Ships in the night

The concept of the soul mate is so nebulous. I think some of us can spend lifetimes pondering their presence and existence. Have you ever thought that you've met your soul mate? If we are so lucky, then I feel that surely we must know and recognize our good fortune beyond a doubt.

The other day I met someone who, had we been in a different time and place, would have been my soul mate. Our interaction was not long but everything that was said had a profound resonance, it was so easy without intention and comfortable without effort. In the here and now though, we are strangers who had a chance meeting, ships passing in the night only glimpsing the far off glitter of lights reflected in the calm dark waters.

In every stranger lies the promise and possibility of a friend. In every friend lies the promise and possibility of a soul mate. So, how is it that the shadow of a soul mate can be seen in a stranger too? I have had some of the most truthful, meaningful, and heartening interactions of my life with relative strangers. With ever growing conviction, I believe in the true and extraordinary kindness of strangers.

Princess Procrastinator

School has barely started and I'm already behind! Well, not entirely . . . if I can actually finish the 100 plus pages that I have yet to read for class tomorrow then I won't be behind. However, I have only 15 hours until that class begins and I intend to sleep for the next 8 hours and then go to another class for two hours . . . so really I don't see this reading getting done. Whoever said there were 24 perfectly usable hours in a day was seriously deranged, as can only be expected from someone who doesn't treat sleep as a valuable commodity. Some of you (notably Blythe) may chide me for leaving my homework till the last moment and reverting to my old procrastinating ways but I assure you this wasn't done intentionally. And I certainly have no intention of sacrificing sleep to get work done, the days of pulling all-nighters have come and gone. I really don't think I could manage it anymore, and ridiculous though it may sound coming from someone in their mid-20s, I'm too old for that shit! Procrastinator or not this princess needs her beauty sleep.

Now I can go to Morocco

Alright, I'm back in Seattle and feeling the crunch of grad school. However, that's not stopping me from doing superfluous research. After my previous post regarding the purchase or trade of myself for a thousand camels I was curious to know how much a camel really goes for. I found that the market is rather varied and is dependent upon age, gender, and type of camel - if you're interested take a look here. For example female bactrian camels go for much more than male dromedaries. Actually bactrians appear to be more expensive in general, who knew that having one more hump on your back could make you so much more valuable - if only that were true of humans too.

Anyway, it looks like my going price could be anywhere between $5 million and $30 million . . . not too shabby, although I'd like to think that I'm priceless *cheeky grin* We should have asked for the details of the transaction before turning the salesman down. Carolyn was really passing up on quite a fortune and now instead of being a millionaire she's merely made it onto the shortlist (or short list, for it consists of only one person) of people I would be willing to travel to Morocco with. Call me crazy but the big fear holding me back from going to Morocco has always been that I would end up going with someone who would inadvertently or maybe even purposely sell me to the Bedouin tribes. Although now I'm starting to think it wasn't such a crazy fear afterall . . . I mean we were pretty sure he was joking, but being pretty sure isn't the same as knowing he was joking.

How much for that camel in the window? And I'm not talking about the cigarettes . . .

So yesterday, I went with Carolyn to buy a going-away present for one of her co-workers. We ended up in a little Egyptian imports store that shall remain nameless for reasons that will become evident later. As we walk in the salesman motions us towards the jewelry counter where he's standing and proceeds to dab our wrists with scented oils so we can smell them as we browse around. I think it would be safe to say that Carolyn and I both rued the moment we let the oil touch our skin, we reeked all day even after vigorous scrubbing with soap. Anyway, we're browsing and making polite chitchat with the guy and end up back at the jewelry counter where Carolyn decided on getting a pretty pendant. It sounds simple enough but even picking out the pendant was an endeavor with the salesman chatting us up . . . especially with questionable conversation topics which included a discussion of 'the key of life' and him vehemently refusing to believe that I was 100% American before I had said anything at all let alone something that could be refuted. Finally, the pendant has been paid for and we think we're going to make it out of the store but we're accosted yet again and the salesman insists on giving us his card. At the door he turns to Carolyn and says, "You know your friend is very pretty," and since I can't take a compliment I just smile and feel embarrassed thinking that'll be the end of it but he goes on, "If we were in Egypt I would make you an Egyptian offer, I'd give you a thousand camels for her." If my face weren't frozen in an awkward smile my jaw would have dropped to the floor. Really, I know he was joking but that may have been the most ridiculous comment of the day. Carolyn laughed and said, "No." Thank goodness. Someone needed to say no and I don't think I had the wherewithal to do it.

As we were walking down the sidewalk all I could think was, "How much are a thousand camels worth? Was Carolyn getting a lowball deal?" Silly me, camels are notorious spitters and I don't spit at all, so clearly I'm worth more than a thousand camels - at least that's my logic and I'm sticking to it. So, the moral for today is: if you go into an Egyptian import store be a good friend and don't sell your shopping buddy for a thousand camels.

America's High Five

My cousin Sarah has a t-shirt that says "Michigan, America's High Five" with the outline of Michigan - I think it's pretty great. Anyway, the high five state is where I am at the moment. I've been looking forward to this trip back to Michigan for a while now, which is unusual since I'm almost always pretty ambivalent about trips and traveling because it doesn't seem real until I'm actually at my destination point.

Being in Michigan is just so comfortable or maybe it's that my house and Sarah & Carolyn's house are in my comfort zone, whatever the case it's nice to be back. It's all very much like slipping into a particularly comfortable pair of shoes that you'd like to wear all the time but you know aren't entirely practical for everyday wear. Everything in life can be brought back to food and shoes . . . really.

1/3

My life in fractions . . .

One third daydreaming
One third indecision
One third reality

I probably spend too much time in indecision and not enough time in reality but with the state of the world today reality is a grim spot and daydreams are so comforting. It's not that I don't care, with war and terrorism always looming it's hard not to care, but worrying and fretting about things I have no direct control over is futile. As for my indecision it's probably something I should work on, it has always been a problem for me. Melanie told me about a former employer who based his day upon his horoscope so that he wouldn't be troubled by indecision. An interesting solution to the problem . . . although I don't think I could make that leap of faith with astrology it is a tempting alternative.

Waiting is the worst

A watched pot never boils, similarly anticipated e-mails never arrive when you wait for them. I took a placement test earlier today and was told that I'd get the results later by e-mail . . . I'm waiting with baited breath and checking my e-mail every 3 minutes but there's nothing. I'm not interested in my actual scores, I have no doubt that my performance was mediocre at best, but I want to know what class the scores will place me in because that will determine my schedule for the next semester and with a set schedule I'll be able to make a myriad of decisions about my life. How can so many things depend upon the scheduling and placement of one class? Is it something I've made up and given extra significance? Or is it that it is the key piece of a puzzle that makes everything else fall into place? I'd like to think its the latter. The last couple of years my life has had so little order and structure, and now I find myself impatient for the return of routine and some type of framework to my life.

I'm still waiting . . . still no e-mail.

It's very much like a movie in my head . . .

Doesn't everybody have an internal dialogue going on at all times? Apparently not. And no soundtrack either? What goes on in other people's heads if there isn't dialogue or a soundtrack?! I'm baffled. I have both, it's very busy in my head. There is always a hypothetical conversation going on with me and whomever in addition to the actual conversation that is being had at the moment. This may be the root of my problem of hearing things wrong, sometimes actual conversations and the inner dialogue get mixed up and what I end up saying makes no sense. Another problem is that I can't remember which conversations were real and which were only in my head so I can't remember what I've actually told people and what I imagined I told people . . . so confusing. I manage to keep it all pretty organized but sometimes it gets a little out of hand, can you see why it's hard being me sometimes? Although I do rather enjoy the personal soundtrack . . .

. . . and little people

As I was typing the previous post I was watching a little boy and his dad going in and out of the library. The kid is absolutely fascinated by the turnstile at the entrance and no sooner has he gone through it before he's running to the exit, going outside, coming back inside, and going through the turnstile again. What I find amusing is that the kid is barely tall enough to clear the turnstile with his head, he doesn't need to push through it he could just walk under it. I can here the little "tap, tap, tap" of his shoes as he scampers along the tiled library floor making his way from turnstile to exit. His dad has clearly had enough of this game but looks on indulgently. Kids are so easily amused . . . as am I really, maybe that's why we get along so well.

The little things

As I settle into life here I find myself missing little things about Michigan, or to be exact life in Michigan. When I think about not knowing when I'll be able to experience those things again I feel doubly sad and a little hollow inside.

These are some of the things I miss . . .

The harvest moon hanging low over the cornfields.
Everyone at the post office knowing my name.
The sun setting over Lake Michigan.
The subtle creak of the trees as they sway in the wind.
Sailing on White Lake on a crisp October morning.
The muffled sound of winter under a blanket of snow.
The way there is always a country road to be explored on a sunny afternoon.
Walking on deserted beaches as the wind blows against my face.