City Lights and Traffic Bites

If you want to read something inspiring, joyful, or wise, I highly reccomend the blogs of Lisa, Nolan, or Amy, respectively and simultaneously (links may be found to the right- yes, I have finally learned my left and right, stop clapping). This post is just me screaming.

Beautiful Blue

by Holly McNarland

From the picture on the wall

To the bed posts that touch them all

This is where I live

This is where I do my screamin'

How do you say

I loved you in so many other ways

This is where I live

This is where I do my screamin'

Dreamin' up so much ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

From the time I walked in

To the point where we're both arguin'

This is how I live

This is where I start screamin'

How do you say

I've always felt this way

This is where I live

This is what I do best

Dreamin' with so much ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

Na na na...

Dreamin' under this ugliness

Wakin' up to all this beautiful blue

Beautiful you

Beautiful you

Na na na...

I don't know why that song's stuck in my head. Maybe it's because I've been hanging out in my school's 6th floor lounge for hours by myself, occassionally glancing out at the now dark skies and bright city lights. Some moments, the city looks beautiful. Like when I meet colourful people who aren't afraid to be themselves, aren't afraid to live life, aren't afraid to give. At least, not afraid enough that it holds them back. The snow sparkles, the sun shines. Other times, I hate this place. I feel like Eustace in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, hopelessly trying to chew off a hideous dragon skin that has become a part of me but actually isn't mine. This city is my skin, and I can't seem to leave it behind. Don't know what the bracelet cutting off circulation to Eustace's arm represents, apart from inescapable pain. Inescapable. Pain. Oh, it's my coursework. Man, why am I training to become a psychologist when I'd make such a darn fine psychoanalyst? Just look at the free-associations I'm capable of with enough sleep-deprivation and hunger!

Help, God. I have to conduct a narrative interview in 25 minutes and I can't do it like this. I'm not even sure where this, whatever it is, came from. I felt fine earlier. Something that I ate? No, not ate. Not physical food. Something I consumed: information, a poisoned connection, a broken relation. And something I neglected to consume: love, truth, air. 15 minutes left. I need to go prepare. Here I go. Please go with me.

This One's For December

So this is January. Our second week of January, in fact. Per tradition, I've been back in school only a week and I'm already behind in all 3 of my classes. In addition, it looks like I'm not going to be allowed to graduate on time. I found out just before the Christmas break that in order to graduate I need a second intro to the bible class. The particular class I'm missing is not offered this semester, so the registrar recommended that I apply to the Academic board and ask to substitute the intro class with another religious course, noting in my application that I have also taken 4 other higher level religion courses. I did as she recommended, even offering to take any of 3 different classes that could fit my schedule. Then Nolan and I prayed last Thursday that the school would process my request quickly so I don't fall too far behind in my mystery religion class. Well, they've finished processing. They said, "No." No explanation, just "No." An ironically brief answer for something that really means; "No, we're not letting you take another course even if we can pick what you take, and no, you can't take the same course anywhere else because this is your last year and we don't allow transfer credits in students' last year of study; so no, you cannot graduate with your friends this year because you have to come back for another half a year to take one frickin' intro to the bible course, which means no, you can't apply for graduate studies in 2009 because your marks won't be available for submission by the December due date. Have a nice day." I'll show you nice. A nice, caps-locked, italicized, underlined, and bolded swear word belongs here, but since I already said it aloud several times when I read their email I figure there's no point in repeating it in the written word. I asked God if I could go rant and swear in my journal about red-tape blinded academic board members, but he said he'd prefer it if I praised him instead. So at 1:23 am, I started singing Christmas carols. I hated Christmas this year. True, there were good moments: hanging out with Amy, prayer counselling with Sindy, cross country skiing with Nolan and my dad, leisurely eating Christmas bread with my family Christmas morning, reading books I don't have to write reports about. But overall, it felt very hollow. I was sick, so I couldn't sing carols. The radio djs felt a disturbing need to play (and replay) musically horrid renditions of shallow Christmas carols about snow we didn't have. There were no candles at my church's Christmas Eve Candle-light service. I made no New Year's Resolutions. Thus, below is Good King Wenceslas, my favourite Christmas carol, which I never did hear this year. This one's for December:

Good King Wenceslas looked out On the Feast of Stephen. When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even; Brightly shone the moon that night, Tho' the frost was cruel, When a poor man came in sight, Gath'ring winter fuel. "Hither page and stand by me, If thou know'st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?" "Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By St. Agnes' fountain." "Bring me flesh and bring me wine, Bring me pine logs hither; Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither." Page and monarch forth they went, Forth they went together; Through the rude wind's wild lament And the bitter weather. "Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart I know not how, I can go no longer." "Mark my footsteps, my good page; Tread thou in them boldly; Thou shalt find the winter's rage Freeze thy blood less coldly." In his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the saint had printed. Therefore Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor Shall yourselves find blessing.