"Some of them were so busy worrying about cracking glass ceilings that they never asked what the air was like up there."

I'm starting to feel older. Already when people ask me how old I am I tell them "26", even though that milestone is still two months away. Perhaps it's living alone, perhaps it's the serious conversations with my bosses about how to turn my job into my career, perhaps it's all the research about retirement funds I've been doing, perhaps it's having an immediate family member not immediately available to me, and perhaps it's the seriousness and marvelousness of my relationship with The Boy beginning to make sense in my brain.

I feel like I've matured rather significantly over the last six months or so, and I think it's because for the first time I'm actually taking my future seriously. When I graduated from NCC I had all the hope in the world (and none of the ambition) that things would fall into place. I was young, I had time. I've since seen that success takes work, and that I'm finally not-as-content enough to begin to put in that work. There have been a lot of late nights spent pondering what my values are, what I want for myself, and readjusting the image I've had for my life that has always been in the back of my mind.

It was, perhaps, growing up with my primary caretaker being my mom that led me to believe that I, too, would be an independent lady who had my own house and my own car(s) and my own life. My mom owns a toolbox and she knows how to wield the objects therein. She would go to work in the mornings, cook us dinner at night, drive us to gymnastics and piano lessons, and read stories to us before bed. She would go line dancing with friends sometimes. Whenever something broke in the house she'd either fix it herself or knew exactly who to call. My mom always had a plan and an answer for everything; at least it seemed to be so when I was a kid. My mom did whatever was best for herself and for us. This is the model of grownup life that I have fashioned in my mind.

It was also, perhaps, being exposed to the "Girl Power!" movement and the slow scraping away of the veneer of social expectations that made me feel obligated to be a strong, independent lady. The glass ceiling still exists, wage disparities are still significant, social expectations are still wildly privileged toward men and detrimental to women and as a socially conscious young woman I feel this overwhelming burden to contribute to the de-stigmatization of women in the public eye. On the one hand, I've largely succeeded. I went to college and I graduated from college with a degree and without a husband. I pay my own bills, people respect me for my intelligence and wit, I am the sole leaseholder on my apartment, and I can't cook worth a damn.

I never assumed I would get married, but I also never assumed I wouldn't. I mostly just figured that if it happened, I wouldn't let it interfere with my life. Obviously, I never spent much time thinking about it at all. The Boy and I are tiptoeing our way toward that goal, and now that it's more of a real possibility than ever before I'm finding myself reaching with one hand for a paper bag to breathe deeply into and with the other for something solid to keep me mentally upright. I love him more than I thought I was capable of and I couldn't be prouder of him, his accomplishments, and to have him by my side. He has become family and I can easily glimpse snippets of Future Us (most notably 90 year-old Us sitting at the kitchen table in the lake house he built as he asks me to help with the Sunday crossword and I snap at him that, for the zillionth time, I'm awful at those things. Pass the World Politics section, please), but I'm very suddenly unsure of what this means for myself and my bright, shiny, independent lady life.

Believe it or not, his life and his goals are important to me, and it very viscerally feels as if I'm betraying my gender by caring about someone other than myself, most especially a man. To compromise is to have a healthy relationship, but to compromise on even the smallest details of my Grand Life Design feels traitorous. I had this awful, panicky moment several months ago when he was pondering pursuing a job in Kentucky and the mere thought of going with him made me feel like a monumental failure. After everything my mom sacrificed, and how hard she worked, and how far society has come, and after all the expectations of greatness my loved ones have of me, I was going to bow down to the patriarchy and uproot myself and everything I know for a man.

I'm slowly piecing together what happiness looks like for me, but it's a much more difficult process than I originally thought. So many messages are directed toward young girls and young women these days that I'm not sure we even notice the impact they are having until the worst possible moment. I'm proud to feel so empowered, grateful to be aware enough to know I have options and choices and to know that I could, if I wanted to, shoot for the moon and write my name among the stars. I do wonder if a balance is needed when it comes to empowering girls, though. When being told I could be anything I wanted to be I'm not sure the best way to demonstrate that was with a big red X through the image of a wife wearing an apron vacuuming the living room. Someone has to vacuum. Especially when you live alone and the entire place is carpeted.

Navigating adulthood is hard, you guys. I'm enjoying my fully developed brain and stabilized body chemistry but the weight of the world has become quite the burden.

Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.

Thus sayeth the ever wise Margaret Atwood.

Stolen from luxury-idea.com

One mystery of childhood that I frequently pondered is why grownups' bedrooms were so frightfully boring. The walls were beige, or some pale blue, and other than maybe a wedding picture on a dresser top the only decorations were generic seascapes or perhaps a fake plant in the corner. The only form of entertainment I ever saw in grownup bedrooms were small TV's, so small they were hardly worth watching and always much too far away to be of any practical use. Their curtains were boring. The bed was always made. Clothes were always put away in a hamper, or else at the very least folded at the end of the bed. Why on earth adults would choose to live in such drudgery was beyond my comprehension.

For perspective, I always had wonderfully expressive bedrooms growing up. I blame the previous owners of the house I grew up in for fostering this tendency since birth. The room my loving parents placed Infant Cathi into had lime green shag carpeting and Pepto pink paint on the walls. The first time I was allowed to plan and decorate my room, I chose Aladdin as the theme. I had Princess Jasmine bedsheets and a reversible comforter (depending upon whether I was in a pink or purple kind of mood), I had a fuzzy, glow-in-the-dark Aladdin poster on the wall. I had Aladdin curtains. It was magical and I loved every inch of it. As a preteen I redecorated into a more moderate theme of "blue purple and green", but the room was alive. As a teenager I requested that all four of my walls be different colors, and I painted on the darkening shade that covered my window with cheap Jordasche nail polish and invited my visiting friends to do the same.

I now type this to you from the bedroom I share with no one, in the apartment that is mine and mine alone. The bedroom walls are a lovely and tasteful grayish-green that I adore. The only entertainment in here is my bookshelf full of fantasy novels. I currently have an 8-picture frame hanging on the wall for decoration which still has the stock photos in it. Beyond sleeping and going through the vicious cycle of "get dressed and throw clothes on the floor" and "be angry at clothes being on the floor, pick them up" I spend very little time in here.

You know why? I've unlocked the secret of grownup bedrooms. I wanted this place to be peaceful and distraction-free because I wanted my bedroom to be a place for sleeping and resting. It is no longer my refuge from the rest of the world, the only place I have to express myself and be surrounded by things I love because I have an entire apartment just for that.

Suck on that, children! Just wait until you grow up and have nine hundred square feet to do with as you please! For the record, I've personalized the rest of my space with Guitar Hero band equipment, posters of places I'd like to go, and a china cabinet full of my speech and debate awards in the place of china.

Knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back

Allow me to announce publicly how bummed I am that football is happening this year. I would have found a winter season without the obsession, misogyny, homophobia, and pseudo-aggression that accompanies the NFL quite refreshing; also it would have allowed me to successfully avoid buying a Bears jersey for work for the 5th year in a row.

My current quest to get myself an apartment is an unanticipated exercise in assessing my core values. Nothing really makes you pause and turn a puzzled eye inward like hearing the phrase "never again the hand-washing times!" leave your mouth. Despite living a whole entire quarter century without killing myself, getting a call from a debt collector, or setting anything/anyone major on fire, there's a number of things that have called for reexamination. For example:

My relationship with money
I've always known that I'm a saver, not a spender. When I get a paycheck (or organize my rubber band bank at the end of the night) my first and strongest impulse is to put it straight into my savings account so that I may gaze upon the pleasantly large balance and rub my hands together in diabolical glee. "Yes," I think to myself, "look at all my money. Tomorrow there shall be more! Good, good." I was also raised to be a bargain hunter, to do a lot of research and spend a lot of time so as to find the optimum mix of savings and quality. Now confronted with the outrageous overinflation of rent prices, I've discovered that I react with fist-clenching anger with no one to vent my righteous indignation upon other than my poor family (who, if you're Seester, aren't terribly sympathetic to my plight).

My relationship with others
The simplest solution to my residential tight-waddiness would be to get a roommate. Splitting exorbitant rent two ways would result in a completely manageable amount to be spent each month, and honestly not a lot of lost independence. However, ask me if I want a roommate and watch the involuntary grimace cross my face. Maybe it's the fact that I'm forced to be social all day/night at work and am thus spoiled for my personal time, or maybe I'm just finally owning up to the fact that I'm a crotchety, inconsiderate lady at heart, but the idea of having to share living space leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I've never really been good at sharing; it was something I did growing up under duress and even then not very well, let alone graciously, and now that I'm a Grown-Ass-Woman I'm making sure that I don't have to share if I don't absolutely have to.

My relationship with expectations
I have a lot of high ideals for myself, which are coming into conflict with the aforementioned tight-waddiness. Can I live with outdated appliances, a community laundry room, hand-washing my dishes, noisy neighbors, and ugly carpets? Of course. Do I want to? Oh hail naw. I'm twenty five years old, I'm doing fairly well for myself, and if I can afford not to live in some dump, then I won't. I find nothing glamorous in slumming it. "Luxury" costs extra money though. I'm still not sure which I value more.

My...relationship
Everyone who isn't my dad or my sister has asked me the question "what about The Boy? Why aren't you guys living together?" and to that, I say "mooooom stop bugging me about it!" This has actually required the most amount of introspection and list making, and is something The Boy and I need to discuss beyond him jokingly(?) bugging me to hurry up and find a place so he can come live a life of leisure with his Sugar Mama.

Other things I'd rather not talk about:
-Our nationally elected officials
-The economy
-"Why on earth would you come back here from the city???"
-My weight (yes I've lost some, please stop exclaiming over how noticeable it is, as it's making me feel fat retroactively)
-Gas prices

18 over par,
Cathi

Seid bereit, immer bereit

I often mention my uneasy relationship with emotions. As I continue to grow, experience, and change, I'm learning more about my relationship with my feelings and, um, my feelings about my feelings. I've learned that as a human being I deserve to experience the highs and the lows that come with life, and I'm learning to take ownership of whims both sad and joyful that can't be explained away by logic or circumstance

I read a blog entry fairly recently, and when describing her process of coming to terms with a life event the woman writing the post said "I wasn't ready, and then I was." I've had this tucked away in my head ever since I read it because it was at the same time succinct and profound, and it applies to anything that is scaring you (erm, me) about the future. It gave me permission to not be ready for some things, and it made me feel better about being 25 years old and not having achieved what I've internalized as a standard of success. I know that eventually, I will be ready. That moment just hasn't happened yet for some things.

I had a moment a couple days ago, though. It was a combination of things that had happened throughout the day which culminated in one quiet moment in my car where I actually exclaimed out loud "Oh my God, I think I'm ready." I immediately doubted myself because I'm not really a believer in Lightning Bolt From Heaven moments and this revelation would certainly qualify. Because I walk a careful line between psychosis and rationality I rigorously interrogated myself as I made my way to my destination, saying some things out loud to see how the words tasted in my mouth and how they felt coming back into my ears. I was skeptical of the fact that everything felt right and wonderful when verbalizing my revelation, so I've given myself a couple weeks to see if it sticks.

It's been a few days and neither nausea nor cold sweats have appeared but, other than this none-too-subtle blog entry (I often over-estimate my cleverness and under-estimate your, Blog Reader's, powers of inference), I'm sticking to my two-week gag order. I need time to construct lists and say things out loud a few more times to rationalize an unanticipated aligning of my internal clockwork. In the meantime, I'm stepping up my search for one-bedroom apartments back in my home 'hood and beginning a countdown to my first day back at The 'Brook TGIF.

HDU

We were never meant to be, baby, we just happen

For the most part I live my life in fairly quiet complacency. I keep my head down, my eyes and ears open, and my mouth fairly well shut. It keeps things simple, and I prefer life to be as uncomplicated as possible. Every so often, however, something will set me off and jolt me from my even keel.

The most recent arsonist to light a fire under my feet antagonized me with words meant to be generic, but ended up landing squarely in the Very Personal section of my brain. I try to keep an open mind when it comes to other people's world views, but when push comes to shove, if someone with a different opinion than me actively attacks my point of view, shit gets real.

And by real, I mean that most of my formal logical argumentation training flies out the window and my tactics pretty much devolve to me stuffing my fingers in my ears and shouting "WHAT'S THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! IS THAT THE SOUND OF YOU BEING WRONG?!" The instant it gets personal is the instant I stop caring about having an open mind and being a shining example of rationality.

My version of an "open mind" boils down to a sheer perception of rationality and maturity. If a person has spent time thinking about something and therefore reached some sort of conclusion, however wrong I may feel said conclusion to be, I will respect it. When my own rational decisions and conclusions are disrespected, my little feelings get hurt. I like to think that I've made pretty good life choices, and I also like to think that anyone who knows me also knows that I do most things with some sort of well thought-out purpose.

The rough part about my personal-opinion bubble being invaded is that I can't stop obsessing over it, going round and round in my mind, finding newer, stronger, and better reasons that I Am Right. Unfortunately, it all pretty much comes back to the fact that I'm a grown-ass woman, and I'll do what I want! You don't know me!

Step off before I pop off, son.
CMart

Cigarettes and Cheap Champagne

Pretend we're the only ones alive in this town

I have a lot of weird notions about being a Grown Up, like how maturity means standing on the edge of a writhing concert pit and enjoying the band from afar. I calculated it once, though have since lost track due to numerous venues that didn't issue physical tickets, but I have been to at least 50 concerts in my lifetime. My guess would be closer to 60 or 65, but as I said, I've lost track. Most of my concert-going was between the ages of 16 and 20, as I've been to precious few in the last couple years (Hanson, however, has graced the docket at least once a year in the meantime).

I'm not sure why I stopped actively seeking out performances, and after the LBC concert last weekend I sure as hell cannot fathom why I've missed their concerts in the last year or so. I think perhaps that, given enough time, the memory of the adrenaline rush and sheer joy that accompanies these events fades to something mediocre.

Against all my Grown Up plans to lie low at the Double Door, instinct (and probably alcohol) took over once I was inside and I found myself diving head-first into the pit. I used to describe the pit experience, especially the LBC pit experience, as "feeling infinite", and last Sunday as my heart pounded itself out of my chest and my ears throbbed with the fast, tight, perfect mayhem that is Lucky Boys Confusion, I realized that it's been a very, very long time since I felt that good.

There are countless things in my life that make me happy, and a few that I would claim make me euphoric but nothing can or has made me feel so alive than throwing myself mind, body, and soul into a LBC show.

Not everything can be sunshine and rainbows, of course. My reawakening was also accompanied by a friend's very poor decision making. The aftermath of the concert has left me wondering if I'm cold-hearted, a bad friend, or merely a realist. I'm a firm believer in fighting one's own battles, and when those battles are the result of a night of heavy drinking, I find it difficult to muster up much sympathy.

And so my suburban equilibrium hums along. Don't expect to hear much of anything in my car or on my iPod but my boys in the five-piece band called LBC for a while.

40/80,
Cathi

Summer Summary

I will walk beside you, carry on

I constructed a long list of things I would like to do to improve myself (brush my teeth more often is at the top of the list), but I think shoveling a plate of home made nachos into my mouth at an astonishing rate isn't quite what I had in mind when I added "eat all my meals at home 6 days a week" to my list.

So, history has shown and the current times prove that I categorically suck at blogging. The last time we met was about a month ago where I was freaking out about the future.

Things I've Done Since Then
-Went to Hawaii
-Used chopsticks more times in one week than all previous chopstick use in my life
-Held keys for Friday's
-Found I couldn't be mean to a douche bag customer from Olive Garden
-Acted like I knew stuff at the NCC Summer Speech Workshop
-Applied to Liberty Mutual Group to be an insurance underwriter
-Accepted a part-time coaching position at NCC
-Watched 2 seasons of The West Wing
-Read more Kurt Vonnegut

Any or all of those are topics for another day. The main reason I don't blog so much is that I lack inspiration, and today? The inspiration is lacking. My apologies.

Later, baby,
Cathi

Auto-Blogstalking Revelations: Part Two - On Lunacy

"If you're seeking objective reality," she muttered to herself, "this is one hell of a place to start."

There's a phenomenon that occurs that I believe exists in everyone at all points in time. Now, I cannot be sure of this but, like Herr Doktor Freud, I can only assume that because I have this experience everyone else must as well. I'm not quite the speshul snowflake as I like to imagine myself to be. As for this phenomenon: I'm pretty sure that everyone, barring some sort of masochistic inferiority complex, always considers him/herself to be on at least an even playing field with everyone else both in intellect and maturity. I distinctly remember being 7 years old and wondering if I actually needed to finish elementary school, because my dad and I had many smart conversations and he'd finished college and stuff.

Even looking back into my own memory, I find what I feel to be an even level of maturity and level-headedness, of intelligence and logic. However, from the loftiness of my hot-pink pedestal, reality can become a bit blurred. It took a good dash of stalking myself via my old blog (ask me for the link, if you dare), to realize that High School Cathi was bat-shit crazy.

Because I view everything down my pointy nose and have the clever ability to conveniently forget the less flattering aspects of my life and personality, I can't provide you with a coherent reasonfor much of the cold hard lunacy contained in Old-Blog. All I can tell you is that it made sense at the time.

But honestly, why didn't anyone kick me in the shins, slap me upside the head, and make me watch "Hotel Rwanda" for some perspective? I think between the ages of 14 and 18 I succumbed to, well, being a teenager. I was narcissistic (my biggest worry a week after 9/11/2001 was boys), impressionable (my gay friend convinced me I, too, was gay), dramatic (I broke up with my boyfriend in a tearful, "It's not you it's me I'm probably a lesbian" confession, outside, in 30 degree weather with no coat), attention-whorish (I lied on my blog. A lot. I think the only person I was actually honest with was my internet buddy JD who couldn't give me bona-fide, "real" attention), and an all-around headcase.

So much for maturity. I suppose the lesson in this somewhat pride-wounding expedition is that a constant stream of self-analysis is somewhat warranted. Also that I'm counting on you, Interested Party, on keeping me grounded. Starting right now I'm going to rely on you for shin-kicking and upside-head-slapping if/when my blogging crosses the line from "silly" to "ludicrous".

"I think I'm a lesbian" indeed. Sigh.
Catherine

O rly?!

I am heaven sent, don't you dare forget

Post-school life isn't nearly as relaxing as I imagined it to be. Doing nothing takes a lot of energy. There's naps to fit in, coffee to make, clothes to put in random yet purposeful piles, beds to unmake after an annoyingly helpful mother makes them up, dishes to dirty and leave about, among many other tiring, toiling tasks (alliteration creation, for one).

I keep finding excuses to put off sending my resume out. First I needed to take a week off from life. You know, to relax and do all of the aforementioned tiring, toiling tasks. Next, I need to help my mom move me into her new condo. Now I need to wait for her to get cable/internet so I can finish my resume and do research. And so on. The real world is scaring me a bit, and while I realize it won't be so bad once I get there, I'm continuing to put it off. I'm not good with change. Where my leg warmers at?

Work is becoming increasingly more interesting. A year into it and I finally feel like I'm beginning to develop what it takes to be a legitimate bartender. I've become pretty good at multitasking, but now I need to work on multitasking with a smile. My "concentration face" is not a happy one. Idle banter is coming more easily, and I'm really working on trying not to let casual flirtation from patrons freak me out too much, and my army of "regulars" is slowly growing. Let's just hope Drew "totally didn't kill my wives, bro" Peterson doesn't join up.

I love my parents for a variety of reasons, but among these reasons are the following:

-After picking up The Boy, looking dishevelled and rightfully like he had spent the night wandering drunkenly around the city, and taking him to my mom's place to get him cleaned up and tucked into bed, I overheard my mom talking to her bff on the phone, saying how "cute" Alex was and how he seemed to have a bit of a rough night, "poor little thing".

-After attempting to explain the O Rly? owl to our dad, Linda sat him down to a) find said owl, but also b) showed him some lol!cats. My dad then asked if she could save the lol!cats to his bookmarks.

9 days until I officially graduate!
11 days until I fly to Austin!
12 days until AFA!
24 days until I leave for Nashville!
25 days until NFA!
29 days until I'm done with my competitive forensics career!
66 days until Kate and Travis' wedding!
66 days until my friends graduate from NCC!
86 days until DC with The Boy!
103 days until Hawaii with Linda!

You tricky devil,
Thrine

Winter Funk

Gray skies make being stressed out a lot harder to deal with. If it was sunny, I could think "well, at least it's a pretty day" and spend a precious second or two admiring the blue sky. Alas, I am stuck with boring, snow-less clouds.

Even though I'm now 21 years old, an adult in every legal way possible, it never occurred to me that people might ask me to buy booze for them. For future reference kids, the answer is first, "are you kidding?" followed quickly by a "no". I may have my flaws, but contributing to the delinquency of minors isn't one of them.

Have you ever seriously thought about what would happen if you (or your girlfriend) got pregnant? I contemplated this during health class in Sophomore year after some girl's drastic proclamations of "my dad would kill me!". Recently I gave some thought about how it would affect my actual life. Babies are totally scary, think about it a little.

I don't think I've ever been less excited to go to a concert in my entire life, including the Coldplay concert I was forced to attend during my internship. Instead of thinking "OMG LBC!" like I should be, I'm thinking "I have to be at work at 10:30 tomorrow morning". I'm getting boring in my old age. Time to break a hip for some perspective.

Winter Funk,
Cathi

Grow'd up!

Everywhere I turn, there's another turn

Should karma exist I don't believe that I should be quite the beneficial recipient that I have been lately. I think the great bearded guy in the sky has been looking out for me because surely I cannot be this lucky.

I have an apartment, at last. Many false alarms, raised and consequently dashed hopes, and a good deal of frustration and worry later and I am the proud tennant of a two bedroom, two bathroom 3rd floor apartment located (in)conveniently next to the Fox Valley mall. It essentially fell out of the sky and into my lap with so many great deals that I was absolutely floored with how timing worked out. Many deals, specials, and offers later and Brian and I are renting this place for a ridiculously small amount of money for how nice it is. I feel good, no-- great, about this. I'm excited to move in, I'm excited to paint, I'm even excited to pay first month's rent, silly as that is.

TGIFriday's in Bolingbrook called me tod..yesterday to see if I was still interested in working there. What's that? An answer to my prayers about needing a new, better paying job? Well, we'll see after my informal interview tomorrow, but I'm not going to take this opportunity lightly. I will also not complain about the extra radio shifts I picked up because 8 extra hours a week at untaxed minimum wage isn't bad, even if it means I'll have to go 30 hours without sleep on Sundays.

My point? Life is good for now. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts, because I know that a week or two into the new school year I'll be buckling under the stress of a full course load, two? jobs, speech team, and trying my hand at NCC's television department. Enjoy my presense in your life for the next couple weeks, because as of September 11th I'm going to be hard to find.

Things I Want You To Think About:
1) Infinity
2) Your favorite song lyric
3) The reasons you love your best friend so much
4) Your personal boundaries
5) Kittens that look like Hitler ("Kitlers")

Things That Made Me Smile Recently
1) Phone calls from Linda
2) My dad
3) Kitlers
4) A lactose intolerant Eric chugging a day's worth of calories in DQ ice cream mix
5) "Why the fuck did you hug my head?!"

Monday hotdog Tuesday taco!
Cathi

Poland

Don't you sit upon the shorline and say you're satisfied. Choose to chance the rapids and dare to dance the tides

Poland was amazing beyond words, therefore making the whole experience hard to summarize adequately for those who, with varying levels of interest, ask me how it was. Something I don't talk about much is my spirituality, making me a poor Christian I suppose. My life had been, for lack of a less severe term, spiraling out of control. Slowly. So slowly in fact that I barely even noticed it happening. The Poland mission trip knocked everything back into place and I am now orbiting at the proper distance around God again.

(Good metaphor, me.)

I have a lot of stories I could share, including, but not limited to:

- Scandalous swim wear
- A daring escape from a watery fate
- Making friends on my own
- Learning random Polish
- The Baltic Sea: Overprotected Polish Child
- The water, sand, and silly string capers
- Being pwnd in dodgeball by a boy with only one arm and two stumps for legs.
- Scary driving
- Inappropriate jokes on a crowded train ("I feel like I'm going to concentration camp.")

However there is only one story I feel stands out as the defining experience of my trip.

We had a worship service every night where we would sing, hear a spectacular sermon from "Serge", and sing some more. The campers would dance in the aisles, throw their hands in the air, jump around, and praise God at the top of their lungs, and they would listen with interested. One night one of the founders of the camp came and talked to us and told us about his son, Ben. About how when Ben was a little kid he told his mom and dad that he wanted to tell the whole congregation that he loved Jesus. How when Ben was 12 he got a postcard that said something like "All that I have, all that I am, all for the Lord", and how Ben signed his name under that and put it on the fridge.

And then, with a big smile on his face, the founder told us of how one day when Ben was 14 and they dropped him off at his school, Ben walked across the street and was hit by a car. The founder kept talking faster and faster, smiling more and more, telling us about how it was so hard for them to go through, as parents, to lose Ben, but that they knew that he was in Heaven with the savior her loved so much, waiting for them. Ania, the young translator, began to cry as she had to share his Polish words with those of us who could not understand and her sorrow was starkly contrasted by his joy.

Even now as I type this, emotion is overwhelming me. He was so happy, so joyful, so incredibly sure about Ben's place. He obviously had a lot of time to put things in perspective and this happiness was, to me, the least expected but somehow most logical way to look at it. In Ostroda, Poland I learned again about the power of Christ and the healing power of belief, and above all that what we do on this earth has a greater purpose than just our whims.

I might actually be getting an apartment, for real, so here's to hoping. I might have to duel at dawn with Brian for the master bedroom. I'm not good at employing my feminine wiles, so if anyone has any suggestions on how to con a man out of a big bedroom, let me know.

Love,
Cathi

Pre-poland

We'll walk around this town like we own the streets, and stay awake through summer like we own the heat

Pre-Poland Blogging Extravaganza!

I'm currently finding it incomprehensible that in something along the lines of 48 hours I will be almost 5,000 miles away from home. I hear it's a lot like Wisconsin.

Some things that I try to pretend don't exist:
- Allergies
- 80's Music
- Responsibility
- Giant Squid

Being a grown-up would be a lot more fun if grown-ups didn't have to pay for things. I demand a trust fund, and possibly a time-share in Aruba!

While reading Dave Barry's witty quips and insights into the male mind, it suddenly dawned on me that I, like a stereotypical guy, was somewhat unaware of the fact that I am in a "relationship". I don't think I've ever actually been in a decent, real one before. I'm not even sure I know what it means to be in one. I've heard rumors about words like "give" and "take" and "making pies", but I'm sort of fumbling along as I go. Don't tell Durbin*.

Hopefully, in a month, I shall have a place of my own. If you or anyone you know would like to live with me, right on campus but not in a dorm, for $400 a month, let me know.

Nasawaym sie.
Cathi

*a phrase popularized by Daniel Ramig

Life thus far

Today is the devil's day, allegedly. It is also Cathi's day to talk about her life. My life. I always get caught in that 3rd person trap and I'm never sure when to stop. Usually explicit discussion of my life is saved for my actual journal or discussions with good friends, but sometimes frank discussion in a self-centered, public forum is called for as well.

Because I'm most comfortable with lists, that's what this shall be. A Cathi List Of Her Life. Part One. Go.

School
As of tomorrow, I'll be officially done with school until September, which is a huge relief. I enjoyed my classes, I just lost all motivation to do work back in January. I'm worried about my grades, mostly due to said lack of motivation. I'm seriously concerned about whether or not I achieved over a 3.0 for the term, and that rings utterly false with who I am. I'm a high B, low A student, and I should always, always do at least that well. I think I just need a swift kick in the ass.

Money
I hate money. I hate the fact that I have to rely on money. I like having money, but I hate it all the same. The problem lately is that I don't have it. I need to save up money to go to Poland which I don't even have adequate aid for, I need to get a good enough job so I can save up money and keep money flowing so I can afford to move out in August, I need to save up money to go to Berlin in the winter. I neglected to turn in my financial aid forms by the due date, and so I'm worried sick that I won't get enough aid for school next year. I have so much that I want to do and not enough money to do it. I hate it, and I don't know what to do about it.

Apartment
Tomorrow I go to a showing for 4 apartments, one of which is a 3 bedroom being rented for $550 a month. Holy crap, I know. Brian wants to live in Chicago, and so do I, but if we can't find a decent apartment for cheap enough, it's stupid for me to live so far away from school. I know my dad probably doesn't approve of me living with a guy, and I know that no matter where Brian and I find to rent, neither of my parents will approve of the neighborhood. Unless it's in Wrigleyville or Lincoln Park, it's not a good neighborhood, and if we want to live cheaply, we'll have to live in a questionable one. I'm fine with it, and so is Brian, probably. I just wish there was a way to convince my mom and dad that things will be okay.

Dairy Queen
I hate my boss. I've always thought Rich was a giant douchebag, but lately he's been unreasonably mean to me. When I called to propose a solution to me desperately needing to find a replacement for my shift tomorrow, he called back to say "You know, this is why nothing ever gets done up there. You're always so concerned with getting your next day off. I don't have time to deal with this bullshit." I don't know what would possess him to say those things, and it's not fair and it's not something I deserve to deal with. I went job hunting today, and hopefully in the near future I'll be a waitress somewhere fun and won't have to deal with his bullshit anymore.

Alex
For such an unexpected relationship, things are going surprisingly well. Amazingly well. Worrisomely well. I'm almost living in constant fear of screwing this wonderful thing in my life up. Other than my family, Alex is the one thing in my life that isn't stressing me out, and is actually, in fact, keeping me sane. I'm finding it difficult to balance my precious free time between wanting to spend it all with him, and not neglecting my beautiful friends. I've never been in a relationship that was so real, and so good, and I'm more grateful for that than I know how to express, really. Here's to hoping I don't subconsciously try to sabatoge this, as I tend to do in most other areas of my life.

That's about all, I think. Thanks for paying attention, or not. Thanks for putting up with me, at the very least. Until next rant:

yahoo!
Cathi

Frustrated with home

Find out games you don't want to play

I need to move out. Unfortunately, my lack of income is prohibitive of this, and so I am left playing the ever popular "avoid my family" game.

It's not that I don't love my mom, or enjoy seeing Linda all the time. It's that I feel like my own person with my own life, and living as a subordinate within my family's life is beginning to make me burst at the seams. It's little things, like Linda lecturing me about clothes, or my mom presuming that she still has say over what I do outside of the house. I'm very well aware that while I live here, not paying rent or bills or even buying my own food, that I am to abide by house rules. There aren't that many and I don't have rebellious desires that conflict with said rules, so life is not terrible. It just gets frustrating when choices I make and actions I take that are completely removed from my life at home are suddenly criticized and labeled as something I am "not allowed" to do while living here. I think if I want to run around downtown Chicago naked, doing 3 story beer bongs, and stealing candy from children that it is my perogative. My mom can worry about my scandalous, drunken, and illegal behavior, yes, but I don't think she can tell me that I "can't" engage in said activities.

As long as I am here, I feel like a spoiled, petulant child. Perhaps that is all I really am, and maybe that's all I'll ever be until I get tossed out and have to face the harsh realities of "real life". We'll see.

Dirty little secret,
Cathi