Meet Piper

Hello World. Meet Piper.
I adopted Piper three weeks ago from the local animal shelter. I had toyed with the idea of getting a cat  for some time. I've always had animals so I knew when I got back from Korea and had some sort of semi permanent residence, I would want to get a pet. I love dogs, I do, but I just knew that I couldn't adequately care for a dog with my busy schedule.  I also love cats. I refuse to pick sides in this cat vs. dog battle. I love them both.  Back to Piper... she is probably the cutest kitten ever. She's also very vocal. I swear she called me Mom the other day. Am I already turning into the crazy cat lady? Maybe. But seriously, just look at her. How bad do you want to snuggle her?  So bad. Oh so bad. 

She is quite frisky, but she also is so snuggly. She's about 11 weeks old and loves to curl up in the most inconvenient places, like my neck or my laptop. 

How am I supposed to move her when she just looks so content?

She's becoming quite popular in the Brick House. People come over just to play with her. I had a note left for me the other night and it was addressed to "The Person Who Lives Here With Piper." 

I am that person. Apparently I live here with Piper, not the other way around. 

That's okay. People love her. I love her. 

She's been quite the little blessing and I'm so glad that I get to share my space with this little bean bag. 

a letter

I have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of a letter, a letter that would very much lay out the next couple years for me. Ever since the interview for the MS in Counseling program, I have had a perpetual stomach ache and had a difficult time sleeping.  It was really hard waiting because I started to get this weird peaceful feeling about potentially not getting in. I felt like that was maybe God's way of preparing my heart and mind for rejection. That scared me, a lot.  When people asked me about how I was feeling, I tried to be positive and downplay and heartache that would accompany rejection. One of the fears I had with not getting in was the fact that people would know I was disappointed. I'm not sure why that scared/scares me so much, but that's something I didn't want.
I also started to convince myself of reasons I would get in, none of them really had to do with my own ability, but with little external blessings like being employed by the school. I had lunch the week after the interview with someone whom I respect greatly and highly value her opinion. I was honest and completely vulnerable with her about fears associated with not getting in/reasons why I thought I might get in. Amanda said, "Jess, have you ever thought that the reason why you'll get in is because you're a great candidate?" I honestly hadn't thought that way. I know I am a good candidate, but in my reasoning and after seeing the other candidates, I didn't feel like I was up to par with them. I am not trying to be one of those people who is desperately trying to find someone to affirm them, that's not what I'm looking for and that's not what I need. I think that I was just trying to process through everything and prepare myself for the realistic chance that things wouldn't pan out the way I hoped.
I got a letter this past week, a letter that I was nervous for, but I already knew what it said inside. I had found out through an email that had been sent that retrospectively should not have been sent until the letters were delivered. Regardless, I already knew what the letter said, but I needed to read it. I needed to hold the letter in my hand, I needed to be able to read the words multiple times to let them sink in.
"Congratulations! You have been accepted into the  Masters of Science in Counseling graduate studies program." 
I was accepted. I am one of nine candidates (out of 25/30-ish) candidates who was admitted into the program. I feel so blessed and humbled because I know there were SO many other qualified candidates. I know there are people who are mourning their rejection right now, and rightfully so. I would have mourned as well, but because I was accepted, I have been celebrating. 
When I told Amanda that I was accepted, she said, "It's not a fluke- it's all you baby! You should feel proud!" She was right. I wasn't a pity acceptance, it has nothing to do with the fact that I work for the school, or any other reason I might have previously told myself. It's because I am a good candidate. It's because I will make a good counselor and the interviewing committee was able to see that in me. 
It's something I need to allow myself to see.

The Time I Fought a White Board

Before we get to the good part of the story on how I actually got beat up by a white  board, let me back track a little.  Part of my job at the university includes managing a little staff of four students. They help out with throwing the weekly events and keep the house looking snazzy. I had previously made schedules for them but it was suggested that we get a calendar white board so that their work days and potential shift swaps could be documented more easily and seen by all of us. 
That was a great idea. 
I, being the great "boss" that I am, made a trip to the 'ol Wal Mart to purchase said white board.

I brought the white board, who will we now refer to as El Diablo, back to the house, put all of the information on it, and couldn't decide where to hang it. I switched it's location three times before settling on the office. This was actually a really stupid place to put it since not everyone that I work with has a key to the office. So I guess this whole encounter was karma for me being a gooftroop.

Thursday night rolls around and the student leaders come over to help start getting ready. I casually bring up El Diablo and inform them of the location. The genius student who first suggested El Diablo makes another wise suggestion of moving the board into the kitchen area where it's more easily accesible. 

His billion dollar private school education is obviously paying off. 

I then go into the office to pull El Diablo off of the door and transport it to its new home in the kitchen. It was fixed to the door by some sort of voodoo magic (sticky pads) and I put my fingers behind it to pull it off. 

No such luck. 

It pinched really hard but I am not a pansy (yes I am and this won't even be up for debate as you continue reading) so I just keep pulling.

Ouch. 

I start walking into the kitchen to admit my defeat and inability to remove a stupid office supply off of a wall since the stickers are too strong for me. I notice something in my hands. Blood. BUHLUD.

It really starts to hurt, like heartbeat throbbing in your finger tip hurt. Like, "ouch that is a pretty deep gash" hurt. This is where it all starts to go downhill. I am laughing because I can handle pain in no other way and I genuinely think I was shocked by what had just happened. My friend Kaitlin puts pressure on the bleeding while Mikayla went to get bandages and hydrogen peroxide. 

Then it happens, I start to feel like I'm going to faint. I have fainted twice in my life, so I know how my bod (forgot the 'y', but I'm leaving it because it feels B.A.) starts to feel when it is happening. I got dizzy, felt like I was going to throw up, couldn't keep my eyes open, and got the cold sweats. I laid down on the floor of my kitchen while Kaitlin fanned me with the "Hook" DVD case. After a couple minutes I start to feel better, we assess the damage, decide no further steps need to be taken, and bandage the fingers up. 

(Only one was cut, but the other one has a slice down the middle of the nail 

and it's just hanging on to the tender finger meat for dear life.)

Now I am typing this with fingers that look like they are wearing little potato sacks. How will I even function without the use of my right middle and pointer fingers? THOSE ARE MY FAVORITE ONES! But seriously, if my body can't handle a little slice & dice, how will I ever birth a child?