There are four floors in the Admin
building of our school. Each floor has two sets of staircases that have about
ten steps . If my math is correct, this equals to about 80 steps total. The
very last steps as you come up to the top floor are the most strenuous—anyone
would tell you that they are about a half a step steeper than the others.
You’re already dead tired and then you have the steps of Satan.
In the past 24 hours, I have climbed those steps ten times. Getting a book. Getting a snack. Forgetting about my water bottle in the choir room. Going up to my room, forgetting why I went there, going back down to class, remembering why I needed to go to my room, sprinting back to my room, grabbing what I needed in the first place, going back down to class. Passing out Toilet Talks and fliers.
Those steps are going to be the death of me, I swear. Especially the steps of Satan.
I’m sitting here in the library and contemplating life as I do my ethics homework, write another stupid mass email, and check my facebook. I never used to just spend my mornings in the library. I never used to write my blogs in the library. Life is changing. Apparently the library and I are friends now.
My roommate Sarah has mini identity crises and I think it’s rubbing off on me. I may be having one right now. Because I just realized as I was giving an announcement about the roses we’re selling for Valentine’s Day that I feel different from everyone. While countless girls wonder if someone’s going to buy them a rose, I’m running up the stairs to get change for people buying them. While boys pay their $3 and write a cute note, I am frantically printing off the sheets they’re writing their notes on. As girls wonder who is going to ask them to formal, I find myself hoping no one does so that I don’t have to worry about feeling bad if I’m not keeping them company like I did last time. Boys are debating the pros and cons of potential dates and I’m thinking about venues and prices. And our school is buzzing with recent engagements and while the single girls are trying to deal with it all, I’m the one that’s supposed to answer questions about how to find a man in February’s edition of Toilet Talk?
I feel caught in between. Life isn’t about getting a rose or a date for me anymore. Now, life is about providing the roses for starry-eyed couples and creating a great date night…whether that be a first date, friend date, or an actual “date” date. Life is about trying to relate to high schoolers and their latest flings, when the last boy I was close with was cuddling with a five year-old boy before bedtime. Rather than hanging out in flirt-filled, mixed-gender groups, I’m hanging out with girls one-on-one, because they all don’t want me to feel like the third wheel. Or fifth wheel. Or seventh.
And maybe I do care, and the suppression of my longings will one day explode in some self-destructive behavior/meltdown that my friends have been expecting for awhile now. Maybe the whole reason I’m providing the roses and the venue for the dates is some sort of way of satisfying my lack thereof, if we really psycho-analyzed the snot out of it all. Maybe. We’ll see. I’m in counseling now so hopefully we’ll be able to figure out some things. But then again, it’s free counseling. And then AGAIN, I’m this lady’s first client. So…chances are nothing will be figured out.
It’s definitely not all figured out now. Yep, I’m still in the library, about to go pray with some passionate and awesome people. I’ll be climbing up and down those steps a few more times today, and I’ll be getting more change for the roses any time now. Formal will be figured out soon, some more girls will get some rings on their fingers while I’ve got tape on my own as I post each Toilet Talk in every stall. Oddly, I don’t care. Oddly, I’m not hyper-depressed or crying or emotional. Which is weird and not a normal “me” reaction.
Maybe it’s because I’ve gotten my share of flowers…some of them butt-ugly attempts from socially awkward gingers and learned lessons of trust, others beautiful roses that ended up being leftover centerpieces and learned lessons of friendship. I’ve had my formal dates and they were all fine and I learned lessons about not freaking out. And I’ve asked those Toilet Talk questions and gotten unsatisfying answers—learning that I’ve been asking the wrong Person all along. So maybe I’ve moved on. Maybe I want to play a part in helping everyone else learn what they need to learn from roses. Be a part in teaching them those formal lessons—whether awkward or awesome or…just fine.
Because we do learn lessons from it all.
Like, I’ve learned I need to start doing the elliptical on a higher setting, because those steps are NOT getting any easier.
In the past 24 hours, I have climbed those steps ten times. Getting a book. Getting a snack. Forgetting about my water bottle in the choir room. Going up to my room, forgetting why I went there, going back down to class, remembering why I needed to go to my room, sprinting back to my room, grabbing what I needed in the first place, going back down to class. Passing out Toilet Talks and fliers.
Those steps are going to be the death of me, I swear. Especially the steps of Satan.
I’m sitting here in the library and contemplating life as I do my ethics homework, write another stupid mass email, and check my facebook. I never used to just spend my mornings in the library. I never used to write my blogs in the library. Life is changing. Apparently the library and I are friends now.
My roommate Sarah has mini identity crises and I think it’s rubbing off on me. I may be having one right now. Because I just realized as I was giving an announcement about the roses we’re selling for Valentine’s Day that I feel different from everyone. While countless girls wonder if someone’s going to buy them a rose, I’m running up the stairs to get change for people buying them. While boys pay their $3 and write a cute note, I am frantically printing off the sheets they’re writing their notes on. As girls wonder who is going to ask them to formal, I find myself hoping no one does so that I don’t have to worry about feeling bad if I’m not keeping them company like I did last time. Boys are debating the pros and cons of potential dates and I’m thinking about venues and prices. And our school is buzzing with recent engagements and while the single girls are trying to deal with it all, I’m the one that’s supposed to answer questions about how to find a man in February’s edition of Toilet Talk?
I feel caught in between. Life isn’t about getting a rose or a date for me anymore. Now, life is about providing the roses for starry-eyed couples and creating a great date night…whether that be a first date, friend date, or an actual “date” date. Life is about trying to relate to high schoolers and their latest flings, when the last boy I was close with was cuddling with a five year-old boy before bedtime. Rather than hanging out in flirt-filled, mixed-gender groups, I’m hanging out with girls one-on-one, because they all don’t want me to feel like the third wheel. Or fifth wheel. Or seventh.
And maybe I do care, and the suppression of my longings will one day explode in some self-destructive behavior/meltdown that my friends have been expecting for awhile now. Maybe the whole reason I’m providing the roses and the venue for the dates is some sort of way of satisfying my lack thereof, if we really psycho-analyzed the snot out of it all. Maybe. We’ll see. I’m in counseling now so hopefully we’ll be able to figure out some things. But then again, it’s free counseling. And then AGAIN, I’m this lady’s first client. So…chances are nothing will be figured out.
It’s definitely not all figured out now. Yep, I’m still in the library, about to go pray with some passionate and awesome people. I’ll be climbing up and down those steps a few more times today, and I’ll be getting more change for the roses any time now. Formal will be figured out soon, some more girls will get some rings on their fingers while I’ve got tape on my own as I post each Toilet Talk in every stall. Oddly, I don’t care. Oddly, I’m not hyper-depressed or crying or emotional. Which is weird and not a normal “me” reaction.
Maybe it’s because I’ve gotten my share of flowers…some of them butt-ugly attempts from socially awkward gingers and learned lessons of trust, others beautiful roses that ended up being leftover centerpieces and learned lessons of friendship. I’ve had my formal dates and they were all fine and I learned lessons about not freaking out. And I’ve asked those Toilet Talk questions and gotten unsatisfying answers—learning that I’ve been asking the wrong Person all along. So maybe I’ve moved on. Maybe I want to play a part in helping everyone else learn what they need to learn from roses. Be a part in teaching them those formal lessons—whether awkward or awesome or…just fine.
Because we do learn lessons from it all.
Like, I’ve learned I need to start doing the elliptical on a higher setting, because those steps are NOT getting any easier.
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