it's a typical situation in these typical times

too many choices...

In this case, it's been too many choices in tragedies this week. I did not especially want to start out the blog this way. I was thinking in my mind that I would write about mindless thoughts that had been flitting about in my brain for too long, and then edge in the whining. However, I find myself in a class where I have a hard time listening to the instructor, so it sort of just blurted out, and true to my established sense of writing in this way, I hate to delete anything. (unless it's a spelling or grammar mistake... then I'm duty bound to change those)

That demands a bit of background, so maybe I will ramble for a bit. 

I normally LOVE class and learning and studying of any kind, but this teacher on this night (I realize this will be date stamped, but I cannot bring myself to care... for the sleuths who may realize who this is) lost my respect early in the semester. commence whining The very first night, he only kept us for about 20 minutes, but I could excuse that as it was first. Too soon, though, I would see this was more foretelling. He has canceled or failed to really teach anything reliably every Monday. I would not even mind this so much, except for the fact that I break my neck to get to school on time as it is, and to sit here week after week and feel like my time is being wasted is frustrating. He assigns a ridiculous amount of work, and has yet to grade anything. When he does talk, it holds no bearing on the work for the grades... This disappoints me all over again just thinking it to write it.

I could go on, but I think it would be lousy to spend my time blogging in this class I care not for by writing the whole time about it. The semester is almost over though, and I can chalk it up to a lesson learned. If nothing else, I have a great model of what kind of teacher I do not want to be.

Last Monday, on one of my said break neck journeys to Memphis, the semi in front of me had a blow out. Before I even realized anything...

You know what, I don't want to recount these details again and again. I've done it dozens of times at this point, and I don't feel any better about the week having spoken it. Why waste blog space? Surely when I go back and read this years later, I'll recall how crummy of a week this was without having to recall specifics and all the gory details.

Suffice it to say, it was draining. Instead, I will try to describe how I feel, and maybe that will help.

I feel full, overflowing even. Don't ask me of what. I have been hard pressed to define it for a week now. The things going on around me are not that awful, actually, at least not for me directly. There has just been awfulness around me that I cannot seem to shake. I have realized over the last year or so that people gravitate toward me for conversation. Well, not conversation, but just to get things off their chest. I seem to have a gift for listening objectively and people feel better for it. Then, in most cases, I dismiss it and go on with my life. End of story. They feel better, I go on with my life. Everyone wins.

A change has happened in me though, and it has been gradual. I somehow end up feeling on behalf of these people. regardless of if they ask or not. I mean, really feeling. I noticed and identified this early in October while at my friend Betsy's funeral. I sat there, looking at her family and her daughter, thinking about her son, just born, and I was overcome with sadness and hurt for these people. I know what you are thinking... and it was not just because of the inevitably sad country gospel music playing. I was a  sustaining sad. It stayed for days. I wasn't sad for the potential to my own life, but for these people. I was not especially close to Betsy anymore. Of course I was sad, but we had not really done anything together since I was in middle school. There was no great hole in my life because of this. But I was sad for her husband, who very much DID have a hole. I know that hole. I have experienced it. It broke my heart that someone else, even though I did not particularly know him, was having to feel that feeling.

I know what you might think... that's wonderful and nice. People should be that way. Sure. But I've never been that way. I did not make any conscious efforts to be that way. I was just sitting there listening to some crappy music and had this epiphany came over me.

It did not stop there. Once identified, I noticed this in lots of places in my life. By the time, a month later, I began my week from hell, I had even learned to recognize it.

Sure, I was a bit distraught when I cried while watching Transformers 2. I never, NEVER cry at movies, but I couldn't stop this. It looked so sad when they were airlifting Optimus Prime. I even cried later at during my second viewing of the Time Traveler's Wife.... and I even knew what was going to happen. I spent days reflecting (SPOILER ALERT) on the injustices of time travel and how it was awful, the paradox that the situation that allowed the guy to meet his wife was the same situation that would cause his untimely death. That was just sad.


So, later on, when I learned of the children who would now be fatherless because of the tragedy of depression and suicide. I cried with recognized hurt for this family. I named it and I went on... okay, I didn't completely go on. I knew this guy, and I berated myself somewhat that someone around me could be suffering so and I be completely oblivious. How self absorbed I must be, I felt. But that wasn't what made me sad, it was the hurt of the other people.

Oh.. the teacher just said that Jesus disturbs our comfortable illnesses.... maybe that's what's going on with me. (there's bound to be some reason that sentence stood out)... but back to purging my thoughts...

I keep trying to figure out why I have this and what I need to do with it. When I think that, I have a few ideas.... Perhaps it is time I tear down these walls I've built to keep things at a safe distance. I know I have. I did it consciously years ago. I heard this one devotional once that I cannot seem to shake. I didn't even take notes on it, and it has pestered me ever since.... the point was that as great of a feeling as it is to help people... sometimes we have be the ones willing to accept help... I heard here, admit that we need help...

That is a tough one for me. I HATE the thought that I cannot do something on my own. It seems to me to be the ultimate affront... guess that's no coincident that I have run into situations now in all aspects of my life where I cannot do everything I need to do alone.

and now the class is over.

i would have fallen from the sky 'till you

parachutes have opened now

I'm feeling cynical this week. No explanation for it; just seems to be the way it is. Even as I write this (I'm killing time while I clean my coffee maker because the clean light won't go off and it bugs me.... Much like this run-on sentence.) I'm thinking how self-centered it is to write something that is just venting about my wee little life and publish it somewhere on the Internet where everyone can read it. In actuality, I realize hardly anyone reads this. It goes largely unnoticed... virtual litter on the information super highway.

But my desire to write will win out and I'll throw this out there like anything else. Some part of my brain will rationalize it as a good thing, just like I reason that animals will enjoy my apple cores I throw out every morning while driving to work.

School is back in full swing. I seem to be insanely busy. I think it's mostly because there's more work, but the nagging hard-on-myself side of my mind taunts me that I'm losing my edge that has previously made me so good at my job. I told you that cynic was here this week.

The stupid clean light is still blinking, too.

I'm torn between whether to write about my summer, recap it and close that chapter, or just continue to turn this into a gripe session... I'll try to keep the griping to a minimum.

May went well. I cannot remember anything especially noteworthy that happened in my life. Lots of cool things happened for friends, but those are their stories to tell, not mine. I did preach at a church, but I'm not so convinced I did it much justice. The congregation was small, and they were obligatorily nice and complementary (or is it the i compliment?)Yeah.. complimentary. (of course I looked it up.) but afterward, when thanking them for the opportunity, I never heard a thing. So, naturally, I assume no news is terrible news. At the time, I didn't feel I did a bad job, but still... Nerves were the predominant feeling right up to the point of no return. I'm sure that's normal, but something being normal has never before made me feel better.

I think deciding to clean the coffee pot this late was a mistake.

June was full of camps and General Assembly (church things). I enjoyed the junior camp, the one with the little kids. I preached at that one, and overall, I felt good about it. Plus, most everyone i worked with was great. (I don't know why this iPad isn't always auto correcting my i pronouns).

General Assembly was in Dickson. I met new people, which was fun. Some were really cool. (unsaid here, some struck me as a bit odd...oops, I said it now). I stayed in a cabin that was in a very remote place, lots if trees. Super quaint. Almost Like where one would find a hobbit house. (I'm thinking good things about hobbits here... not gross things like hairy feet). It was Peggy's dads. I watched her boys one night while she had class and I did not. The only other thing I care to reflect on from that week.... 1986. We found an old magazine, and I think it's safe to say, I'm glad the '80's are over.

Senior high camp was okay. The YMPC did a super swell job of handling things and being amazing. We made dresses for Africans. I taught a class on relationships... Yeah, I thought that was ironic too, since I'm historically so poopy at them, but it went well. I think I made enemies, but I'm not too sure. It's been a while since people flat out disliked me, and I'm not sure I handled it all as gracefully as I could have. Mostly, I felt perplexed, since for once, I didn't invite the animosity. It's past now though, and if nothing else, I realize my efforts need to be in other places besides fretting over things i cannot change.

My friend Jennifer came and visited over the Fourth of July holiday. I was thrilled to see her again. Her son is hilarious. He almost makes me want to have more. Of course, there's that whole issue of not being able to stay home with a child... but, wow... Where'd THAT come from? She stayed for a few days. She's very representative of the only part of old Jamie that I still like. The only part that was even a tiny bit good, I think. It was nice, and I hope we can coordinate more visits.

Junior high camp also went well. I made more enemies though i didn't realize it at the time. I told a child on Facebook that I was disappointed in him. His mom wanted to prosecute me for being a cyber bully. Oh,yeah... I'm serious. I was super pissed about the whole ordeal. I don't think I handle criticism very well, and I really didn't like the mean and nasty uncharitable feelings the whole thing brought out in me. I got no fewer than six lengthy letters from this insane woman (see...there I go, uncharitable) and I was struggling to maintain some semblance of decorum. Inside i wanted to go white trash nuts on her. I didn't enjoy this at all. She was annoying, but the way i was reacting inside was ugly and I did NOT like it.

PYT was fun. I made more friends. Enjoyed the company of old friends that i seldom get to see. I enjoyed the worship services, but was glad to get back home to something small scale again. I taught a small group, and I absolutely LOVED it. I had missed teaching, and I brought my A+ game. (i brought my hole punch, too.) the kids and other adults that were in my group were great. That would have ended my summer on a great high had it not been for the psycho subject of the last paragraph ruining it for me (or me ruining it for me, if I'm honest here...)

My coffee maker is on the last rinse of the cleaning cycle and the light's been off for 15 minutes... The rambling is about to come to an end.

August saw me back to school... I missed my drives and my work routines, and I'm very glad to have those back. I want to buy a new car. I have one I have my eye on. I'm feeling cheap lately though, and don't necessarily want a car payment. It seems to be a busy month. I'm preaching a women's retreat and a Sunday morning coming up. I have more friends with more big amazing things happening in their lives that makes my heart happy.

And my coffee maker is ready to set for my morning coffee.

if you'll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal

I've been reflective about friendships lately. For the most part this is a natural occurrence because of the fact I spent the weekend with quite a few of those I call friends. I've rather stepped out of my norm (established early in life) and thrown most of my friendship eggs in the same basket. I cannot say that my thoughts have been particularly good or particularly bad. I suppose in all honesty, some from column A and some from column B. I have not been exactly happy or sad when thinking, but thinking I've been doing [I'm a tad discouraged, by the way, that I have this tendency to use contractions... I will try to overcome from this point on.... doh, and ending in prepositions... I am back sliding!]  So, where was I?

Ah, the evolution of my friendships....

I was pretty much a loner in my early years. I was raised by a very over-protective mother who also had a heavy spattering of superstition. I played alone. I had lots of imaginary friends. [Batman was my favorite, and also who I wanted to marry when I grew up... and now that I think about it, I do not know that my standards have changed all that much.] When my brother came along, we played together, but I mostly remember solo play.

I did not go to Sunday school or preschool, or anything. No outside contact. Not until I was six and starting public school for the first time. I was in first grade. Since I had never been acclimated to people, it was assumed I was an imbecile , so I was put in the dummy class (this was allowed in these days, and I can say this guilt free, because everyone in that class was held back that year). I do not remember making friends in that class. I remember hating the teacher. I also remember the girl sitting in front of me. She had a side ponytail that was curly (my hair was always straight) that I thought was cute, but her voice annoyed me. At the time, I was certain this was the dumbest person on the planet. I did not desire to befriend anyone.

Fortunately, I was moved when they realized I could read, and my first legit friend in the whole wide world was paired with me to catch me up to speed. Her name was Becky, and I've written of her before. She was the first in a long line of friend-ishes.

My friend-ishes were the people who I developed fast and close friendships with when I was around them. If we had a class together, if we were on the same team, later on, if our husbands or boyfriends were friends, etc. However, these friendships did not span the realm of me seeking them out to talk to or be around. I am not certain if this was a flaw in me or them, or if it was just a thing, but that is what it was. Anytime I was around these friends, I really did like them, and I really did enjoy it, but if I did not see them again for three years, I did not lose sleep. Writing it all out, I feel like I was just a crappy person. I had my reasons though, that might come out before my laundry is dry and my word well is empty.

This was the only type of friend I had through elementary school and into middle school. Once in middle school, things got ugly for me. That is just a wretched time for anyone. Hormones kick in and tweens and teens press the limits of acceptable behavior. People become out for blood, and an ill spoken word can ruin your life. I see this all the time when I work in the school. I do believe that if I ruled the educational world, middle school and junior high would be a forced academic sabbatical. But that is not where I was going with this today...

At the end of my sixth grade year, I made my first friend. April was fun and carefree and most importantly, non judgmental. She did not make fun of me for any of the things I liked (reading, music, video games, dorky stuff... I'm not so different). Turned out her grandma lived close to me and so through proximity we became fast friends. We talked on the phone. I could tell her my problems. She listened and gave me advice, and I did the same for her. We had "boyfriends" that were parts of the same groups (we liked the skater boys, what can I say) and hung out on the weekends.

Maybe the bad thing about April was that she was my only friend. So when serious boyfriends started happening around high school, our friendship suffered. Also, academically, we were polar opposites, so we did not have any of the same school schedules or clubs or anything like that. Turned out that those separations took their toll, and we drifted apart.

I fell in with people in my classes and clubs. We had nice friendships, but they remained at school. More friend-ishes. I suppose, in reflection, I just did not want to put forth any effort. For the most part though, it was enough. I did not ever remember feeling like I needed a friend and did not have one. [Am I the only one beginning to think I might have been a bit egotistical?]

The summer before my junior year, I met who would become my first FRIEND. The CAPS are important, because she deserves distinction. Oddly enough, if I had been having these thoughts and writing this journal a year ago, she would have been in the friend category with April. Now is not the time to write about that, but perhaps one day I will explain all that. Either way, we met in East Tennessee. We became fast friends, and the distance did not stop it. That should be viewed as even more remarkable since this is in the days before cell phones, Internet and social networking sites.

When I was married, I had lots of hisfriends. These were all people I liked well enough, and they seemed to like me, but we all knew that if we removed the tie that binds, they would not be there for me. Not too far into the marriage, I also found myself without my two friends. For the former, our lifestyles were so drastically different at this point in our lives, we could be nothing more than friend-ishes anymore. The latter, well, she just sort of disappeared. I did not know why for many years, but I always assumed it was something I did wrong.

Operating on that assumption and my learned distrust of people, I decided (unconsciously) that the best avenue for me was one of no friends. They were high maintenance and backstabbing usually anyway. So for the next several years, I did just that. It was not until the end of that time that I really started to miss that which I did not have. In some cases, I could even say that which I had never had.

Then that brings me full circle to the present. As baffling as it seems to me, I have lots of FRIENDS. I have friends that invite me over (repeatedly) and friends that call or text just to say hey. I have friends who listen to my problems and friends who tell me theirs. I have friends who remember my birthday and friends who do not write me off when I forget theirs. At this point, it is still overwhelming to me. When I have down times, that small old voice whispers "this is it, you've run your course again", but I am beginning to think, perhaps, this time, I really have not run my course.

...I can call you Betty, and Betty when you call me, you can call me Al.

I have no lid upon my head

but if I did, you could look inside and see what's on my mind.

And the past few days it's been potential. For good or bad, I see potential in everything. That's not to say I have a Pollyanna outlook; far from it, actually. I do not always see things as potentially good or potentially bad. In fact, most times my potential is not given a qualifier at all. I just see that maybe, at some point down the road, this could be necessary... potentially.

My visions of potential usefulness are certainly what drive my pack rat tendencies. I cannot throw anything away without scouring every possible avenue of benefit it might first have. I still own clothes I had when I was younger than my children. There is not anything that uses electricity at school that is discarded without first going through me. It kills my soul to throw away something that might still have an ounce of use (potential).

I see this in children, too. I see tons of babies and toddlers and preschoolers who to me have loads of potential. At each moment, it seems to me, they have this, oh let's not say window, but more of a halo of opportunity... of potential. For just a glimmer of a moment, that child truly can become anything. Then things happen, society, family, friends... and they expand or contract the circle of potential. Sometimes it is things that are grossly unfair, like deadbeat parents, or random acts of violence. Sometimes it is just a thing, like a genetic abnormality that expands the potential.

I suppose this is the one that plagues my thoughts the most lately. I work around all these children who seem to have tons of potential, and I watch all these things go on that stack the decks against them, lessening their potential before it is even realized. It frustrates me to see neglectful parents or non compassionate society turn their backs on theses beautiful bundles of potential. Do they not realize what they are messing with?

I remember this when I first realized I was pregnant with Matthew. I was seventeen when this idea of potential hit me full in the chest. Right then, I knew that everything I would do from that point forward would affect, not only mine, but another human being's potential. It was both thrilling and terrifying to consider. It was then, I think, somewhere back in the far recesses of my mind that I decided to become a full out potential champion. (I did not name myself such... I maybe coined that phrase just now.)

At this point in my life, some fifteen years later, that is what I do every day. I cannot say I am especially good at it, or even have any successes to write about, but I try. I see potential in things. I see potential in people, and whatever I can do, I try to bring it out, try to help it along.... try to do something.

it was just another night with a sunset

and a moonrise not so far behind...

...and I was driving home last Saturday from Nashville. At this point in my week, I'd driven some twenty-two hours. I do not say that as a complaint. I rather enjoy driving. I happily commute thirty miles to work each day, and 150 to seminary at least once per week. (I wanted to say once a week, but that seemed redneck?) I intentionally planned a roadtrip with my children for spring break last week. I like driving.

It is, for me, a sort of mini sabbatical from things. I put my iPhone on random and crank up the volume. I reflect on my day. I do my deep thinking. I make plans. I daydream. I sing loudly off key.

It was not until this Saturday that I realized how key my background music was to this whole process. On this particular Saturday, not long after I used my iPhone to find a Chinese buffet, (Yes, there's an app for that... you're SO original for thinking that.) my battery died. I used my phone lots that day to pass the time, but I thought I had my charger with me. Turns out I did not, but there was nothing to be done about it at this point. I also forgot my purse that held the bulk of my cash, my driver's licence and my debit cards.

Somehow I got off on a tangent.

It's okay though, I mean, I lived just fine for years without an iPhone. (and apps, and facebook, and texting my friends, and instant google searching at my fingertips...) So, I sat in the parking lot, full of General Tso's chicken and tried to remember the way back to the interstate. After a few minutes reflection and my subsequent recollection of my terrible sense of direction, I decided the best bet would be to ask someone for directions. (Normally here, I'd use the GPS on my iPhone.) I asked random guys in an old thunderbird with t-tops. They told me true, and even though I was a bit nervous until I made my way back to I-24, it worked out.

After that, I settled back to move down the open road. A few minutes in, the silence killed me. I grabbed my daughter's iPod, but her tastes run too different from mine, and I could not reach my state of being that I normally fall into when driving. I gave up and decided it was a day for retro (I mean, I had just talked to guys in a t-bird.) and turned on the radio. I surfed through talk radio, some sort of sports commentary, and settled on what appeared to be an '80's station. It was fitting, and I belted for a bit along to Journey, Bon Jovi, and even Warrant.

However, after the Who and a song from Tommy, I was tired of commercial breaks and not funny DJ's. I longed for my random selection of Jamie approved music. It did not much matter though, I was not getting it, and I could not find an adult alternative station that would likely supply that which was fuel for my most recent of moods.

It was enough, though, to get me thinking. I thought about how accessible things are now. I sort of began to realize how much I take things for granted. Also, it seems that with the ease of everything, there is not much room for wonder or magic. (I wish I could think of a better word here, but none are forthcoming.)

You know, years ago, if I had a thought, say, about a bird or a tree or something I saw while out, then I would visit a library, or go and talk to people who maybe knew people and find things out. Or maybe even, I would not find things out until years later, when someone somewhere completely unrelated would say something resulting in an a-ha moment for me. But now, I immediately pull out my iPhone and google whatever popped in my head, and voila, I have an answer.

Likewise, I could not wait for events that would reunite me with friends who I did not get to see every day at school or work. Now, with texting and cell phones, I can talk to all of them all the time. I never have to wait to tell someone something... as soon as the thought pops in my mind, I pick up my phone and text or call, no matter how pointless the thought I want to share. (Guess what song just came up on random?! Yes, I've done that.)

There's no wait time. Instant gratification for practically everything all the time (Was I redundant here?). And as much as I enjoy it, take advantage of it even, I think, I thought, on that drive home, that it makes me sad a little bit. Were things perhaps better in a time when there was more room for wonder and less necessity for knowledge about everything? Is nothing worth the wait anymore? I remember that joy I would feel when my favorite song was finally played on the radio. I even called in the requests sometimes. Now, I navigate immediately to it on my iPhone... my favorite song as soon as I want it, because I made it happen.

I cannot even say how many times I went to reach for my phone on that drive home, either to look something up, to check my facebook, to text someone, or any number of other things that I obviously have a deep habit of doing. Each time, it was humbling. Are all these advances maybe somehow cheating me out of experiences?

In the end, with nothing I could control, I decided to watch the constellations and was recalled to other times I had noticed the stars, in other places, with other people

and it was nice.

Where is the Love?

So, I saw this on the front of a book the other day. It wasn't my book, and I didn't want to be overly nosey about noting it. It stood out to me for a few reasons. One, I'm pretty sure it was a Bible. Again, I didn't examine it, but I was at church camp, so I think that's a safe assumption. Otherwise, it would have been just any antique book, given the way it was bound. I really love books, so details about them like that stand out to me. Secondly, it stood out to me because I'm about 99% positive it was written on there with a Sharpie or maybe an Expo marker. I like markers quite a bit, too. At first glimpse, I was horrified that someone would write on a book. I don't know anything else about it except that it was a red book with this question written in black along with a heart (think Valentine's day, not internal organ).

Regardless of all that, the image stuck with me over the next several hours... well, at this point days. At first, it made me a bit sad. I recounted all the times I myself had thought that very sentiment. The whole love people phenomenon baffles me anyway. I mean, I know I should love people. It's just the nice way to be. However, so often it seems there's no rhyme or reason to the who's and the how deeply's. And let's not even talk about how it is, being on the receiving end. I mean, seriously, what's it really feel like to feel loved? Can you even tell when people actually do? Does proclaiming it make it so? Are hugs and kisses what it's all about? Is it kindness? Tolerance? Is withholding my mean and nasty feelings enough to count as love? So, yeah, I was having those sorts of thoughts. They were more immediate upon seeing this.

I struggle with emotions anyway, swinging back and forth between "I don't like feeling them because they make me feel weak." and "Wow, I feel things about these people. That's kind of nice." I pretty much had a Paula Abdul mentality on emotions cornered (Cold Hearted Snake) when some sort of internal cracking decided to start taking place. I think it started when I taught Kindergarten. If you ever just want to feel loved... like, you need that validation because let's face it, adults aren't so hot at showing it, really, then I would recommend working around these very young children. I reflect on that time in my life as three years intense hug therapy (if I haven't mentioned, I have this issue with being touched by strangers. Really, don't pat me on the back if you don't know me.) Obviously, there was a lot more to that, but I loved those kids. Oh yeah, there's the love!

That wasn't it though. I went on in this sort of thoughtful funk for the rest of the day. Maybe I should mention that it was cold and rainy also. It was fitting for my melancholy thoughts as I drove home. There were other things that went on that I'm sure could be analyzed and blamed for my funk, but this question, that silly drawing (not really silly, but really, why? what was it about it?), was sort of driving my thoughts.

On the way home, I thought about who I love and how I love and all the ways it seemed so inadequate. I felt like I was just almost realizing some bigger picture... God's cosmic plan perhaps, but I couldn't quite grasp it. I felt like a lousy person and an even lousy-er Christian. I didn't love enough people genuinely enough, and I had no freaking clue how to make myself do this. Indeed, where is the love?

The next day, I had a long drive to seminary. Usually I find great joy in setting my iPhone to random and cranking up the volume. Ah, but not this day. I once again couldn't focus on the lyrics of my favorite songs. A marker scribed question was demanding my attention. So I gave up on tunes and thought some more. This time, I reflected on if that was indeed a Bible as I thought. Where did I, myself, first really begin to really love? What was at the root of it? Where did I feel love myself when it seemed to me it was nowhere else? How ironic that it was on the front of a Bible, no? I mean, really... where else would the love be? I thought it was maybe,  in this one instance, sort of a good thing that someone had drawn on the front of a book (although in no realm would I EVER myself want to write on a book). Well, not simply a book, a Bible. It's fitting. Especially if someone was looking, and maybe that something caught their eye and made them pick it up...

...or maybe just made them think about it lots, eh?

So, today, I was somewhat back to normal I thought. I didn't think about this drawing at all until my drive home from work. I was insanely tired. I did not feel all that great, and most all of what I wanted was a nap. I put my iPhone on random and cranked up the volume. The weather was beautiful, so I even cracked the windows a bit. However, I was feeling picky about my music, since I was tired. I skipped Anthrax and Stone Temple Pilots. After two Elvis songs, I wasn't in the mood for his senseless chipper-ness either. When somewhere between Tiptonville and Samburg, "Where is the Love" by Black Eyed Peas started. I know what you're thinking... I did that on purpose, but I do not. I hold the power of random somewhat sacred, and while I may skip songs or even replay especially nice ones, I never go through and specifically pick them while I'm driving. The surprise is part of the fun for me.

There I was again pondering this question. I also thought how I really don't care for that energizer, but probably because I just don't know it so well... but that really has no bearing on this blog or my thoughts beyond that. I tried to listen to the song, but my listening comprehension is terrible. So, I played it again. I thought then that I'd look up the lyrics, but I didn't. I suppose I will later, but I think they made some pretty good points about practicing what you preach and asking for guidance from above. (especially when you consider this is coming from the same artisits that brought us Boom Boom Pow.)

I don't suppose I really have a conclusion. For whatever reason, that was drawn by someone, probably for reasons known only to that person. For completely other reasons, I noted it, and it sent me plunging into thoughtfulness. I had a ridiculously emotional day either because of seeing that, or other circumstances, or maybe I could even blame it on the rain (Milli Vanilli). I thought good thoughts and bad thoughts and prayed lots as a result of thinking about it. Maybe now that I've written about it, it'll leave my mind. Then again, I kind of hope it doesn't.