Facing the Giants

First, thanks to all of you for your congratulatory comments. They made me happy! :) Second, I got a job (yay!), and I start tomorrow, so blogging may be scarce as I try and figure out my new routine. I'll be with you in spirit, of course.

Now, I have a confession: I am scared to lift weights at the gym. I have done it before, but only if one of the following conditions were met 1)no one else was in the weights area or 2)only women were in the weights area. If neither is met, I don't lift weights. The truth is, seeing a bunch of men over there lifting their 25-pound dumbbells completely intimidates me. I just imagine all of the guys over there smirking at me and my 10-pound or 12-pound weights, or I imagine them thinking, "What is a girl like her doing over here?" My physique doesn't exactly scream "toned and muscular," after all (which of course is why I need to use the weights). Even if I enter the gym that day intending to use the free weights, I may leave without doing so, which is what happened on Friday. I did my requisite cardio and kept waiting for the weights area to be free of testosterone, but no such luck. So I left. Lame, huh?

I know this fear is irrational and silly and that the men are more than likely admiring their own muscles in the mirror instead of being concerned with my lack of muscle, and I try giving myself a little pep talk each time before I go, but I end up wimping out anyway. I have some weights at home, but not a lot, and I know I would benefit from using the wide range of weights that the gym offers. I need to get past this fear, so I am pledging to all of my readers that I will face this fear THIS week! If I don't, I give all of you permission to call me out on it!

Is there anything you dread doing but know you need to do it? How do you get past the dread and just do it?

Eating Like There's No Tomorrow

Yesterday I was reading Jen's blog (AKA the Prior Fat Girl), and one of the comments on the post has had me thinking about it ever since. Dineen, from Eat Without Guilt said at the end of her comment, "Because life truly is too short to be worrying about something we do daily...eat."

Can I get an AMEN?? How true is that? And yet I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about food and worrying about what I eat. When I'm eating breakfast I'm often thinking about lunch, and when I'm eating lunch I'm thinking about dinner or what snack I will have before dinner. I know this isn't normal, nor is it healthy, and yet as many others have written, I don't know what a normal relationship with food looks like. I've never had one. I look at my husband, who has been the same, healthy weight for years, and I wish I could be like that. If it's "time" for lunch, and he's not hungry, guess what? He doesn't eat anything! Me? If it's pushing noon, I'm thinking or saying, "Oh my goodness, I need to eat lunch! It's almost noon!" As if all of the food in the kitchen will expire at 12:01. On my post about the happy plate, Sweet Melissa commented about how, if something is really good, she will eat like she'll never be able to have it again, and that's exactly what I do. It's as though I must eat everything I have RIGHT NOW because an evil food fairy will come and take it away if I don't! I eat as though tomorrow it will be gone. I want to just eat a meal, enjoy the food but not obsess over it, stop when I'm full, and get on with the rest of life. Sometimes I feel like I will never get to that place, but I know in my heart that right now I'm not even actively TRYING to get to that place, so I need to put up a fight and not give in every time crazy urges to eat come over me.

If you have any tips for avoiding those munchy urges, please enlighten me!

In other, more shallow and superficial news, I'm experimenting with curly hair. Opinions? I'm not really sure what to do with my bangs when I wear my hair curly. (And I did take a shot where I'm not tilting my head at this odd angle, but it was harder to see the curl, hence this funky pose.)

Will You Be My Friend? Check Yes or No

On Sunday I watched a father and son eat lunch. The father was on his cell phone for most of their meal, while the son ate in silence. I found this odd because usually I see younger people on their cells while the older people are sitting there in silence, but more than finding it odd I found it sad and representative of our technologically-obsessed culture. So attached are we to our gadgets that portability is a must. We must be available at all times, to all people. We must have wireless internet access and internet and music on our phones, even TVs in our cars. We must update our Twitter and our Facebook daily, if not hourly, so everyone knows what we're doing or thinking. Of course, the irony of all of this is that while we're seemingly so connected to each other, we couldn't be more isolated. We neglect real relationships for cyber ones, preferring a text or email over a phone call, a phone call instead of face-to-face interaction. It's just easier that way. Right?

I have found myself trapped in some of the scenarios I've just described, and it's only lately that I've realized that I've allowed myself to hide behind my online presence. I'm more comfortable baring my soul on a blog post or in a facebook post than I am in real life. The online me is the selective version of me, and so the online me is safe, protected. And I've allowed myself to believe that I'm cultivating and maintaining friendships because I know what my friends are all up to thanks to the wonders of social networking, and yet how often have I actually called them up to find out? In person communication isn't always possible, but I know I can do better than exchanging facebook messages.

The truth is, I don't know how to make friends anymore. It was so easy in college and mostly easy in grad school because I was constantly thrown together with people in the same stage of life as I. I lived with these people, went to classes with them, shared meals with them, goofed off with them, and so it was natural that relationships would develop. Now, however, I am an adult, and I am not "forced" into interacting with others on a daily basis, and I am floundering. I wasn't bothered by my lack of new friendships when I first got married because I was content to spend every hour of the day with my husband, and I still treasure our relationship and his presence, but my girlie soul longs for female companionship, too. I don't even have any close friends at the church I've been a member of for a year and a half. How sad is that? There are women at church that I have shared passing conversations with, but I have never managed to muster enough courage to get to know them better by inviting any of them out to lunch or to the park or even to Target. (And now I sound like a guy who's trying to get up enough courage to ask a girl out. Awesome.) I suppose deep down I am afraid of being rejected, and so I don't say anything. I'm good at that, it seems.

Part of me (a rather large part) didn't want to write this post because I am aware of how completely lame I am, but I am putting it out there in the hopes that I am not alone in feeling this way. (Plus, it's late at night and it's possible my judgment is impaired.) Does anyone else struggle with cultivating friendships? I welcome any and all suggestions/thoughts.

Vanity Masked as Insecurity

On Sunday I put my new "bare arms" challenge to the ultimate test: I wore a sleeveless dress to church. I am not sure why this seemed like a bigger deal to me than going to a baseball game, but perhaps it's the fact that I sing in the choir, and the choir sits in the choir loft for the duration of the service, which means I'm in full view of everyone in the congregation. Of course, I didn't for one minute think everyone in the congregation was going to be staring at me during the whole service, but in general I feel very exposed when in the choir loft, so that feeling of exposure was elevated even more with the wearing of a sleeveless dress. (Writing out this whole paragraph has made me aware that I am ridiculous.)

Furthermore, the fact that not only was I baring my arms but was doing so in a dress complicated the situation. I am pretty much a pants girl; aside from weddings, I do not generally wear dresses or skirts. I feel that dresses accentuate my body more than other articles of clothing, and naturally I'd rather my body go completely unnoticed, so dresses aren't my first clothing of choice. Before losing weight, the baggier and less form-fitting a piece of clothing was, the better. I was paranoid of having layers of fat show in my clothes, so this paranoia manifested itself in the wearing of clothes that often floated away from my body, sometimes not even touching my skin. And I liked it that way. I can't say this aversion to form-fitting clothing has changed much even though I've lost 70 pounds. I have tried on many tops that other people would consider to be perfectly fine, but I won't buy them because I can see the shape of my body. Clearly, I have issues.

Truthfully, the dress I chose to wear I probably would not have even bought had my husband not been in the store with me and told me how much he liked it and how good it looked. The lack of sleeves was the first strike against it, and then the fact that you could actually see a slight silhouette of my body was the second. The kicker was the fact that it just barely brushed my knees, and I am used to wearing dresses or skirts that go much longer than that. I just knew that if I bent over in the slightest, I'd be flashing all of America. However, I decided to be brave, listen to my husband, and buy the dress (it was on sale for a great price--bonus!).

I ended up bringing a light black, three-quarter length sweater to church with me because it is often cold, and I also figured that the sweater would make me feel better about the dress because at least my arms would be bare. But as I was sitting in the choir room before we were to enter the sanctuary, I was waging war in my head. The dialogue went something like this:

Practical Erin: "It's going to be hot in the sanctuary, Erin. Just take off the sweater."
Fearful Erin: "NO! Everyone will see my flabby arms holding the choir book. I can't do it."
Practical Erin: "Your arms are the last thing anyone should be concerned about in church. It's about JESUS, remember? Shouldn't you be thinking about HIM?"
Fearful Erin: "Well, it will be easier for me to think about Him if I were wearing my sweater..."
Practical Erin: "Now you're just making excuses. Leave the sweater and get your mind in the right place!"

So I did. And you know what? I didn't get any disgusted glances from people and no one said anything to me about my arms. No one cared! So why do I constantly make this an issue? For someone who is supposedly insecure, I sure am vain.

Now, one last thing. Photographic proof of this momentous day:

The Right to Bare Arms, Part 2

I am proud to announce that on the very day I pledged to you (my readers who have come out of the bloggy woodwork) to wear a sleeveless shirt, I wore a sleeveless shirt! The husband and I went to see the Memphis Redbirds play, and as it was going to be in the 90s, I decided to go for it, since I preferred not to melt into a pool of sweat due to a shirt with sleeves. Turns out I melted into a pool of sweat anyway, but I like to think it would have been worse had I not gone sleeveless.

All in all, the experience was very positive! I confess that the decision to wear the sleeveless shirt was made easier by my hope that there would be few people at the game. After all, it was a game in the middle of the week, during work hours, so how many people would be there? Turns out there are a lot of crazy people who can think of nothing greater than sweating it out in a minor league ballpark in the middle of the afternoon, so there were plenty of people there! However, this caused me only about two seconds of alarm, and then I saw all the food options in front of my eyes and forgot all about it. KIDDING. (Well, sort of. I did partake of some ballpark goodies.) I had a few moments of obsessing over how my arms must look, but after my husband assured me no one was talking about my arms (at least not within hearing distance, anyway), I managed to relax and enjoy the experience. I'm even planning on wearing a sleeveless shirt again tomorrow, and I might just take pictures to document the occasion!

One thing that really helped me was the fabulous Jen's (aka Prior Fat Girl) comment on yesterday's post. She pointed out that no one cares whether I wear short sleeves or no sleeves! I can't remember what anyone I saw today was wearing, so that means it ultimately doesn't matter because no one cares. NO ONE CARES. I don't know about you all, but that's a very freeing thought. Especially for someone who is ALWAYS thinking about what other people think.

So great is my concern for what people think that I am paranoid about wearing the same article of clothing two weeks in a row. Obviously I have to wear the same pants because I do not, nor will I ever, own 14 pairs of pants, but every morning when I'm getting ready to teach I consciously go through my wardrobe and think through what I wore the previous week so I don't repeat an outfit. I just know that if I did, someone would point it out or judge me for it. (And I will never forget this one time in class when a student asked me if I liked purple because I wore it a lot, so students do notice these things!) Does anyone else do this? Am I completely alone in this practice? Please tell me I am crazy. (On second thought, tell me something I don't know!)

Now that I've conquered the bare arms, my next goal is to forget all about this insane practice of remembering everything I wear and when I wear it because honestly, no one cares! I don't think I'm going to go so far as to wear the same thing every day or anything like that, but I am going to stop obsessing about repeating outfits and just wear what I want to wear. What a thought! :)

Do you have some quirky practice or habit that you want to get rid of? Make a plan of action and start today!

The Right to Bare Arms

For as long as I can remember, I have hated my arms. My upper arms in particular. I have always felt that they were disproportionate to the rest of my body. Even when I was at my smallest (which still wasn't small to anyone else but me), my arms were large. I sometimes had to buy shirts a size larger just so my arms would fit in the armholes! How crazy is that?? I pretty much avoided wearing anything sleeveless, even when it was 100 degrees outside with 100% humidity, such was my insecurity. I always felt self-conscious if I was wearing a bathing suit (well, I was self-conscious about that for a NUMBER of reasons) or a bridesmaid dress that was sleeveless. I sometimes couldn't even enjoy myself because I was thinking about how big and flabby my arms must look. I imagined everyone staring at them and being grossed out by how huge and fat they were. In truth, I probably imagined them to be larger than they actually were, but I do believe that for whatever reason they are abnormally large.

Now that I've lost 70+ pounds, you'd think that I'd be comfortable with my arms, right? Nope, not so much. I have several cute, sleeveless tops (one is a size LARGE!) in my closet that I haven't worn because I am afraid of what people will think. I still feel like my arms are too flabby and unbecoming to force other people to see. I have worn some tank tops while working out because running in the heat is much more bearable that way, but the whole time I'm wearing that sleeveless shirt, I'm wondering what people would think if they saw my flabby arms. Honestly, how vain am I? Does anyone even care what I am wearing, much less what my arms look like? It's not like I surround myself with shallow, cruel people who would point out my horrible arms even if they did think they looked disgusting. And it's not like I'd even want to be friends with someone who judges me based on my appearance or clothing attire. Yet I am still hung up on this.

I've decided that the best approach would be full immersion. I'm going to pledge to you, all 4 of my dear readers, that I will wear one of those aforementioned sleeveless tops out in public this week and in a situation other than exercising. And I will do my best not to obsess about what everyone else must think of my arms. I realize that this fear of bare arms and the accompanying criticism is irrational and silly and vain, and I need to get over it, so surely the best way to do this is to grin and bare 'em, right? :)

What irrational fears do you have? Any body parts you need to learn to love?

Confessional

1. Sometimes I still have no idea what I'm doing with this whole weight loss thing.

2. I have a hard time accepting compliments. I have gotten better about externally acknowledging them by saying, "Thank you" instead of "Are you crazy?", but I still very much struggle with this internally. Recently, when I changed my profile picture on facebook and got about 20 comments about how great I looked, I freaked out and changed it to one with both Stephen and me in it because I felt weird having so many people make comments. I also felt like somehow that picture didn't really show what I looked like because of the angle it was taken, so if they had seen me in real life, surely they wouldn't feel the same way. And just today I saw someone in the hall, and when she told me I looked skinny, in my head I thought, "Ha! I hardly think that's an accurate adjective to use for me." How twisted am I??

3. I look at my body in the mirror and fear I will never like what I see. Don't get me wrong, I am well aware of how far I've come, but what if I get to my goal weight, and I still don't like my body?

4. Mere hours after writing my post about 100-calorie snack packs and healthy snacks, I ate 4 oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and a piece of white bread. Well, 3 cookies and one tablespoonful of dough. The white bread had fallen out of the package, and it looked so good and I hadn't had any in so long (my husband eats white bread) that I ate it. It wasn't that good. Wheat really is better. Now I know.

5. Just about every day at 4 p.m., I am plagued with a strong case of the munchies. Almost always I either fight the urge or eat something healthy, but sometimes I fail. (See #4.)

6. I still really love pizza. And potato chips. And McDonald's french fries. I just don't eat them in the massive quantities I used to.

7. I don't push myself hard enough in my workouts. There are certain exercises I know I could do, but I intimidate myself to the point that I just do the same old things I'm used to doing.

8. Related to #7, I don't like trying things I am not sure I will be successful with. This is a horrible character quality I need to fix. However, I think I made a huge leap in this category when I went to grad school. I really thought I wouldn't make it.

9. I am a firm believer in the ability of my family and friends to do big things with their lives, but I rarely apply the same type of optimism to my own life. How depressing.

10. I find it easier to be open and honest on my blog than in real life.

After writing this out, I realize how negative a lot of these things are. I fill my mind with so much negative self-talk and don't allow myself to think on whatever is "true, excellent, pure, and praiseworthy." I need to learn the practice of taking every thought captive and making it obedient to Christ.

What about you? Anything you'd like to confess? :)

One Man's Trash Is Another Woman's Magnet

Things I've found while cleaning out my bedroom closet (everything in the closet is mine, so I can't place any of the blame on Stephen):

1. Letters from 1996. Was that really 12 years ago?
2. A magnet that says "Blessed are the caring like you." Next time I doubt my capacity to care, I'll just consult this magnet!
3. An envelope of receipts, all of which are from 2004. I used to be incapable of (or perhaps just unwilling to) get rid of receipts for the month until my bank statement came out.
4. All of the letters informing me of how much financial aid I was receiving each year at Union. (They paid me a LOT, people! Praise the Lord for scholarships!)
5. My membership card to the National Beta Club, along with the pin. (I don't really know what to say about that.)
6. All the cards we received from wedding showers and at our wedding.
7. The program I got from my first Steven Curtis Chapman concert, the Heaven in the Real World Tour. (I also have ticket stubs from two of his other concerts. I've seen him 4 times that I can remember. I should write a post about him sometime...)
8. Pens I bought while in Bangkok. (They still write!)
9. Pictures from senior prom. (I sure was skinny!)
10. Most of the papers I wrote in undergrad, along with papers I wrote in grad school. My favorite feedback from a professor? "To be honest, I'm disappointed in this paper." OUCH. He then proceeded to write me almost 2 pages of ways to improve said paper and encouraged me to revisit it because I have a "good critical mind." He closed by wishing me "all the best." How nice. (And really, to be fair, it was a terrible paper on Their Eyes Were Watching God, written during one of my last weeks of grad school. Motivation was low.)
11. My acceptance letter to UT, along with my GRE score.
12. The program from my 8th grade "graduation." I was the "Class Speaker." All I remember is that during one of the graduations (there were 3 because the class was too large), I got my index cards out of order and had to improvise. It didn't go well. But it was 8th grade, so who cares?
13. 4 stacks of Post-its. (longtime readers should know of my love affair with Post-its)
14. 8 scarves. That's way too many scarves.
15. The name tag I wore during freshman orientation at Union.

I could go on, but why would you care? 15 is a pretty indulgent number as it is. I got rid of most of this stuff, except of course for the Post-its (and the magnet, the papers, the acceptance letter, etc.) Okay, so I got rid of the tapes and half the scarves. I'm a sentimental pack-rat, and it's very hard for me to let go of things. I have 2 full photo boxes of letters and cards I have received over the years, and if Stephen weren't around to make me throw silly things away, I would keep them for 10 or 15 more years! (Even so, I kept some of the especially nice cards/letters.)

I've been "saving" things for as long as I can remember, much to my mother's chagrin. She would look at the stack of shoe boxes stuffed with notes and declare my whole closet a fire hazard. Where I am sentimental and reluctant to throw away a birthday card a year after I've received it, she glibly tosses hers the day after, even before all the cake is gone! When it comes to my pack-ratting, nothing is off-limits. I used to save all the notes my friends and I would pass in grade school. I saved anything that I felt I might want to remember someday. And truly, my memory is terrible, so sometimes I think all of this collecting isn't a bad idea. For example, at one point I had all of the ribbons I'd won in field days (I doubt I contributed at all to my team's wins; my feats of athleticism are limited to walking in a semi-straight line). I finally got rid of them (post-college, I do believe), and now I can't even remember what we did during field days.

I'm sure a psychologist would love to delve deep into my psyche and unearth my repressed urges in the hopes of determining the root of my pack-ratting, but I'll wager a few guesses.

1. I confuse the memories with the items themselves. I tell myself that by throwing away a card, I'll forget about the person who sent it. While in some cases, this may be true (I'm not going to remember every person who ever gave me a card), I'll cherish the friendships of those who matter to me now, whether I have a card from them or not.

2. Keeping all of these mementos gives me a sense of security and stability. I feel like as long as I have these "anchors" to my past, I'll be fine. I might need these things someday. For example, what if someday I need to prove that I was indeed a member of the National Beta Club? All I have to do is whip out that membership card, and voila! Case closed.

3. It's genetic. My dad's mom is a notorious pack-rat, so much so that she has a storage room as well as 2 bedrooms full of stuff, some of which she doesn't even know she has. She could have passed this tendency onto me, but I will not cause my pack-ratting to spill over into entire rooms; I'm content to fill a closet.

Hey, I never said I was a logical pack-rat.

I just spent four hours in a study session. We (meaning me and the two other girls I was studying with) tried to pretend we were actually having a party, but if we were it was the worst party ever. My contemporary criticism midterm is tomorrow, and this is the class that's had me questioning my entire existence as both a grad student and a human being. I'm at the point now where I'm just ready to get it over with, even if that means I make a -5 or something (and yes, I know I'm exaggerating). I don't know what more I can do, and so I guess I should just let it be, but I can't because I'm obsessive and compulsive and perfectionistic and all of those other qualities that sometimes make me wonder if I don't need to be locked in a padded cell.

Why do I do this to myself? No one is standing in front of me, insisting that I make straight A's or telling me to constantly worry about being a better friend, a better student, a better Christian, a better person. I just torture myself. And I sound like a broken record, too because it seems that I always am coming back to this issue, and I'm as tired of writing and thinking about it as you are of reading it. I should just end this entry now. It's late, I'm mentally and emotionally exhausted, and nothing ever seems that great when I'm in a state such as this. How grateful I am for His mercies that are new every morning! May I wake up with this remembrance, and may it put a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

"When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul." Psalm 94:19

Okay, so I had this long post all typed out, and then a stupid bug ate it! I can't believe I haven't learned by now to save periodically! (Shut up, Daniel.) I'll try to reconstruct it. Let's see...first I explained why I changed my background song. I hadn't actually heard the version of "Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" before I added it to the list because my computer at work doesn't have a functional sound card, and we all know that's where most of my xanga-ing happens. Today is the first time I've actually listened to it, and I didn't like it, so I changed it. To those of you who did like it, I'm sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. To those of you who didn't, congratulations! You got your wish! Now I'll give 20 eprops to the person who can name the show my new background song is from. Or I guess since I can't really do that, I'll comment on your site every time you have a new post. I'm hoping at least some of the girls will know it, but sorry guys, I don't know if you will. We shall see.

As for my earlier, rather abbreviated post, I was frustrated at work b/c we were short-staffed (2 of the 5 people employed there weren't there today) and I had all this work piling up and some stuff that HAD to be done today, and I was getting ultra-stressed b/c I was doing the work of 3 people. The thing is, I could have asked my boss to help me, and he gladly would have, especially since all he was doing was playing solitaire and talking on the phone. But I didn't. I didn't want to ask for help b/c I didn't want him to know I need it. And I didn't want him to know I needed it b/c that meant I wasn't perfect, that I wasn't super-employee. Logically I know perfectly well I'm not perfect, but I still seem to operate under the delusion that I am. It would have been simple to just go and ask my boss to handle some of the load, but instead I fretted and fussed and worked myself up into a dither. I am such a controlling, anal, perfectionist.

Oh, and while we're on the subject of my imperfection, I am also a big fat wuss. I hate confrontations of any kind, so I do whatever I can do avoid them at all costs. I'd rather chop off my arm than have someone upset with me, or have to confront someone about a problem or whatever. And I need to learn how to do that. Recently at work there have been a lot of problems b/c my bosses will quote a certain price but won't write it on the order, so when I go to bill it, I just use the computer price, and then the customer calls me and rants b/c they've gotten an incorrect invoice, and it's a big ordeal. Well, I could just simply tell my bosses that it would really help if they'd notate the price on the orders, but can I do that? No. Why not? Because I'm a non-confrontational, passive-aggressive wuss. It's not like I'd have to yell at them or be rude; I could just ask them nicely to write down the prices, but even the mere thought of doing that gives me the shivers. (I get shivery/trembly when I'm really nervous.) This is not healthy. How am I going to have a healthy marriage if I can't even be honest? I tell myself that I don't mind just dealing with whatever it is, but the stuff can build up and build up until I'm like Mount Vesuvius and then I'll end up blowing up at some person and they'll be buried like Pompeii. So sad. I don't want to be a volcano. Or a pushover. Where's the balance? Help me find it! I don't really know what my point to all of this was; I suppose I just needed to unload. Writing is such therapy for me. Too bad you all had to listen in, huh? Please don't think I'm all down on myself; I'm sure later I'll probably feel superior to all of you, haha. Such is the ugly face of pride. Thanks if you read all of this, and if you didn't, I don't blame you!

"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Cor. 3:17

Split Personality

Do you ever feel like you change depending on the people you are around? I have been thinking about this lately because I think I do that. I don't know that it's an entirely conscious thing, but I noticed that when I moved back home after being at Union for four years, I didn't feel comfortable being the person I was at Union. I felt more reserved, more self-conscious, more afraid, and yet I am around people who have known me for years. People at home (and this doesn't really include all my friends at home, of course) don't know the goofy side of me, or the giggly side, or whatever other "side" I don't feel free to show here. So why did/do I feel that way? Why can't I be myself no matter the situation or person? Part of me feels intimidated, but I couldn't tell you what it is I'm intimidated by.

Is it hypocritical of me to be a sort of social chameleon? Probably. I'm not saying I've become a completely different person, just that I would be interested to see what people from my two different worlds say about who they think I am. Would my Union friends say the same thing as my Bartlett friends? I don't think they would. Hopefully they would all know that I love the Lord, but aside from that, what would be the same in the things they see in me? Plus, in my four years at Union I felt like I made more friends than I currently have in the city I have lived in all my life, which is probably why I spend just about every other weekend in Jackson instead of staying here. I guess what I mean is that for the most part it seems that I have acquaintances here and friends in Jackson. To be honest, I'm lonely. And I don't say that to make anyone pity me; it's just the state of life I am in right now, and it's taking some adjustment. I don't really know why I wrote this, and I'll probably delete it or heavily edit it tomorrow, but for right now I can't sleep and I needed to say it, so there it is. I don't even know if I've made any sense, but since this is my blog, I reserve the right to be incoherent! Good night, and don't be a wimp like me. Have the courage to be yourself no matter what.