I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Friday, August 3, 2012

So I freak out, then I remind myself to smile.

I need to keep my head on straight. Making lists makes me feel better. But just being should make me feel happy, you know? But transitions are hard. We all know that. GAHHH. So here's my list. Let's see if it makes me feel better.

  • Buy school supplies
  • Check to see if school books are posted for any classes
  • Sort things to go to school.
  • Lunch with Frau :)
  • Meet up with Heidi
  • Meet up with Sara
    • The problem with the above 3 is that Mom doesn't have anything planned for the next week. I have no idea what my expectations are, so I can't tell them any dates. The time will come and go, and I won't get to see them.
  •  Get a job
  • Follow up on my applications
  • Get organized on recruitment stuff--Call Jess
  • Sleep
And now to make me feel better:
Anchor my ass!

Thursday, August 2, 2012

I think that...

school from k-12 should be more like camp. The classes would be way smaller, or they would rotate early on. The teachers would start with staff training, and they would learn to love one another as family. The teachers should eat lunch with their students--on occasion offering to sit outside at a picnic table. The students should be allowed to chew gum, and stand up while they're doing their homework if that pleases them. The teacher would get to know each student on a personal basis. They would know the names of the child's pets. They would be able to point out a bully early on. They would play with them at recess. Class can be as fun as rock wall climbing, or canoeing... but it isn't to most kids.  They spend seven hours a day there.
But that's in a perfect world.
Me after an all-nighter, writing a paper for Psychology.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Sing a song for the good times that still lie ahead.

I had an excellent last two weeks of camp. I found myself in ways I've never before been able to do. I've felt the shaking body of a sobbing girl in my shoulder--truer tears than I've ever been entrusted with; than I've ever been responsible for catching. The tears from the loss of an uncle to the sensitive words of Michael, Oh Michael. Those words have played the strings of campers' and counselors' hearts for years.
"Some folks look back on a lifetime of yesterdays thinking of what might have been, while others they dwell on the thrill of today; they don't care if they lose or they win."
A fourteen year-old boy who has seen hardships I'll never know held my hand and cried. He said to me, "it doesn't matter that I'm going back to camp Sunday... A camp, Sunday... it isn't Waycross. Waycross is different. I'm not ready to go." And holding back my own tears I said, "I'm not ready either. But we've got next summer, and the next, and the next. That's what matters."

I brought Bri to Waycross. On the way home she said, "This has been the best summer of my life." That's it folks. Waycross has the arms to cradle the hearts of the hundreds who have danced to "will the circle be unbroken!" and swayed to "both sides now." It's a warmth we hold; a power we posses. We are One Body. We each make Waycross what it is: a haven for anyone willing to be vulnerable enough for that body to feel the genuineness in their hearts, to accept them and rejoice in their strengths.

I broke Friday night. I cried and cried. I just broke. During serenades I was useless. I didn't want to sing because I had no voice left anyway. But even more than that, I felt that lump in my throat. I knew that if I tried to make noise, my voice would break, and I would cry, and I wouldn't be able to stop. And that's what happened. I just sobbed. I kept thinking, "I'm just not ready. I can't do it yet." Things at home aren't awesome right now. My family is struggling with the loss of a parent, the metaphorical (and alarmingly possible) loss of my brother, and the intensity of my family's work. At Waycross, I was comfortable with my vulnerability to those matters. But I was safe there. At home things kept happening, but camp kept going--camp was still magic. I'm starting to learn that all those things are really all the same. Those little upsets are all the exact same. I can still live in a bubble, reflecting those painful things back to where they came. I can deal with them on my own time. And happiness is nothing more than a deep breath of sanity away.
Met an old friend on the street yesterday, got to talkin' bout days gone by. The summer camp stories we told made us laugh. But a campfire song made us cry.

"Setzen Sie fort, die offenen Fenster zu passieren"

or Keep passing the open windows. That's where my blog title came from. I also may get it as a tattoo... someday. In typewriter print. On my side. It's just perfect. It's the perfect metaphor.