Anne Woodland

            There’s something very interesting about missing a place.   Usually, it’s not the place itself that you miss, but the time associated with it.   I’ve been thinking about this recently as I’m within an hour drive of the small Midwestern town where I spent my middle school years.   On and off, I’ve entertained the idea of going back for a visit, but I’ve realized that it would be pointless.   It’s not really the small community with its adorable library or the creek in our backyard that I miss.   Rather, it’s the age, the people, the time of life that the place represents to me.             I miss the carefree child I was then, how I would spend my time climbing trees or running barefoot down to the creek.   I sometimes wish I hadn’t come to care if my clothes got muddy.   Although, I think that has more to do with me doing my own ...

            My apologies for not writing in so long, the holidays are always a busy time for me, I have a love-hate relationship with them, and this year was especially chaotic.   Giving gifts is my primary love language and I always try to put a great deal of thought and effort into each present.   (I enjoy crafts, so the majority of my gifts are usually handmade.)   Unfortunately, this year I was not as proactive with my Christmas preparations and so have spent the last few months being overwhelmed while trying to figure out the ideal gifts for my family and friends.                 Additionally, as of about two months ago, I have a boyfriend.   I’m from a conservative Christian background, and my depression has the side-effect of me being less hormonal than many of my peers, so this is my first serious boyfriend.   I realize that is rathe...

            For me, taking action almost always requires a great deal of forethought and fretting.   I’m not talking about moral or social issues, I’m referring to the logistical side of decision making.   I don’t make concrete commitments to anyone, including myself until I know how I am going to accomplish it.             This blog is the perfect example: I had been pondering on various parts of this for over a year before I actually got traction on the project!   I was making lists and reading how-to books about blogging! (Surprisingly there’s a plethora of these books, so I’m not the only one who does this.)   I’m the type of person who has to understand a good chunk of what I’m attempting before I’ll try it.             I’ve been told occasionally that I think too much, which I find to be q...

            I have for a long time been aware that I am not a particularly social person.   I can be amiable in company, provided I’m not sleep deprived and there’s acceptable food in the vicinity, but for the most part, I prefer my own company, and even then I find myself quite trying at times.   My main issue with social interaction is the lack of reciprocal relationships to be found.   By that I mean, a relationship where both parties give so that one or the other is not eventually exhausted by the association.   I realize that my tendency towards reserve does not further my cause in this area, but as the majority of humanity does nothing to earn my confidence I see no reason to bestow it.   Besides which, as that sort of trust does not usually arise from passing acquaintanceship, I do not seek it there.   (It’s rather a self-defeating pattern when one stops to consider it.)    ...

            Sometimes I consider what sort of character I would be in a novel, and when so doing I usually end up writing some third person narrative of such a situation.  Here are a few short, self-descriptions.  (I should add as a disclaimer, that I am almost always in a low mood when I do this type of thing.): If asked, Anne would have described herself as “decently pretty, but by no means beautiful”.             She had been an affectionate and tenderhearted child, and perhaps, beneath the thorns of her sarcasm, she still possessed those traits.  She had been too effective at keeping everyone at arm’s length to know one way or another.             She spent most of her time feeling helpless, hopeless, and pointless.  It was not a pleasant pool of sentiments to dwell in, but she’d marinated i...

            Moving is simultaneously exciting, exhausting, and frustrating.   There’s the adventure of a new place and meeting new people, but then there’s the myriad of physical exertions necessary to settle in a new place: hefting, cleaning, rearranging, laundry, etc.   Finally, there is the annoyance that comes from having too much junk, despite the few boxes that have inevitably disappeared somewhere in the moving process. (Right now I’m just grateful that I don’t have any children. That would make this whole moving business a million times more complicated!)             Also, I don’t know if this is just me or if it’s a common issue, but not having all my things organized makes it so difficult to concentrate on anything remotely intellectual!   I’m very annoyed by this, since at least fifty percent of the reason I made this move is so that I could have the...

            Apologies for my recent dearth of writing, but I fear it will continue for another month or so.   You see, I am in the middle of moving.   While my rather nomadic pattern of life has given me plenty of experience to draw from it does not lesson my frenzy as I uproot myself from my current situation and prepare to settle in a new one.               In my usual frame of mind, when I’m not contemplating the complicities of moving, I am given to jumping from one thought to another.   You could say I have more tangents than a calculus course.   Add the stress, anticipation, and anxiety of moving and it gets exponentially worse.             I totally slide those math references in there on purpose.   I like math.   The patterns of numbers are so interesting to discover!   I ...

           Frequently, as I've previously mentioned, the parts of my psyche argue among themselves. I had this argument after a productive morning a short while back (And people wonder why I'm so proficient at arguing!): Teen: Well, this has been a very productive morning.   I think this calls for a nap. Adult: No! We’re not taking a nap! An object in motion stays in motion, and an object at rest stays at rest. Teen: Stop referencing Newton’s Second Law.   Besides, we already got a lot done.   It’s almost like we’re an adult! Adult: We are an adult. Teen: Speak for yourself. Adult: You do realize we’re the same person, right? Teen: Stop reminding me…. Why can’t we talk a nap?   We’re tired.   We had trouble sleeping last night and had to get up early.   Come on! Adult: If we take a nap now then it’ll be harder for us to fall asleep later and we’ll just have another terrible night’s sleep!   It’ll be a ne...

            There are three parts of my psyche:             First, there is the adult part that is comprised of strong maternal instincts and a tendency to overcommit when helping others.   She feels the constant need to be doing something productive and fulfilling what she perceives as her adult responsibilities, despite the fact that she finds them quite challenging and often downright terrifying.             Then there’s the teenager part of me.   She’s in her later teens; probably seventeen or eighteen—old enough to be relatively confident, and young enough to still think she knows a great deal more than she does.   She’s a strange combination of sarcasm and apathy, with a wide sadistic streak thrown in for good measure.   She’s introverted, and the only people she likes being around on a regular...

            There should be some higher-level qualifications required to obtain adulthood, turning eighteen just isn’t enough.   I remember when I was a senior in high school: it was terrifying talking to some of my peers.   Some of them didn’t know how to fill their car with gas or how to use a washing machine!   And we were about to be released into the world as “adults”.             I suppose my annoyance with the whole concept of adulthood is that the word "adult" really only deals with physical growth.   Think about it: if you go on a zoo tour you’ll probably be told various facts about the animals at certain developmental stages.   For example: “An adult tiger eats around fifty pounds of meat a day.”   All that adulthood implies for most species is physical maturity, and that’s fine.   Adult giraffes don’t have to file taxes or know ho...