I Hope This Post Is Not Proof That I Have A Split Personality...

One of my biggest struggles in my life can be summed up with one word: balance. I'm not very good at balance. I don't mean I stumble around like a drunk all the time, like I have issues with the workings of my inner ear or anything. Not that kind of balance. Mostly, I mean balance between my adult self and my child self. They're always fighting for dominance. And I don't mean fighting like battling it out with swords, to the death. Remember, one participant in the duel is a child.

It's more like there's a mature adult, doing his thing, giving Johanna patient, reliable guidance, and constantly--constantly!--there's this pesky child who keeps butting in, trying to elbow the mature adult out of the way, shouting nonsense, being obnoxious and laughing at things that aren't funny. And then the mature adult rolls his eyes and shoves the child behind him again and continues with his patient guidance, only to be interrupted again by the child. And it never ends. Neither of these people ever sleep, take breaks, or concede victory to the other, and there is no middle ground. It's all or nothing; just the same monotony over and over and over again. Forever.

And, though it's happening somewhere inside me, it inevitably makes its way to the surface eventually. Whether it's something I say, do, or think, either the mature adult or the obnoxious child is easily visible in me at any given time.

Like now. I'm sitting at Scooters (I needed a change of scenery besides Nu Vibe, and Scooters has Green Tea smoothies=no brainer), and I'm marking up my school notes with colored highlighters. Now, I could lie and say the reason I mark up my notes with blue and pink highlighters is because it makes it easier to study, but really, I like the pretty colors. #child is in control#

Or when I'm at home, thinking, "I would really really enjoy watching Hogan's Heroes right now, despite all the things that I have to do..." and then I think, "No! I've got to study! I've got a quiz tomorrow, and tests next week!" #adult is in control#

Also, when I'm marking up my notes, I'm sure it looks to outsiders like I'm coloring in a coloring book. I'm practically laying on the table, face an inch from the page, and markers of various bright colors are littered around the table. #child is definitely in control# The only difference here is, when done coloring, a child would hold up a picture and shriek, "Look Mommy, I drew a pony!" and, when done highlighting, I hold up a picture and shriek, "Look Mommy, I drew a eukaryotic cell in the third stage of mitosis!"

And sometimes, these personality transformations happen very rapidly. For instance, I'll say something childish (#child is in control#), then think, "Wow, Jo, that was a very childish thing to say." (#adult is in control#).

BUT! I don't think being childish is bad ALL the time (maybe I'm thinking this because the child is in control?). What I mean is, I don't want to "grow up" to be a boring drone of an adult. I always promised myself I would not be boring and lame. I promised myself I would still be fun and interesting when I got old.

What do I mean by "fun and interesting"? Coloring all over my notes! Sometimes throwing the textbooks on the bed and marching downstairs to watch Hogan's Heroes and not caring about consequences. Drawing stupid pictures and making people out of plastic spoons at work to make my coworkers laugh. Eating oatmeal where the eggs turn into baby dinosaurs. Staying up all night creating creatures out of hot glue for no real reason.

However, not all of the childishness is good. On the flip side, there are some things that I like about the mature adult part of me, and some things I don't like. Sometimes I'm too stiff and boring. Sometimes I don't appreciate pretty skies. Sometimes I don't laugh ONCE all day. Sometimes I worry too much. Sometimes I take the beauty of the outdoors for granted. Sometimes I take LIFE for granted.

So where is the balance?? How can one be fun and interesting, and yet, smart and mature? I'm still figuring it out. But wait. Maybe there shouldn't be ANY balance! Maybe I should just color pictures and watch Hogan's Heroes ALL DAY LONG! #child is in control#.

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This Is NOT A List Of Things I Love. That Would Be Boring...

I've made blogs before of things that I love, like and hate. Everybody does those. It's old and tired and boring and nobody reads them. Because they're old and tired and boring, people say not to blog about them. BUT, if I WAS going to make a "like" list on here, one of the things near the top would be, "Doing things people tell me I shouldn't/can't" (i.e., eating a Poinsettia leaf JUST because someone told me it would kill me. I'm not dead. IN YOUR FACE!).

So, I'm going to *drumroll please* make a "love" list. Right here. Right now. Because I want to, and it's MY blog, darn it. And I'm going to narrow it down (because I'm a very happy person, and lots of things please me) to things that L-O-V-E with every freaking fiber of my being! And keep in mind, these are not chronological; I'm just typing them as they pop into my noggin.

Time's up, let's do this!

Things I L-O-V-E!

1) Aurora Borealis (I really need to move farther north...)

2) Laughter

3) Biology! (I know, right?)

4) Knowing stuff!

5) Caffeine (Bet you couldn't see that coming)

6) Open horizons (And then going to meet that horizon)

7) Flying (But not taking flying leaps)

8) Being completely underwater

9) My grandparents' farm

10) Snow (Big, fluffy, gentle snow)

11) Hunting/fishing

12) Mountains (Thank you, John Denver)

13) Christmas

14) Road trips

15) Owl City (This should really be closer to the top. Fo sho.)

16) Dreaming (Like, at night, when my brain's shut off)

17) Anything that's insanely sparkly

18) Those pictures where you cross your eyes and see a 3-D picture. (lovelovelove!)

There. If I go on anymore, I'll start blurring the line between things I L-O-V-E and things I just plain ol' love, and we can't have that. And I'm not going to make a "Things I hate" list, either. I'm boycotting negativity, so, there you go. Everybody join me. It'll be awesome. Tell all your friends.

Hmm. This blog is a little shorter than usual. Oh well. I've got things I need to do anyway. (Biology!!)

All Road Trips Are Not Created Equal

*DEEP SIGH*

Wow. Life without school is...different. It's good...but then again, school was good, too. I like school. So, yeah, it's nice to be able to just sit down and write a blog when one pops into my head like this. It's nice to be able to make plans with my sisters and whoever else has nothing to do. It's nice to be able to take my new bunny, Winston, into the backyard and just play with him for as long as I want. (His favorite game is Try-To-Poop-And-Or-Pee-On-Johanna-And-See-If-She-Can-Dodge-Fast-Enough). It's nice to go outside and enjoy the weather for as long as it stays nice. It's nice to be able to take a nap in the afternoon, where I dream a crazy dream about being late for Algebra class and somehow ending up in the boys locker room? (Cause apparently, college students still have locker rooms).

It's also nice to be able to pick up and take a long road trip through Iowa, for reasons I will disclose in a moment.

The point is, life without school is nice. Very nice. However, when I was in school I felt really, extremely productive. Now, not so much. And like I said earlier, I don't mind school, most of the time. It's fun to work towards something, and feel like you're doing something worthwhile. So while it's nice and relaxing and freeing to be able to enjoy the days the way I want to, I don't think I'll mourn the arrival of the summer quarter.

Anyway, about this road trip.

It all started with a cow. A baby cow. So, a calf, I guess. It all started with a calf. A calf that my dad bought for...reasons other than domestication. In fact, I don't even know what the cow looked like. It's probably just as well.

Our relatives in Iowa raised this calf for us, and when it got big enough, cow became beef. And so, 500-ish pounds of beef merited a trip to Iowa for my brother and I. We left Lincoln in the Crown Vic, smothered in empty coolers soon to be filled with hamburger, steaks, and roasts.

It was a fun trip. Our conversation consisted of about 55% quotes, 40% arguing about directions and wondering if we were going the right way, 25% arguing about what music to listen to, 8% arguing about who should drive, 2% me randomly shrieking that I wanted my bunny, 80% me shrieking about how beautiful everything was, 35% both of us angrily venting about construction, and 11% Josh complaining about how many Casey's gas stations there were.

I just read that and realized that it sounds like we just argued and complained the whole way. Realize that when Josh and I argue and complain to each other, 90% of it is in jest. We say things like, "I can't believe this, this is SO STUPID!" and before we've even finished the sentence we're laughing. We argue and complain happily.

Anyway, we somehow navigated through some very primitive construction sites, which seemed like it was NOT a place we were supposed to be, and eventually found the right road, after a slightly frantic/panicked/hysterical distress call to my father, who was able to swiftly put my fears to rest. Thanks for that, by the way, Dad.

Now, before we even began this trip, my parents sat me down and explained to me that on this trip, we would be traveling by highway, not interstate. I was like, yeah, whatever, as long as it's paved I don't care. I discovered, though, that highways are one-lane, not two or more, like interstates. At first I didn't like it. It was hard to pass the slowpokes, especially considering the terrain was nothing but hills.

But not long into the trip, I realized that there were several positive things about highway driving. And then I began to weigh the results in my mind, trying to decide which was better. I've now reached a decision, which I am going to share with oh-so-lucky you!

*Ahem* Highway VS. Interstate Driving

Pros Of Interstate Driving

1) You can pass whenever you want, provided there aren't two IDIOTS driving slowly, side by side.

2) The speed limit is much faster.

3) More gas stations and cities.

4) Interstates don't go through towns, where the speed limit is 25 and you have to stop at stoplights.

Cons Of Interstate Driving:

1) Basically no scenery.

2) Lots of cops.

3) Lots of traffic.

4) Lots of stupid drivers.

Pros Of Highway Driving:

1) LOTS of pretty scenery.

2) Basically NO cops! (It was sweet! Uh, not that I, you know, speed...)

3) Hardly any traffic. Maybe most people take interstates?

4) More fun, and more relaxing, than interstate driving.

Cons Of Highway Driving:

1) Can't really pass people.

2) Speed limit is only 55.

3) You gotta get gas at whatever gas station you come to, cause you never know when you'll see another one.

4) Highways go through towns and become riddled with stoplights until you get out of town. Annoying.

Now, a person might read those lists and say, "Well, there are the same number of pros and cons in each category (a convenient accident), so that means both are equal." But that person would be stupid. That's like saying, "Paper cuts are bad. Having the earth open beneath you and falling into a river of molten lava and getting burned alive is also bad. Since they're both bad, they're both equal." Very stupid.

True, there are the same number of pros and cons, but when I weigh what I like to have in a road trip, it's easy to make a decision and name the victor. When I take a car trip, I like scenery. I like beautiful things. My heart likes to be happy, and pretty scenery does just that.

I could say more things about the other things on those lists if I wanted. I could say that the point of a car trip is the traveling, not the destination, so it's okay if the speed limit is slower, prolonging the trip. I could say driving slowly through little towns and stopping at stoplights is worth it, because you get to see quaint little towns that you never knew existed before. I could say a lot of things, but I won't. Even though I just did.

The point is, as long as there is beautiful scenery, that's enough to make me name highway driving superior to it's interstate counterpart. Yeah, there might be some pretty scenery to be seen from the interstate, too, but I'm confident that there is much more to be seen from the highway.

And there you have it. Interstate is inferior, highway wins. NEXT CASE!

*bangs gavel*

"Plant life" --Owl City (A-ma-zing!)

Story Time!!!

I would very much like to tell you a story. This story is one I came up with two minutes ago, and bares a surprising resemblance to the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. However, it is told for a different purpose, and meant to illustrate a very different point. After the story is over, I will explain what it means and show you how it relates to my own life.

Now, sit back, turn on your listening ears (or listening eyes...whatever), and let Johanna tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there were two rabbits. One rabbit was super smart, the other rabbit was as dumb as a bag of rocks (a really STUPID bag of rocks!). Nobody really understood why the two rabbits hung around with each other. Well, maybe it was because the stupid rabbit was sort of clingy. Whatever. That's not what the story is about.

So these two, very opposite rabbits were just hanging out, chewing on clovers and wiggling their noses and whatever the else rabbits do with their time. They're in the middle of the forest and they come across this clearing. In the middle of the clearing is a tree. Hanging from this tree is a carrot. The carrot is close to the ground, and is in easy reaching distance for rabbits with strong haunches (for our purposes, both of our rabbits have strong haunches).

The first rabbit, the super smart one, is like, "Hey now, carrots don't just hang themselves from trees. I wonder who put it there, and why? On the one hand, I love carrots, and that one is in easy reaching distance (since I have strong haunches). It looks ripe and lovely and it's been forever since I've raided the farmer's garden. On the other hand, I'm beginning to suspect that someone deliberately put it there for a reason that will ultimately pose a risk to my well-being. I don't like this situation; I'm going to hop away." (See what I mean? See how smart this rabbit is? How many rabbits do you know that think thoughts and make logical assumptions like that??)

The second rabbit, the one that's dumber than a really STUPID bag of rocks sees the carrot and is like, "Oh my gosh!! A CARROT! OH MY GOSH! How lucky can a guy get?! CARROT! CARROT! CARROT!"

And that was when the super smart rabbit looked around. He realized that he was alone. He realized that he'd always been alone. He realized why the stupid rabbit was always with him. He realized something was terribly wrong. And then he was like, "Oh, snap, I have two personalities!"

Yes, it's true. Then he said to himselfs, "What am I going to do now? Half of me wants to go running off half-cocked and grab that carrot (yes, he's still on the carrot) without taking the risks and ramifications of my actions into account. The other half realizes that the first half of me is as stupid as a bag of rocks and wants to calmly turn around, hop back to the rabbit colony, and get some serious antipsychotic drugs. What is a seriously messed up rabbit to do?"

The End.

Now that I've actually typed it out, I realize that my story really bares no resemblance at all to the story of the Ant and the Grasshopper. Weird. Now, I'm sure you're all wondering how IN THE WORLD this story could possibly pertain to my own life. Fear not! All is about to be revealed to you!

So There I Was. Sitting at my desk doing homework for my college algebra class that I just started. I was bemoaning the fact that I have to do college algebra at all, and, to put some perspective on it, I decided to see what the last section was that we would be learning in this class.

Apprehensively, I clicked on the schedule and scrolled to the last day of class (cause we do everything on computers nowadays. SCC is super high-tech). What I saw stopped me cold. It confused me and frightened me (two feelings I often associate with math in general). The last thing we learn is something I already sort of semi-know!

I leafed through the book, realizing that, according to the website, we only learn five chapters. What?? My confusion and fright were escalated. This was not possible! I felt like a rabbit looking at a carrot hanging from a tree, wanting to believe that what I was seeing was real and not a trick or some sort of cruel joke, but unwilling to believe that that was the case.

I'm still unsure what to make of it all. I like the thought of only learning five chapters (several of those chapters covering stuff I already did in intermediate algebra), but I just can't bring myself to believe that college algebra could be that easy. Don't get me wrong, it would be nice, but you can't really blame me for being skeptical.

Kind of like a jewel thief is creeping through a building that he is robbing, and he comes upon a doorway, and that doorway is protected by a single laser, going straight across. It is chest high, and reminds him of one of the beginning levels of LIMBO. He wonders why it is even there. Obviously it doesn't protect the doorway even remotely. Are there more lasers--invisible ones--criss-crossing throughout the rest of the doorway, just waiting to slice him in half if he tries to insult the intelligence of the Doorway Security Man and break out his mad LIMBO skills?

Then, he realizes that he's not actually a thief. He's actually a Norwegian double-agent trying to infiltrate an international drug cartel and pose as a dealer just long enough to get enough information to take them down and save the world (since, of course, the drug cartel guys are also making large quantities of atomic weapons that they plan to unleash on every major city in the world, duh.)

Hmm, I think I like telling stories...

The Scale Of Bird-Likeableness

So, birds. I bet you don't have much of an opinion about them. They fly. They sing. They lay eggs. They poop on statues. That about sums them up, right? WRONG. Once, long ago, in another lifetime, I loved birds. I thought they were wonderful. I was well on my way to growing up to be a creepy bird-lady. Then later, events transpired, and I became apathetic to the idea of birds. They weren't great, they weren't terrible, they just were. Then later, more events transpired, and I came to hate birds with a deep passion. Birds were evil. Birds were malicious little demon-creatures. Spawns of Satan. Events. What events? I thought you'd never ask.

*Now, take my hand (or don't, if you'd rather not. It's not mandatory) and travel back with me...back...back...back through the sands of time...back into another year, another decade, another lifetime...back, to when I was nine years old, when I first thought of birds as more than just inanimate objects...back to before the blinders were removed from my eyes and I could understand the concept of evil...back to when all was right with the world...*

Here we are. In my childhood. The good old days. Currently, I am living in San Angelo. We have this awesome old rock house and a million-billion pecan trees and giant mesquite trees, perfect for climbing. There are scorpions, fire ants, dirt, cactus, and so much more that a child of nine can play with. This is the pinnacle of my childhood...the place where memories are made and fun is an every day, all day occurrence. This...is Texas!!! *Cue dramatic intro music*

So, in this awesome old rock house, there is also an awesome old rock chimney. And one day, as I was doing something in the living room, I hear something...a noise...coming from the chimney. It sounds almost like...chirping.

Dad was in the room, too. I told Dad that I hear chirping coming from the chimney. Dad says adamantly that I must be imagining things. I try to tell myself that Dad is right (cause my Dad is always right). But I keep hearing the sound. I tell Dad, more urgently this time, that I really really think I do hear chirping coming from the chimney, and I'm wondering how in the world Dad could be so dense as to not realize that the sound is chirping and it's coming from the freakin' chimney! But he is still adamant that no, it must just be a bird from outside.

Well, if he was going to be that way...I stalked over to the fireplace, determined to prove that I was right; there were birds in the chimney! Dad orders me to stay away from the fireplace. I sat a few feet away from it, staring laser beams into its smoky depths, willing whatever was inside to come out. Nothing happened.

So, I did what any good, obedient child would've done; I waited until Dad left the room, marched over to the fireplace and stuck my hand inside. I'm sure a few moments later, when Dad heard the shriek of delight and surprise emanating from the living room, he regretted ever leaving me there alone.

I didn't care what punishment I got for disobeying him. I pulled one...two...three...four...five! birds from their sooty prison. Imagine the utter gleeful delight of a child who adores animals (especially wild animals) and suddenly has five of them fall down her own chimney! It's like Santa came early and threw five squabbling baby sparrows down the chimney to save time.

In all reality, the birds were the essence of ugliness. They were still too young to have feathers, and squabbled like crazy, for what, I didn't know. I quickly became a celebrity and a hero, to my siblings, who all wanted to hear the dramatic, highly-embellished tale of how I'd risked life, limb, and Dad's wrath to save the nasty, disease-infested, ash-covered, obnoxious baby birds, which surely would've died, had it not been for my bold act of disobedience.

I found out pretty quick that being thrust into motherhood is not much fun. The baby birds squawked every minute of the day, no matter how many cornmeal clumps I fed to them. They were never happy, never satisfied, and after a few days I was beginning to rue the day I'd pulled them from the fireplace. When they began to die off, I was falling apart on the outside, but inside I was relieved. When the last one died, I cried, but only halfheartedly. I'd failed them, but I blamed it on their real mother, who somehow managed to let her entire family fall down a chimney. Some mother she was.

After that, I became apathetic towards the concept of birds. I wasn't opposed and I wasn't in favor. It didn't really make a difference to me either way what happened to them. They could fall into the fireplace while a fire was in it or they could fly up into the clouds for all I cared. Made no difference to me either way.

That changed when we moved to Minnesota. I was about 13. We (Dad, Nikki, Jim and I) had been watching TV late one night. Our program ended at around midnight and I fully expected Dad to announce that it was time for bed. Another program started on TV--a movie--and Dad said we'd like it, so we watched it. It turned out to be The Birds, by Alfred Hitchcock. Stupidest. Movie. Ever. Eventually, watching seagulls attack helpless people unprovoked, pecking their eyes out and somehow busting through car windows and doors to get to the people inside (you never find out why, by the way) was enough to tip the scale from "apathetic" to "dislike". Go figure.

Another weight was thrown on the "dislike" side of the scale when we moved to Ceresco, when we somehow came into possession of a demon-possessed parakeet. Actually, he wasn't demon-possessed when we got him. He was actually normal for a little while, and I actually almost broke my hand trying to save him from a rabid ceiling fan.

But things took a turn for the worst when we got him a mirror. Birds love mirrors, right? Yes, they do. They love them. They LOVE them. THEY LOVE THEM!!!! They love them so much, they attack their owners who thought they were so cute in the beginning. They sit with their beak touching the mirror and chirp to the budgie inside, so in love with their own stupid reflection that they literally--LITERALLY--bite the hand that feeds them!!

Over time, I grew to hate that bird above most other things in life. He'd turned from a cute little blue bird who would sit on your finger or shoulder and chirp into your ear, into a rabid, angry, mean-spirited spawn of Satan.

That did it. The scale was forever shifted from "dislike" to "hate-with-a-deep-burning-passion". No, don't try to convince me that I've just had bad experiences. I don't care if your budgie was nice. I don't care if you raised a sparrow from infancy. I don't care if your budgie would tuck you in at night and bring you a midnight snack. I hate them. I hate them forever.

The Greatest Post In The History Of Never

So, pretty much, school is nothing like I remember it. Don't ask me why, cause I don't know. I really don't. All of a sudden, school is all...all...serious. And there's way more to do than I remember last time. And I don't ever remember hating any class the way I hate Communications Class. How some people ever major in that subject, I'll never know. They never had my teacher, I guess.

Anyway. These days, I don't ever know what day it is. Like right now, I have no clue. I'm even thinking about it, but for the life of me, I don't know. It could be any of the days. Something tells me it's either Thursday or Friday, though. I can't remember what classes I had today, so that won't work. Oh well. All I really know is that the weekend is almost here. I think. I hope.

Boy, I need a day for nothing but sleep and non-thinking. I'm seriously sick of using my brain. between classes, homework, bible study, dentist appointments, paperwork for my program, reading for history class, making doctor appointments (to get stupid shots to put on the paperwork that I mentioned earlier), signing up for classes, and everything else that one does in a day, I'm pretty much just thankful to be conscious.

Speaking of which, I'm drifting off in between sentences. Sometimes in the middle of sentences. Sometimes in the middle of words. Whatever. Don't hate me for making this one short. I'm so mad at myself, too. I had so many ideas for this blog. Ideas that, between trying to remember what day it is and drifting off every ten seconds or so, I've since forgotten. I promise, the next one will be good. Cross my heart.

I'm tired. But I like my blog, so that's why I'm still lingering. Okay, enough lingering. Later, people. Sorry for the lame post. Next one will rock you like a hurricane.

A Fun Idea...With A Twist!

So I think this is a fun idea. Ready? No, you're not ready. You think I'm going to say something like, "Go to the mall" or "Ride a giant roller coaster" or "Bike across the United States" or something like that. No no. You've got it all wrong. Those aren't good ideas. This, though...THIS is a good idea.

A good idea is to witness something really amazing, like the mayor shooting a mafia drug lord. Something like that, that's totally insane. THEN, be seen by the mayor, and have a "moment" where neither of you says anything, but in his eyes you can tell he's vowing to kill you with his bare hands. Then you can run away and tell the police, who take Mr. Mayor into custody. But his cronies are everywhere. You'll never be safe.

After that, let the police take you into witness protection. The police stage an elaborate hoax, to convince the general public (and the cronies) that you've fallen off a bridge and drown in the river below, except that only your clothes were recovered (darn). Only thing is, the cronies have seen it all before. They know that when a person goes into witness protection, they are publicly killed off as a precaution. They aren't fooled by the police's mediocre attempts at killing you. The only thing your "death" does is plunge your family into a bottomless pit of grief and despair. Way to go, guys.

So you're stuck in a windowless basement somewhere drinking bad coffee and playing video games, ignorant of the fact that those darned cronies are following the thread left by incompetent police officers, while your family is beside themselves, hysterical with grief.

Then one day, you get tired of the same old video games and decide to do what you're not supposed to...get on the computer! Why they left you alone with a computer and working internet access, we'll never know. They're just incompetent.

Anyway, you slide into the chair by the computer, glancing apprehensively over your shoulder. You slide the screen closer towards yourself, so even if your handlers see you at the computer and start freaking out, you could just be like, "Dude, I'm playing solitaire. Relax." and they'd feel all stupid and guilty for grouching at you while you were playing solitaire. They areincompetent, after all.

Then you get on Facebook (under the alias they gave you when you signed up, just in case you broke the rules and got on Facebook) and send secret codes to your family telling them that you're not dead and you can swim anyway, so it's illogical that you would drown from falling in water, and like you'd even be out on bridges at night anyway.

And while you're at the computer, you hear the door open, and you think it's your handlers, so you look up and start to say something about solitaire, but no, it's the cronies. Hundreds of them. Thousands. And you're like, "Oh. Crap. Now what?" So you start doing magic tricks. And you show them trick after trick, and it gets to be sort of fun. But they don't realize that one of the tricks you did was a hypnotizing trick, and now they are all hypnotized.

Instead of making them all leave or throw themselves off a cliff, you realize the potential you possess, now that you have hundreds of thousands of cronies that will do whatever you tell them to do. So what do you do with your newly-aquired power?

Duh! You take over the world! And then you spend the rest of your life sipping drinks out of coconuts with bendy-straws and dropping things from high heights to watch them shatter.

That's my fun idea.