Up Close and Personal

I've been working up the courage for WEEKS to be able to write something more personal again. I know, I know. That's a really stupid thing to say when VOLUNTARILY keeping a blog that maybe 10 people total read. Let me explain.

After the initial heartbreak of my "academic exclusion" (my new favorite euphemism, by the way) from good ol' Cecil C. Humphreys School of Law (and for the record, no I did not fail any classes, you Nosies, not that it matters now anyway)(there are too many little asides in here already, aren't there?)and my announcement of my "exclusion" (see earlier post, The Rest of the Story), I decided that I was going to start being super private about anything going on in my life. See, somewhere around my sophomore year at UT, the filter on my mouth was removed and I became a world-class blurter. Like the time I told my OL class that I was having a bad week because I was trying to cover up four hickeys on my neck(I know I mentioned that another time. I'm secretly proud of my ability to bruise so well). Or the time I told my entire English class that I had an odd Spring Break because one of my friends came out of the closet. Nervous laughter from thirty students. My professor commenting that at least my friend and I had no more secrets. Open mouth, insert shoe store. Ok right. Back on track. Anyway, I decided that I was no longer going to fill anyone in on the bigger things in life. Like just let things be a secret. That way, if something major falls through, like law school, for example, nobody would know. I wouldn't have to fake my death and move to Mexico as planned. I could just pick another back-up plan and move on. I cut back on my Facebook statusing too, so that I could just be some kind of mystery (like anybody noticed. I can be so self-absorbed sometimes)and fade into the shadows. Who am I kidding? I love talking about myself! I hate the shadows, and I love sharing my feelings, whether anybody else cares or not. It's hard to deny who you are.

I'm pleased to share that at the end of this month, I will be starting the Master's program in English, Composition Studies, back at the University of Memphis. I've definitely had some moments where I feel like I'm taking a big step-down, that the maintenance guy at my apartment complex is going to be sad that I'm not gonna get that JD, and that my parents are secretly going to hang their heads in disgust at my failure. I even asked my mom if she would make the drive to see me graduate. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because," I said, putting on my best pathetic face, "It's just a Master's." My mother is definitely not a make-you-feel-good kind of person. "S***! I'd love to just finish my degree." (I'm not sure my mom actually cursed there. It just sounds better in my head like that.) I cowered and began to process that perspective.

I can't even begin to describe how lucky I feel to have this opportunity. The pity parties I've thrown myself and the self-deprecation have to stop! What are the odds that the deadline for a graduate program focusing on my favorite subject in the free world was August 1st? I had ample time to apply, study, take the GRE, and be admitted. My student loans have been reinstated, I still have my apartment for the next year, and the friends I've made in Memphis aren't going anywhere. In fact, one of my law school friends is going into the EXACT same program! It's been so great to have her there to check in with and talk things over with. I appreciate it, LB :) Let's not forget that my tuition is cheaper, I'll later have the opportunity to be a Graduate Assistant, and I probably won't have to sip Sutter Home's $8.99 jumbo-sized bottle of White Merlot to depress my nerves enough to breathe while doing homework.

I'm FINALLY realizing that I am blessed. Sure, I'm still bummed about law school, and yeah, if given the choice I'd rather be heading back to Cecil C's. It kills me that I can't finish what I started, and that I one day decide to try it again, I have to start all over; however, there's no way I can deny that the Lord is taking care of me through all this. He's shown me so many people who support me. He's provided an opportunity to begin again and given me the means to do so. There have been weeks this summer that I couldn't bring myself to even pray. I just felt like anything I asked for or the praise I was supposed to give was worth nothing. I've avoided my Bible because the devotions I read just sounded like crap. But now, trying to reflect back on the last few months, it amazes me that our holy and perfect God continued to love me when I couldn't love myself. This all sounds self-righteous and holier-than-thou, I'm sure. I'm just glad that Jesus is still faithful, even when I'm not.

I've got about an hour and a half left until I am free from my job in a cubicle for.ever. I'll be packing up Knoxville tomorrow and heading back to the Memphis the day after that. I have no books, no clue what classes I'm taking, even how long the program is, or what I'm doing after, but I'm excited to see what these kooky English freaks are all about. The people in the English program at UT were an interesting lot, that's for sure. Probably why our building was always getting bomb threats. Hmm.

Okay, time to go buy a 50 lb bag of ammonium nitrate and a moleskin journal for my thoughts. Here's to hoping for another essential AmyPratt experience.


Disclaimer to the Feds: that thing about the ammonium nitrate was a joke, just in case Big Brother is going through my things right now.

In Memoriam

It is with great sadness I must report to you, oh blog-o-sphere, that my sweet guinea pig Jim passed away sometime this weekend. The story of his death is below.

Guinea Pig, Jim, age unknown, was found early Sunday afternoon in his Cordova, TN residence by close friend Kelly Smithson. Rigor mortis had set in. Cause of death is unknown. Cage-mate and close friend James was unable to provide any details as to Jim's death, but was described by Smithson as "sad-looking" and "shaken." Adequate food and water were present at the scene, apparently untouched. There was no forced-entry and at this time foul-play is not suspected. Care-taker and confidant Amy Pratt, who was not present at Jim's death, was available for a phone interview from Knoxville later this afternoon. "The news came as such a shock to me. I'm absolutely heart-broken that I wasn't there when he passed. I've been away for work since May, and I'll never forgive myself for not spending these last two months with him." While she would neither confirm nor deny, Pratt was questioned about earlier statements she had made regarding Jim's being "ambiguously gay" and "closeted." While she does believe that the guinea pig was negatively impacted by the passing of Pop Icon Michael Jackson late last month, Pratt balked at the suggestion that Jim's death could have been a suicide. "It's ludicrous and I won't hear such absurd notions. This interview is over." Pratt erupted into sobs and promptly hung up the phone.

If you have any information regarding the death of Jim the Guinea Pig, please contact Shelby County authorities.

Disclaimer #2

In my previous post, I made the statement "Most of all I'm embarrassed. ... that my parents have to make up stuff when people ask about the big law school student." Today after reading my post, my parents informed me that they do not make up stuff when people ask about school. They do not lie. "We're proud of you no matter what, kid," my dad assured me. "Lawyer, teacher, restaurant waitress..." "Let's not go that far," my mother interjected.

I told my parents that sometimes I exaggerate things for comedic or dramatic effect, i.e., the entire posting about Jim, my ambiguously gay guinea pig. My sister informed me that this is, in effect, lying. Sigh. Blog-o-sphere, they don't get us. Siiigggghhhh.

So, just to prevent further misunderstandings, I'd like to post my second disclaimer.

All statements and opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the blogger, and not necessarily those of persons associated with the blogger. While stories and situations are based on actual people and events, they are not entirely true and/or accurate. However, any resemblance to actual people and events is purely on purpose. Names have been changed and/or kept the same to protect the innocent and/or completely moronic. I would also like to disclaim all warranties, express or limited, including, but not limited to, the implied warranties of merchantability and fitness for a particular purpose, just in case.

Further, please remember that my parents are not liars, and my mother was just joking when she made the comment "let's not go that far." All in good fun, blog-o-sphere. All in good fun.

The Rest of the Story...

My mouth has a tendency to get me in trouble. Like the one time I was in the middle of clocking out at closing time at Target and I just yelled out "I AM NOT A STUPID WHORE!" right in front of God and everybody because somebody commented on my newly highlighted hair. It made for a few good laughs...for days. Then there was the time when I was vice president of my sorority and I complained at a meeting about having to do homework AND try to conceal four hickeys AND deal with sisters getting arrested/whoring around at frat houses. I got hate mail under my door after that because "we are all SUPER busy and YOU wanted the job."

But guess what? This is my blog. So I'm going to get myself in trouble as I see fit. You guys ready for some mouth-dropping truth?

I thought you might be.

Mom, if you're reading this, don't hate me for spilling my guts. But it has to be said because I really suck at lying. And I'd rather just tell the truth so people don't gossip. And maybe 5 people total read my blog.

So this law school business? This "do I want to go back?" business. A complete and total ruse. The real story? They won't let me come back because my grades really suck. I wish I could be like "yeah man, I partied way too hard and didn't give a rat's a** anyway." The sad part is, I really tried. Like really. I briefed cases and took notes and studied hard. I just couldn't cut it.

It's okay. You guys can make fun of me, because, well, chances are, I've made fun of you at some point. It's cool. We're all human. It's just my turn to have a slice of humble pie.

And humbled I have been! Of course I'm sad! I thought this was what I was going to do. I'm terrified about my next move. Most of all, I'm embarrassed. I'm embarrassed I had to take that Memphis Law sticker off my car. And that I have to tell my grandmother I won't be drafting her last will and testament (or maybe that's a good thing? I can't tell...) And that my parents have to make up stuff when people ask about the big law school student. Ugh...

I just had to set the record straight, and maybe that wasn't the right way to do it. I hate that rumors are flying and nobody actually asks me what's going on. They just tiptoe around it and ask other people. I'd rather you, oh blog-o-sphere, hear it straight from the horse's mouth...whatever that means.

And we can all still be friends. And you can still talk about law school. And I'll still be living in Memphis.

And I'll find my way. Don't you worry about me.

I Love Brutal Honesty. I Hate Brutal Honesty.

I'm about to be brutally honest.

When my lifelong friend Morgan and I were attached at the face (remember that? with Lili and Bambers? Ah, memory lane.) we had some sort of running joke about being "jaded." Everybody was jaded. It was in every song. On every reality tv series. Jaded. It was so cliche.

I'm jaded. I hate it.
-John Mayer

Meeee too. I'm pretty sure I've cried at some point almost every day for the past three weeks. Why? I'm terrified about my future. I'm heartbroken over a shattered dream. And, to be even more teenage girl about this, I miss Sean. And I'm afraid that insecure jealous girlfriend is about to rear her ugly head and run him off.

When it all ended with gay boyfriend #2, he told one of our mutual friends that I was smothering him. I know that's not the reason it ended (I mean, obviously. I have womanly parts. Duh.) but that still haunts me, false or not.

Morgan, you once wrote somewhere that you were/loved to be "living and loving with reckless abandon." I love that. I used to be able to do that. Now I wish I could do that. I've found it's safer to live and love at arm's length. Guard your heart, right?

My high school English teacher used to tell us that you can't be anything you want to be. I thought that was cruel, planting doubt and pessimism in our young, impressionable minds. But it's true; all the wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and dreamin' in the world can't get you where you want to be. We can't all be doctors and lawyers and indian chiefs. Some of us are just supposed to be janitors or secretaries. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not what you go to kindergarten thinking you'll be when you grow up.

"Miss Smith, I want to be a trophy wife when I grow up. Or maybe work in retail if that falls through. Scrap that, Smitty. I'm gunna be a career alcoholic, just like my Uncle Junior!"

Dream big, kid. Reality bites.

'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'
-Jeremiah 29:11

Lord Jesus, I'm trying to believe this. I am. Please help me through this rough patch. Please put that smile back on my face. Please put dreams back in my heart.

Thank you for letting me do that, blog-o-sphere. I do feel better now. And I'm not always a Debbie Downer, swear. Sometimes, I get sad and I need you to hurt with me for just a minute instead of glossing over it.

This Baptist girl may be taking this out of context, but a wise Savior once said, "[T]he truth shall set you free."

He was right.

Hey Now, Hey Now (this is what dreams are made of...)

I had a terrible nightmare about cats last night. Cats of the domestic variety. Not the Broadway variety. My family moved back into our old house because that was the only place the refrigerator would work. We lived with our dog Zoe and six mean cats. They kept jumping on my head. Then I went to the mall and ran into my boyfriend, who was running around the mall in a suit playing some sort of fantasy WOW-esque game with his twenty-something year old friends who looked 17.

Sean, I've got to start tuning out the talk about orc-shamans and blood elves. I'll just think of Edward Cullen. And the Indian werewolf kid. Nod and smile. ;)

I just don't think the office is my place. I've made an art out of coffee making and oatmeal eating. And I can use paperclips like nobody's business. Oh, it's 5 o'clock somewhere.

Have I mentioned lately that I HATE making decisions? I'm hoping an answer will fall out of the sky. When I least expect it. Just like boyfriends are supposed to.

Dear Lord Jesus (yeah, I call him by two names, what of it?), I'd like to phone a friend. Yes. The prophet Daniel. To interpret my dreams. No. Not the one about the cats. Yes, there was that time with the lions. The recurring dream I had during law school. The one about never showing up to English and Spanish classes I was supposed to pass to graduate. The one where I was too busy with law classes to do my homework and show up. Does that mean I have unfinished business there? Oh. It means I shouldn't eat before bed? Gotcha.

Strip me of my pride and need for prestige. Patience is a virtue. Now back to my receipts...

A Quarter-Life Crisis, or Just a Stirrin' in My Soul?

OH DEAR.

What a week it has been. And it's only...Wednesday? Do I want to share the whole nitty-gritty story? Yes. Eventually. Just not now. I just feel the need to write right now so I can breathe.

I am at a complete and total crossroads right now. Decisions to make. Have some been made for me? Soon enough we'll see. I would just first like to send out a huge thank you to TylenolPM for allowing me to talk to my parents for an hour without sobbing uncontrollably and then shove a bowl of cereal down my throat without vomiting, and also for keeping me knocked out til the early morning hours in a dreamless sleep. I really believe that TylenolPM is basically Xanax...but with a sleep aid. Kelly gave me a Xanax at my mother's insistence when Brandon broke up with me the week before exams and I started hyperventilating. He loved me. We were getting married. He was the one! Now I spread the gospel of Taylor Swift. You do the math.

Before we continue, rest easy. I am not pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not terminally ill. Not that being pregnant or engaged are bad things. You know what I mean, right? Oh nevermind. I know you do.

I just may not continue on with law school, that's all. That's all. I wrote that so non-chalantly. Just keep me in your prayers that the Lord will lead me where I'm supposed to be. I may take some time off. I may press on. I may not ever go back. My original plan for if I didn't go back to school was faking my death and moving to Mexico. Sweat all day with my pool boy Javier. Play with the little native children. "Como se llaman, ninos? No soy 'child molester.' Ven aqui" I just wasn't sure I could swallow my pride and not continue. I thought I had my future figured out. I don't. That's scary as hell. It's also exciting to think about the options I do have. Just don't think less of me. At least I gave it a shot.

So what now? Wait and see. Listen for that still small voice. Because, as we Baptists say, God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. It's me I have to worry about...