Family Life

Hello, I’m still slightly sane!

I have never been so busy in my life.

My windowsill is full of textbooks. I have to read 100 pages by tomorrow. (Don’t be worried. I’m not.) I just printed out a paper due tomorrow and I have to start thinking about the three more papers I have paper topics for. And maybe the midterm that I think is coming up in one of my classes . . .

I have church responsibilities too. I did two-thirds of my visiting teaching by email this month because we were just all too busy that our schedules never connected. And I procrastinated a bit.

I also keep reading blogs. It is my blessed distraction. But I do it somewhat frantically.

I have learned how to scan. I read quickly. Sometimes I read while I’m half asleep and I go back and wonder what my brain was doing, because it was definitely not digesting what I was looking at. I’ve read over 2,000 pages in a month, I think, and this is not all easy reading.

When I write a paper, it takes me days working on it to get it right. Philosophy papers take a lot of thought. A lot. Especially when I’m not quite used to writing them yet, so they still aren’t easy for me yet.

I have four classes to go to on Monday and Wednesdays, three on Tuesday and Thursdays, and two on Fridays. I like all but one of my classes, and that one has picked up since leaving Medieval times and going on to the Renaissance.

I stay at school after my classes are done and work on homework. Then I come and work on more homework. I crave to watch television sometimes.

I take photographs still and update my daily photo blog. I give blood and watch the needle go into my skin. I worry about the economy. Funny story: Before a philosophy class, some computer science majors (I’m guessing what they were) were talking about how they wouldn’t be able to get jobs. The guy next to me said: “We’re philosophy majors. We wouldn’t get a job anyway.” I worry about what presidential candidate I’m going to vote for.

I play the piano sometimes. I play the organ at every rarer times. I go to church. I don’t do homework on Sundays, and it is a wonderful, wonderful day.

I don’t really have friends to hang out with right now, but I haven’t noticed. I do have family events, and family who supports me even when I keep talking about the same thing.

I have began to enjoy philosophy more and more. This was a good move for me. I love eighteen credit hours. I love trying to figure out how to serve other people, because if I don’t have service somewhere in my life, I am unhappy. But I pray, and opportunities come up. And it helps to give blood and email people and go do something with a sibling for them, not for me.

I go running in the morning, and I don’t why, but I don’t want to stop. It gives me time to not think about homework. But when I run, I primarily just think about running. I hate the hills around my house . . .

On Monday I had a slight moment of emotional insanity and sort of left a church activity in the middle of it without telling anyone. I was not feeling myself, and I was really sort of down right then, and overly sensitive. But that’s okay. Things happen.

I wish I could go to the library and check out books to read. I wish I could work on my writing more. Since my junior year in high school, I’ve written pretty steadily. But now . . . I do homework. I write papers instead of stories. I read philosophy instead of young adult fiction (except for I am taking an adolescent literature class, so novels get in there).

My to-do lists have flooded out of my planner and require me to attach a seperate sheet every week.

So. This is the point in all of this:

I feel alive. I feel happy with what I am doing. I have never, ever pushed myself this hard. I have never seen how far I could go. I have never made my mind work so hard. I have never read so much in my life, and hard stuff too (though I don’t understand most of it until the class starts). I have never filled my time up and kept going and going . . .

Idleness at one time never, ever makes me work harder at another time. Having a lazy day or a lazy moment doesn’t make it easier to go out and push myself the next day. It makes so much harder. I think I want to take a day off, watch five television shows, eat ice cream, read three books, but I don’t. I don’t want a day off. I don’t want to stop making myself wake up at five thirty. I don’t want to quit everything I’m doing.

I love life. I love life when it is full of things. I love life when I pushing myself to the limit so that sometimes I don’t seem quite sane. I love having so much to do that I can’t do it all.

Most of all, I am seeing my potential of what I can be because I’m pushing my limit. I’ve done this in my life. And sometimes it doesn’t work out. I don’t get everything done. I don’t do an assignment as well I should. I forget to do the important things because I am too worried about homework.

I think we can be too busy with life, mostly when we are running, running, running, and we’re never doing anything. We’re distractedly going through the have-to’s, never getting to the want-to’s, never enjoying what you have, talking to people, taking a moment and living. But my life right now consists in a lot of thought and reflection, of talking to people in my classes and getting to know them better, or squeezing my hobbies in there because I enjoy them so much, of making sure I figure out some way to serve with my limited time, because I know if I’m not serving others, my life falls apart.

I am striving everyday to keep balance. I am striving to do the physical-mental-spirtual-social. Be a square.

I am busy. But I don’t want it to be over. I am enjoying the time I am in (at least right now). The more I work, and the more stuff I have to do, the better I get at doing it. The momentum keeps me moving, and I am flying.

I’m sure I’ll crash soon, but that’s okay. I’ll get up and keep going. I don’t want to go back to the time when I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough. When I push hard enough, I fly. I am alive.

(Sorry for this too long (insanely long!), rambling post. It’s what was in my head. And it’s not even late at night. It’s not nine o’clock. Where did my mind go . . . )

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