MATH

I fully intended to be asleep right now. But alas, I am not. In fact, last night I experienced the same problem. I went to bed at 8:30, watched tv briefly, and snuggled into my marshmellow-esque bed.

Normally, this is one of my favorite places to relax. The top is surrounded with a crown of pillows, varying in density; my down comforter can easily be compared to an over-sized poofy cloud, albeit camel colored not snowy white. It usually greets its visitors with a tempting invitation to jump in and be swallowed whole into the depths of it's comfort.

Tonight, not so much. Even with the subtle hum of my humidifier and the heat set at 64 degrees, I can't seem to snuggle in and find my nook. It could partially be because its missing my husband's warmth next to me. Needless to say, whatever it is, even my snowflake pajama pants aren't compensating for whatever is preventing me from cashing-in my first class ticket to dreamland.

C'est la vie. Instead, I will write. I took a math test today, perhaps my sleeplessness can be chalked up to anxiety. Last night's explanation was nerves and tonight's is anticipation. Generally, I am terrible at math. I tend to favor the other side of my brain and excel in subjects such as reading and writing. When it comes to numbers, my brain shuts down. It doesn't even want to try to learn, it doesn't feign the slightest bit of interest.

So, I did what I knew would make me successful in college: I avoided math. I took the one lone class that was required for graduation and then I dodged the math bullet for the remaining three years with matrix-style skills. I happily accepted my diploma for a Bachelor's of ARTS, shook the dean's hand and high-tailed it off to my ready and waiting job, in marketing.

The marketing job wasn't quite the "sunset," that I was hoping to head for, so 3 years later, I find myself back in school. I am in an online program to earn a certification in teaching elementary school (K-8). This time though, my opponent has out-witted me. It turns out that mathless-road had come to an end. Actually, it was even worse than that; my first THREE classes in my certification are math. Not just one, but three. Now, that is some type of Divine joke if you ask me!

So, that brings us to today. My first math class is complete. I passed the test on the first attempt and actually, did rather well. I'm now on the verge of completing my second math class, statistics. I did exceptionally well on the pre-test and thus, strutted my way into today's exam with a new found confidence. I slapped my drivers license on the counter as proof of identification and prepared to rock the socks off Form A of my quantitive literacy exam.

Then, the proctor drops a bomb. I am unable to enroll today as an examanee (sp?) because my name on my i.d. doesn't match the name in which I registered for the test. I silently offered to anonomsly donate a lasik procedure to the decrepid woman who was obviously blind. "See," I said: "Right there, J-E-N-S-E-N." True, it was sandwiched between Ashley & Barrett, leaning on a hyphen, but it was still there. Not to mention, last time I tested at this prometric site, this same woman told me that as long as the name Ashley Jensen was present somewhere, it was fine. Not today.

So, in a combination of rage and fighting-back frustrated tears, I drove back to my house to retrieve my marriage license. It was a 30-minute trip each way, in the snow. I think that is comparable to walking to school uphill, in the snow, barefoot....but, I digress. I arrive back into Chris's presence and present her with my marriage license, my driver's license, and my passport. They are all indications of who I was, who I am, and the piece of paper that bridges them together. Anyway, about 1.5 hours after my journey, began, it was over. My test, all 27 questions of it, was breezed through in twenty minutes. I was allotted one hour, but even with having checked over each answer twice, I was finished. I submitted my exam, signed out, and went on my way.

I should mention that, on my way to the exam, I was quizzing myself in my head. But after I lost interest in that, I decided to play a game with myself. I mentally decided, if my favorite song, of the moment ,came on the radio before I got to my exam, then everything would go smoothly and I would pass. As I grew nearer and nearer (both on trip A and trip B) I begin to panic and switch between the stations feveriously. Owl City refused to flutter any Fireflies through my speakers. Nonetheless, I arrived and I conquered (I hope!).

After the exam, I "treated," myself with a trip to the mall to finish the last of my Christmas shopping. On my way to the mall, what should grace the radio air-waves but my favorite song, of the moment. I contemplated this momentarily, trying to decide what it could mean and desperately trying to read into it and take it was a good sign. Regardless, the mall turned out to be a nightmare and I quickly forgot about clinging to the notion of a newbie crooner band having anything to do with my mathmatical destiny.

I ended up purchasing nothing and chose to retreat home into the comfort and coziness of my house. I came home and made dinner then decided to watch a movie. I paused the movie 6 times within the first 20 minutes to log-in and check the score on my math test. It wasn't, and still isn't, posted.

Eventually, I gave up and went to bed, reveling in the opportunity to get more than my fair share of 8 hours and hit my REM. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see were the words PASSED and NOT PASSED passing rapidly through my brain. Did I or didn't I? I need to know.

I am pathetically insomniatic (I think I made that one up!)..... although, the inspiration to write a blog surfaced and so I am sitting in my dark living room typing away to no one in particular.

Or maybe, its just an excuse to check. just. one. more. time.

"Tis the Season...

I have been feeling relatively uninspired to blog lately. The times that I do blog, the inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks; the thoughts and words rushing through my brain, faster than I can type. Lately though, no bricks. I've experienced a light wind here and there, but nothing so strong that I felt compelled to rush to the computer.

Today, however, my insights have been requested. My dearest, Courtney Ann C*&$%#n, has inquired about my next posting. I regaled her with my woeful tale of my lack of inspiration, but struck a deal. If she could provide me with the topic, I would muster up enough motivation to spit at few words out. And, so, here we are.

As a result, I hereby dedicate today's blog to Corie. The topic: Christmas Spirit. Specific tangents could stem from frenzied shopping to my generosity to bums on the street (aka her nemesis).

She might sound a wee bit "Scrooge-ish," with declaring bums to be her nemesi (is that the plural??), but she has good reason. She has "regular," stationed outside of the CVS by her Gold-Coast Single-Lady Hot-Spot Studio Apartment. One evening, he begged her for some money because he was hungry while he was sitting within a throne of McDonald's wrappers. Thus, she is still feeling justifyably slighted by the homeless population. She chose to mention me because I, on the other hand, have a hard time saying no. In the past, I have been incapable of passing by those in need and not offering forth good-will. I was required to minimize my time spent on the streets of Chicago, because the president of the North Shore Bums Association had circulated my picture among the members and I was being targeted for my dollar bills. As a result, I have happily adopted a new hobby of making my donations, particularly during the holiday season, to legitimate organizations via the internet. My favorite being, St. Jude Children's Hospital.

Another thing that I do from the safety and coziness of mi casa**, is Christmas shopping.This year, I have chosen to do the majority of my shopping online. Majority, meaning, all of it, so far. I have two gifts left to purchase which will finally require me to forge through the cold weather and menacing crowds. I feel a little less Christmas-y by not braving the throngs of people at the mall, but I have much preferred, this year to peruse webstites and have my gifts delivered to my door.

By nature, I am polite and patient. I hold doors for people, say "please," and "thank-you," and am happy to repeat myself if need be. BUT, in some situations, I throw manners to the wind and subsitute them with elbows. More specifically, at the bar when twigs with sweet-drinks drunkenly ram into me. I fear that this will be extended to the crowds hoarding shopping bags, and I have no intention of having a knock-down drag-out fight your Grandma. So, rather than risk it, I stayed in.

My favorite thing about the holiday season is inherited from my mother. Her love and artistic ability to wrap presents. There is no such thing as reindeer paper and commercial stick-on bows. Ohhhh no, we use bright and shiny foil paper and wire ribbon that sparkles. My mom spends a better part of the first 11 months of the year searching out present-toppers and dones the gifts with them come Christmas. It is truly an art form and she is the Monet. I am channeling my inner-Nancy, this year more than ever, and will be wrapping my packages with glitz, glamor, and personality! If you don't believe me, then pictures are to come....

Happy Holidays!

**P.S. I am equal opportunity. I like Mexicans. I also like: African-Americans, Asians, Italians, Parisians, The Greek, and Native Americans (I do however favor the Cherokee Tribe).

Blogging whore or Blogging bore??

Originally, I thought I was going to be a blogging whore. Now, I'm just a blogging bore.

I haven't written a blog in over a week, you all must miss me. It's not to say that I haven't tried, because I have. I have written 3 other posts, but have yet to publish them. I tend to write while I am laying in bed and usually, about halfway through, I get tired. And, I start driiiiiifting, become unmotivated, and save it with big promises to pick-up where I left off later. Not so much, SO, here I am. Ta-da!

Now, what to talk about...

Oooh! I worked out tonight. I haven't done that in months and you can definitely tell. Prior to the wedding, I participated in wedding bootcamp and it was AWESOME! It really kicked my butt and I found a style of workout that I love. Which, if you know me, is a big deal because I don't do that. Workout, that is.

Anyway, post-wedding, I decided that I could reward myself for all my hardwork. I started with the honeymoon; indulging here and there. Then, we came home and I ate a cheeseburger that I hadn't allowed myself to have pre-nuptials. From there, it all rolled downhill. The snowball effect, if you will. Although, substitute icecream for snowball.....

Needless to say, I have yet to get back on that workout horse and ride off into the svelte sunset. I tried. I signed up for bootcamp again in October. But, the day the class was supposed to start, they cancelled it. I chalked that up to fate, and continued to sit on my butt waiting for divine intervention or a personal invitation from The Biggest Loser. Neither came, so I decided to try a new class that my former trainer, Kate, was doing with a new company.

That. Was. Tonight. I can feel my muscles pulsating through my skin. Not necessarily because they are building up big and buff, but because they are chanting angerly in unison at me: "WHAAAT HAVE YOU DONE TO US?!" Okay, it wasn't that bad, but Kate can be pretty hardcore. She is this fit, cute, fitness-lover that packs a drill-sergeantess punch. She doesn't make me do the work, but she makes me want to do the work. But, please, do not tell anyone that I just admitted that....it will ruin my reputation.

I need to get back into this routine. I feel better about myself, I look better, and for once, the term: "working out," doesn't insinuate that I got my daily cardio with laps around the mall. I'm sure my credit card appreciates that...

I don't know what tomorrow will bring; but hopefully, whatever it is...ibuprofen and a heating pad won't be far away...