What is this Jet Lag Thing

So... maybe it'll hit me next week when school's started and I really need to stay awake. Or maybe I'm just not familiar with it. I thought before I came that jet lag would mean me being super tired all the time. Right now all I've noticed is that come midnight I'm wide awake. And come 7:30 I'm awake again, no alarm. I mean, I'd be happy if this is how I was all the time. It's pretty cool.
Does this mean that it still might hit me sometime? Some random day next week I'll just crash? Suckie suckie if that happens.
I think the only reason that this week is going so well is because of all the prayers sent out on my behalf. Usually I *really* dont like staying by myself, but that's been fine. And every day I've met at least one person who was really kind and friendly to me. And there's no other way I havent been smashed by a bus or a small, squirly car. (Eee)
Such blessings :)

@ "Coffee and Click"

Earl Grey is much better in England, I dare say. Mmmmm. Not so sure about the esspresso, though.
So is club soccer - excuse me, Football. It plays late at night, and since it seems I can find nothing better to do than watch the telly, I discovered this great entertainment. (I'd say the club football is even more fun than the British Soaps...) Going to a match in person is one of those things I absolutely Must do before leaving.
Being a pedestrian, on the other hand, is not better. I am convinced that at the corners lacking the warning "LOOK RIGHT" or "LOOK LEFT" I will meet my end. Really. Pretty much every corner I came to in London had those warnings, but it didnt help too much, but the ammount of extreemely bold people helped my confidence to just walk out in front of the cars. The cars driven by ghosts. It always startles me when I glance into a car and "Holy CRap no one's driving!!" oh wait - they're on the other side.
I think counteracting the ever present clouds is the reason all the houses are red brick and all the store signs are bright colors and all the gardens have crazy amounts of random flowers. It has quite a good effect. When I look out my window over the hills covered in houses and churches, it is far from a dreary sight (especially since it's been sunny off and on) because of those brilliant red bricks and roofs.
Hearing strangers talk is also better here, thus far. That is possibly because I'm rather alone, but also perhaps because of the oh so fabulous accents. Accents is plural due to the crazy amounts of different versions of the British Accent. People living in a town 10 minutes away have a differnet one. Not to mention the huge amount of people not actaully from the UK who live here. I confused and was confused when talking to the different electronics store owners in London yesterday while in search of a part for my laptop. Was that ever good fun. More fun even than seeing the responses of people to hear that yes it is a long way, and yes I am walking.
People here always say 'girl' when they're talking to me. Does that happen in the States or do I just not notice? Do people call you anything?
"Are you lost, girl?"
"Do you have 30 seconds? C'mon girl..."
"Cheer up, girl!"
It's rather nice and not scary. (Btw, the second quote was from a guy on Oxford Street in London wanting me to fill out a survey or something. I just realized that it looks sort of frightening written down.)
I've discovered that being here makes me feel like a little kid. Everything is new and different, people dont understand me, I feel like I should hold someone's hand when crossing the street, I dont know what coins have which value right off hand, and I have to think a bit to tell time.
It's all a very good and pleasant learning experience.

(Btw, pictures will be in my gallery hopefully soon, but possibly not till I get to school...)

Just So Everyone Knows

Michael (aka. Chrischael) is a supastar.
This man Rocks.

(Just thought I should give props where props are due.)

Ahhhhh The Chicken!! or Revenge of The Chicken

This morning I woke up and the first thing my Mom said to me was, "I didn't hear The Chicken last night. [laughs]". So far this is the third morning in a row that the first comment of the day has revolved around The Chicken.

You see, back in April when I got my wisdom teeth extracted, my Grandpa brought me this way beyond adorable pink furry chicken. When you squeeze it's left wing it waddles and plays the chicken dance, getting faster and faster until you quite nearly go insane or die laughing - mind you this thing is quite loud. At first, I would press it's wing for everyone who came over. Eventually, he joined the rest of the animals on the foot of my bed and spent most of his life being smothered by various articles of clothing, and/or pillows. Most of my animals apparently don't mind this inhumane mistreatment, but not The Chicken. No no, not him.

Tuesday night I went to bed pretty late, as I recall. Something like 1:30am. Sometime later, it didn't feel like a whole lot later and was still very dark, I awoke with a Most unpleasing start. Unpleasing as in I instantly sat straight up, gasping for breath, one hundred percent aware of my surroundings, but not one hundred percent sure of why I was in such a state. The corner of my bed was moving and there was the biggest racket of all time going on. So loud. Merciful heavens. Took me a good 8 or 9 seconds to figure out what it was, and maybe 3 more seconds to connect that there was no way to make it stop, and that my parents were most likely also awake. By that time my breathing was normal and I was only feeling mildly annoyed, rather than holyfreakingcrapwhatisgoingonhere. And in the morning my parents made known that not only had they heard The Chicken at 5:20am, but had thought it humorous.

Wednesday night was also a late night, and I was pretty tired. When I'm tired I generally like to make sure that nothing is going to be capable of waking me up, and since it is surprisingly difficult to make The Chicken play (remember, you have to squeeze a certain part of his wing with considerable pressure) I assumed the previous night's episode an unfortunate, rare event. Oh but I was wrong. Same time, same place. And this time, it only took me about 2 seconds to assess the situation and find the most suitable action to be that of grabbing The Chicken and putting him under the covers. As soon as he was finished, I put him on the floor and said, "The Chicken is Grounded".

From what I'm told, my dad, especially, found my smothering The Chicken to be quite entertaining. I suppose it was, but nothing at 5:30 in the morning is entertaining in my opinion.

The moral of the story might be that furry chickens do not belong in my bed. But if you come away with nothing else, please remember that Allison is not kind and gentle even to the pinkest and furriest creatures three hours before she is scheduled to get up.

Those Details

For the sake of less confusion and more sanity, here are some details about my life for the next two days.

I have not packed. I am doing so tomorrow. Hopefully off and on all day, but not on all day. Especailly because I'm very cool with people stopping by if they feel the need or something, but if I'm not very packed then it will be rather distracting and nothing will get accomplished.

Yes, I still have no idea what saturday is, or what I'm supposed to be doing with myself. If you have any grand ideas, do let me know.

Sunday I'll be at church and singing, yes, and then I'll be with my grandparents.

Monday, 11:27am United.

Eeeeeeeeeee

To Sleep, or Not to Sleep

And I wonder: which is more important? To be well rested and healthy, or to talk to good friends and do more email? It sounds calloused to go with the first, but unintelligent to go with the second. Concidering the ample ammounts of caffine I have ingested today, the later is quite tempting, but it only aggrivates the first.
To sleep, perchance to dream, perhaps to compromise: tomorrow I'll drink wheatgrass and sleep in.

Color vs. Fear

Today I bought green luggage locks and yellow luggage tags. It's all very obnoxious, but I like it. I think. I like the bright colors, at least; the idea of luggage locks makes me a little bit uptight. Like having locks means things are less than safe, and people are less than trustworthy. I know that's how it is, but up to date I have never locked my luggage and have never had trouble. (If my luggage was gone through without my permission, it was done so by TSA and then ziptied, which actually does not bother me in the least.) (Yes, I know the UK is different.) Usually I am not a person who is scared and paranoid about people running off with my things, and I know this is just a safety percaution, but it still upsets me. The buying of the borderline hideously bright green and yellow items must have been my subconscience attempting to go into happycheery mode. It might work for me, though. Who knows, maybe I'll enjoy my black luggage with the neon accessories so much that I'll match it; you know, like those people who match their pets. Muahahaaa - and no one can stop me by saying 'Look, I'm not walking with you if you look like that" because I'm doing this by myself. But then again, I dont know if I could handle myself like that.

Things

Reading with a pencil is profitable.
Brownies and grapes are not meant for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
It is possible to miss people before you are gone.
I'm still young enough to stay up past 4 and still function.
Reading people's blogs is way more fun than I expected.
Mondays are not bad.
The Two Towers still drives me insane.

Tonight

I feel loved.
Everyone in my life is so supportive and encouraging. God has blessed me through the people in my life so beyond what I deserve that sometimes I dont know what to do. When people try to deny the institutes God has instated, I tell them about my life in order to help them understand why He has given them to us.The family, the church... those things are so important for life and growth. Having people around me that I've known for 20, 19, 7 and 3 years gives me such a feeling of belonging and security and warmth.
I was just talking to someone yesterday about how it is that when you've known someone since you were little, it doesnt matter how long you've been appart, you can always just sort of start up where you left off; you still have that childhood connection and comfortableness that makes you feel like you can be yourself and they can be themselves and it'll be good.
"Sooo Good!" (That about sums it up, eh?)

This morning at my Third Place, the Portland Rock Gym. 

Headphones On My Head

Every time it rains,
It rains pennies from heaven
Don't you know each cloud contains
Pennies from heaven

You'll find your fortune's falling
All over the town
Be sure that your umbrella is upside down


Trade them for a package of sunshine and flowers
If you want the things you love, you must have showers
So when you hear it thunder don't run under a tree
There'll be pennies from heaven for you and me

~Frank Sinatra


This is my song, I think. My dear friend Rose played it for me today. Rain is such a lovely gift. It brings life and new beginings and that awesome wet pavement smell. It makes me feel like a child again when I walk or splash in the rain. Somehow the rain, when I see it or feel it or walk through it, enters my emotions and my thoughts. Don't ever run under a tree, or back into the dorms at Christopher Newport University - there is a whole new world to explore when it rains. Run in it. Splash in it. Dance in it. It's pennies from heaven, how could you ever hate it? Without rain we would not have umbrellas, not have big rubber boots, not have the chance to get wet and not worry about the state of makeup or clothing. Rain is the beautiful chance to forget what is wrong with the day and smile at the sky and thank God for cleansing our world and our hearts.

On the last day of freedom, as they say. 

My Summer

This "Back to School" week got me thinking: if I had to write that familiar First Day of School Essay "What I did this summer" what would I say for 2004?
Surely the page would be filled with fabulous friends and trips to the beach and crazy ideas and good literature... but no. Granted, those things were wonderful and many, but when think about it, the significant and impacting aspect of my summer that would be found on the final draft is simply an ordinary day as a nanny. It could be summed up in a day like today: 4 boys, 4 lunches, 2 trips in the car, play gunfights, a few errands to run, a few things to organize, a stop to visit friends, a stop at church, good talks with family, a good random phone call. Throw in an extra kid (or two), or an extra car trip, or change the people in the visits or phone calls, and you have my summer.
And it was good.
The way God provides for our needs is extraordinary, amen? God knew that I would need the order and consistancy of working "normal hours" this summer to balance out the chaos of getting ready to move when I had been expecting to still be at Starbucks. He knew that I would learn so much from being with the kids all the time. He knew I needed time to read and be reminded of His control and His faithfulness.
And He did it.
And I am humbled.

The Knight of Faith

With infinite resignation he has drained the cup of life's profound sadness, he knows the bliss of the infinite, he senses the pain of renouncing everything, the dearest things he possesses in the world, and yet finiteness tastes to him just as good as to one who never knew anything higher, for his continuance in the finite did not bear a trace of the cowed and fearful spirit produced by the process of training; and yet he has this sense of security in enjoying it, as though the finite life were the surest thing of all. And yet, and yet the whole earthly form he exhibits is a new creation by virtue of the absurd. He resigned everything infinitely, and then he grasped everything again by virtue of the absurd. He constantly makes the movements of infinity, but he does this with such correctness and assurance that he constantly gets the finite out of it, and there is not a second when one has a notion of anything else. It is supposed to be the most difficult task for a dancer to leap into a definite posture in such a way that there is not a second when he is grasping after the posture, but by the leap itself he stands fixed in that posture. Perhaps no dancer can do it - that is what this knight does.

(pg 31-32, Fear and Trembling, Soren Kierkegaard )

Pictures, if you're interested...

Thoughts of 1:17am

As a rule, I think of my room, my house, as a quiet place. Yet here I lie, assualted by snores muffled only by a thin wall, the deep bark of the neighbor's agitated mongrel, and the clicking and tapping of my own ten fingers. Occationaly a car drives by, or at times a worse offender; a firetruck. But probably nothing more coarse than the clang my own fingers, echoing in the soft flanel and fleece that is my room, my house, at night.

happiness is a hoodie 

So it is down to you, and it is down to me

...and you win. Yes, I surrender... here it is: Allison's blog.