This is my 150th post. I hesitate to write it only because you'll soon see that this blog has no purpose. Some of my blogs are stories I find humorous and worthy of sharing, others are my thoughts on something inspiring I have encountered... This, though, this milestone blog, will be about nothing. It seems fitting, now that I think about it, as the name of my blog is "Much Ado About Nothing" (which, coincidentally, I have never read; I simply relate to the idea of big hype over very little).
So I'm just going to write... er, type... because that's why I started this little diary to begin with.
Last night I had a mind explosion that probably seems elementary to most. As a child, we learn about David and Goliath. We know all about his sling shot and his stones, Saul's armor that was too big, and so on. I can even recall being fascinated by David's friendship with Jonathan. Later in life, having matured some, we hear about King David... about his affair with Bathsheba, how he had her husband basically murdered. I find that I fixate on David's authorship of so many Psalms. To me, he is The Psalmist. Last night I realized that in my mind's eye, there is a great disconnect between David the Giant Killer and David the Philandering Psalmist. There was something very comforting to put two and two together last night... I guess the idea of a Nobody being made not into a Somebody, but a Really Really Big Deal Somebody was what got me. I have no illusions that I will be a celebrity one day, but it's some kind of awesome to worship a God that does that kind of thing.
I love subbing. Honestly, I adore it. I love seeing all my old teacher, and I love when the students like me enough to share with me. And that's what I'm getting at. Some part of me, some residual high school insecurity, is begging these kids to like me. My outfits are calculated, my announcements laced with sarcasm and humor and some hope that if I'm genuine and honest my students will cut me some slack. I was never the cool kid in high school, and neither were my friends. I think I had my shot at it once, but it seemed like a lot of effort to me. I'd like to say I didn't care, that I lived my life as who I was, immune to peer pressure. But I did care, a lot. And here I am nearly 5 years later... Twenty-two years old, one degree under my belt and pursuing another, and there's still something inside of me that wants to be the cool kid.
I came home last night so that I could sub today. My little companion, Macy, doesn't get to go on overnight trips with me because, frankly, she travels with as much luggage as I do. It's weird how attached I am to her. I have always loved our family pets, but, unlike my parents, I can't say that I've missed them or worried about them when I was away from them, at least not consciously. Maybe it's my sense of ownership that makes it different with Macy. She's mine, whereas the cats at home are Mom's and Maggie is Dad's. Or maybe it's the other way around, that I'm hers. It bothers me when she's hiding under my bed, like last night, when I leave because I don't get to tell her goodnight. Or when she thinks that I'm trying to play when I bend down to pat her goodbye and she swats away my affection. I'm sure she's fine when I'm gone-- I'm not certain how accurate her perception of time is, and she might actually enjoy a day or two of free reign (not that she lives under any sort of rule)-- but it bothers me nonetheless. [and anyone reading this that isn't an animal-lover can just check your judgement at the door]
There are precious few things I love more than sleep. My favorite place to nap is on my couch, and I prefer to fall asleep watching TV over closing my eyes and trying to nap. It's just more natural to let long blinks turn into mouth-gaping sleep to the tune of Mad Men in the background (how d'you like that visual?). When friends stay overnight with me or just sit on my bed for a chat or a movie, they often comment on how wonderful my bed is. That's what I call an "on purpose." Some people invest in hand bags, some video games... whatever your interest is, I suppose. My interest is the art of sleep, and I invest in it from my feather comforter to my impossibly high thread count sheets. Sleep is a cause I believe in, something I'm passionate about... something I excel at. When you play basketball, it's important to have those unattractive sneakers and those unnecessarily long jersey shorts, and it's essential to practice often. Likewise, I have the necessary equipment-- soft sheets, heavy comforter, therapeutic mattress-- and I work diligently to perfect my art with short naps (sprints, if you will) as well as long naps (marathon-style). When it comes to sleep, I'm a champion, a regular Olympian. Other things I'm good at: watching back-to-back episodes of TV on DVD, procrastinating important assignments to the point of panic attack, Facebook creeping, and managing a blog about nothing.
I have an incurable sweet tooth. Undoubtedly, I get it from my dad, who suffers from the same cocaine-like addiction. I have a relentless compulsion to eat sweets when they're in my vicinity (ever lit up a cigarette around a smoker?), and sometimes even when they're not. Like any addict, I often tell myself I can stop whenever I want, that I'm not REALLY addicted... and I can even believe it, until faced with tiramisu or a homemade chocolate chip cookie. Set those bad boys in front of me, and I turn into a crumbly-faced, chocolate-smudged slob in mere seconds. Add sugar inhalation to the things I'm good at, I guess.
I'm going to actually do work now, I think. I'm holding back some unimportant thoughts to write unimportant blogs about later: books I want to read, places I want to go (I may even include pictures! Blog treat!), and reasons why I love the fall.
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