nothing to say

(so why did I write so much?)

I'm sitting here watching the cursor blink blindly at me thinking I should probably write something, even just to write something because, well, what's the point of a blog if you don't keep it current, right?

That was quite the run-on sentence.

Anyway, I don't really have much to say. Life's been uneventful lately, which I should probably be grateful for. I was looking at some pictures yesterday and thinking how I now classify them as 'before' or 'after' and it kind of depressed me, so I decided not to think too hard about it. Weird how things suddenly change like that, though.

I only have three classes left before the end of the semester. Also weird. It all went so fast. My professor will be helping me to mark the student's big assignments, which is great, except for my (probably irrational) fear that he'll take one look at their work and say to me in a disappointed tone of voice, "What did you teach them?" That would suck. So much for my kick at the teaching can if that ends up being the case.

After talking to my friend Sheri this morning, I'm reminded how glad I am to not be planning a wedding anymore. What a pain in the butt. I don't know if she'll blog anything about it, but I'm sure she'd welcome any advice on how to stay sane when everyone feels as though they're somehow entitled to having their own way at her wedding. How do you deal with people like that when, in general, you really like them and you know that they're not trying to be malicious?

My advice: elope. Forget everyone and everything and just get the formalities over with. Don't get me wrong - I had a great time at my own wedding, but I was one of the fortunate ones who didn't have to deal with inconsiderate people.

Anyway, enough about that. That's not really my story to tell anyway.

Speaking of stories, thanks for all the suggestions! I'm in a bit of a rut with that one, but I will let you know if I'm suddenly inspired and write any more of it.

Okay, I'm going to go away now. Do some work or something. Wish me luck.

drawing a blank

I feel like I should post something today but I have nothing all that intelligent or interesting to say. I could...I don't know, write about how I was very tired and sore all week (and for those of you hoping for a positive reason for that, I'm sorry to disappoint), but that's not all that exciting and I'm tired of complaining all the time.

I could write about how I still hold the title of 'Spud Queen' at my church, but that might sound like boasting (besides, I owe my success to three other people who have sold more than I have individually).

I thought about posting a new story, but I haven't got very far with my most recent venture. Well, maybe I'll post the little bit I have written and hope that you, my blogging public, can give me some inspirations and ideas of where to go with it.

Here goes:

Untitled
© KdR

“I don’t have it.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it?”

“What do you think I mean? I don’t have it.”

“But you have to!”

“But I don’t.”

“Well, what are we gonna do?”

“Exactly what we would have done if we had it.”

“But we can’t. Not without it.”

“You’re not being very imaginative.”

“Imaginative? Are you kidding me? It’s impossible.”

“Impossible’s for cowards.” The red-head gave her friend a mischievous smile and raised her hand to knock on the imposing cherry-wood door.

“Wait,” her lanky companion said, grabbing her hand before it could connect with the wood. “What are we going to say?”

“Just follow my lead,” she said.

He groaned. “The last time you said that I ended up at the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Twelve? I thought it was only three.”

“Three, twelve, whatever. I had to get stitches; that’s all that matters.”

Just as Ebony began to bring her fist down on the big door, it swung open to reveal a tiny old lady in a bright purple skirt-suit and violently red hat.

“Oh!” the woman jumped, startled at the sight of the two young people standing at her door.

“I’m sorry,” Baden quickly apologized. The woman looked way up at the young man who towered a good two feet above her.

“I’m Ebony and this is Baden,” Ebony smiled, interrupting her often-awkward-with-words friend before he could get started.

“Oh, hello, dear,” the little woman smiled back.

And that's all I've got. Ideas, please!

sunset

I'm sitting in my office, watching the sun set on the horizon. I like watching the sunset. I don't know how much I like watching it at 5:22 pm. So early! It's no wonder I feel so tired all the time lately. I never see the sun!

I'm still at work because I'm waiting for TYN to get here for a SMAC event. (Like all my acronyms? TYN is The Youth Network and SMAC is Something More About Christ, for those of you who may be wondering.) Anyway, I finally feel like I accomplished some things this week, so that makes me happy. My 'to do' list is slowly having items eliminated from it. New things are taking their place, of course, but at least some old stuff is finally out of the way.

I had thought of something clever to blog about earlier today, but I've forgot it all now. I'm glad it's Friday. I'm glad Vergil only had to be in Vancouver for two days and not five. I'm glad he's getting more opportunities to further his career (though I'm not so glad that it takes him away from home more often). ...What else am I glad for? I'm glad I got so much of 'professional' writing done today (it was at the expense of my carpal tunnel flaring up, but hey, it's worth it, right?). I'm glad my family is coming to Winnipeg for Christmas. I'm glad I get to hang out with the TYNers tonight.

It's a pretty glad day overall. I just wish my back would stop hurting so much and I wouldn't feel so bloody tired all the time. Man, I hope I'm not getting sick.

annoyed

My biggest pet peeve about my job is when people imply (sometimes intentionally, sometimes not) that I don't know what I'm doing or I'm not on top of things. I pride myself in getting necessary information onto our site quickly and efficiently - usually within in the day, depending on the nature of the request. Almost everyone has had to work with me in some manner or another, so I know for a fact that just about everyone is aware of the pace at which I work.

Anyway, someone unintentionally made this implication this morning and it's kind of set me off for the whole day. On top of that, our Network Administrator came into my office this morning and wanted to know if he could start translating our site over to this new architecture he's got for us. If he were to do this, it would mean I wouldn't be able to do any 'urgent' web work for at least a week. It would also mean I'd be spending all my time cleaning up pages to make sure they translated well into the new architecture and fixing broken links and making sure all the navigation still worked. I just don't have time for that right now. There is too much other stuff going on.

Anyway, I'm left feeling rushed and chaotic and annoyed at everything. I hate that. At least I did all my class prep last night instead of putting it off for today.

Okay, big deep breaths. I should go for a walk or something. Maybe that would help. I have to do a bunch of photocopying - that might calm me down a little... unless the photocopier breaks.

Is it really only Monday?

my head hurts

No reason why, really. Just one of those days. I hate weeks like this. I feel like I have so much to do and I do so much, but don't get anything done. If you can figure that out, you're further ahead than I am!

I like having lots to do at work. Unfortunately, right now I have lots of writing to do for work. I have three articles that need doing for our upcoming school paper. I have one of the interviews done already, I just need to write the thing and...I can't. You'd think a writer wouldn't have trouble writing, but for some reason, I find it really hard to focus on journalistic stuff. Writing is never as fun for me when it's work.

I need to finish preparing for my class. I've got most of one lecture hammered out, but I need to combine a few lectures together for the sake of the big assignment my students are working on. I can hardly believe there are only 5 weeks left till school is over for the semester. Weird.

I need to finish compiling my professor's dissertation. One of those tedious jobs that I was hired for because he doesn't want to do it. Trouble is, I've been very bad in my procrastination of that particular job. Procrastination can be such a slippery slope for me - put something off once, twice, and then it gets so hard to finally come back to and get done.

And that's all for me for now. Just felt like I should post something. No, the truth is I'm using this blog to help me procrastinate. Terrible, huh? Sometimes I hope that by writing something that's more fun, it'll encourage me to do the work writing...

I think I can. I think I can.

...an aside

For those of you interested in reading more of my fiction, here's the beginnings of another story I'm writing: One Misstep. Enjoy.

ekklesia

I didn't go to church yesterday morning because Vergil wasn't feeling well and I wasn't sure I was up to going by myself yet. I did, however, go to Ekklesia, an alt-worship service held once a month at my church. I've never been before, but man, was it just want I needed. Talk about a spiritual bath...that was definitely it.

Anyway, I did some train-of-thought writing while I was there and figured, what the heck, I'll share it here. I don't know to what end it will serve, but I don't really care so much. Enjoy it for what it's worth.

---

Everything feels different, strange. My ears don't hear like they usually do. My eyes can't see the way they're supposed to. I feel like the matter of me is expanding and spreading and becoming part of the air - part of the building itself. I wanna push at the walls, see if they stretch and expand. I feel like they could be made of rubber, elastic - flexing and changing with every note, every prayer.

I wanna speak but I've not been given the words. You have to go! Do what's on your heart. You stand there, like me, up to your ankles in the water. Afraid to dive in. Afraid to let go. Let's go. Let's go. Let's swim.

Wide awake - everything strung tighter than a guitar string. Waiting...for what? Move, God, move! I'm running and running, trying to keep up. I'm tired. Go on without me. But don't leave me behind! Come back and tell me what you've seen.

Lord, come. Fill this place. Pour out your Spirit like water. Light the fire. But don't break me. Don't bruise me. Don't snuff me out.

I can't speak. I don't know where I am. I'm here but not here. Elsewhere. Huge warrior angels are keeping everything out. This is holy ground.

I can't feel a thing. Nothing. No chills. No comfort. No grief. Daddy, am I fine? Am I okay? The tears still come, one at a time, but nothing more.

I wasn't in the line of fire. I was safe at the command post - directing, consulting, safe from direct fire. Yet here I am, in the infirmary nonetheless. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't expecting a direct hit like this. How long will I be here? Will I still be of use? Don't discharge me. I want to still hear you. I want to be your voice. I want to bring comfort and direction. I still have friends on the front lines - I can't leave them!

Don's angel is huge. Dark skin, bulging muscles, battle-scarred but undaunted, silvery wings spread wide, sword at the ready, eyes turned to heaven, deep voice echoing Don's praises back to God.

Now I feel it. The power and weight of your presence. It lays thick and heavy on me. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

different

I know the purpose of this blog is about my and Vergil's journey toward parenthood, but I wrote a short story this morning and I feel like sharing it here, so that's what I'm going to do. Because it's my blog and I'll write what I want to. :P

This story was inspired by our school's student-produced magazine, the Pamphleteer. Their next theme is supposed to be about modesty and, for whatever reason, this little 'one-shot' came to me. Enjoy.

Different
A short story by Krista dela Rosa

I can’t really explain how it happened. It was supposed to be a normal evening for me. Work the 8 to close and go home, hopefully alone, hopefully with my pockets full of tips.

I didn’t really think much of him when I saw him in my section of the restaurant. Just a normal guy, really; not overly attractive, but not ugly, either. I headed over to his table with my usual chipper smile to find out whether he was single.

Maybe that’s a strange thing to say, but that’s what you do when you’re a waitress with a body like mine. The ones who are single tip well, but the ones who are with someone tip even better. It never fails. It’s like they’re desperate to know that someone other than their wife or girlfriend finds them attractive.

Needless to say, I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to guys. They haven’t exactly proven themselves worthy of my praise. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I think I’m all that and a bag of chips. It’s just that I am well aware of my ‘measurements’ and their apparent effect on those of the opposite gender. I’m also well aware of my ability to exploit this particular trait, but even still. I’ve gone out in sweats and a sweatshirt and still had to deal with leers and cat-calls.

This guy, however…there was definitely something strange about him.

“What can I get you today?” I asked after the usual pleasantries.

“Just a coffee for now, thanks,” he said, looking me straight in the eye and giving me what seemed like a genuine smile.

I have to admit I was suspicious. I know the way guys are supposed to react to me and this was not it. Right off the hop, this wasn’t it.

At first I thought that maybe he was gay, but as the night wore on, I became convinced that he wasn’t. Even still, he was not treating me the way I am used to being treated by guys.

“Can I ask you something?” I finally said after returning to his table to clear his dishes.

“Sure.”

“There’s something different about you and I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.”

He chuckled. “Something different about me?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just…” I hesitated. This was sounding ridiculous. There was no way to tell him without sounding either completely crazy or aggressively arrogant. “Never mind,” I tried to dismiss the whole thing all together.

“No, wait,” he said. “I’m curious now.”

I scrutinized him carefully, trying to decide his level of sincerity. “You’re not behaving the way you’re supposed to around me,” I said, watching to gauge his reaction.

“What, you mean I’m not salivating every time you’re near and hoping that your breasts will talk back to me?”

I had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.”

He just shrugged. “I think you’re worth a little more than that.”

Now I was really intrigued. “You do? Why?”

“Well,” he ventured, this time watching my reaction. “I’m a Christian.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Hmm. Not like any Christian I’ve ever met.”

He winced. “Uh oh.”

“You want me to tell you about the Christians I’ve met or would you rather I didn’t?”

“No, tell me. I can’t speak for them, but I can hopefully tell you why I’m different.”

“Fair enough.” I paused, trying to decide if he really wanted to hear this or not, then deciding I didn’t really care. “The Christian guys are some of the worst that come in here,” I told him.

“In what way?” he wanted to know.

“In all ways. They’re either completely undressing me with their eyes or condemning me from the get go. If you’re not the pure Virgin Mary, you’re the evil temptress, Eve, intent on their moral destruction.”

“I see.”

“I don’t understand it. Non-Christian guys seem more able to accept the fact that they’re sexual beings who have certain thoughts and desires. Christian guys seem to think that they’re supposed to be exempt from those thoughts and feelings and can get very upset with me when they’re all of a sudden having them.”

“You do dress rather provocatively,” he pointed out.

I gave him a wry smile. “Of course I do. My sexuality is what pays my rent every month.”

“Then don’t you have something of a double standard?” he wanted to know.

“Look, that’s not my point. I know how I dress. I am very aware of my affect on guys and if I really didn’t want them to notice me, I would do everything in my power to make sure they didn’t. My point is this – I’ll accept responsibility for my part of all this, if you’ll accept yours.”

“Explain.”

“Stop making your choices my fault.”

He furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“These ‘Christian’ guys that come in here and get so mad at me for making them realize their own sexuality keep coming back. Week after week, they’re here, content to gawk and lust after me and then they go home secure in the knowledge that they can blame me for seducing them. If lust is such a big issue for them, why would they continue to put themselves in a situation that brings that out of them?”

“Good point,” he mused. “What about the guys who condemn you?”

“They do one of two things. They either pull the holier-than-thou act, or they try to convince me that Jesus can give me the self-confidence I’m lacking so that I don’t have to dress the way I do to get attention or work in a place like this.”

“What do you say when they try to do that?”

“I tell them that I’m very self-confident, thank you very much, and I like where I work.”

“Do they usually come back?”

“No. But that kind of bothers me, too. If they really wanted to ‘convert’ me, they’d put more work into it.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m just… I’m tired of never having it right.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said sincerely. “What about the non-Christian guys, if you don’t mind my asking. What are they like?”

I shrugged. “They seem to understand that I’m manipulating them when they come here. They know I dress the way I do so that they will part with more of their money. They know I’m only concerned with being eye candy, and they appreciate me accordingly.”

“So you don’t mind just being an object?” he wanted to know.

“I don’t know. I’m just kind of used to it. It’s comfortable, somehow. I know my role and I know theirs.”

“Can I ask if you have a boyfriend?”

I laughed. “No. I gave up on relationships a long time ago. Like you said earlier, I have set myself up in something of a double standard, and it can be really hard to reconcile that in a relationship.”

“Knowing you’re being viewed as an object and attracting a guy as such only to want him to appreciate you as more once you’re in the relationship,” he summed up for me.

“Exactly.”

“Seems like a tough way to go through life,” he observed.

“What else is there? Sex is power, my friend. In truth, it’s the only real power women have. Men are the CEOs, men make more money at the same jobs, men are the politicians and decision makers. Men dictate our lives to a large extent. The only time a woman has complete and utter power over a guy is when he’s under the spell of her sex.”

“Is that why so many young girls dress like strippers?” he wondered.

“Absolutely. Watch any music video and you can instantly tell who’s in charge. It’s not the guys who rail on about being pimps and players. Oh, no. It’s the women in those videos, flaunting their sexuality for all they’re worth. Those ‘pimps’ and ‘players’ are nothing more than putty in their hands.”

“So the fact that our society is so over-sexed is really nothing more than a power struggle between men and women?”

“I think so,” I grinned. “But what I do know? I’m pretty, but I’m not that bright.”

“Who told you that?”

“My parents, every guy who salivates when I’m around and hopes my breasts will talk back. Heck, even other women.”

“Well, I would disagree with those people.”

There was a pause in our conversation. “You still haven’t answered my question,” I told him.

He smiled. “I guess I haven’t.”

“What makes you different?” I prodded.

He looked at me thoughtfully for a minute. “I have a friend who used to spend a lot of time around ‘sinners’. Prostitutes. Liars. Manipulators. Thieves. He actually preferred hanging around those kinds of people. They were more… honest about themselves somehow. He had little use for people who claimed to be religious but didn’t prove it by the way they treated their fellow human beings.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy,” I quipped.

He grinned. “I think you would’ve liked him. He would get into it all the time with the ‘holier-than-thou’ types. They’d give him all of these scenarios, like if everything is God’s, why should we pay taxes? He kept throwing them off, though. He never answered their questions the way they’d expect.”

“What did he say about the taxes thing?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Who does it say this belongs to?” he asked.

I glanced it over. “The Bank of Canada.”

“Give the government what’s theirs and give God what’s God’s.”

“Oh, vague and pointed all at the same time. I love it.”

He nodded. “Exactly. As you can probably imagine, these religious types never warmed up to my friend. They kept coming up with sneakier and sneakier ways to try to trick him into saying something that wasn’t true. Finally, they did something really extreme. They broke into the house of a man and woman in the middle of committing adultery.”

“How did they..?” I wondered aloud, already feeling angry over this story.

“I have no idea. I don’t know if they set it up or if they stalked the couple or if she was a hooker or what. All I know is they drag this poor woman, still naked, in front of my friend and tell him what she’d done.”

“They’re completely insane!”

“Oh, yeah. And it gets worse. At the time, adultery was a punishable offense and these guys were so mad, they wanted to condemn the poor woman to death. They demanded that my friend pronounce her punishment.”

“What did he do?” I asked, completely enthralled.

“Nothing. He told them that if any of them had never done anything bad in their lives, they were free to carry out the punishment against the woman.”

“And?” I prompted.

“And they all walked away. My friend finally looks up after everyone leaves and says to the woman, ‘Didn’t anyone stick around to condemn you?’ ‘No,’ she says, still completely in shock, I’m sure.”

“What did he say then?”

“He looks at her and says, ‘Then I don’t condemn you, either.’”

“Wow,” was all I could say.

“My friend didn’t see people as somehow better than other people because of their gender, their status or even their sins. He saw them as equally broken and in need of God’s love. He also knew that they’re all equally worthy of being loved because God deemed them worthy. I just try to see people through those same eyes. You’re no better or worse to me because you’re a woman or because you dress provocatively. You’re a human, just like me, trying to make your way through the world. God loves you just as you are, so why shouldn’t I?”

“You really believe that?” I asked.

“I do. I don’t always do a good job of showing it, but I do believe it.”

I thought about what he’d said for a minute. “But what about the sin thing? I mean, it just seems like Christians are so hung up on these lists of things not to do.”

“Yeah, sometimes we are. But when it comes right down to it, there are only two things that are required of us as Christians: Love God and love people. The funny thing about love is that it really does change your behaviour. If you love someone, you want to do things that make them happy.”

“Now, see, that makes sense to me.”

“So have I answered your question?”

I grinned. “You have. And then some.”

“Do you want me to finish converting you?” he asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

I laughed. “That’d be great – only I have to finish up here first.”

He flipped his bill over and wrote his name and phone number on it. “Here’s my info, but since I am a guy and you are very attractive and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, would it be okay if I introduced you to some other people who think like me?”

“That would be very cool. Thank you.”

With that, he said good bye and made his way out of my restaurant.

I’ve never been the same since.