Again and again and again

There is something infinitely soothing to me in repetition. In the past year I've learned about the religious use and tradition of labyrinths. They seem to be a good physical manifestation of the notion of repetitive soothing. This description from St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Bethesda explains it well:

The labyrinth has a single path for walking into and returning from the center. Unlike a maze, the labyrinth has no false turns or blind alleys. You cannot get lost.

Start at the entrance and let go of your cares and concerns. Walk silently, at your own pace, pausing for reflection whenever you wish. Be open to any insight or guidance you receive.

The end of the first graph almost takes my breath away: "No false turns or blind alleys. You cannot get lost." It's this safe predictability that repetition offers that is so appealing. At least the way I practice it. No surprises, no wrong turns, just the same action over and over again.

My repetitive habits can cure almost anything. Counting words in sentences or letters in words over and over when nervous or stressed. Tapping the buttons on a remote control, counting 1 to 100, again and again. Tracing the stones set in the shape of a "B" in a plaster coaster my sister made until zoning out. Playing the same song for days on end until the words barely register.

There are a number of labyrinths at churches in the area and I will eventually walk one. In the meantime, my personal labyrinth continues to be letters, remote buttons, and songs. Especially songs. I've blogged before about my propensity to listen to a song on repeat for an entire day. (See: Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson - Valerie; Eric Hutchinson - Rock and Roll; Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Oh Children) This week it's Samantha Ronson's cover of the Alicia Keys song "Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart" firmly on repeat for the past two days.

Last week I heard her brother's version for the first time, which I also love, but this week I'm just obsessed with hers. Despite the title and lyrics, I find it far more beautiful and soothing than sad and depressing. Maybe because I have the more upbeat Keys or other Ronson versions to switch too if needed.

Because of course I have multiple versions. My Covers playlist on iTunes is currently more than 200 strong, with the leaders being "Hallelujah" with 12 and "Carolina in my Mind" with eight. On the off chance I grow weary of one version, I can switch to another and repeat the process.

Some might consider all of this just OCD. Which, I'm sure to some degree it is. But I think the existence and spiritual properties of the labyrinth show that I'm not the only one to find peace in doing again, and again, and again. Repetition: It's good for the soul. Or at least it's good for mine.

Labyrinth photo from here.

Getting it done

This is a list I made to help me organize my current project at work. Most people probably don't use pink ink for their professional to do lists. Most people probably would have just made a chart in Excel. Most people probably don't use liquid white out to erase erroneous marks that are marring the chart. Most people probably don't feel an overwhelming sense of calm just looking at the list, before a single check mark is even made. I am not most people.

Inside the mind of a pack rat (aka I am my father's daughter)

In preparing to move for the 15th time in eight years, I'm trying very hard to shed some of my unnecessary belongings. The problem, however, is that I'm a pack rat. A huge one. And not only that, I'm also terribly sentimental; a terrible combination. And, therefore, I'd like to say...

Hello, my name is Bonnie, and I'm a sentimental pack rat.

From a key chain I've had since I was four, to every gift either of my nieces or my brother has ever given me, I keep it all. I try and I try to trim the fat, but it's like things jump from my "trash" or "donate" piles back into my drawers and boxes and refuse to let go.

And it's not like I really have a choice, it's genetic. My father has the affliction, and so did his father, and for all I know, my grandfather's father could have had it, too. And I do strongly believe in family tradition.

But tonite I really buckled down so that I can do away with one small rolling cart and two small shelves. (Though small, they're a start.) While cleaning out the rolling cart, I came across this:


Yes, a tiny Fn key from a laptop. (Though I know this is a function key, I prefer to call it Fn key, because in my head it sounds like "effin key." I am so mature.) A quick glance at my current laptop, Francisco, and I see this:


Clearly not a mate. And since this is only the second laptop I've ever had, I can only assume it belongs on my college laptop, Javier, and I honestly don't know where he is. So this is easy, pick up the Fn key and toss it into the trash bag six inches away. But...

What if something happens to Francisco's Fn key? It happened once, it could happen again. What if I toss it, put the trash bag in the garbage can, and the city picks up the garbage. Then I come home, open my computer and...wait, something's happened to the Fn key! Thank goodness I have that spare. OH NO!! I can't believe I threw out the Fn key!

Forget that I don't know how to re-attach a laptop key. Forget that the fonts don't match and that would drive my OCD crazy. Forget that the IBM key might not work on a Dell. That Fn key isn't going anywhere but to my new apartment.

"I always skip Wednesdays." (Tim Riggins, FNL)

In high school I:

• Never went a day without having my nails painted.
• Owned no real t-shirts.
• Never left the house without everything looking just. so.

In college I:

• Had my nails painted some days.
• Accrued more than 50 t-shirts.
• Never wore pajamas to class and rarely wore a hoodie out.

In real life I:

• Sometimes go days with chipped nail polish or unevenly filed nails.
• Wore a hoodie to work. Twice.
• Had to talk myself out of wearing a t-shirt today that has been previously used to exercise and sleep in. And I wore a baseball hat.

At this rate of decline, in ten years, my wardrobe will consist solely of housecoats and slippers.

This could be looked at as a sign that I'm letting go of some of my perfectionist control freak tendencies. But...

I ironed both the sleep/exercise shirt and the shirt I ended up wearing. Both of which had to have navy in them to match the hat. Then I lint rolled the hat because it had fuzzies on it. On the feet were black flip flops instead of brown to match my black bag. Finally, I went through several pairs of earrings and necklaces before settling on ones that went with the casual and effortless look I was going for.

It turns out that even when I'm being a lazy slob I'm still a perfectionist control freak. Maybe I don't need to say hello to the housecoats and slippers just yet.

Clear Eyes. Full Hearts. Can't lose.

After years of hearing from a variety of people -- in real life, on tv, and on blogs -- I finally caved last week and started watching "Friday Night Lights." And, just like they all said, I am obsessed! To the point that I watched all three seasons on Netflix instant play in entirely too short of an amount of time. This is why I resist watching shows that have already been out for awhile. I get addicted and can't stop until I watch them all and know everything about them. (See: Doctor Who, One Tree Hill, General Hospital, etc.)

This might be one of the most realistic shows I've ever seen. I feel like I could walk into any small town in America -- including my own hometown -- and find people just like this with issues like theirs. The good, the bad, and the over-the-top. And it's about so much more than just football. The characters are dynamically written and acted, their interactions and experiences honest and poignant. I find myself tearing up at every episode, which might not normally say much since I cry at everything, but it really is that good and moving.

(Though I must say I'm not sure there's any way normal teenagers could have as much sex and drink as much alcohol as they do and still have time for football. Not to mention have no pregnancies or drunken driving incidents. Though I guess there have been a fair number of arrests. But there aren't always consequences for bad choices in real life, so they're still keeping it real.)

It is also very witty and delivers some great lines, usually said in the driest manner possible, my favorite kind of humor. Current favorites:

Matt: I can't just quit the team.

Shelby: What would they do? Shoot you?
Matt: Probably. We do live in Texas.

Coach Taylor: Contrary to popular opinion I'm very good at communicating with womenfolk.
Tami Taylor: Sweetheart, that's just ridiculous.

Grandma Saracen: Is that my tiara?
Landry: That will be beautiful when you zip over to Rite-Aid.

Bottom line: Everyone should watch this show.

Evolution of the Hamster Ball/Mind of Bonnie

If you saw the closing ceremonies of the Olympics last night, you may have caught these wondrous globes during the Russian portion:(Picture from MSN.)

People rolling around in human hamster balls. I squealed in delight. And this is why.

I have a seriously obsessive personality when it comes to just about everything. I can't just start watching a TV show, I have to see every episode and research it until I know its history and purpose. I don't just read a book, I look up the author's life story and visit their web site/blog/twitter. If I see a grammatical error somewhere, I can't focus until I've fixed it or left the area. I missed the bulk of a lecture in college once because the end of the professor's tie was flipped up and it's all I could focus on. And if something catches my interest, I file it away and it pretty much never goes away. Thus I present: For the Love of the Giant Human Hamster Ball.

It began with this, on American Gladiators, circa 1990:

Next I took the concept and applied it to one of two rainy day inventions, after a particularly awful rainy day junior year, circa 2005:

Then I learned that you can apparently buy your own from, somewhere, like the guy from the Flaming Lips:

Then I heard about this, the Zorb, which gave me hope such as I have never known:

And finally, I saw this, which made me realize we really are never alone in this world, and that I'm not the only crazy one:

And there you have it, one of my Bucket List items: take a ride in a giant hamster ball. If you're still my friend after this, God love you, and feel free to take a ride once I get my hands on one.

Also, I've had this post in drafts for a year trying to make it just right. I wonder if there is an anti-obsession pill I could take. Like a chill pill! (Or is that what Prozac is for?)

Hallelujah!

(Warning: I feel like this post showcases my obsessive and over-thinking nature more than anything I've written in awhile. You've been warned.)

Today I took what I thought would be just an ordinary trip to Harris Teeter for a few items. But as I was in line to check out I spotted something distinctly Carolina blue out of the corner of my eye. My eyes zeroed in on the checkout counter one line over where, sure enough, there was a big stack of Carolina blue reusable bags. Only, it wasn't just the color of my precious Carolina, it was actually something Carolina, interlocking NC and "Turn it blue" logo in all.

For a minute I paused, thinking I was back in the Harris Teeter on 15-501 in Chapel Hill that I shopped at for four years. (That has since closed.) But no, here I was in my Capitol Hill grocery store with a stack of bags imploring shoppers to show their love for their Tar Heels - and Harris Teeter.

I've seen bags for the Nationals and Redskins, but those are local teams. And UNC love outside of NC is hardly novel - I've seen it everywhere, including London and Venice. But still, I was floored.

Could it be that after two long years of life outside of NC, my new home has finally come around and seen the greatness that is UNC? That the same store, where just two weeks ago a Duke-loving bagboy commented on my Johnny T-Shirt bag by saying he had never seen a Carolina bag in here, was now happily hocking the gear of the reigning national champions? Will they start showing all the basketball games now? Will I no longer have to explain what a Tar Heel is?

Probably not. Will I be going back to buy one of the bags despite the fact that I will be in NC in two days and in Chapel Hill in seven? But of course. UNC probably has about as much as my money from merchandise as they do from my tuition, so why stop now.

It's silly, but it made me happy for a few minutes and I strongly believe in embracing the little things in life. Especially when they involve one of my most favorite things, which in my world, is hardly little.

Day 275: Bailout smackdown

One of my favorite lines from Friends is when someone tells Phoebe to "dial down the crazy." I have pretty much adopted this as my mantra in life. I fully embrace my weirdness, my neuroticness, my geekiness - aka my life - and am not ashamed of any of my crazy quirks.

However, I do have just enough social grace to realize you can't let it all hang out all at once. No need to walk up to someone and say, "Hi, I'm Bonnie, I sleep with a blanket, can't touch raw meat, have been known to alphabetize the books and DVDs of others, and have an all-consuming fear of birds. How are you?" That being said, in a discussion at work about organization I admitted to owning multiple label makers, alphabetizing everything, color coordinating my clothing, and having mild panic attacks when things are not as I want them. The multiple label makers and clothes coordination got the biggest reaction. Oh well. At least I haven't labeled the colors. Yet.

Note: my new thing could have been hanging around outside the Capitol whilst the Senate debated the bailout. However, the roommate refused to cooperate with my desire to spy on/wave at/interrupt the proceedings of our government. This is technically also new as I normally attempt to enlist Karey in my plans to infiltrate official business. At least she had a good excuse, she was already infiltrating, I believe Brandie was just tired.