Eda's World

Southern Discomfort Eda Obey Opinions Editor l Obey is a senior English/journalism major Hurricane Katrina has reaffirmed my faith that Americans are good people. It has also illuminated our government’s criminal neglect of the poor and infirm. My Aunt Sherry owns a dog farm in Lumberton , Miss. , near New Orleans . The storm ripped up trees and destroyed homes around her. She took refuge in her neighbor’s house while the storm raged over her trailer. My family is dramatic and fractious on a good day, but they came together immediately when they realized Aunt Sherry was in danger. Everyone pitched in to buy a satellite phone, they found a generator so she could have power and they bought dog food and food-safe 55-gallon drums to fill with water. They loaded the supplies into Aunt Priscilla’s GMC Sierra truck and threw a huge tarp on the rolling care-package. My cousin, Tom, traversed highways littered with debris and braved b...

I was trying to cheer up a friend who had received some depressing news about a job he had wanted. He felt powerless and overwhelmed. Just defeated. I tried to be upbeat, offer ideas, and encourage him to try again. He kept shooting my ideas down, and just generally deciding to accept failure as a constant. He finally said something made me snap. I hate it when people say things like this to me. "I'm not like you. I don't just get up and do things!" Why not, dammit? I lit into him like chicken on a June bug. I told him I don't just do anything. I chose to. I chose to find things to do. I chose to get out. I choose every damn day. I am not the same person I was a year ago. Hell, I am nowhere near the person I was five years ago or ten years ago. I don't even recognize the person I was in my 20s. I have created the person I wanted to be. No one bursts out of the gate and just becomes who they want to be. The only difference between you and the person w...

I had a brilliant idea for a new blog. Will share later, but the crux of this is that I had the brilliant idea of going to my oldest page on my gmail and troll for things I'd written that I had forgotten about in the sound and the fury of college. On the second page of emails I found this and thought some thing I think with alarming regularity about myself: WHAT THE FUCK, EDA? Where did this come from? Judging from the title of the email, it was titled: Counting My Blessings. Until you have had someone you love strip you of your dignity, and fill you with pervasive doubt, you could not understand the dizzying addiction of bad relationships. The first six months is the high you chase for the rest of the relationship. It is a toxic mix of unexpected sexy phone calls, animalistic sex and a fierce possessiveness that makes you feel special in a way that only an overdose of hormones can. Then, as the relationship rots, you twist and prune yourself to please an angry go...

7/13/17 Making chicken and dumplings for Scott. He didn't get the job, and was never called for an interview. He feels defeated. I told him he had until Monday to be bummed then it's back on the horse. I'm bummed too. I really wanted this for him, and me. The benefits would have been great for us. He needs the security of a job. Not having one so long has destroyed his confidence in his abilities, despite all the letters from students, and compliments from parents. He's a good teacher. He's dedicated, the kids like him, he gets along with his co-workers. It's just hard out there to get work. Two people canceled last night. I was hitting my weekly numbers until that happened. I'm too tired from jujitsu to be stressed over it. Mission accomplished, I guess? Summer is slow. I'm okay for now. I'm doing my best, and that's all I can do. I keep reading Cracked.com and I'm trying to summon the courage to try to write for them again. I logged on...

Thursday 7/6 I just got back from jujitsu. Why do I feel fatter? It was a tough week emotionally. I wanted to get my newsletter out before I did, but I just couldn't write. I hated every word I wrote. It all seemed clunky and boring. I just wasn't in to it like I wanted to be. I have to push myself because business is slow, and I have to re-connect to get people on my table. It is a never ending circle of pushing myself out there to keep my business healthy. I had to really focus on my writing mantra: Be brave enough to let the imperfect exist. I use that for so many of my fears about pushing myself. I didn't want to go to jujitsu today, but I made myself and I was happy I did. I had rung my bell pretty bad last Tuesday. I rolled back wrong and landed like a flat rock instead of rolling like a graceful walnut. Knocked the wind out of myself, and gave myself mild whiplash on the front of my neck. I made myself go 10 minutes early and practice rolling falls backward. I...

I spent Friday 1/20 being a little weepy. No real excuse for it, maybe a little hormones, maybe a little herd sympathy. I had made a date with friends to meet and take the Blue Line up to LA to join the march. As the day approached I found myself getting more and more resistant to it. I thought about what was causing this. Then I realized the bubbling discomfort in my guts was my subconscious screaming for me to actually think about what it was going to be like: The crowds, the standing, the feeling of being corralled, and smothered. The lack of escape. I realized I couldn't handle it. I flashed on all the times I almost lost my shit in a crowded space. I've quit going to even medium sized venues, because I can't handle the press of human flesh. I almost passed out in the Tube in London. It was rush hour, the subway reeked of human funk, cologne, and mint gum. I found myself tipping my head back trying to find air that wasn't damp and dank from already being breathed....