whitney dziurawiec

I’ve started over three times. My mind is tossing and turning and I’m angrily deleting and staring at the fifteen scarves at the foot of my bed. Why did I bring home more scarves than pairs of socks? Every morning I stare at my options and think, why do I have so many scarves? I’ve been itching to write again but new ideas pop in and out. They’re good ideas, but not complete ones. I think of something good to say and store it in the filing cabinet of my brain entitled “Good Blog Ideas That Will Be Really Cool And Deep And Inspiring.” Well I’m going through the filing cabinet and all I’m seeing are general themes, good one-liners, lessons learned, and a few secrets that I thought maybe I’d be bold enough to put on here. I’m currently going through them like a crazy editor and shredding it all. No, no, no. None of it’s good enough. It’s not complete, it’s not ready. I feel like I’m stuck in the kitchen with a huge meal to prepare but the meat is thawing, the water is on the stove, ...

It’s 1:00 am and I’m not ready for bed yet. We watched this video during tonight’s Christmas Eve service that showed clips from that Nativity story and I started thinking about the whole thing and came to a sobering realization: I would be a terrible Mary. Like, the four gospel writers would have been embarrassed to write about me. I mean, right from the start, there would have been issues. Gabriel: Mary!..er..Whitney! Do not be afraid! You have found favor with God. You will conceive and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and be called Son of the Most High.” Me: (awkward silence) Gabriel: um, Mar—I mean—Whitney? Me: Gabriel: Whitney…I think you’re drooling. Shut your mouth or something. Me: Gabriel (to God): Nice pick. She hasn’t blinked in three minutes. God: Try poking her or something! (poke) Me, shaken out of my stupor: You’re…shiny. Fast forward to my time with Elizabeth. Random thoughts in my head during the time I spend with her,...

I’m shutting textbooks I don’t ever want to open again, turning in papers I don’t want to think about, and snottily picking through the lasts of the cafeteria food like I imagine the Queen of England being like if we threw her in Old Country Buffet and let her scrounge for herself. And I’ve been swallowed in those books, locked in practice rooms, immersed in my busyness. And now I’m here. Not a paper to write or a textbook to read. The textbooks have spit me out Jonah style and I landed here. Christmas. Away in a manger, ba rum ba bum bum, fa la la la la. Right. Christmas. Cue my red Christmas pants. Cue ugly sweaters. Cue a mom meltdown that results in an awkwardly silent ride to Nana’s because she ruined the same egg casserole she ruins every year. Cue fancy Christmas parties and free Mannheim Steamroller concerts. This is not a bad place to land. I can handle this. I can handle this because I have sprinted across campus in a mad panic due to forgetfulness at an estimated amoun...

Well I’m about to crack down on homework. I really am. I turned down something fun today in the name of homework…and I hate that it’s come to this. But I told those cute little freshmen this morning not to be stressed, and I’m going to practice what I preach. I could probably use a little more stress, because I still need eight more sources for my paper. But I’m not worried about it, and I definitely should be. No, last night I spent my evening in my pajamas journaling and writing a letter I never intend to give. Time management was another thing I talked about to the freshmen this morning, as if this semester made me really good at it. I was hoping one of the freshmen would ask the question that’s on all of their minds. The relationship question. The thing they’re all curious about. I wish they would have. I wish I could gently tell the boys to stop chasing after every girl that laughs at them. I wish I could tell the girls to stop reading romance novels and daydreaming of their...