Going through the new posts on Nathan's blog, and having just printed yet another post, I'm reminded that I can't seem to print in my last template using black ink, but only in grey (the actual text colour). As a result, although I did like the dark look of the previous template, I've decided to change the look of the blog to something with black text, so that it actually will print mostly in black.
Now, if I had a black laser printer like I wanted, this wouldn't be an issue, but I don't. And I think it's quite clear already that I've spent enough money this summer.
If you're asking "why is Michael printing his blog?", the answer is fairly simple:
a) I'm a paper fiend, and thanks to Tolkien, my goal is life is to leave more paper behind than a dead Redwood, and:
b) I worked in an Archive all summer, and am acutely aware of how much better it is reading paper than a screen--and how impermanent electronic storage can be.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Don't judge me by my cover!
I've just come back from a visit to the eyedoctor, and the verdict is about what I had reason to suspect: I need new glasses. I've had my current pair for three years, and every year the prescription has changed slightly, so that while my eye-health is about the same as its always been, my vision no longer matches my glasses. This bugged me all last winter, during Logic class, trying to focus on the projection screen, and has made some driving difficult, when looking for street signs, but hasn't been a huge deal.
I'll probably be safer on the road, and it's certainly about time they were replaced.
All the same...
New car, new glasses. I hope I don't show up at seminary looking like I have it made, financially, because that would be horribly, ironically, false.
I'll probably be safer on the road, and it's certainly about time they were replaced.
All the same...
New car, new glasses. I hope I don't show up at seminary looking like I have it made, financially, because that would be horribly, ironically, false.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Spiritual Summer
It seems somewhat appropriate that I culminate my "summer in review" posting, looking specifically at how July really helped my spiritual life, on the day that I finally go to Confession. All the old is wiped away, with today starts a fresh slate.
July was, moreso than anything else, a really important month for me spiritually. In July I not only managed to start praying again, something I could only manage as a plaintive plea in my loneliest, most despairing moments, earlier; but I also found the FLAME rekindled.
I've spoken, at least once in this blog, of my passion for becoming a priest, using the metaphor of an all-consuming flame. Burning with intense heat and shining with passion very much describes how badly I want to be ordained.
From when I broke my leg, for about all of May and June, I could barely muster a flicker of conviction that this was my vocation. It wasn't so much that I abandoned the idea, or intellectually lost hope, since my stated goal remained a return to the seminary this fall, and I never considered otherwise. No, what happened was a complete loss of passion. My relationship with God went from "I really want to be a priest" to "why me? why me?"
Not "why do you want me as a priest?", but "why did I break my leg?"
It was the most basic of plaintive cries. "Why me?"
I asked the same thing again, not even two weeks ago, when my car's transmission went and I had to replace the whole car. However, because I was able to work through the question the first time, when it REALLY hurt, it was hardly an issue at all the second time.
It's easy enough to believe, when you're not the one concerned, in the idea of Divine Providence, and all hardships and ailments working for one's own good, but it is HARD to believe that there is a point to having something bad happen to yourself. We are not an objective race where ourselves are concerned.
July not only saw me lose my crutches, it saw me regain my balance spiritually. Even before I got rid of the crutches in mid-July, and long after I was SO eager to lose them, I managed to start saying the Liturgy of the Hours again on a regular basis, something that I lost the ability to do as early as April 22nd. This coincided with wanting to go to daily Mass again, with wanting to talk to Jesus, with living in a mindframe that was more God-oriented.
And then things started sort of slipping into place, understanding-wise.
Just from a plot, "this is what happens to Michael" point of view, I could see as early as May what breaking my leg meant: working in the Archives, and all the wide array of effects that could have on my life. The stuff learned there provided lots of potential teaching for the day-to-day problems of being a priest and parish administrator, as well as possibly being the first step on a path towards a career in the Archdiocesan administration, for all that I am able to guess.
More importantly, though, I began to see the effect that it was having on me, as a person.
In breaking my leg and having to suffer through all the effects of surgery and healing, I went through my "valley of the shadow of death". It's one thing to just sit there and know something, intellectually; it's quite something else to experience it. Breaking my leg, being hospitalised, and having to go through the agony of recovery is likely to be, for me, an incredible experience for being able to relate to people. A large part of the ministry of a parish priest is ministry to the sick and dying. The healthy cannot relate nearly so well as the formerly-injured can. In one, very important, way I grew up that much more thanks to the broken leg.
I think it was also important for me to be forcibly knocked out of a feeling of optimism where the seminary was concerned. I needed to go through a period where I didn't want to think about the future, didn't want to do ANY work, and didn't want to really have anything to do with people, where all the good parts of seminary life were missing, and I was left in a grey, half-seminary which it was ultimately really good to get out of.
What this meant is that in the future, when a point comes in my seminary life where the academics finally become too much, where the busyness becomes too much, where I just don't want to be in those walls any longer-- I'll have somewhere to look back on and remember "this isn't nearly as bad as that was, and I got through that".
As of right now, I'm not quite out of the woods with my leg: I'm still limping somewhat. Spiritually, however, I'm well away. I've spent more than a month now with the flames not only regrown to their former height, but soaring higher: a wildfire raging out of control. I want to to be a priest so badly--the seven years to ordination hasn't looked so long since before I entered. I'm finally over the bad end to last year, and I'm looking forward eagerly to next year.
July was, moreso than anything else, a really important month for me spiritually. In July I not only managed to start praying again, something I could only manage as a plaintive plea in my loneliest, most despairing moments, earlier; but I also found the FLAME rekindled.
I've spoken, at least once in this blog, of my passion for becoming a priest, using the metaphor of an all-consuming flame. Burning with intense heat and shining with passion very much describes how badly I want to be ordained.
From when I broke my leg, for about all of May and June, I could barely muster a flicker of conviction that this was my vocation. It wasn't so much that I abandoned the idea, or intellectually lost hope, since my stated goal remained a return to the seminary this fall, and I never considered otherwise. No, what happened was a complete loss of passion. My relationship with God went from "I really want to be a priest" to "why me? why me?"
Not "why do you want me as a priest?", but "why did I break my leg?"
It was the most basic of plaintive cries. "Why me?"
I asked the same thing again, not even two weeks ago, when my car's transmission went and I had to replace the whole car. However, because I was able to work through the question the first time, when it REALLY hurt, it was hardly an issue at all the second time.
It's easy enough to believe, when you're not the one concerned, in the idea of Divine Providence, and all hardships and ailments working for one's own good, but it is HARD to believe that there is a point to having something bad happen to yourself. We are not an objective race where ourselves are concerned.
July not only saw me lose my crutches, it saw me regain my balance spiritually. Even before I got rid of the crutches in mid-July, and long after I was SO eager to lose them, I managed to start saying the Liturgy of the Hours again on a regular basis, something that I lost the ability to do as early as April 22nd. This coincided with wanting to go to daily Mass again, with wanting to talk to Jesus, with living in a mindframe that was more God-oriented.
And then things started sort of slipping into place, understanding-wise.
Just from a plot, "this is what happens to Michael" point of view, I could see as early as May what breaking my leg meant: working in the Archives, and all the wide array of effects that could have on my life. The stuff learned there provided lots of potential teaching for the day-to-day problems of being a priest and parish administrator, as well as possibly being the first step on a path towards a career in the Archdiocesan administration, for all that I am able to guess.
More importantly, though, I began to see the effect that it was having on me, as a person.
In breaking my leg and having to suffer through all the effects of surgery and healing, I went through my "valley of the shadow of death". It's one thing to just sit there and know something, intellectually; it's quite something else to experience it. Breaking my leg, being hospitalised, and having to go through the agony of recovery is likely to be, for me, an incredible experience for being able to relate to people. A large part of the ministry of a parish priest is ministry to the sick and dying. The healthy cannot relate nearly so well as the formerly-injured can. In one, very important, way I grew up that much more thanks to the broken leg.
I think it was also important for me to be forcibly knocked out of a feeling of optimism where the seminary was concerned. I needed to go through a period where I didn't want to think about the future, didn't want to do ANY work, and didn't want to really have anything to do with people, where all the good parts of seminary life were missing, and I was left in a grey, half-seminary which it was ultimately really good to get out of.
What this meant is that in the future, when a point comes in my seminary life where the academics finally become too much, where the busyness becomes too much, where I just don't want to be in those walls any longer-- I'll have somewhere to look back on and remember "this isn't nearly as bad as that was, and I got through that".
As of right now, I'm not quite out of the woods with my leg: I'm still limping somewhat. Spiritually, however, I'm well away. I've spent more than a month now with the flames not only regrown to their former height, but soaring higher: a wildfire raging out of control. I want to to be a priest so badly--the seven years to ordination hasn't looked so long since before I entered. I'm finally over the bad end to last year, and I'm looking forward eagerly to next year.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Life Without People
If memory serves, I more or less set up my life as it was when I moved into the Rectory, just into the month of June, and made it fairly clear it was a not particularly good time in my life. June was too busy to be much better, one way or another. I was still settling in, and I was busy with going home on weekends, spending time with friends, and, of course, work.
July was a horse of a difference colour.
Work was the same.
Residence was the same.
Nothing else was.
I went home for the last time, the last weekend of June, for my cousin's wedding. That was a long weekend, and I stayed until Monday night/Tuesday morning, getting up really early, so as to avoid the long weekend traffic as I returned to the city. From then on in, I had a month to myself.
The single most important thing about the month of July, 2007, at least as far as I can see it right now, is that it amply demonstrated I'll have no problem with living alone as a priest. This is no small discovery, given that loneliness is given as one of the biggest stumbling blocks to people envisioning what it is like to be a priest. Mind you, I never had any serious doubts on that score, but there's a world of difference between thinking something probable, and knowing it.
In all fairness, though, I probably had a quieter month than I'll ever get as a priest. True, unlike the priests living at Annunciation, I probably won't have housemates, but considering that they were hardly ever in the building at the same time, that's not exactly a major factor. With holidays and three disparate schedules/careers, they were often gone, and I was quite often home alone.
Furthermore, the day jobs of the priests are a good deal busier and full of people than my job was. Working in the Archives was lovely, given bad memories of dealing with hungry, cranky people at Panago, simply because it was almost completely free of human contact. There were a couple of weeks we had a researcher in, but that was hardly something I was much involved in, and researchers (like archivists) seem to be a quiet sort. Other than that, there was the odd visit from upstairs into the sacramental registers (usually regarding people wanting to find out if they were baptised and/or confirmed in the church, in order to get married) was about it.
I've described the month of July many times to many people already as a "silent retreat" or a "month long retreat" or a "sabbatical". Words like this describe really well what it was for me: a time to recharge my batteries. May and June, particularly the parts where I was around people, were full of me putting on a happier, more patient face than I really felt like doing, simply because it's not in my personality to whine and complain very often. By the time May rolled around, I'd had my leg broken for more than a week, I was out of the hospital, and I was starting to get around. I still needed help with things, but my mind was already going into its normal mode of "you don't want to bother anybody, either with your woes or to take up their time helping you".
For me, it was a major struggle during May to deal with people offering to help me. Maybe it's my genetic heritage, maybe it's being an eldest child amongst seven children, maybe it's just how I fluked out-- but whatever the case, I am not the sort who is good at asking for help, and I get uncomfortable if it's offered too often, at least if I actually do need it, since I feel like I should somehow be tougher.
By June, I was pretty much past needing much help, and I was getting really good on the crutches, but it was hard month too, with those weddings, ordination, and grad. Three weekends out of five that month, I made the journey back to Olds, squeezing in a weekend between the pressures of work and commutting, to attend some sort of major ceremony where there were all kinds of people that I had to explain--again--how I broke my leg, as well as Mass each Sunday in my home parish where there were, every week, people who didn't know about the leg... and had to ask.
I appreciated the concern and the interest in my life--really. As someone who has at least as much of the general human condition of insecurity and a need for validation as the next person, it feels great to be noticed and love.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there?
But the fact is, though, that what I wanted, as early as the beginning of May, wasn't attention and sympathy about the leg--I was tough enough for that--but to be able to blend into the crowd. I wanted to be normal again. Perhaps a rather plaintive cry, and a very silly one, given that I'm hardly normal to begin with, and don't intend to become such, but as regards my leg, I wanted normality.
And recovery never goes as fast as the patient wants it too. I was (and am) making noticeable progress from week to week. I cannot say I was ever stagnating or backsliding... but I wanted off of those crutches so badly. I had hoped, initially, that I might be into a walking cast after a few weeks, but either my doctor isn't a fan of those or I had the wrong sort of break for it, but he kept me on crutches. Then I thought I might be off them towards the end of June, say 8 weeks/2 months or so after I broke my leg. Well... no luck there. It was another 3-4 weeks of crutches, then onto a cane, then I would see him again in late July. Accepting that was hard.
So what was the sum of all this?
Basically, it was that I was tired of having to put on a happier face than I was feeling, and the effect of having to "ride the circuit" saying "hi" and being happy on the weekends was really too much. Perhaps that's a very ominous thing to say, given that it can be taken as one of the descriptions of a priest's weekend life, so I'll point out a fundamental difference between the two: as a priest, I'll be a working man, I'll be a useful, busy, funtioning member of a community--a man with a mission, while as the guy with a broken leg, I was exerting all this energy at a low point in my life, and coming home and.... doing nothing.
The fact that I was sort of just "there" at the weddings etc, and unable to really do anything irked me. While I'm not a dancer to begin with, the fact that I could not have danced and was basically a chairbound invalid meant that I would have LOVED to danced, something not normally the case.
A solution for many people in a situation like this, of having to put on a happier face than they feel might be resolvable by being around people they feel really comfortable with, who they can let down their guards and just whine and baby themselves--I don't know, since that solution is an imperfect one for me.
It's only my family that I could really do that around--and they were much too busy and wrapped up with all that was going on those weekends to really be available in that respect--and Mom complained each time, I think, that my visits were too short and hectic. Furthermore, I am probably just as likely to put up a strong face for family and friends as for anyone else, if not moreso. For me, the solution is not the right people, but no people.
And that's what I got in July. Thank you God, that is what I got in July.
To Be Continued...
July was a horse of a difference colour.
Work was the same.
Residence was the same.
Nothing else was.
I went home for the last time, the last weekend of June, for my cousin's wedding. That was a long weekend, and I stayed until Monday night/Tuesday morning, getting up really early, so as to avoid the long weekend traffic as I returned to the city. From then on in, I had a month to myself.
The single most important thing about the month of July, 2007, at least as far as I can see it right now, is that it amply demonstrated I'll have no problem with living alone as a priest. This is no small discovery, given that loneliness is given as one of the biggest stumbling blocks to people envisioning what it is like to be a priest. Mind you, I never had any serious doubts on that score, but there's a world of difference between thinking something probable, and knowing it.
In all fairness, though, I probably had a quieter month than I'll ever get as a priest. True, unlike the priests living at Annunciation, I probably won't have housemates, but considering that they were hardly ever in the building at the same time, that's not exactly a major factor. With holidays and three disparate schedules/careers, they were often gone, and I was quite often home alone.
Furthermore, the day jobs of the priests are a good deal busier and full of people than my job was. Working in the Archives was lovely, given bad memories of dealing with hungry, cranky people at Panago, simply because it was almost completely free of human contact. There were a couple of weeks we had a researcher in, but that was hardly something I was much involved in, and researchers (like archivists) seem to be a quiet sort. Other than that, there was the odd visit from upstairs into the sacramental registers (usually regarding people wanting to find out if they were baptised and/or confirmed in the church, in order to get married) was about it.
I've described the month of July many times to many people already as a "silent retreat" or a "month long retreat" or a "sabbatical". Words like this describe really well what it was for me: a time to recharge my batteries. May and June, particularly the parts where I was around people, were full of me putting on a happier, more patient face than I really felt like doing, simply because it's not in my personality to whine and complain very often. By the time May rolled around, I'd had my leg broken for more than a week, I was out of the hospital, and I was starting to get around. I still needed help with things, but my mind was already going into its normal mode of "you don't want to bother anybody, either with your woes or to take up their time helping you".
For me, it was a major struggle during May to deal with people offering to help me. Maybe it's my genetic heritage, maybe it's being an eldest child amongst seven children, maybe it's just how I fluked out-- but whatever the case, I am not the sort who is good at asking for help, and I get uncomfortable if it's offered too often, at least if I actually do need it, since I feel like I should somehow be tougher.
By June, I was pretty much past needing much help, and I was getting really good on the crutches, but it was hard month too, with those weddings, ordination, and grad. Three weekends out of five that month, I made the journey back to Olds, squeezing in a weekend between the pressures of work and commutting, to attend some sort of major ceremony where there were all kinds of people that I had to explain--again--how I broke my leg, as well as Mass each Sunday in my home parish where there were, every week, people who didn't know about the leg... and had to ask.
I appreciated the concern and the interest in my life--really. As someone who has at least as much of the general human condition of insecurity and a need for validation as the next person, it feels great to be noticed and love.
But.
There's always a but, isn't there?
But the fact is, though, that what I wanted, as early as the beginning of May, wasn't attention and sympathy about the leg--I was tough enough for that--but to be able to blend into the crowd. I wanted to be normal again. Perhaps a rather plaintive cry, and a very silly one, given that I'm hardly normal to begin with, and don't intend to become such, but as regards my leg, I wanted normality.
And recovery never goes as fast as the patient wants it too. I was (and am) making noticeable progress from week to week. I cannot say I was ever stagnating or backsliding... but I wanted off of those crutches so badly. I had hoped, initially, that I might be into a walking cast after a few weeks, but either my doctor isn't a fan of those or I had the wrong sort of break for it, but he kept me on crutches. Then I thought I might be off them towards the end of June, say 8 weeks/2 months or so after I broke my leg. Well... no luck there. It was another 3-4 weeks of crutches, then onto a cane, then I would see him again in late July. Accepting that was hard.
So what was the sum of all this?
Basically, it was that I was tired of having to put on a happier face than I was feeling, and the effect of having to "ride the circuit" saying "hi" and being happy on the weekends was really too much. Perhaps that's a very ominous thing to say, given that it can be taken as one of the descriptions of a priest's weekend life, so I'll point out a fundamental difference between the two: as a priest, I'll be a working man, I'll be a useful, busy, funtioning member of a community--a man with a mission, while as the guy with a broken leg, I was exerting all this energy at a low point in my life, and coming home and.... doing nothing.
The fact that I was sort of just "there" at the weddings etc, and unable to really do anything irked me. While I'm not a dancer to begin with, the fact that I could not have danced and was basically a chairbound invalid meant that I would have LOVED to danced, something not normally the case.
A solution for many people in a situation like this, of having to put on a happier face than they feel might be resolvable by being around people they feel really comfortable with, who they can let down their guards and just whine and baby themselves--I don't know, since that solution is an imperfect one for me.
It's only my family that I could really do that around--and they were much too busy and wrapped up with all that was going on those weekends to really be available in that respect--and Mom complained each time, I think, that my visits were too short and hectic. Furthermore, I am probably just as likely to put up a strong face for family and friends as for anyone else, if not moreso. For me, the solution is not the right people, but no people.
And that's what I got in July. Thank you God, that is what I got in July.
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Silence of Summer
Well, it's taken me a while, but I think I'm finally about ready to look back on my close to two months with scarcely any internet or social life. Already, closing in on two weeks past, it feels like quite a while ago, though I can't really say I feel like I've been home for a long time. As an aside, let me say that perception of time has got to be one of the oddest things there is. The simultaneous feel of a given space of time as "long" and "short" is just plain weird.
Anyway, to recap: at the very beginning of June, I was told Wednesday morning that I had until Sunday night to move out of the seminary. In reality, however, since I was going home that weekend for a wedding, I really only had until Friday morning. To make matters worse, when Fr. Paul (the Archdiocesan vocations director, who is "in charge" of the seminarians, more or less, if they need it) told me this, he didn't know then where I was moving--and I didn't find out until the next day.
I'll ask you to recall that, at that point, I was still on crutches, and I was working at the Archives. This gave me two evenings to pack and move a year's worth of stuff. Christian charity prevails among seminarians, thank God, and with help I just managed it. I didn't realise I had so much STUFF--even after leaving two lockers of stuff behind at the seminary (and these are pretty roomy lockers), I still had a full car.
Anyway, the weekend passed, and I found myself living at the rectory of Annunciation parish, in west Edmonton--just six blocks or so from West Edmonton Mall, with three priests: Fr. Paul, Fr. Andrew (the parish's pastor), and Fr. Stephan (a professor at St. Joseph's College on the U of A campus).
June, though more or less internet-deprived, was a busy month. After that first wedding, I was back in Olds on two more occassions: for my brother's grad, and for my cousin's wedding. I also went up to St. Paul (in Alberta, not Minnesota) for an ordination, visited my uncle and cousins, and hung out a couple times with a few friends. Not a crazy life, by far, but with work it was certainly one relatively occupied with people. Even if I didn't have time to post anything, my visits home meant that I was able to at least keep informed of the goings-on of my online life.
Perhaps it should be highlighted here that I did not have internet access either at the rectory or at work. At work, of course, I was dealing with 10, 20, 50, 100+ year old documents, and not with computers at all. The rectory is another matter. It certainly had internet hookup, and Frs. Andrew and Stephan, if not Fr. Paul as well, had computers using it, but those were in their own rooms. My computer remained in my car's trunk for the duration of my stay there. I had an internet connection in my room, but no place to put a desktop computer. What's more, having the broken leg didn't encourage me to attempt rearranging things.
Finally...
I wanted a break.
Really, thanks to the literal break in my leg, I was internet-burned out. In the month and more previous, the computer was pretty much all I did in my off-time. I didn't have any fresh reading material, and I didn't have the interest or stamina to try and find more. There were the occasional forays other than work or time spent alone, but these were not regular or frequent. I spent a LOT of time online--hours a day.
Eventually, it you CAN'T do anything else, that burns you out--especially when you don't have the energy to DO much online... but just sit, and read, and post somewhat.
Breaking my leg, I didn't realise at the time, took more out of me than just my ability to walk. I was tired emotionally. I didn't want to do pretty much anything. My prayer life was completely derailed. My personality and sense of vocation was knocked aside. As my body focussed on repair, my mind was left... unfocussed.
In part, this was probably due to the school-year ending. Rather than being a moment of celebration and free abandonment to summer, the stresses of finals were prolonged and merged with the agony of crutches, and as everyone left the seminary for the summer and I was left behind pretty much alone and unable and unwilling to go OUT and do anything, I was left more or less empty.
To Be Continued....
Anyway, to recap: at the very beginning of June, I was told Wednesday morning that I had until Sunday night to move out of the seminary. In reality, however, since I was going home that weekend for a wedding, I really only had until Friday morning. To make matters worse, when Fr. Paul (the Archdiocesan vocations director, who is "in charge" of the seminarians, more or less, if they need it) told me this, he didn't know then where I was moving--and I didn't find out until the next day.
I'll ask you to recall that, at that point, I was still on crutches, and I was working at the Archives. This gave me two evenings to pack and move a year's worth of stuff. Christian charity prevails among seminarians, thank God, and with help I just managed it. I didn't realise I had so much STUFF--even after leaving two lockers of stuff behind at the seminary (and these are pretty roomy lockers), I still had a full car.
Anyway, the weekend passed, and I found myself living at the rectory of Annunciation parish, in west Edmonton--just six blocks or so from West Edmonton Mall, with three priests: Fr. Paul, Fr. Andrew (the parish's pastor), and Fr. Stephan (a professor at St. Joseph's College on the U of A campus).
June, though more or less internet-deprived, was a busy month. After that first wedding, I was back in Olds on two more occassions: for my brother's grad, and for my cousin's wedding. I also went up to St. Paul (in Alberta, not Minnesota) for an ordination, visited my uncle and cousins, and hung out a couple times with a few friends. Not a crazy life, by far, but with work it was certainly one relatively occupied with people. Even if I didn't have time to post anything, my visits home meant that I was able to at least keep informed of the goings-on of my online life.
Perhaps it should be highlighted here that I did not have internet access either at the rectory or at work. At work, of course, I was dealing with 10, 20, 50, 100+ year old documents, and not with computers at all. The rectory is another matter. It certainly had internet hookup, and Frs. Andrew and Stephan, if not Fr. Paul as well, had computers using it, but those were in their own rooms. My computer remained in my car's trunk for the duration of my stay there. I had an internet connection in my room, but no place to put a desktop computer. What's more, having the broken leg didn't encourage me to attempt rearranging things.
Finally...
I wanted a break.
Really, thanks to the literal break in my leg, I was internet-burned out. In the month and more previous, the computer was pretty much all I did in my off-time. I didn't have any fresh reading material, and I didn't have the interest or stamina to try and find more. There were the occasional forays other than work or time spent alone, but these were not regular or frequent. I spent a LOT of time online--hours a day.
Eventually, it you CAN'T do anything else, that burns you out--especially when you don't have the energy to DO much online... but just sit, and read, and post somewhat.
Breaking my leg, I didn't realise at the time, took more out of me than just my ability to walk. I was tired emotionally. I didn't want to do pretty much anything. My prayer life was completely derailed. My personality and sense of vocation was knocked aside. As my body focussed on repair, my mind was left... unfocussed.
In part, this was probably due to the school-year ending. Rather than being a moment of celebration and free abandonment to summer, the stresses of finals were prolonged and merged with the agony of crutches, and as everyone left the seminary for the summer and I was left behind pretty much alone and unable and unwilling to go OUT and do anything, I was left more or less empty.
To Be Continued....
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Sick
CAUTION: The following post contains scenes of illness and disgusting subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.
It feels like every time I start to get over one thing this summer, another thing hits me. Just when I was halfways recovered from the car loss, the internet abstinence, and the crutches... I get hit with my first stomach bug in years, and have a horrid day.
It all started last night... amidst dreaming about visiting home, seeing people I hadn't seen in a few years (and their sisters, whom I've never met... ??...), I start dreaming about being back in the seminary, which for no good reason had a long, wide, curving hallway spliced between the entrance and the chapel. And, while dreaming this, I start dreaming that I have an upset stomach, which proceeds to dominate my dreams (they weren't quite uneasy enough to be nightmares) until I get up this morning.
I think the dream version might have been a bit better. All I did there was vomit, and that without the normal issues of that horrid acid aftertaste and the muscles complaining about working in reverse.
No, in real life, I did not vomit... but there's actually a lot more discomfort to the stomach. I haven't eaten all day, due to a complete loss of appetite and a fear of prompting a real life vomitting. I spent my first two or three hours awake running to the toilet with diarrhea every 15 minutes or so. The only reason I figure that stopped is that the bug ran out of ammo.
My stomach, due to care nurturing (ie. sitting on the couch as still as possible, watching movies) has more or less ceased to pain me--unless I get up and do anything, in which case it doesn't take long to make me queasy again.
I suppose it's just as well it's not happening while I'm in school, and it probably couldn't come at a better time, if illness ever can... but I still feel like crap.
It feels like every time I start to get over one thing this summer, another thing hits me. Just when I was halfways recovered from the car loss, the internet abstinence, and the crutches... I get hit with my first stomach bug in years, and have a horrid day.
It all started last night... amidst dreaming about visiting home, seeing people I hadn't seen in a few years (and their sisters, whom I've never met... ??...), I start dreaming about being back in the seminary, which for no good reason had a long, wide, curving hallway spliced between the entrance and the chapel. And, while dreaming this, I start dreaming that I have an upset stomach, which proceeds to dominate my dreams (they weren't quite uneasy enough to be nightmares) until I get up this morning.
I think the dream version might have been a bit better. All I did there was vomit, and that without the normal issues of that horrid acid aftertaste and the muscles complaining about working in reverse.
No, in real life, I did not vomit... but there's actually a lot more discomfort to the stomach. I haven't eaten all day, due to a complete loss of appetite and a fear of prompting a real life vomitting. I spent my first two or three hours awake running to the toilet with diarrhea every 15 minutes or so. The only reason I figure that stopped is that the bug ran out of ammo.
My stomach, due to care nurturing (ie. sitting on the couch as still as possible, watching movies) has more or less ceased to pain me--unless I get up and do anything, in which case it doesn't take long to make me queasy again.
I suppose it's just as well it's not happening while I'm in school, and it probably couldn't come at a better time, if illness ever can... but I still feel like crap.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Car Troubles
So, I do still intend to have a big post or two on the whole awesomeness/terror of my mental state this past month and more, but I'm still experiencing serious internet lethargy, so we'll just put up a status update for the moment, regarding my car.
Turns out, having a Ford Contour is crap for repairs. Used transmissions are expensive and near impossible to find. Even if you do, the design of the engine makes for ridiculous man-hours of repair, and the end result is that it would have cost $4000.00 or more to repair.
I learned that yesterday morning. It was worse news seconding bad news.
Yesterday afternoon we started looking around for a new car. We looked at one in the evening, and another today, about a couple hours ago. Between the price and quality of car, they are probably about as good as I'm likely to find in the two weeks before I go back to seminary.
We've decided to buy the one we saw tonight, and come this time Wednesday, it should be mine. It's a 1997 Ford Escort, so a very similar car to my last one, though a couple years newer. It's a darkish green, well-taken care of, with 215,000 kilometres, so more than my car had--which is why, probably, it's a bit more affordable.
Mind you, affordable is a relative term for me right now. My parents are going to do what they can to help me out right now, and I should get a little (and really, little is the right word) for the Contour--if my experience in trying to get parts for it in the past and present is any indication, it should have some value, and the tires are fairly new.
So... I'll have a new car. The major heartache/headache of not having a vehicle is basically resolved. The heartache/headache of being broke is barely begun.
Turns out, having a Ford Contour is crap for repairs. Used transmissions are expensive and near impossible to find. Even if you do, the design of the engine makes for ridiculous man-hours of repair, and the end result is that it would have cost $4000.00 or more to repair.
I learned that yesterday morning. It was worse news seconding bad news.
Yesterday afternoon we started looking around for a new car. We looked at one in the evening, and another today, about a couple hours ago. Between the price and quality of car, they are probably about as good as I'm likely to find in the two weeks before I go back to seminary.
We've decided to buy the one we saw tonight, and come this time Wednesday, it should be mine. It's a 1997 Ford Escort, so a very similar car to my last one, though a couple years newer. It's a darkish green, well-taken care of, with 215,000 kilometres, so more than my car had--which is why, probably, it's a bit more affordable.
Mind you, affordable is a relative term for me right now. My parents are going to do what they can to help me out right now, and I should get a little (and really, little is the right word) for the Contour--if my experience in trying to get parts for it in the past and present is any indication, it should have some value, and the tires are fairly new.
So... I'll have a new car. The major heartache/headache of not having a vehicle is basically resolved. The heartache/headache of being broke is barely begun.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Sabbatical in Retrospect
So... I had really planned on my first big post upon having an internet connection again being about all the GOOD stuff of being away: how refreshed I feel, how great it is not to be addicted to the computer, how my leg is better, how much writing I did, how my vocation is definitely back, and a number of other things...
Instead, I am writing about the bad stuff that happened about three hours before I got home.
Those of you who were reading any of this last year will remember that I wrote about a game called Bunnock, and that my family goes every year, on the first weekend of August, to the town of Macklin, Saskatchewan, to compete in a huge tournament of the same. For the fifteenth consecutive year, we did so, and my last day of work at the Archives was timed so that I would arrive there Thursday night, my family having already shown up.
Well, it was a great weekend, all told. It was probably my poorest year ever, in terms of wins/losses, but my level of play was about the same as last year, which isn't bad given that I played only two games this summer, and those on crutches. For the first time, all of my siblings were playing on one team or another, and I was impressed at how well they were playing--though it seemed that we were all about the same for lack of luck in winning games.
Anyway, we had a great weekend, and yesterday we all headed back to Olds. Well, that's about a 4.5 to 5 hour drive, depending, and we were on the second leg of the trip, and I was ahead of the others on Highway 21, just south of Delburne. At one of the intersections crossing the highway, as I was coming near, some brainless front-end-loader tractor driver with a bucket full of boulders decided to cross, forcing me to slow down unexpectedly. Now, this in itself would have been only a minor irritation, had not one of his boulders bounced out and landed right in my path. I suppose, in hindsight, if I had been thinking and knowing what it was, I would have swerved immediately, but for all the multiple reasons that were on my mind at the time, such as irritation at the tractor, concern for the vehicle behind me, and thinking it was just a garbage bag or something... well, I cruised right over it and blew my transmission.
This effectively ruined my day.
I coasted to the side of the road, and waited fifteen minutes for my parents, who were behind me and had stopped for gas, to catch up, and then proceeded to drag out the remaining hour and a half of the trip home into about three hours, while we found a towtruck (not easy on a holiday Monday) to pull my poor abused car home.
If I was not in a mood to do more than passively check the news online yesterday, I think depression can be considered a contributing factor.
Mind you, I should be depressed today, but I had a very long sleep, and I'm not on the road in the blistering August sun trying to get home after an exhausting weekend. Besides... there's pretty much nothing that can happen now to make things worse. Dad phoned this morning with the news that I'm looking at around $2500.00 to replace the transmission. This is very nearly what I have in my bank account right now, and even if I had the leg or the energy to work until it's time to go back to seminary, that's only about two and a half weeks of work...
So I'm very, very depressed at the moment, in terms of money, but I'm also kind of just at the point where I don't care anymore. I haven't got the faintest clue how I'm going to pay for anything, starting about right now... but I'm a little bit beyond caring. It's so much easier to worry when you have $2500.00 with which to pay $6000.00 of expenses than when you have $0.00 and the same expenses.
Mom wants me to work, I think, and Dad is probably thinking about the money too... but I need a break. I went straight from school into breaking my leg into work this summer. I haven't had a rest since Christmas (Reading Break so does not count...). I need my two and a half weeks of doing nothing.
Meanwhile, I am so broke....
Alms, anyone?
Instead, I am writing about the bad stuff that happened about three hours before I got home.
Those of you who were reading any of this last year will remember that I wrote about a game called Bunnock, and that my family goes every year, on the first weekend of August, to the town of Macklin, Saskatchewan, to compete in a huge tournament of the same. For the fifteenth consecutive year, we did so, and my last day of work at the Archives was timed so that I would arrive there Thursday night, my family having already shown up.
Well, it was a great weekend, all told. It was probably my poorest year ever, in terms of wins/losses, but my level of play was about the same as last year, which isn't bad given that I played only two games this summer, and those on crutches. For the first time, all of my siblings were playing on one team or another, and I was impressed at how well they were playing--though it seemed that we were all about the same for lack of luck in winning games.
Anyway, we had a great weekend, and yesterday we all headed back to Olds. Well, that's about a 4.5 to 5 hour drive, depending, and we were on the second leg of the trip, and I was ahead of the others on Highway 21, just south of Delburne. At one of the intersections crossing the highway, as I was coming near, some brainless front-end-loader tractor driver with a bucket full of boulders decided to cross, forcing me to slow down unexpectedly. Now, this in itself would have been only a minor irritation, had not one of his boulders bounced out and landed right in my path. I suppose, in hindsight, if I had been thinking and knowing what it was, I would have swerved immediately, but for all the multiple reasons that were on my mind at the time, such as irritation at the tractor, concern for the vehicle behind me, and thinking it was just a garbage bag or something... well, I cruised right over it and blew my transmission.
This effectively ruined my day.
I coasted to the side of the road, and waited fifteen minutes for my parents, who were behind me and had stopped for gas, to catch up, and then proceeded to drag out the remaining hour and a half of the trip home into about three hours, while we found a towtruck (not easy on a holiday Monday) to pull my poor abused car home.
If I was not in a mood to do more than passively check the news online yesterday, I think depression can be considered a contributing factor.
Mind you, I should be depressed today, but I had a very long sleep, and I'm not on the road in the blistering August sun trying to get home after an exhausting weekend. Besides... there's pretty much nothing that can happen now to make things worse. Dad phoned this morning with the news that I'm looking at around $2500.00 to replace the transmission. This is very nearly what I have in my bank account right now, and even if I had the leg or the energy to work until it's time to go back to seminary, that's only about two and a half weeks of work...
So I'm very, very depressed at the moment, in terms of money, but I'm also kind of just at the point where I don't care anymore. I haven't got the faintest clue how I'm going to pay for anything, starting about right now... but I'm a little bit beyond caring. It's so much easier to worry when you have $2500.00 with which to pay $6000.00 of expenses than when you have $0.00 and the same expenses.
Mom wants me to work, I think, and Dad is probably thinking about the money too... but I need a break. I went straight from school into breaking my leg into work this summer. I haven't had a rest since Christmas (Reading Break so does not count...). I need my two and a half weeks of doing nothing.
Meanwhile, I am so broke....
Alms, anyone?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Memo
I am back from my month-long, internet-free, telephone-light, computer-free, friend-free, family-free sabbatical.
I am so tired of people, after spending a weekend around them, following a month without, that I can't even work up the stamina for a post--though I've spent the better part of a month wondering over it.
I'm also really ticked off about my car... but that's another story for later.
Just announcing that I'm not dead yet.
I am so tired of people, after spending a weekend around them, following a month without, that I can't even work up the stamina for a post--though I've spent the better part of a month wondering over it.
I'm also really ticked off about my car... but that's another story for later.
Just announcing that I'm not dead yet.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Credo in Deum
"I believe in God".
Just a quick post, while I'm home for the long weekend (Canada Day, July 1st is a statutory holiday), amid a whirlwind visit involving a cousin's wedding, a big good-bye at the church, and all the stuff going on in catching up with a big, busy family.
Life is good. My job is great, my leg is getting better (less than two weeks of crutches to go), and the living arrangement at the rectory is awesome.
From now until August there will likely be little or no time online by Yours Truly, since he will not be home in that time, and I've not found any internet "accomodations" in Edmonton. Furthermore, I'm actually quite enjoying the enforced sabbatical from time online. True, I miss having the opportunity to keep up with people and their lives, but it's really nice to to spend hours a day staring at a screen, wasting time that could be spent on far more profitable pursuits. I've been writing, and reading, more since I moved, and I feel like life is good.
Now--why the statement heading this post? Basically, because of Davem's recent post on LJ.
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth.
I believe in JESUS Christ, His only son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the Dead, and on the third day He rose again. He ascended into Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy, catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.
I furthermore believe in the apostolic succession of the bishops, the authority of the Pope the Vicar of Christ, and the teaching of the Magisterium. I believe in the reality of Christ's presence in the Eucharist: body and blood, soul and divinity. I believe in the sanctity of marriage, in its exclusivity to the relationship of one man and one woman for life. I believe in the sanctity of human life, in all its stages.
I believe that with the conviction of the faith given me by my parents and grandparents as a child, the faith imparted by the reason of philosophers great and small, the faith nurtured by experiences I can only call touching the Divine, and by the example and faith of dozens or hundreds of those I have seen.
This faith is not a childish fantasy. Nor am I an ignoramus led into delusion. I am proud to be "the Catholic one" in my online communties, and I confess that I am a sinner--a proud, lazy, guilty man who is saved but by the Grace of God who accepts what little good I can do as good enough for Him. I am an imperfect human, an imperfect Christian.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I am not a bigoted redneck.
And I am better than I would be if I had no faith.
If you don't like me, you'd best leave me alone, because I'm going to change.
Just a quick post, while I'm home for the long weekend (Canada Day, July 1st is a statutory holiday), amid a whirlwind visit involving a cousin's wedding, a big good-bye at the church, and all the stuff going on in catching up with a big, busy family.
Life is good. My job is great, my leg is getting better (less than two weeks of crutches to go), and the living arrangement at the rectory is awesome.
From now until August there will likely be little or no time online by Yours Truly, since he will not be home in that time, and I've not found any internet "accomodations" in Edmonton. Furthermore, I'm actually quite enjoying the enforced sabbatical from time online. True, I miss having the opportunity to keep up with people and their lives, but it's really nice to to spend hours a day staring at a screen, wasting time that could be spent on far more profitable pursuits. I've been writing, and reading, more since I moved, and I feel like life is good.
Now--why the statement heading this post? Basically, because of Davem's recent post on LJ.
I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth.
I believe in JESUS Christ, His only son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the Dead, and on the third day He rose again. He ascended into Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy, catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.
I furthermore believe in the apostolic succession of the bishops, the authority of the Pope the Vicar of Christ, and the teaching of the Magisterium. I believe in the reality of Christ's presence in the Eucharist: body and blood, soul and divinity. I believe in the sanctity of marriage, in its exclusivity to the relationship of one man and one woman for life. I believe in the sanctity of human life, in all its stages.
I believe that with the conviction of the faith given me by my parents and grandparents as a child, the faith imparted by the reason of philosophers great and small, the faith nurtured by experiences I can only call touching the Divine, and by the example and faith of dozens or hundreds of those I have seen.
This faith is not a childish fantasy. Nor am I an ignoramus led into delusion. I am proud to be "the Catholic one" in my online communties, and I confess that I am a sinner--a proud, lazy, guilty man who is saved but by the Grace of God who accepts what little good I can do as good enough for Him. I am an imperfect human, an imperfect Christian.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I am not a bigoted redneck.
And I am better than I would be if I had no faith.
If you don't like me, you'd best leave me alone, because I'm going to change.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Memo to the World:
I am not dead.
I am just not online.
I have moved out of the seminary, and am currently living at a rectory with a bunch of priests.
I have no computer, and consequently no internet.
I am supposed to be at work right now.
Still on crutches.
More on the weekend.
Maybe.
I am just not online.
I have moved out of the seminary, and am currently living at a rectory with a bunch of priests.
I have no computer, and consequently no internet.
I am supposed to be at work right now.
Still on crutches.
More on the weekend.
Maybe.
Monday, June 04, 2007
100 Posts in Review
Well, my original plan had been to do my 100 post memorial on the 100th post proper... but I also wanted to write about a GOOD weekend for a change... so I decided to look at 100 posts in review. It is also close to the one-year mark since I registered "Formendacil" at Blogspot, so one could also call this a "year in review" sort of a post.
Quite frankly, I doubt I'd've made it to 100 posts were it not for the fact that I broke my leg. That completely turned my summer around, gave me far more free time as well as boredom, and prompted a lot more posting in the past six weeks. And, doing the math, at just under a year, 100 posts means that I've been posting, to average the year, at close to one post every three days.
(Nowadays, if it takes me three days to do a new post, that's a dry spell...)
Looking back, particularly over the past few weeks, I'm not really sure how happy I am with all my posts. Quite a lot of them are ones that, even as I'm hitting "Publish" don't really strike me as well-written, and certainly don't strike me as having any real reason to be written, other than the fact that I wanted to.
Now, since my self-avowed purpose for this blog is as much to entertain myself as it is anything else, that shouldn't be a problem... but it is. I've got a clearcut case of authorial egotism, certainly. I like to have readers, and I like to know what the reader thinks. And then I'll go ahead and write whatever I want anyway... but I still like knowing.
In fact, I have to wonder if I'd be able to write this much if I didn't have an audience. Attempts at journaling in the past, even when mandated by Mom in school, never managed to catch--even though I loved writing and I like being able to read memories at a later date. Something about an audience is necessary, which is true about most writing with me. The reason I write LEGO stories may be that I want them written, but they wouldn't get very far without various younger siblings to read them to eventually. That's also an advantage that RPGing has: even when I don't feel like writing, the fact that there's a waiting audience can be incentive enough to make me compose even when I'm lazy and would rather not. (Now, mind you, this is not as strong an incentive as I'd sometimes like, since I still procrastinate horridly on the 'Downs, but imagine me otherwise...)
Looking at the future, I don't foresee a drop off in blogging anytime soon. Certainly, for the rest of the summer my current rate seems a very likely possibility, and though I'm sure I'll slow down for the fall, a pace akin to last semester seems probable. Certainly, I don't foresee this blog dying any time in the next six years or so...
But in about six years or so I'll be ordained a deacon (assuming that God continues pushing me in that direction), and a year later a priest.
What then?
I'm not sure why I'm concerned about this... but I'm not sure how much I'll write, here or anywhere online, about what's really going on in my head. I already have this mental block about lots of people I know in real life (well, other seminarians anyway...) reading these posts--hence why there is no cross-posting to Facebook, as well as no linking there. And while this may just be an odd idiosyncrasy at the moment (the only thing I've really written that I should maybe have kept to myself has been a rant on a situation on the Barrow-downs, and Barrow-downers are the majority of the people who know this site), but when I'm a priest there will be good reason to consider NOT publishing my opinions in a public venue.
After all, when I'm a priest the majority of my posts will deal with my day-to-day life, the life of my parish. When someone seems a bit funny to me, or there's something that makes me rant a little, or I have a disagreement that ruins my week, the odds are high that it will involve my parishioners somehow. Quite frankly, I don't think I'd be able to vent here, knowing that a Google search (or whatever people are using in 2020 to search) for "Michael A. Joosten" will turn up this site (this and the Barrow-downs and Classic-Castle... and I haven't actually done a search lately, so I don't know what else... but just me, basically).
Mind you, that is quite a few years into the future, but I am nothing if not a worrier in advance.
Quite frankly, I doubt I'd've made it to 100 posts were it not for the fact that I broke my leg. That completely turned my summer around, gave me far more free time as well as boredom, and prompted a lot more posting in the past six weeks. And, doing the math, at just under a year, 100 posts means that I've been posting, to average the year, at close to one post every three days.
(Nowadays, if it takes me three days to do a new post, that's a dry spell...)
Looking back, particularly over the past few weeks, I'm not really sure how happy I am with all my posts. Quite a lot of them are ones that, even as I'm hitting "Publish" don't really strike me as well-written, and certainly don't strike me as having any real reason to be written, other than the fact that I wanted to.
Now, since my self-avowed purpose for this blog is as much to entertain myself as it is anything else, that shouldn't be a problem... but it is. I've got a clearcut case of authorial egotism, certainly. I like to have readers, and I like to know what the reader thinks. And then I'll go ahead and write whatever I want anyway... but I still like knowing.
In fact, I have to wonder if I'd be able to write this much if I didn't have an audience. Attempts at journaling in the past, even when mandated by Mom in school, never managed to catch--even though I loved writing and I like being able to read memories at a later date. Something about an audience is necessary, which is true about most writing with me. The reason I write LEGO stories may be that I want them written, but they wouldn't get very far without various younger siblings to read them to eventually. That's also an advantage that RPGing has: even when I don't feel like writing, the fact that there's a waiting audience can be incentive enough to make me compose even when I'm lazy and would rather not. (Now, mind you, this is not as strong an incentive as I'd sometimes like, since I still procrastinate horridly on the 'Downs, but imagine me otherwise...)
Looking at the future, I don't foresee a drop off in blogging anytime soon. Certainly, for the rest of the summer my current rate seems a very likely possibility, and though I'm sure I'll slow down for the fall, a pace akin to last semester seems probable. Certainly, I don't foresee this blog dying any time in the next six years or so...
But in about six years or so I'll be ordained a deacon (assuming that God continues pushing me in that direction), and a year later a priest.
What then?
I'm not sure why I'm concerned about this... but I'm not sure how much I'll write, here or anywhere online, about what's really going on in my head. I already have this mental block about lots of people I know in real life (well, other seminarians anyway...) reading these posts--hence why there is no cross-posting to Facebook, as well as no linking there. And while this may just be an odd idiosyncrasy at the moment (the only thing I've really written that I should maybe have kept to myself has been a rant on a situation on the Barrow-downs, and Barrow-downers are the majority of the people who know this site), but when I'm a priest there will be good reason to consider NOT publishing my opinions in a public venue.
After all, when I'm a priest the majority of my posts will deal with my day-to-day life, the life of my parish. When someone seems a bit funny to me, or there's something that makes me rant a little, or I have a disagreement that ruins my week, the odds are high that it will involve my parishioners somehow. Quite frankly, I don't think I'd be able to vent here, knowing that a Google search (or whatever people are using in 2020 to search) for "Michael A. Joosten" will turn up this site (this and the Barrow-downs and Classic-Castle... and I haven't actually done a search lately, so I don't know what else... but just me, basically).
Mind you, that is quite a few years into the future, but I am nothing if not a worrier in advance.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
The Weekend
For the first time in about four weeks or so, I had a weekend that I didn't approach dreading, and which I can actually say I enjoyed. Or, in other words, for the first time in four weeks I wasn't bored stiff all weekend. It really does help to plan ahead. Half the problem on past weekends was that by the time I thought about the fact that I was going to be bored silly... it was sometime Saturday morning, and I was drifting into extreme lethargy--that point of being so bored and cranky that you won't do anything but moan about it.
This weekend, however, I planned ahead Friday afternoon and booked myself for a couple considerable chunks of the weekend.
Saturday morning I got up nice and late, late enough that I really just had time to get myself running before it was off to my uncle's for the afternoon. I didn't actually do much there during the afternoon... I read the newspaper, had lunch, chatted a bit with my uncle, and played with my five-year-old cousin, and was then back at the seminary just before supper.
Supper was followed by two episodes of the Simpsons, since it was far too early to retire to my room and sit at the Internet, and that meant I was on site when everyone turned up to watch the Senators game. It was a good game, with the Senators winning 5-3, and fortunately not getting kicked out of the Stanley Cup finals... but they've got a way to go yet.
Anyway, this meant it was nearly 10:00 before I was back in my room, which meant I didn't spend all evening on the internet, but rather, I had a good time hobnobbing with my fellow seminarians.
Today I got up at 9:30, which gave me just enough time to get going and have brunch before taking off to 11:00 Mass, and with the inclusion of baptisms and First Communions at Mass, I was back at seminary just in time to take off again at 12:30, to spend the afternoon doing not much of anything at Sierra's. And by "not much of anything" I mean a fair bit of talking, ingesting cold beverages/ice cream/dandelion leaves, and sunburning my right forearm (it is a well-toasted red on the top, and a paisley white on the underside).
Then it was back to the seminary just in time for supper, to be eaten in the TV room watching Stargate Atlantis. And then back here for an evening of internetting... and maybe--maybe!--some writing. That has been my one failure this weekend, to in any way get myself to do some writing. Ah well... at least I can look back on this weekend at not shudder at the memory of "pleading to Heaven for relief" boredom.
Actually, it's kind of funny that such is the case, since I really didn't do anything either this afternoon or yesterday afternoon. In both cases, I pretty much just sat around and did nothing. It's amazing what a difference a change in scenery and company makes.
This weekend, however, I planned ahead Friday afternoon and booked myself for a couple considerable chunks of the weekend.
Saturday morning I got up nice and late, late enough that I really just had time to get myself running before it was off to my uncle's for the afternoon. I didn't actually do much there during the afternoon... I read the newspaper, had lunch, chatted a bit with my uncle, and played with my five-year-old cousin, and was then back at the seminary just before supper.
Supper was followed by two episodes of the Simpsons, since it was far too early to retire to my room and sit at the Internet, and that meant I was on site when everyone turned up to watch the Senators game. It was a good game, with the Senators winning 5-3, and fortunately not getting kicked out of the Stanley Cup finals... but they've got a way to go yet.
Anyway, this meant it was nearly 10:00 before I was back in my room, which meant I didn't spend all evening on the internet, but rather, I had a good time hobnobbing with my fellow seminarians.
Today I got up at 9:30, which gave me just enough time to get going and have brunch before taking off to 11:00 Mass, and with the inclusion of baptisms and First Communions at Mass, I was back at seminary just in time to take off again at 12:30, to spend the afternoon doing not much of anything at Sierra's. And by "not much of anything" I mean a fair bit of talking, ingesting cold beverages/ice cream/dandelion leaves, and sunburning my right forearm (it is a well-toasted red on the top, and a paisley white on the underside).
Then it was back to the seminary just in time for supper, to be eaten in the TV room watching Stargate Atlantis. And then back here for an evening of internetting... and maybe--maybe!--some writing. That has been my one failure this weekend, to in any way get myself to do some writing. Ah well... at least I can look back on this weekend at not shudder at the memory of "pleading to Heaven for relief" boredom.
Actually, it's kind of funny that such is the case, since I really didn't do anything either this afternoon or yesterday afternoon. In both cases, I pretty much just sat around and did nothing. It's amazing what a difference a change in scenery and company makes.
Friday, June 01, 2007
"Lay Ecclesial Ministry"
Today, instead of working, I attended a workshop (erm... I think that's what it was...) for "Lay Ecclesial Ministers", which apparently is becoming the preferred term for a broad range of people who serve the church while not being ordained or having taken vows. Specifically, this was for those who are employed by the Church as such, and thus was a collection of various Pastoral Associates, Secretaries, Youth Ministers... and whatnot.
I, although technically a layman, was not really there because I fit the above description. I was there because my boss, as Archivist, was attending on and off in order to educate these parish workers as to the care and preservation of various old churchy artefacts, as well as taking in the talks. I was encouraged to do the same if I wanted, and I did. I originally only intended to be there for the first bit, prayer with the Archbishop and the first talk. I ended staying all day, mainly because it was more interesting than work, and less work.
The talks focused, basically, on the identity and the vocation of being a lay ecclesial minister, as opposed to just employees, on the spiritual side of serving the church as an employee, and not just the functional side.
In an educational sense, it was good for me I suppose insofar as it makes me aware of a facet of what my life will be like as a priest, since these are the sorts of people, if not the very people, I'll be working with most of my life, and it highlighted some of the ways to make that as smooth a relationship as possible.
It felt weird being there, though, considering that I'm a seminarian. It's not that I felt unwelcome, but I definitely had a sense of being apart. It's natural, I suppose, since it was for the people who work and collaborate with priests--but who are NOT priests or religious. Whereas I, on the other hand, am aiming at being one of said priests.
I don't know... it was a bit odd. Good, certainly, but odd.
One exercise they put us through, that I think my table at least got a lot out of, was pinpointing what our gifts are. Gifts, in this case, being defined as things that we naturally ARE, things that don't take any effort, but just come naturally, as opposed to Talents, things that we can learn or develop. (While there is some overlap, an example here would be the difference between being musical and being able to play the piano. The first is a gift, which comes with who someone is. The second is a talent, developed over time.)
It was very interesting, sitting there with a table of people I'd never met before that morning, being able to pick out some of the gifts these people have, right away. It's amazing how some things are immediately apparent. With me, I was told that I give the immediate impression of honesty. Most of the table agreed that I gave the impression of "he'd be a good seminarian" before they met me and learned I'd be a priest. One said that I had a nice smile (perhaps the comment I found most surprising). I guess I'm also really good at reading people....
I think the whole table was flattered at the gifts picked out for them; I know I was with mine. Within the wider context of why we were figuring these things out, it came down to trying to figure out if our jobs are ones in which our gifts, and not just our trained talents, are being utilised--because those are the jobs where you'd be happiest.
Well, thinking over my own gifts, I came up with this list (which is neither necessarily comprehensive, or necessarily accurate): I'm mature, I love knowledge, I love being around people, I'm not a polarising character (people may not care for me, but I don't think I inspire hatred or strong dislike). According to Fr. Marco, I'm a leader. I'm not entirely sure, but I have reason to think that I'm easy to confide in. I know I'm good at keeping things to myself. I was told I'm good at reading people.
Are those gifts that I could exercise as a priest? I think so. Is that a good sign? Definitely.
I'm really inclined to think that, in the cosmic scheme of things, the reason for me to have attended the whole thing today was to reaffirm my vocation. Really, it boosted my spirits like you can't imagine being told I seem like a perfect fit for a seminarian, and that I'll be a good priest.
I, although technically a layman, was not really there because I fit the above description. I was there because my boss, as Archivist, was attending on and off in order to educate these parish workers as to the care and preservation of various old churchy artefacts, as well as taking in the talks. I was encouraged to do the same if I wanted, and I did. I originally only intended to be there for the first bit, prayer with the Archbishop and the first talk. I ended staying all day, mainly because it was more interesting than work, and less work.
The talks focused, basically, on the identity and the vocation of being a lay ecclesial minister, as opposed to just employees, on the spiritual side of serving the church as an employee, and not just the functional side.
In an educational sense, it was good for me I suppose insofar as it makes me aware of a facet of what my life will be like as a priest, since these are the sorts of people, if not the very people, I'll be working with most of my life, and it highlighted some of the ways to make that as smooth a relationship as possible.
It felt weird being there, though, considering that I'm a seminarian. It's not that I felt unwelcome, but I definitely had a sense of being apart. It's natural, I suppose, since it was for the people who work and collaborate with priests--but who are NOT priests or religious. Whereas I, on the other hand, am aiming at being one of said priests.
I don't know... it was a bit odd. Good, certainly, but odd.
One exercise they put us through, that I think my table at least got a lot out of, was pinpointing what our gifts are. Gifts, in this case, being defined as things that we naturally ARE, things that don't take any effort, but just come naturally, as opposed to Talents, things that we can learn or develop. (While there is some overlap, an example here would be the difference between being musical and being able to play the piano. The first is a gift, which comes with who someone is. The second is a talent, developed over time.)
It was very interesting, sitting there with a table of people I'd never met before that morning, being able to pick out some of the gifts these people have, right away. It's amazing how some things are immediately apparent. With me, I was told that I give the immediate impression of honesty. Most of the table agreed that I gave the impression of "he'd be a good seminarian" before they met me and learned I'd be a priest. One said that I had a nice smile (perhaps the comment I found most surprising). I guess I'm also really good at reading people....
I think the whole table was flattered at the gifts picked out for them; I know I was with mine. Within the wider context of why we were figuring these things out, it came down to trying to figure out if our jobs are ones in which our gifts, and not just our trained talents, are being utilised--because those are the jobs where you'd be happiest.
Well, thinking over my own gifts, I came up with this list (which is neither necessarily comprehensive, or necessarily accurate): I'm mature, I love knowledge, I love being around people, I'm not a polarising character (people may not care for me, but I don't think I inspire hatred or strong dislike). According to Fr. Marco, I'm a leader. I'm not entirely sure, but I have reason to think that I'm easy to confide in. I know I'm good at keeping things to myself. I was told I'm good at reading people.
Are those gifts that I could exercise as a priest? I think so. Is that a good sign? Definitely.
I'm really inclined to think that, in the cosmic scheme of things, the reason for me to have attended the whole thing today was to reaffirm my vocation. Really, it boosted my spirits like you can't imagine being told I seem like a perfect fit for a seminarian, and that I'll be a good priest.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Still, the Hobbler
Well, the trip to the doctor yesterday was rather disappointing. I am most certainly not in a walking cast right now. Nor am I slated to be so any time in the near future. In fact, it looks like I still have at least another three weeks of crutches--cause that's when I see the doctor again.
To be honest, I was quite bummed out. My doctor may be a great surgeon, but his bedside manner is a little lacking, and I went away feeling worse than when I showed up. In retrospect, I guess I shouldn't complain, since my Xrays showed that I'm healing in normal manner, and the doctor wasn't concerned with anything, and I've now got official permission to put "a featherweight" on my foot.
Still... I really, really wanted to be off the crutches. For one thing, the muscles in my left hand were cramping up on Monday night, making it really painful to hobble along, as well as more technically difficult. And although that's gone now, it's just another reminder of how much I wanted to be rid of those things.
However, having gotten over the annoyance, I'm back to what passes for normal, and since nothing in my life has changed... there's really nothing to report about it. Well, I did go shopping today. I had to for some necessities, like deodorant, that it's dangerous to be caught with. It has also been glorious having food that I don't have to trundle to the cafeteria for.
It was a somewhat annoying procedure, though, bringing a plastic bag in my pocked, and having it dangle off the side of my crutch where it was wrapped around my hand, swinging backwards and forwards, and wrapping around the crutch, being generally annoying and throwing my balance off. It also won't work with anything big, so here's hoping I don't need to go out and buy a desk or something...
And... that's my life.
On an unrelated note, an interesting fact about myself revealed itself to me today in the great thinking chamber that is "commercial breaks". Basically, I realised that I have almost opposite email/telephone habits. With the former, the emails I'm most tardy to write/reply to is anything official. I put off writing the city about rerouting my ambulance billing for a week.On the other hand, most emails personal tend to get replied to or written post-haste.
Telephones, on the other hand, are objects I am loathe to dial. It's not that I mind talking, but I hate dialling, for some reason. I guess it's my allotted phobia. Anyway, if it's something that I have to do, like phone back the registrar's office, or call the garage about booking my car it, I can do it--and I'll do it fast just to get it out of the way. But if it comes to anything personal... I'm generally a putter-offer, even in replying.
Anyway, I suppose there's nothing groundbreaking about that... but it amused me to note at the time.
To be honest, I was quite bummed out. My doctor may be a great surgeon, but his bedside manner is a little lacking, and I went away feeling worse than when I showed up. In retrospect, I guess I shouldn't complain, since my Xrays showed that I'm healing in normal manner, and the doctor wasn't concerned with anything, and I've now got official permission to put "a featherweight" on my foot.
Still... I really, really wanted to be off the crutches. For one thing, the muscles in my left hand were cramping up on Monday night, making it really painful to hobble along, as well as more technically difficult. And although that's gone now, it's just another reminder of how much I wanted to be rid of those things.
However, having gotten over the annoyance, I'm back to what passes for normal, and since nothing in my life has changed... there's really nothing to report about it. Well, I did go shopping today. I had to for some necessities, like deodorant, that it's dangerous to be caught with. It has also been glorious having food that I don't have to trundle to the cafeteria for.
It was a somewhat annoying procedure, though, bringing a plastic bag in my pocked, and having it dangle off the side of my crutch where it was wrapped around my hand, swinging backwards and forwards, and wrapping around the crutch, being generally annoying and throwing my balance off. It also won't work with anything big, so here's hoping I don't need to go out and buy a desk or something...
And... that's my life.
On an unrelated note, an interesting fact about myself revealed itself to me today in the great thinking chamber that is "commercial breaks". Basically, I realised that I have almost opposite email/telephone habits. With the former, the emails I'm most tardy to write/reply to is anything official. I put off writing the city about rerouting my ambulance billing for a week.On the other hand, most emails personal tend to get replied to or written post-haste.
Telephones, on the other hand, are objects I am loathe to dial. It's not that I mind talking, but I hate dialling, for some reason. I guess it's my allotted phobia. Anyway, if it's something that I have to do, like phone back the registrar's office, or call the garage about booking my car it, I can do it--and I'll do it fast just to get it out of the way. But if it comes to anything personal... I'm generally a putter-offer, even in replying.
Anyway, I suppose there's nothing groundbreaking about that... but it amused me to note at the time.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Happy Pentecost!
Today is Pentecost, considered the "birthday" of the Church, the day that the Holy Spirit descended on the Apostles in the first "Confirmation". It's the third most important feast of the Catholic Church, after Easter and Christmas.
It's also a rather boring day here in Michael's life.
The weekend being almost over, I think I can safely state that I did not fall back into the patterns of near-despair that bothered my weekend last week, and that the sense of purpose and optimism that came back into my life with work last week seems to have lasted the weekend.
Still, though, not much actually happened in the past couple days. I spent (and am spending) way too much time online. I've had the same upset stomach three nights in a row now, and this comes after having had the same lasagna each time. I think there may be a connection, since I didn't feel bad before supper. I did feel weak, but that probably had more to do with the fact that it was the first meal I'd had all day.
Anyway, I've watched Stargate: Atlantis, and was thoroughly amused about it being named after me. (The episode was entitled "Michael".) However, an hour long TV episode only lasts so long--namely an hour--and I've got some time yet before bedtime, and about as much to do before then as I've had to do all weekend: not much.
June should be a lot better in this respect. I'm going home at least three weekends out of five, and I'm hopefully going to be off my crutches. The big day to find out about that is Tuesday. I'm really, really hoping I get into a walking cast. For one thing, my left leg is noticeably thinner than my right leg, due to atrophy, and this is starting to scare me. Actually, I'm just starting to get scared in general. Not rationally, and not really all that much... but as the date to see the doctor draws near, and my hopes soar upwards with regards to getting off the crutches, I'm plagued with silly ghost-like fears.
They're the same kind of nervous twitchings I get when going somewhere I've never been before, and I'm not really sure I've got the right time or address. At least, they have the same effect on my stomach. However, instead of being fluttery over the thought of showing up on the wrong doorstep or embarassingly early, this is a fluttery fear that when I accidentally bumped my leg on floor at the theatre, I set myself back. Or that that funny tingling when I'm hobbling along is my leg dangling re-broken, and not just denim hanging on my leg where I'm not used to it (last week was the first time I wore jeans since I broke my leg).
I really, really hope I get off the crutches. Not that the crutches are that bad... except first thing in the morning when my wrists really don't want to do it, or in the late afternoon if I have been moving all day, and under my arms is getting rubbed raw. No, what I really look forward to is being able to carry things.
I fully intend--and need--to celebrate by going shopping. Now, that sounds terribly feminine and ridiculous, but I assure you that there is a bit of necessity underneath. For one thing, I need food. I really do need more than the provided leftovers/frozen food left for us on the weekends, especially if the lasagna really is giving me indigestion. Furthermore, some variety in what I'm packing for lunch, and not having to go up and down to the cafeteria when I'm having to eat a bedtime snack would be good.
There's also LEGO to think of. I'm quite sure that the new Space and Castle sets, if not out quite yet, should be very, very soon. I just haven't checked because what's the point? Even if they are, I don't plan to haul them around on my crutches.
And then there's all the odds and ends that are piling up... My good pen has got to be on the verge of dry, and I've gotten spoiled in using the same kind. My shampoo won't last much more than another week. My toothpaste is likewise getting low, as is soap.
Finally, there's laundry. Now, this does not involve shopping, but it is sort of being put off for the same reason. Being about to properly carry a laundry basket, and not have to deal with the whole mess of shoving a load of laundry in my backpack, and hobble to the laundry room with that is a major incentive to want my arms back.
Because I don't feel like I lost my leg--I feel like I lost my arms.
I don't know that having my arms back will actually make my life any more interesting, but I really, really, really want to have them back.
I am, however, scared that they'll put me on physiotherapy. Now, that's not a bad thing in itself, but when are they going to do it other than office hours--when I'm working? I feel bad enough having to take time off for all those finals and the checkup, and any ordinations I'll attend.... I don't there's going to be a week I'm not taking at least a couple hours off for something or other. Blame it on my scrupulous honesty... but I'm uncomfortable with it.
Well, I'll find out on Tuesday. I'm sure there will be a full report here.
It's also a rather boring day here in Michael's life.
The weekend being almost over, I think I can safely state that I did not fall back into the patterns of near-despair that bothered my weekend last week, and that the sense of purpose and optimism that came back into my life with work last week seems to have lasted the weekend.
Still, though, not much actually happened in the past couple days. I spent (and am spending) way too much time online. I've had the same upset stomach three nights in a row now, and this comes after having had the same lasagna each time. I think there may be a connection, since I didn't feel bad before supper. I did feel weak, but that probably had more to do with the fact that it was the first meal I'd had all day.
Anyway, I've watched Stargate: Atlantis, and was thoroughly amused about it being named after me. (The episode was entitled "Michael".) However, an hour long TV episode only lasts so long--namely an hour--and I've got some time yet before bedtime, and about as much to do before then as I've had to do all weekend: not much.
June should be a lot better in this respect. I'm going home at least three weekends out of five, and I'm hopefully going to be off my crutches. The big day to find out about that is Tuesday. I'm really, really hoping I get into a walking cast. For one thing, my left leg is noticeably thinner than my right leg, due to atrophy, and this is starting to scare me. Actually, I'm just starting to get scared in general. Not rationally, and not really all that much... but as the date to see the doctor draws near, and my hopes soar upwards with regards to getting off the crutches, I'm plagued with silly ghost-like fears.
They're the same kind of nervous twitchings I get when going somewhere I've never been before, and I'm not really sure I've got the right time or address. At least, they have the same effect on my stomach. However, instead of being fluttery over the thought of showing up on the wrong doorstep or embarassingly early, this is a fluttery fear that when I accidentally bumped my leg on floor at the theatre, I set myself back. Or that that funny tingling when I'm hobbling along is my leg dangling re-broken, and not just denim hanging on my leg where I'm not used to it (last week was the first time I wore jeans since I broke my leg).
I really, really hope I get off the crutches. Not that the crutches are that bad... except first thing in the morning when my wrists really don't want to do it, or in the late afternoon if I have been moving all day, and under my arms is getting rubbed raw. No, what I really look forward to is being able to carry things.
I fully intend--and need--to celebrate by going shopping. Now, that sounds terribly feminine and ridiculous, but I assure you that there is a bit of necessity underneath. For one thing, I need food. I really do need more than the provided leftovers/frozen food left for us on the weekends, especially if the lasagna really is giving me indigestion. Furthermore, some variety in what I'm packing for lunch, and not having to go up and down to the cafeteria when I'm having to eat a bedtime snack would be good.
There's also LEGO to think of. I'm quite sure that the new Space and Castle sets, if not out quite yet, should be very, very soon. I just haven't checked because what's the point? Even if they are, I don't plan to haul them around on my crutches.
And then there's all the odds and ends that are piling up... My good pen has got to be on the verge of dry, and I've gotten spoiled in using the same kind. My shampoo won't last much more than another week. My toothpaste is likewise getting low, as is soap.
Finally, there's laundry. Now, this does not involve shopping, but it is sort of being put off for the same reason. Being about to properly carry a laundry basket, and not have to deal with the whole mess of shoving a load of laundry in my backpack, and hobble to the laundry room with that is a major incentive to want my arms back.
Because I don't feel like I lost my leg--I feel like I lost my arms.
I don't know that having my arms back will actually make my life any more interesting, but I really, really, really want to have them back.
I am, however, scared that they'll put me on physiotherapy. Now, that's not a bad thing in itself, but when are they going to do it other than office hours--when I'm working? I feel bad enough having to take time off for all those finals and the checkup, and any ordinations I'll attend.... I don't there's going to be a week I'm not taking at least a couple hours off for something or other. Blame it on my scrupulous honesty... but I'm uncomfortable with it.
Well, I'll find out on Tuesday. I'm sure there will be a full report here.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Dreams
First off, before we get to the dreams, allow me to say that I really hope that I'm just suffering some disagreement with the lasagna, and am not coming down with a cold or flu or something, because that would really be unfair. Crutches AND bad stomach? Blegh! But I digress...
Last night I had the first dream I've remembered substantially in a long time. I wish I could remember how it went better, because towards the end, while I was in that state of semi-sleep when you know you're dreaming but want it to keep going, I was enjoying it immensely.
Basically, it played as a mixture of Middle-Earth and Stargate. I was one of the chief protagonists, a Middle-Earthian of some sort, and also present was my "sister" (not my sister in real life), Éowyn, who had dark hair, as well as LMP (a Barrow-Downer... except he had this fixation for monkeys stolen from someone I know on Classic-Castle), and at least one other person I've forgotten.
Naturally, the dream started out taking place in a space-distorted version of my parent's house in Olds, though apparently this was somewhere either in Rohan or Gondor. One might conclude that, because I was possibly in Rohan, and my sister was "Éowyn", that I would have been Éomer, but no. If anything, I think I was called Faramir.
Anyway, the bad guys in the story were Valar of which I had never heard of. There were at least two of them, a guy whose name started with an "S", who had apparently been a sort of failed proto-Melkor in the beginning, and his evil girlfriend, who I never figured out. Basically, they had the Sauronic trait of trying to get people to worship Morgoth. This is where things started getting Stargate-ish, though, because they were definitely reminiscent of the Goa'uld in this attempted worshipping thing... and because they seemed to be trying to use "Éowyn" as a host for a third evil Valar, who I can only assume was disembodied somewhat like Sauron after the destruction of the Ring. Apparently, she was the girlfriend's kid sister or something, because even when she had sort of taken over "Éowyn", she was still kind of being bossed around by the older lady.
The earlier part of the dream, that I remember, was pre-Éowyn being taken over, and involved us three (her, me, and LMP) fighting the evil Valar, in what I think was some sort of magic and martial arts combo. Certainly, I don't think any conventional weapons, either from Middle-Earth or Stargate were used.
At some point, Éowyn became infected by the evil Valar, and I think she got captured during an attack (in my parents' kitchen, incidentally) that didn't go so well. I remember it being lucky that Elempi was still alive, since he was this little guy with a funny hat who had no "power/magic". I assume this means that I did. I'm quite certain that Éowyn did, though not enough to keep her from being taken over, though that may have been the reason FOR the takeover.
Anyway, once Éowyn has been taken over and removed, the dream started playing like a movie, and I was longer physically present as I followed the action. Apparently, the evil Valar had taken Éowyn to Venice, which looked very sea-frontish, and certainly urban, but not particularly European. More on the lines of California. Anyway, apparently the meld wasn't going so well for both Éowyn and the evil Valar in her, since the Valar was losing control over Éowyn's mind (though Éowyn was pretending to be the evil Valar), but Éowyn was weakening, and starting to die.
While we were still focused on the bad guys and their Venetian waterfront veranda, the proto-Melkor (who I think might have been renamed Sokar at this point) was accosted by the evil Valar older sister, who started to make out with him. They were down to their underwear when I, the viewer, broke the Fourth Wall, and reminded them that this story was only rated PG-13. At this point they went inside, so that I didn't see them anymore, and the story shifted.
I briefly returned to the tale of myself and LMP, and our vague third companion, and we were heading to Venice to rescue Éowyn, but before we got there the Evil Valar had moved again.
In pursuing them, we went on to another waterfront city, somewhat to the west. It may have been Genoa, though I don't think it was named. It was west of the Morthond delta on the Langstrand coastline, anyway.
In this city was a GORGEOUS old cathedral. It wasn't being used as a church anymore, and was quite barren looking. But it was gorgeous, I assure you, all made of red brick. There was no glass in the windows, and no furniture of any sort, and apparently it was the base and warehouse of some sort of Stargate-ish crime lord who was somehow connected with the Evil Valar.
Before I and my companions showed up, our allies arrived from Rohan. I'm guessing we summoned them in the interlude when the story was in Venice. Anyway, these guys may have been named Rohirrim, but they were somewhere between Vikings and SG-01 in terms of how they operated. Just before we showed up, they attacked the cathedral in their longboat, and captured the crime lord, saving him from the gunfire of the Evil Valar or their servants, who apparently wanted him dead.
As this was ending, my bunch showed up, and there was this awesome panning out of the camera to get a good look at the cathedral....
...and that was it. I was quite disappointed.
However, as I was laying there in bed a bit later, having nothing better to do on a Saturday morning, and having committed as much of my dream to memory as possible, I started to daydream about my ordinations. For some reason, I mostly concentrated on the first, and rather less important of the two: my ordination to the diaconate.
Although this daydream had none of the drama of the real dream, it was a very good sign from my point of view. It's a sign that my attraction to the priesthood is still full blown. I take as such, since my focus in these daydreams is always on the fact that I am single--the fact that I am happy, excited, and very much aware of what I've given up in order to be ordained. It is, basically, my deepest seated desire.
Last night I had the first dream I've remembered substantially in a long time. I wish I could remember how it went better, because towards the end, while I was in that state of semi-sleep when you know you're dreaming but want it to keep going, I was enjoying it immensely.
Basically, it played as a mixture of Middle-Earth and Stargate. I was one of the chief protagonists, a Middle-Earthian of some sort, and also present was my "sister" (not my sister in real life), Éowyn, who had dark hair, as well as LMP (a Barrow-Downer... except he had this fixation for monkeys stolen from someone I know on Classic-Castle), and at least one other person I've forgotten.
Naturally, the dream started out taking place in a space-distorted version of my parent's house in Olds, though apparently this was somewhere either in Rohan or Gondor. One might conclude that, because I was possibly in Rohan, and my sister was "Éowyn", that I would have been Éomer, but no. If anything, I think I was called Faramir.
Anyway, the bad guys in the story were Valar of which I had never heard of. There were at least two of them, a guy whose name started with an "S", who had apparently been a sort of failed proto-Melkor in the beginning, and his evil girlfriend, who I never figured out. Basically, they had the Sauronic trait of trying to get people to worship Morgoth. This is where things started getting Stargate-ish, though, because they were definitely reminiscent of the Goa'uld in this attempted worshipping thing... and because they seemed to be trying to use "Éowyn" as a host for a third evil Valar, who I can only assume was disembodied somewhat like Sauron after the destruction of the Ring. Apparently, she was the girlfriend's kid sister or something, because even when she had sort of taken over "Éowyn", she was still kind of being bossed around by the older lady.
The earlier part of the dream, that I remember, was pre-Éowyn being taken over, and involved us three (her, me, and LMP) fighting the evil Valar, in what I think was some sort of magic and martial arts combo. Certainly, I don't think any conventional weapons, either from Middle-Earth or Stargate were used.
At some point, Éowyn became infected by the evil Valar, and I think she got captured during an attack (in my parents' kitchen, incidentally) that didn't go so well. I remember it being lucky that Elempi was still alive, since he was this little guy with a funny hat who had no "power/magic". I assume this means that I did. I'm quite certain that Éowyn did, though not enough to keep her from being taken over, though that may have been the reason FOR the takeover.
Anyway, once Éowyn has been taken over and removed, the dream started playing like a movie, and I was longer physically present as I followed the action. Apparently, the evil Valar had taken Éowyn to Venice, which looked very sea-frontish, and certainly urban, but not particularly European. More on the lines of California. Anyway, apparently the meld wasn't going so well for both Éowyn and the evil Valar in her, since the Valar was losing control over Éowyn's mind (though Éowyn was pretending to be the evil Valar), but Éowyn was weakening, and starting to die.
While we were still focused on the bad guys and their Venetian waterfront veranda, the proto-Melkor (who I think might have been renamed Sokar at this point) was accosted by the evil Valar older sister, who started to make out with him. They were down to their underwear when I, the viewer, broke the Fourth Wall, and reminded them that this story was only rated PG-13. At this point they went inside, so that I didn't see them anymore, and the story shifted.
I briefly returned to the tale of myself and LMP, and our vague third companion, and we were heading to Venice to rescue Éowyn, but before we got there the Evil Valar had moved again.
In pursuing them, we went on to another waterfront city, somewhat to the west. It may have been Genoa, though I don't think it was named. It was west of the Morthond delta on the Langstrand coastline, anyway.
In this city was a GORGEOUS old cathedral. It wasn't being used as a church anymore, and was quite barren looking. But it was gorgeous, I assure you, all made of red brick. There was no glass in the windows, and no furniture of any sort, and apparently it was the base and warehouse of some sort of Stargate-ish crime lord who was somehow connected with the Evil Valar.
Before I and my companions showed up, our allies arrived from Rohan. I'm guessing we summoned them in the interlude when the story was in Venice. Anyway, these guys may have been named Rohirrim, but they were somewhere between Vikings and SG-01 in terms of how they operated. Just before we showed up, they attacked the cathedral in their longboat, and captured the crime lord, saving him from the gunfire of the Evil Valar or their servants, who apparently wanted him dead.
As this was ending, my bunch showed up, and there was this awesome panning out of the camera to get a good look at the cathedral....
...and that was it. I was quite disappointed.
However, as I was laying there in bed a bit later, having nothing better to do on a Saturday morning, and having committed as much of my dream to memory as possible, I started to daydream about my ordinations. For some reason, I mostly concentrated on the first, and rather less important of the two: my ordination to the diaconate.
Although this daydream had none of the drama of the real dream, it was a very good sign from my point of view. It's a sign that my attraction to the priesthood is still full blown. I take as such, since my focus in these daydreams is always on the fact that I am single--the fact that I am happy, excited, and very much aware of what I've given up in order to be ordained. It is, basically, my deepest seated desire.
Done! At last!
I am FINALLY done my winter semester for 2007. It took a full month longer than it was supposed to, ending not on April 25th, but on May 25th. But even at the very last, it just wouldn't go the way it was supposed to.
I was at Concordia a good 20 minutes early, just enough time to sit in Tegler, catch my breath, and do some last minute looking over the notes I put down the night before. Then, just before nine, I hobbled down the ramp to the basement level, looked for Room 101... and didn't find it where I thought it was.
So I checked the map on the walls, and saw that there was a G-101, which was a Biology lab, and a T-101, which was a computer lab. The computer lab made more sense, so I hobbled down the stairs to the lower level of basement, and found that T-101 was locked.
Well, it was 9:00 by now, so I figured that maybe it was in the Bio lab, for some reason, so I hobbled back up the stairs, down the hall, and round the corner. Nope, that was locked too.
It was now five after nine, and I'm starting to worry. I spent the next fifteen minutes or so hobbling back and forth down the corridors, hoping to see my proctor (he also did my History exam, so I knew who I was looking for), but no luck. I also hobbled up two more staircases to double-check with student services that I wasn't mistaken about the room-number--but there was no one there that early.
By the time 9:20 rolled around, and there was no change, I thought that maybe I should check the library, since it might have a Room 101. I was quite certain it wasn't in that building, and I was right, but it was a good thing I went to check, since the clerk was able to inform me that I was scheduled for a test in T-101--at 10:00.
Well, it's about 9:25, and I'm soaked in sweat from all the staircases and long distances covered on crutches with the insulating factor of a full backpack. I thanked the clerk, and returned to T-101, very grumpy and also very relieved that I wasn't 25 minutes late. Not wanting to take any more stairs for some time, I went to the bottom of the staircase I'd just come down, and sat there, facing the other wall of the stairs, my leg elevated on the step just above the one I was sitting on. Sprawled out there with my leg up and looking thoroughly sweaty and exhausted, I'm sure I looked rather hobo-esque. Whatever, I needed a break.
Anyway, just before 10:00, the Student Services coordinator shows up with a guy who has the key to the room. She was the one who set up my exam, and she had apparently just got in to work, and found that my proctor wasn't around. She had the same memory as me, of an exam for 9:00. Anyway, she got me started on the exam, and acted as proctor until about 10:45, which is when I think the real guy arrived.
So I wrote my Logic exam late, but I'm not going to complain, since I'm quite certain I aced the test. I did at least as well as on the midterms, and probably better. It was almost the perfect exam, since everything on the exam corresponded to what I'd refreshed in, and I never had a moment of sitting there going "um... how do I bluff my way through this?" I don't think I got 100%, but mid-90s would be about right. And that'd be really cool, since that might mean that my prof will just take the mark from the final, since he promised that if we did substantially better on the final, he'd ignore the mid-terms and grant a mark based on the final only. And mid-90s is substantially better than mid-80s, right?
Anyway, I'm very pumped about getting the marks back on that one, especially after having seen all my other marks. I aced my English and Religion courses (A+ or a 4.0). History was good too, (an A, or a 3.3). Sociology was disappointing, since I think I didn't do as well on the final as I would have in April (I got a B+, and I'm not sure what in terms of gradepoint). So, if I get a mid-90s final mark for Logic, then that means I get an A+/4.0, which would give me an above-3.5 average for the semester, which together with my 4.0 average last semester, would mean automatic scholarships next year, which is very good given that I'm not going to earn nearly enough this summer to pay for it.
Um... sorry about the bragging (unless you have better marks then me, in which case... whatever, I didn't study or try that hard... so I'm not complaining). But... yeah. Have to let it out somewhere.
I was at Concordia a good 20 minutes early, just enough time to sit in Tegler, catch my breath, and do some last minute looking over the notes I put down the night before. Then, just before nine, I hobbled down the ramp to the basement level, looked for Room 101... and didn't find it where I thought it was.
So I checked the map on the walls, and saw that there was a G-101, which was a Biology lab, and a T-101, which was a computer lab. The computer lab made more sense, so I hobbled down the stairs to the lower level of basement, and found that T-101 was locked.
Well, it was 9:00 by now, so I figured that maybe it was in the Bio lab, for some reason, so I hobbled back up the stairs, down the hall, and round the corner. Nope, that was locked too.
It was now five after nine, and I'm starting to worry. I spent the next fifteen minutes or so hobbling back and forth down the corridors, hoping to see my proctor (he also did my History exam, so I knew who I was looking for), but no luck. I also hobbled up two more staircases to double-check with student services that I wasn't mistaken about the room-number--but there was no one there that early.
By the time 9:20 rolled around, and there was no change, I thought that maybe I should check the library, since it might have a Room 101. I was quite certain it wasn't in that building, and I was right, but it was a good thing I went to check, since the clerk was able to inform me that I was scheduled for a test in T-101--at 10:00.
Well, it's about 9:25, and I'm soaked in sweat from all the staircases and long distances covered on crutches with the insulating factor of a full backpack. I thanked the clerk, and returned to T-101, very grumpy and also very relieved that I wasn't 25 minutes late. Not wanting to take any more stairs for some time, I went to the bottom of the staircase I'd just come down, and sat there, facing the other wall of the stairs, my leg elevated on the step just above the one I was sitting on. Sprawled out there with my leg up and looking thoroughly sweaty and exhausted, I'm sure I looked rather hobo-esque. Whatever, I needed a break.
Anyway, just before 10:00, the Student Services coordinator shows up with a guy who has the key to the room. She was the one who set up my exam, and she had apparently just got in to work, and found that my proctor wasn't around. She had the same memory as me, of an exam for 9:00. Anyway, she got me started on the exam, and acted as proctor until about 10:45, which is when I think the real guy arrived.
So I wrote my Logic exam late, but I'm not going to complain, since I'm quite certain I aced the test. I did at least as well as on the midterms, and probably better. It was almost the perfect exam, since everything on the exam corresponded to what I'd refreshed in, and I never had a moment of sitting there going "um... how do I bluff my way through this?" I don't think I got 100%, but mid-90s would be about right. And that'd be really cool, since that might mean that my prof will just take the mark from the final, since he promised that if we did substantially better on the final, he'd ignore the mid-terms and grant a mark based on the final only. And mid-90s is substantially better than mid-80s, right?
Anyway, I'm very pumped about getting the marks back on that one, especially after having seen all my other marks. I aced my English and Religion courses (A+ or a 4.0). History was good too, (an A, or a 3.3). Sociology was disappointing, since I think I didn't do as well on the final as I would have in April (I got a B+, and I'm not sure what in terms of gradepoint). So, if I get a mid-90s final mark for Logic, then that means I get an A+/4.0, which would give me an above-3.5 average for the semester, which together with my 4.0 average last semester, would mean automatic scholarships next year, which is very good given that I'm not going to earn nearly enough this summer to pay for it.
Um... sorry about the bragging (unless you have better marks then me, in which case... whatever, I didn't study or try that hard... so I'm not complaining). But... yeah. Have to let it out somewhere.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Post-Study
Yeah... I've done my studying. All 17 minutes of it. With the ten or so I did last night, and the approximate 15 I'm likely to get in before the exam tomorrow, that'll make for about 40 all told. Wow! That's a lot.
And I've been to Shrek III tonight.
All the above, and it's not 9:00 yet. The key to having such a life is low expectations. My plan for tonight had been to watch TV until 9:00, then study in the time remaining before bedtime. Instead, by forfeiting TV for a real movie-theatre movie, I get ahead of the game, and get to return to my normal routine of interneting before bedtime.
Shrek was enjoyable, as expected. I didn't think it was as good as the last two. I liked the overall story better than #2, but it didn't feel like the story was tightly wound. It felt thinner, and less joke-packed. Like #2, it lacked the serious emotional punch of the first movie, and it wasn't QUITE so over the top, I thought, as #2, but I enjoyed it.
The best part about going to movies like Shrek is that they come just close enough to mythic themes to get my juices flowing, but stop short of actually getting there, due to the comedy, that I can allow my imagination run wild on its own. I got a few buds of story from the movie, improbably prompted by the movie. We'll see if it goes anywhere... most such ideas don't. If nothing else, though, it's added impetus to continue my lunch break writing.
And... this may surprise some... but watching the previews, I found myself getting a bit excited about the Nancy Drew movie due out in a few weeks. Blame it on nostalgia (my family has almost complete sets of the original Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries, and once I'd read through the former, I polished off the latter), but I think I want to go to that one.
Not too likely, though, as I'm definitely not a fool enough to mention this around the seminary, and I'm not the sort who goes to movies on his own.
And I've been to Shrek III tonight.
All the above, and it's not 9:00 yet. The key to having such a life is low expectations. My plan for tonight had been to watch TV until 9:00, then study in the time remaining before bedtime. Instead, by forfeiting TV for a real movie-theatre movie, I get ahead of the game, and get to return to my normal routine of interneting before bedtime.
Shrek was enjoyable, as expected. I didn't think it was as good as the last two. I liked the overall story better than #2, but it didn't feel like the story was tightly wound. It felt thinner, and less joke-packed. Like #2, it lacked the serious emotional punch of the first movie, and it wasn't QUITE so over the top, I thought, as #2, but I enjoyed it.
The best part about going to movies like Shrek is that they come just close enough to mythic themes to get my juices flowing, but stop short of actually getting there, due to the comedy, that I can allow my imagination run wild on its own. I got a few buds of story from the movie, improbably prompted by the movie. We'll see if it goes anywhere... most such ideas don't. If nothing else, though, it's added impetus to continue my lunch break writing.
And... this may surprise some... but watching the previews, I found myself getting a bit excited about the Nancy Drew movie due out in a few weeks. Blame it on nostalgia (my family has almost complete sets of the original Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew mysteries, and once I'd read through the former, I polished off the latter), but I think I want to go to that one.
Not too likely, though, as I'm definitely not a fool enough to mention this around the seminary, and I'm not the sort who goes to movies on his own.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Pre-Study
Happy Status Update:
Well, maybe it was just another day at work, but I've been in the same purposeful, more optimistic mood all day. Definitely going to have to see what the weekend brings... since I'm not planning on going anywhere or doing anything. Can Michael survive a weekend of boredom, or is his emotional state tied to his being employed?
I'm not making any predictions... but I know which I'd prefer.
Not that I don't have reasons, if not to be depressed, to be grumpy. I went to Concordia over my lunch break today (it's about five minutes from the Pastoral Centre), and got myself set up for my final final of the "semester that wouldn't end". I have to say, for all that I'm glad to be done school, I do seem to have sentimental feelings towards the building/community, so I guess the school year wasn't that bad. Parking was a royal pain, though, because I was far too cheap to pay for parking for what would only be half an hour's stay, and I'm too law-abiding not to. This meant that I was parked a block away in the one-hour free parking zone, which is closer than I would normally park, but is a long, long way to go on crutches. It was also interesting since I had to parallel park to get as close as I did, and I haven't parallel-parked since I took my driver's test three and a half years ago. Turned out to be a cinch; I was quite pleased.
Anyway, 9:00 Friday morning I will be missing work to write a Logic exam I'd rather not write. Which means that if you see me online tomorrow, be a pain and tell me to get back to studying. I probably won't listen, but I might feel guilty, so you never know... I got my marks back today (via my parents, whereas I didn't get a copy at all...), and there's a big fat "F" on my Logic, since I haven't written the exam yet. I'm hoping it'll prove to be incentive.
Well, maybe it was just another day at work, but I've been in the same purposeful, more optimistic mood all day. Definitely going to have to see what the weekend brings... since I'm not planning on going anywhere or doing anything. Can Michael survive a weekend of boredom, or is his emotional state tied to his being employed?
I'm not making any predictions... but I know which I'd prefer.
Not that I don't have reasons, if not to be depressed, to be grumpy. I went to Concordia over my lunch break today (it's about five minutes from the Pastoral Centre), and got myself set up for my final final of the "semester that wouldn't end". I have to say, for all that I'm glad to be done school, I do seem to have sentimental feelings towards the building/community, so I guess the school year wasn't that bad. Parking was a royal pain, though, because I was far too cheap to pay for parking for what would only be half an hour's stay, and I'm too law-abiding not to. This meant that I was parked a block away in the one-hour free parking zone, which is closer than I would normally park, but is a long, long way to go on crutches. It was also interesting since I had to parallel park to get as close as I did, and I haven't parallel-parked since I took my driver's test three and a half years ago. Turned out to be a cinch; I was quite pleased.
Anyway, 9:00 Friday morning I will be missing work to write a Logic exam I'd rather not write. Which means that if you see me online tomorrow, be a pain and tell me to get back to studying. I probably won't listen, but I might feel guilty, so you never know... I got my marks back today (via my parents, whereas I didn't get a copy at all...), and there's a big fat "F" on my Logic, since I haven't written the exam yet. I'm hoping it'll prove to be incentive.
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