Write this down...

I've been thinking about writing. I love to put pen to paper, or fingers to keys, and spill what I am thinking or feeling. However, I do not write half or even a quarter as much as I should. I've questioned myself "Why" several times. I think I may have come up with an answer: Writing saps me emotionally. When I finally get those phrases out of mind, and they become visible entities, there is palpable catharsis. Something I have been holding inside is let out and suddenly I feel even more vunerable than before.
I like to think I'm strong and invulnerable. Truth is, I'm far from that. Writing just reminds me. Yet it's healthy. Being vulnerable and fragile when all we want to show the world is our false strength could be the best remedy for healing.
We all have something to heal from. Writing, at least for me, opens up that festering cut that I haven't kept clean, painfully flushes it out, and then gently wraps it with gauze and antibiotic ointment. It's painful at first, but later on, I'm glad I did it.

Separation

It is a thirty-four year investment
The homemaker informs me.
Her intonation resonates
Fragile and insecure.
“Has this weekend been hard?”
I picture her tucking her blonde
Highlighted hair behind one ear.
“It comes and goes.
Moment by moment, baby.”
Her voice depresses further.
A hiccup, then an audible tear.
“Has he called you?”
Silence.
“Mom, he has made his choice.”
A sigh. “I know. I am afraid of
Being on my own. I haven’t
Worked in twenty-one years.”
“Hang in there, Mom. Try
Not to sleep in tomorrow.”
I tell her I’ll see her this weekend.
We will all be together for a few days.
Without Dad.

Sunday Eats

This post is about what I ate today. How interesting? Yes, how interesting. I'm a college student on a part-time job budget. And I am valiantly attempting to break away from the tyranny of the value menu. So here you go. Once a week, you get to know what I am cooking for myself!

Breakfast: My subconscious was irresponsible and turned off my alarm. Therefore I did not awaken for good until nearly 1 pm. No breakfast for me.

Lunch:

This delicious ensemble consists of caprese salad, whole grain parmesan couscous, and strawberries. I made the caprese salad out of mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, and fresh basil, drizzled and tossed with a little  bit of olive oil. Fabulous! Can't replace fresh herbs. The couscous is so easy to make, five minutes and it is ready! This serving is about 1/4 of the box quantity, so there are leftovers enough for a couple other meals. One box is about two and a half dollars. I added sweet strawberries because my plate looked lonely, and fruit is always a good idea. I got all of the above at my local HEB!

Dinner:

 Breaded ranch chicken (Kraft Shake N Bake; not horrible, not great); angel hair pasta with roasted tomato and basil sauce; and salad.

If the chicken looks a little dry, it is. I majorly over cooked it. Tough chicken does not a delicious dinner make. Ketchup helped, but let me reiterate: only helped. If you don't want to make the same mistake I did, defrost in a bowl of water over a several hour period. Don't defrost in the microwave, because that starts cooking the chicken. Twice cooked chicken=nasty.

Angel pasta with sauce is so easy to make. You control how much pasta you cook, so I made one serving. About a small fist full for a normal serving.

The salad is mixed greens, spinach, cherry tomatoes, feta cheese, and Greek vinegarette. The greens weren't totally fresh even though they were bought yesterday. Check the expiration dates!!! PLEASE!! Nobody likes bitter greens.

And now to dessert: triple layer Oreos with a small glass of organic milk. And that is my boyfriend on the cell phone. Since I was having my favorite cookies, I figured I would add my favorite boyfriend into the picture. Word to the wise: while these cookies are delicious, they're totally fattening. 4.5 grams of fat per serving, which is ONE cookie. Honestly, who in the world eats just one Oreo? Not this girl. I had two :) And they were quite yummy.

There you have it. Sunday eats. I give myself a B- for the day. No breakfast, minus one letter grade. Overcooked chicken, minus five points. Let's go for an A+ next time! 



Finding Andalusia

The Andalusia that is referred to in the URL of this blog is the name of a farm in Milledgeville, Georgia. Random? No.
Andalusia is where the great Southern author Flannery O'Connor lived and wrote from 1951 until her death in 1964. This was where she completed her two novels and many short stories. It is an important part of her history as a writer, and, for me, one of the sources of inspiration.
O'Connor's writings have been a big part of my semester thus far. I am taking a class where the focus is completely on Flannery O'Connor and Walker Percy. In the past several weeks, I have read most of her writings, as well as several of her letters. Her vision as well as her incarnational art evident in her writing are inspiring to me as a writer.
So why "finding" Andalusia? I love the idea of finding a place of beauty to spend my life and write. It does not even have to be a physical place. My Andalusia could be a state of mind. Either way, finding Andalusia, for me, is discovering the inspiration to write and following through.
This is my follow through. Thank you for reading!

Loves

CoT Employees: Get an Attitude Adjustment

When a professionally dressed individual (or anyone, for that matter) walks into your office, immediately acknowledge them. Do not sit there finishing your email or print problem solving while rudely ignoring your visitor. It is annoying and unprofessional. Oh, and don't mumble when you speak to them or act like they are intruding on your space. It's called the "professional workplace." Say it with me, people. "Professional. Workplace. Professional. Attitude."

Just call it what it is.

It feels like being a sick animal kept in an observation box. No hope of escape until the diagnosis is made or the funding runs out. Or until the hour is up. From the facial expressions and sarcastic tone, the quoted Bible verses and assuming to know the nature of the situation, and asking every five minutes what you are thinking, everything grates upon until the striking desire come to strike with your knuckles on her overly made up eye. It is quite the personal tragedy when you do not like your therapist. It is also a tragedy when you know that through the annoyance you feel, you recognize she is right. The diagnosis has been made.

You have control issues.
You are afraid of the unknown.
You have to plan everything or you get anxious.
You cannot change your father.
You cannot change the situation.
You. Have. No. Control.

So where do you go from here?

Take a deep breath, keep your face expressionless, pay your $50 co-pay, hug the therapist, and prepare for next week.