Trust So Sweet

We are finishing up the Psalm series at church this next week and today in worship we sang this hymn. It has been with me since rehearsal on Tuesday, and seems to be a bit of response to the psalm of doubt that I wrote.

’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take Him at His Word;
just to rest upon His promise just to know, “Thus says the Lord!”

Refrain:
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!

O how sweet to trust in Jesus, just to trust His cleansing blood;
just in simple faith to plunge me ’neath the healing, cleansing flood!

Refrain

Yes, 'tis sweet to trust in Jesus, just from sin and self to cease;
just from Jesus simply taking life and rest, and joy and peace.

Refrain

I’m so glad I learned to trust Thee, precious Jesus, Savior, Friend;
and I know that Thou art with me, wilt be with me to the end.

Refrain

My Psalm

When going through a particularly hard time this last year, I read straight through the Psalms. It was the only time I can remember that I wanted to pick up my Bible and read, like a good novel that you can't put down. It was a page-turner. The words spoke to me like the Word of God never had before and I think it was mostly the raw emotion behind it all. This term in my fellowship group and also at church we've been going through the Psalms. For some reason I've been distanced from it and haven't been connecting with the Word in the same way. I wonder even if I don't want to. If it was so much the first time that I'm afraid to again. Or perhaps I've just been too busy and haven't given myself the time. That's pretty weak.
In any case, the last assignment in our fellowship group was to write our own psalm. I didn't do it ahead of time. I wrote during the time that everyone else was sharing what they had written. And partly because of the rush, I don't much care for what I wrote. The other problem with it, as with much of the poetry that I write, is that it doesn't translate well from what I hear to the page. I like it better spoken by me than as written word. It's not fancy. My poems never are. It's not too deep. It's just honest.
Nonetheless, here it is:


What the heck was that?
You tricked me!
You sent me in and I came out
broken.
And I'm supposed to know that
you cherish me.

No, I know it wasn't a trick. And that
you are broken with me.
I know that you cherish me.
But the pain is
so heavy.

I deliberately praise you.
I sing and you comfort me.
I crawl into your lap and
fall into a fitful sleep.
I am trying.

But I don't need to.
You will take my life
my every breath as prayer and praise
and you will cherish me
whether or not I recognize it.

I don't know why this happened.
But you do not set out to harm and
I fall back into your arms.
What choice do I have?
I am full of doubt but you
don't turn me away.

Over and Over there will be pain and
I will have doubt and
you will prove yourself. And
I am sorry for this ridiculous cycle.
I may never learn.

I am broken.
You cherish me.

I am broken.

Yesterday

Yesterday I felt like I swallowed a grapefruit. Thus, after helping Kev move stuff around inside the new apartment for a while, I was assigned the heavy-duty job of keeping an eye on the unlocked storage unit. This made me look uber-cool to all Kevin and Christy's friends who kept walking past with large pieces of furniture and heavy boxes. I just stood there and smiled. Oh, and one time I abandoned my post to carry one of those cool exercise balls up the stairs. Then I was rewarded for all my sweating with some sparkling water and cold pizza. (Seriously, who is this girl and what did she do?) Oh yes, and then I bought some music on Kevin's itunes. I am SO helpful.

After a nap (I mean, I had only slept till noon and then worked HARD for three hours) I returned to the apartment eager to redeem myself with my witty personality (which Kevin claims I have). Hah! Instead I was teased mercilessly for hours on end. Let us make it clear that hot lemonade is delicious, is not referred to as SARS-ade, and that I never actually said I would buy everyone candy if I heard "Tesla" one more time! And really, the caesar dressing was too strong. I wanted that salad. Honestly. I should know better than to bring up chickens at the dinner table, but as I have not learned after 26 years, I was forced to walk away and wait outside.

We watched Clue ("Flames! Flames on the side of my face!") and ate truffles and Kevin poured me too much wine as usual.

I laughed. I laughed so much! There were entirely too many inside jokes for one night, and I had a great time.

I still feel like I swallowed a grapefruit.

Tesla

Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla Tesla

Yup, that about covers my night.

Tell me how you really feel

You know what? I'm kind of unhappy. I mean, I feel basically happy. That is, I can feel background, base, fundamental happiness. But I'm annoyed and unsatisfied. And I'd like to express that. I am annoyed at all the people I come across that think they know everything and are so arrogant about it. I'm annoyed that I'm sure I do the same thing sometimes. It disappoints and scares me to know that I can come across that way-- that part of me IS that way.
I'm annoyed that I look the way I do and annoyed that it takes serious sacrifices to change it. I do not feel like going to the gym. I can give up my croissant, but maybe not my hot chocolate. I can add water, but what will I eat for lunch? Look, I know what's good for me, but I'd honestly rather just not eat than eat something I don't really want. Yep, I'm that lazy. And I hate it. I know, I know. "Well, you don't hate it enough." "No one can change it but you." "You just have to do it." Enough already! I'm not stupid!

I can go through my day being perfectly cheerful. If you ask me how I am, I can give you the answer you want. I can tell you how I like the fall and how I enjoyed my visit with my nephews and how I'm looking forward to Christmas and how I thrive on reorganizing books even as I grumble to myself as I do it. I know these are the things I should be thinking about. Count your blessings, think happy thoughts. Positive thinking will change your day, blah blah blah. Look, I know there is truth to it but doesn't it sound so TV-Psycho-Pseudo-religious-self-help-babbley? I can't stand it!
I AM cheerful about those things. I am genuinely happy about them. I am also genuinely upset about other things and I don't like to take away from them. I am an equal-opportunity emotionalist.
In the spirit of that mostly-true but still annoying TV-Psycho-Pseudo-religious-self-help-babble I am not going to list more of the things I am upset about (being single) especially since some of them are things I could maybe do something about (my knees are really really scarily bad these days) . Instead I will list just a couple things that I'm happy about. My family, my good friends, sleep, stars, animals, people who are not mean, Jesus, the smell of wood.
There.
But just FYI, people should stop getting engaged and being beautiful and nice and smart and other annoying things like that. Go ahead, give me the "But Katie, you're beautiful and nice and smart and everything is in God's timing" lecture. Tell me something I haven't heard. I will believe you that I have the potential to be prettier than I am now and also that I'm not the least pretty person ever. That I am mostly nice but can also be pretty snarky. That I am not stupid (as I myself claimed above) but certainly have not done what I am capable of and am not capable of what others are (but you're a unique individual capable of different things! blah blah blah). And that yes, everything happens in God's timing. Darn God's timing.
Now just so you all know, I don't really feel that way. I mean, yes, I certainly do. But I fully recognize the fallibility, stubbornness, even sin in it all. Also the immaturity and the part that will lead you to say "You have to get yourself figured out before you can be in a relationship." (Another one I've heard more than once.)
Well, okay, that was just some human venting for the night.
I am going to bed.

Another disclaimer on grammar: When in a rant, one does not need to adhere to all grammar rules. That is, I don't need to. Ranting tends to produce difficult grammatical situations which require some thought and possibly research. There is no time to pause for this in the middle of said rant.

Meh

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081117/ap_on_re_eu/eu_britain_new_word;_ylt=Ap43YKmtewvrQ8sya0SKGpGs0NUE

That's right. They've added "Meh" to the dictionary. The problem? The definition is all wrong! Well, I guess that according to their source, the definition is correct. And I don't know when I started using the word and if it actually derived from The Simpsons because I don't watch that show. But I use it in frustration. I want to go home: Meh. Why can't I find that?!: Meh. There's too much going on: Meh. Apparently, it's supposed to more of an apathetic expression.
The only good I can see of this is, as pointed out by my sister, "meh" is now a legitimate Boggle word. Oh! Scrabble too.
But now that there is a dictionary definition for it, I can be accused of improper use. Do you want to know how I feel about that? Meh. (My way, not theirs.)

I would also just like to note that when I ran spell check on this post, every "meh" came up as a problem. We are not yet caught up.

Oh the Places...

On my drive home tonight I saw some signs that intrigued me. And perhaps, if I had time and it wasn't dark and I was a little more adventurous and I had batteries for my camera... If, If, If... I would have explored what lay down these roads...

1) Secret Town Road
Really? I mean, sure enough, you're driving through the mountains and there is suddenly an exit for Secret Town Road. Aren't you dying to know what's back there? Is it a small Bavarian-like village? Is it like Rivendell? Is it a casino and a McDonald's? Is it a trap?


2)Leisure Town Road
Again, I'm thinking trap here. Somehow first "Phantom Toll Booth" came to mind and then "Pilgrim's Progress." Yet, I want to see if it's massage and mocha like or front porch and coca-cola like. Probably neither. Things like this have lost their original intention.

3) Milk Farm Road.
First of all, why Milk Farm and not Dairy Farm? Also, is there really still any kind of farm down this road? Or has it also lost its original intention and perhaps the closest thing to a dairy product you can get is a McDonald's soft-serve or a frappuccino from Starbucks?

One more note. Vacaville. Right. Cowtown. Both on the way to Reno and the way back, I had to say it out loud. Vacaville. Look, I know that if you have lived in this area it's nothing new to you. I had even heard of it. But doesn't it strike you as a little ridiculous? It's a town named Cowtown? I'm sure it even was a cowtown once. It just makes me laugh. Also, I would like to find the nearest vaca. I'm not sure the denizens of Vacaville have seen one lately.

Don't Look At Me!

My four-year-old nephew has been saying all weekend, "Don't look at me!" whenever he wants to do something he knows he shouldn't be doing or wants to do something himself when he could really use some help. I seem to remember one of his brothers going through this stage as well. Caleb was in a frazzled state tonight and he shuddered with tears as he tried to hold together his little image of self-sufficience.
In contrast, the rest of the time the kids are vying constantly for my attention-- Look at me! Watch this! Look what I did!
I think I have to say, before I get into this, that these little life lessons usually grate on me. But as it occurred to me all of its own (or of God's own?) I shall have to write it down. You know, just in case it is useful.
Isn't this how we are with God? And with the world as well. But more importantly with God. Don't look at me! we cry. I'm just going to go over here and do this and just don't look. And don't watch while I make a mess of this over here trying to deal by myself. I know you are offering your help, but I'm pretty sure I can do it. Just go away, and I'll let you know when you can look again.
Calories don't count when no one else is there to see you eat them. Falling down the stairs doesn't count if no one was there to laugh. If no one knows that someone hurt you, they didn't really hurt you. And if no one sees your own sin, maybe you can get away with it. But God is there, isn't he? God is looking. The good news is... drum roll please... Not in a God is Watching You creepy condemning kind of way! Yay! Yes, it is so true that God is a just and fair God who hates sin and does not take kindly to his people turning away from Him. It is also true that He is a loving, grace-filled and compassionate God.

What about the other part? Look at me! Look what I can do! We do that too. This is where the analogy starts grating on me more because I feel like I'm reaching, but I'll go for it. See, I don't know about kids' motives and I don't want to compare them to any of my own ridiculous cries for attention. What are my moments of "Look at me?" I feel like it's anytime I try to look nice, mention an accomplishment, or some such thing as that. But that is for the world. For God, I suppose it is when I say, "Well, look at that! I read the Bible tonight!" or "See how well I treated that person, God?" God sees right through me. He sees my real beauty, my real accomplishments, and my very heart-- and he loves me anyway.

I think perhaps my whole analogy fell apart there at the end, but maybe this was all to be a thinking exercise for me anyway. May God use it in my heart and in yours to His glory.

Happiness is...

eating your favorite homemade dinner rolls.

snuggling with your new baby nephew.

going on a date to the bookstore with a four-year-old.

November actually feeling like November. Brrr!

buying a new sweater on sale.

˙pɹɐʍʞɔɐq puɐ uʍop ǝpısdn ƃuıdʎʇ

knowing that your nephews are smarter than you.

snow on the mountains.

hugs and kisses from sweet little boys.

sleeping in.

soccer, jets, sharks, books, piano, Tagalog, and drawing.

Dream

You should see how many times that word appears in the lyrics to the songs in the soundtrack to You've Got Mail. I was trying to figure out which song from the movie I had in my head, but to no avail because I think every song has that word in it. So.
Interestingly enough, it is that film that has birthed one of my greatest dreams. I want to own a bookstore. Preferably a children's bookstore. Preferably one that does not get eaten alive by Fox books or, in this case, Amazon.com.
I thought this was a cheerful little dream to have. I would get married, have some kids, stay at home, get a part time job, and then with all the money that my husband made (since we would have already stashed plenty away for our kids' college and our retirement) we'd open a bookstore in some little shop/university district. It wouldn't have to make money, it would just be on the side for mental and emotional health.
Problem. The dream is haunting me. Before I was even out of college the children's bookstore I always wanted to work at came up for sale. My English prof/adviser insanely advised me to buy it. He even had a business partner in mind for me-- a fellow alum, a business man, a shop keeper... But I was so young! And in debt! No way. I let it go by. Instead I went to work for the new owner after graduation. Worked there for three years and treated the store like my own.
In the meantime, a well-established children's bookstore near my sister's house in CA announced that they were selling. Well. What could I do, but inquire? So I did, along with my brother-in-law who would be my financial backer if anything actually happened. I inquired. And I thought about it. A lot. Painfully. And then I let it go by. Then I moved to California. I work in a different bookstore now. (I almost worked in missed-opportunity #2.) Yesterday I was whining to my brother-in-law about how I still wanted a bookstore. But the economy is in a nose-dive. It's awful. Not the time to go into business, if you ask me. Especially a business that's hard to keep afloat when the economy is great. Then today I was talking my college roommate's father. I needed advice on something in his field (insurance) and he basically asked me out of the blue if I had ever wanted to buy a bookstore and if I wanted to that he would like to be an investor in something like that. Sheeeeesh.
Here's the thing.
I don't really think I'm a business woman. I pretty much know it. I don't want to ruin relationships over business. Also, I don't want to handle the financial side of things. I want a business manager to handle all that, and all the legal stuff and whatnot. Licenses, rent, all that crap. I don't want to deal with it. And there's so much stuff I know I haven't thought of yet, I can see myself broken down crying every night for months. And that's before I get the business up and running. Let's not talk about when I go out of business! And people want to invest in this! Like, they want to make money. Ummm... this is not a make money kind of deal. Oh boy.
Do I go get an MBA? Will my dream keep popping up if I put it off again? Neither store has sold yet... dare I hold my breath? Dare I think another one could appear?
And Loans?! I'm still paying off college. And what about getting married? How much debt should a man be expected to take on? But then, I keep thinking about waiting for my life to start, and I can't do that. This IS my life. And I don't know what else I'm doing with it. Right now I'm working in a bookstore, which I actually really like. So why does it feel like I'm supposed to be doing something more? Because my favorite teacher told me anything less than a Masters degree was a waste of my mind? Because I live in the land of Overachievment? Because my aunt asked me if being a clerk was really what I was going to do with my BA? Because I make basically no money? Because I am not an engineer or scientist like every other person within a 200-mile radius? Am I supposed to continue on the elementary-school librarian track I started? Should I move back home? How can I afford to do other life-enriching things that I want to do, as mentioned in the previous post? And what about this husband?
Before my ex (ugh, I hate saying that) and I were dating I said to him "Do you want to know something? Oh, I shouldn't even tell you." And he said, "Don't then." But I told him. That a movie had inspired a dream for my whole life. That it had directly influenced the fact that I had worked in a bookstore after college and thus am currently working in a bookstore. I just thought I would come across as so ridiculous and shallow. But I'm not. And his work is video games-- so really (I'm not saying that it's shallow, just- what was I worried about?)
Stupid bookstore.
Stupid movie.
Stupid dream.

Status: Me.

I was just thinking about status messages. It's the thing now, with facebook especially but on gmail too. I always have to set my status. And because I'm so complicated I have to reset it every ten minutes. Furthermore, I can't be honest. I can't write a status as to how I'm really doing because I will only be scolded by some relative or friend for either a) feeling that way in the first place or b) giving a negative impression of myself. My mother complains that my status messages are cryptic but that's because I can't say what I really mean. I say "your turn" to imply that it's someone else's turn to ask me to hang out. I don't want to be the one to start every social engagement. Yes, absolutely some of my friends ask me to hang out. Some of them don't. And it's their turn. How else will I know if I'm forcing myself on them or if they actually want to spend time with me? I say "I can't afford it" instead of "I can't afford online dating sites" because who needs to know that? But I'm frustrated about that at the moment, so that's what goes up. Anyway, I can't afford most things, so it works. But I need a place where I can say how I really feel. And for some reason my journal and my prayers are not enough. Some place that someone else might see it gives it more validation. The unposted status that prompted this particular rant was: Imploding. And no, I'm not spiraling into deep depression. I'm suffering from mild quarter-life crisis depression. And the fact that it's after 11 pm.
I want hot buttered rum and pumpkin donuts and good books and a cat and a fire. And a man. A good man. The right one.
And voice lessons. Guitar lessons,piano lessons and lots of other instrument lessons. Photography class and a little point and shoot camera, a laptop, an editing program, to write, to learn to draw, to take walks, to jog or something, to want to go to the gym, also to eat whatever I want, to buy lots and lots of presents, to get letters in the mail, to be a perfect hostess, lots of animals, a bookstore, to travel, to be thin, to go to the dentist, to dance, to love myself, to love others, energy, naps, Christmas, snow, to read my Bible with enthusiasm, to pray more, to commune with God, to have my long hair back, to visit home and have people visit me, to have friendships, to be loved--truly, to have my friends want to go home with me, forgiveness incoming and outgoing, closure, to be kissed, to live for the glory of God and be honestly happy in my heart.
You know, it's not so much to ask.
And here's the thing about this whole post. I know it looks like it's asking for something. It's why I can't post this stuff other places. It looks too much like I'm asking for something. My blog is the most private/public place I have. I'm not asking for anything. Please don't feel like this is a "please tell me how wonderful I am and how much you love me" post. It's not. It's just a this is how I feel right now post. Half my journal entries look like this. Now there is a matching blog post.

I would like to add one tiny note: See how, since it is midnight, I'm not going back to fix all the grammar things that are driving me crazy?! And oh, there are lots! Quotes, commas, capitalization, not to mention plain bad writing! But I shall resist because the point of this is not to be judged, nor liked, especially based on my English skills.

Anyway, sometimes I'm a size 10.

Alright, Kirsten. I know you want me to update already. So I'm here. Typing. The question is, where will it all lead?
There's nothing in my head but ranting. I feel discouraged and unsatisfied and unresolved. But I don't particularly feel like carrying on about that.
So...
Instead I could make a list of my blessings, but I always feel like that gets a little out of hand and that I'm leaving too many things out, so I will just do that in my head.
Um...
See why I never update? It's complicated.

I could tell the world (or the three people that read my blog) that my party was, in fact, wonderful and I'm done stressing about it (almost). And that you have a gorgeous baby girl that I wish I was (were?) holding right now. And that I am indulging in some guilty-pleasure chick-lit murder mysteries-- a guilty pleasure I didn't even know I had. I just read "Size 12 is Not Fat" by Meg Cabot and have moved on to the 2nd in the series. Too bad size 12 is fat.
I'm going to be a teapot for Halloween because it requires no costume. I am short and stout. Done. A little annoyed that no one is fighting me on this, especially since I've lost at least 10 lbs. Oh well, I guess I keep losing weight before I get to go as a champagne flute.

Sorry, Kirs, I just don't have a lot to say right now! Maybe it's the headache. Or maybe it's the guilty-pleasure book sitting next to me calling my name. "Size 14 is Not Fat Either." There is a reason women pick up these books.

Eggs on the Equinox

Ah, shoot. I forgot to balance eggs today. Though today my mother told me that they say you can balance eggs any ol' time. The influence of the equinox is so small that it does not affect (have any effect-- is that the correct usage of affect/effect?) the ability of the egg to balance.
I find this to be horrifying. (Yes, overreaction.) My whole life I've been under the impression that it was only twice a year (uh, twice, right?) that one could actually balance an egg! And how exciting! I've been lied to, it seems. Lied to. Again. Like how all my toys when I was little were not actually mine, because I'm the youngest. They were just on loan, you know, from my older siblings. I own nothing from childhood and you can balance eggs any time you want.



Here's a pretty good site about balancing eggs, though I have to say I never heard of only doing it only at the vernal equinox. But whatever. I'm crushed and happy all at the same time. After all, now I can play this game whenever I want. AND I see that I can balance eggs on their narrow end. However, I think I used to have more patience.

Oh well. Happy egguinox everyone.

Brought to you by...

Photos by me
Poems by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Beauty by God

like shining from shook foil


Color Burst




Also, that picture in the last post is by me. Copyright and all that. No stealing.

Delicious Autumn

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot


Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz


Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus

Celebrate!

I'm having a party! I'm so excited-- I'm totally going all out. At least, that is my plan. But then, the party is not for a few weeks and my stress level in relation to the fanciness of the party could go in such a way that fanciness goes down in order that stress level goes down. I need a chart for that. Anyway.
I spent six hours on the evite. On the evite! Oh, it's a pretty great evite, to be sure. Beautiful. It has pictures that I myself took. It is nice fall colors. I made sure that everyone's names appear as actual names and not as silly email addresses on the guest list. I'm just a little bit worried about this: If I spent 6 hours on the electronic invitation, how long am I going to spend on each facet of the party? There's the cleaning, the menu, the presentation... Oh my! I've already started thinking about tiny little things that no one ever cleans and no one ever notices. I'm trying to figure out what I can clean three weeks in advance. AND I'm going to be housesitting for the 10 days leading up to the party. So I won't even be home to prepare. Uff-da.
There's also this about me: The more time I have, the more elaborate the party will become in my head. But I'll inevitably have to cut it down to be realistic and then I'll be disappointed. You'd think knowing this would help. But it won't. I'll still be disappointed. Alas.
I also feel like this isn't the kind of thing I should be posting! What am I thinking? I tell people how great it's going to be and how much time I spent... and then they'll show up and think "Really? She spent that much time? What was she doing? I could have done this in half an hour! And the food really isn't that great." Oh, the insecurity. Bother.

BUT you know what? It's going to be a GREAT party. Festive and all that. With great food and great company. So. Hoorah for that.

Empathy

What is worse? My own personal grief or the grief I feel when I watch someone else in pain?
There has been pain on a big scale around me lately, with the Moores loss and with my college friends losing their baby, etc. But something that hit me really hard just now was a very brief online encounter with my sister in WA who is feeling neglected by her boyfriend, augmented by other stresses of school. I'm sure it's a simple thing and it will probably work out. And even if they got married there would be times when this would happen and she would feel lonely and they will let each other down... I'm realistic about that. But it's still painful. I can hardly stand to see her in pain. Especially when I had to see her in so much pain after her last, really cruel, breakup and now that I know what a breakup feels like.
I nearly wish empathy didn't exist. But oh, what an awful world it would be without it. And aren't we glad that Christ has empathy with us?

Discouraged

I was just told by my mother and sister both that I seem to have a great social life and should just enjoy it and be happy. And, granted, I did have two social engagements after work today. I joined an ex-coworker for cupcakes and then joined friends for a walk and dinner. Tomorrow I'll be happily house-sitting with a dog and three cats! (Okay, that doesn't count as social.)
But I can't help feel losses even through all that. I miss a friendship that was well on its way to developing. I realize that she got busy with her wedding and then she got married and now she spends time with other friends and not me... But isn't that it? Other friends and not me... why not me? It's always that I want to know what went wrong. What did I do? What could I have done differently? Was I too needy? Did I only ever talk about that one thing...
And I just wonder about the cycle of relationships and wonder why some last and some don't and how some survive through distance and some seem to do well set on pause. Relationships are so freakishly important to me (I know, they're important to everyone-- we're relational creatures, as God is a relational God-- but seriously, I'm more relational than anyone I know.) and it's very stressful! And with all I go through thinking about my friendships and peer relationships and family... I don't know how I'm ever supposed to be in a healthy, working romantic relationship. Maybe that's why I'm not. I'll never meet anyone anyway. (Ohhh, so pessimistic!) I'm with the same people in the same places. And you can't just date all the people in one group-- doesn't that start to look a bit suspect? And on the one hand, I'm told that I'm playing it too safe. And then I'm told to just enjoy exactly what I have. Which is it?
Aargh. I would say that I just want nice simple relationships, but that's not what I want at all! That would take all the goodness out of it! I just don't want to stress about it.

Cop. 1, Copy 2

My mother pointed this out the other day when I checked out a DVD from the library:

"Cop." is the same number of characters as "Copy".
So why bother to abbreviate it? Look at the little white label. I don't think it's a matter of space, is it? I realize that the "y" takes up a little more room than the "." but not so much that it's a make it or break it kind of character.
Amusing, really. I never noticed when I worked at library for several years of my life. I'll have to ask my library friends for insight.

Pick yourself up

When you fall, I believe the conventional wisdom is to pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and get back on the horse. My question is this: How important is the "brush yourself off" part? Metaphorically I can see that it could be important. And I suppose it depends on the severity of the fall and location of said debris on oneself.
All this to say that I saw someone today who apparently took a fall... and got back on her horse (read "bike") but skipped the brushing off part.