Procrastinating & Pranking

Procrastinate
not a word i feel the need to define (or use in a paper... profs are equally familiar with this word).
my life defines it.
very effectively.
FH is doing homework with me.... it's supposed to keep me on track.  so this will be short.
actually, i got a lot done this afternoon.  it was a good afternoon.  and now half the library's books about the social dimensions of sex huddle together in my bag (they're much too modest to lie around bare naked all over my bedroom floor), waiting for me to pull them out and write a paper about pimps.

but before i return to my work... the prank (by J &A).

step 1: half of pulling a good prank is knowing your victim and the things they are most sensitive about.  so... things you should know about M... a diligent student.  tidy and clean.  kind and genuinely nice to everyone. very social, but also likes time alone.  design prank scheme...

step 2: contact the housing coordinator and ask for her assistance.  she will send an email to the victim (M) on thursday afternoon, explaining that someone named Del Griffith (aka: John Candy's character from Planes, Trains and Automobiles) will be moving into the empty room next to M's sometime on sunday or monday.  they'll share the bathroom and the common area in the space.


(advantages: M is in class all day that week... he does not have time to check into the validity of the facts until the weekend... when all the offices are closed).


step 3: the housing coordinator places a sign on the door saying "welcome, Del Griffith" (like the signs on all the other doors), and places the room keys inside the unlocked, empty room.

step 4: sit and watch the chaos unfold.

clean, tidy M does not look forward to sharing a bathroom with someone.  his bathroom is always clean. always.  M does not know who this guy is, or why he's moving in halfway through the term.  K (another housemate) believes it's all a big joke that M is making up (he's usually the one making trouble).  this plays to our advantage.  M believes it to be legitimate and spends considerable time convincing the skeptics in the house that he is not making this up, and Del Griffith is really REAL.  he starts mentally preparing himself for a new roommate.


more later...

Promulgate

check check.
complete.

i haven't played the word game with this prof before, and i'm interested to see if he catches it.  pretty seamless integration, so i'm thinking not.

other people have also not caught on.  amanda and i have been plotting/scheming/pranking for the last few days.  the poor victim still feels as though all my threats are empty... mwa ha ha.  i learned well from c-bear many moons ago when i still bore the tongue-in-cheek title 'program slave'.  when retaliating... do so from a sufficient distance that the victim cannot immediately strike back.

The Perfect Protest

"Don't try to win over the haters.  You're not the jackass whisperer" (Scott Stratten).  Best (insert stifled chuckle).  Quote (insert gasping attempts to restrain the inevitable).  Ever (insert explosive, unladylike snort-laugh).  So much truth in twelve good words.  In the moments when I obediently pander to my people-pleasing self, I submit to the temporary insanity of a drab existence wherein the joy of authentically being myself is lost.

I suspect that for most of us, our most vicious 'haters' are the dismal, disembodied ghosts of our own ruminations.  "My greatest creative barriers are the groups of squatters that take up space in my head.  They lay around all day, shouting their bad advice and accusations, they don't work, they don't pay rent, they just talk, talk, talk" (Myriam Joseph).  It's little wonder that each of us is our own toughest critic.  Our culture assures us that nobody's perfect, and then advises us that practice makes perfect, and admires that which is picture perfect.  "Perfectionism is a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from taking flight" (Brene Brown).

The zealous biblical scholars among us might point out that Jesus himself directed, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." (Matthew 5:48)  But the writer of Hebrews reminds us that no one achieves perfection through adherence to moral standards (law) - that is, through self-improvement, self-help, or self-justification (7:19).  Perfectionism is just poorly disguised pride that pouts like a pathetic three year-old's "I can do it myself!"  Quite the opposite is true: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me" (2 Corinthians 12:9).

I am beloved.  I am complete.  I am not perfect.  And when I live in pursuit of perfection, what I reap is a mind full of chaos - an emotional perfect storm.  "You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you" (Isaiah 26:3).  Perfectionism knows no rest.  The essence of trust is rest.  So cease and desist your jackass whispering, evict your squatters (or at least demand retroactive rent payments), and get on with living.  I am too alive to be perfect.

Quotes from Brene Brown's blog.  For more like this... see www.ordinarycourage.com.

iNormal

I still want an adventure.  But in the absence of adventure, I am learning the joy of being ordinary and doing ordinary-people things.  Like letting the neighbour dog tag along when I go for walks, and going for sushi with friends, and discussing the merits of different varieties of green tea with other tea connoisseurs, and working out at the gym occasionally, and watching movies with my housemates on our new TV on weekends.

PS - Why did no one tell me that Little Miss Sunshine is a MUST WATCH movie?  I'm well aware of my shortcomings in the realm of anything to do with popular culture, music, movies, etc. but I thought you all had my back.  It was your job to sit me down for 'a talk' and break the news to me - very gently - that my entire life is way off track.  I don't understand why you were all holding out on me (insert guilt trip here).  But now I have discovered for myself how much joy can be derived from escaping into the awkwardly dysfunctional misadventures of Olive's family for ninety minutes... *sigh*.  Ninety very satisfying minutes reminding me that normal is just a setting on your dryer.

On another note, I successfully incorporated ebullient into my last paper (thank you KP!) - a discussion of the social origins of borderline personality disorder.  I'm anticipating a "??? what are you THINKING?" beside that sentence.  My fellow students know the word game that I play (A has suggested bombastic... an excellent word), but my professors have not yet been informed.  Half the joy of the game is seeing how long it is before they begin to suspect that my word usage is contrived.  I have another three papers coming up in the next two weeks, so I need you... to find at least three new words for my writing entertainment.  Piquant has found its way onto my list... definitions attached in the comments.

I am now the proud owner of not one, two, or three... but FOUR bags4darfur.

At least until Christmas...

When I give some away...

*sigh*

Joyce (www.bags4darfur.blogspot.com) came out to Prov for the evening this week - as did Alicia Sawatzky and her friend Miriam - to share their hearts with a small group of college students.  And I got to buy bags.  I danced... almost... but I am too over-inhibited to enact my delight so overtly, but I danced inside all the same.  The remainder of the evening was spent chatting with Miriam and Alicia at Sawatzky's place - enjoying a cup of tea and a much-needed night away, a restful sleep, and an early sunrise drive back to Prov for class.  Love sunrises... it made me think fondly (?!!?!) of the quiet hour between five and six in the morning when I worked summertime night shifts and the sun faithfully peeked its face above the horizon to greet me and sweep the cobwebs out of my sleep-deprived mind.


In other news... for those of you who know my penchant for words... I successfully incorporated the word bowdlerized into a paper last week.
def:
bowdlerize |ˈbōdləˌrīz; ˈboud-|verb [ trans. ]remove material that is considered improper or offensive from (a text or account), esp. with the result that it becomes weaker or less effective : [as adj. ] ( bowdlerized) a bowdlerized version of the story.DERIVATIVESbowdlerism |-ˌrizəm| nounbowdlerization |ˌbōdləriˈzā sh ən; ˌboud-| nounORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from the name of Dr. Thomas Bowdler (1754–1825), who published an expurgated edition of Shakespeare in 1818, + -ize .
ie: "Disseminating emotion and truth through masterful use of language, Stumbling Toward Faith liberates those whose confused and angry prayers have been bowdlerized by cliche Christian optimism; it is a referee's whistle to those who dare provide simplistic answers to complex questions; it is an invitation to intimacy with an unfathomable God."


But today is a new day.  Another research paper is calling to me from the chaos of library books scattered across my bedroom floor, whining petulantly because I have neglected him for the past month.  He pours on a guilt-trip... the drivel of an insecure bloodsucker who resents the attention I lavish on riceandpeanutbutter.blogspot.  The chatter of an auctioneer at a fundraiser nearby is blending into the white noise that will help me focus for the next four hours.  Green tea in hand, relaxed after last night spent lounging in the hot tub.  I'm taking word suggestions - this paper is begging for a new word - something that will provide a moment's entertainment for Dennis, who has the dubious privilege of reading it 48 hours from now.
Ideas?

i need an adventure.  i keep thinking to myself, "self... you should write about something exciting, adventurous, or funny on your blog.  you should tell a story about something ridiculous that happened this week instead of all this philosophical mumbo-jumbo."  but then i realized that the only body part i've been exercising this week is my noggin', and my ars is crying out for a trip to the gym or a good hike or a day of climbing.  so i guess my philosophical rambling is all you get until i get my ars out of the library, out of the admissions office, and out of my desk chair to do something exciting.  i need an adventure.

unpack your bags and plant your trees

i think it started early this week

when i made some smart-ass, sarcastic, flippant comment

about mosquitoes 
lack of mountains 
and feeling homeless

about leaving Manitoba in april 

and never looking back.

and a friend's insightful comments

peered into my rootlessness 
and saw me

the backlash another smart-ass, sarcastic, totally uncalled-for dig

a witty "thanks, counselor..."

slamming the door shut

and a moment caught off-guard, stumbling awkwardly

in small-talk around a potluck

at a simple "so where are you from?" inquiry

forced to explain 

my standard "where-are-you-from" answer

rejected by one to whom i had given

one of my other standard stock answers

this week, my Father's mischievous smile 

prompting, prodding me past the shame of my immaturity

daring my adventurer's heart to risk being at home

in the awkward steps of an uncomfortable dance

to be known again, to again know deeply

"Community calls me.  Stronger than therapy, more than medicine - what do I really need?  All human beings, all deities hurt you in the end; I know this.  It's a matter of degree, a matter of choice.  Can I accept the hurt, trade it for the pretend fullness?  Can I fling myself into the void, knowing the bottom is strewn with shards of glass, knowing the bottom might just kill me if I land on it wrong, in an effort to find something meaningful simply in the falling?  I want so much more with my life.  I want to make a difference.  I want to be the kind of person I expect others to be.  I want community..."

 (from Renee Altson's "Stumbling Toward Faith")

They say that home is where the heart is.

I guess I haven't found my home.

And we keep driving round in circles,

Afraid to call this place our home.

And are we there yet?

(from Igrid Michaelson's "Are we there yet?")


"Wherever you go in life, unpack your bags - physically and mentally - and plant your trees.  Too many people never live in the now because they assume the time is too short to settle in.  They don't plant trees because they expect to be gone before the trees bear fruit.  But if you keep thinking about the next move, you'll never live fully where are are.  When it's time to go, then it's time to go, but you won't have missed what this experience was about.  If you never eat from the trees, someone else will." 

(from a father's letter to his daughter in Third Culture Kids)