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"

--------------------------------------------------------

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.

I didn't get into the film program.

I was expecting to not get in, and I really didn't care one way or the other.  I hastily wrote up the application two days before it was due after procrastinating on it for months.  I figured I might as well turn something in.  I didn't try very hard, though, and honestly, I remember thinking to myself, "If I get in, I'll know it's because God wants me to, because I am not giving this my all."  How wrong is that?

For a while I told myself that if I really wanted to get in, I wouldn't have procrastinated on the application, and so for a while I had decided to just not apply.  Is that true?  Do I have to have a burning passion to want to do something?  I don't have a clear vision for how I'm going to change the world, and I hate it sometimes.  I feel like a ghost wandering through a crowd.  Pale, vaporous, hazy around the edges.  Sometimes not all there.  What if I can't find anything that I can't live without doing?  Does that mean that something is wrong with me?  Of course not, a voice in my head answers.  But God knows I hate feeling vague.  

Should I have tried harder on those short answers?  Maybe it was my sample video.  I didn't have a whole lot of experience with film production.  Maybe that's what hurt me.  I know a film major who is a screenwriting emphasis, and since she hadn't really made any films she submitted a sample script.  I have a sample script that I wrote for broadcasting class.  It's ridiculous, but maybe that would have helped something.  

Now that I know it's not an option, I'm starting to want it more.  Do I only want what I can't have, or is this something I should pursue?  With my first year of school almost over I feel like it's almost too late to start anything.  I know that's not really true, but it's frustrating still not knowing.  

The creative me is starving.  I absolutely need to do something artistic and thoughtful.  I don't even know, paint or dance or . . . make a movie.  Be in a play.  A real play.  Actually do all of the things I keep saying I'd like to do.  Sometimes I think about maybe doing an English major or something like that, but I don't know what would make me happy.  Why was it so easy for me to settle on a music minor?  I'm just doing it because I want to, and I like it.  Why can't I apply that to bigger things?  Should I apply that to bigger things?  

Does everybody feel like this?

Having homework over breaks is really not fun.  I guess it's nice to have some brain activity amidst all of the sleeping in and wandering aimlessly around the house.  I'm reading Augustine's City of God, and have roughly fifty more pages to go to meet my goal for tonight.  I'm taking a reading break right now, though, to write up one of the pull questions I've been procrastinating.  

This week has gone by very fast, which is to be expected, I guess.  David introduced me and Jordan to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is just as addicting as he said it was.  Rather cheesy and ridiculous, but in a good way, like musicals.  Very low-budget special affects, but that just makes it more fun.  Think prosthetic makeup and animatronic monsters like old Star Trek episodes.  Silly dialogue, mostly good acting, and legitimately suspenseful and jump-in-your-seat action.  I think so, at least.

Life feels so weird these days.  I have a tendency to only see bad consequences to decisions and actions, something Jordan tells me is a trait of an introvert.  Makes sense.  Over my long Christmas break it was easy to sink back into a semi-normal feeling state, playing video games and hanging out with my friends and family.  But I'm beginning to see that with growing up comes the realization that everyone's life will take its own individual direction, more or less unique from everyone else.  Maybe if I put it this way it'll clarify my feelings:  in high school, my friends and I were of course individuals, but our lives were set in the same schedule, with the same parameters and relatively similar goals.  Post-graduation, however, it's like we were all running around inside a bottle, working up momentum until the cap was finally pulled off, and then we went shooting off in various directions.  Of course the separation is not ultimate; I'm still friends with my friends, and my family will always be my family.  But I'm not going to live under the same roof as all of my siblings anymore, and I'm not going to be in the same school as all of my friends.  The world is a whole lot bigger than high school, or a house called home, and it's sad and scary having to face it knowing that it's my responsibility to forge my own path now.  I guess some people find an empowering sense of adventure in that notion, but like I said, introvert. 

I know this is all normal, and there's a lot of abnormal feeling things I'll have to get used to.  For instance, coming home this time flooded me with the feeling of living in two separate worlds: Biola world and home world.  Each world has its own set of familiar faces and places, but the only link between the two is me.  This doesn't feel normal, but maybe that's one thing I'm learning: I've yet to understand what "normal" life really is, because I've only barely begun to surface into reality of that life. 

Since I was in the eighth grade, people have been telling me how mature I am.  I remember at thirteen, a girl I knew from school who was three years older than me told me, "You surpass your peers."  Last semester, both my acting professor and a Torrey professor told me that they could sense a depth in me.  I think my acting professor said, "I know the waters run deep", which I took as a compliment to my mature thinking, although I'm still not sure exactly what he meant.  

Before I start to sound proud and like I'm talking myself up, this is all just premise.  Everyone always tells me how mature I am, yet every once in a while I'm hit by a self-realization, usually after committing some kind of social blunder, that I am really not all that mature.  I'm eighteen, a technical adult, yet I feel like I've only scratched the surface of what it means to act like an adult.  Sometimes I get these same feeling when reflecting on my spiritual life, too; although, I have less excuse for spiritual infancy than adult inadequacy, since I've been a Christian for as long as I can remember but I've only entered adulthood recently.  But I guess that's what college is all about, right?  Learning.  Somewhere in the midst of these heavy theological texts and brain-frying paper-writing, God has been tugging on my heart, and I'm learning lessons about life.  At least, I hope I am; like I said, I either forget those lessons or I haven't really learned them yet, because I seem to keep messing up.  

Am I just too hard on myself?  Probably.  Do people mistake my tendency toward shyness and naturally more quiet demeanor for a sign of profound depth and maturity?  Maybe.  But I hope they're on to something, because that means I'm not as wretched as I often feel I am.  God thinks I'm pretty ok, at any rate.  I'm just a lot of work and a lot of trouble, but I know He thinks I'm worth the trouble.  

I'm feeling alright about my paper.  I think I have all the ideas in my head, it's just a matter of getting it organized in an intelligent way.  I think it'll all come together soon.

I realized today that I'm coming out of basically a week off from school, so I can't really complain about not having spring break yet.  Biola had their annual Missions Conference Wednesday through Friday, which meant no class, but we had to go to all sorts of chapels/events, so the days were pretty busy regardless.  Still, no homework.  And I had Monday off because of Torrey mid-rags (mid-terms-ish), so the only class I had last week was Pre-Calc on Tuesday, which let out forty-five minutes early because the professor was so impressed that so many people showed up the day before Missions Conference; apparently last year only four or five even came to class.  All in all I guess I've had a pretty cushy week.  Now I've just got to write this paper, do some more reading, and next thing I know it'll be spring break.

I heard a quote from C.S. Lewis yesterday that's been running through my head ever since.  I don't remember the exact wording, but it was something about how every morning, when you wake up, the wolves of the day come rushing at you.  That metaphor feels perfect for me right now; not literally now, in this moment, but just how I've been feeling the past couple of weeks.  I make lists every night of everything I need to get done the next day, and in the morning those wolves are ready to attack.  I was attacked last Thursday, unsuccessfully trying to muscle my way through a mental block on my thesis for this semester's Torrey paper.  I still haven't gotten it hammered out, but I'm forcing myself to not stress about it.  I think it's a little better, but I have a feeling that this fight against anxiety will be a long-lasting battle.  

I'm really trying to hold on to God's peace, and to keep things in perspective.  It's just a paper, and not a very long or complicated one at that.  My junior year term paper had to be longer than this one does.  I'm going to work on it in increments, because I don't want to have another overload like the one I had on Thursday (let's just say it involved many stressful hours staring at a computer screen, and several teary breakdowns).  I feel so silly admitting how much anxiety I've been put into by this stupid paper.  I just want everything to be done and for it to be spring break.  It's kind of hard having it so late, I think everyone's burnt out by now.  

After some deliberation, I went to Disneyland yesterday afternoon with my friends.  I was tempted to just stay at school and work on my paper, because I didn't do any work Friday afternoon, but I'm glad I didn't.  While thoughts of my paper inevitably floated in and out of my head throughout the day, it was good to just get away from school and homework and everything for a solid day.  I really needed an escape, and time to recharge.  Hopefully when I tackle my thesis in a few minutes that time off will prove fruitful.  

I'm feeling rather calm, all things considered.  I have mid-rags (Torrey midterm) this Friday.  At first I was upset because I just plain forgot to sign up when I had planned, and by the time I remembered the only open slots were for Friday.  Last semester I shot for Mondays, that way I'd have the weekend to prepare but would also get it out of the way early in the week.  I'm feeling OK, though, because I pretty much know what I'm going to write my paper on (thesis has to be approved at mid-rags), and aside from a few pull questions that need writing I think I'm in good shape.  

I had wanted to work on my paper outline some more tonight, but seeing as it's midnight I think I'm going to go to bed after finishing this post.  For session on Wednesday I'm reading St. Gregory of Nazianzus, "On God and Christ".  We've started our huge sweep of theology, which I've sometimes liked sometimes not so far.  I really enjoyed the Apostolic Fathers (even though some people in my group insisted they were heretics...sheesh), as well as St. Athanasius, who we just had session on today.  I did get frustrated, though, because our group sometimes gets stuck in these real mental ruts of questions that just bog us down.  I often wish I could articulate why we don't need to discuss some of the things that we end up running in circles around, because there are so many more interesting things to talk about, but for some reason I get stuck in these blocks as well. 

I worry that I'm not trying as hard as I should/could in session; in trying to find the balance between doing well and not overworking, I get afraid that I'm being lazy.  That's probably not the case most of the time, but it's always frustrating leaving session feeling like I could have or should have said more.  I wonder if that's a feeling I'll struggle with all my life, that constant nagging that I could have done better.  I suppose it's one of those things that can affect me if I let it, but I can decide to just do my best one step at a time and not worry about "could have beens".  Life 101, anyone?

I'm always tricked by the sense of freedom and unlimited time that I feel on Friday afternoons.  I should be doing homework right now, but I've been wanting to post something for a few days.  

This week has been emotionally tiring.  The most recent book we read was kind of hard for me to get through, and for some reason my motivation has been drained.  Maybe it's about time for a spring break; too bad ours isn't until mid-April. 

I was scheduled to have office hours with my mentor this afternoon to talk about my ideas for my paper, but when I went at my time she said she had mistakenly over-booked herself, and that we'd work something out for early next week.  It's actually a good thing, because I hadn't taken the time to prepare and organize my thoughts as much as I had wanted to, so now I'll be able to do that.  Besides, I can't really complain; last semester I forgot about a half hour time slot I had reserved on a Friday afternoon.  

I think I set too high expectations for myself.  Every day I set myself little goals of what I want to get done, and it never happens, which always gets me depressed.  It's probably a combination of time management skills that need improving and that my goals are unrealistic.  I'm learning that I need to learn about my study/work habits so I can know what I can/can't/need to get done.  I don't like the idea of accepting that I just can't do as much as I want to or feel like I should be able to, but I guess that's just another stupid part about growing up.  

I've been seized by the desire to watch The Fellowship of the Ring.  I'm not sure why; I had my iPod on shuffle the other day and an epic piece from the soundtrack came up.  I haven't seen the film in a long time; I guess my inner twelve-year-old-has-a-crush-on-Aragorn geek needs some fantastic (as in, fantasy) nourishment.

I got to see Dad, Mom and Hannah Thursday night/Friday morning, and it was really great, all things considered.  I skipped my math class Thursday afternoon and worked it out so I could miss session Friday morning, and it was totally worth it.  Everyone was exhausted, naturally, and Dad actually had to leave about half an hour after I got to the hotel (it took me about an hour, I didn't even think about traffic), but it was wonderful just to be with them for a little bit.  

Friday afternoon I went to Disneyland with my roommate and neighbors, and it was really fun.  It was nice to do something on a Friday besides reading.  We went on all of the good rides, except for the Matterhorn which was closed, and Splash Mountain because it got chilly.  I saw a couple in line at Space Mountain that freaked me out.  At first I thought it was an old woman kissing a young guy, and then I thought it was two guys kissing, and I was never quite sure if one of them was a man or a woman.  Later I saw a couple in which the "woman" looked like a transvestite; "she" was dressed and had hair like a woman, but "her" face looked like a man's.  

SoCal is a different world.  My roommate grew up here, and she's been to Disneyland practically every week since childhood.  It's weird hearing her talk about it as an everyday thing when it's always been a vacation destination for me. 

After Disneyland we went to Denny's to get late-night breakfast.  There was an item on the menu called "Moons Over My Hammy", and I said someone should order it just so they would have to say that name.  It ended up that I ordered it, because it really sounded good.  I felt stupid saying it, but I guess that's the point? 

In Common Grounds, getting ready to brainstorm paper topics.  I have to have an outline in roughly three weeks.  Not stressed yet, but it's beginning to loom, so I'm trying to tackle it sooner than later. 

I came in here right after leaving the Caf where I had dinner with my Torrey group.  Moments after I sat down, I hear someone say, "It never stops with you, does it?"
I look up to see Peter, a guy from my group, standing over me.  We had a brief interchange and then he left.  

Last night I was in here finishing some reading, and I saw this guy who I've been seeing a lot around campus (I guess at Biola you see everybody a lot around campus, but which specific person I notice seems to change every few weeks).  He has a very big personality and a loud voice, and he comes to Commons a lot too.  From what I've overheard I think he's a junior or senior, and he's in Torrey.  Last night he sat at a table near me, and it was one of the rare times I'd seen him a lone.  I can tell he's extroverted, and he's always talking and laughing with people.  Last night, before he had really started reading, a couple of people called him on his cell phone, and he was making plans to get together ("I'm in Commons, come on by!").  I wondered when he has time to do work since he always seems to be socializing. 

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, however, it was followed by this one: I wonder if people think the opposite about me?  I feel like I'm always doing work or thinking about how I need to do work, and apparently I'm mostly seen studying (hence Peter's comment).  I'm wondering if big personality guy has any time to do work, but maybe other people are wondering if I have any time to do something besides work.

I've decided to force myself to go to bed at midnight.  That doesn't sound very early, but it's early for me, which is why I'm instilling a bedtime for myself.  I never have morning classes, so I figure even if I don't finish what I want to the night before, if I go to bed at a halfway decent hour I can be up with enough time to finish my work.  

A cat stole my sandwich today.  I'm only slightly exaggerating.  There are a few feral cats that live at Biola, usually wandering around near the coffee shop and the resturaunt (Eagle's Nest) next to the coffee shop.  I took a nap after church today, so I missed brunch in the caf.  Around 3:30 I went down to Eagle's to get something to eat.  I ended up getting a turkey sandwich, which is not what I wanted, but I couldn't quite understand the broken English of the woman behind the counter; all I could make out was that my original choice, a chicken soft taco, was not available at that time, and that things from the deli menu were able to be prepared.  It was only after my turkey sandwich was in the making did I realize that I could have had something like a cheesburger from the grill, but it was too late to turn back.  Needless to say, the sandwich was hardly satisfying.  Back to the cat.  The persistent little jerk stole my food!  When I got my sandwich I took it outside and got out my book.  As I read/ate, a big orange cat meandered over to me and sat at my feet, looking up expectantly.  I ignored him for a few minutes, and he eventually left, but not for long.  He came back a few minutes later and sat at my feet again.  When I still didn't give him anything, he jumped up on the table and started sniffing my sandwich.  I can't imagine these cats who live outside and eat from the trash are anything near clean, so I pulled my sandwich away.  The cat kept at it, though, and the more I moved my sandwich the more nosy he got.  He was too close to my food for comfort, so I tried to push him away by grabbing his neck; he was undeterred.  Finally he snapped at my sandwich.  He didn't bite anything off, but part my sandwich was momentarily in his greedy mouth.  My appetite had already been waning, but that wiped it out completely.  I desperately threw a piece of lettuce away to distract him, which worked, and then I threw my sandwich away, gathered up my things and left.  My first stop was the bathroom to wash my hands.

The moral of the story: stop feeding the feral cats.  They start to think that they have the right to eat our food.  And now I just wasted four dollars on a mediocre (and now, probably flea-infested) sandwich.