quiet...

I'm too tired to talk.

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

All I can do is cry.

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

Can't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

when...

this world can drive you mad.

we see and hear and feel and live in a world
of mad people,
driven to a never ending insanity
by sights and sounds and touches,
a pulsing fever of thoughts -- like a heartbeat.

questions.
what is real.
what is not.
what should be said and what should be kept
(tortuously) quiet
 -- keep them from going mad.
like you.

I am Nobody. are you -- Nobody -- too?
who. are. we.
the madness of wondering and worrying and waiting and watching -- something -- that will never come.
the world and the wold (for the mind is such a place) and the window closing -- closing -- closing.

don't tell. don't tell, don't tell, don't tell -- keep it secret.

keep it safe.

iHurt...

Most of my posts have been quite depressing of late. And for that, I apologize.

I don't apologize for needing to write things down, though. For some reason this is the only medium I've found where I can truly confess how I feel and what I think. I have journals, loads of them -- and they're all blank. Writing in those is terrifying. I'm not really sure why. I think it might be because I really want the thoughts and feelings I have to be read by someone. Anyone. Because goodness knows it's hard enough for me to order a  hamburger, let alone say my feelings have been hurt.

iHurt.

I feel like that's my life anymore. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually -- every time I get close to finding peace and reassurance, something else goes wrong. Painfully wrong. A constant iHurt application.

Heartbreakingly wrong.

I'm so tired. I'm so tired of not knowing, of not having answers, of trying to move forward and being set back -- school, work, relationships -- and I'm tired of people thinking they know what I need. It's understandable, in a way. I never say what I need. Heck -- I don't even know what I need. But I do know that what people think I need is very different from what I think I need.

That's what I've been doing today. Evaluating my needs. Evaluating my desires. Which makes me feel incredibly selfish, and also powerful. And terrified.

My  heart hurts so much today. My body hurts.

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?

spill it...

It came out of nowhere.

One day we were just holding hands and stuff, becoming friends, goofing off, and the next, I'm spilling some of my deepest secrets. What's crazier is that he spilled first. When it was my turn, he didn't judge or even give advice. He let me talk, and when I cried, he held me close and told me that everything will be okay.

I didn't intend to tell him anything. It just sort of happened.

By the way, our first date (Friday) was loads of fun. He took me to see The Hobbit, as when I mentioned I hadn't seen it, he was horrified. Dinner at Macaroni Grill (which I've only ever heard about), a walk through the Christmas lights at the Riverwoods shops, and coloring Captain America in my Avengers coloring book followed.

He's the sweetest guy ever.

The spillage took place last night. I got home from my parents' house to find an unexpected visitor sitting on the couch with Chelsea and Jeff. The four of us went to Applebee's for a last hurrah before school starts (bug). He paid for me -- I was too tired to fight him and the waiter at the same time.

He stayed late, letting me talk about things, just listening. I feel so much lighter, like I was carrying something heavy, and the weight is gone. I feel so much safer, even comfortable.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have a friend like him. No matter how this goes, I'm lucky.

holding my tongue...

Have you ever felt so angry that you wanted to break something? Smash something, demolish things into little tiny pieces. Make lots of noise, scream, curse, and shout at the top of your lungs. Let out all of the hurt and anger and sadness. Big and mean and scary -- bigger than ever.

Unfortunately, that's not an option. It's not healthy, and it's stupid.

What I wouldn't give to be able to tell the truth to someone. Especially the people who need to hear it. I wish I could just loose control -- give people a piece of my mind. Make them understand how awful I feel inside. I wish I could let it all go, loudly and irrationally.

Is it weird to want to be unkind? To say everything that's on your mind with no restraint or thought for another person's feelings?

Honestly. I have and always will try my hardest not to do that. It's immature and selfish. And it doesn't help anything, either. At all. 

I hate feeling so angry. I hate keeping so much secret, having no one to tell things to because there are things I can't say and shouldn't say. You know? Because if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. And what I want to say shouldn't be said. Ever. Not fair. Not kind. Not okay.

More sleep would be a good thing. More sleep, more fun, and more focus on the good things in life. Because there are a lot of good things in life. Many, many good things.

Proof, once again, that I am far from perfect, and that I have much to learn. Exciting thought, in some ways, that there is always something better ahead and that personal change is always an option, if you're willing to work at it.

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.

dirty is just dirt with a "y" on the end...

Yesterday my family and I began the four hour drive to my grandparents' house in northeastern Utah, the majestic Flaming Gorge. No, they don't actually live at the reservoir, but they live a few miles away, in a little (tiny) community called Flaming Gorge Pines. They're about an hour north of Vernal, if that helps you orient yourself. Not very many people know about the Pines.

Due to an unhappy accident, the people who we asked to take care of the dogs at my parents' house didn't get a house key that works. And so, 2 hours after we'd arrived in the Pines, my dad and I volunteered to make the four hour trip back down to Orem to save the puppies.

While we were driving home, I mentioned some things that have been on my mind in an off-hand, nonchalant sort of way -- mostly about that one guy we call Aries and all of the trouble I've been having. Dad didn't say much, just told me that I shouldn't worry about another guy being like that because I learned and I won't let anyone treat me badly again. Then we got on the subject of other people's problems again, and I stopped talking, listening for the next two hours.

This morning on our way back up to the Pines (which only took 3 hours and 15 minutes this time), dad brought Aries up. Just out of nowhere, he started talking about the whole thing and then told me that maybe the only way I can get over it is by talking about it, "from start to finish, talk it through."

I nodded and went back to looking out the window. Dad touched my shoulder and said, "You can talk right now, if you'd like."

My whole self shut down. Really, I was overcome with a feeling of utter shame and embarrassment. All thoughts flew from my brain and I had no words. I almost felt like I was five-years-old again, caught covered from head to toe in black, sticky mud -- a dirty little child. But mud is fun, until you get in trouble. Aries wasn't fun. And even though things weren't entirely my fault, and nothing really bad happened, being asked about it by my dad was horrible.

I don't know why. Usually I can tell my dad everything, and it doesn't matter. Maybe because lately most people tell me not to talk about it, and I've gotten so used to just pretending that it doesn't bother me.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to talk about this -- I don't even want to go through it from "start to finish."

Once again, as soon as someone asks me to tell them things, is willing to let me just talk, I have nothing to say. After this morning, I almost never want to discuss it again.

I don't like feeling so bad. Especially when things weren't completely my fault.

dumb kid...

Sometimes it hits me how much I don't know and don't understand about the world, about people, about myself.

Especially about myself.

Here I sit at a table in a kitchen-in-progress, staring out the window at the trees being slapped around by the gusts of wind, and I ask myself, "How do you feel?"

It's a perplexing question, one that confuses me about as much as it confused Spock in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. The question comes again and again, a tinny computer voice asking "How do you feel? How do you feel? How do you feel?"

Well, computer voice -- I don't know how to answer that question.

Parker would say, "That's not an answer." To which I would respond, "But I don't have an answer. I can't figure one out."

"So talk."

I don't like talking about things that I can't make sense of.

"How do you feel?"

sad.
empty.
listless.
scared.
tired.
apathetic.
weak.
confused.
lost.
useless.
vulnerable.
childish.

In a lot of ways, I feel out of control. I feel sick inside, because I don't know what's going on in my heart. I don't know what I want. I don't even care half the time anymore.

I don't want to go home. I don't want to go back to everything that's there.

But I don't want to stay.

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.

honest thoughts on love...

There are many different kinds of love. And for every kind, there are different forms of expression and, in turn, understanding of those expressions.

Right now, I am confused by two different kinds of love because finding the boundary is difficult to do. How do you know when you have accidentally crossed the line between friendship love and more than friendship love? How do you keep things friendly so as not to cause problems or push someone away?

The worst part of realizing how much you love someone is wanting desperately to tell them, but being afraid of losing their friendship. And the other worst part is trying to keep it friendly and being so terrified of those lines that really aren't lines. There's no black and white. It's impossible for me to tell what could be seen as "just friends" and what could be taken as "crap...she cares about me too much and I'm out of here." It all seems like such a fuzzy, grey area. I constantly check myself to be sure that my expressions of affection can't be taken as anything more than genuine friendship. Then on the flip side, I kind of want those expressions to be taken as more than "love ya, dude." Especially because I wish with all my heart that I wasn't so afraid to take a chance.

There. I said it. I'm to the point where I wish so much that things would work out. As much as I want that, though, I'm terrified to say anything. In some ways, it's better to not speak. It's better to keep things as they are -- if things continue as they are, then there's no "relationship stuff" that needs to be considered. It'll just stay the same.

Once upon this Monday, I was looking forward to the weekend. Getting to Friday was the only thing that was keeping me from having a complete emotional breakdown. Now, I'm dreading this. I'm dreading having to work so hard to keep myself in check, because when I love someone it becomes very difficult not to accidentally let things slip. I'll use the wrong intonation when saying "I love you" that causes someone to pause and think, or I'll subconsciously touch someone's hand a little too long. And I'm dreading that I'll finally be forced to discuss this. It's a conversation I don't want to have, because I don't know how to go about it. And I don't want to deal with the potential "I love you, but..." explanation. 

Feeling so much love and being unable to express it fully is a very hard thing. I've loved people before -- not like this, though. This is something more than before. It's actually quite terrifying, to care this much about another person. It's terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. I don't know how to describe it. It's just what it is.

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

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.

trouble comes in threes...or fours...

1. Leonardo (my betta) died today. Some people may say it's ridiculous to cry over a pet fish. I disagree.

2. There is an increasing amount of drama at PartyLand. Nine girls in one store...one girl in particular is causing a lot of grief for everyone else. If she wasn't so gosh darn mean all the time, it'd be fine. Sadly, she is mean a lot (and I'm not the only one who has noticed), and it's getting old.

3. One of my best friends doesn't answer when I try to talk to him anymore. I almost want to call him in the hopes that he'll actually answer just so that I can hang up on him. But that's rude.

4. Illness in the family is very, very hard -- especially when faced with the unknown.

lucky...

It's been another one of those difficult weeks. Lots of pain, little sleep, many things to do, and home alone often. I've been very grateful that it's a three day weekend, because it means that I won't miss any school but I can still rest.

I've also been very grateful for the little things that have reminded me that someone is watching out for me. I'm lucky to be where I am and to have the people that have been put in my life.

I'm lucky because
...Misty is one of the sweetest little dogs in the entire world. She sleeps with me, she spends time with me, she makes me laugh when I'm sad, and she cuddles with me when we're both cold. Love that dog.
...people like Steven and Dominique text me just to say hello. It's always great to have a day start with a text that says you're loved.
...that lovely girl Q sent me a short message to tell me that she loves me.
...Kenna invited me to hang out with her on Saturday morning. We made breakfast and talked about how wonderful life is, even when it's hard (because it truly is wonderful). She and I think so alike it's scary. We decided again that we definitely are sisters; we just had to find each other.
...Dad asked me to watch Captain America with him on Friday night because we both weren't feeling well. He bought pizza and cookies (I know, great food when you're sick, haha) and we watched the movie together. It was great.
...I got to talk to Jaden, Ruthie, Coty, Brianna, and Corby today. I love text messaging -- I can have conversations with multiple friends at once without any of them needing to leave a voicemail (which half the time I don't get anyway. My phone is dying).
...I was really worried that some of my friends were upset at me, but then one of them sent me an email to say hello and I felt better about everything.

The Lord cares enough about me to put me in contact with people who stay in contact with me. Friendships mean a lot to me, and to have others care about a relationship as much as I do helps me keep going. I know I need to learn to be less dependent on others, but you know? I really can take care of myself, and I do, even on the days that I'm sad. It just makes it a little bit easier when there's somebody to talk to -- even if in the talking we never address anything other than the happy things.

Most of these people don't know that this week has been hard. That's one of the reasons why it meant so much to me for them to say hello or spend time with me. They were each answers to prayers in their own way, and for that I am very grateful.

Life is GREAT, guys. Even when it's hard, it's great.

things get better...

...stressful days still hold smile-worthy things...
...random calls from dad because he said he had a feeling I needed someone -- twice in one day
...texting Brianna and having a fun conversation with her for a few minutes
...talking to my sister Amanda for a little while and sharing dreams and schemes
...my dogs Misty and Molly "sharing" my dinner (they stole a potsticker) and cuddling with me on the couch
...chatting with Parker for about 15 minutes after I accidently pocket dialed him, and he called me back -- so good to hear his voice
...a sympathetic comment from a friend regarding the upcoming exam
...my paycheck is bigger than I expected it to be
...Amanda made chocolate milkshakes -- BIG chocolate milkshakes
...this picture that Linnea shared on my Facebook page:

...little tender mercies...so grateful for them...

what's important...

I hate to admit that I've blown people off because I didn't feel like getting involved. There have been days where I've noticed someone was sad or upset and I just offered a casual, "You okay?" without really expecting an honest answer. And they responded with the socially acceptable, and often expected, "Doing good," even if they're not. Often times a follow up question of "Are you sure?" is met with the reply "I'm fine, just tired." Those are answers I'm totally okay with. Most people are, I think. After all, it's a rather scripted conversation:

"Hi, how are you?"
"Good, you?"
"Good."
"Good!"
*insert smiley faces...*

It occurs every day in my life at least twice, be it me asking or someone asking me. But do I even really care? I'd like to say that I do, but sometimes...it just pops out of my mouth before I even think about what might happen if the other person deviates from the script. Does the other person care how I'm doing? Maybe he/she is thinking the same things that I am.

Or are we just conforming to an expectation that doesn't really mean much anymore because it is so prominent -- so expected?

Realizing how frequently I blow people off is a little surprising. What's not surprising is that I didn't start thinking about it until I noticed how often I'm blown off by the people who I believe should be the most interested in my life. And then I get to thinking...how many times do I blow off those people who should be the most important to me?

That's not a good thing. I'm especially feeling it now, that it isn't a good thing. Blowing people off or accepting the generic, almost automated "I'm fine" response isn't always what is needed. Yes, we're all busy. I'm busier than I've been in a long time. However, that doesn't mean I should use my crazy schedule as an excuse. Homework is important, work is important, church is important, a lot of things are important. It is PEOPLE, though, who are the MOST important.

Perhaps it doesn't need to be a long, lengthy, soul-bearing conversation. Maybe all somebody needs is a big hug, or a short note, or a question posed in a way that shows the sincerity behind the asker's query. Maybe the answer will still be "I'm fine, just tired," but at least the person knows that somebody is interested. The person will know that if ever the answer becomes deeper than the expected, it's okay. Somebody out there will put aside his or her own cares and listen for a few minutes. Because sometimes all you need is someone to listen.

happy things...

...it's a good day in May...

...Ruthie is back in town for the summer before she goes on her mission -- so glad to have her back!
...discovered a safe topic of conversation in the Writing Center: TV shows
...Misty follows me around and sleeps with me all the time -- love that dog
...finding a pen that makes my handwriting better
...being trusted
...carrots -- carrots are so great
...$5 tip at the snow shack from a really nice, very cute guy
...not spilling that bright red tiger's blood snow cone on a customer -- yes, that was a good thing
...funny, random memes posted on friends' Facebook pages which make me laugh out loud -- literally
...memories that prompt smiles, rather than tears
...dark chocolate covered pomegranate seeds
...my cozy, warm, soft, excellent bed