what happened...

Have you ever looked in the mirror and been shocked by what you saw? Staring at the face you see every morning and night while brushing your teeth, or applying mascara, or brushing out your hair, and being astounded by the change in the reflection -- a change you didn't even see happening.

This happens often now. I look at the face I thought I knew perfectly, because it's mine -- the change is terrifying.

The eyes no longer sparkle and smile -- they're dull and frightened. The forehead is no longer smooth -- it's scrunched up and worried all of the time. The lips are chapped and pinched, instead of soft and full. All of the skin is tight with anxiety, the cheeks are hollow, and the eyes are only bright when they're filled with tears.

It's a face I don't recognize.

I sometimes stare at this stranger in the mirror and wonder what happened. When did I become so frightened, so sad, so hopeless?

"What's happening to you?"

I've literally asked her this question. The girl in the mirror offers no response. She just stares back at me, until I'm completely freaked out and I shut myself in my room, far from any reflections or reminders.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

i don't get it...

Often when discussing personal problems, I get told, "Just be grateful for what you have and then life will be happier for you."

It's always seemed like great advice, and so I've taken it multiple times. Given the numerous stories and testimonies shared on the subject, it seems like it should work great.

Wrong.

Maybe it's that I'm naturally pessimistic (or as one professor called me, a true nihilist -- I still resent that), or maybe it's because my world seems incredibly dark right now. Or maybe I'm trying too hard?

For some reason, counting my blessings instead of sheep not only keeps me up at night, but it also triggers high levels of anxiety and ever more frequent feelings of emptiness. As counting sheep merely bores me, I've started preferring that to listing good things that happened during the day or ticking off the things I've been given -- boredom feels better than emptiness.

Saying that it's simply listing good things isn't the process, mind you. You've got to sincerely foster an appreciation for the things, people, and opportunities placed in your life. And I've tried that. I've tried looking around at my life and truly appreciating what I have -- sometimes I even find myself thinking, "Wow. Look at you -- you're one lucky girl." And I believe it.

Then, right after that, the pain starts again, the emptiness becomes a choking cord around my throat, and the dark closes in, heavy and cold.

Somehow, being grateful for good things brings horrible, devastating guilt. It's as though by attempting to feel happiness, the sadness deepens. Light and joy seem far above my head, and either the floor beneath my feet is dropping at a rapid pace, or my arms are shrinking: either way, I can't reach what I desire. Instead of feeling my chin lift hopefully, I feel a weight increase until I can barely stand, arms wrapped tight around me as I hold myself together on the floor.

Why? I don't understand it. I don't understand how searching for happiness -- maybe not even happiness, but just some relief -- and doing all of the good things I can do only makes things feel worse.

I don't get it.

...

Why is it so hard to ask for help?

quiet...

I'm too tired to talk.

People ask me if I want to talk, how they can help. It's exhausting. Talking, that is.

All I can do is cry.

It's not a silent kind of quiet. It's the sitting curled up in corners and chairs, tears streaming down my cheeks and sniffling to keep my nose from running. People ask if I'm okay, if they see me -- no. I'm not. Do you want to talk?

Can't.

I can't bear the advice anymore. I can't bear the lists of how hard things are for other people (you think I don't know that life is hard for everyone? you think I don't feel trapped because I can't help other people more?) and how it seems to become a competition for who has it worse. I know your life is hard. I get it. Why did you ask if I want to talk, anyway?

I can't bear the criticism -- I'm so afraid of it that I can't speak. I can't even take the encouragement. I can't handle the "chin up," the "buck up," the "grow up and get over it."

Nothing's changing. I'm doing everything I know to do, and some things I don't know to do (if that even makes sense). Nothing's changing.

I can't bear the torrent of emotions that will break out of me if I speak. I can't cry that hard for that long -- I don't have time. I don't have the desire. It won't change anything.

I'm not brave. I'm not special. I'm not important. I'm not different from any other person -- I get that.

It'd be nice, though, if someone just didn't say anything. Didn't expect me to say anything. Just for a little while. If we could just both be quiet.

glazed over...

All finished and glazed! Mine makes a superb hot chocolate mug -- it turned out better than I expected. We are sooo creative! 

Ann's soup mug is the white with green, and my hot chocolate mug is the red with white

so sad...

Today has been kind of a sad day. I woke up feeling like little pieces of glass had been wedged into my heart and were moving slowly through my veins -- kid you not, it's a real feeling. Your whole body hurts and shakes, and it's worst in your chest, like something has shattered -- and the little shattered bits are radiating out through your arms and legs and toes and fingers. Even your ears hurt.

Because it was such a sad morning, I was grateful for my friend Thomas. He took me to brunch at Denny's, because there was Hobbit food on the menu (and because he said he misses me, and that it's stupid that we're so busy with school). What better than Hobbit food to make you smile? It was such a laugh, the whole time -- I've know him for over a year, but there are so many things I've learned about him since we started spending time together this semester. He's probably one of the most talented, sincere people I've met in my life. I don't think he's afraid of anything. Visiting and laughing with him made some of the blues go away for a little while, for which I was happy. He took me to a dance concert at the college afterwards, and we had a good time watching all of the talented people perform.

Coming home, the sad aches began again. I tried doing homework, and couldn't focus. I tried writing for work, but no words made sense. I tried cleaning, organizing, even sleeping -- nothing.

Finally, I gave up. I went to Target and bought my favorite frozen pizza and some peanut butter cup ice cream. I bought season 7 of Psych through Amazon.com, threw on some sweats, let down my hair, got a plate of pizza, and pulled out my new shimmery, light pink nail polish. And I've been sitting at my computer since 7:45 this evening, watching ridiculous episodes and making my nails look pretty.

I feel a little better. The sad aches are still there, but they're a bit numbed now. I've got good memories of breakfast with Thomas, new funny lines to quote from Shawn and Gus, and pretty fingers.

Part of my brain is yelling at me for wasting the weekend, doing no homework and getting no work assignments completed. Another part of my brain is smiling.

Hopefully my heart will start smiling more, too.

drop dead...

That awkward moment when one second you're singing "Come Thou Fount" and the next you're staring up at dozens of concerned faces over your head.

Yeah. I passed out in choir today. I'm not really sure what happened. No, I didn't lock my knees -- I've been singing since I was four-years-old, so I'm well aware of that no-no. As a matter of fact, I actually sat down for a whole five minutes due to a sudden headache before I hit the floor. I made it through maybe the first line and a half of the first verse after standing up...not entirely sure when I lost consciousness.

Thankfully, Amber caught me on my way down (according to reports from bystanders). Between her, Jason the EMT, and Jamie the Lifeguard, I was in pretty capable hands (har-har). Dad did drag me to the doctor, which I resent a little bit, and as usual, it was determined that nothing is wrong with me.

I'm probably just super stressed. Not to mention the stress has been amplified because I lost a whole afternoon and evening of homework time, and my first 12-page paper is due on Thursday at 1:30. It's the history paper that my professor said will be graded according to a higher standard than my classmates because I'm brilliant.

Well. I hope she likes disappointment, because the best I can do is much less than I had anticipated. Which is frustrating. I hate, hate, hate doing mediocre work.

School should die. It sure is killing me.

birds of a feather...

My best friend Ann and I have lots of adventures, so many that I was shocked when I realized...we've never been to Color Me Mine together.

Granted, I haven't been there with anyone since I was a junior in high school, which was a little while ago. So, I dragged out my Ann Girl and her artsy-ness, and away we went.

Two giant mugs, two bird designs, two hours of fun, and two best friends -- it was just what I needed.

coincidence...

That awkward moment when you and your ex-fiance plan a couple's costume entirely by accident. 

Peter Pan and Peter Pan's Shadow

Upon discovery two days before the LDC Halloween party to which you are both going, you just deal with it and get matching fairy dust, because at that point it's too much of a hassle to make other plans.

And in case you're wondering, I did let my friends talk me into experiencing the haunted house. Honestly, it was less of a haunted house and more an amalgamation of every creepy building and landscape you could hope to walk through. Luckily for me, Adam was attentive to the fact that I was so scared that I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen -- I now know why young men are so keen to take young ladies to these places. Add that to my List of Things I'm Never Doing Again.

That might have been the best LDC Halloween extravaganza to date. Just saying.

pretending is really tiring...

I woke up this morning and said to myself, "Self? Today, you are going to be happy. Even if it kills you, you will smile, laugh, talk to lots of people, and walk with a spring in your step. You will not cry. You will not frown. You will not worry. You will be witty and funny and hug everyone. Because you are not going to hurt anymore. You won't be sad. You have a good life -- live it good."

16 hours later, I've learned that all of that stuff is a lot easier said than done. I already knew it was harder to do than to say. I've just learned again how much harder it can be.

Honestly, I'm exhausted. I'm sick, I'm hurt, I'm angry, and I'm scared. I feel totally alone, even though I know that I'm not. And I feel guilty! I feel guilty for all of these feelings, because my life really is good. I have great work, great friends, great family, great classes, great professors, great opportunities. And yet I wake up every day and it's an absolute battle to get out of bed.

What's strange to me is a comment that someone made whilst talking with me in the courtyard at school. She looked at me and said, "You know, you always look happy. I see you every single day at least twice in passing, and you just always look happy. I don't know how you do it."

As I started to scoff, she said, "I'm trying to be more like you."

She emotionally floored me. I don't feel happy. I know for a fact that I often don't look happy, either. Dad tells me I'll have worry wrinkles by the time I'm 25 (whereas my money is on 23). So for her to say she wants to be like me?

I'm trying to change. I'm trying to be that girl who smiles and laughs and helps everyone else.

But I'm not that girl. I'm the quiet one, the one who looks at her feet, the one who worries about the well-being of people who have used her and taken advantage of her, the one who tries to be everything.

Tomorrow is another day. Another day to practice.

nothing to do but do...

A phrase comes up a lot in conversation these days. I say it, my friends say it, my family members say it -- after we take turns detailing the hard things that we're facing or the stresses brought on by work, school, health, and other things, we say with a shrug and a half-sort of smile, "Eh. What can you do?"

It's as though it's a socially constructed way of saying, "Thank you for listening to my problems, and don't try to help me -- I just needed to talk."

It's true, in a lot of ways. So many things just have to be done, regardless of the difficulty or the heartache. Life doesn't stop for anyone. Unless you happen to have a billion dollars in your bank account, of course -- then you can tell the world what to do and it has to listen. Money talks a lot louder than anything else.

I keep looking at the things in my life and I'm sometimes amazed that I get anything done. I'm honestly baffled that I'm accomplishing anything at all.

Sometimes I look at other people's lives and feel grateful that I don't have their struggles. They're so strong -- sometimes it makes me feel even weaker -- I couldn't do what they're doing.

Everybody's got something. For me, and for everybody else -- despite the physical pain which grows worse by the day, the emotional issues that creep in the background, the lack of sleep due to nightmares and pain, and the immense anxiety caused by deadlines, health problems, bills, and what-have-you -- we just keep going.

Eh. What can you do?

Everything, apparently.

counter attack...

I keep finding a thought spinning around in my head.

"Wow. Look how much you've lost this year."

In some ways, it's kind of true. I have lost a lot. Often it seems that every time I turn around, some big, awful thing happens that leaves me feeling as though I've been decked across the face. 

I've lost important, meaningful things. I've lost a lot of my freedom that comes from living on my own and having a car at my disposal all of the time. I've lost opportunities, I've lost time, I've lost money. And worst of all, I've lost people I never dreamed I would lose -- or prayed and begged the Lord to let them stay.

But amidst all of that gone-ness, there are so many things I've gained. I've gained new friendships, new opportunities, new responsibilities, new dreams, new knowledge, and maybe even new wisdom. I've gained a better understanding of the Atonement, and I've gained a greater sense of the Holy Spirit's whisperings. I've gained patience and compassion, strength and resolve. Well -- maybe less in the patience department, but more than I had before.

I feel as though I'm closer to my family and to God than I've ever been in my whole life, and that's after all of the mistakes I made.

Admittedly, I'd like to give in to the anger that keeps working it's way into my heart. I'd like to curse and cry and scream and let the whole world know how much my heart is hurting -- but I won't. I don't need to.

There are bigger, more important things in this life. I'm holding out for them.

overwhelmed...

Wednesday was like almost any other Wednesday. Except for one thing: while I was attempting to butter some French bread, I found myself slumped against the counter with no recollection of the few seconds before I fell.

The pain has been bad this week.

Thursday was much like Wednesday, minus the French bread and the passing out. The physical and emotional pain peaked. I was scared, angry, tired, and alone -- alone in the sense that I was stuck in my body and mind, and trying to get out was too exhausting.

And then, I was asked out on a date. Not just any normal run-of-the-mill homework date, which has become the standard due to our heavy workloads, but a real one. Where he called me up and issued a formal invitation; I put on a skirt, blouse, and heels, and he wore slacks with a tie; he picked me up at 7:30; I wasn't allowed to open any doors at all (usually he opens the car door for me to get inside, and I let myself out because I'm silly that way); he took me to Mimi's Cafe; and we talked for hours. And not just all of that-- he came to my door in my favorite green shirt and the jacket I got him for his birthday, holding a white rose tinged with brilliant red, a box of all dark chocolates, and strawberries with chocolate syrup for later on (our new favorite treat because we can't afford real chocolate covered strawberries, nor do we have time to make them).

A day later, I still can't entirely comprehend it all. That someone would go so out of his way for me -- to get off work, to wear the clothes I like so much, to bring gifts that mean a lot to me, and to take me somewhere so nice -- even in the face of missing valuable homework time. Because he knew I was hurting, and that things had been hard. Because he wanted to make me smile.

What's even more amazing to me is that this isn't the first time this has happened.

It's overwhelming in the best way.

too fragile for my own good...

I have a sensitive personality by nature. Commercials about homeless animals, photos of orphaned children, and the occasional man standing on the corner with a sign trigger tears. I feel for people, and animals, and sometimes I feel trapped because what little help I can give personally is less than a drop in the bucket.

That kind of sensitivity is a good thing in some ways. While it can be problematic at times, it's something I've learned to work with, instead of let it control my life. Recently, though, I've been sensitive in ways less compassionate -- meaning I find myself getting hurt a lot.

I don't know what it is, but stupid little things hurt. Comments from family members and friends or things I read keep reminding me of mistakes I've made or the goals I'm so far from reaching. It's like thinking you're moving forward, a step at a time, until you turn a corner and there's that wall again, smirking and saying, "Hey, remember me? Your old pal? You keep trying to forget me and move on -- I don't like that. Good luck walking away from me, kid."

There are reminders everywhere. Reminders of times I've failed and stupid mistakes I've made. Honestly, I feel like I'm worthless. I'm starting to think I don't deserve happiness. Which is wrong -- both of the previous lines are wrong. The thinking is wrong -- I know that. Knowing that doesn't seem to make it hurt any less, though. It's quite frustrating.

It's frustrating that no matter how many good, right things we do, the bad things creep up out of nowhere to knock us down. That no matter how hard we try to be happy, and to take care of ourselves and others, it's still ridiculously difficult to get out of bed in the mornings and face another day.

where we're going...

I've had a lot to think about lately.

I'm definitely a planner. I plan my days almost to the minute, working out every detail as I get ready for bed and making sure I'll be where I need to be at least ten minutes in advance. I practice schedules until they're timed perfectly -- for example, my Wednesdays are planned for the rest of the semester. After this morning I know that washing one load of laundry takes exactly 27 minutes, meaning that if I wake up an hour and 15 minutes before I need to leave for school, I can get one load done while I get ready, put it in the dryer, and have a second in the washer before heading off to school. I won't be late for class, nor will I run out of time to do chores, homework, and make dinner (Wednesday is my dinner night and my laundry day -- I added my other chores so I can get them all done in one afternoon).

I think about this and wonder -- if I'm more than a planner; if I am, in fact, a control freak. To have days planned to the minute?

When I think about not having a plan, though...I get anxious. It's why I've been feeling so much anxiety about the coming year. It's no longer if I graduate next year... but WHEN I graduate next year... and all that entails. I don't even know if I'll be accepted to a college that starts in the fall -- most of them begin each January, which means 7 months of doing who knows what while I wait for school to start. Honestly, I don't even know which school I should try and get into -- I don't know what's right.

And what happens if I somehow end up married in the next year? Or if not -- keep dating, or suffer another heartbreak? I've always heard people say that you never marry the first person you date. Well...one called off engagement and two break-ups later, and we're still making everything work. In fact, it's better than it's ever been. Now people tell me that it's unlikely that we'll not get married. I can't help but wonder, though. I can't help but wonder if he'll stay. Or if I should stay. I know that I want to -- I don't want to be anywhere else. I just wonder if it's right.

What if, what if, what if. I know it doesn't help anything to wonder about things I can't control. It's hard not to wonder -- everything has gotten complicated and grown up in so little time. Peter Pan would be disappointed in me. Luckily for me, Peter Pan was never on my list of "People I will Emulate." No, I've always wanted to be like Clara Barton, or Louisa May Alcott, or George Washington. People who did things. Grown up things.

I wish someone had told my child self to slow down, to not be in such a hurry to grow up. But that begs the question, would I have listened?

No. No...I don't think I would.

the future is coming...

I'm staring down the barrel of my future, inserting the bullets that will soon shoot into the long thought of, always a dream and never a reality target called graduate school.

Seriously.

Friday afternoon I discovered that I can, if I desire, graduate in April. Being an intelligent person, I'm going to delay that date until August, because 18 credits plus a job will most likely kill me. However, one 3 credit hour class in the spring means that I will be done with my bachelor's degree in June of 2013 -- a year later than I would have liked to graduate because 8-year-old me set a goal to be done by age 20, but a year sooner than 21-year-old me ever imagined.

I've found three schools so far that match well -- they offer a Masters in Library and Information Science with Archival and Special Collections specializations, and each of them are either online or offer satellite programs near where I live. The dream would be to actually go somewhere for grad school, but practical me realizes it's not an option. There are far too many things keeping me here -- possibility of landing a job at the BYU library where I work now, money (always money), family things, Adam (yeah, he's a major stay factor), and money (again with the money). To top it off, one of the programs  has the option of specializing in Museum Studies, which few others have. I learned about that through one of my professor's, who is the director of a museum on campus.

Even better? None of these programs require test scores from the GRE. I'd hash tag my excitement level, but I'll spare you.

Now I'm beginning to understand the sentiments expressed by friends who have graduated.

This is crazy.

I'm 21. I'm going to graduate a year earlier than I thought possible, with a minor I just added last month. All of the sudden I'm forced to think about not just the classes I have to take this fall, but the applications for colleges and scholarships, student loans, finding a real job (though my job is pretty darn close), and applying for graduation. Me. Applying for graduation!

I'm growing up. And almost throwing up at the realization.

It's too terrifying to be exciting.

Also. Pray that I pass Economics 110 this semester. If I don't, my life will be on hold until I can at least get a C out of the devilish beast.

the Cedar-less City...

On Saturday morning, Adam made an observation that both made me laugh and realize that I'd never thought of another thing before. Chest deep in water (meaning I was neck deep), he out at the view from our hotel swimming pool and said, "We're in Cedar City," to which I replied with an almost 'no, duh' sort of expression. A few moments of surveying again and he turned to me, saying very seriously (in a voice reminiscent of a little boy), "I haven't seen any cedars."

As I bobbed up and down with laughter at his expression, I realized that I had never, ever thought of that, and I've been to Cedar City many times.

Yes, Cedar City, the city with no cedar trees. However -- I did learn that Cedar City got its name because of the juniper trees that surround the area, as the trees drop a sweet pollen in the early spring and late fall. Having grown up in Utah, I don't think juniper trees smell anything like cedar trees, but that's beside the point.

Watching the Green Show before attending Love's Labors Lost

The weekend was fabulous. I haven't laughed so much in weeks -- between Adam's parents and Adam himself, there were times I couldn't breathe for laughing. That doesn't even include the absolute hilarity and cleverness of Peter and the Starcatcher, a play currently showing as part of the Utah Shakespeare Festival. It has to be the funniest play I have ever seen. Adam and I went while his parents attended a wedding in St. George, and we both wished they could have seen the play, too. I'd go back tomorrow just to watch it again!

I loved this trip. Usually I dread vacations, and I can't wait to go home. This time, though, I was counting down the hours, and I didn't ever want it to end. The plays we saw -- Love's Labors Lost, Peter and the Starcatcher, and King John -- were all wonderfully done. There were no fights or problems, and I just felt loved and accepted, the whole time.

Sitting the Adams Theater, a replica of The Globe in London, just before King John began 

Lovely, lovely weekend.

today, i feel like i suck...

It's just been one of those days.

Ever since I got out of bed this morning, I've felt completely stupid in all areas of my life. I can't seem to get everything done, or done as well as things need to be done.

I'm so stressed out by work. I used to love my job -- now, it's like hell. I turn around and there's another enormous project that needs starting. My to-do list grows and grows and grows by the hour with people wanting this done or that done or these things finished and hey, remember that one thing from last week that still isn't finished?

I can't keep up. There are 7 employees hired in my department. Guess who comes in to work?

Me.

I'm doing the work of 7 people -- even when people come in, I still end up doing most of the work. If I was a part-time employee, it'd just be part of the job, you know? As a student, though, there are things that I really can't do, especially once school starts.

I hate going in to work because I know that the second I step in the office, there will be more to do -- and I'm the one expected to do it. I hate constantly worrying that I'm going to get in trouble for things I'm doing my best to cover.

I have to work, though -- I need the money, and I need the job experience for my career goals. And I do like the job, most of the time.

Money. Another area of my life in which I have felt uber sucky today. I cannot seem to save money. I'm a compulsive spender -- this school year will be dedicated to changing that trait. I'm creating saving plans that do not involve plastic cards, because ever since I got a debit card, my financial life went crazy. I did realize today that I've had $200+ in coins in a shoebox for a year without touching it, and I'm starting to think that's a pretty good way to go -- cashing in coins is too much of a hassle to do regularly, and buying things with all nickels and dimes is embarrassing (to me).

There. Less sucky. Although the thought that I've made almost $5,000 this year and have literally none of it makes me want to punch myself.

We'll start today with saving money. No more spending it on stupid things -- rent and groceries are no longer an issue, as I'm living with the parents again (one upside). And so, save away.

my life right now...

Whoever thought it was a good idea to call me to be a Relief Society teacher is crazy. Wait...

Parker is married. And Sierra is married. And Alyssa is married. And Abe is married. And Jason and Morgan are married...to each other. Funny, if things had gone as planned, I would have beaten them all at tying the knot. Let's just say I'm glad they went first!

I am obsessed with checking my position on the waitlist for Economics 110. Down to 24th (one second)...sorry, 23rd (yes, I did just check it again) from 110th. It's almost as bad as eBay bidding.

White Collar. White. Collar. NO, I have not watched the first season in less than a week for the second time. And NO, I do not plan on starting the second season again tomorrow. Give me a break.

But seriously, Matt Bomer and Tim DeKay -- I can't decide who I like better.

Why is it that I am absolutely terrified of calling/texting/contacting in any way, shape, or form, the one person who I should not be afraid of contacting? It's kind of ridiculous.

Living at home is making me lazy and depressed. I stay in my room all day, avoiding family at all costs because for some reason, every time I emerge, a fight breaks out. I don't know if it's my tone of voice (which would be hard, because I've pretty much stopped speaking), my facial expressions (again, hard because I usually hide behind a book), or my smell (possibly, because mom thinks my jasmine-vanilla lotion smells like bug spray). So basically I sit in my room and weigh the pros and cons of staying or leaving every time I decide to venture out. Let's just say it sucks.

My dogs are possibly THE neediest dogs on the planet. I don't care, though. It's nice having the little furry things in my room all day.

I decided that I figured out why there are so many liberal thinkers in the Humanities and Social Sciences fields -- I've been doing some research on course requirements for various majors and I've found that most (if not all) of those majors are not required to take Economics (except for mine, of course -- go figure), at least at my university . They can take other classes to fulfill course requirements instead. If Econ is an option, they skip it. I would, too, if I had any other choice. So they read loads of Russian or German or French or whatever literature, and tons of philosophy, and never get into the actual history of what happened to the people financially under socialist and communist governments. Fascinating, what we think works, and how we easily ignore actual history.

It sickens me that one person (me) has so much stuff. And yet, when I decide I'm getting rid of things, I cannot let go! That stuff cost money. A lot of it is in the form of books and memories (journals, photographs, and the like), and arts and crafts supplies. Then there's all of the bedding and clothes (gah, I have so many clothes) -- but I use them all! It's a dilemma, I tell you. A real dilemma. 

Sometimes, when I'm having a sad moment, I picture his cute face and just grin like an idiot. And then I wonder why I'm scared to call him, because he is my boyfriend -- I'm afraid that I'm needy, I guess.

I hurt so, so much. After having that ultrasound, I am completely perplexed by the fact that such a tiny piece of anatomy can cause such excruciating and all-consuming pain, not to mention fainting, vomiting, fevers, and what have you. My whole life I've thought that ovaries and uteri and all those other things were huge because anything that could make so much of my body hurt all of the time had to be ginormous. Wrong. Takes childbirth to a whole new level as well, I'll tell you what.

I got hired to do freelance writing for some sort of online independent business marketing firm. Wish me luck.

Oh, one last thing. Guess who is going on a weekend trip to Cedar City with her man and...wait for it...her man's parents. The four of us, three days seeing plays and hanging out at the Shakespeare Festival. I'm honestly extremely excited, and the more I think about it, just as terrified.

Let's do this.

fireworks in the yard...

Lighting fireworks with my family was something I loved doing when I was little. Somewhere in time, the tradition died -- as did most traditions and holiday celebrations. This year, I decided it was about time someone brought fireworks back. I bought a cheap package of fireworks, some ground flowers, and some sparklers (because you cannot light fireworks without having sparklers).

And while I don't have a yard, I do have a lovely black stretch of asphalt in front of the garage.

Meghan and I all ready to light 'em up.

I love sparklers.

Few things are better than giving your dad a sparkler and having him immediately point it at a just lit firework yelling, "Expecto Patronum!!"

Amanda and me - I don't think we have taken a serious picture in three years.

Here's to bringing back traditions and parties, one holiday at a time.

pioneers mean more carnivals...

Given that I've been to two carnivals already this summer, it's no surprise that I jumped at the chance to attend a third. Pioneer Day in Utah means more festivities and fireworks -- how could I miss it? I truly love carnivals and fairs and festivals -- so much to look at, so much to do, and so many people to watch. So much life!




And so many dreams came true...as in I can cross them off my bucket list:



1. Go to a carnival or street fair with a special someone - check. I was lucky enough to go with my best girl and most wonderful housemate you could ask for, and my best man.

2. Receive a surprise gift while there because said special someone was paying attention to what I was looking at - check. Yeah - Adam was watching me window shop and noticed me lingering on a set of earrings. And he bought them for me. Aw.

3. Have a special someone win a prize - this wasn't always a bucket list item because I do not trust any games whatsoever, but because he won - check. We named her Zelda.




4. Take silly pictures and wear funny headgear - check. We were celebrating the baby prince in our princess garb and jewelry. Just, you know. Because we can.

5. Watch fireworks while holding hands with a special someone - check.

 

avoidance...

The blog has been inactive for the past couple of weeks, as those of you who read here have probably noticed.

I haven't had much to say lately. More truthfully, I've had so much to say -- but it's all the same old stuff -- that I decided I'd skip writing it down. Often I've looked at a blank screen or gazed at the lines of empty paper, fingers poised for typing or pen a millimeter from the page.

Nothing.

Honestly, I've been afraid. I've been afraid of judgement, afraid of rejection. I've been terrified of the "I told you so"s and the "you have to do it this way"s that might crop up -- might being the key word. How am I to know what people will think or say or do? And why should that get in the way of living?

It's so much easier to tell someone else to be brave -- to keep trying -- to never give up -- to remember that he or she is worth it. 

It's a lot harder to tell those things to yourself, let alone follow through and change.

when it hits you...

I can't say I didn't sleep last night, because if I'm dreaming, I'm most likely asleep. I can say, though, that I am quite possibly the most insecure person I know.

Really. All of the nightmares I had last night were incredibly eye-opening. I am so, so, so insecure that it's ridiculous. 

Insecure and self-absorbed. 

Bug.

getting a paint job...

When it's too late to go bowling, you're too full to go to Hang Time, and it's too dark to go to the park...it's time to pull out the butcher paper and finger paints.

Hours of fun. Literally.

Clockwise from top middle: starship Enterprise, the Sun, a shooting star, Superman emblem, Sirius the Dog Star, a comet, an Earth-strangling-cheese-eating space octopus, Earth, and moon cheese

 And of COURSE we painted each other. Much too tempting to resist.

He brings out the best in me...um...

my wee ones...

Another post dedicated to my foster children. Because who can resist faces this cute?

Tasha and Thor -- Tasha her silly self as always, and Thor showing off his good side

I love this girl.

And he loves the camera.

Adorbs, right?

all's well that end's well...

Or in other words, Anything Goes.

That's where I was last week -- Cedar City at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. My family and I went down because mom, as a BYU theater student, somehow got onto a secret special mailing list which gave her a code for half-price tickets to three plays. I saw two: Anything Goes and Twelve Angry Men, the latter of which I liked much better. It had meaning -- Anything Goes was too silly for me.

And to celebrate, our first full family picture in YEARS.

The world's a stage, and we're on it!

family...

Earlier this month, my grandpa suffered two severe heart attacks in the same week. Because my grandma's health isn't great either, they have been set up with a hospice service to help them out.

Side note: what really should happen is they come down off that mountain and live in the city.

Side note over.

A very last minute trip up to the Gorge was thrown together, and I was lucky enough to spend several hours with my grandpa in the mornings and evenings talking about stuff. He talked to me a lot about the break up, and some of the things he said have helped a lot. It was nice -- I didn't even bring it up, and so to have grandpa ask me about it meant a great deal to me. I didn't know that he pays so much attention to my life. I'm probably grandchild 25 out of over 40! Grandpa is great.

Because these isn't a lot to do up at the Gorge, dad set up a horseback riding outing at the nearby lodge. Every time we go up there in the summer, spring, or early fall, we try and go horseback riding. It is so much fun!

Here we are with some of the horses! Meghan (top left) with Vanilla Ice, Amanda (top right) with Wishbone, and me with Wishbone.

Meghan ended up riding with Vanilla Ice, Amanda with Wishbone, and I got a pretty reddish-grey horse named Wolf (who names a horse "wolf"?). Spending time with the horses made me feel super relaxed for some reason. The slow ride through the pretty country and Wolf's sweet personality was great.

Not only was there little to do up there (pretty far from civilization), there wasn't much to eat. So mom and dad took us down to the other lodge  near Dutch John and we had amazing hamburgers and fries. Seriously, they were so good. 

Dad and mom waiting for their orders -- I could barely get them to look away from the TV so I could get a picture. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi was very enthralling.

We have great hair. Just saying.

I love my grandparents. Especially grandpa. Praying for them both!

light 'em up...

Something you should know about me: I love, LOVE. The Provo Freedom Festival Stadium of Fire concert. Provo boasts the largest 4th of July celebration in the country (although I highly doubt that is the case) -- be that true or false, the Stadium of Fire is kick-freakin' awesome.

Something else you should know about me: I love, love, love...LOVE...love, love. Kelly Clarkson. Watch. I'll prove it with this self-created definition of Kelly Clarkson:

Kelly Clarkson (proper noun with amazing vocal chords and adorable personality): 1. amazing, 2. incredibly talented, 3. personal, beautiful, and real, 4. did I mention amazing?

synonyms: amazing, awe inspiring, my voice crush

Yes. I have a slight obsession. It's fine.

Lucky for me, this guy was sweet enough to go with me so I wouldn't have to go by myself.

He also bought me a soft pretzel while I was standing in the eternally long line for the restroom, and this is the change he got back: a 50 cent piece commemorating the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Total geek out moment -- of all days to get one of these!

And there she is!!!

This 4th of July was a blast -- wouldn't have been the same without my bestie.

so much...

Can't even write about it, there's so much.

miss independent...

Provo boasts the biggest 4th of July celebration in the state of Utah. They also boast the biggest 4th of July celebration in the United States. However, I'm not entirely sure that is true (and I'm almost positive that it isn't).

As independent as I like to think I am, I'm not. I like doing things with other people, and I often don't do things I like because I don't like going alone. So I was really glad when Ann invited me to see the balloon festival and the parade on the 4th of July.

Sadly, the balloon launch was cancelled due to "inclement aggressive weather" -- and we were sad, because we got up at 4:00am to get a good spot.

The parade was alright, though (if I was somebody else I would say it was great, but parades aren't really my thing). I had fun with Ann and her family, and it was good to get out and do something different.

Jenny and Ann blowing bubbles before the parade starts.

Bubbles and cute nieces.

This cookie? Amazing.

i never understood...

I always knew that breaking up was hard to do, and I thought I had a pretty good understanding of how it feels. There have been times in my life when I had to let go of people I really cared a lot about, a couple of them being guys I almost dated. One I even had to run from, because staying was too dangerous.

It isn't until now, however, that I think I actually understand what it's like to lose the companionship of someone you love more than anything in the whole world.

It sucks.

Now that I know what it's like, I ache for those who are going through similar situations that I am. One friend went through a break up earlier this year, and she still isn't quite over it. She's been holding on, hoping that things would get back together (I, unfortunately, am in the same boat, just in a different sort of way -- every experience is very different, another thing I'm learning). He, on the other hand, has moved on and is dating someone else.

I saw the update on the Internet and my heart broke for her. How it must hurt her to see that he's done and has found someone else to make him happy, while she's still stuck with the pain of losing him, and the future she thought she would have.

I think I understand that better now.

That's one of the things that is the hardest for me, really: that the future I thought was going to happen isn't happening. I thought I had found someone to share my life with, someone to whom I could give everything and be sure that he'd still be there tomorrow.

The day I see him move on will be a hard day -- I like to pretend I'm good at moving on. I'm not. I hold on to things I shouldn't, and I hope for things that probably won't happen -- at least not with the person in question. I'm loyal to people I love, even after they're long gone. People I haven't spoken to in years, who have really hurt me (even the one really abusive guy) -- I still miss them, even though I know I shouldn't.

I wish I couldn't love. Then things wouldn't hurt so much.

But love makes life worth living.

...

Lately when I think about writing, I feel sick. Then again, that's how I feel when I think about most things.

I'm often ready to bolt into the nearest restroom because my stomach turns and twists so much. I'm always (not an exaggeration) on the verge of tears. I can't sleep.

The worst thing is that my happiness for other people's joy is tinged with a deep pain. It isn't jealousy; I know how jealousy feels -- mean and angry and bitter. This is different. It's more like a quiet, aching sorrow, one that I don't want the happy person to know about because I don't want to detract from his/her joy.

And yet, I sometimes wish they knew, just so they could give me a hug and a job to do so I can help bring about their special days. It's better when I'm working, especially when I'm working for others.

It'll get better. Honestly, it only can get better from this.

I'm lucky, really. Lucky that this is happening: I'll be more aware of others' feelings. I'm learning to be more forgiving. I'm learning to take care of myself for me, not to please someone else. I'm understanding that what I want is just as important as what someone else wants (although I still often do not have opinions, which some of my friends mistake for not sticking up for what I want -- sometimes, I just don't care what we're doing because I'm with people, which means I'm not alone). I'm getting better at telling people the truth regardless of the consequences. I'm practicing asking for help.

I'm growing.

Funny, how I forget that growing physically comes with pain, too -- joints enlarging, muscles stretching, bones lengthening -- keeping me awake when I was little as my body changed into the 5' 2" person I am now. Why should mental, emotional, and spiritual growth be any different?

Perhaps because the pain, for me, is enhanced by other things in my life, such as the long-time struggle with depression, and the more recent appearance of quite severe anxiety. And part of it is my personality: two of my friends were talking to me last night, and they reminded me quite firmly that my loyalty to others has often placed me as less important -- that it's time to stop taking the backseat. And they're right -- while being loyal isn't a bad thing, strengths can easily be weaknesses if used the wrong way.

I'm lucky in friendship. Lucky that I have people in my life who care about me, and who stick with me no matter what's going on in my life. I'm lucky that I have people who celebrate my successes, and who lift me up when I've hit the ground.

Georgie's just lucky, I guess.

why I won't be a lawyer...

Many of my family and friends have told me that I should be a lawyer.

Nope.

I can't think quickly enough to debate things. I'm not brave enough to say what I believe. I'm not smart enough to stick up for my "case" -- I get all tongue-tied and twisted up.

Like with my coworkers. I admire my friend who can continually stick up for her beliefs with evidence and without getting flustered by the person contesting her beliefs. I wish with all my heart I could do that.

But instead I sit quietly and literally shake in my chair.

I think I liked working here better when I was by myself all day long.

just putting it out there...

Why am I so stupid?

tradition...

Summer is not summer for me if it lacks a visit to Manti for the Mormon Miracle Pageant. It's like a mini road trip, and it's one I look forward to every year.

Last weekend, I went with Ann Girl and Adam. Needless to say, it was an adventure, as things always are with those two. After the long drive (which seems to grow shorter every year), we grabbed our treat that we never go to Manti without getting: piping hot, sugary sweet, honey butter drenched scones topped with loads of powdered sugar. So much powdered sugar, in fact, that I couldn't help but blow most of Adam's into his face. But only after he started it.

I think I finished that fight, though.

Scones, hamburgers off the grill, homemade root beer in pretty glass bottles -- quite the nice little picnic under our baby tree, which provided just enough shade for the three of us.

And then the pageant! Yes -- it's still cheesy. Yes -- they really should update that script. And yes -- I cried, just like every year.

It makes me feel something, you know? It reminds me of things I've forgotten, of things that are important to me that I overlook during the day-to-day struggles and adventures of life. That's one of the reasons why I go: I want to be reminded.

I love this temple.

And I love these people!

festival? carnival? fair?

I'm not really sure what the Pleasant Grove Strawberry Days is classified as. It's not exactly a festival. It's too big for a carnival. And it has a rodeo, so maybe it's a fair? Because the state fairs here in the west always have rodeo events.

Yep. I think it's a fair.

Whatever af-fair (ha) it is, it's brilliant. I think I might like it more than I like as much as I like the Orem Summerfest, actually.

Or maybe it's because I went with Ann Girl. That's probably it.

Biggest. Corn dog. Ever. And it was delicious.

It's a little dark, but if you look closely, you can see the butterfly. Oh, and it's just henna.

Love her. Love Strawberry Days!