Basic

In my day-to-day interaction with the world, both in person and online, I feel a vague, weak-to-moderate pressure to eschew the wildly popular in favor of the unique, quirky, whatever.  Both "hipster" and "basic" (yielded as an insult) have faded out of contemporary parlance, which I think is indicative of the dissolution of both ideas; they remain only as the occasional raised eyebrow when someone admits to liking Taylor Swift.

In some areas, I exhibit an aversion to the wildly popular and have done so my entire life.  I suppose an armchair psychologist would say that I behaved that way as a child out of disliking being bossed around (don't tell me what to read/watch/buy) and preemptively rejecting the customs of other social groups rather than face the possibility of trying to assimilate and failing.  As an adult, the former remains a strong driver of my actions, whereas the latter has changed into just being too busy to consume popular stuff and not wanting to suffer the shame of being the last person in the Milky Way Galaxy to watch Frozen.  Which I have not done.  Nor have I read or watched the Harry Potter series, gotten anything embroidered with my monogram, joined Twitter or Instagram, enrolled in CrossFit...I'm getting along just fine without them and at this point, it would probably just look pathetic.

But in other areas, I am purely basic - in the 2012 sense of the word.  Where my more interesting friends are cooking healthy and intricate meals, contemplating deep theological questions, traveling, throwing themselves behind causes (their resolve I admire, whether I agree with the cause or not), I am over here captivated by the most asinine things.  At this level of adherence, I would call myself a nerd, except that moniker is usually reserved for narrower and more intellectual objects of affection than these.  I am unabashedly enthusiastic about...

1. Pizza

I have the appetite of a frat boy.  We have pizza once a week here at Casa de Dubs and that's me showing restraint.  I do have standards when it comes to pizza, but not in the same way my foodie friends do.  Spare me some deconstructed flatbread exotic cheese blowtorch-cooked Pinterest science fair entry...I require regular crust, normal sauce that involves tomatoes, mozzarella and pepperoni.  I'll allow some variations on that theme, but those are required components.  And if your rendition of those components is substandard and unpalatable, like restaurants in which pizza is not the staple of their offerings or Little Caesars, I take it personally.  Even Dominos and Pizza Hut are borderline.  But Papa Johns?  Mellow Mushroom?  Atlas Pizza here in Gainesville?  Marco's?  GET IN MAH FACE.

2. Laying out

I hear you: skin cancer, radiation, you're-of-irish-descent-and-can't-tan, etc.  Except no, I can't hear you over my Pandora 90s station, sorry.  I had one summer where I spent enough time in the sun and had the right combination of sunscreen-moderated exposure, unscreened-exposure and nonexposure to achieve a tan, but otherwise I don't spend enough time outside to really tan anyway.  My spirituality friends talk about balance of elements and how important a healthy amount of exposure to the sun is for gaining energy and whatnot...while I don't necessarily subscribe to those beliefs, I do feel good after a little time relaxing in the sun.  That feeling could be biological or sociological in nature (probably a combination of both).  In any event, I love the feeling of laying down, listening to music or chatting with a friend and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin.  It's like a massage from God.  Speaking of which...

3. Pedicures/Massages at my local day spa

I have tried manicures before, have even done acrylics twice, but they never last longer than a week because I play and type too aggressively.  So all of my nail-related pampering has to go to my feet.  I try to be frugal, so I don't go to high-end spas or massage therapists...but I also don't want my cuticles cut all the way up to my ankle or my shoulder knots treated with all the finesse of a toddler making Play-Doh pancakes, so I don't go to the cheap places either.  There's a middle-of-the-road place right near my house that does a decent job of both.  Yeah, the massages and their attendant "aromatherapy" are probably placebos and the sugar scrub isn't really doing that much to my skin besides scratching it, but the employees bring me hot tea and I can pretend I'm a pop star.  I am winning at segues today because...

4. Pop music

I have had BIG FEELINGS about this ever since undergrad.  For the most part, the professional musicians I have worked with are comfortable with a wide range of musical genres.  The woman with a doctorate in piano performance enjoys bluegrass too.  The man with a doctorate in music history can give you all the knowledge about the Notre Dame school as well as the Beatles.  But every once and again, I meet some pompous blowhard who wants to roll their eyes at my ringtone ("Beautiful Life" by Ace of Base.)  Liking the new Demi Lovato song does not undo my accomplishments.  I can rock out to the "Deadpool Rap" and then perform pitch class analysis on the Macedonian folk song my Cantique girls are singing.  Even within the scope of vernacular music, my tastes are pretty vanilla.  Sorry, friends who are into shoegazer indie, jazz-funk fusion, minimalist rock...I'm struggling to stay awake and wishing this was *NSync.

5. YouTube

I have a few YouTube subscriptions that are friends of mine.  But for the most part, I subscribe to at least one channel in each of the major YouTube categories, including gaming, comedy, music and vloggers.  I will happily watch Markiplier fail at Happy Wheels and scream about it or Jenna Marbles tell me what she thinks about during bubble baths because it's funny.  Makeup videos are interesting because I can see what all those ridiculously expensive things they sell at Sephora look like when used and because I just like to look at pretty things.  I get a little flak from a small number of people over this, and let's just say this small number of people come from a demographic with which I often have to agree-to-disagree.

6. Looking at sports

I say "looking at" rather than "watching" because I cannot be bothered to learn enough about the sports beyond what actions result in points.  As one of my former students put it, "Get the thing to the other side of the thing!"  I rarely watch an entire game, but I like seeing strong, skilled people do athletic things, especially if running is involved.  In 2014, when the US made it to the knockout stage in the FIFA World Cup (had to Google/Wikipedia that information, as all I could remember offhand was that it was fairly recent and we were good at soccer for a minute), I would put the soccer games on TV and run on my treadmill while watching the game.  There's a psychological component, I guess..."If I keep running, the man on TV will keep running and maybe score a goal!"  It was perfect because any given sporting event will hold my attention for between 30 minutes and an hour and that's how long I was running.  These days, I usually look at sports while eating and at food (via the Food Network TV at Planet Fitness) while exercising.  Life is weird.

Are there areas of your own life in which you are unabashedly basic?  Sound off in the comments here or on the Facebook link I'm going to post as soon as I finish composing this sentence!

First Worldiest Problem: In ABD Limbo

So I finished coursework for my doctorate last summer.  During the fall, I was still caught up in studying for the second sitting of my history prelim, then for my orals, then in trying to spit out the first draft of my proposal.  Even though I wasn't in a regularly-meeting class anymore, I still had daily tasks and roughly regular goals to meet.

But now.

I feel like I was strapped to a rocket (enrolling at UGA for the first time), got lit up and shot into the sky (getting my Master's), endured bone-crushing g-forces and face-melting heat (getting through comps) and now I have escaped the atmosphere, my rocket has burned out and I am just floating around in space.  Just be lookin' at satellites 'n junk.  My major professor is fantastic - he's been attentive, responsive and helpful.  But every dissertation is different, and while there are certain procedural steps that happen in a certain order, there's no template to follow, and no set timeline to adhere to except the 5-year deadline for completion.  He can't tell me exactly what to write because (1) he done writ his dissertation and (2) neither one of us really knows the final shape of this thing yet.  It's going to take some poking around by both of us, like we're trying to map out trails on a previously unmapped patch of forest.  I'm running around with my compass, checking out every possible route and he's behind me, occasionally pointing out better routes or telling me not to touch the poison ivy.

That metaphor is a bit labored, but I stand by it.

When I passed orals, he warned me that some students "want to play hurry-up" and end up with submissions that don't pass, which wastes everyone's time and the student's tuition money.  I'm guessing he (rightly) saw that tendency in me.  There are still some questions we have to address before I can submit another revision...I mean, I guess I could submit another revision anyway, but I know some problems or holes would still be there.  But the forces in me that want to do things as correctly as possible, to follow procedure and cultural expectations, to make a good impression on my major professor...these are, for the time being, managing to override the part of me that wants to check things off my to-do list (dishes, laundry, terminal degree).  I'm only about 4 months into my ABD status, but the fear of missing that 5-year deadline is already starting to creep up.  If that happens, I have to re-take comps and do all of this all over again.  Some of my committee members have thrown the word "retire" around, so if I had to re-do this, it might be with a whole different Doc Squad.  These dudes are like a hyper-intelligent, hyper-talented set of favorite uncles and I am NOT interested in replacing them.

There was a time when this whole process felt like a vague future supposition, the way your kindergarten self said you were going to be a cop, singer and dinosaur when you grew up.  In undergrad, I would talk about getting a doctorate with about the same level of commitment...I figured I probably could do it, but couldn't really see that far into the future over the immediacy of trying to memorize Dr. J's 10 Characteristics of Impressionism or not accidentally belch while trying to support the tone during one of Dr. R's voice lessons.  Now I am actually here and it is the weirdest, most wonderful thing.  I am equal parts gratified by the feeling of accomplishment in having made it to this point and PETRIFIED about the possibility of not making it any farther.  Of blowing the game-winning touchdown.  Of suffering a laryngeal spasm during the "money note" of the finale.  Of suffering a power outage during the final boss.

Of having to take that history prelim a third time.  I may just throw myself off the roof of the Hugh if that happens.

Much Ado about The Mundane II: 30 Eve Edition

I wrote the first Much Ado about The Mundane from a different place in my life.  I was still in my first teaching job (holla, Heritage Crusaders!), I was toying around with fitness but hadn't quite found my thing yet, and was somewhere in the vicinity of either still waiting on or having just gotten confirmation that a new employment opportunity I sorely wanted was not going to happen.  I've been watching a lot of YouTube morning routine videos lately and felt both an inclination to make one myself and a more pragmatic realization that in video form, it will be interesting to exactly zero people.  When a famous YouTuber does it, the fanbase gets to watch the YouTuber do normal people things and listen to their funny narration.  But my "audience" watches me do normal people things (or, what passes for normal in my universe) all the time, so the best I can do is the narration.  Which is much more easily accomplished on the blog.  Therefore, I give you the sequel to Much Ado about The Mundane.

Morning Routine, 2016 Edition
1. Begin stirring awake about 15 minutes before your alarm is set to go off because between teaching, helping with Saturday rehearsals/events/whatevers and church on Sundays, you now get a wake-up call from nature.
2. Do not spend this extra time starting your morning activities earlier to build in margin.  Browse BuzzFeed instead.
3. When your alarm does sound ("Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke), get mad because it interrupted your quiz that will tell you which Django Unchained character is your spirit animal.
4. Stagger toward the kitchen to get your cup of coffee.  If you or someone else in your household remembered to pre-set the coffee so that it's already going, today will be a good day.  If not, fires will be set and heads will roll and wi-fi networks will give the little exclamation point that means "limited access."  If you thought those were not equally distressing scenarios then YOU JUST DON'T GET IT, MAN.
5. Take your cup of coffee and set it on the edge of your bathtub and start the shower.
**Sidebar: let me speak for a moment to the magic of Shower Coffee.  When you're trying to wake up with just a shower, the warm water makes you sleepier...until you step out of the bathroom and get that shock of cold air from the hallway, which at 6:15 AM feels like knives.  When you're trying to wake up with just coffee, the juxtaposition of the warm coffee in your tummy and the less warm environment gives you jitters and shivers.  But put the two together, sipping your coffee as you shower, and you leave that shower warmed up, alert and certain that today, you'll only say unkind words when the other drivers really deserve it.**
6. While the shower water warms up, make your apparel adjustments and spray your hair with dry shampoo for the fifth straight day because the powdered-wig look is the pinnacle of sexy.  Twist that irresistible mane up in a clip, slide your shower cap over it and go test the water.
7. OMG STILL COLD.  Twist the cold knob back a little.
8. IS THIS COMING FROM MY FREEZER?  Twist the cold knob back a little.
9. THIS IS APPROACHING ABSOLUTE ZERO.  Twist the cold knob back a little.
10. I JUST SCALDED THE SKIN OFF MY FINGERS.  Tap the cold knob from the other direction as though you're trying to get its attention.  The water is now the appropriate temperature.
11. Wash what needs washing, pausing periodically for Moments of Appreciation.  The scent of your soap, a sip of Shower Coffee, the lines of tile grout up toward the top of the shower that aren't yellow...these are things to savor.
12. Finish up, dry off, dress, and consider cooking yourself breakfast.
13. LOL, JK, inhale a chocolate-chip protein bar.
14. Put on your makeup, mugging and talking to your mirror like you're a beauty guru using Sephora's finest rather than whatever you could find at the Publix when you were out getting hummus and tampons.
15. Brush your teeth, gather your 80 billion things because you decided to stop carrying around giant purses that just accumulate straw wrappers and old receipts, and tune your car radio to The Bert Show as you head to work.

Attacking the To-Do List
1. Make the To-Do List on your official To-Do Clipboard as you go through your morning classes/rehearsals.
2. Once planning time arrives and it's time to cross things off that list, discover that you or your student leaders have already completed one of the things.
3. Reward yourself by spending 30 minutes playing the accompaniment to whichever piece you're currently teaching that you like the best.
4. Or finding a karaoke track to the big showstopper from the musical you're helping teach, mess with it in Audacity to make it a key amenable to Alto IIs and perform it to your empty chairs.  Dealer's choice there.
5. Realize that you just frittered away half your planning time.  Now you must PRIORITIZE.
6. Apply numbers to your list in order of their due dates.  1 will be the thing that needs to be ready in half an hour, 2 is the thing that needs to be done by the end of the day, etc.
7. Hastily and haphazardly work on the things that have to happen today.
8. Amend the definition of "things that have to happen today."
9. Realize that, under your new definition, you only have one thing left for today.
10. Make a student do it.
11. Reward yourself for delegating and for providing additional leadership opportunities to your indentured servant advanced student by getting a bag of Doritos from the vending machine.
12. Give a Dorito to the student.
13. LOL JK you bulldozed through them in record time.  You should have Vined that.

Checking Your Teacher Mail
1. Consider whether checking your teacher mail is really necessary because it's, like, all the way over there at the office.
2. Consider making a student do it.
3. Realize that sometimes you get things in your mailbox like IEPs or disciplinary stuff that your student can't have access to, so the student can't do it.
4. GROAN SIGH WHINE KICK THE PODIUM
5. Begin to make the journey to the office.
6. Get distracted by the super fun music coming from your friend's classroom.
7. Refocus, continue making your way to the office.
8. Fix your posture and smile winningly when you cross paths with someone higher on the totem pole than you.
9. Get distracted by the fact that another teacher posted your concert dates on his door.  Like, almost weep for joy openly right there in the middle of the hallway.
10. Make it to the office, only to be stopped by the office lady (we all have one) who reminds you about the 7 or 8 things you're required to do that you haven't done yet.
11. Do not argue with the office lady because you know in your heart that her job trumps yours in stress and complexity, largely because part of it is babysitting you.
12. Arrive at your mailbox to find it empty.
13. Make the "no mail is good mail" joke for the 100th day in a row because it is COMEDY GOLD.
14. Drop by the teacher workroom on the way back to see if anybody brought donuts.
15. Nobody brought donuts.  Grab some sugar packets to down in front of the kids in order to disgust and amuse them.

Welp, I made myself laugh.  Mission accomplished!

2016 Goals: Be Less Robotic

When I failed to cry in response to a touching video in one of our undergrad education classes, Ashley Conway called me an "emotionless cyborg."  (No worries, Ash - I took and continue to take this comment in the jocular manner you intended!)

When asked via the first-day questionnaire what I hoped to learn from my master's conducting class, whereas my compatriots (all instrumental conductors) talked about more clarity, I talked about more expression, calling myself the "ConductingBot 4000."

When I approached a well-respected and widely-loved conductor at District 13 Honor Chorus about coming to work with my kids because she's judged our LGPE a couple of times and I have yet to execute expression in a spiritual to her satisfaction, she gleefully proclaimed that she remembered my kids and that they were "like little robots."  I conceded that this was because I am a robot myself.  (She also said some very nice and complimentary things.)

When having lunch at Jenna's school during a day of pre-concert rehearsing, the meticulous, methodical way I folded a napkin around my biscuit before rewarming it made her laugh.

In my undergraduate conducting class, I was always told I was technically excellent, but needed to work for more expression in my gestures.

In grad school classes taught by my recently-retired advisor, even though years' worth of courses with her had made me more than familiar with her methods, I persisted in being *FURIOUS* with her high-pressure Socratic style of teaching that refused to just TELL ME WHICH OF THESE SEVEN ANSWERS YOU WANT.  PICK A LANE.

Undergrad piano lessons - comfortable with styles calling for steady tempi and clear (especially terraced) dynamics, a crashing disaster at rubato.

Doctoral practicum classes - agreed when our cells were based on harmonic structures, meter changes, key changes...crinkled my nose at my teacher when his cells were based on dynamics or he had several consecutive cells of what I considered "irregular" quantities (odd numbers or even lots of 6's).

I get mad when drivers change lanes at the last minute to make a turn, believing they should have planned ahead better.

I get sanctimonious about punctuality; when that study came out a few months ago claiming that chronically late people are optimists, I thought, "These late people are HAPPY ABOUT IT???  HOW DARE THEY NOT FEEL THE SHAME."

I am a rule-follower, a categorizer, a routine enacter...most of the time.  I hate being asked when something is occurring when the answer is written on a wall calendar in the same room.  If we're on vacation and we decide that we'll leave the house at 11:00 to go down to the beach, I'll be sitting by the door at 10:45.  It doesn't apply to everything though.  I'll straighten the stacks of worksheets in my classroom but drive home in a car that contains spilled french fries from 2003.  I'll walk around in shorts without having shaved my legs and dare anybody to give me crap about it (it does cut down on gym creepers) but feel self-conscious about my frizzy ponytail.  I'll leave an unfinished coffee mug by my bed until new civilizations sprout up in it but get the vapors because there's a gatorade stain on my counter.  It's as if The Great Programmer started coding me for hyper-organization and perfectionism, but got distracted halfway through and finished with slacker dna.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

I was around grades 8 or 9 before I finally realized that always jumping for the right answer and the highest grade was not endearing me to my classmates or impressing them as I had imagined.  And now I have neared age 30 before realizing that my selective rigidity is bovine and ridiculous.  The situations in which my inclinations are beneficial (be seated and ready to go when the faculty meeting begins because professionalism) are far outnumbered by the situations in which they're stupid or detrimental (you can conduct more than one hairpin in this Brahms piece - you're not going to give anybody seasickness.)  So my resolution for 2016 is to lighten. up.  I resolve to watch more conductors who jump and wiggle around their podiums and have the guts to get out of pattern every once and again because they are FEELIN IT.  I resolve to chill the heck out when it comes to getting places on time when there aren't professional or hierarchical stakes...no one is going to die if I walk into the pool party 2 minutes after the appointed start time.  I resolve to give people space to be human and stop policing everyone else when it comes to planning and execution, remembering that I'm human too and occasionally fail to plan.  I resolve to, as I am able to recognize them, scrutinize my self-imposed "life rules" and objectively determine whether they are useful ("Shower regularly") or not ("A cluttered kitchen table means you're a classless hick.")

Happy New Year, everyone!

  

Joy

I have been hesitant to write this for the last little while because I feel like I might be taunting karma.  Ok, fine, my religion doesn't subscribe officially to "karma", but let's be real: a great many of us entertain the notion from time to time that there is some sort of cosmic scorekeeping between fair and foul fortune going on and that too great a gain on one side will most certainly invite a compensatory swell from the other.  What goes up must come down, there is nothing new under the sun, etc.  So by speaking my feelings into the world, a little part of me worries that I am going to invite misfortune.  But then the Logic Machine (TM) comes back online and reminds me just how little in control I am of anything ever, and so I should gather roses while I may.

Any more quotes and this blog would be an act of plagiarism.

Anyway, we had a guest speaker at church this last Sunday who talked about how we sometimes deny ourselves the opportunity to pursue the desires of our hearts because of the various boundaries society puts around activities.  I'm too inexperienced, too old, too awkward, too whatever to do this thing I would like to do.  And so I got to thinking about the things I wanted to be able to do.  Like most of you, my goals for my life changed over time.

Age 4: I want to be a cop (because Grandma was one...yes, I am serious) or maybe one of those Fantasia pixies that changes the seasons.  Not sure why I tended to use the word "pixie" instead of the more common "fairy," so I'm going to engage in blogalistic license and claim that it's because of the Scotch/Irish branches of my family.  I'm sure you're shocked to know that neither of those career plans came to fruition.

Age 9: I want to be a singer.  Now, I am one.

Age 13: I might want to be a teacher.  Now, I am one.

Age 14: I might also want to write.  Now, I do, both on the blog and in print.

Age 15: I would like to be a "real" accompanist instead of just playing one or two things at a concert.  Now, I am one.

Age 16: I want to be a chorus teacher, but I would like to perform sometimes too.  Now, I do both.

Age 19: I want to earn a doctorate.  Now, I'm ABD.

Age 20: I want to be in GMEA and do GMEA things.  Now, I am and I do.

Age 22: I want to write or arrange some choral music.  Now, I do.

Age 24: I'd like to have a YouTube channel.  Now, I do.

Age 27: I'd like to be able to run for longer than 90 seconds at a stretch.  Now, I can.

Age 29: I'd like to have more toned muscles.  Still working on that one, but I have more muscle than I used to!

Now, these weren't by any means ALL of the things I thought I'd like to do.  I remember tossing out different ideas, some met with a thoughtful "hm," some with a sardonic, "Ok, sure..." that implied my suggested life choice would not be as glamorous or fun as I thought it was going to be.

Well guess what, friends?  All those things I listed above that I now do?  Are EVERY BIT as fun as I thought they would be.  In fairness, all have taken time and I have some growing-pains-style memories associated with each, but as I approach 30 years old, it feels like the save point of a video game.  I've reached a level of proficiency with all these goals (except the weight training, but it's been less than a year) that fills me with a weird mixture of comfort and excitement.  I'm no longer so overwhelmed by them that they seem insurmountable, but I still have enough learning and growing to do that they're still stimulating.  I don't freeze with fear, but I don't roll my eyes with boredom.  And there are so many things tied into each that I didn't anticipate back when the idea first entered my mind.  I wanted to become a chorus teacher because I love choral music...I couldn't have imagined how hilarious, exciting and fun my kids would be.  I wanted to be an accompanist because I like to play piano...I couldn't have imagined how it would connect me with friends and mentors and expose me to lots of different repertoire, conducting styles and interpretive/emotional elements (which, as anyone who has ever tried to teach me to conduct can tell you, I need SERIOUS help with.)  I wanted to run because I like solitary entertainments and tend to move around when I think anyway...I had no idea how relaxing and empowering it would feel.*

This is an even bigger and fuller life than I ever thought I would have and I am loving every minute.

*Although starting a run still sucks.

The Twelve Labors of Gymules

This is the first-worldiest of First World Problems and will probably also sound humblebraggy.  But I had an impulse to write and IT MUST BE SATED.

I was thinking about something John Green wrote on his Tumblr once about how relatively light tasks can seem right at impossible sometimes.  His example was knowing that the dishes need washing and yet persisting for days on end in not washing them - you finally have to acknowledge that for some reason, at this moment, today, washing dishes is the hardest thing you will ever have to do.  I feel that way about the gym most of the time.  Even though I like it and love how I feel when I'm done, getting there and getting through the workout feels like the Twelve Labors of Gymules.

Labor 1: Decide that the gym is happening today

"Moderation is healthy.  Everyone needs a day off sometimes.  What if I haven't had enough salt today and get sick?  Maybe I can just run around the neighborhood instead."

Labor 2: Stop what you're currently doing (which is probably nothing) and put on your gym clothes

"The air conditioning will make me feel cold in my gym clothes.  They're tight and will be hard to put on.  Where are my shoes?"

Labor 3: Make ready to transport yourself to the gym

"I can't find my car keys.  I can't find my license.  I can't find my phone.  I can't find my iPod.  I can't find my headphones.  Should I take a water bottle?  Should I take a protein bar?  Should I pack girl items?"

Labor 4: Quit stalling, actually get in the car and drive to the gym

"But it's cold/hot/humid/rainy/dry/Gainesville outside.  Traffic is slow.  I'll get stuck at every red light and lose the momentum I'm pretending to have."

Labor 5: Don't wuss out in the parking lot

"EVERYONE IS AT THE GYM or possibly the Family Dollar right next to it.  I don't want to park all the way across the parking lot.  What if I'm too weak afterward to walk all the way back to my car?"

Labor 6: Don't wuss out upon first walking in

*sudden rush of cold air* "NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE FREEZING TO DEATH"

Labor 7: Don't wuss out when you see other people working out

"Oh that speed and time cannot be right on that treadmill.  Nobody can run that fast for that long.  She must have chugged a whole case of 5-Hour-Energy bottles and now she's just trying to stave off the heart attack."

Labor 8: Keep going at the half-mile point

*pant* *pant* "A half-mile isn't bad.  It's more than not ever running at all." *pant* *pant* "This playlist is supposed to motivate me and all I can think about is how beat I am and what lipstick color I should wear to comps."

Labor 9: Don't fall into the Workout Bermuda Triangle at the 75% point of your planned run

"DERN, this treadmill has been stuck at 1.7 miles for like three hours.  God has caused time to stand still so He can laugh at my hamster-like persistence and soap-opera-like distress."

Labor 10: Finish that second set of whatever weight machine you hate today

"Only 35 pounds and my shoulders are about to fall off.  That would probably negatively impact my conducting technique."

Labor 11: Stop staring at people who can lift more than you

"Wow.  Those muscles look like they were carved from marble.  OH CRAP AWKWARD EYE CONTACT MAYDAY MAYDAY"

Labor 12: Maintain perspective.  You're just a chick working out, you're not Gymules.

"Bow before me, mortals, for I hath completed Leg Day.  My actual stats holdeth not so much importance as the fact that I finisheth this my workout.  Bringeth me cookies."

My Inability to Argue

I wrote/drew this several months ago, but I tried to make it one giant scrollable cartoon, a la The Oatmeal and it turns out that Blogger does not like that so much.  Right now, I'm in that magical period of finals being complete at doctor school, concerts being done at high school, and only two gigs on the horizon, which means I finally had the time to chop it up into individual pictures, all of which have purple backgrounds because, again, was originally one big cartoon.  Enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________

When I disagree with someone about something, my fight-or-flight instincts come out of Sleep Mode and start warming up.

My brain starts to carefully weight the decision of whether or not to engage in debate.
Pro:

1. We will execute the task correctly

Con:

1. This person will not like being told that he or she is incorrect.
2. This person may become embarrassed or frustrated.
3. Which is pretty much the same as angry.
4. ANGRY AT ME.
5. WILL NOT LIKE ME ANYMORE.
6. EVER EVER EVER
7. Or this person will refuse to accept my evidence as valid
8. And will take the use of allegedly invalid evidence as proof that I am stupid
9. THINKS I AM STUPID
10. WILL NOT LIKE ME ANYMORE
11. Or this person will bully me into acquiescence
12. OW MY FEELINGS
13. Also, there is the chance that we will execute the task incorrectly.
14. Which will cause whoever is expecting a correctly done task to be disappointed.
15. DISAPPOINTED AT ME.
16. WILL NOT LIKE ME ANYMORE.
17. EVER EVER EVER
18. I WILL NEVER HAVE FRIENDS AGAIN

Occasionally, the issue at hand is so important, or I believe my evidence to be so irrefutable, that I do choose to argue my side.  Carefully.

In cases where the issue is not very important or there's not the possibility of someone being hurt or disappointed by an incorrect conclusion or one that I disagree with (and no, I do not always believe those two conditions to be synonymous), there is no pro-con listing to be done.  My decision is obvious.

When someone comes around to my conclusion without any prompting from me, I experience levels of joy that are probably not healthy.

The degree to which I loathe argument really cannot be overstated.  Even in non-argument contexts, if someone employs a tone that implies anger in the slightest, even if it isn't directed at me, my adrenaline starts pumping, my mind freezes up, and my throat catches as if I were about to cry.  Often I find myself unable to talk, because my brain cannot supply me with words and even if it could, my voice couldn't phonate to say them.

Thank goodness for email and texting, which allows me to sequester myself in a solitary location and cry after every reply that says something other than, "It's ok" or "I still love you."  I can let my wave of emotions pass, wait for the Logic Machine to come back online, and make a measured response.

I have many strengths.  I have a pretty good musical ear and am occasionally a competent pianist, I make people laugh on the regular and I can run for an hour without stopping as long as the weather, my diet, my mood, the alignment of the planets and that day's episode of Maury are all right.  But to me, people who can handle arguments like it's no big deal or who argue for fun, like debate team members, may as well be superheroes.