In Celebration...

...of our two-month marriage anniversary, here are some pictures from the big day! I'm kind of obsessed with them.

I hate the smell of flowers, so all our flowers were hand made of paper by one of my bridesmaids :)

Maid of Honor, my sister Sarah!

Cassidy, my best friend who made all the flowers!

College roomie, Harley :)

Childhood best friend and fire fairy, Jesse :)

Now sister-in-law, Abigail!

Another childhood best friend and fire fairy, Ellie!

 

You can't tell, but the cake topper bride is pinching the cake topper groom's butt. That cake topper was the first wedding thing I picked out.

Best day of my life--so far :)

2016: The Best Year of My Life

More will come. Right now I'm still in shock. I've been shaking and beaming uncontrollably for the past...sixteen hours.

There was mud. And an argument. And literal fireworks.

And then my best friend, the man of my dreams, my rock, my partner, my love...

Got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

After gasping, asking if he was serious, and feeling tears of joy, I managed to say "Yes." It was the happiest and surest word I'd ever spoken.

Guys. Gem and I are engaged. I could not be any more joyful.

~Stephanie

Bitch, I Can Accomplish More Than One Thing

I’m not sure if I’m staying angry so that I can write this, or if I’m really still furious. I was definitely furious half an hour ago though, of that I am certain.

I teach a section of a class at Campbell called the Campbell University Freshman Seminar (CUFS). It’s basically just a required class for freshmen about how to succeed in college. To be a teacher of this class, I attend meetings every other week with all the other student teachers and we learn teaching strategies and styles etc. Tonight was one of those meetings.

Tonight’s meeting was about Stress Management, and Goal Setting. Stress Management was really fun: we did breathing exercises, listened to music, and colored. Then came Goal Setting, which involved The Stoplight "Game."

We were each given fifteen sticky notes (five green, five red, five yellow). On the red, we were to write things we want to stop doing next semester; on the green, things we want to start doing; on the yellow, things we want to keep doing.

At first it was hard to come up with things, but once the juices got flowing, I really enjoyed the activity. Visualizing my goals made me feel more productive and capable.

Then we lay all the sticky notes in front of us.

“All right,” Carrie, the leader, said. “Now, take away five of them. If you had to give up five goals for next semester, which ones would you discard?”

Ugh, that sucked after working so hard to pick really important things. I was annoyed.

“All right,” Carrie said. “Look at these ten things. These are the ten things you most want to be sure to do next semester.” We all nodded. “Okay, now take away five more.”

Now it just wasn’t cool. I stared at my goals, things like “Make Time for Creative Writing,” “Read my Bible Every Day,” and “Work Out More Consistently” and felt genuinely persecuted as I had to strip five more away. Who was this bitch to tell me that I could only accomplish five damn things next semester?

I still had seven when she beamed at the group again. “All right, now that you have five in front of you—” (“I still have seven,” I muttered to my small group as I finally stripped away "Stop Putting Off Getting Started" and "Start Writing Letters Again") “—I want you to take away two more.”

I glared at her. Wow. Now I had to take away “Blogging” and “Getting the Hard Stuff Done First” (an awesome strategy I’ve somehow just recently bought into).

“Now,” she said. “You guessed it. What if you could only have one goal in front of you? Discard two more. What is the most important thing to you?”

“Wow,” I muttered to my small group. “Obviously ‘Send Out My Resume and Get a Real Job” is the one thing that has to stay. I have to get a job.”

I stared at that little green sticky note which—just minutes ago—had held promise and productivity and passion, and I hated it. I hated its dirty fucking soul.

I had watched my colorful and well-rounded array of life goals boil down to “Hey Bitch. Get your ‘real’ life together.” I had watched goals like “Start Writing Letters Again,” “Eat Healthier,” and “Hang Out With My Roommates” get stripped away because they weren’t “as important” as practical or obligatory shit like “Read My Bible Every Day” (sorry, Jesus, I love doing that. I honestly do. Which is why it was fucking stupid to make me discard it) and “Send Out My Resume.”

It’s just not fair. Seriously, who is this bitch who thinks I can only accomplish one damn thing?!

We then had to continue this activity by sharing with the group and making a timeline for achievement, complete with intermediate goals. As people shared, they had fun insights like “My number one ended up being ‘Get Organized,’ and it’s funny because I realized that if I just get organized, I’ll actually achieve my number two and three goals, which were ‘Study More’ and ‘Sleep More.’”

“Great!” Carrie would say. “That’s great! That’s exactly right. Isn’t it cool how you figure out that by achieving your ultimate goal, a lot of the little things fall into place!”

Except that I actually arranged my goals so that they didn’t overlap like that. ALL of my goals were individually important.

“This might be a fun activity to do with your classes,” Carrie said. “We’re happy to provide sticky notes if you want to come by the office and grab some!”

I will set my classroom on fire before I subject my beloved freshmen to this, I thought.

See, I understand the purpose of the activity. It was to help us prioritize, and that part WAS really interesting. (So interesting that I’m actually going to end this post with my goals in order.) It just also depressed me completely.

Why would you make me come up with things I want to do with my life, then direct me to discard everything that adds color and joy and personality, because—sorry—they can’t realistically make the cut because I’d rather “Start Working Out” than “Start Writing Letters Again.” First of all, that makes me feel like a really shitty person when you make me visually depict the fact that I guess I care more about how I look than keeping in touch with people? Except that I don’t think I’m a shitty person (at least not because of that). I think I can do both of those things perfectly well. Back the fuck off and let me keep my goals.

I know I sound like I’m getting way, way, irrationally angry about this. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m just PMSing. But I just think it’s really painful and unhelpful to make a college senior reduce her life to “Get a Job, Bitch.” But maybe that’s just me.

We shoulda done the Stress Management Workshop last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15. Clearing Out My Email Inbox Regularly

14. Meeting Up with My CUFS Kids/Keeping in Touch with Them

13. Wasting So Much Time on Facebook

12. Letting My Room Get So Messy

11. Assuming People Don’t Remember Me

10. Hanging Out with My Roommates

9. Eating So Much Junk Food

8. Making Time for Creative Writing

7. Writing Letters Again

6. Stopping Putting off Getting Started

5. Doing the “Hard” Stuff First

4. Blogging

3. Reading My Bible Every Day

2. Working Out More Consistently

1. Sending Out Job Applications/Resume

 ~Stephanie

A Small Breakdown

I had a small breakdown today.

My roommate and I went to see the play "Anne of Green Gables" this afternoon. I LOVED those movies as a kid. We have the entire movie series on VHS and I think I can probably still quote whole sections even though I haven't seen them in years.

Actually, before the play, I hadn't even THOUGHT about the story lately: the story of a little orphan girl with an unparalleled imagination, a big mouth, and dreams of authorship. I forgot how much Anne felt like childhood, felt like a legitimate part of MY identity, felt like home. Anne found a home in Green Gables, and I found my home today in her.

Suddenly I remembered how inspired I would get when I watched movies set in "olden days." I would start getting up at 7am and making my bed and eating an "old-fashioned" breakfasts and doing my chores right away and trying to wear dresses. I would make vows like ones Anne would make, about being a more conscientious person. I would try to be Polite and Well-Mannered and Hospitable.

Then my stomach started to sink with the startling realization that I am sort of grown up. There will not ever be another time when I can wake up and reinvent myself while my mom actually keeps my real life spinning. I actually DO have to get up at 7am and do my chores, because no one else is going to do them for me. I can't just lose myself in whatever pretend game I want anymore. I have to live my own, actual, real life.

And then--at the time it somehow seemed directly related to the above--I got really homesick. Lately I've been plagued by a gnawing feeling of homelessness. The couch and chair in my apartment living room are SINFULLY uncomfortable (the arms are bony, the leather seats stick to your skin, and the cushions come out the moment your ass touches them). My room is always messy because 1) it's small and 2) I never have the time or energy to keep it neat. Our kitchen sink is too shallow to wash dishes in and we don't have enough counter space to cook real food comfortably. My apartment does not feel like home.

But Gem's dorm is even worse. He's in your typical freshman dorm:  roommate, cinder block walls, loud AC unit, muggy as hell (the dehumidifier they just bought collects TWO GALLONS of water a day), and his bed is all the way lofted. You cannot sit up in bed at all. You're like 18 inches from the ceiling. It is like living in a prison cell. A humid, humid prison cell.

So, naturally, Home--my parents' house--is where my mind wistfully wandered.

Except that "Home" doesn't feel right anymore either. It has actually just started to feel like "my parents' house." Sure, it's familiar and the couch is comfy and the sink is deep and the counter space is fantastic and Mom's cooking is delicious and my room is clean (mostly because I don't live there anymore) and I can sit up in my bed, but...I don't know. It doesn't feel like a place where my soul is relaxed and snuggled up in a blanket anymore. It feels a little bit empty.

Although I'd give anything to be there now, of course. I really miss my family. I miss Mom's cooking and our inside jokes and her just "GETTING" me. I miss hearing Daddy's newest philosophical and political insights and going to the antique store with him and letting him show me his latest woodworking project. I haven't seen my sister in...a really long time. I don't even know when I saw her last. She pretty much just stays at college. She doesn't even respond to my texts, much less text me on her own.

But anyway. "Anne of Green Gables" made my heart and my throat ache with homesickness. And then my brain engaged and snorted at me:  Homesick? For where? Where is your home? And I didn't even know what to say.

My parents' house isn't Home anymore, and yet, I can't imagine feeling at home without my parents. This whole semester I've been excited to graduate and make my own "home": an apartment with all my books and my clothes and kitchen utensils where I cook food and watch TV and sleep and live real life. I've been so ready and so excited to make my own home.

But now I'm afraid that nowhere will ever feel like home, that I am incapable of creating "Home" by myself. I don't know how to do that. I'm afraid I'll always be a little homesick.

And I just started crying, right there in the play, right there in the dark theater house.

I'm not crying anymore, but I do feel lost and confused. What does Home really mean, anyway? Where Gem is? Where my books are? Where the damn couch cushions don't scoot out?

If I ever figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.

~Stephanie

I Don't Drink

As Told in Pairs

:)

~Stephanie

From What I Broke Free

Eminem and Rihanna came out with "The Monster" on October 29, 2013, about two weeks before I completely lost my integrity for a time.

You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath.

And you think I'm crazy? Well, that's not fair.

I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is brilliant.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.

You know how I used to write in Purple and Green? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.

I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters:  "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.

They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.

Because life was bad.

It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).

I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.

But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest:  dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.

I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up:  to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.

He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.

First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life together, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian first. That could come later.)

Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)

Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).

Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.

I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.

"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."

That line always made me think of Purple and Green.

"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."

My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.

"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."

That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was crazy.

But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and convincing me that I was crazy?

Well. That wouldn't be fair.

What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?

That's. Not. Fair.

"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:

"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."

How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.

And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am

It's funny:  ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.

~Stephanie

What Started As a Fragment, Has Ended in Roommate Sap

It's been a long time since I just talked here, since I didn't wait for a coherent idea or a fun question to wrestle with or a bunch of sappiness about Gem. I don't have any complete thoughts to share with you, just a lot of...well, fragments. At least I think they are fragments. You know how I get when I write: one thought will sometimes keep unfolding before my fingers until it's a real post. Right?

~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.

{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}

But now? Now I am Happy.

My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.

I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.

Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.

Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.
Mary is always cold.
Harley loves Captain America.
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.
Mary loves Baby Groot.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that things get better. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.

If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.

Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.

Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.

~Stephanie

 Freshman

 Sophomore

 Junior

 A few weeks ago XD

Some Kind of Validation

Some Kind of Validation

~Stephanie

P.S. The writing is going well. But let's not jinx things.

From Christmas 2013

12/24/13

Dear Christmas 2014 Eve Stephanie,

Hey :) How are you? I come bringing you good news. Would you like to hear it?

You are in a better place than me! Isn't that a relief? I am so happy for you. I worked really hard to get you here. I dedicated myself to my school work, and opened myself up to new friends, and tried to get deeper with God, and wrote more, and read more, and pushed Sam to the right place on my priority list.

You are the result of a very difficult Christmas 2013, and probably a pretty tearful following New Year's Eve. How do you feel? Pearls are made from being trapped. A phoenix rises stronger from the ashes. Diamonds form under great pressure.

You a pearl, a phoenix, and a diamond, produced from the captivity, heat, and pressure I'm feeling right now. I'm so glad that you're alive. Aren't you glad? Isn't it nice just to be alive?

I don't care if you have a boyfriend or not :) If you do, I trust that you think a lot of him and the two of you are a reasonable kind of happy. If you don't, keep believing that God has someone good for you, someone who will ask you on real dates, and write you letters, and pray with you, and make you laugh, and propel his own life forwards.

I hope you're loving being an English major. I think you are, even if you've been frustrated this year. You love words so much. Just think about how you feel when you read a good book, and how powerful writing inspiration is. So many people have told met hat I'm a good writer, so you must be even better. Remember, every time you think you've lost your touch, you read and love something you wrote LAST time you thought you lost your touch. Things go in cycles. You're destined to write something worth it, I'm sure. Believe that.

You're not fat. Don't even think that. You look great, I'm totally sure. I'm going to make sure of it.

I bet you have time to read a whole book between now and when you go back to school. Go for it!

Please don't be sad :) I'm fighting considerable sadness myself, and the thought of you being happy is one of the only things keeping me going.

Love you, Stephanie of Christmas 2014! I hope your first year out of the teens has been alright!

~Christmas 2013 Stephanie

Colors on My Soul

"Teal”

10/27/14

I loved a boy with a teal soul.

He had teal eyes,

Neither blue nor green.

Ambiguous. Enigmatic.

Small and piercing; slicing, sharp.

They were a one-way door.

Sly and sneaking, seeking.

Secretive. Shocking. Stealthy.

They pierced, they sliced,

They sought, they stole.

It was a teal soul.

"Green and Gold"

10/28/14

I love a boy with brown eyes.

He has a soul of green and gold:

Deep with alive; rich with warm.

Gentle and bold.

Present and open; promising, proud.

They brought integrity.

Passionate and polite, perceiving.

Persistent. Pursuing. Purposeful.

They healed, they prodded,

They praised, they protected.

It made me whole,

His green and gold soul.

~Stephanie

Double Life

I feel like I'm leading a double life.

On one hand, I am happier than I've ever been in my entire life. I am happier than I ever thought possible--much happier than I deserve.

It's the people:  my suitemates are perfect living companions:  we get along flawlessly, balancing late-night life discussions and sessions of politely ignoring each other while we do homework. We laugh loudly and often and share inappropriate details about our lives. It is truly awesome.

Cassidy is still my best friend. We understand each other, support each other, and share hilarious text messages that make me burst out laughing in moments of silence. Our relationship feels the same, except older. I think it's what growing up is supposed to be for best friends.

And Gem. Things with Gem are amazingly great. He gives direction to my aimless everyday inefficiencies and overwhelming mundane endeavors. I take the best naps with him. He has the best story ideas. He's the best kind of stubborn. He sent me a Batman ice cube tray in the mail the other day, for no reason. He takes me on dates because he likes to. He sends me spontaneous flirting texts in class and I cannot help smiling.

These people light up my life. Sometimes it almost makes me cry. God is so great. He has blessed me more than I thought possible.

I am so happy.

But on the other hand, I have never been this miserable for this long in my entire life.

This entire semester has been depression and struggle and frustration and helplessness. I have not had a single day where I woke up with a smile and thought I can do this. Every morning has been like a punch in the stomach, oppressive and nauseating.

It's a rule that semesters start off rough, you know? It's hard to shake the summer mindset. It's hard to say goodbye to friends and family back home. It's hard to watch the tan leach from your skin. I expected these routine difficulties. But I did not expect them to persist relentlessly into my third month of junior year.

I am DROWNING in homework, internship, tutoring, and copy-editor duties. Drowning isn't even the right word. Suffocating? Flattening? My Model United Nations class consists of "Here's a textbook. Read it, understand it, and be prepared for tests on it. Also, please become intimately familiar with all current events and events pertaining to the UN from the last fifty years."

There's a conference coming up in November, where I will represent Belgium on a UN committee COMPLETELY ALONE. I have no idea how to prepare for that.

In another poli-sci class, I am the only non-political science or criminal justice major. I have a midterm in that class tomorrow. I haven't had time to study for it.

In all my three English classes, which I love, I think I've completed about ten readings. There has been a lot of skimming and SparkNoting and bullshitting. I hate doing that. I love being an English major. If I didn't have all the tedious, impossible work for my political science minor, I might love my life.

But as things are, I honest-to-God do not know how I'm going to keep going. Am I going to start failing classes? Am I going to start getting sick all the time? Am I going to lose myself in this relentless struggle to juggle my life?

I feel so trapped. There aren't classes or jobs that I can drop. I have to keep doing everything, but it's only going to get worse, and I'm barely keeping my head above water as is.

I love school because I love learning. But at the same time, I do not want to do this anymore. I am so over being constantly graded. I am so over living a life that is functionally disconnected from Gem. I am so over the entanglements of busy work and...just academics.

I know that I don't want to quit school, but at the same time, these overwhelming feelings of depression and helplessness are not tapering off as the semester progresses the way they normally do.

I'm just frustrated. I know exactly what I want with my life, I just can't reach it yet, and I can't tell if I'm on the surest, most efficient path toward that goal. Am I somehow causing myself unnecessary pain and stress? Or is this just the way it has to be for now?

No answers, only questions.

The reality of impending adultness continues.

~Stephanie

Giaraffe Emesis

I hope that this will be a brief post. I've been really productive this evening, so I don't want to break my flow, but I was also suddenly seized with the need to say something here.

I've been blowing through pages in my "New United Nations" textbook like nobody's business. Seriously, I think I read like twelve pages in an hour and a half, and that is flat-out UNHEARD OF. I'm even in the basement of the library, a place I usually reserve for literary homework. I have a strict No PolySci Homework policy when it comes to the library:  I don't want to taint these sacred halls with the wrong kind of stress.

But this evening, polysci did not stress me out, so I made an exception.

Since coming to college, I have been listening almost exclusively to Mutemath's self-titled album. When I start getting ready for bed, I turn on Mutemath and hit my iHome's Sleep button until it promises to turn off in 30 minutes. Sometimes I'm asleep by the time the music stops; sometimes Gem keeps me up longer.

At any given time, I have 70+ pages of reading to do. I must read about the evolution of the United Nations; I must read about ethical philosophers and how their views apply to the government; I must read about different literary approaches (Allison:  "So you're literally reading about reading?" Me: "...well, when you say it like THAT..."); I must read "Emma," which is wonderful; and I must read about how to write.

And sometimes I get to read about a girl who plays with fire, but not often enough to maintain continuity or remember my place.

When I'm not reading, sometimes I watch Lost. I am on Season 1, Episode 12, so no spoilers. I really like Sayid. I really hate Sawyer, but you're supposed to.

My school internship is going really, really well. I'm writing letters of inquiry, which means I get to write about Campbell University's projects in ways that appeal to lots of different money-giving foundations. I get to take one project and spin it ten or twelve different ways, exercising my creativity and persuasive skills. It is incredibly fun to me.

My alarm didn't go off yesterday morning. I woke up one minute before my class started. I was still only eleven minutes late.

My suitemates are amazing. We stay up and talk and laugh til we cry. I always have people to do things with, but they also understand my need to be left alone. We have "family dinner" every Monday night, which, so far, has consisted of Harley making spaghetti and us pulling together every table-like surface in the apartment to have room to seat everyone.

This Saturday, Gem and his sister, Abigail, are visiting. Harley's making tacos. We will not have enough table surface, but we've decided not to address that until the problem is staring us in the face. It'll be fine.

I'll be glad to see Gem, although not having any alone time with him will be a little disappointing.

How are you all doing? :)

Road Trip:  the Arch in St. Louis :)

Whatever Campbell's shortcomings, scenery isn't one of them.

Road Trip:  Chicago

 Gem: "Oops, these are too small for me...maybe you want them?"

True love.

Road Trip: the Bean

~Stephanie

But Only a Little Bit

I am lying on my bed with a stomachache. Normally I would write this kind of thing in my journal, but that would require me not to lie on my back with my eyes closed.

I am stressed and I have a lot to do, but I have decided that it is okay for me to lie here for a while until I don't see the world in roiling waves of green nausea. I think that is one of the marks of being an adult:  having to assess whether or not you can afford to ignore your work for a bit. When you're a kid, you can ignore your work all day every day and not think twice about it. No guilt. No stress. That's why there are grown-ups:  to make you do your work.

But now I'm a little bit of a grown-up. I have to buy my own paper towels and toothpaste and chocolate milk. I have to get out of bed and wash my dishes and turn my light off at a decent hour. I have to wear clothes that fit the occasion and compose emails professionally and dedicate enough time to my homework.

{But I'm still in college, living on campus, so there's a lot of adultism that I haven't had to deal with yet. I'm pretty glad.}

Blugh. I just want someone to hand me peppermint tea and make me smile and help me see that the 70+ pages of political ethics and United Nations reading isn't actually going to kill me. I want someone to tell me that they liked my pigtails today and that having a tiny gold Batman ring is pretty much the coolest thing they've ever seen. I want to sit close to someone around whom I don't have to hold my stomach in or keep my shoulders back or try to look pleasant.

I sort of want to come apart real quick, but not in a helpless, emotional way. I just want to unstitch myself, come apart at the seams, and spill out all the stuff inside my heart and mind. I want someone to listen to me mumble aloud my chaotically elegant train of thought and not judge me based on conversational relevance or profundity.

Hmm. I'm starting to feel better--somewhat unfortunately. I can no longer justify lying here on my back with my eyes closed. I guess I have to go do my work now.

Alas, I am a little bit of a grown-up.

~Stephanie

Yahweh

As I sit at my desk, waiting for my 11 o'clock interviewee to pick up her phone, it strikes me that it has been more than a month since I posted here. Or anywhere, really. I haven't posted on Reason in the Rhyme in even MORE than more than a month. That is especially embarrassing, because it's my "professional" blog. I am literally broadcasting that I am a writer who does not write.

But while I've been living my life and not writing, things have been going rather well. My not-so-little-anymore sister went to Europe and returned without trauma. My church hosted an awesome pastor named Peter Lord. Two of my unbiological brothers are now allowed to consume alcohol in public. Cassidy has slept at my house and dog sitting houses more than at her own. My parents have been great givers of freedom and trust to me. And Gem has been, well, the only person I can imagine wanting to spend my life with. What's new.

Oh, and I cleaned my room. Once.

All in all, my takeaway for this half of the summer has been that God is real. I'm not sure exactly why. I haven't seen anyone instantaneously cured of cancer before my eyes. {But I did see a woman with unexplainable, persistent back pain feel better a day after my church laid hands on her and prayed.} I haven't had amazing quiet times. {But I have been HAVING quiet times, as short and shallow as they sometimes are.} I haven't had incredible supernatural powers. {Although I think I have finally forgiven the biggest offense ever committed to me, which is nothing short of a miracle.} God didn't suddenly unveil his master plans to me. {But he did prove to me that his love and promises are true.}

It's interesting:  I didn't plan any of those bracketed statements. I was actually just trying to explain to you why it didn't make sense for me to feel so strongly that GOD IS REAL. But as I sit here and try to tell you that this hasn't been a God summer, I am convicted even more strongly that it WAS. It so was.

I see God working in the lives of everyone around me, and it's inspiring. Cassidy is journaling and studying the Bible and examining her future plans, and I really feel a huge difference in the strength of her character. She's becoming more of who she is in God, and it inspires me.

Sarah says things like, "I feel pretty good about it. I've been praying a lot," and my eyes open to the fact that she is not just my little sister, but a very effective and committed warrior of Christ.

Gem...God is so real to Gem that sometimes it's like I can feel God through Gem. I don't know how else to say it. Gem prays to God like he expects an answer. He turns to God like he expects to be supported. He listens to God like he trusts him. He pursues God like he finds him enthralling.

God is so real to me right now. I want to know him. I want to follow him. I want to be on his side.

I hope this post doesn't seem like directionless fluff. I didn't know what I wanted to say when I sat down, but I think this is it. I think this is what I wanted to say.

God is real, and I hope this post has piqued the interest of your heart, because God really wants to know you.

~Stephanie

P.S. It just occurred to me that I chose "True" as my word of the year. Authentic. Real. Huh :)