Today was a Tuesday like any other. I woke up at 6:45, 6:50, 6:55, 7:00, and 7:05; dragged myself to that ungodly hot shower (see "7 Simple Joys From the First Day of College"); went to my 8 AM Sociology class to watch my peers sleep and listen to them asking irrelevant questions; ate a lazy breakfast in my room; and then prepared to do my laundry. Laundry is always a pleasant part of the day for me. The laundry room is usually empty and provides a nice escape from social interaction, the smells of detergent and fabric softener and dryer sheets are soothing and pleasant, and I have an hour and a half block of time where I can force myself to sit, focus, and get some work done. Today as I descended into the laundry room, only one machine was open. I required two as I had neglected laundry for some time. I did not foresee a problem however, because the other three machines were all off and just waiting for someone to come empty them. I started a load in the empty machine and sat down to wait. Surely someone would be down in the next half hour to empty their machine.
But it was not to be. So I settled for spending twice as long on laundry as I had originally wanted to (the price I pay for putting it off, I figure). After a lunch break, I return to gather my clothes from the dryer and begin the real task of the day, the one I've been putting off for as long as I felt I could: the washing of my sheets. I admit, I have no idea how frequently normal people wash sheets, but it isn't an activity I care for. Today, not having a lot of activities to do and in great need of dedicated study time, I decided to go for it.
I started by stripping the bed (easier said than done when you have as many pillows and other things on your bed as I do). Still, the covers came off easily enough and I began to think, "Hey, maybe I can do domestic things." Then I got to the sheets, and everything changed. The flat sheet came up easily enough at the top, but the bottom seemed to extend interminably back underneath the mattress. I tugged and twisted and pleaded with them and finally managed to extricate them from the boards. I feel like I should mention at this point that my bed at college is a loft bed, so all of these activities must out of necessity take place while I am actually laying, kneeling, crouching, balancing on one toe on, or otherwise occupying my bed and the three feet of space between my mattress and ceiling.
After the flat sheet was added to the pile on the floor it was time to face my arch nemesis: the fitted sheet. Our rivalry is not a new one. For nearly two years of my childhood I slept with absolutely no sheets on my bed out of disdain for their very existence. What purpose did they serve? I could just as easily sleep on top of my comforter, which was easy to lay over the bed and tuck into the side, and cover myself with a separate blanket.
But I digress. Sheets are a social norm and I've come to accept and love them. I only wish they would accept and love me in return. I whispered this to them as I lay across my bed, spread-eagled, preparing to get to work. Delicately, I pinched a corner of the sheet between my pointer finger and thumb and pulled up. Nothing happened. I grasped the corner more firmly with my whole hand and pulled up. The whole mattress lifted but the sheet did not come free. I used my other hand to force the mattress down while wrenching the sheet upward. It came free and I punched myself in the face. One corner down, four to go. The rest are easier after the first, requiring only a mild struggle-and-tug dance on my part. The fitted sheet is free and I have conquered the beast!; or so I thought, but there sitting on the bare mattress, mocking me with their foldedness and readiness and cleanness, was the second set of sheets I had to put back on my bed. I wanted to do this before I left so that my room was in some semblance of order should visitors come knocking, but I was also in a race against time so as to avoid being the aforementioned person who leaves her clothes in the dryer forever with no explanation so that everyone else's laundry schedule is ruined.
The frustrating thing about sheets is that putting them back on is even more work than taking them off, which is why I wonder why we must bother with this exercise at all. However, after twenty minutes of endless searching to find the short end of the fitted sheet (I swear they're actually circles) a good ten minute effort to get the first corner on (involving balancing very delicately on the edge of my bed frame, some significant abuse of the window blinds by my backside, and very nearly crashing through the window itself), and some fifteen minutes of effort to place the last corner (involving a miraculous act of balancing on my toes on the ladder slats of my bed while applying the full force of my body weight to haul the sheet into place), I am proud to say that the bed is made, the dirty sheets are in the washing machine, and I have taken advantage of this nice chunk of study time to relax in the laundry smells and update my blog for the first time in three weeks.
But really, I could've found the motivation to update my blog while I was washing my clothes. So there's no practical reason to continue using sheets at all, really.
UPDATE: Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet? Impossible. Just another strike against them.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
I'm a Bee Student
At the end of my first week of college, I already have a pretty extensive list of ways I've experienced class being disrupted. So far, I've heard catcalls outside the window, car alarms going off, cell phones ringing, and even the construction of a whole new building (including loud working music, whistling, chainsaws, jackhammers, and the like) going on fifteen feet from the open window of my biology classroom. I've also heard from some fellow students that they had to actually evacuate their classroom for a fire alarm that no one else in the building could hear.
By and large though, the most distracting thing I've experienced to date in a college classroom took place during my first biology lab the other day. We're sitting on squeaky, spinning stools surrounded by sharp pointy tools, cutting tools, 3D models of a human being's insides, little living creatures swimming in jars, big dead creatures floating in jars, and a multitude of different knobs, buttons, and levers to investigate. We are handling these things surprisingly maturely, all looking forward and listening to the professor explain the syllabus. And then we here the buzzing.
Flying overhead, darting about with no regard to the people trying to learn below it, an enormous hornet investigates our ceiling lights. And I do mean enormous. I could clearly see the different segments of its body even from across the room. I'm guessing everyone else could as well, because I could see that every eye in the room was dedicated to following this bee. No one was listening to the professor anymore. The collective train of though went something like, "Okay, don't clean microscope lenses with -- Oh my God, is that actually a bee? Where is the bee now? Is it going to sting me? Can I react quickly enough to kill it if it came near? What if it stung the professor, that might be funny. Unless he's allergic...oh, no, where did it go?" Even the professor couldn't help but keep tabs on the insect as it resisted our every attempt to free it by opening windows and continued to try to find an escape route through the lighting.
The only living object in the room that seems to be unaware of the bee's disrupting presence is the bee itself (and of course the paramecium). What's irritating to me is that the bee doesn't have to care. It has a singular power over every person in the room because of its innate ability to inflict more pain on us than we perceive being able to inflict on it. I mean, with a well-placed swat we could take that creature's life; but instead we all cower under our desks, praying it doesn't land on us unnoticed and decide to attack. And then we could take its life in revenge.
So I guess the real question is, why do bees get to have stingers? Has anyone ever stopped killing a bee because it stung them? I don't think so. It seems like an unnecessary irritation.
I don't really know where I was going with this, but it's uncomfortably hot and I have nothing better to do with this day so screw it, I'm publishing it. Ha.
By and large though, the most distracting thing I've experienced to date in a college classroom took place during my first biology lab the other day. We're sitting on squeaky, spinning stools surrounded by sharp pointy tools, cutting tools, 3D models of a human being's insides, little living creatures swimming in jars, big dead creatures floating in jars, and a multitude of different knobs, buttons, and levers to investigate. We are handling these things surprisingly maturely, all looking forward and listening to the professor explain the syllabus. And then we here the buzzing.
Flying overhead, darting about with no regard to the people trying to learn below it, an enormous hornet investigates our ceiling lights. And I do mean enormous. I could clearly see the different segments of its body even from across the room. I'm guessing everyone else could as well, because I could see that every eye in the room was dedicated to following this bee. No one was listening to the professor anymore. The collective train of though went something like, "Okay, don't clean microscope lenses with -- Oh my God, is that actually a bee? Where is the bee now? Is it going to sting me? Can I react quickly enough to kill it if it came near? What if it stung the professor, that might be funny. Unless he's allergic...oh, no, where did it go?" Even the professor couldn't help but keep tabs on the insect as it resisted our every attempt to free it by opening windows and continued to try to find an escape route through the lighting.
The only living object in the room that seems to be unaware of the bee's disrupting presence is the bee itself (and of course the paramecium). What's irritating to me is that the bee doesn't have to care. It has a singular power over every person in the room because of its innate ability to inflict more pain on us than we perceive being able to inflict on it. I mean, with a well-placed swat we could take that creature's life; but instead we all cower under our desks, praying it doesn't land on us unnoticed and decide to attack. And then we could take its life in revenge.
So I guess the real question is, why do bees get to have stingers? Has anyone ever stopped killing a bee because it stung them? I don't think so. It seems like an unnecessary irritation.
I don't really know where I was going with this, but it's uncomfortably hot and I have nothing better to do with this day so screw it, I'm publishing it. Ha.
Monday, August 27, 2012
7 Simple Joys From the First Day of College
I woke up this morning absolutely terrified, shaking in my sheets. It was my first day of classes for my first year of college. A whole weekend of walking, repeatedly introducing myself, and being lectured on the dangers of sexual assault had come to this. I was thoroughly unprepared. I briefly considered not even leaving bed, as though hiding from college would fix my problem.
Knowing it wouldn't, I decided instead to just give it the old college try and see what happened. The result was surprisingly good. So with no further ado, here (in no particular order) are the 7 things that happened today to make my day awesome and put happiness at college into perspective.
1. Getting a WARM Shower
It's something I always took for granted before. You want a cold shower, you turn the knob all the way to the left. You want a super hot shower, you turn the knob all the way to the right. You just want a normal, comfortable shower at 6AM, you put the knob somewhere in the middle and gently adjust until the water temperature is perfect. Those showers are nice. But they are a different breed of showers than the ones in college residence halls. Here, if you want a cold shower you turn the water on. Instant popsicle, guaranteed. If you want a hot shower, you turn the knob halfway around. Instant blazing inferno of death. If you want a warm shower, tough luck. You're going to have to go home. Because there is a hairline difference between Hell and Antarctica, and there is no in between.
That was the story of my last four mornings. Today, I tried my fifth different shower stalls in as many days. In my blurry sleep cocoon, I expected nothing less than another wholly tortuous showering experience. But with a wishful thought I turned the knob exactly to the middle anyway. And suddenly, angels sang. The room got brighter, hell froze over, pigs flew, and someone sold ice to an Eskimo. My shower was warm. Just warm. And it stayed that way for 15 whole minutes. Best morning ever.
2. Not having to introduce myself to a group even once
Another thing that doesn't sound like a big deal, but felt like winning a million bucks. For the first day since last Thursday, I was not once forced to stand up and tell a whole group of people my name, major, home town, and a fun fact about myself. I did however introduce myself to several individual people. It's a lot easier when their first impression of you isn't the "I'm Angela, I'm from Tipton, and my fun fact is...um...I...was first in my class" they've already heard 12 times in different group sessions.
3. Internet Access
The internet in my residence hall stinks. There's very little wireless signal and the badness is compounded by the fact that every other person in this hall is still has safari running in the background of their smartphones even though they aren't using them anymore because we have computers now. But IT ran out of network cables yesterday, so I was stuck with neither a wireless nor a wired connection to the internet. In fact, I couldn't even log on to my computer. So I had a class in the library today and I told myself since I was down there, I might as well stop and get a network cable at the laptop help desk on my way out. And then completely forgot. But the walk back down was one of the most worthwhile things I've ever done, because when I plugged into the wall I got a successful login in only two tries. Great feeling, being connected again.
4. Free Snack
The receipt of the free snack actually occurred on Friday at the "Spirit Dinner" in the dining hall, but I've been hoarding that bag of Italian Herb & Cheese Baguette Chips like it was gold just in case an emergency arose. Having class from 11-1 and then having too much work to start to have time for work constitutes an emergency in college. So I ate them. I was expecting the dry, kind of spicy taste of those weird brown chips in chex mix? No. Best thing I've tasted in weeks. I highly recommend them. Although they may not be as good if you have to pay for them.
5. Internet Access, Part 2
Of course after I made the trip down to get a network cable and invested the better part of 20 minutes crawling under my roommate's desk, around my loft bed, behind my dresser, under my own desk and then up the back of said desk to connect the cable, I glance down at my phone and see Facebook notifications and email alerts. The wifi works much better now. Still not great, but better. Which is good, because Steve Jobs had obviously never been on a mountaintop when he decided not to put a jack for wired internet in his iPhone design.
6. Loving Neighbors
I've had my door propped pretty much 100% of the time I've been in my room awake since I've gotten here, because everyone's like let your door open and people will come in and talk to you, it's a great way to make friends. Bull crap. I live at the end of the hall, no one even knows I'm back here. Before today only two girls had ever wandered in to make friends, and they don't even live in this building. But today a girl from down the hall stopped in just to chat...and then stayed. Most people who try talking to me are instantly repulsed by my complete lack of conversational skills and choose to leave the room rather than sit and stare awkwardly at me while I stare back. But she stayed, and we talked, and now I have her number. I've never been one for meeting new people but that honestly meant the world to me.
7. Eating Algae
Again, having class from 11-1 makes you hungry and desperate. My politics of food professor mixed algae in mango juice. And I drank it. Not bad, if you're a goldfish. But hey, what's better than trying new things?
UPDATE: The 8th thing that randomly made my day: Go to McDonald's thinking you only have $8 cash left in the world. Find a 20 hidden in the back of your wallet behind some receipts. Have a fantastic evening.
Knowing it wouldn't, I decided instead to just give it the old college try and see what happened. The result was surprisingly good. So with no further ado, here (in no particular order) are the 7 things that happened today to make my day awesome and put happiness at college into perspective.
1. Getting a WARM Shower
It's something I always took for granted before. You want a cold shower, you turn the knob all the way to the left. You want a super hot shower, you turn the knob all the way to the right. You just want a normal, comfortable shower at 6AM, you put the knob somewhere in the middle and gently adjust until the water temperature is perfect. Those showers are nice. But they are a different breed of showers than the ones in college residence halls. Here, if you want a cold shower you turn the water on. Instant popsicle, guaranteed. If you want a hot shower, you turn the knob halfway around. Instant blazing inferno of death. If you want a warm shower, tough luck. You're going to have to go home. Because there is a hairline difference between Hell and Antarctica, and there is no in between.
That was the story of my last four mornings. Today, I tried my fifth different shower stalls in as many days. In my blurry sleep cocoon, I expected nothing less than another wholly tortuous showering experience. But with a wishful thought I turned the knob exactly to the middle anyway. And suddenly, angels sang. The room got brighter, hell froze over, pigs flew, and someone sold ice to an Eskimo. My shower was warm. Just warm. And it stayed that way for 15 whole minutes. Best morning ever.
2. Not having to introduce myself to a group even once
Another thing that doesn't sound like a big deal, but felt like winning a million bucks. For the first day since last Thursday, I was not once forced to stand up and tell a whole group of people my name, major, home town, and a fun fact about myself. I did however introduce myself to several individual people. It's a lot easier when their first impression of you isn't the "I'm Angela, I'm from Tipton, and my fun fact is...um...I...was first in my class" they've already heard 12 times in different group sessions.
3. Internet Access
The internet in my residence hall stinks. There's very little wireless signal and the badness is compounded by the fact that every other person in this hall is still has safari running in the background of their smartphones even though they aren't using them anymore because we have computers now. But IT ran out of network cables yesterday, so I was stuck with neither a wireless nor a wired connection to the internet. In fact, I couldn't even log on to my computer. So I had a class in the library today and I told myself since I was down there, I might as well stop and get a network cable at the laptop help desk on my way out. And then completely forgot. But the walk back down was one of the most worthwhile things I've ever done, because when I plugged into the wall I got a successful login in only two tries. Great feeling, being connected again.
4. Free Snack
The receipt of the free snack actually occurred on Friday at the "Spirit Dinner" in the dining hall, but I've been hoarding that bag of Italian Herb & Cheese Baguette Chips like it was gold just in case an emergency arose. Having class from 11-1 and then having too much work to start to have time for work constitutes an emergency in college. So I ate them. I was expecting the dry, kind of spicy taste of those weird brown chips in chex mix? No. Best thing I've tasted in weeks. I highly recommend them. Although they may not be as good if you have to pay for them.
5. Internet Access, Part 2
Of course after I made the trip down to get a network cable and invested the better part of 20 minutes crawling under my roommate's desk, around my loft bed, behind my dresser, under my own desk and then up the back of said desk to connect the cable, I glance down at my phone and see Facebook notifications and email alerts. The wifi works much better now. Still not great, but better. Which is good, because Steve Jobs had obviously never been on a mountaintop when he decided not to put a jack for wired internet in his iPhone design.
6. Loving Neighbors
I've had my door propped pretty much 100% of the time I've been in my room awake since I've gotten here, because everyone's like let your door open and people will come in and talk to you, it's a great way to make friends. Bull crap. I live at the end of the hall, no one even knows I'm back here. Before today only two girls had ever wandered in to make friends, and they don't even live in this building. But today a girl from down the hall stopped in just to chat...and then stayed. Most people who try talking to me are instantly repulsed by my complete lack of conversational skills and choose to leave the room rather than sit and stare awkwardly at me while I stare back. But she stayed, and we talked, and now I have her number. I've never been one for meeting new people but that honestly meant the world to me.
7. Eating Algae
Again, having class from 11-1 makes you hungry and desperate. My politics of food professor mixed algae in mango juice. And I drank it. Not bad, if you're a goldfish. But hey, what's better than trying new things?
UPDATE: The 8th thing that randomly made my day: Go to McDonald's thinking you only have $8 cash left in the world. Find a 20 hidden in the back of your wallet behind some receipts. Have a fantastic evening.
Friday, August 17, 2012
I Learned Something From a Six-Year-Old (and I'm proud to admit it)
It's crazy how many notions adults have developed based on things that are "proper" and "right" and "true" that have no real basis in reality. It's even crazier how easy it is to destroy most of these notions by looking at them from a child's point of view. I have been babysitting for several years as an on and off job, and over that time I've learned a lot about cooking, cleaning to cover up mistakes, being a dog's chew toy, and the meaning of the words, "I have to potty NOW!" I've discovered though that some of the most profound wisdom comes not from lessons learned through experience, but straight from the six-year-old's mouth.
The other day while babysitting, I found myself baking a pizza for the first time while also supervising a painting session. Somewhere between keeping up with all the color and clean brush demands and frantically calling my grandmother to find out how to bake a pizza, I noticed that my charge was about to dip a brush covered in blue paint into the orange paint jar. Reacting purely out of instinct, I said, "Oh sweetie, don't do that. It'll make yucky brown." And with the most innocent face ever she looks up at me and says, "I like to mix the paints, 'cause sometimes you get a color you've never seen before." And she proceeded to dip.
Huh.
She was right.
Blue and orange do in fact make a color I've never seen before. And it isn't all that yucky.
I'd love to be six again.
The other day while babysitting, I found myself baking a pizza for the first time while also supervising a painting session. Somewhere between keeping up with all the color and clean brush demands and frantically calling my grandmother to find out how to bake a pizza, I noticed that my charge was about to dip a brush covered in blue paint into the orange paint jar. Reacting purely out of instinct, I said, "Oh sweetie, don't do that. It'll make yucky brown." And with the most innocent face ever she looks up at me and says, "I like to mix the paints, 'cause sometimes you get a color you've never seen before." And she proceeded to dip.
Huh.
She was right.
Blue and orange do in fact make a color I've never seen before. And it isn't all that yucky.
I'd love to be six again.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Just One of Those Days
Have you ever had one of those days where you crawled up onto your bed to think at 10 PM and then realized you absolutely did not have the energy to get up and change into pajamas, then stayed up until 2 in the morning because you were laying in bed in the dark and thinking and couldn't seem to fall asleep? So you chose to just text random people instead which of course kept your brain stimulated to the point where it is physically impossible to fall asleep. Then when you finally pass out, you are in the middle of a conversation with your old physics teacher and end up drooling on your iPhone all night because you didn't have time to put it away before the sneaky sleep monster crept up on you and you started snoring. Somewhere in your dreams you end up thinking, "At least I don't have to be up early tomorrow. I can sleep 10 hours starting now and still be okay." So you feel somewhat at peace.
Then magically at 7 AM you become awake. You don't know why or how, but you are wide awake and your brain and body are completely united against you ever falling back asleep. So you go back to laying in your bed and thinking, still wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. About an hour later you become seized with the urgent need to go watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. And that is how your family comes to find you at 9 in the morning, stretched out on the couch watching Applejack try to harvest an enormous orchard full of apples all by herself and Twilight Sparkle trying in vain to offer her help.
After about an hour of cartoons, you realize that you absolutely have to go make papier mache right now, RIGHT NOW, even though you haven't done that in at least 10 years. So without saying a word to anyone, you get up, walk away from Rainbow Dash and Princess Celestia, and start mixing together flour and water and ripping up newspaper. The sound draws your family out to see what on Earth you're doing, and when they see they just shake their heads and walk away. You continue frantically crafting your papier mache until your younger sister forces you to stop and eat the lunch she made for you.
Once you run out of the paste mixture, you realize you don't have any paint to put on your sculpture. So you take both of your sisters to a warehouse craft store (still wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday) because the extreme apathy from last night and this morning has all of a sudden turned to unrestrainable energy that must be expended immediately. You buy paint and a bunch of other things to make your craft super awesome.
When you get home your vase is still wet and you still have lots of energy so you decide it would be fun to go for a run. You forget how much you suck at running and how much it hurts until you're already in the middle of a workout, but you keep going because your brain is screaming "GO DO GO GET STUFF DONE RUN PLAY SING SCREAM AHHH!!!!" Then you get inside and sit down with a Gatorade and realize how nice it is to sit down, and suddenly the apathy is back and you swear you're never going to stand up.
Until you realize that you work in 40 minutes and still haven't showered, and the frantic urgency comes flooding back and takes you over for the next 8 hours to carry you through a whole shift of scooping ice cream non stop.
And then you go home and lay on your bed and write a really long blog post about your day and start feeling like maybe you'll never get up again. Again.
No? Well I have.
Then magically at 7 AM you become awake. You don't know why or how, but you are wide awake and your brain and body are completely united against you ever falling back asleep. So you go back to laying in your bed and thinking, still wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. About an hour later you become seized with the urgent need to go watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. And that is how your family comes to find you at 9 in the morning, stretched out on the couch watching Applejack try to harvest an enormous orchard full of apples all by herself and Twilight Sparkle trying in vain to offer her help.
After about an hour of cartoons, you realize that you absolutely have to go make papier mache right now, RIGHT NOW, even though you haven't done that in at least 10 years. So without saying a word to anyone, you get up, walk away from Rainbow Dash and Princess Celestia, and start mixing together flour and water and ripping up newspaper. The sound draws your family out to see what on Earth you're doing, and when they see they just shake their heads and walk away. You continue frantically crafting your papier mache until your younger sister forces you to stop and eat the lunch she made for you.
Once you run out of the paste mixture, you realize you don't have any paint to put on your sculpture. So you take both of your sisters to a warehouse craft store (still wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday) because the extreme apathy from last night and this morning has all of a sudden turned to unrestrainable energy that must be expended immediately. You buy paint and a bunch of other things to make your craft super awesome.
When you get home your vase is still wet and you still have lots of energy so you decide it would be fun to go for a run. You forget how much you suck at running and how much it hurts until you're already in the middle of a workout, but you keep going because your brain is screaming "GO DO GO GET STUFF DONE RUN PLAY SING SCREAM AHHH!!!!" Then you get inside and sit down with a Gatorade and realize how nice it is to sit down, and suddenly the apathy is back and you swear you're never going to stand up.
Until you realize that you work in 40 minutes and still haven't showered, and the frantic urgency comes flooding back and takes you over for the next 8 hours to carry you through a whole shift of scooping ice cream non stop.
And then you go home and lay on your bed and write a really long blog post about your day and start feeling like maybe you'll never get up again. Again.
No? Well I have.
Monday, July 16, 2012
I Took The Gifts Up Today
Every week since I was about eight years old, I have walked into church on Sunday with my heart full of dread. I knew full well that at least once a month when we swung open the big wooden doors and stepped our little dress-clad bodies into the building, the nice old ladies that stood in the back to welcome churchgoers would descend upon my two sisters and I like so many vultures. "Oh, you girls just look precious," they'd swoon. "So pretty in your little dresses. How would you like to take up the gifts?" (For anyone not familiar with this term, taking up the gifts basically entails carrying the bread, wine, and money basket to the front of the church before Communion while every single other person in the church watches, and then turning around and walking right back up the center aisle, also while everyone watches.) My sisters would jump with joy at this opportunity to have a special job, but I, as the oldest and most world-weary of the three, would hang my head. I knew that what we had really signed on for was public humiliation to the highest degree. What if I tripped and spilled the wine on everyone? What if I walked too slow and the music was over before we even reached the altar, and everyone just had to stare at us and listen to our footsteps as we made the harrowing journey? What if there was something on the back of my dress? What if all the holier-than-thou front pew sitters judged me for not bowing deep enough at the altar? So many things could go wrong. So invariably, when we were asked to take up the gifts, I would nod my head. From there, operation Get Out Of This commenced.
Sometimes I would fake illness, claiming I didn't feel well enough to walk up to the front. Sometimes I would claim I wasn't dressed as nicely as the other two and didn't want to embarrass my mom (which was true surprisingly often, as I always was more of a tomboy.) Sometimes I would be completely honest and just tell my mom I didn't want to do it. Sometimes it even involved tears. No matter what tactic I chose, the result was always the same: my mother would take up the gifts with my sisters, and I would kneel in the pew by myself and experience the bitter mix of success and failure. Each time I vowed that next time I would man up and just take the gifts already. But it never happened until today.
At eighteen years old, I no longer step into church with my mom and two sisters in a dress every week. This week, it was just me and my youngest sister, both in simple dress clothes. This did not deter the vultures. They descended before I'd even had time to dip my fingers in the holy water and asked if the three of us would be willing to take up the gifts, still picturing us as at most twelve and assuming our mommy and sister would be along shortly. When telling them there were only two of us still didn't deter them, I just agreed. I was finally trapped and saw no way of getting out of this one.
As the mass progressed, I considered faking sick. I considered going to the bathroom at the exact wrong time. I considered offering to take the screaming child two rows up to the cry room. But I didn't do any of these things. When we started the prayer of the faithful and I realized that I was very likely going to have to go through with this, a shot of pure adrenaline ripped through my gut. I was terrified. But I walked to the back of the church on shaky legs with my sister at my side. And suddenly, I was sitting back in the pew. It was over. I had walked up. I had bowed. I had carried the wine and not spilled anything. I had seen all the faces looking at me and I looked right back, inordinately proud that I had accomplished what I had never seen most of them do. As I thought back through those monumental thirty seconds, I couldn't keep the smile from spreading over my face. I had won.
I didn't trip. I didn't die. No one laughed, or even really seemed to care. I took up the gifts today, and lived to tell the tale. And I can only go up from here.
UPDATE: I am ashamed to admit that I stayed out too late partying to post this yesterday when it actually happened. I will have to be more prompt from now on.
Sometimes I would fake illness, claiming I didn't feel well enough to walk up to the front. Sometimes I would claim I wasn't dressed as nicely as the other two and didn't want to embarrass my mom (which was true surprisingly often, as I always was more of a tomboy.) Sometimes I would be completely honest and just tell my mom I didn't want to do it. Sometimes it even involved tears. No matter what tactic I chose, the result was always the same: my mother would take up the gifts with my sisters, and I would kneel in the pew by myself and experience the bitter mix of success and failure. Each time I vowed that next time I would man up and just take the gifts already. But it never happened until today.
At eighteen years old, I no longer step into church with my mom and two sisters in a dress every week. This week, it was just me and my youngest sister, both in simple dress clothes. This did not deter the vultures. They descended before I'd even had time to dip my fingers in the holy water and asked if the three of us would be willing to take up the gifts, still picturing us as at most twelve and assuming our mommy and sister would be along shortly. When telling them there were only two of us still didn't deter them, I just agreed. I was finally trapped and saw no way of getting out of this one.
As the mass progressed, I considered faking sick. I considered going to the bathroom at the exact wrong time. I considered offering to take the screaming child two rows up to the cry room. But I didn't do any of these things. When we started the prayer of the faithful and I realized that I was very likely going to have to go through with this, a shot of pure adrenaline ripped through my gut. I was terrified. But I walked to the back of the church on shaky legs with my sister at my side. And suddenly, I was sitting back in the pew. It was over. I had walked up. I had bowed. I had carried the wine and not spilled anything. I had seen all the faces looking at me and I looked right back, inordinately proud that I had accomplished what I had never seen most of them do. As I thought back through those monumental thirty seconds, I couldn't keep the smile from spreading over my face. I had won.
I didn't trip. I didn't die. No one laughed, or even really seemed to care. I took up the gifts today, and lived to tell the tale. And I can only go up from here.
UPDATE: I am ashamed to admit that I stayed out too late partying to post this yesterday when it actually happened. I will have to be more prompt from now on.
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