Tuesday, November 30, 2010


My phone is kind of stupid. Just kind of. It "fixes" certain words when I'm texting.


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.


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:

"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.
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.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Ten Thoughts for Monday


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.