Sometimes I like to pretend I have a social life.
I get really into it, too. I'll spend lotsa time with people and be all open and talkative and fun. I am in the zone. The social zone. The I-have-friends-and-acquaintances-and-talk-to-lotsa-people-and-all-that-jazz zone.
And suddenly I'll realize.
Oh.
This isn't really my style.
And then I go back in hiding again.
That is all.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Everything I needed to know about life...
Replacing brake pads, changing the oil, and rotating tires really isn't as difficult as you'd think.
Archery is cool. And always will be. So is learning to shoot a gun.
Keep an emergency kit handy at all times. You never know when you'll get stuck in the mountains for a freezing night and need a blanket, water, and food.
Practice makes perfect.
Cracked wheat hot cereal is delicious. Even if you have to grind the wheat with a manual wheat-grinder.
Take a coat.
Less is always more. Be happy with the little things in life. You don't need to be spending gobs of money to appreciate and enjoy.
Same with parties and get-togethers. A few people over for a quiet evening of dinner and cards is much more enjoyable (and much less stressful) than a loud, crowded event.
Hard work pays off. Even manual labor. Especially manual. It builds character, too.
Don't argue back until you eat something.
Bring chapstick when camping. And toilet paper.
Speaking of camping, it doesn't count unless you're in a tent and the bathrooms are across the campground. Camp trailers = cheating.
Hang out with your family. They're cool even if you don't think so.
Pay your tithing. You'll be blessed in more ways than you could imagine.
Hard tack (home-made cracker biscuit things) last forever and almost taste good.
Don't throw the remote control at your brother.
Don't bite your siblings. Or push them into ant-hills. Or punch them in the face. And don't screech too loud if your sibling punches you back.
Look at the engine before taking it in.
Impress everyone with your awesomeness.
Listen to your parents. They really are right. I don't care what you say.
Bean & Bacon soup with crispy, buttery french bread. Tater tots. Home-made pizzas. Quesadillas. They'll always be favorites.
Smile.
Time and effort mean more than size and expense. My most memorable Christmas was home-made.
Do what you love, and love what you do.
Respect your elders.
Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit. Star Wars. And Indiana Jones. 'Nuff said.
Oh, and Jason and the Argonauts.
Having a thousand pounds of sugar, salt, and dry beans stuffed in a closet counts as food storage.
Read Hank the Cowdog. Read it again and again and again. Out loud, with voices and everything.
Work hard. Perseverance pays off. Never give anything less than your absolute best.
They really will pull the car over or turn around. Don't test them.
Use a tow rope instead of a chain. When towing, it's okay to go faster than 15 mph.
Laugh out loud.
And, of course, eat a worm.
Archery is cool. And always will be. So is learning to shoot a gun.
Keep an emergency kit handy at all times. You never know when you'll get stuck in the mountains for a freezing night and need a blanket, water, and food.
Practice makes perfect.
Cracked wheat hot cereal is delicious. Even if you have to grind the wheat with a manual wheat-grinder.
Take a coat.
Less is always more. Be happy with the little things in life. You don't need to be spending gobs of money to appreciate and enjoy.
Same with parties and get-togethers. A few people over for a quiet evening of dinner and cards is much more enjoyable (and much less stressful) than a loud, crowded event.
Hard work pays off. Even manual labor. Especially manual. It builds character, too.
Don't argue back until you eat something.
Bring chapstick when camping. And toilet paper.
Speaking of camping, it doesn't count unless you're in a tent and the bathrooms are across the campground. Camp trailers = cheating.
Hang out with your family. They're cool even if you don't think so.
Pay your tithing. You'll be blessed in more ways than you could imagine.
Hard tack (home-made cracker biscuit things) last forever and almost taste good.
Don't throw the remote control at your brother.
Don't bite your siblings. Or push them into ant-hills. Or punch them in the face. And don't screech too loud if your sibling punches you back.
Look at the engine before taking it in.
Impress everyone with your awesomeness.
Listen to your parents. They really are right. I don't care what you say.
Bean & Bacon soup with crispy, buttery french bread. Tater tots. Home-made pizzas. Quesadillas. They'll always be favorites.
Smile.
Time and effort mean more than size and expense. My most memorable Christmas was home-made.
Do what you love, and love what you do.
Respect your elders.
Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit. Star Wars. And Indiana Jones. 'Nuff said.
Oh, and Jason and the Argonauts.
Having a thousand pounds of sugar, salt, and dry beans stuffed in a closet counts as food storage.
Read Hank the Cowdog. Read it again and again and again. Out loud, with voices and everything.
Work hard. Perseverance pays off. Never give anything less than your absolute best.
They really will pull the car over or turn around. Don't test them.
Use a tow rope instead of a chain. When towing, it's okay to go faster than 15 mph.
Laugh out loud.
And, of course, eat a worm.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wonderland Drug
Last night I was so very sick and for the life of me I couldn't fall asleep. My roommate kindly brought me some cold medicine that would help me out, and I gladly drank a double dose. I was told that the medicine would knock me out within thirty minutes - twenty with luck.
For the next hour I tossed and turned. I couldn't sleep at all. I couldn't even stay still, even though I was absolutely exhausted. Maybe the caffeine I drank earlier in the day mixed with the cold meds messed it all up. My vision was blurry and doubled, and I just wandered around the room for a while. I sat on the floor. I sat on my roommate's bed (she was gone). I paced. I tried to do a word search game on my phone. I sat and looked at it for a full five minutes until I remembered I couldn't see. I rocked back and forth. I felt like I was having weird hallucinations - everything looked strange and different and new. It was like I was seeing my bedroom for the first time.
My brain was like, "Oh, I have a tv in my room. Oh, I have a quilt. Oh, there is a monkey. Oh, there is my phone. Oh, we have carpet. Fuuuuzzy carpet. Oh, I have work tomorrow. Oh, there is a coat on the floor. Green coat. Green? Goose coat. Oh, look, a pillow. Oh, my boots. Bootbootbootbootboooooots. Oh, what is that light? Oh? Oh? Oh? Oh. Oh, it's my phone charger. Oh, it's blue. Oh, my hair is curly. Oh, it's brown. Oh, it's really dark in here so I shouldn't even be able to see my hair right now especially since it's all piled into a bun on top of my head." Literally, that is what I was thinking while I rocked back and forth. (That's all I can remember, at least.)
Finally, finally, my brain decided it was time to clock out. I. Passed. Out. I might as well have been knocked in the head with a bat. But the weirdness didn't stop. It just continued into my dreams, which were like Alice in Wonderland on steroids.
Basically it was terrifying and freaking amazing at the same time. I think I was drunk.
For the next hour I tossed and turned. I couldn't sleep at all. I couldn't even stay still, even though I was absolutely exhausted. Maybe the caffeine I drank earlier in the day mixed with the cold meds messed it all up. My vision was blurry and doubled, and I just wandered around the room for a while. I sat on the floor. I sat on my roommate's bed (she was gone). I paced. I tried to do a word search game on my phone. I sat and looked at it for a full five minutes until I remembered I couldn't see. I rocked back and forth. I felt like I was having weird hallucinations - everything looked strange and different and new. It was like I was seeing my bedroom for the first time.
My brain was like, "Oh, I have a tv in my room. Oh, I have a quilt. Oh, there is a monkey. Oh, there is my phone. Oh, we have carpet. Fuuuuzzy carpet. Oh, I have work tomorrow. Oh, there is a coat on the floor. Green coat. Green? Goose coat. Oh, look, a pillow. Oh, my boots. Bootbootbootbootboooooots. Oh, what is that light? Oh? Oh? Oh? Oh. Oh, it's my phone charger. Oh, it's blue. Oh, my hair is curly. Oh, it's brown. Oh, it's really dark in here so I shouldn't even be able to see my hair right now especially since it's all piled into a bun on top of my head." Literally, that is what I was thinking while I rocked back and forth. (That's all I can remember, at least.)
Finally, finally, my brain decided it was time to clock out. I. Passed. Out. I might as well have been knocked in the head with a bat. But the weirdness didn't stop. It just continued into my dreams, which were like Alice in Wonderland on steroids.
Basically it was terrifying and freaking amazing at the same time. I think I was drunk.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Fix
Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Inhale. Exhale.
His head pounds as he glances around the dim living room from his corner. A tear in the second-hand sofa. Muddy boots by the door. Paint chipped and peeling.
The throbbing increases, blurring his vision and making his eyes sting. Almost like the thump-thump-thump of a bass drum. Constant. Ceaseless. His hands tremble and cold chills make him shiver and sink deeper into his corner. He pushes himself into it as tight as he can, further from the case. It stares back invitingly, beckoning him forward.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
Head cradled in his palms, he repeats the phrase in a whisper. Over and over he reminds himself that he should be strong. He can be strong. He will be strong. It seems he's there for hours, though it's only a matter of minutes before his head snaps up in defiance.
As soon as he makes the decision the pain starts to dissipate, waning as he draws closer to the case. The frustration, anger, and ache dissolve, leaving only his raw and desperate need. His hands tremble with excitement now as he fumbles with the package. His breath quickens.
The needle suddenly slips through his shaking fingers and falls to the floor. A clear ping! rings out through the silent apartment as it clatters against the dingy tile. The metallic sound catches him off-guard. The dire need alleviates just a bit, causing him to hesitate for the smallest moment. His breath sticks in his throat as he reaches to pick up the needle.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
No.
He grabs the needle and scrapes the tip roughly against the tile, making sure it's completely ruined. Yelling in rage - at himself and his need - he throws what's left of the syringe against a wall, finally collapsing into his corner once again. He hugs his knees to his chest, shaking. He closes his eyes and rocks softly.
The process then begins again, with the little case glaring at him from the table.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
His head pounds as he glances around the dim living room from his corner. A tear in the second-hand sofa. Muddy boots by the door. Paint chipped and peeling.
The throbbing increases, blurring his vision and making his eyes sting. Almost like the thump-thump-thump of a bass drum. Constant. Ceaseless. His hands tremble and cold chills make him shiver and sink deeper into his corner. He pushes himself into it as tight as he can, further from the case. It stares back invitingly, beckoning him forward.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
Head cradled in his palms, he repeats the phrase in a whisper. Over and over he reminds himself that he should be strong. He can be strong. He will be strong. It seems he's there for hours, though it's only a matter of minutes before his head snaps up in defiance.
As soon as he makes the decision the pain starts to dissipate, waning as he draws closer to the case. The frustration, anger, and ache dissolve, leaving only his raw and desperate need. His hands tremble with excitement now as he fumbles with the package. His breath quickens.
The needle suddenly slips through his shaking fingers and falls to the floor. A clear ping! rings out through the silent apartment as it clatters against the dingy tile. The metallic sound catches him off-guard. The dire need alleviates just a bit, causing him to hesitate for the smallest moment. His breath sticks in his throat as he reaches to pick up the needle.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
No.
He grabs the needle and scrapes the tip roughly against the tile, making sure it's completely ruined. Yelling in rage - at himself and his need - he throws what's left of the syringe against a wall, finally collapsing into his corner once again. He hugs his knees to his chest, shaking. He closes his eyes and rocks softly.
The process then begins again, with the little case glaring at him from the table.
Don't do it. You don't need it.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Swype
My phone is kind of stupid. Just kind of. It "fixes" certain words when I'm texting.
Examples:
first = foist
since = dobber
you = yo
how = hire
see = sewer
deliberately = depardieu (Uhhhhh what? What does that even mean?)
that's = thumbs
sweater = aereate
music = justice
people = purple
not = boy
(and, last but not least...)
bonnie = boner
It's obvious how this could be a problem.
Fences
I'm not very constant.
I'm extremely indecisive and I can never make up my mind. From candy to classes to books to careers...I just can't do it. Maybe I'm just afraid of commitment. But if I buy this candy, I won't be able to enjoy that one. If I read this book, will I ever get to that one? It's a constant internal battle - and I always seem to be the loser.
Why? Why is this?
I'll stress and stress and stress until I finally decide on something and I'll get super excited about it and all...and then....BAM. Change of mind. Change of heart. It's inevitable. It won't be exciting anymore. I'll know I made the wrong choice and the candy won't taste so sweet as I thought it would. The anxiety, stress, and frustrations of my choice will sink in and I'll be absolutely and incurably miserable.
An old friend recently summed up my exact feelings:
I'm extremely indecisive and I can never make up my mind. From candy to classes to books to careers...I just can't do it. Maybe I'm just afraid of commitment. But if I buy this candy, I won't be able to enjoy that one. If I read this book, will I ever get to that one? It's a constant internal battle - and I always seem to be the loser.
Why? Why is this?
I'll stress and stress and stress until I finally decide on something and I'll get super excited about it and all...and then....BAM. Change of mind. Change of heart. It's inevitable. It won't be exciting anymore. I'll know I made the wrong choice and the candy won't taste so sweet as I thought it would. The anxiety, stress, and frustrations of my choice will sink in and I'll be absolutely and incurably miserable.
An old friend recently summed up my exact feelings:
"Fences aren't all that fun to sit on, especially when both sides of the fence are more fun than the fence itself.
Both sides are good (not like sin vs. righteousness),
yet both sides take me away from the other side of the fence,
and both depend on my choices and the choices of others.
I want both, but this fence is hurting my backside.
I wish I could just choose a side."
(Thank you, Krista Nielsen)
Must I choose a side? Personally, I am now completely okay with my indecisiveness. Truly. Completely and one-hundred-percent. It took me a while. Believe me, it did. But I actually like my indecisiveness. Besides the sore bum, the fence is quite nice. I can see everything from up here. My vision isn't blocked by a towering, ugly wall. Because I am on a fence!
Can't I have my cake and eat it too? (Is that the right phrase for this kind of dilemma?) Really.
I think sitting on the fence is just fine.
What's wrong with waiting it out? Sizing up one's options? Weighing the pros and cons of the situation? I don't see the problem. I'll decide eventually, I'm sure. But for now...Don't knock down my fence. No one wants to get stuck with unhappy consequences because of a stupid, impulsive decision.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Memory: TX
My stepsister and I ran out into the hot Texas summer sun, our 7-year-old legs pumping us towards the tall climbing tree in our backyard. Our brothers saw us immediately, despite our quick escape from the house; our matching purple T-shirts, black shorts, and white headbands made us easy to spot. The boys bolted after us, racing to get to the tree first. Hannah shrieked when she saw them, laughing as she sprinted.
"They're after us!" She cried.
It didn't matter. We had a head start, and we had the rope.
The rope was the only way up the tree. It was about five feet long, black, with bits of red and yellow sprinkled into it. We named it "Coral," because we decided it looked like a coral snake. A thick knot was twisted on one end.
I reached the tree and threw one end of the rope over the lowest limb.
Miss.
I panicked. They were closing in! I closed my eyes and swung the rope one more time before accepting my fate. The rope flew perfectly over the branch, providing a way up the tree.
"I did it!" I squealed delightedly, steadying the rope.
Hannah and I yanked ourselves into the tree and caught the higher branches, dragging the rope out of reach just in time. We looked down to see Seth and Todd standing at the base of the tree, pouting and fuming. They knew they had no chance of getting into our favorite tree now; there was no other rope. We giggled and smirked at them.
Seth grabbed a dirt clod and chucked it at me. It flew two feet straight up and crumbled, sending a shower of grit into his eyes. Screeching, he started spouting off his "angry words". They didn't get any worse than "loser" or "butt-head", but Hannah and I bristled at the insults. We threw our own angry words back, engaging in a fierce battle of the potty-mouths.
Oh, it was war. One that's lasted years.
"They're after us!" She cried.
It didn't matter. We had a head start, and we had the rope.
The rope was the only way up the tree. It was about five feet long, black, with bits of red and yellow sprinkled into it. We named it "Coral," because we decided it looked like a coral snake. A thick knot was twisted on one end.
I reached the tree and threw one end of the rope over the lowest limb.
Miss.
I panicked. They were closing in! I closed my eyes and swung the rope one more time before accepting my fate. The rope flew perfectly over the branch, providing a way up the tree.
"I did it!" I squealed delightedly, steadying the rope.
Hannah and I yanked ourselves into the tree and caught the higher branches, dragging the rope out of reach just in time. We looked down to see Seth and Todd standing at the base of the tree, pouting and fuming. They knew they had no chance of getting into our favorite tree now; there was no other rope. We giggled and smirked at them.
Seth grabbed a dirt clod and chucked it at me. It flew two feet straight up and crumbled, sending a shower of grit into his eyes. Screeching, he started spouting off his "angry words". They didn't get any worse than "loser" or "butt-head", but Hannah and I bristled at the insults. We threw our own angry words back, engaging in a fierce battle of the potty-mouths.
Oh, it was war. One that's lasted years.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Fatal Attraction
My foot twitches closer to the pedal.
Just a few more seconds, Bonnie, I tell myself. At least wait until you're past the construction. Really.
I finally get far enough from the busy city to feel safe letting my foot drop firmly on the gas pedal. The engine snarls and throws the car forward with enough force to appease my hunger.
I revel in the sound and feeling of the sudden speed. It's almost a turn-on. Wait...who am I kidding? It's really a turn-on.
The needle on the speedometer creeps higher, the car gaining velocity. Eighty five. Ninety. Ninety five.
The irritatingly wise voice in my head warns me I'm being stupid, but I soon silence it with my need. The need for speed, oh yeah.
Ninety five...ninety eight...a hundred...
I drag my eyes from the dashboard and stare in awe at my surroundings. I'm flying. Fences, neon construction cones, and billboards are a blur as I whiz past. My foot presses harder on the pedal, shoving it into the floor.
The engine growls louder and shifts into a lower gear, wanting for the speed as much as I am.
I ache for a manual transmission, but for the moment am satisfied with my puny automatic. I'm grateful for the new turbo propelling me faster. (Thanks, Dad.)
Leaning back in my seat, I realize I'm holding my breath. I gasp and draw new air into my lungs, letting the sensation sink in. I'm flying.
Euphoria. Ecstasy. Excitement. Thrill. Love. Relief. Bliss.
I glance back at the speedometer. The needle is swiveling somewhere between one-twenty-five and one-thirty. I sigh and let up off the gas pedal. The car lazily slows to a safer speed.
Adrenaline courses through my veins still, making me shake. I take another deep breath and calm myself with the memory, letting it linger in my head, the hunger being satisfied...temporarily.
Just a few more seconds, Bonnie, I tell myself. At least wait until you're past the construction. Really.
I finally get far enough from the busy city to feel safe letting my foot drop firmly on the gas pedal. The engine snarls and throws the car forward with enough force to appease my hunger.
I revel in the sound and feeling of the sudden speed. It's almost a turn-on. Wait...who am I kidding? It's really a turn-on.
The needle on the speedometer creeps higher, the car gaining velocity. Eighty five. Ninety. Ninety five.
The irritatingly wise voice in my head warns me I'm being stupid, but I soon silence it with my need. The need for speed, oh yeah.
Ninety five...ninety eight...a hundred...
I drag my eyes from the dashboard and stare in awe at my surroundings. I'm flying. Fences, neon construction cones, and billboards are a blur as I whiz past. My foot presses harder on the pedal, shoving it into the floor.
The engine growls louder and shifts into a lower gear, wanting for the speed as much as I am.
I ache for a manual transmission, but for the moment am satisfied with my puny automatic. I'm grateful for the new turbo propelling me faster. (Thanks, Dad.)
Leaning back in my seat, I realize I'm holding my breath. I gasp and draw new air into my lungs, letting the sensation sink in. I'm flying.
Euphoria. Ecstasy. Excitement. Thrill. Love. Relief. Bliss.
I glance back at the speedometer. The needle is swiveling somewhere between one-twenty-five and one-thirty. I sigh and let up off the gas pedal. The car lazily slows to a safer speed.
Adrenaline courses through my veins still, making me shake. I take another deep breath and calm myself with the memory, letting it linger in my head, the hunger being satisfied...temporarily.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Ten Thoughts for Monday
Today.
1. I'm feeling a lack of creative energy. I can't even write in my notebook. The poor thing has been neglected for the past week or so. Why is that?
2. I'm wearing my beautiful earrings my grandmother gave me. They're going to turn into an heirloom or something. I'll make sure of it.
3. Why is there snow on the ground and rain in the sky? Why? I think Utah should skip the months of November through March. Christmas and Thanksgiving can be in June and July. And we can just skip Valentine's Day altogether. Mm?
4. Mindy Gledhill. Making my life better as we speak.
5. In class today. We discussed forgiveness and how to do it and how it changes our attitudes. I don't know what this all has to do with communications, which is what the class is actually supposed to be about, but what do I know? I'm not the teacher (thank goodness). It was a rather difficult lesson/discussion for me. Thoughts? (Probably no one will respond, but at least I sent out the invitation for opinions and suggestions on the delicate subject of forgiveness). I'm not very good at it. Forgiveness, I mean. I have a hard time with it.
6. After three hours of drying my poor soaked shoes with my little space heater, I realized they were dry and the heater was burning. My shoes are okay, though.
7. Bought a camera. Love the camera. Can't wait to try out the camera. Forgot to buy film. Whoops. (Only film cameras for me.) I think that digital cameras are lame. In a few years, there will be no bad pictures of anyone because if they take one they can just erase it within seconds of capturing the image. That's so lame.
8. I recently discovered Mint M&Ms. I'm still not sure how I feel about them, but so far I think they're lovely.
9. Last time I blow dried my hair...A little chunk of it burned off. How depressing. Now, somewhere in my lovely curls, is a little 2-inch curl peeking out under the layers. How depressing. (I know I said that twice. It needed the repetition, I promise.)
10. Remember this post? Well. I used it as an essay in my English class. I guess my teacher just loved it so much. She wanted me to read it to the whole class. Someone in that class may or may not be directly mentioned in the essay. Repeatedly. Talk about awkward. If looks could kill, I'd be one dead little senorita.
That is all.
1. I'm feeling a lack of creative energy. I can't even write in my notebook. The poor thing has been neglected for the past week or so. Why is that?
2. I'm wearing my beautiful earrings my grandmother gave me. They're going to turn into an heirloom or something. I'll make sure of it.
3. Why is there snow on the ground and rain in the sky? Why? I think Utah should skip the months of November through March. Christmas and Thanksgiving can be in June and July. And we can just skip Valentine's Day altogether. Mm?
4. Mindy Gledhill. Making my life better as we speak.
5. In class today. We discussed forgiveness and how to do it and how it changes our attitudes. I don't know what this all has to do with communications, which is what the class is actually supposed to be about, but what do I know? I'm not the teacher (thank goodness). It was a rather difficult lesson/discussion for me. Thoughts? (Probably no one will respond, but at least I sent out the invitation for opinions and suggestions on the delicate subject of forgiveness). I'm not very good at it. Forgiveness, I mean. I have a hard time with it.
6. After three hours of drying my poor soaked shoes with my little space heater, I realized they were dry and the heater was burning. My shoes are okay, though.
7. Bought a camera. Love the camera. Can't wait to try out the camera. Forgot to buy film. Whoops. (Only film cameras for me.) I think that digital cameras are lame. In a few years, there will be no bad pictures of anyone because if they take one they can just erase it within seconds of capturing the image. That's so lame.
8. I recently discovered Mint M&Ms. I'm still not sure how I feel about them, but so far I think they're lovely.
9. Last time I blow dried my hair...A little chunk of it burned off. How depressing. Now, somewhere in my lovely curls, is a little 2-inch curl peeking out under the layers. How depressing. (I know I said that twice. It needed the repetition, I promise.)
10. Remember this post? Well. I used it as an essay in my English class. I guess my teacher just loved it so much. She wanted me to read it to the whole class. Someone in that class may or may not be directly mentioned in the essay. Repeatedly. Talk about awkward. If looks could kill, I'd be one dead little senorita.
That is all.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Thursday Happiness
Thursdays are great.
Thursdays are potato-soup-at-Hagermann's days. Thursdays are one-day-until-jean-day-Friday days.
Fall Thursdays are great. They're scarf days. Boot days. Glovey-mitten-ish days.
Thursdays are wonderful. Probably my most favorite of the days that end in Y.
But...
Don't even get me started on how I feel about Fridays.
Thursdays are potato-soup-at-Hagermann's days. Thursdays are one-day-until-jean-day-Friday days.
Fall Thursdays are great. They're scarf days. Boot days. Glovey-mitten-ish days.
Thursdays are wonderful. Probably my most favorite of the days that end in Y.
But...
Don't even get me started on how I feel about Fridays.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Dilemma
They headed out of the classroom and walked towards the elevators slowly. She captivated his attention, his eyes glued to her. She felt awkward but didn't show it. She just kept talking to him as she would any other friend or acquaintance.
Both slipped into silence as they approached the elevator, stiffly listening to the casual conversation of their peers.
Finally the elevator settled to the main floor. He was going left. She was going right. They continued talking until finally she mentioned she needed to leave. Hesitantly he asked if maybe she'd like to do something outside of class? Maybe they could do lunch sometime? Hope sparkled in his eyes as he stumbled over the questions.
Her smile froze to her face like it had so many times before in situations just like this. As he whipped his phone out to record her number, she automatically recited her digits, as if she were a robot. His fingers shook as he pressed the keys on his small phone.
Still shaking, he snapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. She smiled her plastic smile and deftly wrapped up the conversation. They went their separate ways, both flushed and embarrassed. One excited and triumphant, congratulating himself on this new victory. The other terrified and wondering, "Wait, wait, did that just happen?" Worry clouded her head.
She stopped walking and looked over her shoulder. "But...I don't date," she whispered, her voice drowned out by the lively chatter of students filling the hall.
Her shoulders slumped and she continued to her car.
Now what?
Both slipped into silence as they approached the elevator, stiffly listening to the casual conversation of their peers.
Finally the elevator settled to the main floor. He was going left. She was going right. They continued talking until finally she mentioned she needed to leave. Hesitantly he asked if maybe she'd like to do something outside of class? Maybe they could do lunch sometime? Hope sparkled in his eyes as he stumbled over the questions.
Her smile froze to her face like it had so many times before in situations just like this. As he whipped his phone out to record her number, she automatically recited her digits, as if she were a robot. His fingers shook as he pressed the keys on his small phone.
Still shaking, he snapped the phone shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. She smiled her plastic smile and deftly wrapped up the conversation. They went their separate ways, both flushed and embarrassed. One excited and triumphant, congratulating himself on this new victory. The other terrified and wondering, "Wait, wait, did that just happen?" Worry clouded her head.
She stopped walking and looked over her shoulder. "But...I don't date," she whispered, her voice drowned out by the lively chatter of students filling the hall.
Her shoulders slumped and she continued to her car.
Now what?
Monday, October 18, 2010
I Just Might Be Losing My Mind
What to do, what to do?
I often give myself very good advice.
But, of course, I very seldom follow it.
But, often, I'm sure, it's not the best advice. I just make myself believe it's good advice at the time.
So perhaps it's not so bad that I don't follow it?
But maybe it really is good advice. And I just am too stupid to do anything about it.
I think so.
Probably.
I just need to go crazy.
I need to forget everything.
I need things to just be normal for a bit.
I need to not care. Stop caring, Bonnie!
I'm starting to second-guess myself. I over analyze things.
I'm too insecure, but in reality I'm really okay with who I am. I love me. A little too much, probably.
(Stop, Bonnie, stop!)
And I think I just figured out my dream.
Thank you, life experiences, for sorting out my subconscious sleeping nightmares.
It's great, really.
I have this problem. I decide to care too much sometimes. It gets me into bits of trouble every once in a while. My brain thinks too much. I should really stop, I'm sure. I have this instinct where I just need to get away.
(Run, Bonnie, run!)
I just gotta get outta there before it's too late. Quit. Run away. Close myself off. See, it's better this way. Isn't it? I think so. Yes. Fight, dearest. Fight.
Run. Run for your safety. For your life. Your sanity. Your heart. Your entire being depends on the choice you make RIGHT now. How awful.
I'm going crazy. Don't worry, I've accepted the fact. I'm fully aware of it.
I just don't understand myself oftentimes.
No, no, no.
I need to get out of there. I need to run away. Follow that instinct. Do it!
But then.
Oh, wait.
There's that stupid little voice in the back of my head.
"Oh, Bonnie," it says. "Don't you want to give it a chance, little girl?" Of course I start to listen. Of course. With its sweet words and cleverly disguised fabrications. Of course. It wiggles into my brain and heart and almost convinces me. I almost consider.
Then that awful, sickening voice starts laughing. Cackling maniacally. Morphs into an ugly, evil little creeper.
"Yes, dearest," it giggles, its sweet voice dripping with poison. "Consider. Do it. Think. Think hard. Fall for it. Trust me. You'll be so much better. Oh. Wait. No. Who am I kidding? You'll drop like a rock in the sea. Straight into those dark, deep depths where no one but odd organisms reside. You'll fall. Fail. Painfully. You'll be broken again and again and again, and I'm going to watch it all. Fail! Go! Fall!" And then it starts laughing too uncontrollably to continue.
That's basically how it goes.
And then I fall.
And it happens again.
And again.
And again.
And then my fear takes over. The panic. The stress. The anxiety.
And I just. Can't. Think.
And I figure, isn't it better this way? Blissfully aware of the pain and frustrations of life? This way I can say, "Oh, no thanks. I've tried that before. I like my way instead. Go away."
I like that better.
Why is that, dear? Why is that?
Forgive my little outburst, dear. I'm just going a little crazy. It's okay. I'm over it. Not really, but I'll bottle it up better next time. You won't see it ever again.
My fake smile will be posted on my face and everyone will see me being just fine.
Right?
Right?
Maybe. But I'll know better.
I'm really dying inside, holding all these emotions, locking them up.
You won't see it.
But I know what's happening.
I often give myself very good advice.
But, of course, I very seldom follow it.
But, often, I'm sure, it's not the best advice. I just make myself believe it's good advice at the time.
So perhaps it's not so bad that I don't follow it?
But maybe it really is good advice. And I just am too stupid to do anything about it.
I think so.
Probably.
I just need to go crazy.
I need to forget everything.
I need things to just be normal for a bit.
I need to not care. Stop caring, Bonnie!
I'm starting to second-guess myself. I over analyze things.
I'm too insecure, but in reality I'm really okay with who I am. I love me. A little too much, probably.
(Stop, Bonnie, stop!)
And I think I just figured out my dream.
Thank you, life experiences, for sorting out my subconscious sleeping nightmares.
It's great, really.
I have this problem. I decide to care too much sometimes. It gets me into bits of trouble every once in a while. My brain thinks too much. I should really stop, I'm sure. I have this instinct where I just need to get away.
(Run, Bonnie, run!)
I just gotta get outta there before it's too late. Quit. Run away. Close myself off. See, it's better this way. Isn't it? I think so. Yes. Fight, dearest. Fight.
Run. Run for your safety. For your life. Your sanity. Your heart. Your entire being depends on the choice you make RIGHT now. How awful.
I'm going crazy. Don't worry, I've accepted the fact. I'm fully aware of it.
I just don't understand myself oftentimes.
No, no, no.
I need to get out of there. I need to run away. Follow that instinct. Do it!
But then.
Oh, wait.
There's that stupid little voice in the back of my head.
"Oh, Bonnie," it says. "Don't you want to give it a chance, little girl?" Of course I start to listen. Of course. With its sweet words and cleverly disguised fabrications. Of course. It wiggles into my brain and heart and almost convinces me. I almost consider.
Then that awful, sickening voice starts laughing. Cackling maniacally. Morphs into an ugly, evil little creeper.
"Yes, dearest," it giggles, its sweet voice dripping with poison. "Consider. Do it. Think. Think hard. Fall for it. Trust me. You'll be so much better. Oh. Wait. No. Who am I kidding? You'll drop like a rock in the sea. Straight into those dark, deep depths where no one but odd organisms reside. You'll fall. Fail. Painfully. You'll be broken again and again and again, and I'm going to watch it all. Fail! Go! Fall!" And then it starts laughing too uncontrollably to continue.
That's basically how it goes.
And then I fall.
And it happens again.
And again.
And again.
And then my fear takes over. The panic. The stress. The anxiety.
And I just. Can't. Think.
And I figure, isn't it better this way? Blissfully aware of the pain and frustrations of life? This way I can say, "Oh, no thanks. I've tried that before. I like my way instead. Go away."
I like that better.
Why is that, dear? Why is that?
Forgive my little outburst, dear. I'm just going a little crazy. It's okay. I'm over it. Not really, but I'll bottle it up better next time. You won't see it ever again.
My fake smile will be posted on my face and everyone will see me being just fine.
Right?
Right?
Maybe. But I'll know better.
I'm really dying inside, holding all these emotions, locking them up.
You won't see it.
But I know what's happening.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Talent
He sat at the instrument with his fingers resting lightly on the ivory keys. One foot was tucked under the bench while the other hovered above the pedal. He inhaled deeply, eyes closed, breathing in the moment. Concentrating.
A finger stroked a single key, debating on where to begin.
And then...
It started. Soft and hesitant at first, then gaining rhythm and momentum as his confidence waxed. His sure hands flew over the notes effortlessly, painting his work of art. He could turn a simple, naked melody into a masterpiece.
It was almost visible. The music. The sound. Almost touchable. Igniting images and memories that were personal to the listener and artist alike. It spoke to the soul. It penetrated.
It was beautiful.
It was brilliant.
How could one forget this moment?
Hours upon hours of diligent training had created this expert, never discouraged or willing to quit. Striving daily for excellence.
How fortunate we are that he never gave up.
The song slowed, waning, hinting at an end. He held his breath, almost hoping he could continue. He let the beauty sink into his chest, relishing it. At last he reluctantly struck the final chord, letting it ripple and fade in the dim room.
It was over. He slowly let his breath out in a slow sigh, listening intently as the sound faded.
Yes.
A finger stroked a single key, debating on where to begin.
And then...
It started. Soft and hesitant at first, then gaining rhythm and momentum as his confidence waxed. His sure hands flew over the notes effortlessly, painting his work of art. He could turn a simple, naked melody into a masterpiece.
It was almost visible. The music. The sound. Almost touchable. Igniting images and memories that were personal to the listener and artist alike. It spoke to the soul. It penetrated.
It was beautiful.
It was brilliant.
How could one forget this moment?
Hours upon hours of diligent training had created this expert, never discouraged or willing to quit. Striving daily for excellence.
How fortunate we are that he never gave up.
The song slowed, waning, hinting at an end. He held his breath, almost hoping he could continue. He let the beauty sink into his chest, relishing it. At last he reluctantly struck the final chord, letting it ripple and fade in the dim room.
It was over. He slowly let his breath out in a slow sigh, listening intently as the sound faded.
Yes.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
It's Not Me, it's You: A How-To on Perfecting the Art of Being a Sucky Date
Picture this: she's waiting anxiously, pacing around her apartment. She'll check her watch once, twice, and again. How late are you? Twenty minutes now? Great. You could have given some notice, but why waste your time with a simple, short, courteous phone call? She glances at the mirror once more to make sure she still looks as fantastic as she did the last time she checked (about fourteen seconds ago). Yep. You finally get to her apartment complex and call her from your car, letting her know you're there and would she please come out to your car so you don't have to park? You wait in your car, irritated that it's taking her so long to walk. Josh Groban blares from the speakers (she'll think that's so cool). She opens her own door and slides into the passenger seat.
Great beginning, right? Wrong. You suck at dating. But that's okay, you've accepted it. You're just awesome and it's okay to waste her time. She's isn't really happy about your tardiness, though, so you should probably make up for it by taking her to a really neat restaurant like The Mayan or Bombay House. But...those restaurants can be pricey. You're not really looking to spend too much dough tonight, so suggest that she order something small. That way the meal will cost less and she'll be left feeling self conscious. It'll be great. Even better, rush through dinner and snarf your food like an animal. Don't give her very much time to enjoy her food, even though it just might be delicious. Flirt with the waitress when she brings your check, and slip her your number on the way out. Your date will appreciate your suavity. Really.
Take your date to a really, really sucky movie. Forget to buy tickets in advance so you have to drive twenty minutes to a different theater. Try not to notice that she's trying really hard to impress you and make the night go well, despite your previous lack of tact. While watching the sucky movie, make repeated attempts to hold her hand, ignoring her repeated requests that you restrain yourself. Because, after all, what kind of a girl wouldn't want to hold your hand? You're awesome, and you make sure everyone knows it.
When the sucky movie finally ends, drive your date home in silence. Maybe you're contemplating the film. Maybe you're focusing on the road. Maybe you're tired. Maybe you just plain don't want to talk. She'll be trying her best to carry a conversation with you, but make sure she knows you're determined to make her feel as awkward as possible. One word answers are key, friend. Make her squirm. She'll loathe you. The thought will make you giggle inwardly with wicked delight.
A few blocks from her apartment, suddenly realize that you're running late for something. Drop her off at the Trax station, okay? Try not to show any concern about her impending hike home in the dark downtown streets. Just assume she'll be fine. Bad stuff only happens to other people, remember? The terrifying walk will just toughen her up. She'll thank you later. Don't call or text her later to make sure she got home safely, either. If something happens, you'll hear about it on the news tomorrow morning.
Be completely confident that your date went really, really well. So well, in fact, you should follow that stupid rule and wait at least three days before contacting the girl at all. Keep her in suspense. She'll like you that much more for it. I promise. Just be sure to talk to her at least once before the next time you see her. It'll be awkward if you don't.
Text her a few days later (notice I said to text, not call) and ask her if she'd like to go see another sucky movie next weekend. Be surprised when she turns you down, but accept her pathetic excuses of having plans with friends or going out of town for the entire weekend. Be very persistent and keep asking her out. Get really irritated when she keeps making excuses. Make sure she notices your irritation; be cold and indifferent. Eventually you should stop talking to her altogether. Ignore her when you see her and act like it's such a big deal. Maybe even go so far as to tell all your friends to avoid that girl.
After all, she was a sucky date.
Great beginning, right? Wrong. You suck at dating. But that's okay, you've accepted it. You're just awesome and it's okay to waste her time. She's isn't really happy about your tardiness, though, so you should probably make up for it by taking her to a really neat restaurant like The Mayan or Bombay House. But...those restaurants can be pricey. You're not really looking to spend too much dough tonight, so suggest that she order something small. That way the meal will cost less and she'll be left feeling self conscious. It'll be great. Even better, rush through dinner and snarf your food like an animal. Don't give her very much time to enjoy her food, even though it just might be delicious. Flirt with the waitress when she brings your check, and slip her your number on the way out. Your date will appreciate your suavity. Really.
Take your date to a really, really sucky movie. Forget to buy tickets in advance so you have to drive twenty minutes to a different theater. Try not to notice that she's trying really hard to impress you and make the night go well, despite your previous lack of tact. While watching the sucky movie, make repeated attempts to hold her hand, ignoring her repeated requests that you restrain yourself. Because, after all, what kind of a girl wouldn't want to hold your hand? You're awesome, and you make sure everyone knows it.
When the sucky movie finally ends, drive your date home in silence. Maybe you're contemplating the film. Maybe you're focusing on the road. Maybe you're tired. Maybe you just plain don't want to talk. She'll be trying her best to carry a conversation with you, but make sure she knows you're determined to make her feel as awkward as possible. One word answers are key, friend. Make her squirm. She'll loathe you. The thought will make you giggle inwardly with wicked delight.
A few blocks from her apartment, suddenly realize that you're running late for something. Drop her off at the Trax station, okay? Try not to show any concern about her impending hike home in the dark downtown streets. Just assume she'll be fine. Bad stuff only happens to other people, remember? The terrifying walk will just toughen her up. She'll thank you later. Don't call or text her later to make sure she got home safely, either. If something happens, you'll hear about it on the news tomorrow morning.
Be completely confident that your date went really, really well. So well, in fact, you should follow that stupid rule and wait at least three days before contacting the girl at all. Keep her in suspense. She'll like you that much more for it. I promise. Just be sure to talk to her at least once before the next time you see her. It'll be awkward if you don't.
Text her a few days later (notice I said to text, not call) and ask her if she'd like to go see another sucky movie next weekend. Be surprised when she turns you down, but accept her pathetic excuses of having plans with friends or going out of town for the entire weekend. Be very persistent and keep asking her out. Get really irritated when she keeps making excuses. Make sure she notices your irritation; be cold and indifferent. Eventually you should stop talking to her altogether. Ignore her when you see her and act like it's such a big deal. Maybe even go so far as to tell all your friends to avoid that girl.
After all, she was a sucky date.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Gratitude
I've been feeling very grateful today.
But it might just be the extra caffeine keeping my eyes open.
Grateful that I got my refund check for my loan. Extra dinero to make my life easier.
Grateful that I get to visit my mother on a regular basis. I love my mommy. Especially when she brings me my brothers, dog, and a Diet Coke.
Grateful for my very understanding roommates who never say a thing about my mess or the fact that I'm never home.
Grateful for...oh, you know.
Grateful that my darn headlight didn't kill anyone when if flew off my car and bounced down the freeway last night. Grateful that the police didn't come after me for it.
Grateful for Amazon.com and the new knowledge that it's not really going cost me $500 dollars to fix said headlight.
Grateful for my father and his willingness to help me out with said headlight, saving me oodles of dinero.
Grateful for my job and the extra hours I'm getting this week. My boss is awesome. My coworkers are awesome. My job is awesome.
Grateful for the extra hour of sleep I got this morning, even though I missed my class (for the very first time).
Grateful that I actually like school.
Grateful for caffeine.
Grateful for God. So, so grateful.
Grateful that He loves me and keeps watching out for me, even though I'm such the disappointment.
I'm just...grateful. Overwhelmed with it. Awestruck. Amazed.
But it might just be the extra caffeine keeping my eyes open.
Grateful that I got my refund check for my loan. Extra dinero to make my life easier.
Grateful that I get to visit my mother on a regular basis. I love my mommy. Especially when she brings me my brothers, dog, and a Diet Coke.
Grateful for my very understanding roommates who never say a thing about my mess or the fact that I'm never home.
Grateful for...oh, you know.
Grateful that my darn headlight didn't kill anyone when if flew off my car and bounced down the freeway last night. Grateful that the police didn't come after me for it.
Grateful for Amazon.com and the new knowledge that it's not really going cost me $500 dollars to fix said headlight.
Grateful for my father and his willingness to help me out with said headlight, saving me oodles of dinero.
Grateful for my job and the extra hours I'm getting this week. My boss is awesome. My coworkers are awesome. My job is awesome.
Grateful for the extra hour of sleep I got this morning, even though I missed my class (for the very first time).
Grateful that I actually like school.
Grateful for caffeine.
Grateful for God. So, so grateful.
Grateful that He loves me and keeps watching out for me, even though I'm such the disappointment.
I'm just...grateful. Overwhelmed with it. Awestruck. Amazed.
Emotions in an Evening
Nervous. Anxious. Excited. Stressed. Hurried. Frustrated. Bored. Frustrated. Stressed. Excited. Angry. Excited. Angry. Excited. Weak. Furious. Excited. Peaceful. Indifferent. Happy. Hungry. Full. Happy. Thoughtful. Scared. Nervous. Shocked. Delighted. Secretive. Excited. Thrilled. Euphoric. Doubtful. Hesitant. Shy. Reluctant. Depressed. Gloomy. Excited. Excited. Calm. Tranquil.
Love
Napping in the late afternoon sunlight. A gulp of crisp, cool morning air. The smell of Clorox wipes or hand sanitizer. My obnoxiously large pink sunglasses. Blondies from Hagermann's. Noticing the last of the winter snow has finally melted off the peaks. The salted breath of the beach (oh, the beach). Lavender. Cardigans. Flats. Getting mail (yes, even junk mail). Dusting. Steam saunas. Fountain drinks (Diet Coke or Pepsi only, please, with an inch of ice). Sitting next to my brother and feeling him affectionately squeeze my hand. Snuggling with my sister while deep in conversation. Learning something new. Anything, anything new. Knowledge. Cooking and baking. Work. Success. Scrunching my curls until they're perfect princess loops. Drifting in and out of consciousness curled up next to someone I care about. Toms. Getting the chills. Burt's Bees lip balm (which I am using...as we speak). Laughter - mine, yours, his, hers. Sleeping babies. The smell of babies. Happy, giggling babies. Sad babies, their heartbreaking cries dissolving as soon as they're cuddled. Strength. Weakness. Payday. Love, as much as I deny its existence. Excitement and anticipation. The race for perfection, although I can't yet see the finish line.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Search
Look.
Stop.
Stare.
Listen. Ponder. Think.
See.
See me. Myself.
See my life. My experiences. My thoughts, words, actions. My mind, heart, soul.
Look in the mirror.
What's there? What do I see?
I see the surface. I see the dark haired, wide eyed, timid little girl I am. Outspoken, shy, excited. Obnoxious, hyper, fun-loving. Wild.
Is that it?
The surface. It's visible. It's clear.
But what's hiding beneath that cover? What's down there? Does anyone see it? Do I see it?
Is it lost? Does it exist? Am I just a surface?
How long have I been hiding behind that surface?
Look deeper.
What's there?
I see memories. I see thoughts. I see moments. I see emotions. Silly. Random. Painful. Aching. Sweet. Silent. Simple. Insignificant yet so crucial to the person I'm looking for. The person I'm trying so hard to be. To find.
Now look at my reflection. I see weakness. I see strength. I see beauty. I see time.
I see me. Someone who has passed the test. Not the test. But one of them.
I see a brilliant little girl. One who has fought and won the battles of her childhood and younger years. She's pure. She shines. Thrives with so much possibility and potential.
But she hides.
It's like looking at a mirror that reflects too much light, making it impossible to see anything at all.
This girl is ready. Ready to take on life. To challenge it. To test it. To tap into that distant and concealed potential.
I'm prepared. I can handle it.
I'm ready to stretch myself. To search. To seek. To be.
I'll sift and search through my surface until I find it. Ignore the pain and discomfort and I'll reach it.
I'm not just a surface.
I'll find it. My core. My soul.
I'll live. I'll be. I'll do. I'll thrive.
Stop.
Stare.
Listen. Ponder. Think.
See.
See me. Myself.
See my life. My experiences. My thoughts, words, actions. My mind, heart, soul.
Look in the mirror.
What's there? What do I see?
I see the surface. I see the dark haired, wide eyed, timid little girl I am. Outspoken, shy, excited. Obnoxious, hyper, fun-loving. Wild.
Is that it?
The surface. It's visible. It's clear.
But what's hiding beneath that cover? What's down there? Does anyone see it? Do I see it?
Is it lost? Does it exist? Am I just a surface?
How long have I been hiding behind that surface?
Look deeper.
What's there?
I see memories. I see thoughts. I see moments. I see emotions. Silly. Random. Painful. Aching. Sweet. Silent. Simple. Insignificant yet so crucial to the person I'm looking for. The person I'm trying so hard to be. To find.
Now look at my reflection. I see weakness. I see strength. I see beauty. I see time.
I see me. Someone who has passed the test. Not the test. But one of them.
I see a brilliant little girl. One who has fought and won the battles of her childhood and younger years. She's pure. She shines. Thrives with so much possibility and potential.
But she hides.
It's like looking at a mirror that reflects too much light, making it impossible to see anything at all.
This girl is ready. Ready to take on life. To challenge it. To test it. To tap into that distant and concealed potential.
I'm prepared. I can handle it.
I'm ready to stretch myself. To search. To seek. To be.
I'll sift and search through my surface until I find it. Ignore the pain and discomfort and I'll reach it.
I'm not just a surface.
I'll find it. My core. My soul.
I'll live. I'll be. I'll do. I'll thrive.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Distortion
She steps in the scale again.
The dial swivels and settles on a number.
It reads the same. Again.
She just stares at it, incredulous, sickened.
It'd been days. No solid foods. Just water. And running.
And still, that infuriatingly colossal number screamed at her, deafening.
Why?
All she wanted was to be like them. The girls at school. In the magazines. The ones she saw on the posters. The mannequins in the windows.
She just wanted to be smaller. Just a few more pounds. It couldn't take this long. It shouldn't.
She'd do it. She had to. Every look in the mirror brought more self loathing and darkness. Ever glance at her imperfect body brought more hate, making her shrink away from it. She was disgusting. Obese. Huge. Bouncing and wiggling with every movement. Unsightly legs, bulky hips, arms, stomach, and face making her look inflated.
Sick.
Her stomach turned. She bent over the basin and heaved.
This would help. This would quicken the process.
The wiped her mouth and leaned closer to her reflection, gingerly supporting herself on weak arms, angry eyes scanning over the unwanted curves of her body.
She wouldn't see the fragile girl starting back at her with dead eyes set in tired bruises. She didn't notice the sharp angles of her ribs, hips, and cheekbones. She looked past the pale skin tugging against delicate joints in her fingers and elbows. Her shaky hands ran through her limp hair, pulling it forward to conceal her face.
Her vision clouded.
She couldn't see it.
The dial swivels and settles on a number.
It reads the same. Again.
She just stares at it, incredulous, sickened.
It'd been days. No solid foods. Just water. And running.
And still, that infuriatingly colossal number screamed at her, deafening.
Why?
All she wanted was to be like them. The girls at school. In the magazines. The ones she saw on the posters. The mannequins in the windows.
She just wanted to be smaller. Just a few more pounds. It couldn't take this long. It shouldn't.
She'd do it. She had to. Every look in the mirror brought more self loathing and darkness. Ever glance at her imperfect body brought more hate, making her shrink away from it. She was disgusting. Obese. Huge. Bouncing and wiggling with every movement. Unsightly legs, bulky hips, arms, stomach, and face making her look inflated.
Sick.
Her stomach turned. She bent over the basin and heaved.
This would help. This would quicken the process.
The wiped her mouth and leaned closer to her reflection, gingerly supporting herself on weak arms, angry eyes scanning over the unwanted curves of her body.
She wouldn't see the fragile girl starting back at her with dead eyes set in tired bruises. She didn't notice the sharp angles of her ribs, hips, and cheekbones. She looked past the pale skin tugging against delicate joints in her fingers and elbows. Her shaky hands ran through her limp hair, pulling it forward to conceal her face.
Her vision clouded.
She couldn't see it.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Ache
Do you ever feel that exigent need to do something completely life-threatening and dangerous? You get the thought in your head that you aren't alive, and you have to do something - anything - to wake up. You're just there, a small, insignificant creature waiting to break out of that shell.
I feel the craving for adrenaline almost daily. What could I do?
What if I hit 120 on the freeway, swing the steering wheel and yank up the emergency brake? What would happen then? Would I just stop? (Doubtful, considering the speed.) Would the car roll like a bouncy ball? Would I hit other cars? Would I even survive? If I knew the answer to that question, I would've already experimented.
Give me anything. Skydiving or bungee jumping. Swimming in a cage surrounded by sharks. Cliff diving. Revving the engine to my 600 bullet bike. Flying a jet. Being thrown from a two-ton raging bull. Punching out the irritating girl in my class. Running until my legs give out. Hang gliding or parachuting. Anything.
I often feel that aching need for the rush, the thrill of feeling "alive." Is it healthy to feed such a hunger? Or is it better to sit in silence as the ache intensifies? How far can I go? How much can my brain and body take? How far can I run? How fast can I do? How thin can I get? How long can I go without sleep? I find myself stretching my limits. Usually the fear overcomes the rush, forcing me to abandon before hitting my mark.
What can satisfy?
I feel the craving for adrenaline almost daily. What could I do?
What if I hit 120 on the freeway, swing the steering wheel and yank up the emergency brake? What would happen then? Would I just stop? (Doubtful, considering the speed.) Would the car roll like a bouncy ball? Would I hit other cars? Would I even survive? If I knew the answer to that question, I would've already experimented.
Give me anything. Skydiving or bungee jumping. Swimming in a cage surrounded by sharks. Cliff diving. Revving the engine to my 600 bullet bike. Flying a jet. Being thrown from a two-ton raging bull. Punching out the irritating girl in my class. Running until my legs give out. Hang gliding or parachuting. Anything.
I often feel that aching need for the rush, the thrill of feeling "alive." Is it healthy to feed such a hunger? Or is it better to sit in silence as the ache intensifies? How far can I go? How much can my brain and body take? How far can I run? How fast can I do? How thin can I get? How long can I go without sleep? I find myself stretching my limits. Usually the fear overcomes the rush, forcing me to abandon before hitting my mark.
What can satisfy?
Friday, September 10, 2010
Reocurrence
In my dream I'm always searching. For what, I'm never exactly sure. It's always the same thing, though. Always important. Crucial, somehow.
I begin in a hallway. Thick darkness fills the space behind me, obstructing my view. I don't know what's back there. Ahead spans a huge labyrinth of halls. There are no lights or lamps. Flat industrial carpet covers the hard floor. Just like church carpet, I notice. Tall doors stand every few yards. All locked. Pale green light glows around the edges of each door, eerily illuminating the halls. A tall silhouette is cast around each door. Sometimes I think I can hear voices behind the doors, softly chattering. More often than not, it's dead silent. I'm frightened. Growing dread settles into my chest.
Stop, Bonnie. Stop.
I can't stop. I can't go back. I won't even try; I know it's useless. I have to go forward. An unknown force drives me, not giving me a choice.
I walk through the maze, not knowing where I'm going or what I'm looking for. Every so often I'll reach a dead end. Or I'll have to choose: right or left. I never know which way to go. But I keep going. I have to. Long shadows are cast into the dimness, only adding to my heightened hysteria. What's causing the shadows? I'm the only thing in this deserted place. I shouldn't be here.
It takes me hours to thread my way through the network of corridors. Somehow I'm never confused as to where I'm going. My subconscious pulls me forward. I can't stop now. I worry, though. My breathing quickens and I feel panic creeping up on me.
I finally reach a door at the end of a long hallway. The center of the maze. Yes, this is where I'm going. This is what I'm looking for. This is where I'll find it. This door, unlike the others, will not be locked. Am I relieved to know my journey is nearing its end? Or am I more frightened before?
Hesitantly, I reach for the knob. Do I really want to do this? My body won't stop. The knob clicks as I turn the handle and push through the door. Bright green light blinds me; I can't see. Cold fear seizes me and I instantly regret taking that first step down that first hall.
Then I wake up. Shaking, sweating, shivering.
The memory of this dream haunts me. Every time the nightmare wakes me I stay up for hours trying to decipher it. Is there any meaning to the symbolism? What am I searching for? Will I ever find it? Do I want to find it? Even now, when I know I'm dreaming, I'm still not sure if I want to keep going down that hallway.
Stop, Bonnie. Stop.
Will it ever end?
I begin in a hallway. Thick darkness fills the space behind me, obstructing my view. I don't know what's back there. Ahead spans a huge labyrinth of halls. There are no lights or lamps. Flat industrial carpet covers the hard floor. Just like church carpet, I notice. Tall doors stand every few yards. All locked. Pale green light glows around the edges of each door, eerily illuminating the halls. A tall silhouette is cast around each door. Sometimes I think I can hear voices behind the doors, softly chattering. More often than not, it's dead silent. I'm frightened. Growing dread settles into my chest.
Stop, Bonnie. Stop.
I can't stop. I can't go back. I won't even try; I know it's useless. I have to go forward. An unknown force drives me, not giving me a choice.
I walk through the maze, not knowing where I'm going or what I'm looking for. Every so often I'll reach a dead end. Or I'll have to choose: right or left. I never know which way to go. But I keep going. I have to. Long shadows are cast into the dimness, only adding to my heightened hysteria. What's causing the shadows? I'm the only thing in this deserted place. I shouldn't be here.
It takes me hours to thread my way through the network of corridors. Somehow I'm never confused as to where I'm going. My subconscious pulls me forward. I can't stop now. I worry, though. My breathing quickens and I feel panic creeping up on me.
I finally reach a door at the end of a long hallway. The center of the maze. Yes, this is where I'm going. This is what I'm looking for. This is where I'll find it. This door, unlike the others, will not be locked. Am I relieved to know my journey is nearing its end? Or am I more frightened before?
Hesitantly, I reach for the knob. Do I really want to do this? My body won't stop. The knob clicks as I turn the handle and push through the door. Bright green light blinds me; I can't see. Cold fear seizes me and I instantly regret taking that first step down that first hall.
Then I wake up. Shaking, sweating, shivering.
The memory of this dream haunts me. Every time the nightmare wakes me I stay up for hours trying to decipher it. Is there any meaning to the symbolism? What am I searching for? Will I ever find it? Do I want to find it? Even now, when I know I'm dreaming, I'm still not sure if I want to keep going down that hallway.
Stop, Bonnie. Stop.
Will it ever end?
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The M&M Craze
Last week, a friend from work gave me some M&Ms. I had all but forgotten the little candy-covered drops of heaven existed until then.
It started a frenzy. I was craving M&Ms like a mad woman (speaking of, I did happen to see one of those this morning). I needed M&Ms, and I needed them bad.
I figured I'd be fine. I wanted to be fine. I would continue my life pretending I'd never heard of or tasted the little delights.
Obviously, it didn't work. I made an emergency trip to the Neighborhood Market on the corner.
I'm now sitting at my desk gleefully hugging my huge, beautiful bag of M&Ms. Kind of like Golem from LOTR.
Yeah, they're that good.
I also have to eat them one by one, color by color. I'm OCD in the fact that there must be one of each color in my hand before I'll eat them all at once.
It started a frenzy. I was craving M&Ms like a mad woman (speaking of, I did happen to see one of those this morning). I needed M&Ms, and I needed them bad.
I figured I'd be fine. I wanted to be fine. I would continue my life pretending I'd never heard of or tasted the little delights.
Obviously, it didn't work. I made an emergency trip to the Neighborhood Market on the corner.
I'm now sitting at my desk gleefully hugging my huge, beautiful bag of M&Ms. Kind of like Golem from LOTR.
Yeah, they're that good.
I also have to eat them one by one, color by color. I'm OCD in the fact that there must be one of each color in my hand before I'll eat them all at once.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
All Kids Grow Up
When I was a baby I went through the transition from Mommy's milk to solid foods.
And I starting walking instead of crawling.
When I was a toddler I graduated from diapers to pull-ups to "big girl panties."
Then I learned to read.
When I was six I started Kindergarten.
When I was eight I was baptized.
At twelve I started Young Women's.
And I started babysitting.
When I was fourteen I went to my first "SND."
(Saturday Night Dances. They used to be quite the rage.)
When I was sixteen I spent a semester in Mexico.
(Do I need to mention that I came home early?)
When I was seventeen I (finally) got a driver's license and my first car.
And my first boyfriend.
And my first job.
When I was eighteen I quit high school.
When I was nineteen I had my heart broken.
Now I'm twenty.
I'm starting school.
And moving into an apartment.
With roommates.
And I'm absolutely terrified.
I have no idea what to expect.
And I've never had to buy my own toilet paper before.
Who will make dinner? Who will "help" me with my homework? Who will stay up with me till all hours of the night watching Pride & Prejudice and eating Cheerios? Who will take my laundry out of the washer and set it aside instead of shrinking it in the dryer? Who will be there to laugh at me when I'm scared (of the werewolves, duh) only to start freaking out a little later? Who will take me on late-night emergency trips to Wal Mart (or Smith's, depending on how urgent the emergency)?
I miss my mom.
And I starting walking instead of crawling.
When I was a toddler I graduated from diapers to pull-ups to "big girl panties."
Then I learned to read.
When I was six I started Kindergarten.
When I was eight I was baptized.
At twelve I started Young Women's.
And I started babysitting.
When I was fourteen I went to my first "SND."
(Saturday Night Dances. They used to be quite the rage.)
When I was sixteen I spent a semester in Mexico.
(Do I need to mention that I came home early?)
When I was seventeen I (finally) got a driver's license and my first car.
And my first boyfriend.
And my first job.
When I was eighteen I quit high school.
When I was nineteen I had my heart broken.
Now I'm twenty.
I'm starting school.
And moving into an apartment.
With roommates.
And I'm absolutely terrified.
I have no idea what to expect.
And I've never had to buy my own toilet paper before.
Who will make dinner? Who will "help" me with my homework? Who will stay up with me till all hours of the night watching Pride & Prejudice and eating Cheerios? Who will take my laundry out of the washer and set it aside instead of shrinking it in the dryer? Who will be there to laugh at me when I'm scared (of the werewolves, duh) only to start freaking out a little later? Who will take me on late-night emergency trips to Wal Mart (or Smith's, depending on how urgent the emergency)?
I miss my mom.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The Best Advice
Lately at work I have been all over the place. I "get" to travel to each and every floor at least 3 times a day. It has been a little stressful and busy, but everyone is always so nice and I've loved getting to talk with people more. There is one lady in particular who, every time I see her, says, "Have fun!" Every time. We're talking like five times a day.
Lately I've been pondering on that short phrase. "Have fun." Why in the world would this lady tell me to have fun...all the time?
The answer is obvious.
"Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."
"Men are that they might have joy."
Not just sometimes. Not every once in a while. Always.
We are supposed to be constantly enjoying ourselves and happy. Why waste time being anything less than perfectly content?
Lately I've been pondering on that short phrase. "Have fun." Why in the world would this lady tell me to have fun...all the time?
The answer is obvious.
"Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured."
"Men are that they might have joy."
Not just sometimes. Not every once in a while. Always.
We are supposed to be constantly enjoying ourselves and happy. Why waste time being anything less than perfectly content?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Quote:
"It's better to have loved and lost...than to live with the psycho for the rest your life."
Thank you, Facebook.
Thank you, Facebook.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Public Transportation: Part 4 (What do I see?)
An old woman too enthralled in her book to notice the gigantic, loud bus stopping three feet away from her face.
A heavily tattooed girl wearing booty shorts standing between a bar and a tattoo parlour, debating.
A sign that says, "What Would Street Jesus Do?" (I still don't know what it means.)
Ghandi. Or his younger, long-lost twin.
An old middle-eastern man reading a fictional novel about terrorists and the USA.
A girl sitting on a bench trying so hard to put off the annoying guy who keeps trying to get her attention.
A guy sitting on a bench trying so hard to explain something undoubtedly extremely interesting to the stuck up, pretty girl next to him.
A girl carrying a pack of cigarettes in her mouth, stuffing change and a receipt into her back pocket.
Workers setting up for the Twilight Concert Series.
An abandoned warehouse with a big painted "O" on the garage door.
Road construction.
A brand new yellow charger going slowly, in reverse, towards the on-ramp.
"FLESH IS THE LAW" written in tape on the rear window of a car.
Traffic.
A heavily tattooed girl wearing booty shorts standing between a bar and a tattoo parlour, debating.
A sign that says, "What Would Street Jesus Do?" (I still don't know what it means.)
Ghandi. Or his younger, long-lost twin.
An old middle-eastern man reading a fictional novel about terrorists and the USA.
A girl sitting on a bench trying so hard to put off the annoying guy who keeps trying to get her attention.
A guy sitting on a bench trying so hard to explain something undoubtedly extremely interesting to the stuck up, pretty girl next to him.
A girl carrying a pack of cigarettes in her mouth, stuffing change and a receipt into her back pocket.
Workers setting up for the Twilight Concert Series.
An abandoned warehouse with a big painted "O" on the garage door.
Road construction.
A brand new yellow charger going slowly, in reverse, towards the on-ramp.
"FLESH IS THE LAW" written in tape on the rear window of a car.
Traffic.
Public Transportation: Part 3
In the afternoons the bus smells like a new squirt gun. Or an air mattress. For some reason I love that smell as much as I love the fumes of gasoline and laundry detergent.
I've never understood why people think they have to stand right at the edge of the sidewalk when waiting to cross the street. One lady stood so close that when I peered down at her from the bus, I could see straight down her shirt. Not only is that incredibly awkward and disturbing, it's dangerous. (For he health of both the lady and me.)
Whenever I'm waiting at a crosswalk I try to stand a ways back from the road. Who knows when some rogue car (or bus, in this case) will lose control and smush the careless, unsuspecting city folk?
Yeesh.
I've never understood why people think they have to stand right at the edge of the sidewalk when waiting to cross the street. One lady stood so close that when I peered down at her from the bus, I could see straight down her shirt. Not only is that incredibly awkward and disturbing, it's dangerous. (For he health of both the lady and me.)
Whenever I'm waiting at a crosswalk I try to stand a ways back from the road. Who knows when some rogue car (or bus, in this case) will lose control and smush the careless, unsuspecting city folk?
Yeesh.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The love of my life
My piano.
I luff it. I've been plinking around on that thing ever since I can remember. My step-dad bought it for my mom the year they were married. He bought it from an old lady in Cache Valley. It was old and ugly and lovely, with the original 100-year-old ivory keys chipping. I fell in love.
©
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Public Transportation: Part Two
I always choose to sit on the right side of the bus. Right as in opposed to left, that is. The right side of the bus always faces the sun on my route, and the 90 minute ride is practically the only time I can see it. I always try to get a window seat, but that's not really possible in the mornings; the bus is way too full by the time it pulls up to my stop.
On the way home, however, I usually am able to catch a window seat before all the seats are taken. The other day I found my lovely window seat and plopped down, rudely spreading my bag and books on the seat next to me so no one would take it.
The bus took off and I observed my surroundings: trees, people, animals, cars, etc. As I was scrutinizing the homeless man wave his arms in the air like a lunatic, I noticed something different about this particular window.
A smudge.
A print, to be more specific.
A forehead print.
Can I insert a quick note here? I'm the type of person who hates finding finger prints on the windows. It's probably one of my biggest pet-peeves. Every few days I'll attack the glass doors at my work with some heavy-duty Windex and extra-strength paper towels. I think finger prints are icky, nasty, gross, irritating, and just plain disgusting. (Yes, I do know those are all synonyms.)
So you can understand why seeing this forehead print just three inches from my face would make my stomach flip. What was I supposed to do with a window that bares the mark of some random person's sweaty face?
I felt ill. My stomach wouldn't stop churning. It couldn't be car sickness; I'd popped a Dramamine before I left work.
It's not like I could have moved, either. The bus was already cruising at 70 mph on the freeway.
All I could do was lean back, breathe in and out through my mouth, and ignore the window.
What kind of person smushes their face across the window of a public bus?!
I'm still geekin' out about it.
On the way home, however, I usually am able to catch a window seat before all the seats are taken. The other day I found my lovely window seat and plopped down, rudely spreading my bag and books on the seat next to me so no one would take it.
The bus took off and I observed my surroundings: trees, people, animals, cars, etc. As I was scrutinizing the homeless man wave his arms in the air like a lunatic, I noticed something different about this particular window.
A smudge.
A print, to be more specific.
A forehead print.
Can I insert a quick note here? I'm the type of person who hates finding finger prints on the windows. It's probably one of my biggest pet-peeves. Every few days I'll attack the glass doors at my work with some heavy-duty Windex and extra-strength paper towels. I think finger prints are icky, nasty, gross, irritating, and just plain disgusting. (Yes, I do know those are all synonyms.)
So you can understand why seeing this forehead print just three inches from my face would make my stomach flip. What was I supposed to do with a window that bares the mark of some random person's sweaty face?
I felt ill. My stomach wouldn't stop churning. It couldn't be car sickness; I'd popped a Dramamine before I left work.
It's not like I could have moved, either. The bus was already cruising at 70 mph on the freeway.
All I could do was lean back, breathe in and out through my mouth, and ignore the window.
What kind of person smushes their face across the window of a public bus?!
I'm still geekin' out about it.
Monday, August 16, 2010
The Monkey
I love it. That is all.
This is the lovely little monkey that "sleeps" on the pillow next to me. And has been for the past three years at least.
A wonderful little gift from a wonderful friend.
And I will cherish it. Forever.
This is the lovely little monkey that "sleeps" on the pillow next to me. And has been for the past three years at least.
A wonderful little gift from a wonderful friend.
And I will cherish it. Forever.
©
Friday, August 13, 2010
Public Transportation: Part One
It slows. Stops. Rocks.
And then it rolls forward again. Slowly. Then faster. Faster...stop. Released pressure hisses and doors are cranked open. People file in and flop into the first empty seat.
Forward again. Faster. Faster. Stop. Right turn. Heads peeking from above seats all sway in unison to the left.
Fast. Stop. Hiss. Fast. Stop. Hiss.
Finally it hits the freeway. No more hissing stops for ninety minutes. More or less.
No stopping except for the bumper to bumper traffic of late-afternoon rush hour. Everyone wants to go home at 5:30. Why do they call it rush hour?
The endless speeding up and slowing down and constant sway is a recipe for nearly unbearable motion sickness. (Don't forget the Dramamine.)
But.
The cool A/C blows kindly on faces and legs. The sun slowly sets behind the tall peaks, and delicate slivers of light shimmer through the spaces in the clouds. Hot light is filtered through tinted windows. Music through headphones is energizing and relaxing at the same time, strengthening tired people after eight hours of being bent in a chair staring at a screen. A good book passes the time rather quickly. Unexpected over-passes create welcome, fleeting moments of shadow. Eyes tire and adjust to the sunlight again within seconds.
I can feel the rumble of the engine through the thick floor. The man sitting across the aisle is immersed in his novel. So is the lady in front of me. Although I think she's dozed off for the moment.
I don't have to focus on my own driving. Or keep track of which exit I'm nearing. Or dodge construction on the shoulder. I just get to lean back in my cushioned seat and simply...observe. And think. And catch my breath.
I don't need to bother with anything except pressing the "next" button on my iPod when I want to skip a song.
Maybe I'll drift out of consciousness for a few minutes. I notice the traffic has thinned. The rhythmic swaying isn't sickening anymore. It's like rocking in a swing. Or a hammock. I've always wanted a hammock.
The sun falls deeper in the sky, creating deep red and purple blossoms against a blue backdrop.. I lean closer to the window and let the light warm my face.
This is quickly becoming the best part of my day. And when my genius of an iPod decides to sing me The Beatles? Well. Better and better.
And then it rolls forward again. Slowly. Then faster. Faster...stop. Released pressure hisses and doors are cranked open. People file in and flop into the first empty seat.
Forward again. Faster. Faster. Stop. Right turn. Heads peeking from above seats all sway in unison to the left.
Fast. Stop. Hiss. Fast. Stop. Hiss.
Finally it hits the freeway. No more hissing stops for ninety minutes. More or less.
No stopping except for the bumper to bumper traffic of late-afternoon rush hour. Everyone wants to go home at 5:30. Why do they call it rush hour?
The endless speeding up and slowing down and constant sway is a recipe for nearly unbearable motion sickness. (Don't forget the Dramamine.)
But.
The cool A/C blows kindly on faces and legs. The sun slowly sets behind the tall peaks, and delicate slivers of light shimmer through the spaces in the clouds. Hot light is filtered through tinted windows. Music through headphones is energizing and relaxing at the same time, strengthening tired people after eight hours of being bent in a chair staring at a screen. A good book passes the time rather quickly. Unexpected over-passes create welcome, fleeting moments of shadow. Eyes tire and adjust to the sunlight again within seconds.
I can feel the rumble of the engine through the thick floor. The man sitting across the aisle is immersed in his novel. So is the lady in front of me. Although I think she's dozed off for the moment.
I don't have to focus on my own driving. Or keep track of which exit I'm nearing. Or dodge construction on the shoulder. I just get to lean back in my cushioned seat and simply...observe. And think. And catch my breath.
I don't need to bother with anything except pressing the "next" button on my iPod when I want to skip a song.
Maybe I'll drift out of consciousness for a few minutes. I notice the traffic has thinned. The rhythmic swaying isn't sickening anymore. It's like rocking in a swing. Or a hammock. I've always wanted a hammock.
The sun falls deeper in the sky, creating deep red and purple blossoms against a blue backdrop.. I lean closer to the window and let the light warm my face.
This is quickly becoming the best part of my day. And when my genius of an iPod decides to sing me The Beatles? Well. Better and better.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Appreciate
Driving to work today.
Heading north. Sitting in the passenger seat.
The sun climbs higher, finally rising above the peaks to shine for the world - and into my eyeballs.
I cringe and turn away at first; it burns my eyes. Within seconds my pupils adjust to the light and I stare in awe.
This is the scenery for my life.
This.
Tall mountain ridges. Sweet rays of sunlight being cast through the valleys and canyons. Puffy storybook clouds floating in a clean blue sky, each with its own silver lining. A slow breeze swaying the leaves and branches of each tree ever so lightly. The scent of fresh, crisp morning air. Journey playing in the background, the wailing vocals only enhancing the perfection.Heading north. Sitting in the passenger seat.
The sun climbs higher, finally rising above the peaks to shine for the world - and into my eyeballs.
I cringe and turn away at first; it burns my eyes. Within seconds my pupils adjust to the light and I stare in awe.
This is the scenery for my life.
This.
This is life.
Wonderful, beautiful, perfect life.
Forget about the bad stuff. Forget about the stress. Focus on the on the curve of the hills, the lights in the sky, and the sound of the music. Appreciate it.
Live.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Stress, stress, stress
I guess we've all experienced it.
The stress of college. Or, more specifically, the stress of getting into college.
They can't just make it easy.You have to fill out an application. You have to send money with that application. You have to fill out a FAFSA to see if you qualify for any grants, and you have to be patient and understanding when no, you don't qualify. You have to take a stupid ACT test. In my case, you have to take a GED test as well. Both of which cost money. You have to send proof of these tests to your school of choice, and be understanding when your copies are not considered proof and you will have to call the test people and have them send their own copies (which, yet again, will cost money). You have to send in an application for housing, and send money with that as well. After all of this is done, you have to apply for loans (which cost a lot of money) and more loans if the original loans aren't enough.
The process can take weeks, even months to complete.
Even when all the applying and sending and proving is finished, you need to buy books (money) and food (money) and dorm stuff (money).
Is there anything cheap about school? I'm ready to give up. Seriously.
Help.
The stress of college. Or, more specifically, the stress of getting into college.
They can't just make it easy.You have to fill out an application. You have to send money with that application. You have to fill out a FAFSA to see if you qualify for any grants, and you have to be patient and understanding when no, you don't qualify. You have to take a stupid ACT test. In my case, you have to take a GED test as well. Both of which cost money. You have to send proof of these tests to your school of choice, and be understanding when your copies are not considered proof and you will have to call the test people and have them send their own copies (which, yet again, will cost money). You have to send in an application for housing, and send money with that as well. After all of this is done, you have to apply for loans (which cost a lot of money) and more loans if the original loans aren't enough.
The process can take weeks, even months to complete.
Even when all the applying and sending and proving is finished, you need to buy books (money) and food (money) and dorm stuff (money).
Is there anything cheap about school? I'm ready to give up. Seriously.
Help.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Food, Lovely Food...
I truly love love LOVE when I find a good recipe website. I was looking through my Google Reader suggestions, and found Our Best Bites (check it out here). Currently I'm not eating (lemonade diet..long story) but when I start again....the world had better watch out. I've got a month with my little sister coming up, and we are going to cook and cook and cook! (And run and do push-ups and sit-ups and all that other fun stuff so we can stay fit while eating so much.)
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Current Events
Please oh please include me in your next prank.
source: msnbc.com
Read about it here
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Thoughts of a Receptionist
"Hi. My internet isn't working. Can you get on the Jericho Road website for me and tell me their tour dates?"
Um...no.
"I know she's on vacation. But I want to talk to her now."
O...kay? What do you suggest I do?
"I'm from BYU and I would really appreciate it if you would actually let me talk to someone up there."
You're from BYU and that means you have power over who does and doesn't answer their phone?
"I don't use the internet. Would you just read me everything on the page?"
Wait. What? How old are you?
"Hi, I'm wondering if I can go look at the condos next to your offices."
Great. How about you go ask them to look at it. Hmm?
"I'm 22. I've been home from my mission for just over a year. I haven't gone to college yet. But I'm going to buy a ring and marry that girlfriend of mine! I am not your typical Utah Mormon!"
Let me stop laughing first.
"Hi. I'm one of the construction guys who is working on the roof. Can I take you on a date?"
*flash the ring* Nope.
"Do you have a bathroom I can use?"
Nope.
"Can I have [insert name of any author here]'s phone number or mailing address please?"
Nope.
"I'm related to John Taylor. And I have a temple recommend. Why won't you let me go up to all the different floors and look around?"
Because...you don't work here. Duh.
"Wait...who did I call again? Oh. Oh. Uh...I got the wrong number."
*click*
"Hello. Don't hang up the phone. We are here to help you raise your business's credit and to get you out of debt."
Yeah...No. I'm hanging up.
Um...no.
"I know she's on vacation. But I want to talk to her now."
O...kay? What do you suggest I do?
"I'm from BYU and I would really appreciate it if you would actually let me talk to someone up there."
You're from BYU and that means you have power over who does and doesn't answer their phone?
"I don't use the internet. Would you just read me everything on the page?"
Wait. What? How old are you?
"Hi, I'm wondering if I can go look at the condos next to your offices."
Great. How about you go ask them to look at it. Hmm?
"I'm 22. I've been home from my mission for just over a year. I haven't gone to college yet. But I'm going to buy a ring and marry that girlfriend of mine! I am not your typical Utah Mormon!"
Let me stop laughing first.
"Hi. I'm one of the construction guys who is working on the roof. Can I take you on a date?"
*flash the ring* Nope.
"Do you have a bathroom I can use?"
Nope.
"Can I have [insert name of any author here]'s phone number or mailing address please?"
Nope.
"I'm related to John Taylor. And I have a temple recommend. Why won't you let me go up to all the different floors and look around?"
Because...you don't work here. Duh.
"Wait...who did I call again? Oh. Oh. Uh...I got the wrong number."
*click*
"Hello. Don't hang up the phone. We are here to help you raise your business's credit and to get you out of debt."
Yeah...No. I'm hanging up.
How'd you know?
I found this on another blog and thought I'd share it. Somehow this is exactly what my life is like...on a daily basis.
- I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
- More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.
- Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
- Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.
- That's enough, Nickelback.
- I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
- Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know" feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?
- Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.
- There is a great need for sarcasm font.
- Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what was going on when I first saw it.
- I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.
- How are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
- I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
- I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
- The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.
- Was learning cursive really necessary?
- Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".
- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
- Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron test is absolutely petrifying.
- My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads. Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us." Classy, bro.
- Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart.”
- How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?
- I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent an idiot from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!
- Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies"
- What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?
- While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.
- MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.
- Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
- I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.
- Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
- I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
- Bad decisions make good stories.
- Whenever I'm Facebook-stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!
- Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier and sluttier every year?
- If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.
- Why is it that during an icebreaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem....
- You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.
- Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.
- There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
- I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.
- "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.
- I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'
- I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dang it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?
- I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
- When I meet a new guy, I'm terrified of mentioning something he hasn't already told me that I have learned from some light internet stalking.
- I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.
- Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for pedophiles...
- As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.
- Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
- It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.
- I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
- Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.
- Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey- but I'd bet everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...
- My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How do I respond to that?
- It really ticks me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and the link takes me to a video instead of text.
- I wonder if cops ever get ticked off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.
- I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
- The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fatty before dinner.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Despite the Raging Headache
Took myself on a date last night.
Walked to the mall. Bought a shirt. Watched the little fountain show and listened to the music.
Went to Ben & Jerry's for an ice cream cone. It was some caramel concoction that was absolutely delicious.
Walked home with my spoils.
Ran at the gym until my legs gave out.
Cuddled up under a blanket on my favorite chair to watch my current favorite TV show.
Quite content.
Walked to the mall. Bought a shirt. Watched the little fountain show and listened to the music.
Went to Ben & Jerry's for an ice cream cone. It was some caramel concoction that was absolutely delicious.
Walked home with my spoils.
Ran at the gym until my legs gave out.
Cuddled up under a blanket on my favorite chair to watch my current favorite TV show.
Quite content.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Cleaning the Windows of the Soul
Luckily for me (and everyone else in my building, really) Salt Lake likes to be a clean city, and today the window-washing crew was sent to clean all of our windows.
As I sat and watched the workers wipe the glass, I started to think about how it relates to repentance. We sin, we make mistakes, and eventually we don't even want to look at or think about our problems. We want to turn elsewhere so we don't have to think about how dirty our view has become. Yet with a little (or a lot of) work and some "soap" (i.e., the atonement), we're able to clean up and have a fresh view of our ultimate goal: the temple, eternal families and happiness, and everlasting celestial glory.
That, my friends, shows just how much our Father loves us. He gives us the opportunity to make things right in our lives so we can reach that goal. It's not an impossible ambition, and it's the only truly worthwhile ambition to have. If we constantly wipe away the dirt and grime that builds up so quickly we will eventually get there. I know it.
It also helps if you listen to MoTab for 6 hours a day. Really.
Can I go back to bed yet?
This was totally going to be one of those "I'm grouchy and want to vent vent vent before I go crazy!" posts. I had an entire page written about how much today just sucks. While typing furiously and getting madder and madder, I happened to actually listen to the music I have playing at work. MoTab. Suddenly my perspective changed.
I am so tired because my sleeping patterns have been crazy and I went to bed too late {at least I have a bed to sleep in and a reason to wake up}
Some random caller and The Beatles (my ringtone) rudely woke me up at 2 in the morning {at least I have a phone and, hey, the beatles rock}
When I realized I was going to be late, I threw on the first things I saw and now I'm wearing an itchy cardigan {at least I have decent clothes to wear}
Work is hectic and crazy. I messed up a spreadsheet. It's busy. There are meetings going on that I didn't even know about. {at least I have a job}
The window washers outside dripped water on me when I walked in to work {at least that's not my job, and I get to sit in a cushy air-conditioned room all day}
My wrist hurts and this brace is irritating {at least I have arms}
So I guess things aren't so bad after all, when you put them into perspective and compare your problems to others' trials. I should be completely happy. I will be completely happy.
That is all.
I am so tired because my sleeping patterns have been crazy and I went to bed too late {at least I have a bed to sleep in and a reason to wake up}
Some random caller and The Beatles (my ringtone) rudely woke me up at 2 in the morning {at least I have a phone and, hey, the beatles rock}
When I realized I was going to be late, I threw on the first things I saw and now I'm wearing an itchy cardigan {at least I have decent clothes to wear}
Work is hectic and crazy. I messed up a spreadsheet. It's busy. There are meetings going on that I didn't even know about. {at least I have a job}
The window washers outside dripped water on me when I walked in to work {at least that's not my job, and I get to sit in a cushy air-conditioned room all day}
My wrist hurts and this brace is irritating {at least I have arms}
So I guess things aren't so bad after all, when you put them into perspective and compare your problems to others' trials. I should be completely happy. I will be completely happy.
That is all.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
My Favorite 12-Year-Old. Ever.
I have a younger brother. He is 12. We'll call him "C" (just because).
C and I are rather weird. There's no getting around that. We make stupid faces at each other during dinner (and breakfast...and lunch...heck, we just make stupid faces all the time). We laugh at the most ridiculous things. We make fun of crazies on the sidewalk. We crack up when someone passes gas or talks about any other bodily parts, fluids, or functions. We mock movies. Yes, we're immature. He's 12, though, so it's okay. (I unfortunately don't have the happy excuse of being young.)
Tonight we continued the tradition of harassing D (our 9-year-old brother) in his sleep. Last time we got him to ramble about some crazy ponies and hamsters or something.
We slowly crept up to D, peeking over the rail of the top bunk. C decided to switch out D's stuffed elephant for a small football. He slowly threaded the football into D's embrace while carefully maneuvering the elephant out. I held my breath. D didn't notice the change, and snuggled closer to the leather ball.
Looking at the old elephant, I had a wonderful idea. I snatched it away from C and grabbed a few more stuffed animals from the foot of the bed. C caught on quickly, and soon we had all the animals in a line, "staring" at D.
"Just wait'll he wakes up to this!" I whispered. We giggled loudly at the thought until D squirmed at the sound. C dropped onto his stomach on the floor. I followed. We sat there for a few seconds until we were sure D was still soundly sleeping.
C and I cracked up again and proceeded to act Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove (which just happens to be one of the best movies - ever) doing his little spy dance. After a full minute of that, we fell over laughing again and ended up making more stupid faces.
Gosh, I love that kid.
Yes, we do fight and argue. A lot. And I'm pretty sure he's secretly plotting his revenge on me for being the big bully of a sister I've been. But I'm hoping that the little moments like this will convince him to show some mercy. He's a great kid. I'm the luckiest big sister alive.
C and I are rather weird. There's no getting around that. We make stupid faces at each other during dinner (and breakfast...and lunch...heck, we just make stupid faces all the time). We laugh at the most ridiculous things. We make fun of crazies on the sidewalk. We crack up when someone passes gas or talks about any other bodily parts, fluids, or functions. We mock movies. Yes, we're immature. He's 12, though, so it's okay. (I unfortunately don't have the happy excuse of being young.)
Tonight we continued the tradition of harassing D (our 9-year-old brother) in his sleep. Last time we got him to ramble about some crazy ponies and hamsters or something.
We slowly crept up to D, peeking over the rail of the top bunk. C decided to switch out D's stuffed elephant for a small football. He slowly threaded the football into D's embrace while carefully maneuvering the elephant out. I held my breath. D didn't notice the change, and snuggled closer to the leather ball.
Looking at the old elephant, I had a wonderful idea. I snatched it away from C and grabbed a few more stuffed animals from the foot of the bed. C caught on quickly, and soon we had all the animals in a line, "staring" at D.
"Just wait'll he wakes up to this!" I whispered. We giggled loudly at the thought until D squirmed at the sound. C dropped onto his stomach on the floor. I followed. We sat there for a few seconds until we were sure D was still soundly sleeping.
C and I cracked up again and proceeded to act Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove (which just happens to be one of the best movies - ever) doing his little spy dance. After a full minute of that, we fell over laughing again and ended up making more stupid faces.
Gosh, I love that kid.
Yes, we do fight and argue. A lot. And I'm pretty sure he's secretly plotting his revenge on me for being the big bully of a sister I've been. But I'm hoping that the little moments like this will convince him to show some mercy. He's a great kid. I'm the luckiest big sister alive.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Three Strikes, You're Out
It all started when Tall-dark-and-handsome came to visit his father at work. He sat and talked to me for a few minutes while he waited for Dad to come downstairs. We chatted about school and stuff, and I told him the complete truth: I'm starting school again in the fall; I'm studying communications/Marketing, but I'm still not sure; I live in an apartment downtown. I was wearing my wedding ring and assumed I'd never see this kid again, so I guess I wasn't completely clear that I haven't started school yet, I'm not currently studying anything, and I live in an apartment with my parents and siblings. I'm pretty sure he assumed I'm older than I actually am, too.
The guy told me a little about himself as well. He's finishing up his degree at BYU. Some other stuff that I can't remember. (Once again, I was wearing my ring and truly thought he'd go home and I wouldn't have to bother with him again.) His relative finally walked out of the elevator and off they went. Out the door, out of sight, out of mind.
Wrong.
Later that day I got at email from Tall-dark-and-handsome. (Shall we think of a name for him? I think...Skip.) Skip wrote that his Dad had clarified that yes, the ring is fake and no, Bonnie is not married. (Thanks a lot, Dad.) So Skip decided to give me his phone number and suggest that we go out sometime.
I thought, "Hey, I'll take a chance. I've had some crappy dates recently but why not? It could be fun."
False.
Skip texted me a few times over the next few days but then decided to forget me altogether. Two months passed and I didn't hear a word from him. Eventually I just deleted his number from my phone because I didn't wanna deal with it. Strike One (Two months? Really?)
The real shock came when I saw a certain message in my email this afternoon. Skip was apologizing for being completely silent for so long. He wanted to know what I was up to. And if I wanted to go out sometime. Friday? Okay. Friday. (Although I'm pretty sure he's emailing instead of calling because he got rid of my phone number as well.) Strike Two. (Over email? Really? That's worse than texting.)
Oh, but wait. Apparently Skip forgot that his friend's wedding reception is Friday, so we'll have to reschedule for Saturday at seven. Strike Three. (What's going through my mind? Skip "forgot" he had another date scheduled for Friday, and wants to score two dates with two different girls in the same weekend. Men.)
I'm pretty sure I should be done with it. No, I won't go out with you. Forget it.
But his dad works here, so I'll just have to suck it up.
Blah.
Is there ever a fourth strike?
Friday, July 2, 2010
Moments: Stupidity
I'm the only person I know of who would actually tell a person to "have fun" when they're on their way out for a funeral.
Eventually I'll learn to be a little more tactful.Wow.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Basil
I now have a basil that is growing under my watchful eye. I've always wanted a basil.
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Oh, Sundays
The soothing notes of an acoustic guitar fill my ears. I slowly drift out of unconsciousness as I realize I'm not dreaming. The alarm. I pry my eyelids open and try to shake off my sleep. It's not working. The music gets louder. Or maybe I'm just getting more awake.
Ignoring the light pouring through the blinds, I drag myself over to the alarm clock and read the time. 6:47 a.m. I still have time. I hit the snooze button and fall back into bed, curling up under the quilt. It's cold. I left the window open last night. What time did I fall asleep? After midnight, surely.
At 7:04 a.m. the music starts again. I try to squirm out of the quilt and get over to the clock at the same time. It doesn't work; I fall off the bed. Once I get the blasted alarm off, I make my way to the shower. The hot water doesn't help my drowsiness. I slowly twist the knob to the cold side, trying to get the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. Lukewarm?
Twenty minutes later (okay, more like thirty), I'm back in my room. My curls are carefully sculpted with mousse and my make up is almost perfect. Just a few last minute adjustments and I'm ready. I'm almost late.
Oh, Primary. I'm grouchy and tired, my hair is still slightly damp, and I can still taste my breakfast despite my vigorous teeth-brushing. I unwrap a stick of green gum as I wonder how I'm going to pull this off. The chorister isn't here today. I'm on my own during Singing Time. Lovely.
What...is...happening? Did the parents feed their children pure caffeine and sugar for breakfast? I'm in over my head. I constantly check the clock, hoping it's 10:40. It only makes the time go slower.
Finally. As soon as the last child is out the door, I stop playing the postlude music. I just want to go back to bed. My brain is fried. Should I try to sit in the chapel today? Probably.
I pick a spot closest to the end of the pew, right next to my younger brother. He snuggles into my shoulder as the meeting begins.
Thirty minutes to go. I know I shouldn't be checking the time, but I can't help it. I'm exhausted. I take a look around as the speaker drones on. A few of my Primary kids catch my eye and wave. One little 2-year-old squeaks, "Hi Bahneeee!" earning a few chuckles from the surrounding people. I smile at him and make a face. He giggles.
Turning my attention back to the speaker, I realize that I'm enjoying the topic. It's Father's Day. This father is talking about his kids, growing up, his dad, being a parent, etc. I love hearing about parenthood. It makes me feel that I might be a little more prepared when it's my turn.
The final speaker finishes his talk early. 11:50 a.m. A new record, I think. Before I know it, the meeting is over and families are filing out of the chapel. I walk out of the building and into the beautiful, glorious sunlight. Sighhhhhhh. Now, was that so bad? Not really. My nerves are still a little crazy from the stressful Singing Time, but...that's nothing a nap can't fix. I climb into the car along with the rest of my family. It's quiet. They're probably just as tired as I am.
I'm home. I stagger into my bedroom and peel off my hot cardigan. I won't bother changing out of my undershirt and jean skirt; I don't have time. I can already feel my eyelids getting heavier. The breeze from my open window and sunlight filtering through the blinds creates the perfect climate. I'm unconscious before I hit the pillow.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Discovery
I recently learned something new about myself.
I love word games. Scrabble, Bananagrams, word search, Hangman, you name it. For some reason I just can’t get enough of them. I’m addicted. This realization caught me completely off-guard. I’d never really thought about it, but I guess I’m a “word person.”
Discovering this little trait shouldn’t really be that big of a deal, but it is to me. I love when I discover something new about me. Even if I knew it all along and suddenly realize it. It’s amazing. That feeling I get when I can say, “Hey, this is who I am. This defines me.” Gotta love it.
I’ve spent so much time asking and wondering who I am; I never really took the time to actually just let it be. I’ll find out who I am by just letting it be. It’ll take time, and that is completely okay. The little realizations can take me by surprise. I can take it one day at a time and every day I’ll learn something new.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Irrational Fears
Sinkholes. Alien invasions. Ghosts. The boogyman. Pain. Floods. Hurricanes. Tornadoes. Snakes. Koala bears. Alligators. Spiders. Things falling from the sky. Going deaf or blind. Being kidnapped. Blood. Getting fired. Someone stealing my phone. Turning down dates. Freezing to death. Losing an arm…or leg or finger or toe. Forgetting. Chimpanzees. Knocking a tooth out. Heights. The ocean. Frizz. The crazy-psycho ex coming back. Gaining weight. Homeless people. Exploding pens. Piranhas. Fireworks. Getting hit by a car. Cancer. Fire. Drowning. Being buried alive. Caterpillars. Evil people. Guns. Movie stars. Flying in an airplane and hearing the captain mention that the engine has failed. Growing up. Rabid animals. Falling. Being late to work. Failing. Teachers. Clowns. Getting stuck in an elevator. Construction workers. Dogs. My debit card being declined. Being paralyzed after an awful accident. Baby monitors (blame Signs). E.T. College. Being a parent. Cheerleaders. Druggies. Losing my toothbrush. Infectious diseases. Global warming. Getting lost in the woods. Cliff diving. Scuba diving. Anything having to do with diving. Swimming with my face underwater. Stupid people.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Event: The Sprite Can
It was quietly sitting there in the middle of the sidewalk. A tall, empty can of Sprite, the tab popped open. I had just left my apartment for a brief walk in the sun when the shiny aluminum caught my eye. Surely the can hadn’t been sitting there for long. It looked brand new. Someone had probably ripped it from a six pack, chugged the contents, and thoughtlessly left the container behind. I was almost tempted to relocate the can to a garbage bin, but the thought of whose hands – and lips – had touched the metal stopped me. This was downtown Salt Lake City and for all I knew, the soda had belonged to some druggie, homeless person, or another less-than-clean being.
A brilliant thought entered my brain. Of course! I would just play “kick the can” until I got the can close enough to a garbage bin, and hopefully the garbage man (who would already be somewhat dirty) would take it with the rest of the trash.
Brilliant.
I geared up for the kick, my leg back and swinging it forward with all my might. The garbage bin, after all, was still a ways up the street. Time slowed and I kept my eyes glued to the little can, excited to see the little thing fly.
As soon as my foot came in contact with the Sprite can, I became suddenly and chillingly aware that the empty can was a lot heavier than an empty can should be. A split second after that realization, the can exploded and spiraled away from me. My kick propelled the can forward. I watched in disbelief as sprite sloshed everywhere. The sweet liquid sprayed nearby cars, the windows of the closest buildings, even a passing cat.
A few seconds later the can settled just a few yards in front of me. I stood there in shock for another thirty seconds. Eventually my silent shock faded into merely horrified mortification and I quickly surveyed the scene. Luckily I found myself alone and relieved that no one had seen my little stunt.
I continued walking with my head bowed as if nothing had happened, carefully stepping around the Sprite stains and the now crushed can.
I was about 96.7% sure that the ordeal was my own embarrassing secret. However, as I was on my way home just ten minutes later, the Sprite can was gone.
Apparently someone had seen.
A brilliant thought entered my brain. Of course! I would just play “kick the can” until I got the can close enough to a garbage bin, and hopefully the garbage man (who would already be somewhat dirty) would take it with the rest of the trash.
Brilliant.
I geared up for the kick, my leg back and swinging it forward with all my might. The garbage bin, after all, was still a ways up the street. Time slowed and I kept my eyes glued to the little can, excited to see the little thing fly.
As soon as my foot came in contact with the Sprite can, I became suddenly and chillingly aware that the empty can was a lot heavier than an empty can should be. A split second after that realization, the can exploded and spiraled away from me. My kick propelled the can forward. I watched in disbelief as sprite sloshed everywhere. The sweet liquid sprayed nearby cars, the windows of the closest buildings, even a passing cat.
A few seconds later the can settled just a few yards in front of me. I stood there in shock for another thirty seconds. Eventually my silent shock faded into merely horrified mortification and I quickly surveyed the scene. Luckily I found myself alone and relieved that no one had seen my little stunt.
I continued walking with my head bowed as if nothing had happened, carefully stepping around the Sprite stains and the now crushed can.
I was about 96.7% sure that the ordeal was my own embarrassing secret. However, as I was on my way home just ten minutes later, the Sprite can was gone.
Apparently someone had seen.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Today is a _______ day
Glasses-wearing. Warm. Hair straightening. Chip-eating. Procrastinating. Cold. Musical. Funny. Lotion-lathering. Laughable. Sun shining. Wind howling. Letter writing. Chatting. Busy. Mail delivering. Walking. Quiet. Dull. Sprinkler spraying. Beautiful. Book reading. Ring wearing. Fantastic. Piano playing. Typing. Running. Baking. Delivery. Blogging. Amazing. Perfect. Sleepy. Library visiting. Family visiting. Friend calling. Quick. Fortunate. Wonderful. Glorious.
Today is a day.
Today is a day.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Observe: The Skater
He was skateboarding by himself in the Circuit City parking lot.
I watched him through the passenger window as I was stopped at the red light.
There was something quiet, beautiful, and slightly pathetic about this lone skateboarder. Why was he alone? And in the parking lot of a closed Circuit City, of all places. Where were his friends? Don’t skaters usually travel in packs? I continued to watch him. He didn't notice me staring. He was alone in his own world.
The boy looked like he was lost in his own thoughts. I wondered what might be going through his mind at that exact moment as I stared. I almost wished I was close enough to see his face. What would those eyes reveal? The possibilities were endless. I lost myself in concentration. Who was he? What was he thinking? What was he doing?
Maybe he was having girlfriend problems. That would definitely drive a teenage boy to detach himself from the world for a while. Did she break up with him? Did he break up with her? Maybe it was just a little argument. They'll make up tomorrow. Or maybe it was just not meant to be. This fight will never be resolved. Maybe she cheated on him, begged for forgiveness, and he just needed some time to consider things and be by himself. Maybe.
Perhaps the trouble was a little closer to home. The poor boy had to do something to get some time away from his siblings; a disliked relative was visiting; he needed some peace from the constant noise. The dog chewed up his skating shoes. He didn't finish his homework. His phone fell into the sink and wouldn't work. He woke up late and missed the school bus, causing him to miss (and fail) an important test. Could it be more than that? Perhaps his parents were going through a nasty divorce, or his grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, or his father was laid off, or his youngest brother was in this hospital. Perhaps.
It could be possible the skater was contemplating life in general. What was right? What was wrong? Did it matter? Did he care? Did they care? Was it worth it? What should he do about this? How would he accomplish that? How could he accomplish it? People everywhere telling him he's wrong or not good enough. Not smart enough. Not strong enough. He could be considering running away. He must want to escape the everyday stress and worry that seem to be so standard in our lives. It's possible.
And yet, maybe he wasn't thinking about anything at all. Just the flip of his board or how much air he could get. Landing the kickflip. Seeing just how much air he can catch. Trying that new trick he saw on Youtube. Feeling the sun warm his skin and the wind cooling it at the same time. Completely content and living in that one moment. Maybe he was just there for the ride.
The car in front of me suddenly moved forward, breaking my reverie. The stoplight had switched to green. I stole a last glance before driving away.
He was still skating.
I watched him through the passenger window as I was stopped at the red light.
There was something quiet, beautiful, and slightly pathetic about this lone skateboarder. Why was he alone? And in the parking lot of a closed Circuit City, of all places. Where were his friends? Don’t skaters usually travel in packs? I continued to watch him. He didn't notice me staring. He was alone in his own world.
The boy looked like he was lost in his own thoughts. I wondered what might be going through his mind at that exact moment as I stared. I almost wished I was close enough to see his face. What would those eyes reveal? The possibilities were endless. I lost myself in concentration. Who was he? What was he thinking? What was he doing?
Maybe he was having girlfriend problems. That would definitely drive a teenage boy to detach himself from the world for a while. Did she break up with him? Did he break up with her? Maybe it was just a little argument. They'll make up tomorrow. Or maybe it was just not meant to be. This fight will never be resolved. Maybe she cheated on him, begged for forgiveness, and he just needed some time to consider things and be by himself. Maybe.
Perhaps the trouble was a little closer to home. The poor boy had to do something to get some time away from his siblings; a disliked relative was visiting; he needed some peace from the constant noise. The dog chewed up his skating shoes. He didn't finish his homework. His phone fell into the sink and wouldn't work. He woke up late and missed the school bus, causing him to miss (and fail) an important test. Could it be more than that? Perhaps his parents were going through a nasty divorce, or his grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, or his father was laid off, or his youngest brother was in this hospital. Perhaps.
It could be possible the skater was contemplating life in general. What was right? What was wrong? Did it matter? Did he care? Did they care? Was it worth it? What should he do about this? How would he accomplish that? How could he accomplish it? People everywhere telling him he's wrong or not good enough. Not smart enough. Not strong enough. He could be considering running away. He must want to escape the everyday stress and worry that seem to be so standard in our lives. It's possible.
And yet, maybe he wasn't thinking about anything at all. Just the flip of his board or how much air he could get. Landing the kickflip. Seeing just how much air he can catch. Trying that new trick he saw on Youtube. Feeling the sun warm his skin and the wind cooling it at the same time. Completely content and living in that one moment. Maybe he was just there for the ride.
The car in front of me suddenly moved forward, breaking my reverie. The stoplight had switched to green. I stole a last glance before driving away.
He was still skating.
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