Celebrate returning to faith, hope, culture and life with community.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

clean break

Someone once told me that men were like waffles.  In their brains, they have these tiny little compartments they shove their thoughts on each subject in.  There's a (small) one for love, one for money, one for protecting, one for worrying.  Each element affecting their masculine tendencies are found in these little clusters of thoughts.  Cute, right?  I mean, who doesn't like little compartments to store things in?

This same person told me that women are like spaghetti.  No, not messy or hard to fork (ew!).  All of our emotions run together like noodles in spaghetti.  They're all connected.  Every decision we make relies on every aspect of our lives.

Side note: This picture used to hang in the bathroom of my pediatrician's office.  It was huge, it took up about half the wall, and it scared the living daylights out of me.  The baby must be a boy too, 'cause he looks a little scared himself.  Like, "What am I supposed to do with all of this crazy spaghetti?!"

Now, I'm not saying that this is the gospel truth.  I'm just vaguely repeating something I heard.  I have absolutely no proof or sources arguing it's credibility.

Gosh, I'm going to be such a great journalist...

And I'm not saying that waffles are better than spaghetti.  Both are especially delicious.  It just really depends on what kind of mood you're in, you know?

I am saying that sometimes it would be nice to be a waffle.  Like, what do I mean?  I mean, it would be nice that when particularly nerving things happened in my life (take college graduation, for example), I would be able to be rational about this whole graduating-in-two-days-thing (I was told by several people that my countdown to graduation was not nice and that I should cease and desist...see how I still stuck it in there?  Yeah, rebel).

For instance, I've been trying to convince others and even myself that I was fine with packing up my life of four years here and moving on to "bigger and better."  But, I play this little game called denial when I'm at these pivotal points in my life (it isn't just a river in Egypt if you play it to win, ya know?).  However, these last few days on campus have not been so internally happy.  I keep reminding myself that this is it.  This is the last time I'll _____ with ______ (insert proper verbs/nouns here, just nothing gross please).

If I weren't spaghetti, maybe I wouldn't have started tearing up when I was watching a freshman pack up his belongings into his family's minivan in front of Bell Hall yesterday.  Maybe I wouldn't have had a panic attack while I was watching the gentlemen set up chairs on the quad.

Maybe I wouldn't be this warbled mixture of uncontainable, simultaneous joy and misery.


No comments

Blogger Template Created by pipdig