Fa, Ra, Ra, Ra, Ra

It is quite possible that God is sending us a message. It is possible that we just have bad luck. But, holidays seem to never work out for my family. When I was seven, I gave my grandfather shingles on Christmas. I didn't know it at the time; all I knew was that I itched and couldn't go sledding with my cousins. A couple years later, he fell ill and we celebrated in March because we just couldn't make it work until then. We met at a restaurant dressed in Santa sweaters and opened gifts, Christmas carols courtesy of the house pianist. Another year, my grandmother was in the hospital, losing her fingers and toes. No places were open to eat except Grand Star China. Fa, Ra, Ra, Ra, Ra indeed. The list goes on: Easters in nursing homes, birthdays spent alone, Valentine's days with chocolates left lonely on porches.

This year, my grandmother's cousin had a stroke on Good Friday and died late in the night on Easter. Now, it seems, the only way we are able to spend any time together is in the car on the way to funerals. I couldn't say that my family is the holiest family on Earth, but nor could I say that we don't value what God has given us. We try to make time, to respect what it means to be a family. So why does it always seem to work this way?

Next year, it will be Hanukkah with the Kranks for us. We will not be intimidated!

On a different point of interest, the posters of Cuteoverload really need to get laid! I am getting mildly creeped out by the constant captioning of baby animals with things like "Hey Baby" and "Lets unwind, Baby." I do not want to think about dogs seducing women, or ducks hitting on well, other ducks. Let the madness end!

I Remember Learning How to Dive

So, I am one of those people that is really all for doing something until it actually gets here. I believe I want to lead an outrageous life until it comes knocking, and then all I want to do is curl back up in my comfortable little hole I've created for myself and tell life to go away. I make myself believe that I am not happy doing what I am doing, so I pursue something else and am usually proud of myself when I actively work toward it, and then I get scared to death. "Okay, nevermind! I'm happy! I take it back!"

This has happened to me many times, the worst of which being when I decided to apply for an internship in Holland. I was terrifically excited about it when I got accepted, and even up until the week prior to my flight out. When it came to the night before, however, if certain people hadn't forced me to keep packing, I am sure I would have spilled all the contents of my luggage on my bedroom floor and gripped the doorframe as tight as I could. Looking back, I am really glad I went through with it. The best night of my short life happened over there.

But here I go again, climbing up the high dive with every intention of jumping off when I get to the top. I am just waiting for the day I panick and the lifeguards in my life won't let me turn back. Will I be happy? Will I make friends? Am I really Ph.D. material?

I am sending my acceptance in tomorrow, and I am sick with fear that this will turn out to be the wrong choice. I am leaving my home, my friends, the Boy, and I am not sure why right at this moment.

I am going through with all the steps now, but when it comes down to the last possible moment, I am going to need a hell of a push to get me to realize that splashing into the water really won't hurt so bad after all.