Snow Day

Friday felt like a day out of the past. Not my childhood, however. College.

The snow and ice guaranteed me a day off work, but Kevin was working from home, so my exuberance caused too many distractions. By nine in the morning, I couldn't be contained anymore, so I put on my puffy down coat, a bright red scarf, and ran across the lawn to Audrei's apartment. I tippy-tapped at the door, in case she had slept in, so she wouldn't hear me from her room. However, she and Christa had spent the night in the living room, and I woke them up. Bleary-eyed, they let me come in, and we spent a pleasant ten minutes before another knock came at the door. Tamara, who moved into the apartment complex in January, had come, too, freed from work and looking to play.

Together, the four of us trooped out into the snow, stomping all the while in order to savor the delicious crunch beneath our boots. I had the idea to fetch Tiffany, and Tamara ran to another apartment for Jodi. By the time we stood at the door of Brittney's apartment, I began to realize something. I have neighbors whom I know. Lots of them, in fact. And I can run across the lawn at any time to drop in and say hi. The homeyness of it made me as nostalgic as did the snow.

I have friends again.

Playing with Options

On Saturday, Kevin and I are going to the design studio for our builder to play with options on our potential future house. I am giddy with excitement. Just looking at the floor plan, I have been decorating in my head. Now I can play hands-on!

Things I already know: I will paint the master bedroom blue damask; Kevin and I will put in our own crown moulding (or make Joyce do it, since I can't do anything in a straight line), ceiling fans, water softener and garage door opener; and we want the gas range.

We will be looking at cabinet colors, granite counter tops, tile flooring, carpet samples, hardware, blinds and doors. I am going to try to toe the line between economy and extravagance. I simply must remember that I will live in this house for the next 30 years, God willing. Some upgrades will be worth it, while others will not be.

Carpet, for example. Kids will ruin carpet, no matter what kind. So, we do not need to upgrade it. The standard stain-resistant stuff is good enough to be replaced in ten to fifteen years. Carpet in the dining room is another issue entirely. Food falls (or gets thrown) and I have had it recommended to me to tile the dining room for this reason. However, I don't really like the look of that in my head. Maybe one of those big plastic mats for the carpet during the food-throwing years?

Another dilemma I have revolves around a fireplace. To build or not to build? Practical me thinks of the cost, initial and over the years. Heat escapes through a flue, pests enter through the chimney, etc. Then the other side of me argues that fireplaces are pretty and romantic. What about Christmas? Won't somebody think of the children?!

After Saturday I will have a much better idea of what this house will look like and what I can do with it. If options really are running half-price this month, then I might have some real fun with this.

Can-do

I have taken an inventory of all our food storage, and my project for February is to get it canned. Alas, monthly budget only allows for 22 #10 cans, so in February, I can can half of it (using January's and February's allotment). I'll finish it in April. And I have learned my lesson: for the rest of the year, while I complete our supply, I will can on site before bringing it home. Or better yet, buy the pre-canned stuff.

Progress Report

Here is my progress report for my New Year's Resolution of better time management.

I told you my Focus for the month of January was scripture study, and my project was finishing my photo albums.

Here's how I did.
This is my ideal weekly schedule. Orange is working out. Green is scripture reading, with Kevin and by myself. Red is writing. Light blue is cooking. Purple is errands and chores. The slashes are times to use productively on things like Book Club, Visiting Teaching, going to the temple, and working on my monthly projects. White is for my use, to relax, read, etc. The light gray chunks are work and church, and the dark gray perimeter is sleeping. If I were perfect with my time management, this is what my schedule would look like.


This is what my time does look like. There is definitely more sleep happening. And much more time wasted. The bright yellow represents time spent watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix. An episode a day makes my nightmares much more interesting, and with wittier dialogue. Okay, so I made that last part up.

I wasn't super great at keeping my time organized, and I hardly ever exercised, but I definitely did better this month than in December. I did set aside three Wednesdays for writing, even if it wasn't terribly productive. I did schedule with Audrei our weekly exercise. I did not Visit Teach. I did write in my journal. I did email friends and call family. I did blog slightly more. I did not get chores done by noon on Saturday. I did not go to Book Club.

As far as scripture study is concerned, I very rarely studied for 30 minutes at a time, which is my ultimate goal. This month, I felt content reading a chapter a day, and I did read 25 days out of 31, which is 240% better than last month. I only got one photo album out of two pieced together, but I did spend my time on projects, mostly regarding the future house (see turquoise slashes). I twice spent an entire Saturday on that project. I also began some on my food storage, technically February's project. In the scripture reading category, I give myself a B- for the month, and in projects an A, knowing that I am going easy on myself in light of how new I am to this whole self-discipline thing.

I created a complicated grading sheet for my overall grade, which compares my actual time use to my end-of-year goal. In twelve categories, I scored myself out of 100% and averaged them for a grade of 54%. This is half of my score. My Focus is another 25% of my grade, and my projects round it out. I then gave myself an 11 point bonus (which will decrease by a point per month, thus making an identical performance worth less as time passes).

Yes, I am a freak.
But the point is that my final score for the month of January is a B- .

So Sew

I bought a sewing machine last week! It is pink (partially) and I can't wait until I know what the instruction manual is talking about, so I can get to learnin' to sew.


My ambition is to learn to alter clothing. While making dresses and skirts for myself would be extra nice, given how hard it is to find things long enough for me, that goal is secondary. First, I want to learn altering, so that Kevin and I can "settle" for clothing that we like in theory but doesn't fit perfectly. Let's face it, store bought clothing is going to be more fashionable overall, better made, and cheaper when mass produced. So, I won't outfit my future family is homemade wardrobes, but I can make sure that the cheap stuff we buy with our budget fits like the higher end goods we are foregoing.

House Smitten

Kevin and I have found a house with which we are (in theory) in love! On paper, everything is what we need, though not without some sacrifice, and I am already painting and decorating it in my imagination. We go to see the builder on Saturday. I hope it is everything I have dreamed. Building takes 4-6 months, and we only have 4, so it had better be what we want!

Gifted

For Christmas this year, Kevin set up my iPod for me. I have had it for two years and have never changed the songs from the ones programmed onto it by my mother, its first user. Kevin saved those songs to my computer, downloaded iTunes, ripped all of my CDs to my computer and uploaded a play list of Christmas songs to my iPod. He then taught me how to do it all, too.

It was the perfect gift! It was something I had wanted for a long time, but hadn't done. It was an act of service that required time and thought, not money, and we even spent time together while he instructed me in the ways of iTunes. It was exactly the way Christmas should be.

Kevin has been routinely good at giving presents, consistently topping me in the gift arena. I just panic until it's too late to do anything. I skipped his 30th birthday entirely. What a wife! I am determined now to be better, to be more like he is, showing thought and care with gifts. And I face my next challenge in March for our anniversary. Unless I am expected to do something for Valentine's Day. Yikes!

Depression Threshold

I have a theory that everyone has a "depression threshold" similar to an allergen threshold. We can take so many factors that cause depression before symptoms show or begin to take hold. If we can reduce those factors below our threshold, then we can control our moods. Chemical imbalances are one of those things that will overcome our threshold almost guaranteed, and medication is the way to decrease that factor.

For me, I could not change the source of what ailed me, but I could decrease all the little things that hurt my mood and increase those that helped, to better get my net depressive intake below threshold.

And it's working. I think sometimes I am right at that threshold, and one sad movie will push me over the edge (e.g. Kevin made me stop watching Everybody's Fine, when I began sobbing on his lap). But as long as I am below my threshold, in control of my mood, then I can be in control of my thoughts and actions.

I take special care to get enough sleep. I should take care to get enough water, but I am usually tipped off by grouchiness when I have not done this diligently. I try to stay productive and mentally engaged. I listen to music every day, thanks in large part to Kevin's wonderful Christmas present!

I felt, at first, like I was simply waving something shiny in front of my eyes, constantly distracting myself from dark thoughts of worthlessness and those fearsome monsters that lurked under my bed. I put on blinders and kept focusing with all my might on the shiny thing. If I got tired and dropped my guard, then I felt bombarded by the waiting fears. I wondered if I was practicing avoidance and not actually accomplishing anything productive. But that was at first.

Now, I am not constantly on guard, and I don't have to wave something shiny to keep myself distracted. I have filled my home and life with shiny things, small but pleasant, that genuinely make me happy. And if I come across some trigger that brings on depressive thoughts, I am not drowned in sorrow. I ache still, but I am strong enough to challenge the thoughts that I had to avoid at first.

I am strengthening my emotional muscles using very little weight but constant repetition. I keep it at a level where I can stay in control. And then, when I have those heavier burdens to carry, I believe I will be able to do so a little better for a little longer. And with a little better attitude.

The Incredible Edible Egg

Since my refusal to take medication for depression, I have been eating eggs for breakfast every morning, instead of the decades-long habit of cereal. The reason for the change? Several articles citing food allergies, more specifically dairy, as causes of depression. Then there were articles on foods that aid moods. Folic acid is more effective in treating mild depression than anti-depressants and placebos. Granted, this only holds true for mild depression, not moderate or severe. Magnesium is good, sugar is bad, and omega-3 fatty acids are great. Thus the great breakfast swap of 2010.

For the first month, I had two eggs and two pieces of toast for breakfast with a glass of orange juice. When my weight started slipping upward, I reconsidered. I had, after all, exchanged 110 calories of Special K and almost no fat for roughly 350 calories and over 16 grams of fat. I may have thoroughly enjoyed toast with butter and jam, but I was eating too much. When I had eaten eggs only rarely, I didn't much notice how much larger my breakfast was.

So I cut back. I eat one egg, runny, with a pieces of whole-wheat bread, plain, and a glass of orange juice. My intake is about 210 calories and 8 grams of fat.

I did not notice the effects of the eggs, at least not as such. I did notice that I am in general in better control of my moods. Granted, I instituted a great many changes, all of which have helped. I also noticed that my monthly was getting lighter and lighter. But I did not attribute any of this to the magic of eggs. Until I ran out.

I ate cereal two days in a row. My stomach rebelled. My energy lagged. My mood soured. My body had been healing from repeated exposure to an allergen, and then I reintroduced it. I now know that I am not equipped to consume dairy the way I had been. I am now sensitive to a glass of milk. Occasionally, I will still eat a bowl of Quaker Oatmeal Squares for dessert, but I notice the negative results now.

I also recently read this article on CNN that explained my lessening symptoms.

And so, I have become converted. An egg a day keeps the blues away. And I just can't get enough of runny yolk.

Vin

I have a new car! Her name is Vin, named after the heroine of the Mistborn trilogy, not to mention a clever car pun. Get it?

I was asked at work what my favorite feature is, and I felt momentarily stumped. When I think of features on a car, I think of things that my reliable little Corolla does not possess. Sun roof, six CD changer, blue tooth, GPS, etc. After my brief pause, I answered, "My favorite thing about my car is that I don't have to spend 15 minutes waiting on the corner before I can go anywhere."

I guess that would be the ignition. My ignition is my favorite feature of my car. Followed by the steering wheel. I love that I don't have to follow a predetermined path to and from work. I can go wherever I want in my Vin. I am also quite fond of the accelerator. I don't have to stop every block, and I can go upwards of seventy-five miles per hour to get home at the end of the day. And I love my CD player and pre-programmed radio.

But mostly, I love it because it is mine.

New Year's Resolution

My New Year's Resolution is to be better at time management. I have so many things that I want to do and cannot find the time for, whereas I do very little that I actually enjoy with the time I have. I determined, in getting a car, and thus more free time, that I should make the most of it. That I should use most of it. No more time wasting for me. That's my resolve.

This entails dozens of smaller goals.

I compare it to money management. If I had resolved to manage my money better, I would have started by making a budget, reviewing necessary expenses, typical uses of money and where I can save and what the savings should be used for. A budget leads to dozens of little goals: spend less on eating out (which leads to making food at home), save this much per month toward a new car, set up weekly transfers to my savings from my checking, etc.

The same it true for my time management goal. I started with a budget. Where does my time go? Is it necessary? Is there something of higher priority that ought to use that time instead? My little goals became daily scripture study, daily exercise, saving Wednesday evenings for writing only and reallocating the typical use of it to another evening, etc. I have a color-coded schedule of my ideal week, how I would use my time to perfectly reflect my goals were I to possess the self-discipline and no distractions--though, I did include room for unforeseen events.

The task looks impossible. I do not spend my time like that now. But I hope to be much closer by December of this year. That's the point: it's a goal not an immediate transformation. And like with a budget, I will not throw the whole thing out the window if I slip up and clean the kitchen tonight instead of writing. I will do better tomorrow.

As part of good goal setting, I have constructed a plan to meet this goal. I have selected a focus for each month, a sub-goal that I will dedicate my attention to fitting into place, even if the others slip a little. Hopefully, each month will build a habit that will continue to the next; but if not, I have selected only six focuses, so I will come back and repeat the experience within the year. This month I will focus on making sure I read scriptures daily. It is a priority goal for me that I never seem to have time for. This month, it will happen. Daily.

I also have a project this month: to edit and print the pictures we've taken since the cruise and put them into an album. This way, when I come to some free time and consider wasting it because I haven't made a plan for how to best use it, I can fall back to editing pictures.

Next month my focus will be on exercising, and my project will be working on food storage.

Costco

Yesterday, I had to stop by the store on the way home. I had to, if I wanted breakfast the next morning. I also had a hefty stack of coupons in my pocket for Costco, so I decided that I would go there, even if it was more out of the way, and stock up on paper towels and other bulk non-perishable items. Truth be told, I was a little distracted by my phone call with Emilie, with whom I talked as I roamed the aisles. When I got to the check-out stand and placed by coupons on the conveyor belt, I got a look of deepest contempt.

"The coupons start Thursday," she said...and rolled her eyes.

Sure enough the date was right across the top of each in bold green letters. I sheepishly told her to remove several items from the cart, pocketed the coupons, paid my bill, and planned to return Thursday. To a different check-out lane.

friends

I went through my Facebook account and removed friends that I do not know/like. Today, Beulah apparently noticed and requested my friendship. I hated to be passive aggressive and ignore her, but how to tell someone, I just don't want to be your friend!

changes

I need to make changes. Again.

I managed to create for myself a working structured environment while Kevin was gone, but his return has shattered it completely. Don't get me wrong: I would rather have Kevin home. Nevertheless, I have several more distractions, and several fewer freedoms than when he was overseas.

Basically, everything I had hope for in "on the plus side" played out as I foresaw, or better. I slept 9 hours every night. I watched less than 2 hours of TV/movies a week: 40 minutes of Castle, 40 minutes of Glee, and 20 minutes of Psych. Once there was 20 minutes of Community, but that was it. I studied scriptures regularly. Driving made the most difference, doubling my lunch break (during which time I caught up on phone calls or naps), providing an environment in which to listen to music, and getting me home and hour and a half early.

My challenge is how to continue on with all the good changes I made now that Kevin is home and I am using my more limited free time to pursue activities that I didn't while he was gone: such as talking with him, cleaning the kitchen, and showering. I have taken to skipping lunch entirely just so I can take an earlier bus and get home before six. I found it too demoralizing on my first day back on the bus to get home only two hours before bed. I am feeling too stretched, and my continued work on a Relief Society planning committee is overwhelming me.

I need a car, for its magical time-granting powers, and I need to make the time I have more productive. That is my project: to find ways to maximize my time.

Wish me luck.

what kevin doesn't know won't kill me

Kevin didn't know that I was already having a bad day on Tuesday, that I was tired and that the book I was reading made me sad. He didn't know that I cried in the car that night on the drive back. He doesn't know why I wept on his chest when we got home. I was too tired to tell him, and feminine throat cutting is too subtle for men to appreciate. Likely he didn't notice Beulah being mean, and he definitely couldn't have anticipated the plummet of my thoughts from there to the little mush of sadness I felt myself afterward.

He did know that I had a bad day yesterday, one that--now rested--I want to write off as being the result of two bad nights. He doesn't know, however, that I sobbed myself to sleep when I got home. He bought me flowers and encouraged me to talk, but I was cried out and mostly asleep even while he spoke. And then, this morning, I was not sad: I had done my crying and had a full night's rest. My inadequacies, my fears, my insecurities, my sorrows, were held at bay again by a good mood. And that makes it all the more likely that Kevin will never know what set me off on Tuesday and why it brought me down.

I have a habit of viewing everything through the lens of my current mood, which rather invalidates past emotions. Today I am not sad and Beulah's pettiness is reason for pity not anger: perhaps she is trying not to be antagonistic, but to be important; perhaps she is lonely and overlooked. So, today, I find ridiculous and weak my sorrows of last night. I feel I have gotten over it, and the reasons why I felt that way to begin with are of no more value. I am embarrassed that I fell apart, so I don't want to dredge it up and tell him why I hurt; I am ashamed.

kid gloves and retractible claws

The intent of this post is not to gossip, therefore I will give the subject a fake name. Let's call her Beulah, my father's favorite made up name for women of a certain calibre. Because I'm feeling mean.

Beulah and Kevin became friends during 2008, the year in which I returned to Utah to finish my degree. When I moved back, Beulah treated me like the latest fling of her life-long best friend. I was a temporary distraction who could never know him like she did. Of course I took issue with this. Not only had I been around for over four years before her, but also I did not move there without certain promises of a future. I wasn't new, I wasn't leaving, and I was not playing second fiddle.

From the start of our acquaintance, she talked about how much Kevin confided in her and how she'd love --if she could ever get his permission-- to share with me what he said. There it was, her line the sand: Kevin and Beulah on one side, me on the other. She likes to say that she was on my side, angry at Kevin for not proposing and ready to spill all his secrets to me, but that wasn't the case. Never was she rooting for me, and what she failed to grasp is that Kevin and I were on the same side of any drawn line. One was either with or against us, but never in between.

There were enough people opposed to Kevin and me getting back together that I have learned not to hold a grudge for that. But I do still resent Beulah. I have tried not to. I am grateful to her for rides from the airport, taking our engagement photos for free, and for being a familiar face on days when that is what is needed most. But my gratitude is insufficient to make up for her continued possessiveness of my boyfriend, then fiance, and now husband.

Last night, Kevin's friend from BYU, Michelle, came into town and Kevin, Beulah and I drove an hour to go have dinner with her. I had never met her and found her delightful. Energetic for so late (8:30 p.m.) but pleasant.

(Side note: she lives in San Diego. I should set her up with Nora.)

Beulah was not delightful, though she started out innocuous enough. She told several entertaining dating stories, including one with the moral that you shouldn't judge a boy for not calling, because he just may have cancer. Kevin then gazed mournfully off into space and lamented that he didn't have any dating stories this year. I laughed.

Then Beulah said Kevin used to have some pretty interesting dating stories but she isn't allowed to tell.

I did not laugh at that. I couldn't: my head had just exploded. Her little comments infuriated me: about not hanging out with Kevin as much anymore, about how watching "How I Met Your Mother" after FHE was their thing, how she heard his side of the story, how long it took him to propose, etc.. They built up in my head until I was ready to scream.

Get your claws the hell out of my husband! Stop flirting, stop staking claim, and stop pretending you were on "my" side when I know very well that you told him to move on. You wanna-be home wrecker, wake up to the fact that he chose me, will always choose me. I was there first; I know him more intimately than you do; and our thing on Monday night is not watching TV.

But I said...

"Beulah, do you really think that he hasn't told me everything he ever told you?"

I said it politely, with kid gloves on, so no stunned or awkward silences followed; but I said in it all the things I was thinking. It said, I will not pretend that I didn't win.

all I want for christmas

I have lost my ongoing battle against consumerism. I fell into the trap of Black Friday specials, and the argument, "but it's on sale." Christmas suddenly became for me just another shopping trip. Kevin bought his own presents, so I don't even have the anticipation of giving to others. I feel thoroughly disenchanted by presents, except the one to Nora from the family. What disappointed me was my uncustomary greediness and simultaneous lack of self. I looked at good deals and decided what I could want, instead of taking the time to really want something that I would value. I will enjoy the assortment of movies I'll open Christmas morning, especially The Philadelphia Story that I have wanted, but I don't anticipate any of it.

What helped a lot is that Kevin bought us a Christmas tree, and he and I listened to Christmas music while assembling it. The Nativity is out, and a party is planned. These are the things I want for Christmas: friends, music, food, etc. In short, I need to foster all the warmth of celebration and forget the cold draw of materialism.

PS- This entry looks terribly ungrateful. I did not mean to complain that I am getting gifts. I like what I am getting. I was just feeling badly for being focused on presents instead of people.

dracula's women

Book Club was awesome Tuesday night. I was my typical awkward self, not talking to anyone when I got there. But then we began on the book, and I had trouble shutting up. Only half of us had finished the book, so there was a fill-everyone-in period. Then we began discussions such as why vampires are such popular figures in fiction, the juxtaposition of Mina and Lucy, the role of Renfield the lunatic, the efficacy of the epistolary narrative, the "rules" of vampires. Yes, Buffy was brought into the conversation, as was Twilight. I loved all the characters, but the comparison of the two female protagonists caught my interest most, perhaps.

Lucy and Mina.

Lucy is "the perfect woman." She receives three proposals in one day. She is perfectly beautiful, perfectly sweet, perfectly perfect. Perfectly BORING. She is the typical Victorian woman, with fainting spells and no gumption. When she starts wasting away of some unknown disease, Dr. Abraham Van Helsing (please say it with a very strong Dutch accent, or it just doesn't count) is called in to be of assistance. He figures out that Dracula is draining her. Over a short period of time, she is given four transfusions--one from each of her admirers, and then from the good Doctor himself--but dies anyway. She turns into a vampire, the four men hunt her, and her fiance has the quite gruesome work of killing her. Quite. Gruesome.

Then they meet Mina, childhood friend of Lucy and wife to recently-escaped intended victim of the Count. Mina is described as having "the mind of a man, and the heart of a woman." She is self-educated and quick-witted, along with being young, pretty and compassionate. She says of herself that she has never been a fainter, or one taken to weeping. Mina uses her husband's diary to aid the vampire hunters, transcribing it from shorthand. She compiles all the varying accounts in chronological order so that she can discern cause and effect. She stands her ground against lunatic Renfield. She and Dr. Van Helsing are the brains of the operation, while the other four men tend to be the muscles. Dracula bites her and forces her to drink his blood, thus gaining mental control over her. However, Mina continues to be vital to the group and figures out that if Van Helsing hypnotizes her, she can read the Count's mind for them. Because of this usefulness, when the men hunt him back to his castle, she goes too. In the final battle, Mina draws a revolver. Yeah, she was toting.

Basically, I love Mina.

Dracula is considered a commentary on Victorian views of sexuality, with the exchanging of blood being a sensual act, etc. In this light, I find these two women to be the height of interest, how Bram Stoker chose to depict my gender. I get the brides of Dracula being voluptuous, sensual and catty; and I get that he would depict the virtuous Lucy opposite them, thus making the post-mortem transformation that much more horrible.

However, I wonder at Mina. Mina, who is revered by the men who know her as having every positive attribute. She is honorable and compassionate, wise and kind. She is called beautiful. But she, too, is bitten by the Count in a scene that can be likened to one of rape. She becomes Unclean and is burned by the Eucharist. Only the Count's death can remove this stigma from her. Yet, she continues to be a power for good, and is Bram Stoker's only female character to show true grit. While the oft-repeated remark that she has the mind of a man may be seen as insulting, it was meant complimentary, followed the first time by the addendum, "or as a man ought to have."

I think, given Mina, that Bram was a feminist. For Mina and Lucy had purity in common, but the one who lived also had a brain.

That, and a gun.

Additional note of interest: Dracula doesn't glitter in the sunlight, but he can go out in it. And when he dies, he turns to dust. One point, Buffy; half point Twilight.

compliments

Audrei and her roommate Christa came over to bring me pie yesterday. Just because they are nice. While visiting, Audrei mentioned that she had driven Liza and Pinky (self-assigned nickname because of her pink hair) to church. When Audrei told Liza that they would be sitting with me, Liza turned to Pinky and said, "I can't wait for you to meet her! She's one of the most beautiful girls I know!"

Nice of course, but it was immediately followed by Christa adding, "It's true. I was really intimidated by you when we met, because of how pretty you are."

I'm totally flattered. I intimidated someone!

marginal

I am writing a scene for my book wherein a character attends and does well in an economics class, thus learning a passion for the subject. I am struggling, however, to show the conversation that leads to her awakening, as the subject matter is a little dense to insert into casual conversation.

I just need to use the phrase "sunk costs are irrelevant."

mum's the word

A couple of weeks ago, I invited some friends of mine to form a writing circle with me, and one of them has shown true enthusiasm for the idea. She went so far as to reach out to find others to join us. I got an email yesterday saying that she had recruited one K. F.

Oh boy.

Though I have never mentioned her by name on this blog, she certainly has been written about. You might remember her as the blond Kevin dated once. Since that time, I have become better acquainted with her. She was my Relief Society president for over a year. I know more about her than I did then, and I am struggling to find a tactful way to say, "I've changed my mind about the writing circle, because I kind of hate that condescending blond." I will not share my writing with her.

My writing is personal.

book clubs

As of this afternoon, I am participating in two book clubs. The first is being set up by a woman my age for the "newly marrieds" she knows. Since everyone is so busy, we will meet every other month and the hostess picks the book. Fine. But...it is my experience that new book clubs fall apart quickly, because the interest is social and fleeting. The purpose of this is for the newly marrieds to bond. It is not focused on the books. The people coming are not the most intellectual or experienced people I know. And the founder of our book club grates on me like sandpaper on a sunburn. She is a mean gossip, bless her heart, who likes dominating social situations. But I felt desperate to find a place to make friends. So I joined.

Today I got a call from my visiting teacher. She invited me to go to a book club with her this month. It has been going on for years and has some ten regulars, plus others who come occasionally. They meet the third Tuesday of every month. And they talk about the books. "These are really intelligent women, Audrey. We're not getting together to socialize. Sure, that happens too, but we get together because we want to talk about a book." I think I heard angels sing when she said that. I am a terrible socialite, but get me talking about a book and all my inhibitions go away. That is my passion. And she was right: these women are smart. These are the classy, intelligent women that I admire at church, plus their friends and neighbors. They are in all walks of life, and I am sure to be the youngest one there, which suits me just fine. And the woman who invited me is delightful and genuinely kind, (it's nice to know that despite that, we actually have something in common) so I know this will be an inviting place to be, a real circle. I am excited to participate.

shoeless

I find myself without closed-toe brown shoes for work. By work I mean that they cannot be flimsy or high heeled. I'm thinking oxfords, or better yet, mary janes. Because my way cute turtleneck and khaki outfit today is rather spoiled by my sneakers. I'm thinking Target.

stupid, obnoxious waste of time

Last night I watched "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." Next year, I think I will cut my eyes out with a spoon, instead.

my weekend

Yesterday was a home game.
Today was a primary program.
'Nuff said.

two sides to emotions

Today was a harder day than others this week. It was not a bad day: there was no extended crying behind the clothes racks. It was just hard. I felt like I had to work, really work, to maintain my usually-natural calm. Fighting off negative thoughts felt like a real battle. I won it, but it required true exertion. I am usually stronger.

I blame my weakness on the fact that I began writing again yesterday for the first time in months. I have avoided it since I began to notice my depression. It is easier to ignore my emotions when I am not using them for creative purposes. But yesterday I exposed myself to my fictional characters, and, though it may have made the work day more difficult, it made my writing more richly rewarding. It is easier to have a meaningful relationship with someone when you don't hold yourself back.

I just hope I can keep up both the creative emotional side and the stoic productive side without letting things come unraveled.

what I learned today

I learned that...

my triglycerides are high.
my cholesterol is low...including the good kind.
if I leave the house by 7:10, I get to work before 7:40.
I don't like the Guess Who as much as I had heretofore assumed.
many people at work are idiots, others are not.
sleeping alone scares me sometimes, so I have taken to leaving my lamp on and snuggling with Raphael.
going grocery shopping at 5:00 is an in-and-out experience.
getting out of the parking lot, however, is more difficult.

Next up, I will learn which of several recipes for salad dressing I like best.

family

I absolutely adore my nieces and nephew. What I love best is how very distinct their individual personalities are.

Owen is full of vim and vigor. He is dramatic and adventurous, yet strangely shy. It takes a really good game of spinning to win him over. He loves his Bompa.

Penny is hilarious. She is content to explore on her own, but she is also extremely playful, mimicking faces and singing along with music. She thinks tongues are hilarious.

Abby is sweet and demure. Perhaps it is her age, but she is quiet and calm. Unlike her older cousin and brother, Abby is very cuddly when held. She nuzzles.

I loved seeing them all, and I loved, LOVED visiting with my siblings. Jason, Jamie and Joyce occupy a nice spot in my heart that is reserved for family. I felt at home when I was there, seeing them, hugging them, talking to them and laughing with them. I look forward to seeing them again for a real full-length vacation.

surprise

I had a nice surprise tonight as I left Audrei's house. Kevin called from Europe in the middle of the night. He makes me incredibly happy.

baking bread

I called in sick to work today. And, yes, I was legitimately ill. I picked up some stomach virus, the effects of which began while traveling home yesterday. That was fun.

I knew I had to go grocery shopping today, but the task held little appeal. For one, I didn't know how I would handle being so far from a bathroom, and secondly, I didn't like to put that distance between myself and my couch. Ah, blessed couch. Hulu and Waitress have kept me company today.

I looked around the kitchen to decide what I absolutely had to buy. It came down to bread. Just bread. Everything else could wait. And I really didn't want to leave the house.

So, I baked. The bread is rising right now.

Sure, it might seem like the harder way to go about things, but I found it preferable to grocery stores and check out lines. I'd go so far as to call it therapeutic.

And that's how I spent my summer vacation.

a break

I know, I just got back, but I am taking a short vacation to Utah to see the family, so I will have to take a leave of absence from Nora's blog challenge until Monday. Tonight: packing/helping Kevin pack for four weeks on the road.

on the plus side

I am sick of my own whining.
I am an optimist. I always have been. And I am not willing to give that up, to surrender it to fear.
So here is what I am looking forward to when Kevin is gone.

Sleep:
I will have a queen sized bed to myself. I will not stay up later than 9:30 to spend time with Kevin, the night owl. I won't wake up to him sneaking into bed.

Writing:
I cannot write from the seat in the living room. I need a desk. And I never use it, because it is in the next room. The coffee table may work, as well; I will have to experiment. Also, to write, I need to spend hours at one go, uninterrupted. I need to re-read my recent pages to refocus myself, and I tend to do much revising before I am captured with the moment and begin to write unhindered. It takes work, and I can dedicate time to that in a quiet apartment.

Scripture Study:
I have only occasionally studied well since we've been married. Mostly, because I have not managed to wake up before six or, usually, six thirty. But I used to get up at five thirty and spread my several books and pencils over the entire kitchen table and study for half an hour. Now, I stumble out of bed too late to do so. And table space is at a premium. But I will leave my mess out for 29 straight days, go to bed earlier and study in the mornings.

Driving:
I will have total access to the car for the entire month. I will leave for work at the same time, get there earlier and leave there earlier and be home by five fifteen. Not only does that give me an entire hour and fifteen minutes extra time every evening, but I will also be able to take an entire hour at lunch time, instead of the measly half. With all that time, I think I will write. Or sleep.

Music:
I can play my music in the car, in the apartment, never ending music and singing. I will have the apartment to myself, so nobody will be bothered. I will not be tethered by headphones to the couch. And I can sing without embarrassment.

Emailing:
I express myself best in writing. Turns out, it uses a different part of the brain than speaking. Kevin and I have often communicated by email over the course of our relationship, and I treasure those letters. I have been sad that living together has decreased the necessity to write to one another. I am glad to have that chance again, to express in words things that I assume are implied and understood when we see each other daily.

For four solid weeks, I will get to focus myself entirely on me. Maybe I will find that some things work better that way, and others will be lacking for Kevin's absence. But it is not the end of the world, and Kevin will come back to me at the end of it.

because I said I would

Nora has issued a challenge, and we're going to help each other write short daily blog posts. Because today is a good day (in the sense that it is not a bad day), I am going to take her up on the challenge.

The news for today is that Kevin is going to Europe for the month of November. At least, that was the original plan. Yesterday we were told that he is actually leaving Sunday. This Sunday. Five days from now. While we're on vacation in Utah.

I did not handle the news well. Of course, I handle very little with equanimity these days. Unless "equanimity" has come to mean sobbing into one's sweater in the back corner of the warehouse, periodically throughout the work day. I do not know what I will do with him gone. I mean that literally (my schedule and habitual activities will be affected) but more truthfully in the quite dramatic, LeAnne Rimes, "How Do I Live?", there'd-be-no-sun-in-my-sky way.

I feel lost thinking about it.

If Kevin were in favor of the idea, I would leave my job and spend the next 4-5 weeks touring Europe while he audits Dell factories. But I am not rational, and Kevin is. He'd never let me quit my job and spend ridiculous amounts of money, just like that, on a whim. And I suppose he is right.

But I am going to miss him very, very badly.

stress

I am not an anxious person, usually. You know, unless I am asleep. I just don't sweat the small stuff. I left that to Mom. To quote Steel Magnolias, "I never worry, because I know you are worried enough for the both of us." There are things that make me anxious, however. The top on that list, first by a long stretch, is money. Kevin and I have more than enough, but I have learned through years of crisis that there is no such thing as enough. And everything costs too much. So maybe the fact that I spent so much money recently is the cause of my anxiety, the reason I had to visit the doctor.

I went to the doctor on the advice of a medical website. My doctor is a lovely woman with great hair, a low voice and attentive manner. She explained things and asked questions, listening afterward for the answer. To be on the safe side, she gave me a pregnancy test and did blood work to look at my thyroid activity. She asked about family and personal medical history and for details about my nightmares. It honestly felt like a counseling session. We discussed work, exercise, downtime and marriage.

(I know I will need to state these things directly: I am NOT pregnant. And our conversation regarding marriage was entirely positive.)

Her diagnosis: stress. She is concerned, given family medical history, about risks of anxiety and depression. "You need to lower your stress levels," she told me. "But I'm not sure what behavioral changes to suggest." I don't smoke, drink, consume caffeine, stay up late, sleep in, do work in bed, have the TV on as I sleep or work overtime, she had little to prohibit me. She did say that I need to exercise more and meditate before bed.

But there's one problem with that: those things are chores. They take time and discipline to carry out, precisely the two things I'm running low on. The reason I feel anxious before bed and when I wake is because I don't have enough time, while my to-do list grows. Now I'm told to take a half hour each night to meditate, and another to exercise (but not in that order). That very suggestion stresses me out, as I mentally rearrange my routine and think about the things I am already not doing. Like writing. I haven't touched OneNote since I had to start packing for the move.

This is not to say that I have an all-work-no-play life. The "chores" that I've been doing are fun: shopping from my registry, rearranging furniture, printing and hanging pictures, etc. I have a fabulous plan for a new shelf. But I don't have time for everything I want to do.

I tried to manage my time better, to schedule myself so that I could get around to more, but the micro-schedule made my stomach knot up. I can't tolerate my life being broken down into ten-minute increments. Especially since I know I will break it. My time is not entirely my own anymore, and I have to be flexible if I want to see my husband (who at this very moment is getting what he calls "a taste of his own medicine", waiting at home while I work late). So most of what I assign myself to do in the evenings gets scrapped.

I make accommodations, like cooking on Sunday to have weekday left overs. (You should ask me about my stuffing casserole.) I do all my reading on the bus and avoid cracking a book at home. I also do a lot of planning and list-making at work. If I need to make calls, that happens on my lunch break.

And I try to wake up early. That is really the only solution that will work. Then I can make lunch, so I don't panic when swiping my credit card for over-priced fatty food that makes me fear for my budget and my waist. Then I can work out, so I don't do it too close to bed and raise my adrenaline levels before sleeping. Then I can read scriptures, because the day doesn't suck so much when I do. If I get up early enough I can even dress a little bit less like a hobo, maybe even wear my contacts, and feel more energized at work.

But it is hard to wake up early. To do so means going to bed earlier and thus seeing my husband less, or being sleep deprived, nodding off on the bus and not getting in any leisure reading time.

I try to find a solution, but I go around in circles 'til I'm very very dizzy. And I realize that I am getting too anxious about decreasing my stress. Somehow I don't think this is what the doctor had in mind.

and the dog ate my homework

I have not posted in a long time. I have been busy. It is precisely when the most blog-worthy material is occurring that one has the least time to write.

Since last we met, I have moved. Thrice. Kevin promises that it will be the last time for a good long while. We've even planned out how many triple bunk beds we can fit in our second bedroom and thus how many kids we can have before a larger place is necessitated. By my reckoning the number is 12, but come unlucky child 13 and we'll have to upgrade to a three-bedroom. Luckily that won't be for five or six years, and I'll have plenty of cheap labor to help me pack.

I have also, in the past nine months, planned and executed a wedding. Quite successfully, I might add. I did less well with the honeymoon. (Please don't be juvenile.) Kevin and I discovered that not only did we spend the week in varying degrees of viral-induced agony, but we also don't have a single picture of us together from our honeymoon. I think this calls for a second one, if only to fill the frame I have set aside on an otherwise blank wall for just such a Kodak moment.

I have had two nieces. Yes, the labor was hard, but I came through it okay, and the girls are doing beautifully.

I turned twenty-five. For said birthday, I received OneNote, which has made organizing all my billions of fictive thoughts much easier. I feel ambitious to write again. Though, I promise you, I have not been spending time with my novels instead of my blog. I have been far too busy for either. That will change, however. Though I will never receive a penny for my work, I vow to waste years of my life scribbling away (or tip-tapping away on Eddie, my beloved laptop) on various pieces of aspiring literature.

I survived work at the Co-op during a championship football season. I changed my name. Twice. I have said positive things about Relief Society. I have had approximately 250 nightmares. I have been introduced to Sports Night. I got to spend time with Kevin, which we all know never happened during the courtship. I have built a registry and then purchased nearly everything on it. I have ordered pictures printed and hung a ridiculous number of frames. I am decorating an apartment against the event that we ever have people over to see it. I read regularly. I clean, do laundry, grocery shop, and I even try to make my husband dinner occasionally (it's not working: he's lost weight. I've gained it.)

Anyway, that's why I haven't written.

If you want, you can blame Facebook, which makes emotional outlets so much more accessible. But I'm done with Facebook and its cheap allurements. I have a rant about that, if you care to hear it. In fact, I have several things I can write about (and may eventually.) If anyone is still reading, I am open to suggestions, requests, ransom demands, etc. Popular topics on my mind include why I hate my job and why I can't leave it; what I'm not doing with my talents; my Marxist views on public transit (which is really part of a larger expose' on the general goings-on of the public transit universe); and married life: so, how is it?

And I promise to be better from now on.

night of wicked

nevermore

I bonded with a girl at work over the Twilight books. Yes, I read them, and though I think they were poorly written, I had enough material to converse pleasantly about them. Then this co-worker asked me to read Evermore. She had just finished and hated it. With a recommendation like that...

Evermore wants to be Twilight. It really, really, falls short. I know: that's saying something.

Two-second plot recaps: Twilight is about a girl Bella falling in love with vampire Edward, who can’t at first decide what he wants more, her heart or her blood; Evermore is about a girl Ever who since the death of her family has psychic gifts and falls in love with the hot immortal who has been in love with her every incarnation for 600 years.

The heroes: First, there is Edward, a one-hundred-year-old vampire who has dedicated his existence to rising above his, shall we say, “natural vampire.” He is perfectly beautiful, a side-effect of his transformation, the better to lure you with, my dear. His black eyes and unsociable disposition give him a mysterious air, a rather brooding melancholy reminiscent of Byronic heroes. Given the contemporary setting, his passion is a little too Rochester for my taste. I wonder if his name is a throwback to that very character.

Edward can read minds. He is also a little creepy with his attentions. Overprotective, might be the right word. Possessive and obsessive might be others. All the same, he seems to genuinely love our heroine Bella for virtues we’ll later address, and takes care to preserve and extol said virtues. And he drives very fast, which is not as daredevil as it sounds, given his ridiculously fast reflexes.

Then there is Damen, a six-hundred-year-old immortal, who is also perfectly beautiful with dark hair and black eyes, though this is just crazy random happenstance that someone gorgeous gets to live forever, while the plain boys die off. He, too, can read minds. Unlike Edward, Damen can read the mind of the girl he loves, and he uses it against her. Quite often, attacking the vulnerabilities she cannot hide from him. He toys with her constantly, flirting with other girls, just to read her reactions and see if she has feelings for him. Can I just say, Edward would never do that.

If Edward is Rochester, then Damen is Heathcliff, far more violent and hedonistic than Edward, despite the latter’s blood-drinking. Damen has spent his life in immediate gratification, sexing up over the centuries. Like Edward, Damen visits his girl’s room at night to watch her sleep. He also never tells her where he lives or lets her have his phone number. His mystery is much more mind-your-own-damn-business while Edward is just trying to keep stakes from his family’s respective hearts (not that that or sun will kill them.) And Damen also drives fast, way too fast given that he does not have supernatural reactions. (Driving fast is not always attractive: some of us prefer men who use cruise control to stay at the speed limit. )

Is it obvious yet that I thought Damen to be the least deserving of perhaps any love-story hero? While I want to show that he has many traits in common with Edward, such as the eternal life thing, I must underline that he is manipulative and dangerous, which is not romantic. The number of times he makes out with Ever and then splits, or tries to get her into bed before she protests too strongly, is enough for me to want to punch him in the face. Edward might be a monster, but at least he doesn’t act like one.

The heroines: Both books are told as first-person accounts from the heroine’s perspective. Thus, a lot of what I think about the characters comes from their narrative skills, not just their self-portrayals.

Bella. I like Bella. She is beautiful and funny and smart and selfless, and she never once had to say so. She, in fact, views herself as being rather ordinary. However, the number of guys who crush on her speaks something to her appeal. I found myself laughing aloud at her sarcastic comments in the narration and to Edward. And, as for smart, she figured out Edward’s secret without psychic powers.

Bella is clumsy, which irks me. Clumsiness is the new fainting, when it comes to femininity in stories. It keeps the women physically inferior and helpless, while conceding to emotional strength. Not that Bella doesn’t faint whenever Edward kisses her.

Yes, her love for Edward is silly and oh-so-very seventeen, and very much based on the fact that she wants his venom-sculpted body. While I infinitely prefer Edward to Damen, I cannot understand why Bella fell in love with Edward; there was simply no basis provided to explain it. And she does get a little needy and redundantly emo about it.

Ever. To start, what a stupid name. Ever is beautiful. She says so. Often. And did I call Bella emo? Did I dare think Bella needy? Compared to Ever, Bella is refreshingly grounded and rational. Oh. My. Gosh. The whininess and clinginess of Ever. The Queen of indecisiveness and self-pity. She doesn’t pay attention to anyone’s needs but her own, dismissing fatal threats to her friend in order to alleviate a headache, and even then, she’d rather wallow than help herself. Funny? No. Smart? Umm, she’s psychic, has a dead little sister who can spy for her and still doesn’t figure out Damen’s secret. That’s with his wife of 600 years hanging around giving hints. How thick can you be? While I can’t see why Bella fell for Edward at first, I can’t see at all why Damen keeps hunting down Ever’s incarnations. Though he did say she’s always beautiful. She said so.

I know, I know, this is getting very long-winded. And I haven’t addressed the events of the books. I’ll try to be brief.

I have said that Twilight had no plot, that it was all exposition until the last few pages, when suddenly an unforeseen threat emerges, makes a ruckus and is quickly vanquished. I have to hand it to Evermore, it certainly had more rising action (and I do not just mean Damen). The threat in this case, immortal Drina (compared to Twilight’s vampire James), is in the book the entire time, seen as a competitive threat, stealing the affections of both Damen and Haven (Ever’s bff). But at the end, when she suddenly tries to kill Ever, again, having done away with every previous incarnation, I again have to ask myself, why the exposition? Why did she try so hard to brainwash Haven when she could have walked up to Ever at any time and shanked her?

And then! did I call Twilight’s climax lame? Ever leaves the face-off with Drina midway through to have another exposition chapter in which Damen describes the rules of immortality to her. It’s very much like the chapter in Twilight in which the two ensconce themselves in an out-of-the-way field to discuss the repercussions of their romance. Only, in Evermore, the field is in a different dimension. Seriously.

The second fight with Drina is just as random. Not only does Drina wait a few months before trying again, courteously giving Ever time to sort out her feelings about being immortal, but she is then killed by Ever touching her chest, because (get this) there was no love in her heart. What the hell? Even if Twilight’s conflict came out of nowhere, at least the fight was interesting and the villain died the good ol' fashioned way--being ripped to pieces and tossed onto a bonfire.

And don’t get me started on Evermore’s Disneyland scene. Yes, in real life, Disneyland is a point unto itself, but in a novel it needs to have reason for being. It was so…so…. when Avril bakes the cake.

The best parts of both books are the supporting characters. I would read Twilight again just for Alice, let alone Carlisle, Emmett and Charlie. And while no coercion on earth could make me read Evermore for one more second, I did enjoy her dead little sister, who liked to spy on celebrities and materialize in Halloween costumes.

In the end, the best thing about Evermore was that it gave me greater appreciation for Twilight.

clue

Maybe it's backward thinking to use a dinner party for revenge, if revenge is the right word. Perhaps "passive-aggressive resistance through an active display of indifferent submissiveness." Yes, that's more accurate. It's like when roommates get fed up with your dirty dishes and clean the kitchen out of spite. They might bang the pots around in the sink, but the chore gets done. That's how I'm feeling, like I can't stand the (figurative) sight of dirty dishes one more second. So I'm throwing a dinner party. It reminds me of Clue, though less macabre. But with plenty of red herrings.

wicked

Too many people have too few perfect nights. Last Wednesday was one for me. The whole night was enchanted. Kevin took me to see Wicked. I have wanted to see that musical for four years now, ever since Tarythe introduced me to the soundtrack.

For starters, there was the boy. If I could have picked anyone in the world to take me out, I would have chosen him. I couldn't design a better match for me if I tried. I might have accidentally left out the part where he would carry an umbrella over my head while we walked past a fountain. And then put him in a suit with a blue dress shirt! I could hardly stop myself from swooning.

Secondly, I wore the dress of all dresses. I did design a perfect dress, exchanging emails with Mom in the hopes of constructing it. Then we found it at Nordstroms in all its Audrey-fitting glory. I felt radiant, like an internal spotlight were shining from me and on me. I brimmed with good will and innocuous vanity.

And then there was the play itself, everything I had hoped for and more. The music was richer, the dialogue funnier and the pathos fuller than I dreamed it would be. I intermittently clapped and laughed, leaned forward eagerly in my seat, leaped from it during applause, wept during For Good and squeezed Kevin's arm in delight. The best part was, not just the play, but seeing it after desiring to for so long. It was a dream come true. And happy is what happens when all your dreams come true.

When Kevin and I meandered back to his car along a dark and deserted path, past several ancient and twisted trees, I felt utterly and perfectly happy.

sleeping on the couch

Ted and I were having a perfectly lovely conversation, when he inserted his usual: "So, are you flying out here this weekend?" Never mind that the last time I flew out there for a weekend he stood me up. I told him he would have to wait two months. My plans are to fly to Utah at the end of October. "Still?" he asked. "Because if I have to wait for Kevin to propose before you fly out here, I may never see you." He wasn't just being his usual jocular jackass self. He had an I'm-saying-this-because-I-love-you undertone. And that really annoyed me. More than annoyed, actually, it hurt me.

Over Thanksgiving weekend 2007, Kevin told me that he wants to marry me. And I have been acting since that time on the assumption that he means it. I dropped a minor to graduate earlier and then moved a third of the way across the country, again, to be near him. And I have not cut and run despite the rejection I feel every time he says "I don't know" when I broach the subject of marriage. I have put up with thoughtless comments from nosey people about our relationship, which is none of their business, and I confidently picked out a ring and (less confidently) emailed the picture to Kevin. I have asked my family about their vacation plans and work schedules. I have met with the VP at work to arrange to take time off this fall. And even though Kevin said in June that I might need to sign a new lease, as getting married by August wasn't feasible, I managed to stall. I have put my stuff in storage, moved my books to Kevin's apartment with my TV, and taken up residence on Audrei's couch.

In every way that I can possibly conceive, I have acted on the assumption that Kevin will propose.

And Ted is not the only one who does not believe that he will.

I got it from Mom that same night, a mere half hour after Ted's phone call. Where I had been silently wounded with Ted, I grew vocal and angry with my mom. "I know it frustrates you not to know my plans. But I do not have an answer for you. I. Don't. Know. I didn't tell you to reserve a date, so just make your vacation plans! Why ask me?" That was not enough for her. She wanted to know how long she had to make a wedding dress. A wedding dress that I have told her I will not be wearing, as Kevin and I aren't interested in having a reception. I'd look silly hanging out at family dinner in a wedding dress. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Am I sure that's what I want? How to answer that?

I hate wedding receptions. They're wasteful, of both time and money. The expectations of wedding receptions would put me in the poor house, if I could escape the loony bin after my brain rotted out from planning color schemes and finger foods. Receptions are flagrant displays of materialism. Not to mention boring. Merciful heavens, are they boring! I picture, instead, a family party with lots of simple food and lots of talking. I want to hang out with my friends and see if Ted or April will bust out a guitar. I want to play Carcassonne and carry my nephew around. A wedding dress doesn't fit in that scenario. I'm the girl who wants to go hiking for her honeymoon. I like things down to earth.

But sometimes...when I begin to feel like I'm on the clearance rack and my price tag has been slashed through with a red pen again and still no one is buying, then I get angry. When I talk about eloping even though I have no ring, I begin to see the merit in a real wedding reception. Those are the time when I crave a wedding gown and a diamond engagement ring, when my own tastes become secondary to the price I hope to exact on my behalf. I want my pound of flesh, my eight cows, my seven years' labor.

But, no, I don't really want a wedding dress.

I just want Kevin to propose, to act, like I have done, on the assumption that he wants to marry me.

Because sometimes, every so often, I think as Ted does, and I wonder what I'm doing on this couch, why I have no books, no home, no plans. My living situation has become a very visible and apt metaphor for my internal limbo, and I know that I can't stay on the couch forever.

in layman's terms

I am reading a great book right now, wherein one character describes human interactions in math terms, "absolute value" being the one I remember best right now. This character is usually rather flippant, so when his companion stopped for a beat after this explanation, I expected her to respond about the unusual depth and understanding he showed. Instead, she was completely confused by the terms and application. I laughed at myself when I realized my misunderstanding. That passage was intended to be confusing! But then again, I think of life through economics vocabulary. Nora knows that my favorite phrase is "sunk costs are irrelevant." To me, it is a moral about foresight, against grudge-bearing, and in favor of change, among many others. So even if I am a little bit off from the average layman, I at least have sympathy with a flippant god of bravery. I like the book better now.

true dreams

My dreams are true in a sense that I am manifesting real anxiety. The embodiment happens to be a little twisted. My fear of powerlessness comes in the form of water in dreams. It is often rising or pouring in through cracks, and I know that eventually it will overwhelm me. But while the symbols are manifestations of ubiquitous fears, the structure of the dreams, the plot, do not mean anything, they are the product of my mind's attempt to make sense of random stimuli.

Sometimes I have true dreams, in that when I wake up I think, Ah! That meant something! I remember these in perfect detail for years. And I always know exactly what they mean.

Like the one about the fruit trees outside of my McKinney home. I still vividly recall that dream. There are three others that I recall as clearly, but have no desire to recount in detail. And I had two in the past seven days.

The first was a Co-op version of the Most Dangerous Game, struggles with coworkers and jungle-set fights to the death. Later, trapped in an elevator that was part of an elaborate death trap, I discovered that the Co-op president was orchestrating all of these death matches, and the only way to appease him and get out of the elevator was to offer him a sacrifice of chocolate. I refused to do so, and instead prostrated myself before him in mocking obeisance. I scorned him and antagonized him, all the while knowing that my death was in his hands.

When I got to work the next morning, the mood was tense. Each member of the staff was trying to blame another for a failure on the sales floor that the Co-op president had noticed. He didn't care that it was rectified, he wanted someone to pay for it, and so pitted the entire staff against each other. No, I'm not prescient: this happens a lot. And I have no respect for the president who divides the company so severely, causing nothing but inefficiency and poor communication. I don't play his games. I wonder how long I'll last.

And then last night I had this dream:

I was part of a group mountain climbing, anchored by ropes, using pickaxes for gripping. The purpose was not recreation; I was being pursued and trying to escape with my life. Many people died. Dad was in the rear, struggling through deep snow. Some had left the path, building caves in the ice for shelter against the storm. And I lit a cigarette, responding to intimated criticism by explaining, "death does this to me."

It was when I lit the cigarette that I began to notice the oddity in my situation. What I am about to describe, I had seen through the entire dream, but I had never doubted the occurrences of the dream were real. The cigarette I "smoked" was a yellow colored pencil held loosely between my lips. The pickax a combination back-scratcher and shoe horn. The rope anchors, neck ties. The ice caves, piles of blankets, and the steep mountainous terrain was a path winding around a bed in the middle of a normal room. And somehow that didn't change a thing: Dad was still stuck, others had died, I was fleeing an enemy while constantly expecting to freeze or fall to my death. Though I knew I was playing make-believe, the consequences were real, and I kept on pretending.

I'm not going to tell you what it means.

materialism

My very generous mother gave me three hundred dollars with which to buy clothes. Not just any clothes. Ann Taylor clothes, or the equivalent. She wanted me to blow the whole amount on one outfit. The motive, I'm sure, was to relieve me from the stress of calculations and penny-pinching. A secondary motive is that my mother wants me to dress better. She always has. (I remember the year I spent the Gap gift card on men's dress shirts. I just wasn't ready then to wear anything feminine.)

I did what she wanted...almost. I bought two outfits from Banana Republic and spent the entire three hundred dollars. I bought the clothes because they fit my body and they matched my mom's requirements, namely something I would never buy for myself. By the time I got on the bus to go home, I knew that I already hated the clothes and I would never wear them.

There were several problems with these clothes:

The first is that they are hand-wash only. Yeah right.

The second is that they are too recognizable. I could only wear them once every month or so, because they are not everyday wear. They are exactly what my mom wanted, outfits that I would not normally buy. Which means, something I would not wear.

I suppose that wearing them seldom means that they would last longer, because the third problem with them is that they are thin, flimsy things that will soon disintegrate from too much washing by hand.

But mostly, they are not my style. I would feel conspicuous wearing them, like the scene in Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken where Sonora goes to the clip 'n curl. (Did you know that Al, her dreamy co-star, makes hand crafted furniture for a living in small-town Pennsylvania?) I would be playing dress up. The clothes would be using me, instead of vice versa. I feel like I couldn't live up to their expectations for me.

This, by the way, is the reason that I dislike diamonds so much: they are stuffy and formal and come with a list of expectations. I like colorful gemstones, because they are accessible, while still being valuable and pretty. I told Kevin to buy me an emerald engagement ring, even though I could have a diamond, not because I am cheap, but because I want an emerald. I have known since I was ten years old that I want an emerald engagement ring. When I get it, it will be the culmination of a fourteen-year desire.

I am not above desiring material goods. I want an emerald because it is pretty, not because it is useful or durable or any other responsible adjective I can insert here. I have a list that I keep of things to buy when I have disposable income. Sometimes I find good deals and make a purchase and cross it off my list, feeling very satisfied. I had knee-high brown boots on my list for two years before I bought some. I found Fiddler on the Roof for five dollars and crossed off a five-year line item, and I even broke my budget to do so. I understand wanting to have things. I can go into a book store with a $50 gift card and come out with a $100 purchase, a stack of books I can barely carry. I get it.

What I don't understand is having to want things. I walked into Ann Taylor and then Banana Republic with the intention of buying something. Nothing in either of those stores has ever been on my list of things I want. I felt like I was fabricating desires as I rifled through racks looking for pants. This one is my size, could I want it? Having no innate desire to own pin stripe trousers, I found myself thinking about the classy women who wear them. Don't I want to be like those classy women?

That's right, I played commercial after commercial to myself in my head, pulling the same stupid stunts that advertisers do while messing with our minds. I'll be happy if I can just own this pair of $89 dollar trousers, like all the classy women do. I perpetuated socioeconomic fashion hierarchies. This is what rich people wear, so it must be what's best. I even found myself damning my body when the pants wouldn't fit. Sure, sometimes I may not like that I've put on weight, but I have never had real enmity between me and my body. My body is part of who I am, and I could no more hate it than I could hate my innermost self (she's fabulous, by the way).

My innermost self hates materialism. I hate thinking about money. My number one short-term goal is to pay off my debt (a result of early bouts of immediate gratification). Because of that I live off of beans and rice to pay more money down each month. My number two short-term goal is to write. I view myself as a starving artist. I sacrifice career goals for time in the evenings in which to imagine. A starving artist simply cannot wear preppy business attire. My innermost self likes getting presents for the anticipation, for the wrapping paper, but really likes memories better than things. I find more pleasure in a long-awaited pay off than in receiving something that comes easily. (Take my relationship with Kevin for example.)

That's why I hate the Banana Republic clothes. Those two outfits cost more than $300. They cost my entire list of clothes that I really want but can't afford. I want khakis. Not beige pin-stripe trousers. Khakis. With pockets. I want a tote bag that will fit all of my books that I carry around daily. I want new scriptures.

So, I've made a decision. I'm returning my two outfits and buying everything that I can from my list. I am buying what I want, what I really want. Things that are functional and durable and resilient and...pretty.

I'm going to the Gap.

mothers' day

Mothers' Day is a ridiculous holiday foundation for Sacrament Meeting. Is Arbor Day next? They are about equally religious and universal. Mothers' Day Sacrament Meeting is always a cry-fest of personal maternal nostalgia. I don't care about others' mothers, and I'm sure they don't care about mine. Motherhood is a worthy sacred subject, but individual mothers? Call me cynical--many have--but I'd rather do as my own Mom did (see, you're already bored) and skip church on Mothers' Day, even if that means I don't get the free flower.

talking to kevin

There are times when I enjoy being angry. The feeling is cathartic. Plus, I am often at my funniest, most dry and cynical, when I am angry. As someone who is generally not funny, I appreciate my own wit in the midst of a rant. Laughter and anger are amicable opponents.

What I never enjoy--unless it is accompanied by a suitable amount of pride-satisfying "i-told-you-so"--is disappointment. Hoping is hard. It makes one vulnerable, softens skin, weakens defenses. So disappointment hurts more.

But sometimes even disappointment has a sweet aftertaste. And sometimes anger leaves me feeling peaceful.

Talking to Kevin has always been one of my favorite things. He is funnier and more interesting than anyone else I know. But I didn't realize until this weekend (or perhaps I had known it but forgotten) how healing it is.

Last Saturday, work reached its ultimate low point, a hellish end to a hellish week. I had no patience with which to meet even small trials. When Kevin called to ask me for a walk, I took my anger out on him, and the stroll consisted of me venting frustrations and generally abusing the world. And Kevin listened, laughing at my more wry comments, pretending sympathy or calming me, as appropriate. By the end he had me laughing without any dark humor at all, just from genuine good will. We ended the evening sitting on my couch in half-light and talking quietly. I felt not just cheered but refreshed, serene. Just because he listened.

Then Wednesday, he didn't call when he said he would, and I couldn't help feeling disappointed. To get out my feelings I wrote a four-page stream of consciousness, expressing dissatisfaction at insecure plans and impatience to be married. In a surly mood, I made him read it, while I hid my cowardly eyes. And when he had finished taking a beating, meeting with patience my lack, he leaned back and said, "I'm not going anywhere." There are times, quite frequently, when I fall in love with him all over again. This was one of the best. Maybe the best, but I hate to make that assertion at so emotional a time. Of four pages of bilge, he found the important point: not why I was disappointed, not why I was irritated, but why I was afraid. And he addressed that fear. I heard him say it and I felt amazed that he had heard what I didn't even know I had said. He really gets me. I felt stupid with relief. He held me a while longer, while I made other confessions (he has a way of getting me to confide things I never thought to tell), and I kept thinking, he's perfect.

He asked me out for tonight and tomorrow with specific plans, as though proving he heard me. I appreciate his alacrity, but I feel I need to give him a reprieve from my strictures. And I have to apologize for criticizing him with such vehemence. Beneath his sarcastic exterior, he is quite sensitive. Besides, apologizing gives me a chance to talk to him, and that is my all-time favorite thing.

will marry for internet

I called my mom when I found out that I can't buy the laptop. It's not that I can't afford the computer, but it turns out that we don't have internet in my apartment, and I can't afford the monthly payment. I vented my frustration to my mother, telling her how disappointed I am. This is just another disappointment among many. My current job temping is another big one; in fact, it is the big one. It is the reason that my feet hurt, that I ride a bus two hours each day, that I cannot pay off my debt as quickly as I would like, and the reason that I cannot use the internet except once a week. I hate my job, but crappy pay is better than no pay. I thought buying a computer would be a viable solution to my frustrations. I could use the internet at night to check email, apply for jobs, etc. Well, that dream died.

"You know," my mom said, "if you just got married, all your problems would go away."

Yes, she meant it seriously.

"Really?" I asked her. "Getting married would make me more marketable?"

She didn't answer.

"So, getting married will make the job I hate go away? It will get me a new and better position?"

"Well, no; but being married, some expenses go down, you know. You'd be able to share rent."

"I share rent now," I answered.

"I know, but maybe you would worry less about money."

"I'm not worried about money. I hate my job, I hate the bus and I hate beans, but I'm not worried about money."

"But you could..."

"I could what? What would it fix?"

"You'd at least have access to the internet!" she concluded, triumphant.

"Yes, mom, if I got married I would have internet."

I ended the conversation then, because I was angry and I do not talk when I am angry. I felt angry at my mother's attitude. Firstly, since her divorce, she ought to have grown out of the idea that marriage solves problems. Secondly, she acts as though I were purposefully delaying marriage, like I'm not interested in it and I need a bribe to get me to take the plunge. Gee, mom, I've always thought I'd die celibate, but if you think I could get wi-fi... Fairy tales have nothing on my mom when it comes to romance. I can just picture Cinderella standing outside the castle with a cardboard sign: will marry for internet.

at work

-A co-worker passed me at the cash register, and I asked her with an uninviting tone, "what do you want?" The rest of the day, she threw comments my way in passing: "World peace," "Jim, from The Office," "A job where I don't have to dress like this," "a nicer apartment." From my one thoughtless comment, I learned a lot about this girl.

-I met a girl named Owen and a boy named Jason Everett. Random.

-I was told by two managers that they would hire me in a second ("Half a second, even!") if they could. Flattering but, ultimately, not helpful.

job interview, take two

This was my good luck card from Nora. I got it before setting out for my interview this morning. I think it helped. I'll find out tonight.

scared in the dark

I had to force myself awake last night, and, as I lay panting in bed, I could swear I still heard screaming. My heart pounded so loudly that I knew that wherever he hid (probably under my bed), he could hear it. The face in my dreams terrified me, and I tried to keep myself from blinking in case I fell asleep again. I couldn't move, though my bladder ached for relief. I haven't been afraid of putting my feet over my bed in ages, but last night I reverted to my four-year-old self. I wept in bed for an hour before I managed to run to the bathroom, my heart skipping a beat in the dark, while I fumbled frantically for the light switch. I tried to remain awake as long as possible, covering my ears against the imagined shrieks of fear and pain, afraid even to turn my back to the wall for protection, because he had come through the wall in the nightmare. I am still shaken this morning, not only from lack of sleep, but also from the dark and evil images that won't leave me. That face, the arm coming at me through the wall, the eye peering in from behind a darkened window screen, the silent feet walking beneath the false floor, the shadow hiding in the closet. The screaming. I'm pretty sure I won't sleep for a week.

billy joel

I thought walking to Petsmart would help me, but when I saw the puppies and kittens I burst into tears in the middle of the store, right in front of employees and other customers. So, I crossed the parking lot to Chick-fil-A for ice cream and coke. I sat in a corner licking an enormous pile of soft serve and talking to Joyce, both of which helped immensely. Then She's Always a Woman came on. I love Billy Joel. I have a soft spot for him in my heart right next to Rascal Flatts and Phantom of the Opera (so....ten o'clock?). Nostalgia made me smile, and I thought I would get through the rest of today without any more crying, but that was a serious underestimation of my reaction to nostalgia. Now I can't decide why I'm crying. I think it's because Target didn't have the Billy Joel CD that I wanted.

peter on water

Things were working fine until I looked down at the waves.

job offer

I was offered a job yesterday. And I don't want it. The responsible thing would be to accept it, which I did, not because I'm responsible, but because I was blind-sided by the offer. I was walking through the Co-op to pick up my check, when the front manager asked me if I'd be interested in 35 hours a week running the outlet. Strictly speaking, I'd still be a temp, but I'd have guaranteed hours. I believe I stammered when I said I would be interested (notice I did not say "am") and he told me to come in for training next week and walked off. I never got to think about it.

If I had thought about it, I would have been annoyed at how cheap the Co-op is. They fired the outlet employee, because she was getting benefits and higher pay than a temp. I would work nearly full-time at eight dollars an hour. Sure, that's all I've been getting there up until now, but as a temp there is a certain trade-off. No responsibility, lower pay. Now they want me to run their satellite store for the same low pay. It's an insult. I would rather earn more per hour and work fewer hours. It's not how much money I bring home, but how much my time is valued. And right now, it's being valued less than before I received my damned degree. At 35 hours a week, I'll earn enough to pay bills and debt every month, but I'll also have no time to apply for a better job or to have hobbies or friends. 35 hours at the Co-op is five days a week, Tuesday through Saturday. Add the hour plus on the bus each way, and I will become effectively cloistered in that small, cheap life.

Boring too. There is nothing to do there, and I am tired of how blank my life is. The slowest, emptiest days are those when I work at the Co-op. Yes, I receive money, but no, I do not earn it. I am much more productive staying home. Even on the days when all I accomplish in the afternoon is a mini-marathon of Gilmore Girls. At least I spend every morning applying for jobs. I've applied for more than eighty, I'm quite certain. And this, this, is the best I can get.

I came home and cried.

my high point

no go

I did not get the job. But I am going shoe shopping to drown my sorrows.

job interview

I had a job interview today. The first in this round of job hunting. I hope that it went well. I'd feel better about it if a button on my blouse, which has shown no tendency for this in the past, hadn't popped open mid-interview. I will find out tonight for better or for worse. The next time you hear from me, I will either be horribly and irrevocably crushed, or I will be planning how to spend my first paycheck.

sick day

I called in sick this morning to work. And by work, I mean the lack of work that I do while temping at the Co-op. I don't know how sick I really am. I haven't coughed since I woke up, but I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my throat. It even kind of itches. Mostly, I didn't want to stand behind a cash register, staring stupidly at the Disney Channel, waiting in vain to be useful. So I took the day. Partly because I wanted to make sure this tickle in my throat doesn't become something more. I have a job interview tomorrow, and I would rather not have to clear my throat every few seconds. It makes a bad impression. I also wanted to use the Internet, which is available to me only during business hours, in order to plan my route to the aforementioned interview. I also plan to find a lost sweater, write some fiction and watch a movie. Maybe I'll even eat some soup so that I feel better about being sick.

burned

I had a dream a few weeks ago that my apartment burned down. I lost everything, despite my attempts to run back into the building. Afterward, as I stood in my ball gown (I don't know why I was in formal wear) next to Kevin, looking at the ruins of my building, I felt a hollow place inside me. I did not mind the loss of my clothes, long since reduced to ash. I mourned my books, and I felt real grief for the loss of my USB device, complete with all of my writing. It was for this last thing that I had been willing to brave the flames. I wept over that loss. Yet, that was not the worst pain of the night. The hardest part was discovering that I owned nothing more than the clothes on my back, a brown hoodie in the mailbox, and the furniture that I had in my mom's storage. I felt so small, knowing that I had nothing to offer to anybody. I don't remember telling Kevin about my furniture, but I remember him telling me that he didn't like it and he didn't want it. The only thing that I had to give him and he didn't want it! I felt crushed, devastated. I knew then that I couldn't marry him because I had nothing to offer. I took off his suit coat, which he had gallantly lent me, and stumbled to my mailbox, where I retrieved my fleece hoodie. I think the dream ended very Incredible Hulk-esque, with me walking off alone, but without the theme music. I kept crying all day as images bombarded my waking mind. This nightmare, though less violent than many, pierced all of my insecurities. The fire in the dream just made more apparent that which is. I fear that someday others will see what I saw in the flames there: that I have nothing to give in return for all that is given to me.

finals nightmare

My finals nightmare took a different twist than usual. I showed up for a test, and I kept calling a girl from my class by the wrong name. I first called her Jody, then Josey and finally Judy. Her name is Erin. Jody and Josey are also in that class. The dream made me afraid that I really hadn't learned anything in there, not even Erin's name.

at the end of my rope

I am going to SCREAM!

First, my house was taken over by velcro-pulling, cane-thumping, alarm-setting, mess-making loud mouth cattle.

And NOW the damned cleaning crew in the library are THUMPING! Over and over and never in any sort of rhythm.

I. am. losing. my. sanity...

to dye a virgin

I really did think that I would never, ever dye my hair. I was proud of that fact. I prefer things low maintenance, so I knew I would never keep up my hair color, and I am not afraid of growing old; in fact, I rather like my gray hair.

But, I was bored. I wanted a change, the kind of change that requires new clothes, new makeup, contacts or a new haircut. I have completely chopped my hair four times in my life and spent years growing it back each time. My hair is now the longest it's ever been. So, to stop myself from a regrettable move, I pounced on the opportunity my sisters offered of dyeing my hair with them.

The color they chose is practically identical to my natural hue. Joyce helped me through the actual process, since it was my first time and I have a lot of hair. And I had a lot of fun doing it. I felt adventurous, believe it or not, dyeing my hair. And, weirdly, I really like the new color. It is a little nuttier than my natural color, and now the gray doesn't show. In fact, my hair is incredibly shiny and healthy-looking (though considerably more damaged in actuality) all over.

The best thing about the dyeing process was really that it alleviated the boredom I had been feeling with myself. I still want jeans that aren't so old that they look white-washed. If I could, I would even own that turquoise corduroy coat from Target. And I definitely still want contacts, for a variety of reasons, including that glasses get in the way of some expressions of affection. But at least I no longer want to cut my hair off.

group paper

When we started the damn project, I apologized that, with my schedule and upcoming GRE, I would be the worst person to count on for this paper. I did my part, but I was the slacker. Or so I thought. I mean, I didn't do my section until a week after we had agreed to turn them into each other. It turns out that once again, I am the one doing the work and doing it well. The final paper is due today. The conclusion hasn't been written, and I am trying to edit the introduction that, no joke, includes the line "This is called the American Dream." Only some of my freshmen write worse than this. I'm planning on printing the paper sans ending, because at this point, I cannot do any more work. I've done it all already. My group will have to live with the C that they've earned.

* * *

Okay, make that a D. The grades just went up. This sucks.

worst song ever

Window to His Love is meant to be spiritual and inspiring. It is in fact doctrinally unsound, belittling and nauseating. I was disgusted.

spring onion

I originally wrote this 9/25/07, but hadn't yet added any of my thoughts. I still haven't, but I want to post it.

In the book the Karamazov Brothers (or Brothers Karamazov, depending on your translation), Grushenka, the town's whore, tries to seduce a young monk, but stops herself when she hears he is in mourning for his mentor. He praises her virtue and in return she tells him this story:

"You see, Alyosha," Grushenka turned to him with a nervous laugh. "I was boasting when I told Rakitin I had given away an onion, but it's not to boast I tell you about it. It's only a story, but it's a nice story. I used to hear it when I was a child from Matryona, my cook, who is still with me. It's like this. Once upon a time there was a peasant woman and a very wicked woman she was. And she died and did not leave a single good deed behind. The devils caught her and plunged her into the lake of fire. So her guardian angel stood and wondered what good deed of hers he could remember to tell to God; 'She once pulled up an onion in her garden,' said he, 'and gave it to a beggar woman.' And God answered: 'You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the lake, and let her take hold and be pulled out. And if you can pull her out of the lake, let her come to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman must stay where she is.' The angel ran to the woman and held out the onion to her. 'Come,' said he, 'catch hold and I'll pull you out.' he began cautiously pulling her out. He had just pulled her right out, when the other sinners in the lake, seeing how she was being drawn out, began catching hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But she was a very wicked woman and she began kicking them. 'I'm to be pulled out, not you. It's my onion, not yours.' As soon as she said that, the onion broke. And the woman fell into the lake and she is burning there to this day. So the angel wept and went away. So that's the story, Alyosha; I know it by heart, for I am that wicked woman myself. I boasted to Rakitin that I had given away an onion, but to you I'll say: 'I've done nothing but give away one onion all my life, that's the only good deed I've done.' "

recent sountrack to me

Recently some songs have struck a chord with me.

Billy Joel- "She's Always a Woman"
Dashboard Confessional - "The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most"
Ben Fold and Regina Spektor - "You Don't Know Me"
Vivaldi - "Winter from the Four Seasons"
Simon and Garfunkel - "I am a Rock"



These are songs from earlier eras of my life. They are not necessarily favorites, or even ones around which there are many memories. These are simply songs that explained at some time or another exactly how I felt. The list is not exhaustive.

Billy Joel - "For the Longest Time"
Dashboard Confessional - "Hands Down"
Jewel - "You Were Meant for Me"
Celine Dion - "It's All Coming Back to Me"
Lucky Boys Confusion - "Fred Astaire"
Wicked soundtrack - "For Good"
Death Cab for Cutie - "The Sound of Settling"
Avril Lavigne - "I'm with You"
Cranberries - "Dreams"

sometimes a limerick suffices

I'm tired of being invisible.
Your affections are far too divisible.
What can I do,
to get through to you,
and convince you that I am quite miss-able?

my nephew

This is my first ever nephew, Owen Hunter Clement, and he is beautiful.