Apparently, there's a special ritual for waking up dorm residents during the summer.

Somebody came knocking on my door at about 10:15 this morning. I was sleeping. I thought it was just somebody coming by to say hi so I rolled over and thought that they would leave. No. This somebody opened the door.
I said, "Hello?"
And who should pop in but Bryce!
He said, "Residence Life. Can I come in?"
I sit up and start rubbing my eyes. "Sure," I respond in my groggy morning voice. He comes over and shakes my bed. I sigh, "Yeah," because obviously the beds are a piece of crap.
He shakes the other bed and then stands in the middle of the room. He must be philosophizing or something because he stands there not saying anything for quite awhile. I try to make small talk as I rub my eyes, still sitting on my bed.
He shakes my bed once again and, then, leaves saying, "Yeah, these beds are a crap and a half."
I could have told him that.

There is absolutely no purring allowed in church.

I got to spend the weekend at Rae's house. Three movies have now been checked off the list of "What Eleanor Needs to See." It felt so good to have real food again. The EasyMac lifestyle is already getting to me. Rae, also, spent time training me in the way of scuba. I learned how to "equalize" when swimming down to the bottom of the deep end. I usually panic when at the bottom, but once I followed her expertise, it was so much easier. I've helped her in the way of dance and now she is teaching me. For to train in the way of scuba!

I know that You are faithful.
I will follow where You lead.
Thank you for these people
whom I've grown to need.
You've surpassed my deepest wishes
beyond what I perceived.

And now I'm moving onward.
For once, I think I'll bleed.
But I know that You are faithful.
I will trust you where you lead.
Into unknown waters.
Within me plant a seed

of courage.

What now

Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
I feel so weird--like I have all the time in the world and yet not enough time. Two of my roommates are leaving tomorrow. They're packing, so I feel the need to pack. Yet, I have nothing to pack. I'm not going anywhere! And, I feel the need to study but don't know where to begin.

So, I went to the library (where it's nice and cool) and pulled out the book Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens. I starting to read it but got frustrated because I kept thinking about all the other books I've been meaning to read. I've got the summertime blues. It's as simple as that.

I've got another bit o' news on the radio drama dilemma:
It turns out that my friend who's putting the whole thing together is too busy to do it this summer. He's decided to put it off until he has more time. This means I'm off the hook. I must have scared him. For those of you who do not know, I emailed him to tell him that I felt uncomfortable cursing unless it was a critical part of the character. He never responded directly to this--he just told the whole group that he wouldn't be able to pull the drama together this summer.

Odd fact about me (for the lack of something more urgent to write):
Some of you may already know this one, but I figure it ties in with the radio drama. When I was in kindergarten, my parents bought me a sony recorder with a microphone. I recorded myself telling stories, singing songs, and (my favorite) eating spaghetti. You see, I was meant to do this all along.

Other random factoid:
During kindergarten I planted a lemon seed after devouring a lemon. Those were the days when I actually ate lemons whole. For the longest time, the lemon tree sat on top of our water cooler in the kitchen. It's now taller than me and grows quite happily in our backyard. This is very interesting stuff, I can tell you that.

Everything comes in threes:
In preschool I had all of Harry the Dirty Dog and Sleepy Time Squirrel memorized. Every night I'd sit by my papa and "read" these literary treasures to him. After this, I'd lie on his belly and he'd make a "babygirl sandwich". He'd lather all types of dressings onto the sandwich. You know, the usual mayo, ketchup, pickles, snails, monkey brains, and pepper. Then, of course, he proceeded to eat me, occasionally spitting out a shell or gagging on monkey parts.

I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read.--Oscar Wilde

A brief memoir of Eleanor's life over the past few days:

The cooks are betting again.
During work on Saturday morning, I watched Rae watch our friends talk to her dad. She was busy most of the time with 10 Rae Specials and other egg spectaculars. Once she had a short break, she pulled a chair out into the middle of the entryway and stood on it just to get a peek at our friends and her dad. I didn't see much from my wonderful cashier stance, of course--just a puff of white hair. According to Rae the discussion looked promising. All were nodding their heads in a diplomatic sort of way.
It was later at work when I learned that any quirk in a caf sign was due to AJ's mischevious scheme to tear the whole place down. Which doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

You can always judge a place by its bathrooms.
Listen up, gentlemen. Any lady could tell you this. Or, at least, I think so. I went swing dancing Saturday night at a club called Memories. As I was telling my journal earlier: "if only they had this kind of thing growing up in New Orleans, I would have been a much happier person." Imagine a city with a heart that beats to its own music and dance and, yet, doesn't have a place for young oddballs to go have some good, wholesome, swingin fun. To think that there were people like me this whole time!
Ah, yes, but about Memories' bathrooms. These were no ordinary bathrooms, I tell you. They were equipped with large fainting couches, counters, mirrors, and a chair shaped like a high heeled shoe. Hard wood floors, too. Luxury at its finest.
Swing dancing was great fun and humbling, too. I realized that I really do only know the basics. This is a good reason for me to go hunt down a swing club in France. I'll keep you posted.

Did you know that you're made up of 99.9% empty space? (make eyes really big)
I never thought of it like that before but if the nucleus of an atom is a pea in the middle of a football field and the electrons fly around the edge of the football field, it would be true. Amazing. I just have to think about the poor pea who's about to be squished to smithereens in the event of a tackle.

Perplexed...

I feel torn right now.

Background information:
I got to read through a couple of scripts with my radio drama buds. And they are certainly a group of characters, let me tell you. They are so talented, pulling remarkable voices and imitations out of who knows where. The scripts really are hilarious and the voices and energy of the group add so much life to the jokes. But, then, I'm sitting there feeling torn because, first of all, I am self conscious of my acting and, second of all, I'm cursing every other line. I've been struggling with this for awhile--wondering what I've gotten myself into. Why did I jump so quickly into it? I kind of wish I could go back in time and erase my decision to get involved. I mean, the whole point originally was to reach out to these wonderfully creative and bizarre people but I just don't know if I'm accomplishing anything now other than compromising my deepest beliefs. What am I representing now? I certainly don't want to be fake or legalistic now either. Isn't it, after all, just words? I hear hip Christians all over the place cursing. But, it is so hard for me to accept that it's just words. There's something so ugly about it. And, after this afternoon, I just felt sick. How could I praise my God with that very same mouth? It isn't just that, of course. I'm thinking about my acting, too, and how shy I was today (I always get that way when with a group of new people I don't know). So what in the world am I doing?

I was going to sit down tonight and write a cool story about my childhood or something like that but this is all that could come out. It's weighing so heavily on my chest.

The true fruit of travel is perhaps the feeling of being everywhere at home. --Freya Stark

Jason Phillip's talk at Campus Crusade really spoke to me today. It has become clearer to me this year that I am, indeed, a storyteller. I've rediscovered my love for fairy tales. Today in French class we read another fairy tale. It was so well written and so beautiful that all I could do was sit there and let the words wash over me. There's so much to say on this subject but I've chosen a poor time to pour out my heart. It's off to class yet again. But, I think it is so important that we, as God's heirs, tell stories. Isn't it so exciting that God created us to be story-lovers? God is the ultimate storyteller!

Praises

God is so faithful! I went to a study abroad reception today and found out that I received the scholarship I applied for a few weeks ago. I'm so grateful! Praise be to God!

Please continue to keep Grace in your prayers. I think she'll learn to depend on God more than ever.

Keep me in your prayers, too. I've got so many emotions and thoughts and fears and joy going on right now that it's hard to see the big picture.

French quotes make me happy

It's official now. I've paid to live in the dorms this summer. Still trying to decide what kind of job to have. I could go for the job where I sit and read and play on the computer and answer people's questions but only get paid 7 bucks an hour. Or I could try a catering job where I run all over the place with heavy trays and try to appease moody customers but get paid at least 10, sometimes 15. What to do, what to do?

Not much has gone on since my last post except for school and work. I'm in the mood to go on a long bike ride. I tried going on one today but just wound up riding in circles in the parking lot. I'm almost to the point where I can ride with no hands. This has been my goal for sometime. I think I'll learn to skateboard this summer. It's a standard skill, you know. Right up there with cooking and balancing a check book.

Heard a good quote today:
L'humour est la politesse du désespoir. --George Bernard Shaw

I imagine it was in English first but I like it in French.
I like this one too:
Une mère met vingt ans à faire de son fils un homme. Une autre femme en fait un fou en vingt minutes. --Helen Rowland

Then there's:
Il faut vous dire que j'avais perdu tout sens moral à la suite d'une chute de cheval. --Alphonse Allais

French quotes make me happy.