I think I adore my brother.

Yeah, that one. He Who Does Not Know I Exist–the older, that is. I don’t know much about the younger.

But the older one wrote this post: http://bit.ly/205ZJU

I’ve always wanted an older brother I can admire. I’m really glad I have one.

 

Kyrie Eleison

It’s almost five in the morning. I’m tired. I need help. I can’t keep doing this.

I need to leave.

Stuart keeps making demands, not big things, not unethical things, just things. His priorities ahead of mine.

But it’s my life. My goals. My needs. Isn’t it?

Whose else can it be?

I need certain things. Me things. Church. Faith. Encouragement. Sleep–lots of sleep. Protein, amusingly. I get very crabby without protein. Exercise, I suspect.

But I stop functioning when I lack any of those things. Slowly, bit-by-bit, but I do.

I can’t take this right now. I need someone to tell me I’m doing a good job. I need someone to hug me if I look the slightest bit sad, and even when I don’t. A certain kind of hug, though. For some reason, the hugs that count with me are the amazing, brotherly (or uncle-y) hugs that kind of envelope me, but not in an invasive way. It’s tricky. Can’t be all elbows, not too smothery. Yeah, I never said it was easy.

I also need to be validated. What a Shimer term! But, even though saying it sounds silly, it’s necessary. I need someone else to tell me that I’m okay, that I’m doing what’s best for me or at least that I have the right to try and choose. That’s honestly more the issue.

I’m no child. I can’t be a child. Not right now. Probably not ever again. At 5′0″, I must stand tall.I need to be able to trust myself, and to do that I must earn my own trust. So, I have to make decisions. I have to stand on my own feet, take consequences, learn, try again. Every body has to.

Even submission requires strength. And, frankly, I don’t feel I need to submit to Stuart. He is not my father. He is not my spiritual father. He is not my husband, thank Heavens. (Good grief, what a thought.)

He’s a facilitator. A professor. That’s it.

I value his instruction. But his advice is unsolicited and not applicable.

His priorities have to come first, he says. I have to cater to his wishes, he says. Can’t cut class for ten minutes to make it to work, but must put all other obligations aside if I made a commitment to the school. I have to break any promises I make that conflict with school.

But other things are dearer to me. And I get to make that choice.

I claim it. Recognized or no, it is my right. Humans get to choose.

It’s the only God-given right I believe in.

 

Gives Me Hope

So, to keep it brief because it’s almost 3 am, I stayed up two extra hours after I finished my nat sci paper so that I could read pages upon pages of GivesMeHope.com. It’s been a tough week; well, a tough few weeks. There are a lot of insane issues in my life right now, but I’m surviving. The thing that’s been hardest to deal with has been one of the smallest things.

A facilitator of mine, the prof for my soc class, said to me recently that I needed to put my school obligations before being so nice to others. Well, yeah, generosity was interfering with my academics, because I accidentally worked a forty-hour week while trying to keep my head above water for classes. That didn’t work, and it was poor planning, but it was a one-time thing. The next week, I told Stuart I’d need to leave class early just once so that I could sub for someone at work so they could have their birthday off. He said no. He treated me like a highschooler. He was completely inflexible. He didn’t let me be an adult making my own decisions. Like I always do when feeling powerless, I cried.

It worked out because my boss is a godsend, but it’s been a problem. I’ve been a lot more selfish this year than in the past, avoiding crazy needy people and getting more-or-less all my work done. But I’m still me, and when I focus solely on my official needs I turn paper-hearted; kind of crisp and crackly and two-dimensional, not at all right. I need to be kind. I need to take that time. I need to let myself put others first even when the brats don’t deserve or appreciate it and when it runs me ragged. I don’t need to run myself ragged all the time or even ever, but I need to let myself when I want to.

Reading GivesMeHope.com gave me the same feeling I got on Tuesday when I drew smiles across a cup and wrote “have a splendid day!” because I saw the customer crying while waiting for her drink. It doesn’t actually accomplish anything, necessarily, but it makes me feel a hell of a lot better.

Here’s one of my favorites: “At my college graduation everyone is allowed to take a loved one with them as they walk across the stage. The last girl to walk across held the arm of her 90 year old grandpa. As they crossed the stage the chancellor read her grandfathers name. He graduated 60 years ago but didn’t get to walk his own graduation because he was fighting in WWII. GMH.” It’s charming, honest, and disarming. And you know what? It’s taught me something.

I was already right.

Being kind, developing spiritually, and becoming a well-balanced person really ARE the most important things in life. I’m never happier than when I take a while to be mellow and warm towards others. When I pray, I get that same feeling. When I balance my responsibilities towards others with my responsibilities to myself, I’m much happier than when I take care of all my own needs without making time to open doors for strangers.

Stuart’s wrong. And thank God he is.

 

Today I love

1. Persuasion – I’m in the middle of the book, and I’ve watched the movie at least five times since I got it in August.

2. Port Townsend, WA - Lovely, small, vivid, convenient. And it has mountains on one side and ocean on the other. Irish music community. A sweet, vibrant church. Orthodox people my own age? Unheard of!

3. My cat – Hermione has been particularly sweet lately. She is fluffy and orange and fickle, and I wouldn’t have her any other way.

4.  A day of my own – Today is my first day off in a very long time. Nothing’s due, I have no plans, I get to spend the whole day as I like. I’m cleaning, cooking (cornish pasties!), and pampering myself rather wholeheartedly. I got to spend last night with my mother, who brought me all sorts of nice Mary Kay things she’d found while cleaning out the soon-to-be-old house.

5. My violin – Learning to fiddle is one of the greatest things I’ve ever done for myself. I’m finally able to play the tunes my godparents and their friends play at sessions, and it’s a great way to relax. I’m happy.

 

The Last Good Year

It seems sometimes, often in fact, that I come along in the last good year. Or, rather, that I’m a harbinger of death. I don’t in any way cause said death; I simply fortell something that was set in action long before I came around.

When I was six and a half my mother and I were baptized in the Orthodox church. We moved a year and a half later, just as things at that monastery were disintegrating. By “disintegrating” I mean that the abbot left the Russian church because of disagreements with the bishop. He eventually joined the Bulgarian diocese, but as of this spring he was defrocked for behavior that occurred around the time we called that church home. It had been a wonderful introduction to the Church for me, loving and and strict and full of warmth and forgiveness. It grounded me well, I feel, but it hasn’t been the same since–particularly because of the whole, y’know, it not actually being a monastery right now, what with it lacking a priest and not belonging to a church.

When I was seven my mother and I had dinner at a busy fish-house. The old doctor, whose practice my mother had taken over, invited us to sit with him. It was lovely conversation, and he gave me much-appreciated peppermints. Then he fell over with a heart attack just before the food arrived. My mother never got hers. I sat in the booth quietly eating my fish and watching as she performed CPR as he lay on the tile floor. I was seven; judgment was a skill I had not yet developed, for better and for worse. In this case, I think it was better. The experience wasn’t scarring, although reflecting on it makes me wince.

The winter after I lived with my (great-) Uncle Bob and his wife Ida for a summer, Uncle Bob was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. Drunk driving is never okay. Neither, frankly, is heavy drinking. This isn’t the middle ages, and I have a heart, and I don’t like it being broken by others’ selfishness. Also, pickled liver is SO NOT A DELICACY, and even if it were, the proper method of pickling uses vinegar. Take care of yourself, dammit.

When I was in eighth grade I took a senior-level government class that was offered to every eighth-grader at my school. The teacher was so liberal he was nearly an anarchist, and his name was Mr. Mann. (How’s that for a misnomer, eh?) It was not the last year, and it was not always an enjoyable year, but I learned more than I realized then about politics, life, and how to play The Game. About two years later he died. I attended his funeral and met his wife, an elegant former hippie just like him. I still miss him sometimes. I have no idea who teaches his class now, but I’ll bet they aren’t as good. Nobody could be. His excellence was entirely accidental.

Skipping to high school, my first JROTC experience was in many ways fantastic. However it, too, was a Last Good Year. The secondary instructor had just changed due to…well, some illegal conduct by the former secondary instructor. However, most of the old leaders had come back, ready to guide a new crop of cadets for yet another year. By the end of that year, almost all of the leaders had decided they would not do so. (To be fair, a handful graduated.) The structure was changing, the leadership style of the instructors was changing, and the amount of conflict between instructors and students just got some people fed up. And for good reason! But the next year felt empty. We didn’t have enough older students to create the same ethos of respect and honor and hard work. The new students slacked because we couldn’t get them to feel it was important. They half-assed their pushups and wore sloppy uniforms and didn’t care. I left halfway through the first semester, primarily because we were moving to a different town but partly because I couldn’t stand watching something I loved so intensely fall apart so quietly.

When I was in 11th grade I got a chance to feel like the Grim Reaper yet again. Once more, Mother and I went to dinner. It was hosted by a pharmaceuticals company, so there were quite a few white male doctors present. And, of course, because this is a Terribly Dramatic Paragraph and this is what happens in Terribly Dramatic Paragraphs, one of them did not live to go home that night. Had just ONE of those doctors–or even myself, a lifeguard and CNA–lingered just ten more minutes, he probably would have. The poor man only needed the Heimlich, and someone to see him in time. But he stayed behind to wait for a dessert he could bring to his wife, and then he had a seizure that caused a piece of meat to lodge in his throat. He died. Mom and I went to see his family later that week. They were nice people. Seeing them was one of those things that kind of makes my heart crumble just a little more.

Shimer is probably NOT having a Last Good Year. I am an optimist, and Shimer has survived before. However, it is a year of change and possibly danger. Shimer is a school based on dialogue, on democracy. Our new president is having great difficulty understanding the former, and the latter might not be his cup of tea either. He’s a politician, and as far as I can tell a good man. However, he does certain things without adequately communicating them. Also, he’s kind of supposed to ask the students. We’re just that kind of school. He’s been making changes, and he gets upset when we cry “Outrage!” without stopping to ask him why he did what he did. But I do wish he’d learn to explain himself in advance. We’re an involved kind of school. We have an Assembly of all students, staff and faculty as our primary governing body. Obviously, it’s a really good idea to consult that assembly, particularly when one’s hoping to make RATHER SIGNIFICANT CHANGES. Like firing an admissions director without talking to anyone in admissions, the dean, the head of faculty, or most/all of the Board of Trustees.

I am quite certain that none of the above was my fault. I am also quite certain that knowing so doesn’t help much. Life is just unpleasant sometimes. But, that isn’t the all of it.

There’s always a first good year too. With every end comes a beginning, somewhere. Even when I can’t see it.

 

A Writers Meme

What was the last thing you wrote? A bit of a story to be included in The Duchess Tales, a bunch of fairy tales I started because I wanted a girl to save the day without being saved by marrying the prince. In fact, in my stories, the girls don’t choose the prince––if they choose any young man at all.

Was it any good? I’m not sure. Could be. If it’s not, well, I hope it becomes good after a few revisions.

Write poetry? Occasionally, but I’m not very good.

Angsty poetry? Typically not. Angst is annoying.

Favorite genre of writing? I like to write for me. So, young adult fiction.

Most fun character you ever wrote? Livy was an 8-year-old genius and the younger sister of the main character in In All Honesty. She was sassy, brilliant and a bit of a diva. She regularly flipped from whining like a normal third-grader to drawling like an amused British butler (a la Stephen Fry) with an attitude problem.

Most annoying character you ever wrote? Er. The first that come to mind are two characters in a fanfiction I wrote. But they weren’t original characters, hence my wincing. (I find it mildly embarrassing to admit that I dabble in fanfics. I like my original fiction better.)

Best plot you ever wrote? I haven’t written it yet. I’m not good enough. But when the time comes, Magic Heart will be about a girl named Pippa who is frozen by her grief. She does what she has to to get through the day, but she doesn’t feel. She doesn’t care. She has nothing left to give; everything she loved had already been taken. Then Pippa gets on the wrong side of a savvy witch, who curses her in the cruelest way imaginable: She forces Pippa to feel every shard of sorrow the girl had stored up and ignored. And then Pippa has to live.

Coolest plot twist you ever wrote? I don’t know. Perhaps in Emma/Peter, at the very end. (I have large parts of this story written, if anyone would like to read it. Email me at veggie1 -at- gmail.)

How often do you get writer’s block? Very often. But more often it’s just a distraction, not writer’s block. Because there’s almost always something I want to write. Maybe it’s a current story, or a very old one. Maybe I begin something new. But I’ve almost always got something worth writing, just probably not whatever I meant to be finishing at the moment. Hence why I’m still working on stories I began in middle school, and why I haven’t finished any novel-length story yet.

How do you fix it? Write. I sit down and I write. Maybe I plan the plot some more, maybe I write a short scene that doesn’t fit in the novel or that isn’t in chronological order. Maybe I write something else. But if I want to fix it, I just write. Or, I read. And listen to music. And go out and live. Life may be the cause of my distractions, but it’s also the antidote to feeling uninspired.

Write fan fiction? Yes, and I enjoy it very much. Inserting my own character into another world is great fun for me. It’s like a writing exercise, and sometimes I realize that my story has deviated so much from the book it was based on that it’s become an original plot. So I change the names and world to better fit my actual characters and plot, and I rewrite it as its own tale.

Do you type or write by hand? Yes.

Do you save everything you write? No, but I save a lot of it. I need a filing cabinet! I have lots of handwritten things I need to save, and ideally I could get a scanner and upload them to the computer so everything would be in one place. (But if I did I’d just kick myself if the blasted thing ever crashed.)

Do you ever go back to an idea long after you abandoned it? That’s my specialty.

What’s your favorite thing you have ever written? Honesty’s story, I think. In All Honesty was based on a plot device that I had seen misused one time too many. Bad boys don’t change just because the protagonist fell for him. They don’t suddenly stop being assholes. And I was tired of seeing so many plots revolve around how the heroine had to share a bedroom with a guy she hated and then suddenly she falls for him and everything’s dandy. Few sane parents would allow that even in extenuating circumstances, and if they did it probably wouldn’t go over too well. And if the girl did fall for said bad boy she was living with, he’d still be an asshole. So it still wouldn’t end well!

What’s everyone else’s favorite thing you’ve written? People like In All Honesty. They also liked Dragon’s Flower, the fanfiction.

Do you show people your work? I’ve been on Fictionpress for some time now, and I’m just collecting my best work on SanityBakery.com but I’m looking for a real-life crit group. I’ve shown friends my work. I’ve entered competitions. I’ve used some stuff as semester projects at college.

Have you ever written fantasy, sci-fi, or horror? Fantasy, yes. The others, not much as of yet. Wait and see.

Ever written romance or teen angsty drama? Yes. Sorry. I’m not much for angst, but teen romance is a favorite of mine. I favor slow-developing romance, the sort based on a friendship and shared experiences and not just “zOMG U R LIK SO HAWTT!!!” …Please excuse me while I shudder.

How many writing projects are you working on right now? Oh dear, lots. In All Honesty, Duchess Tales, Dragon’s Flower (sort of), and countless more.

Do you want to write for a living? Yes!

Have you ever won an award for writing? Actually, yeah. I placed in the top ten for my state in a writing contest sponsored by the National Council of Teachers of English! I also wrote the best “Fake Writing Contest” for a writing contest by Grace Tierney.

Ever written something in script or play format? Not really. I’ve tried, but never finished much. I’ve never felt quite inspired enough.

What character you’ve written most resembles yourself? Honesty, probably. I’d love to be her sister Livy, but Liv’s a little more talented than I am.

Where do you get the ideas for your characters? Sometimes it starts with the name. Sometimes I think of a reaction, or a situation, and go from there. Sometimes I see a picture and think, “I want to write her.”

Do you ever write based on dreams? Oh, yes. Many a time.

Do you favor happy endings, sad endings or cliff hangers? I love endings with joy, but without all the problems having been magically solved. The characters have to have something to do with the rest of their lives!

Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen? Of course.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write? Very. I typically catch things right away, as I write, or as I reread. I reread a lot in order to remember where I was and where I was going.

Ever written anything entirely in chatspeak (How r u)? No.

Are people surprised and confused when they find out you write well? Hm, one of my college teachers was a little shocked. She said she looked at the 40 pages I’d handed in as my semester project and groaned. Then she was surprised by how non-awful it was, that it went quickly and she wanted to keep reading. I really enjoyed that.

Quote something you’ve written. The first thing to pop in your mind. “The War Between Renland and Narthania,” a story written about a young battlefield nurse who decides to put an end to a war.

“Captain,” the girl asked, her chin raised so she could look into his eyes as he answered, “why is there an enemy infantryman dying over there?” She was sure he was not the only one, but he was the first she’d seen. It had surprised her.

The officer smiled indulgently, and she saw immediately that his would not be an answer that she would like. “Because our soldiers did their duty on the battlefield, milady.” He regarded her with fond amusement, as if she were a very young daughter who had just asked a child’s question. Perhaps in his eyes she had.

She sighed and shook her head. He did not understand. “No, Captain. That is not what I meant. My question was why he is dying alone.”

 

Thankfulness, and forgiveness

Today is Great and Holy Friday, and I feel so blessed, so loved. It is a sorrowful day, but––today I am given the greatest gift ever given. I cannot help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude and joy.

I keep a small book in my bag at all times. It is about one-and-a-half inches by one-and-a-half inches, a half-inch thick, and it is covered in a beautiful Guatamalan fabric with soft handmade paper inside. I got it in Wisconsin, I believe as a gift from my godmother, and since November of 2006 I have been keeping a list inside. I forget often, and then I pick it up again and am reminded of how blessed I am. The book is a list of things I am thankful for.

The things I list most often are variations on
friendship
paper, writing, books
beauty in nature
not getting exactly what I want (and the opposite, of course)
love, smiles
challenges, good and bad
forgiveness

The things that stand out to me now are
unreasonable happiness 
orchids
sunshine
loss, letting go, moving on
hope
prayer
looking forward
forgiveness

I am so thankful for forgiveness. It relieves guilt, it soothes hurt feelings, it makes it easier to survive in this crazy world. Forgiveness is love to your enemies. It is asking God to forgive those who have wronged you, including your own self. It is hard, and it is as necessary as air. When I forget to forgive myself or others, my muscles tense up. I hurt inside and out. I am unhappy, blameful, and bitter. I end up in physical pain after a few weeks of this severity. My neck and back begin to bother me, and my heart aches. Then I go to Confession, and I forgive myself. I remember how much I love the people around me. I feel alive again.

There is a Forgiveness Sunday in the Church, and there is a prayer of forgiveness my mother and I try to say every night we are together.
“O holy brothers and sisters in Christ, please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed and pray for me a sinner.”
The response is, “I forgive you, may God forgive you.”
And then the whole world feels as light as air. 

Please say a prayer for me, and have a blessed Paschal weekend. And please forgive me if I have offended you in thought, word, or deed, and pray for me a sinner.
-Brigid 
P.S. If you’re curious about what I’ve been spending my time doing, I write more regularly for blog.shimer.edu (as I get paid there).

 

Contradiction Meme

Five contradictions about me:

1. I’m known as the “evil overlord” among my friends. I’m also the mom. (Wait, is that a contradiction?) Well in any case, I’m also kind of known for being “cute” and a sweetheart––alas.

2. I’m bold and blunt and daring, but I don’t like to offend, I’m extremely diplomatic (dreamed of working in international relations, in fact), and when it comes to speaking up about my needs I “need to grow a spine.”

3. I get annoyed when people expect me to fix their problems, but I love helping people. When people complain to me, it’s hard for me to be sympathetic without giving suggestions and ideas. I am empathetic; I just have to try and find an answer, too.

4. I love to read. I love to write. And yet, I have difficulty finishing my reading and my papers. (Surprise, surprise!)

5. I’m persistent, but I’m lazy.

I tag…YOU!

 

I am, indeed, procrastinating

But also, I’ve been meaning to blog since DECEMBER. Yeesh. I need to get back into the habit!

My news, starting with winter break: I broke up with Scott, I worked at the nursing home throughout break (including New Calendar Christmas day!), I came back to school, I made better friends with Sara and Chris, I made new friends from IIT-the-landlord-school, I became utterly addicted to Doctor Who, I’ve been working waaay too much at the pool, I’ve been trying to do work-study sometimes and not getting there nearly as often as I mean to, I’ve gotten a third job babysitting two days a week, I’ve developed an obsession with cardigan sweaters, I’m having roommate issues in the sense that I’m too nonconfrontational and I spent so much time in Sara’s room because of minor awkwardness that it turned into major awkwardness, I got to be a guest cohost on a campus radio show, I’m playing Helena in our abridged Midsummer Night’s Dream, and I made the friendly campus coffeeshop man an effigy doll with pink yarn innards so he could stab it and scare away the customers he doesn’t like.

Whoo-ey.

 

This will only make sense to Dylan

And maybe not even to him.