Caitie has a book called Feelings Buried Alive Never Die, and its premise is that the reason we develop suceptabilities to certain ailments is due to emotional weakness. This book even lists many physical manifestations of some emotional sicknesses. For instance Caitie developed diarrhea and vomiting only a week after going through extensive visualization exercises with her mom. The cause of such illnesses: "a rejection of a visualization...." Weird.
My ailment has been my throat. I get sick rarely, but when I do it is in my throat and I lose my voice. The root problem: suppressed feelings of anger. I began to watch and about a week after I would be really mad, my voice would go. In between bursts of anger, my throat often got itchy when I was grumpy. The contradiction: I never got sore throats in high school, and back then I suppressed everything.
Last Wednesday my feelings got hurt really badly, and I spent all day Thursday trying to reconcile my feelings with my reason. Thursday night my knees began to ache. All day Friday my hips were in a lot of pain. If I continue in physical activity I am okay, but if I sit or stand at all, all my joints freeze up. The book suggests that painful joints are a result of suppressing feelings of hurt. What the--!
I have been aware for a long time that I have problems dealing with emotions. But in the last few years I have become so much better. Really! I even went to counseling for a year, and my counselor was so excited the first time I cried in front of him. Granted, that was the last time I went...over a year ago. But now I am wondering, is it because I am aware of the emotion I feel that when I hide them my body rebels? To get rid of this ache--which is now spreading to my back and preventing use of a back pack--must I tell my friends these irrational feelings I have? Or can I just take a muscle relaxer? I'm already sucking on cough suppressants to numb my newly sore throat. Man, this is getting serious.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
g.i.v.e.r.
I may never grow up. At least, at this pace, it seems unlikely. I have changed my mind yet again in regards to what I want to be. Oh, I still want to write, to be a mom and to do family history work, but now I have another idea to add to that list. Lately I have become infatuated with the idea of starting my own school. Emilie and I planned it. The school would start as a multi-family home school between the four roommates, but it would grow as we solicited students from the community. Always very small scale, but very very effective and fun.
Emilie would teach music--in later years in would be elective, but starting out as part of the core curriculum in elementary. Caitie would have many roles besides teaching science. She wants to be "that person who when the kids get cut tells them to suck it up and quit crying." "The school nurse?" I asked her. "Yeah! That's it."She would also oversee dance and self-defense. Cassidy heads up math and history. I would teach English and social sciences, including government, economics, sociology, and philosophy (all those things I debated majoring in!) Maybe I could also be the librarian?
Emilie and I discussed hiring out for other positions, but she eventually decided that we would marry out for those jobs. All four of us girls would marry men with normal day jobs so our financial drain of a school wouldn't be responsible for supporting the family. These men, however, must also have skills necessary for the survival of our institute. An accountant was Emilie's first concern. I volunteered to take business classes but instead Cassidy has offered to marry a Marriott school grad.
We're marrying Ted because we love him and because his skills in music can complement Emilie's, and he can build a fire. We all love camping and want to do character-building retreats, but I cannot build a fire for the life of me.
We need a handyman, though he can of course have a different day job if he likes. I just want to be able to ask someone free of charge what ought to be done about the leaky faucet. Nathaniel Gardner has been selected as one who is good with his hands. He is too young for me so he falls to Cassidy; he'll just have to major in accounting when he decides what he wants to be when he grows up.
Other requirements included dentistry (because apparently this school is turning into a commune and we'll never go outside the family for anything), advertising, dancing, gardening, knowledge of computers, ability and willingness to cook dinner, and gospel knowledge (for life in general but also for seminary teaching). So if you know someone with these qualities who wants to be part of something small but good, please email me immediately. It's never too soon to marry....oh wait....
Caitie's options for marriage are fairly open. I've recommended Matt Bushman for character across the board. My choice is Steve Gardner for his name. If I marry him we can call the school the Gardner Institute of Education or something like that. Or maybe the Gardner Institute of Very Educated Retards so we could tell people that we are G.I.V.E.R.s Oh the possibilities!
Emilie would teach music--in later years in would be elective, but starting out as part of the core curriculum in elementary. Caitie would have many roles besides teaching science. She wants to be "that person who when the kids get cut tells them to suck it up and quit crying." "The school nurse?" I asked her. "Yeah! That's it."She would also oversee dance and self-defense. Cassidy heads up math and history. I would teach English and social sciences, including government, economics, sociology, and philosophy (all those things I debated majoring in!) Maybe I could also be the librarian?
Emilie and I discussed hiring out for other positions, but she eventually decided that we would marry out for those jobs. All four of us girls would marry men with normal day jobs so our financial drain of a school wouldn't be responsible for supporting the family. These men, however, must also have skills necessary for the survival of our institute. An accountant was Emilie's first concern. I volunteered to take business classes but instead Cassidy has offered to marry a Marriott school grad.
We're marrying Ted because we love him and because his skills in music can complement Emilie's, and he can build a fire. We all love camping and want to do character-building retreats, but I cannot build a fire for the life of me.
We need a handyman, though he can of course have a different day job if he likes. I just want to be able to ask someone free of charge what ought to be done about the leaky faucet. Nathaniel Gardner has been selected as one who is good with his hands. He is too young for me so he falls to Cassidy; he'll just have to major in accounting when he decides what he wants to be when he grows up.
Other requirements included dentistry (because apparently this school is turning into a commune and we'll never go outside the family for anything), advertising, dancing, gardening, knowledge of computers, ability and willingness to cook dinner, and gospel knowledge (for life in general but also for seminary teaching). So if you know someone with these qualities who wants to be part of something small but good, please email me immediately. It's never too soon to marry....oh wait....
Caitie's options for marriage are fairly open. I've recommended Matt Bushman for character across the board. My choice is Steve Gardner for his name. If I marry him we can call the school the Gardner Institute of Education or something like that. Or maybe the Gardner Institute of Very Educated Retards so we could tell people that we are G.I.V.E.R.s Oh the possibilities!
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
sanity my love
I thought that we had a relationship that would withstand time, Sanity and I, but now I know it isn't so. Because any other potential relationship drives this vital one into dust. My Sanity is a very dramatic sort, and if ever I show an inkling for someone else, he leaves me. I, luckily, am very loyal, and I try to cling to Sanity with every part of me, fighting Infatuation, to hold on to that commitment. But Infatuation was too persuasive this time, making up dreams and fantasies that I can't resist. I didn't even notice Sanity slipping away, until one morning I woke up, ticked a day off on my calendar and immediately began the roller-coaster ride of emotions, gift from Infatuation. Sanity had abandoned me. I needed to be committed. Why, oh why, didn't anyone save me from my idiocy? Now I have the pain of separation, no matter which choice I make--to go back to Sanity, who will always be waiting, or to pursue Infatuation until he leaves me penniless in a foreign country.
I choose...
I choose both, to live the life of an adulteress, holding hands with Sanity on one side and Infatuation on the other. My strong protector Sanity will close all the doors left open too long by Infatuation, those that lead to ridicule and pain. The day dreams will go away, but I'll never quite forget they were there. Maybe I can get some homework done, and maybe I can make some sensible friends. That is, when I'm not checking email like a madwoman and writing stories on my laptop. I need Sanity and Infatuation in my life, and I think in the end I will be glad of them.
I choose...
I choose both, to live the life of an adulteress, holding hands with Sanity on one side and Infatuation on the other. My strong protector Sanity will close all the doors left open too long by Infatuation, those that lead to ridicule and pain. The day dreams will go away, but I'll never quite forget they were there. Maybe I can get some homework done, and maybe I can make some sensible friends. That is, when I'm not checking email like a madwoman and writing stories on my laptop. I need Sanity and Infatuation in my life, and I think in the end I will be glad of them.
Friday, May 12, 2006
i'll take a number 7
Last night I cheered myself up as I often do: I spent time with my best friends (all but Cassidy who had to work). We went to eat at the Olive Garden ordering fancy drinks, appetizers and entrees. A celebration in gluttony. I decided it was my favorite of the deadly sins, until I looked back over the day. Yesterday was a celebration of all seven. Kevin Spacey would be proud.
sloth--five episodes of Gilmore Girls
lust--did I not mention five episodes of Gilmore Girls? to better specify, all the cute ones with Jess.
jealousy--I wanted my friends all to myself! Sorry new people, you must find your own friends.
greed--I want more Gilmore Girls!
gluttony--mmm chicken alfredo, artichoke dip and a mango daiquiri with lime
pride--I didn't play anti-nephi-lehi when it came to the pillow fight with Ted last night.
wrath--when Matt made comments during volleyball. "No, no, don't get up. I got it." Good!
But my favorite was gluttony.
sloth--five episodes of Gilmore Girls
lust--did I not mention five episodes of Gilmore Girls? to better specify, all the cute ones with Jess.
jealousy--I wanted my friends all to myself! Sorry new people, you must find your own friends.
greed--I want more Gilmore Girls!
gluttony--mmm chicken alfredo, artichoke dip and a mango daiquiri with lime
pride--I didn't play anti-nephi-lehi when it came to the pillow fight with Ted last night.
wrath--when Matt made comments during volleyball. "No, no, don't get up. I got it." Good!
But my favorite was gluttony.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
laundry life-line
I am sitting at the computer watching the time count down until my laundry is dry. Then I can unload it. Then I can run away. My laundry is the only thing holding me to this spot right now--to this place physically and metaphysically. I'm letting go and slipping, and I have about 11.46 minutes until my last finger slides off the edge to which I am holding. Then, so help me, I am running away to the Quasimodo of Pretty, a park, the zoo, Disneyland, somewhere. Make that 9.78 minutes; I had to look up how to spell Quasimodo.
Last night I was country dancing and having such a marvelous time that my roommates noted on how much different I am than I used to be. Next minute, I turned around and walked out. I would have walked home except for my fear of dark roads and bad men with mustaches, so Cassidy escorted me. I was too restless to get ready for bed and too indolent to do something fun. All at once my enjoyment disappeared. My body figured out that something was bothering me before I did. It told me to go home, and then my emotions caught up. It took my mind another day before I knew what was wrong.
During that said day, I stayed up way too late, slept in later, skipped all but dance class--the only one I wanted to skip--and narcotized myself with five episodes of Gilmore Girls. Five. You know, it may have been six. Finally I mentally shook myself as hard as I was able. The difficulty lay in that my head was stuck somewhere in a gigantic pile of sand. I saw what I was doing, cutting my legs out from under me, indulging in laziness like a form of substance abuse. Were I a drinker, I'd be on my way to AA (I am legal now). As it is, I found a sudden need to do at least one thing productive.
That's where the laundry comes in. Five loads. And in 2.21 minutes those loads will be gone, and I will forget that reality exists. I will stop loving classes, I will stop going to my job, I will stop even caring what day of the week it is. All because what? Because I am in denial, mad that I don't have better control over my emotions.
The alarm is going off now. Maybe I'll wash a load of towels. 42 minutes. In 42 minutes I'll let go.
Last night I was country dancing and having such a marvelous time that my roommates noted on how much different I am than I used to be. Next minute, I turned around and walked out. I would have walked home except for my fear of dark roads and bad men with mustaches, so Cassidy escorted me. I was too restless to get ready for bed and too indolent to do something fun. All at once my enjoyment disappeared. My body figured out that something was bothering me before I did. It told me to go home, and then my emotions caught up. It took my mind another day before I knew what was wrong.
During that said day, I stayed up way too late, slept in later, skipped all but dance class--the only one I wanted to skip--and narcotized myself with five episodes of Gilmore Girls. Five. You know, it may have been six. Finally I mentally shook myself as hard as I was able. The difficulty lay in that my head was stuck somewhere in a gigantic pile of sand. I saw what I was doing, cutting my legs out from under me, indulging in laziness like a form of substance abuse. Were I a drinker, I'd be on my way to AA (I am legal now). As it is, I found a sudden need to do at least one thing productive.
That's where the laundry comes in. Five loads. And in 2.21 minutes those loads will be gone, and I will forget that reality exists. I will stop loving classes, I will stop going to my job, I will stop even caring what day of the week it is. All because what? Because I am in denial, mad that I don't have better control over my emotions.
The alarm is going off now. Maybe I'll wash a load of towels. 42 minutes. In 42 minutes I'll let go.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
bureaucracy
Up until this point I have been relatively sheltered from the bureaucratic processes of complex organizations. For me to get anything done I had merely to ask my parents. Sometimes they dealt heavily with me and made me ask the other parent too. That's the worst I had it. Now I am dealing with the Department of Veterans Affairs. Not only is the VA a government branch, but it is also severely underfunded. Thus, when I ask them for money, they do everything they can to put off payment.
I got the letter in the mail a while ago, saying that yes I was entitled to full educational benefits from the VA. That is 695 dollars a month (I'm sure it used to be 700 but then they wanted to spread the money farther and torture the accountants who work in the basement). All I had to do was provide proof of current enrollment at my college and then pick the date for the benefits to begin. I could back date it to July 2005 when I became eligible. So that's what I did. I faxed them my paperwork, saying yes please send me a very big check. Instead of a big check in the mail, I got a letter asking me to do the whole thing over again. You must select a date, it said. The following letter attempted to talk me out of backdating my benefits. You won't get more money up front by choosing July. Another problem was that I had only provided proof of enrollment since January, not July. I'm sorry, I thought, I didn't realize that current enrollment went back to the time I started kindergarten!
Today I called the toll-free number (so help me, if I get charged for that, those Veterans will remember what war looks like!) and was put on hold for eight minutes before someone took the call. They asked for my social security number, then my name, then my mailing address. I'm sorry, but if my file didn't come up with the social then they need a new filing system. Or is it proof they want? I'm sure someone stealing my identity would know my name and address. I could mail in a blood sample if they'd like. I told him my problem.
They said I picked the wrong date, but I was told I could pick any date.
I have here that you can pick any date.
I know! But it won't let me.
Have you filled out an application?
Didn't you just say I could pick a date?
Yes.
Then obviously I filled out an application.
And I have here that you were approved.
Funny, that's what I heard as well.
So, all we need is for you to pick a date between, let's see....July-
July 22, 2005 and February 1, 2006
So you already know this?
I want to pick July.
I see.
If I do will I get a check for the back payment to that month?
Absolutely.
I will get a check for all the months since July?
Yes.
Then I pick July.
Are you sure you want to do that?
YES!
Okay, just one second...okay, you're all set. The payment department will calculate the money and get it sent out to you.
That's it?
Yes.
You just did it?
You said July, right?
Yes.
Yep, all set.
Thanks.
I hung up the phone wondering why on earth they couldn't have done that in the first place. I had to get an extension on my tuition because they sent a confirmation letter instead of a check, and all it took was thirty seconds to do it. God bless America, but Satan can have the Government.
On the plus side, when I drop out of college for lack of funding and join the circus, I will be expert at jumping through hoops.
I got the letter in the mail a while ago, saying that yes I was entitled to full educational benefits from the VA. That is 695 dollars a month (I'm sure it used to be 700 but then they wanted to spread the money farther and torture the accountants who work in the basement). All I had to do was provide proof of current enrollment at my college and then pick the date for the benefits to begin. I could back date it to July 2005 when I became eligible. So that's what I did. I faxed them my paperwork, saying yes please send me a very big check. Instead of a big check in the mail, I got a letter asking me to do the whole thing over again. You must select a date, it said. The following letter attempted to talk me out of backdating my benefits. You won't get more money up front by choosing July. Another problem was that I had only provided proof of enrollment since January, not July. I'm sorry, I thought, I didn't realize that current enrollment went back to the time I started kindergarten!
Today I called the toll-free number (so help me, if I get charged for that, those Veterans will remember what war looks like!) and was put on hold for eight minutes before someone took the call. They asked for my social security number, then my name, then my mailing address. I'm sorry, but if my file didn't come up with the social then they need a new filing system. Or is it proof they want? I'm sure someone stealing my identity would know my name and address. I could mail in a blood sample if they'd like. I told him my problem.
They said I picked the wrong date, but I was told I could pick any date.
I have here that you can pick any date.
I know! But it won't let me.
Have you filled out an application?
Didn't you just say I could pick a date?
Yes.
Then obviously I filled out an application.
And I have here that you were approved.
Funny, that's what I heard as well.
So, all we need is for you to pick a date between, let's see....July-
July 22, 2005 and February 1, 2006
So you already know this?
I want to pick July.
I see.
If I do will I get a check for the back payment to that month?
Absolutely.
I will get a check for all the months since July?
Yes.
Then I pick July.
Are you sure you want to do that?
YES!
Okay, just one second...okay, you're all set. The payment department will calculate the money and get it sent out to you.
That's it?
Yes.
You just did it?
You said July, right?
Yes.
Yep, all set.
Thanks.
I hung up the phone wondering why on earth they couldn't have done that in the first place. I had to get an extension on my tuition because they sent a confirmation letter instead of a check, and all it took was thirty seconds to do it. God bless America, but Satan can have the Government.
On the plus side, when I drop out of college for lack of funding and join the circus, I will be expert at jumping through hoops.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
that's one, one day!
My birthday came, was wonderful, and fled, leaving behind it a naked spot on my white board. There I had counted down the days until my crowning victory of turning another year older. Now, I could either start over with 364 days or find something new toward which to look. And 364 is such a large number. Alas, so is 72, but that's what the board now says. Tomorrow it will read 71, and in about two months I will be able to bear looking at the teasing integer. Probably. I almost wish I didn't know how to count.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
paul simon is my hero
Someone told me
It's all happening at the zoo
I do believe it
I do believe it's true
It's a light and tumble journey
From the East Side to the park
Just a fine and fancy ramble
To the zoo
But you can take the crosstown bus
If it's raining or it's cold
And the animals will love it
If you doIf ya do now
Something tells me
It's all happening at the zoo
I do believe it
I do believe it's true
The monkeys stand for honesty
Giraffes are insincere
And the elephants are kindly but they're dumb
Orangutans are skeptical
Of changes in their cages
And the zookeeper is very fond of rum
Zebras are reactionaries
Antelopes are missionaries
Pigeons plot in secrecy
And hamsters turn on frequently
What a gas
Ya gotta come and see
At the zoo
It's all happening at the zoo
I do believe it
I do believe it's true
It's a light and tumble journey
From the East Side to the park
Just a fine and fancy ramble
To the zoo
But you can take the crosstown bus
If it's raining or it's cold
And the animals will love it
If you doIf ya do now
Something tells me
It's all happening at the zoo
I do believe it
I do believe it's true
The monkeys stand for honesty
Giraffes are insincere
And the elephants are kindly but they're dumb
Orangutans are skeptical
Of changes in their cages
And the zookeeper is very fond of rum
Zebras are reactionaries
Antelopes are missionaries
Pigeons plot in secrecy
And hamsters turn on frequently
What a gas
Ya gotta come and see
At the zoo
Friday, May 05, 2006
canonical
A new language has developed from my joke. Overheard:
Ben was actually flirting with me!
Maybe he had a change of heart.
He's converted and ready for baptism!
Most men convert to Caitie.
But she hasn't baptized them yet.
Are you converted anywhere?
Oh no.
Ben was actually flirting with me!
Maybe he had a change of heart.
He's converted and ready for baptism!
Most men convert to Caitie.
But she hasn't baptized them yet.
Are you converted anywhere?
Oh no.
the new religion
Why do we sweat? I asked Caitie, the future MD. To flush out toxins. That is the same reason we sneeze and cough when we are sick, and the same reason that we cry when we are sad. It's all to rid the body of its imperfections. So, I reasoned with them, if expelling fluids is cleansing, wouldn't that make kissing like baptism? After a momentary pause, the girls ran with it.
But you're getting back fluids too.
So? They're different fluids.
After I kiss someone I develop different quirks than I previously had?
Yes.
Then, if I kiss someone I may develop the habit of swearing.
You shouldn't kiss a boy who swears.
Kissing is rather cleansing.
I guess I've never been baptised.
Was kissing Jon was like baptism...to the wrong church?
Perfect! I am so blogging this, I cried running to my room. Only the screams of their laughter, results of a tickle war in which Caitie has no mercy, drew me back to their circle. I shrieked my own torture at merely watching their antics. I can't stand tickling, though I absolutely adore it. Our romp became more violent until we felt need to repent. I guess we need some religion in our lives.
But you're getting back fluids too.
So? They're different fluids.
After I kiss someone I develop different quirks than I previously had?
Yes.
Then, if I kiss someone I may develop the habit of swearing.
You shouldn't kiss a boy who swears.
Kissing is rather cleansing.
I guess I've never been baptised.
Was kissing Jon was like baptism...to the wrong church?
Perfect! I am so blogging this, I cried running to my room. Only the screams of their laughter, results of a tickle war in which Caitie has no mercy, drew me back to their circle. I shrieked my own torture at merely watching their antics. I can't stand tickling, though I absolutely adore it. Our romp became more violent until we felt need to repent. I guess we need some religion in our lives.
Friday, April 28, 2006
washington dc
I have found my place in life. I am not talking about a path or some transcendental thought like that. No, I mean a literal place where I belong: Washington D.C. I've always wanted to visit, but
now I'm going there to stay. April lives there, Tarythe is moving there, Alyessa is heading that way, Ted and Dave may decide to follow Amy there, and a Bushman is looking into it. Not to mention that Heather is only a short drive away. To this point, I had always thought that I'd have to build my own compound in Spain in order to have so many of those I love gathered in one city. Now I see my error. I lacked patriotism--may I be forgiven--and missed on the vision of this better way. We shall live in the Nation's Capitol and eat Freedom Toast every morning. God bless America.
now I'm going there to stay. April lives there, Tarythe is moving there, Alyessa is heading that way, Ted and Dave may decide to follow Amy there, and a Bushman is looking into it. Not to mention that Heather is only a short drive away. To this point, I had always thought that I'd have to build my own compound in Spain in order to have so many of those I love gathered in one city. Now I see my error. I lacked patriotism--may I be forgiven--and missed on the vision of this better way. We shall live in the Nation's Capitol and eat Freedom Toast every morning. God bless America. Thursday, April 27, 2006
smell-o-vision
I daydream at work. I run away from the tedium into my mind with all its various stages and plays. Sometimes I fantasize, or write my books, or sometimes I remember real events. Each plays before me like a movie, dominantly visual with some auditory support. And much like movies, my favorite parts are where the sound and visuals have little to do with one another...you know, like in montages. April will agree with me here. So it goes that I don't experience three of my senses mentally. I do not smell, taste or touch my thoughts--I've decided to let MGM or Willy Wonka take over research into those areas. But today I hit on a breakthrough.
I was remembering a past event, slowly processing it into a daydream. I saw the entire situation, somehow third person watching myself. It's odd to visualize oneself in situations; at least, I find it odd despite the fact that that is how I always see life. I saw the image and I heard nothing. I decided to zoom in, and suddenly I saw through true memory's eyes, first person and almost too close. But I gasped when I suddenly felt the sensations. I touched cotton. I looked at my hands in front of me, seeing them resting idly on the metal counter at work, while in my vision I clung to cotton, soft and dry against my fingers. I felt pressure against one half of my body that came from nowhere but this recollection. My head, held erect in reality, felt relaxed as it rested on another surface. I let go of the image when I smelled him, part deodorant, part cologne and part that smell that comes from under the skin that sticks to one's clothes and is somehow completely unique. I felt like I was dropping a hot pan, releasing in protective instinct, as I let the cafeteria at the Cannon Center pound my senses once more. My chest felt tight with the surprise and fear of such an experience. And then I wanted it back.
I feel now that my writing has been as my thoughts--only two-fifths the depth it could have been. It is a strange new world to imagine, with all that detail always demanding attention like a separate character. This person--these people of scent, touch and taste--will assault me from every side now, pulling at me when I have nothing left to give. Yet, if I am going to be as good a writer as I have always hoped, then I will give something anyway. In return I believe I will find a store of greatness, of life--scary and delicious--waiting to be translated by me onto paper.
I was remembering a past event, slowly processing it into a daydream. I saw the entire situation, somehow third person watching myself. It's odd to visualize oneself in situations; at least, I find it odd despite the fact that that is how I always see life. I saw the image and I heard nothing. I decided to zoom in, and suddenly I saw through true memory's eyes, first person and almost too close. But I gasped when I suddenly felt the sensations. I touched cotton. I looked at my hands in front of me, seeing them resting idly on the metal counter at work, while in my vision I clung to cotton, soft and dry against my fingers. I felt pressure against one half of my body that came from nowhere but this recollection. My head, held erect in reality, felt relaxed as it rested on another surface. I let go of the image when I smelled him, part deodorant, part cologne and part that smell that comes from under the skin that sticks to one's clothes and is somehow completely unique. I felt like I was dropping a hot pan, releasing in protective instinct, as I let the cafeteria at the Cannon Center pound my senses once more. My chest felt tight with the surprise and fear of such an experience. And then I wanted it back.
I feel now that my writing has been as my thoughts--only two-fifths the depth it could have been. It is a strange new world to imagine, with all that detail always demanding attention like a separate character. This person--these people of scent, touch and taste--will assault me from every side now, pulling at me when I have nothing left to give. Yet, if I am going to be as good a writer as I have always hoped, then I will give something anyway. In return I believe I will find a store of greatness, of life--scary and delicious--waiting to be translated by me onto paper.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
birthdays
Tonight Nora, Jason, Jamie and I celebrated with my dad his birthday. This leads me to one thought. My birthday. And yes, it's in twelve days. Remember that.
Monday, April 24, 2006
rainy days and mondays
Over a year ago I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It was the day I recognized my failure in so many fields. I went to my dad for comfort and on the drive home, the Carpenters' Rainy Days and Mondays played in the background. Even as I sobbed, I sang along. This year, the anniversary of the day went rather well, and I let it pass. I thought that was the milestone I had to reach, and I admit to being slightly disappointed that it was so nondescript. Today, however, I realized that today is the day I was meant to reach, and I feel that it truly means something that I listened to Emilie sing that same song as we drove home from my Dad's house. I wondered briefly to myself whether Heavenly Father would inspire someone with Carpenters' lyrics, before I nodded with certainty. Of course He would. That one chorus told me so many things that I needed to know.
I didn't get an A this semester. No, not a single one. I haven't received my grades yet--I even have one final remaining tomorrow night--but I know my performance. I did not meet the criteria for an A. I cried when I sacrificed my last possible chance to see that letter on my transcript this semester. Sharing the Gospel is graded almost entirely on the Honor System. We graded our own finals and merely reported the result to Brother Bott. Then he handed out an evaluation where we ranked ourselves on all the various requirements for the course. Reading assignments completed takes twenty percent of the total. All I needed was to give myself a fifteen (I have perfect scores on everything) but I couldn't do it. I probably only read half of the material. Ten. I took away my own perfect grade. Had I lied, I would have hated to see that glowing jewel on my transcript--the Tell Tale Heart comes to BYU. I know I did right, but I am disappointed. I am not hurt because I want to show off my report card, or because I know others lied to get grades they didn't deserve. I simply wanted the A.
Nobody who has known me will believe that I cried when I found out the A was gone. I do not care about grades. I never have. What I care about is that my efforts get acknowledged. I have never put effort into classes and so I never obsessed about what that final letter said. What it testified to was not who I am but merely how I did in one class. That's even true this semester; I am pulling straight B's. But Sharing the Gospel was different. I learned that material. I know it. More importantly, I internalized what I learned and let the class make me a better person. If my grade were based on how much I gave to and took from that class, I would have a grade higher than A. But I did not finish the text book. So I guess I am merely sad that I will not get official credit for what I've done. It is a petty thought. I chided myself for it on the entire walk home from this perfect final.
Your success is between you and the Lord, someone told me in my heart. I know, I said, and that is when I started to cry. But I wanted the A. I pleaded to Him to inspire the heart of my professor to know that I'd done my all to give me the grade anyway. I wanted it for me, I whispered; and then I cried harder when I realized I'd given it up precisely because of what I had learned through the Spirit of that class. It stung, giving up the reward I wanted, even though it was for the only One who knows how truly far I have come this year. Is it okay to cry, even though I would not take it back, even though I feel it is my thanks to Him for helping me become who I am? Is it still okay to cry?
Emilie held me for a moment or two before my dad came to give me his car. She and I drove him home and are now primping to go out to celebrate. What are we celebrating? If you are answering to yourself that it is the car, then you know me none at all and should not be reading my blog. It is not even the money that had chased away so many future moments of worry. It is a celebration of perspective.
This semester has been the greatest time of my life for becoming who I am and liking that person. I successfully balanced a full load of school with an intense work schedule. I slept well each night and woke early in the morning. I made my bed. I read scriptures and I am learning to pray--really pray. I think, I hope, that I have acquitted myself well with family relationships and with friends. I have a sense of honor and a hope that someday I will be humble. I have learned more about the Atonement. I dress well. I handled money decently well. I have learned a lot about who I am. This above all.
Last year I didn't have definitive answers to anything about me. I liked most things in moderation and nothing in particular. Now I know. I know that I love oldies music. My favorite genre of movies is family films, but I also like westerns. I like studying human interaction, but I hate the word "culture" (thanks to anthropology). I take too long in the shower. I don't like wearing makeup, not even when I am dressing up. There are exceptions, I guess. I want to be a mother when I grow up, and write whenever I have time. I want to write my fiction, but mostly I want to write personal histories. I love family history. I grumble when woken up from naps. I don't like swimming. I wear pink. I love hiking. I work off the reward system, especially if the reward is cheese. I think I would like volleyball and want to learn. I hate hiphop music, and country is only good when sung by male voices. I can be scary when protective. I am Texan through and through. I cook well. I am nice.
I never knew I was nice and good. I think I believed the cynical cruel things I said about myself before; I was just waiting for that day last year to prove that I was a failure inside just waiting to break free. Now I know that I am a success who needed to learn it for herself. I love my job; I am good at it and my bosses know it. I have become spiritual, more than merely religious. I love the Book of Mormon, and I love seeing Heavenly Father's Hand in my life. I have hope. My first instinct with people is to forgive. I like serving. I love my family--so help me but I do. I am smart and able to do well in school. I know my priorities, and I know my friends.
I looked back over this semester in personal interview with my Lord. I walked away from campus crying over a second-rate grade, but the whole way home I felt this burning that I have learned to recognize as the Holy Ghost (this is perhaps my greatest achievement, though I am far from being where I ought) whispering words of comfort and approval. At first I thought it was confirmation that I had done the honorable thing when signing away my A, but I know it was more than that. It was a testimony of what I have just related, that who I am is pleasing to the Lord. He is not unaware of the great growth I have undergone. Most importantly, I believe that Heavenly Father loves the person I am for who she shows the potential to be. This is what I have wanted for over a year.
This is my A.
I didn't get an A this semester. No, not a single one. I haven't received my grades yet--I even have one final remaining tomorrow night--but I know my performance. I did not meet the criteria for an A. I cried when I sacrificed my last possible chance to see that letter on my transcript this semester. Sharing the Gospel is graded almost entirely on the Honor System. We graded our own finals and merely reported the result to Brother Bott. Then he handed out an evaluation where we ranked ourselves on all the various requirements for the course. Reading assignments completed takes twenty percent of the total. All I needed was to give myself a fifteen (I have perfect scores on everything) but I couldn't do it. I probably only read half of the material. Ten. I took away my own perfect grade. Had I lied, I would have hated to see that glowing jewel on my transcript--the Tell Tale Heart comes to BYU. I know I did right, but I am disappointed. I am not hurt because I want to show off my report card, or because I know others lied to get grades they didn't deserve. I simply wanted the A.
Nobody who has known me will believe that I cried when I found out the A was gone. I do not care about grades. I never have. What I care about is that my efforts get acknowledged. I have never put effort into classes and so I never obsessed about what that final letter said. What it testified to was not who I am but merely how I did in one class. That's even true this semester; I am pulling straight B's. But Sharing the Gospel was different. I learned that material. I know it. More importantly, I internalized what I learned and let the class make me a better person. If my grade were based on how much I gave to and took from that class, I would have a grade higher than A. But I did not finish the text book. So I guess I am merely sad that I will not get official credit for what I've done. It is a petty thought. I chided myself for it on the entire walk home from this perfect final.
Your success is between you and the Lord, someone told me in my heart. I know, I said, and that is when I started to cry. But I wanted the A. I pleaded to Him to inspire the heart of my professor to know that I'd done my all to give me the grade anyway. I wanted it for me, I whispered; and then I cried harder when I realized I'd given it up precisely because of what I had learned through the Spirit of that class. It stung, giving up the reward I wanted, even though it was for the only One who knows how truly far I have come this year. Is it okay to cry, even though I would not take it back, even though I feel it is my thanks to Him for helping me become who I am? Is it still okay to cry?
Emilie held me for a moment or two before my dad came to give me his car. She and I drove him home and are now primping to go out to celebrate. What are we celebrating? If you are answering to yourself that it is the car, then you know me none at all and should not be reading my blog. It is not even the money that had chased away so many future moments of worry. It is a celebration of perspective.
This semester has been the greatest time of my life for becoming who I am and liking that person. I successfully balanced a full load of school with an intense work schedule. I slept well each night and woke early in the morning. I made my bed. I read scriptures and I am learning to pray--really pray. I think, I hope, that I have acquitted myself well with family relationships and with friends. I have a sense of honor and a hope that someday I will be humble. I have learned more about the Atonement. I dress well. I handled money decently well. I have learned a lot about who I am. This above all.
Last year I didn't have definitive answers to anything about me. I liked most things in moderation and nothing in particular. Now I know. I know that I love oldies music. My favorite genre of movies is family films, but I also like westerns. I like studying human interaction, but I hate the word "culture" (thanks to anthropology). I take too long in the shower. I don't like wearing makeup, not even when I am dressing up. There are exceptions, I guess. I want to be a mother when I grow up, and write whenever I have time. I want to write my fiction, but mostly I want to write personal histories. I love family history. I grumble when woken up from naps. I don't like swimming. I wear pink. I love hiking. I work off the reward system, especially if the reward is cheese. I think I would like volleyball and want to learn. I hate hiphop music, and country is only good when sung by male voices. I can be scary when protective. I am Texan through and through. I cook well. I am nice.
I never knew I was nice and good. I think I believed the cynical cruel things I said about myself before; I was just waiting for that day last year to prove that I was a failure inside just waiting to break free. Now I know that I am a success who needed to learn it for herself. I love my job; I am good at it and my bosses know it. I have become spiritual, more than merely religious. I love the Book of Mormon, and I love seeing Heavenly Father's Hand in my life. I have hope. My first instinct with people is to forgive. I like serving. I love my family--so help me but I do. I am smart and able to do well in school. I know my priorities, and I know my friends.
I looked back over this semester in personal interview with my Lord. I walked away from campus crying over a second-rate grade, but the whole way home I felt this burning that I have learned to recognize as the Holy Ghost (this is perhaps my greatest achievement, though I am far from being where I ought) whispering words of comfort and approval. At first I thought it was confirmation that I had done the honorable thing when signing away my A, but I know it was more than that. It was a testimony of what I have just related, that who I am is pleasing to the Lord. He is not unaware of the great growth I have undergone. Most importantly, I believe that Heavenly Father loves the person I am for who she shows the potential to be. This is what I have wanted for over a year.
This is my A.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
mirth and matter
sigh not so ladies,
sigh not so.
men were decievers ever.
one foot in sea
and one on shore
to one thing constant never.
then sigh not so
but let them go
and be you blithe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe
into hey, nonny, nonny!
D&C 104:10 And I now give unto you power from this very hour, that if any man among you, of the order, is found a transgressor and repenteth not of the evil, that ye shall deliver him over unto the buffetings of Satan; and he shall not have power to bring evil upon you.
sigh not so.
men were decievers ever.
one foot in sea
and one on shore
to one thing constant never.
then sigh not so
but let them go
and be you blithe and bonny,
converting all your sounds of woe
into hey, nonny, nonny!
D&C 104:10 And I now give unto you power from this very hour, that if any man among you, of the order, is found a transgressor and repenteth not of the evil, that ye shall deliver him over unto the buffetings of Satan; and he shall not have power to bring evil upon you.
Monday, April 10, 2006
my tree of life
If someone were to tell me that the little white tree, standing firmly and delicately in the middle of those tall wild things near which it is growing, had been planted only this morning by the hand of God just for me, I would not doubt him.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
friendship
Hope, trapped in the box
Pandora opened for us,
Came when you called her
I came too. We lay
Our heads together touching
Hearts, hands, tear-stained cheeks
You gave me your strength
And I gave you my sorrow
Then you let me sleep
Pandora opened for us,
Came when you called her
I came too. We lay
Our heads together touching
Hearts, hands, tear-stained cheeks
You gave me your strength
And I gave you my sorrow
Then you let me sleep
Monday, April 03, 2006
little
An acquaintance came over to my apartment yesterday as I sat with my laptop, writing. I gave a distracted answer to his questions after my well-being. At least I think that is what he meant by, "wuz-up," in this case. Oh, are you writing in your little blog?
Oh how I wish Tarythe or Ted had been there for my facial expression, because I am sure only they would have seen my reaction. Debby might have picked up on it; she and Spencer sat on the other couch.
I turned my head and smiled at this visitor. How charmingly condescending of you. But, no, I am not writing in my little blog. I am in the process of writing a little story that I hope someday to turn into a little novel. And how are you? I wanted to add. Did you receive your little rejection letter from that little university you wanted into?
Debby and Spencer squirmed in the background. I smiled again and went back to dreaming my little dreams of being a little writer.
Oh how I wish Tarythe or Ted had been there for my facial expression, because I am sure only they would have seen my reaction. Debby might have picked up on it; she and Spencer sat on the other couch.
I turned my head and smiled at this visitor. How charmingly condescending of you. But, no, I am not writing in my little blog. I am in the process of writing a little story that I hope someday to turn into a little novel. And how are you? I wanted to add. Did you receive your little rejection letter from that little university you wanted into?
Debby and Spencer squirmed in the background. I smiled again and went back to dreaming my little dreams of being a little writer.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
perry como, quoted by russel m nelson
Because you come to me,
with naught save love,
and hold my hand and lift my eyes above,
a wider world of hope and joy I see,
because you come to me!
Because you speak to me in accent sweet,
I find the roses walking 'round my feet,
and I am led through tears and joy to thee,
because you speak to me!
Because God made thee mine,
I'll cherish thee,
through light and darkness, through all time to be,
and pray His love may make our love divine,
because God made thee mine!
with naught save love,
and hold my hand and lift my eyes above,
a wider world of hope and joy I see,
because you come to me!
Because you speak to me in accent sweet,
I find the roses walking 'round my feet,
and I am led through tears and joy to thee,
because you speak to me!
Because God made thee mine,
I'll cherish thee,
through light and darkness, through all time to be,
and pray His love may make our love divine,
because God made thee mine!
foolish
This is not an entry dedicated to the stupidity of this holiday. The only thing I can say is that the French got something right; they took the day a step further and involved fish. Poisson D'Avril. Nice. But, back to my point...this is just about one of those stupid things I have learned to do as part of my daily routine.
On Monday I gave my blog address to Kevin. I know this blog, so while I knew there were rather exposing statements I felt vulnerable letting him read, I also saw how much more there was here. I felt safe. I got his email Thursday morning. He had read the entire thing--all 100 plus entries! And his focus was on finding himself in the paragraphs. His email told me just how much he had found, and I blushed with discomfort wondering what in the world he must think of me. I tried to remember everything I had said about him. I ran distracted. I tried eating soup with a fork.
Ted laughed at me when I told him; if you didn't see this coming then you don't know Kevin. I know! I cried. I just didn't think I would be this awkward about it. I don't wish it back. I do wish I had been more prepared for having him comment on my words--you know, he didn't even say anything mean or embarrassing or revealing. I'm just being overly-sensitive about my blog, as always.
The problem is, any mention of my writing and I feel completely mocked and a little foolish--like when I got caught playing "make-believe" when I was little. Utter humiliation. I didn't even let Ted read my blog for the longest time. I didn't share my writing until only a few months ago, so I am still not very good at handling response. Oh well, I guess I can chalk up my over-reaction to one more foolish thing I've done regarding him.
On Monday I gave my blog address to Kevin. I know this blog, so while I knew there were rather exposing statements I felt vulnerable letting him read, I also saw how much more there was here. I felt safe. I got his email Thursday morning. He had read the entire thing--all 100 plus entries! And his focus was on finding himself in the paragraphs. His email told me just how much he had found, and I blushed with discomfort wondering what in the world he must think of me. I tried to remember everything I had said about him. I ran distracted. I tried eating soup with a fork.
Ted laughed at me when I told him; if you didn't see this coming then you don't know Kevin. I know! I cried. I just didn't think I would be this awkward about it. I don't wish it back. I do wish I had been more prepared for having him comment on my words--you know, he didn't even say anything mean or embarrassing or revealing. I'm just being overly-sensitive about my blog, as always.
The problem is, any mention of my writing and I feel completely mocked and a little foolish--like when I got caught playing "make-believe" when I was little. Utter humiliation. I didn't even let Ted read my blog for the longest time. I didn't share my writing until only a few months ago, so I am still not very good at handling response. Oh well, I guess I can chalk up my over-reaction to one more foolish thing I've done regarding him.
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