lightheaded...

Everything I look at squiggles and wiggles before my eyes. The carpet. The wall. The door. The screen. Even my toes are squirming and twisting in a strange, motionless dance. Because they're not actually moving.

Perhaps I'm dehydrated. Perhaps I'm lacking nutrients that my body needs to function properly. Both of these are most likely accurate -- if I remember to eat, or have the will power to force myself, I haven't really been eating very well the past few days. And I cannot for the life of me remember to drink. The water bottle on my desk at work sits full and untouched for entire shifts, as does the one in my backpack, and the one on the kitchen table.

My head is full of air, like a balloon bouncing and jouncing on a string.

My heart is full of lead, like a weight on the floor of the ocean.

Honestly, I'm exhausted. I'm pushing through things, but nothing I'm doing has results like I want.

I can't focus enough to study -- I fill out the study guides, but I take in nothing. I can't get anything done at work --  I go to the office and sit at the desk, but I end up staring at the screen for hours, unaware that I'm doing nothing. I can't complete tasks at home -- I get halfway through a job, such as the dishes, but then have no energy to get them done.

There are so many questions in my head. What did I do wrong? What more could I have done? What should I do now? How can I fix this? Should I? Should I not? What? When? Where? Who? How?

Why?

Questions, questions, tormenting and reopening wounds -- "don't live in the past," "don't dwell on things," "don't ask why." I know. I know not to.

And I do it anyway.

Should I move on?

I'm eavesdropping on two people in at the end of the hallway. One I know from a music class two semesters ago. She said something that, while it doesn't relieve the pain and emptiness between my ears, speaks to my heart:

"If it's the right thing, then you'll still be here when the time is right."

If it's right, God will make it so. Whatever the right thing is, God's will shall be done. Keep living. Keep trying. Keep working. Keep studying. Keep doing.

One day at a time -- one minute, one hour, one day --
moving, moving, moving.
Moving towards God -- to His blessings.

So dizzy.

who's the fool...

On April 1st, I got an exceptionally sincere string of text messages from Adam regarding his spur of the moment decision to sign up for a teaching English excursion in China. Due to the heartfelt tone of the messages (i.e. "this is something I've wanted to do my whole life"), I decided it was best to not treat it as a joke, just in case I happened to crush his hopes and dreams. I hoped it was a joke -- it was April Fool's Day, after all -- but in the event that it wasn't, well. I didn't want to be the kind of girlfriend who says no to her man's dearest wishes.

Over the next couple of hours, however, I felt myself torn in two directions. It's a joke, I'd tell myself, Just a joke.

 But what if it ISN'T?

Joke.

Maybe not.

Joke. Adam wouldn't drop everything to go to CHINA, and in JULY.

But you KNOW the message said that he knows it'll push the wedding back to September (did I just tell you that there's going to be a wedding sometime this summer? Hm...), and...well? Joke?

Joke! He wouldn't do that.

He might.

NO! Because he wouldn't leave me to plan an entire wedding by myself. And he wouldn't leave before his brother and sister go on their missions. And he wouldn't miss being engaged. And...would he?

You don't know.

I DON'T KNOW!

And by then I was too sick to ask him about it, and so spent an evening throwing up and worrying that my future fiance would be running off to China and get back a week before our wedding -- which I don't want to have in September because of school, which he well knows.

Readers, you probably realized it was a joke long before I was completely sure of it. Joke it was -- he got me.

Note to self: NEVER worry about any giant, life-changing plans that people inform you of on April Fool's Day. Chances are, they're joking.

Thank goodness for that.

now you say...

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

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

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

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

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

"You are very quiet," she says.

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

"Why?" grandma asks.

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

"Hm," grandma huffs, pursing her lips.

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

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

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

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

real intent...

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

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

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

But it works.

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

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

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

"Yes," the three children say together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Depends on why you're going."

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.

2 hours, 4 minutes, and 12 seconds...

dear Friend,

While I don't agree that I would look awesome in sparkly, orange high heels, I do agree with something that you said before. Once upon a time you said that when you talk to me about the problems I'm facing, you often gain more insight than you feel you shared. You've thanked me for coming to you with a problem -- I haven't been able to figure it out until now.

It's true. Talking to you helped me see things I hadn't considered before. My words to you offered me solutions and gave me strength. You helped me remember things I'd forgotten -- things like the fact that the Savior loves me just as much as He loves you. And that things get better because He'll help us if we ask.

Knowing that you're there makes me feel stronger and braver -- thank you for being there to lift me up.

Thank you for letting me return the favor.

I love you. And I'm always here. Hope you know that.

all my love,
GKB

nausea...

There are some topics that raise feelings of nausea in me. It's the real psychological deal: dizziness, blurry vision, headaches, and the uncomfortable twisting of my insides. Topics like getting shots (ugh), entrance exams, spinning rides at carnivals, looking for work -- those are a few that are on the list. One, however, is the mother of all nausea-makers. That topic is marriage.

It comes up all the time in my life these days. My sisters talk about it. My parents talk about it. My friends talk about it. My professors talk about it. Mostly it's my sisters and parents. Meghan and Amanda have detailed lists of what they want in a husband -- they even have specific boys that they've got their eyes on (and are quietly waiting for while these boys go on missions). My parents have specific boys that they like, and often praise these boys in front of me. In every family council or meeting in which we discuss future events and expenses, mom and dad look at me and say casually, "Now, we also need to remember that somebody could get engaged in the next year." Shortly after, the list is again discussed in detail, and I sit there feeling small and awkward and preparing myself for a dash out of the room in case my stomach decides it can't handle things anymore.

First off: I have nothing against marriage. I think it's a wonderful, amazing, good thing. I'm not ragging on the institution itself. For most people, it's great! But only great at the right time, in the right place, with the right people, by the right authority. Today, tomorrow, and at least through next week (if not longer), it's not right for me.

Where I am in my life, the discussion of marriage only arouses feelings of horror, terror, and nausea. Even right now, it just makes me feel like I do after I've been driving for a long time: sick.

I don't like feeling pressured to marry. I don't like having lists of names passed under my nose for examination, especially when I can see that the names on the lists would be good choices, though ones hopelessly out of my reach.

Perhaps there are people who think I'm being silly and ridiculous. That could be the case. I am being honest when I say that marriage, as wonderful as it is for other people, is not wonderful for me at the present time. I mean, heck. There aren't even any potentials in my life! Honestly, I don't want any potentials right now. I just want to be as I am. I actually like this single me (yes, it's true, even if some of you don't believe me). Right now it feels most important that I focus on the things that I can control, like my schooling and employment. Sure, I'll go out with a guy if he asks me. Until then, though, I won't be looking for potentials. Some things are better left alone. After all, it's often been said that love finds you when you least expect it. And I am okay with that, particularly if it means I won't feel sick. Or as sick...you never know, right?

odd bits...

Sometimes I have conversations with myself. I had one earlier this afternoon. It went something like this.

Self 1: "Why are you stressing out about this so much? It's just a paper. There could be an earthquake tomorrow and you spent your whole week stressing about a paper that won't even matter."

Self 2: "Well. The odds of an earthquake happening tomorrow are so slim that I'm going to keep stressing, thank you. Now be quiet so I can type this up."

Self 1: "You're boring."

Self 2: "You're impractical."
*pause*
Self 1: "Touche."