peas in a pod

I love these two. Clare. Lizzy. They are amazing. The best. Two of my best and closest friends. We are all related in some way or another, but really I'm pretty sure God made us triplets and then gave us to different mothers because He knew that finding our way back into each others lives was part of what would make us so close.

At a time when my life feels BEYOND crazy, these two ground me and understand me when I feel like I'm floating off into space speaking anything but coherently. Even though we live in different states, have different jobs, different relationship statuses, somehow our lives overlap just enough that we totally get it. Lizzy can call me upside down and empty and I get it. I can email Clare devastated and lonely and she gets it. Clare calls just needing to hear the voice of someone who loves her and we get it.

It is SO GOOD to get and to be gotten.

life plans

A texting conversation with Lizzy:

Me: What on earth am I doing with my life?

Lizzy: Waiting

Me: Today I am discouraged by all the waiting.

Lizzy: Understandable

Me: Can you fix it?

Lizzy: What can you change this week?

Me: Actively praying about my next step, not just when I'm overwhelmed.*

Lizzy: What can you physically do that would make you feel better? Spend an evening at a restaurant with friends, go to Powell's and dream, etc?

Me: Go to the gym. Dreaming I think is a good idea as well. It's weird to think about something was so assuredly going to happen...and then it doesn't.

Lizzy: I thought I was going to marry Jason for sure. So so so glad I was wrong.

Me: Very good point. So much good has come from things I wanted not happening. Maybe this is another one of those times.

Me: Also, I am going to blog our conversation. Is it okay if I include what you said about Jason?

Lizzy: Absolutely. I don't think he reads your blog. :)

Me: Ha. Good point. Some days it's so easy to see that this is part of the plan. Today doesn't feel like one of those days.

Lizzy: I'm exhausted too. Mentally and emotionally

Me: See, you're really who I want to meet up with and have time with this week.


*While I will be actively praying about all of this, prayer being my answer to her question was a total cop-out/BS answer, and Lizzy knew it. Man, I love her.

robert frost

Two roads converged in a wood and I,
I took the one less traveled by...

And that has made all the difference.

I find myself not so much feeling lost as floating, drifting.

On the phone today my mom told me she would love to hear my timeline for future school plans whenever I was ready to share them. I told her, without trying to hide any of the exhaustion [emotional, physical and spiritual] that has enveloped me today like a blanket, that I did not currently have a timeline.

I recognize that at this point in my life I am at a crossroads. I have the option of putting one foot in front of the other and continuing on in the day-to-day things that routinely present themselves [get up, make my bed, make breakfast, shower, do my dishes, go to work, go to the gym, come home, make dinner, do my dishes, go to bed, repeat]. And I have the option of looking up, looking around, and finding the scenery that calls to me, that invites me in, that suits me most, suits me best.

It is easier to, when so plagued by exhaustion, look down and put one foot in front of the other and continue with my daily routine. It is easy to rest in the comfort of my daily routine, even when it is not what I genuinely desire to do now or in the future. My displeasure in the day to day takes its tole, yes, but it is slow, and seemingly painless [at least at first, like a small internal wound that slowly leaches blood into your cranial cavity, the sort of unattended bleeding that leads to strokes and aneurysm].

The effort of searching for that path in the wood that is best suited to who I am is taxing almost instantly [like the sudden blood loss that results from a flesh wound, messy and difficult to control at first, but easily healed with proper attention]. It takes its tole blatantly, unapologetically draining my energy. But not my strength.

proof

I am a nerd. I am. And I have decided it is time to stop hiding my nerdiness from you. For some of you, as you read this you're thinking, "Yeah, cause you really had me fooled. How many times did you see/read Twilight again?" Others of you are thinking, "Really?"

REALLY.

Area you ready for proof? You may want to sit down.

I LOVE Battlestar Galactica [heretofore referred to as BSG].

I will pause as you commence with as many Jim ridiculing Dwight for his love of BSG quotes fromThe Office as you can possibly come up with. Ready? Go...

...

...

Okay. Now, I know you think that was it. You think I'm done. You're saying to yourself, "Wow. That's pretty nerdy." But it gets nerdier my friends. Are you ready? If you've already sat down, maybe just recline a bit. Or perhaps get yourself a glass of water or some smelling salts. Because...

I am knitting myself Viper Pilot Socks. Socks inspired by the end of Season Three of BSG. Now if I had discovered this pattern and BSG sooner, I would most likely be attempting to make them for this Friday's BSG two hour series finale, just like my current favorite knitting blogger Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. Unfortunately that did not happen. The good news is that I have all of BSG: Razor, BSG Seasons 4.0 and 4.2.

Maybe you're asking yourself why on earth this could possibly be good news. Why is this further immersion into nerd-dom a good idea? Well, firstly because it's important to be who you are. [HA! Didn't know I was going to go all big-life-lesson on you, did you?] And secondly it will give me plenty of time to frack up and still be able to wear them when I have my own little BSG series finale party.

...or today

"Thank you for your application to graduate studies in the Department of Psychology at Portland State University. This past year the Department received a very large and well-qualified pool of applicants for its Masters and Doctorate programs in Psychology. Due to funding limitations, it was only possible to accept a small portion of these applicants into our program. Unfortunately, despite your strengths, we are not able to accept you into the program at this time."

Well...there you have it.

Yes, of course I've cried. Just shortly after writing to my dear friend Sarah that I hadn't cried yet, I closed my office door and let a few out. I'm sure there will be more later.

But here is what I know. I KNOW that being rejected by the University of Oregon and Portland State University is no accident. I KNOW that there is purpose behind all of this. There are things laid out before me to do that I would not have done if I were enrolled in either of those programs. I am equally and simultaneously overwhelmed by disappointment and peace.

Thank you all for your support, prayers, excellent editing skills, encouragement, and love. While I may have threatened relocation to foreign countries, fear not. It is not [yet] time for that particular adventure.

And so I leave you with the words that were the first I sought and clung to after reading Portland State's letter:

Psalm 13--For the director of music. A psalm of David.

How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD,
for he has been good to me.

within the week

I just called Portland State.

I will know whether or not I have been accepted to grad school within the week.

I will now go hyperventilate.

community

I have been longing for community. Close-knit, like a warm sweater made from Malabrigo's kettle dyed merinos. Inviting and familiar, like a favorite coffee shop on Saturday morning, or a favorite book with bent page corners and a creased spine. Safe and warm, like a bed with cozy sheets and a thick down comforter. And authentic, like something so genuine it is without simile.

I am, after moving away from just such a community 290 days ago [has it really been that long dear friends?], finally starting to find, create and build that here, in my old / new hometown. And it is GOOD. Good in an "and it was good" God creating the universe sort of way. I mean, I am most certainly NOT God, but this community, these people are surely gifts from Him. These people, though not many, are incredible. Some are new friends, recently discovered. Others are old, and we are slowly learning how we fit into each others lives again.

The process is beautiful, painful, breathtaking, and arduous. But most of all it is worth it. Because I do not just believe we were created for community, I KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were created to be in community with one another from our first breath to our last. And, as someone who loves her community fiercely, passionately, loyally, it is GOOD to be part of one again.

pop secret

I love popcorn. Seriously. I love it. Not crappy movie popcorn. Not those ridiculously large tins of popcorn that ALWAYS, no matter what they look like on the outside, contain cheesey popcorn, buttered popcorn, and caramel popcorn. Plain microwave popcorn will do in a pinch. BUT really what I love is popping corn in a thick bottomed pan with plenty of vegetable oil.

A few weeks ago I was headed out to meet some friends to see a movie [cough "Twilight" for the fourth time cough, cough]. Knowing I did NOT want movie popcorn* I considered making and bringing my own, but was dissuaded not by ethics but difficulty of transport. What that trip to the movies did do [along with further cementing my obsession with Twilight...cause I needed help] was give me the following gem of an idea: vegetable oil infused with cumin.

It wasn't until last night that I actually tried the idea. And you know what? It was even better than I expected.



*Did you know a small bag of movie popcorn WITHOUT butter has more calories AND fat than a BIG MAC? And in case you have an extra $17.50 to spring for the large popcorn, you just ate more calories than if you'd chowed down on ONE DOZEN Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts. Just thought you should know.

cloud

I feel sorry for the Pitney Bowes employee I spoke with yesterday. Not because I was rude, or difficult. I was never, nor am I ever [wink] either of those things when dealing with customer service [wink, wink] representatives. I feel sorry for her because she had no idea the can of worms she opened when she said, "I bet you can't wait to get married so you can change your last name to your husband's."

Poor girl.

She didn't, of course, say it unprompted. The conversation went something like this:

PB Rep: Thank you for calling Pitney Bowes, please tell me your name and how I can assist you."

HKC: My name is Haley Cloyd, and I'm calling about our account.

PB Rep: Alright, and can you spell that for me Haley?

HKC: Sure. It's H-A-L-E-Y C-L-O-Y-D.

PB Rep: Alright Ms. Cloud, how can I help you today?

HKC: Oh, actually it's pronounced Cloyd, you know, rhymes with Lloyd.

PB Rep: Oh, sorry.

HKC: No worries. It's happened my whole life.

PB Rep: I bet you can't wait to get married so you can change your last name to your husband's.

Long pause...

HKC: Oh, well actually I plan on hyphenating, ideally both of us would hyphenate.

Longer pause...

PB Rep: Oh...well...um...yeah. I guess people are doing that these days...

Us crazy girls and our new fangled ideas these days. An additional note on this topic, Sarah Swanson-Dexel [yes, she AND her lovely husband, AND their darling daughters all have hyphenated last names] said to me in one of our first conversations, "not every guy will. But the right ones will." Love her. Love them. Love these new fangled ideas floating around inside my head.

ready

I never thought I would say this, but...

I AM READY FOR SPRING.

Me. Haley Kristine Cloyd. Who LOVES the rainy, cold, wet weather of the Pacific Northwest. Who loves sweaters, and blankets, and wool socks, and skirts with boots and tights [obsessed with that combo actually].

Or maybe it is that I am simply dissatisfied with the warm clothing options available to me on a regular basis. I only have a few skirts. There are only a small number of really warm sweaters [that I like] on my shelves. Perhaps if I had one or two more skirts, and another wool [or cashmere] sweater [or six]...perhaps this would nip this longing for spring in the bud.

Or perhaps California has ruined me. Or maybe not so much me as my wardrobe. There were plenty of adorable sweaters and wool skirts for sale there, but much less reason to purchase and wear them. It could also be that Vogue and Elle and all my favorite fashion blogs are highlighting the spring and summer trends [trends: there is no trend.].

Whatever the culprit, I want short sleeves, gauzy jersey cotton dresses, leather sandals, and cuffed jeans that show off painted toes just visible through peep-toe slingbacks. But alas, I will don my wool trench over my two long sleeved shirts, my sweater, my skirt, my tights, and my boots [inside which you will find warm socks tucked away for extra warmth]. I will make sure I have both gloves and hat waiting inside my purse, just in case. And I will hope and pray that it doesn't rain because wet and cold or not, I still CANNOT bring myself to purchase an umbrella.

sublet

I think that by now most of you who read my ramblings already know this, but in case you don't, I moved. FINALLY. I moved to Portland. Not just the Portland area which really meant living in Vancouver with my parents. But really moved to Portland.

I am living in a house, subletting a room while the home's owner and room's occupant is in Guatemala with his girlfriend enjoying The WWOOF program and the rest of the wonderful things Guatemala has to offer.

I have two roommates and a cat. I see the cat more than I see my roommates, and I clean the house more than I see my roommates.

The house is in a great location. My roommates, though not as clean as I might like, are very nice. The cat, named Bunny, is crazy and sleeps on my bed every night. The entire experience has instilled in me an enormous desire to find my own place and fill it with roommates I love, art we all enjoy, and clean every Saturday.

The house also has a mailbox. If you would like something from you to arrive in said mailbox here is my address:
Haley Cloyd
3630 SE 37th Ave
Portland, OR 97202

I [almost] always write back.

fafsa

Guess what.

Today I finished filling out and submitted my FAFSA. To me it feels like a really big deal. Now I feel like I can call Portland State and say, "Dude. When do I get to know?"

Okay, I probably won't say it quite like that. But I feel like I have ALL of my ducks, not just my application ducks, in a row. I have done everything on my end to prepare for acceptance into their program.

An incomplete and unsubmitted FAFSA has also been my excuse for NOT calling to ask Portland Sate, "Dude. When do I get to know?" I guess that means I no longer have any excuses.

Okay. That's not entirely true. I could make the excuse that I want to wait for Tom to check the post office box in case they sent it between now and the last time he checked it.

Maybe you're wondering why on earth I would sit here and make excuses. Maybe you think it's silly. Maybe you would have called them ages ago. Guess what? You're not me. And if you WERE me I were you I would probably tell you the same thing. But it's different when you're the one--when I'm the one sitting here quaking in my boots that today are actually laceless Chuck Taylors embellished with men's ties.

Will report on aforementioned quaking, possible excuses, and "Dude. When do I get to know?" soon.