a tumble of thoughts

I wanted to write something intelligent tonight. I wanted to share with you some of the lessons I’ve learned lately or some of the anecdotes that my life seems to provide in abundance.

But it seems that I am just too tired.

My fingers clitter-clatter over the keys and I make up onomatopoeia and nothing really profound appears in the aftermath.

I am still living on an island.

I am still keeping track of how many more days must pass until I no longer have to wake up to a 5:30am alarm six days a week. (47 more days.)

I am still in love with horses and the sound of waves and the way the world smells just after it rains.

I am still vibrantly alive, more so than I ever dreamed was possible in the madness of the last few semesters of school.

It is funny, how coming to Mackinac where everything is slower has quickened my thirst for life.

Because everything is slower here.

The fastest you can go on the island is 50mph when you’re biking down the three steepest hills, and that’s against the law and so you have to risk a $100 ticket. The fastest you can legally go on the island is 25mph on your bike, and I don’t have a bike so for me it’s walking or horse-drawn carriage.

Horses don’t go too fast, especially around here.

So everything is slower on the island.

Time doesn’t move slower here, but it does seem to kind of get lost. Like, I intellectually know that it is July 10th and my summer is half gone. But it doesn’t feel like July to me. Heck, it doesn’t even feel like I exist in the same dimension as time belongs in.

Most days I have no idea what the date is or what day of the week it is, or even what time it is—short of hungry vs. not-so-hungry moments.

Life is blurry and drowsy and sometimes it’s disjointed around the edges. Life is horse kisses and horse manure and telling jokes about horse pee because it makes the tourists laugh and when they laugh they sometimes tip me. Life is good songs and songs that I’m sick of and hearing all my music so often that I despair and want to hurl my headphones across the lake.

Here on the island you can’t ever be more than four miles from anywhere else on the island.

I had a child ask on my tour the other day where my horse’s arms were. My roommate had someone ask her how much the island weighed and how many trees there are on the island.

You can never get more than four miles away from the questions here, from the entitlement of the rich and the young and the millennials, from the bikers who haven’t sat on a bike in years and years and years.

Life is compressed. It’s slow. It’s early mornings and it’s long days and it never sleeps.

And sometimes, life is worth it.

Sometimes life has Oscar.

Oscar is old.

He knows things. He’s seen things.

(Maybe numerically I’m older, but you know wisdom when you see it.)

Sometimes, in the morning, when I’m trying too hard to stay pleasant because the barn is chaos and my patience is thinnest when I’m tired, Oscar nuzzles my face and gazes at me with eyes so steady and deep and pure that I think maybe I’ve just caught a glimpse of what heaven might be like.

And then sometimes Oscar goes out in the corral and rolls in the mud until he’s no longer a white horse and I have to transform him back from the brown horse that he’s become, and then I think that there’s no heaven in Oscar at all.

There is pain in the world, and degradation, and inequality, and death. And it’s here, even on Mackinac, where life is so abundant and vibrant.

Life wends its way past death with the clatter of hooves and the cushion of obliviousness and the cheery smile of a tour guide.

I’m tired.

I miss church.

I miss friends and family so deeply that I can’t sleep without them walking through my dreams, but it’s wonderful because I wake with the echo of their hugs.

This summer has already been both fantastic and tragic, both giddy and despairing.

Over the next 47 days—days made edgeless by sleeplessness and routine—why should I expect any less tempestuous a ride?

When everything is disjointed, I am so glad to be held by the God who is the I Am.

– Melissa

Kumbaya by Rend Collective

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Vitality

I think I expected college to transform me into some greater version of myself, to wake me up and revitalize me and just generally embolden me.

And while college changed me and grew me, it wasn’t in those ways that I had expected.

This blog is as close to a chronicle of those changes as anyone’s going to get, short of standing me up next to my past self and marking down all the differences between us, and I think it bears pretty clear testimony to the fact that the last three years have left me tired.

Tired and ready to run.

The funny thing is that I didn’t even come to Mackinac with the intent to run from what was hurting me. I just came because I needed a job and thought I wanted an adventure and liked horses.

Yet Mackinac has proven to be a more rejuvenating retreat than I could have known to request, if I thought to request a retreat at all. And it’s also a strange place to feel so deeply revitalized, because this isn’t your traditional mountain-top spiritual hideaway.

I am working long hours with people who, while kind, do not share my faith. There are no pastors daily pumping me full of well-considered interpretations of scripture or guitarists inviting me to join them in songs of faith-fueled praise.

Even so, I am more at peace than I have felt in a long time.

Possibly because Michigan air is easier to breathe.

Which I mean a little bit literally, because I grew up on Bakersfield air so dirty that you can chew it up, spit it out, and build a sooty sandcastle out of it. But metaphorically too.

Life itself feels more abundant here.

Even after nearly three weeks I find myself still silently gasping in delight when I catch sight of Lake Huron as I round the corner to stage along the point, still nearly laughing aloud when I pause to consider the fact that I am holding the lines to a team of horses the same way that my ancestors did.

Lately I laugh a lot.

And if you know me, you’re probably smiling because that’s what you expected. But if you’ve known me during school, when the trying to juggle classes and people and fear and exhaustion have transformed me into a snarling disaster of a person, then you might begin to guess how refreshing it is to laugh.

People smile at me because I am always smiling. They chuckle because I dash at new tasks with such enthusiasm, even though I’m tired and kind of just want to go home. And their amusement brings me more joy, which only increases the infectiousness of my laughter.

I truly do feel as though I’m breathing easier. As though life were painted in brighter colors than it was before.

Contentment and restfulness bring a certain vibrancy to the world.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t feel particularly well-rested. Even today, on my day off when I’ve slept in and napped and generally relaxed all day long, I am yawning with exhaustion before I’ve even eaten dinner.

Nonetheless, these few weeks in Michigan have brought me a certain level of restfulness.

There’s been heartache, too, and my tears have mingled with my desperate begging to the heavens for explanation of things I can’t understand.

But through it all, this peace. This knowledge that I am both where I’m supposed to be and where I want to be. And this almost audible song of celebration coming from everything around me.

I really don’t know how else to describe it, and kind of feel like I’m chasing my tail now as I try to explain.

It’s as though I’m alive again.

As if a person I’d long forgotten how to be is emerging from the storm of the past few years, and she hasn’t forgotten how to be bold or courageous or outgoing. (She has forgotten how to love to run and be active, but we’ll cross the exercise bridge some day in the maybe-never future.)

All that said, I am eager for this summer to end if only to end the torture of the crazy-early mornings. While I have settled into the routine of awakening at 5:30 every morning, I still don’t like it. And every morning I get a little closer to clinging to my pillow and sobbing at the thought of being parted from it.

I guess I don’t have much energy left for a well-worded conclusion. It’s taken long enough to just achieve anything like sense on this page.

My heart-song doesn’t much want to be translated today.

Anyway. Life is an adventure, and I’m so happy to be living this chapter of it. Feel free to come visit and write yourself in.

– Melissa

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world. /Psalm 19:1-4a/

I’m Actually Covered in Horse Hair

There are three really big hills here on the island. There’s Turkey Hill, which we don’t take tour carriages up or down. There’s Mission Hill, which is off by the east bluffs and which I’ve only driven down once. And there’s Grand Hill, which goes up past the Grand Hotel and which we drive multiple times a day.

When we take our horses up Grand Hill with full carriages, we give them multiple breaks, just because the carriage is so heavy and because we want them to pace themselves. They are nowhere near overworked, but we’re still careful. (Actually, they just get diva treatment all the time and can I please have their job instead of mine because oh my goodness.)

I think that, more than learning how to give a tour of Mackinac or learning how to drive a carriage, this summer is going to be about learning to pace myself.

All this week I have been going full throttle, throwing myself into the work and finding a new task as soon as I finish whatever I’m doing. And I don’t regret it, because I’ve proved to my superiors and peers that I’m both dedicated and competent, and I’ve moved quickly through training and should be done sooner than later, but oh boy am I tired.

I didn’t even fully realize how exhausted I am until I was stripping harnesses off horses at the end of today and met eyes with a quiet old gelding.

Horses’ eyes are actually magical, and they can plumb the depths of your soul without even trying.

So when our gazes locked, suddenly the lack of sleep and the trying so hard and the lurking anxiety and everything else just washed over me and my whole being acknowledged my weariness and tears rushed to my eyes and all I could do was burrow my face in the horse’s neck and focus on keeping my breathing steady. Believe it or not, I’m not a fan of bursting into tears in the middle of a barn of people I’ve worked with for less than a week.

Horses got cared for and I clocked out with dry eyes, but as soon as I got back to my room, I just let myself fall onto my back on the floor and lay there as I felt the tears trickle down my cheek to my hairline.

I legitimately love my job. I love the horses and everything that caring for them entails. (Except maybe the getting hit with overspray during morning baths. Because that’s freaking cold.) I love the driving and how I’m learning to keep the carriage where I want it at the speed I want it. I love the tour and discovering all the fantastic history of this island. I love my roommates and how we laugh and commiserate and explore. And I love the lake and the trees and the wildflowers and the quaint little buildings that are older than I can quite comprehend.

But I am so tired.

Part of me feels weak for needing tomorrow off, even though the day was just assigned to me; I didn’t have to ask for it or whatever. I want to be able to work harder, longer, faster than expected, to keep pace with the people who’ve been doing this for years. I want my tour to be spectacular, my driving to be flawless, my harnessing to be seamless right now.

Like the team I drove yesterday, Elvis and Hogan, I want to throw myself into the weight of the load and just push it until my heart gives out and I fall over.

Being paced is hard. Pacing myself is proving even harder.

And yes, I have lost count of how many of my coworkers have told me to slow down, catch my breath, and take it easy this week. At one point, I got sent out to the wash rack to cool off because I looked so frazzled and overheated. Oops.

I’ve lost the concentration necessary to bring this to any cohesive conclusion, because it’s after 7pm and way too close to fall-into-bed time. So suffice it to say that my goal for tomorrow is to rest up, and my goal for my next week of work is to strike a balance between giving it my all and not overdoing it. Because if I hit this tired again and providence doesn’t provide a day off the next day, I’ll end up sobbing or sick or both. And everyone up here tells me that it’s next to impossible to get healthy again once you’re sick.

Also, if you need a summer job, check out openings on Mackinac. They’re still hiring at a lot of places, and the island is fantastic.

Sleep well, my people. I know I’m going to.

– Melissa

P.S. This week I’ve spent a lot of time meditating on the words to Whatever Comes by Rend Collective, and it’s been such an encouragement. Check it out here!

“quince (that’s a fruit)”

The world’s quite a place, really. If you think about it.

We totter about on two appendages—that are crowned with five much smaller appendages apiece—and we mutter syllables that we’ve decided to interpret in a given way, and we almost never bat an eye about how strange the whole scenario is.

What am I talking about?

I have no idea.

In an entirely different vein, it’s Saturday night, even though I just briefly thought it to be Friday, and I’m sitting at home rather than mingling with my peers at the theatre Halloween party. I was really hoping that more people might ask me today what I was going as so that I could wittily respond with some variation of, “An introvert! Because introverts don’t do parties and neither am I tonight!”

But hey, please don’t make my personality type a costume. This is serious and a key part of my identity.

(This is when I wonder if you’re going to be highly offended by my insensitivity, and I kind of hope that you’ll either laugh or roll your eyes, and I vaguely suspect that this is where some of you hit the back button on your browser and we resume our separated and opinionated lives.)

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks for me, between school and work and auditioning a show for community theatre and picking up a murder mystery gig, and I’m really just enjoying my evening off.

In case you were wondering, one of the many reasons that I choose not to drink alcohol is that, when I’ve had a long exhausting day of doing practically nothing and I just need to drink something out of a wine glass, I can have that third glass of cran-apple juice with no consequences other than the knowledge that I’ve consumed a bit more sugar than I probably ought to have allowed myself. Juice is my favorite.

Also, exciting news: I think I’ve finally made peace with the concept of a mouse living in my room enough that I might actually sleep in here tonight! I crashed on my housemate’s bedroom floor last night because I was having a breakdown for the second night in a row and it was just easier to avoid the meltdown. The night before that I had a meltdown during the breakdown and ended up sleeping on the couch.

All that said, I don’t know exactly what I want to say, so instead of writing something deep, thought-provoking, or absolutely hilarious, I have decided that today I’m going to share 10 Facts (that you may or may not be one of the five or so people to already know) about me.

1. I’ve had the same favorite color—purple—for my entire life, but I developed a fondness for the color orange in junior high simply because Abbie and I were sharing a room, and the color scheme couldn’t be pink (her favorite color) and purple because that combination makes her nauseous. So we settled on pink and orange and I claimed orange as my almost-favorite color.

2. I hate lady bugs. Truly. I’m also borderline terrified of them. I know the hatred of them stems from the disgust of having the chrysalises of Abbie’s escaped lady bug larvae around the rim of the dinner table, and idly messing with the edge of the table at dinner just to discover that you’d mutilated a pupa. So disgusting. The terror comes with the fact that they are a six-legged creature.

3. I’m not actually afraid of the dark, even though my nervousness about what’s in the dark can make it seem that way. Night is one of my favorite times and I wish we lived in a safe enough world that I could become nocturnal without worrying about getting attacked as I wander trance-like through the darkness.

4. I keep a spare jug of cran-apple juice on the floor of my closet. I’ve run out of juice one (or seven) too many times, and cran-apple is (as you may have gleaned from me drinking three glasses tonight) one of my lowkey addictions. Someday I’ll have a pantry full of the stuff, but until then I’m using my closet.

5. I’ve had quite a few lucid dreams (maybe 10% of my dreams?) and apparently that’s not super common? I saw some gadget on facebook the other day that’s supposed to help you have lucid dreams and I got super confused because…why? It’s not that great. It’s cool, I guess, but not spectacularly so.

6. I cannot eat tomato soup. And no, I don’t mean that I really don’t like tomato soup. I cannot keep the stuff down because it is that repulsive. Truth be told, even the smell makes me pretty queasy.

7. I don’t particularly love driving and I’m a total homebody, but I love road trips. Yeah. Try figuring out the logic behind that one.

8. I have always slept with white noise, and I find it genuinely strange that people can sleep in “silence”, partly because silence never is. Maybe out in the country where the only sounds are the wind and the ambient insects the whispers of nature are as effective as a box-fan, but it never is silent where I have lived and yet people persist on sleeping without a fan on…!

9. I have never broken any bones, but I have gotten three stitches because of a crazy accident at church. …I think I’m not going to go into details because it sounds so much more intriguing when left as a giant question mark.

10. I’m a total overachiever and I thought I could easily come up with 10 or more interesting facts and here I am completely out of facts so I’m just going to type a bit more rambling nonsense in case you’re not actually reading what I’ve written and you’re just skimming the page to see if I actually went ahead and wrote down 10 interesting facts about myself even though I haven’t really.

All that said, Microsoft Word has decided to throw ugly blue squiggle lines under a lot of my really fun adverbs, and it is making me mad. Verbs are much less interesting without adverbs, and I understand if you’re miffed about me overusing the word ‘really’, Word, but there are some great adverbs in this blog post that you need to just leave alone.

The end.

Good night.

– Melissa

P.S. The title of this article comes from the most memorable line in Reader Rabbit…Math? Maybe? I can’t remember which Reader Rabbit game it was. But I think of the line often and it seemed to suit the unsuitably disheveled nature of this post.

momentary vs. lasting

I want to numb the pain. I want to follow suit with everybody around me and do something morally irresponsible just to distract me from the turmoil that’s going on inside me.

I want to.

But I can’t.

Because I have rigid morals, and I can’t not toe the line. It’s obedience for the sake of obedience, for the sake of not doing anything wrong. It’s perfectionism.

I vaguely remember that at one time these morals I’ve formed meant something to me. I’ve made the behavioral choices that I have because of one really big factor: I have been loved perfectly by the Father, and my heartfelt response is to follow the guidelines He’s set before me.

I vaguely remember all that. But I don’t feel it tonight.

Tonight I remember just enough of high school youth group to know that this is wanting to ‘treat the symptom instead of the cause.’ Tonight I am processing just enough to know that dumb decisions now can mean hefty consequences later. Tonight I am present just enough to know that tired, emotional thinking is not rational thinking.

I could easily drop out of school right now. This very instant. I am more than ready to gather the few belongings I consider most precious, climb into my car, and start driving West until I have to pull over somewhere to sleep. Then I’ll sleep just long enough to find the stamina to keep driving, and carry on that way until I’m home. I could. Right now.

I could easily get drunk right now. Sloppy, pass-out drunk. From everything I’ve heard, it’s a great way to get out of your head. And if I get drunk enough, then it’s not me making whatever dumb decision comes next: it’s the alcohol, so I can blame that and ignore the fact that I’m still the one in charge of whether I’m drinking or not. I could. Right now.

I could easily take everything out on someone right now. Friends are passing anyway; why not just pick a friendship to end abruptly in order to purge myself of some of the ick I feel? There are plenty of nasty, hateful things that have fluttered through my head in the 19 years I’ve been around, so it’s just a matter of reaching deep inside, retrieving them, and phrasing them so they’re most effective at tearing apart the heart of whomever I’m targeting. I could. Right now.

There are plenty of other options. None of them wise. None of them leading to abundant life.

Because the temporary relief that this world offers is a cheap knock-off of life. (Aka ‘Melissa: remember how we both know that you know this, so don’t go do something we’ll regret later!)

Right now it hurts inside, and I can’t see God’s bigger plan from where I’m standing, and that kind of sucks. But I know that I know it’s still there, and I know that I know why I’m trusting in it.

I could whisper my fears and my doubts and my hurts to the one who designed my heart. I could trust the truths that I’ve stored away for moments like this and remember that however dark the night may seem, joy comes with the morning.

That’s what I choose.

Right now.

Because numbing the pain won’t fix anything.

And I know the one who will fix everything in its time.

– Melissa
“When My Heart Is Torn” by Phil Wickham

loneliness

I miss having a friend.

I know, I’m overtired and hyperemotional, but I do.

I miss having a friend who knows me better than breath.

I miss having someone always around to talk to in the middle of the night about everything on our hearts and everything trivial in our days and everything in between.

And I see the people around me, my friends, and it seems like they’ve found that. Like maybe it comes easier for them or maybe they just got lucky, but either way, it’s them.

I feel like a third wheel sometimes.

I remember curling up with my dad over Thanksgiving of my senior year and sobbing, because I was terrified of the future and still heartbroken over a friendship gone bad, and together we prayed that I’d find someone at school who’d be a best friend. Who I could share my heart with and who would share her heart with me.

It’s nothing I’m guaranteed. Nothing I’m entitled to.

But it’s still a cry of my heart.

And it’s still unfulfilled.

And that hurts.

I have good solid friendships here. I’m so grateful for that, because that definitely isn’t where I was this time last year. And I have amazing friendships at home, and I know that we’re going to be able to weather whatever distances life may impose on us, because we love each other like sisters and we’ve been through too much together.

But I still feel really alone tonight.

I think I probably just ought to go to sleep.

Actually, I know I should.

But what I want to do is go wander around campus in the dark and get lost in conversation with someone.

I don’t know who that someone is. I keep hoping I’ll find out.

I wish Lubbock was closer. I wish Bakersfield was closer. I miss my sisters.

I want to go home.

– M

Homecoming and Mud and Everything Else

It is currently 11:45pm and I am so tired that I can barely function. So what am I doing?

Writing a blog post. Duh.

Tomorrow morning’s gonna be rough. I’m just gonna call that right now. But, hey; whatever.

It’s Homecoming Week at HSU, so things are hopping around here. As if advising season and sorority/fraternity pledging season weren’t enough to fill the campus with general tumult, add in homecoming prep and daily activities and this crazy event we at HSU call “All-School SING!”

From a performance standpoint, SING is…madness. It is chaos. It is too much pressure and too much singing and a much coveted title of Champion.

From a technical standpoint, SING is…complete madness. It is utter chaos. It is too much pressure and too much singing and directors who don’t understand that we aren’t actually trying to ruin their lives when a cue goes wrong.

Guess who’s working SING Tech…?

Yep.

This girl.

The one sitting at the house-left side of the booth in front of the computer, running projections.

It’s not an awful job, actually. A couple of the shows don’t even have projections.

And it’s easy to amuse myself, intentionally and otherwise.

Like, on Tuesday, I added one slide to a slideshow, turned to talk to the director, turned back and found that I had also added 236 additional slides besides the one I wanted. So that made me giggle way too much.

And today, before the show began, when the curtains were closed and nobody in the audience could see what was being projected, I found a picture of a baby chimpanzee and made him think encouraging things for the people backstage to see. That was fun.

So yeah. I’m amusing myself and getting paid and trying not to dwell on how tired I am or on the people who I’m letting get under my skin.

Aside from SING madness, it’s been raining here!

I love the rain!

I love to run around in it and splash in it and soak up the annual rainfall of Bakersfield in my clothes in the space of an hour.

However.

I learned today that Toby’s pen does not particularly love rain. Or, rather, it does. Much too much.

My dear, hydrophobic horse is now living in a lake, ruling over his wet domain from two little islands. The water is at least four inches deep. Plus another two inches of mud.

I am very glad that I own rain boots.

And I am very ready for the sun to come up and evaporate the lake. Because Toby is not a seahorse. He’s a horse horse.

Really, if I’m entirely honest, life has been crazy and weird on all counts for a while now.

And by crazy and weird I don’t mean all and sunshine and roses.

I mean that lately there have been some grey-colored days, and on those days I am just grateful for people who come into my quiet to let me know that I am not alone and that it’s going to be okay. Hugs are sometimes the best things ever.

I mean that recently I have had spinning-like-a-top days, and on those days I am so grateful for people who don’t get scared of me and who keep up with my mad energy and join me in adventuring into all sorts of mischief. Camaraderie isn’t just a word I can’t spell or pronounce.

On Sunday I was ready to drop out of school.

I’m totally serious.

I was curled up at my aunt’s house with first my sisters and then my entire family, and there was not a single bit of me that wanted to return to Abilene to this drab little dorm room to resume my life as a student.

And so I didn’t return.

Or, rather, I put off returning until I finally left so late that I didn’t get back to campus until 11:30pm. I still managed to go to bed earlier that night than I am tonight. Oh well.

Life’s buzzing in my head, feverishly reminding me that there are a million and one things I want to say, but my tired mind is out of words and so I think I’m going to call it a night.

One final thing, though: Why does my hair always look nicest in the middle of the night?! For realzies! What’s with that? My only option is to sleep on a head of curls that will look frizzy and slept-on tomorrow morning.

So not cool.

– Melissa
A Happy Song

what if I rode a tiger to Morocco?

I don’t know what I want to write about tonight.

I definitely want to write.

I just don’t know what about.

I thought maybe I wanted to write about how if I got everything I wished for then the world would be a disaster, and I thought maybe I’d talk about how I keep a solid white marble that I tell myself will grant a wish so that I have to stop and think about the full impact of whatever it is that I think I want more than anything else in the world. But that train of thought ran out about 100 words into a post, and so I decided that that wasn’t the rabbit trail to pursue.

I thought maybe I’d write about today, and how I actually made it through a set strike at the theatre without hating everybody around me, and how it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d prepped myself for it to be, and how much I love being useful and skillful with my hands, but there’s not much to that, and really oughtn’t I get over how much I usually hate strikes and just relax and let it all go? Yeah. I don’t really want to spend several hundred words contemplating that theme.

I thought maybe I could write about my absolute yearning for affection, how it consumes me sometimes and makes me think that I would say ‘yes’ if a total stranger proposed to me on the street, but that’s just weird and it might make people think I’m serious about that and I’m totally not because I distrust people like nobody’s business and that’s the main problem here because I don’t trust anybody enough to let them near enough for them to gain my trust enough for me to believe that they actually like me. And even that is an exaggeration that might make people worried about me and I’m really okay but I just wish that Toby would hug me back.

So I don’t know what to write about tonight.

Buffets are an awesome idea, but they’re totally impractical for me because I eat less at a buffet than I do basically anywhere else, and then I feel silly because everybody else seems to be eating ridiculous amounts of food and I’m just, like, I finished two slices of pizza… Not that I think of eating as a competition. And if buffets are what give me the self-control to stop eating when I ought to, maybe I should live in a buffet. But it does feel silly to pay that much and not eat that much. Does that make sense?

I’m so grateful for friends. For people who make me smile and who call me just so we can hear the sound of each other’s voices and who let me be whoever I want to be. Even if that person does claim to be a five year old and does tend to be socially withdrawn. It’s so awesome to do life alongside people.

Shoes are kind of the worst, and my stupid Walmart flats gave me blisters on both of my pinkie toes today and I think that’s ridiculous but they were the only thing that matched my dress! Why can’t all the clothes in the world go with dusty cowboy boots? Or with neon pink Converse? I don’t get it! I think it’s a conspiracy to make Melissa as miserable and blistered as possible.

I really ought to decide on something to write about…

I got a text, like, twenty minutes ago that my family is finally in Texas and I simply cannot wait to see them! Tomorrow is Monday, which is ew because Monday, but I get to see my minions and my mommy, which is not ew because family! So it’s all gonna work out to be okay. They’re coming out to do the Texas family rounds (which is what happens when your mom is the rebel who moved away from the family homeland) and so that Gracie can hang out with her college-age, rockin’ awesome sisters! The three of us are going to get to go to a Tenth Avenue North concert on Thursday and we are so excited. Or, at least, I am. Grace is. Hey, Abbie: you excited? Oh wait. She can’t hear me from Lubbock. Never mind.

Would you believe that it’s only 8:59pm? That I am writing loopy circles (as opposed to angular circles which aren’t actually a thing) at the measly time of 8:59pm? This is why I go to bed early, people: I am insane 24/7 and night time makes it worse.

I’m…like…the opposite of nocturnal. Plus I hate mornings. Basically, if I can sleep from 9pm to about 10am, that is great. It’s a ridiculous amount of sleep, I know, but it’s fine. I like sleep.

If I had a super power, it would be the ability to learn anything by osmosis. It’s literally the super power of napping. How great is that?!

Oh! I have a white board and it is where I write my homework assignments. Because I would forget where my head was if it wasn’t so solidly affixed to my neck. Anyway, what the all-knowing white board has to say tonight is that I have three papers due this week as well as a test in Spanish! So guess what I’m doing? I’m writing a blog post about nothing at all! I’m also becoming increasingly spastic, but it’s fine. No big deal.

You know what will be lovely? When I can do dishes in something other than a tiny dorm room sink. Because worse than the tiny sink is that absolute lack of counter space. There is nowhere to put the things I have cleaned! So then I have to juggle them while I wash everything else, because putting them down only gets them dirty again! It’s difficult and I know it’s a first world problem and I am ready for it to not be a thing anymore.

Okay. Increasing twitchiness wins the day. I am going to call it a night and head to bed, early though it be. Too bad I never figured out anything to write about…

– Melissa
I apologize for the ads on the site, but this is where you go to play this game.

First Friday of Second Year

Cast lists went up today! Aaah!

I’m cast in one of this semester’s shows! Aaah!

Also, apparently I’m designing and running sound for one of them! AAAAAAAAH!

Yeah, I’ve definitely never designed the sound for a show. I’ve never run a sound board. This is going to be either great fun or greatly stressful or some delicious combination of both.

But anyway, I’m involved! I don’t get to stay in my room and be antisocial! Yay!

Enough with the exclamation points. Let’s be serious and boring and monotone for awhile.

Who am I kidding?! Life isn’t boring or monotone, like, ever, and it’s very seldom all that serious.

Except in funerals.

I cry in funerals. Even if I don’t really know the person. Just saying.

That has nothing to do with anything.

Can you tell I’ve had caffeine?

And not enough sleep?

See, people around here bellyache all the time about how gross 8am classes are. Honestly, I can’t blame them. I mean, who wants to break off a snuggle session with her pillow to go listen to a professor talk about something that would make a whole lot more sense in about three hours? I certainly don’t.

And, so far in my college career, I have avoided having to schedule any 8am classes.

Go me!

So instead I brought a horse. Who is now my 8am. Seven days a week.

He also is really dead-set on getting as many burs in his mane and equinely possible (see what I did there?) and it is driving me insane! I mean, come on, dude! We both hate having to stand there so that I can pull about a bajillion burs out of your lovely, flowing mane (which has gorgeous sun highlights from this summer, I’m just saying) and so you could save us both a lot of trouble by just keeping your stupid head out of the pile I have made of all the weeds I’ve pulled so that they wouldn’t be in your way while you beg for the other horses to love you even though they recognize as clearly as I do that you’re an idiot!

Too bad I’m timid about speaking my mind, huh?

Anywho, semester (all one week of it) has been good so far, with the exception of being so tired that functioning is hard(er than it usually is for me). I am doing awesomely poorly in bowling, so it is almost certain that I will have improved by the end of semester, because I can’t really get any worse. My computer applications professor should keep that dullest of dull classes interesting. And my theatre professors are some of the awesomest individuals on the face of the planet. Just saying.

Microsoft Word says that “awesomest” isn’t a word. Well you know what, Word?! I don’t care!

So I finally downloaded a game that I’d seen before but didn’t have the opportunity to get for free at the time—I did get it for free today, by the way—and it definitely kept me amused for a good portion of the day.

It’s called…Goat Simulator.

And you literally run around a town as a goat, destroying things and licking things and terrorizing people.

There’s even a way to make dead goats rain from the sky. I kid you not.

Definitely a waste of time, but I suggest it if you find yourself with a bit of time to kill between classes or something.

I think that kind of wraps up what I have to say.

I’m writing tonight from a place of (big surprise) exhaustion and (equally shocking) sugar overload, so I’m not really feeling coherent enough to tell you anything life-altering that I’ve learned lately. I’m sure there’s something along those lines that could be said, but it’ll have to wait for another day.

In the meantime and in between time, though, have a wonderful evening/morning/day/afternoon/whatever-applies-to-you and I’ll talk at you again before too long, I’m quite sure.

Ciao!

– Melissa

hindsight and raw hands

Growing up with my dad, there were two ways to know that you weren’t working hard enough: 1. if you were cold and 2. if you didn’t sleep well at night.

Well, I’m proud to say that I did work hard enough today.

How do I know?

Well, I never got cold (never mind that the theatre was a sort of an oven) and I am 99% sure that I will sleep very well tonight.

I didn’t exactly work smart enough, though.

My hands are red and raw and swollen from working without gloves.

I had gloves in my back pocket the entire four hours we were working.

Now, to be fair, I did remember that they were there most of the time. But I was switching back and forth between so many different tasks—some of which gloves would have helped, some of which gloves would have hindered—that it hardly seemed worth it to take the time to switch back and forth between gloves.

It would have been worth it.

But that’s easy to say looking back.

Also looking back I realize all the benefits of working for my dad all the time. The benefits that I never noticed at the time.

Stuff like the fact that all the muscle tone I achieved mixing concrete and digging trenches and running the chop saw goes away when I don’t consistently utilize it.

Or the idea that if I’m not spending every weekend doing manual labor that I really ought to be getting a work out some other way. Ew.

(While we’re on this subject, if anyone knows of a contractor here in town who’s interested in hiring a slightly dramatic eighteen year-old who has a pretty decent work ethic and is afraid of power tools and electricity and completely over-paying her, let me know.)

Granted, those days had—and continue to have—downsides.

Like the whole working thing.

And getting frustrated because my plans for causing enough mischief to slide the world into total chaos conflicted with my dad’s schedule for home improvement.

And the fact that I know what I’m doing whenever I have to work alongside people who definitely don’t. (By no fault of their own. Don’t hear me being rude or judgmental. Just annoyed and rather inclined to do things all on my own.)

Such is life.

I’m sure I’ll be fussing and seeing only the downsides when I’m back at home for the summer, working on projects that I don’t see the point of and that interfere with whatever nonsense I’ve dreamed up. Isn’t that the way things go?

But anyhow, I’m now going to go and make sure that I’ve met the requirements for Dad’s second condition of a good work day.

G’night!

– Melissa