Apathetic Problem

I'm finding it difficult to care. At least, I'm finding it difficult to care about certain things. Inanimate things. I don't think I've ever found it difficult to care about people. Even when I don't want to care about certain people, I find myself caring. Funny how that works.

But with my school work, I'm finding it difficult to care. It isn't even because the classes aren't interesting; I'm learning. But I'm getting more than a bit frustrated with myself, because none of the current material seems to be sinking into the inner recesses of my brain.

I read material without fully comprehending it; I can't decide if it's because my brain has reached capacity or if it's because I'm having difficulty finding ways of being invested in what I'm reading. Perhaps it's a bit of both. And even though I'm more or less back to reading all of my assignments in a timely and proper manner, I still feel woefully behind. I'm trying to get used to it, though, because all of the second year students tell me that feeling will be more or less consistent until I graduate.

Anyway, right now I wish I had the means of packing away the apathy--of setting it aside somehow, of boxing it up and wrapping it and tying on a bow. A ridiculous bow. It would be a heavy box. But if I decorated it right, it would also be a very silly-looking box.

Except that apathy isn't silly. Is it?

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This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Yarjka of Sour Mayonnaise, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'A Heavy Box'.

It's That Time Again!

I know that y'all dearly long for these bi-weekly posts that update you on the progress of my goals. Perhaps you laugh at my failure. Perhaps you applaud my success. Perhaps you do none of the above, and instead sit and quietly scheme up ways of disrupting my efforts. Whatever the case may be, here goes:

1. Um, well . . . again, what is regular? Or even semi-regular? And do I get points for always waking up at the same time (sans alarm, even) regardless of when I went to sleep?

2. Okay, so I've sort of reformed. I'll try to reform more. On the bright side, I now have plenty of space for yoga in my room. Behind closed doors. So I don't feel that I'm putting on a show for anyone. (So I like to exercise alone. So sue me.)

3. I picked up some mouthwash from the store the other day. I'm brushing. I'm flossing. And no, I still haven't called a dentist. Haven't either bothered to figure out which dentists are on my insurance plan.

4. Okay, so I have to say that I'm tremendously proud of myself. And I do mean tremendously proud of myself. Because if cleanliness is next to godliness, I've pretty much managed to transform my room into heaven. Sure, it took five and a half hours to accomplish. But it's so worth it. Particularly since I'll be needing to write a few large papers soon.

5. and 6. Should probably have been one goal with two corollaries. But anyway, I'm back on top of things. At least, as on top of schoolwork as graduate students ever get. I think there's some sort of diabolical scheme planned to make us all feel behind, even when we're no. But hey, when it comes right down to it, we're sort of asking for it.

7. I feel like I'm being a realistic soul. At least about these. I've never, on the whole, been a realistic soul. Where's the fun in that?

Just My Imagination

I remember the first time I heard the chorus to "Just My Imagination (Running away with Me)."

I couldn't have been very old--probably six or seven. My mom and I were in the car, going somewhere. The ophthalmologist's, perhaps. I didn't pay much attention to the lyrics leading up to the chorus, but when that old-sounding group on the radio started singing, "It was just my imagination, running away with me . . . well, it was jut my imagination running away with me," I found myself convinced they knew who I was.

My imagination, then and now, runs away with me far more often than I would like it to.

It's not, mind you, that I always have a beef against the reality of any particular moment of my life; it's just that the creative side of my brain loves to take things to an extreme. So even the best moments of my life--both as they happen and in the aftermath--are embellished. I suppose this means my imagination likes to create the best possible realities.

In conclusion, let me get a tad confessional: I have never stopped believing in magic. I probably never will. I believe that if I can think it, it can happen. (Not that if I can think it, it will happen. That's an entirely different statement.)

That's the beauty and power of imagination.

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This post is part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Yarjka of Sour Mayonnaise, and Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment. This week's theme: 'Imagination'.

Are You Ever Burdened with a Load of Care?

Are you ever burdened with a load of care? Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear? Count your many blessings; every doubt will fly, and you will be singing as the days go by. --Hymn 241, "Count Your Blessings"

Lately, my epiphanies have been happening while I'm singing. And usually while I'm singing in Relief Society. In fact, it's usually been the closing hymn. Don't ask me why this is a trend, because I have no earthly idea. It just happens this way.

Anyway, this week has seemed inordinately difficult to me and I've had to face up the fact I often feel challenged: I feel inadequate (equally) in my home, school, and social lives. But particularly in my school life. Lately, I've just felt stupid. Perhaps stupid isn't even the right word. Not smart enough. I just haven't felt smart enough.

So when I started singing this particular verse today, I felt as though the questions were directed me. I thought "Burdened with a load of care? Check." and "Cross too heavy that I'm called to bear? Check." And then, I sort of felt like I got a slap in the face (in a marginally nice sort of way) when I sang the next four words: "Count your many blessings."

Um, yeah. I realized I've been too busy moping and whining about my struggles to think about the things I'm blessed with. For example, I griped a lot this week about feeling intellectually challenged. But I didn't stop nearly often enough to think that I have several friends in the department who help keep me sane, either by empathizing with my frustrations or by making them seem as absolutely dorky and ridiculous as they are.

I growled about spending a fair amount of time alone, but didn't stop to think about the blessings of productivity granted to me by that solitude.

I whined about the snow without thinking about the moisture it brought and how sparkly it made things.

In short, I realized that adversity and blessings are flip sides of the same coin, and quite often, we get to choose what side we see. As Lehi said, there is opposition in all things.

And that means that wherever we can find bad, we can also find blessings and good. I'm now officially resolved: any time I see something bad, I will refuse to budge until I achieve a perspective that allows me to see the good of that particular bad.

And Now I Remember . . .

. . . why I try to avoid any type of retail setting on Valentine's Day. But unfortunately, today's visit to the store was unavoidable. Well, not completely unavoidable, but since I forgot to pick up toilet paper from the store yesterday . . . yeah. Like I said, unavoidable.

Anyway, as if it wasn't bad enough to wait for the Trax train while trying quite hard to ignore the couple making out while they waited for their train, the store itself was ghastly.

Periodic announcements about the very-on-sale "intimate apparel" upstairs. Flower arranging! Right next to the Starbucks! Luscious chocolate-dipped strawberries. Candy, candy, candy--on sale for all you slackers. (But really--of course it's the ridiculously cheap and marginally grotesque candy because all of the smart people buy the good stuff before Valentine's Day.)

These announcements, I swear, are repeated on a two minute loop. By someone with the most ridiculously perky voice in the world.

And don't even get me started on the balloons . . .

Yes, I'm cranky. And not because I'm single, either. Because I think all of the perkiness and all of the hoopla and all of this ooey-gooey crap is aggravating to being with, and it only becomes more obnoxious when repeating on some kind of infinite loop.

Everything Changes. Nothing Changes.

In one of my American Studies seminars this semester, we just finished discussing "Rip Van Winkle." And one my fellow students and good friends put forth a particular interpretation (that he partially reneged on later, but hey . . . nobody's perfect . . . and I'm unsure how far, exactly, this idea could be carried out) that "Everything changes and nothing changes."

I mention this, because today I had lunch with a friend I haven't seen in--oh--three years or so. We were in the Institute choir together at good old Weber State, but she drifted off to LDSBC and I stayed in Ogden. Periodically, we'd see each other briefly and have half hour recaps of all fundamentally important things in our lives.

She's married now, graduated, and working a full-time job. I'm single, graduated, had worked, and am now back at school.

In short, we're not exactly the same as we were three years ago.

And yet, everything changes and nothing changes. We've both moved locations; we've both changed phases of life; we've both had our share of drama over the last three years. And yet, she's still someone I can be fundamentally myself with. I don't have to filter. I don't have to pretend. We are who we are, and we don't have to hide it.

Everything has changed. Yet nothing has changed.

Oddly, it's a good feeling.

Sometimes I Wonder . . .

. . . based on the titles of some of the spam I get, if the spammers know something I don't know.

Particularly when multiple titles are variations of "A Perfect Setting for Your Wedding" . . .