Time is in my side

...that is, until school begins again and time continues at this rapid pace. Then I'd prefer Father Time to put every day in slow motion so I will be able to sit back and bask in contentment. I just can't believe that a few posts ago, I was lamenting the two months I had left of summer. And now I'll be back in two weeks!

Fortunately, now that I'm done with my babysitting job, I have a bit more free time. Thus, I have been researching/starting craft projects like a woman who just discovered she had arms. I already made a vase out of old magazines and am currently seeking a sturdy ceramic piece to make a lamp base. I'm pretty excited about testing out my wiring abilities. (My mom, on the other hand, has her doubts.)

I absolutely cannot wait to move into our dorm room and decorate. I've been hoarding interior design ideas like it's my job (and sometimes I do it instead of my job, whoops.) There are so many great blogs I've added to my RSS feed, I'm overwhelmed. In fact, I believe I'll go look at them now...

Arts 'n Crafts

This weekend, I had the desperate urge to create something. And since making babies was out of the question, I opted to make the world's most fabulous jewelry display. It came to me as an epiphany, driving home from work Friday evening. Window screen and buttons, of course! I immediately set out on a journey that would involve Michael's, JoAnn's and Home Depot. And an immense amount of patience and measuring.

And this is the result:



I would tell you how I made it, but then I couldn't exploit you for a profit, now could I?

Seeking Unnecessary Employment

I'm not sure of the exact moment that I became addicted to applying for and accepting jobs. It must have been around the same time that I realized that I have expensive dreams.

How does one even combat such an addiction? All I need is computer access and I can be gone for hours, lost in the digital world of endless opportunities. I hesitate to compare my problem to the one men seem to have in regards to porn, but the similarities are there. They fantasize about unrealistic sexual situations and I fantasize about worldly travels and big city living.

I suppose my fantasies may be slightly more attainable. Right?

And it's about more than just money. I crave the experience that goes along with a job-- particularly an exciting one. Plus, the money I earn allows me to add even more experiences to my memory bank through vacations and spontaneous trips with friends. Those moments define ones life far more than most jobs could.

My fears also drive me. The current job market and my dad's tumultuous job history simply make me nervous. I figure that if I can became a Jack-of-most-trades, I'll also always be armed with a back-up plan or two.

So right now, I have four(ish) jobs. I work every day of the week. Just like any addict, I'm not leading the healthiest lifestyle, but I can't seem to stop the endless pattern of working, sleeping and eating. Repeat. As opposed to a drug or sex addict, however, I'm living for the future rather than in the present.

This summer, while definitely exacerbating my desire to return to school, has taught me a valuable lesson. The effort I'm putting into planning the rest of my life will ensure that I never, ever have to work four jobs again. That is both an observation and a promise to myself.

I will always work to live, not live to work.

So if anyone out there in Cyberland is seeking a writer/blogger/babysitter/baker/customer service representative/intern, I'm sorry, but I'm not available.

Until August.

Look What the Cat Dragged In

It seems that even my cat Elmo has caught on to the "go green" and "save the earth" trends.

While he used to bring the Fresh Catch of the Week straight to our door (which varied between birds, rabbits, moles and mice, depending on the season), he too has begun to fear the endangerment of some of America's most beloved warm-blooded pests. Sometimes he still deems a particularly enticing creature worthy of death, but now he has taken on a more honorable cause.

Serving as a constant reminder of the disgraceful amounts of waste disposed in this country, he has begun bringing home trash. Socks, rags, medical prescriptions-- every article of garbage comes with its own unique story. And a silent but judgmental plea from Elmo to employ the 3 R's. Either that or he has some suggestions on how we can better our lives through material goods.

Take his latest gifts, for example. Is his take home message a desperate plea or a helpful hint?


Lawn care service sign: "Fertilizers from these guys pollute the grass I (shouldn't) eat and the creek water I (shouldn't) drink" OR
"The grass is definitely greener on the neighbors' side of the fence" ?

Spam/scam mail: "Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes wastes time and paper" OR
"Fill this sucker out so I can finally live the life I deserve" ?

Paper towel: "A tree died so you could dry your hands" OR
"You probably ought to wash your hands more often" ?

Styrofoam steak container: "This stuff takes years to decompose, not the mention the risk of cancer caused by eating red meat!" OR
"MORE STEAK" ?

Maybe I could have better spent my time finding solutions to these problems rather than using up an hour to personify my cat's behaviors, but I'm happy to know he cares. Of course, a really caring pet would spare no expense to please his owner.

The next step is to train him to identify cash, rare metals and designer logos.

2 more months...

I used to get so irritated when people would ask me, "You must be excited for (high) school to start, aren't you Meghan?"

Uh, try no. People seem to equate success with happiness, but my little 7 to 2 gig didn't bring me much of the latter. (That's not including all the fabulous people with whom I'm still friends.) Now, I'm just about bursting with happiness when I think about school.

Maybe I've become burnt out by my three jobs, but I'm ready to be back at UNC. It's liberating, yet structured at the same time. It's like an extensive cruise where I don't have to establish my sea legs. Or worry about missing the water taxi back to the boat.

I miss my UNC friends and my 200 square-foot room and classes I actually want to attend. I can't wait to live across from The DTH and go on field trips to grocery stores and start my own club.

Somehow, college feels like this little self-contained bubble of hope. Maybe gas prices are high and the war isn't over and our economy is failing, but I see the present mess juxtaposed with the future: the students. And that definitely eases my mind.

You might even say that my freshman year made me an optimist. Any place capable of such a miracle merits another three years.

Year in Review: The Meghan Edition

In light of The Daily Tar Heel's last daily issue for this school year, which reviewed the occurrences of fall semester 2007 and spring semester 2008, I've decided to write a review of my own. What makes mine better though is that I won't be focusing on anything boring, like my own medical school expansion article that didn't even make it to print. "Online exclusive" sounds good in theory; it's actually incredibly misleading. "Exclusive" implies that the article must be for VIPs only. But no, it's for anyone. Anyone who has nothing better to do than read about yet another campus construction project.

But I digress. As always.

I'm not even sure what I'm going to do this summer without UNC, to be quite honest. I'll miss everything, excluding several factors that were out of my control. (Oh south campus and no air-conditioning, how you caused me such pain.) Even as I sit here procrastinating on studying for finals, I find myself just radiating happiness. I love this place in a way I'm not sure I can really articulate.

In high school, I considered myself a misanthrope. (That's essentially a people-hater, for those of you less familiar with your Latin and Greek roots.) I wanted my column name to be "Misanthrope Meghan" but the majority of the student body wasn't familiar with the term, according to my teacher. I wouldn't want them to misinterpret the meaning as a positive one, after all. I went with "Cynical at 17" instead. Regardless, I wasn't particularly optimistic about the human race in general. As far as I knew, the entire world was a combination of the poverty-stricken and self-absorbed.

I still know this to be true. But what's changed is my perception of the situation. I am not, in fact, the only person in the world who would like to better these issues. Even more shocking is that my personal contributions absolutely pale in comparison to some people's. I've met more civic-minded people during this year than in all my other years combined. And they're students! Much to my surprise, not all young adults are squandering their lives by drinking excessively and having premature sex. I'm just in awe of the dedication and compassion that exudes from every corner of this campus. And I'm relieved to realize that I don't have to save the world alone.

Being a misanthrope wasn't all it seems cracked up to be anyway. After all, hating your own species can prove exhausting. I mean, people are everywhere! They're practically unavoidable! Plus, having friends was hard. I mean, let's be honest. There was a good chance that I didn't like a person simply because evolution did his or her ancestors a really big favor of which we eventually took advantage. I'm not even sure how I managed to maintain relationships. Much like the south's opinion of blacks during slavery, I liked some individuals but not the whole. Several good personalities weren't going to make up for millions of bad ones.

What I understand now is that humans are born inherently good. Of that I am convinced. As I said in my Eve entry, our environment determines so much of what we are and what we will be. Lucky, that's what I am. I had the opportunity to grow up in a supportive home in a great country (during the Clinton years). Most of those that surround me had similar opportunities. We can do amazing things with the gifts we've been given, and we do. How can I doubt humanity when everyone around me is feeding the hungry and building homes and promoting peace and demanding truth? I can't.

For that I am eternally grateful.

I'd much rather live with hope than with doubt. Life is easier, and lord knows that between finals and deadlines, easy doesn't come... easy. I want to soak up every bit of hope and love that emanates from this school. It manifests itself in the smiles I can't hide as I walk through the quad, in the laughter I can't repress as I recall a particular moment. And why should I? Maybe Disney is the happiest place on earth for some people, but mine is right here, with Roy Williams as our Mickey Mouse.

And now, a more sarcastic analysis of various aspects of my year. You had to have known that I couldn't be entirely sentimental and sappy. New students, take note:

Hinton James
Hmm, I wonder why they don't advertise this monstrosity on the campus tour? Just a little too reflective of the projects, perhaps? Despite my fabulous roommate and lovely suitemates, I can't wait to say good riddance! Since the school couldn't afford an A/C unit for my room, couldn't they at least invest in some new, intact letters for the entrance sign? That would at least fool future residents momentarily. The two a.m. fire alarm wake-up calls and 20 minute walks to class will suffice in jading them anyway.

Carolina Dining Services
"Dine" rhymes with "fine," which is ironic in this case. The only fine things I found were hairs in my food. Yummy. I admit that I am a highly selective eater, but does anyone think that these meals should be valued at $8 a pop? Just because someone came up with creative, gourmet names for the most questionable food items doesn't mean I would choose them over the always-classy Spanky's guacamole burger.

Advising
I recently filled out a survey for this University service. One question asked me if I had prepared for my appointment. Well gee, if I didn't, who would? Certainly not the advisers that receive a salary! I've gone to three different ones this year. Now, let's remember that I've been here for one year. They've been here for who knows how long. My future is their job and I can't imagine leaving it in less capable hands. Heck, we ought to be advising them.

Being a White Girl
Try to avoid this condition if at all possible. I'm just not diverse enough to be accepted into much of anything, and my life experiences reflect that. My biggest personal tragedy has been attending a school with an unfavorable male-female ratio. My family is intact. My ethnicity is European, specifically Aryan, and I'm pretty sure none of us were ever persecuted. Basically, this majority group's domination of the school causes reverse discrimination until we get into the workplace, where we can once again experience the regular kind of discrimination in the form of inferior salaries and sexual harassment.

Economics 101
Don't do it!

A Lesson from Barbie World

When I was born, my mom vowed to never let me play with Barbie dolls. She didn't want me to grow up with a distorted image of female beauty. Of course, not all girls' moms were ex-Catholics like mine, who felt the need to instill a confidence in me that she and her mother lacked, the latter having given birth to 10 children (contraception=sin) and the former growing up in a household where boys did the "real" work.

And so, these other mothers thwarted my mom's plan. Barbies are hard to avoid at friends' houses, and they're the go-to gift for girls under the age of 10. Fortunately, I never found their orange-tinted skin and unnatural hair color particularly appealing. (Some girls clearly idolize her look though, judging by the large population of fake-baked bottle blondes.) Plus, I cut Barbie's hair instead of my own, which had to be a relief to my mom. (As a side note, she did allow me to get a bowl cut one year, at an actual hair cuttery. The pictures, needless to say, are painful.)

Today when I was babysitting, I watched as these two girls played with their own dolls, one Barbie doll and one Bratz doll, commenting on how pretty they were. And man, I thought Barbie was bad, but Bratz take it a step further. The next generation of girls is going to be demanding eye and head enlargement surgeries in addition to breast enhancement and liposuction. Actually, I'm fairly certain that doll manufacturers and plastic surgeons have made some sort of arrangement.

But as I was sitting there, fearing for the future, the two dolls suddenly became interested in seeking boyfriends. In this case, the prospective boy toys were actually lotion and body wash bottles. (More practical than the real thing.) And surprisingly enough, these dolls were incredibly selective. NONE of the options were decent kissers or proper gentlemen. Thus, they were thrown over my legs and into "the ocean."

Despite my concerns, I think these girls know how to handle a guy. And I thought I had learned the same lesson during my Barbie years and beyond. But I held onto a boy even less tangible than theirs for far longer. I realized that my choice to throw him into the ocean was better late than never. After all, there are plenty of other fish, lotions and body washes in the sea.

For Eve

Now that I've had time to fully process the whirlwind of events that has occurred over the past several days, it's time to reflect. Or rather, do my best to express my newly-altered perspective of humanity.

Eve Carson is gone. Eve, who I interviewed for countless articles, who loved our school so passionately, who could hardly complete a sentence because her enthusiasm was nearly impossible to contain. I always had a hard time getting good quotes from Eve. But she didn't need to say it-- she did it. Truly, her actions were enough.

But what about the actions of others? What about the two men charged with first degree murder? I'm not sure anyone can forgive them for what they've done. A life in exchange for a few more bills stuffed in their wallets. Despite my aversion to full-fledged hatred, I truly despise those two men, no, boys, for what they've done. These days, any excuse for destruction ought to be aimed solely at eradicating evil. I can't imagine any situation in which they could've been involved that necessitated murder. I really can't.

I know that I'm naive and terribly idealistic, but there must be some solution to ending this violence. It's not gun control, it's not capital punishment. I'd hate to think that economic situation and environment are the main factors that contribute to the creation of either an Eve or a murderer, but I also doubt that a few anti-violence policies will suffice.

Then there's Westboro Baptist Church. What would compel a group of people to say that Eve deserved to die? I don't know what I'll do if they show up to her memorial on Tuesday. I can't understand how a religious sect can believe in such an angry and wrathful God. And what's more, I don't think He'd ever "sacrifice" someone like Eve.

Although I've been horrified by some of the behavior I've witnessed during the last few days, I'm also awestruck. Walking around The Pit Thursday was one of the most heart-wrenching moments of my life. And yet immediately, everyone came together. To cry, to comfort, to reach out. The Daily Tar Heel published one of the finest works of journalism I have ever seen. There was more love emanating out of the crowd during that candlelit vigil than there was anger in the actions of those two murderers, than there still is in the minds of those church members.

My iPod played two relevant songs consecutively today. I could go for the cliche Yellowcard song "View from Heaven," but I think that Eve would want us to stay here a little longer and see if we might be able to change the view for ourselves. Thus, Ben Folds' "Still Fighting It":

It was pain
Sunny days and rain
I knew you'd feel the same things

Everybody knows
It sucks to grow up
And everybody does
It's so weird to be back here.
Let me tell you what
The years go on and
We're still fighting it,
We're still fighting it.

The Conversation

We haven't spoken in two months. Certainly, I wanted some time to myself. A long-distance relationship is merely a cellular commitment and I didn't know if it could last the way my minutes miraculously had. The distance is romantic in concept, in movies, but in practice, every mile intensified the dull ache in my chest. I wanted to ache with purpose. With the knowledge that I was investing my time in something that wouldn't lose its value. I guess I have yet to fully accept that making mistakes is sometimes inevitable.

And at the same time, I blamed you for holding me back merely by existing. How could anyone compare? So unlike anyone I've ever known, and so much like myself. But alas, I concede. I am the guilty party in some regards. I squandered opportunities without your help. I stopped seeking others because I thought you were enough.

I didn't get a chance to recite my rehearsed lines requesting a hiatus before things ended abruptly and, appropriately, online. What began on AIM ceased to be via Facebook. (If there's anything I'd like to apologize for, it's maintaining a digital means of communication.) Thousands and thousands of pixels, but the few words that I wrote, words that occupied so little of the screen, translated to "What's next?" on my screen and "Who's next?" on yours.

The mannerisms, the gestures, the meaningful glances got lost in the airwaves and the only tangible evidence we had of one another was the name on the screen. I thought it was a lifeline. But it's lifeless. And still, I can't bring myself to delete your number. To sever that line completely.

Gaining Some Religion, Part 1: That's me in the corner, meditating

Remember when we had to read Siddhartha in English class our sophomore year of high school? Well, today I had a flashback to those days of analyzing the symbolism of water and discussing Sidd's sexual fantasies. Or rather, today I recalled my limited knowledge of Buddhism in a useless attempt to make a connection between that God-awful book (pun intended) and my infinitely more bizarre hands-on zen experience. And while I would love to say that my second encounter with the Buddhist religion was more promising, my aching back and lack of inner wisdom indicate otherwise.

Anyway, I suppose that first a little background information is necessary. I'm irreligious. Much like the Swiss, I'm all about neutrality, and my early disillusionment regarding religion has made me a clean slate, a blank page, an empty stone tablet, what have you. The only belief I've had in years has been my faith in myself. I decided about a year ago, however, that I needed to take a dip in the baptismal waters, spout out a little Hebrew, and "om" with purpose. Finally, I am enacting that plan. Who knows? Maybe all I'll wind up with are some WWJD bracelets. Maybe I'll glow with newfound enlightenment.

Maybe I can reclaim for myself what R.E.M. lost.

Back to today. I visited the Chapel Hill Zen Center after corresponding with my ride, B.J., for approximately a month. (We had a lot of scheduling conflicts.) Employing the teachings of Buddha/Sidd (and about a billion other guys whose names we had to chant), the center is a place for self-reflection and meditation. The outside looks like it houses a small family rather than a fat man in a constant state of nirvana. It even has a koi pond. With a bridge.

As for B.J., well, he is a guy I'd like to adopt as my surrogate grandfather. On the way over, he and I discussed American's destruction of the English language, the importance of multilingualism, and his preference for manual transmissions, among other things. Plus, he lives in Pittsboro. Anyone who lives in Pittsboro gets points for the simple act of carrying out most of his or her existence in that fabulously historic and charming town. I'll throw B.J. some karma points because that seems most appropriate in his case.

Being a first-timer at the center, I was put in the library to read up on how to ignore my consciousness, particularly my salivary glands. Nothing disturbs a zen atmosphere quite like an obscenely loud swallow. Then my meditation instructor Paul showed me proper etiquette. Sitting is definitely the hardest part of meditation. You have to situate yourself on this little round pillow, but only the front third of it, in order to place your pelvis in the optimum position. For posture purposes, of course.

I'm not sure exactly how long we meditated, but I failed miserably in my effort. Your focus is supposed to be on your breathing if you're not gifted enough to clear your thoughts automatically. I can't, that's for sure. I guess I can add that to my list of things Chapel Hill has taught me that I actually can't do all that well. I kept trying to count to 10, but my upper back was not adjusted to its new upright attitude and my eyes didn't want to remain downcast yet still open.

After an indeterminate amount of time, we chanted. Some of the chants were in an interpretation of English that I'm sure Faulkner would've enjoyed. Others were in Chinese, Japanese, Sanskrit. I got really good at saying "prajna paramita," or "perfection of wisdom." I was nowhere near perfect or wise, but I do feel more informed. And now I know that Buddhists haven't been missing out on those sah-weet, uplifting gospel songs. Their chants literally made me tap my feet. I hope I didn't look irreverent.

Though completely different than anything I've done before, the entire experience was fascinating.

I liked to bow as a sign of respect. I liked the idea of reaching an inner peace. I liked my shoe-less feet on the soft foyer carpet. I think that my biggest problem was my lack of understanding. At least I have a basic knowledge of western religions. I may not think highly of all of them, but I know the history. I did, after all, have that gold-leafed Bible when I was a kid. Eastern religions are so foreign, so mysterious. Plus, there's that language barrier issue.

I haven't decided whether or not I'll go back.