list almost lost

My mom asked me to email her a paper I wrote in Family History about Bob's family. She has asked me this countless times since I wrote it in April. I finally put forth the effort to get it to her and couldn't find it on my U drive. My only other thought was the flash drive that sometimes works. And there it was. Along with other little treasures. The papers were mostly composed for my Personal History class, pages about my family, my childhood and adopting Step-Bob. Where they fall short in facts they are rich in truth.

And there was one last paper titled simply List. I wrote it on March 28th, the anniversary of the day I began to Fail. The list has 101 things I learned in the year prior, my way of turning my Failure into a success.

Some of the list includes things that are rather random: my hair makes me look like a cockatoo in the morning, Star Wars III was a let down. Snape is still on the side of good….yes he is!

Some are more proverbial: being honest means more than telling the truth, laughing cures everything…except when it doesn’t, and crying in front of other people is okay--In fact, it’s nicer than crying alone.

There are practical discoveries: Jet Blue is my favorite airline, and How to drive stick-shift .

Personal Growth: I can bear seeing my dad cry, I can write a complete novel, and I can get a good GPA.

I have personal testimony and long-term goals. There are things that are changing about me all the time, and things that will always, always stay the same. I have a unicorn.

semesters end

I think I cried myself to sleep again, but to be sure I'll have to ask Caitie. At any rate I know I cried a lot throughout the evening, starting when I met Emilie on campus at 4. Usually it was after a mention of homework or jobs or housing, but sometimes it was after questions of other sorts and once it was during Gilmore Girls. But last night I got a perspective on my tears. (I love being analytical and emotional at the same time!) It is because I am trying. All the messes in which I have invested myself for the next three weeks, I have invested in fully. Those semesters when I have failed (and I don't mean just school) are those in which I haven't cried toward the end.

My first semester I fell apart for a couple of days, until my home teachers came over to read me a quote they liked from President Hinkley. "Now, my dear sisters, that is the way with you. You are doing the best you can, and that best results in good to yourself and to others. Do not nag yourself with a sense of failure. Get on your knees and ask for the blessings of the Lord; then stand on your feet and do what you are asked to do. Then leave the matter in the hands of the Lord. You will discover that you have accomplished something beyond price."

The next semester my mom called as I worked on papers in the last weeks of April. I sobbed uncontrollably on the phone. I wanted to be done. I wanted to leave, to go home to my mom and give up. That is how I feel now. I got an email from my mom this morning that says she misses me and is happy I'll be home soon. I want very much to drop out of school this moment, fly to Texas and take up permanent residence with my mom. I want to be a little girl again. Yet, in my head I have these heroic dreams for myself. I see me sitting up at night in the library faithfully studying and writing papers. Those images don't coincide with me crawling into bed exhausted or frustratedly revising a paper half an hour before it's due. I am tormented with the idea that I could be doing it better.

Other semesters it has not been this way. Two of them ended without struggle. Of course, those two I gave up on somewhere in the middle. These weeks of finals were spent making spaghetti and fried chicken (separate meals) to feed those who were studying. One semester I bought books and fudge and walked happily in the rain. I had it easy, because I was not fighting against anything. I was not fighting for anything. But now I am fighting for a lot. And I will win. I'll just have a few minor breakdowns in the meanwhile.

did i really just?

The panic began some time last week, around the time when I discovered the countdown to my imminent move was only 24 days. The tears started last night. When I lay down for bed, as the stress slowly and grudgingly left my body I began to weep. I pressed my face into my pillow to try to stifle the sound, but cry I must and did until I fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning I took an inventory of myself and wondered, did I really just cry?

In an in-class debate when a girl began a personal attack as her academic one failed, I again wanted to cry. I wished for an abandoned bathroom where I might weep tears of frustration. At work when Aaron inquired about my progress in apartment hunting, I turned away to hide the sudden shine in my eyes. Don't make me cry, is all I responded. The lovely boy promptly began discussing Igor, the Russian assassin. Of course that distracted me. Just not enough.

The white noise is always there, and as long as I ignore it it sounds like static, just static telling me that there is too much friction in my life right now, too much channel surfing, too many distractions. I couldn't agree more. But if I stop and listen to the noise it becomes oh so much blacker. It starts whispering to me of all my insecurities. It tells me I am a failure. You have no place to live, it says. You have no job. You couldn't even sell your contract to take care of Nora. Her stress is your fault too. And you have nothing to offer anyone, especially Kevin. If you had chosen to stay here and do your duty and do things the right way, you could have gone to him without debt and with a degree. What are you now? Nothing. Did you actually think you could do this? Did you really just try?

I'm trying not to listen.