Great Migration Analysis

Moving across the country is not for the faint of heart. Especially when that moves comes at a double eclipse month with several retrogrades and no money. But for posterity’s sake, I want to detail our time-even if it’s just to laugh about in the future.

My husband, dog and I left Ohio on August 3-just one week ago. What should have been about 12 hours full go turned into a 15 hour car trip. And it wasn’t without incident. We made it out of Ohio with ease (although it felt like it took forever) and into Indiana, actually a little early. We hit overnight construction and it ate up half an hour, but that wasn’t so bad. We made it to Terra Haute and stopped for gas. By then it was drizzly. We left the gas station and it began to deluge. And in the middle of a one lane construction zone highway, our driver side windshield wiper flew off. We waited for the rain to subside, but ended up spending over an hour just inching up between construction cones until the next exit when we searched for a Walmart. In the pouring rain, in a Walmart parking lot, at 2:30AM, my husband got out and changed the windshield wiper-something neither of us had done before. The rain slacked off soon after and we returned to our trip.

Missouri came much later, but we reached St. Louis and I had to make a stop. The first gas station’s bathroom keys were stolen and the second gas station had no restroom at all. So I waited until Columbia-quite a long drive later. We got out of Missouri as soon as possible-especially with that ACLU/NAACP travel advisory going on. The whole state just seems…troubled. And you’d really have to be there to understand.

Kansas came as a relief, honestly. It meant we only had about two hours left to drive and then we could get out and about. But they were long hours nonetheless. We get to our apartment (finally!) and it’s, well, it’s something. The people were very accommodating, but compared to Columbus, it just didn’t compete. There are huge stains in our carpet, we spent almost half an hour going over things in our apartment which were defects from the last tenant. Then we are charged for 2 months upfront (which I planned for, but hoped against.) Then we took an emergency nap (because we hadn’t slept in going on 36 hours) and it was off to do errands. We made it to the utility office to turn on our water-success!

My dad had thoughtfully booked us a hotel room for that night (because we had no bed). The hotel told us when we arrived that they would not be able to charge his card and needed mine. I didn’t budget in that kind of money, but desperately needed rest. We order pizza and then sleep until the morning.

We return to our apartment and begin putting things away. Our appliances look like they’re maybe 20 years old, are incredibly loud and our water squeaks. I almost jumped out of my skin when the washing machine turned on. And while we’re on the subject, our washing machine holds 5 pairs of jeans-total. So laundry is going to be fun this year. Sunday, we went to the store, picked up some essentials and began to make our life in our little apartment. The walls are thin, the people are polite-but too much so. I suppose that’s a weird thing to note, but it’s like being in the deep south without the drawl.

Internet didn’t get turned on until yesterday. Our bed got delayed until today. My financial aid is up in the air currently because I have to go through extra verification. And I need to stop on that for a moment.

My financial aid is due (at the LATEST) September 1. I logged in and saw a flag on my account. I was told I needed to do some extra verification steps-which could take 3 weeks from receipt of all forms. Which puts finality at August 31 if all papers were received today. But I have to deal with the IRS-so that clearly won’t happen. I called the school and asked what I could do, because I’m not trying to cause trouble, I just want to change the world. I was told that if my paperwork was late, and they didn’t finish it, I’d be charged a late fee-even if they had everything received. And so, last night, with money I couldn’t afford to spend, I went to the store and bought a printer and started filling out my paperwork. Here’s the kicker though-they didn’t put the flag on my account until August 3. Which means that I was already screwed before I had a chance.

And that’s about when the panic kicked in. Because I am just one person and the universe has not been kind.

I wish this was everything. It’s not-not even by a mile. But I want to stop there because I know it sounds like I’m just having a bitch session. And while it’s helpful to list complaints, that’s not everything.

Because when I decided to come here, I asked myself what my goal was. And yes-law school is important to me. But I wanted a personal goal. And I decided upon the following:

I want to be comfortable being uncomfortable.

Those were my exact words. It’s felt like I’ve eaten them since I got here, but I had in mind going to new places so that I could get over my social anxieties. I imagined a life of friends and cordial interactions. I imagined a little nest in a red state in which I could plant myself and allow blue flowers to grow. I thought about all the diversity I could bring this little Christian corner of a country that flourishes in differences.

I feel overwhelmed, under prepared and honestly, I just feel like I’ve made a really big mistake. But at rock bottom, I have no where else to go but up. And I find peace in that. I’m not saying that I am just oblivious to this struggle. I feel like I’m in survival mode 100% of the time. But each day brings me a little closer to being completely okay. And I think that’s important. I kept pushing this frustration and rage and anxiety into the closet I’d labeled “Adjustment”. But it’s more important to admit to myself that I’m in over my head and that’s okay. Because if this is the worst that comes at me, I’m dealing. And that means my goal is gonna be accomplished and law school can’t be harder than that.

 

unconditionally and irrevocably in love…

with COFFEE.

tl;dr: I rant about my week in coffee and then tell you all the cool things I’m about to do.

This post will have no bearing on your day, on your wellbeing or really even on anything at all. Today, I’m giving myself the right to just write. And I want to tell you the story about this past week, as it pertains to my very favorite beverage.

So I stopped drinking soda (pop-whatever) at the beginning of the semester. I told my brother that we were going to compete for who could be the most healthy/fit by Christmas. So off the list it went. Since then, my only substantial form of caffeine has been coffee. And even before now, I’ve been a devoted coffee drinker. Since like 8th grade. It’s a huge part of my life, and I totally inherited it from my parents (who consume 2-3 POTS of coffee per DAY between them). And anyway, I drink tea, water and coffee. I still make my own in a little percolator and it’s great-saves me money, tastes fine, I customize it, everything’s wonderful.

So I went to the store a couple weeks ago and bought everything I thought I’d need for the month. I meticulously plan and so far, I’ve been spot on-except for one kinda important thing: creamer. I hadn’t realized I’d be so stressed theses last few weeks with law school and current school and all the things, so I’ve been pounding down the coffee like it’s an emergency-because for me, it was.

So long story short, I ran out of creamer. On Sunday. My busy schedule prevents me from just popping into the store in the mornings, and I’m exhausted at night (but could reasonably do so). I chose not to go Sunday. I chose, instead, to do a LOT of homework and get ahead. Monday, I lucked out and it was office coffee day. Excellent. Tuesday, I made a mocha-ish coffee out of black coffee and hot chocolate mix (no milk) and it was bitter and I didn’t like it, so I only drank half. Wednesday, I used part of my last giftcard to get Starbucks (becuase HOORAY). Thursday, I drank orange juice. FREAKING ORANGE JUICE. And I was exhausted the whole day. I got fairly nothing accomplished. It was awful. Friday, I asked my husband to grab me a coffee from the library before he went about his day. Yesterday, I tried my hardest to drink my coffee straight up, but I wasn’t built for that, so I just chugged water all day.

Today. Today I realized that I had a really problematic love-hate relationship with my coffee/creamer balance and went to the store specifically for just creamer. Now, thankfully, I live only a block or so from the store so it wasn’t that bad, but I battled Sunday-post-church traffic specifically for a bottle of creamer.

Anyway, I really wanted the Hershey’s Chocolate Caramel one, and it only comes in a small bottle, so I’ll be out again before the week is up. Which is a shame, but this is my very last week of undergrad, so I think it’ll be alright.

That’s right. I have exactly 7 days before I’m 100% done. I have 2 more finals (I did the rest last week) and then I’m done-one on Wednesday and one on Sunday (I know-a Sunday final????? But it means that when April is done, so am I).

And I know I did the alphabet review of my time in undergrad, but I think on my last day (just 7 days from today) I’m going to share with you all the letter I wrote to myself for when this day happened. I haven’t quite decided yet, but I think that if I make it public, then I’ll be able to come back to it-regardless of where I am.

Anyway, happy Sunday! Let the countdown begin.

Oh! Also!

I’ve got some epic-cool things happening VERY soon.

  1. I’m going to be hosting a raffle for Nico & Tucker: Full of fun prizes and swag
  2. I’m going to start writing for Channillo-finally get those stories pub’d
  3. I’m going to open an etsy store-where I can sell essential oil stuff and things
  4. If you’re interested in reading an ARC in exchange for writing a review (it can be short!) PLEASE let me know-I have a couple, in a few different genres. You’d really be helping me out. I market books for authors (so these are THEIR ARCs, not mine) and that’s how I pay for college and coffee.

Make Womb for The Future

(Side note-I’m playing with the way this site looks. If you have a suggestion, or a thought, leave me a comment. I want to make sure everything is at least readable.)

Over the course of the last month, I’ve heard one question pop up each time we’ve (Ben and I) run into someone from our pasts. It’s the one question that forces me to bite my tongue so hard I’m sure I’ll gnaw right through. The one question that makes me want to smack my head against a wall. And that reaction is ubiquitous (my new favorite word) regardless of intention, identity of the questioner.

So, any kids yet?

Now, the question has variation of course. And some people I just assume ask because I’m a heavy woman. And that is the one case when I’m surprisingly not immediately offended. I get it-I’m fat. I’m not gonna pout about it. But that particular scenario has happened maybe once, so it’s the exception, not the rule.

Seriously though. I know a great many people who are parents-and damn good ones. If that’s the life they choose for themselves, I’m happy for them. But for Ben and I-it’s not the right time. And I know, I don’t have to defend my life choices to you lovely people, but we need to talk about gender expectations and this is one area I am a professional at.

Ahem.

When Ben and I got married (and at a young age), our congratulatory messages on social media were delightful, but several contained the question above. This may be an old story, but it’s relevant, so here goes. A year went by and in class, my professor asked if women in America experienced any pressures to have kids. I told him that the same day I got married, people were asking me. He shook his head and told me that he doubted it actually happened.

And that was two years ago. I’m still getting asked. I honestly don’t think I’ll stop being asked in the immediately foreseeable future. I don’t have to like that for it to be reality. So I try not to let it bother me. But the truth is, it’s demeaning, it’s borderline offensive and it’s not cool. Allow me to explain.

When you ask if I’m going to have kids soon, what you’re really saying is that my only value is in my ability to reproduce. You’re telling me that my marriage is only valuable if I make another human being. You’re telling my husband that his only worth is in producing sperm and that I am only as valuable as the number of offspring I produce. You’re telling me that my career isn’t worth anything, that I’ve wasted my time going to college. You’re telling me that my life ceases to be anything the moment I become a mother.

So let me tell you something.

I have value. As an individual. I don’t need to ever have a kid if I don’t want to. Do you know why? Because being a mother isn’t the only purpose for a woman to exist. I can be anything. I can be a lawyer, or a doctor or a fisher or a crafter or an actress or anything. And do you know why? Because if I want it-I will do it. And none of those things need your permission for me to accomplish.

So when you tell me that you want grandchildren because there are coworkers who talk about theirs and you don’t get to partake in that conversation-I’m silently fuming. You’re telling us that the only reason you want grandchildren is so that you won’t have to be left out? You’re telling us that you don’t care about what we want in life, just as long as you have a conversation starter? Excuse you. (And no, it’s not my parents.)

Let me tell you what I want.

I want to see the world. I want to work in a job I don’t hate, make friends who are loyal and share my interests. I want to go out and try new things, just for the sake of crossing them off my bucket list. I want to pay off all of my student loans. I want to be a member of wine of the month club and perform some more marriages. I want to live in a world where my value isn’t negotiable, my rights aren’t laughed at, my body is not something anyone else is entitled to. I want to live in a country where people are seen as equals-regardless of their skin color, their socioeconomic background, their beliefs. I want to live in a world where people care about one another, protect one another, help out one another.

And until that happens-all of that-I can’t imagine that having a child will make me happy. 

I don’t want to look at my kid and see nothing but regrets and “what ifs”. I don’t want to be bitter that I never got to do x, y, or z. I don’t want to resent my child because I can’t go to places I’ve always dreamed about. That’s not what I want for them.

And when I cross off all of the things I want out of life, all of the things I’ve ever desired and can offer my everything to my kid-it is then and ONLY then, that I will consider having one.

Because I am not defined by my ability to reproduce. And neither is anyone else.

An Interesting Day

Today has been the epitome of interesting days. It’s Reading Day-which roughly translates into “Everyone stay home because there are no classes or exams today”. I made it to campus around 7 this morning, work started at 9 and I will be here for at least 2 more hours. Things to highlight today:

It was supposed to rain, my hair frizzed up enough, and then it got completely cleared. Hair still fluffy.

I’ve only seen two other undergrads on campus today. One of them was at 8AM, one of them at noon.

I got into a philosophical conversation about eating placenta. (And how you can eat it with rice and broccoli apparently.)

I got into a conversation about how not knowing who Prince or the Beatles are makes you uncultured.

I (and my coworker) thoroughly creeped out our boss by telling her fast food restroom horror stories (I worked at Subway, she worked at Chipotle and my husband worked at McDonalds).

I have thusly survived on one cup of coffee, two peanut butter sandwiches, a handful of walnuts and a handful of chocolate chips (and plenty of water).

I completely used up a whole highlighter in my job this morning, and half of another one.

I found out that I may have a research project open to me in the fall.

One of my bosses has been playing Prince for the past hour or so and I know all the songs.

I started out this morning listening to my Spanish Pandora station-where only the commercials were in Spanish (and I thusly complained).

I printed out too many labels this morning so I have been wearing TWO labels which say “Independent Study Grad Student”. I am neither a grad student, nor am I in independent study-I am in fact paid to work as an undergrad. 

Honestly, I live for days like this. Seriously, this has been the weirdest day I have had in such a long time that it’s about to become my absolute favorite day ever. I don’t even know how to make it any better, but it’s gonna be hard to top it.

Here Be Dragons

Sometimes it is absolutely necessary to remind yourself that it’s okay, that you’re only suffering a minor setback and that life will continue on, as it indeed always does. You may not want life to change, or approve of it, you may desire it more than you desire anything else in the world. But at some point, change comes for us all and the only thing you have to do is be ready.I wrote a piece about driving a while ago, about how I just couldn’t seem to, and about how it was a source of great shame for me. I finished the piece by saying that my New Year Resolution was to drive more, to be free of the bonds that strapped me into the passenger seat. It has been a week since the year started and what have I done to accomplish that goal?

 

 A bit actually.

The second or third I drove to the store. I can’t say that I drove back from said store, but I darn sure drove there. And my husband and I talked about it and I realized that if I just kept to the quick and simple stuff, I would never succeed in my goal at all.

But I’m not going to lie to you. This is not easy for me.

Yesterday, I had work and I usually have my husband take me in, so that I can just focus on work and he can hang out at the school and get stuff done. We’re on break, which makes that sentence completely illogical, but we’re an active sort of people who quite like the academic scene. He hadn’t slept well and asked if I could take myself in. I immediately burst into tears, the panic having surged through me faster than a tornado. I felt woozy, nauseous and above all, I felt ashamed. Why couldn’t I just get over it? What was wrong with me? So on our way home yesterday, after he graciously picked me up, I asked him timidly if he wouldn’t mind coming with me either today or Friday as my passenger. He agreed, saying he wanted to start working out anyway and this would force him to do so. Last night, I went to bed nervous, exhausted and wondering what I’d done.

This morning, he again told me he hadn’t slept well and I let him sleep a little longer. I prepared my stuff, got my coffee and took the dog out. I looked over the parking lot and once again got the panicked sort of emotions and sensations. I knew that I would have a difficult time talking myself into it and an even worse time if I talked myself out of it. So I hauled myself up to our apartment and grabbed a few more things (let’s be real here- I grabbed a bunch of good luck charms), waited for my husband to finish getting ready and then marched myself down to the car. My hands were shaking, I felt sick and I started the car.

Wouldn’t you know it, rush hour was waiting for me.

I can’ tell you the curse words that streamed in my head. How dare other people be on the road when I was trying to get over my fears? I mean, didn’t they know that I was going to be driving?

And I realized that there was no other place, no other time, that could possibly make my journey more ideal. It was rush hour that gave me a headache, made me a nervous passenger. It was the highway that made my heart race. And that sounds like the settings for the battleground to me. 

I made it to the school, having managed to drive on two separate highways and through campus traffic. I didn’t throw up, pass out, or any of the terrible things that I assumed would happen. I didn’t crash, didn’t die and didn’t break down. I didn’t even say that chant from the previous post. I marched myself up to work with a smile on my face, saying hello to everyone I met. I know that I’m not done for the day-my shift has only really just begun and I’m still nervous about the drive home, but when I grabbed one of my good luck pieces from my pocket, I had to smile pretty fiercely. I mean, just look at how fitting it is.

  

One week down, fifty one more to go.

The Problem with Selfie-Sunday

  I don’t really get into the themed days of Instagram, like #MCM and #WCW and #SelfieSunday for the sole reason that it seems like an attention seeking device. Like “Hey, look at me, I have this person who I have claimed as my own.” People use photos of their S/O, their children, the celebrities they adore and even themselves.

I’m not saying you shouldn’t love yourself. I vote that you love yourself first and foremost of all the people you’ll ever know. And really, I mean that with my whole heart, even if my words are sometimes less heeded by myself than they should be. 

Have you noticed the evolution of a “selfie”? I was part of the “emo” group in high school, followed abruptly by the “I have to dress like this because I am an adult” phase. (Don’t worry, I still dye my hair and I got an undercut shave last summer!) But back when MySpace was big, you saw the “emo selfie”, the predecessor, if you will, of the modern selfie. It was meant to show angst and depth.  

   

As you can see above, with these two beautiful models I plucked from online, “MySpace selfies” used to be either A: a downward shot where you can see your face and chest and arms or B: physically impossible to take the picture without help, or without a timer.

But what happened? These photos were the stereotypical MySpace shots, from just a decade or so ago. And now, in just a quick Google search, we find photos like this instead:

   
 
I know, I know, the first one is a parody of Mona Lisa, but the point still stands. We see fully “made up” women with puckered duck lips and acrylics and well, you can see. But what I don’t see are individuals. I see people who are conforming, who are trying to get others to notice them as sexual objects. Now, they may feel powerful, or dominating in these poses, and that is something altogether different. What I’m saying is that we as a society should not be willing to fall down into the pits of objectivity just because a few people thing that it’s the new standard. I mean, there is nothing “hawt” about a duck face unless you are a duck.

You are a woman, you are beautiful. And if you have flaws, you are blessed by not being a cookie cutter individual. We don’t need to hide our flaws with pounds of make-up or fake nails or Instagram filters. We should be looking at making ourselves better human beings, kinder, more loving, more beautiful on the inside. We should care about the earth instead of what size clothes someone wears, or about things like science, government and math instead of who has fake body parts. Maybe if we cared a little more about the quality of life instead of the number of likes, the world wouldn’t be so quick to see women oppressed.

Just my two cents. 

And for the record, I sure did have a MySpace with MySpace selfies. But I’m currently unaware of the log in details and have requested they reset my information so I can share all the chaos with you folks.

The Song with The Beatles (War is Over)

I haven’t blogged in a couple days partially because this is the end of the semester and I’ve hardly had time and the other part is that I’ve been watching too much news and just feeling more emotive than responsive. But today, I have everything collected, I have coffee on its way to being perked and I have things to say. You are never required to, but my oerspective cries out to be heard.

I read an article (which is how all of my conversations seem to go these days) about the curent generation of teenagers being entitled and whiny. (https://theoxytocinchronicle.wordpress.com/2015/12/02/generation-cry-baby-why-millennials-are-a-fking-joke/) How they feel that they are special snowflakes, with no flaws and a sense of deserving things which they did nothing for. I would like to expand on this and say that there are many of the current population, regardless of age who feel that way. As someone with student loan debt, I would love if university were free, but it isn’t and therefore I have to plan for that. If it’s what you want, you’ll find a way, if not, you’ll find excuses. And so I’m dragging myself across the metaphorical coals to pay for my education because I want to help people and that’s what it costs. I’m not entitled to free college, I’m entitled to working hard. And it bothers me that there are so many people who would rather just sit back and let other people worry about the chaose they cause in their laziness than there are people who want everyone to do their share. We are all special, but that doesnt’t mean that some specials are privileged or more valuable than others. It means that our uniqueness is the key to making the world better. SO I’m vehemently against entitlement. And as I will discuss later, I am against children* having children.

If you look at the news at all, really since the big terrorist attacks in the Middle East and Europe this past month, you aren’t seeing too many happy-faith-in-humanity-restored moments. In fact, here in the states we just completed something like our 29th (or 36th-depending on which definition you use) mass shooting since January 1. (http://truthinmedia.com/fact-check-355-mass-shootings-far-2015/) People get killed because of the worst reasons, and these shootings are one of them. You know what I want to see? Someone bringing a whole truck of flowers to the graves of these people. Seriously. Hearts are broken everywhere. I’m so tired of people being able to do this and have their messed up reasons why it’s okay. Taking someone’s life isn’t okay and it should never be used to get people’s attention.

  Speaking of getting people’s attention, the news companies are not as innocent as they would like to believe. Of course we all know that there are some stations which lean heavily politically but I’m specifically talking racism here. If you look at my above definition, expertly taken from Google, there is no skin color listed. The pigment you have is not a requirement for the terror scale, ranging from disturbed to terrorist. The man who shot up the Planned Parenthood, he was a terrorist based on this definition. The news reported him as, wait for it, a “calm, but crazy”(NBC) “stand-up guy”(USA TODAY). WHAT? This man shot three people so that he could shut down the PP of his neighborhood. That, because of what I will address in one moment, is complete bullshit. The man is a domestic terrorist, treat him as such. Holy smokes!

I have two things I want to role up into one here and they’re both entwined in the same subject matter: Planned Parenthood and the Tampon Tax. I’m not sure how far (if at all) Planned Parenthood goes outside the United States, but it’s basically this huge network of women’s health and sexual health clinics offering anything from STD screenings and birth control to abortions. There are a lot of controversies as you can imagine (or have seen) over the latter. Here’s where I will bring in that little (*) from above. I do not necessarily have a problem with teenage pregnancy on the sole basis that they are teenagers. WhatI am talking about here is maturity age. If you are 45 and you still can’t pay your bills or fix yourself food and you leech off of everyone else, you are a child in this scenario. I have a BIG problem with children (maturity age) having children (age). If you are not ready, DO NOT HAVE KIDS. (That’s why I’m not having any right now. I’m not financially ready.) And the thing is, people make mistakes, but if we remove all manner of health awareness and screening clinics, we’re going to have an excessive rise in not only teen pregnancy, but pregnancies that are unwelcome, unable to be cared for or otherwise unexpected. We already have enough children without homes. We need someone to talk seriously with us about sex-and not just abstinance. We need (as a whole population) someone to explain what sex means, the value of waiting until you are ready (maturationally) and the consequences. 
But the thing is, there are people reading that who will completely blow off what I’ve said because I didn’t say “Until after you’re married”. I did that on purpose and I will leave that conversation for a different day. A small section (or maybe large) of readers may also have stopped and wondered why I didn’t mention the Tampon Tax above. The simple answer: if youlook at how big that paragraph is, we needed to move on.So what is the Tampon Tax? I want you to skip ahead for a moment and look at the picture below. If you live in the U.S. here is a picture of all the places which impose a tax on your bodily function. Which one? Your menstruation. In health, we are taught that having a period for women is a completely biological thing which prepares your body for pregnancy. It also cleans out your uterus if no such pregnancy occurs. And yet, here we are. 

 
You know why I have a problem with this? Because in the last few years, people have had no idea what they’re talking about when it comes to women’s reproductive issues. We had Todd Akins talk about “legitimate rape”, Ken Buck said rape victims had “buyer’s remorse”, and a whole slew of other politicians who felt that they could speak as medical professionals about the likelihood of pregnancy accompanying rape. Lisa Brown was banned from speaking because she said “vagina”, women’s bodies have been under regulatory proposals 468 times (mic.com). We have an ongoing issue trying to shut down the biggest provider of reproductive services because of a doctored video (meaning edited) put out on a smear campaign and women are going to suffer once again. 

In conclusion, people need to stop being bad and learn how to grow up, not kill people, leave women’s bodies as the individual decisions of the individual and respect all people-regardless ofskin color, orientation, religion or any other arbitrary categorization we want to self-impose. Holy crow. People make my heart sad.