The Absent(-minded) Blogger Returns!

Updates are sooo overrated.

So I'm not doing one.

Actually, they're rather depressing, because they remind me 1) how many good things I could have blogged about in detail but am now cramming into six paragraphs and 2) how poor of a memory I have. I've tried writing a post probably three times now. I even got the Blogger app on my phone thinking it meant I no longer had any excuse for not blogging. Nope. My new excuse is that I hate, despise, detest virtual keyboards.

So Youth Conference was good, I got my driver's license, went to another job interview, had some church activities, voted, read a few books, didn't write much, and then everyone but Wes went on a short trip to visit some friends down south who moved away this past May.

That's not really a recap.

Actually, we just got back from that short trip. Just Friday to Monday, and it was a long drive. We did a little touristy stuff, ate lots of good food, hung out, and avoided the humidity as much as possible.

What I totally didn't expect, but what has become a personal highlight for me, was the preaching on Sunday. God worked it out so that much of what was said was exactly what I needed to hear. It spoke right to some of the deep, personal issues I've been dealing with lately. For that alone, I truly do feel blessed. God's just amazing that way.

Life's been crazy. I'm stepping into a new stage: unemployed single living at home. I hate that stage and am desperate to get out of it. At least as far as a job goes. I have an interview this Thursday, and I'm praying hard this one works out. It's at a cafe owned by some people we know, which opened up sometime last year (?). As soon as we heard they were opening, Mom told me to put in an application. Did I? No. Of course not. Even though I love that sort of job and it's pretty much exactly what I've been looking for. Well, this is my second chance.
As far as the "living at home" part goes, I'm quite content. Most kids my age are like "Yay! Independence!" I'm like, "Um....No, thanks." I'm pretty sure whenever I do eventually leave home, I'll be reduced to a puddle of tears and nervous stomach acid before I turn off our street. Only in my head am I a bold adventurer doing new things.
That, and part time at a cafe probably won't be enough to sustain my wannabe Bohemian self and my brat.
Also, there's that part where I want to get into missions, and somewhere down the line (hopefully at the next stop) I'll be applying the concept of saving most of what I earn to my good, healthy habit-filled lifestyle I'm trying to develop.
There's also the concept of a schedule. Yeah. Well, I would attempt to stick to that as far as this blog goes, but we (being Mom, myself, the girls, and a pal) will be heading out West to visit Grandma on Friday. So...perhaps I'll return on Thursday? I'll definitely try blogging (okay, I should use a word more committed than "try") while we're gone.
Whatever. I should go. Lots to do!

It's that Time of Year (and I don't mean Christmas)

For my youth group, the highlight of the year is Youth Conference. Undeniably. Some of my best youth group memories are from youth conference. 

This year, I'm going as a chaperone. Gah! Okay, semi-chaperone. Basically, I've been promoted from happy, carefree teen to teen with responsibilities and younger roommates. I was told I could go as a teen or a chaperone, whichever I wanted, and I chose chaperone because I'd like to help out with the event instead of just participate.

As always, I can't believe we'll be leaving this Sunday! Something that's contributed to the surreality (yeah, that's a word) is probably the fact that just yesterday we had our annual fundraiser dinner. Normally that happens in June. Before fireworks tent.

Tuesday, Mom took us girls out to try to get some last minute sales from the car dealerships. They've bought in the past, but this year only yielded sales from one place. Probably because it was such short notice. Ah, well.

Yesterday, I was up by 7 (well, that's when I set my alarm, anyway) so I would be good and ready to go by 8:15. We ran out to collect the tally for sales and then headed to the church. The health inspector was coming by, so we kids hid on the opposite end of the church for a while. When the inspector finally left, we jumped right into preparing a huge order. (Lunch is mostly big orders to be delivered to companies, and supper is walk-ins, usually church people.)

I was on the brisket side of the table, as I have been every year but last. Throughout the day, people shifted around so all the girls worked brisket and the guys had chicken.

The day was busy, but not really the sort of activity I can say much about (at least, not much that's interesting and not rambling.) I served up brisket and yelled for more brisket and dished up baked beans and tried to ignore my aching feet and salivated over brisket we weren't allowed to eat in case we ran low. (You'd think working over food all day would mean you weren't hungry for it, but this time every year I really crave BBQ brisket. Go figure.) My hands were sweaty from wearing gloves and my hat kept falling low over my eyes and I was thirsty. However, now that I've slept, I can say I enjoyed the whole ordeal. After all, the proceeds go to Youth Conference, bringing the cost for each kid down. Yay!

Dad and Mom teach a class on Wednesday night with which Heather had been helping, but last week we traded places. Since we're so close to everyone moving into their new grades, we don't really have a lesson we're working on, so I got to sit at the back with Mom and pretend I was awake.

When we got home, I had every intention of going to bed, but that didn't happen until 10:30 or later. Instead, I watched some TV with Dad while we waited for news from Mom, who was at the hospital with a friend who was 42 weeks pregnant and going for a C-section. After that good news arrived and made it a very full day, I went to sleep.

But little of this has very much to do with Youth Conference. On that subject:

Mom took us girls shopping...last week? And since then I've been mentally packing, making lists, looking over the extensive and detailed schedule one of our amazing and very organized youth workers compiled, panicking over my lack of practice on a song I'll be singing with Heather and another girl, and trying to proceed with normal life. Funny how we all build up to this one week, spend months preparing for and thinking about it, and then it's gone in a flash.

There's something philosophical in that, but I can't dig it out right now.

Unless I get abnormally productive in the next few days concerning this blog, the next you'll hear from me will   be after Youth Conference. And probably a little while after that, because I'll no doubt need to process everything and try to sort out the blur. Man, I love this time of year.

So now I'm a Squirrel (Also: Driving and Cars)

It's been brought to my attention over the last few months that I have a very hard time making decisions.

Okay, so we've all known this for years. I remember Mom accusing me of being "wishy-washy" when I couldn't decide which candy bar I wanted from the vending machine at the newspaper building in Lincoln. However, only recently have I been made aware of just how dangerous this habit can be.

I actually realized the seriousness of this mental condition through my driving. I hesitate a second too long, I don't respond immediately to a situation, I panic and don't respond at all. Don't worry; thus far, I've had a wise, alert parent in the car ready to scream at me when I show the slightest signs of uncertainty, and I've started to curb a lot of my bad driving tendencies. However, this issue has cropped up in all areas of my life. Especially, I've found that I second guess myself. A lot.

I could be 100% certain of something, could have double checked it twice, but at the first sign of contestation to my well-grounded opinion or determination, I question myself. Am I absolutely positive I put that away? Well, I was until someone asked. Did we deliver this house on routes? I distinctly remember because I picked up their recycled bags, but now that you mention it, I don't know.

Mom described me as a squirrel.

(That's where I intended to go with this, but my prelude was a bit longer than I'd planned.)

Turns out, when it comes to my ability to make definite, final, solid decisions...I'm a squirrel.

Mom declared this yesterday after we witnessed a squirrel so unsure of his own desire to cross the street versus his desire to live that we drove over top of him and very nearly killed him. Mom said, "That's you."

Wow. Thanks. I've always wanted to be compared to a spazzy, brainless rodent in terms of my mental soundness.

She went on to warn me that if I didn't get this terrible tendency under control, it could potentially lead to death.

Nothing like a morbid ultimatum to push something to fix their problems.

That was about the time I fully grasped just how serious this situation is. While I thought the worst that could happen was not getting the meal I wanted, it turns out that's the least of my worries.

So now whenever we drive by a dead squirrel, I get to remember Mom's sweet, encouraging advice and just say "No" when that's what my instincts tell me.

Speaking of driving.

Last week my brother was asking me when I was going to get my license. Considering the nice lady at the Secretary of State waived the 30 day waiting time and I could have got it that day if I'd been ready, it's a good question.

Between our hectic lives and lack of cars up until a few days ago, I haven't had much time to practice driving and especially parking, so not only have we not had the time for me to take my test, but I haven't been ready.

Last week Mom had decided that today I would take my test, because Dad has off and could be in the car with me so Mom didn't have to. (She's convinced she would spend the whole time yelling at me or the instructor and just cause problems, and I'm inclined to agree. Sorry, Mom.) Of course, I panicked. I haven't parallel parked since driver's ed, and there's no way I could back-in park. (And who even does that when there's a perfectly good spot to pull into, anyway?) I'm comfortable with actually driving, though I haven't practiced pretending to believe in blind spots, which would fail me instantly. So Mom suggested I do what Wes did to learn how to drive: drive on routes.

She was kind enough to just have me do a couple residential streets and the condos, but most of it was pulling in and then backing out. I've been convinced that backing out was one of my worst issues with driving, but three driveways with Mom cured me of that. Trying to gauge the distance between the side mirror and the mailbox is another issue entirely.

Turns out, however, that all my panicking was for nothing, because (at least, to the best of my knowledge) Mom never got ahold of the people who were to give me my test, so nothing was scheduled. Which is fine, because I would have had to take the test in a borrowed car due to mine having a cracked windshield and touchy brakes.

Which brings me to the last thing: cars.

I don't think someone my age who's parents are not in car sales should be this familiar with the process of buying and registering a car. We bought two this last week. Both on Friday.

The first was for my brother. Now remember, this is the guy who had decided that his preferred vehicle is a mini van. A friend found him an '83 Oldsmobile. A yacht among boats. A far cry from a minivan. In MINT condition, having formerly been a grandma car with the average annual miles being much less than what makes for a low-mileage car. And "a good deal" doesn't cover it.

Guess who now has half his facebook friends jealous of him: my brother.

Guess who is so glad the car, sweet at it may be, isn't hers: this girl.

I mean, it's a good car; it's a fantastic car. Cream with a dark brown canvas top, a spotless interior, whitewall tires.... And of course, a sound system he approves of. However, the thing is ginormous and all my close calls with my own car's long front end would be horrific accidents in that thing. (Of course, a run in with a semi wouldn't end terribly with this tank, so the Olds wins the safety factor.) His could blow mine away in a street race, and I'm fine with that. It was luxury in its day and it's too much for me now. My "gangsta car" is no longer the gangster car in the driveway, and I'm so thankful. No debating or second guessing on my part about that.

The other car is Dad's. Mom picked it up right after Wesley's, and...well, yeah. $200 clunker, and, as Dad puts it, where the rust spots on Wes's could be covered in one hand, that same hand could cover the non-rusted spots on Dad's. Where Wes's glides and purrs, Dad's clanks. I mean, Dad's happy with it. It's a standard, which is what he wanted after Mom's Kia, and it can do the job of getting him back and forth to work. (That is, until winter, when the snow will come up through the hole in the floor.) My only consolation is that when it dies, we can scrap it for $300 at least, and move on to the next clunker.

So now we have five cars in the driveway and one being worked on by friends: the Ford Expedition, my Chevy, Wes's Olds, Dad's...I don't remember what model, and a Buick we're borrowing. Eventually the car being worked on (a Pontiac sports car Heather will eventually get) and a routes car for Mom will be added. It's a good thing we have a long driveway.

The other day we were counting all of the cars that have been in our driveway since we moved here. Not the cars of people visiting or picking up or dropping off someone; the cars we've owned or borrowed. We got to 15 before I stopped. Between 8 and 10 of those are the cars we've owned.
Needless to say, our car...adventures keep life very interesting.

It's Amazing What You Find When You Clean

When we were kids - and even now, on occasion - and we'd happen upon a long lost item while cleaning, Mom would give us that "I told you so" look and say, "Yeah, it's amazing what you find when you actually clean stuff up."

No, this isn't going to be a post about how I discovered money when I was cleaning my room. (Though the thought of such a possibility, however slight, does make me want to clear out that madhouse.) Despite my ability to lose pretty much anything, I'm a little more careful when it comes to where I put my money. Usually if I've misplaced it, I need only check a limited number of places to find it.

This post is about my garden. Please, try not to get too excited.

My garden has been in serious need of tending for the last couple of weeks. My negligence isn't completely intentional. We've been busy running fireworks tents lately, and I was up there most weekday afternoons. I did manage to keep the garden well-watered most days, and almost drowning it made up for the days I failed to turn on the sprinkler.

Anywho! I'd noticed that the pea plants were starting to droop and asked Mom for some advice. She'd mentioned setting up a lattice (I think that's what it's called) to keep them upright, and said I could just use sticks and string. (Sticks and string have been staples in our garden supplies this year.) So I trooped out to tend to the peas.

I got pretty philosophical observing how the peas all clung to each other and, instead of holding each other up, pulled the whole line down. I had a feeling that could develop into some sort of deep illustration, but after coaxing peas to let go of each other for fifteen minutes, that's as far as my deep musings got.

I noted that the garden seriously needed weeding, but I was a bit tired and sore after stooping over peas, so I left it.

Now we get to the point!

I went out this morning to check on the peas and make some adjustments and starting pulling at weeds scattered around the garden. Along the kennel fence there's been a mass of grasses and weeds that keeps coming back, and I decided it was time I took care of it, because the peppers were being overrun.

I was reaching for a rather large weed when I noticed the leaves. They looked familiar, but not like any weed I'd seen yet. Then I glanced back at the tomatoes and realized I was staring at a tomato plant. I gawked at the leaves for a few minutes just to be sure, and then spotted the little yellow flower. Yup. Tomato.

After I reported my discovery to Mom, I went back out and started working on the weeds around the tomato plant. My efforts uncovered something unexpected. There were not one, not two, not even three, but five tomato plants. (I brought Dad out to confirm this, just to be sure I wasn't being an idiot.)

Along the fence is where our tomatoes were placed last year, and I can only guess that some of the overripe tomatoes I abandoned when we became overrun with produce planted themselves.

The irony is that Dad left five spaces for tomatoes when we were planting everything, with the intention that we would pick up a few more, which we never did. So I finished weeding and transplanted the plants to those empty spaces. Now I'm hoping they're the traditional style of tomato and not more romas.

Speaking of curious garden discoveries, I don't think I mentioned the walnut tree I found while uprooting day lilies last month. I pulled up a curious little plant, thin and straight with a few small leaves and a bulge near the bottom that looked like a walnut. I brought it to Dad for inspection, and he declared it a walnut tree. Of course, he then proceeded to crack open the nut just to be sure, right as I was planning where I'd replant the little thing.

That tree was a result of the girls shucking walnuts on the deck last autumn. One must have rolled off and settled in the hideous mass of lilies.

So that was my adventure for the way! When I came back in to wash dishes, I noticed my arm was hurting and itching, and looked down to see what looked like the beginnings of a rash. I'd noticed the itch earlier but ignored it. Either I scraped against a dangerous weed or the tomatoes were punishing me for moving them. I'd received small rashy scratched before when I've scraped rose thorns, so it might just be a simple skin irritation. I hope.

I Almost Collapsed in the Middle of the Road (or: When it rains, it pours, and I can't swim)

Note: the majority of this post was written on Thursday. You may notice I kind of switch tenses near the end where I finished up on Friday because it was very late by the time I got around to writing this.

Yes, I'm kind of attached to the saying "When it rains, it pours". It's very applicable lately. I've already used it once today, on a facebook status, but I'm here to say it again.

As Mom aptly put it: "Well, I'm drowning."

The day started out normal. (Yes, I've had other adventures over the past week, but I don't want to bother with a recap, so we'll go with something more recent.) I'd gone to bed late because I got home late last night after a singles' activity at the youth pastor's house. (My first one, and I never thought I'd go to one. Ever.) So I pushed my alarm up to 7:30. Sasha was already mad at me for not getting to bed until 11:30, but she was ready to go by 7:00.

So I get up, take her out, switch out laundry, wash some dishes, water the garden, shock the pool. Kind of meandering through the morning. Fireworks tents are on, and I've been spending my afternoons there because I'm one of a select few individuals who can run register. However, today is route day, so I was mentally preparing myself for an afternoon where I wasn't sitting around bracelet braiding and trying to convince strangers that they need the $20 buy-one-get-one mortar with a couple bottle rockets thrown in and some smoke grenades for the kids. Fun stuff.

Anywho. Mom was keeping in contact while she worked out who was picking us up and when and all that fun stuff. There's been a lack of communication lately and all kinds of trouble with schedules, so it's been touch-and-go all week. For a while it looked like Heather and I wouldn't be picked up until 12:30. Suddenly, in the middle of my bowl of mac and cheese, Mom's saying someone else will be by at 11:30.

So I rush around shoveling food in my mouth and grabbing library books in case a library run turns out to be possible and taking allergy medicine and feeding the dogs, and then we're off! It turned out to be the youth pastor's wife picking us up, and her four-year-old was along for the ride. We had to stop by the paper to get Mom's papers, and said four-year-old started panicking, thinking we weren't in fact going back to his house but were going to deliver papers. (His three older brothers have routes and he often has to come along.)

Once we had papers, we headed to the tent. Mom was there alone with a few customers. I took a seat and dug through the cooler for something to munch, and made the wise decision of adding a few shots of energy drink mix to my water. (Sounds terrible and alcoholic, I know, but it's actually very healthy and tasty. But it can still produce side effects in some people which are similar to what would happen if they were drunk.)

We were waiting for the woman who was supposed to get us after 12 to arrive so she could sit with Heather, the youth pastor's wife and son could leave, and we could take her car on routes instead of our broken down Beast (AKA Expedition). While we waited, the four-year-old moped about making growling noises and saying his stomach needed food and begging for water and yodeling behind a pile of boxes, and I filled Mom in on the events of the previous night's activity.

I know. Pretty much none of this is relevant, but I need to ramble a bit, Please bear with me.

A couple days ago, it was breezy and cool in the day and actually cold at night. Not today. Almost 100 degrees and very humid, and while the breeze was a few degrees cooler, it didn't really help. I was dreading routes, but wondered if it would be better than sitting still in that big, stuffy tent.

Finally the other lady arrived and Mom and I set out. We had to do things quite out of order because of where we were located in relation to the routes, but it's nice to change things up, especially when we needed to keep our minds off the temperature. We ran the air for a little while, but turned it off so it wouldn't mess with the...radiator? Whatever part of the car has a gauge on the dashboard where the needle should never go into the red area.  :)  Yeah, so it was still hot, but we had a breeze which helped relieve the heat ever so slightly. And Mom was already drenched in sweat, so she didn't notice as much.

We were maybe 15 minutes into routes when Mom saw the steady trail we were leaving on the road, and the puddles wherever we sat still. And then the car started having trouble shifting. In 5 more minutes, we were in trouble, and Mom was headed back to the tent. We got about 3 blocks, stopped and a red light, and didn't move again.

And of course, this city has all those poorly-planned intersections. Just what we needed.

We'd already called the owner of the car to let her know what was happening, and then Mom called the youth pastor's wife. She said we just needed to get it into a parking lot. We were very close to a car wash and Pizza Hut.

Look! A map! A picture on my blog! Only because it is much easier to explain with a visual reference.

The red dot is where we were stopped, right by the light and a tricky intersection. The blue spot is approximately where the Pizza Hut parking lot was located, which Mom figured would be easier to get into than the car wash one. (No, I didn't make the map. I tried, and failed miserably. That was courtesy of Google maps. I just simplified it and added the dots.)

We waited through four or five cycles of traffic signals, with some people behind too blind and impatient to see our hazards on, and some pausing to make sure we were okay. Of course, my extreme caution when it comes to negative roadside situations that have any possibilities of resulting in some sort of accident. Of course, Mom didn't have to tell me to sit still and keep my seatbelt on until our help arrived.

Thankfully, it wasn't the four-year-old but the fourteen-year-old who came along with his mom. And he's not a wimp. I hopped out and got ready on one side of the back of the car, my hands on the hot surface. Of course, I was wearing flip-flops. As the other lane's light turned red, we started pushing. It took some time, but we eventually gained momentum and then I was jogging a bit behind, out of breath and starting to feel asthmatic. We started to pass the car wash and a bunch of men working on the sign saw us and started laughing. I was too busy focusing on not falling down flat on my face.

Thankfully, my youth pastor's wife was wearing a bright pink shirt and her son had a neon yellow shirt on. Me, I was in a thick, dark gray t-shirt. About halfway through, with one hand on the trunk (and that more to steady myself than to keep the car in motion), I was feeling a bit dizzy.

Then we had to get the car up the incline into the parking lot. The youth pastor's wife called out a countdown to Mom, and then we dug in. The car slid into the nearest parking lot, and I went to sit down in the passenger seat. I had that almost cold, wheezy feeling in my throat, so I guzzled my energy-enfused water.

Then we loaded everything up in the youth pastor's van and headed to their house, where we dropped them off and tried to remember where we'd left off with routes.

By the time we finished and got back to my youth pastor's house so they could take us back to the tent and take their van to do their own routes, it was almost 4:00. Papers have to be delivered by 5:00. Of course, their routes are walking routes which they've got down to about 45 minutes, so I had faith in them.

Back at the tent, I moped around drinking water and wishing I had something to do. I made a few sales when Mom ran to the bathroom, even convincing a woman that she needed the $20 buy-one-get-one mortar when all she was going to buy was little things like bottle rockets and sparklers. Score!

It was definitely better to me to be on routes than stuck sitting at the tent. Mom would probably disagree because she was still sitting still the whole time, and then we had to turn on the defroster in the van to bring the heat down in the...radiator?? (Yeah, same thing as the car.) Me, I got to get out and move pretty often.

We made a few sales, but mostly we sat around begging the very dark looking clouds coming our way to let loose with a rain storm so we could dance in it. Nothing happened. There'd only been a 17% chance of rain and thunderstorms.

By 6:00, I was so ready to just go home and take a shower and then do nothing. Wes came to get Heather and I and we had to make a trip to Walmart, for which I remained in the car and sweat buckets, but I was feeling a bit dizzy and wanted to sit down. Then we had to run back to the tent because I'd forgot something.

Finally, home! Of course, I couldn't take a shower yet because I had to be on watch for a pool party. Allenna had a few friends over to go swimming and Mom likes someone outside the pool keeping an eye on them. It wasn't too bad, and I got some cute pictures.

That's pretty much how the day went. For some reason, I still didn't get to bed until around 11:00.

It's not what I wanted to say, but it's better than silence

I've been avoiding this for too long. Believe me, at first I did try to write, but it ended up being a jumble of thoughts that I couldn't and didn't want to sort out, so I gave up. I'm still struggling to find something to say, though there is a lot I need to say.

But I think I'll be a cop out and not say much, because everyone who reads this pretty much knows how my life has gone lately.

I think this is one of those stages of change in life. Transition is definitely how it feels to me. School is done, I had my first job interview (I didn't get the job, though), and I'm trying to figure out just what I'm supposed to be doing.

Mom told me a while ago that this age was the worst. It's like everything is happening and yet nothing is. It's that pause between acts, when the stage goes dim and everyone is changing outfits.

Clearly I'm feeling far more mellow than normal. I can't usually manage that kind of metaphor.

I don't mean to make it sound like life hasn't been busy. We've kept moving from one thing to another. I've had plenty to occupy my mind. But I still feel like the actor who can't remember their lines or their position on the stage. I know I need to be moving, but I'm scared stiff.

At the graduation ceremony at church a couple weeks ago, I said I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grow up, but for the moment I planned to continue at our church's institute and help Mom and Dad with their missions work. That's all fine and dandy, but Institute doesn't start for what?, three months? And there isn't really very much I can do to help Mom and Dad right now. That's all just in theory at the moment.

Change. A part of me dreads it. The sane part of me likes feeling settled, knowing the routine, knowing what to expect - demanding to know what is to be expected. That illogical, hyperactive, colorful part of me screams for adventure, and adventure requires change. That part of me wants to keep moving, keep trying new things, and has very high expectations. And tends to wrestle control of my brain out of the hands of the sane portion.

I'm supposed to be looking for a job. More than that; I'm supposed to already have a job. But I've come to find out that - lately, at least - I'm the sort of person who isn't very self-motivated. Not that I'm making excuses. It's just another bad habit I need to beat. But how does one who procrastinates and lacks incentive find the willpower to tackle those two faults? That's almost irony.

Now I'm really babbling. Hopefully once I get this mess out of the way I'll be able to blog more clearly.

I suppose the struggle I'm dealing with is finding purpose. I've always had that struggle, but it's become far more evident lately that I seriously need some purpose. I'm dissatisfied with the life I'm building. I need to find something worthwhile. Don't worry; I'm not going to rush off on some sort of self-discovery type of adventure. I'm just trying to get a better perspective of life.

The sane part of me keeps urging me to settle down and get serious, to find something to do and just do it. That part of me is heavily influenced by my wise parents and my well-meaning youth pastor, who may not even realize how deeply their words hit me. However, that uncontrollably wild side of me refuses to accept that I have to choose just one path to take in life; refuses to believe that I might possibly have to accept a job I couldn't like without forcing myself; refuses to accept any responsibility for the choices I'm making. That part of me wants to believe anything is still possible, I can do whatever I want, and I have all the time in the world to do it.

How? asks the sane part. By dreaming? Unfortunately, this world requires at least a little money to fulfill dreams. And, as much as I still plan to get published, that process takes a while and I kind of need something to happen right now.

Wow. This post turned into an inner battle. Lovely. But there: there's my struggle. There's the truth to what I haven't been able to find the words to say. Maybe I'm looking for some outside support, some peer pressure, I don't know. Like I said, I don't really know what I want to say. As well as feeling panicked by this rush, this urge to change, I also feel lost in the bustle. Maybe I wrote this because I needed to, for my own sanity's sake, because I seriously need a reality check. I don't know. I can't believe I'm actually going to post it, too, but I need to so it's all out of the way and I can get back to some semblance of regularity.

So here goes.

Storm Warnings at Midnight (or: how I handle stressful situations)

In case you missed it before, I can be very fretful. Embarrassingly so. And about everything. I hate it, I try to fight it, but I still worry too much. My mind always runs to the worst-case scenario in any situation. And my brain is pretty creative.

Anyway!

After a very long day yesterday (including a nap after which I felt even more tired than before) I was ready to settle down when the family gathered in our room to watch a movie. (Dolphin Tale, which I'd never intended to watch but actually enjoyed.)

We'd had bad weather all day and had kept on the watch for tornado alerts, but nothing had come of it thus far. Lots of thunder and rain and very heavy, dark clouds, as well as wind.

Half-way through the movie, I asked Mom if she'd heard the noise I'd heard. My ears were tuned for the sound. Mom said it was only the movie, but at my insistence, she paused the movie. Immediately the sound was clear: tornado sirens.

My stomach lurched and dropped like a roller coaster. Snap. I grabbed my pillow, blanket, and Bible and hurried downstairs. Mom was fiddling with the radio and Aunt Trudy was checking the computer. We'd been in the watch box all day, but now we were in the warning. They were mentioning locations just miles away. The wind was dead, the lightning was constant, and there wasn't rain, which scares me more than hail and driving winds.

I won't even pretend I tried to be brave. I didn't. I just gave way to the fear. I don't see the point in fighting it, because it only confuses my stomach more. Any more knots and it would take all the next day to sort them out so I could eat.

Eventually Allenna and I retreated to the basement, where I sat down on a box and hugged my pillow. Mom and Aunt Trudy stopped by to try to ease our minds as the sirens went back and forth between on and off. Aunt Trudy started rummaging around for supplies. We had a jug of water, a box marked "candles" that didn't seem to have candles, a lighter, and lots of reading material. Grand.

Meanwhile, we could hear the wind chimes from the house across the street and the sound of cars speeding by. We could hear the floors creaking and the faint sound of the TV. 

Finally the alert was over. I crept back upstairs, stopped shaking, and breathed. We went back upstairs to finish the movie, and then turned on the air conditioner and crawled into bed. I kept hearing phantom sirens in the whine of the AC and the noises of the storm outside (it had started raining hard). But I did manage to fall asleep eventually.

Today is a windy but cloudless day (well, cloudless now), as if nothing had ever happened, which is how it usually goes. Aunt Trudy and I agreed that an upside to traveling during bad weather means we don't have much stuff to worry about, which helps matters, if only a little.

See, now my brain is working a little better. Yay!