Who Would Hide a Gift in a Napkin?

I was attempting to organize my bookshelf when I found one of my old textbooks from a class I took in college.  I remember thinking that many of the writings looked interesting, but naturally, my professor assigned all of the ones which I deemed rather dull or ridiculous.  I picked up the book, flipped through it, and found one passage from the film, Good Will Hunting.  Now, oddly enough, I have never actually seen this film, even though I am currently finishing up my master’s degree in mathematics.  Well…technically I seem to procrastinating because I’m supposed to be studying for a test next week in abstract algebra.  That probably explains why I thought it might be fun to sit down and read an old textbook.  Anyway, I knew the film was about a janitor at MIT who was a brilliant mathematical genius prodigy awesome would-pay-him-to-take-my-test-this-week etc. etc.  What I didn’t know was that he was resistant to use his mathematical skills in a job for the NSA where he would be doing code breaking for the government.  He wasn’t interested in more education or a fancier job.  He wanted to remain a janitor.  Why? From the passage, it would seem fear was the only thing holding him back.  

What an interesting story for me to happen upon at this point in my life!  I’m finishing my master’s degree, and my thesis project is actually on code breaking.  Yet, I am absolutely terrified of going any further with my education.  What if I fail?  What if I can’t pass my prelims after 3 more years of hard work, and walk away with a master’s degree as a consolation prize?  Still, every time I turn around, friends, family, professors from college and graduate school, even the vice president and president of my college are asking, encouraging, dare I say begging me to continue.  Everyone I know believes I am perfectly capable of getting my doctorate and becoming a math professor.  I’m the only one who doubts my ability.  I’m not a prodigy like Will in the film, but I seem to have quite a bit in common with him.  I haven’t actually failed a class yet (say a prayer and cross my fingers about that test next week), and yet I am so afraid of failure that I’ve been doubting whether I should even bother trying to go further.  Deep inside, though, I know that God is handing me an opportunity to develop the talents he has given me.  He’s challenging me to become the best I can be.  How on earth could I choose not to even try?  I think I have to keep going.  I have to try.  If I try and fail, I will just have to trust that God will show me what to do when the time comes, that I will grow somehow from the experience.  But maybe…just maybe, everyone is right.  Maybe I could do it.  How terrifying.  Could I handle the regret, though, if I never tried?  Absolutely not.

After this nice little pep talk I gave myself, I looked at the passage which was on the previous page of my textbook.  I found a new favorite quote.  Charlotte Bronte writes of the struggles women face in trying to pursue their talents.  Granted, this was written at a time where the vast majority of women were homemakers and didn’t have jobs at all, but I feel that it still applies today, and what she wrote seemed to explain exactly why I had just come to the conclusion that I have to try, even if I fail.  I also feel Bronte’s words still apply because someday (whether I have a doctorate in math or not), I would like to have a family and be able to spend time at home and raise my children even if it means working part-time or being a stay-at-home mom for a few years.  How do you balance your responsibilities at home and still try to pursue your goals?  Do your goals just change along the way?  Anyway, enough rambling from me, this is my favorite part of Charlotte Bronte's writing:

“…no other can take up the quiet, regular duties of the daughter, the wife, or the mother, as well as she whom God has appointed to fill that particular place: a woman’s principal work in life is hardly left to her own choice; nor can she drop the domestic charges devolving on her as an individual, for the exercise of the most splendid talents that were ever bestowed. 

And yet she must not shrink from the extra responsibility implied by the very fact of her possessing such talents.  She must not hide her gift in a napkin; it was meant for the use and service of others.  In an humble and faithful spirit must she labour to do what is not impossible, or God would not have set her to do it.”

I can’t shrink away from the opportunities I’ve been given.  I can’t hide my gifts.  I wouldn’t have been given the ability to come this far if it were impossible.  Two years ago, I wouldn’t have thought I would be able to finish my master’s degree.  I wanted to quit every single day.  And yet, here I am.  I suppose God set me to do it.  He made the seemingly impossible possible. 

And now that I’ve given myself that nice pep talk, I really must study.

A Glimpse

On springtime lovely days like this, I want to have a picnic, spend time with friends, go on a walk, play piano, and read a favorite book while sitting by a window. I want to write about things that matter like faith and family and friendship. I want to notice that on such a good day, God has given us a small glimpse of the joy to come.

And then I remember I’m in grad school, and I start reminding myself of the never ending to-do lists and responsibilities…and then I realize my mistake. I stop. I notice the breeze and the blue sky, and I go to the picnic.

Why the sudden change in my academic diligence? Because life is much too short not to have a picnic. And now, oddly enough, more than ever, I am so thankful that life is so very short because there are some people I dearly miss waiting in the Garden, waiting to welcome me home.

So I will continue on, I will forge my path, I will set my eyes on the joy set before me, the reward waiting for me, and when God gives me a small glimpse of Heaven, I will capture it with words. I will write, and I will remember. So that on days when I have trouble finding the light, I will read the words and know. I will know what lies ahead. And that truth will light a flame within me, and the flame will grow brighter and stronger as I read each word of hope, until it is all-consuming…until the light pours forth from me for all to see; for all to see that He is the one who brings us peace. He is the one who brings us joy. And then I will see the glimpse again…and perhaps others will see it, too.

After all, isn’t that to be our sole purpose in life?

A Letter Written Especially For You

Dear Readers,

I LOVE the movie, You've Got Mail.

So much.

Always.

Every single time.

These are a few reasons why.

"The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what they're doing or who on earth they are, can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall! Decaf! Cappuccino!" Sometimes, I order a sugar-free frappuccino so as to feel like I'm being healthy, and then the barista asks me, "Do you want whipped cream?" Well duh! Of course I do!!! I also find it amusing that tall, grande, and venti all mean big.

"Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address." I want a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils. P.S. I have lots of personalized pencils. I asked for them for Christmas in the sixth grade. I still have lots of personalized pencils. They make me smile.

"Patricia makes coffee nervous." I laugh. Every single time.

And my very favorite:
"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?"

I love this movie. Do you know what else I love? The original movie! It was called The Shop Around the Corner. They wrote actual letters to each other, not e-mails. Handwritten letters!

In You've Got Mail, Kathleen Kelly waits for e-mails: "What will NY152 say today, I wonder. I turn on my computer. I wait impatiently as it connects. I go online, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail. I hear nothing. Not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beating of my own heart. I have mail. From you."

But I can't help it. I'm a sentimental old-fashioned soul, and I like Klara Novak in The Shop Around the Corner, who anxiously waits for her mail to come in an envelope: "Oh, my Dear Friend, my heart was trembling as I walked into the post office, and there you were, lying in Box 237. I took you out of your envelope and read you, read you right there."

I love it in all its sappy old-fashioned-ness. Yes, I said old-fashioned-ness.

I've always loved receiving a handwritten letter. It's so rare that anyone bothers to write a letter anymore. I haven't received one in years. I used to have a couple of pen pals when I was a kid. I loved it. I would run to the mailbox everyday, reach up as high as I could and pull down the lid of the mailbox. I'd hear the little squeak of the metal, and then I'd peer inside and grab everything as carefully as I could while reminding myself of my mother's warning not to drop anything. Then I'd just stand there or walk incredibly slowly and pause in the driveway and flip through the mail, piece by piece, looking for anything that was addressed to me. Most of the time, the mail was all for my parents, and even though my mom reassured me that I wouldn't want her mail because bills weren't fun mail to receive, I would be so disappointed that I hadn't gotten a letter from my friend yet.

But hope springs eternal, and the next day, I'd sprint to the mailbox again, day after day, until finally, one wonderful day, I opened the mailbox and saw a letter addressed just to me! All of the previous disappointments were worth it because now . . . now I had mail. Someone far away took the time to sit down and pick out stationary and find a pen and write to me. It didn't matter what they told me in their letters because every word was special. Every word was written to me and me alone.

I remember my great aunt, Vadera, used to write me letters on purple paper. Sometimes she wrote by hand; sometimes she typed them on a typewriter. Aunt Vadera lives in Washington! When I was little, Washington seemed so far away, it might as well have been a foreign country. I only have talked to her in person two or three times when she and my Uncle Carl would drive all the way to Texas to visit my grandparents, but I was so excited to see them! And I was always sad when they left. I remember one time she wrote to me and said that she was writing to me at 4:30 in the morning before she had to go to work! I felt so special! She woke up and thought of me and wrote me a letter before the sun even came up.

The most recent letters I received (with the exception of thank you notes, which aren't really the same as letters in my opinion) were, I believe, the couple of letters my childhood friend, Reid, sent me from boot camp several years ago. I wrote him several times even though I didn't really expect him to have time to ever write back. Boot camp keeps a person a bit busy after all. But one day, I opened the mailbox, and there it was! A letter from Reid.

I have kept every single letter I have ever received. They are all precious to me in one way or another. Some are from a girl named Alexandria who was my best friend in kindergarten. Her family moved all the way to Indonesia, but we kept in touch for years. Others are from a friend named Samantha who moved to Florida after third grade. Our elementary school mascot was the bears. Samantha always signed her letters: "Bear Hugs, Sam." Then she drew a heart, wrote the words "Best Friends Forever," and decorated the envelope with a plethora of Lisa Frank stickers.

I love going back and reading all of those letters.

Nobody really writes letters anymore.

Now, I have my very own little apartment with my very own little mailbox that unlocks with my very own little key. And even though I know that no one writes letters anymore, every time I walk up to my mailbox, there's still a small part of me that fills with anticipation and hope as I turn the key and hear the metal squeak as I open the door. Now, instead of standing on tiptoe to reach the mail, I'm so tall that I have to bend down to peek inside. I pull out my mail, lock the mailbox, run to my apartment, and flip through the mail one piece at a time.

Now I understand what my mom meant because as I flip through the envelopes, it's all my mail, but now I have a water bill and an electric bill and a coupon for the local grocery store.

No letters.

Occasionally I'll receive a handwritten thank you note, and I'll read it and set it up on my bookshelf where I can see it when I walk by. When my bookshelf gets full of notes, I'll collect them up and move them to a small box in my closet. Sometimes I receive wedding invitations or graduation invitations or birthday party invitations. They all go on the fridge until the events come and go. Then they get moved to the box in the closet, too.

I never get letters anymore, and yet, somehow I know that one day, I'll open the mailbox, listen to the metal squeak, peek inside, and there will be a handwritten letter, written just for me. And all of the previous minor disappointments of coupons and bills and advertisements addressed to "Current Resident" will be worth it because I will finally have another letter to read, a letter someone wrote just for me.

Signed,
The Sappy, Sentimental, Nostalgic Girl Next Door

Something I Read

I just finished reading the book, The Color of Water: A Black Man's Tribute to His White Mother, by James McBride. I loved this book, and the fact that it is a true story made me love it even more. I wanted to share one of my favorite parts with you.


. . . even as a boy I knew God was all-powerful because of Mommy's utter deference to Him, and also because she would occasionally do something in church that I never saw her do at home or anywhere else: at some point in the service, usually when the congregation was singing one of her favorite songs, like "We've Come This Far by Faith" or "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," she would bow down her head and weep. It was the only time I ever saw her cry. 'Why do you cry in church?' I asked her one afternoon after service.

"Because God makes me happy."

"Then why cry?"

"I'm crying 'cause I'm happy. Anything wrong with that?"

"No," I said, but there was, because happy people did not seem to cry like she did. Mommy's tears seemed to come from somewhere else, a place far away, a place inside her that she never let any of us children visit, and even as a boy I felt there was a pain behind them. I thought it was because she wanted to be black like everyone else in church, because maybe God liked black people better, and one afternoon on the way home from church I asked her whether God was black or white.

A deep sigh. "Oh boy . . . God's not black. He's not white. He's a spirit."

"Does he like black or white people better?"

"He loves all people. He's a spirit."

"What's a spirit?"

"A spirit's a spirit."

"What color is God's spirit?"

"It doesn't have a color," she said. "God is the color of water. Water doesn't have a color."

Ode to Pomegranates

I've recently discovered that I love pomegranates. I may be obsessed with them a little bit actually.

I love them a lot. I love to just eat the actual fruit.

I love pomegranate juice. I could drink a gallon a day. I kid you not. Unfortunately, pomegranate juice is rather expensive, so this is not a possibility.

I drank something called Pom-Lite the other day because it was cheaper and "healthier" (said the bottle). But it didn't taste enough like pomegranate juice. It tasted like dragonfruit juice...which is fine except for the fact that it does not taste like pomegranate juice.

I like pomegranate smoothies.

I like pomegranate tea.

I've heard there's pomegranate frozen yogurt. I'm sure I like it, too.

The other night I ate a PB&J.

It was peanut butter & pomegranate jelly.

I might have a problem.

Supposedly, pomegranates are good for your skin, though.

So I should have awesome skin soon.

Do you know the ancient myth about Persephone?

In case you don't, I'll give you a short synopsis. I did a project on Persephone for Latin class in high school because I thought it was an interesting story.

Persephone was the beloved daughter of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest. Persephone lived a wonderful life until one unfortunate day when Hades, god of the Underworld, fell in love with her. Hades, being the charmer that he is, abducted her and held her captive in the Underworld.

Now there was a rule which stated that if you ate any food while in the Underworld, you were forced to stay in the Underworld...FOREVER!!!!

Ancient Greeks and Romans were a bit melodramatic with their myths. Just a bit.

Hades, being the manipulative jerk that he is, finally managed to trick Persephone into eating some fruit.

Just a few seeds of fruit, mind you.

What kind of fruit, you ask?

POMEGRANATE!

So Persephone was doomed.

Doomed!

Melodramatic, I tell you.

Demeter eventually got Persephone back from the Underworld, but because Persephone ate the four to six pomegranate seeds (different legends say a different number of seeds), she must return to the Underworld to be with Hades six months of the year.

Demeter, being the goddess of the harvest, mourns the loss of her daughter during these six months and as a result, the flowers and leaves die and nothing grows.

When Demeter is reunited with her daughter, flowers bloom, the grass turns green, and trees grow.

Alas! We have winter and summer.

Now you know.

Due to my love of pomegranates, I can understand how Persephone made such a fatal mistake and ate the fruit.

Actually, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the forbidden fruit Eve ate was pomegranate.

I can see how she would be tempted to eat a pomegranate.

I told you. I'm addicted to pomegranates. I have a problem.

The Cosby Show - Regular People with Monopoly

I love this show SO much. This clip makes me laugh every single time I see it. It also makes me glad I went to college, and dare I say it, I'm even glad I can say I'm in grad school. Although . . . my salary's just a little higher than Theo's hypothetical one. Such is life. However, I live in Lubbock, not Manhattan, so I suppose the money stretches a little farther.

I played Monopoly the other night. I lost terribly. I'm glad I'm better with real money.

I couldn't help but wonder, though . . . would Dave Ramsey win a game of monopoly? I mean, you can end up mortgaging everything you own without ever touching a credit card.

Did you know that an unemployed man invented Monopoly in the midst of the Great Depression?

I should start thinking of board game ideas while I'm in grad school.

Or my thesis.

It's still summer. Board games it is!

That's all for today.

A Bit of Poetry to Share

I heard this poem on a movie the other night, and it made me smile. It's sentimental and sweet, perhaps to the point of sappy, but we've already discussed the fact that I like sappy things. The poem is "i carry you in my heart" by E.E. Cummings. No, I did not forget to capitalize the "i." It bothers me, too. However, I searched google for quite some time in search of this poem, and none of the books which contain this poem capitalize the letter "i." Strange, I know. It's one of those poetry things. If I was writing for class, I'd come up with some reason Cummings may have chosen to use no capitalization in this poem and no punctuation other than the occasional semicolon and more parentheses than the average poem contains. I would probably also remark upon the unique spacing and placement of the words "i fear" and "grow." Luckily, though, I am not writing for English class, so I just read it for the sake of reading it and enjoying it. I hope you'll do the same.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which
grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

The Fascinating Scarlett O'Hara

I've never read Gone With the Wind. I've always intended to, but it's never actually happened. I finally watched the movie once or twice. I decided I needed to read the book.

So here it is. Summer!

Let me give you a math grad student translation of the above statement.

Summer = time to read books I've always wanted to read.

So last night, I bought the Kindle edition of Gone With the Wind. Why did I buy the Kindle edition, you ask?

Because I got a Kindle for my birthday!!!

Yes, I realize that a couple of weeks ago, I posted the Nook commercial. But I got a Kindle. And I like it a lot! It's pretty.

Back to my summer reading, though . . .

I just started the book, and I love it already.

I loved the first sentence. It's a brilliant first sentence, a brilliant first paragraph really.

Allow me to explain.

Exhibit A: Chapter One Paragraph One

"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin--that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns."

Wow. The first sentence is perfect.

In order to convey my point, I will split Margaret Mitchell's audience into two groups.

Group 1: Women
Group 2: Men

Consider Group 1, shall we? As a young woman, I want to BE Scarlett O'Hara after line one. I think I speak for many women when I say that we all want to feel beautiful. However, most of us have those days where we get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and think something to the effect of "Why do I look so terrible?" A bad case of bed head does not help matters. Neither does the fact that we may have puffy, tired-looking eyes. Or sometimes, women spend two hours getting all dressed up, and then see their reflection or a photograph of themselves and think, "Oh . . . I thought I'd look better than that." Or the worst case. You see other women and decide that you are not as beautiful as they are. Oh, that cursed vanity and jealousy!

That being said, I think we also all hope that our charming personalities, wit, and intelligence will be enough to distract people from our bad hair day.

In the first line, Margaret Mitchell has affirmed women's hopes worldwide.

Read it again.

"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarlton twins were."

Scarlett isn't beautiful, but she's so spectacular that no one even "realized" she was unattractive.

Everyday, normal-looking girls with puffy eyes across the globe are cheering and thinking that maybe, just maybe, if they were a character in such a book, the Tarlton twins would be caught by their charm, too.

It's true. It's corny, ridiculous, and anti-feminist, but I'm sorry. It's TRUE!

And personally as a Texan girl with the whitest skin you've ever seen, "magnolia-white skin" is one of the most flattering depictions of skin tone I have ever heard!!!

And that magnolia-white skin is considered to be "prized!" Granted, I don't carefully guard my skin with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns. I carefully guard my skin with SPF 50 Ocean Potion sunblock for sensitive skin. Unfortunately, I am not Scarlett O'Hara. I live in the decade of skin cancer and tan people are prized, regardless of the dangers of melanoma and the "prized magnolia-white skin" of Scarlett.

But such is life.

Anyway, Margaret Mitchell made sure that girls would like Scarlett O'Hara . . . especially us pale, porcelain, white girls.

Next, consider Group 2. Men like Scarlett O'Hara. It's in the first sentence. Didn't you catch it? The Tarleton twins are "caught" by her charm. She's so fantastic, they don't even "realize" her unique facial features.

This is another brilliant idea on Margaret Mitchell's part. She described Scarlett in such a way that men everywhere are picturing the perfect woman in their own minds.

Read it again. Margaret Mitchell has described a wide variety of facial features.

Let's say the male reader likes women with delicate features. Scarlett's "delicate."

Let's say he likes women with stronger features. Scarlett has "heavy" features.

Does he like Southern women? She's Southern.

American women? She's American.

Foreign women? Oh, well no worries. Her mother is a "Coast aristocrat of French descent," and she has a "florid Irish father."

And she looks like all of this blended together. So just take your pick, and let your imagination run wild.

Just in case men aren't "caught by her charm" and her unique, stunning looks, you should also notice that this face of hers isn't just any face. It's an "arresting face."

She has a "pointed chin" and a "square jaw."

I feel like these two facial features don't go together. Think about it for a moment. If you have a square jaw, "square" implies straight edged. "Pointed chin" implies that your face is shaped in such a way that it comes to a point . . . which means isn't straight. If you have a pointed chin, I would think you'd have a heart-shaped face. If you have a square jaw, you'd have a square face.

I'm not criticizing Margaret Mitchell.

I'm saying she's brilliant. Readers everywhere are picturing the perfect blending of all these contrasted features and then topping the whole image off with a dollop of charm and green eyes "starred" with naturally curled black lashes.

Let's summarize, shall we?

She's not beautiful.

She's better than beautiful.

She's exotic, unique, Southern, American, Irish, French, delicate, strong, magnolia-white, prized, and exudes a captivating, arresting charm which renders men incapable of thinking of her as anything but beautiful.

Gracious.

Scarlett hasn't even said anything yet, and everyone is already fascinated by her.

Or maybe it's just fair-skinned girls like me.

Either way, I applaud you, Margaret Mitchell.

I will now proceed to page two.

Don't worry. I won't write about every page. It's much too long of a book for commentary by Ashley.

Leadership and Such

I work for my cousin, Christy, online. I don't know if I've mentioned that before. She runs a database/web design business out of her home, and when I graduated from college about a year ago, she offered me a job as her first part-time employee.

She didn't know what exactly she'd have me do, but she believed I could learn anything. As a result, I started to believe that I was capable of learning anything.

At first, I did some data entry for her. She lives in Houston, so we would have phone meetings or webcam meetings once a week or so, and she would teach me to do whatever it is she was currently working on.

Then, she taught me how to use QuickBooks, and I entered the hours into the program and learned some basic accounting.

During this first year of grad school, I barely worked for her a couple hours a month due to the insane amount of studying and teaching and grading and learning I was doing.

Having said that, however, on days when I felt like I couldn't possibly learn what I was being taught in Intermediate Analysis II, I would sit down at my laptop and do some work for Christy. It didn't matter that I'd never taken an accounting class. It didn't matter that I'd never been to a team meeting with a bunch of engineers discussing million dollar projects. It didn't matter that I live so far away from Christy that it's a good nine hour drive to get there.

Christy trained me and taught me how to do a specific task.

And I could do it.

Better yet, I got paid to do it!

Also, I understood what I was doing! …Something that very rarely happens when I’m trying to solve problems for my math grad classes.

Working with Christy has taught me a valuable lesson.

When Christy has an idea, she acts on it. She pursues it. She makes it happen. She takes initiative.

As a result, I have to try to follow her lead.

This summer, she said: “Ashley, I think I want you to work on my web page.”

“Oh Christy, I don’t really know anything about web design.”

“Well, I’ll just send you the program and the book. You can do the tutorials and teach yourself. I know a little; you can ask me for help if you need it. We can figure it out.”

“Okay. It might take me a while.”

“That’s fine. You’ll get the hang of it.”

This is what I’m talking about. Oftentimes, I don’t try to learn new things or jump into things I have no experience in whatsoever. I’m too afraid of failing.

Christy isn’t like that.

For Christmas my senior year of college, my Christmas present from she and her husband were two books.

Not fiction books.

Not fun books.

They gave me: 48 Days to the Work You Love and Dave Ramsey: Financial Peace Revisited.

Since then, every time Christy gives me a book to read for a bonus for work or to read with her business in mind, I’ve noticed a common theme.

I’ve read The Question Behind the Question, which was about avoiding procrastination and taking lead in the workplace.

I’ve read Who Moved My Cheese? This book was a parable teaching that we must adapt to change, not be paralyzed by it.

Last week, she told me to read Tribes: We Need You to Lead Us.

So I did. Next, I’m supposed to read Guerilla Marketing.

At some point, I’m supposed to read The Go-Getter.

I read a lot.

Anyway, while Tribes may have been my least favorite of my assigned reading, I stumbled across several poignant quotes.

I thought I’d share.

“Isaac Newton was totally, fantastically wrong about alchemy, the branch of science he spent most of his career on. He was as wrong as a scientist could be. And yet, he’s widely regarded as the most successful scientist and mathematician ever.

Steve Jobs was wrong about the Apple III, wrong about the Mac FX, wrong about the NeXT computer. Insanely wrong. You know the rest.

The secret of being wrong isn’t to avoid being wrong!
The secret is being willing to be wrong.
The secret is realizing that wrong isn’t fatal.
The only thing that makes people and organizations great is their willingness to be not great along the way. The desire to fail on the way to reaching a bigger goal is the untold secret of success.

. . .

The secret of leadership is simple: Do what you believe in. Paint a picture of the future. Go there.

People will follow.”

All of the books Christy has given me to read share this vision. The fear of failure is the only thing that stands in the way of following your dreams.

We may fail repeatedly. But if we never try to take a risk, if we never seek to better ourselves, we become . . . mediocre.

None of us want to be mediocre.

There was one other quote from Tribes that I wanted to share.

This section was titled “The Obligation.”

“Not too far from us, a few blocks away, there are kids without enough to eat and without parents who care. A little farther away, hours by plane, are people unable to reach their goals because they live in a community that just doesn’t have the infrastructure to support them. A bit farther away are people being brutally persecuted by their governments. And the world is filled with people who can’t go to high school, never mind college, and who certainly can’t spend their time focused on whether or not they get a good parking space at work.

And so, the obligation: don’t settle.

To have all these advantages, all this momentum, all these opportunities and then settle for mediocre and then defend the status quo and then worry about corporate politics—what a waste.
Flynn Berry wrote that you should never use the word “opportunity.” It’s not an opportunity, it’s an obligation.

I don’t think we have any choice. I think we have an obligation to change the rules, to raise the bar, to play a different game, and to play it better than anyone has any right to believe is possible.”

I agree with him. He’s completely right. Grad school is miserable; we all know how much I hate it. The reason I stay, though, is because I know I can finish. I know I can’t let the fear of failure defeat my dream of teaching college level math one day. Not only am I blessed enough to have the opportunity to attend grad school, I’ve been given the ability to go, and so for me, it has in a sense, become an obligation.

I have an obligation to be the best that I can be. I have an obligation to never settle for mediocre.

Why? Because there’s nothing standing in my way.

Nothing except excuses.

In working for my cousin, I have watched as she makes the best of every situation. If things in her business don’t go as planned, she adapts. She doesn’t whine. She doesn’t stop. She just adjusts her plans.

If she can dream it, she can do it.

She’s trying to teach me to do the same.

I’m not saying she has no fear; I’m saying she doesn’t let fear stop her.

And that line a few lines above this one? I didn’t make that up. I stole it from someone else.
Actually, two of my favorite quotes come from this same person.

1. “If you can dream it, you can do it.”
2. "It's kind of fun to do the impossible."

Do you know who said it?

Walt Disney.

Winnie the Pooh!!!

I'm so excited about this movie. And it's coming out just in time for my birthday. Actually my birthday is the 14th, and Winnie the Pooh doesn't come out until the 15th. This is perfect, however, because I already have a midnight ticket to Harry Potter on the evening of the 14th. It's like Hollywood found out my birthdate and then planned to release the happiest, most exciting movies Ashley could ever dream of going to see within a 48 hour period. LOVE.

Last Saturday, I went to see Larry Crowne starring Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts. It was hilarious and great. Great and hilarious. It made me glad that I hope to be a professor someday.

Oh, also, perhaps you remember a few posts back when I wrote about my dilemma in buying music and then I described how I went about deciding to buy the entire first album by She & Him. Well, I love all of the songs. I know all of the words. So I bought Volume 2. I love all of the songs. I know most of the words. I've decided Zooey Deschanel is one of my favorite actresses/singers. Just yesterday, I discovered that she's contributing several songs to the Winnie the Pooh soundtrack. I pre-ordered the soundtrack from Amazon. Oh, and I ordered the piano sheet music for all of the songs from Volume One so I can learn how to play them just for kicks and giggles. It's official. I have a problem.

Oh and don't judge me for googling and you-tube-ing Winnie the Pooh clips all day yesterday. It's not like I'm about be 22 years old on Thursday. Oh wait . . .

Fine. You can judge me. I don't care. I'm young at heart, okay?!

I'm not dressing up as Hermione for the midnight showing of Harry Potter this year.

See, I'm grown-up!!

We're just making Harry Potter t-shirts.

:)

Life is good.

At the Office Episode 4: Scooters!

A few moments ago, I was sitting in my new office trying to figure out what to do next to fill up my time. I brought a few books with me, and I'm intending to try to work on the website I'm designing for my cousin's business in a few minutes. I'm teaching myself how to use Dreamweaver as I go, so it's taking me a while. Anyway, this thought process was interrupted by one of the guys in my office, who walked in, saw me, and said, "Hey Ashley! What's goin' on?"

"Absolutely nothing!" I replied.

"Nothing at all, huh?" he walked to his cubicle, set his keys down, and then walked back towards the door he'd just entered through a moment earlier.

"Nope!" I yelled toward the doorway. "Did you have any work earlier this morning?"

"Nah, not a thing." It was then that I heard the sound of wheels rolling on tile. I was expecting him to come rolling through in an office chair because the guys do that quite frequently when work gets a little dull. I've seen them roll around the cubicles and back down the hallways and into my office . . . there may have actually been a race at one point or the other.

However, it would appear that I was incorrect because as I heard the wheels approaching, I turned and saw the guy coming toward me on a red scooter as he sped around the bullpen area toward my office door.

I couldn't stop laughing. "Where on earth did you find that? Was it in the office somewhere?"

"Nope! I brought it with me! There's a blue one, too!"

"You brought two scooters to work?"

"Yeah! A red one and a blue one! Ya want one? They're in the back office by the side door against the wall!"

Before I had a chance to answer, he turned on his red scooter and raced off to get me the blue one. He returned in a few seconds on his scooter and handed me the second one, then began circling the cubicles again.

I'm sure this sort of thing happens at everyone's workplace all the time.

I used to think having a job with not much work would be pretty dull, but since starting grad school, I've learned to appreciate dull moments.

I mean, after all, it's only when people think work is dull and boring that they bring in scooters to liven things up a bit.

At the Office Episode 3: A Promotion!

A couple of weeks ago, I was moved from my cubicle to an actual office! Granted, the office is only 6 feet from where my cubicle used to be, but still! I have a room of my very own!

A Room of Her Own . . . I feel like a read a passage with that title in an English class in college once. I think it was written by Virginia Woolf. Well, now it's going to bug me if I don't check. I'll google. Just a second.

Yes! It was an extended essay by Virginia Woolf, titled "A Room of One's Own." The essay is considered to be a feminist text "which explores women both as writers of, and characters in fiction" and I remember that Woolf thought that in order for a woman to write well, she needed a space of her very own in which to gather her thoughts (according to a combination of knowledge from Wikipedia and my vague memory of reading it about three or four years ago).

Well, what do you know? I'm sitting in a room of my very own, and I happen to be writing. What a coincidence.

Moving on, I do even less work in my office. Apparently, being moved to an office means that you work even less, which I didn't think was even physically possible in my workplace. I mean, I work several hours a week, but the rest of the time is free time.

I've found various ways to fill this free time. I've read multiple books. I started teaching myself web design. Why not?

But I won't fool you. I mean you already know that sometimes I just play hearts on the company computer, or I write on this blog from my laptop (which I'm doing right now in an office of my very own).

Yesterday, I played Minesweeper.

I have a love/hate relationship with Minesweeper. On the one hand, it takes up time and amuses me; on the other hand, IT'S THE MOST FRUSTRATING THING IN THE WORLD!

Seriously! I don't think I've ever won the expert level, not even once. I'll be really close, and then I'll click the wrong button, and it's all over.

I got so mad at Minesweeper that I started playing Hearts again, only to get mad at the computer because I should have had a wonderful score of zero, but Pauline shot the moon in round 2, and then Ben shot the moon in round 3, and then I decided that this was just ridiculous and closed the window and left work early . . . because I'd already done my work for the day earlier, and I forgot to bring a book to keep my mind entertained.

I get mad at inanimate objects (primarily computers) much more often that I get mad at people. It's just a fact of life.

Although, I've got to say, I live a very very very blessed life seeing as the most worrysome part of my day was getting mad at Minesweeper in my new office.

Very very blessed.

Read Forever

I love this commercial!!!! It makes me want to read right this instant.

Fortune Cookies & She & Him

Look at my delightful fortune cookie I got from China Town at lunch today! Well, actually, I guess I should technically say look at the fortune. The cookie's gone. I ate it before I thought to take a picture. Food has a tendency to vanish if it is within a 3 foot radius of me. Unless it's carrots. I hate carrots. I hate them; I do! Okay, maybe hate's a strong word. I dislike them...greatly. I can eat them if I have to for the sake of being polite to the host, but more often than not, I discover at the end of the meal that the only thing left on my plate is...orange...and carrot-y. I made that word up just for you. Anyway, fortune cookies are lovely...most of the time. I went through a spell when all of my fortune cookies kept telling me to work hard. Bleck! The one I got yesterday is much better.Pleasant, don't you think? I thought so. It made me smile.

Also, yesterday I was thinking about how I was really sick of all the songs on my iTouch. I came to this realization because I listened to it on the nine hour drive to Houston and on the nine hour drive back from Houston. That's a lot of hours. My music selection on my iTouch is kind of pathetic by most people's standards. You see, I'm kinda thrifty when it comes to buying music. I always think, "Oh, I like that band! I'll buy their album!" Then, I look on iTunes, and I think to myself:

$12!!! I don't want to pay $12! I only like one or two of the songs...I'll just buy those two.

As I'm about to click "Buy" my silly math side gets the best of me and I start calculating. It's never a good thing when I start calculating. It leads to overanalyzing.

I can't buy just one or two! That's a waste of money. It's a much better buy if I just buy the whole thing.

But I don't want to spend $12! What if I don't like the songs?

I hope you see how this leads to a vicious cycle which continues until I get so fed up with myself that I do one of two things.

1. I buy the whole album.

2. I buy nothing.

This terrible mental process of mine has led to very little variety on my iPod since I actually buy songs very rarely, and hundreds of songs I don't even know or like because I bought whole albums of songs I didn't know or like because I was too cheap to just buy the two songs I liked for the sake of getting a better buy!

FAIL!

So yesterday, I went through this whole process with the intention of buying a song or two because I never do.

I should've known better.

I bought a whole album. I love Zooey Deschanel's voice, and I really just wanted the She & Him rendition of "You've Really Got a Hold on Me," but it was a much better buy to get the whole album, but I didn't want to spend $12, but I was going to quit being cheap and buy a song dadgummit!!! And then...I gave up and bought the whole thing. But seriously, don't you think "You've Really Got a Hold on Me" was worth it? She's got such a great voice. See? Or I guess I should say hear? Nah, that sounds weird. Here's the one song I intended to buy.

I'm glad I bought that song. I actually like the whole album. Occassionally my indecisive brain makes a good decision. I like all of the songs.

Unfortunately, I just found "I Put a Spell on You." It's $1.98 . . . or I could buy the whole album.

To buy or not to buy; that is the question.

I'm hopeless. I'll just wait a day to buy the whole album.

School's Out For Summer!!! (Sing the Song to Yourself for Dramatic Effect)

It's summer!!!

I have been spastically happy, verging on giddy since I finished my finals. I'm speechless, well not really; that never happens. I can't believe how wonderful summer is. I have my life back!!!

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the picnics are beginning, and the weddings are starting. So many weddings! I've been going to multiple bridal showers a week, shopping at Bed, Bath, & Beyond and Target during my lunch breaks, planning showers, baking thumbprint cookies, finding bridesmaid dresses, staying skinny so I fit in said dresses, filling my calendar with rehearsals, rehearsal dinners, spa brunches, and of course, the weddings themselves.

I'm not going to lie. I love it.

You know why?

Because I haven't memorized a single math proof or set foot on school campus for the past two weeks. It's been bliss.

Life is a beautiful, beautiful thing. My summer 9-5 job is a gift! I enjoy sitting in my cubicle and doing nothing of consequence. I have time to bake things and cook things and have people over and plan weekend trips to Houston for my little cousin's preschool graduation and help make cookies for the little kids' activities at church and make cute invitations for bridal showers and make to-do lists filled with fun things and clean my apartment. Who knew I'd ever think cleaning was fun? But I'm here to tell you something. Cleaning is a privilege!!! I didn't have time to clean for the past two months because I locked myself in a solitary place to study and study and study and memorize and memorize and memorize and I would sadly look around my apartment and remember how lovely it looked once upon a time.

But now! Now it looks lovely again! I've read four books in the past week because I have time to read again! I love reading. It's just the best. I can finally read something besides a textbook! Oh, the bliss! I spent $28 in Hasting's the other night picking enough books to last me a week.

I went to the movies! I ate popcorn glazed in butter!

I went to a cake tasting party and ate cake!

I remembered about the bridesmaid dresses I need to fit into, and I started finding time in my schedule to work out. I was excited at the thought of being able to work out!

You know why?

I'll let you guess this time.

Oh you're right!!!

Because I have time to work out because it's summer, and I don't have to worry about grad school!!!!!!!!

There are not enough exclamation points in the world to convey my excitement.

Last night, after I tried five kinds of cake, I drove across town to take my friend Meredith some cake because she was still working, helping middle school kids with their musical rehearsal. I was able to do nice things for her, and it was a spectacular feeling!

And on Saturday, I'm going to the musical she helped direct!

You know why???

BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TO FEEL GUILTY FOR HAVING FUN WHEN I SHOULD BE STUDYING BECAUSE IT'S SUMMER AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME STUDY!!!

Summer's my favorite.

Summer = Bliss.

Summer may be one of my very best friends.

Whatever shall I do today? The possibilities are endless!!!

Did I mention I've crammed all of this fun into a little over a week?!

LIFE IS A BLAST!!!

I'll leave you with one of my favorite quotes from Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium.

"Your life is an occasion. Rise to it!"

Carpe Diem, people! The sun is bursting through the clouds! Everyday, mundane life is spectacular!!!

Go!!! LIVE!!!

I told you I was spastically happy.

Finals Week Blues

I don't know if you've taken any philosophy classes or upper level math classes where you use logic to prove things, but I'm starting to talk like this penguin due to the amount of proofs I've been memorizing for finals this week. Suppose _______ is true/false. Therefore, _______. Therefore, _______. Therefore, we use a trick to show _________. Therefore, a miracle happens. Therefore, we have a contradiction. Therefore, the problem statement is false/true. And therefore, penguin cartoons are black and white and red all over...oh wait, that's newspaper. I'm losing my mind. The studying must end soon. It'll be over on Friday. It'll be over on Friday. It'll be over on Friday. I'm telling you. I'm losing it. This doesn't even make sense. My brain sounds like one of those Bing! search engine commercials. I told you. This is how math proofs go. Gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, symbols, letters turned every which way so that my homework looks like Alphabet Soup with some Greek letters thrown in, too. Frequently, my professors skip steps, but if I skip them, then they act like this guy: "Be more explicit in step two."
Why do I have to be more explicit in step two? I believe in miracles. Have a little faith, people! I mean, really! The buildings are still standing up, so I think the math must be pretty accurate. Do I really need to prove it again?

I don't like finals week. I spend A LOT of time studying for them, and much too frequently in math graduate school, I feel like the girl in the following cartoon. By the way, I found these cartoons a few minutes ago when I couldn't study a minute longer and found myself googling "Studying for Finals Cartoon." Not even kidding. I relate to all of these for various reasons. If you don't get a couple of them, consider yourself lucky. If you do, well...then we'd probably get along in a "misery loves company" sort of way.


I'm done whining now. When Friday afternoon gets here, it will be summer. I will be ecstatic. There will be happy posts galore! Until then, I will spare you. My blog will be silent as I study so that you do not have to listen to me rant and whine. You're very welcome.

Happy Easter!

I saw this performance by Carrie Underwood the other night, and by the time she reached the last stanza, I was almost in tears. I love all of the old hymns, but this particular song is one of my favorites.



"How Great Thou Art"

O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made.
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

And when I think that God, His Son not sparing,
Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin:

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

When Christ shall come with shouts of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration,
And there proclaim, my God, how great Thou art!

Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee;
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee:
How great Thou art, how great Thou art!

Keeping My Head in the Clouds and My Feet on the Ground

I meant to post these pictures a week ago, but grad school simply didn't grant me enough time. However, I did take the time to stop for a moment and smell the roses, or look at the sky, in this case. I had just finished helping my friend teach Bible class on Wednesday night, and as I was walking out to my car, I looked up. That's when I saw them.

Clouds. I've always loved clouds. I look at clouds like that, and I can't help but picture God with his divine paintbrush, sweeping the clouds to the side with one smooth stroke so that the sunset will reflect it's amber colors upward in the most beautiful way imaginable. Every time I look to the sky, I am mesmerized. I remember that when I was little, I used to imagine that when I went to Heaven someday, I would get to stand on a cloud. Clouds just always seem so mystical, so out of reach, so incredibly immense, always present, but always elusive. I think it was for that very reason that I was also amazed by fog. I remember asking Mom what the fog was, and she told me, "Fog is what happens when the clouds come down to the ground." Wow. I couldn't figure out why people thought it was such a pain to drive in the fog. I thought it was incredible. Clouds are always in the sky, but when there's fog, you can touch a cloud. You can walk through it. You can reach the unreachable.

I won't lie, though. I was pretty disappointed to discover that clouds were water vapor. After all, how was I going to sit on a cloud in Heaven if it was just water vapor? What a let-down! Then I remembered that God can do anything, and consoled myself by saying that maybe when I get to Heaven, where everything is perfect, God will let me sit on a cloud after all.

By the way, I think God is always trying to get our attention. I took this picture at the same time as the others, and later I discovered the cloud on the right. It's shaped like an arrow pointing down to the horizon. Do you see it?

It's as if God brushed the clouds to the side, so He could direct our attention to the sunset. By the way, I tried to take some pictures of the sky while I was in the church parking lot, but there was too much city stuff in the way. So I decided to give up on taking pictures. On the way to my parents' house, though, I had to stop at the gas station, and I just couldn't help myself. I ran to the field and started taking pictures.


That's another thing I love about clouds. Pictures of clouds are beautiful, but photographs never do them justice. You just have to see them for yourself, and they never stay the same for more than a moment. They're always slowly moving across the sky, changing colors as the sun rises and sets. My absolute favorite is when there's a hole in the clouds, and the sun comes shining through. I've always imagined that's what the sky looked like when Jesus ascended into the heavens, and I've always imagined that's what it will look like when He comes again.

I just love clouds. I guess it's because they remind me of the One who made them.

Things That Are Spectacular Like Harry Potter

Sometimes, I have very ordinary days. Okay, most of the time I have very ordinary days. The past few days have pretty dadgum ordinary. Which is good! I mean exciting days can be extremely terrible days, so ordinary is okay. Predictability is one of my favorite things in life, primarily because it's rare. Life is uncontrollable, spontaneous and throws things at you when you least expect.

All I've got to write about today is ordinary, though. Don't get your hopes up.

Actually, while I'm talking about the ordinary extraordinaire, I'll mention one of my favorite songs, corny though it may be. However, expect the corny warnings to virtually disappear from my blog soon because if you've read much of this business at all, you should have figured out that I like corny things by now.

That being said, the song is "Ordinary Miracle" by Sarah McLaughlin. Lovely. It makes me smile and feel good about life. Go listen to it.

I'm not posting the song on here because once again, I am completely off-topic (by the way, it's from the Charlotte's Web soundtrack), and this ordinary business is all leading to the point where I tell you that I did nothing interesting today.

I watched Dancing with the Stars the other night, and I felt extremely unaccomplished. Also, on Dancing with the Stars, it was classical music night. I loved all of the music. Just when I was thinking that they couldn't pick a song I could possibly like more than the previous song (which I always think after every song), I heard the following music and then watched the following dance, and thought it was the coolest Viennese Waltz I'd ever seen. Granted, Viennese Waltzes, according to Judge Lyn are not supposed to be cool and hip because the Viennese Waltz is 200 years old...blah, blah, blah. I don't care. My love for Harry Potter beats my love of the Viennese Waltz. Hit play, please. I apologize for the weather advisory warning in the corner; it's the only clip I could find on YouTube. Also, click on the link to watch it on YouTube. I can't get it to not cut off the right side when I try to watch it on here. Sorry for being technologically challenged.


If you don't have a ridiculous love of all things Harry Potter:

1. You should.


2. I feel sorry for you.


3. We may not be able to be friends because sooner or later, I will tell you about how my friends and I dressed up to go to midnight showings and book releases for Harry Potter, and you will look at me like I'm crazy. Oops, too late.


4. You will not understand why I have a frame that says Number 4 Privet Drive in my apartment under the stairs despite the fact that I live on a street called Frankford. Frankford. It's Frank and Ford stuck together. Yuck. Wouldn't you pick Privet Drive if you could? Wait. I guess not because if you don't have a ridiculous love of all things Harry Potter, you don't even know why Privet Drive is amazing. Fail.


5. You won't appreciate that Dancing with the Stars clip nearly as much as I did.


6. You wouldn't have understood what on earth Judge Bruno was talking about when Judge Lyn started criticizing the lack of authenticity, and Judge Bruno stood up, acted like he was pointing a wand at Judge Lyn, and yelled, "Expelliarmus!!! Expelliarmus!!!"


7. I dressed up like Hermione several times. You don't know what that means, and you're trying to figure out how to pronounce Hermione.


8. You missed out on googling Latin phrases to see what the spells in the book mean.


9. When you clicked play to watch the dance above, you didn't yell, "It's Hedwig's Theme! It's Hedwig's Theme!" less than three seconds into the song.


10. I guess you don't own the motion picture soundtrack...*cough*or the sheet music*cough*...not that I do.


11. You've never watched "A Very Potter Musical" on YouTube.


12. I can keep going.


13. But I won't.


14. In summary, you missed out on loads of fun and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.


15. Oh, and you'll never receive a Hogwarts acceptance letter on your birthday.


16. You should also know that it's "Wingaaaardiam Leviosa!" not "Wingardiam Leviosaaaaa."

Done.

At the Office Episode 2: Deadline (But Not of the Typical Boring Work Variety)

I’m sure you’re thinking, “Good grief! It’s about time Ashley actually had to work at the engineering firm instead of twiddle her thumbs and play Solitaire and Hearts.”

Sheesh! Why the hostility?

Just kidding.

So two days ago, I was actually working at work. Crazy, I know. I was sitting in my cubicle editing some notes about circuitry, blah blah blah (I say blah blah blah because I didn’t understand what I was typing. I just follow instructions), when all of the sudden, one of the mechanical engineers walked toward my cubicle and then stopped.

I kept working, keeping up my busy as a bee persona.

“Ashley-girl! What’s new?”

I never know how to answer that question. It’s really hard to make my life sound interesting. I go to evil grad school, I attempt horrendous homework, I barely pass my classes, I grab takeout on the way to the engineering firm where I typically work on homework and the occasional position of a light switch for some building, I pick up my paycheck, I go home, I go to sleep, I wake up, and wait for it…I repeat.

So I finally said, “Same old, same old; work and school.”

“Nothing else? Nothing fun?”

Gee, rub it in. Thanks a lot.

This particular engineer is always nice to me, though, so I just said: “Nope, not really. I may have flunked a test today.”

“So you’re still mathematizing?”

I laughed, “Yes, I’m still trying to mathematize.”

“Mathematize sounds kinda bad. Like cancer. Cancer metastasizes. Not good.”

“Well now that you mention it, that doesn’t sound good at all.”

What else was I supposed to say? I mean, really. How would you have responded to that metastasizing business? I was trying to think about where I should edit text on the screen when I completely froze.

“Why did you freeze?” you ask.

I’ll tell you.

As I resumed my work, immediately following the metastasization business, “So, you getting married yet?”

I laughed.

So he started laughing.

I said, “No!”

“Why not?”

“Well, if the guy would show up, I probably would marry him. I don’t see him anywhere,” I said motioning my arms toward the surrounding cubicles.

“Six months.”

He lost me.

“What?”

“I give it six months.”

…

“Six months ‘til what?”

“You’ll be married in six months.”

I laughed, “What?!”

“Six months.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little fast considering the fact that I’m not even dating anyone right now?”

“Well, you’ll be engaged.”

I looked at him skeptically.

“You’ll know him. You’ll be dating him.”

I stared at him.

“You’ve got until Christmas.”

“Well, I would hate to be your biggest disappointment, but I really don’t date much.”

“Well that’s because you’ve raised a high bar.”

I gave up on working on the electrical plans at this point.

“I have high standards, yes.”

“Well, just lower your standards.”

I must’ve been giving him a look, because he quickly said, “Well, don’t lower your marrying standards, just your dating standards.”

“HAHAHAHA!” Apparently the computer IT guy down the hall had overheard the conversation. “Duuuude, your advice is hilarious! Just lower your dating standards! HA!”

The computer guy’s a character. He’s funny. Good guy. Plus, he laughs at my jokes and makes my laptop connect to the internet, which makes him like a modern-day hero.

I decided this conversation had gone a little too far. I didn’t want seven guys standing around my cubicle giving me advice on romance. It’s happened. Did I mention we have a lot of free time?

Back to the conversation: “Why would I lower my dating standards? I don’t want to date someone that I have no desire to end up with. That’s just a waste of time.”

“Six months.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Six Months.”

“Dang, Ashley. He’s giving you a deadline.” That was computer guy again.

“I have a deadline?”

“Yes. Christmas.” That was the engineer talking again.

“Oh dear.”

“It’ll happen. College is conducive to marriage.”

“Huh?”

“College. It’s massive crowds of people at a pivotal age combined with lots of hormones. It’s a highly probable place to meet a significant other.”

I may be paraphrasing that part. It was very scientific and engineering-sounding.

“I’m already done with college. I’m in grad school. The college dating pool didn’t work out for me.”

“Six months.”

“Alright. Six months.”

“Talk to you later, Ashley-girl.”

And then he walked away.

Oh right, I thought, I should probably finish my work for the day.

He didn’t give me a deadline for the electrical plans.

About thirty minutes later, I clocked out. As I walked toward the door, caddy-corner cubicle guy said: “Bye Ashley! Go find your husband tonight!”

Very funny.