Let Nothing

I am not a sports fan, not even close. Upon moving to Oklahoma, I had to enforce a “No Football Talk” rule at the first place I worked in Owasso. It drove me nuts listening to customers chat forever about this player, team, or six-year old that was going to change the face of football forever.

My entire experience with football is this: after a Boy Scout meeting, everyone decided to play a game of football in the backyard, at which time my Troop Leader appointed me quarterback because of who my dad was (it would have been great if my dad had actually taught me how to play football), so I sat there behind the center forever, until he finally told me that I had to say: hike (and yes, I had to use google to find out the I was behind the center as I wrote this); One year my cousin and I played one of the Madden football games, finishing our virtual season right before the Superbowl, in which my team ended up winning both the fake and the real Superbowl; Three, maybe four Superbowl parties, with other gay people, so all I had to do was get drunk and smoke cigarettes (that’s my kind of football); Countless high school football games, where I tried to keep my lyre from falling over while I played my trombone at half time (it proved easier to just memorize the music).

So, moving to Oklahoma was a shock for me, in so many ways, but mostly that football is such a huge part of the culture here. But, I have been here for a while, and have adjusted, I learned on the weekends to sneak a peek at the newspaper so I could tell my customers who won the game, and I picked out a college team to pretend to cheer on, before I went back to school. Of course, I chose Oklahoma State, not because I wanted to go there, but simply because they were orange. There were other reasons too. My other choices were the University of Oklahoma and the University of Tulsa, both which I ruled out right away, not because of colors, but ignorance. They are known by OU and TU respectively, and it drives me insane. It’s not Oklahoma University, it’s the University of Oklahoma, so it should be U of O, just like the University of Michigan is U of M.

But now that I do go to OSU, the strangest thing has happened. I actually care. I have even considered going to a game. Yeah. I want my team to win, I even keep up with the rankings, just to make sure we are still ranked higher the OU (which we are last time I checked). But, finally having school spirit, has made me wonder about the whole concept of identity.

I grew up in Michigan. My dad’s favorite teams all revolved around Detroit (which is in Michigan), and even when they sucked, or so I am told, he still stood by them. The teams were from his state, so he was simply cheering on his teams. What I have never understood is how people get attached to random teams. Such as people from Indiana cheering on the Raiders, wouldn’t the Colts make more sense? How do people identify with a team that has absolutely nothing to do with them?

My boss happens to be an OU fan, which drives me nuts, like most of the things he does do. But this in particular drives me insane. He did not go to OU, he also did not go to OSU, but he lives in Stillwater, the home of OSU. As far as I know he has lived here his whole life, so why and how did he form an attachment with OU instead of the team in his backyard? It makes absolutely no sense to me, this random assignment of loyalty.

And this, because I am an eternal over-thinker, led me to think about my identity in its entirety. You didn’t really think I was going to blog about sports did you? I may want OSU to win, I still hate sports.

But I have random assignments of loyalty as well, or at least contradictory assignments. I am an atheist, yet when my philosophy teacher was asking what religion we were, I said Catholic. Not because I am ashamed of being an atheist, but because I was raised Catholic. Not just raised, but feel deeply in love with Catholicism, even after years of not being a member of the Church. When I was at my uncle Gus’s funeral, all I thought about afterwards was how I hadn’t been confirmed, and how I wish I had been. I will raise my children (if I ever have them), as Catholic, not because I think life is better with God, but because of tradition and heritage, and while I want them to make their own choices, I don’t want to cheat them out of the beauty I see in it.

Being a Catholic Atheist isn’t really all that absurd. Ok, it is, but it’s also not that I don’t believe in anything. I don’t believe in the Bible, at least not as the word of God, but I do believe there is something bigger than me, even if it turns out to just be gravity. I practice what I like to call The Green Grass Miracle. Simple knowing that I came from this planet and will one day return to it as part of the carbon cycle is enough for me, what ever happens after doesn’t matter that much, because after life or no, this life will still be done.

But I think the biggest thing I am struggling with identity-wise, is the adult/college kid part. For a long time, I was an adult, as in, not in college, having bills and responsibilities, climbing the corporate ladder, making money, trying to make more money, improving my credit score, etc. Now, the only thing I really want to do is get an education. I want to leave behind me that life that I somehow fell into and didn’t want, for the life I actually do want, the one I dream of. Yet, the bills don’t stop coming simply because I have to pay the Bursar too. It’s a tough spot to have the same job I had before, but realizing that I physically have reached my limit. That, I can’t take on the same responsibilities at work that I once had. That, I have to set limits with my boss as to what I am willing to do, and when I am willing to work. Currently we are having a slight battle over my schedule for next semester. He wants me to work the same schedule, and I, of course don’t.

It just seems to me, that this is my constant problem. The person I am, butting heads with the person I was, or the person I want to be. This transition period I am in, is turning into to one of the biggest battles of willpower, drive, and determination I have ever had. Currently, I am just pushing myself to get to the next semester, the next day, the next class. And when I get there, I am desperately praying that I don’t have a test that I didn’t know about, because I have missed so many classes. Add in that I am still trying to decide on my major once and for all and sometimes I feel like I have no identity at all (and also, very over dramatic).

So I find myself at the end of this semester in a totally different place than where I started, from a passionate botany major to undecided, passing with flying colors to hoping I do well enough to get credit, hopeful and excited to frustrated and dismayed.

Now, I sit and listen to Tori’s new album, streamed from the internet because I am broke, and listen over and over to “Comfort and Joy,” feeling like I did in high school, like she’s singing just to me:

Let nothing, no nothing, nothing you dismay

And of course thinking, next semester will be better, because it must, because I determined, because, I feel as motivated as I once did in high school. So, now the trick is to pull of this semester, pull it together and finish, like the first time I ever placed in the two-mile, and then puked all over the place.

My Life as Ice Cream

I have a couple of vices. Some say smoking would be my worst, and I agree in part, but there is one that is worse than that, and it’s kind of secret. My ultimate vice? Ice cream.

It’s an addiction I have been fighting since childhood, and some months I do really well, others I almost throw myself into a diabetic coma. Walking to my car after class one day I began thinking about how all of my problems can be summed up with ice cream. It was a long walk, so I had a lot of time to piece it all together, and really, I probably should have just left my car at home – it took forever to get to my car.

So here are my problems according to the glory that is Ice Cream (yes it deserves mid-sentence capitalization):

Lack of Self-control: Put a pint of ice cream in front of me and I will eat the whole thing, put two and I will eat them both, three, well the pattern continues until I have to roll myself off the couch.

Lack of Impulse Control: If I merely think about ice cream, before I know it I am at the store. There is no time for rethinking, or editing. Once I think it, I need it, and I go for it, regardless of how much money is in my bank account, or if I need to pay my electric bill.

Oblivious to the obvious: One time when I was young, I was at my cousin Anna’s house. Now her mom told us we couldn’t have any of the delicious mint chocolate chip ice cream that was in the freezer. And we didn’t, until we thought her mom was sufficiently engrossed in whatever television show she was watching. Then we struck. Sneaking into the kitchen, scooping up the green goodness, and running down the hallway to enjoy our spoils. Now Anna, being the older and smarter of the two of us decide we would eat it in the downstairs bathroom. All we had to do was go ten feet down the hall, turn left, and about four more feet to the bathroom on the right. Now, this plan was flawless. It was about 15 seconds of travel time if that, and more importantly we were right by the kitchen for clean up afterwards. So Anna headed out first, and totally made it to the bathroom like a ninja. The plan was working perfectly, until I turned the corner. There was Anna, beckoning me into the bathroom, “Ben, come on,” she whispered. I just stood there frozen. While Anna may have moved like a ninja, her mom was ninja-i-er standing at the end of the hall, glaring. Now, I knew we had been caught, Anna did not, and she kept beckoning me, but instead of making a run for it, getting in the bathroom, and enjoying God’s gift to the world with the door locked, and turned and headed straight for the kitchen. Eventually Anna noticed Ninja Mom, and carried out the task flawlessly, locking the bathroom door, and finishing her ice cream (I may be wrong, but part of me remembers the evidence being hidden in the tank of the toilet – clever!). I on the other hand, had to scoop my back in the half-gallon. I remained unprotected, totally caught, and totally unable to make the smarter choice, which is obviously running to the bathroom, eating fast, and hiding the evidence.

Flawed Logic: I would rather sneak ice cream and eat it in the bathroom, risking punishment, instead of just not having ice cream.

Moral Depravity: I will do anything for ice cream. ANYTHING. Ok, well, I wouldn’t murder or steal from ice cream. Well, let’s rephrase that, I wouldn’t steal from a store, I would however, steal from friends, family, relatives, pets, and young defenseless children, that wouldn’t really enjoy it anyhow.

Poor Decision Making: If I had an orange or a gallon of ice cream and had to eat one, I would choose the ice cream. I would choose it, even knowing that the orange is equally as sweet, good for me, and would leave me free of guilt. I blame the Catholics for this problem really, they taught me guilt, I like the guilt.

Inability to Plan Ahead: So, I have this pint of ice cream. I could eat it all tonight and wish I had some tomorrow, or I could save half, and enjoy the creamy sweetness two nights in a row. I think in all my life, I have saved ice cream, twice, maybe three times, and then only because a friend or roommate was glaring at me.

Ice Cream is a wonderful treat, but honestly it doesn’t care about me. It’s the bad boyfriend that I keep going back to. I must break this cycle. I am a battered house-husband. For the record, I’m not eating ice cream now, but I’m dreaming about it. I probably would be going to get it, but I’m in my underwear, and don’t feel like getting dressed. I know that if I don’t go get it, I can survive the night, and not having it tonight will make it easier to not have it tomorrow. Plus, I’ve had two watered-down Oklahoma beers, so while I’m not drunk, why risk it. So I won’t have it tonight or tomorrow. I will probably make it a week, and then I will stop thinking about it, and before I know it a month will have passed, ice cream free. Then like a demon, it will creep back into my head, and I’ll be standing in Food Pyramid, with three gallons in my cart, in my underwear. But, maybe this time, I will be able to resist and make it to two months, after that anything might be possible.

Like quitting smoking. If only any of the above strategies could apply to something that makes it hard for me to walk up stairs. Well, I guess ice cream makes stair climbing harder too, but I’m sure the similarities between ice cream addiction and smoking stop there.

P.S. I still giggle out loud when I think of Anna and the Ice Cream, every time. Sometimes in the most awkward places and I try to explain it and people just stare. It’s my little comedy club.

 

Remember when I was on the Biggest Loser?

So, it’s been forever since I have really been motivated to do this. But now, away we go.

I seem to always surprise myself. I like to change-up the game when I am half way into things. It’s not really planned, it just happens, I just throw myself a lot of curve balls. I have been thinking a lot. A lot.

I have a crazy imagination. It seems as though most people let go of their’s as they get older, but mine seems to get stronger. I have always been disappointed that I live in a world with out magic. As in wizard type magic. Really. Honestly. Dorkily. I love that whole concept of a world where everything is possible. I enjoy thinking about things that could never happen here and what it would be like if they could.

I think about things that I will probably never do. I will never be a rock star, but when I can’t sleep at night, I imagine what my concerts would be like. What I would sing, how it would sound, the little stories I would tell the audience in between songs. And right before I pass out, it seems like it’s possible. Even though it’s not going to happen, it feels like it just might.

I like that.

What I don’t like is how awful I have felt this semester. How I have beat myself up, and gotten so frustrated, and doubted myself time and time again. How I have gotten so far behind. How I have given up. Or nearly so. I was minutes away from dropping all my classes and calling it a wash when one of my friends stood up and told me what I SHOULD be hearing instead of telling me what I wanted to hear.

I came here for a reason. I packed up and left everything behind with a purpose in mind. I had a goal. I was motivated. But then, when I left my support behind, it didn’t seem like it mattered all that much. And my crazy imagination got involved and let me believe that I could go back to my life that I had before I moved and be happy with it this time.

But, I couldn’t. I would never be so ashamed as to quit so easily. Just surrender without putting up a fight. So I had to stand up and either make it worth it, or run away.

I run away when I don’t feel like dealing with the truth. When, I think it would be easier to let myself down instead of believing in myself. Instead of having an ounce of confidence. I need to know why I came here. Why I left my life behind to try something new. It was to fulfill a dream right? Well, what if it was the wrong dream? What if my dream wasn’t to be a botanist? Why then did I choose that? Why do I say I want it so badly, but then don’t even try? Don’t even get out of bed?

Why Botany? Here are some reasons:

I like plants
Because not many people choose it
I believed in science when I couldn’t believe in magic
Wait, it gets deeper:

It makes me feel superior
It is impressive sounding
I would really like to be a doctor as a big fuck you to people who didn’t believe in me.

Aha!

So, when it comes down to it, it’s not really about the plants. I do love them. I do think they are fascinating. But, I wanted to do it so I could say that I did it. I wanted to walk around and have people tell me how amazing I was, how smart, how elite.

If that is really why I am going to school, I might as well get a business degree, because in ten years, I won’t be happy. I may have a good job, but I would still be sitting around thinking:

What would happen if I actually go after a dream for once?

What if, I didn’t feel like my actual dreams were undeserving? What if I had the confidence for once to do what I wanted to do, instead of what I thought other people expected me to do? What if I spent my life doing something as a job, that I do as a hobby now? What if the things I do to relax and escape were the same thing as my career? What if I didn’t care at all what other people thought of my interests? What if I wasn’t just trying to impress people, but just being myself? What if my dreams were valid? If I allowed them to be?If I stopped trading happiness now for happiness in ten years? What do I have to lose?

Let’s get real. I have worked at a gas station for seven years. I am in debt. I scrape by month to month. I have been completely disinterested, uninspired, and unmotivated all semester. I have not enjoyed much of being in Stillwater. I am letting the entire experience of college pass me by. So what if I made the wrong choice?

Dreams are funny things. We are in a country where we can do anything, if we want it enough. But if we just think we want it, it doesn’t seem to work out quite as well. I have been watching the Biggest Loser lately, and at the end of every episode I think about how amazing it would be to realize that you can do more than you thought. That if you want something enough, you can get it. If you push yourself beyond can’t, that you can. It’s sappy, it’s cheesy, it’s totally made into something that is entertaining. But so the fuck what. It’s a stupid t.v. show, and I watch these people push themselves harder than I have in a really long time. We are talking about a decade of me just coasting by. Just getting to the next day, doing enough to make people notice me at times, but not even to really be satisfied.

So I have a dream. I have something that I have always wanted to do. Walking around the block making up stories with my cousin. Putting on murder mystery parties with my family. Writing 23 page stories for high school lit when I only needed to write three. Spending hours exploring worlds that don’t really exist. I have always told myself that it wasn’t realistic enough. I needed a back up plan. That instead of working on my dream I should work first on something more concrete, then after that was done I could work on my dream in my free time.

So ask me, what do I want to do with my Botany degree, here’s my reply:

“Well, God, it’s such a broad field, I mean I would have to study more to really know. Eventually I want to be a professor.”

I might throw in the words “biome restoration” for good measure, to really make it seem like I might know what I am talking about, as if I HAD direction. As if I was headed somewhere.  I was bullshitting though. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with it.  I like to grow things. I like watching plants grow. I like to garden, and really, I’m not even good at that, or at least I don’t put much effort into it.

So I think Botany is fascinating, I really do. I am very passionate about plants and science. I really am. I didn’t make that part up. I didn’t really make up anything. What I did do however, was deny who I really am. I might be good at science, I might have natural talent, and I might do really amazing things with it. But not if I never graduate, not if I drop out of school, not if I spend the rest of school being as frustrated as I have been this semester.

I also might be a really good soldier. But even if I was, I wouldn’t be happy doing that. Just because you are good at something does it mean you must do it? And what if you are good at more than one thing? Which one should you choose? What if you are amazing at one thing and only kind of like it, but mediocre at another but absolutely love it. What’s the right choice?  There are a ton of really awful bands making really awful music, but they seem to be enjoying it. Why can’t Nickelback make music? Why can’t I finally go after my dreams after pretending that they don’t exist?

What’s the worst that could happen? I don’t finish college? Most people don’t even try. I work retail the rest of my life? Millions do and have a decent life. Watch any reality competition show and eventually someone will get kicked off and basically told they will never ever be what they want to be, and someone is bound to say, “I really am just grateful I had the chance,” and they will seem completely sincere.

This is my life, these are my choices, my dreams, my chances, and my failures. They are my mistakes to make, my successes to enjoy. These are my days to be happy. Like Shay on The Biggest Loser, I have been unhappy for too long, and I just want to be happy. These demons I carry of being made to feel broken and inept by so-called “parental figures,” that pitted me against my mom and made me only feel worth something if I was making her cry. Those people don’t get to make me feel ashamed of who I am any longer. Those people haven’t spoken to me or my sisters in years unless they are digging for dirt. Those people are not worth impressing.

Today I made a choice, and I have felt absolutely inspired. I have felt so confident. I feel like my dreams are attainable. I feel like they matter. I feel in control.

I want to write books.

I want to design video games.

That’s what I want to do with my life, that is why am I going to school. I won’t feel ashamed for what I like or enjoy. I won’t.

I don’t need support to believe in myself.

Setbacks as blessings

So, last night when I went to bed, I had my lunch packed, my plant press ready, and my book bag packed with everything I might need for my field trip tomorrow. I went to bed, a little later than I hope, but my coffee pot was set for 5 am and so were my two alarm clocks. Everything was looking up, I was excited and ready.

So my alarm went off, and I was tired, but I could smell the coffee, so everything was going to be ok. I rolled over, and then when I rolled back over to the other side, my clock said it was 6:45 a.m. Oh yes, it took me an hour and 45 minutes to roll over. Now, Monday through Friday this wouldn’t be a problem, in fact, it would be great, I would be up 15 minutes early. But not today, and not on any Saturday.

Most Saturdays I have to work, and I have to be at work at 6, so I would have been late if I worked. But today, I was supposed to be in campus by 5:45. That’s when the bus would be leaving. So, yeah, waking up at 6:45 was a very bad thing. I even tried looking at the clock a few more times, just to be sure. But yeah, it was the same  every time I looked. Not just a bad dream.

The reason why it is such a big deal, is because we must go to 3 of the 4 field trips for this class, and I had already missed one. So, now, I am left with one option, to drop the class. Well, actually I hope I can drop the class and not just fail it, so I have to talk to my professor Monday.

This morning, I really beat myself up over this. As the day has progressed though, I have come to realize that this was bound to happen. Maybe not exactly this, but honestly, I was overloaded this semester. I wasn’t prepared and I didn’t have anytime to study, let alone relax. So, this is a set back but also a blessing. It’s 7 fewer hours a week in class. It’s a lot more time to focus on my other classes, and I know what to expect the next time I take this class, because I will have to retake it. Also its two days a week to actually sleep in, and one day a week for myself, which i desperately need.

So, I am going to be proactive. Meet and be upfront with my professor, keep going to OSUBS meetings (even though it might be a little awkward at first), do great in the rest of my classes, and be ready and able the next time around. So it’s a small setback. A mistake that I will actually learn from. And a chance to prove that I can do better.

Maybe not a shining moment for me, but things could in fact be a lot worse.

October!

So it’s officially October, which means: 3rd annual pumpkin feast!

It’s my favorite month, besides January, and it’s that time of year I create an at least three course meal with every dish featuring pumpkins. From pumpkin soup to pumpkin cheese cake, it’s the best meal I create every year, and I can barely hide my excitement.

The fact that 30 days has September has just made me feel so much better about everything. It’s October, I have a meal to plan, hands to cut (while cutting up pumpkins, it’s a hard task), and a tradition to share with my friends, and possibly some new friends.

Now, if it would just cool down outside. Well, after I finish my plant collection.

Good Plant #1

So, not all plants are evil, so I instantly fall in love with. It’s a little concerning to me that most of them are turning out to be gymnosperms.

But this tree is amazing. Taxodium distichum - Bald Cypress. It makes me smile.

All of those knees, amazing. It’s so imposing and impressive, and it’s deciduous!

Brain Debt

So I should be studying for my botany test, which is tomorrow, which I thought was yesterday.  But after over twelve hours in class, studying is the last thing I want to do. But as it turns out, after being home for an hour, everything is the last thing I want to do. I’m just exhausted. My brain has been fried for about three weeks now, and the pressure just keeps building. Plant collecting, photo taking, paper writing, working, studying for tests, cleaning, cooking, eating, learning new plant species, it’s all too much pressure.

I’ve always considered myself a rather intelligent person, but lately, I feel incredibly unable. Whether it’s being unable to pronounce class names in zoology, or my inability to retain any new plant morphology terms, it all makes me feel and sometimes look like an idiot. It seems every day there is more I need to know, and less that I accomplish. It’s a brain debt.

I feel like I owe my brain  more than what I am currently giving it. It’s really weighing on me,  how to do better. So I am trying to come up with solutions, obviously the first is to make it to all my lectures. Simple and obvious, it shouldn’t be that hard, but in my real life, it’s a problem. Because I decided to not give myself a single day off during this semester, exhaustion takes it toll. It happens so quickly, I feel fine when I go to sleep, and then wake up two hours after my alarm starts going off. I am working on it, this week has been good for me making it to classes, but it could all change next week.

A lot of my problems I think comes from my main goal being survival. That’s it, just make it to the end of the day and wake up the next day. And the worst part of this goal, is that it actually feels like an accomplishment at the end of the day. Even more, it even feels like a triumph when I wake up on time. I actually get excited when I get out of bed at 7, as if I finished running a marathon or something.

Then other days I feel like I am being too hard on myself, after all this is the beginning of a new life. But, if this is going to be what my new life turns out to be, I want no part of it. Certain things are starting to fall into place. Work, for example, has stopped making me want to kill myself. And that’s the only example of things falling into place, other things are spiralling out of control, trust fund spending is one. All these strategies I come up with for controlling it just don’t seem to work. After all, I have to eat, I have to buy gas, and I have to pay my bills. I’ve considered selling all my possessions and moving into a dorm more than once. As well as getting a letter from my father, explaining why after 11 years of not speaking to me, he is going to take me on as a dependent (ghost-written by my step-mother, of course). I’ve prayed that my car gets stolen in the night, or catches fire, either one, that my bank makes an error in my favor, or that my sister lands on Boardwalk with a hotel. I would accept any of these solutions. Also up on the board, pimping my dog out, convincing someone to be my roommate in my one bedroom apartment, tutoring 5th graders for exorbitant fees, selling all the free crap people try to give me on campus, ebaying a date with myself, and winning powerball (again) without buying tickets (this time).

But maybe that is what my problem is, taking my good graces for granted. The times when things did go really well for me, I burned through them so quickly that apocalypse surely had to be near. When I wasn’t stressed, I created stress. When I had time to do more than survive, I lived hermit-style. Lack of forethought, and a fear that nothing is real has driven me into more bad situations than I will ever share. I always let the bad out weigh the good.  I’m in the best relationship of my life, with the person I described as the perfect person for me for nearly four years, and I doubt it all the time. I have an apartment full of nice things, and enough electronics to make my living room glow with stand-by lights when I go to bed, but I still think I need to buy new things.  I can cook really great meals, but eat fast food. I tend to pull some amazing people into my social circle, but bitch about not having friends. I wear pants with a 31 inch waist, and see a fat person in the mirror.

My misconceptions overtake and overwhelm my life. I create struggles where there shouldn’t be any. I mourn talents I don’t have, without expanding those I do. I open my mouth when it’s better shut, and close it when it should be open. I refuse to ask questions, settling for living with constant wonder. I grow bitter instead of making amends. I let emotions get the better of my logic, and hysteria to defeat my reason.

One day deep in my childhood, I decided that I was unworthy of people’s affection, of the world’s positivity, and I have set myself on a path as to best prove it all true. Complaining about it all the while. For a brief period of time, I created an alternate version of my life, thinking through lies and deception I could better serve my purpose, only after some deep shame, I found people like the actual me more than any story I could invent. But when you write such a good story, that everyone should be cheering you on, it’s hard to accept that it could be so easily been seen through.

So instead of accepting the REAL, actual good things about myself, I consistently choose the shame of past missteps and misdeeds. Collecting regret as if it was valuable and wearing it with smug pride. But, sometimes seeing myself is hard, especially when my vision is blurred by things I never wanted to see in the first place. Things in my life that I had little control over or a lot of control over, but didn’t know that until it was too late. The traumas that tend to either replay in my head, or come out of nowhere. Lately, it’s been a lot to do with family. With missing them, seeing my extended family divide or repeat our past mistakes, my dad. That’s been a big one lately. I wonder about him, what he really thinks of me, his real motivations for the choices he made, and an entire family that seems to be fine without me and my sisters. Then there’s the dead guy. That stranger that decided to die when only I was around. Which is strange because I kind of forgot about it, but here he is again, reminding me, that sometimes my fears are really bad for other people.

So sometimes it’s hard for me to see who I actually am through the haze of my life. What everyone tells me should be important, and when I have decided is important. The contradictions that I create and then let rule my life.  All these things running around in my head build up and sometimes it’s no wonder I just don’t care about adding to the brain debt anymore.

I wish I had the strength to create the simple that is in my head. Or at least let go of some of the not so simple things. Or allow myself to believe in a concrete god with a plan, instead of being more assured by the vastness of the universe. But I am nagged by the idea that handing it all over to a god seems like a cop out. The problems and struggles of life are mostly of my doing, so why expect someone or something else to fix it for me.

Out of the harshness of life with my father and step-mother, I took away some really important lessons. The most important being that only person responsible for me or my well being is myself. Now if only I could find the strength to make the sacrifices I must to succeed. The types that were forced upon me, by them. I think it would be a shame to have had my pinnacle of success at 15, but then I also think there has to be a better way . . .a happier way.

And that, seems to be the biggest barrier to all my solutions. With all the stress and worrying, the fears and problems, every year I am happier. I’m just not ready to give that up to simply be worry free.

Evil Plant #1

So it seems like a simple enough plant, but after hours of keying it, I have no clue what it is. I have given up. Every time I think I have figured it out, it turns out to be wrong. This is an evil plant, and I hate it.

Chores

Lately any time I accomplish anything, I feel like a superstar. This goes down to the littlest details of my life, whether it’s finally studying or brushing my teeth. If I finish anything, I feel like it’s a real achievement. It’s not because I am lazy or unmotivated, it’s because I have so little time.

Today, I am doing laundry. I have meant to do laundry for the past week. Now, that I am almost out of clothes, I finally got around to it. I have always been a bit of a procrastinator, lately it’s gotten even worse. So, it takes a ton of effort for me get anything done. Every time I choose to do something, I have to sacrifice doing something else. It’s a battle of balance, of trying to stay on top of one area of my life without falling behind in another. It’s about follow through, finishing something I’ve started, which I probably could list true accomplishments during the course of my life on one hand. Actual projects that I’ve started and carried out all the way to the finish seem to be few in my life.

It all comes down to one thing-time. In a week there are 168 hours. I work 40 hours a week, I am in class, 22 hours. I sleep maybe an average of  42 hours.  So that leaves me with 64 hours of free time a week, which is a little over nine hours a day. Now that I look at it, that seems to be a ton of time. But then there are more deductions, getting ready for school and work, eating, chores, studying, walking to class, and a million other tiny things that eventually add up to less and less time to relax. Never mind that currently I have two huge projects to do.

One a plant collection project for my Field Botany class, and the other a picture scavenger hunt for Cultural Geography. Both of which require a lot of time, time that I can’t seem to find. I haven’t even begun taking pictures, and the plants I have collected remain a mystery. The longer I wait to collect my plants, the harder the project is going to be, but when do I have the time to go out into the field, collect specimens, and key them out?

So every time I decide to do something like chores, like my laundry, its less time for me to do school work. Every time I study for a test, it becomes more likely that I will have to wear dirty clothes. Where does the balance come in? When will I feel like I am on top of things? How do people actually stay ahead of the game?

My brain has a million possible solutions, none of which seem reasonable. The one my brain likes the most is to quit working, at least full-time. Which seems like a wonderful idea, but then I have the problem of bills. So my brain tells me to find scholarships and grants, great, but when do I have the time. Time to search for scholarships, then write essays or fill out the applications for them? Maybe someone will steal my car. That would cut my bills in half. Maybe my parents will come in to a wind fall and then pay for everything. Maybe the government will allow me to take out even more loans. Maybe I will learn to stop spending like I have a trust fund. Or, maybe I will keep working 40 hours a week and keep wondering what it would be like to be just a student.

The Break

Somewhere along the way, I decided that in order to be effective in this world, I needed to go back to school. That decision, like all of my decisions, was carried out in a haphazard way, forethought and planning are never required in my life changing choices. Indeed it seems, I make choices, and then figure out how to deal with whatever changes these choices have thrown my way.

When I decided to go back to school, at least I realized I was at a great disadvantage because I had been out of school for so long. So with that in my mind, I focused on skills I knew I had and choose a major to compliment them. Biology, while semi-generic, was a subject in which I had a firm footing, and it was better than some of my previous choices. For example, linguistics, undaunted by the fact that my ability to speak English can sometimes be called into question, I decided since I was very good at READING Spanish, this would be a good choice. Nevermind that after four years of studying Spanish, I could only survive in Mexico by finding someone who really enjoyed me  writing on post-its instead of ever uttering a word aloud, in fear of how badly I would butcher it. So I could read Spanish, I couldn’t speak it, so this idea of studying languages and how they work, probably wasn’t the best choice, but still I made it.

After half a semester of Japanese, I knew that I was in fact screwed. And because of my fear of asking anyone any sort of question, no matter how vital it is to my well being, I decided to quit school. And by quit school I mean just that, quit it like it was some sort of bad job that I would never have to put on my resume. So I quit, I just didn’t go back to class. I didn’t bother to drop my classes. Somehow my brain decided that if I just didn’t go to class, or do any work that could be graded, I would therefore not receive a grade.

But, I did. Four of ‘em in fact, all F’s. Once again, no big deal I thought. When I decided to go back to school, I just wouldn’t mention this little mishap and none would be the wiser. But indeed they are. They are tricky, requiring transcripts and such, and then transferring in a stunning 0.00 gpa.

This from a kid that pulled of a 4.0 through most of high school (not including that pesky senior year), went to the Center for the Arts and Sciences in Saginaw, MI (still a point of pride I might add, additionally I like to think of it as Saginaw’s School for Incredibly Gifted Youngsters, Who Will One Day Rule the World), and who grew up with most everyone thinking of my as the world’s biggest nerd. Oh! How far I had fallen.

So I fell, and decided to (eventually) get back up. On sturdier ground this time, with something I actually knew something about. Then, as things we going, I realized I had a simply amazing professor. That she, while hard and sometimes unorganized, knew what she was doing, and her purpose. As people dropped like flies from my Intro to Biology Class, I did well. So, there. I had proven to myself that I was on the right path. Then as the semester closed, I made a choice to not enroll in classes for the next semester, my reason:none.

But eventually I did enroll again, and there was this professor again, this time teaching a Botany course. So I took it, plants, a piece of cake. How hard could it be? Incredibly it turned out. This class kicked my ass. For the first time in my life I had to use a new tool – flashcards, one which I still turn to, and still don’t really know how to use. But while I was passionate about Biology, Botany offered some the former didn’t. Fascination.  The more I learned the more fascinated I became with the whole subject.

I decided, this time with a lot of thought, that being passionate was a great way to live life, but being passionate AND fascinated, there couldn’t be anything better. So I changed my major. And it made me feel special to declare Botany as my major, there couldn’t have been more than two other people with that major at my school, and that made me stand out.

And now, at a school with an actual Botany program, I don’t feel nearly as special. More importantly, not nearly as talented. In fact, this semester is completely breaking me in more ways than I could have ever imagined. When I decided to change schools, I never thought how different my life was going to be. How much more pressure I would have, and how much less support would exist. My network of close friends, and people I held incredibly close even though I barely saw them was gone. They still are there, in the distance, but being in a new city, a new school, a new apartment, a new everything, it turned out not to be as great as I thought.

I longed for this change, fresh start, new chance, whatever it was going to be. To radically change my life for the better. But quickly I found out that while my life had changed, I had not. That any weaknesses I had in Tulsa, were only and severely magnified in Stillwater. My strengths, less noticeable, less reachable. My whole existence has dwindled down to my apartment, a job that makes me question my sanity, and a class schedule that leaves me constantly exhausted.

And now is when I falter. When I lose my grip on my goals, my determination. When I find I question myself more by the hour, and have less faith in my abilities, and my brain than I ever have had. It is here that my crumbling self image is instigating the one instinct I constantly have to fight. Where this instinct to run before it’s too late, is kicking in so hard and so strong, that everyday when I wake up I am surprised to find that I am not in Canada.

But it’s a silly thing, this self image. I have beaten myself up about where I am at for no reason more times than any reasonable person could remember.  Stranger, the people who know me now know nothing of who I was or the expectations set on me (by at least myself, if no one else) and the people who knew me then, don’t know where I am now. So then, why is it that I can’t get over it.

Maybe it’s because I feel I need a fall from grace to be redeemed, or that I simply want redemption in some form to feel as if I am somehow special. Specialness is a great tool. I think some people use it as a motivator, those seeking to be special in some way, push themselves to be better. Others, who don’t see themselves as special, give up, give in, and don’t see anyway to achieve this status. But are we born special or just made to think we are? Is it our family and friends that give us this perception, or a trick we play on ourselves.

Being special means a lot to me, more so because I have such a hard time figuring out if and how I am special the older I get. It’s when I fade into the crowd that I lose all sense of who I am and what my goals are. It’s a dangerous place for me to not feel special, at least in my own mind. If I am in the background I feel as though my work will never be noticed.

But then again its when I think no one notices me that people tend to. When I think I am forgotten, I am reminded that I am not.  When I think I have been defeated, I have not.