Cut, Cut, Cut: Let's take it from the top

I'm writing an article about self-abuse, about self-mutilation, about self-injury: about cutting. I'm writing an article about it because it matters. If I wasn't a reporter for the newspaper right now I would be sitting downstairs watching Growing Pains. Not that there's anything wrong with the Seaver family, but this is some important stuff. The idea that someone would willingly and intentional inflict pain upon themselves almost seems hilarious to some people. It's such a far-fetched idea. But it's not. Self-harm effects more than half of the United States' adolescent population. Many of them only do it once or twice, and then find it ineffective, but there are a few that continue. It's not a suicide attempt. It's a way to feel alive, however much of an oxy-moron it may seem upon initial glance.

I'm so scared and excited to write the piece. I'm writing about writing. How sick am I? Anyway, after talking with six or seven different UI professionals and/or students I feel like I have a firm handle on the subject.

It's running as our weekend edition "80 Hours" front December 14. Honestly, I'm scared to put pen to page or finger to keyboard. I don't want to offend. I don't want to instigate. I want to bring to the forethought. I want to decrease stigma. I want people to understand, and not judge, but I want self-harmers to stop. Knowing that a person can feel so disconnected, so out-of-touch hurts me. Instead of condemning, as a society we need to reach out and touch someone. Even if it hurts--reach out and help them feel alive.

We can't desensitize our minds to those things that we initially want to run away from in fear of knowing that it can affect even the most unsuspecting bystander. Even. If. Hurts.

"Well, you know, we all want to change the world"

I wake up about a minute before my alarm goes off almost every day. Do I have anxiety? If I do, this is really a bad time for me, it should simply come back later or even at all.

I wrote a short story the other night and part of it had this interaction between a mother, a daughter and the phone which had a solicitors voice on the end. Whenever solicitors call I usually lie and say whoever it is that they're looking for isn't home. I do it because my mom doesn't like talking to them. She doesn't like saying, "I'm sorry, but we don't want to give our money to you." It's not because she isn't generous, it's just that as a parental unit my parents decide at the beginning of each year where everything is going to go, which charities, which institutions, which churches, etc... I realize now that even though some people do that, there still isn't ever going to be enough money to go around.

There's a part in Bridget Jones' Diary: The Edge of Reason where she's at a high-and-mighty dinner with her boyfriend, Mark Darcy. At the dinner she ends up over-hearing a group of "fat, balding, upper-middle-class twits" say that they are totally against charitable giving. That seems to be the consensus these days, and if people do give it's only the scraps from the table they didn't want anyway. Something in me says that's innately wrong. Giving what you don't want isn't really an act of kindness, it's more or less a garage sale. Perhaps I'm idealistic, perhaps others have a reason for the way they are, but in the end, people still go hungry, they still don't have enough clothing to keep them warm, they don't have a roof over their head, they don't have. And the list goes on.

If you had to give away something that you really loved, truly loved, and were allowed to choose out of three things you adored, what would you give away? Would it be the least expensive of the three, the one you cannot replace, the one you like least of the ones you love? These are the things I think about periodically. The hard part about giving away the things we think we need is just that, we think somewhere down the road we might need it. The thing we giving things away that are ours, like a sentimental teddy bear, what have you, is that we don't think another person could or would care about it as much as we do. It's like we expect a thanks after we give. The truth is, sometimes people won't say thank you, but give anyway.

As people when we give, assuming we do give, we should give from our plate, or rather our heart.

Where Everyone Knows Your Name

Going home has become such a strange concept to me. One of the people I interviewed this semester told me something intriguing. Upon retrospect its of the Garden State influence. He said, "It's weird. You find a home in whatever [place] you're in." When I was a freshman I could feel it kind of sting my parents every time I 'accidentally' called my university home. Now its just sort of understood that I have these two places, these two lives, where I do stuff and every now and again they intersect. I remember feeling bad though every time I would say "I'm going home" in reference to my dorm room. One day I even, however haphazardly vowed to never call school home. Of course that's now out the window, but still. Anyway, friends in the two locations has been a tricky matter. My friends from growing up will always be there no matter how badly we keep in contact. I sort of wonder if that will be the case for my college friends after this is all said and done. Because the whole time we are here at this university in this place we know that in four years we won't be here anymore. We have more of a future-driven mindset, perhaps that has to do with the constant anxiety over getting a job or internship. I'd like to think everyone I know now will be with me like those friends I had before, but sometimes I'm uncertain. It doesn't help that every day I feel like I see someone that I know, but not really, but sort of do-ish-ness. Its like you do the 1/2 wave/smile and if they return it you don't feel like an idiot still living in freshman year dorm life. I guess I'm thinking about this all because this year seems like a lot of ends are happening, but then again there have been many beginnings. Its times like these when Colleen Marshall is absolutely necessary but completely unable.

On a side note (sort of), here's a list of 10 "Must-Go-To"s I've compiled:
1. France
2. Ireland
3. Greece
4. Switzerland
5. The Netherlands
6. Spain
7. Great Britain
8. Scotland
9. India
10. South Africa

Already Been's:
1. Italy
2. Mexico
3. Costa Rica
4. Canada
5. And 28 out of 50 States

I've got a travel itch that must be scratched. I think it has something to do with this need in me to see the world before I can comment on it. Sort of important for a journalist-in-the-making.

Debbie Downer among other things

Man, it would suck to have mono. I've been pretty tired a lot lately, and I'm positive I don't have mono, but if I did that'd be no good. I can pretty much attribute all my lackluster-ness to late nights writing in my journal, on facebook (the death of college as we know it) and poor nutrition. For some reason or another I had it in my head that during each day a person is supposed to have 8 ounces of water a day. I guess I simply forgot to multiply that by 8. When my mom and I were "discussing" our differing opinions Friday night at The Bear Trap Inn, I sought council. Yes, the waitress. Coincidentally enough her name was Sheila (like my mom) and she also held the same "opinion" regarding the 64 oz deal. So I'm in college, but I'm basically still a moron. Awesome. Well, at least I don't have mono.

michigan

This afternoon I scoured the parts of the Upper Peninsula's landscape that I had missed the day before. Yesterday the Marshall clan minus one trekked along through the wilderness. I've been coming up to the land o' lakes area since I was a wee minor (1987, around the one-year mark). It's always been a place where my parents have enjoyed taking us kids, while they too could have a fun time with one another. I can say with all honesty that I was jealous growing up of other kids who had gone to this that and the other place, but that's just immaturity for you. But now I see what my parents have been trying to get through to us all along. I walked around alone today for a while just looking out at one of the innumerable lakes in the great chain. Our neighbors, Bob and Diane weren't home so I spent some time checking out their property and view of the lake (yes, illegally), but I'm sure they won't press charges. It was gorgeous--just the beauty that surrounds us--something I had seen basically my entire life. It was new. Anyway, the time I spent yesterday hiking through the forest preserve across the way with my family was nice.

The scenery. The exercise. The wildlife. I don't know, it all seemed different. And it happened again to me, today. I walked down to the dock and sat on the pier facing outwards away from everything simply looking into the setting sun. It was almost blinding, but in a good way. The light reflecting off the water back to the boat house was perfect. I think now, as trite as it may or may not sound, I sort of see the site the way my parents have the past 20 years. I don't know if I'd want to live here all my life, or even if this is the place I'd want to vacation with my children, but I do know that anywhere if you look long enough can be pleasant. Up here though, the serene, quiet lifestyle and bountiful opportunities for discovery, that's worth it. I sometimes find myself trying to relate to other people my perspective and experience in life, and I feel like if they just sat down to a Marshall Family dinner, the blindness would lift. And they would see things differently. Maybe they should come up here.

you are

I never felt so safe
A line I once told her
Warm resting place
Her arm on my shoulder
you are the rock
you are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
you are the rock
you are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
we ran into a cave
when the wars came closer
she turned into a cave
where it turned colder
you are the rockyou are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
you are the rock
you are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
you are the rock
you are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
you are the rock
you are the rake
you are the one when I watch myself
-Sufjan Stevens, "Rake"

Voltaire Speaks

When I was growing up I listened to the sounds of everything around me. Staying hip at seven wasn't hard when you had 5 siblings to lean on musically and parents willing to turn on the radio.

Over the past three years there has been a battle over what's ok for some performers to say. Scratch that--over the past, since musicians have been around people have argued over their place and what is and isn't appropriate.

Friday Nov. 10, The Dixie Chicks' documentary "Shut Up & Sing" is coming out nationally. It debuted in NY and LA October 27th, but now is coming to the masses. Perhaps it's even going places unwelcome.

I voted today in Johnson County, Iowa's 21st Precinct. I had a hard time getting to my polling place and made a wrong stop along the way. At the place I mumbled audibly that they, meaning the government, don't make it easy for students to vote. They always complain about low voter turn out among young people. To me, its simply baffling. Obviously there's going to be low voter turn out if the candidate rarely if ever addresses their up-and-coming "Real" citizens. Most of the time as a student I feel like I don't matter. Partially it's my fault. Althought I write for my paper, I don't read the Metro section very much. It's not to say that politics are uninteresting, it's to say that for me they seem irrelevent. In an argument I would probably lose saying that if matched against a poly-sci major. Anyway, I was struck this afternoon when I said that the reason I was going to vote is not because I'm all that interested in the Iowa political system, it's that I have the right to vote. I am allowed to vote. My vote counts.

Going back to my original idea about The Dixie Chicks, I realized again the importance of freedoms given in our country specifically speech. Although I may not agree or even if I do, I have to protect their right to say whatever they want. They are on an international platform and given the chance, I would have said whatever I wanted as well. It doesn't matter if they offended people. Freedom of speech exists to protect the minority voice.

"I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it."
-Voltaire.

That is exactly what, as a country, we stand for.

As a fan of the female vocalists and a voter for Bush (many because of the abortion issue), it doesn't matter that they said what they did. In fact, I'm glad they said it because it begs the question: when and where is sharing an opinion appropriate? The answer is simple: anywhere, because opinions shouldn't hurt people. Would the citizens offended rather live in fear of sharing a voice in certain touchy issues or live in a country free of that sort of oppression?

They may not have liked it, but screw it. Freedom is allowed. Deal. Stay informed, and next time there's an amendment dealing with freedom of speech/expression vote against the right for people to say/act how they feel. I just think its ridiculous for people to criticize their neighbors who think differently.

For all the cases that deal with the freedom at hand go to www.findlaw.com
Papish v. University of MO curators, O'Brien v. United States, Cohen v. California, Tinker v. Des Moines, etc.

Daily Iowan among other things

So I've been writing for the newspaper for going on 4 months, and it's been good to me. I have a ton of clips, but are they great clips? Recently I was reviewed ie. constructively criticized by my editors. It's their job, clearly, and I have to fall in line, yes. It's just that, sometimes working for a paper really stresses me out. I love writing, at least I'm almost 100 % sure, and I love reading other peoples stuff, at least when I get the chance. Logically taking part in it practically daily should feel right--normal. Perhaps I'm just tired, perhaps I just need Thanksgiving to come faster than it is, perhaps I'm not cut out, and perhaps I am. Really, all I need is a few more days in the week. 24 Hours is enough for a day, but I think everyone would benefit from a few more days in the week.

I can't wait to schedule classes for next semester. Hopefully I got into Arts & Culture reporting and Global Media. Those are the two journalism classes that I would love nothing more than be present in. I don't understand people that ditch class. Tuition's expensive. If you don't want to go, then maybe take an online course. It's just rude to classmates to consistently skip out on lecture/discussion.

For my english degree I have barely scratched the surface of looking for interesting classes to take. Some of the classes offered seem so esoteric, I don;t think I can find one that'll fit my specific needs. Honestly, I just don't want to have to read that many books. Short stories work well with my writing load. Right now I'm taking an American Short Story class. I realized a few days ago when attempting short hand that A.S.S. is that. When I smirked I noticed how immature I really am, or at least how amused I can be at the triviality of humor in my day to day.

18 Hours is a lot of class to attend. I feel like when I take any less than 5 classes I'm cheating myself of the availability of a learning environment. At the same time I want to be able to give more time to everything I'm involved in. Today in Magazine Reporting and Writing our adjunct professor was evaluated. I felt bad. He's a good guy, a quality journalist, and new at teaching. My friend and I both think he just needs more time to assimilate to the classroom. I hope he gets a second chance. I got the feeling that they wanted to nix him. Although we've shared descrepencies I think there's a lot I could learn from him. I'd rather have gotten a crap grade on something and learned from it, then an A and not understood anything more than I already do.

Well, it's 12:09, I'm going to research English classes for Spring semester. I already researched info on the 2006 Iowa elections. I'm sick of being uninformed--and I'm ashamed that I work at a daily paper and rarely read the metro section.

Welcome to the Fun House

I was supposed to read that short story by Barth about a week ago, maybe two, depending on your point of view.

I've yet to finish the task I laid before myself three hours ago. All I have to do is let the rest slip out from beneath my fingers, and I'm made. It's a profile on a friend/co-worker of mine. Honestly, I'm a little nervous about it, only because I feel like I have a certain duty to the person. I mean, usually, I would feel obligated to tell the facts, like I do, but it's different when you know the facts and then some. It's like I don't know what to put in, and what's inappropriate and should be left out. Who knows? I'm not really posing a question; I just dislike grammar errors.

Thanksgiving cannot come soon enough. Michigan. Fishing. Relaxing. The lake. I'm there.