night time...

I spend little time outside. I realized this two days ago, when I was lying on the grass at the park and I was struck by the fact that the sky is blue. Running an average day's schedule through my head, it became clear that being outside isn't really a "thing" in my life. Which is very sad.

As I've thought about it more, I've also realized that I do get outside -- I just get outside during the night time. For some reason I'm a lot more comfortable outside when the sun has gone down. Perhaps it's the fact that it requires zero sunscreen (I burn like you wouldn't believe [no, really -- I get sunburned sitting at stoplights with the car windows rolled up]). Or maybe it's because it's dark and that means my eyes don't hurt, which means no headaches from bright sunlight.

Both contribute to why I prefer venturing out of doors at night. And -- this is just sad -- there are a lot fewer people out after dark. No one bothers me at midnight when I'm sitting out in the driveway looking at the stars, and no one wants to talk when I'm driving down the freeway at two in the morning with the windows down and the radio turned up loud.

I like the night. I like the quiet, and the coolness -- I have a rather startling number of sweaters, so the cold doesn't bother me too much. I like that the rest of the world is sleeping and that I'm not. Sometimes it's lonely. Sometimes it's very lonely, and a little scary. But I like to think that somewhere, there is someone else enjoying the night time, just like I am.

While all of this is fine and good, I really should get outside in the sunshine more often. I don't think the moon produces any vitamin D, and I might be less depressed if I get out of this vampire-like habit and, you know. Interact with day time lovers or something.

ice...

I have this weird liking of chewing on ice cubes. But they have to be just right -- they have to have been sitting in water long enough to have melted down to a manageable size. And they have to be the right texture -- it's hard to explain. I do know that there is a particular texture to it -- it's when the ice has melted down to where the air bubbles formed inside the cube, making the surface of the ice rough. That is when optimum crunching texture has been reached.

Don't ask me why I like chewing on ice, because I have no answer. I just do. Even though it sometimes hurts and it's loud and makes my teeth reeeeeally cold, I like it.

Speaking of ice -- ice is the quickest way to revert me to age 10. Seriously, give me a cup of ice and I, without fail, will start a fight. I'm an expert at waiting for just the right moment when someone leans so that the shirt collar slides to expose a little skin, and slip. In goes an ice cube. But it doesn't stop there, no -- heavens no. Once you get the cube in there, it's time for a great big lingering hug, where you push the victim against the wall so the ice cube stays in place. Feel free to pull the shirt close against your target's hips, too, because that guarantees full meltage before they can get away.

Unfortunately, most people in this world are bigger and stronger than I am. Particularly because my victims are usually male, as this is one of the only flirting techniques I can pass off without looking really stupid. It's also a technique that is always, always reciprocated -- what guy isn't going to retaliate when a 5' 2" tall girl slides an ice cube down his shirt collar and pins him against a wall? From my experience, not a one.

I never win this game. Ever. I'm usually the one who ends up on the floor, soaking wet and begging for mercy. However, it's worth it because it's quite fun.

Ice. In my life, synonymous with immature.

road block...

Common relationship advice includes this as the number one important thing to do: communicate. Communicate openly, honestly, and often, about how you feel, think, and what you want.

To that I pose a question.

How do you have an open chain of communication in a relationship when one person cannot voice thoughts and feelings? Ever?

You're probably guessing which person I'm talking about. Yes. That would be me.

I can't talk. By that I mean I cannot for the life of me find words that express how I feel or think, about anything. On top of that, I'm terrified of saying what I want, and have always been that way. I'm afraid I'll be classified as bossy or selfish -- I always do what others want to do, and make every effort to have no opinion of my own. 

There are times when I want to talk, where I desperately wish to say what I think and how I feel. When the opportunity arises, though, I often find myself forgetting what I wanted to say. It's as though by someone asking what's wrong or what I'm thinking about, there's suddenly nothing there. There's no problem to discuss, even if there was one the second before. There's no thought to share, even if I'd been super excited a minute earlier about telling a story or idea. 

I can't find words. I can't remember things I want to say. I can't do it. 

Or, I can do it -- but only with certain people (three, to be precise), and only very late at night when I'm in a sobbing panic, or one on one during a long, painful event of the other person waiting for me to find the words and urging me to spill things out.

Speaking about myself -- thoughts, feelings, desires -- has always been a struggle. However, it hasn't been this difficult in years. I can't make decisions, I can't tell the truth about how I feel (half of the time that's because I really cannot remember what I wanted to say). And it gets worse every day.

What's blocking me, I wonder. Fear, perhaps? Of rejection, of hurting someone else. Pride, maybe? Or a sudden onset of goldfish syndrome?

habits...

I've been thinking a lot about habits, and how uncomfortable I get when a habit of mine is broken. My roommate and I were talking about it in the car on the way to the grocery store (went shopping for the first time in a month today). We are both noticing that each of us do the same things at the same places (though we personally do different things). For example, when we go to Cafe Rio, we both get pork burritos without sauce and with cheese on the top. When we go to Wendy's, she always gets the same combo, and I always get the same combo. When we go to Target, we always go in the same door, and I always have to stop at the nail polish section to see if there are any new colors.

Those are just a few that we share. But I've noticed a lot of my own.

I never leave my bedroom in the morning without first washing my face and brushing my teeth. I hate skipping that. Same with going to bed; if I don't do those two things, I can't sleep. I do chores in the house in the same order every single time, with a set plan for timing and efficiency. Last night when I did all of the chores, I did them in the wrong order and got so thrown off that I almost started over.

I can't open my garage door until I've gotten in my car and shut the door. I take the same route through the grocery store every time I go, starting with produce and working my way section by section on my list (which is written according to the layout of the store). The dishes in the dishwasher are placed, when I load it, in the same spot every time. The pantry is organized by food type, as are the shelves in the fridge and freezer. So are my clothes in the drawers, and even in the closet.

And another really weird habit? I eat my sandwiches, meat, whatever it is, in circles. Seriously. I start on one side and work my way around in a circular direction until it's gone. I even spin my plate in circles (unless it's pasta, soup, or something that doesn't require cutting -- oatmeal would fall into this category, too). My food is particularly organized; so is Chelsea's. When I eat, cook, bake, shop, bag items in the store, put things away -- there is a system for everything that cannot be broken, or I get anxious.

There are all of these bizarre little quirky things that I've been noticing about myself. If I do things differently, it bothers me a lot. I will try new things, like food and places to have fun -- usually I do that out of fear of what others will think if I don't, rather than because I want a new experience.

I guess this realization is coming from trying to break other habits that are a serious problem. Not only that, but I'm trying to feel more -- that's my assignment, to allow myself to feel what I feel, rather than pushing it away or pretending (which sucks and I hate it). All of these weird rituals are truly that: weird.

Funny how I've lived with myself for nearly 21 years (gah, I'm getting older) and am just barely seeing things that I do every single day. I wonder why it's so much easier to observe other people's patterns of behavior than it is to observe our own.

What are your habits?

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

can you keep a secret...

You may be asking yourself why I'm putting a secret on the Internet. Well, most of the things I put on the Internet are my secrets. They're different kinds of secrets -- they're not the ones you really can keep wholly to yourself. But they're the things that you wouldn't say to certain people, or the quiet thoughts that people can see on your face, but have no words for because you don't share.

I have a secret. It's a secret a lot of people know about me, which is that I have a lot of white traits in my personality, and my reaction to change or difficulty is often to pull away. I avoid conversation or interaction, mostly because I want to be alone and people won't let me when I ask or tell them I'm busy. Or, if there's conflict, or if I feel afraid, I intentionally isolate myself. That's one of my secrets.

How can it be a secret if people know about it, you ask? In a nut shell, it's a secret because though people see the behavior, they don't know why I do it. The secret isn't the action -- it's the motivation.

I'm not a great communicator. I could be if I forced myself out of my comfort zone, but I get so afraid of offending someone that I end up just agreeing to whatever the person says and go back to door mat status. Or I know that I'm right, but I don't know how to express it. If I were able to argue with someone by writing a paper about it directed at the problem, I'd win every time. Talking about problems, on the other hand? The other person always gets their way, even if it's completely wrong of them, because I get so confused and so flustered that I often can't remember what the original reason for the conversation was in the first place.

And so I shut up. Literally, I shut my mouth and I shut my bedroom door. I turn off my phone, I clean my house from top to bottom, I get ahead in my studies, and I go to bed early. 

Granted, it's not okay to say, "this is just the way that I am -- deal with it." I know that this isn't exactly the best way to handle stuff. Believe me, I'm working on it. Sometimes I just need a break for awhile -- I need to be alone. I need to be away from people. I need to be able to choose when I talk, who I talk to, what I talk about, where I go and who I go with -- being truthful, I get sick of being a door mat after awhile. 

So. There you have it. Another secret courtesy of Georgie. And because you're going to be kind enough to keep it (at least, I assume that you will), I'll even tell you a joke:

A British man and a Swiss man were sitting together in a cafe. The British man, who was preparing to go to Switzerland, asked the Swiss man, "What is the best thing about your country?"

The Swiss man thought about it for a few moments, then replied, "Well, the flag is a big plus."

Pardon me while I snicker to death over here in the corner.

Wah, wah. Peace out, girl scout.

the Hub...

I spend a lot of time in my kitchen. Yes, I do the obvious things, like cook. This kitchen will forever be in my memory as "the place where I taught myself to make good food." So far even my mistakes have been successful -- like the sweet and tangy meatball sauce I made in the crock pot? Waaaaaay too much chili sauce, but it turned out quite well.

I clean a lot, too. Some friends say I clean so much that it's nigh unto an obsession. You know what, though? I like it clean. After all, since I do spend a lot of time cooking, I want to have a clean place to work. I also am haunted by the memory from when I worked on a custodial team at a middle school, and we were allowed to borrow a bacteria counter thing-a-ma-jig from an inspector. Our toilet seats had less bacteria on them than the school cafeteria tabletops. Oh. My. SICK.

Did I ever tell you that I dance in my kitchen? YouTube and Pandora are my friends. So is Justin Bieber. He hangs out with me a lot. Gives me tips on my moves. Actually, he doesn't, and I'm glad he can't see me dance because he'd probably laugh. I mean, once upon a time I was dancing in my bedroom when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I stopped because I was embarrassed for myself. No mirrors in the kitchen!

Talking on the phone happens a lot here, too. I'm not generally one to sit in normal places, like on a chair or the couch or in bed, while on the phone. I find myself huddled in corners, perched on the banister, sprawled on the bar over the sink, seated on the closed toilet while fixing my nails, under the table -- my favorite place is the subtle nook-ish spot by the dishwasher. Or leaning against the fridge. Don't ask my why all of those places are appealing. It's weird. I know.

Studying, writing, and stalking keeping up with friends through the Internet are frequent occurrences, too (do you ever have words that you just cannot seem to spell correctly ever? occurrences -- took me three times to get it right. rhythm is the other one I can never seem to get right). Facebook, Pinterest, gMail, Blogger...you name it. Except Twitter. Boring. They don't even have a like button.

There are a lot of good talks in my kitchen. Lots of hilarious jokes, stories about people's lives, insights into personalities, confessions, ideas, advice. Shared experiences, usually between myself and one other person. Sometimes we share food, too, but the sharing of laughter, experiences, and trust are even better.

I talk to myself, too. What? Why are you looking me like that's weird? Because if you know me, you also know that I talk to myself. And you also know that I'm weird. But it's cool! We talked about talking to ourselves in my Anthropology language class. It's healthy. Unless, you know. You're actually crazy. I have a lot of good conversations with myself. Working out problems I can't solve silently, walking myself through recipes, making myself laugh (I'm funny). Singing, too. Singing happens here.

Tears fall here, too. Sometimes there's a reason for them. Other times they just fall.

Mary Wixom said that the "kitchen is the hub of the home." It's the heart of the bustle and commotion of life. It's where people meet after their busy days -- coming in from their spokes on the family wheel and settling in the center, the Hub. It's where we talk and share our experiences. It's where we slow down for a little while, taking a few moments to notice that we're not just getting things done and running around crazy. We're living.

i like the friend zone...

I've been in frequent correspondence with Sister Raddatz. Because I'm busy working and she's busy being a mom, it's easier for all parties involved to schedule adventures and to communicate through email. The other day she was asking me about my dating life, and I told her that I don't date. I have a couple of close guy friends (both of them being her sons) and one very close guy friend, but other than that I don't go out of my way to associate with any other men. Sure, I have a lot of male coworkers at the writing center who are great people, but they're coworkers -- not to mention I'm not interested in them anyway. Great kids -- weird though.

I mentioned to Sister Raddatz that one of my friends and I had joked about going to Las Vegas for my 21st birthday. Somehow (it was probably my fault) we started laughing about getting married there -- just one of those stupid things that happens in a conversation about a guy and a girl going to Vegas together, you know? Eventually I told him that I didn't want to get married anyway, one reason being that neither of us would have temple recommends and that, frankly, I believe that we might kill each other. He said that he could see the temple recommend thing being an issue, but no -- we wouldn't kill each other. 

Sister Raddatz said that she's heard that there is a little bit of truth in every conversation. I laughed and told her that it was all just fun. "Besides that," I said, "there is no way that I am getting married at 21."

A couple of days later, she said she'd been thinking about that, and she had a question. "Why don't you want to get married at 21?"

This question has come up a lot for me lately, not in relation to age, but just "What don't you want to get married?" Adding the 21 onto the end has made me think a lot about the reasons why I don't want to get married. I guess it's because 21 is an age that isn't very far distant for me anymore. Somehow in my imagination I went from being 18 to 23 -- I forgot that 19, 20, 21, and 22 are in the middle there. That's 1,460 days that I just jumped over in imagining the way my life was going to be. So much for a five year plan...I forgot about four years in there!

Anyway. So, in general, why do I not want to get married at 21?

First of all, in order to get married in the next year, I'd have to either meet someone really soon or see a current friendship move from "friend zone" to "together zone" to "fiance zone" to (eek) "together for eternity zone." That would be super, super fast. If I know him already, sure, it might not be so bad -- date for a few months, see if it works out, and bam! Game over, life begins! But if I don't know him -- that would be an even faster relationship progression because I don't already know him.

Second, 21 is so very young. SO very young. It looks super old when you're 14, but once you're watching it approach you, you realize how very not-grown-up you really are.

Those are the main reasons that I've come up with to answer the question "Why do you not want to get married at 21?" Now for the other question: "Why don't you want to get married?" Or, to make some readers happy, why don't I want to get married yet.

In my opinion, I don't know enough about life and love to get married (yet). I don't know enough about people. There are so many things I don't know, and so many things that I haven't experienced that would be very difficult to do if I were married (like an internship in D.C. or a mission as a single sister). I also have realized that I am terrified of commitment. I can commit my heart no problem! I'm loyal to a fault, and if I love someone (be it a family member, friend, potential more-than-friend), there is very little that will keep me from staying absolutely, 100% committed to our relationship. 

It's committing everything else -- time, space, mind, body, all of me -- to someone that scares me. It's having someone know everything about me -- my fears, my desires, my weaknesses, my selfishness, my insecurities -- and if it turns out that he can't handle me, then what? When do you reach the point that you know enough about each other that you want to spend eternity together, through the good and the bad? Perhaps I lack faith, or I don't understand people well enough, but I don't see anyone wanting to stay with me.

It's the eternal aspect of that commitment -- it's the good, the bad, the beautiful, the ugly, the everything of a relationship -- that terrifies me. I know that I can stick things out with someone. I've done it time and again, once to the point that I allowed myself to be manipulated and hurt emotionally and physically because I loved that person with all of my heart. I went through hell for that boy, and for a couple of others, too. Not that I want to put anyone through hell, but will someone stick it out with me when it gets hard?

It's the fear that things will fall apart, leaving nothing but pain and broken trust. To get married, you have to date someone and get engaged first. There's always the chance that things will get ruined. I know there's always a risk, and that it's better to risk than to never have a chance at loving someone. I don't know if I can handle that right now. I don't want to ruin perfectly good friendships and be left missing someone I could have had as a friend forever if I had been willing to keep things friendly.

For example. I would love to have someone to talk to and spend time with and take care of and love, but I don't want to. Though I know that I am willing to make most of the sacrifices necessary to be in a relationship, the idea of dating anyone scares me to death. Sure, there are a couple of guys who I absolutely love spending time with. I enjoy their company, and enjoy them as people. But because we're not "together," there can be that friendly space between talks and visits and no one feels like their needs aren't being met. I don't feel stuck. Stuck is a horrible word to use in describing any kind of relationship, I know, but it's the only word that really works for how I feel when considering a relationship. I don't feel stuck when I'm best friends with a guy (even if the feelings of friendship start becoming more). But thinking about dating brings on this almost panicked, trapped feeling (not to mention nausea and butterflies).

I don't know why that is. I know that there's a lot (and I mean a lot) of fear involved. Fear of rejection, fear of pain, fear of broken trust, fear of having something absolutely fantastic and then watching it fall apart, etc. And I think I'm just not emotionally mature enough to handle it. There are so many things I still don't know about people. Right now I'm perfectly happy being best friends with guys who I can be close to without fear of being hurt or annoying them -- if we're "just friends" then we have nothing to lose! 

I wonder if it's more that I'm afraid no one will love me enough, or if I'm afraid that I won't be able to love him fully because I'll always be waiting for things to fall apart. I wonder if I'm afraid that things will actually work out, and then out of nowhere it'll come crashing down. 

It's silly and childish, but it's where I am right now. Today, I believe that 21 is definitely not a great age for me to get married. Who knows, I could be wrong. I could meet someone or a friend could convince me that the friend zone is boring, and somehow I end up with a ring and a temple date. From where I'm sitting now, it doesn't seem like a possibility. Mostly because I'm afraid. I feel comfortable being single. I like being single. I also like being close to someone. I haven't let myself think about which I like more -- for one, I don't have anyone in my life who would consider dating me and for another, why dwell on something that you can't have right now?

sides of me...

The me I've been is a happy me. She's still an introvert, but she reaches out and tries making friends. She learns new things and goes new places. She smiles, even when she's sad. She can focus on the task at hand, or the person talking, or the idea she's rolling around in her head. She reads and cooks and talks and laughs. She doesn't worry as much as before. She takes pictures and writes, goes adventuring and plays just as much as she works.

The me I'm becoming isn't a happy me. She's reverting to the sad, shy, quiet, lonely, afraid person of a year ago. She stays home because she doesn't want to go out, because she doesn't want people. She frowns more than she smiles. She gets sidetracked easily, choosing to spend time on the Internet, rather than exploring the world around her. She still reads and cooks, but the reading is out of habit and the cooking is out of necessity, not enjoyment. She talks a little, and laughs less. She worries a lot. She doesn't take pictures, and she has to force herself to write, living from bedtime to wake time to bedtime again.

I feel like I can't be the me I want to be anymore. I'm trapped in this "not me," uncomfortable, unsure, unwanted in my own head. Or not "not me," but an "other me." I don't like this other me that's resurfacing, this sad and sullen and negative me. I don't know how to get rid of her -- she keeps coming back, year after year after year. But how can you get rid of what you are?

Both girls are me. Both are insecure, but one is able to cope with it more than the other. Both like to be alone, but one is alone because it helps her be happy, while the other is alone because you can't get hurt if you're alone. Both want to love, but one does so willingly and the other holds back. Both live, but one lives well and the other survives.

While on Pinterest today, I read a saying which stated that in order to be the best you, you must first accept all the things about yourself -- the good and the bad. Strengths and weaknesses, virtues and vices; all parts of yourself need to be taken into consideration to be the best you.

I don't really want to accept the unhappy me. I just want her to go away and never come back -- it hurts to feel so down, and it's heavy and lonely and confusing. It isn't even rational -- but what I feel is hard to logic back into happiness. I know the things I'm feeling, but I don't know why. And all of the reasons I've come up with don't make sense. My life is good. It's better than good, to be honest -- it's great. Dad is doing well, Callie is doing better, I have great friends, my bills aren't a problem, my school is working out just fine, I have two good jobs, I'll have a room mate for sure in the fall, the room mate I have now is a doll, I have a good family, my car works, my body mostly works, I'm not starving -- I know all of these things, but I still feel so sad.

How do you accept what you are when you can't stand yourself? When you can't stand the way that you feel, and no matter how hard you pray and study and try every day to be grateful for the good in your life, you are constantly uncomfortable in your own skin, and even worse, your own mind?

be bold...

Once upon a time in January I filled out this post template for the heck of it. It's now 6 months later. I decided to fill it out again and see if any of my "sometimes" have changed.


SOMETIMES
...I get weirdly excited about hearing a song on the radio. Like Kelly Clarkson's "Dark Side" or Katy Perry's "Wide Awake" or Rihanna's "Where Have You Been" or Journey's "Faithfully" (among others). Those are the moments when I just have to turn up the volume and sing along. Or, you know. Dance in my car.

...I feel overwhelmed with gratitude when a friend spends an afternoon with me or lets me talk to them on the phone.

...I can't stop thinking about school starting. And...I'll admit it...that one person.

...I just want to be happy all day, every day.

...I am kind of a bad person and judge myself and others too harshly.

...I wish I could express what I know in my heart without fear of rejection or losing a friend. But that is always a risk -- always.

...I  (still) just don't understand the allure of Batman. This topic of conversation follows me everywhere. It never used to come up at all -- then I met Parker and I swear he cursed me.

...I can't believe how close I am to turning 21. 6 months from now, I'll be 21. That is so strange.

...I strongly consider spending a lot of money on clothes and shoes (some things don't change very much). Add in an iPod and we're set.

If you want, try this yourself (even if you've done it before). Just copy and paste the bolded areas and fill in your "sometimes."

withdraw...

I'm the kind of person who makes plans and sticks to them. I rarely cancel plans, even if I don't feel particularly well. And even though I hate going to parties, I at least try to show up and say hello for a little while.

Lately, though, I've done the opposite. I've made plans, I've rsvp'd to stuff, I've ventured into social functions -- but somehow, I always end up canceling or making as quick an exit as possible. Even at work I find any excuse to hide in the back room, whether it's calling customers or organizing or drinking 6 full water bottles in a five hour shift just so I could retreat to refill and clear my head.

Don't get me wrong. I love my house mate. I love my coworkers (most of them). I love my family. I love my friends. I need people, all of those people in particular.

Right now, though...I don't really want people. It's so hard to hear people say things like, "we need to go hang out to take your mind off of things" or "call me and we'll talk" because, quite honestly, I don't want to go out or talk. I hate getting invited to do things because I just want to stay in my house, cleaning the rooms and cooking meals and spending time with Kala. At the same time, I keep making plans and trying to force myself to make human contact -- I know from experience that it's not good to withdraw completely.

But making plans is the easy part. It's keeping them that's hard. Even sitting in the same room with Natalie was hard after awhile. So was talking with my coworkers tonight. I wonder if part of it is due to my sudden inability to focus on anything anyone is saying. I'll be looking right at Natalie while she's talking to me, but I cannot for the life of me seem to focus on what she is saying. The same thing happened with Tracy and Danielle at work, and my family when we went to the library tonight. It was like a radio that can't hone in a frequency and keeps shooting out static with intermittent, broken, muffled words coming through the speakers.

I just want to be alone. Alone with nothing but white noise in my head and white lights before my eyes.

fun in the work place...

I have interesting jobs. I work at a party store and a snow shack, and I intern in a prestigious university's writing center. Each job has different requirements, but a lot of the skills that I've learned for each individual job are applicable to all three. The environments, however, are more than a little different.

The writing center has an intellectual, academic, and stiff atmosphere. Some days it almost oozes with elitism. It bothers me, because students who come in for a tutoring session look uncomfortable and many of them can't wait to get out. Not all of the tutors contribute to that feeling -- the few that do are good at it though. As I've observed, I've decided that I will not become a tutor with that elite mindset. I don't even think of myself as a tutor, or students as students. I think of myself as a writer, and the students who come in are writers as well. That levels the playing field and turns the sessions into collaborative efforts, rather than the term tutor becoming a title that gets in the way.

The snow shack is a bit trickier to explain because all shifts are run solo, and it's definitely just a job. I like it most days, but it's mostly cleaning the shack, filling up the flavor bottles, stocking supplies, taking and completing customer orders, and making sure that the other girls stay on top of their work. I've sort of become the unofficial manager of the Orem store...I think it's because I'm the oldest girl working there and I'm the only one who really works at keeping the place running in a clean, orderly fashion. That's sort of fun for me because I get to be in contact with the owner a lot. Natalie is so great.

PartyLand is an entirely different animal. It's fun, it's crazy, it's stressful, it's boring, it's exciting, it's annoying, it's everything all wrapped up into one, giant, eclectic, hodge podge party store. The people are great to work with -- they're some of my closest friends -- the work isn't too hard but it's stimulating, and it's an outlet for creativity. It's the most frustrating and most enjoyable work place. The fun generally outweighs the frustration though.

For example, PartyLand is the only place where I can make themed balloon bouquets like this one:

Yes. This is an Avengers mylar (insert girly squeal of excitement here). But wait. It gets better.

A totally Avengers themed bouquet. Alyssa and I made it a couple of days ago. I'm rather proud of it. I was so happy that Tracy ordered the mylar that I requested. She let me pick it out, too. Can you spot all of the heroes? We fit all six of them into it!

Six super heroes represented in one giant, ridiculously fun, delightful, vengeance-filled bouquet. SO. MUCH. FUN.


Avengers assemble!! Holla!!

getting nothing done...

As you've probably noticed, I am a list person. Lists of things that make me smile, playlists of music, to do lists, things I'm thinking about lists, to be lists, this and that lists. If you can line it up with some bullet points, numbers, or dots, I like it.

What I don't like is the increasing length of my to do lists (yes, plural). It is such a struggle these days to get anything done -- my homework, cleaning my room (I've lost many battles, but I am not losing this war), packing up stuff I can store, sorting through things that I no longer need, writing to missionaries -- everything seems so very hard to do. I can't focus, and I don't even want to focus.

Why, do you ask? Because I'm exhausted.

Seriously. I am so, so, SO tired all the time. The worst part of it is that I can never sleep well. It takes me a really long time to fall asleep, and then when I do, I don't stay asleep for long. My greatest wish is to sleep longer than two hours without waking up. When I was younger I could sleep through almost anything -- once I even slept through the smoke alarm that went off when it got a whiff of some wandering cigarette smoke that came in through the air vent. That scared my parents quite badly. They needn't worry anymore. Nowadays the door opening upstairs (which is a flight of stairs above me and on the other end of the house), or the sound of my dad's phone beeping in his room (which is two flights above me on the opposite side of the house from me), or the crickets in the evening and the birds in the morning, or any other number of small noises wake me up.

Not to mention I dream all the time. I crawl in bed exhausted, but due to the number of dreams and their contents I wake up feeling more tired than I was before.

I lack motivation these days. I get the most important things done (most of the time), and then I have no energy left. And so I watch the to do list grow, fretting because of how fast it is lengthening. Then I put it away because item number one is at least attemptable. It doesn't always go as I plan, but I can at least try. Plus...it's the easiest thing to cross off...item number one being "take a nap."

in theory...

I put off my homework again. Surprised? I kind of am. I should know better by now.

I've been finishing up my readings for Theory tomorrow morning. This comic was used in the book. It is an exact description of how I've been thinking lately. Or almost exact...minus the tiger and the red wagon.

Really though. It's so true I could be Calvin.

PS Honestly, this makes me laugh so hard. I think I'll print it off and tape it to my mirror. DONE. After I buy ink for the printer, that is.

5/4 forever...

The more I branch out, the more I find that there is some sort of holiday for almost everything imaginable. There's National Chocolate Day, National Princess Week, Pi Day, even a National Repeat Day (June 3. I'm looking forward to it). Some holidays are weird, some are lame, but they all give a reason for celebration. And, every once in awhile, you've just got to celebrate your inner awesomeness.

Aaaaand out comes the closet nerd. Hipster glasses and all. Which are really just 3-D glasses that I punched the lenses out of because, really? Who pays $20 for a pair of glasses with no lenses?

May the Fourth be with you. Alwayth.

so...rumor has it...

You are all probably aware how easily obsessed I get with things. Take Adele. No I'm not obsessed with her as a person/artist, but some of her songs have become a bit of an obsession. Like "Rumor Has It." O-em-gee seriously much.

I like music that speaks. The rhythm, the beat, the vocals, the instruments -- I like pieces that have a voice. I know that a lot of people don't like Adele's work, and there are some songs that I don't particularly like. Others though...they're the kind of songs that call for near speaker blow out with the car windows rolled down, or for singing your heart out alone in your bedroom.

I like music that makes me feel. Be it happiness or sadness or frustration or giddiness or heartbreak, I like songs that channel emotion and thought, whether through the lyrics or the musicality or both. Sometimes I wish I were as brave as music helps me to be...sometimes I wish I could take the thoughts and feelings aroused by a song and hold onto them for awhile...to carry those feelings over into "20 seconds of courage"...to act.

"Rumor Has It" is one of those songs that does it for me right now. Blasting it in my room, dancing around the piles of organized disaster on the floor, singing as loud as I can, feeling and thinking and being the girl I wish I was brave enough to be when people are watching. It's a song you can feel -- I like that.

noticed lately...

Sometimes I wake myself up because I've stopped breathing in my sleep.

The speakers hanging from the wall in my choir classroom are installed upside down.

I don't like eating food that has been stored in a lunchbox. Maybe a little germaphobic.

Rules in society seem to fall under the pirate code: "They're more like guidelines, instead of actual rules."

White socks with black shoes look really funny. Case in point, what I wore today...ugh.

A surprising amount of people do not bring a writing utensil with them to class. Um...last time I checked, we were in college. I'm checking again...we're still in college. Right? Chances are, you're going to need a writing utensil. Preferably one that isn't mine.

If I get to bed before 11:30pm, I either don't dream or the dreams aren't too bad. If it's after 12:00am, I dream a LOT and they usually aren't happy.

It bugs me when people eat sandwiches/hamburgers/other kind of food like that in a straight across, or "normal", fashion. Why? I eat mine in circles. All of the rest of you are weird. And when I say all, I mean all because obviously I'm not the weird one for being the only person to eat a sandwich in a circle. Sheesh!

Pizza never sounds appetizing on a Wednesday.

Why is it that pants never fit right in the waist? There's always extra fabric that just sits there with no purpose other than to look funny. Everywhere else fits fine. Just not the waist.

When I wear my "motorcycle" boots I feel super confident.

Every time I see a girl with a black eye I get really worried.

Five minutes is a really, really long time if you're watching the clock.

The five categories of men I've encountered at BYU:
1. Married guys = normal friends and/or professors
2. Guys in relationships = cautious friends
3. Single guys = completely ignore me (again, completely)
4. Gay guys = instant and most dramatic friends
5. High school guys visiting for conferences = only guys who show any interest at all

tell everybody I'm on my way...

Well. In t-minus 11 hours and 15 minutes, my BYU adventure begins. While I knew I would get there someday, I never actually thought it was going to happen. Yes, I know that doesn't make any sense. But it's the thought process of the past five years. It works.

I won't lie and say I'm not nervous about this new step in my life. There are things I'm going to have to give up to do this, and it is not going to be easy. There are things I don't know, and things I think I know that I'll probably find incorrect very shortly. But while I'm nervous, I know that it's going to be just fine. I'm going to be just fine! Stressed out, lacking social life, sure. That will be made up for though. In the end it will all be worth it.

Education is my journey. It always has been, it always will be. Learning is something I'm good at, and it's something I love to do. So why stop before I've really gotten started?

Heads up, BYU. I'm on my way.

who are you?

Parker, a coworker of mine, asked me a question about a month ago that has really bothered me. It has bothered me because I didn't know the answer. I still feel like I don't know the answer, and no matter how much I think about it and try to come up with something satisfactory, it doesn't seem right.

"Who are you?" Parker asked. The question stemmed from a long conversation about how to read people and what he could read about me, just from knowing me for a few weeks. He asked me again a couple of days ago, and I made something up like "I'm a college student, a sister, a daughter, and a friend." He seemed slightly more satisfied with that answer than with my previous "I don't know", and then told me to keep thinking.

Who am I, friends? Because honestly, I'm not sure who I am. Or maybe I know, but I'm too afraid to write it down or say it out loud. Once written down or spoken aloud, it becomes a responsibility. I don't know if I can live up to the expectations. I worry that there is so much to lose.

Perhaps it doesn't make any sense, and maybe putting it off isn't the proper way to go about it. Right now though, trying to come up with a definition of who I am is giving me a headache. Not to mention I think I'm allergic to the idea...if you get my meaning.

dark of the sun...

There are many winter nights when I take the long way home. Get into the car; radio and heater off; stillness and cold my traveling companions. I delay returning for as long as possible, taking detours along familiar roads that are transformed into strange paths by the misty quiet of the night.

Winding through my city on a cold, silent night, there is no one out. It's a comfortable loneliness, knowing that indoors there is life, and out of doors there is me. Inside are the living. Outside I am a silent observer, unseen and unnoticed. A phantom with a heartbeat. Watcher, thinker, drinker of cold and darkness. Taking in the night.

The world looks so different in the darkness of winter. The street lights and stoplights of green, red, yellow, white, blur in the cold air; a fuzzy halo shines around each bulb. A halo rims the moon as well. There is a tale I heard once that says that the number of stars inside the ring around the moon is the number of days it will rain. There are no stars in this night. No stars--only light from man and from moon.

I have no fear of the night. Yes, what the night holds can be frightening. However, it is not the night that one needs to fear, for it is in darkness that one can find peace, serenity, and answers. There is comfort to be found in the stillness. There is comfort in the night.