hey remember that month when i only ate boxes of tangerines. . . so cheap and juicy! tangerine!

I don't know how to feel when I see photos of Italy, even my own photos. I get excited, sure, to see all the old sights, but already there's a film of unfamiliarity stretched over the reproduced landscape. And seeing those people's faces just makes me plain homesick. Last night, when Katie gave me my stack of wood-blocks, I smelled them, and then I teared up. I could close my eyes and be right back in that studio again. As soon as I get my bank account sorted out, I'm going to buy woodblock printing supplies.

Jefe called Katie while I was there last night, and we had a conference speaker-phone call, which was amazing. I hadn't talked to Jefe since Italy, other than a few brief facebook exchanges.

Does it sound odd to say that if I really allow myself to regret the loss of Italy, and after I hang out with Katie or talk to Jefe on the phone, I feel stronger? I remember that I DO have a voice, and I remember when it was definite and not dependant on approval from anyone. And you know, I'm going to continue using it, even if sometimes that makes me sound dogmatic or blunt or whatever else, and even if it results in me getting hurt in critiques. If I really learned anything from Italy, I hope I learned how to take that much of a risk and come out the other side on my feet.

P.S. American oranges make me sad. Not only are they dry and bizarre-ish, there is not the fun surprise of when you find a blood orange. = (

P. P. S. I gotta say, I love getting feedback from this blog. Liz and Andrew actually said something to me about my posts recently (and Mom, who is probably mildly more balanced in favor of liking what I write =), and I feel hella motivated now to find something worthwhile to share with everyone. Forgive me if it takes me a while, though, to really begin bringing you worthwhile thoughts on a regular basis. I try, but sometimes life is a little. . . predictable. It's always easier to think new things when your world is being shaken upside-down, like in Italy.

so come on courage, teach me to be shy

Alternative title:
you give me miles and miles of mountains, and I ask for the sea

You know you have recently acquired a lot of new files (possibly music . . . but probably not, 'cause that would be illegal.) when your computer keeps complaining that its virtual memory is too low. And that it's too low when all you've got open is iTunes and Word. Ayep, it's a little ridiculous. I guess I need to figure something out to give my computer a little more space to breathe. Any ideas? Um. . . besides deleting everything. =)

I tend to get carried away. Did you know this about me yet? When I get really into something, I get mildly obsessed. Just a little.

Today I did brave things. Like calling strangers on the phone. Yep, me! I did! And I felt nervous as all get out, but also better once I got it out of the way and just called. Then I felt real proud of myself. Real proud.

I'm sorry. I lack serious insight today. I am just . . . truckin' along. I talked to Andrew on Tuesday, Gregory came up to visit last night, and tonight I'm hanging with Katie (I love that girl), and then on Friday Liz is coming and then on Saturday Sharon is coming. . . . It's going to be one jam-packed couple of days again. But you know, I'm feeling more rested after two evenings to myself, and I'm ready to go. Let's do this thing. Whee!

So, you know how sometimes I lack an inner censor? Well, on Tuesday, I was on the phone, and I was having a really sketchy conversation about what exactly constitutes kinky, and I realized: "Crap, my roommate is totally a conservative courting MK kinda gal from Papua New Guinea. Dangit. She probably thinks I'm bound for slow-roasting hell." Somehow since Italy I've become the sketchiest roommate ever. Good thing I'm living with Elena and Katie next year. = D

Speaking of Katie and Elena. . . uomo underpants! = D = ) = D

Photographer Hulk! Photographer Hulk angry! Bad lighting at wedding! Rarrrgh! Can't get good angle! Little children will not stay still to be photographed by Photographer Hulk! Grarrrrr!

P.S. I'm introducing a countdown: 13

the atlantic was born today and i'll tell you how . . . the clouds above opened up and let it out.

This is a vague disclaimer paragraph. Today I'm going to talk about sex. Well, not really sex. I sort of lack experience in that arena. But I'm going to talk about nude self-portraits (an admittedly sexual subject). Primarily those made in response to the thought "How little we know about our bodies!" So. If that sort of art makes you squeamish, you can stop reading. The End.

I sat in the library today, checking through a bunch of photography periodicals (because I am totally uncertain about my senior show, and I really want inspiration), and it struck me:

It makes sense that people want to do nude self-portraits (one woman even did nude portraits with herself and her entire family for a year, in a domestic context. They just walked around naked together). It's weird, sure, and I'm still not sure I agree with publishing those sorts of pictures ("those sorts" being the naked kind in general), but OK. I understand.

It's like this: we see our faces in the mirror every day, and they eventually become familiar.

[Although we don't ever see them in motion, so, for me at least, it's always surprising to see photographs of myself. Do I really make faces like that? And we never see profiles, or the back of our heads, or our posture - we only see the face straight on. And mirrors themselves are distorted! They reverse what we see. So actually, we have no idea what we look like, even when we think we do. No lie, poets can really say "I know the face of my lover better than I know my own" and it's not even that profound of a statement. Heck, you probably know the face of your cranky elderly neighbor better than your own.]

Our bodies? We don't even get to see them in a distorting context like the mirror every day. At least I don't. Maybe some of you take naked nap-time or something, so you see yourselves in the mirror every day when you get up. (Who knows. People have weirder habits than naked nap-time.)

So visually-oriented people, like artists, in the course of becoming interested in our identities, what makes us, who we are, all that jazz, begin to feel like we should know the visual properties of our own bodies. If anyone is familiar with the way our bodies look, it should be us (we're the artists, after all). If we've made peace with the landscape of our minds and our vision, then why should we not also make peace and claim familiarity with our bodies (such simple physical matter)? And why should we not, by visually interpreting our bodies, claim and interpret those physical needs which in part define us? I'm talking about things like hunger, thirst, the need for sleep.

Also I think this: taking nude self-portraits is part of reconciling with oneself as a sexual being. All of us are, in fact, made to have sex, whether we ever do or not. And how can anyone else be involved in that if we don't even know how it works? How can someone come to any kind of physical mutuality with anyone else if he/she doesn't even understand the way our bodies look, let alone beginning to understand the way they react (or don't react) to sexual stimulus? So, many artists take nude self-portraits (some more obviously sexually charged than others).

Does that make sense? I tried to articulate that in the least confusing way possible. But I'm not positive I got it right. Anything which is unclear?

I'll say this as a sort of additional disclaimer: in exploring questions of identity, I think there may be other metaphors that would sneak up on people better (and hence make more of an impact, make them think more about the subject) than the shock value of "nekkid pitchers." Not in all cases, but in the vast majority, I think that nude self-portraits could be avoided. I'll admit there are a few places when the naked body can be used to great effect as a metaphor for something else, as well. (Complicated philosophy, I know. But if you think about it, it sort of makes sense. The shock prompted by nude photographs is great when transferred to other subjects, but it gets in the way of itself if you want people to actually think about the naked body. The naked female, especially, is a politically charged thing.)

But you know, I sort of understand why artists make nude self-portraits/portraits now. So I thought I would share, since I lack insight most of the time. Even though sharing might be considered vaguely controversial/awkward.

What, Mackenzie bring up an awkward subject? Heaven forbid. =D (Greg, if he's reading this, is probably laughing hysterically. We have the most awkward conversations ever. I think I lack an inner censor.)

no blinding light or tunnels to gates of white, just our hands clasped so tight, waiting for the hint of a spark

You know, living on campus this summer kind of sucks. I'll tell you why: it adds to the sense of dislocation I'm already dealing with. Knowing that I'm moving in about a month (actually, in 27 days) makes me feel like I can't possibly even bother to settle in, unpack everything, make the space mine or really get to know my roommate.

Also, I didn't realize it, but the very atmosphere of campus is stressful to me. Being on campus, but not actually in class or worrying about homework, doesn't stop me from worrying about classes and homework (next semester's, if nothing else) just out of a sense of habit. I still feel like I can't take the time to sleep because there's so much to do - even when there isn't anything I have to do after 5 when I get off work. I've got to find a way to reverse that unfortunate trend of thinking. I mean, really, that's ridiculous. I refuse to take it any more (do you hear me, brain? Pay attention.). I'm going to think of all the things like walks to the Breeches, meetings of friends after Christmas break, gardens, tea times, D&D heckling, pro tempore, extended meals, duck hunt, everything that's ever happened that's fun and not stressful or work-related on this campus. And when I run out of those things to remember, I'm going to make new rememberances of freaking awesome things.

It's funny - and by funny, I mean an interesting parallel - that in addition to being physically en route to another dwelling place all the time (in the last calendar year I've moved from home to school to home-for-a-month to italy-for-three-months to two-weeks-of-travel to home-for-two-days-to-repack to hess-for-a-month-and-a-half, and soon I'll be in Mellinger-for-nine-months), I feel that I'm emotionally on route to elsewhere. That is, things are happening emotionally, in my understanding of myself and almost all my relationships, that seem to point clearly to elsewhere. For the most part I'm enjoying where they (and I) are now, but it seems clear that this is a state of flux.

I guess maybe that's what I tried to learn in Italy, the thing I'm not sure I learned. Being en route is pretty much alright-amazing. I can totally enjoy it (not even enjoying it halfway, but totally) and happiness is not precluded by continually going somewhere else (in a velvet dark).

Maybe?

What they fail to tell you in school is that, in addition to learning how little you know about your field of study, you're going to learn how little you know about where you're going in life. And the more you realize that you're walking through some thick fog, the greater the delight at some surprises, and the greater the fear at the possibility of other surprises.

But you know what? I'm finding courage in the oddest places to deal with this. So, as cheesy as it is to take my lead from bands like Death Cab for Cutie (and also as much as I'm twisting the context of their words at the moment), fear is not the heart of love, so I'm going to keep pursuing the things I love and loving the people I love the best way I know, and just keep walking into the dark. . . .

P.S. I hate cities, though. I refuse to walk into the dark in a city. The End. = )

"it's not that we're scared. . . it's just that it's delicate"

Well. . . my family is on their way home. I'd say, "I'm glad they came up," but that really wouldn't be quite enough. When I saw them last, at home, I was still very much in culture shock/jetlag mode, and to get to hang with them here, where I'm beginning to feel adjusted and at home, was pretty great. But I suppose they've got things like jobs an' all that in Alabama.

These past couple of days. . . they've been good. I need a word about a hundred times as strong as "good," but good will do for now. It's like I woke up with the sun on my face. Do you know? You lay down for a nap in a dark room, and when you wake up there's a pleasant warmth all over, and the sun is a flash of pure delight when you open your eyes.

I feel open in a way I haven't since. . . well, since Italy. I guess I didn't realize that I had closed up so forcefully over the weeks and weeks of travel to get back here to Pennsylvania. Do you know what I mean when I say 'open' and 'closed'? Open is like. . . happy, yes, but also a deeper kind of contentment. . . awareness of everything, noticing everything, everything providing fodder for my own work. Capable. Unafraid. Sort of? That's my best attempt to explain it. Like sleeping in the sun, it's kind of an inadequate metaphor. But I figure, I always explain to you my frustration and stress and everything else, so I will try to explain to you my happiness too.

I feel that this is home after all. I'm not forgetting Italy I guess - I mean, I still miss it, sometimes with a sudden lurching moment of homesick vertigo - but I'm OK with living here. I'm getting a sense of how I can work this, how I can make it good here, sliding Italy into the dictated American patterns. Probably no one would recognize the new patterns of my life as Italy except the people that were on the program with me, but I'm beginning to be OK with that too. I'm learning to forgive people for expecting me to be exactly the same as when I left.

Forgive is maybe a strong word. But it's kind of along those lines. And so I hope that everyone else can forgive me for expecting them to be the same as before, if I ever project those sort of expectations to you.

[I can't stop thinking about one particular garden and one particular vein of conversation. And above the trees dropping their acorns with a rush into the bushes, the stars high and faint. The warm mulch hushing the flowers content.]

forget what we're told - before we get too old

"the more it saw the more it burned to see"
- Dante (quoted by Dr. Powers)

Wow, can I just say, someone else's itunes library is a totally exciting prospect? I never thought that I would be so bored of my own music - but I am. I have a feeling my birthday list is going to include a lot of CDs from a lot of eclectic bands. Good plan? Good plan.

I love waking up to an unreasonable stab of joy. Regardless of the overall gray of my room, regardless of the fact that I got woken by a phone call for my roommate yet again (she was late for work), regardless of the fact that I didn't get enough sleep, or that I had only another eight hours of work to look forward to today, and that I most likely won't see my family, or that I'm broke because someone stole my identity or anything else. . . regardless, I woke up with a sense of anticipation. And I love that. The sense that there's something to look forward to in a day, something that's going to be beautiful.

I don't know what makes it like that, but I'm going to find out so I can keep it around.

This weekend was quite adventurous, because I met Greg's family, he met mine, and then the next day they both met each other. It beats me how he gets me to put myself in such awkward, vulnerable places. Maybe part of my happiness today is just the fact that I met them and. . . he's still dating me! So I guess his family couldn't have hated me too much? I hope?

And now for a joke, brought to you by Susan Getty:

Once upon a time there were three birds: a momma bird, a daddy bird, and a baby bird. It came time for them to migrate, and the daddy bird says: "My instincts tell me to go that way!" and he points to the right. The mommy bird says: "my instincts tell me to go that way!" and she points to the left. The baby bird says: "My end stinks too, but I still don't know which way to go."

P.S. I got a lot done today - I succeeded in opening my eyes. Probably that does not mean much to you, but I have been sleeping in my creative part since I got home. And now? Well. Now I'm awake, at least a little.

this is my vow:

tomorrow night I will go to bed early. i.e. at least by 11.

Um. . . so I suck at euchre and horseshoes both, apparently, but I excell at being the one of the family that gets continually laughed at.

Today an article was kicking my butt, but then I totally came back and kicked its butt.

I am the ideal roommate, in that I am never here. I am the worst roommate ever in the sense that I am messy and am never here.

I cannot wait to get out of Lottie - or at least for Lottie to extend its hours so that I can fit a run in before eating.

Is it sad that I lack profound things to say to you?
No, that is not quite true. I thought of a few profound things last week, but I wrote them down on sticky notes and promptly lost them, and re-typing them is too much effort, because I am just exhausted, basically all the time.

Love,
Kenzie

recognize healthy behaviors - stop them before they start

I looked at my desk today, and it told me a sad, sad story. There is not room for my computer to sit on it. This indicates to me that I am stressed.

Why is it that in Orvieto it was so much easier to know what I needed? Did the foreigness of my environment really contribute that deeply to new awareness of self? Was I just forced to be more honest?

This is my resolution, I guess, to be more honest with myself about what I can and cannot do, what I do or do not need, and what I do or do not want. I'm going to stick up for myself, basically, and when I need sleep I'm going to leave the socializing early and get some sleep. And when I need to eat I'll eat and when I need to get some work done I'm not going to feel bad about saying so.

Basically? I'm vowing to bring a little Orvieto into my U.S. life. I'm going to take abundant time for what I need, and I'm going to budget my time so that there's also abundant time for what I want.

By 'abundant,' I don't necessarily mean plentiful. I do mean full. I want every day to have that deep rounded sense of satisfaction about it, not a harried feeling. And you know, I might even try and carry this into the semester, although that might be just crazy ambitious.

Keep me to it, OK? =)

i realized:

I'm tired.

I also realized, there's no reason for me to be this tired. It's summer. Why am I pushing myself so hard? I should stick up for myself, claim an evening as just mine, read the books I want to read, sleep as much as I need to sleep.

Yes?

In theory, that is what I realized.

"working out his humanity with fear and trembling"

- Professor Perrin (about Gerard Manley Hopkins)

My identity got stoled. Not even kidding. Sometime while I was in Europe. But you know, I'm a little bit proud that I didn't even cry. . . I just called up the bank and started taking care of it.

I've been thinking a lot lately, and some of those thoughts are worth typing up and sharing I think. . . but also I haven't been sleeping a lot lately, so in lieu of working on disseminating my brain to the masses adesso, I'm going to go to bed and then write to you later.

I hope that everyone is as happy as me. Or more. = )

the irony is, now that i can take showers as long as i want, i still only take 5 minute showers.

I loathe blog posts that begin with "Today." I know, as soon as I see that signifying word, that the post will be filled with a brief, inane synopsis of the day's events. But I find myself beginning this post, "Today."

Today was a mixed bag of events. Got my article for The Bridge online torn to shreds, only had one cup of coffee, only got six hours of sleep, and ate dinner alone. Then came the evening.

I totally walked into a potential NCMO situation. Not involving me, thank goodness, except in my role as the awkward interruptor of possible NCMO. About five really awkward minutes passed as I tried to figure out if I was reading the situation correctly, and if so, I needed to vamoose the heck out of there. Awkward. But also pretty funny, and not nearly as awkward as it might have been (they could have already been goin' at it).

I decided to undertake a project that's been on my mind for a few days. It's gonna sound weird to you, probably. Did I tell you, already, that I walked into Climenhaga on a whim and was bowled over by the sudden realization of the Climenhaga smell? I mean, I was standing there tearing up in the middle of the art hallway. So tonight, since I had a little time, I decided to go and smell every building on campus. I know - it sounds bizarre. I guess I'm just full of vagaries. So tonight I went and smelled every building on campus. The End. Probably this was an important experience, but I'm not sure how to explain to you why. Maybe it has to do with really working to regain familiarity and comfort with this place, which I used to feel like I owned easily.

I realized that coming back to the States is not just complicated because I'm dealing with all the ways I've changed. It's complicated because I'm dealing with all the ways everyone else has changed while I've been away. I came back preparing to pick up the threads of a life and social circle which really doesn't exist anymore. Probably easier for me, in one way, since I do feel that I've changed a lot, but making up another life for myself here in the same place as the old one is. . . well, it's not always easy.

The best parts about today? I got to talk to Greg on the phone. I got to talk to Liz on the phone! I got to hang out with Katie Ness, and we totally talked to Becca on speakerphone! Katie and I went on a Sheetz run for my first Krispy Kreme since re-entering the states. I tried to pay with a debit card, feeling totally American. It totally failed to work, and I felt like an imposter. But then I ended up with exact cash change, which made me feel proudly Italian (even though I'm nothing of the kind). You see how complicated the littlest things can get?

You know how I talked about feeling at home because the Bertram House people were at Ruth's wedding? Katie Ness makes me feel like I've come home in the same way. After talking to her, I felt like I'd been thirsty and not realized until she gave me a huge glass of water. So I'm really excited to live with her and Elena next year. Because it will at least feel like home, even if in a month and a half I'm still a little ill-at-ease with Messiah.

In conclusion? A really, really good day. But I've got to stop staying up so late!

even-toed ungulates

Hey my loves.

Tonight I got to hang out with Matt. Pretty sweet deal. Even if apparently we don't care about the community covenant anymore.

But probably that surprises no one.

Today was just a pretty solidly good day. And you know what's even better? After my solidly good day I get to go to bed early and get a solid night's sleep. The irony of the matter is that I'm looking forward to the weeknights to catch up on sleep. Forget the weekends.

I walked down by the Yellow Breeches the other day, and guess what? They've totally roped off the swinging bridge with caution tape. What's up with that? And what's with closing the summer art show during the biggest conference of the summer? Wouldn't that logically be a great time for self-promotion?

I walked into work today to hear a Star Wars conversation going on. Hah! I thought to myself, This is a conversation I'm well equipped for! Apparently, I learned from Scott (the mid-forties graphic designer with very dark hair) there are Star Wars transformers toys. And not only that, but toys such as Darth-Vader-riding-a-motorcycle exist. Scott said: "Someday, when my son is a little older, I'm going to refuse to buy him toys like that on the grounds of immorality. I'm going to say, 'I'm sorry, son, that is immoral. The Flash on a motorcycle is lazy.'"

Anyway, no real news/narratives at the moment, because I'm awfully tired. I'ma hit the sack, pass out, and greatly enjoy it.

But first, one last quote:
"Talking to Daniel Finch is like drinking three cups of espresso!" - Susan Getty
And that is about the most perfect description of talking to Daniel Finch that I ever heard. Can't wait to work with him again for advanced studies. = )

Probably I should be too tired to blog. But I guess I'll have time to type out this one short, hysterical and absurd story:

So today I go to Greg's house. First time ever. So I'm meeting his cat, you know, meeting the new kitten, meeting the grandmother, meeting his best friend from forever, all that good stuff. We make lunch, bike to get ice cream, play Harvest Moon, watch a movie. As I'm backing up to leave his house tonight, he raises his hand and grimaces, as if he wants to tell me something -

crunch

- I totally backed into his basketball hoop.

Great. I haven't even met his parents and already I'm destroying their belongings. Yep, that's me, the girlfriend that causes property damage.

I've now completed the circle. Every child in my family has had a car accident in the past week. Mine was probably the most minor, resulting in not a single scratch to the car, but a rather sizeable dent in the pole of the basketball hoop.

Then, after I've pulled out of his driveway, and am merrily (except not) on my way back towards Messiah, my phone goes off. It's Greg.

"Mackenzie, you turned right out of the driveway."
"Yeah, I'm supposed to, because I totally took a left to get in."
"No, that was on Werner Road. Which you had to take a left out of the driveway to get to."
"S***."

my smile muscles hurt

Ruth, I know that you occasionally read this blog. Well, let me tell you, your wedding was totally beautiful. I'm going to remember the look on your face as you walked down the aisle. I'm going to remember that Micah couldn't stop smiling the whole ceremony, even during the parts about if-anyone-knows-any-reason-you-couldn't-get-married. I'm going to remember Jess's huge laugh, and the way you both turned back towards her and smiled. Even though I didn't cry, I teared up a little, because you've been so excited about getting married for so long, and the day finally came. Congratulations, love. Have a wonderful honeymoon. = )

Even though the wedding was in Delaware, a place I've never been before, seeing everyone from the house really was like coming home. I haven't felt so much at home since I got to Pennsylvania. I feel comfortable when I'm with Greg, but it's not exactly the same kind of homecoming I feel with the Bertram House.

I don't know if I'll be able to keep being friends with my old friends from before this year, but at least my Bertram House friends pick up just where they left off and rock on out together still. = )

Love from Pennsylvania,
Kenzie

p.s.

I realize that my posts have been somewhat full of sour grapes and moving/cultural-readjustment-angst for the past little while. So I just wanted to say that tonight was about all kinds of perfect, and it was even more perfect because none of it was planned to be perfect.

Does that make sense? Is there such a thing as spontaneous perfection?

once in how many thousand tries can you walk through a wall?

I hate the cafeteria. I surprise myself by the vehemence of this thought, jumping out at me as I walk through Lottie and spot an empty table by the windows. Somehow, without all of you waiting at a table on the far left end, the affectionately nicknamed "Lottie" diminishes into just another institutional cafeteria.

It's even weirder now that the cafeteria is full of Messianic Jews. Now, I figure, probably anybody that chills with Jesus is a relative of mine. That includes this entire conference. So, in theory, I should totally like all of them. But I don't. There are too many of them, and I'm surprised at how many similarities there are between a Messianic Jewish conference and a Bible-thumping evangelical conference (which, come to think of it, I'm not too fond of either).

For instance, the totally insincere man at the coffee pot this morning, who asked me how I was. Nice, sort of, except that then he didn't even wait for me to reply before he went off into how blessed he was on this particularly fine morning.

I'm not a morning person in any case. So perhaps it's unfair of me to judge an entire conference on that one early-morning experience.

Take, instead, the people at the end of my table at lunch. Yes, my nice empty table by the window soon developed other inhabitants (like a kind of disease). The group was comprised of two women, a man, and a ten-year-old boy. The woman to my immediate right was wearing a skullcap, which confused me. It confused me further when Woman-With-Skullcap began chatting excitedly about how tomorrow is 7-7-07 and we'd better be ready for what's coming, we better be in waiting, we better prepare ourselves.

Oh brother.

As I watched and listened longer, another woman approached the table. Immediately the original four set up a clamor. This woman with badly-dyed red hair was from Israel!

Predictably enough, Woman-Wearing-A-Skullcap expressed the most excitement. So much so, in fact, that she grabbed Badly-Dyed-Red-Hair by the shoulder, looked deep into her eyes and said in a voice half an octave below her normal one and throbbing with emotion, "Do you think we have a Connection?"

I'm reminded of a certain woman from Alabama who raised her hands in worship during the singing of the national anthem.

It makes me squirm when Christianity of any kind is tied up in any kind of nationalist sentiment, I'll admit. I feel like maybe Jews have an excuse, seeing as they're God's chosen people and all (and this was, originally at least, a nationalistic proposition), but seriously. I still think God is a smidge bigger than any country, and that just because someone is from a particular country doesn't give them awesome spiritual powers or privilege in the kingdom of God.

Maybe that's just me spitting up democratic claptrap imbibed from too many years in America.

But it does, in fact, seem like the minute religion gets tied up with government, bad things start to happen. This could, in fact, be why I didn't give a sigh of appreciation along with everyone else in my Sunday school class when I learned that some town in Alabama had passed a town-wide government-level edict that the town humble itself before God and pray for rain. And then it rained.

Because seriously, too many people are sticking their noses into my business already. Do I need the government sticking its nose into my religion? No. So I don't stick my nose into its religion, or preferably lack thereof.

Then again, I'm also at the stage where I kind of doubt God answers prayers about the weather.

Where did I start? I hate the cafeteria. And I kind of hate mystical claptrap. When the cafeteria includes mystical claptrap, well, we definitely got trouble.

for pony!

I got to say, that's the best war cry I've evere heard: "For pony!" (You should read Looking for Group.)

I saw Matt at dinner. He seems busy with his rewrite. He commented that I blogged the most this semester, even though I had totally crappy internte access. Well, I'm not going to apologize for that, nor am I going to apologize for the fact that I'm probably going to post like every day now that I have real internet access. I am what I am and probably I am going to keep blogging.

Work is going to be tough for the next couple of weeks. We do a lot of publications, and there's a lot of details to remember about everything. It was a long workday. But I made it and I guess that's all that matters? I think I can do this, though, I really do. The combination of newspaper experience and grading experience from working with Dr. Dzaka is pretty perfect for this job. Also, they said that my job duties may involve blogging about my study abroad travels. How funny is that? They have no idea, but I'm all over it.

The U.S., I'm noticing, is kind of lonely actually. In Bertram House and the convent both, there were people that I love just chillin' at all hours, and I had standing invitations to do fun stuff. Now it's kind of like. . . I have to make up my social circle all over again, kinda. I wonder how much work it's going to be?

It's been raining here like crazy. It kinda makes me sleepy.

My card refuses to work on my floor, so I guess I have to go bug the card services lady again tomorrow on my lunch break. Sigh. That means delaying my parking permit process and signing contract process and everything else. But what can you do? At least they managed to fix my meal plan today.

and i'll keep the area clear

Hey loves.

It's me again, back in Grantham, PA. It's eerily familiar to be posting from a dorm room, but also really weird. I thought I was basically done with the traditional dorm room last year. Turns out I was pretty wrong. Somehow they all manage to smell the same.

I had a minor revelation on the trip from Craig and Laura's today. Maybe this is totally, absurdly obvious, but this is what I thought:

It all started as I was listening to a song about how if we focused on Jesus, the things of earth will grow strangely dim (in the light of his glory and grace) - I'm sure you've heard it. And I realized that, in fact, when I actually feel like there's something out there beyond what we can see and touch and smell and taste and think up, that's when the things of earth seem the sharpest and most potent.

I started to try and say in my printmaking portfolio this semester how inadequate it is to say that I love God. I haven't the faintest idea how to even begin to try to love something like God. Haven't got a clue. I mean, he's God, right? How much more ineffable and unlovable can you get?

But I do love the things of earth. Really a lot, in fact. That sounds bad, but hear me out. I love my work. I love my family. There are certain other people that I love, and even someone that I somewhere in between. I love honesty and poetry and water brushing along the tops of my feet. And so I can't love God; I don't know how. But I love these things he's given me, and maybe that's all the closer to loving God we can ever get - it's loving the things and the people and the calling he's given us the best way we possibly can, and hoping that we're loving his reflection in them.

Does that make sense?

It strikes me that I am possibly a heretic. And also possibly very sleep-deprived.

Anyway, think on that.

The end.

p.s.

Two days at home is not enough.

I dislike moving.

It's a bizarre experience to feel completely awake and alert and unable to fall back asleep at 5 a.m. (because hey, your body still really thinks it's noon).

i remember quite clearly - i hate packing!

Wow. That's my first thought on walking into my room, now strewn with opened boxes, clothing, and various piles of various man-made materials: to keep. storage. to get rid of. the maybe pile.

Today packing was even more dramatic, because after living for four months out of two suitcases, I'm overwhelmed at the sheer amount of stuff I own (my suitcases, by the way, were reclaimed with rejoicing at Huntsville airport at approximately 11 a.m. today). The closet holds a never-ending stream of boxes which spill their contents without apology all over my floor. In fact, I'm unpacking boxes from when we moved to Alabama before my ninth grade year of high school - and chucking most of their contents.

Yes, I've gotten ruthless. I don't need so many knicknacks. I don't need so many little papers to remember the past. I'm quite ready to move on, in fact. So I'm chucking them, without a second thought.

The thing I found that threw me the most? Apparently I kept a picture a friend drew for me way back in eighth grade. A small, approximately 3"x3" colored pencil drawing with an 18-word message written lightly on the back in all-caps. I kept, actually, quite a few artifacts from my eighth grade year. I suppose it was a memorable one.

Jenn, you'll laugh at this - I kept a piece of paper with our little ditty about Isaiah Paine and Nicole (to the tune of We Three Kings. . . remember?). I kept a little ceramic cow milk pitcher (which is, in fact, quite ugly). And I even have Cow-ee-pooh still.

There ought to be a moral to this story, I am aware. But there isn't, really, except that I'm slimming down my life a little. Probably not as much as I should, considering the small size of my dorm room this summer and my apartment next year, but slimming down nonetheless.

I've moved a total of five times in this calendar year. That's kind of a lot. No wonder I hate packing.

Last time I moved up to school it was horribly depressing, because I knew that all but one or two of my friends were gone, and no one was waiting for me. This year, even though I'm moving up in the summer, I hope it's better.

Yes, I've gotten more sleep, but no, it's not helped my fractured way of telling a story. I'm afraid that's going to take a lot more time to recover.

"your eyes are like stars - you know, the kind that go supernova and kill baby planets"

The roads are too big.

That was my first thought on getting into our grey Toyota Tundra outside the Atlanta airport. The car is too big and the roads are too big and what happened to all of the cobblestones?

Yes, a little prick of fear as my mother pulled out onto highway traffic, eastbound on 283. There are a lot of other big cars rushing along with us.

And what, the roadsigns are all in English? And the menu at Arby's? What? Why so much, why so many?

"Vorrei" I start to say to the woman behind the cash register, then I swallow it. Because I'm in America now and I should order my food in English: "A jamocha shake, please." Please, not per favore.

I stood in the airport at the Lufthansa desk, wanting really badly to reclaim my gigantic purple suitcases (even though I hate dealing with the awkward weight of them) so that I could pass through customs and meet Mom. Unfortunately, I learned, my suitcases remained on German soil. Poor suitcases, sitting in a dirty terminal corner somewhere in Frankfurt. All of my possessions, everything I owned for a whole semester, everything I acquired for four months. Somehow I'm leaving this semester even more stripped down, slimmed out and streamlined than I started.

Today we had pork chops for lunch. Pork chops, baked potatoes (unlike the Italians my mother does believe in sour cream), mint tea, salad-with-real-salad-dressing, whoopie pies, fruit salad (I miss succo di ananas). I watched myself eat this feast from behind and a little bit above.

I'm not sure if this floating thing is related to jetlag-exhaustion or readjustment or both, but a little bit of me is standing off a ways in constant surprise at where I am (constantly surprised that I remember how to do this) wanting to use its hard-won Italian.

They say that we're having a drought. The south always seemed superabundant to me, too much, too green, too hot. If this is a drought then a normal summer would be a jungle, because still where I look there's green, there's vegetation over everything, the sky is monolithic blue. I gathered up my courage this morning, though, and drove to church. I'd forgotten completely that one stretch of road - even though we're in drought it's a verdant unbroken arch across the black road.

I remember. I like driving.

I know that when I left I missed the internet a lot. I missed the constant ready entertainment and communication it provided.

Yesterday, I declined to use the internet.