The Concrete Spider Web

If you've never been in Dallas, know that you are missing out on a serious civil engineering masterpiece/disaster center.

Roads on roads on roads.

In a ten mile drive, I can switch highways more than four times and have it take me over an hour to make the drive.

Other times, I can make a 30 mile trip in 30 minutes.

It's a death trap where I spend the majority of my time thinking, "THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS".

I am in Texas this time for a 3 week recruiting trip. Since last Sunday night, I've battled head on the pit of despair through the Dallas streets. Sometimes, it's nice. I have time to process the day and think.

Other times, my hands and heart sweat so badly that I can hardly think.

After a week of that, it was nice to have a break in the form of my husband.

Since I'm gone for so long, my university flew him out to me for the weekend.

Even though part of that was spent recruiting (what a champ!), it was also so nice to be able to chill, watch HGTG and FoodNetwork, and wander the DFW area.

Notable highlights in our shopping ventures were introducing Jay to World Market and Half Price Books.

He was just the cutest exploring all the different cultures and thinking up ways he could recreate all the different wood pieces.
Half Price Books was a perfect storm. Two nerds, together, and inexpensive books and nerd paraphernalia. We ended up with quite the haul.

Then, we grabbed a crepe together at a sweet little cafe called Frogg, and made our way to the airport.

It's not very nice to abandon your husband two months after you get married, but we are making it work. Texting is a beautiful thing.

When I get unstuck from the tangles of traffic, it'll be very nice to go home.

Toilet Snakes

My best friend moved to Australia this past weekend, the land Steve Irwin (RIP), giant spiders, and toilet snakes. It's also the land of sand, surf, and sexy accents, not that she'll be much seduced by them, as she moved there with her sweet husband.

It's a time of transition indeed for so many of my friends and loved ones.

For Kira, it's a time of, "Good Lord, finally!!!" Tyler's job has him on the go and away from her for months at a time. Moving to Australia will enable them to be like a real life married couple.

The next three years are going to bring her so many incredible, life-altering experiences, probably a horrible partial accent, and gobs on gobs of joy.
It'll also be difficult: "How do I make new friends?" "Where do I start looking for a job?"
It'll be wonderful, it'll be lonely, it'll be worth it.

I think that's one thing I'm really starting to learn. Wonderful, lonely, and worth it are kind of integral to "new". It's hard to forge new paths in your life. It's especially hard to do that while forcing yourself to choose against remembering, rehashing, recreating the old paths in your head, wishing old things were back, even if you didn't really like them or benefit from them.

They're familiar.
You know how they work.
If they didn't work, you know how to fix them now.
The choices in front of you are all unknown and scary and different.
Maybe better, maybe worse, but definitely full of maybes.

For A Moment Like This

Just got off the phone with a parent, with whom I got to share the news that her daughter was admitted.

Now, normally, I get a dull, "Oh cool....".
Sometimes, I get "AHHHHH!!! AWESOME!"

But other times, I get to make calls like this one.
When a student is not, for one reason or another, able to meet our admissions standards, but their heart is set on us (and, let's be real, we're usually pretty bonded and set on them, too), we put them to an admissions committee.

There is paperwork, references, and a formal proposition by their loving admissions counselor (*ahem*) to a committee.

And sometimes, we get a yes.

Then, after months of testing and re-testing, homework and extra credit and tutors, prayer, tears, and anxiety, I have the great honor and privilege of ending it with one phone call, one yes.

How many times have we all been given a no when we so desperately needed a yes? How many times were we not given grace? How many times were we failed to be believed in? How many times have we thought to ourselves, "If they would just give me a chance!"

Calls like these leave us both in tears of thankfulness, tears of relief, tears from all the nos past and all the hope that comes with the present yes.

Calls like these make everything worth it.
All the "image" alterations, all the Arkansas, all the residual culture shock and missing my friends and feeling like I don't quite fit. All of that becomes worth it, and I remember, once again, that it is by the grace of God that I was brought here.

He is good.
All the time.

Something Old, Something New

Frequently, I think up a phrase or really good word or, I don't know, a whole paragraph's description of something and don't have a pen on me. Or paper. So, into my phone they go.

I try to delete it out of there once it's been used.

Today I found an email that I had kept for reference.
I liked it.
So I'll share it because it's encouraging, especially since lately I've been feeling a little lonely. It's amazing. I have friends all over the world but just not one in my state. Funny how our own words can encourage us more than other people's.

Last year in February, a professor of mine sent me an email asking several questions about how I am. It took me about a month to respond. And this is what I said:

"I have indeed found my rhythm. It turns out, we're all kinda lonely. And when you realize that, it's not so hard to find your boldness. I've deepened two of my four friendships from last semester and befriended three of my four coursemates. We hang out now, get coffee, make plans to have weekend getaways and horseback riding days. I can't tell you how many times (I could, actually. It's five) I've heard another person here say the phrase, 'I've found it really difficult to make friends here and am often alone' in the past month and a half. It's crazy how similar so many of us are without realizing it. And yet, we all assume we're the only ones.
I'm able to enjoy my classes more now, am doing less of the actual homework (wow, what? Prioritizing relationships over tasks? Me?!), am giving some serious thought to sending out a couple papers for publishing, and do a lot of baking. They love my baking and apparently, Americans are known for loving (and rocking at) baking. Who knew?!
The Lord is good. What I have experienced since being back could be described as nothing short of a supernatural miracle in teh social sphere. Could never have anticipated or even asked for hte level of grace and favor and love and even "like" I have been given. Wow.
In the past week, I've had three different people, whose last Jamie sighting was December, see me and kind of wig out about how different I look, how alive I look. One Irish lady shock me hard and told me about my exuding 'vim'. Haha. It was so cute. I blogged about it. And the thing is, I feel alive. I wasn't ready to come back. I was a little better, but I was still rocked to my core. Now, though, I could not feel more separated. There wasn't a sudden moment of change; it was gradual, but I am alive. Very. And very passionately. And very thankfully.
So that's my very long and probably very ungrammatical answer. I am well. Praise Jesus."

Culture shock, man. It really does take about half a year to start feeling at home, at peace, and get some gumption to go get 'em.
And when you forget that, it's easy to be discouraged.

I'm starting to finally feel settled enough to think again.
I'm reading, I'm forcing myself to journal a bit each night, the fog in my head is starting to clear up.

Even things at work seem to be getting better.

The reception I hosted in Texas last week was well attended, and the board of trustees seemed to have a really good time bonding with my wonderful, wonderful Texan students.

And, in a couple weeks, school counselors from all over the states will come to our school for an event, and over half are mine. There are even some new ones that have never come to our event before. I'm so excited.

Finally, I learned yesterday that a chunk of the Trifecta is coming back to me.
My six best friends are scattered across the globe. Just...so far away. Colorado, Oklahoma, Australia, Washington DC, Scotland, Northern Ireland.

And, after a job offer to her husband yesterday, my Caity Ruth is moving back to Tulsa. Still an Oklahoma away, but an hour and a half closer than where she is now, and that's where my family is located.

The past few years have been hard for us. It's just difficult to keep someone your best friend when, I mean, they aren't there in a literal way. You aren't doing life with them on the daily. I feel like I'm getting my best friend back. That is a really good feeling.

Find that Funny Bone

There are wrong times for comic relief.
Believe me, I come from a family where we deal with (most) emotions by dealing out humor.

However, never underestimate the power of humor to dissipate anxiety and anger.

In my Family and Human Services classes, we learned about "repair attempts."

It's those things you do that bring uncontrollable situations into the realm of "Okay I can handle discussing this" again.

Sometimes, that's a 5 minute time out. For my professor's wife, all it takes is him touching her on the arm. I'm not sure what mine is, but I know that something that does work for me often is being taken off-guard by something that makes me smile. Sneak attack humor!

There's been a couple situations weighing on me pretty heavy since I got home (which makes some serious sense, considering how much drastic change I've gone through in such a short period of time), and twice yesterday was I brought out of my seriousness and into clarity.

The first was bestowed upon me by my boyfriend, who decided--mid-conversation about the acceptability of having feelings (something I struggle with sometimes) to ask me whether I thought women or men would live longer should one of their limbs be cut off, given that women are so much more conditioned to losing unreal amounts of blood. It was so...random. And I laughed.

Laughter has actual effects on the body.
Listen to just one of its benefits, stolen from the Mayo Clinic's website:
"Laughter enhances your intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates your heart, lungs and muscles, and increases the endorphins that are released by your brain."

Later, I was at a party, where I came across two people I never anticipated being at said party. During the course of the evening, I ended up in the same conversation circle, and a mutual friend of myself and one of said non-wanteds was brought up.
This new acquaintance could not have known the context for why bringing up this mutual friend was funny, but it was enough for both me and the ex to have a moment of significant, amused eye-contact. Our first positive interaction in more than half a year. It was good.

My point in bringing up laughter and amusement and conversations/people I don't like is to say that even matters that seem so hard and fast in one direction can be altered with the smallest of actions.

It reminds me of something I read on pinterest once:

Laughter reminds us that we are human. And no matter how full of red hot emotion, are not unable to find a point of connection and relatability.

Adulting

Multiple times over the past few months, I would have an abolute panic attack about this whole adult thing, moderated by times when I was like, "Oh no prob. I can take on the world." (Literally).

I feared that I would be totally faulty at my job, totally unable to cope with the Big Move, and totally overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility and commitment of a full time job.

That last part may still give me some nightmares, but overall, I have a little wee comment.

My brother Chon told me, upon my most recent freak out in May, that the best way to cope with it is just to do it. I just have to do it. And the fact of the matter is that I might actually be inadequate at my job, have moments of sucking at this new/old culture, and overwhelmed, but I would be superhuman (or inhuman) if that were not true.

He also sent me a link to Paramore's song, "Ain't it Fun".

Chon was right.

With enormous things, sometimes the only choice you have is just to turn around and face it, even if you don't think you have much to face it with.

There's a chance that I wrote on this before (worth writing on again), but a few months ago, I was reading the Bible and re-read the section of the armour of God:
Ephesians 6:10-13:

¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. ¹² For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ¹³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

And after you have done everything, to stand.

We align ourselves with Jesus, put what we've got on the line, and then we wait and we trust that if have followed where He led us, then He's going to show up and give power to our meager attempts at being sufficient.

We show up.

We turn and face our giants.

We adult.

And everything is okay. 

Processing Forgiveness

When I came into University as a Freshman, I, along with my other fresh-people, had to take a "StrengthsFinder" test.

Unsurprisingly, my top strength was "Achiever."
I enjoy recreationally being good at things, pretty regardless of what that thing is.

I study the situation, figure out a method and plan of attack, and start in slowly toward success until success is achieved.

The funny thing about forgiveness is that it doesn't really work that way. At one moment, you might be all in, all there, truly "feeling" the forgiveness.

Then it's two weeks later and the anger is like lava in your rib cage, seeping toward your heart.
It's ugly. And you're confused. "Didn't I work through this?"

I am right there in the midst, yet again, of cooling and chipping off that volcanic rock.

Life happened while I was away.
Shoot, life is happening in NI while I'm gone from it, too.

And that's weird, but it's true.

I still don't think I've experienced any culture shock--other than the professional kind--but in that way, in the sense of turning into my own present reality all the little and big changes that have occured in my absense, I am still reeling a bit.

My first "test" did not go super well, but I'm learning. I'm growing. And I'm letting go--again--of what I thought I had already let go of.

Every day we re-start over.

and Eamonn reads my nostril flares.

Belfast dialectics and intonations are often beyond my delicate grasp of the language, thus, Eamonn has begun to analyze my nose as closely as the text.

Without saying a single syllable, he knows the moment I've hung myself up on a particular word or concept and goes about to redefine it.

The best moment of class today was the moment he said, "Well, as they say, there are many ways to skin a cat" and I responded immediately with, "ah yes, but the tail is most difficult."

He didn't quite know what to do with me.

And, unlike my last class presentation with him (the class period I fell asleep right after he told me I had completely missed the point of my presentation topic), this one went by without a remark against its verity. WIN.

I will also mention that my apple cinnamon muffins were a hit. I'm starting to drown in apple-based food items, so I've been pawning them off to anyone who'll eat them.

Course today was on Seamus Heaney. His poem "Digging" is quite good as well as it contains the word "squelching," which makes it awesome. It'll dredge up coursemates' reminiscing about their childhood days harvesting peat (really.) and mine of squishing my feet in mud back behind our fence.

I was asked by my classmates to read the poem aloud because they like my "exotic accent." Welcome, Oklahoma. Betcha never got that one before. :)

This picture brought to you by the strangers in front of me on the bus.

Maybe a little creepy that I took this, but I just think it's precious when boys are still young enough that they will still nestle into their mum's shoulder in public. Ooh. Better yet. One of my professors at JBU also goes to my church FirstPrez. His son, probably aged 14 or so, always puts his head on his dad's shoulder during church. Very affectionate. Front row, too! It's the most wonderful, endearing thing. 

At home, I fixed myself dinner and baked apple popovers. Also the easiest recipe and my LifeGroup loved them. Leslie, wife of our leader and from The States, told me they taste like home in America. 

There's not a better place to stick that mural picture, but that's what "graffiti" in Belfast looks like. This one is in East Belfast. Catholic area. Nationalist area. Super dangerous area during The Troubles and certain parts of the year now even (Scary guys, if you can't tell from that blood-freezing image. They are compared to the US KKK. To be fair, though, their opposition was just as terrorous).  

Next up on my list of activities was small group (Did I mention that my small group is in East Belfast..?). Both of my normal friend drivers were out, so I got creative and called up a randomer from the group. Claire and  Malcolm drove me there and Megan drove me home. 

Let's talk about be courageous, be bold, make friends, my friends. 

Maybe that's an area I'm growing in. I'm often assertive on behalf of others, but I am loathe to ask for help or favors myself. Sometimes, though, what I really need to do is take a hit to my pride and be honest, even if it's something as simple as, "I need a lift." And then let somebody else help you. No excuses or justifications about why you had to ask for help this one time. Be gracious and thankful. 

You cannot do life on your own. I cannot do life on my own. It's okay to be the pathetic or weak one sometimes. Don't live there or make it your identity, but don't begrudge yourself that part of the journey either. 

Speaking of identities, LifeGroup tonight was over the topic of taking every thought captive and the false narratives we feed ourselves. Let's talk about group discussions perfectly suited to my present situation. Restructuring my neurological thought patternings is a definite struggle. 

Not a struggle I have any intention of losing, but a struggle nonetheless. And the difficult part about rewriting personal narratives is that a lot of them have roots in truth. I am deeply afraid of being someone not worth remembering, of being forgettable. 

I have been forgotten. My fears in that area have been confirmed many times over. That is a truth. 

That does not make ME forgettable, though, or someone not worth remembering. Therein comes the lie. 

Megan and I, through small group small group time, found we had much in common and that's how she ended up being the one to drive me home. We actually ended up sitting and chatting in her car for a half hour or so after we had pulled up to my house. 

[Offshoot: when people first come over to pick me up or drop me off, they always have the same remark: "so...you live in a castle..." "yeah....." It is quite funny.]

Back to Megan. It was an exhausting, fast-paced chat, but I felt understood for the first time since coming here. There was, if not friend chemistry, a kinship of spirit, a general recognition of and comprehension of where we were both at (sorry Jansie) in life. Our thoughts made sense to one another. 

After four months of trying to make friends and liking people but not feeling "gotten", it was a really nice moment. 

AND, when I walked in the door, I found a package I'd missed earlier from my cousin Krissy. 

A package of love and chocolate and Flarp. That's another person I feel "gotten" by. Maybe it's because our mothers are practically the same person, but Kristina and I are freakishly similar and require very little to completely understand the other. Despite our age difference and our distance, hers is a friendship of great value to me and not one I fear diminishment. 

There was lots of laughter and good thought and good music (Gungor, if you must know). 

Today was a gift. From start to end. I feel relieved of weight today, both in specific areas and in general. 

When the people returned to Jerusalem from captivity in Babylon, they became as men who dreamed. Their mouths were filled with laughter, their tongues with shouts of joy. Then the peoples of the Earth said "the Lord has done great things for them." Indeed. The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy. Psalm 126. 

December, Day 9: Complete. 

A Bit of Belfast

Life in this city is a slight differing from my sweet hometown (and adopted hometown) of Tulsa and Siloam Springs. Here is a little list of my favorite eccentricities:

-Food comes from real animals. If you pass a sheep on the side of the road (which, in itself is weird) you may very well have that sheep for supper if you order it later.

-Pants do not mean pants. Pants mean skivvies. Trousers are pants. So when you tell someone their pants are cute, they flip thinking they're showing off their unders.

-Jumpers are sweaters and not little denim dresses your mom made you wear over your turtlenecks as a child.

-Cars don't mind a bit about pedestrians! Meaning, they will run you over in a blink. Because of this, I like to play a game called, "Who'd get hit first" when it comes to crossing the street. If there is someone coming from the opposite side whose crossing would be more dangerous, then I feel free to pass. That or following someone in front of me. Ladies with strollers are a favorite. I'm not evil. I swear.

-Bikes aren't allowed on the sidewalk.

-A little green coated man comes about the neighborhood each night to delitter it. Belfast is one of the cleanest cities I've ever been in. They take littering seriously.

-Outgoing mail goes in community mailboxes and not in individual mailboxes. That way, the postman only comes to your door if he has mail for you.

-People don't respond to "thank you" with "you're welcome." Instead, they give you an awkward "Ok." Shelby and I have been noticing this since the start, but we've realized that when they actually do use the word "welcome," they mean it in the sense that they're happy you've come along. "You're very welcome here."

-The post office asked if I wanted Christmas stamps. DUH. No trees, no sparkly lights, no santa or snow men. The Virgin Mary. Naturally.

-Everyone says "Hiya!" in greeting. It's all I can do to resist quoting Heavyweights. 

-"Wee." A wee receipt, a wee second, a wee jumper, a wee nap, a wee sumo wrestler.

-Guy Fawkes day is actually celebrated. The Irish love a good political insurrection. I was out last night and folks in GF masks were drum circling it up at the gates of City Hall.

-Boxing Day is also a recognized holiday. I've already begun a list of ways that I can purposely misunderstand it when the time comes.

-The bus system. The bus really comes when it darn well pleases. A minute before the anticipated time, five minutes after the anticipated time, so early or so late that two buses come simultaneously. No matter at all! And sometimes, it just doesn't come at all. I do not take the bus for granted. When I see it turn onto the street or come up the hill, a Princess Diaries movie scene comes into mind. It's raining, she's in a top-down convertible, and her car has died, leaving her stranded. Then, out of the darkness, two headlights *cue victorious music*. Her bodyguard has found her and whisks her away to the ball. Those are my feelings toward the bus driver every time.

There are so many more, but that's a good wee start to whet your fancy.

[Unrelated happening worth note: I'm writing again! I'm writing content for a company. Submitted 3 articles Monday and have a few more to write today. Hooray and hallelujah!]

Dubstepping

Dubstep: abstract. a ridiculous music craze to which frat boys and people who wish they were frat boys subscribe.

Dub-stepping: literal. stepping into the streets of Dublin with a group of semi-culturally aware people. 

I am of the latter. 

A city built up around the River Liffey for trade and commerce, Dublin is a hub for tradespeople. You may wonder of what nature this trade is. Or you may not wonder at all. Dublin is the birthplace of Guinness Beer. Now, before you go all teetotalling crazy on me, let me reassure you and defend Guinness. 

Before I came to Ireland the first time, I was required to read a book entitled "The Search for God and Guinness." In it, I learned all about the beer's history, how it was created as an actually healthy substitute for other lagers, and how gosh darn well Guinness treated his workers and his workers' families, even today.  In a time of famine and utter poverty, Guinness fought for social justice. And won. It's a pretty insane story, really.

I have a thing for post offices. Sometimes back at home or at school, I would write someone a letter just so I could go to the post office. Don't really know why. Don't have a specific warm childhood memory associated with post offices (except a sweet elementary school field trip involving being given an airplane stamp), I just like them. They're soothing. 

My friends, meet the mother of all post offices. 

 

You may be wondering what those odd little squiggles are where there should be words. We're in Ireland, right? They speak English! Nope. Gaelic is actually the official language of The Republic. Spoken in homes, taught in schools. They've been fighting for ages to make it the only language, but alas, the colonization did its job too well, and English has stuck. 

Of course, because it's me, there had to be some sweet frozen goodness involved in the day. But seriously, look at that. Tell me you would have resisted. I dare you. 

In other news, since we don't have Thanksgiving here, Belfast is already stepping into Christmas.  For me, this means seeking out and listening to every version of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and dancing to the NSync Holiday Album like it's 1998. 

The State of State

Day two of orientation. I was both on time and had a second miraculous experience with the buses, both there and back.

Not much of note today, save meeting Cecilia from Italy, Sanna from Sweden, Miriam from Germany, and Daniel from Bellavore. Or something like that. Poor Daniel. When he told me where he was from, I asked him if that was a country or a city. Somewhere crammed up there with Russia and Poland. I shall have to look it up.

Post orientation session and verification that I am, in fact, legal to study in this country, I went on a book hunt. I only have one of my classes' lists, but it is quite lengthy. Thanks to Joris, I knew of a few book shops near school. Two of them were lucky for me, though I deferred the purchases for store two for a different day.

At OxFam books, I found three sort of versions of the books I need. I say sort of because they're not exactly what I need but they suit my purposes. For example, rather than the complete anthology of Oscar Wilde's short stories, I found the complete anthology of Oscar Wilde's works. Yes? Yes.

When I was checking out, the bookman noticed my wee notebook with book list written-in, asked if I were in a rush, then scampered off downstairs to the basement to check to see if any of them were there. Then, when they weren't, he pulled out a giant map of Belfast and traced directions (by way of landmark not north/south/east/west) to two shops he thought could be of use to me.

I am constantly shocked at the kindness of strangers.

Post hunt, I went about in the botanical gardens for a bit.

The green house contraption is full of cacti and hot plants. If you were not aware, I've a particular soft spot for cacti.

Most of today, though, I was homesick. I'm having a lovely time, don't get me wrong. It just so happens that even if your life at home is dull and drives you insane, when you leave it and someone asks you, "Where you from? What's it like?", you get into all the hot wee details about it--how your best friend lives within walking distance and has a cow pasture for a backyard and how you can hear the still-in-use oil rigs going if you go for a walk in quiet hours of the day and how the weather just before and just after a tornado is full and electric and tinges the world with green and how you can switch from country to small town to city within fifteen minutes and how you spent every summer as a mermaid in your backyard pool--and you remember why you loved it in the first place.

It's home. It may not be my home right now or even in the next few years, and it certainly did not give me that feeling of place and true belonging when I was there this summer, despite the presence of my wonderful family. But in my heart, always, there is Oklahoma.

If You Give A Girl A Castle...

Continuing my series of saying yes to things, I said yes to a Saturday outing. Actually, I said no to the Saturday outing then changed my mind when one of the little cooks here said she would go if I would go. Sometimes all it takes to be brave is to know that someone is on your team.

*Saying "team" makes me miss my daddy. Growing up, my mom used to always say that my dad and I were in a club together. Mostly the club tag-team teases my mother and high-fives, but lemme tell ya. It's a good club. I found out years later that this club was really a way for my mom to bond me to my dad. It worked. Once a part of the club, always part of the club.

Anyway, the group of 14 headed  into the country (truly only 8 or so miles away, but the road and city set-up makes it seem like it's an impossible distance). Where we landed was a place called Hillsborough.

While there, we went on a tour of Hillsborough House (aka Hillsborough Castle). And no, it's not because it's in the hills that it's called so, but because the family of long-time ownership had the last name Hill. Tis true. Heard it from the tour guide herself! This is the place that the Queen visits or any other important person. 

This, my friends, is the castle (even though the church in the picture above looks more like my childhood fantasies). 

After tramping around the castle and its surrounding gardens, 

we went to a nearby fort (large grassy area with a wall around it) and its nearby lake: 

And, if you give a girl a castle, she's gonna want a waffle to go along with it. You know what I mean? 

Listen about this waffle. First of all, it's from a place entitled: Humble Pie, so obviously it gets points from location alone. 

Bottom to top: To waffle, add honeycomb (actual honeycomb) and vanilla ice cream, freshly whipped cream, toffee and chocolate chips and marshmallows, butterscotch syrup. 

What. 

Heaven is what. 

Heaven in my and Lauren's (you didn't think I ate all that by myself, did you?!) mouths. 

Came home from my waffle and castle ventures to a snuggly room and a skype date. A very long, very needed, very wonderful skype date. And, finally, sleep. The first time I've slept easily since my arrival. The perfect ending to an unexpectedly lovely day. 

Yes Man.

Yes Woman to be precise.

My new plan is to say yes where I normally would say no. Okay, so last night's saying yes to the museum poetry discussion then backing out last minute was kind of antithetical to this plan, but today, while I was cheerily organizing the library bookshelves (my current project), Elaine asked if I'd like to join her to Lisburn.

"No thanks."

Then, despite my desire to not put on outing-acceptable clothing, I went. It was very good for me, I think. I spent a bit of time with Elaine, got out of Belfast in something other than a bus, and it was out of my comfort zone.

In Lisburn, I walked about the shopping area then found the words "Castle Gardens" on a sign-post heading up the road. Those are two words I like.

 Lisburn

 Garden and sunken gate

Why yes, sunken gate, I will enter you! 

It was approaching the time when I needed to head back to meet Elaine, but there is always time for a bakery...

I'm not all sure what was in this, but my best guess is lemon-caramel cupcake with chocolate drizzle and caramel popcorn topping. It was both odd and delectable, a sweet end to my outing. 

Shower Thoughts

We may read this very differently, but to me, those words are less a warning and more a promise. To that end, I have been deceived. My sink's water is many things, including refreshing, liquidy, and face-awakening in the mornings. It is not, however, "very hot." Or mildly warm. Or chilly. It is frigid. 

The shower on the other hand, is a completely different story. Well, first, about the shower. Elaine and I call it the wet room. In the wet room--which is the same size as my bedroom--there is a little sink in a corner, a toilet by the wall, and a shower curtain hanging from the ceiling, slightly concealing a shower head. 

Other than that slight curtain, though, there is no division. Thus, keep anything you want dry in the sink, as the entire room practically gets soaked during showers. The showers are very hot, actually, once you pull the right cord on the wall, of which there are 4. 

I feel like Indiana Jones choosing the Holy Grail or a character from The Emperor's New Groove trying to navigate the way to Ezma's secret lab. Choose the wrong cord and all sorts of terrible will surprise you in the form of glacier-like water. 

It's a little TMI, but I have a point. I like taking showers in the dark. Partially because I'm a morning showerer and it takes the edge off greeting the day and partially because I am not a fan of artificial lights (or fans. which is a pun and also the truth). 

The wet room, other than a ring-sized ring of light on the shower box, is completely dark, and you can't see anything when the light goes off. After a minute or so, though, you are able to discern shapes and shadows and see pretty competently. There's more light in the darkness than you expected at the start. 

I am lonely here. I'm not a JBU student, so I can't fully bond with them. The lady I work with has completely the opposite personality style than me, and I have yet to figure a way to make that relationship cohesive. I know no one in this country, and everyone I love is an ocean away. In short, it feels a wee bit dark in this dark, wet country. 

However, just like my inky wet room, I know that the darkness will soon show to have more light than I currently perceive. School starts in only a matter of weeks and with it, people my age and stage of life--even if the country stays clouded. I am, then, not worried. I just have to wait it out and try to find ways to make my own sunshine. 

Right now, that means reading (if you must know, I'm reading P.S. I Love You. It was in the house. Don't judge me), spending time with Jesus, watching movies, and occasionally venturing out of my room to explore. All is well.