sarah_chantal

I'm making the switch. I'm going to keep my LifeJournal up and running for a while, mostly as a record of many old blogs that I'm not sure what to do with but don't want to delete. My blogspot can be found at: sarahchantal.blogspot.com

I'll try to set up a link via Twitter or Facebook or something too.

I just cleaned my car. Trust me, this is a big accomplishment. I still have stuff in there from driving home in May.

As I was stuffing old fast food receipts, MapQuest printouts, and leftover food from eating breakfast on the way to work into my trash bag, it came to me that a person's trash can say an awful lot about them, their life, their habits. Whenever I clean out my car, or my room, or an old school notebook, I begin to think like a CSI. What would I deduce about my life if I were sifting through these things with a stranger's eyes? Take my car, for instance. An outsider could probably easily see that I eat on the go a lot, and am therefore either very busy or very often running late (just so you know, it's the latter). There was an old Starbucks card under the front passenger seat, as well as an eyeliner pencil, a visitor's guide to Bakersfield, and a handful of almonds. At any given time I'll probably have at least four half-empty water bottles rolling around. On the front seat there was a small case of dental floss, and in the back, a bag of pool goodies: goggles, diving toys, and the like.

I'm fascinated by scenes like the one of my messy car. One can pull and piece together fragments of someone's life and try to make a cohesive statement out of it, but it's never the whole picture. I feel similarly about coffee shops, restaurants, or episodes of This American Life. They are all places where diverse, often unrelated lives collide in a common intersection, and strangers are given very little to form an impression or opinion of each other. A brief encounter, an exchange of words, a glance at what someone is reading or eating. Mere snippets of someone's life, which is what, it seems, so many of our day-to-day interactions are like, even with people we know well. Can we ever fully see or know someone? Can any form of communication ever be an adequate expression of what someone thinks, or feels, or is?

THIS BLOG CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR "THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE"

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That being said, Hannah and I just got home from the 12:07 showing of "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince". Upon arriving at the theatre, I was disappointed that it wasn't as crowded as I had expected, nor as much of a freaky fan-fest. There were very few people in costume, although once it got closer to midnight more capes and red-and-gold scarves could be spotted.

The movie itself was really fun, I think among my favorite for Harry Potter flicks so far, probably tied with number three. It was considerably dark, as to be expected; the films have been darkening consistently since "The Prisoner of Azkaban". The child actors are finally growing up; while this one was darker, it was also, strangely enough, funnier, and our three heroes did a good job on the comic timing and delivery of lots of small, quick laughs. Thinking back, I really appreciates Ron for some reason - maybe the comic relief is it. He was still slightly upstaged by Hermione in terms of scenes and dialogue, but that's how it goes in the books, and lots of Hermione's stuff is about the birthing pains of her and Ron's romance anyway.

Speaking of romance, I actually liked Ginny's stuff. Obviously they had to better establish her as a character; previous films have given her maybe two lines of dialogue total. While the romance, realistically, seems to come out of nowhere, it's so expected by fans that it works; and, again, that's how it is in the book. Although I did get a little bit tired of half the audience "awwwwww"-ing every time Harry and Ginny found themselves alone together.

While I enjoyed the movie and can appreciate the more rushed bits of plot for the sake of being concise, walking out of the theatre, I found myself wanting more. Not really in terms of more details, but more of what they already had. For instance, when Harry attacks Malfoy with the infamous "sectumsempra" spell, I wanted it to be more gory. I didn't feel as shocked as I think the scene should have made me feel, or as Harry was supposed to have felt. When Harry and Dumbledore try to secure the locket horcrux, I wanted to be more frightened. There was one jump-out-of-your-seat moment, but after that wore off, there wasn't much more. And for the final battle, I did want it to be more true to the book, as the film hardly had a battle at all. I wish the members of the Order had been more involved, because those characters and actors are all so wonderful. Even the gushy stuff between Harry and Ginny; frankly, I wanted more kissing. I'm tired of feeling like I'm watching a seventh-grader's first kiss. But I guess there will be time for all of that in the two-part finale.

So many thoughts in my head right now!

I've been thinking about art, and growing up, and how life is like a rehearsal that's really the performance. I don't have time to write about all of that right now, but I felt like I had to say something. I hate going for days and days without writing my thoughts down; one thing that the Torrey program has taught me is that thoughts become much more solid and organized and understood when put into writing than if left to float around, aimless and half-formed in the mind.

Speaking of writing, sometimes I consider English or journalism as a possible major. I think the literary aspect draws me, although I don't think I'm very good at coming up with fictional stories. Maybe journalism would be a good fit, then. I don't really have any experience in a lot of journalistic writing, but I think I am more inclined towards those fields. Just a thought.

Ok, dinner and church time.

We must have at least one shoplifter a day at Hobby Lobby. One that gets caught or at whom we shake our fists as they run through the parking lot, at least.

Today this woman tried to leave with a shopping bag containing a few t-shirts, and when she set off the security sensor my fellow employee began to question her. Soon a manger was called, and although I continued to help other customers, I overheard their conversation. The woman claimed to have been helped by someone in the back, and she said something about "just wanting to exchange some shirts". However, her shifty story and a lack of a receipt or any employee to confirm that she had been helped by "someone in the back" soon forced her to confess. As the manager began talking with her, I heard her say, "Well, I'm out of here,", and the manager replied that she could leave and we would take down her plates and she would inevitably be caught, or she could cooperate and this would play out a little more smoothly.

Shortly after this, I took my lunch break. In the break room upstairs, the atmosphere was tense, and for a few minutes I couldn't figure out why three or four of our managers were just standing there, as if waiting for something. I saw the woman again, but I didn't recognize her as the shoplifter. Soon a police officer arrived; he interrogated her with questions like, "Do you know what you did?" and "Do you understand that it's against the law?", to which she simply responded "Yes" in an increasingly strained and shameful tone. I overheard the cop saying that if she even sets foot in the parking lot after today she can expect the police to be called and to be detained again. I didn't know they did that to shoplifters, but I guess it makes sense. Why would you want to allow someone who had stolen from you back into your store?

Witnessing the prosecution of a shoplifter just reaffirms my belief that all sin stems from self-deception. The people who shoplift from our store almost always strike me as ashamed of themselves; of course, everyone who steals knows that it is wrong, but to be motivated to steal one must delude oneself at least as far as to think that one can get away with it. Although, not every shoplifter has been remorseful. A punk couple with lip piercings that I checked out last week set off the sensor, but instead of returning when hailed by an employee, they made a bee line for the door and skipped, yes, skipped to their car. I guess they thought that skipping made them look somehow less guilty than full out running, but I felt personally slighted because I had checked them out. They stole something from right underneath my nose, and then they obnoxiously skipped through the parking lot.

The woman today must have deceived herself, either into thinking that if she shopped farther from home, she was safer (I heard her say that she usually shops at the store across town), or maybe that she really could just swap out some merchandise without having to answer to anyone (She also said that she doesn't like the hassle of returns and exchanges). Whatever the case, I couldn't help pitying her a little bit while that cop was questioning her, and before the cop came, as she just sat there, surrounded by managers and employees taking lunch, probably wishing she could melt into her chair. Her apprehension and anxiety was tangible.

Our dog, Prince, died last Thursday.

My brothers and sister-in-law came over that evening to have a family dinner and do some laundry (their washing machine is currently in repair). When I got home from a fairly full day of running around town, filling out job applications and doing other various errands, they had already arrived. I hadn't been home for half an hour when, while my brother David, my little sister Hannah and I were talking, my Mom came upstairs and said plainly, through tears, "Prince died." It was blunt, and shocking, but I guess there's really no other way it can be.

We got Prince when he was a tiny puppy. He was a beautiful boxer, boasting a shiny brown coat with blotches of white, floppy ears and a stubby tail. I remember the day we got him; we drove out to someone's house and picked Prince out from several other dogs, including his sister, who had less-attractive coloring. That first night home he slept on our living room floor.

As a puppy, and into adulthood, Prince had incredible energy. I remember actually being afraid of him, even when he was still young, as he would race around our back yard at top speed. I guess he was pretty old; eleven years, which I hear is fairly old for dogs in general, and Mom said that boxers don't live very long anyway. Still, it was a sobering shock to hear that he had died, just like that, probably just a little while ago. He wasn't sick or anything. Do dogs usually just lie down and die?

My older sister Rebekah wasn't home. I decided I should call her to tell her, since she was the one who had picked out Prince in the beginning, and had invested a lot of time in his obedience classes when he was a puppy. For a long time, Prince was recognized as Rebekah's dog. At first I thought it wouldn't make a difference if someone told her right away, but then I thought about how she would feel if we waited all night until she came home to tell her that Prince had died, hours after the fact. I called, she didn't answer, and I left a message; short, blunt, and to the point. How else can you relay news like that?

After hearing the news, the slow, quiet moments stretched out into minutes and hours, and lots of thoughts went through my mind. Standing awkwardly on the landing with Mom, David and Hannah, I found myself wishing I had only ten minutes more with Prince, to pet him and play with him and tell him he was a good dog. I couldn't help myself from wondering, do dogs go to heaven? Do animals have souls? Would we see Prince again? Where is he now, if he's anywhere at all?

Just before dinner, I went out into the backyard and paid my last respects to Prince. Dad and Jonathan had wrapped him in some old sheets, and he lay, a lifeless mass in front of his doghouse. I looked down at him and told him I was sorry, and that I'd miss him. "Goodbye, Prince", I ended, and walked back inside the house. Early the next morning, Animal Control came and took him away.

I got back home Monday/Tuesday, at about four o'clock in the morning. Being back, I've mostly slept, which has made me feel lazy, but I figure hey, it is summer vacation after all. I had a job interview at Starbucks today, which I think went really well, and I'll know by Monday if I got the job. The manager said the only major drawback to my application is that I would only be working until mid-August, but it didn't sound like a deal-breaker.

I went to a mission trip send off party with Caleb and Chelsea this evening, mostly because I wanted to hang out with Caleb and Chelsea and they were serving free food. While there were some Hope people that I knew, most of them were underclassmen that I didn't know. It was a little awkward at times, but for the most part enjoyable. We didn't stay very long, which I think all three of us were glad for. Even though the kids there were only one or two years younger than me, it still felt like there was a bit of a generation gap, so to speak. One of the weirdest things about going to college is that sometimes I get the slightly unsettling feeling that everyone is living in their own world now. My friends from high school are all over the place, and even if they stay in New Mexico it's just not the same. Our class was really close, but we're not friends by default anymore. Everyone moves in their own circles, living their own lives. Sometimes I really hate growing up.

So. I haven't switched yet. Mostly because I'm too lazy to actually utilize the "aesthetically pleasing" capacities of blogspot. But I've only got one final left, and then I'll be heading home, and I definitely need to write some good long journal entries. Probably, I'll write them old-fashioned like and then transcribe them on to the online.

I don't know why I'm writing weird right now, this isn't my usual style. I guess I'm not really feeling "usual"...I feel suspended, floating between here and there, California and New Mexico, Biola world and...the rest of the world. Like I'm waiting for a breeze, or a nudge, or something to give me direction. Story of my year.

I saw water today for the first time in a long time. A body of water, at the marina in Long Beach. As I looked out of the car window and saw the evening sun dazzling off of the surface, I realized that I like the water, and it made me wonder why I haven't been to the beach once all semester; I think I've only been once in my entire college career thus far. I'm not really a beachy girl, but still...it's never more than twenty minutes away, what's my excuse? Figures. Three days before I'm leaving I realize I might actually like going to the ocean.

I'm at Rebekah's friend Amanda's house/apartment in Long Beach right now. This is where we stayed the first few days we came out here last August. It's weird being back in the same place I was then, at the beginning of the year that's now over. A strange feeling like I've somehow come full circle, although I'm not actually sure what that circle represents, or where it is I've come to.

I apologize for these random thoughts. I've had a lot drifting, or racing, or just plain sitting in my head lately, and I just needed to write. Something.

My math class got out an hour early.  I was expecting to have a review day, but all we did was fill out one of those bubble surveys about how we felt about the class.  I didn't miss not having a review, I'm more concerned about reviewing for Don Rags.

I am so ready to come home.  I like road trips, and a road trip heading home sounds pretty awesome right now.  I think all of my friends are done with finals, and after next Monday I'll be much more relaxed.  My Don Rag will be done, and while I'll still have piano jury on Tuesday and Pre-Calc final on Thursday, I'm not very worried about either of those.  Although I probably should practice more.

I'm switching to Blogspot.  Mostly because I think it's more aesthetically pleasing.  We'll see how it works out.

I think I dream a lot when I sleep well.  At least, I seem to dream a lot when I sleep a lot.

I had several strange dreams last night, but the one I remember most involves me and some other people who I don't remember knowing (I knew them in the dream, but they aren't anyone from my real life) running from some kind of vampire virus.  The way you caught it was if you got bit by the larvae, I guess, that crawled around on the ground and looked like a tiny, sliding shadows.  We were holed up in some house and realized that a vampire larvae had gotten into the front room.  While the men in there tried to kill it with shotguns, we grabbed whatever we could and escaped out the back window.  The grabbing and running part was the worst, it was one of those times in dreams where you seem to be unable to move, or to move fast enough.  I kept trying to find my sweatshirt.  We ran what seemed like only a few hundred feet away and into another house, which for some reason was safe.  As soon as we got there, though, the younger girl who was with us ran back for some reason, I think because she wanted to get more stuff.  I don't remember what happened next.

My dream shifted scenes and people, but I think the story was still the same.  I was in a diner with a bunch of people from my Torrey group, and there was another group of people, some of whom looked like clones of people from my group, sitting at the table across from us, who were vampires.  Evidently what happens is that a vampire clone is made of someone, rather than the actual person turning into a vampire.  At one point the vampires got menacing, but when we threatened to open the blinds and flood them with sunlight they backed off.  

Another turn in my dreaming must have been a stream of conscious jump off of my Torrey group: I dreamed that I got a 76 on my Torrey paper, which would probably be very bad.  I think below a B constitutes a re-write.  I hope that part of my dream doesn't come true; although, I guess the vampire thing would also be pretty bad.