All this flashy rhetoric...

I'm beginning to admit that perhaps...just maybe...I'm quirky. I do odd things. Catisha has recently said that they're minor annoyances, but they're part of me and they can be rather endearing. Possibly. I can see that. In any event, apparently I'm doing something right. I got two job offers in the last two days. One is a position at a University to teach voice (on probation, as they DO require a master's degree to teach there, but they really really like me) and the other is an associate member of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra Choir. Who knew? Who knew that with these two jobs and my church job, I might possibly make a living doing what I'm being trained to do?

In other news, I read Harry Potter and am sated. I wouldn't object to more from her, but I don't need it. I'm satisfied and Jo has earned my respect with this one (not that she didn't have it before).

I am also back from Wisconsin (as indicated by the IM conversations that I am now able to join in). It was a two week paid vacation, and I will do it again in a heartbeat. Especially as a chorus member. Decent pay for minimal work. It was great. :)

I am also suffering from a lack of makeouts. This will not be fixed up here. It was not fixed in Wisconsin. SO...fingers crossed for New Mexico and Texas. Brock and I should be sharing updates on the road. With our cameras and computers combined, we are a force to be reckoned with and the internet should be forewarned.

This is all I have the strength for while I'm "packing." Moving day is tomorrow...well, today...and I have to get back to work.

It's been about a month since my last post...things with the mom aren't much better. Ups and downs and everything inbetween to make life that much more fun and exciting. I think I exorcised some kind of personal daemon while I was at home. All of the uncomfortableness and the awkwardness and unwillingness to talk about everything finally came to a head on Friday. It all culminated with me chewing out my parents in a restaurant and walking out at the end of the meal feeling like I could punch someone. Then, my mother cried on my shoulder for a good five minutes and finally begged me tearfully to take her away. She asked to come with me because she couldn't stay at home anymore. I said that wasn't an option. It isn't. What kind of daughter tells her emotionally frail mother that she can't come to a place where she feels safe? Me, apparently. A daughter who is concerned with her own well-being and mental health.

So, what am I doing now? I'm sitting awake at 5 a.m. writing a blog that about a half a dozen people read. I don't particularly want anyone else to be reading it, so, I guess it's okay. The last time I was up this late/early was...nearly a week ago. When I didn't get laid. And when I didn't have cojones. I feel like I let other people dictate my life. Sometimes. Sometimes, I take a stand...but, sometimes, I get coerced and because I don't like to rock the boat, I join in. This isn't healthy. We always tout the "never change for anyone but yourself" motto, but really...who are we kidding? If you're that into someone, you're going to change...a bit...not entirely, but you will. Recent example: Mr. Poetry from undergrad (don't worry, he doesn't read this blog)...used to sit on the stoop and play his bongos until the wee sma'as of the morning. Where is he now? A 'burb in Tejas, working for the machine. Why? That's where the love of his life was headed. Is he happy? I think so. I don't like stream of consciousness...I don't know how I got from my inability to sleep to the fact that a boy I knew in undergrad could be unhappy with his marriage...but, he's not because I see pictures of them...they're sickiningly happy. I feel like I'm on some hideous acid loop where one moment is AMAZING, then I feel like I'm down at the bottom again. Don't we all? Manprano talked me out of the depths of despair a few days ago and deemed I start demanding things of the universe. SO, I say this...on a little blog that no one reads...HERE are my demands, Universe:

1. I need to feel like I am accomplishing something in grad school. Not in the academic sense...I need verbal acknoledgement from faculty that I am on the right track. I demand the omniscient knowledge that I am where I should be in my life and that I am doing it correctly.

2. I need to be desired. Not by the maintenance man at school or the leering doorman at the hotel next to my house. No, no. I need to be desired by a man who will make me feel like I am worthy of his desire. I demand that I be loved like I don't deserve to be loved.

3. I need a man to desire. Not lust after...I have those by the dozens. I need a man that makes me strive for something greater socially, economically, personally, and spiritually...for lack of a more apropos phrase, someone who makes me "want to be a better (wo)man." I demand I be given a reason to love.

4. I need to be grounded. I don't have a sense of spirituality at the moment. (note: I refrained from making jokes about how crying out "oh, GOD!" could count) I need to feel like there is something greater than myself...I do, to an extent, but the Judeo-Christian upbringing has kind of messed me up a bit. I demand that I be shown a reason for existance.

5. I need to be proud of me. At the moment, I'm still not such a big fan...yes, I have cute new hair...but, really...that counts for so little. I am an accomplished, talented, intelligent person...I *should* be proud of me...I'm just not. SO...I demand that I be shown that I am worthy of my own love.

6. I need to find a way to deal with my family...in a healthy manner. Ignoring or chewing out...those two options haven't been so great. I demand a better way of dealing...either fix it or send a revelation as to how I may do so.

Those are fairly big demands, so I'll let the universe take a few hours to deal with them. And I'll be back with other updates on pleasant items, like the wedding and nights out with the boys. :)

Oh, for all the crap that Gilmore Girls has received over the years (yes, this last season was a little off-kilter...I had to switch stations once or twice)...I still love it...in my own weird way.   I'm sitting here watching the series finale...and I desparately wish I was watching it with Lizzymommy and Aquaries03.   I don't think I've experienced this kind of nostalgia in quite some time.   My love to both of you ladies.  Thanks for creating moments that I'll think of for the rest of my life.  :)

I'm a horrible daughter. I hang up on my family members on a near constant basis. Ever since Mom started losing it again, Dad has sought adult conversation with someone who a) knows the situation and won't judge him and b) reminds him of happier times. Unfortunately, this means me and Dave. He started calling at about 8:30 this morning (must have been a day off...he usually starts at 7:30) and has called me at least seven times since then. When I turned my phone off for four hours yesterday morning, I had eight new voicemails and only two of them were not from him. I love him, but I can't talk to him. I can't hear the pain in his voice. I can't hear the same stories of the same crap she's pulling. I can't hear him tell me that he's trying, but there's not much he can do to change it. It's an interminable process and I have little patience with the situation at the moment. I know on some level that this doesn't make me a cruel or unfeeling person, but that doesn't make it easier on either of us. I know he needs to talk, but I am unbelievably tired of droning on about it with no results. That being said, I'm going to run away to the school now. Huzzah.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next three sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
6. Tag five other people to do the same.

"Whatever the exercise, I want the singer to keep the rib cage open during onset. There should not be the slightest collapse as the tone is started at the beginning of a phrase. I feel it is important to vary my response to meet the needs of the student." Joan Wall on strategies for teaching breath, "A Spectrum of Voices by Elizabeth Blades-Zeller."

I tag no one because I think everyone I know has been tagged. How small is my world...

AND

Post this meme on your journal. If you comment, I will assign you a letter and you must list ten things you like that start with this letter. My letter from Tiff is "v."

1. Vrooman. I love that Tiff picked this letter and that this particular person my top my list. No explaination needed.

2. Vegatables...especially onions and mushrooms.

3. Vampires. I like hot men who like to sleep all day and work all night and like to bite my neck. Good times.

4. Vengeance...it's sweet.

5. Violins.

6. Valium. Mmmm...

7. Vince Vaughn...large bear of a man...sexy, confident, and *hilarious*. I like him.

8. Voice. Can you believe it took backseat to Vince Vaughn? Ah, well...we know where my priorities lie.

9. Verbs. I like action. hehehe.

10. Veal. Meat had to enter the list somehow.

You know me. I'd much rather be silly and flirty and low-maintenance. Without going into too many mind-numbing, family-related details, I need to get some things off my chest.

1. I'm scared. You don't need a list of things I'm scared of, and I'm certainly not going to share them (as most of you have some of the same fears, I'm sure)...one of them is that I'm scared to let people get too close to me, so I suppose the aformentioned reason makes some sort of loopy sense.

2. I never want to be my mother. Some of you know her. Most of you love her. I never want to be her. I admire her and I love her, but I can not allow myself to be like that. This is all part of my foolish fears...and it's starting to affect me more seriously than I thought it did. A friend mentioned that she thinks this is part of the reason I punch-and-run. I've never really wanted to get married for fear that I will end up like her (or my grandmother) and make some poor man be like my father and my grandfather. Their in love with their wives, so they stay...but, I can't fathom how they do it. So, while punching-and-running makes for great stories, it does NOT make for a good relationship.

3. I'm going to sign up tomorrow for conseling sessions through my school. It feels so weak and foolish to be doing this. Those of you to whom I have touted therapy...I KNOW, it's not either of those things. But, I keep feeling like I should fix this myself...I just can't. Maybe I'm overreacting, but I can't ask my friends to be my therapy, nor can I expect them to listen to my problems and not have it affect their lives. SO, I'm going to sign up.


This is pretty much an update and an FYI. I'm not asking for sympathy or "fix-it"-solutions...I'd just like good thoughts and energy and prayers sent my way tomorrow, if you can. I could use it.

In reference to the 3 weeks without doing laundry. How do I have that many clothes? And, more specifically, WHY do I have 21 pairs of underwear?

Get Your Sexy Name

I like "fantastic, rapturous Yeses." AND (shortened, because it can only have 10 letters)...

Get Your Sexy Name

Oh, my GOD, do I like the necking. I'm just sayin'.

Life is rather ridiculous right now. I double and triple-book myself (unintentionally) all the time. Almost every damn day, this occurs. I don't know how to fix it, except to drop out of grad school...which is not an option. Other than that, I eat about once a day (TWICE, if I'm lucky!!), sleep about 6 hours (if I'm lucky) and practice like a fiend. And it still doesn't seem to be enough. I haven't done laundry in 3 weeks. I have no more clean underwear. In order to get said underwear, I have to wake up at 7 tomorrow to wash clothes. Will this happen? Or will I simply walk over to Gap (next door) later and BUY a pair? This is not a kvetch, merely a means to let you all know where I am and why I'm not talking to anyone much lately. I'm not a douche and I do love you all. Promise. :) And, I'll chill out in about 22 days. It'll be great.

I keep looking at moments and people gone by from my past lives and sometimes I don't even recognize who I am in this life...how teen-angst. Strike that. I do know...I know who I am and who I've become because of what I've been through...it seems incongruous at times to bits of my past lives, but it really does make sense. I promise. A friend recently watched the film "Jesus Camp" and it just brought forth waves of nostalgia for homeschool days gone by.

"Did your parents teach you Creationism?"
"Yep."
"Wait. Like, as part of your curriculum? As in, a separate class?"
"Yep. We called it 'Bible.' It was right up there with Grammar and History and Math."
"You're kidding me. Right?"
"Of course not. Need I remind you? *gratuitous self gesture* Homeschool-Ho. Pants, makeup and dating. *GASP*"

It's ages ago...but, I sure was that kid that did the Happy Hands Club at her church, won outstanding female vocalist at Baptist Choir Camp singing a Jacque Velasquez song, and taught/worked VBS and Sunday Schools for nearly 6 years (yes, that's pre-high school and beyond). Now, I can't fathom doing that. Not at this point in my life. I think part of it is that I feel like such a hypocrite changing my mind about it all, but a) I'm not *completely* swayed against it all and b) it's taken me *years* and many influential people and experiences to get me to this point. All that to say, I'm still wandering in my own proverbial desert and I sometimes stop my camels (I can't hump it all the time...you know I'd been wanting to say that for the last five sentences. You saw it coming. Stop judging me.) and take a look at my slowly disappearing footprints. Some of them are so faint, it doesn't even make sense that i've been there...but, I know I have...and here I am. And I keep looking and figuring things out...and if I make a ginormous circle in the end, so be it. I just need to look. Speaking of which...at the behest of Lauderdale....*ahem*...


Dear Universe,

We've had words recently. You know how I'm feeling about various situations. However, I would like to point out that I called dibs. I fucking called dibs five years ago. FIVE YEARS. Cut me some slack. In other news, I call dibs elswhere. Take it for what you may.

Love and kisses,

Rachel


P.S. I was afraid you might get confused...I called a lot of dibs that year...but, this one? Wupperman. "Back off." Ring a bell? Five years. Fix me or fix it. The end.

I had a gig at a Valentine's Mass today with my church choir...it was an excuse to be near the guy, AND I got paid. Whoot. It was okay...except for the whole "the example of God's love for humankind is best seen through the love a man and woman share" thing...whatever. Then, he runs off and I can't even talk to him...and I run home for a nap and homework...and I take a chocolate break about five minutes ago. We got little packets of Valentine goodies...included was one Dove Dark Chocolate heart...you know, the kind that has the little sayings on it? Mine (the only one I have) says: Be your own Valentine. Fuck you, Dove. Fuck you.