Religion Paper

I'm going through a bit of a moral dilemma.

Let me begin by saying that I love Religion. I am not religious myself, but spiritual. However, I love to study world religions, their intricacies and their startling similarities. Now I am taking a class titled Religious Violence and Non-Violence. What a great topic! Mennonite pacifists all the way to organizations like Al Qaeda and the Ku Klux Klan are discussed. I am so interested to learn all of this but my teacher has a certain way of running the class that I don't agree with. We meet on Monday and Wednesday and are expected to read 4-5 chapters by each Wednesday from a book. We then write a paper reflecting on the material. On Monday he lectures and on Wednesday we have discussion that is meant to be guided but often goes very off course and accomplishes nothing. This material is precious to me and I don't want to learn it from these books! The authors give their opinions and their bias slants... I just want the facts and I'd like to have more directed discussion with my peers on the really substantial matters so that I can broaden my views. Today I have 45 minutes to write a paper spitting back at the teacher the ideas that have been given to me as intelligent fact.

I should do what the teacher asks of me so that I pass the class and can move on but it’s really upsetting to me. I am by nature a procrastinator and always put these things off but usually I do them at the last minute to turn them in. I could very well do that today but I just really don't think these papers are helping.

The professor has given us a great final project, a 10 page paper on a topic of our choosing along with a 30 minute presentation. I am going to discuss the religious justifications of a few Christian extremist groups like the Army of God and the Ku Klux Klan. This project allows me to study a singular topic and acquire the points of view of as many scholars as I choose.

Argue with me if you disagree, but I feel that Religion and Philosophy classes (excepting history) should not have textbooks. There is so much to be said about human interpretation in these subjects. I can't stand for having the ideas of a couple selected men being my only knowledge on the subject.

That's all I really have to say for now I suppose... What do you think?

Sense Memory

I'm having a weird feeling.

I've had my nose pierced twice. The first time it was the most painful experience ever. My ex told me that when it happened my nose practically jumped to the other side of my head, I flinched so badly! I was in shock, tears poured from my eyes and I tried to get up... then was told by the tech that she had only gotten halfway through the flesh and that the bad part was still coming. I like shots and having blood drawn... it isn't a fetish... but it's totally okay with me. It doesn't hurt. This was different. The worst pain of my life hands down and it will remain as such until childbirth. For at least a month after the piercing was unable to touch my face or breathe through my nose it was so painful. I remember walking on campus at Eastern New Mexico University to my dorm with my hands hugging a stack of Theatre books swearing that I would never forget the pain and I would never, EVER do this to myself again.

Well, I lost my nose ring while visiting my family at my little sister's soccer game. The hole grew over in a matter of hours and I was ringless, much to my mother's relief.

Months later I was with Lindsay in Florida and we found a discount card for a tattoo salon. He convinced me to have it re-done. I kept telling myself that I swore I would never do it again. I reminded myself multiple times that I would never forgive myself for subjecting my nose to the pain that was to come. Unfortunately, time numbs those feelings and I went for it.

The point of all that was to say... you forget how much something can hurt until you feel it again...

Photography and Lessons on Life

Hello all... I've decided to make an edit to a previous blog and post some shotty photography. (To see other artwork click on the "Art #-" entries on the "index" to the right)


The edit first... Earlier in my "Poll Post" I wrote that given the choice between the two I'd rather "like the life I'm livin'" than "live the life I like". I've changed my mind. I'm scared senseless but I do have control over where I'm going... so I'm going to make my life my own... and I'll love every minute of it! ;)

So here's some pictures... I don't have a good camera but these are fun anyway...













Thats all I have time for right now... I've done color work to the photos... I like them but they probably aren't for everybody! More later, I promise!

OH! AND!

OH! AND!!!

I went by Michaels today (the craft store) in my car to dream about the brushes and paints I could have if I had money and they had a new poster!!!

NOW HIRING
~25% Employee Discount
~Flexible Shift Options
~Competative Pay Rates

I was in there in two winks of a coal miners eye! I've applied before but they throw away applications every month... so I thought I should try again.

I walked in and approached a lady with serious Lutheran hair. (Those of you who know me best know that Lutheran hair is very much like Texan hair. My grandparents in South Carolina go to a Lutheran church up there and since I was an infant this lady named Tracy who works at Wal Mart has had the biggest hair ever... I've always called that big hair Lutheran hair... I hope I do not offend.) I got an application and filled it out in store.

When I turned it in she did a once over and told me to come back at noon on Saturday! Clearly they are desperate... and NOTHING is for sure... but ANY income at all would be amazing... my hopes are high!

Also, the best "thats what she said" came up today. On national television. On the new show "Hole in the Wall" one of the teams was made up of three jockeys. Real, live horse racing jockeys. (Would it be Jockies?... regardless...) They were losing big time and the eye candy on stage said "Come on boys, you really have to make up these points!" The host replied by saying, "These are Jockeys! They are used to coming in from behind! It's what they do! (pause) Gentlemen, It's time to face the HOLE!" I swear. I was stunned.

Stunned.

Art #2

I want to write something but have nothing to say... I want to write a long semi-deep message but I'm all dried up... I'm Lake Lanier! I'm the Rio Grande!

So instead I'll put up some art or something... Even though I don't have any good pictures...



This one is my milky way. It was a 20 minute bored watching TV kind of thing... It's lame and not impressive but I kinda like it. The little stars and stuff... Neat. I had no idea where it was going the whole time. I had two brushes like 15 paint colors canvas and charcoal... and I just started going while watching Good Eats on the ever wonderous Food Network.

This is another one... I did this one for Lindsay. He's a sports person. It was a month-a-versary or something and I was bored watching tv again. Thought I'd try to do something nice.



Yeah... I've noticed that my style is bold colors with defined outlines... I'm not so much for realistic landscapes and portraits. I like objects that are simple with clean edges. Or nothingness... just shapes. I think it may be a cop out.

This post is ridiculous. I feel like I seem really emo. Oh well... I promise I'll write a post that matters some time soon... something with a point...

;)

C'est la vie!

It has been quite awhile.

I still have no job... I've applied plenty of places...

My mom ("zenonymom") or whatever the hell she calls herself tells me I have to go back and beg days after I turn in an application. Well, I'm not about that. If they don't need help right now, then they aren't going to hire me because I'm desperate. If they do need help, they would have called.

I'm turning an application into South Georgia Medical Center today. I figure I've been in the hospital enough to know the ins and outs.

The application was half legit requests like education, work, and references. The other half was the interview. These people don't even want to be bothered to do the interview in person... they don't care if people can bullshit on their feet as long as they can shamelessly promote themselves in their own time.

I cheesed it up. Made myself out to be the perfect, upbeat, optomistic employee!

They'll never know the difference,
1. Because with my luck they won't ever even call me back...
2. Because my past employers are my mom and my uncle. Thats a plus to having divorced parents. You can put your parents as references and, with the name difference, you're promised a perfect review! :)

If things don't shape up Sarah and I will have to ask our paternal grandmother for money... or at least a loan. This is very bad... because we've done nothing to deserve it...

Oh well...

C'est la vie.

The Inevitable Fate of a Porch Swing...

Our future is set...
Like pin curls in the 40's.

No matter what we do our future is laid before us. We cannot alter the inevitable.

Inevitable: why such a negative connotation? It simply means inescapable. When you slurp an ICEE too fast brain freeze is "inevitable"... but so is a rockin', awesome wild cherry party for your mouth!

Who is to say that our future isn't just dripping with sappy happiness?!

Some people are born with the ability to see the bright side. Others were born to question and bitch and moan... A perfect example is brought to us by a couple of friendly gourds making their way to the Promised Land... (via Veggie Tales)...

"I hear its flowing with milk and honey... sounds sticky..."

Touche gourd.





My life is a porch swing.
Either it will fall or or it will hang on.
When it squeaks and groans I have two options...

1. Oh, porch swing. What character have you! With your cute little noises only adding to your delightful old time charm! Thou has given me no reason to doubt your sturdy ties and therefore, I am happy!

2. Oh shit, there it goes again... I can feel it. This is the time it all comes crashing down!


Either way... the swing will either stay up or fall down. All the conversation in your head is not going to influence it. So lose the voices. Why not give that swing the benefit of the doubt?! It hasn't fallen yet... and its a 20 year old swing...

Yeah, my life is a porch swing.






I've always liked porch swings. ;)

Remember?

Remember when you lived with your mom and dad and they payed your bills and cut your steak and cooked your dinner and got your baked potato mushed up just right?

Remember when you woke up in the morning and had your clothes all set out for you and you put them on taking your time. Then you got your toast all buttered up and warm, wrapped in a paper towel and walked to the end of the road to wait for the bus?

Remember how when you got home you had a snack waiting and wrote a story, 1/2 a page long, using at least 6 of that week's spelling words? Words like worth, right, speak... Then went outside to see if the neighbors wanted to come over and be in a play you were putting on for your parents?

Remember how the WORST part of the week was when you had to clean your room? I bet you do... I bet some people, less... but some, remember how while you cleaned your room Mom and Dad were cleaning the kitchen, living room, den, hallways, office, their room, bathrooms... It never occured to you when you were trying to shove all your art supplies in the back of the closet that one day, not to far off... You'd be the one having to clean the whole house.

The whole house... that YOU are now paying for. With money from a non-existent job. Cleaning the house with the time you have left over after you've gone to school and run your errands, and God forbid, slept.

Remember when you were being tucked in and Mom kissed you on the forehead and you rolled yourself up perfectly cozy... and while she was closing the door behind her you said "Turn the hall light on! Leave a crack in the door!" And she would smile and position the door just so and flip the switch?

Who knew that behind that smile a stream of calculations broke out speedily counting the hours of the night, the watts used, and the money she'll spend at the end of the month to keep the monsters at bay?

Remember when you were in high school and you knew what it was all about. When you had a job... but the money was yours, and you ruled the world!? Remember how you went to Sonic everyday for lunch with your best friend and all you had to save for was prom tickets and gas money?

Remember gas money? When you spent less than half your pay check to fill your tank?

Remember when everyone warned you that you needed to start saving, that those tiny car payments and taxes were going to blow up in your face soon?! Remember that?...

Me either. I think we blocked it out.





Remember when you had to give up things you loved and that made you feel happy and fulfilled to have time to get a job just to survive... and then nobody would even call you back after you applied? Remember panic?

Remember your parents giving you a deadline to be out of their house, and you didn't have the means? Remember having to give up hot water and a/c in the middle of a South Georgia summer to just barely squeeze by with only one meal a day provided by your fast food employer? Honestly, I don't... but a couple of my friends remember that. Don't you?

Remember dreaming? Remember when everyone told you that you could do anything you wanted when you grew up? And you danced around your room in your moms makeup and skirt... or operated on dolls with serious injuries, or put out sidewalk chalk fires with a garden hose? Remember when it was finally time to start putting those dreams to work but bills were due... so you'll have to put it off... again?




Remember how happy you were? How finding a rock that even barely resembled an arrow head was the greatest treasure of all? How getting to help mom make dinner was like winning the lottery? How Winnie the Pooh knew right where to find your funny bone? Remember how being the belle of the ball was as simple as making a homemade dandelion bracelet?


Me too.


Remembering is so easy... its going back in time that's giving me a run for my money.
(money?)

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Part 1

I always knew that my family was unique. We ha “flare!” When I was born I was the only child. I had an uncle with a pony tail, a Danish grandfather, and my dad was a ballerina. The makings for the perfect American family, all we needed was a little baby brother and a puppy! Well, I had a sister, which is close enough, and some ducks... that we raised in the bath tub. Hindsight is 20/20... I should have seen my future coming, but my foresight was foggy. There were so many life events blocking the mortal tunnel that had to take place in order to make me the truly crazy individual that I am now, oh so proud to be.

Allow me to set the scene. I'm in a dark room feeling cold, exhausted and irritated. I feel plastic sheets underneath me wrapping themselves around a twin bed I can only assume is made of concrete. I open my eyes and try to focus on the dingy brown ceiling through the wasted tears settling in the corners of my eyes. I'm bored. I roll over to my left side and hear the plastic pillows sans cases crinkle under my head. The door opens, “Mary C?” Shit. I get up and mindlessly follow the drab woman down the hallway sporting the very latest in back flap hospital gowns and a lovely over starched “blanket” as a shawl. She ushers me into a small room with harsh fluorescent lighting that does wonders for my tear stained complexion. I am met by a kind little man who thinks he has a sense of humor to rival the greats. He tells me he has to ask me some “difficult questions.”

“Birthday?”

“1-26-88.”

“Age?”

“19.” Not very difficult so far.

“Do you see the big, green parrot on my left shoulder?”

With a blank and unamused stare I say, “No.” It's getting more difficult.

“Good, he's on my right!” He gives himself a victory laugh. He is very funny...

“Why are you here Mary?” I've answered this before. Why do these types insist on asking this broad question first off? Anyone who could end up in an institution like this could talk for a year and still not get around to “why they are here”. Hell, the ones with multiple personalities have help telling the story and even they are typically unsuccessful. Luckily, with practice in doing these interviews, I've developed a “schpeal” (if you will).

To be continued...

My Book...

Ladies and Gentlemen...

Sometime last November or so I started writing a book. I have given it the title "One Crashed Over the Cuckoo's Nest". The book was inspired by a couple of very unfortunate events in my life. The only reason I'm giving this introduction post is to warn friends and family before they read.

The first half of the book is short stories capturing the insanity of my personal history. Little snippets that make the circumstances in the second half of the book make more sense.

The book was written after I was admitted into a mental hospital... twice. First, I went to Greenleaf in Valdosta, GA. Approximately one month later I went to Peachford in Atlanta. I joke now with my family and very close friends about how "crazy" I am... but I'm not. Honest.

Currently, I have 3 hospital stays under my belt... The one this book is written in reference to was my second time "incarcerated". I was at Peachford and honestly I don't remember anything about the stay. They drugged me up so staggeringly that I literally slept the entire week I was there except for when some unrefined, male nurse came in my room and forced me to wake up to be fed even more medication. When I returned to Peachford four to five months later I didn't let them give me medication without knowing exactly what it was. Unfortunately, I couldn't think clearly enough for that the first time around.

I don't intend to ever be in one of those hospitals again... but hell, I never could have imagined it happening the first 3 times either. My friends and family know that I'm sane. Maybe I'm too sane? Too normal? Maybe I just ended up there because whatever higher being exists knew that I'd get a kick out of it and try to write a book. Who knows?

I have been very weary of sharing the experience with people but at this point I'm not feeling too worried about it. Those who are important will love me anyway. I'm not embarrassed anymore... I actually feel blessed! Halloween of 2007 I was playing spades with an extreme OCD patient and 2 heroine addicts over the age of 50. Surprisingly, these were some of the most incredible people I've ever met! I've learned endless amounts from these loons... and I'm proud to be one of them!

So, here it is. Dripping with sarcasm and written in a time when I was pretty unstable mentally and still on way too many prescription drugs. ;)