coffee with a shot of tears, roasted. . .

Someone tried to break into my apartment today.

Yesterday I got notified that someone went on a shopping spree with my bank info at the mall in Chicago.

The day before, I found out that my brain is full of veins that are "wonky," with no further explanation or plan or anything except instructions to take a medication I'm allergic to.

Exhausted and dreaming all of these dead dreams and sitting on my floor in the apartment with tears streaming down my face and the dogs sitting next to me and me not even realizing why or what for I'm crying. Watching tears fall into my coffee cup and ripple outwards to the edges. Salty salted caramel. Literally drinking tears. Roasted.

I hate feeling sorry for myself. I hate feeling like this. I hate that it has. . .hit. Me. I'm a fly on the wall. Swat. Hello, emptiness. Hello, emotional pain. Hello, distress. Hello, those feelings that demand to be felt but are so far away that it's like looking through an empty paper tube at something so small and so distant that I need a microscope to really analyze them. Yet as I analyze and dissect, I have no idea what I'm looking at.

Coffee with tears in it. Salted. Roasted.

Swat.

can I have his number?

I got a text message from an old high school buddy, in which he asked me if I was still dating someone. I told him no, which is true. After the courtesy that's-too-bad-I'm-sorry, he texted me again.

Because this guy is handsome, intelligent, and a good friend, I somehow anticipated that he was going to ask me out. But instead, he asked me if my ex's brother is dating anyone, to which I said no, because he isn't. And then...

He asked me for the brother's number.

I'm sure stranger things have happened.

focus...

My semester has not gone as planned.

Granted, never has a semester ever gone exactly as I imagined it would go (which has usually been for the best). All of the surprises I've had so far have been completely off my radar. 

Like the fact that I missed an application deadline for the graduate school that I wanted to go to the most -- and then, when I asked, the admissions office said it would be fine to submit one late. Definitely not expecting to miss such an important due date, and never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined I'd be allowed to apply after said due date.

Or the fact that I'm once again in a complicated relationship friendship/strange state-of-being-with-another-person-who-you're-not-actually-with-relationship. And that's great. I actually really like the way things are right now (most of the time).

Or the fact that I'm that-person-who-is-stuck-with-an-apartment-contract. Still. After three months.

Or the fact that, hey! I'm having surgery this week! I all ready missed one week of school last week because I couldn't leave my house (I did get out of bed every morning and get dressed for school -- I never made it past the top of the stairs though, because my body wouldn't let me). After being dragged again to a doctor's office -- last month by a friend, this month by my parents -- the doctor and parents decided that surgery needs to happen and it needs to happen now.

Never mind the exams and papers I have to do. Because apparently those no longer matter. It's fine.

Or the fact that my coworkers are doing well enough at their jobs that I'm no longer needed so much. It's to the point where I'm going to learn how to properly process a collection, starting from the very beginning. I'm so excited. I've been so terrified that no one else would pick up on the job, because it truly is complicated and incredibly detailed. But they're getting it -- which means less stress for me.

My life (like everyone's) is a total mixed-bag. Lately I've been freaking out about everything: my grades and missing school, getting my homework done, this surgery, the pain in general, relationships, family stuff, money, you name it. I'm freaking out. At the same time, things aren't as bad as they could be. I'm really good at the game It Could Be Worse. I'm just hoping that things will be okay. I'm scared to death about surgery. And I'm scared to death about the aftermath (what if they don't find anything?!).

But, I can't control certain things. Like graduate school acceptance -- can't control that. So I'm trying not to worry about it. I'm trying to focus on the other things I can control. Like going to bed on time -- very important part of focus.

strange...

If someone had told me that I'd be where I am right now, I would have laughed and asked if there was a drug problem I needed to know about so I could get the person some help.

Based on what I see in my life, I don't know what to think of myself. I don't know if I'm overly hopeful, or a work-a-holic, or just plain stupid. I do know that I'm overly anxious and that I sell myself short, to me and everyone else. Lucky for me, I have friends and family who help me when I'm having a rough day.

Despite worries and concerns, I'm pretty happy. Circumstances are strange and completely unexpected, but I'm doing well.

Life sure can throw you for a loop.

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.

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.

don't do drugs...

One year ago, the family practitioner at the clinic handed me a prescription and said, "This is for you to use only when necessary." I read the information on the paper and didn't understand most of it (nor could I read it -- doctor handwriting). After dropping it off at the pharmacy and waiting for an hour, I received a white bag with a little bottle inside of it. When I pulled the bottle out and read the label, I was surprised to see that the pills were none other than the prescription pain medication Lortab.

In the past  year, I have only used the Lortab twice. Both times were when I honestly could not function due to the pain I was experiencing. There have been times when I was tempted to use it because my body hurt so much, but I was always able to tell myself, "It could be worse, you know. It's not really necessary at the moment."

That's what I kept telling myself yesterday, from the moment I awoke at 6am due to the pain radiating through my whole body. As the day progressed and after taking as much Ibuprofen as I could without poisoning myself, I couldn't take it anymore. 

Honestly, I don't remember much of what happened yesterday. I vaguely recall agreeing to go swimming with a friend next Monday morning on Labor Day -- at least, I think that I did. And I also vaguely remember my sister coming over to have lunch with me. And I vaguely remember someone walking on the roof of my house (they were speaking Spanish, so I think they were the roofers the complex owners hired to patch holes in the tiles). Other than that I only remember feeling like I had television static in my brain and snowflakes in front of my eyes. 

Usually when I've taken Lortab, it puts me to sleep for 12 to 14 hours. This time I didn't feel particularly tired. It was weird. It's weird today, too. I'm feeling a bit hungover. Granted, I've never actually been hungover so I don't really know what it's like, but this is just bizarre. My head is still fuzzy, my stomach hurts, and I have to focus really hard on whatever I'm doing or I cannot figure out what's going on. Not to mention driving was a terrifying experience. Hey, you do what you gotta do. Good thing it was only a 2 minute drive to work and 2 minutes back. I didn't go grocery shopping, so I was mostly smart.

The pain hasn't gone away, either. The Lortab numbed everything very well for about three hours yesterday, but then it stopped working. Fuzzy brain and seizing muscles were not pleasant. Still isn't pleasant! 

Dad told me not to take the Lortab again for awhile because "that stuff can be very addicting." To which I reply, are you serious? Why on earth would anyone want to feel like that all the time? It's absolutely miserable! It's been over 24 hours since I first took the pill and I still feel awful. It boggles my mind that anyone would voluntarily seek out a drug that makes one so very...fuzzy (it's really the only word that I can think of that describes the way this feels).

I'd be a terrible drug addict. I get very tired of the side effects and never want to take the stuff again. It helped for a little while -- it was so great to not hurt for a few hours. I'm kind of rethinking the necessity of the pain killer though. I'd almost rather deal with the pain than take the drug. The after effects suck.

As a side note, I feel so anxious all of the sudden. Really insecure and kind of freaking out, but I don't know why. Actually, it's almost funny -- the wind is blowing and whistling around my house, and I keep jumping at noises and stuff (like that's new?). Alternately jittery and sluggish. 

Don't do drugs. They screw you up. Even if they appear necessary, I'm thinking that my original philosophy is the better way to go: whenever possible, do not take pills. Medication doesn't solve your problems!

not today...

Woke up early -- not tired a bit. Got up, got dressed, got it under control.  Cute hair, cute dress, cute shoes, cute girl. Ready for another day.

Not ready for the questions.

They came from all directions. Concerned faces, hushed voices, worried looks and whispers.

How's your dad?
How's your family?
What did the doctors say?
What treatments is he getting?
What changes has he made?
Is he happy? Is he sad?
Are you all doing okay?
Is there anything we can do?
How's your mom?
How are your sisters?
(but worst)
How are YOU?

Sympathetic hands laid upon my arm, hugs and promises and ever more questions.

DON'T TOUCH ME I don't scream,
GO AWAY I don't say.

They believe that they are being kind. Which is why I answer -- wrote and boring -- but it's what they want to hear.

He's fine. He's tired.
They're all busy.
Shots. Pills.
Doctors. Bills.
Happy, yes. Sad, no.
Okay -- I assume so. I'm not home much.
I don't know -- I don't live at home -- I don't know what they need.
She's tired.
They're busy.
(they wait expectantly)
I'm fine, too.

I don't tell them that I'm tired. I don't tell them to go away. Instead, I go.

Left church early -- couldn't stand it anymore. Held back tears -- didn't want to explain. Escaped the people and the words and the problem they all want to dwell on. Stood under a tree and listened -- bees buzzing above my head, birds chirping in the bush, heat singing over the ground -- they ask nothing of me. No more questions.

Not today.

do you want MLA with that?

I got a phone call this morning. It was a really important phone call. It was a really, really important phone call.

Guess what?

You are getting this message from the desk of the newest BYU Writing Center intern (!!!).

I am beyond excited.

So excited that if I had money I'd go out and buy myself a pair of red high heels to celebrate.

St. George tomorrow morning, my friends. This girl is ready to party!

brilliance...

I could analyze this video for a very long time. But I won't.

Just enjoy it.


Genius. The angle and the argument and the rhetoric...shut me up now.

But seriously. I could (might) totally write a paper on this.