Saturday, February 25, 2012

In which I link

Hey friends, read this:  http://notreligious.typepad.com/notreligious/stage-4-faith.html  I don't think I agree with all of it; for example, I don't think you can delineate stages of spirituality that cleanly. It seems to me to be a much more fluid progression, going from one stage to another depending on the day, moment or situation, and possibly residing in more than one of Peck's stages at once. But I think this is a useful way to look at faith both for those for who are blessed with that certainty that Peck characterizes as Stage 2 faith and for those floundering in Stage 3 who may be comforted by the possibility of a Stage 4. I'd be interested in hearing anybody else's thoughts on this.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

In which I feel irresponsible

I keep thinking that one of these days I'm going to grow up and magically be responsible. That I won't be late to every single one of my classes every day...and sleep right through them sometimes. That I won't forget to go to important research meetings, or double-book myself or play board games when I should be doing my homework. That someday staying up until 2 surfing facebook and reading blogs will sound unappealing.

But maybe it's a trade-off. Because maybe if I magically grew up in every way possible I wouldn't like to climb trees anymore. Maybe I wouldn't be able to appreciate picture books. And I'd definitely have to stop making forts out of couch cushions.

But still...it would be nice to make it to class on time more often...maybe I should start setting my alarm for earlier...

Thursday, February 9, 2012

In which Nair has become a tempting option.

I've been shaving my legs for nine years, ever since that mortifying day in seventh grade when I said to my friends, "Look how clear and invisible my leg hairs are! You can't even tell I have them!" and everybody shifted their eyes and shuffled their feet and said, "Actually, Karissa...your legs are really hairy. It's pretty bad, honestly."

So you'd think, given the amount of time I've been doing it, I'd have gotten the hang of it by now. No such luck. I just now emerged from the shower with five cuts on my legs. I wish I could say this was unusual for me...but it's not. Which is why I'm kind of a once-a-week shaver...every other week if I wear a really long skirt one of the Sundays...

Here's the thing. I really, really hate shaving my legs. A lot. So I have a question for the ladies and a question for the gentlemen:

Chicas: how expensive and/or painful is waxing?

Fellas: would you be cool with your wife or girlfriend never shaving her legs, as long as she said you never had to shave your face?

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

In which the floor is inviting

I miss having my own room, because I miss laying on the floor.

It may sound strange, but when life takes a toll on my emotions, laying on the floor soothes me faster than anything else. Feeling that solidness along the entire length of my body, knowing it isn't going anywhere. You can't fall any lower if you're laying on the floor.

Even better if it's a tiled floor, with its hard coolness saying, "I am here. I am real. You're safe." Back home, I've  been known to take many stress-induced naps on the bathroom floor.

But here...well, with 6 busy college students sharing a bathroom, it doesn't get cleaned much. No way am I laying on that.

And as nice as my roommates are, I don't know what they would think were they to find me stretched out on the bedroom floor, staring at the ceiling, or pressing my face to the carpet, or hyperventilating.

Which means the best I can do is lay on my bed and pretend to read, longing for the trustworthy reality of that floor.

My depression whacked me out of nowhere  in the middle of my dance class today. Fact: a dance class is probably one of the worst situations in which to have an anxiety/depressive attack, because you have to keep moving and doing things and being expressive when all you really want to do is curl up in fetal position and wait for it to end. I was counting down the minutes until cooldown stretches were over and I could leave, when my teacher instructed us to lay facedown on the floor and breathe. And I felt the cold wood under my cheek, its stability along my legs. I wanted to cling to it, an anchor of reality in my churning sea of emotions. And for a minute, I felt secure.