16th, I will be bold. I am going to submit some work and if it is terrible it will be terrific. I did win a poetry contest in 7th grade and my mom thinks I am a genius. Does this qualify me? Affirmative.