Failure or ...Success

Let it All Out

I remember reading a quote once that was like, "A boat is safe in the harbor, but that is not what it was made for." Same goes for me, I suppose, an Annie is safe at home, but that is not what she was made for. However, I cannot help but being stressed.

First off, I have a headache right now because I did a lot of crying today. I did a lot of crying today because I had to take my cat, Olive back to the vet. She got her back claws declawed and she also got spayed a week ago and she wasn't getting better. She wouldn't eat or walk around, she wouldn't do anything but sleep. She was in pain, so we had to take her back to the vets whose fault is probably is in the first place. She has an infection in her body and I don't think she is doing too good. The vet said that they would have to keep her overnight and probably for several days. Now, my family are animal people, when we get a pet, they become part of our family. It feels empty in the house without her. I cried so much because I blame myself and because I know how death works. I work in a nursing home. I know people get infections and sometimes they don't come out of them. I really hope you aren't one of those annoying people who think that it is pointless to pray for cat. I remember my old Sunday School teacher once saying how he liked teaching kids that were middle school aged instead of younger because the younger kids had prayer requests for the kitties all the time. Let me tell you that my cat is my baby. She came into our backyard with a broken leg and cracked pevis and we took her in. And she began part of our family. I don't want to lose part of my family.

I am going to try to stop thinking about my kitten now because it is making me want to cry again. And I have already cried off most of my mascara. I got new tires put on my car today (believe me, having to get new tires on my car was another stress all its own) and so my mom and I had to kill time in Wal-Mart so we bought some supplies for college which only made me realize that I need to prepare and make lists of what I need to take to college. Which really just makes me stressed out because I don't want to go to college. I don't want to leave, I don't want anything to change. We are having to make some changes at the nursing home in dietary because the driver (who takes the food from the nursing home to the other building where it is the assisted care facility) is probably going to want a job that is actually more than just two 1.5 hours split up through the day, so they want to supply the position with the people who are actually already working, which isn't something that I really find ideal, because I don't like change. So I went with the driver one day to learn how and the dietary head person asked me how I liked it and I said that I didn't think it was so bad, even though I didn't want to think it could work because I don't like change. She was like, "I expected the older morning ladies to say that, but not you." Which basically led to a conversation about how I don't like change, I don't rearrange me furniture and that I am scared to go off to college. Of course, I am very scared to go off to college. I am scared of change and I am scared of, well, a lot of things. Which is stressing me out.

I think that there was something else that I was going to talk about, but I don't actually remember. I am not even very sure that anything else that I have said has made sense. You see, this is why I don't like having a day off, because when I get a day off, I think. When I think, I stress out. And then I cry and get headaches and everything goes wrong. I just want my cat to be okay.

Death is not Dying

For those of you who know me, I am not one to shy away from talking about death. I work at the nursing home and find out another resident died very often. But more importantly, I know that we are all dying. This isn't bad news for me. Not that death makes me excited or dying is happy, but I know that death isn't the end. That is why I am not afraid or scared of death. When I die, I know that it will only get better.

I really encourage you to check this website out. Please watch the video, even though it is a long video, it is well worth your time. Here's a quote from Rachel Barkey:

“Cancer does not define me. Neither does being a wife or a mother. All these things are part of who I am but they do not define me. What defines me is my relationship with Jesus.”

Two Hands

This is Obsession

Why, yes, I did just become a fan of Peach Rings on Facebook. And, yes, that is what our society has come to. But, what can I say? I love me some Peach rings.

Hint, hint, my birthday is tomorrow. Buy me some Peach Os. It will make my day.

Weird Confessions #2

I know this probably seems weird, but I was just thinking and I realized something: Now that I am a high school graduate (throw your fist in the air, thank you), I can look back and say that I was never really sent to the principle's office. I mean, yeah, I went there to talk to him about class scheduling, FCA, and basketball stuff (I did stats and he was the coach), but I don't really have any cool "I was sent to the principle's office" stories. Now, granted, there was this time someone stole my purse (and maybe tried to frame someone else by putting in their locker or maybe they were the ones who stole it in the first place), and I had to explain to the principle way I thought to open her locker and magically find it (I knew she stole other people's stuff; believe me, it was not a situation that I would like to relive), but I don't have any cool stories. Now it is probably good that I was not a trouble maker, but if I were, I think I would have better stories. And if you know me, I am all for a good story.

Anyway, my point is, how are you living your life? Are you being the cookie cutter goody-two shoes or are you enjoying living your life to the fullest? Every day, getting good stories? Or every day, just getting by? We were called to live. Is that what you are doing?

Weird Confessions #1

I know this may sound weird, but I really like to match. We are going to ignore that fact that lately, no one has really seen me when I am not wearing scrubs and have my hair shoved back into a ponytail (I also hate having my hair in the ponytail, but that is a story for a different time) and so I really have gotten a chance to accessorize to the point where it makes me happy. Normally, however, I really do enjoy putting time into my appearance, mainly, my outfit. And no, not because I am trying to impress anyone (yes, one of the residents told me today that my "eyes are so pretty they must drive the guys crazy," so all I need are my eyes apparently), I really do enjoy being pretty just for me. But anyway, that is not my point. My point is that I really enjoying having things match. (And no, tan shirt, tan pants and tan socks isn't matching. Well, it might be matching, but even I know matching overkill.) I realized a while ago that the days when what I am wearing matches the toothbrush that I brush my teeth with makes for a really good day. So, I confess that when I have my own place (my mom won't let me be OCD under her roof), I secretly plan to have a toothbrush in a whole bunch of colors so that I can only brush my teeth with what matches the clothes I am wearing for the day.

I am weird and that is my confession.

Love is Still a Worthy Cause

Since I have no real time to write anything (I suppose I should learn to make time), I am going to give you some fiction. I wrote this for a class and granted it probably isn't very good. Maybe it doesn't even really make sense. Oh, well. I wrote it. It is a short story. There you go. (P.S. Yes, I did get the name of the main character from an Anberlin song. Deal with it.

Love is Still a Worthy Cause
by Andra Lauren

Adelaide sat down on the rusty bench. The bench had once been green, before the paint started to make a run for it. In this end of town, even the paint wanted to get away. She pushed her straight brown shoulder-length hair behind her ear as she tightly clutched a wrinkled piece of paper that was yellowed with time.

“Are you waiting for the bus?” asked an old man as he walked up to the bench. He was wearing a hat and carrying a newspaper. His gray slacks and matching gray vest made him look professional, but he looked well beyond retirement years.

“Hmm. Mmhmm,” mumbled Adelaide, her attention was clearly elsewhere. She wasn’t really waiting for the bus. She looked around until she noticed the old rusty sign. Behind the graffiti read, “Bus Stop.” She looked over to the man and saw his grey hair and wrinkled, but kind face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Adelaide smiled politely at the man as he said, “I’m waiting, too.”

“I’m Adelaide,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, I am Finn.”

Adelaide glanced at Finn’s newspaper. “Anything in the news?”

“The same old,” he replied, “War is still going on. More dying all the time.”

Adelaide glanced at the piece of paper in her hand. Then she remembered the last glance from the taxicab as her brother drove away. Her brother looked strong and brave as he left. He looked a lot different when he returned. Even with the peach blush they added to his cheeks, nothing could hide the pale whiteness in his face.

Finn could tell this wasn’t the conversation that she wanted to have. He knew that talking about the weather wouldn’t be enough to break the ice that surrounded them, even in the 80-degree weather.

Tears started to flow from her eyes, picking up speed as soon as the next tear came out of her eye. She quickly tried to brush the tears away. Adelaide looked away from the old man.

“Would you like to hear a joke, young lady?”

Her expression turned to surprise. Embarrassed that he must have seen her tears, she nodded.

“A guy goes to jail for robbing a bank. Since the police fear that he might try to plan an escape, they told him that he was not allowed to talk to the other inmates. That night, he hears some of the inmates shouting numbers. When someone shouted, ‘27!’ everyone started laughing. This guy didn’t understand what was going on, so the next day he got a chance to talk to another inmate. ‘What was going on? I heard people shouting numbers and laughing.’ The inmate replied, ‘Well, since we are not allowed to talk, we have assigned different jokes to different numbers. Whenever anyone says a number, we think of that joke and laugh.’ So, that night the guy shouts, ’48!’ No one responds. The next day, the guy talks to the inmate, ‘That was a funny joke! Sid told me the joke and now no one laughs. What happened?’ The inmate replies, ‘Well, some people just can’t tell a joke!’”

Adelaide laughed, “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, my father told me that joke. He was a good man. Served in World War I and World War II. Good man.” Finn laughed, remembering the man that taught him how to fish and how to drive. He sighed, looked up to the sky and said, “One day, pretty soon, I will be able to see my father again.”

Adelaide looked up, confused. “How will you get to see him again, Finn?”

“Well, Miss, it won’t be long before I join my father in heaven.”

Adelaide stopped on the word heaven. She didn’t know much of heaven, but she was sure that she couldn’t be counting down the days until she got there, because she didn’t think she could count for that long. She looked at Finn and noticed his laugh lines. She could tell that Finn had lived a long, good life.

“That’s real nice,” she quietly said, thinking that she would never get a chance to see Finn in heaven, or anyone else.

Finn looked at her. “Don’t give up hope, child.”

“It’s not hard to recall what blew out the flame. It’s dark where I am, and I don’t think I should waste time hoping on something that won’t happen.”

“Adelaide, I can see that your heart is raw. But love is still a worthy cause. Love can be the touch that starts the thaw on any frozen heart. Why are you hiding?”

Adelaide looked down at her dusty shoes. She remembered the day of the funeral. It was raining and everyone’s black umbrella made everyone’s clothes look blacker. She couldn’t remember what the reverend had said that day. She just remembered feeling angry. She was angry at a god who would take away her brother before it was his time. She wanted to yell at a god who would leave her alone, without the older brother that she depended on. He was the older brother who had been there the day both their parents died in a car accident. He was all she had and it was all gone in a matter of minutes. A minute was all it took for the enemy’s bullet to pierce his chest.

Suddenly her fist clutched the piece of paper tighter. She had forgotten all about the piece of paper until now. The small piece of paper felt as heavy as a lead pipe dragging her down to her knees. She could hear her brother’s words screaming as if he were shouting from a public platform.

She broke down. She could feel Finn’s hand on her shoulder. The wind seemed to pick up just then, and it whistled her brother’s words until his words were reverberating off the walls surrounding her. Her brother was telling her then just as he told her in the last letter he wrote to her, “Don’t let your love grow cold. I will always love you. I pray that you always love Jesus."