my 2012...

I survived 2012.

No, that's not an apocalypse joke (though I won't lie and say I didn't worry about it a little bit). It's actually a true statement.

This year has been hard. Lots of heartbreaks, lots of challenges, lots of new things to overcome. I lost several close friendships, began dealing with the pain left behind from abuse, watched my dad begin a battle with stage 4 prostate cancer, saw my sisters get hurt by boys and shattered dreams, tried to help a friend who had some awful stuff happen to her, was diagnosed with some of my own health problems, faced seemingly insurmountable challenges in school, changed jobs multiple times, met people with opposing perspectives that shook my world, moved out on my own for the first time, saw life-long dreams put on hold indefinitely, and, as always, wrestled with the darkness that comes from depression and anxiety. I've felt myself being molded and shaped into something new; that shaping and molding hurts.

This year has also been incredibly wonderful. There have been countless miracles, small and big. I gained greater closeness with the people who are my real friends, took steps necessary to heal, received the news that dad's cancer is in remission after only three months of treatment, watched my sisters band together against the unkindness of classmates, learned that tough love is sometimes necessary, humbled myself enough to go through treatments that have improved my health exponentially, pulled a shocking 3.9 GPA despite all of the difficulties, did well in all of the jobs I had and made connections for future opportunities, made wonderful new friends and new insight about life and people, gained greater independence from living as I desire, and, as always, still wrestle with the darkness that works its way into my mind and heart. I have been molded and shaped into something new; that shaping and molding has been worth every bit of pain -- I'm happier than I ever have been in my entire life.

I've done things I never would have done before. I'm taking chances, making mistakes, getting messy in life -- I even let the dishes sit in the sink overnight now, rather than staying up late to clean the entire house because one little thing is out of place. I'm living my life -- I'm not letting memories and fear live it for me.

I'm still scared. I'm taking risks that a week ago I vowed I would never do. I'm considering new, big, exciting, terrifying things. And, I like it.

2012 has been full of ups and downs -- the downs were hard. Really hard. I'm not perfect, and I'm not complete yet. There's still a lot of shaping and molding needed. But I've learned this year that fear really is the opposite of faith. With faith, anything can happen. Literally anything. Dads who are given two to three years to live can suddenly be faced with fifteen to twenty years after only three months of cancer treatment. Finances can suddenly fall into place perfectly, with just enough left to hold over until the next paycheck comes through. People who are complete strangers can, in one conversation, say exactly what was needed to help heal a broken heart. Family and friends can stay close and get closer, no matter what happens. And girls who have been damaged, inside and outside, by guys can find themselves swept off their feet by good men in a matter of days.

Miracles happen. Fun happens. And mid all of the tears and sorrows, laughter happens. It happens a lot more than we'd think, if we let it.

what...

Guess where this girl will be tomorrow night?

His house. 

Because he invited me.

First New Year's Eve away from home.

Ever. 

My mother is going to kill me.

lore of the folk...

Yesterday I finished my first folklore collection project. Three days of sorting through computer files full of dates, names, and beliefs about different diseases, injuries, and ailments...voila. Complete.

I learned a lot of interesting things. Mostly what not to do. For example, one belief advised treating a burn by covering the affected area with turpentine and then holding the limb over a hot stove. Mmm...false. Turpentine is flammable. Pretty sure that's not going to help.

Or this one: to cure frostbite, stand barefoot in the snow. While snow can help warm up a frozen limb (because the snow is actually warmer than the icy skin and helps draw out the cold [thank you, Boy Scouts]), standing barefoot in the snow is a bit ridiculous.

Or how about eating a mouse to cure a toothache? I'm sure that's fool proof.

The really fun thing has been all of the Google searches that have led me to new, weird, and interesting bits of information regarding many of the "cures" and "treatments" I've been sifting through. Some actually work. Like ginger tea for menstrual cramps. Or raspberry tea for a stomachache. Who knew? Others don't work (see above). Such as vinegar on a sunburn (ow). The acid makes it worse.

Google is awesome.

Anyway, it was a long, rather boring process, but it's finished now. Yay.

However...that assignment was a bit preferable to the one I'm currently working on. Get this: my new project is all of the files containing folklore relating to love, courtship, marriage, and other such topics. Currently, I'm going through all of the beliefs about dating: what to do, what not to do, what to eat, what charms and incantations to use to get someone to fall in love with you. Not that I'd ever do that. Silly. And wouldn't work. I mean, after all...remember what happened with Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt? Not happy.

Dating files. Advice from clear back in 1886.

Fitting, no?

#"nothappy,Bob"

heaven help me...

Oh, boy.

Literally.

He's adorable. 

I haven't had butterflies this badly in months. And it's odd, because we barely know each other. But he's adorable. And funny. And smart. And all of this other wonderful stuff that I don't know what to do with. Especially that smile. Good grief.

And on top of all of that, I've had hiccups for two hours. Nothing I've tried has worked. It's getting really annoying.

Help!

the walls come down...

#nerdalert...

What do my sisters and I do on Christmas Eve?

I sit on my couch coaching them both through Order of the Phoenix levels on the Xbox 360, rolling my eyes as they get their characters stuck running in circles and laughing as they both shriek in panic when the red caps pop out of the ground and attack them in the Forbidden Forest. They have the time of their lives figuring out the game and squealing with fright as the Lego creatures come after them.

Seriously, though. Every time a red cap pops out of the dirt, they scream and jerk their whole bodies around while maneuvering their little Lego Luna and Harry.

It's the holidays at the House.

Happy Christmas, everybody.

a taste of the outdoors...

I love the smell of pine trees. Which is one of the many reasons why I'm still glad that Chelsea and I got a real tree for Christmas.

First, we stopped by Mater and said hello. We just like him for his body. And then, we found our tree! Beautiful, isn't it?

All ready to go!

Happy Christmas from the girls in 83!

PS Thanks to Jeff for taking all of the pictures, for helping us get the tree standing up straight, and for helping tie it to the car.

No.

I'm saying no.

No to butterflies.

No to dreams.

No to wishes.

No to one name playing in my head over and over again.

No to having one person being the first and last thought of my day.

No to blushing and giggling and everything else.

No, no, no.

holding my tongue...

Have you ever felt so angry that you wanted to break something? Smash something, demolish things into little tiny pieces. Make lots of noise, scream, curse, and shout at the top of your lungs. Let out all of the hurt and anger and sadness. Big and mean and scary -- bigger than ever.

Unfortunately, that's not an option. It's not healthy, and it's stupid.

What I wouldn't give to be able to tell the truth to someone. Especially the people who need to hear it. I wish I could just loose control -- give people a piece of my mind. Make them understand how awful I feel inside. I wish I could let it all go, loudly and irrationally.

Is it weird to want to be unkind? To say everything that's on your mind with no restraint or thought for another person's feelings?

Honestly. I have and always will try my hardest not to do that. It's immature and selfish. And it doesn't help anything, either. At all. 

I hate feeling so angry. I hate keeping so much secret, having no one to tell things to because there are things I can't say and shouldn't say. You know? Because if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. And what I want to say shouldn't be said. Ever. Not fair. Not kind. Not okay.

More sleep would be a good thing. More sleep, more fun, and more focus on the good things in life. Because there are a lot of good things in life. Many, many good things.

Proof, once again, that I am far from perfect, and that I have much to learn. Exciting thought, in some ways, that there is always something better ahead and that personal change is always an option, if you're willing to work at it.

productivity...

We have a saying in the Writing Center that it's better to show readers through words than tell them. I'm just going to skip the words all together and provide physical evidence of what I did today.

To do list, you've been DONE. Mostly. 

trees for Christmas...

inspired by Christmas trees -- I love not having homework

no, I am not drunk...

Did you know that going without sleep for more than 16 hours impairs functioning in ways similar to having a blood alcohol content of 0.08? Long periods of time without sleeping has the same side effects as being legally drunk.

According to these studies and statistics, I'm drunk. I never thought that would happen. But, after 34 hours without sleep (one hour of sleep last night due to the ER adventure and staying up to finish my last term paper), I think it's affecting me. Sleep deprived drunk.

And I'm not even 21 yet. Way to get the party started early.

ER, anyone?

At 10:00 tonight, I got a call from a friend informing me that another friend was in serious trouble.

So I called a different friend with a car, and we kindly forced the troubled friend into said car. And then drove to the emergency room. After which, we spent 30 minutes trying to get her out of the car and into the ER.

Finally, she agreed to come in. Very reluctantly. I pretty much pushed her across the parking lot.

At 1:00 this morning, Chelsea came and picked me up because the migraine I had this morning started coming back. And I have a 12 page paper to finish that is due at 8:00 this morning.

So. That's taken care of for now. Not the paper, but the friend in trouble.

Never taken a friend to the ER before.

Never pulled an all-nighter as a BYU student before, either (and school is out tomorrow...what?).

Never thought I'd like a Christmas song featuring C-Lee and the Muppets. NEVER.

Now to write 3 more pages. And maybe get some sleep. But after two 20 ounce bottles of Coke Zero, that might not be happening. We'll have to see.

almost made it...

...to the end of the semester without another migraine.

It's been liiiiiiiiiike...a month since the last one? And then BAM! 

Sneaky little devil. Was not expecting that. Was not expecting the migraine prevention medication to make things worse, either. I don't think I'll take it anymore...every time I've tried it, the headache is worse than if I stick with Coke and aspirin. But luckily things are looking up. The last hour has been a lot better. Hopefully it'll continue in that direction -- I've got a paper to write before tomorrow morning. Sorta snuck up on me.

Actually, it didn't sneak up on me. I just haven't wanted to write it.

Jack didn't build this house...

After a weekend of studying for finals and a Monday of one monstrous exam followed by studying for a second, I was worn out. So when Jeff and Chelsea called me and invited me to make gingerbread houses with them and Jeff's family, I didn't even think about saying no. To heck with studying! Let's have some fun!

Fun it was. Lots of fun! We came away with some graham cracker masterpieces, blistered fingers from a hot glue gun (at least in my case), and sugar overload because of all the candy that ended up in our mouths instead of on the architecture.

Chelsea made a beautiful Eiffel Tower, and I made a replica of my favorite building on BYU campus, the Hinckley Alumni Center.

Happy girls, happy houses, and Happy Christmas!

heaven forbid...

Resolved, if I am ever a college teacher/professor (ugh), things will go like this:

I will not be vague about what my students need to know for exams.

I will hold them accountable for the work/reading assignments by having discussion-based lectures.

I will not return papers/exams without any comments.

I will expect students' work to be their best, taking into consideration that students are human, not super heroes.

I will not insult them or treat them like children.

I will have accessible office hours, respond to emails, and provide detailed syllabi that I stick to, not change at whim.

I will not lecture them the whole class period.

I will give homework that is actually worth doing (granted, worthwhile is an opinion thing), with no hint at the term busy-work.

I will not be the stuffed-shirt, eagle-eyed professor who goes by Doctor wherever she goes, choosing instead to connect with my students and others on a person-to-person basis, because I am not my degree (particularly on my children's wedding invitations -- seriously?).

I will encourage higher thinking and incorporate many types of presentations because students learn differently and will enjoy learning something they love in a style they understand.

I will not be the professors I had this semester (or most of them). I will guarantee that.

I will be warm and approachable, helpful, yet demanding because I know students can and will do a good job if they know what is expected of them. 

It'll be like teaching Primary, except the students will be bigger and I can wear pants. 

penguins...

Girls' Night! With Brianna.

finals weekend...

I'm dying.

Not literally dying, but metaphorically dying. As in my brain cannot seem to function and my eyes want to stay shut forever.

How is it possible for me to have so much to do, yet be so bored?

Honestly, I do not know how I'm going to retain all of this information. All of it is familiar because I discussed it (or listened to my professor drone for an hour every other day) in classes three times a week, but really. I don't know how I'll write good, solid mini essays on events/people/books when I am required to prepare for 41, but only need to know 10. So much information.

Not to mention that same professor, who I have two classes with, told my entire American Studies class that we are "terrible writers" and that "some of your essays are so bad that I just read through the first paragraph and wrote 'I quit' on the top, then gave you a C. If you'd spent time on your essays, and actually attempted to do a good job, I might have read all of it. But really -- it's not like you're freshmen. Really, just awful. Awful."

If I didn't need a good grade, I would write, "I read the first question and it was so bad that I realized I can't take this exam because I don't have enough time to actually attempt to do a good job. I quit."

Temptation. Plagues me to no end.

hurr...

I was in bed for 12 hours.

Kid you not. I went to bed at 10:15 last night, and didn't get out again until 10:15 this morning. Sleeping pills are magic. When they work. And it for sure worked this time!

My first look in the mirror, however, was not magical. The face looked fine, the circles under my eyes a light gray color instead of the usual almost black. And the eyes were brighter, too. But the hair...

Good heavens. Now, I often wake up with a head of curls, because that's what happens when a girl has curly hair. This particular morning, though, was less pretty and/or cute curls, but a Medusa-like tangle of twisting, twining springs.

No way am I brushing that beast out. It'll frizz up like a Pomeranian in the Amazon.

Curly hair problems: it does what it wants.

a little note...

Once upon a time, I woke up from an unexpected nap on a bench at school and found this note on my laptop. I don't know who it's from, but he or she is fantastic:

Then, one time this afternoon, I fell asleep at the tutor table during my shift. I awoke with a jolt from a rather graphic nightmare. Chloe, sitting next to me, asked if I was okay and kept shooting glances at me while I pretended things were fine -- the images were rather disturbing.

When I returned from a tutorial, I found this on my books:

The top half of the note says, "You can do it! One more week!"

There are a lot of nice people in this world. I'm lucky that I call some of them my friends (because I'm pretty sure the person who gave me the anonymous note is a friend -- I just don't know which one -- after all, whoever it was did write my name on the note!)

worst shift ever...

I do not exaggerate when I say that I had my three worst ever tutorials yesterday. All right in a row.

The first one was awful because a student came in who had a huge statistical analysis research paper due the next day at 5 p.m. She spoke nothing of the writing in the paper, and wanted me to evaluate the observational study she wanted to do that afternoon. I have a little bit of statistical knowledge, but nothing like what she wanted. Stats 121 was the bane of my existence last semester. I didn't know what to do, and I tried to help her as best I could. Plus, she was an international student from China, and she barely understood half of what I tried to explain. 

She was super stressed out about the paper, and kept saying she didn't get what I meant and that I wasn't understanding her assignment. Huh. Imagine that. I'm a writing tutor, not a stats TA! We didn't read any of her paper, and she wanted me to give her all of the answers for writing her thesis, saying "Write what you would say for me." No. Do you want me to lose my job? Because I don't want to.

Tutorial number two was only awful because of the subject material. The guy was great. He's a Women Studies minor, which surprised me so much that I actually stared at him, thinking it was a joke (there are a lot of good guys at BYU, but I find that many of them have a 'women are second class' mentality, even if they don't come right out and say it -- it's a subconscious cultural thing here). But he was serious. I was excited to work with him, until I read his thesis. It was an analysis of the impact that popular literature has on girls' perceptions of the ideal relationship, using the Twilight novels as the basis for his observations. 

I had to hold back tears the whole time, because I kept seeing myself in the paper. After what happened on Monday night -- I've been a bit of a nervous wreck (as my coworkers and room mate can attest to). His paper was really great because it did an excellent job of pointing out instances of abuse, male dominance, and how victims come to behave. But it was really hard to read -- he noticed and asked if I was okay. I sort of shrugged it off and just said that it all sounded familiar. The look on his face was so kind and compassionate. Worst tutorial ever -- not because of him, but because I could barely hold myself together. Mom said I should have given him my number -- yeah, right. Although he was really cute.

Third the worst. I kid you not, it was the worst tutorial ever. The lady who came in for help was probably in her mid-sixties, and she was the rudest, meanest person I have ever met at BYU. She brought in a 59 page paper and wanted me to do all of the citations for her, in Chicago format. I've never used Chicago before, and no one else in the Center uses it. We all use MLA or APA. When I told her that, she got so upset at me, and started bossing me around and telling me that I was unhelpful. "You don't know this format? Well, are you a writing tutor, or aren't you?" Um...yes. And last time I checked, you aren't, madam. 

After spending ten minutes trying to help with handouts, the Internet, and a manual, she handed me her 59 pages and told me to read it. I'm not supposed to read students' papers without them -- they read them aloud and I follow along. We're also not supposed to read all of long papers -- especially when we have a three hour wait (yep). When I told her those things, she snatched her paper from me and said, very loudly, "So you can't help me." I was so shocked that I just sat there, stuttering that yes, I could help, but that I had to follow the rules. Then she snorted and said, "So. You won't help me."

I was absolutely stunned. Of course I would help her, but I have to follow the policies and procedures of the Center. I even tried to explain to her that I had to be available to help other students, and I pointed at the line out the door. She just glared at me and said, "Will you help me or not?" I didn't know what to do at that point, and because she was older, I couldn't tell her off like I can a student. And so, for 60 minutes, I sat with her while she read her paper, criticizing me for all of my comments and telling me that I didn't get it. Duh, I didn't get it. She wouldn't tell me about the paper, shushing me when I asked her what the assignment was and saying, "I am reading." She wouldn't listen to anything I said, and if I so much as moved in my chair, she'd stop and glare at me, "You're not paying attention. Listen."

Dana and Chloe saved me. They were watching, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that they were just as stunned and unsure as I was. Eventually, Chloe came over and stopped the tutorial, pointing to the line of students needing help. I was so relieved; I'd been trying not to cry the whole time.

Chloe, Dana, and I have now developed a system of signaling each other if something like that ever happens again. Chloe taught us the ASL signs for "help me" and "do you need help." I'm going to memorize that for future semesters.

Good thing today is not yesterday. Just a bit nervous...the lady is coming back today. I swear, if it's my turn to tutor, I'll fake sick or slip Chloe a note to pull the fire alarm at 20 minutes into the tutorial. Not that we'd ever pull the fire alarm. But it is often a muttered sentiment as one of us leaves the table to help particularly infamous writing students. 

sometimes I'm dumb...

I've often imagined what it would be like if confronted with my worst nightmare. Usually I end up heroic, speaking eloquently and powerfully, standing up for myself and leaving with a firm, final statement that ends everything and turning on my heel, leaving the room with a metaphorical bang.

In reality, I ran as though chased by a horde of Mordor orcs and hid in a bathroom stall, sobbing. And then sobbing at home on my couch with my room mate and friend. And then crying in my room. And then staying up all night because I couldn't sleep.

My nightmares came alive last night -- and it was awful. More awful than I imagined. I was pathetic. I panicked and ran like a child. I cried and cried, so hard that strangers stopped me and tried to help.

I was so stupid. So stupid, stubborn -- Miss Independent, thinking she'd be fine on her own, that no way would anything happen, that I'd be left alone. So many people, odds in my favor. Psh. I'm an idiot. 

I wish I was braver. I wish I'd been able to stand up for myself and tell it like it really is. To end it, once and for all.

But I couldn't do it. Chelsea and Kenna told me that running was good, and that it was even brave, because I got out of the situation. They were so nice to me last night, letting me cry and sitting with me. They even let me say what I was really thinking, and they didn't judge me for it (I used a couple of words that I save only for certain occasions -- funnily enough, I don't feel guilty). 

I want to sleep. I'm so tired -- this day has been so, so hard. Thank goodness it's almost over. But, I'm glad to be at school. 

Nobody can find me here.

salt of the oats...

After two minutes of wondering where I went wrong with breakfast, my taste buds figured it out.

I put too much salt in the oatmeal.

Now I have a joke for you:

How much brown sugar does it take to eliminate the taste of salt in oatmeal?

When I find out, I'll let you know -- if I don't end up in a sugar coma first.

November top 10...

1. Who You Are -- Jessie J
2. Catch Fire -- Joel Aldrich
3. Cryin' on a Suitcase -- Casey James
4. Too Close to Love You -- Alex Clare
5. Try -- P!nk
6. Between the Raindrops -- Lifehouse ft. Natasha Beddingfield
7. Unapologize -- Carrie Underwood
8. One More Night -- Maroon 5
9. Once Upon Another Time -- Sara Bareilles
10. Let it Rain -- David Nail

clearly I am not left handed...

If I had a camera, I would take a picture and show you, BUT seeing as mine has been commandeered once again by my mother, I will just tell you about it.

I finished another paper tonight (and Jeff was kind enough to read it, as was my dad, both of whom said that it looks good -- banking on them being right). Chelsea, Jeff, and I turned on the TV because we can, and then we realized that it was three hours earlier than we thought it was: 7pm instead of 10pm. Chelsea and I had time to do our nails!

Given that it is now December (and pouring rain outside so hard that my dog started barking), I decided to paint my nails red. And then...I got creative.

'Tis the season, right?

Let's just say that the green stripes on my left hand look much better than the green stripes on my right hand.

If you can even call those stripes. Good grief. When I get my camera back (tomorrow -- or else), I may take a photo and show you. Perhaps you'll think it as funny as I do. And by funny, I mean funny looking.

BLAH!!

Warning: ranting follows.

OH MY GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWSH.

I AM SO NOT MOTIVATED TO DO ANYTHING.

There is an incredible amount of hyper energy coursing through me, and none of that energy is applicable for writing papers. Nor is it any good for cleaning. Running through my  house chasing my dog keeps happening, and Kala thinks I'm crazy.

I just want to scream at the top of my lungs.

BAAHHHHHHHHH.

Virtual scream. Won't scare my dog and won't alarm the neighbors (even though they have no trouble screaming at each other late at night -- makes me glad that Chelsea and I solve conflicts in a calm, rational manner -- then again, we've never really had a conflict).

The Big Bang Theory is ruining me, by the way. Or, more like my new knowledge and mastery of the remote control has ruined me. I'm no longer intimidated by all of the buttons. I wish I had a time machine because I could go back and stop myself from learning how to use the remote. But...if I didn't know how to use the remote, I wouldn't have watched the Big Bang episode about the time machine, and then I wouldn't have had the idea, so I wouldn't have been able to think of getting a time machine to go back in time and stop myself from learning how to use the remote, meaning I'd be in the same quandary I'm currently in, therefore no paradigm alteration would occur anyway.

Good grief. I spend too much time with Sheldon.

i haven't been this tired since...

Yesterday.

Good grief.

You know, there are a lot things I can get used to. I can (and have) gotten used to headaches. I manage them -- even when my head really hurts, I push it aside as much as I can. I'm pretty used to nausea and dizziness at this point, too. I can manage it. I deal. No worries.

But man. I don't know if I'll ever get used to being tired. You'd think that overcoming that would be the easiest. No way, Jose. I keep going because I have to, but my mind is so foggy and everything takes longer than it should.

Can't think.

It's just been a struggle this week. A good week, because a lot of good things have happened at school and work. But a struggle, too. My whole body drags, and my mind isn't far behind. Sometimes, I have to sleep, instead of getting things done.

Crazy how exhausting school is.

new girl...

I'm noticing a pattern in my life. Every school semester, I end up starting a new job of some sort. This next semester will be no different.

Meet the newest workflow technician for BYU's Special Collections department in the Harold B. Lee Library.

Hi. Pleased to meet you, too.

Two hours of training over the past two days, and I've already seen some pretty cool stuff.

Like...

all of Jimmy Stewart's papers/photographs/etc. And his typewriter.

Like...

a sheet of war bonds from the Confederate States of America valued at over $10,000 (my supervisor ran across those as he was looking for other documents to display -- yeah, the bonds are now locked in the vault -- good luck getting in there).

Like...

the pencil case from Hitler's desk. And a piece of the desk to go with it (or so we were told).

Like...

government appointment certificates signed by Ulysses S. Grant (also in the vault).

Never have I been this excited to be the new kid on the block. I get to work with my childhood friend, Brittan, and the other two people I've met so far seem really great. Abe, another student, is friendly and charming. Jeffrey, my supervisor, is funny and intelligent, and he doesn't mind all of my questions.

Now to get through the mind-numbing training videos so I can start the actual work. I still can't believe it -- a job in my field. Finally. So stoked.

don't want, can't have...

I don't want to write any more papers (especially dumb ones that are just busy work).
I don't want to read any more textbooks.
I don't want to get up early anymore.
I don't want to tutor papers anymore.
I don't want to go to school anymore.

I want to write poetry.
I want to read real books.
I want to get up when my body is done sleeping.
I want to not tutor.
I want to learn -- really learn.

And I really want to have time to paint my nails.

That would be grand.

should have been an English major...

Remember that 12 page paper?

Done.

In 4 hours.

WIN.

And I actually feel that it's pretty decent for the most part. There are a couple of places that need some polishing, but seeing as the final product isn't due until December 13th (a complete draft is needed for full credit during the in class work shopping), I have some time to spruce it up (like a Christmas tree -- yep, it's almost midnight).

Now to take it to school tomorrow and have it peer reviewed. Which means that after I get the 100% grade for bringing it in and having another student look at it, I will promptly disregard all of his/her remarks and take it to the Writing Center for a coworker to look at instead.

Anthropology students struggle at peer reviews. Just saying.

oops...

I have a 12 page paper to write. 

By tomorrow at 4 p.m.

...

Yeeeeeah, I got nothing done over the break. 

Ready...GO.

now you say...

I sit on my wobbly old stool at grandma's kitchen table, eating my pecan pie in a plastic bowl with a plastic spoon. Grandma doesn't like to wash dishes anymore, so she always has plastic on hand. Not very environmentally friendly, but it saves me the job of cleaning up after everyone, so I'm not complaining.

Very few thoughts run through my head. My mind is focused on the pie in the bowl. I eye which sections have the most cinnamon coated nuts, cutting around those bits to save them for last. You can't eat pecan pie from tip to crust -- you've gotta save the best parts and eat them slowly.

A voice cuts through my contemplation, and I look up to see grandma sitting across from me. I don't know how long she's been talking, and I feel a little bad for not paying better attention. Eating pecan pie is a serious business. It requires a lot of concentration -- clearly I was doing a good job.

I listen to her talk for a few minutes, about Christmas angels made out of dish towels and what she's going to do with all of the cards she gets every year from family members. I smile and nod as I listen, slowly spooning pie across my lips.

Grandma stops talking and studies me for a few seconds. I put my spoon down and look back at her across the table, waiting for her to continue.

"You are very quiet," she says.

I almost fall off of my stool. My bowl hits the tabletop with a soft thump. Pecan pie is now the last thing on my mind as I race to find a reply, but before I can think of anything, I feel my head nodding in agreement.

"Why?" grandma asks.

Again, my body acts before I can speak -- I shrug.

"Hm," grandma huffs, pursing her lips.

She's not happy with my response. My brain is still slow and wanting to get back to the pie. I grasp for anything that will be satisfactory to her, and I hear my voice say, "I just don't have a lot to say. I listen more than I talk."

Grandma just looks at me. Apologetically, I shrug again and quietly say, "I like to listen."

She nods and leaves the table, returning to her genealogy program that is open on her computer screen. I breathe a sigh of relief and pick up my plastic bowl of pecan pie.

I never thought anyone would ever tell me that I'm quiet, I think at the pie, But is it bad if I don't have much to say? Receiving no response from the nuts in the bottom of the bowl, I scoop them out and eat them one by one, savoring the rich, dark, nutty taste and finding security in the fact that pie never talks back.

dirty is just dirt with a "y" on the end...

Yesterday my family and I began the four hour drive to my grandparents' house in northeastern Utah, the majestic Flaming Gorge. No, they don't actually live at the reservoir, but they live a few miles away, in a little (tiny) community called Flaming Gorge Pines. They're about an hour north of Vernal, if that helps you orient yourself. Not very many people know about the Pines.

Due to an unhappy accident, the people who we asked to take care of the dogs at my parents' house didn't get a house key that works. And so, 2 hours after we'd arrived in the Pines, my dad and I volunteered to make the four hour trip back down to Orem to save the puppies.

While we were driving home, I mentioned some things that have been on my mind in an off-hand, nonchalant sort of way -- mostly about that one guy we call Aries and all of the trouble I've been having. Dad didn't say much, just told me that I shouldn't worry about another guy being like that because I learned and I won't let anyone treat me badly again. Then we got on the subject of other people's problems again, and I stopped talking, listening for the next two hours.

This morning on our way back up to the Pines (which only took 3 hours and 15 minutes this time), dad brought Aries up. Just out of nowhere, he started talking about the whole thing and then told me that maybe the only way I can get over it is by talking about it, "from start to finish, talk it through."

I nodded and went back to looking out the window. Dad touched my shoulder and said, "You can talk right now, if you'd like."

My whole self shut down. Really, I was overcome with a feeling of utter shame and embarrassment. All thoughts flew from my brain and I had no words. I almost felt like I was five-years-old again, caught covered from head to toe in black, sticky mud -- a dirty little child. But mud is fun, until you get in trouble. Aries wasn't fun. And even though things weren't entirely my fault, and nothing really bad happened, being asked about it by my dad was horrible.

I don't know why. Usually I can tell my dad everything, and it doesn't matter. Maybe because lately most people tell me not to talk about it, and I've gotten so used to just pretending that it doesn't bother me.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to talk about this -- I don't even want to go through it from "start to finish."

Once again, as soon as someone asks me to tell them things, is willing to let me just talk, I have nothing to say. After this morning, I almost never want to discuss it again.

I don't like feeling so bad. Especially when things weren't completely my fault.

doubt...

My mind has been full of big, frightening, unwanted thoughts. Questions have arisen that I've never allowed myself to dwell on before, and for a few days I've wrestled with answers that alternately make me laugh or terrify me (because I have nothing else to think about right now).

While reading my Democracy in America book by Alexis de Tocqueville (which was supposed to be completed last Friday -- hey, it's a big book), I ran across something that made me feel angry, silly, and relieved, but also more uncertain. Here Tocqueville quotes Pascal, French philosopher:

"To make a mistake by thinking the Christian religion is true is not a very great loss, but how unfortunate to make the mistake of believing it is false!"

Interesting thought, which somehow still doesn't satisfy the questions that have slipped their way into my head.

i love kids...

It's been a little over a month since I had the chance to babysit Cade and Corrine.

Wow.

I MISSED THEM.

Seriously. There are few things as wonderful as standing on a front porch and hearing little voices crying, "SHE'S HERE, SHE'S HERE!" before they've even opened the door. Then, little hands reaching up and taking hold of your sweater, pulling you inside. Words tumble across little lips, a rush of bubbling, babbling happiness, completely unintelligible, yet filling you with joy.

It is hard to feel lonely or insignificant when in the company of children. Children are honest (even when they lie, they're usually honest about it), and in nothing are they more honest than in their love.

my sisters sing better than your sisters...

These are my sisters.

Amanda is the one on the left. Meghan is the one on the right.

And you know what?

I bet they sing way better than your sisters do.

Here they are as Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother in their school play Cinderella.

Beautiful, aren't they? (and I SO want their dresses. both of them.)

They sing prettier than they look. And that's some pretty good singing.

Love them. Even when they do that ^^.

finally figured it out...

For the past couple of days I've been feeling awful. Awful because I don't feel anything. And I don't understand it.

I've thought about it, and I think I know one of the reasons why I don't feel anything, and why I feel awful about it.

Because when I feel something, and I try to talk about it with certain people, I get shut down.

Because when I express my feelings and thoughts, my problems "could be worse." They "aren't as bad as what happened to me yesterday." My feelings and thoughts are "lacking perspective," "missing the point."

Because when I try and ask for help, I'm "doing really well already."

Stop it.

Stop ignoring me.

Stop comparing my problems to yours or to other people's.

Stop disregarding the fact that there are things in my life that are painful, things that break and re-break my heart, things that I feel I have lost.

Stop treating me like I don't matter. Because I matter just as much as you do.

Stop telling me that you'll be there for me and then yelling at me, ignoring me, or belittling me when I come to you.

Just stop it.

Take me seriously. It's the least that you can do. Honestly, it's not like I ask for much -- it's not like I ask for anything. Ever.

Maybe all of this is selfish. And it kind of is. You know what, though? I spend so much of my time worrying about other people and helping them, so much so that my own issues, my homework, my life, gets neglected. Why? Because I care. I make time.

But really. I am doing the best that I can. My heart is broken. I am broken right now. And I'm doing the best I know how to fix it.

When are you going to realize that?

lately...

...thinking...

...I'm beginning to learn what it means to study the scriptures, and let me tell you, it's quite fascinating what you can learn -- so many thoughts and ideas bouncing around
...why do I so often want to go back to the person who caused me so much grief -- or do I even want to go back
...funny how often others pressure me to take care of things that are no longer my problem, and the people doing the pressuring aren't even interested in helping out
...people are hypocritical -- it bugs me how often I, too, fall into that
...snow would be so much more fun if I had a guy friend to chuck snowballs at and then run for my life -- missing Jordan a lot this weekend
...I hate money because I don't have any

...doing...

...migraines, anybody? whatever you do, don't get them
...dishes by hand -- the dishwasher is broken and I don't know how to fix it, but I actually like doing the dishes now
...started watching Big Bang Theory and I'll admit that I really like it, even though I shouldn't
...consistently behind in my homework, no matter how hard I try to keep up
...wishing. lots of wishing
...sleeping -- are you shocked, because I have been
...spent time with my best girl Kayla, whom I haven't played with in months -- Cafe Rio, gas station hot chocolate (which never ceases to be grand), quoting YouTube videos, fixing car wind shield wipers, watching Once Upon a Time, talking about boys and college and dreams, you name it
...oh, my wind shield wiper broke while I was on the freeway yesterday afternoon during the blizzard -- that was fun
...trying not to fret about the future, because I can't control a lot of what happens

...feeling...

...headaches -- a lot
...unable to talk to anyone about anything that's going on in my life because 1) people don't want to listen, 2) people are too busy to listen, 3) people scold me for how I feel/think/act, 4) people use what I tell them to get back at me later on, 5) I'm afraid to ask the people who would listen because they're busy and I often end up having nothing to say
...excited for Christmas time -- the one time of year things feel right, even if they're not
...lonely and isolated, which may have been an unintentional choice on my part
...mad at people who are careless with physical affection -- if I hadn't ever been cuddled, I wouldn't miss it (and I wouldn't miss you as much, either)
...tired and scared -- maybe paranoid
...overwhelmed and short on time -- what I wouldn't give for college professors to realize that every class has homework, and a lot of it, not just theirs
...fat. yes, fat

i'm so...

I don't even know.

Sad?
Tired?
Excited?
Stressed?
Angry?
Bored?
Silly?
Lonely?
Annoyed?
Anxious?
Hyper?

It's as though the second I start to get worked up about something (whether in an upset or an excited way), it all just stops mid-work up and my self goes, "Shhhh. You're not [insert emotion]. You're fine. And don't bother trying to talk about anything -- after all, you know that you have nothing to say."

I can't cry.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I can't talk.
I can't think.

Like not being able to feel anything.

you know those times when...

...you sit at your computer for hours with the intention of starting a paper/essay/research project, but you end up staring at the screen because you can't seem to get started?
...you lay in bed for hours with the blankets over your head while you cry because no matter how tired you are, you can't fall asleep?
...you park yourself on the couch and enter the woman's version of the "nothing box," which is when you're thinking about so many things that it becomes absolutely unintelligible, the thoughts so disconnected it's as though they're not even happening?
...you look at your bank statement and feel utter shock course through you as you see how little money you have left, and can't seem to remember what you spent it all on?
...you wish you could talk to someone, but every time you try, no one listens because they start talking about how hard their own lives are or lecturing you on what you should do, should have done, or aren't doing enough of?
...you look at your calendar and want to stow away on a plane to Australia, where no one can find you and make you face your responsibilities?
...you wonder if there's any point to anything that you're doing anymore?

Pretty sure most people have those times. We'll get through them -- one day at a time. Just keep trying.

triggers...

On Thursday the doctor diagnosed me with chronic migraines and added a new rash of medications to my short list of drugs (now it's a medium list). He also told me that I should track any headaches that occur so we can find triggers, then eliminate or work with those things so that the migraines don't occur as frequently.

Day 2 of My Headache Journal has begun, and so far I've pinpointed a couple of things that bring on the headaches.

1. Anger, irritation or frustration (I guess talking out my frustrations in a raised voice while showering when no one is home isn't an option anymore)

2. Reading for extended periods of time

3. Laying on my left side, which is the side of my head that usually begins hurting first

Day 2 has also brought about some alterations for dealing with these triggers that I've noticed.

1. When angry, irritated, or frustrated, leave the situation, stop talking, or take a nap -- basically things I should do anyway. Or just not get mad at stupid stuff. Which is what I should do regardless of the threat of a migraine.

2. Read for half an hour, and then take a ten minute break (I won't lie and say ten minutes is the average -- those ten minute breaks often turn into half hour to forty-five minute excuse making escapades where I do everything I can think of which will keep me too busy for my homework).

3. Laying on my right side instead of my left (duh). I have also found that sleeping with my teddy bear lessens the pain. I'm not sure why that helps, but it does (and I don't mind it, either -- having an excuse to cuddle a toy is fine by me).

I am also happy to report that the doctor prescribed taking aspirin with sugar free Coke for managing headaches that do occur. Don't be surprised if you see me on campus with a bottle of the stuff -- I have no fear anymore as to what people may think of me drinking a caffeinated beverage. Take that, Dining Services. I'll just bring my own soda with me.

So far I'm able to manage the current headache I have a little better, now that I know how (even though it's lasted for over a week, roller coaster-ing in severity). I'm not sure how preventing future headaches will work out yet, especially because this one won't go away -- we'll wait and see how these new medications take hold. And if they don't, well. Back to the drawing board we'll go.

I'm sure my insurance company loves me right now.

"there's an app for that..."

It's an average day in your typical doctor's office. People are coming and going, some walking in looking sick, others walking out looking sicker. Each one has had their turn with the iDoctor -- and I don't mean the doctor who checks your eyes.

What's an iDoctor, you ask?

Well! An iDoctor is much like an electronic device, similar to an iPad, iPod, or iPhone. No, he or she isn't a robot or droid, or even a cyborg (heaven forbid the medical field takes that route), but they have a similar function: providing you with applications -- or pills -- for anything and everything you can imagine.

Stomach ache?

There's a pill for that.

Head pounding and throbbing incessantly?

There's a pill for that, too.

What about emotional or mental disorders?

Oh, sure. There are several pills for those -- which one would you like? How about trying one out to see if you like it? If it's not a good match you can cancel and try a new one.

See, like an iPad, iPod, or iPhone, the iDoctor has an easy solution for any problem you may have. That solution comes in all different shapes, sizes, colors, and functions, each in a different bottle with a different label. So simple! iDoctor gives you a pill, sends you on your way, and you're set to go! Whether curing boredom or curing a cold, the iDoctor can find any "app" you desire with the touch of a button -- he or she checks the proper "app" from the list and it's on its way, where it will arrive for your use in less than two hours after you swipe your plastic money card at the "app store," or in this case, your neighborhood pharmacy. AND -- you get refills.

Yep. No matter what you have, there's a pill for that.

Huzzah.

Although I may have outsmarted the iDoctor -- I don't think he has anything that can cure smart-aleck.

October top 10...

1. Who You Are -- Jessie J
2. Home -- Philip Phillips
3. Skyfall -- Adele
4. Miss Me -- Andy Grammer
5. Too Close -- Alex Clare
6. Cryin' on a Suitcase -- Casey James
7. Between the Raindrops -- Lifehouse ft. Natasha Bedingfield
8. Blown Away -- Carrie Underwood
9. Wide Awake -- Katy Perry
10. Faithfully -- Journey

check us out...

I took a chance this Halloween. I tried on a costume that I normally would have shunned like the plague -- not just because it's a tad bit scandalous for me, but because it's tight. And I don't do tight.

But you know what?

I'm skinnier than I thought I was.

Say hello to Black Widow

Off for some lame-sauce grown-up trick-or-treating: Walmart style (because sisters had friends coming over, and the [still current] headache was a bit too intense for legit t-o-t'ing).

And may I say that wearing a skin tight black leotard with boots and pistols is not the way to go if you want to be inconspicuous. Although the number of complimentary (and a little uncomfortable) elevator looks and cheers for "GAH, go Black Widow!" were kind of nice. Validation -- great costume, and I look better than I thought I did. Score.

As for our trick-or-treating...

Candy much? Yes. And yes, those are Avengers sugar sticks.

Kalista, Andrew, Amanda, Alex, and me (Alex was very excited about my costume -- he's pretty fantastic)

This family is in my ward, and they are AWESOME -- they even have Hawkeye!

Happy Halloween from the nerd, Black Widow, Katniss, and the model!

And let's not leave out the zombies, either -- lookin' good, Brianna! 

back at it...

So.

Thursday, I woke up with a major headache. I missed class and barely made it through work.

Friday wasn't much better.

Neither was most of Saturday.

Sunday continued in a similar fashion.

As did Monday. Except on Monday, I fell asleep at 4:30pm and was awoken two hours later because of the headache.

That got me worried. The last doctor I saw told me that if a headache woke me up, I would need to call my regular doctor (or all-purpose doctor, as I like to call him) as soon as possible. But I didn't call that doctor yesterday because I figured the headache would go away. It couldn't possibly last for 6 whole days. Right?

False.

Another appointment at another clinic with another doctor, slated for Thursday at 2pm.

Right now I'm really wishing that it were possible to fall asleep on a textbook and absorb the information through osmosis.

That would be stupendous.

real intent...

The young teacher studies the faces of her three students, certain that they are bored with the material and are only being quiet due to the promise of a treat at the end of the lesson. She recites the principles of the lesson she has studied from the manual, asking questions of the children, trying to read in their eyes if they're getting it.

This isn't working, she thinks quietly, I'm not saying the right thing.

And so she lets go of the plan -- the manual no longer matters. Her topic no longer matches the outline, and the tie-in to the lesson plan is a stretch.

But it works.

She bears her testimony of the Holy Ghost, sharing stories of when she has been protected, guided, comforted, even corrected -- that "if we keep the commandments, and promise to remember the Savior, we will always have the Spirit to be with us."

She watches as each child smiles, saying nothing. They look at each other, and back at her.

"Does that make sense?" the teacher asks the children, praying that something clicked.

"Yes," the three children say together.

To demonstrate her understanding, one of the children brings up a time when her parents where helped by the Holy Ghost to make a decision.

"Exactly!" the teacher responds, "That's exactly right."

They got it, she thinks, ecstatic, they got something.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the little girl in the class clears her throat.

"You shouldn't get married yet, teacher."

The teacher is surprised at the out of nowhere statement, and asks, "Oh? Why not?"

The children look at each other for a moment, and one of the little boys answers, "Because you need to go on your mission first." As he speaks, the other two children nod in agreement, silently but emphatically seconding his reason.

Still surprised and wondering how this came about, the teacher asks a second question, "A mission? Really?"

All three students say, "YES," together, firm and clear.

She is puzzled -- her students telling her she needs to go on a mission. Why would they think that? she wonders quietly. And in her curiosity, she timidly asks a third question, bracing herself for whatever response will be given.

"Do you think I'd be a good missionary?"

Again, the children look to each other before answering. The little boy who spoke before shrugs and says, "That depends."

The teacher laughs a little, "Depends on what?"

She is met with three solemn stares, gazes serious and sincere. Her eyes are caught by the little girl, who studies her face before speaking.

"Depends on why you're going."

purpose...

Sometimes people ask me why I write on a blog. Others ask me why I write at all. To both, I respond by saying that I love to write -- especially about life -- and that if I don't write, my head will get more confused and my heart will burst with held back emotion.

Lately I feel as though I am adrift in a tiny little boat on a large, cold sea, surrounded by dark skies and wet spray. No map or compass guides me; I couldn't steer even if I tried, for I have no paddle. There isn't even a lantern or a flashlight. The way is unclear and uncertain. On and on I float, a barely stifled panic creeping through my soul as I wonder where I am going with no end in sight.

In my metaphorical life boat, I ask myself questions. 

Where are you going?

What are you going to do with your life?

Who are you?

What is your purpose?

My answer for each question is the same: I'm honestly not sure.

October marks my 5th year of blogging. Today marks my 1,000th post. You would think that after all that time of writing and discovering, I would have a clear answer for each question.

I don't have much. What I do have now, though, is more than I had before. That matters

Where are you going? 

Forward.

What are you going to do with your life? 

I am going to do good.

Who are you? 

I am a child of the Most High God, daughter of a King. I am a daughter of good parents, a sister to two amazing young women, a friend to as many as I can be, a hard worker, a diligent student. A person with a bright future, though I may not know the way to it at this time.

What is your purpose?

To be the best person that I can be -- to look back at these years of writing and see how far I have come and realize that I can and will improve.

I am braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I know. My little boat heads for the horizon, my face eager for the rising sun, my heart waiting for the future.

I am not perfect. But I am not without faith.

photo by Parker Nelson

always there...

from Do More With Les via Pinterest

might explode...

Why is it so freaking hard for people to just take care of themselves? Why is it so FREAKING hard? If a doctor gives you a medication, TAKE IT (no one can call me out on this one because I have not missed a day in over two months, and even though it's NOT working, I'm STILL taking it because the doctor told me to). If you're hungry, EAT SOMETHING. If you hurt yourself, TAKE CARE OF IT THEN, not when it gets worse. If what you're doing is going to get you into trouble, STOP DOING IT.

In short, don't be stupid. Stupidity is bad for you, and it's bad for everyone else in your life. I mean, you do have a brain. So use the dang thing.

I guess if this was just a one time thing, I wouldn't be so upset. But EVERY TIME I turn around, different people in my life have done something they shouldn't have or not done something they should have done, and it screws life up for them and everyone involved. I mean, come ON, people. How hard is it to think? And not just about how what you do effects yourself, but about how what you do effects others.

Think. Think before you act, or don't act -- contrary to popular belief, life isn't "all about me." Each of us must first do our BEST, and I mean VERY best, to meet our personal needs. It is not fair to expect other people to just drop everything and be there because we have something in our lives that we don't want to take care of.

Friends can only go so far. There comes a point where people can do no more.

That's just the way it is.

Phew. Got that out. Now I can go back to being normal (whatever that is).

ZombieNite...

Remember that zombie music video I was a part of?

Well.

It's done.

Awesome, right?

By the way, I'm the zombie in the purple striped sweater (aka the one on the left side of the screen before you click "play" on the video). Dunno if you can see me, but I'm in there a few times!
Pretty epic to be a part of this. It was a lot of fun, and the finished product is really funny!

chalk the block...

Once upon a weekend, Parker and I went to the grocery store in search of a kite because it was the perfect kind of blustery day.

No kites to be found -- I suppose we should have remembered that most people don't fly kites in October. Instead, we found a box of chalk sticks. At $4.49 for 52 sticks, it wasn't a bad deal. Parker jumped on the idea when I pointed the chalk out, and after making our purchase we headed to the nearby park (by way of the railroad ties that crisscross the town -- dream come true for me, to walk through a town balancing on the railroad tracks).

Object of the game: the first person to take a turn with the chalk draws some random lines, squiggles, circles, whatever they desire. Then the second person looks for a picture in those random lines and "shows it" to the first person by drawing the whole picture.

Let me show you a few of our masterpieces.

Parker is the big man in this town.

Frieda the Elephant and me on the borders of Parker's Gulf of Mexico.

He did a pretty good job on this one -- my favorite of his pieces.

Favorite of the ones I drew.

May I say that this was one of the most fun things I have done this whole semester? Possibly the whole year?

It's very possible that I will be introducing this game to my own neighborhood. I've got a fair amount of smooth asphalt in front of my garage -- time to pretty it up a bit.

what I just realized...

dear Friend,

I told you last night that I don't want to go home.

"Why?"

"Everything in my life is back there. School. Work. Responsibility. People I'm scared of. I don't want to go back to all of it."

You reassured me about it all -- I appreciate that a lot.

I didn't tell you everything though.

Driving down the country lanes, stopping at random to take pictures of the sunset, taking turns choosing which direction to go at crossroads, telling stories about past adventures, dreaming about the future -- being together like that made me realize something.

"Home is where your heart is."

I've always brushed that aside as a silly cliche, one overused like "the grass is always greener." But you know something?

As cliche as these little sayings may be, they can be horribly true.

Which is also funny, because you said that this morning. When we said good-bye.

Perhaps I shouldn't say it. Perhaps I shouldn't think it. I wouldn't do those things if I could help it -- the thought came unbidden, unexpected -- they're random thoughts and you just happen to be in them.

And then, as usual, you're the one who voices the thoughts I don't say. Like we're on the same brain wave or something.

It's a little scary. And at the same time, it's not. It's comforting.

You still have my heart. Try as I might, I can't get it back. Because if you asked for it, I wouldn't hesitate in giving it to you forever.

I don't want to go home because you're not there.

At least I got to see you for a few days. You really don't know how much that meant to me.

all my love,
GKB