#36. Why Maryland needs more places like Lake Frank.

1) It's a name with local historical significance that has an odd ring to it. Lake Frank.

2) Visitors are forced to do nothing. You can't get in the water (because there's some sort of algae that causes liver issues) and there are no boats. No picnic tables. The number of manmade benches is less than 10. Fishing is allowed but it's my assumption that those caught probably shouldn't be eaten because of the algae, meaning it's catch-and-release. There's a trail/bike path around the lake that never reaches the shore without breaking off onto the lesser trails made by determined people like myself.

Lake Frank offers you nothing but itself. You hear water sounds, fish-catching-bugs sounds, the rare whir of a bike tire on pavement passing above you if you've ventured to the shore to sit on the damp dirt. Bug sounds. Wind sounds. Leaf sounds.

It's here, this day, I realized the completely of my memory loss. I've forgotten how to be still. Sitting on an old, fallen wooden post next to quiet waters moving with the paddles of turtles and gliders, I found myself wanting to be doing something. Getting stuff done. Intentionally wasting time in the degenerative way. Looking to my phone for distraction from the nothingness. I came intending to read and write in a meditative setting, with a meditative heart, but I was nearly incapable (read: actually unwilling) to let the depths be deep.

That has to be at least part of why I've not had any sense of peace in the past many months. I no longer know how to be at peace, to sit peacefully.

Lake Frank forces you by itself detachment to feel the weight of the meaninglessness of the surrounding anxieties, habits, distractions, schedules, what-have-you. Those aren't real, not in truth.

3) Lake Frank is lovely.

#35. A Number Higher Than The Current Temperature.

It's 30 degrees outside right now. Not okay. I'm wearing socks, for cryin' out loud. T'ain't right!

I have two jobs, neither of which is working for the Family unless you count in babysitting every Saturday night. Hmm...maybe I have 4 jobs then.

Job #1: Good to Go Café, Barista. Hours are from an unearthly 6:30am until sometime between 11am and 1pm.

Job #2: Barrie School, Extended Day Aide. Hours are from 2:30ish until all the kids are gone, which is supposed to be no later than 6pm. Supposed to be.

Job #3: The Family, Babysitter. Hours are from 6ish until 9ishpm on Saturdays.

Job #4: Dean and Matthew (friends from the church none of us attended anymore), Babysitter. Hours are from 7:30pm until 9:30ishpm on a weekday, normally Wednesdays.

Nope, I won't be exhausted in the least...  ...  ...

But the good news is that all those things will allow me to stay in my current apartment and start paying my mom back for my whole life. The bad news is that I'll want to crash as soon as I get home, especially since three-fourths of my jobs mean dealing with people for the entire time. Job #4 usually really means sitting on their couch crocheting while Baby sleeps, but sometimes he wakes up and that's okay too.

[Geez, I wish it were warmer here!]

I'll be going home for Thanksgiving on Wednesday afternoon and staying until Saturday night. I'd normally stay until Sunday, but Jim has to work Friday/Saturday so he can't come along with me. I'm hoping to see him when I get back. And I'm hoping he'll have a new job when I get back.

At the Renaissance Faire. Yes, he's wearing a kilt.

I've been amazed at how God works in this relationship. Every time I express to Him any concern about it, Jim says something to sway my fears without directly knowing I was worried about anything. Most often it's faith-oriented. I'm a lot more outspoken about my beliefs than he is. Obviously being evangelical has affected me more than I accounted for. I'm so used to understanding openness as sincerity that I sometimes doubted how important his faith really was to him, even though he said it was important. I talked with Father about it, and within a week Jim and I had an unplanned conversation, which he started, about how finding community might be best done through a Bible study instead of a Church-church. Insane. I was probably smiling more than made sense during that talk. What a comfort!

I tried running last weekend because it was relatively nice outside. "Uh-uh," said my legs, "We don't like that!" It had been a bit more than a month.

I have my second cold of the season, after not having a cold for the past nearly-three years. Guess my time had come.

I'm crocheting things as gifts and now I'm having the crafter's nightmare of wanting to keep all the things because I like them so much.

I miss y'all terribly. I sincerely do. I wish it were more realistic to see your faces on a regular basis and know what your lives look and feel like right now.

I like walking Lily, big as she is, around my neighborhood and going past men walking dachshunds and yorkies and the like. It's somehow satisfying when I'm barely able to hold her back from chasing down a baby rabbit that ran under the shrubbery. ("We want...a shrubbery!")

But I don't like walking her when it's cold. Part of every floor of our building should be a playroom for dogs.

If there's anything else to report I've forgotten it...

I hope to see any/all of you soon!

#34. Seasonal.

Fall is enjoyable in its own right. Frustrating if you're as low maintenance as I am, but enjoyable.

The crispy air and the crunchy leaves. The smells. The cheaper butternut squash and pumpkin. Not feeling like you've just gone swimming once you step outside.

Fall means thinking in terms of layers. Like I said, I'm low maintenance and having to think about the hot-warm-chilly-cold transitions of Fall days is a bother because I have loads of t-shirts, and only one is long-sleeved. And I always end up pushing the cuffs up to my elbows anyway.

Fall means thinking in terms of layers. Hours are layered onto new/old phases of the sun. This year is layered onto plans for next year. Enjoying the enjoyable bits about Fall is layered onto the ever-encroaching dread of the dreaded Winter.

Darkness and death. Cold and shriveled. Bundled up and contained.

Pop quiz: Which is my least favorite season?

I've already started taking my yearly regimen of "oh no, the sun's gone!" Vitamin D. It helps.

Summer went waaaay too quick, as it always does. My first Maryland summer came and went without a sense of freedom that I'm accustomed to feeling alongside those swampy days. I had fun, but I'm not often in silly situations here. No opportunity to be loud and obnoxious and laugh uproariously in public in large groups. Very few card games. Very few stars.

I did not intend this to be another moody, melancholy post. My apologies. Such is the season.

I was at home this past weekend. My mom had surgery on Friday. I arrived in Elliston at midnight Thursday, we left at 3am to go to UVa, and we left on Saturday somewhere around 11am. We both slept a lot in the past couple of days for our different reasons. She was recovering, I was decompressing.

I got mad about the Mom calling me during the weekend to inform me I needed to make an appointment for her daughter to get her hand brace fitted. Don't care, I'm at home. Set up the freakin' time yourself.

I had a job interview this morning with the Barrie School. I loved it there. Reminds me a little of LUL, even in the ways that the staff interact with one another. Horses, kayaks, garden, dirt and grass and trees. They loved me too and will be calling in a couple days with details about what they might could offer me as far as hours and wages.

Another interview in the morning, on the phone this time, with Springboard Education. I applied to several jobs with them so I don't even know which position I'm being interviewed for! Unless they are simply magnificent, I'll still prefer the other opportunity.

I've been a bum this month. No running. No nothing. I make excuses for my laziness all the time. It took me a while to figure out that my SAD had kicked in a touch early this year.

But I did finish two books this weekend! Reading! Yay! Except...I've been failing at book club. Is it okay for me to say that I just didn't want to? Because I just didn't want to. Maybe because depression, maybe because no-want. I'm a jerkface. What's done is done.

I'll be going to the Renaissance Faire this coming Sunday, for the second time. This time around I'll be sure to eat something before I get anything to drink. Bad, bad idea to have alcohol on an empty stomach. Y'all, all of you, should come along. 'Tis fun. And you can see/meet Jim if you haven't already.

I still like him bunches. I think I'll keep him.

#33. Endorphins are my friends.

Before I ran five miles today all I wanted was to disappear. Maybe sleep forever. 

I felt (and still do feel) stuck in my job. Stuck in Maryland. Trapped under the thumb of money and capitalism and too-many-people-vying-for-the-same-things-as-me.

Feeling stuck often leaves me feeling apathetic. Screw it all and everyone along with it, I say. So I guess it's less apathetic and more bitter at first. But then I decide that sleeping forever or fading into a nonthing would be better than applying to underpaying, undesired jobs anyway.

It's easier to not care, to not feel. Feeling hurts a lot and a lot of the time, it seems.

But then I went running. On my return trip, I started feeling more awake. Yes, I can apply to those jobs even if they're only better in that they're different than my now, I say. Yes, I will apply to Johns Hopkins even though I probably can't afford it if I do get accepted, I say. 

Sometimes chemicals are nice.

I haven't written here in so long because I couldn't stand the thought of being pissy about my life in front of y'all. I only want to get moving, to start doing what I am made to do, being who I am made to be. 

I know. "Bloom where you are planted." Good grief though. There are so many weeds right now, and not the pretty kind. 

I'm still feeling the itch to escape. To run into the waiting arms of the genial South, whose negatives I know like my own but whose positives I want as my own. 

I need space. Unadulterated bigness. I need to be able to choose whether or not to see humans and luxury cars today. Honestly I don't know that moving southward would provide that but it sure feels more likely than not. 

Anyway. Lily turned two! Look how tiny she was when she was tiny!

She was about 3 months old here.

#32. Bottomless Pit.

I forgot about this. The cravings. The felt need/want to eat more and to eat sugar and carbohydrates.

I've picked up running again. Somehow or other I think I've lost my tennis shoes (maybe I left them in the back offices of Look Up? They are Nike, grey and orange if anyone notices...) and it's been the biggest blessing for my athletic activity. Except playing tennis. That's more difficult. Chacos ain't made for that.

A couple Saturdays ago, I had been sitting around reading, dog-park-going, and sitting all day and noticed that because it was rested my hamstring wasn't the least bit sore. I says to myself, I says, "I'ma gointa run!"

No tennis shoes...Five-Fingers it is then. My gosh, what a difference! Because of the way the Unshoe is made, it reminds you to run more naturally and toward the ball of your foot rather than the heel. That being so, the act of running puts almost all of the stress on the calves and NOT the hamstring.

Glory be! This means that even on the days my hamstrings hurts from fatigue, I can run because the pressure is on a different muscle. This means that I'm not in danger of further injuring myself.

This means I'm very much in danger of eating myself out of house and home. I love to run. I love to eat. Running means I can eat more without getting more of me. Eating more means buying more food. Buying more food means buying less of something else. Most of my something-elses are also necessities, so...

If anyone has suggestions for super-filling super-cheap foods...I'm all ears, er, eyes.

#31. Animals and Vegetables.

Animals are lovely. Look how close (through a window) I got to this fawn!

And watch this video sent me by Jim. It's a corgi. Jumping in a body of water.

Bad Day Banisher!

Now about the vegetables. It's becoming more and more obvious that I am not good in the least at keeping houseplants alive. As evidenced by the three plants of the Mizrahi's that've died on my watch and by my greeting this Monday being "Whatever the opposite of a green thumb is, I'm certain you have it." Great start to my work week.

I've heard waaaay too much about minerals and ores and blech lately to talk about them. Max loves Minecraft and me, and talking about Minecraft with me. I do not care about Minecraft in the least, but I care about Max so I listen with somewhat less rapt attention than I did seven weeks ago. 

Ella got mad at me because I told her I'd have to take a rain check for an Uno game. Her dad came and asked/told me to switch out his soap in the shower and take out his office trash as I was folding laundry and had told Ella that I'd play with her as soon as I finished that one load. 

The Mom came home and was subtly pissed about the plant dying. She was cold and cordial. I've decided that they will not make me feel bad about it. I know the ins and outs of the kids personalities and they tell me things and listen to me. I don't know how much water a plant takes or why it's so picky. I also don't care. Because nature is outside and if you want a freakin' outdoor experience, go freakin' outdoors. If you want to see a plant, go walk in a forest. Bringing a plant inside doesn't make a warmer home, and if you think it does and care so much, water the damn thing yourself.

Sorry. Kinda.

I'm frustrated and most every part of me wants to make a list of the things I now refuse to do because they are basic life skills and responsibilities. I don't care how much influence or money or intellect you have, it shouldn't be anyone else's job but your own to switch out your soap or rearrange your make-up after you use it. 

This weekend, Saturday specifically, I was so antsy. I miss Mi Casa and the real and whole conversations and framily I had there. I miss the South Carolina landscape and friendscape. I miss being around a large group of people who know what it is to work hard and then relax, really relax and take Sabbath. I want friends who read and take life equal amounts of seriously and jovially. Schedules are not my prime mode of operation, and it seems most things have agendas here. Even in the bayside town of Annapolis, people are walking fast and have a purpose. What happened to wandering? More importantly, to wondering?

Speaking of, I take back my previous review of "The Prophetic Imagination." If you can suffer through the first 60 or so pages, the rest is so far much more interesting and spirit-stirring. Still poorly organized, but loads better and worth the read.

I really am okay, y'all, just in the same tough employment and social spot as usual. 

A trip southward is desired before the weather turns though.

#30. The amount of days in (some) months.

I wasn't sure where to begin, so I changed the colour of the font. That's somewhere, right?


Summer finally came! It's boiling hot and beautiful and sweaty. I know I'm probably the only one reveling in such disgusting weather. I'd rather have to drink a thousand ounces of water and pour it back out through my pores than have to wear a thousand layers and pay a thousand dollars for heat that should come naturally.

The downside is that coffee is uncomfortable. The upside is that wine is more comfortable.

The Family now knows that I'm poking around for a new job. They asked me what my Fall plans were and I couldn't lie about them. It seems they understand but they are also being kinder than normal, possibly in attempts to convince me to stay. It's unnecessary but twice appreciated. Once because it's allowed more convenient traveling for me. Twice because it's nice to feel like they now see my value in regards to my skill with the Kids. 

I spent half the day Saturday with Aviva, Ella's speech therapist whom I can now legitimately call my friend since we've seen each other on purpose outside working hours. We just walked about downtown Silver Spring where there's a farmer's/artisan's market each Saturday. I wish I made just a tad bit more money so I could buy my vegetables at a place like that. They look so much better than the supermarket's. 

But let's be real. I wish I made more than a tad bit more. I wish I made more thousands than my years of age. 

Y'all should read A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken. It's heartwarming and heart-wrenching and a true story. I bawled for essentially an entire chapter. I don't do that. Ever. 


I've decided that my mode d'emploi for reading will follow the pattern of fiction-nonfiction-fiction and so on. I need a break from reality in order to contemplate reality. I guess I should qualify the term "fiction" though...Blah. I just mean it's simply a story to be consumed by instead of an idea or historical event/person. Right now I'm reading Surprised by Hope by N.T. Wright. Next I will read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. Then I WILL FINISH reading The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann (if you already have a grounded knowledge of the true definition of prophecy and how that can be a creative/disruptive force in the world, so far I'd suggest skipping this book.) Then I will read The Coalwood Way: A Memoir  by Homer Hickam, highly recommended to me by James Hart.

Oh yeah, he's still around. A lot. Which I don't mind in the least. Indeed I'd mind if he weren't around a lot. Which flashed through my mind many times while we were driving to and inside the emergency room a week and a half ago. On our way back from visiting his hometown (read: attending a party, eating good food, watching fireworks, swimming a lot, seeing and feeling natural nature) he had an asthma attack and while he was focused on taking in and pushing out air, I was focused on making sure he didn't have a torrent of tears to fight through also. My mind knew he'd be fine because it's a routine thing hospitals handle, but my heart cried out to God to keep him alive and me from collapsing in fear. 


I'd not been so frightened in a very long time. This was an old kind of fear. It was the same brand of fear that, when cellphones first came out with all those health warnings, made me want to get my brain and heart as near to the phone as my mom's was so whatever radiation she was exposed to I would also get. I didn't want to be whole if she wasn't. I didn't want to lose her. It was nearly the same as the experience with Jim, different only in the lack of codependency shown by my health and happiness being determined by hers. I did not wish difficulty breathing on myself, but I would have taken it away from him and onto myself given the chance. I guess he's important to me or something...

Yes, he certainly is. He constantly reminds me who I really am just by expecting intelligent and silly conversation from me. I do hope he does not feel shortchanged by our interactions. 

All of the technologies are teetering on the edge of death for me. Computer overheats and smells like hotglue. Cellphone turns off randomly and often won't send or receive messages. Woo.

Anyway. I hope this makes up for my month-long absence. There's little else I could do about it.