Thank(mas): Car

(if you wanna know what's going one, click here.)

Today I acknowledge the gift of my car.

(Or rather, the car I am using for transportation purposes at this present juncture of life.)

In April of 2011 I rear-ended a green pick-up truck from Virginia at a stoplight on my way out of town. Nothing serious - I was going less than 15 miles and hour at the time and didn't even realize I had hit them till my hood curled up in front of me. However, it was a big enough hit to total my already low-valued car and end my minuscule career as a car-owner.

Since then I have survived off rides, walking, buses, and borrowed cars. These cars, an old Nissan that someone gave our family (and was also my first car), an old Plymouth someone gave our family, and a decent Buick that, you guessed it, someone gave our family, have been a blessing at various points in my life. 

The Buick is one of two cars that that belong to my father. Two because our neighbor willed them to him an old blue Chevy, and a decent white Buick, when he passed away. My father in turn drives a tiny, low power, high gas, no air condition or radio, curmudgeon of a truck. He's a pretty great father.

All last semester, when the Nissan was on its last legs, Dad let me drive the Buick. This summer at camp I didn't have a car (thanks all for the rides) and when I came back home to work, I got pre-approved for a car loan, but didn't want to rush into anything.

Dad surprised me on Labor Day by suggesting (where he had previously suggested loan) that instead of getting deeper in debt, I just take over expenses on the Buick, since we're all trying to save money. It would help him by cutting down on insurance, and maintenance bills, and help me by allowing me to just focus on my school loan.

The Buick takes me nearly 250 miles a week on average, between my three jobs, running errands, visiting people (like my grandmother) and it does so faithfully.

It has heating and air conditioning, and a working radio that has allowed me to attach a cd player to, so I can have music of my own choosing wherever I go. (See previous post on music).

The backseat holds my extra jackets, discarded cd's, a box of tissues, books for my classes and all the packages that tote from work to the post office.

I absolutely love that it takes me to see so many people I love. And helps me give rides to even more.

I am mostly appreciative that so far, it is a literal gift from my father, to be able to use it and it is also a blessing to be able to drive it, and be mobile, and it is a gift from God that cars were even invented, so that Buick is a gift, upon a gift, upon a gift.

All of them gifts, acknowledged.

(see next post here)

Thank(mas): Music

(if you wanna know what's going one, click here.)

Living Room Dance Sessions

Today I acknowledge the gift of music.

Of people who began it, reworked it and presented it through the ages.

Of being able to sit in the summer and listen to a chorus of crickets and bullfrogs and imagine someone hearing the same thing thousands of years ago, and trying to duplicate it on their own crude instruments.

Of Christmas music that can make the whole room feel warmer and more cheerful.

Of being able to dance to music when I am energetic, confused, or overwhelmed: let the rhythms of the songs decide my movement.

Of watching my friends who study it find so much joy in the theories, beats, and history.

Of music as a reflection of the people who write it, and the way it can tell the author's story.

Of music as worship and expression of praise.

Of music in all the ways it changes, reveals, and grows.

Of music, as a gift.

(see next post here)

Thank(mas): Job

Little snapshot from my all-time favorite job: Camp

I suppose I should begin this "Thank-mas" (see previous post here), by acknowledging the gift received in my job.

Or rather jobs.

They are almost all out of my comfort-zone, and not at all what I would say I was made to do.

But then, I wasn't made for a job. I was made to worship God and serve Him and that is not tied to anything other than the attitude of my heart.

So I will again re-list all the gifts that I have found in this job, because I severely dislike the feeling of dread that has begun to creep in every Sunday night.

1) The jobs were all put in my path, I didn't have to search for them (I hate job hunting - too many options for my head and I get quickly overwhelmed)

2) The jobs are helping my financial situation creep back into the black post-graduation.

3) The jobs are filling out my resumé way more than a 40-hour a week waitressing job would.

4) I am learning more about so many types of people and how to work with, and communicate with them, as well as learning how to appreciate them and the way God formed each of their personalities.

5) God has used the gap of brain-space left by the lack of school to work on my heart and allowed me to submit more of myself to His control.

6) The previous gap has allowed me to spend more time on artistic endeavors like painting, crocheting and video editing.

7) I am learning, to work a job that I don't necessarily love, because it needs to be done.

8) While challenging, I find a lot of joy in teaching dance classes to intellectually challenged adults, and taking care of toddlers, and wrangling early elementary school kids, and I find joy in never knowing if I will be working with ESL students, filing papers, making copies, making calls, writing post-cards, writing lesson plans, or tutoring essays when I go in for a 3-hour shift.

9) Friendly co-workers that give me energy as soon as I come into work.

10) More so than before, I appreciate time-off, breaks, and my all-time favorite job, Strong Rock Camp.

I know there are countless more gifts that I will continue to find, or already have and are just not at the forefront of my mind. The main part is this: I see the gift in my jobs, and am truly grateful for them, and all they are teaching me.

(see next post here)

The Overlapping Holiday

grat·i·tude noun \ˈgra-tə-ˌtüd, -ˌtyüd\

1 : the state of being grateful : thankfulness

thank·ful adjective \ˈthaŋk-fəl\

1:conscious of benefit received

joy noun \ˈjȯi\

1. a : the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires :delight

b : the expression or exhibition of such emotion : gaiety

2: a state of happiness or felicity : bliss

3: a source or cause of delight

I love looking up definitions of words that we use every day. Words that we throw around this time of year, like “gratitude” and “thankful”. We in America have one day a year dedicated to reminding ourselves to be “conscious of a benefit received”. 

I love that our country has a holiday dedicated to gratitude.

I have been reading (slowly) Ann Voskamp’s book, “One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are.” As the title may suggest, the main idea of this book is to find gratitude, eucharisteo, in every day life. It is this Eucharisteo that is the theme of this post and the subsequent holiday.

“Eucharisteo, thanksgiving, envelopes the Greek word for grace, charis. But it also holds its derivative, the Greek word chara, meaning “joy.” Charis. Grace. Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Chara. Joy.” - Ann Voskamp

As we leave the holiday centered on thankfulness and go into the holiday centered on joy (The best way to spread Christmas cheer is...?) I am striking a blow for freedom. Freedom of the holidays. Why not combine both of these ideas into one mega-holiday?

To say that this weekend has been all fun and joy would be a lie. It has been one of the most frustrating Christmas decorating sessions ever. From lights that suddenly stop working, to seat-belt citations, sickness, weariness, it just trying me, but I am also finding joy, because I know that in frustrations, I can exercise eucharisteo. It seems fitting. Because in the challenge I have found purpose. Overlapping the holidays.

“Joy is the realest reality, the fullest life, and joy is always given, never grasped. God gives gifts and I give thanks and I unwrap the gift given: joy.” -Ann Voskamp

For the month or so leading up to Christmas I will be purely highlighting different aspects of my life that I am thankful for; people, places, structures, lessons, hardships, joys, abstract or concrete. 

I challenge you, whoever you are who read this, to do the same. Overlap your holidays and say thank you, abide in eucharisteo and find joy.

(see the next post here)

35,000 Feet

Good Morning Hartsfield Jackson International Airport

I am writing this from the skies. Technically by the time you read it I will have landed, because I am not paying for in-transit internet. 

I am by no means a veteran of the skies, but I like flying more and more every time I do it. 

I love checking in and imagining all the fascinating people the skycap’s get to see. 

I love wandering through the massive concourses and atriums, and think about the people that designed and built them. 

I love standing in line to go through security with hundreds of other people, all just hoping we won’t get pulled for a random pat down or bag search. 

I love that I can traverse forty different back routes through the mountains of North Carolina, but I have to follow signs and take trains to make it from security to my gate.

I love seeing all the different people move around me, and knowing that each and everyone of them has their own unique story going a million different directions, but for this one moment we are united in need get to the top of the escalator, board a plane, make it to Denver. 

I love sitting in the plane and see the sky and the horizon meet in a snowy haze. 

I love watching the clouds underneath me look like homemade whipped cream, fresh from the beater.

I love thinking about the people in the houses, towns, and cities below me going about their lives; taking their kids to school, grocery shopping, cleaning houses, going to work, drinking coffee, meeting new people.

I love seeing the patches of fuzz where we have allowed the earth to remain free, and trees to grow.

I love seeing rivers snake through the earth, connecting country and commercialism.

I love how the slow passing of the landscape paired with the knowledge that we are doing in 2 and half hours, what takes some people two and a half days. 

I love that the turbulence almost comforts me, because of my childhood growing up in old cars with poor suspension. 

I love watching the conservative sexagenarians, engaged in conversation with the thirty year old shaggy redneck.

I love the way I want to get germaphobic if I think about how many people sat in these seats, or breathed this same air, or leaned their head against this same window.

I love that I can’t wrap my mind around how a craft that makes a house looks small, gets itself off the ground and stays in the air, but God made a people who not only understand it, but invent it. 

I love the ever present reminders of how little I know, and how little I control. 

But I think most of all - I love where I am going. Usually to see family, but this time even more so, to meet my niece and see my brother, the father, for the first time. 

Mississippi River

Me on the other side of the Mississippi for the first time!

Hello Denver.

Hello CALLIE!

Home is Where I'm With You

God has replaced Philip Philip's voice. Exemplifying what my Mom says, God's truth can be everywhere.

I realized the other night that almost every time I refer to a decision or move I have made in the past I say, "we went", "we did". The "we" I am referring to is not another person, or my schizophrenic personality, it's God.

This has not been a conscious shift, but a gradual and sure one. I trace a key origin of the idea to my third summer at camp. This summer was the last one before I moved away from home for the first time. During the dedication that we have the night before the campers come, my director spoke about God as Abba. Abba is the name that the Jewish children would call their fathers, much like our "daddy", he said.

I have been blessed with a fantastic father. My whole life he has gone with me. Carrying me as a child, leading me as I approached adolescents and walking alongside me as I have come awkwardly stumbling into adulthood. As such, one of my least favorite things about going to school was moving five hours from him.

That night God began transformation of my ideas of Himself. God was my daddy. He goes with me, stronger, wiser, more loving and more able to teach than my earthly father will ever be. I went to school that fall in a shaky revelation that I had a daddy who would never leave.

Over the past two years, God has time and again reiterated this concept to my soul, so that it is now nearly impossible for me to imagine going anywhere on my own. "I" am now a forevermore a "we". I have become less reliant on things I always thought I'd need, because my concept of "home" is changing. "Home" is no longer limited to an address, a town, or a building.

My "home" is steadily becoming God, therefore my earthly equation of "home" has and is becoming not a structure, but His body.  My parents house is home because they are there and because my brothers and sisters will return there. But I can meet my brothers and sisters in a restaurant in a city I have never been to before and feel equally at home.  Camp is a home, not for where it is, but for the people within the gate. I can spent a weekend with member of my camp family in Athens (first time there) and as I drove away, all I could think was, "I have not felt so at home in a while."

All of this has come to the forefront of my mind and heart in the last few months as God has put me in the place of circumstantial isolation. I am five hours from friends at school, an hour and a half to three hours from camp family, and even experiencing the longest isolation from my brothers and sisters that I ever have.  It has felt like pieces of my heart being ripped away, but now I am seeing that is is God pruning and trimming my vine (John 15).

God is taking away crutches of anything in my life that I have been unconsciously giving glory to. In my mind I have never felt so alone, but in that, God has redirected my heart and took back His glory. Because even those loving relationships are truly nothing without God.

I thought that "home" would be the theme, if you will, of my semester, because I was moving back to my parent's house. I prepared myself and my heart against creating grudges, or bitterness against this place and my parents. I had no idea, what God really had in store for me, and the exciting thing is, there will  be even more. And because God is becoming more so than ever, my home, and my confidence, I know I am ready, because "I" am a "we".

(See coinciding post here)

Emotional Purpose

A little applicable music

I just sent a text message to a friend who I am in the process of, I guess you'd call it pranking. The message, written in reply to his repeated asking for me to reveal what was going on, read, in essence, "I'd rather tell you what's going on, but it will be more fun for you if I don't. Personally I wish the frustrating part was over."

Then it struck me what a weird parallel that was to my life, right now.

It has become increasingly apparent to me that I may have some unsettled issues. Most of them revolving around my inability to accept, process or all together deal with emotion. I have uncontrollably sobbed more in these past few months than most of life combined. I have been coming to terms with the fact that I have emotion. This may sound odd, but let me explain.

When I was younger I was overly emotional and people used to tell me how sensitive I was. I hated it, and I was happy when I grew up and seemed to have less emotion to deal with, but now it appears that I had the same amount of emotion, it has just been perpetually stuffed. I grew up unconsciously training myself to simply not abide crazy feelings. I have heard often that emotion should not rule us, no one told me that that did not mean that it has no place in my existence, because that is how I have been living.

God has spent the past three months slowly revealing my inabilities as twelve or so years of unattended emotion has been coming to the surface, often at terribly inconvenient times.  I have learned to brush my teeth, get dressed, drive, eat, dance, and all around live while copious amounts of water run down my face and my breath gets stopped halfway up and sent back before it is released. He is graciously working with me on it, but the reality is, no matter how good the results may be, the process hurts.

I know that God is working this for the good. I could not handle adulthood, future marriage and parenting, or even ministry, with so little ability to accept or process my own emotion, let alone all the people's around me.  I know that God is teaching me, because I've already seen it. I also know that it will take me a while a to learn, because that is the only way it will stick with me.

The text message I wrote struck a chord because it seems as if God has spoken a paraphrase of that text message to me countless times, as I curl in a ball and feel like my heart is breaking into a million pieces; instead of dealing with pranks and frustration like the one I sent, God's message sounds more like, "I know this hurts, but it will better if you go through it. I wish it could be over."

I know this because in the midst of it all, I have peace at the core of my soul. I know I am where I am supposed to be. I know that God is compassionately walking with me through the fire, so I can emerge on the side, stronger in my faith and ability to serve. Furthermore, I have the gift of a physical representation of God's love in my parents, who will sit and listen, and pray and hug, and make dinner when I am doubled over in the kitchen because, for some reason I cannot explain, the decision between burrito and quesadilla inspires tears.

So when I feel an inexplicable wave of emotion, I will first tell myself to accept it. And when I am not sure how to deal with it, I will pray and ask God. And when I am not sure how to pray, I will just lay it out before Him and wait. And while I wait, I will be thankful for the life that He has given me and His willingness to teach me.

(See coinciding post here)

"Keep the earth below my feet/ from my sweat my blood runs weak/

let me learn from where I have been/ 

Keep my eyes to serve/ my hands to learn."

Combat Mode

I have been surrounded by emotion, but emotion is fleeting and confusing. So I am combatting it with truths.

“The great thing to remember is that though our feelings come and go God’s love for us does not.” - C.S Lewis

My name is Priscilla Gray. 

I live in a beautiful area.

I was born into a family that already had four children and was made larger 2 1/2 years later with the birth of my little sister.

I am an aunt to the adorable, Callie (as of 6:43AM[MT] this morning).

I can’t help but care about people.

I don’t handle emotion well.

People bring a lot of emotion. 

I care about them. 

I don’t handle emotion well. 

God’s grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in weakness. (2 Cor 12)

When I feel overrun by emotion, my first response has been to bury it under any noise I can find. 

”Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. 

But you have to stop sooner or later, 

and then you still have to decide what to do.”  - C.S Lewis

Even when it is hard, I have made my choice to live within 

God’s plan. Every other option is terrifying and distasteful.

“Shall we indeed accept the good from God

 and not accept the adversity?” -Job 2:10

When it feels like there is a storm inside of me that tearing my heart into a million pieces, simultaneously suffocating me and drowning me, crushing the very center of my soul I know that God sees and cares. 

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, He who formed you, O Israel: “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; when you walk though the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” -Isaiah 43:1-3a

When I feel utterly alone and unknown even to myself. 

God knows me. 

He made me. 

He put me here. 

There is a purpose to this pain. 

“Pain insists upon being attended to. 

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, 

but shouts in our pains. It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

 -C.S Lewis

When all else fails, breathe in and out, feel your heart beat, 

and give thanks for the most basic life functions. 

People and all the emotions they cause have no mandatory power over me.

 All the power they have is given to them, by me, by choice. 

“...you whom I took from the ends of the earth, 

and called from its farthest corners, 

saying to you, 

“You are my servant, I have chosen you 

and not cast you off”; 

fear not, for I am with you; 

be not dismayed, for I am your God; 

I will strengthen you, 

I will help you, 

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

-Isaiah 41:9-10

When life is swirling tornado of love, faith, pain, joy, confusion, loneliness, seeking, losing, ice, warmth, tears, laughter, annoyance, hope, and instability, I have stability. My life is built on a Rock. When the silence around me is screaming, it should only drive me to find the quiet of my Foundation.

“I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. 

You are yourself the answer. 

Before your face questions die away. 

What other answer would suffice?” - C.S Lewis

“Have you not know? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

and to him who has no might,

He increases strength.

Even youths grow tired and weary,

and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

they shall walk and not faint.”

-Isaiah 40: 28-31 

In the end, this will pass. Everything will pass away. 

And there will be nothing left but God, unhindered. 

I, in this moment, am fighting to abide in that truth. 

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸ So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

The Anticipation of a Coming Generation

Yesterday was my sister-in-law's due date.

This means at any moment my brother will become a father. 

I am having some trouble wrapping my head around this. 

My brother, with the green eyes, the bald head and the fluctuating facial hair. 

My brother, who would steal my favorite teddy bear, run to the bathroom and hide it under the sink, but flush the toilet and tell me that the bear was floating down with the discarded toilet paper. 

My brother, who would randomly break into song, or even rarer,
into dance, in the kitchen as we fixed lunch.

My brother, who used to pick on my sister Charissa for not being a Yankee (born in IL himself) and will now make his jaw-shifting, eyes-slightly-narrowed, eyebrow-raised, dissatisfied "humph", face if you mention he was ever happy living anywhere above the Mason Dixon line.

My brother, who has been making eggs or oatmeal
 every morning for breakfast for years. 

My brother, whose car turnover rate was so extreme that in the first eight or so years of driving, he had eight or so cars. Not because he wrecked any, he normally improved them, he just got tired of them I suppose.

My brother, who has mastered the art of contented, contemplative
silence and one-word responses.

My brother, is so ferociously protective of his family that he gave each of his single sisters some form of mace/knife etc before we moved away from him, threatened my now brother-in-law with shooting him if he was not 'good to my sister',  and is  concerned that  the hospital his baby will be born in does not have metal detectors on the doors.

My brother, who signed up to coach wrestling at our high school,
with no real experience in the sport. 

My brother, who has grown from a college student, content with spending spare time driving trucks through mud and rocks, and buying new packs of socks rather than doing laundry, into a man who fights for every above average grade, on top of work and growing family concern.

My brother, who has the most ridiculous and understated sense of humor,
that you really have to know him to see. 

My brother, who used to practice "screaming" for the 'heavy metal' moments of the songs that his high school band would play (Kyris - maybe you'd heard of them).

My brother, who introduced to me the music of Brad Paisley
alongside the concept of having pride in where you live and where you are from
(excepting those two years up north).

My brother, who waited and prayed and fought for his wife, the amazing Pam, who so seamlessly fits into our family and with Andrew himself, that it couldn't be anything but God's plan.

My brother, with whom I can recall every serious conversation I've had.
And his calm, thoughtful expression and who's advice still echoes in situations I face today.

My brother, who, good decision or questionable one, has never once lost my respect or pride because he has always made it clear, that good or bad, his life and purpose comes back to a pursuit of God and at the end of the day that is what is important.

My brother, who within a matter of the days will become the one responsible for teaching
how to grow,
how to keep teasing friendly,
how to be confident enough to dance through the kitchen,
how to be strong enough to protect your family,
how to be weak enough to learn,
how to make eggs,
how to take pride in where you are from,
how to pursue what you love,
how buy a car,
how to listen and not overreact,
how to give anything your all,
and most importantly, how to pray and submit your life to God.

In the course of one conversation I had with my brother as I shared some of the struggles I had been facing at camp that summer he shared with me 2 Corinthians 12, a group of verses that had made a huge difference in his life.

"But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." - 2 Corinthians 12: 9-10

When I see my brother now I am exceedingly proud of him. I have sat behind him (I am seven years younger) and watched him grow and face life. I know there is plenty that I missed, plenty good and bad that I have not seen, but there is plenty that I have. And the most prevalent of that is my big, imposing, strong, protective brother's ability to be weak and to let Christ work though that weakness. In that conversation in a canoe on my, 18th birthday, he was weak enough to be even slightly transparent with his little sister (who he had not spent significant amounts of time with since I was about 11) see that he struggled and at the time, see that he submitted that to God.

I am human enough to know that my brother, no matter how awesome I think he is, is not perfect and I do not expect him to be, but I have seen, and continue to see, him step back and fight to submit his worry, his anger, his irritation, his heart, his relationships, and his self, to God. 

That is what makes me so proud of him. That is what makes me respect him so much. That is what makes me so excited for him to be a father.

My sister in law's due date was yesterday.

This means that at any moment my brother will become a father.

That child is freaking blessed. 

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The Release of Pent-up Air From Your Lungs

Today I was looking through my old files on my computer and was pleasantly surprised by a completed work (I have a bad habit). It makes me feel sentimental about school, or my current lack thereof.

I sigh.

The blinking cursor mocks me as it sits marking the beginning of what is supposed to be a short story. 

First person. 3-10 pages. Double spaced. Times New Roman. 12 point font. 

The specifics are rolling over and over in my head. My index finger taps lightly up and down on the “j” key. My eyes drift towards my hands, willing them to start thinking for my brain and type their own story. 

Hmmm. 

There is a faded scribbling of a pen on the back of my left hand reminding me to buy stamps, read the Aristotle essay, email my professor, call my sister, and write a story. I scratch the back of my head then my forehead, then my leg. The wall next to me is white, with an odd brown stain that was there when we moved in. I never thought to wonder where it came from. Maybe I could write about that. 

My fingers start moving along the white keys. 

“Harold and I didn’t notice the stain when we first moved in. I wish we had. It would have been nice to have known the story so we could have been better prepared.” 

2 years of writers
block- abridged.

I stop and hit my head lightly on the keyboard a couple times. A random collection of letters and symbols appear after the final period. I delete them and then the rest of the writing. Better prepared for what? Something gory? Something sad? Something hilarious? How melodramatic was that opening? And why in the world was Harold the first name I picked? The cursor starts to mock me again. 

My stomach grumbles. 

Food will help. 

I get up and walk to the kitchen. I open the fridge and stare into it blankly for nearly three minutes before letting out a frustrated sigh and closing the door. I go to the cupboard and grab a bowl and some cereal. I go to get the milk out of the fridge. We're out. Of course. I grab a pen off the counter and add “buy milk” to the back of my hand. I think about pouring orange juice on the cereal, but then think better of it. I dump the corn flakes back in their box and grab a bag of chips and the carton of juice and head back to the computer. I finish the bag and wipe my hands on my sweatpants. 

I glance at the clock. 7:83 PM. 

We need a new clock. 

I pick up my cell phone. 7:43PM. 

I start biting the inside of my lip. 

I move the mouse to the bottom of the screen and open the internet. It takes twelve minutes to answer my emails and facebook post. I watch a video Elijah posted about a father telling his son that monsters are real and that he and mommy had a deal with the monster that if he goes to sleep and doesn’t make a peep the monster won’t get him. I laugh out loud, even though it was not that funny.  Maybe I could write a children’s story. 

“There once was a magical unicorn named Matilda. She had and evil uncle Bruce who was a bear. A black bear. Fact: Bears eat Beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.” 

I laugh again to myself, but figure the joke will be lost on most kids, which is a real shame. Besides, Bruce and Matilda? I am really off my game. Maybe I could write a story about people with out names. I could call them “Thing 1” and “Thing 2” and “Thing 3” and so forth. But no, darn Dr. Seuss went and monopolized that market. 

My head stats hurting so I get up to get some water. As I sit down I stare at the cup. Water makes me think of the ocean, which makes me think of Shia Le Beouf, because once we watched his TV show while we were at the beach. I begin to wonder if his new movie is out. I pull the internet back up and search for it. 

I watch the trailer and three subsequent suggested trailers. I figure while I am online, I’ll check facebook again. Nothing new, but I look through my old teacher’s photo album from her family vacation. I feel slightly like a stalker, but it's entertaining. 

Now it is eleven minutes past nine. My eyes are starting to droop and I do not have one word down. 

I blow my cheeks full of air so they expanded like a blow fish, then let them out like I got punched in the face. 

I realize how ridiculous I must look, and tell myself this, out loud. Then I began to wonder so I pull up the web camera on my computer and take a picture of my bored, brainless self. The shutter clicks and the picture adds itself to the saved shots from last week's eight-page research paper and February's Beowulf debacle.

My mom used to tell me that movement helped you think. I crack my knuckles. 

I doesn’t work. 

I stretch my legs out.

Nothing.

I stand up.

Nada. 

I do a handstand against the wall. The blood rushes to my head. I flip back down. 

My brain is blank. 

I throw a few punches at the air. I draw a flower on my wrist with a sharpie. I eat some cheese. I dance to an annoying song. I buy the annoying song on iTunes. I try to come up with a good name. Irene. Phillip. Gladys. Cherry. Frank. 

I try a yoga pose. I try Aristotle. I try just sitting. I eat some chocolate. I close my eyes

It hits me.

I walk back to the computer still forming the idea in my head. I lick the chocolate off my thumb and stretch all ten fingers before gently placing them on their proper keys. I feel my mouth curve into a smile as my fingers begin to move. 

“I sigh...”

by Priscilla Gray

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Sounds of a Study Lab

I now work in the College and Career Readiness department of Tri County Community College. This means that I usually end up doing a lot of things during my three-hour shifts (it's part-time) one of which is occasionally facilitate an open lab for people who are studying to take their G.E.D.

Last night there were very few people and they were mostly studying on their own, so I grabbed a scrap piece of paper and a pen (which I have to travel with as this department has an obsession with pencils. I find, on average, one, three-year-old, promotional pen to every five #2 pencils) and then started my own version of a writing exercise.

Sidebar: I have found that being out of school, I will periodically give myself homework. Like telling myself to sit and think about the sounds I heard and how to describe them, rather than doodle. 

--------------------------

Sonic* Studying

- The rhythmic vibration of the old air condintoner, alternating between noise and quiet, like a weary Grandfather napping in an threadbare arm chair, snoring, in and out.

-The muffled static of papers sliding together and apart.

- The frustrated knock of a pencil hitting the table, only to be picked back up again seconds later. As if the driver of the wood encrusted lead was only looking for a different sound besides the steady pull of the black tip against the white scrap paper.

- An extended and somewhat labored copier, broken up by the incessant beeping of an error warning, which is broken up by the curt, yet good natured, "Shut up!" of the operator of the machine.

- A wide range of sighs:

     -The frustrated one that preceded the the pencil drop
     - The weary one that starts with a slow intake of breath
     - The wishful one, accompanied by an expression implying that their eyes are seeing anything but the ghostly yellow/white of the wall infront of them.

- The dynamic tones of the lead facilitator as she jokes back and forth with students. Inflecting more on the punchline of dry humor than on any legitimate statement or direction.

- The stifled puffs of air pushed, in quick succession, out of the nose of the girl who seems incapable of not laughing at everything that happens or is said.  

-------------------------

There was more sounds to be sure, but the students left and the lab closed. 

*Sonic |ˈsänik|: adjective 

relating to or using sound waves.