Sunday, December 14, 2008
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
DEPRESSIVE (waiting for manic to come?)
Tied in knots; bound, not gagged
I scream and people look at me
Unhearing and uncaring
I try to pull loose and each moment
Knots bind me tighter still
Not panic but desperation suffocates
Familiar faces look at me unknowing
How could they recognize this once happy face
Now desperately screaming for help
Not her.
Not her.
That must be somebody else.
She has it all.
That woman is crazy.
That must be somebody else.
They walk away trying not to look panicked
Their silent turned backs are like daggers
All hope fades away I pray for death
But I am told Live happily
Live happily?
It is a silent mockery
And a distant dream
Tied in knots; bound, not gagged
I scream and people look at me
Unhearing and uncaring
I try to pull loose and each moment
Knots bind me tighter still
Not panic but desperation suffocates
Familiar faces look at me unknowing
How could they recognize this once happy face
Now desperately screaming for help
Not her.
Not her.
That must be somebody else.
She has it all.
That woman is crazy.
That must be somebody else.
They walk away trying not to look panicked
Their silent turned backs are like daggers
All hope fades away I pray for death
But I am told Live happily
Live happily?
It is a silent mockery
And a distant dream
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Random thoughts : Memory
by Juliana
Skipping through life, expecting the expected and doing the daily grind.
Then a smell.
A sound.
A melody.
I am pulled out of my predictable and serene comfort.
Pulled backwards in an instant to the most electrifying moments of my life.
A laugh.
A scream.
A kiss.
My body freezes up and my senses go numb.
The world around is forgotten.
Falling.
Spinning.
Out of control.
The tears start to come, slowly at first then magnifying.
Tears of joy.
Or tears of pain.
Or tears of bittersweet memories that cannot be relived.
I wonder to myself what these memories mean, so powerful and disturbing.
Do I regret the past or wish I could relive it?
Do I yearn for the happiness of days gone by?
Am I weak?
Nostalgic?
Emotional?
I try to conquer these irrational emotions.
I angrily wipe away the tears.
I force the thoughts out of my head.
Forever!
For now.
For a moment.
Then suddenly, another day, a smell!
A sound!
A melody!
Another memory.
by Juliana
Skipping through life, expecting the expected and doing the daily grind.
Then a smell.
A sound.
A melody.
I am pulled out of my predictable and serene comfort.
Pulled backwards in an instant to the most electrifying moments of my life.
A laugh.
A scream.
A kiss.
My body freezes up and my senses go numb.
The world around is forgotten.
Falling.
Spinning.
Out of control.
The tears start to come, slowly at first then magnifying.
Tears of joy.
Or tears of pain.
Or tears of bittersweet memories that cannot be relived.
I wonder to myself what these memories mean, so powerful and disturbing.
Do I regret the past or wish I could relive it?
Do I yearn for the happiness of days gone by?
Am I weak?
Nostalgic?
Emotional?
I try to conquer these irrational emotions.
I angrily wipe away the tears.
I force the thoughts out of my head.
Forever!
For now.
For a moment.
Then suddenly, another day, a smell!
A sound!
A melody!
Another memory.
Commentary: Whatever it takes to dupe the customers
by Juliana
“Hi, would you like to hear our specials?”
“Not really.”
“Great. Let me show you our featured sandwich. As you can see, it's a low-carb veggie wrap. It has a lightly seasoned bean spread topped with lettuce, a sprinkling of cheese and a spicy blend of onions, green peppers and tomatoes.”
“Hey, isn’t that a burrito?”
“No. It’s a low-carb veggie wrap.”
“No. It’s a burrito. Those are pinto beans. You just put lettuce and salsa on top.”
“So are you ready to order?”
by Juliana
“Hi, would you like to hear our specials?”
“Not really.”
“Great. Let me show you our featured sandwich. As you can see, it's a low-carb veggie wrap. It has a lightly seasoned bean spread topped with lettuce, a sprinkling of cheese and a spicy blend of onions, green peppers and tomatoes.”
“Hey, isn’t that a burrito?”
“No. It’s a low-carb veggie wrap.”
“No. It’s a burrito. Those are pinto beans. You just put lettuce and salsa on top.”
“So are you ready to order?”
Thursday, May 13, 2004
The Woman
by Juliana
I stared at the woman in fascination. Her loud, shrill voice had made my spine tingle for years. Her brash, forward, and sometimes confrontational personality also struck a nervous chord with me. I wondered to myself, “Why do I still like this woman?” Perhaps what I liked was the side of her that I saw when nobody else was around. Then the shocking loudness of her personality melted away, and I found her joyfully intelligent and wise.
Yes, there was much more to her than most people saw. To many people, a cold businesslike exterior was all they ever saw: a woman who set goals and then achieved them. She was a perfectionist in many ways, too, and didn’t like to see things done the wrong way. This was a trait that had won her more enemies than friends.
I looked at her again. “Enemies?” I wondered. “Does this woman actually have enemies?” I quickly answered myself, “No, not enemies. Perhaps not many friends either…” She was the kind of woman that many people felt uncomfortable getting close to. But those who did take the time found her much more kind-hearted than businesslike, and much more compassionate than demanding.
In my own experiences with her, I saw the confidence melt away in an instant of nervousness. Those little nervous moments came more often than she liked, too. When she was in the limelight, she was all confidence and laughing. But if you took the limelight away and watched her in the dimness of common living, she was perhaps more timid than most people. Nobody would guess it of her except those who knew her the most.
There were times when I was genuinely annoyed with her, though. There were times when her lack of self-confidence was utterly draining for me. I tried to tell her over and over that she was a wonderful, successful person, but nothing I said could make a difference to her. I wondered if right now would be one of those times. “It’s always worth a try,” I muttered to myself and then looked up at the mirror again.
“You are a child of God and a lovely person,” I said quietly to my reflection in the mirror.
I don’t think she heard.
by Juliana
I stared at the woman in fascination. Her loud, shrill voice had made my spine tingle for years. Her brash, forward, and sometimes confrontational personality also struck a nervous chord with me. I wondered to myself, “Why do I still like this woman?” Perhaps what I liked was the side of her that I saw when nobody else was around. Then the shocking loudness of her personality melted away, and I found her joyfully intelligent and wise.
Yes, there was much more to her than most people saw. To many people, a cold businesslike exterior was all they ever saw: a woman who set goals and then achieved them. She was a perfectionist in many ways, too, and didn’t like to see things done the wrong way. This was a trait that had won her more enemies than friends.
I looked at her again. “Enemies?” I wondered. “Does this woman actually have enemies?” I quickly answered myself, “No, not enemies. Perhaps not many friends either…” She was the kind of woman that many people felt uncomfortable getting close to. But those who did take the time found her much more kind-hearted than businesslike, and much more compassionate than demanding.
In my own experiences with her, I saw the confidence melt away in an instant of nervousness. Those little nervous moments came more often than she liked, too. When she was in the limelight, she was all confidence and laughing. But if you took the limelight away and watched her in the dimness of common living, she was perhaps more timid than most people. Nobody would guess it of her except those who knew her the most.
There were times when I was genuinely annoyed with her, though. There were times when her lack of self-confidence was utterly draining for me. I tried to tell her over and over that she was a wonderful, successful person, but nothing I said could make a difference to her. I wondered if right now would be one of those times. “It’s always worth a try,” I muttered to myself and then looked up at the mirror again.
“You are a child of God and a lovely person,” I said quietly to my reflection in the mirror.
I don’t think she heard.
Monday, April 05, 2004
Why I Hate Walmart
by Juliana
America is a land of capitalism.
This is a good thing, in almost every way. One of the unfortunate exceptions to the rule is Walmart. The aforementioned chain of superstores is the epitome of all things considered ugly about America by those who are not American.
My first gripe about Walmart is the feeling I get about myself when I’m there. I feel like a cross between a herd of cattle being herded into somewhere I don’t want to be, and a lemming who is just running with everyone else, oblivious of what lies ahead. I think I get this feeling from the cold, efficient manner of the employees.
When I walk in the door, a well-meaning employee shoves a shopping cart into my stomach. Sometimes I notice that the intended cart doesn’t have a seatbelt for my toddler, so I try to switch. Bad idea. In the three seconds it takes me to push that cart to the side and look over a new one, the people behind me trip and nearly fall on top of me. The look in their eyes seems to say, “We’re not supposed to pause. We’re supposed to take the cart and keep walking. What’s wrong with you?” Sometimes I almost hear the sounds of a bull snorting, preparing for the stampede. Needless to say I grab the next cart available and practically run into the store in an effort to preserve my life.
My next gripe about Walmart is the manipulation. It’s one thing to do consumer research and give your customers what they want, but Walmart takes this to a whole new, disgusting level. I often watch parents trying to herd their children through the store as quickly as possible, while their children try to waylay their parents with pleadings of, “But I want a…” “Can’t I have a…” and “Mommy nooooooooooooooo…”
I watch as these parents, drained of life from the wrestling, finally get to the checkout stands. They appear to relax momentarily, thinking it’s almost over. That’s because most adults stand more than three feet tall and don’t see what the children see. Right at the child’s level of sight is the Holy Grail of childhood tantrum-provokers. The Dreaded Golden Arch. The Dreaded Golden Arch, for those of you who don’t know, is the McDonald’s symbol. At the children’s eye level is a complete McDonald’s menu—not in words and prices—but in pictures. Any child who has been through the torture of grocery shopping with Mommy will melt at this sight. The pleading begins again, and is made worse by the fact that Mommy’s only escape from the store is through the doors adjacent to the—GASP—conveniently located in-store McDonalds. This is not consumer analysis. Manipulation is even too kind a word. This is all-out, down and dirty, rotten, stinking Consumer Warfare. Luckily, we have never taken my son to a McDonald’s (no, not even once), so he walks by innocently, not knowing that he should be throwing a French Fry tantrum.
The third thing I hate about Walmart is almost not their fault. Well, heck, of course it’s their fault. They ought to know that we lazy, fat Americans can’t handle all that cold, brutish efficiency for long. Once we’re outside the choking consumer environment, we let it all go. Kindness and courtesy are yesterday’s news. If you don’t believe me, go to a Walmart and try to get a good parking spot. The drivers in a Walmart parking lot, who act like normal human beings other places, go wild there. It’s almost like a shoving match, but there’s generally less contact since car repairs are more expensive than bandages and cold compresses. People walking around the parking lot act as if the cars didn’t exist. You’d think you’d hear a lot of squealing brakes, but that doesn’t happen because the cars driving around also act as if the pedestrians don’t exist.
Now you’re asking, “How do you know so much about Walmart if the place stinks so darn much?” Ahhh, my friend, you should know. What did I say at the beginning? America is a land of capitalism. And I’m no dummy. Good prices speak to me, even if I hate myself every minute for it. Someday, when I’m rich, I’ll wave goodbye to Walmart forever and have the best of everything delivered directly to my home by the kindest, cleanest, most polite people in the world. (But only if I can find a competitive price.)
by Juliana
America is a land of capitalism.
This is a good thing, in almost every way. One of the unfortunate exceptions to the rule is Walmart. The aforementioned chain of superstores is the epitome of all things considered ugly about America by those who are not American.
My first gripe about Walmart is the feeling I get about myself when I’m there. I feel like a cross between a herd of cattle being herded into somewhere I don’t want to be, and a lemming who is just running with everyone else, oblivious of what lies ahead. I think I get this feeling from the cold, efficient manner of the employees.
When I walk in the door, a well-meaning employee shoves a shopping cart into my stomach. Sometimes I notice that the intended cart doesn’t have a seatbelt for my toddler, so I try to switch. Bad idea. In the three seconds it takes me to push that cart to the side and look over a new one, the people behind me trip and nearly fall on top of me. The look in their eyes seems to say, “We’re not supposed to pause. We’re supposed to take the cart and keep walking. What’s wrong with you?” Sometimes I almost hear the sounds of a bull snorting, preparing for the stampede. Needless to say I grab the next cart available and practically run into the store in an effort to preserve my life.
My next gripe about Walmart is the manipulation. It’s one thing to do consumer research and give your customers what they want, but Walmart takes this to a whole new, disgusting level. I often watch parents trying to herd their children through the store as quickly as possible, while their children try to waylay their parents with pleadings of, “But I want a…” “Can’t I have a…” and “Mommy nooooooooooooooo…”
I watch as these parents, drained of life from the wrestling, finally get to the checkout stands. They appear to relax momentarily, thinking it’s almost over. That’s because most adults stand more than three feet tall and don’t see what the children see. Right at the child’s level of sight is the Holy Grail of childhood tantrum-provokers. The Dreaded Golden Arch. The Dreaded Golden Arch, for those of you who don’t know, is the McDonald’s symbol. At the children’s eye level is a complete McDonald’s menu—not in words and prices—but in pictures. Any child who has been through the torture of grocery shopping with Mommy will melt at this sight. The pleading begins again, and is made worse by the fact that Mommy’s only escape from the store is through the doors adjacent to the—GASP—conveniently located in-store McDonalds. This is not consumer analysis. Manipulation is even too kind a word. This is all-out, down and dirty, rotten, stinking Consumer Warfare. Luckily, we have never taken my son to a McDonald’s (no, not even once), so he walks by innocently, not knowing that he should be throwing a French Fry tantrum.
The third thing I hate about Walmart is almost not their fault. Well, heck, of course it’s their fault. They ought to know that we lazy, fat Americans can’t handle all that cold, brutish efficiency for long. Once we’re outside the choking consumer environment, we let it all go. Kindness and courtesy are yesterday’s news. If you don’t believe me, go to a Walmart and try to get a good parking spot. The drivers in a Walmart parking lot, who act like normal human beings other places, go wild there. It’s almost like a shoving match, but there’s generally less contact since car repairs are more expensive than bandages and cold compresses. People walking around the parking lot act as if the cars didn’t exist. You’d think you’d hear a lot of squealing brakes, but that doesn’t happen because the cars driving around also act as if the pedestrians don’t exist.
Now you’re asking, “How do you know so much about Walmart if the place stinks so darn much?” Ahhh, my friend, you should know. What did I say at the beginning? America is a land of capitalism. And I’m no dummy. Good prices speak to me, even if I hate myself every minute for it. Someday, when I’m rich, I’ll wave goodbye to Walmart forever and have the best of everything delivered directly to my home by the kindest, cleanest, most polite people in the world. (But only if I can find a competitive price.)
Monday, March 22, 2004
A Challenge to the Unbelievers
by Juliana
In the beginning, you don’t even know they exist. It isn’t until those first tender leaves break through the soil that you’re aware there ever was anything besides the dark brown soil. Only a few days pass before a frail, green stem is seen lifting the leaves heavenward. It barely exists, and if it isn’t watered and taken care of, it will wilt into non-existence as quickly as it began.
Before the seedlings are a week old, you can see them lean toward the sun. The stems and leaves together, reaching with all their tender strength, move hungrily toward their source of life and light. Nobody ever told them they need the sunlight; nobody needs to. It is biologically built in. Without the sunlight, they would die. Instinct drives their search, in the same way it drives an infant to seek the comfort of it’s mother bosom.
Why is it so strange to us to consider that we have deeper, even more meaningful instincts within us that drive us to seek God? Perhaps once we are old enough to speak, dress ourselves, and carry on meaningful conversation, we feel that we’ve learned all there is to learn. A wise person senses this folly early. A fool perhaps never does.
Christ is the Light of the World. He is, literally and figuratively, the source of our light and life. I believe that our souls naturally yearn and hunger for His light, the same way a tiny seedling leans to be nearer the sunlight coming through a window. The seedling is never ashamed to acknowledge it’s dependency. Why do humans err so?
Perhaps you think I’m ridiculous. You say that I cannot prove God exists. You point your finger at me and self-righteously and proudly dare, “If there is a God, prove it!” Then you sit back and wait for me to bring you the evidence. Perhaps you’re right. But I will only accept your challenge after you accept mine:
Go to a tender seedling, only a few days old. Stand beside it and say to it, “If there is truly a sun in the sky, prove it!” And only after the seedling has the ability and power to bring you empirical truth that the sun shines above your head, only then will I accept your challenge to prove there is a God. Yes, you and I can see the sunlight. We can feel it’s warmth and see it’s rays, and the seedling does not even have eyes to see or hands to reach out to write. It seems the seedling has a great disadvantage.
Oh, human, what art thou to a God? Perhaps we have disadvantages, too.
by Juliana
In the beginning, you don’t even know they exist. It isn’t until those first tender leaves break through the soil that you’re aware there ever was anything besides the dark brown soil. Only a few days pass before a frail, green stem is seen lifting the leaves heavenward. It barely exists, and if it isn’t watered and taken care of, it will wilt into non-existence as quickly as it began.
Before the seedlings are a week old, you can see them lean toward the sun. The stems and leaves together, reaching with all their tender strength, move hungrily toward their source of life and light. Nobody ever told them they need the sunlight; nobody needs to. It is biologically built in. Without the sunlight, they would die. Instinct drives their search, in the same way it drives an infant to seek the comfort of it’s mother bosom.
Why is it so strange to us to consider that we have deeper, even more meaningful instincts within us that drive us to seek God? Perhaps once we are old enough to speak, dress ourselves, and carry on meaningful conversation, we feel that we’ve learned all there is to learn. A wise person senses this folly early. A fool perhaps never does.
Christ is the Light of the World. He is, literally and figuratively, the source of our light and life. I believe that our souls naturally yearn and hunger for His light, the same way a tiny seedling leans to be nearer the sunlight coming through a window. The seedling is never ashamed to acknowledge it’s dependency. Why do humans err so?
Perhaps you think I’m ridiculous. You say that I cannot prove God exists. You point your finger at me and self-righteously and proudly dare, “If there is a God, prove it!” Then you sit back and wait for me to bring you the evidence. Perhaps you’re right. But I will only accept your challenge after you accept mine:
Go to a tender seedling, only a few days old. Stand beside it and say to it, “If there is truly a sun in the sky, prove it!” And only after the seedling has the ability and power to bring you empirical truth that the sun shines above your head, only then will I accept your challenge to prove there is a God. Yes, you and I can see the sunlight. We can feel it’s warmth and see it’s rays, and the seedling does not even have eyes to see or hands to reach out to write. It seems the seedling has a great disadvantage.
Oh, human, what art thou to a God? Perhaps we have disadvantages, too.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
Why can't I just enjoy this sinus infection, like everyone else?!?!
by Juliana
I hate to be a pessimist, but sometimes I want to just sit down on the floor, pout my lips, shake my fists into the air and scream, “Life isn’t fair!!!” That’s how I feel today. I’m sick, and it’s nothing like what I was hoping for.
I suppose it makes sense that most people don’t want to be sick at all, but lately I’ve been looking forward to it. This is natural since I feel overworked and underappreciated by my two-year-old. There are days when I’ve cleaned the kitchen, done three loads of laundry, and tidied up most of the house and it feels like I haven’t made any progress whatsoever. On days like that, I feel like laying down and just giving up.
I was thinking about this a while ago, and a very guilty thought passed through my mind. “If you were sick, you could lie around all day and everyone else would have to wait on YOU…” The thought brought me solace amid my hectic day-to-day life for several months. If I was having an especially difficult day, I could think, “This can’t go on forever. I’m bound to get sick sooner or later. A cold, the flu, maybe even a broken bone! Then I’ll just lie in bed sipping lemonade and reading a good book, while everybody brings me flowers and feels sorry for me.” Ahhhh what a joyous experience I had planned out.
Then it happened.
For months now, I’ve been stuffed up with allergy problems, but I’ve learned to deal with them in a fairly mature way. Yesterday, however, the mild allergies turned into a full-blown illness. A headache, sore muscles, sore throat, fatigue; it’s all there. It feels like a sinus infection with a vengeance. I tried making the most of it, but it kept getting worse and worse. Finally, today after church, I gave in.
“Honey, why don’t you go take Joseph to your parent’s house without me. I’ll just go home and rest,” I said, after finishing Sunday dinner at my mom’s house.
“Okay,” Josh replied. “Do you want me to leave you here and pick you up later?” Now this was a temptation. Mom’s house on Sunday afternoons means three important things: good food, games, and time with my family. It is an all-around “good times were had by all.” I glanced at the strawberry shortcake on the counter, and my brother pled, “Come on, stay! Then we can play a game!”
My throat was aching and my head was splitting with a headache. Painfully, I shook my head and said reluctantly, “No. I think I better just go home and rest.”
On the way home, I said to Josh, “This isn’t fair. I’ve been looking forward to getting sick so I could lie in bed and relax for a while. But now I feel too sick to enjoy it at all. I don’t want to watch TV because it’ll make my headache worse. And if I lie in bed, I’ll fall asleep and then be awake all night because of it. Even a nice, warm bath won’t make these aches and pains go away. I’M TOO SICK TO ENJOY BEING SICK!!!”
I don’t think I got much sympathy from him. That leaves one last resort. Will you pity me?
by Juliana
I hate to be a pessimist, but sometimes I want to just sit down on the floor, pout my lips, shake my fists into the air and scream, “Life isn’t fair!!!” That’s how I feel today. I’m sick, and it’s nothing like what I was hoping for.
I suppose it makes sense that most people don’t want to be sick at all, but lately I’ve been looking forward to it. This is natural since I feel overworked and underappreciated by my two-year-old. There are days when I’ve cleaned the kitchen, done three loads of laundry, and tidied up most of the house and it feels like I haven’t made any progress whatsoever. On days like that, I feel like laying down and just giving up.
I was thinking about this a while ago, and a very guilty thought passed through my mind. “If you were sick, you could lie around all day and everyone else would have to wait on YOU…” The thought brought me solace amid my hectic day-to-day life for several months. If I was having an especially difficult day, I could think, “This can’t go on forever. I’m bound to get sick sooner or later. A cold, the flu, maybe even a broken bone! Then I’ll just lie in bed sipping lemonade and reading a good book, while everybody brings me flowers and feels sorry for me.” Ahhhh what a joyous experience I had planned out.
Then it happened.
For months now, I’ve been stuffed up with allergy problems, but I’ve learned to deal with them in a fairly mature way. Yesterday, however, the mild allergies turned into a full-blown illness. A headache, sore muscles, sore throat, fatigue; it’s all there. It feels like a sinus infection with a vengeance. I tried making the most of it, but it kept getting worse and worse. Finally, today after church, I gave in.
“Honey, why don’t you go take Joseph to your parent’s house without me. I’ll just go home and rest,” I said, after finishing Sunday dinner at my mom’s house.
“Okay,” Josh replied. “Do you want me to leave you here and pick you up later?” Now this was a temptation. Mom’s house on Sunday afternoons means three important things: good food, games, and time with my family. It is an all-around “good times were had by all.” I glanced at the strawberry shortcake on the counter, and my brother pled, “Come on, stay! Then we can play a game!”
My throat was aching and my head was splitting with a headache. Painfully, I shook my head and said reluctantly, “No. I think I better just go home and rest.”
On the way home, I said to Josh, “This isn’t fair. I’ve been looking forward to getting sick so I could lie in bed and relax for a while. But now I feel too sick to enjoy it at all. I don’t want to watch TV because it’ll make my headache worse. And if I lie in bed, I’ll fall asleep and then be awake all night because of it. Even a nice, warm bath won’t make these aches and pains go away. I’M TOO SICK TO ENJOY BEING SICK!!!”
I don’t think I got much sympathy from him. That leaves one last resort. Will you pity me?
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