"This is a public service announcement...

...this is only a test." Warning, by Green Day.

I have discovered something today that my closest friends and family could probably have told you. I must admit, though, it came as a genuine surprise to me.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to do physics. In the back of my mind I began to think of all the other things I also needed to be doing (20-page, single-spaced paper due Thursday, smaller paper due Monday, 3 lesson plans, 2 presentations, and non-school items that really need to happen--like grocery shopping--for which I simply do not have the time) and as my shoulders tensed and I my stomach knotted with the anxiety from stress, certain things began to cause an unreasonable amount of pressure in my mind.

The dust on my desk began to really bother me. I tried to ignore it for a good ten minutes, but every time I'd shift my eyes from textbook to notebook, or notebook to computer, the dust would catch my eye, and we would stare at each other for a moment until I would force my eyes back to the book. I finally got up and got a damp washcloth and dusted off my desk.

A few rooms away, someone was singing off-key. This person almost always sings off-key, and it's usually quite endearing. Today it was Annoying. I turned up my music to drown the sound out. But my music grated on my nerves at that volume level, even the piano music to which I turn when I need to think. I put in headphones, so I could turn it down but still drown out the rest of the world.

My colored pencils, which I use for drawing the graphs, were not all sharp. This bothered me. I sharpened them. 

My desk organizer thing, where I keep my sticky-notes and paintbrushes and all the other random things one keeps on a desk was sloppy and had papers sticking out at odd angles. I also knew that in the recesses were little screws and paper clips and things that actually had other homes. I emptied it out and straightened it, putting everything away. 

There was a bowl on my sink that I ate cereal out of last night. I knew it, and it niggled in the back of my mind until I finally got up and washed it and put it away, and sat back down. 

When I ran out of time to do physics, I couldn't pull myself away from my room to go to class until I had straightened my book shelf, and actually put the socks that hadn't quite made it into the dirty clothes bag inside the bag, and set the bag in its little corner. 

The baseball I keep out for tossing to myself whenever I'm thinking has been coming out more and more lately, flying from my right hand to my left with alarming alacrity. 

Physics binder, always fairly neat, now became organized to the point of absurdity, with each sheet being straightened beyond reason, and every "dot and tiddle" erased or white-outed so that the formulas shone with pristine precision.

The pictures on our wall were crooked. I snarled at them as I straightened them.

My earrings were not all hung on their little stand. I jabbed them viciously into place. 

Indeed, I fairly stood in the middle of the room, panting as I felt every tiny detail that was out of place weighting on my already overborne mind. I could actually feel the disarray of the shoes in the closet, and fairly smell the only-slightly murky water in the fish bowl. My brow furled, my jaw set, my shoulders scrunched, and I couldn't concentrate on any one thing, because each time I'd turn to accomplish one task, the next would call to me with such insistency that my hands would shake, or my mind would simply hit a brick wall and refuse to think any thoughts of substance. 

Other odd behaviors:

• Uncontrollable urge to type out long passages from The Wind in the Willows.
• Blogging.
• Creating new specialized playlists on itunes.
• Taking and editing pictures of random things. 
• Cutting my fingernails very short and painting fingers and toes the same color. 
• Playing only folk songs on the guitar.
• "Purging" my facebook wall, email inbox, and text message inbox.
• Alphabetizing everything with a title, author, or label that can be alphabetized. 
• Chewing on my lip.
• Stalking wherever I walk, and forgetting to smile.
• Eye twitch.
• Embarking on long and unnecessary creative endeavors and then giving up after spending an ungodly amount of time unsuccessfully.
• Insomnia.
• Bleaching things--because if it's supposed to be white, it should be WHITE.
• Re-arranging furniture. 

I could go on, listing the various behaviors that have been increasing themselves more and more lately, but the bottom line is this: 

I become incredibly OCD when I am stressed.

I can fairly hear my sister laughing as she reads this. "Well, duh!" she probably is saying. But I had no idea! I thought I was simply a multi-tasking, easy-going, organized, neat, and cheerful accomplisher of many things. Perhaps when I'm not to this level of pressure I am, but it seems that when I meet the point of "beyond what I think I can do," and when there simply is no physical way to finish everything I need to finish, perhaps that is when my OCD decides to surface. 

I'm sure there is a use for this trait. Indeed, up until the point where I cannot finish anything because I'm trying to do everything I do have incredible drive to finish a multitude of unrelated tasks, which is useful. My room is usually clean. My books are usually organized. I can almost always put my hand on whatever I want. Messes bother me, as does disorganization in any part of life. I think through things to the point where I can understand them from any direction. 

Yes, all this is well and good until you live with someone who does not share these traits when they are under pressure. 

I have never experienced this myself, but I have observed that for some unfathomable reason, some people can accomplish more in times of pressure when they just let other areas go to seed, as it were. Bedrooms become a complete wreck, but schoolwork excels for these people. The analysis is brilliant, though the desk looks like someone camped out at it for 6-months. The person looks like a homeless vagabond, but the artwork is gorgeous. 

Not so for me. I must have order, and it must be orderly order. It must be ordered down to the back of the bottom drawer, and out as far as my radar can sense. It may be "artistically slurred" or it may be asymmetrical, but it MUST be as it is for a reason, and I must be able to comprehend that reason. 

So yes. 

And the funny part is, most of my best friends, including my sister, are of the latter type--the type who thrive in disarray. So I spazz as they do well, and when I obsessively clean, they begin to spazz. 

Isn't it ironic?

"Oh, look what you've done...

...you've made a fool of everyone." Look What You've Done, by Jet. 

  "The hour has come!" said the Badger at last with great solemnity.

"What hour?" asked the Rat uneasily, glancing at the clock on the mantlepiece.

"Whose hour, you should rather say," replied the Badger. "Why, Toad's hour! The our of Toad! I said I would take him in hand as soon as the winter was well over, and I'm going to take him in hand to-day!"

"Toad's hour, of course!" cried the Mole delightedly. "Hooray! I remember now! We'll teach him to be a sensible Toad!"

"This very morning," continued the Badger, taking an arm-chair," as I learnt last night from a trustworthy source, another new and exceptionally powerful motor-car will arrive at Toad Hall on approval or return. At this very moment, perhaps, Toad is busily arraying himself in those singularly hideous habiliments so dear to him, which transform him from a (comparatively) good-looking Toad into an Object which throws any decent-minded animal that comes across it into a violent fit. We must be up and doing, ere it is too late. You two animals will accompany me instantly to Toad Hall, and the work of rescue shall be accomplished."

"Right you are!" cried Rat, starting up. "We'll rescue the poor unhappy animal! We'll convert him! He'll be the most converted Toad that ever was before we've done with him!"

They set off up the road on their mission of mercy, Badger leading the way. Animals when in company walk in a proper and sensible manner, in single file, instead of sprawling all across the road and being of no use or support to each other in case of sudden trouble or danger. 

They reached the carriage-drive of Toad Hall to find, as the Badger had anticipated, a shiny new motor-car, of great size, painted bright red (Toad's favourite color), standing in front of the house. As they neared the door it was flung open and Mr Toad, arrayed in goggles, cap, gaiters, and enormous overcoat, came swaggering down the steps, drawing on his gauntleted gloves. 

"Hullo! Come on, you fellows!" he cried cheerfully on catching sight of them. "You're just in time to come with me for a jolly--for a--er--jolly--

His hearty accents faltered and fell away as he noticed the stern unbending look on the countenances of his silent friends, and his invitation remained unfinished. 

The Badger strode up the steps. "Take him inside," he said sternly to his companions. Then, as Toad was hustled through the door, struggling and protesting, he turned to the chauffeur in charge of the new motor-car. 

"I'm afraid you won't be wanted to-day," he said. "Mr Toad has changed his mind. He will not require the car. Please understand that this is final. You needn't wait." Then he followed the others inside and shut the door. 

"Now, then!" he said to the Toad, when the four of them stood together in the hall, "first of all, take those ridiculous things off!" 

"Shan't!" replied Toad, with great spirit. "What is the meaning of this gross outrage? I demand an instant explanation." 

"Take them off him, then, you two," ordered the Badger briefly.

They had to lay Toad out on the floor, kicking and calling all sorts of names, before they could get to work properly. Then the Rat sat on him, and the Mole got his motor-clothes off him bit by bit, and they stood him up on his legs again. A good deal of his blustering spirt seemed to have evaporated with the removal of his fine panoply. Now that he was merely Toad, and no longer the Terror of the Highway, he giggled feebly and looked from one to the other appealingly, seeming quite to understand the situation. 

"You knew it must come to this, sooner or later, Toad," the Badger explained severely. "You've disregarded all the warnings we've given you, you've gone on squandering the money your father left you, and you're getting us animals a bad name in the district by your furious driving and your smashes and your rows with the police. Independence is all very well, but we animals never allow our friends to make fools of themselves beyond a certain limit; and that limit you've reached. Now you're a good fellow in many respects, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'll make one more effort to bring you to reason. You will come with me into the smoking-room, and there you will hear some facts about yourself; and we'll see whether you come out of that room the same Toad that you went in." 

Excerpt from Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows

Isn't it ironic?

"He's so fine...

...wish he were mine." He's So Fine, by the Chiffons.

My latest favorite slang (in no particular order, and I know it's not all new. :P): 

Fit (adj.): attractive, becoming. (As in, "wow, Jane looks super-fit in that dress," or "Andrew is fit.") See also, Fine.

Fine (adj.): distractingly attractive, devastating. A less suggestive way to say "hot." (As in, "He's so fine.")

Ganky (adj.): ugly, repulsive. (As in, "Billy looks ganky in puce.")

Smoosh (v): sitting very close to someone for flirtatious purposes. (As in, "Alice and Daniel were smooshing during Physics.")

Hoobi-toob, hoobi-toobi (n, adj): a holier-than-thou person or a snob. (As in, "Don't be a hoobi-toob," or "stop acting all hoobi-toobi.")

Ditty-bop (n): a ditzy or somewhat one-dimensional person. (As in, "like, omg, Tom always goes for the ditty-bop.")

Grumps (n): a state of displeasure resembling a disease. (As in, "I've got the grumps.")

Lurv (n): love or fondness, usually not used within a sentence. (As in, "See you later. Lurv!")

Srsly (adv): seriously, for real. Usually a quantifier. (As in, "Don't mess with Jordan. Srsly.")

Sigh...the irony. *Lurv!*

"Home, home on the range...

...where the deer and the antelope play." Home on the Range.

I Miss Home.

I miss all my people, and I miss the vistas, and I miss momma coming in to put something in my room while I'm supposed to be working or studying and staying to talk about stuff--it doesn't really matter what. I miss stepping outside and seeing a whole, big, beautiful world around me, just waiting for me to do something with it. I miss knowing who my neighbors are, and knowing that only one block away, there's a friend to grab coffee with, or two blocks down is a house where I'm always welcome, or another block or two beyond that there's a little girl I can play with while I visit with her mommy. 

I miss visiting my friends at the Post Office and hearing them tease me about boys, and asking about my latest adventures. I miss my church, where I know everyone (or almost everyone) and where I can be useful, and where I can learn and study God's word and know that people love me no matter what silly mistakes I make. I miss the ladies who pray for me and love me and tell me I'm special even when I don't believe it. 

I miss the radio stations that mix in mexican songs with the top 40 rock hits, and I miss the Family Life Radio that plays Twila Paris songs from my childhood. I miss the lilac hedge where my cat is buried, and the backyard that is beautiful and grassy because of all our hard work to make it pretty. I miss the front yard that is always under construction, but will be lovely some day. I miss trying to fit all our cars into our driveway. I miss my pretty blue and white room. 

I miss the big blue sky, and the monsoon season, and I miss the dry air, and the smell of the desert. I miss the cottontails and lizards and chipmunks that dodge around everything, and the sparrows and finches that make the new cat cough and spazz. I miss that cat and her funny mood swings, and her spoilt-brat attitude toward life. I miss playing ping-pong with my daddy.

I miss creative projects sitting around only half-finished everywhere at home, always inviting me to sit a while and work on them. I miss all the scope for imagination and the creative inspiration that lurks in and around and through every single thing my mother ever touches. I miss the wisdom from momma and daddy, and the serious conversations we can have. I also miss the silly conversations where we tell stories that make us all laugh and howl so hard we inhale our olives. I miss momma's sweet tea. 

I miss driving in the car with momma to go grocery shopping and eat lunch and the Cowboy's restaurant and go the to the little grocery store that has the best meat, and then onto the Walmart for everything else. I miss our talks. I miss watching a Monk episode--or Remington Steele, or Hamish Macbeth, or Wooster and Jeeves, or MacGyver, or Star Trek--every night before we all go to sleep VERY early. 

Sigh.

I love where I am, don't get me wrong. 

I love the lake, and the people, and the birds and the trees. I am fond of monuments and shopping malls and eateries. I like movies. I even enjoy the thrill of traffic, sometimes. I love the intellectual exercises of daily conversations, and the chapel worship every day, and the opportunities for fun here. I like doing the college "thing" and cooking dinners at off-campus houses, and on snow days, making chocolate chip pancakes. 

I love the odd hours we keep, and the excitement everyone feels as the days get warmer. I love the lectures and the thoughts and even the papers. I love fixing things on maintenance, and working with NHC, and feeding my girls PB&J at midnight when they're starving, or all piling into the car to go to McDonalds and talk about life. I love seeing girls I love get engaged to boys I approve of, and helping to plan their weddings. 

I love seeing so many talented people with a somewhat unified purpose. I love hearing people talk knowledgeably about things that matter, and I love the hour-long debates we casually enter into, leading us to actually think through an assumption. I love knowing what is going on at different levels of society, and trying to compile them into a cohesive whole. 

I enjoy making the dorm room pretty, and keeping the dorm presentable. I enjoy the occasional "scare" where the security guards see a suspicious person and they all mobilize to find out that it was simply a lost tourist, or a kid doing something on a dare, or possibly a legitimate threat, but they take care of it brilliantly. I love watching all the little gears turn in our little society here, inside the bubble, and I love knowing that the annoying things about living on a small campus and going to a small school are only temporary, so that I can laugh at them. 

I love a friend's little sister who simplifies the complex societal issues into a list of "fun people" and "butt-heads." I love treasuring each person as an eternal soul, and tending it as such. I love our nerdy inside jokes that make no sense outside this classical latin-soaked atmosphere, and the history puns some people make, and the group that gets embarrassed at these jokes. I love our traditions, and I love our buildings and our grounds and I love this experience. 

How can you reconcile two worlds, full of things to love, and yet only be able to live in once place? I know what I'll choose, unless something drastic changes my mind, but part of my heart will always be here--though I know a day will come when I'll visit and wonder how I ever lived here, or if it's even the same school. Perhaps it won't be. But in some small way, it will always be mine.

Yes, change is good, and life is short, and all those other things like that. But, dear me, how hard it is to keep perspective when you live amongst all the drama and the future is a big blank question mark with a bill attached. And yet, somewhat exciting too--to know that other people are also asking the same questions and so in that, I'm not alone, yet at the same time, my story is mine, for me alone, and I get to boldly go where no man has gone before. 

This is a mess of thoughts, isn't it? But as I'm supposed to be writing a 20-page paper (due Thursday) my heart was full of these things, and I wanted to get them out before I could think about scenarios and vignettes and research economic implications of various future possibilities. Some papers seem simply superfluous to life, you know? And yet, the intellectual exercise rendered from them is not a waste--thinking about unfamiliar things creates more flexibility, a limber and nimble mind is always useful. (That was me, trying to talk myself into caring about this paper. We'll see if it works. :)

So, here I go!

Isn't it ironic?

"Do you believe in rock and roll...

...can music save your mortal soul?" American Pie, by Don McLean

I was sent this link from our Provost yesterday, at the recommendation of a history professor, and I thought I'd share it with you. It is a welcome address from the pianist at the Columbus Symphony as to why music matters.

I love how he jabs at the concept that art (specifically music, in this case) is no more than entertainment. Yet he notes that in the Nazi death camps, or after 9/11, or in the midst of other trauma, one of the basic needs of humanity, even as we struggle to survive, is beauty, often in the form of music. This seems to imply, as he notes, that beauty (see ART) is a basic human need.

Isn't life ironic?