blocked...

I've always found it silly and cliche to call myself a writer.

"Hi, I'm Sarah Anne -- a 20-something volunteer addict who checks out more books from the library than she can read in a month, stresses over everything you can possibly imagine and more, owns a dog, is engaged, and has a bunch of other things she should be doing but is probably watching Netflix instead.

Oh, and I'm also a writer."

It's always an afterthought. Almost a confession, like it's embarrassing to admit because I, like some others, hear people say, "I'm a writer" and immediately do a silent eye-roll while smiling enthusiastically, "Oh, are you ? That's great!" Never asking their genre or subject or storyline. Never offering help or the tidbit about being a 5-star writing tutor for over a year in college. Just the internal eye-roll and the smile.

Let's just say I've helped with far too many terrible writing projects of which the author was over-proud and overzealous.

So now that I have this confession -- I'm a bit embarrassed.

I. Am. A writer.

Like many self-conscious and conflicted students of words, I keep it to myself. Mostly. And, I go through long periods of inactivity. Days and weeks and months of time pass without setting a pen to paper or fingers to keys, because writing? Writing really well?

It's exhausting.

And the thing about writing and writing well is that when you know how to do it, and you've seen all of the ways people go wrong. . .well. You get even more blocked than you did before. You edit as you go -- instead of word vomiting all over the page and saying, "Hell yeah, that's a plot hole -- Ima fix it on the next round. Deal with it." You get paraylzed by the need for just the right word; just the perfect way of expressing all that stuff swirling around inside your head.

Justice is served with the perfect word.

Falling short. Because it's an injustice to the story and the feeling and the experience if the words aren't just right. That's the main thing for me. I can't find the perfect word, the just-right piecing together of the dictionary's tenants into a party that screams THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE ONE!

The sentence of the year. The story of the decade.

It's not that I want people to think that the story is perfect. It's that I want how I feel and think to be expressed perfectly -- for myself. So I can represent all of the twisting mess of feeling and strangeness taking place inside my head.

Why else would I be awake at 3am every night? Unable to sleep because images that need description plow through my mind with reckless speed. Yet, I can't find the words. "Play on!" says Shakespeare, "Play on!" Like an old VHS recording on fast forward, my static-filled mind joins with him -- play on!

But there is Hamlet, standing with his now iconic skull, posed as the Boy in Black. "To sleep -- perchance to dream."

Dreaming isn't the problem. It's sleeping that makes no sense to me.

Because words, words, words are the real issue. Which one to use, which to strike from existence, weighing the options of this one and that one. Literally keeping me up at night. Even the placement is cause for grief. Put it there? Or over there? A comma? A colon? I use that form of punctuation (the colon) and think of cancer every time. Probably because someone I know died of it a few months ago.

What I'd write about?

I'd write about dad's cancer.

I'd write about our cancer jokes.

I'd write about how when I make cancer jokes in public, few and far between people get offended, saying angrily "You shouldn't talk like that, it's offensive!" and I shrug and say, "Well, seeing as my dad is terminal, it's kind of how we deal with it"; and then they just sit there, quiet, like dad is dead instead of dying.

I'd write about my own kind of cancer, the flashbacks and post-traumatic stress disorder episodes; silent killers that come out of nowhere like a poisonous viper and strike when the sun is out and you're in love and then WHAM. The snake bites your ankle while you stare at it wondering why you didn't see the thing lying on the pavement.

Plenty of colons and commas and heres and theres to satisfy even the pickiest of word readers -- unless of course you're including me in the bunch.

Reading is easy. Writing, and those who can accomplish it -- now, that deserves all of the glory.

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.

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.

fill-in-the-blank...

"World's worst ___________________."

That's how I feel right now. World's worst you name it, that's how I feel.

Worst daughter.
Worst friend.
Worst student.
Worst employee.
Worst girlfriend.

Especially the worst girlfriend part.

But more the worst person in general.

It's probably not true, and probably stems from many factors. Like lack of sleep, intense worry about an exam tomorrow, a near panic attack during church this afternoon, the family gathering tonight, weaning off of medications.

I feel like a total jerk.

Also probably not true, but it doesn't lessen how badly I feel.

I really do feel like the worst person ever. And so, I think it's time for bed.

things I learned today...

1. My dryer only shuts off if it gets too hot. The rest of the time I have to pay careful attention to how long clothes have been in the dryer so that things don't shrink. That's why I noticed -- I put a load of towels in the dryer and a little while later the house was quiet. Yep. Dryer had gotten too hot and had shut itself off.
2. Most of the curators and non-student staff at work now treat me like I'm in charge of Workflows. The student employees like me know better, and none of us can figure out why the big wigs don't spread things around a little bit more. I mean, come on -- I haven't even been trained on the super specifics, yet I'm expected to know them.
3. When Kala gets hungry enough, she will not hesitate from waking you up from an unexpected nap by huffing and whining in your ear. And if that doesn't work, she'll full on whop you on the face with her paw. I guess she was really hungry, or I slept a lot longer than I thought I did.
4. It is possible for professors to assign homework that takes five to six hours a day, and have exams once to twice a week for an entire term.
5. I really, really like my job.
6. I CAN MAKE GOOD COOKIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously. Never before have I been able to make a good batch of cookies by myself. But this time, they're turned out amazing. Which is why I am actually going to take them to the neighbors as I originally intended, rather than tossing my mess into the garbage bin. Because it's not a mess! It's cookies!
7. Chelsea's pillows are much more comfortable than mine.
8. I really need to get better sleep!

i may be a bit depressed...

Rather than sit at my desk and beat myself up for feeling depressed (because that always helps), I am now an objective observer.

Okay.

My stomach is in knots and I constantly fight throwing up. I think I'm nervous about something, that something being something I have yet to discover (or perhaps I haven't let myself examine in detail?).

Headaches are again a common occurrence, as is a sort of painful fatigue in the limbs, joints, and muscles of my body. The only routine change I can think of is adding yoga back into my life (never thought I'd miss that, but I do), but last semester it always made me feel better. I still feel better after completing a session.

Honestly, I'm always close to tears. I have to be super careful about not letting things set me off (like a song on the radio, a joking remark from a friend, coworker, family member, etc., a low score, among other things).

When I sleep, I have nightmares. When I don't sleep, well. That's no good for anyone.

This self-exam is leading to evaluating what I'm thinking about, or evaluating what I'm not letting myself admit that I'm thinking about. And so. I will now put it in writing and make it legitimate.

1. I am, without a doubt, absolutely terrified of getting married. Don't get me wrong, I. Love. Adam. So. Much. And I want to be with him forever. All of our talk, though, and the continual progression towards marriage is scaring me to death. Not all of the time, but more often than I let myself admit.
2. Spending money on a ring...ugh. That is probably the thing I worry about the most.
3. Neck and neck with that is planning a wedding without causing serious conflict between family members. Shoot me now. But at least my family likes Adam. That's one less thing to worry about.
4. Finals are in two weeks for me -- my classes don't have finals like the rest of the university does. I'm so behind, and this has been the hardest, worst semester academics-wise for me in my entire life.
5. Finding a place to live is going to be a nightmare -- and that's after going through the difficulty of moving back home in June when the House owners come back.

Huh. No wonder I feel sick -- never have I faced such huge changes in my life.

Boo. I don't like feeling sad and worried and sick. And I really, really don't like crying. Nor do I have the time to do so.

waiting...

As some of you know, I haven't had the best health for the past two years or so. For a few months, I was improving, and I was excited to get back into "normal" life. However, things have taken a bit of a turn and are gradually worsening.

I admit that frustration and hopelessness start setting in at times. I haven't missed so much school since I was a sophomore in high school. I've never had this many sick days at work (thank heavens my supervisor is understanding and offers his help wherever he can). While I've always been aware of financial difficulties, I've never before felt so pinched. And I've never, ever felt so tired, never. Not only that, but my dad's getting worse as well -- though he won't admit it.

Is it ironic to anyone else that now, at possibly one of the hardest times in my life, I'm happier than I've ever been? Listing out the worries on my mind somehow brings a smile to my face. Yes, I'm physically uncomfortable most of the time, and I worry about losing my dad, but inside, I feel at peace. Every time I start worrying and the concerns press on my mind, I'm able to sit back and think about how good my life really is.

For example. Though I've missed a lot of school, I'm keeping up and am still getting good grades. My work supervisor is incredibly helpful. Money is a serious concern, but it keeps working out every time I really need something. I'm sleeping more frequently than I have in years. And dad is still here, and always happy to spend time with me.

After the third doctor's appointment this month, they finally decided that it's time to start looking for the problem, rather than treating the symptoms. I'll get the test results in a few days -- I'm hoping things will be okay. And they will be -- everything has been working out so far. I don't see why it won't continue to do so.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. For so many things -- although, the wait time for me and Adam continually shortens. So excited.

mia...

I realized tonight how long it's been since I've written anything. I'll update you on the happenings around the House, but right now, I need to spew.

I feel so...not good enough. In my classes, among my cast members, at home, on the job, in my relationships...in all parts of my life, I don't feel good enough.

Sometimes I imagine leaving it all behind, all of it, and disappearing for a couple of days. Just getting into my car and heading off somewhere, with my cell phone silenced and Carrie Underwood on the radio. No note, no hints as to my going, no nothing -- go and come back before anyone notices. Just to clear my head, to take a break, to be me, without all of this, for a little while.

Inadequacy is a hard feeling. It's one I'm not fond of, although I am very familiar with it. Dealing with it never seems to get easier, though. If anything, it gets harder for me as I get older. More and more things enter my life, and more opportunities for the feeling arise. Honestly, it's pretty exhausting.

Life truly is good right now -- I'm a very blessed, very lucky lady. The hard things and difficult feelings make the good aspects even better. For that, I am grateful. You truly cannot have sweet without the bitter, for the bitter gives perspective that would otherwise be lost.

PS This is why I've been MIA of late:

Cute, isn't he?

i'm wide awake...

I've slept for about 12 hours in the last three days.

Just can't sleep. I can honestly say that I am in a constant state of terror. Literally, I'm barely functioning. TERRIFIED (and annoyed because all of the sudden my "o" key is struggling a lot).

However, I found a good way to get my mind off of things. It's called North & South on Netflix. Last night I couldn't sleep, not even with the night light on, so I got on the computer and searched Netflix for kicks. There it was, like a shining, glorious beacon of hope and truth in the dark -- Mr. Thornton and Miss Hale, fighting for their definitions of justice and mercy, passionate in their beliefs and their eventual love.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I only watched two episodes last night -- up until three because I was too exhausted to sleep.

I wish I didn't have to go to school anymore. I'd just stay awake all the time, because I wouldn't have to try and sleep.

On that note, I curse the "o" key and say good night.

i made a better baby...

I am writing to celebrate a momentous occasion. I have now, officially! Slept through an entire night.

It's momentous because that's the first time in years. Literally, years. Even when I take sleep aids, I wake up two or more times and have a hard time falling asleep again. Last night, however, I slept straight through, like I used to when I was a wee thing.

Really, I was a good sleeper when I was a baby. My mom said that she woke up often to make sure I was still alive because I never cried or made any noise. She'd often find me just staring up at the ceiling, thinking whatever baby thoughts I had in the dark nursery.

Or perhaps I wasn't a good sleeper, if I was so often found awake. Maybe I was just a very quiet, very young insomniac.

Sleep feels good.

I could get used to this.

no, I am not drunk...

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

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

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

hurr...

I was in bed for 12 hours.

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

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

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

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

Curly hair problems: it does what it wants.

sometimes I'm dumb...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody can find me here.

i haven't been this tired since...

Yesterday.

Good grief.

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

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

Can't think.

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

Crazy how exhausting school is.

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

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

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

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

That would be grand.

lately...

...thinking...

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

...doing...

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

...feeling...

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

you know those times when...

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

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

someday we'll know...

Love is something that I don't get. There are so many definitions of love -- I, however, can't seem to define it. There are so many ways that people show love -- sometimes it's hard for me to recognize those ways. And sometimes, it's hard for me to grasp that someone actually loves me.

Take physical touch. I don't know what it is about me and physical touch. I go for days and days without it, and I start to forget that it even happens. No hugs, no high fives, no nothing, and it's no big deal. I rarely miss it or seek it out. I just tend to forget about it.

Then out of nowhere someone will scoop me up in a hug or place a gentle kiss on my cheek. It often shocks me, and I'm left standing there looking surprised. Like today -- a family friend who I've known since I was a baby came into PartyLand tonight. She asked me how my dad and my family are doing, and then she asked about me. I gave the usual "I'm fine" answer. All of the sudden she leaned over the counter and gave me a hug, then kissed me on the cheek and told me she loves me.

I was completely thrown off guard, so much so that I could hardly respond. Standing there behind the counter, I felt tears come to my eyes and a voice in my head said, "Oh, yes. That's what it feels like to be loved. That was kind of her."

And then I felt all funny inside, and vulnerable. Lately I've been trying to keep a sort of protective shell around myself when I'm among coworkers and friends (close friends and room mates excluded -- they've figured out how to get through the shell). But I'm beginning to notice that when I'm offered verbal and physical affection from someone, especially someone I don't know very well or see very often, the shell starts to crack.

Knowing that someone loves you is a strange thing -- for me, it's one of the most astounding sensations in the world. I often worry that the people I love don't love me as much as I love them, and that they'll go away (still working on that one). Realizing that someone really cares about me and loves me hits me like a lightning bolt -- the lady at the store literally left me speechless.

Love is a hard thing for me to understand. It's hard for me to explain why -- I'm not even sure that I know. I only know that it's a tricky thing for me, slippery and hard to grasp in my mind. It frightens me -- it keeps me up at night, or wakes me up.

Like last night -- I know I was having a good dream, and that I was with someone who made me happy. I know it was a man, and that we were laughing and having a good time and were happy together. Then, I lost him. He was there one second, and then he was gone. I couldn't find him -- he was just lost. I woke up crying, not really sure why because the details of the dream faded very quickly -- but I felt so scared and so alone. I do remember that it was 4:15 in the morning, and that I haven't felt that devastated in a very long time.

I think I loved the person in the dream. I don't remember who it was. I don't even know if the man was a person that I knew. Losing him, though, was the worst thing ever.

Love. I don't get it. Not just romantic love, either. The dream is just an example of one of the things that worries me. The other loves, like sister, parent, daughter, brother, friend, neighbor, and all of the others -- those worry me, too.

For what is it to love, and to be loved? What is it really?

Hopefully I'll begin to understand it someday.

q and a, yes or no...

Do the new shoes that you bought pinch your feet?

Yes.

Did they in the store when you tried them?

Yes. A little. Yes.

But you bought them anyway?

Yes.

Did you really spend $115 on a hair straightener yesterday?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Did you have the money to buy it?

No. No, I didn't.

Did you even want the straightener?

... No.

Did you talk to that boy yesterday?

Yes.

For 2 hours?

Yes indeed.

Did you send a text about how you like this boy to your sister?

No.

Did you send it to the boy by accident?

... Yes.

You feel like an idiot now, don't you?

.................... Yes.

Do you realize that you don't "like" this boy?

.................................... Yes.

Did you vacuum the floor like you said you would?

No. No, I didn't.

Did you do the dishes?

No.

Did you sleep last night?

No.

Is it because the pain killers didn't help at all?

Yes.

You still haven't called that doctor, have you?

No. I haven't.

Do you realize that you're a mess right now?

... Yes.

Has there been anything good that happened in the last 24 hours?

YES.

Did the guy who attacked Callie really get 20 years in prison rather than just 15?

Why, yes, actually. Yes, he did.

glue...

Sometimes I feel that all I can do is focus on holding myself together, forcing myself to dwell on the good things rather than the not so good things. And it makes things easier to bear. And it makes it easier to fall asleep at night.

I like to remember

...how fun it is to watch any of the extended editions of the Lord of the Rings with someone who hasn't seen the long versions before -- Brianna and I watched The Fellowship of the Ring this afternoon and it was fantastic
...freshly baked cookies topped with cold ice cream
...long talks and big hugs from daddy
...the sudden frequency of huge fluffy, puffy, cotton candy clouds that float over the valley and every so often share their watery burden with us down below
...promises from heaven that are being kept daily
...that I actually look really cute in skirts
...how wonderful it feels to be clean and fresh after a hot shower
...that I don't have to wash dishes or clothes by hand
...that I've been very lucky when it comes to the times I can't handle the physical pain -- so far it's usually been on weekends or holidays when I don't have work or school
...I'm twenty year old single college student with one room mate and I don't live in an apartment -- wow
...my school schedule keeps working out so well -- so do my money worries
...D&C 6:34 -- "Therefore, fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail."
..."Once Upon Another Time"
...the feel of his hand in mine and the sound of his heart beating in my ear