![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eredienI realized that I don't want to go home today when I was in the bathroom before class, washing my face, looked up, and realized that for the most part, being at home is more stressful than being at Bryn Mawr. That takes some doing, I thought to myself.
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<lj-cut="this>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
I realized that I don't want to go home today when I was in the bathroom before class, washing my face, looked up, and realized that for the most part, being at home is <i>more</i> stressful than being at Bryn Mawr. That takes some doing, I thought to myself.
<lj-cut="This is going to be Long. Read more.">
But I have to go home - I have to find a job for the summer. My parents are already doing the whole "veiled threat guilt trip" thing. The internship I wanted to apply for fell through - the info arrived the day it was due. And despite the fact that when I talked to my parents the last week of February, they congratulated me on looking for jobs earlier than last year, when I told them that the information hadn't arrived in time, all my dad said was, "well next year you'll have to start in Janruary. Now you know." The problem was, I did. I went to the Careeer Development Office in Janruary. They didn't have anything that paid outside of NYC, and I can't afford to live there for a whole summer. Nor would I want to; I'd go insane.
Part of this stems from my parents' attitudes towards life. I love my parents, don't get me wrong.
My mother is fun and loves antiques like I do. We croon along to the Rolling Stones together. But she, I think, has always wanted me to be, well, just a <i>little</i> more normal. At one point I tried to oblige, and was miserable. She doesn't understand that just because I don't want to do the things that she likes to do, that doesn't mean I don't love her. She keeps asking me about my social life at college and worrying that I don't get out enough on the weekend and have fun, despite the fact that I keep telling her about the wonderful people here and the fun things we do. And she nags.
My father is very laid back and easygoing. He doesn't care what happens as long as everything eventually gets done, and he knows when to leave you alone. He wrote poetry at one point. But he's a workaholic. He doesn't understand why depressed people "can't just cheer up," and didn't understand when my mother and I tried to tell him that, well, that was actually the problem in the first place. And his laid-back attitude results in the fact that it took about a half-year to fix the water leak and tiling in our bathroom last year, despite the fact that we have all the equipment downstairs in the basement and my dad knows how to use all of it courtesy of his old job as a roofing and insulation contractor.
I'm most like my dad, and this scares me. I don't want to be a workaholic.
My sister get along with the best of everyone, but she's in eleventh grade this year (!) and she's often out of the house doing something or other with her friends. I understand - when I was her age, I wanted to be out of the house as much as possible, too. Come to think of it, I still do.
And this break is my birthday. I am going to be 20. Normally good, right? But I don't really like birthdays. They were fun until about 11, then I had a bunch of unremarkable days with a cake, and then starting at 16 I had a string of really horrible ones that I'd rather forget. 19 was my first really good birthday in a while. I hope 20 is okay, and that my parents don't make a big fuss over it. I hate that..."my little baby." Pfft.
This Sunday I commenced thinking about some ideas in my life that I have got to resolve in the sometime near future. One of these involves religion in relationship to magic and tai chi. For instance, I have to decide that if we learn healing techniques in tai chi next year, if that's something I want to get into, because of what I consider parts of the internal energy we'd be using to heal to be. And I have to decide - what exactly is this thing my friends do that they call magic? Because they're obviously doing something, or think they are (which is quite often one and the same thing). And believe me when I say that I wish that I could see some of the things they've told me they've seen. But I have this idea, see, that doing things with power, of whatever kind, is dangerous, not so much in the actual intent as in simply the amount of power that you have at your disposal when you're in the right frame of mind (please take "mind" loosely here to mean both brain and soul/emotions. I don't think people are built for long term manipulation of such power.
The explanation for that delves into theology, which I may get into later, and may not. None of this is made any better by the fact that my pastor, one of the most honest people I've known, might soon be leaving not only our church proper, but our whole denomination, which I think would be a loss to the entire thing. He's one of the few people I can really talk with, and one of only three people I trust with no reservations at all, and he's hard enough to get ahold of as it is. I don't want him to leave.
And last night I talked to Jen, whose dad is only getting worse, and whose life is only getting worse, and managed not just to not cheer her up, but managed to bring her further down. That's not what a friend is supposed to be for. I am kicking myself.
But suffice it to say that I am currently stressed. Very. If you would like to talk to me about any of the theological/spiritual stuff contained within, email me. I'm game, and will be able to get back to you over break, if not before. And I think I'd like to hear varying opinions right about now.
<lj-cut="This is going to be Long. Read more.">
But I have to go home - I have to find a job for the summer. My parents are already doing the whole "veiled threat guilt trip" thing. The internship I wanted to apply for fell through - the info arrived the day it was due. And despite the fact that when I talked to my parents the last week of February, they congratulated me on looking for jobs earlier than last year, when I told them that the information hadn't arrived in time, all my dad said was, "well next year you'll have to start in Janruary. Now you know." The problem was, I did. I went to the Careeer Development Office in Janruary. They didn't have anything that paid outside of NYC, and I can't afford to live there for a whole summer. Nor would I want to; I'd go insane.
Part of this stems from my parents' attitudes towards life. I love my parents, don't get me wrong.
My mother is fun and loves antiques like I do. We croon along to the Rolling Stones together. But she, I think, has always wanted me to be, well, just a <i>little</i> more normal. At one point I tried to oblige, and was miserable. She doesn't understand that just because I don't want to do the things that she likes to do, that doesn't mean I don't love her. She keeps asking me about my social life at college and worrying that I don't get out enough on the weekend and have fun, despite the fact that I keep telling her about the wonderful people here and the fun things we do. And she nags.
My father is very laid back and easygoing. He doesn't care what happens as long as everything eventually gets done, and he knows when to leave you alone. He wrote poetry at one point. But he's a workaholic. He doesn't understand why depressed people "can't just cheer up," and didn't understand when my mother and I tried to tell him that, well, that was actually the problem in the first place. And his laid-back attitude results in the fact that it took about a half-year to fix the water leak and tiling in our bathroom last year, despite the fact that we have all the equipment downstairs in the basement and my dad knows how to use all of it courtesy of his old job as a roofing and insulation contractor.
I'm most like my dad, and this scares me. I don't want to be a workaholic.
My sister get along with the best of everyone, but she's in eleventh grade this year (!) and she's often out of the house doing something or other with her friends. I understand - when I was her age, I wanted to be out of the house as much as possible, too. Come to think of it, I still do.
And this break is my birthday. I am going to be 20. Normally good, right? But I don't really like birthdays. They were fun until about 11, then I had a bunch of unremarkable days with a cake, and then starting at 16 I had a string of really horrible ones that I'd rather forget. 19 was my first really good birthday in a while. I hope 20 is okay, and that my parents don't make a big fuss over it. I hate that..."my little baby." Pfft.
This Sunday I commenced thinking about some ideas in my life that I have got to resolve in the sometime near future. One of these involves religion in relationship to magic and tai chi. For instance, I have to decide that if we learn healing techniques in tai chi next year, if that's something I want to get into, because of what I consider parts of the internal energy we'd be using to heal to be. And I have to decide - what exactly is this thing my friends do that they call magic? Because they're obviously doing something, or think they are (which is quite often one and the same thing). And believe me when I say that I wish that I could see some of the things they've told me they've seen. But I have this idea, see, that doing things with power, of whatever kind, is dangerous, not so much in the actual intent as in simply the amount of power that you have at your disposal when you're in the right frame of mind (please take "mind" loosely here to mean both brain and soul/emotions. I don't think people are built for long term manipulation of such power.
The explanation for that delves into theology, which I may get into later, and may not. None of this is made any better by the fact that my pastor, one of the most honest people I've known, might soon be leaving not only our church proper, but our whole denomination, which I think would be a loss to the entire thing. He's one of the few people I can really talk with, and one of only three people I trust with no reservations at all, and he's hard enough to get ahold of as it is. I don't want him to leave.
And last night I talked to Jen, whose dad is only getting worse, and whose life is only getting worse, and managed not just to not cheer her up, but managed to bring her further down. That's not what a friend is supposed to be for. I am kicking myself.
But suffice it to say that I am currently stressed. Very. If you would like to talk to me about any of the theological/spiritual stuff contained within, email me. I'm game, and will be able to get back to you over break, if not before. And I think I'd like to hear varying opinions right about now.
Thank you
6/3/02 20:49 (UTC)I shall try to call sometime perhaps, Lauren, and that last sentence is indeed exactly what I am trying to figure out.
Thanks, Rebecca, and I will visit happily.
Batshua - Email me over break, if you want. We'll talk.
Jen - *hugs* I want a friend Mr. Prozac!