Book sale

The high-ceilinged room smelled of morning and coffee and cigarettes; over and through all seeped the musty reek of old paper. Old men planted by philosophy. Housewives sighing by fiction. Students rifling through pockets for extra coins. Smiling volunteers in maroon aprons everywhere and nowhere, directing traffic, organizing, answering questions. And the books.

The books were piled in corners and under tables, arranged in rows. Wobbly signs rose above the crowds, directing seekers to treasure. Shiny paperbacks rubbed shoulders with leather-bound volumes, gilded lettering glowing and beckoning. Faded titles all but illegible. Slim treatises in an oft-rearranged heap, eager aficionados ever fingering the crunchy pages.

Centuries of accumulated wit and wisdom and lore, priced at a quarter. Stories of dead men and women, unknown, untold, here brought to life: sold for seventy five cents. The knowledge of great men written out, expensive at three dollars.

They lie still, sending alluring promises of quenched curiosity and sated desire. Poetic phrases mingle with intellectual declamation to form mesmerizing narcotic smog. Part with worthless metal to possess them. Take them home; inhale fragrance. Drink deeply.

These things are all related in my mind. I swear it.

Katie in biology burned me her Jamie Cullum CD. So that's what I'm listening to. British accent and jazz piano. Good combo.

I feel helpless when people come to me with problems. And a couple have been of late. So all I can do is say, "yeah, that stinks, pray about it."
It is when people ask me for advice that I realize how very callow and clueless I am.

I am going to apply to work at Camp Sonshine for the summer. I think I've lost my mind. I am going to volunteer to be around little kids for two months. And I'm applying to be an APA for next year. I who can't even TA for Honors Seminar, perhaps the most ridiculously easy task ever. How ambitious we are becoming...my, my.

I with Kara dance upon a pedestal. But I confess it can get a little cold up here. And yet...when I contemplate what dismounting from my perch would entail, I begin to appreciate the brisk weather at this altitude. And my feet reacquire their spring, and my happy, solitary dance begins anew.

I think Paul said something about this too...

Today was warm. I studied outside between Towers and would have actually been hot had it not been for the incessant, and today very welcome, Tulsa breeze.

I want to talk about some things that have been hitting sort of close to home lately, considering the season. I put a little of it on my xanga, but I feel a bit freer to go off here.
Valentine's Day was yesterday. It was my first Valentine's Day ever. Back home we never celebrated it. Most of the single girls on the floor got together and went out to eat, and then a couple of us went to Ashlea's and worshipped for a while. Alexie and Micah shared; it was great. Jesus was my valentine.
I have been hearing so many people refer to Valentine's Day as "Singles Awareness Day." And while I, being single, understand where it comes from, I am also getting sick to death of everybody disrespecting the gift of singleness. The mere fact that people have to have a significant other to feel that they're worth something proves their unreadiness to be in a relationship. I know because I struggle with it. And until self-worth is derived from God and not other people, romantic relationships are pretty much doomed-- or else they're much harder to maintain.
I don't want to step on people's toes here, because I sat alone on the night of the thirteenth, studying in the fishbowl, complaining to God about how alone I was, about how I wanted a boyfriend. I know those desires are right and good and God intended for us to have them and all that, but it wasn't about that. It pretty much boiled down to selfishness. I wanted a boyfriend to love me and make me feel good about myself. And when I tell the flesh and the devil to shut up and I listen to my Papa, I know very well that a boyfriend would make me more miserable than anything else right now. Sometimes, though, I don't listen very well, and I start talking to God about how alone I am.
Are you catching the irony of that statement? Telling my Creator, who is in my heart and all around me, that I am alone, when the mere fact that I can tell Him that negates my lament. I am ridiculous.
And so are a lot of people around here. For a lot of us, I suspect that selfiushness is the root of our depression this time of year.
None of us who walk with God are ever alone. Every day is Valentine's Day with Him. We don't need to wait for one set date before we get a romantic geture from our Maker. He sent me a couple today, unsolicited.
And it's way better than a rose or a heart-shaped balloon or box of chocolates.
By the way, if God has called us to be single (horrified gasp) forever...keep in mind, people, that this earth is not forever. This is transient. Temporal. Easy for me to say, I know, but "He giveth more grace." I'm in love with Him, with or without my someone.
Happy Valentine's Day. You are never alone. Sheesh.

"I'll cast the shimmy out of her"

Note the title of this post, friends, and know: Kara dances suggestively in elevators.

I'm trying to decide whether or not I'll post something I wrote on here. It's kinda heavy, and I don't know if I particularly want to share it...hm

MY ARTICLE WAS PUBLISHED in the Oracle. It's the first time I've ever been published. An odd sensation. Giddy excitement mingled with faint, sneering boredom and a small measure of dread. Of course the article was tweaked. Peter added in the stuff about PRob's meeting. He also inserted the word sacrosanct. Which is an awesome word.

This is a pointless entry-- I really just wanted to inform you all of Kara's scandalousity.