First, I turned 20. Officially, I completed the second decade of my existence, thereby leaving myself with the feeling I’m sure will sound familiar to many: What am I doing with my life?

The answer, I guess, is a lot of things. I am loving lots of people and feeling pretty loved myself. I am a student of English, Psychology, and plenty of other things that won’t show up on my degree. I’m a Christ-follower, finding out that the threads of heaven are woven into my soul and the souls of others, and finding Him as the center of all things. I run, conquering the belief that there are limits to what I can do and treading on my trepidations with every heel strike. I dance; I love the meetings of rhythm and freedom on the dance floor, kitchen floor, or parking lot. I sing, usually in empty stairways because the acoustics are irresistible. I’m a daughter, a best friend, a roommate, an employee, a sister, and a devourer of all good foods. And somehow in the midst of all these things, I want to be a writer.

So, I started a blog. That’s the second thing that happened on April 25th. I had toyed around with the idea of a 365 blog (that means writing something every day for a year for a whopping total of 365 entries) for a couple of months, but not soon enough to make it a January 1st resolution kind of thing. When the idea for a birthday-oriented project came along, and with the advent of my 20th year on the horizon, it seemed like an opportunity I didn’t want to miss.

Mostly, the reasons I am here and doing this are not profound or complicated. I want to be a writer for the rest of my life in some capacity, and writing the occasional once-a-month blog entry just wasn’t cutting it in terms of improving my craft. So, while I may not aim for top-seller quality with every entry, the idea is that writing every day will make me better whether I like it or not. That, or it will make me think, “Why do I like this again?” Either way, I wanted to push myself closer to the edge of productivity–the dangerous incline where writer’s block, burnout syndrome, and brilliant inspiration sometimes meet.

Also, this seemed like something that might be worth reading later, somehow. My 20th year turned into 365 days of words. Someone once said that “nothing has ever really happened until it has been written down.” I’m not sure I believe that, but it’s kind of what I’m shooting for. I want to be able to look at all these months of writing and think, “Yes. All of this really happened, and I remember every word.”

So, it’s an adventure with an undetermined destination. I have no idea if I’ll be able to write during every one of these 365 days, but I know I will try. If you’re interested, please check out the 20project–a year-long exploration of a life in the making.

This blog may revive after the 20th year comes to an end. We shall see.

After a near-2AM bedtime, I was awakened at 6:15 to the sound of the walls falling down around me. Thunder storms in Georgia are sort of like the crazy aunt you rarely see: they don’t come around often, but when they do, they want everybody’s attention. Enormous, bed-shaking rumbles and sharp, abrupt snatches of lightning took up residence in my room early this morning, and I welcomed the intrusion. I smiled at memories of what it was like to be small and terrified by those sounds; it really did seem like the world was ending then. I love thunder storms now, and I love the rainy green-gray world they leave in their wake.

Especially on a day when I’ll be sitting inside writing a paper all day.

Yesterday we had our annual Stomp The Lawn festival here on the Ogle-quad. It was perhaps the most perfect day of 2010 so far–breezy, drenched in sunshine, and full of happy things for the residents of the Ogle world. Today my sister comes home from Spain. Tomorrow is my 20th birthday. I still feel 17.

Life is full of sleepless thundery nights, beautiful sun-soaked days, conversations that are worth having, and a whole host of wide open horizons. And papers to be written. Regardless of this last clause, I am happy to be alive.

It’s a good day for a poem.

Moral of the story: buy a journal and write, write, write.

Today was the kind of perfect that can only come after it has rained. Pollen has been closing in on us for a few weeks now, putting its green-yellow fingers on everything in sight and floating in the air like a solid wall of pixie dust pummeling into your lungs. Yesterday, rivers of rainwater carried swirling streaks of green away from our sidewalks and windows, and the world breathed a sigh of relief. As a result, today was a collision of sun, wind, and rain puddles that made for unbeatable running weather. The hills that make me want to give up and go home on cloudy winter days were a welcome challenge today, although I wouldn’t say I did a lot of conquering. I just kind of cruised through 3.5 miles, enjoying the fact that I can still run at 3PM without having a heat stroke.

I am happy to say that running is still taking up a sizable portion of my life these days, even with no set goals on the horizon. I’ve been turning over the idea of running a full marathon for a week or two now, and somehow the thought of it doesn’t daunt me very much at all. After training for the half and running it in November, I remember thinking that there was no need to do another 13 miles; it all seemed a little excessive to me. But a couple of weeks ago a friend of mine (who does not even like running) informed me that he would be training for a marathon to be run on Halloween 2010, to which I responded “That sounds awesome. I want to do this.”

And that was when I realized I wasn’t scared of 26.2 miles the way that I used to be.

So, now I’m just thinking, and trying to find the coolest possible marathon to run sometime in Fall/Winter 2010. If you have any suggestions, please let me know. I hesitate to commit to the idea, mainly because the training runs will be upwards of 2 hour time blocks that I probably don’t have room for in my schedule, so I’m not promising anything yet. I will say, though, that if I can find the right marathon and sign up in the next couple of weeks, you just might be seeing some more writing coming your way. A first-marathon-training-experience would most definitely be written down.

Part of the fuel for my athletic fire is perhaps coming from the Defyance in my soles–and by that I mean “the new running shoes my parents bought for me.”

Meet the Brooks Defyance 3. They are my third pair of the same name shoe and they are my body’s best friend: no more nerves out of whack, tired knees, or unbeatable soreness in my legs. I have a friend who always tells me to run barefoot, but to me these shoes are the barrier between my feet and a world of concrete-induced pain. To the inventor of these shoes I tip my hat, and to my parents who paid for them I give an unlimited supply of hugs. Everybody wins.

Anyway, enough about running. Time for something new.

The Wild Streak is back! After months of winter absence, the first signs of summer sunshine have drawn it out of hiding. I spent several hours of my spring break putting in a solid bleach job and 3 layers of “wildfire red” hair dye, and yet it has still managed to turn a much tamer shade of orangey-pink in less than three weeks of washing. Nevertheless, I’m a fan of it and I have yet to receive disapproving commentary from any of the important people in my life, so I consider the Streak a success. In fact, the response I get from people is usually something like amused surprise mixed with mystified approval. I am okay with this. Plus, it makes me feel like summer is coming soon. Which is true. And that brings me to my next thought.

When summer comes, school ends. I know–please forgive me for blowing your mind. But really, the bittersweetness of that thought has been following me for weeks. As academic insanity begins to become a bitter reality in the Ogle world, it can be harder to look around and remember how beautiful the relationships I have found there really are. Papers and tests are suspended like storms over our heads, clouding out the sunshine of our happy college existence. Just last weekend, Amir, Clair, Sean, and myself were working through the painful hours of the morning trying to finish papers due in class the next day. Indoor camping trips and planet earth parties are banished until further notice, in favor of caffeine and a lot of wake-me-up-in-ten-minutes, 3AM naps.
However, in spite of all this busyness, I have really not been able to stop myself from thinking about how good life with the Oglies has been. Moments from the last two years rise up in me with sad urgency, and I just want to hug all the necks of the people I have come to love so dearly. I am not sure where I’ll be in school next semester–if the Ogle world is going to be my world anymore–but I do know that the people I met have changed my life for the better.

Disclaimer: this is not ALL of the Oglies. They are a big bunch.

Anyway. Summer is coming and I don’t know what she will be bringing, but I hope it is very, very good.

I think that’s where I’ll end tonight… it’s getting late. How is it that there are so many other things I wanted to say? This is long already. I guess that leaves room for me to say, as usual, “more soon.”

Last night, I was rudely awakened by the sound of the apocalypse screaming through North Magbee Hall. A student managed to burn food in the kitchen at 4AM, thereby setting off the fire alarm and sending all the residents on a groggy early morning stroll out into the cold. I, personally, consider it a learning experience in which I realized that a fire in the building would almost certainly have a chance to destroy half of NoMag before I even put two feet on the floor. In spite of the supernaturally ear-splitting screech of the alarm, Clair had to come and alert Beth and me to get up and get moving. I remember being awake, and incredibly confused, but not at all concerned and having no intention of moving anytime soon. The power of the sleep gods is strong in the college student’s psyche; all the forces of nature, and possibly the fire department, are powerless to overthrow it.

A frightening truth, ladies and gentlemen.

Also frightening is the mercurial nature of the world these days. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Two-minute thunder storms. What is earth coming to? Georgia has been tossing her inhabitants thoughtlessly from snow to sleet to sunshine to storms to all at once for weeks now. I am willing to accept her behavior if she will steadily begin to move in the Spring-ward direction. Summer starts to feel like a possibility as soon as flip-flops and lily-white toes begin to make an appearance where sneakers once reigned supreme. Rain and sun are both welcomed, but only if they bring 65 degrees of happiness with them.

This coming from a girl who loves cold November rain. Georgia is pushing me to my limits this year.

That’s all for now. I know it’s short. Homework calls! Happy Saturday, all.

And I think it is time well spent. I am more well-read now than ever before, and I have developed a literary persistence that keeps turning pages even when I’d rather scrub the cafeteria with a toothbrush than read another word by Adam Smith. That has to be useful somehow, right?.

Even if it isn’t, at least I can say that I never fought alone.

I promise I didn’t stop writing. I actually wrote just the same, but elsewhere. If you are interested, the proof may be seen here. I wrote all the blogs for a missionary team that traveled to Liberia, Africa, at the end/beginning of 2009-10. Not only did I write for the team, I was actually a part of it, and it was the adventure of a lifetime. I didn’t know until sometime in August that I’d be writing there, and I decided to let it take me away from Perspicacious entirely for a short time. Thanks to a few very persistent and encouraging (and slightly agitated) friends, I have found that I can’t stay away. I also did not want to. I love this little space.

So where to begin? It would not be enough to say that a lot has taken place since the last time I wrote here; multitudinous meaningful occurrences have taken place in these six months, more than could be captured here. I finished a journal in October, though, and am 60% through a new one already, so at least some part of what’s been happening in my life has been written down. That’s something, I think, to speak for the productivity of this July-to-January gap. Finishing a journal is big business in my world, right up there alongside free food, clean clothes, and getting all my homework done on time. Perhaps it’s not a thrilling life, but it is an enjoyable one, and I live it in the company of others who appreciate the same kinds of small-but-happy things as myself. Like when my roommates and I all accidentally wore nearly the same outfit to brunch on Sunday morning.

Some of you, perhaps, would run from such social blunders as this. We, however, sprinted unhesitatingly in the direction of complete coordination, 90′s girl-band style, and we were giggling like children all the way to the cafeteria. I love my roommates. That has not changed in six months. Here are a few more seemingly immutable facts of my life:

1. Clarence and Clementine.

Our fish children. Ironically, Clementine is the white one. She was orange when we got her. No, we do not always keep them in a carafe– it was temporary, photo shoot housing only. We have had these guys since October-ish of 2008, and I am proud to say that they are still happily coexisting in spite of our somewhat “hands off” approach to parenting. I deny all accusations relating to the idea of Clarence having been replaced over the summer due to my inadequacies as a mother. It’s not my fault he looked a lot bigger in August than May. Fish grow sometimes. Sue me.

2. Running.

I still love it. I spent last semester training for my first ever half marathon, a slightly terrifying but terribly wonderful experience. When I started running in March of 2008, 2 miles felt like an accomplishment to be shouted from the rooftops. Simultaneously, I despaired of ever being able to run more than 5 miles, much less did I ever expect to do so without collapsing. Needless to say, I have come a long way since then, both literally and otherwise. From August to November, I spent a lot of hours listening to the collision of rubber soles on pavement–a sometimes maddening, but inexplicably wonderful sound. I trained with the Atlanta Track Club 1/2 Marathon Crew, which is made up a small contingent of experienced coaches, a slightly larger number of trained athletes, and a majority group of eager, terrified, fresh-faced new guys like myself. We followed a schedule during the week and came together on Saturdays to do our “long runs,” which started out at 4 miles and grew to monstrous distances over time. If you told me a year ago that I’d be running mileage in the double digits, I probably would’ve cried a little bit at the thought of it. On my first 10 mile run at the end of October, I wanted to jump for joy. And when I crossed the finish line on Thanksgiving morning… oh, man. It was a lot more than a jolt of endorphins that was making my heart glow. My teacher told me last semester, “Write about running,” so I couldn’t resist letting this experience be a part of my final. Here’s a piece of what I wrote:

“As we neared the start, traffic slowed. Runners flung open passenger doors to find the corrals on foot and I joined them. What happened next took me by surprise. With the asphalt finally beneath my feet I couldn’t stop the thrill that spread over me from top to bottom. Ten thousand pairs of pounded, wounded soles were cold and anxious with me. I could look in any direction and see the same story, told ten thousand ways, that had been growing in me since August. And what felt like a dream to me could have been anyone else’s nightmare—a 13.1 trek through Atlanta on Thanksgiving morning with thousands of my closest friends.
Standing in the corrals, I watched the sun break over the Clairmont bridge, four runners silhouetted in the center of the glow. I can’t remember how it happened—if a gun went off or if someone just spoke the words—but there was music, and thousands of bodies picking up speed, and the feeling that I could move the earth with the force of my stride.”

And, what I didn’t write in my final, but what resonated deeply in me for a long time after the race ended, is the feeling of such deep camaraderie with so many thousands of people that I’ve never met. So many people look at you like you’ve lost your mind when you tell them that you’re training to run 13.1 miles–just for the fun of it. I knew on that morning that I was surrounded by a whole lot of the same kind of crazy, and that was a very unique feeling. I couldn’t help but think about the day when, with millions of believers on all sides, I’ll see the One I’ve been waiting for. And we’ll go home. It is a beauty drenched in hard work and anticipation, perhaps impossible to convey until you’ve seen it– so go run a race. That’s the moral of the story. Any distance will do. :)

3. Homework.

The ever present frenemy– even now as I type, my developmental psychology textbook is urging me either to sleep or to read, for goodness sake, but stop wasting time on this blogging business. Right now, I am resisting, but in general I spend a very good amount of time with my face buried in the pages of one thing or another, which I should really be okay with since I am, after all, an English Major. Sometimes, though, the things that are considered “great works of literature” are not what I would consider pleasurable food for thought. Slogging through a hundred pages of some brilliant writer’s creativity and contemplation sometimes leads to a moment of revelatory delight, and sometimes leads to falling asleep in my chair. It’s a toss up every time; you never know what you’ll get.
Recently, I got lucky in my English Heroines class with my very first Jane Austen book ever– Emma. The whole story captured me completely, reminding me of why I might actually want to spend a lot of time staring at words on pages, or even writing down some words of my own. Jane Austen, however, so masterfully crafted nearly every aspect of Emma that I’m not sure I could even harbor aspirations to ever try to follow in her footsteps. We shall see. Altogether, though, I certainly recommend the book (don’t watch the movie–read the book first), and I suggest that you read it with a pen in hand. There were plenty of moments when I found myself gasping, exclaiming, laughing, sighing, even almost to the point of weeping as I sat on my kitchen counter taking in the last 50 pages… you will want to write in the margins on this one. Definitely.

The darker side of my lighthearted Emma experience is that I’ll be writing a paper about it this weekend. College just seems so relentless sometimes. Scratch that. Life seems relentless, and I feel like I’m only just starting to put my feet in the water. How is it possible that I’m ready to crumble already? Maybe it’s a learning process. That seems likely to me. In fact, the more I talk out loud about the things that seem weighty in my mind, the more conquerable they become. I walked and talked with my roommate Clair for an hour today, and together I think we tossed back and forth a hundred ideas about people, hearts, and living. As I spoke, I listened to the knots of worry in my mind untangle and fall away. The space between two people who know and love each other, who listen and speak with honest words, is rare and beautiful. Talking with my good friends sometimes just feels like waking up early and remembering that it’s Saturday. Unexpected, and sweet.

So those are a few of the unchanging things. There is a lot that I could list that has been altered, but because my word count is approaching 1600, I feel that I should relieve you of your audiencial duties and be silent for the time being. The funny thing is that, after so many months of absence, I feel I have no imparted any sort of unusual wisdom or thrilling news. Maybe it is better that way. And it seems best, I think, to end in a list.

Things I’m a fan of right now:

1. Peanut butter toast. Whole grain bread, banana slices on top. Breakfast of champions.

2. Dance lessons. Or, I will be a fan of them if I can ever actually find time to go to the studio and take them. More on this in the near future, I hope.

3. Februarian Indecision. This month cannot make up her mind. It flurried on Sunday night, and today I could have worn a t-shirt. It was gorgeous outside. The good news is that I love cold rain, and I love cold sun. The alternating day-by-day changes are working for me for the time being, although I’d like to settle into a good 6 inches of snow sometime before spring comes. Can I get an amen?

4. “Restiveness.” Mickey pointed out this word to me as one that he was puzzled over from his Tocqueville reading tonight. When I looked it up, I found it to be exactly the opposite of what it’s pretending to mean:
restive |ˈrestiv|adjective(of a person) unable to keep still or silent and becoming increasingly difficult to control, esp. because of impatience, dissatisfaction, or boredom.

Tricksy, I thought. I like it.

5. Planet Earth. As in, the BBC series. Chelsea gave it to me as a Christmas gift and the semester has indubitably been one of our most educational thus far. It’s what we do on weeknights when we finish our homework in time. And, there really isn’t a way to say that without sounding lame. Oh well. I know more about freshwater seals than the average girl of 19, and that, my friends, it to be envied.

That’s all for tonight. The sleep gods assail me. Thank you for reading- I know you don’t trust me when I say this, but… more soon.

P.S. Mickey- I beat you. Too bad I LIVE HERE. Love always, Beth.

     I think it is more than safe to say that the length of my hair is one of the smaller changes that has taken place in the space between May’s beginning and June’s end. I have also become employed, which is in itself representative of a million little changes in my schedule, my network of friends, my perspective of humanity, and my assumptions regarding the nature of small children. If you guessed that perhaps I have been hired as a full-time mother of 3, you would be close but no cigar. Try “part-time mother of 21″ and you’ll be on the right track, as that is a loose translation of the phrase “Jefferson Parks & Recreation Summer Camp Counselor.” Try to withhold your envy, if you please. To be a day camp counselor is certainly a daunting task, but somebody must do it, and I have elected myself as a prime candidate. Whether or not this was a very bright decision is yet to be determined.
      So, yes, it is true that much has happened and much has changed. And somehow, despite my most honest intentions of “writing often” and “capturing everything in sentences,” I just haven’t managed to keep myself in line. In fact, I often feel that the only unchanging thing within my cabinet of character traits and personal habits is my astounding ability to be mercurial. I am consistently inconsistent; I make decisions and resolutions and abandon them immediately without a second thought. I wonder often what this reflects of my personality on a soul level, and what things I am actually uncompromisingly committed to in my heart of hearts. Perhaps this is something I should know of myself already, but hey. I’m in college. If I can just figure out what I want to study for 3 more years of my life then I’ll be in commendable shape, no?

Where do I begin? The thought of compiling all the word-worthy experiences that have taken place since the end of May into one readable manuscript is daunting, to say the least. I feel that no matter what I do, some important fragment will shiver through the cracks without my permission. Summer has filled up my life to maximum capacity, cramming all kinds of adventures and undertakings into my pockets and making my work-filled days overflow into fun-filled nights. Even now, I am existing in the intermission between an 8 hour work day and an evening in the park with friends. The empty hours between those two things give me just enough space to make good food, drink decent coffee, and give voice to some of the sentences that have been careening around my brain. Most days, my spare time leaves me dithering between the two therapies I crave most: running and writing. Throw in a million potential social interactions and the result is entirely overwhelming for an introverted extrovert such as myself. The balance between an over-socialized Annie who hasn’t slept well in a week and an isolated Annie who has had far too much time to contemplate the seriousness of life is surprisingly difficult to achieve. Because extroversion is my predominant trait, I find that the former condition is the more frequently occurring of the two. As a result, I am always, always filtering the requests that fill up my social inbox on a daily basis. Those who know me would recognize this process in my tendency toward noncommittal answers such as, “Sounds like fun! Can I think about it and call you later?” Sorry guys… such is the life of a writing, running, working, loving, dreaming, thriving college girl. 
      In spite of my vigilance, however, I have found myself participating in unsurpassed amounts of entertaining activities since summer began.  Here are some of the highlights so far:

The first running medal I've ever won! I ran a 5k with a friend and we both managed to dominate in our separate age groups. Although, when the race is called "Turbo Turtle Trot," the skill level required for such flawless victory is somewhat debatable. We felt victorious, just the same.

Another running-related victory. The view from the top of a mile-long hill, elegantly christened "Godzilla's Backbone."

Kevin and Jordan in the backseat of the Satisfaction on the way to the lake for July 4th. Hard not to wake them up with my giggling.

So, it's a little difficult to know what's going on here, but this is actually what has made up the majority of my summer funtivities. The five cars are accompanied by five friends all standing in a row outside of TGI Friday's very late one Wednesday evening. Much of my time and money is spent eating good food with good people, and that is okay with me.

So, there you have it. That’s the sparknote version of all the beautiful things I’ve experienced in this happy season. And really, those images can’t convey what has been most beneficial to my soul and body because the most wonderful parts of this summer have been intangible and unphotographable, which leaves me with one option only: to capture them in words. So, in addition to the many lovely happenings that have kept my life blissful and busy all at once, here are some of the things that have been like a deep inhalation for my soul:

1. Real food. Summer is one of the sweetest seasons here around the Morgan home due to the abundance of fresh produce harvested from the veggie garden in our side yard. Daddy works impressively hard every spring to break open the soil and fill it with good things all over again; the rest of us work impressively hard at consuming the benefits of his labor. The workday assaults me with pre-packaged preservatives and suspicious looking lunch meats, leaving my craving for actual nutrition completely unsatisfied. When I walk back through the doors of the Morgan abode, however, I am greeted by the possibility of fresh everything, and it is wonderful. The process of cooking is therapeutic for me in general, so I usually end up spending at least an hour in the kitchen every day, thanking God for space to feed my soul and body well. Needless to say, this is a welcome break from whatever we Oglethorpians are handed in the Emerson Cafe during the school year… avocado flavored pudding is nothing less than an abomination, I say.

2. Good coffee. This is simple, really. In spite of my inability to deal with caffeine, I find that finding a quiet place to be at rest is just that much easier with the warmth of a too-hot latte between my fingers. My new favorite spot is becoming somewhat of a Sunday afternoon addiction, for sure.

3. Quality time. In the spectrum of things that keep me emotionally buoyant, this is certainly in the top three. I have managed to find space for many sweet conversations with people whom I have missed dearly, or whom I simply love to be with, and I always walk away feeling as though the horizons in my heart have expanded slightly. I forget often, but am swiftly reminded, that developing relationships with people is both worthwhile and crucial, and that the busyness of life must be set aside in order to make space for some unadulterated talk-time with ones I love. If you are one such person, please feel free to remind me of this frequently.

And I’ll stop there, for all of our sakes. I could add many more soul-enriching things, such as going to Bible Study on Thursdays, or Small Group on Mondays, or such as eating well and running often, but I think I’ll spare you for now.

I will conclude this entry with something that will possibly make you laugh out loud, or at least grin. Jordan, my co-counselor and friend, and I have been compiling a list of the things we say at work that we would never imagine saying anywhere else. Needless to say, working with 20 seven year olds on a daily basis will certainly leave you laughing at the absurdity of your situation quite frequently. The following are some of our favorite “I can’t believe I just said that” moments; please keep in mind that all of these are bona-fide sentences that have actually left our mouths at some time or another during work hours.

“Sierra, don’t eat the dirt on the baseball field.”
“Boys, roll the pickle!”
“No more one-eyed horses.”
“Don’t chew your foot!”
“Stop eating your shoe!” 
“Why is your sock in your mouth?”
And of course,
“Do NOT give people purple nurples.”

And that’s all for now, folks. Hopefully you laughed a little, sighed a little, smiled knowingly at your computer screen, or something else of a happy nature. Leave your thoughts for me to read, if you please. :)

P.S. This link was passed along to me by a good friend who knows me well. It’s short, and a fun read if you’ve any love for finding new words. I think “frenemy” is my favorite.

With birthday season and finals all clamoring for attention, I just didn’t manage to make space in the last month-and-a-half to blog-write. I have, however, written many other things and that is worth something, I think. But the truth is I’ve been craving this space for weeks, and I am so glad to finally be here. It is good for my soul.
Today I am curled up on my bed, crammed  long-ways between the wall and the open space of our small room. The roof-dwelling waterfall outside our window continues to berate the soggy earth long after the rain itself has subsided, making it difficult to ever really know what the weather is doing without just opening the door to see. Beth and I emerged feeling victorious from our 8AM Spanish final approximately an hour ago, and the after effects of exam-time sleep patterns are sinking down into my bones. It is a welcome heaviness because, for now, I can forfeit all pretense of alertness and just reacquaint myself with what it feels like to go slowly. The thought of one last final looms darkly at the edges of my brain, but I’m pretty sure that I can give myself an hour or two more of rainy reprieve. Inclement reverie assails me, and I welcome it.

Much has happened in the several weeks since I have been here last. Many escapades and adventures have taken their place among the ranks of memories that line the walls in my heart. As this first year of college comes to a close, I am nearly certain that I have had a more tremulous, beautiful, and extraordinary freshman year than anyone else I know. New people and new experiences have flanked me on all sides, accompanied sweetly by a fresh love for the old important things that have only gained significance over time. I expected to miss my family, but I don’t think I could have anticipated how deeply they would support me or in how many ways. I expected to find friends at school, but I never expected to love and be loved so thoroughly. I knew I’d struggle to find spiritual balance in a world completely new to me, but I find it hard to express how unique and difficult my conversations with God have been in these last 9 months. Where I am is good, but it is nothing I could have predicted.

(Time lapse.)

I am home now, finals are over, and the rain has ceased to pour. For the moment. I have heard that more is coming, and this is okay with me. What is not okay is that it has been nearly a week since I began writing this post, and I have yet to finish it. I know you have all been trembling on the edges of your seats, craving your monthly serving of perspicacious and wondering what on earth could be keeping me, but you shall wait no longer. Today’s the day, folks. Today’s the day.

(Side note: I just made a Kobe three-pointer with my gum into the trash can across the room. What a shot.)

I will begin with the conclusion to which I have come: the Catch 22 of blog-writing is that the longer I wait to write things down, the more there is to say, and the less I want to try and put everything all into words. Really, if I were to just do this once a week, we would all be faring very nicely. As it is, I am stuck with a pile of ponderings and a mountain of memories to untangle and somehow make presentable for reading purposes.

Now, then. Let us begin where we last ended: birthday season is officially over for the Morgan household. We have successfully traversed the immersion into and expulsion from the vacuum of celebration that extends from late March to the end of April. Presents have been given and parties have been had; all have felt loved and welcomed into their new year of living. It is my belief that I myself have experienced the overwhelming majority of all the aforementioned good things, a suspicion which I will now explain.

My birthday experience began the Wednesday before my big day with a pre-birthday fiesta involving all the Oglies, i.e., the friends at school whom I have grown to love most dearly. We went to a fabulous Mexican restaurant called Uncle Julio’s Casa Grande, with which even our very own ethnic Clair was quite impressed. After dinner, dessert was clearly in order, so, in what was possibly the most dynamic game of human Frogger ever seen, we scrambled across the street to Café Intermezzo, where we were greeted by a most impressive array of delectable dessert options. After cramming four or five tables together and perusing the incredibly copious menu options, I think we ended up with like two pieces of cheesecake and a hot chocolate. And while the minimalist nature of our consumption choices perhaps irritated our perpetually perturbed waitress, we had more than enough birthday sugar to go around. Overall, though, what really made the night so unprecedentedly wonderful for me were the unexpected happy things that happened around and during and inside of the main events. Here are some highlights:

The good, the bad, and the Oglies. Awesome surprise from Clever Clair.

1. Two months ago I told Clair and Beth that we should make shirts that say “The Good, the Bad, and the Oglies,” just for the simple fact that our school is really not on top of their game when it comes to clever apparel options. When I was lured by my conspiring roommate into accompanying her to the bathroom, I emerged to find a table full of friends suddenly wearing the best Ogle-shirt ever created, and one sitting on my chair. I couldn’t believe it. There are very few times in my life that I have been truly and completely surprised by anything; this was definitely one of those times. I think I screamed… I’m pretty sure I jumped.  It was a good moment, to say the least.

Ethan and Mickey. Knights in shining armor.

2. These boys, it should be said, have altogether helped to fill my Ogle-experience with laughter, silliness, and emotional support as needed. Their tendency to make my life just a little brighter and lighter only made my pre-birthday celebration just that much more wonderful. While Mickey kindly opened all my doors and stole away the check for my meal, Ethan surprised me with a most laughable and adorable gift: my very own knight in shining armor. To protect me from the swarm of creeps and weirdos who always seem to find me when I’m out at some coffee shop alone, Ethan went to the Build-A-Bear factory to procure a very lovable friend dressed in full knight ensemble. I also received an OU Baseball shirt that I had been wheedling away from Mickey’s grasp for days. All of this served only to remind me further that I have wonderful friends whom I love, and that I am happy to be alive.

Sporting the yellow cardigan during finals week, when I was kind of going insane.

3. Upon arrival back at 217, I was surprised by the presence of a very large box in the center of our room. Opening the box, I found a clue, following the clues, I found another box, opening the box, I found a present! My very considerate friend Erik had labored long hours to surprise me with something even I had forgotten that I wanted: a perfect lemon yellow cardigan in just my size. I had mentioned it only once, but that was enough. I couldn’t hardly believe my eyes… the culmination of blessings poured over my shoulders seemed just too lovely to understand. Also, the cardigan is really cute.

Birthday girl. Delighted.

So, in the interest of brevity, I’ll end my discussion of birthday festivities with this picture, and the statement that there was so much more goodness that it’s hard to even know where to stop. All of my loved ones made me feel loved, including the Fabulous Four back at home, who joined me for a birthday sleepover on the big day. That, too, was marvelous. I feel extraordinarily loved just remembering the events of that wonderful week- thank you to all of you who make that feeling a reality. You are too good to be true.

Now. What else needs to be said?

I have survived my freshman year with a most satisfactory GPA. Sophomore year comes bearing Statistics and Pre-calculus in hand, ready and waiting to destroy my dreams of a Summa Cum Laude graduation. Bring it on. I have sacrificed many hours of sleep and sanity to arrive at the place in which I now stand… what’s 3 more years of crazy gonna do?

Also, I went hiking and rock climbing yesterday with some friends of mine who are far more knowledgeable in such things than I am. My brother and I both managed to get up the first wall in good time- although I suspect that perhaps I had a little help from my belayer. Either way, the experience was both challenging and addicting. I want to do it again ASAP.

Photo by Matt Trivett. I think that's about the point that I wondered if I would make it to the top.

      All of this, and I still have not even touched on stories about going dancing, playing truth or dare, the Braves game… there are just so many things that have happened that are worthy of re-telling. Really, it is all too much to tell. I’ll have to be content with saying that although these past weeks have been a whirlwind, they have been extraordinary, and I am so looking forward to whatever summer chooses to bring with her. 

I will leave you for now with a quirky summary of my officially-ended freshman year at Oglethorpe University.

Three favorite memories:
1. All of the unprecedented good talks between my roommate and I inside the walls of 217. We’d stop in the middle of something else entirely and start to discuss some important issue at hand… we = peas, 217 = pod.
2. Pre-birthday celebrations.
 3. Tarp sliding. For the win.

Most difficult assignment: Medieval and Renaissance, first 2 papers. It was mental acrobatics for me to even know where to begin with tackling those prompts. Third time was the charm, I guess.

A lesson learned in the classroom: From Dr. Brightman: skepticism can make you a better writer. Question the necessity and clarity of your words… always.

A lesson learned outside of class: If you don’t do your work, it will not get done. On the other hand, if you don’t do your work, the world will not explode. My social life exists in the tension between those two truths.

Number of all-night study sessions: One all-the-way, but several that ended between the hours of 3 and 6AM.

Worst food eaten: Turkey “meatloaf” in Emerson. Or possibly the mysterious avocado colored pudding they had during the last week. It’s a toss-up.

Best food eaten: Either the plunder of our free cake-tasting excursion, or the tamales at Uncle Julio’s. Both were excellent, and both were free. :)

Most surprising discovery: The depth of love and friendship that can be developed in what seemed to be so short a time.

Nicknames earned: Cap’n Morgan, The Steamroller, Baby Momma

Something completely new that I tried: Watching “Dirty Dancing,” and actually going dancing. I loved both experiences.

Something I’m proud of: Joining the XC team and actually running races. I would have never imagined myself doing that like, 3 years ago. Things change, I suppose.

A mistake I made: Not keeping in touch with friends from home consistently enough. I still have them, though, and for that I am grateful.

Three words to describe the overall freshman experience: Tumultuous, surprising, delightful.
Thank you, all. Goodnight. <3 

P.S. Follow perspicacious? with BLOGLOVIN’.

For one, I need socks. For the other, I wish I knew.

I have been thinking about happiness- actually, for quite some time now. I have been wondering what it means to be happy, and if its something we get to choose. I’ve discovered that answers to questions such as these are not something that the common culture of our world carries in its back pocket. Not good answers, anyway. This leaves me with a quandary in my heart and qualms in my clenched fists; why does the world pretend to be happy when it knows that it is sad inside? Why do any of us pretend to be things that we are not?

And why aren’t we as happy as we want to be?

I do not know the answers to these questions, but I have been thinking. If I had to make a list, I’d say that the following things have something to do with cultivating happiness:

- Having a sense of purpose.
- Deciding that people are more important than things.
- Believing in something. 
- Balancing life: rest, work, play.
- Loving something other than yourself- especially people.
- Knowing what matters to you and making space for it in your life.

That’s all I got so far. Certainly, it is not  comprehensive list. And although its contents might seem kind of repetitive, and a little like old news, perhaps they are not so well-worn as we might think. It is sometimes the simple things that are most difficult to learn. (She said, feigning great experience.) What do I know, really?

Anyway. This week I have been experiencing the beautiful release from the clutch of busy college existence that is known as Spring Break. Although, I will be honest and say that it has not been the glorious kind of respite that I might have planned. As my friend Erik termed it, I have had quite the “mature” spring break experience, something quite different from my first hope for this week, which was to be in West Palm Florida with my wonderful roommate. Instead of soaking up sunshine on perfect warm sand, I’ve been saturated with reminders of what it means to be human, to grow up, and to value the ones I love. I can’t say that I would have welcomed such an experience if I had been given the choice, but I will say that this week has been deeply meaningful, to say the least.

This week, I have watched as tragedy has unexpectedly placed a family very close to us on a path of great difficulty and sadness. I have seen my parents, and hundreds of others, draw near to these precious people in their time of sorrow, encircling them with open hearts and careful, steady love. I have wondered what to say when the loss just seems too deep and too real to even speak at all, and I have been amazed by the clear, extraordinary way that this family is treasured by the multitudes who know them. And while all of this has been difficult, it has been beautiful in the strangest of ways. When tragedy fell, love came quickly to bear up the brokenhearted, carefully enfolding them in the midst of their pain. 

And watching that was more valuable than any memories I could’ve made elsewhere, I’d say, despite the sad weight it brings to my heart.

Also this week, I get to do my taxes and think about how much money I don’t have.

There are, however good things to be said. For instance, it’s Birthday Season!

Last night was the kick-off event to weeks of presents, cakes, and general all-round celebration. Johnny, although technically born last in the Morgan clan, somehow managed to wrangle the soonest birthday on the 12 month calendar, and so we began the festivities yesterday with the beastliest all-out game of Capture the Flag ever to occur on farm soil. Or at least, that was the intent. What actually happened was more like twenty-something teenagers scrambling through thickets of three-inch thorns and treacherous puddle marshes in solid darkness for two and a half hours until most of us ended up either captured or injured or too cold to run. At that point, parents started showing up and we mutually surrendered. I stand by the belief that my team would have won… eventually.

Anyway. Birthday Season has officially begun. We’ll give J-mo one last hurrah on his big day, Katie goes next and then I bring up the rear four days after that. What this means is that present-planning and party-ideation have begun as well, which leads me to tell you a story.

Coldplay, my favorite band as of several months ago and currently the soundtrack to which I write, is coming in May. May 17th, 2009, at 7:30 PM in the Lakewood Amphitheater to be exact. Somehow, by a cruel turn of fate, I did not know of this until Wednesday afternoon, when I was driving down 85-South and listening to the radio suddenly tell me that they are about to GIVE AWAY two ticket to see COLDPLAY in MAY! All you have to do is be caller 25 when they give the word. My delighted yelping quickly turned into stifled groans of frustration when I realized that my phone was jammed between the passenger seat and side door, thus rendering me helpless to make the call should the time come before I were to reach a stop of some kind. Of course, the time did come, and the phone did not miraculously materialize into my hands, and I whimpered sad-angry sounds alone in my car. It seemed just so cruel. However.

At breakfast yesterday morning, on a whim, I casually mentioned to my father that Coldplay was coming back to town. Strangely, he asked me for details. I told him everything I knew, and threw in “You should take me!” and a daughterly smile. Just like that, I saw him drawing out the idea on the chalkboard in his brain, and watched as the words, “Yeah, I could do that. Buy two tickets and I’ll pay for them,” emerged from his mouth. Gun-shy, I made sure he knew what kind of cash he was gonna be throwing down for this kind of a venture. He paused, reconsidered, and then said it was fine, I should buy the tickets and it would be my birthday present.

And so, now, only four hours after ticket sales opened, we have two seats with our names written all over ‘em, and the high hopes that section 201, row HH will have as great of a view as the website claims it does.

This is all quite a surprising turn of events, to say the least. After seeing Coldplay in November, I sort of resigned myself to probably not getting to go to another real concert for at least a year, if not several. And honestly, that was okay with me; I still believe nothing will compare to that first beautiful experience. I am, however, quite okay with developing new memories to accompany the familiar ones.

So, there you have it. Birthday season is well underway, beginning with quite a bang if you asked me. The other things on my list currently are a decent hair straightener, a pair of Chacos, and a mint chocolate chip ice cream cake. But who doesn’t want those things, really?

What else shall I say?

I’ve been writing poetry lately, for the first time in a long time. It brings a different sense of accomplishment to write a poem rather than a blog, and I feel better as a person when I am doing both, I think, but I find poetry to be an elusive friend at times. Just when I think I can call her on demand, she disappears into the recesses of artistic frustration, and I am left empty-handed. Sometimes, with a little bit of willingness and some persistence, I can convince her to come back around, but there are no guarantees. So, I am grateful for the poems I have been writing, even if they aren’t always things I’d want to release to the general population. I’ll let you know if anything publishable finds its way to the surface.

Hmm. Oh! I found a book hiding in the shelf in my room this week entitled Bloom’s Bouquet of Imaginary Words, which I had intended to be a Christmas present for a good friend several years ago. My friend ended up receiving something else in its stead, and the book has lived a lonely life in the “books I haven’t read yet” section of my shelf. Upon reviewing its contents, however, I remembered that I don’t have such bad taste in gifts after all, and have decided to share some excerpts with you.

So, rather than doing my usual sweep of the dictionary to search out impressive words for you to use in your everyday conversations, here is your unexpected dose of Imaginary Words instead:

Muscellany, n.- a variety of strong stuff

Pillgrimage, n.- a long drive to the pharmacy

Nanagram, n.- one billionth of a grandmother

Nanachronism, n.- granny attends a rave

Shamster, n.- a fake gerbil

and one especially for the Lenten among us,

Snacreligious, adj.- stealing wafers to eat after mass

 I hope you all chuckled at least once. And I hope you will be brave enough to use them in your casual conversations, should the opportunity arise. You know you want to.

And that’s all for me for now. I’m sure I’ll remember something I’ve forgotten as soon as I walk away from the computer screen. It’s okay. There will be other blogs.

As always, thanks for reading. :) Leave me your thoughts; let me know you’re here.