Moving (Or, Life Confusion)

D'you know, I've spent much of the last month looking for spare seconds when I can sit down and get my thoughts together. I mean, other than that week that I didn't do much moving at all due to a fall and back injury. Can we talk about that? It's just scary that you can miss one step and end up in pain that reaches at least a 7 on a scale of 1 to Bane breaking Batman's back. And it's scarier that you could have pain like that perpetually. It's scary that there are unfixable pains out there, and that they can become realities in your life. It's scary that I can hurt like this. 

But, aside from all of that, I think the last month has been an exercise in worrying and plugging in everything I can to block out the worry- worrying that I'm an unbearable burden, worrying that I'm a frustration in other people's lives, worrying that I won't be good enough, worrying that I'll never be healthy again, worrying that things aren't going to work out, worrying that the transition from this plan to the next is going to be more than I can handle. The problem with my worries is that I don't know which ones are realistic and which ones aren't. My worries live in a mind of freedom and opportunity- they're all created equal as far as I'm concerned, and only time will tell which ones are going to grow up into big, important problems. Then again, certain worries are subsidized by the department of self-doubt, so they're probably going to succeed anyway. It's just easier to avoid all these potentials and realities and just watch Friends or go watch movies and fill up the schedule until you think you're squeezing seconds out of your day to do anything outside worrying and avoiding worry.

Along with several people in my acquaintance, I have a gap between when my lease at my old apartment ended and when the lease at my new apartment begins. For a lot of people, it's like hitchhiking through the weeks- one night here, three nights there, only staying as long as it fits in with other people's schedules and contemplating the possibility of sleeping in their car. Luckily, it's more like catching a ride with me, where I'm spending my entire time without an address at a friend's apartment in a mostly-empty room. But I can't help feeling that everyone else is just as lucky, because they're hardly a problem, a momentary obligation, rather than a perpetual burden. It's just difficult, to get used to not possessing a space after having nearly a year of a having a place that was mine. I mean, currently, I have a room to stay in, and my stuff's there, but it's not mine. This gap in housing is just something I'm dealing with, a temporary thing, like having to wear a cast on my independence until it's functional again.

When I think about all of this, though, I get a little weighed under by the nostalgia of a summer spent never owning a space and never having to move anything larger than a backpack and the thought of people who have nowhere to stay and why I had so many offers of places to sleep when others have none. It's this weird, depressing spiral where I feel guilty for my blessings, wonder why the world isn't fixed enough so that everyone can have the same things I have, and wish that this dumb idealism with which most of us post-college purported world-changers are saddled would either go away or push me enough to do something that secures good in the world outside of my own self interest. I also want to get rid of half the stuff I own and I want to be able to move at a moment's notice just by packing up my car and I want to walk lightly upon the earth and I'm so confused, because I don't know that you can live deeply and walk lightly and I think that conversations like that are best held when the day is just waking up and not many of us have the motivation to stare down the dawn and dare it to blossom into another day that will leave us with more pain than we started with. Probably.

All I want to do right now is move into the new place on Friday and Saturday and settle into a routine. I want to hold still for a few weeks before something new starts. I want someone to sit beside me and listen to me rant and ramble and then tell me how to make things happen, to push me, to send me on a mission, and to watch me while I finish it. I want to understand the length and depth and breadth of universe and then I want to tell someone else about it and call that my contribution to humanity.

So, that's all a little too much to ask, you think? Anyone want to help me move instead? I'll give you pizza and beverages and my lasting thanks. That's what I've got right now. 

Cockroaches (Or, Friends and Difficulties)

So I've been bouncing around a lot of places recently, between Chapel Hill and Hickory and Granite Falls and Boone, and I've been visiting friends and congratulating and bemoaning and all sorts of things. It's been a red letter kind of month/year/week/thing.  I've been, at times, as good of a friend and as bad of a friend as I can be, and I wonder how a person can equally regret and admire the same expanse of time.

In one of my more admirable periods, I was at a friend's apartment, celebrating graduation and pet-sitting and any one of a number of remarkable things that have happened in this friendship, and my friend discovered a cockroach in her kitchen. Of course she screams and of course she yells for me and I respond with a "What am I supposed to do about it?" And she goes on and describes how big it is and how terrible it is and how I have to kill it, just kill it pleasepleaseplease. So I walk into the kitchen to find it and I don't see it. I move the trashcan and the recycling and the bag of plastic grocery bags and no monster cockroach. I declare that it's gone back where it came from, but she's not convinced. We have to drive this thing out or kill it trying because it is a freak of nature and also gross. So I go back to the kitchen and then check out the laundry room and HOLY APPLES AND NUTELLA THAT IS A GIANT COCKROACH RUNNING UNDER THE DRYER.

After several minutes of panicking and laughing and not wanting to show very real fear and convincing and kicking the dryer, I persuade my friend that the cockroach has gone back where it came from and that she can sleep safely tonight. We watch a few episodes of Friends and call it a night.

Then tonight, after returning to my apartment, I walk through the living room to my bedroom in the dark, because I'm lazy and because it's kinda awesome how the human memory can prevent me from stubbing my toe on our couch, and then I flip on the lamp in my room and go into my bathroom and look up because in the top corner of my bathroom is the largest cockroach I have ever seen in my life ever.

What follows here is a real conversation held via text messaging.

Me (11:39pm): [sends picture of the Hulk of cockroaches] This is on my bathroom wall. AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Me (11:46pm): Sarai, I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. THERE IS A GIANT COCKROACH IN MY  BATHROOM. MY BED IS ON THE FLOOR.

Me: [definitely regrets the decision to not buy a bed and refuses to consider the continuing metaphorical symbolism of this moment because THAT THING COULD SURVIVE A NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST (DON'T THINK I HAVEN'T CONSIDERED IT YOU INVASIVE SPECIES FROM THE BEYOND.)]

Sarai (11:46pm): OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO KILL IT!!!!!!

Sarai (11:47pm): BE BRAVE AND STRONG. I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT.

Me (11:48pm): BUT WHAT SHOULD I DO? AND HOW DID IT FIND ME?

Me (11:50pm): IT'S UNHUMANLY LARGE. THERE'S NO WAY TO KILL IT.

Sarai (11:50 pm): IT SNIFFED YOU OUT BECAUSE IT REMEMBERED YOUR SCENT FROM WHEN IT WAS AT MY PLACE. HOW THE HELL DID IT CRAWL UP THREE STORIES. DO YOU HAVE A GIANT SHOE?

Me: [goes to bathroom. Faces off with cockroach. Thinks momentarily about how the first thing I wanted to know was what action I could take and the second thing I wanted to know was how this happened to me and how that's really kinda how my life goes. Realizes I'm going to need a bigger container if I'm going to capture this sucker. Drops the plastic cup. Goes to get bucket o' markers from closet. That'll do. Dumps markers on bed. Balances on rim of tub and toilet. Squeals like a tiny scared child when the cockroach moves like the ninja it is when prodded by magazine. (I know I'm an adult now because I'm using one of my roommate's old Victoria's Secret catalogues to potentially destroy this threat to my safety.) Traps the cockroach. Runs it outside. Dumps the bucket. Watches it crawl down between the boards in my porch. Closes porch door. Double fist in the air. I AM THE MASTER COMMANDER! Returns to phone.]

Sarai (11:56pm): DID IT EAT YOU BEFORE YOU COULD KILL IT?

I responded just before midnight with confirmation of a successful capture and release ("CAPTURE AND RELEASE? IT'S GONNA COME BACK HERE!") and accidentally tweeted my promise to call in case more cockroach situations arose and generally felt accomplished for the night.

Now, I tell you this because I basically ran back to my computer to write about this little adventure. It's just that I can't decide what I want the cockroach to stand for. Part of me wants to say something like, "Hey, why do we all just diametrically hate cockroaches anyway? I mean, they don't bite.* They don't really affect our lives. All they do is freak us out and if I'm applying this kind of banishing logic to things that freak me out, then I'm not the kind of person I want to be." Because, after all, getting rid of something that freaks me out but isn't going to hurt me isn't the best use of my time. Especially if it was already illegal and I decided to put a poorly-phrased amendment to a popular vote just to prove how much work there is to be done still.

Or, I could make the cockroach a metaphor instead of a talking point. Make it something completely different. I mean, it's something I reacted poorly to, and then did my best to get rid of. Maybe I could make it be sin in my metaphor for life. I like that. I helped my friend address her sin, but let it get away, giving her the opportunity to conquer it on her own once she knew it could be conquered. Yeah, I like that! But no, that won't work because when I was in my own apartment, I stood there and talked to it for a good couple of seconds, thinking that would either scare it or convince it to leave me alone. When that didn't work, I closed my eyes and wished it would go away. Twice. In the end, I actually had to do something to make it go away, and before I could do that, I had to admit to someone that there was a problem in the form of a giant, scary cockroach. I had to admit that my apartment, nice though it is, still has the potential to have cockroaches and I'm sorry, but that's too difficult of a message to hear if the cockroach were going to be a metaphor for sin.

(Plus, cockroaches don't eat you from the inside out until you can't think straight anymore and make you want to go back to the days before you even knew what a cockroach looked like, not in real life anyway. They don't make you sit up nights thinking or lose days dreaming ways out of messes that you didn't even think were possible for you. They don't make you shake your head involuntarily while you chorus I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry can I take it back I didn't mean to I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I never did anything just please I'm sorry. Plus, there's nowhere you can go that's guaranteed to be cockroach free. And, most importantly of all, cockroaches never make you feel warm and happy on the inside, even just for a second, so that you think hey, this side of innocent might not be so bad. It just wouldn't work; cockroaches are not complex. But, like sin, they'd survive a nuclear holocaust. So there's a point in the positive category.)

It's just that I need to go back to thinking, you know? So if I made the cockroach the equivalent of some problem I was having my everyday life, or dealing with it a symbol of my burgeoning adulthood (I also got the oil changed in my car and put money in my savings account!), it would just be this tacit acceptance that cockroaches are a part of life, that everyone has to deal with them sometime. But let's face it- some people never come of age, and some people's coming of age story is much less interesting and cockroach-free than books and movies would like to imply. When you realize that your story falls into that category, it makes you want to go out and get a testimony, go live and do something and not make the safe choice. Then again, it might not matter what you do. Cockroaches find you anyway.

All of this is to say that even though this is a weird, difficult, awkward, and awesome time of life, and even though I don't know what's going on and can't figure out what things mean, if they mean anything, it's still great to have friends who can go through all of this with you. Even if all you really want is someone to come in kill the cockroach for you with his giant shoe. 

*(PS- I have since learned that cockroaches eat the eyelashes of sleeping children. I retract this idea for cockroaches. But I stand by the sentiment that goes along with the original thought, pre-eyelash-eating-revelation.)

Why I Was Upset About Being a Hufflepuff

(Warning: Contains Harry Potter and Christianity. For just Harry Potter, click here.)

When I got sorted in Pottermore and that badger surrounded by a yellow badge popped up, it was literally the worst outcome possible. Gryffindor was clearly what I was going for because all the cool, important kids are in Gryffindor; Ravenclaw would have been fine because I've rocked the intelligence vibe for a long time and would be happy with that as my defining characteristic; and, though I would have been slightly upset, I would have been OK with Slytherin because there's something to redeem there, there's a history and a conflict and something of interest, at the very least.

But Hufflepuff? Hufflepuff? Here, I'm just going to let the internet do the talking for me:

From A Very Potter Musical: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3OyAnhDO9v4
"I can't digest lactose- I'm a Hufflepuff": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0Z5_wipT2o
"Sorry, I know how you must be feeling." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXF4JuA6tcg
"An organizational equivalent to the Redshift Army": http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HufflepuffHouse

You can see why this would be a little devastating for me. It's been a long year. There's been a lot of soul-searching, a lot of wondering what I'm even doing with my life, and a lot of re-evaluating what I think of myself, the things on which I pride myself, and the things about myself that I would like to change. It's a difficult process, sorting through the junk and treasures of your collected character attributes, and all I was looking for was a little affirmation, even if it was from a website based on a fictional world in a bunch of children's books. I mean, come on. Throw me a bone. It's not too much to expect.

Remind me of how brave I am, what a good leader I can be, and how I can change things and fight for good. Put me in Gryffindor. Remind me that, hey, I am smart, that I have the ability to use the knowledge I've gained plus the way of thinking I've developed to solve problems around me, and that it's fine to like to know things. Put me in Ravenclaw. Remind me that I want to be important, that I can be manipulative, and that I quite enjoy having a fatal flaw. Put me in Slytherin.

Pause for a second, before you start hardcore nerd judging. I need everyone reading this to remember that, even though we're talking about a fictional world here, I'm an absolute sucker for metaphors and symbols. I look for meaning in places that might not actually contain it and I analyze situations that don't actually require analysis. So as I've been complaining about being a Hufflepuff for the past two days, there's more here than just being a petulant child about all of this. I mean, first off, it's funny and it gives me a topic of conversation and attention- everyone likes a good Hufflepuff bashing session. (Plus, our mascot is a badger. This is just begging for a honey badger treatment.) Secondly, and more importantly, it's given me a chance to think about myself. (Warning- Jesus and rambling ahead. Feel free to stop reading now and watch the Which House Are You video again, or start A Very Potter Musical. See what a good Hufflepuff I am? Always thinking about the sensitivities of my friends.)

There are important reasons about why I was upset about being a Hufflepuff, and it says a lot about who I am. I want to be seen as brave and smart and Hufflepuffs aren't known for that. I want to be important and Hufflepuffs often allow themselves to be pushed to the side. I want people to take me seriously and... I mean, do I even need to finish that sentence? At first blush, being a Hufflepuff is just not an ideal thing for anyone whose opinion of themselves can be crippled by other's opinions of them. The defining trait of the Hufflepuff House is loyalty, and they're known for being fair, kind, and faithful friends. They're also humble, which is why no one knows that the founder of Hogsmede was a Hufflepuff, that, after Gryffindors, Hufflepuff House had the most people stay to fight for the castle, or that several of the historically most liked Ministers of Magic were Hufflepuffs.(Thank you, Harry Potter Wiki.) It's easy to boil down those solid character traits into a trite word like "nice" and never thinking beyond that to realize that those are all qualities you should want to have. I want to be fair and kind and faithful. I want to be loyal. I want to be caring and humble. I do, I swear I do.

Just not that much.

And that's what bothers me and pushes me over the edge and into existential crisis mode. Because when you talk about Hufflepuffs like that, they sound awfully Christian. Basically, that's all the best qualities of a Christian rolled into one House. That's why I can't fit in here. I'm not like that. I'm absurdly, terribly, cripplingly prideful. It's my cardinal sin of choice. Being sorted as a Hufflepuff offended my pride. I want a House of which I can be unreservedly proud and I want people to be able to recognize me as a member of that House and, in general, approve.

But then I spent all this time feeling bad about how bad I felt about being a Hufflepuff. I mean, they're not bad people. (Tonks was a Hufflepuff, and if I get to be like Tonks, this will turn out to be a positive thing after all.) In fact, from the way they make it sound, they're very good people. It's just that I don't want to be that good. I don't want to be known for being that good. I want my goodness hidden away in a little box so I can deal it out whenever I want to, in secret, for fear that there would be a mad rush on it if everyone knew about it. And I don't want to sustain mockery based on the fact that I am good and kind and make an effort to be that way. (Well, I don't actually want to make an effort for any of this- hence wanting to be a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw. Being sorted into one of those houses basically tells you want to be and people expect you to be it and, frankly, people see what they expect to see, even if it's not really there.) I'm perfectly happy to be cynical and bitingly witty like the rest of you. I'd rather you expected something else from me, so I could distribute my fairness, kindness, caring, and loyalty at my discretion. I'd rather be seen as interesting and important. I want to matter to more than just my friends and I want people to know how much I matter.

This is not something that I should be wanting. I should not be prideful. I should not want to have something tangibly wrong with me. I should not want to be a broken vessel that constantly needs fixing. I should delight in the fact that I've been told that the things most valuable about me line up with who I've told people I want to be instead of delighting in my hubris. I should be content if not joyful that I'm the House that lines up so well with the fruits of the Spirit. It should not matter to me what other people say. I should view this as a victory.

But I didn't think of this as a victory when I first saw it, and most of the time, I still don't. This is the core reason. This is why I'm upset. Because I should be happy about this on principle and I just can't get that happiness past my pride. But I'm working on that. Because Hufflepuffs are brave, smart, and ambitious too. We aren't limited by stereotypes just like real human beings in the real world aren't limited by what people think or say about them. It's just that we get to hope that things will be better and rest in the knowledge that our hope is not in vain. We get to believe that people are really good at heart. And that's our defining moment, that hope and that belief. I can do that.

That's why I'm not upset about being a Hufflepuff (or a Christian) anymore.