I have the weirdest dreams.
I dreamt last night that Steven peer pressured me into doing this filmed race thing through a dark corn maze, and then Steven turned into one of my guy friends from home.  And I ended up accidentally beating up this guy friend in the process because he was the one chasing me and I didn't realize I was actually hurting him.  And then he was super mad at me.
So I went back with him to his house because I guess I was staying with him and his parents and brothers were there and they were all a little mad at me for hurting their son.  So then he and his youngest brother start completely ignoring me and doing these weird shenanigans, and his mom asks me to talk to her about what's upsetting me and then she tells me to apologize and make everything right.
So I go to apologize and I open the door and they shout at me to leave because someone was changing or something like that so I get embarrassed and run away to this really huge dark kitchen with really long flowy curtains hanging over floor-to-ceiling open windows.
That was a beautiful location.
But anyways so my friend who is mad at me runs in and I apologize and cry and all that nonsense and he's like it's okay and hugs me and then I wake up.
Very long and detailed dream.
I think there was some sort of weird zombie hunt happening outside the open air kitchen as well.
Naturally.

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid."

This morning while I was making an early lunch, Kesha and I talked about my friend Brian who was running his first marathon today.  The Boston Marathon.
At four thirty, in the middle of my three hour class, we found out about the explosions.
Luckily, I got a hold of Brian and found out that he was safe and out of the city by the time I called him.
But shoot.
Over a hundred people injured and two dead.
An eight year old child is one of the dead.
Eight years old.
In Boston of all places.  On Patriots' Day.
I can't even imagine what those at the marathon must be going through.
The Huffington Post's religion section wrote an article on fear in light of the explosions, which is where the title of this post comes from.  Rob Lee writes via the Huffington Post:

"To explain away this tragedy with any theological certainty would also be trite, foolish and a pity excuse for what real theological thinking should be. Many in the days ahead will rationalize this with some faith perspective that might not make sense.

My initial reaction is the Psalm that has consoled many in situations such as these. Psalm 46 offers these words, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult."

The Psalmist doesn't offer explanations to the tragedies in our world, but the writer offers the presence of a living and loving God. I'm not going to write this and say that this was "planned" or that the tragedy was for a "greater purpose." All those reactionary explanations can be detrimental. What we can be confident in, however is the hope of the presence of the Divine. A very present help that stands to console our fear and strengthen us in love."

I can't imagine what the people of Boston are going through.  With so many tragedies and horrifying events, it's so hard to remember the beauty in the world.

Pray for the people of Boston.

So I'm babysitting.  And I just got the nine year old to bed after convincing him that the cars driving by outside are just cars and the weird sounds coming from his bedside table are just his weird water bottle and the ambiguous clunking from downstairs is the ice-maker.  So he seemed satisfied and agreed to try to sleep.
But now, as I sit downstairs and apply for internships, there is the strangest sound coming from outside.
It literally sounds like a spaceship is landing in the backyard.
Now, I see no mysterious lights coming in from the windows, so I'm going to assume that this is not the case.  And I'm not about to look out the window into the black unknown for fear of seeing something frightening (horror movies have damaged me).
It's got to be a plane, right?
It's that hovering sound that is smoother than a helicopter, so it must be a plane.  But the odd thing about this sound is that it gets really loud and then suddenly very quiet, then a minute or two later it gets really loud again.
And oh yeah there aren't any airports in Wenham.
So planes should not be flying this low anyways.
It's a UFO.
I am writing this blog post so that when E.T finally comes to fulfill his life-long goal of destroying me, everyone will know what has become of me.
E.T. did it.
And maybe people will stop thinking he's so cute and harmless.
Because he's not.

So anyways, it's only a matter of time before the child makes his way down the stairs to ask me what this legitimately concerning sound is.
And what shall I say?
Oh it's nothing, just a plane...

I miss Monica.

I hate cell phones.
I was in my PR class today and I looked around at one point when the professor was lecturing and saw six out of thirteen or fourteen people in my class playing with their iPhones.
It makes me nuts.
Now, I think iPhones are awesome and if I ever get enough money, I will purchase one.
But is it really necessary to be on it all of the time?
When I was in high school, we weren't allowed to be on our phones during class because it was distracting and, well, rude.
But now that we're adults and not adhering to strick classroom rules, we seem to think it's okay to be consistently texting and tapping away on our phones.
It's making me nuts.
I'll be having a conversation with a friend or classmate, and they'll be texting or searching or even answering calls in the middle of the conversation or lunch or whatever.  It's crazy to me.
I would love to have a basket next to the door of my apartment/classroom/everywhere where phones have to be stored.
But that's kind of controlling and crazy, I suppose.
If only.

So it's way too late/early in the morning to be blogging (it's 1:34am), but I've just had an experience that needs to be shared.
I just spent ten hours (I kid you freaking not) editing my group's short film in barrington.  I decided to call it quits about a half hour ago, so I got my stuff and started walking to the parking lot.  In the deserted creepy parking lot, I come across none other than a skunk.
First off, skunks are adorable.

I think that's part of their defense mechanism.  They're so stinking cute (punny?) that you just want to go up and pet them, but you know that once you freak the little neurotic rodents out, they'll spray you.
There's also the idea I have that skunks and raccoons are friends, and I'm just really not as okay with raccoons because they are clever and they bite.
So conflicting.
So I see this skunk about twenty feet away from me (says my lack of depth perception), and I'm like oh my gossssssh look at that cute little thing scuttle around.  Oh wait.  Towards me.
No bueno.
So I instantly panic and run around the little shack/building that my car is parked behind.  And when I turn the corner, Mr. Skunk is there.
I am not making this up.
He was legitimately ten feet away from me.
I was convinced I was done for, and I was mentally preparing myself for how I would get the smell out of my backpack, and wondering if it would soak through to my belongings.
So we had a stare-down.
Literally.
Literally.
We stared at each other for maybe five or six seconds, and then he turned and I ran, fearing the worst.  When I looked back I saw that he too was running away from me.
So turns out we were both terrified of each other.
And he didn't spray me.
And I ran the whole way to my car.
And now I'm parked in 15 minute parking because that is the second skunk I have seen in three days on this campus (and I have not been out much) and I will have a stroke if I meet another skunk while coming back from Woodland.
So yes, I'll trade in the skunk pee for some parking tickets please.
Anywho, I clearly need some sleep.

Kids are spoilers.
I was watching Toy Story 3 with the four year old I babysit and his friend today and barely three minutes into it they began telling me exactly what was about to happen.
And I'm like hey thanks children, good thing I've seen this movie several hundred times already.
I hope someone tells them when they get older that they cannot do that to people.  Spoilers.
Anywho, today is the day.  After a week of ceremonies and services, today is the last formal opportunity to say goodbye to Monica.
This afternoon is the campus celebration of Monica's life.  And that's it.
I think I've been waiting for closure to land in my lap, but I'm realizing that that's not how it works.
It's stressful because I feel like I'm being forced into saying goodbye and moving on, but I'm not ready for that.
I'm trying.
I've gone to all of the services, talked to a bunch of people, even googled advice on how to deal with this.
Google has actually been really helpful.
After I returned to school I kept getting people telling me they were sorry and I had no idea how to respond to them.  My automatic response is "it's okay" but it wasn't.  It's not.  And I eventually just ended up staring at people awkwardly because I didn't know what to say.
So I googled appropriate responses.
Thank you is supposed to be the go-to answer, which I probably could have figured out myself if my brain was functioning normally.
I've also been watching movies about grieving characters like Beginners and Rabbit Hole.
I know it's just a movie and they're just actors, but it kind of helps.
At this point, right now, I'm just nervous about another ceremony.  More crying, more looking at photos of Monica and hearing how great she was.  More crying and choking and heaviness.
Maybe it will help.