explicit responses to implicit thoughts (aka expectations)
a promise was made. with the test being over, now in the process of being fulfilled, entering into world of girl-dom (again), S and I finally started our Sex and the City marathon---over the now nonexistent pints of ice cream, take-out chinese food, and late-night giggles. before friday night, i had not finished a single episode, now i have 13 down, with another 5 pending by the end of this weekend. Graduate students have a lot of time on their hands? Um, nope. not true. But somehow, i had to lift myself from the doldrums of being a twenty-something—a period of transitional drama—and say, “hello? why do i have these unnecessarily burdening thoughts to plague the rationalize mind?” perhaps this is a rhetorical question. Would my undying hopeless romantic heart be a suitable answer?
The glamour, the talk, the liberation of being a woman were all so entertaining to the confines of being a good-christian-girl. It’s television. I can barely commit myself to a world of $500-shoes, nice clothes, and posh partying yet I struggle with simply mending the brokenness of my failed attempts to be godly.
The fact that I made a futile trip to the railroad station yesterday (while hoping to head out to nyc alone) was a testament to the fact that confusion overwhelmed me. Just minutes before leaving, I was chatting with F and S—both miles and MANY MORE miles away, and I described certain things as f-up. In order to place emphasis on such perception, I turned crude. I shamefully apologized only to find responses of i-love-yous from them.
The dichotomous world blocks the view and spoils my night. We all know why we’re here. Am I trying to ignite an old flame? passion for G? The sun is going down. I want to go home, but maybe another day. After journaling at the train station—I might as well since I was there for more than an hour—I walked back with my supposed-overnight-stay-clothes, dozed off at a friend’s after a temple-massage, and eventually headed home.
My evening was flavored with random calls of innocent sweetness. This is a term for me to separate innocent from intentional. Although D was taking me away from my marathon and I was already impatiently giggling, I looked at S and shouted… “SOOOOOOO sweet!” Then S commented on a few others who had interrupted the precious charisma of Mr. Big that night as well. We came to the conclusion that even though we were able to re-ignite our women-power through this marathon, we were no “vagina-monologue” extremists. We were true old-fashioned romantics at heart.
Although the big question mark sat gracefully on top of my head that evening, I perked my eyes up with a wrinkled forehead and scrunched up eyebrows. “You stopping me on my tracks?...try me.” *wink
a promise was made. with the test being over, now in the process of being fulfilled, entering into world of girl-dom (again), S and I finally started our Sex and the City marathon---over the now nonexistent pints of ice cream, take-out chinese food, and late-night giggles. before friday night, i had not finished a single episode, now i have 13 down, with another 5 pending by the end of this weekend. Graduate students have a lot of time on their hands? Um, nope. not true. But somehow, i had to lift myself from the doldrums of being a twenty-something—a period of transitional drama—and say, “hello? why do i have these unnecessarily burdening thoughts to plague the rationalize mind?” perhaps this is a rhetorical question. Would my undying hopeless romantic heart be a suitable answer?
The glamour, the talk, the liberation of being a woman were all so entertaining to the confines of being a good-christian-girl. It’s television. I can barely commit myself to a world of $500-shoes, nice clothes, and posh partying yet I struggle with simply mending the brokenness of my failed attempts to be godly.
The fact that I made a futile trip to the railroad station yesterday (while hoping to head out to nyc alone) was a testament to the fact that confusion overwhelmed me. Just minutes before leaving, I was chatting with F and S—both miles and MANY MORE miles away, and I described certain things as f-up. In order to place emphasis on such perception, I turned crude. I shamefully apologized only to find responses of i-love-yous from them.
The dichotomous world blocks the view and spoils my night. We all know why we’re here. Am I trying to ignite an old flame? passion for G? The sun is going down. I want to go home, but maybe another day. After journaling at the train station—I might as well since I was there for more than an hour—I walked back with my supposed-overnight-stay-clothes, dozed off at a friend’s after a temple-massage, and eventually headed home.
My evening was flavored with random calls of innocent sweetness. This is a term for me to separate innocent from intentional. Although D was taking me away from my marathon and I was already impatiently giggling, I looked at S and shouted… “SOOOOOOO sweet!” Then S commented on a few others who had interrupted the precious charisma of Mr. Big that night as well. We came to the conclusion that even though we were able to re-ignite our women-power through this marathon, we were no “vagina-monologue” extremists. We were true old-fashioned romantics at heart.
Although the big question mark sat gracefully on top of my head that evening, I perked my eyes up with a wrinkled forehead and scrunched up eyebrows. “You stopping me on my tracks?...try me.” *wink
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