Um.

Tonight? Really?

I'm not so sure if I'm ready for what I agreed to.
But, why not.

My job with maintenance didn't work out. So now i either have to find another job in the area or move to chicago in june.
Dang it.

It is Finished

The buck is passed. Tossed, even.

I can sleep now. After being awake for twenty seven hours.



I've noticed that a lot of times, the more I have to say, the less I write in here.

I've also noticed that I have eleven followers. That number keeps getting bigger, and it surprises me. I don't know three of them. I've talked to two of them, though.

You know who you are.
How you find me.
Stalka.



Seriously.
It's time for bed.

Barefoot and Pregnant* in the Kitchen

It is now nine thirty in the evening on Sunday April twenty-sixth, in the year of our Lord 2009. Tomorrow, Monday April twenty-seventh, at twelve o'clock in the afternoon, everything** is due so I can graduate. I'm really not too worried about graduating. Cs get degrees, I'm told.

No matter. I am bunkered down in my kitchen armed with a twelve pack of Ramen noodles and a four pack of Rockstar energy drink (bigger, faster stronger, apparently). It is my intention to stay up all night and write these fiends. Then, I will, on no sleep, take my Apologetics final. And then, I will sleep for weeks.

Thank God.




*emotionally pregnant.
**four large papers, one small paper, one outline

(no title, just the quiet)

Even though I rarely ever get to enjoy it, the sunrise will always, always, always beat the sunset for me.

Queen, feat. David Bowie

The end of my college career will be upon me in four days. With it, it brings four papers, one final, and one outline. I wanted to get all of these things done by tomorrow night, but I'm not sure how reasonable that is. The real issue is wanting to go to the Rescue in Chicago on Saturday, but I wasn't sure how long I would be there, and I wanted to go without needing to worry about lingering school work. Now, I'm second guessing going at all. I just really need to graduate. But, as the saying goes, "C'est la vie, Cs get degrees." By that standard, the only one I'm worried about is Apologetics. I have no idea what my final paper is going to look like yet.

I am just holding on to the thought of next week, when I will be free of school forever (unless I decide later in life to go to grad school, which is not really a thought right now). Next week will be filled with adventures and hanging out and trying to fit in those last moments with people that I wish I had more time with (three specifics: Matt Metzger, Anthony Parrott, Amy Malmkar).

I hate all-nighters, but I'll probably pull one tonight.
I still have most of this bag of coffee, after all...

I don't hate myself anymore. And I mean that.

Hush

I am so glad to be alive these days, and to be where I am in life. It's not that things are perfect--life is very stressful, actually. But God is good, and I'm learning to see the subtleties He works in, to hear the whispers in life that I'd previously let go unnoticed.

I've never been one for subtlety. I never payed too much attention to detail. I always just looked at the big picture, not paying attention to what was going on right before me. And I'm realizing now what I was missing out on. I'm learning that not everything has to be loud or huge or specific. Subtlety works just fine too.

A Great Good Friday

Last night was a very enjoyable night. Dear Xackary threw a party/basement show at which everyone was told to dress like the pictures Dear J. Grant had posted on Facebook of shamans and sheiks and children in tuxedos and gypsies and Devendra Banhart. I wore a giant headdress. Kath Forrester and Lyndsey were gypsies. J. Grant was a sort of shaman? Analiese was an awkward nymph. Ferris looked like a 1980s flapper. I wore a giant headdress that made it difficult to put on my harmonica harness. Xack's friend Owen Nicolas (who I guess is really named Tyler?) played last. His girlfriend played this awesome old keyboard and the glockenspiel and sometimes sang along while he played the acoustic guitar and sang while stomping on a tambourine, all without microphones. It was super enjoyable. He sounded like the lead singer of Okkervill River playing vaguely punk inspired folk songs.

After the party dissipated, most of us went to Steak n Shake where we were greeted by no shortage of great reactions. But what do you expect when you walk in wearing this?




















Homework is coming along about as I expected, which is not nearly as well as I'd hoped. There are still two days.

I've been the only person in my house the past three days. And it's been a lot better than I was expecting. I usually hate being by myself because 1) I don't like who I am when no one's watching and 2) when I'm by myself I have to face how much I don't like myself. But both of those issues are significantly lifting. I've actually kind of liked being by myself this weekend. I'm supposed to go to my parents' house tonight, but I'm second guessing that, honestly. I like staying here just fine. I get to listen to my records loudly and paint into all hours of the night.

I'm realizing that a lot of my insecurities don't have any basis to them but are merely a product of unfortunate experiences and my own tendency to overthink everything. But that doesn't mean they have any less of an effect on me. Yet.

Easter break came an hour and a half early today. I skipped Biblical Theology.

I have so much due in that class, I can hardly stand thinking about it. The next few days, I HAVE to get caught up. I can't be as far behind on assignments as I am right now. Not in two weeks, anyway.

My friend Ben took his life yesterday. I didn't know him too well--just well enough to be really weirded out. When I first went into the dining commons by myself and knew no one, I sat with him. Then he was in my zoology class, and on the way back from the Shedd, we played this name where you list band names, but each band name has to start with the last letter of the previous band name. We started on Lake Shore Drive and finally finished when we got off of the toll road two hours later. The other three people in the car got out and the two of us went back and forth on our own for at least half an hour before I made up a band name that wasn't challenged.
I really wish I would have gotten to know him better.

Under Pressure/Ice, Ice Baby

I long ago learned that one's capacity for joy is also their capacity for sorrow. Recently, I've learned that one's capacity for joy is also one's capacity for neurosis.

quit your worrying, boy.

Much easier said than done. And beyond my nervousness and flakiness in life in general lately, I am really feeling the pressure of the next three weeks of classes (the last three ever. As an undergrad, at least) and the biggest desire I have is to just curl up with my head between my knees and my hands on my neck to protect my vulnerable head from the falling debris that is a mountain of assignments still yet to do. I really dislike school right now, and I'm really struggling to truly see the long term benefits, even though I know that if I drop off the academic globe right now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life--or at least until I finish my degree.

I often pray for discipline, or motivation, or what have you. Deep down, I know that praying for those things is an attempt to remove as much blame from myself as possible.

A Hall of Open Doors, a Street of Green Lights

Tonight, I am going to Chicago to go apartment hunting with Kriss & Mellie. I am so incredibly excited to finally get into the city and live and play my music and meet everyone. It's all I've ever wanted.

It's strange, though, the validation I've been getting for this. Every time I've played at Fiddler's Hearth lately, Al always says, 'Sounds like they like you, Nathaniel,' in this sly voice like he knows something big is going to happen. And others, two of the most talented performers in particular, just tell me how much they enjoy it. And with every voice that says that, I get this feeling that says, 'this is what you were made for.' (I have to admit, I kind of hate getting flooded with compliments like that. I want to get to know the people at Fiddler's, not just get to know how much they enjoy my music)

Last night was the missionary church banquet with the district superintendents and other pastors from the denomination. As a missionary church brat, I am incredibly jaded towards its political agendas and departure from its egalitarian, pacifist roots. Also, I've been feeling like the denomination will look at what I'll be doing in Chicago and say, 'That's not ministry. You're not going there to be a missionary. You are going there to have fun being a rock star, and we all know it.' I went to the banquet not wanting to, even though it wasn't required, because I knew it would probably do no harm. It did the opposite of harm, actually. They talked about how the denomination is restructuring to be more organic with less emphasis on church buildings and pastors and more emphasis on individuals doing ministry in their own contexts. I talked with Steve Jones, DS of the Central district about my plans, and he was completely supportive. When asked, he even said that if I felt called to ask for support from members in the denomination, I should do that.

Afterward, I drove to my parents' house feeling this strange mix of guilt and depression, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I had a thought. 'What if the reason you feel bad is because you can't handle validation, because you can't handle the idea that maybe you're right about something.'

Yeah. About that. I'm so used to just walking through whatever door I see until it shuts in my face. And I'm so used to them shutting on me that don't know what to do when the door is opened even wider and I'm ushered in.

'You're just going to have to get used to it,' the voice in my head says.
Lord, thank You.