Something About Stars

August, 2011 - The Present

2012-02-04T00:51:00.002-07:00

"This is a Red Line Train to Daybreak"
Hadn't I found the beating heart?
I'd forgotten I was staring at a sunset.
Surprised,
I found myself
sitting without light

Wondering
How
the clouds lost their brilliance;
Why
the sky had dimmed that
breath-snatching blue
captivating blue
a blue surpassing
blue I'd seen
but never tasted before;
Who
whispered those empty things in the dark
that sounded like grayness
and like not being free--
like mediocrity--

And the Christmas lights were muted
and there's too much time to think
on this train
about things that don't matter
things that are safe to say
that nothing can be done about them.

How many ways am I!
pruned tree
harvested field
discarded apple core

  sunglasses for a seer
a poet
(but mostly a copycat)
but none of that matters because

I'm on a train at dusk
that I can't make faster or slower
watching the sun set
And Daddy is teaching me in his
cold-hard-facts-cash-and-a-hard-place way
that you get there
when you get there
  and how in darkness
     I can't see a foot forward
(even if it's my best)
   but I can see planets and stars and galaxies
   light-years up and away
  and how Eve felt
   because she was happy
  and how a rush of perspective
   is chemo that will hopefully
   kill the right bad parts of you
      before you die
      of too much living
  and how there's so so much more
   to be meant for
   than to fall apart
      over one sunset
  that He made.

Two More

2011-12-24T21:10:00.000-07:00

I don't know how I missed out on the beautiful world of poetry for so long. In any case, I'm discovering all kinds of wonderful poems and poets. Lately I'm obsessed with Margaret Atwood. Here's why:

You Fit Into Me

You fit into me

like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

Blackie in Antarctica

My sister phones long distance:
Blackie's been put down.
Incurable illness. Gauntness and suffering.
General heartbreak.
I thought you'd want to bury him,
she says, in tears.
So I wrapped him in red silk
and put him in the freezer.

Oh Blackie, named bluntly
and without artifice by small girls,
leaping from roof to roof
in doll's bonnet and pinafore,
Oh sly fur-faced idol
who endured worship and mauling,
often without scratching,
Oh yowling moon
addict, devious foundling,
neurotic astrologer
who predicted disaster
by then creating it,

Oh midnight-coloured
faithful companion of midnight,
Oh pillow hog,
with your breath of raw liver,
where are you now?

Beside the frozen hamburger
and chicken wings; a paradise
for carnivores. Lying in red silk
and state, like Pharaoh
in a white metallic temple, or
a thin-boned Antarctic
explorer in a gelid parka,
one who didn't make it; or
(let's face it) a package
of fish. I hope nobody
en route to dinner
unwraps you by mistake.

What an affront, to be equated
with meat! Cat-like, you hated
being ridiculous. You hungered
for justice, at set hours and in the form
of sliced beef stew
with gravy.
You wanted what
was coming to you.
(Death is, though. Ridiculous. And coming to you.
For us, too.
Justice is what we'll turn into.
Then there's mercy.)

I admit she's a little morbid, but I find her work both hilarious and insightful-- although that may be because I first picked up one of Atwood's books for a break after studying Sociology for four straight hours.

Some Poems

2011-11-18T20:57:00.001-07:00

The F-Word(s)
When I stand before F, it is the letter of of longing.

Sometimes, F burns like fire or faith.
F is the beginning of forever,
but not so beautiful if it fails, or falls short.
When offensive, F will spit in your face.
Sometimes, F is flat, a foolish boy, a fickle love affair.

Like his sophisticated cousin, Phobia,
F tries to frighten us with fate,
But F is just the sound that fear makes
when your feet are frozen to the floor.
F must be comforted by other, softer letters.

The Pearl
The knife-- sturdy, strong, old yet gleaming
Plunges into each oyster.
Pried open, no ears can hear no screaming.
Frustration rising with the sun,
He cast them one by one
Into the waves of the faceless bay.

Does it matter what he finds?
The filled and empty lay side by side
In the deep, broken and dead.

Warm Welcome
The walls are warm and white in this house
Where you have never been invited.
The towels and dishes are white and mine
And you have never used them.
In a twin bed where I am wrapped up, warm,
Without you and alone,
I dream new dreams, and because of you
You are not in them.

Without this new house,
Women wander with arms wrapped around themselves
To keep the wind out,
To keep from falling out.
We watch with our mouths and with our hands--
Our words would not be weapons,
But we know you only respond to temptations or threats.

Where I am is where you have never been
And never again will I wander where we walked.
I was within you and now I am without you
(As in by your leaving I am outside you.)
So I went through the open door of real estate.
This house is mine, white, warm,
The one I want after once wanting you,
And you have never, will never
Be welcomed.

Over-Analysis
"How do you feel?"

"I'm a little cold.
I feel stiff..
I am a stiff--
I'm dead.
I've been murdered."

Girl's Night In

2011-11-18T20:01:00.000-07:00

When you feel like you're alone in the world, you're probably wrong, and even if you're right there is actually a lot you can do about it. But there are those Friday nights when you don't feel like trying to be social, when picking up the phone is a chore, and all you feel like doing is staring into space and avoiding the sight of your backpack sitting in the corner because your backpack means school, and school means homework, and homework means pressure, and you dislike pressure very much and would much rather procrastinate, letting the pressure build like a bag of potato chips on a drive up a steep mountain on a camping trip with your family, and as the semester plows ever onward and you know you have to cram in the studying sometime, but that time is tomorrow. In short, there is only way to keep your sanity and avoid thinking about your ex or the fact that your are unemployed: Girl's Night In.

This is not to be confused with the ever-popular "Girls' Night Out." Watch where you put the apostrophe. The only thing the two have in common is the time of day (or in this case, night, I guess). The idea is quite simple, but in order for the evening to be counted a success, I suggest a few general guidelines.

1. Being Alone
It's what the evening is all about: you. You don't have to go through the trouble to set up a date with your girlfriends to have a good time. There is a time and place for socialization, but odds are if you're feeling like crap (it's that time of the month, isn't it?) you probably don't even want to show your face outside. So take advantage of the fact that your roommate has a Biology study group tonight. Ignore the phone. The only form of socialization allowed (and probably all you can muster at the moment) is Facebook-stalking. Remember, tonight is the night of things you would do if no one cared.

2. Food. Lots and Lots of Food.
So pizza makes you break out. Eat it anyway. My usual diet for a night is quite large, a variety of the following comfort foods: Any and all forms of chocolate, Rice-A-Roni, peanut butter and pickle sandwich (It sounds disgusting, but after being forced to try it, the PB&Pickle is now one of my favorites), any and all forms of ice cream, Dr. Pepper and grilled cheese sandwiches. Eat to feel good. Tonight is the night you will never admit happened.

3. Physical Comfort
Nothing can quite match the feeling of taking off your tights and heels after four hours of church. On the bus ride home you were probably sitting on the very edge of the seat trying not to smell the person next to you and still not block the aisle, while simultaneously subduing your claustrophobia. So put on pajamas, pull up your hair, remove your makeup and take off your bra-- because who is going to tell you not to? Cover yourself in blankets, tuck your favorite stuffed animal under your arm, and climb on the sofa in front of the TV.

4. Media
Nothing cures temporary depression like living vicariously through the heroine of a really good chick flick or action film. As long as there are a lot of explosions, at least one motorcycle, and plenty of eloquently-delivered witty lines, I am happy-- it only has to be engaging enough to distract me from the unpleasant realities of real life. Blast the music you love but would be too embarrassed to play with anyone around. Read the teen romance novel you've had no time for. Gaze into (insert hot male actor's name)'s perfect face and forget about how you got a C on your Sociology exam.

5. Wee Hours of the Morning
It's not a evening in until the evening somehow flies by and suddenly it's 3 AM and you've been watching Charlie the Unicorn for two hours. It is imperative that one remain awake long enough for temporary insanity to set in. It makes you appreciate the moments later in the week when you have a firmer grasp on reality. After feeling like you're on the verge of a mental breakdown because you're so tired but you can't stop laughing through the pivotal scene in The Messengers for no good reason, you feel positively competent for the rest of the week. Trust me, it's healthy.

6. Blogging
When else do I have the time and motivation to blog? Enough said.

By the time you've woken up after sleeping in the next day and erased all traces of the sugar-hangover with a shower and a large salad, life looks a lot better and you can start returning all the phone calls you ignored. After all, the sun is shining, you're still alive, there are still people who love you, and that mountain of homework seems to have shrunk-- or at least not as big of a deal as it seemed earlier.

The Experiment

2011-10-28T10:33:00.001-06:00

Few things in school make me feel as fulfilled as literary analysis: Understanding what an author means, expounding upon it and applying it. This is the first critical essay I wrote for my English 2600 class this morning. Normally, I'm never this touchy-feely in my academic writing, but since it's a written on a poem I thought I'd try something new. I haven't turned it in yet, so we'll see how it goes.

But read the poem first...

Spliced Wire by Jimmy Santiago Báca
I filled your house with light.
There was warmth in all corners
of the house. My words I gave you
like soft warm toast in early morning.
I brewed your tongue
to a rich dark coffee, and drank
my fill. I turned on the music for you,
playing notes along the crest
of your heart, like birds,
eagles, ravens, owls on rim of red canyon.

I brought reception clear to you,
and made the phone ring at your request,
from Paris or South America,
you could talk to any of the people,
as my words gave them life,
from a child in a boat with his father,
to a prisoner in a concentration camp,
all at your bedside.

And then you turned away, wanted
a larger mansion. I said no. I left you.
The plug pulled out, the house blinked out,
Into a quiet darkness, swallowing wind,
collecting autumn leaves like stamps
between its old boards where they stick.

You say, or carry the thought with you
to comfort you, that faraway somewhere,
lightning knocked down all the power lines.
But no my love, it was I,

pulling the plug. Others will come, plug in,
but often the lights will dim weakly
in storms, the music stop to a drawl,
the warmth shredded by cold drafts.

Compliance with the Truth in Jimmy Santiago Báca’s “Spliced Wire”

The word “splice” means to join together or to unite. In Jimmy Santiago Báca’s poem, “Spliced Wire,” however, the subject of the poem is a painful separation or breaking of a union. Through the intricate and multifaceted figures of speech and overall implied metaphor(s), Báca expresses the pain and hopelessness of a relationship broken by personal choice. Báca uses the voice of the speaker to argue that loving someone is not reason enough to remain bound to that person if he or she does not return that love. This indicates a larger theme of commitment to the truth, evident in both the meaningful, vibrant images and the dynamic tone quality of the poem, suggesting the bitterness of irony. Báca claims that accepting facts and moving on from an unproductive or single-sided relationship is less damaging than remaining in it by denying reality and lying to oneself, even if that one side loves the other deeply. This claim makes sense, and yet the tone of the speaker seems to question even his own resolve; the pain, regret, and seemingly wasted time is not silenced either by placing blame or by moving forward. This is evident in the glimpses caught of the past lover hidden implicitly within the text, and from which an entire second character is created. “Spliced Wire,” in the most straightforward analysis, is the portrait of two people experiencing the pain of separation.

The two stanzas are a clear exposition to the speaker’s present state of mind. There is no indication of gender, but for simplicity’s sake we will assume that the speaker is a man and the object his past lover. The extended metaphor begins in the first stanza by indirectly comparing her to a house. It is rich in figures of speech enhanced by imagery, such as the “words I gave you / like soft warm toast in early morning” (3-4), indicating a wholesome offering early on in the relationship, and even though the speaker “brewed [her] tongue / to a rich dark coffee, and drank / [his] fill” (5-7) the exchange appears woefully one-sided. There are elements of foreshadowing, such as the use of past tense, as well as the imagery of the birds and the red canyon. The speaker states that his love (or the happiness they shared) was “like birds, / eagles, ravens, owls, on rim of red canyon” (9-10). The birds, at first thought to be innocent and beautiful, ironically turn out to be birds of prey, perhaps looking for a reason to swoop down at any moment. The red canyon, although the color would traditionally suggest passion, instead conjures the image of a sandstone canyon in the desert, devoid of life and full of empty space.

The second stanza begins to create a clearer image of who this lost love is, or who the speaker considers her to be. With the words “I brought reception clear to you,” (11) there is a subtle play on words. This could likely mean that the speaker taught this person how to receive or how to take in the world; something he feels was turned on him in the end. The emphasis on his giving, on his opening up in this intimate relationship (intimacy is inferred in the later use of the image of plugging in and pulling the plug) shows that the speaker views his beloved as something to be filled. Perhaps he longs to save her in a sense because she is inexperienced or incapable of making her own decisions, implied in the image of him ministering to her “all at [her] bedside.” (18)

Ironically, the decision that she makes is to turn away in the third stanza, which is the crux of the poem. The line “And then you turned away, / wanted a larger mansion” (19-20) is the highest climactic moment in the piece. It is here that the reader finally begins to understand why this relationship has failed. Within the metaphor of the lover as the house, wanting a “larger mansion” suggests at first that she demanded too much of the speaker, or that she turned her affections elsewhere through infidelity. However t is a more likely possibility that she simply is not happy with herself. This feeling has a tendency translate into an effort to change the other person, since in the most intimate unions one’s partner can be the deepest reflection of self-esteem. Therefore, feeling the lack of genuine companionship, the speaker leaves. There is a host of images from this point on in the poem which directly contrast those in the previous two stanzas. This “turn[ing] away” (19) turns music and light that was once there “Into a quiet darkness” and replaces the speaker’s appreciative drinking his fill with a “swallowing wind” (22). The metaphor briefly nears the literal in the short “I said no. I left you.” (20), bringing in a cold, abrupt wave of perspective. Here, Báca chooses to be very literal about the events, as if suggesting that the metaphor is as correct as literal speech.

Conversely, abrupt tone reveals an internal conflict as if admitting that as expressive as a metaphor is, nothing can substitute for the truth of the matter. This idea is explored further as the poem’s central images are turned in on themselves in the final two stanzas. In “You say, or carry the thought with you / to comfort you,” (25-26) the speaker seems to feel the need to be specific and literal. He refuses to concede that the thought of her powerlessness is anything more than a thought. Where his “love” (28) would prefer to believe that the end of their union was the result of some supernatural or cosmic forces failing to align, the speaker claims that it was his conscious choice, “pulling the plug” (29).

He goes on in the next stanza to predict her fate, stating that because either she is so incapable of loving dynamically or of expressing love, “Others will come, plug in, / but often the lights will dim weakly / in storms, the music stop to a drawl, / the warmth shredded by cold drafts” (29-32). These images demand comparison to those in the first stanza. There is a tone of spite when he tells her that “others” will not fill her like he could; he seems to feel a desire to be bitter and angry and yet simultaneously battles pity for her— and pity for himself. Under close reading of the last stanza there is the question of a blurred speaker/object; is the speaker referring to his “love” or to himself? Perhaps both. The idea of the speaker filling the object with his love as light fills a house or a plug fills a socket is emphasized, but it is not the only option for metaphor. In lines 6 and 7, the speaker “drank [his] fill”, indicating that he too can be both filled and emptied. This irony is presented to the reader, but the speaker appears either unaware of or unwilling to admit it. After all, if the speaker is the plug and the object is the socket, from which direction does the power flow? Inferring from the poem, the speaker would argue that the source of power does not matter if the connection (the splice) is faulty, which supports Báca’s central theme.

The emptiness that both characters must feel is subtly emphasized in the form of the poem. The first two stanzas, which describe the relationship when it was whole, are ten and eight lines in length, respectively. The final two stanzas are each only four lines long, the first ending in the middle of the sentence and the second picking it back up again as if the two were intended or were originally a single stanza. This could be described as a structural metaphor which shows how forlorn the tone of each of the final two stanzas is comparable to how alone and forlorn the two characters are in the end.

Splicing refers to the joining of two ropes by the weaving of strands or two wires by twisting the ends together. Together, the strands accomplish more than when they are apart unless the splice is faulty and the rope begins to fray or the electrical current cannot travel through the wire. This essential image or metaphor illustrates Báca’s opinion that love unreturned is a fruitless endeavor. The frustration that the speaker feels is intensely human and relatable to anyone who has experienced disappointment in another through personal choice. The worth of the truth can be questioned when individuals are forced to choose between it and choosing a more pleasing reality. In this way it is less like acceptance and more like compliance. Báca’s poem shows that even in giving (and even in love), humans are selfish, perhaps incurably— and justifiably— so. The point, however, is that a relationship or a union is not about being perfect. It is about giving and receiving. Neither the speaker nor his “love” which he seems to condemn so much are perfect, though the speaker may try to claim moral superiority. “Give” and “take” are useless without each other. Perhaps the ability to appreciate love dynamically is as important as loving someone in return; or perhaps they are the same thing.

"Advice"

2011-01-16T21:04:00.002-07:00

Brought To You By:

Boredom, Inc.

Why do I feel the compulsive need to give people my advice? What about my crazy life makes me feel qualified to 1) pass judgment on other people's existence and what they may or may not be doing, or 2) to offer my "infinite wisdom" on what they should be doing instead?

I have hardly even lived a quarter of my allotted time on this planet, yet whenever a person asks me (or, more often than not, doesn't ask me) for advice, I feel a need to give my two cents on the matter even though I have never gone through said matter nor have I ever given much thought to the matter until about two seconds prior to opening my mouth. It's as if the need to contribute and seem smarter and wiser than I really am possesses all of my mental faculties and I act as though I have lived at least twice as long as I actually have, and I have a personal mission to right all the wrong in the universe. Phrases like, "In my experience..." or "You know, in the long run..." start coming out in a rather condescending tone when I actually have no idea what I'm talking about.

It's a miracle the victims of my advice have on the whole remained the relatively mentally stable and well-adjusted citizens. Thank your lucky stars that no one really ever listens to advice. For the most part, we all pretty much do as we please.

On the other hand, I feel that even I have something to offer other people; it's the same thing we all have. Each of us offers a unique perspective. The more perspectives with which the matter at hand is studied, the more it yields itself to our understanding of it. We all have something of value to offer, even if it is simply a new lens with which we can begin to grasp our world and the experiences we go through.

Somehow, the dilemma I began with has led me to the reason I am studying music. Music cannot provide us with all the answers we want. It is a language which expresses an experience or emotion in a very specific and accurate way. It offers a unique and pinpointed method of looking through many new eyes and hearing with many new ears. What is amazing is that, even with our presumption that music is to be heard and listened to, music hears us in a way which captures the imagination and sets free our ability to conceive and study an idea. It provides almost instant, yet lasting feedback.

I suppose that in a way, my pursuit of music is my personal quest to understand. It is my advice column, my listening ear, my editor, my close companion and friend.

New Year

2011-01-01T01:26:00.000-07:00

It is forty-six minutes into the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand Eleven. Congratulations to me. My world has managed to not only stay together in something resembling a productive life, but has also managed to bring about some of the highlights of my soon-to-be twenty years.

I have just said goodnight to good friends, recovered from receiving a plethora of "Happy New Year!" texts, survived a winter break of almost constant driving and late nights, and made a snow angel on a random mountain on the other side of the valley at exactly midnight. Lisa has fallen to sleep to the sounds on her Star Trek DVDs (warp engines, etc.), much of the world is shockingly quiet, and I am sitting in my room pondering why so very few New Year's Days have felt so markedly different.

Recently I have had a chance to reflect a lot on my growing-up years, or at least my earlier ones. I remember as a kid I had terrible aches in my legs when I was going through growth spurts. My mom told me that it was because I was growing too fast. I would lay in bed at night and try not to think about it, try to go to sleep, but the pain would often keep me awake for hours.

Since my last post, there have been many changes. There have been a few times when I nearly stopped breathing, or when my heart kept beating despite all evidence to the contrary-- metaphorically speaking, of course. I have told people that this semester has been the worst and best time of my life. I am more miserable and more happy than I can ever remember being. The stress over school and worrying over other people has kept me awake at night. Disappointment in myself and in those other people has weighed me down considerably.

In this midst of this, I have come to know with greater surety of the love, grace, and power of Jesus Christ. Being buoyed up when I was far to weak to carry on alone, my shortcomings and mistakes being made up when I know I didn't deserve an ounce of help have made me come to know and rely on my Saviour more than I have ever been able to. There is a newfound respect, reverence, and awe growing inside me at the wonderful power of the Atonement of Christ. The words of the hymn come to mind: "I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me, confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me... oh it is wonderful, wonderful to me." Finally, I am beginning to understand what those words mean.

Everything has turned out all right. Holes have been filled, tears mended, boundaries reestablished, prayers answered, and promises kept. Friends who I was once convinced I had lost for good not only came back, but came back changed. The best part about this is a feeling that, maybe if this is the result of the Lord's hand in my life, what could He do more if I stood aside and let the Master create something beautiful-- something I at this point cannot even imagine?

All in all, and for the first time in a long time, it has been and will continue to be a "Happy New Year."

2010-10-25T13:58:00.000-06:00

This month has been, in a word, eventful. It seems that life is giving me a one-on-one lesson on what it really means to “roll with the punches.” The stress and disappointments associated with school have become routine. I am grateful to still be breathing, a definite upgrade from a few days ago. I have even gotten over my paranoia of being in cars (almost). I got a calling in my ward, a prayer that I was sure wasn’t going to be answered. My sister got married, and I am so excited to have gained another wonderful brother-in-law.

There have been a lot of demands on my time, and an even greater strain on my emotions. I finally feel like my life is picking up speed and has more direction, but I worry that it might not quite match the speed and direction God intended.

Since I came to school, my personality has changed. At first I thought it was my red streak coming out, but now I believe I am simply more assertive. Less withdrawn. Louder. Much, much louder. Perhaps I got tired of people walking all over me. I got tired of being unhappy. But what am I now? I am happier than I have ever been, but that image from The House On Mango Street keeps coming back to me: I am a big red balloon tied to an anchor. I can’t let go of the things that are holding me back.

“Out, damn'd spot! Out, I say!"

Lady Macbeth put it so well. That phrase so exactly captures the guilt, frustration, and panic of regret. Everyone feels it. We wish we could simply erase what we have done, who we have become, and who we were. Starting over is one of the hardest things we can do, but something we must do often. My most recent policy has been to say what I think, say how I feel, and to not care quite so much for what people think. My inability to live up to this policy has made me reconsider the premises of my thought.

Something Michelle said at Desiree’s wedding has affected me. She told Desiree to think before she opens her mouth, “Would a sweet woman say this?” I realized then that I have not been the sort of person my patriarchal blessing describes. I am not the sort of person I want to be. Very little about my recent behavior matches the description of a sweet woman.

It is going to be difficult to be sweet and strictly honest, meek and assertive, kind and opinionated all at the same time; but perhaps God doesn’t mean for me to be all of them at once. The scriptures teach that there is a time and a season for everything under heaven. What a superb way of putting it! That is the nature of life and the nature of time, to have days and nights, seasons, and all kinds of weather. You wouldn’t wear a sweater in the summertime, or flip flops in the snow.

For a short update, I went on a group date last month with Amy, Courtney, and Christine. (Wow. Has it really been that long since I updated?) It was so much fun! We went to a house with a pirate ship in the back yard, dressed up as pirates, and took pictures. Then we tied one hand of each person to their date's hand and roasted hot dogs and s'mores.

This is me and Caleb in our pirate getup:

And this is the rest of the group on the pirate ship. Awesome.

Libraries and Learning How Not To Care

2010-08-13T21:32:00.002-06:00

I am now convinced that heaven is a great library, surrounded by hundreds of acres of beautiful landscape. I can spend hours in a library just looking at all the books. They are like miniature people. I sometimes feel like I have a better relationship with my books than I do with most people. Books invite me to solve their mysteries in an effort to truly be understood and to help me to better understand the world. They are passionless and yet they can inspire more passion in a person than everyday conversation.

I wish people were more like books. Books are fearless. The guards around their secrets are made to be broken. The questions they pose are meant to be answered. Books have a point. For a long time I was obsessed with being understood (one of a Blue's primary motives) without giving those around me any clues or hints to work with. I expected the world to try to understand me and see past my over-emotional and contrary exterior without any reason to do so. Now, I see this not as an endearing and mysterious exoskeleton, but as an illogical and frustrating facade. Now, the worth of personal honesty has been yielded to me.

The great change which has recently worked its way to my surface comes with a great sense of relief and gratitude. I no longer care as much as I used to. The things that used to tear me up inside not longer matter as much to me. I truly view life with a perspective of casual and occasionally sarcastic humor, interspersed with outbursts from my inner closet poet/philosopher (how many times can I be redundant?). Perhaps it is incorrect or incomplete to say that I no longer care. I no longer care so much for the unimportant things. Instead of wasting my energy on beating myself up over things I cannot change, I can now focus on matters that really determine who I am, much in the way that a deep, cathartic cleaning can remove the stress of clutter.

Books are fundamentally simple: They teach a lesson, and whatever form it is presented in-- be it cluttered, eloquent, flowery, simple, or silly-- can be decomposed into its main philosophies. The barriers to this process are there for a reason. They are learning tools skillfully employed by the author (skill level varying by author) to make the message personal by investigation.

Perhaps people are more like books than I first thought. The only difference being their complexity, and the very human instinct to protect whatever we believe we hide in the deepest recesses of our souls, going to great lengths to conceal ourselves. This instinct is part of our core nature, but one that I believe to be one of humanity's greatest fatal flaws. We do not allow people to understand us, when being understood is one of our greatest desires. We do not allow our metal to be tested and tried, when the purpose of our existence is to be shown our true value. We are afraid we will not be able to endure our crucibles, or that others will scorn us for our faults. Such dishonesty! Fear prevents us from moving forward in the sphere of our existence. Fear is the essence of the natural man, so fear must be the enemy to the Gods we aspire to be.

If people could learn to bear their souls more honestly and more often, and not be afraid of inevitable judgement-- if people could learn to evaluate others with an dispassionate, analytical eye, we would suddenly find ourselves in a world which meets our basic spiritual needs and operates on the simple principles of self-correction and faith in humanity's ability to progress. We would suddenly find ourselves in a world devoid of the very thing which makes us human. If the natural man is an enemy to God, would this be such a terrible thing?

None of us is free of our identity. Can we be stripped of something which is so much a part of what we are? What would be left of us? I do not ask questions to which I know the answers.

Spotlight

2010-06-22T19:18:00.000-06:00

It occurs to me that, after almost a year of blogging, I should explain where the "One Dog" mentioned in the title comes from.

Ruff-Ruff is my stuffed dog which I received from my Grandma Phillips for Christmas when I was three years old. That dog has been through just about everything a kid can dish out growing up. He has been dunked in water, given a "haircut", thrown across rooms, stolen, lost, returned via the mail, squashed, kissed and petted until the fuzz on his nose was rubbed off, and undergone more than one gender change (although I think it's safe to say that I have finally established that he is a boy.)

Ruff-Ruff, for the past 16 years, has been the stuffed animal I have slept with almost every night (yes, even now sometimes) and cried on the most. He is more like a person to me than a stuffed animal, as childish as that might sound. Ruff-Ruff has been the intimate witness to more personal meltdowns an crises than any human member of my family-friend circle. Gotta love that dog. He means a lot to me, which is why he is included in the title of my blog.

You might think that I am silly-- and would be the last person to contradict you on that point-- but Ruff-Ruff is a part of who I am. To celebrate his recognition which has been so long in coming, Ruff-Ruff and I had a mini photo-shoot.

Ruff-Ruff

Battle Scars.

It may look like animal abuse, but don't worry-- he's used to it.

Pals.

Two Poems

2010-05-26T21:59:00.001-06:00

Fault Line

I am March, the Queen of Spades,
A tiny sail on ocean waves.
Contrary, difficult, an obvious lie,
Pouring rain, the fire in Rye.

End? A foreign notion,
For I'm the whirlwind, in constant motion.
I'm harmony and thunder added
To waterfalls and days unclouded.

Obsessive? Yes.
Reasonable? We'll see.

When all is all, when it's packed away,
I'm left to say, "farewell" to day.
I'll bid the darkness "come out and play!"
for lack of something else to do--
And then I'll blame it all on fools
Who bribed and spoke
In cunning tongues
Which shackle me to a yoke,
Crying, "Pull on!"

But I look around and see
I'm pulling nothing behind me.
Twas only me who spoke
the yoke
For want of electricity.

Hesitation
What's in a lie?
A rose by any other name.
The blossom's sweetness may well be
a mustache and glasses;
According to song, it'll turn us to ashes.
Are thorns claws by intention?
Methinks tis better to avoid all close inspection.

Altering Life & Cinco de Mayo

2010-05-06T13:29:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I turned nineteen. I've felt nineteen for quite a while now. I've also felt guilty for quite a while now. Life has given me everything, and I cannot honestly say that it has all been fair. These blessings are far too good to be deserved, especially with all things considered. The recognition of a birthday celebration seems like a reminder that I am never as good to people as they are to me. It's not that I don't appreciate all the good wishes, good presents, and congratulations-- quite the opposite.

A birthday should be a reminder to me of why I am here. I was not sent into the world to be a burden on the people who love me. I was sent to lift burdens. To give back.

A birthday is not about me at all. It's about everyone else. It's about acting "thank you."

A birthday is a reminder of identity and duty.

---

I knew that coming home would be a little confusing, but I was not surprised when I found I was wrong. It is completely disorienting and a little unfair. C'est la vie. Things that I thought would surely fall into place haven't. People whom I foolishly believed would never change have changed.

Mi vida loca makes me want to curl up in a ball in my room, eat chocolate pudding snack packs, and not think about life. Worry about it tomorrow. Or never.

--

Although I have already told so many people this story, I'll tell it again.

At Snow College's graduation ceremony, our valedictorian stood and gave her speech. To begin, she began by comparing the graduates to Ginkgo trees which grow in Asia. Several of these trees survived the blast of the atomic bomb near the end of World War II. This was all fine, albeit a long stretch for comparing the Ginkgo trees to graduates from a junior college, except the phrase she used to explain: "When the U.S. dropped the bomb on Hiroshima in China, these Ginkgo trees survived."

Our valedictorian did not know that Hiroshima is in Japan, not China. It did not connect that Japan was our enemy during World War II, not China. It hurts my brain, and offends me more than I can say. Not really. I just thought it was kind of hilarious.

Six of Sins

2010-04-07T20:56:00.000-06:00

I have always been fascinated by symbolism and metaphor. I love reading and writing about good literature, but since I took my AP English class in high school, I have made a hobby of finding symbolism and other literary devices in real life. This has somewhat altered the way I experience life. I now write and speak with a more analytical mind and my scripture study has become more entertaining. One type of symbolism that has intrigued me lately is numerology. It is used frequently in the bible, but is common across cultures and societies. The following is a list of numbers and their general meanings as used in the bible:

1 - Represents God, unity, and wholeness. Can also indicate new beginnings.
2 - Seems to indicate a separation or division, opposites and contradictions.
3 - Divine completeness, the Holy Trinity or Godhead. Also seems to indicate Christ's influence (3 days in the tomb, 3 year ministry, age of death 33)
4 - Representative of the creation and God's creative power (4 seasons, 4 basic elements). On the fourth day God completed His non-animal creations.
5 - God's grace and goodness. 4 + 1, creation plus God.
6 - The weaknesses and iniquities of man and Satan.
7 - Perfection and wholeness. God commonly denotes Himself with this number in the scriptures. 6 + 1, man plus God. See Ether 12:26-28.
8 - Indicates a new beginning or new birth.
9 - Fruits of the spirit. Perfection (3 times 3).
10 - Testimony, the law (10 commandments).
11 - Disorder and judgement (10, the law, plus 1, or God, equals judgement)
12 - The perfection of government. (Twelve Apostles)

I only go to twelve because the meanings get more specific and repetitive after that, plus my next point only involves the eight.

Music is also full of numerological symbolism, as I am beginning to learn in my music theory and sight singing classes. Here is a crash course to catch you up.

The scale used in almost all major western music is made up of seven notes:
   C D E F G A B

It is based on a system of steps:
   h = Half Steps (minor second)
   w = Whole Step (two half steps or a major second)

The order is: C w D w E h F w G w A w B

The entire scale is made up of 12 half steps, or a chromatic scale.

The number six is often associated with the devil. This seems strange because it is a multiple of three, which is symbolic of God and the Godhead. Like what someone in my institute pointed out, for every key principle of the gospel, the devil has his imitation. Six is three times two, which is the number associated with division and contradiction. Thus, we have what might be the reason six is so often associated with evil.

In music, there is an interval called the Tritone. It is constructed of two tones which are six half steps apart (this naturally occurs in every key between the fourth and seventh scale degrees. Try it on the piano by playing an F and a B). This interval is generally avoided in music because of its jarring quality, and was essentially forbidden in the music of early Catholicism.

Not only is the Tritone made of six half steps, but it also rests on the fulcrum of the scale, and goes by two different names, the Augmented Fourth or the Diminished Fifth. This completes its dual nature by dividing the scale in two (refer to number meanings). The Tritone numerically divides the Perfect Fourth (5 half steps) and Perfect Fifth intervals (7 half steps), or God's own creations from the Creator or His grace. It is informally, yet appropriately, named the Devil's Interval.

Wrap your mind around that.

And behold, all things have their likeness, and all things are created and made to bear record of me, both things which are temporal, and things which are spiritual; things which are in the heavens above, and things which are on the earth, and things which are in the earth, and things which are under the earth, both above and beneath:
all things bear record of me.
Moses 6:63

The End Won't Come Fast Enough

2010-03-15T14:56:00.001-06:00

I can't believe that I am already done with a semester and a half of college! I have changed so much in the past year. It seems like forever ago that I wanted to start sobbing watching my parents driving away, leaving me at my new apartment. There have been times that I didn't think that I could handle, but I did, and I'm still alive, much to my pleasant surprise.

Sometimes I am amazed at the monotony of my life. I have discovered that here is such a thing as too much stability, a thing that I never thought possible. I never realize just how bored and lonely I get going to school until I actually get to have social interactions, or do something fun. I can go through a week or two without really talking to anybody and not feel the difference until I start laughing hysterically at something that wasn't even that funny. Yes, I go kind of crazy. Oh well-- my life has always been a manic roller coaster, so this is old news.

One day when I was bored out of my mind (also known as avoiding homework) I typed the date into a search engine and discovered my new hobby. Every week I am going to post a list of things to do every day, such as pseudo-holidays, actual holidays, international holidays, awareness days/weeks/months, anniversaries, the deaths and births of famous individuals etc., just something to celebrate every day. Here is the schedule for this week:

Sunday, March 14:

Check your batteries. This is a day set aside for checking the batteries in your smoke and carbon monoxide detectors and any other electronic devices.
Eat pie. Today is March 14, or 3.14, otherwise known as Pi Day. It is recently traditional to celebrate Pi day on March 14 (at approximately 1:59 am or pm) by eating pie and learning a little about Archimedes' wonderful irrational mathematical constant.
Eat white chocolate. White Day is an equivalent of Valentines Day observed in Japan. Traditionally, women will give gifts of white chocolate, white clothing, or cookies to their significant other. The gift is expected to be reciprocated following the sanbai gaeshi rule, or "thrice the return," meaning that it should be at least two or three times as expensive as the original gift.

Monday, March 15:

Read Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," Act I Scene II, and then find out how to make and tie a toga.

Tuesday, March 16

The kid's TV show, "Gumby," was first introduced on this day in 1957. Celebrate our little green friend here.

Wednesday, March 17

Serve your neighbors, and celebrate the anniversary of the organization of the Relief Society by Joseph Smith on this day in 1842. Watch this video to help you get into the mood.
Wear green. It's Saint Patrick's day, so find out what it's all about and then watch a man dance.

Thursday, March 18

Learn to hula dance. On this day, Dwight D. Eisenhower signed the bill declaring Hawaii as an official state.

Friday, March 19

Burn a snowman. At Lake Superior University, it is tradition to burn a gigantic paper snowman on the first day of spring, based upon an old German custom. The smoke is claimed to ward off incoming blizzards. Learn more here.
Watch for a swallow. Today, St. Joseph's day, is the traditional day upon which the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano Mission in California.

Saturday, March 20

Eat maple syrup. Gordon Bubolz Nature Preserve in Appleton, Wisconsin, gives tours of their facility and gives demonstrations on the making of maple syrup on this day every year.
Wear a sweater. Fred Rodgers was born today in 1928, so be a good neighbor and watch an episode.

If you're bored, you might as well be entertained while you're at it!

Tall Tales and Theme Songs

2010-02-27T10:02:00.001-07:00

By request, this is the list of songs I put on my Christmas CD. Enjoy!

Title - Artist - Album

We're So Far Away - Mae - The Everglow
Existentialism on Prom Night - Straylight Run - Straylight Run
When Love Takes You In - Steven Curtis Chapman - Declaration
Keep Watch for the Mines - Dashboard Confessional - The Shade of Poison Trees
Dandelions - Five Iron Frenzy - Quantity is Job 1
Let the Flames Begin - Paramore - Riot!
Mistakes We Knew We Were Making - Straylight Run - Straylight Run
Mona Lisa (When the World Comes Down) - The All American Rejects - When the World Comes Down
Unwritten (Acoustic Version) - Natasha Bedingfield - Unwritten
Clementine - Raining Jane - Paper Nest EP
Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine - Twilight
Power of Two - Indigo Girls - Swamp Ophelia
99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger - Stomping Ground
Miles Apart - Yellowcard - Ocean Avenue
Your Call - Secondhand Serenade - Awake
I'm Sorry - Maria Mena - White Turns Blue
Kiss the Girl - Original Broadway Cast - The Little Mermaid (Original Broadway Cast Recording)
Somewhere Over the Rainbow - The O'Neill Brothers - Through the Years: Movie Themes
Plan B - Five Iron Frenzy - Electric Boogaloo
Hallelujah (Acoustic) - Paramore - Riot!
Sway Your Head - We Shot the Moon - Samples from "A Silver Lining"

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

2010-02-11T20:12:00.000-07:00

Freaking out is one of my specialties. I can freak and no one knows I'm freaking. Last night, for example, I didn't sleep because I had to write a research paper for my English 2010 class. I hardly noticed the hours slipping by, although I DID notice that it took me a whole hour and a half just to write the works cited page. Stupid sources.

I found my topic informative, as well as a little humorous. In class, Professor Lamb has made several snide remarks about the generic tenth grade research paper on the Plains Indians. "Here, Teacher!" he mocks. "I read all this crap, now you read it too!"

So guess what I did my research paper on. I concede that maybe it wasn't as funny as I thought it was going to be, but I did attempt. It's a great class, and he thinks I'm super smart so it's all good. I just have to keep him under that illusion. All I have to do is turn in my homework (not even that!) and keep using big words in class discussions. I can write about literature, thanks to Miss T. Anything else, and I pretty much fail. I am now more knowledgeable in the world of Native American rights and policies.

It's strange the things I notice when I'm really tired. This is not the "I want to go to sleep" kind of tired-- its' the "I am on my second wind and I can't slow down" kind of tired. When I stay up all night, I get super sleepy around eleven until one. Then I can start working productively again. After that, I go into my hyper-awareness mode. So I went to the gym at five o'clock, lifted weights, and swam laps for thirty minutes. On an empty stomach. On absolutely no sleep. And I felt great. The best ideas for stories come to me when when I'm in this state. For example, I thought of a short story idea based on a very strange song that was stuck in my head, an interpretation I had never considered before. Then again, I was so consumed with this idea that I didn't notice that I had totally stripped in the middle of the locker room until I heard someone open the door. I thank my lightening fast reflexes at this time of morning for protecting my modesty. Then I almost forgot to give the front desk back the towel so I could have my ID card.

I was surprised at how many people are up at that time of morning. The perfect amount of people. People who get up to exercise, to go to class, or take a walk. Mind you, it was pretty freezing cold, so the early morning crowd was few in numbers. And no one talks to you. They all know that everyone else is kind of ornery, and they're kind of ornery too, so it works out. No obligatory "Hello" to some stranger whose eyes you accidentally met while walking down the sidewalk. If you get up really early (around four-ish), you avoid people all together. It's silent and still, with no cars passing, no noise. It's nice. It's like the rest of the world is asleep-- which, obviously, it is.

Don't get me wrong, I like people. Sometimes. When they aren't teasing me about my naturally stoic expression or looking at me funny and wondering why I don't talk to anyone. Don't worry, Mom, I have friends. And yes, I have been making more of an effort to be friendly and sociable. I do smile more, although it is often because I thought of something funny that no one else would get. Today I was completely dead though, after about ten o'clock. My body started shutting down. Then I ate and I'm energized again. It's 7:01 pm and I still haven't slept. I crazy.

In Fast and Testimony Meeting last Sunday, I bore my testimony for the first time I can remember when I wasn't asked to in the actual meeting. I wrote a poem during the meeting, something short, and free verse, but I liked it and it reflected how I felt when I try to find beauty, meaning, and God in the absurd world around me. Cheesy, yes, and although my voice was shaking, I shared it. I shared a piece of my soul with a body of people. This does not happen often, especially not in the spoken word. And I could feel the judgement and evaluation emanating from the audience like the stench of something rotten.

I was very upset afterward. Because I cannot accurately and efficiently express myself when I speak like I can in my writing, people get confused and a little judgmental when I do something like this, which is why it happens only rarely. I was extremely upset, and I didn't want to talk to anybody, so I left the building and walked around for a while and hid in the Music building until I had calmed down. I went to Relief Society and then to the Linger Longer after church to break the fast. My theory teacher from last semester (who is also the first counselor in the bishopric) told me he liked my poem, so I didn't feel so bad after that.

My calling is going well. I love serving in a responsibility that isn't too stressful, but still demands that I put in effort. I love serving with the other girls in the Relief Society Presidency, and as Secretary at presidency meetings, I've come up with some good ideas, I think. I have even started making agendas for our weekly meetings to help us keep organized, on task, and remember what to follow up on from last time. This was entirely my idea, which I am proud of.

I made another drawing for my wall. It is of squares.

Today (while I was still in the hyper-awareness-creativity mode) I kept thinking of things that a piano, or playing the piano, is like. I came up with a few things:

Stroking a Cat (arpeggios and scales)
A Navajo Blanket (when you're so tired your eyes cross and the white and black keys make this sort of pattern...)
A Bird Bath (motion of a bird drinking water when someone is playing passionately)

...

I just read what I wrote.

I'm going to bed now.

New Post

2010-02-03T22:19:00.016-07:00

Ok, that was sad. It took me about five seconds to remember where the "New Post" button was located.

I sympathize with this character:

Here in this diary,
I write you visions of my summer.
It was the best I ever had.
There were choruses and sing-alongs,
and that unspoken feeling.
I'm knowing that right now is all that matters.
All the nights we stayed up talking
listening to 80's songs;
and quoting lines from all those movies that we love.
It still brings a smile to my face.
I guess when it comes down to it...

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

Breaking into hotel swimming pools,
and wreaking havoc on our world.
Hanging out at truck stops just to pass the time.
The black top's singing me to sleep.
Lighting fireworks in parking lots,
illuminate the blackest nights.
Cherry cokes under this moonlit summer sky.
2015 Riverside, it's time to say, "goodbye."
Get on the bus, it's time to go.

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart,
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

Get It Right.

Get It Right.

Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up:
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart,
and eventually you'll finally get it right.

~ The Ataris "In This Diary"

Lucky

2009-11-21T21:00:00.001-07:00

I have been alone in my room all day. I have not set foot outside my front door, and I have watched so many episodes of science fiction television shows that I see stars when I close my eyes. Finals week is coming up, along with my recital on the first of December, and my vocal juries a week later. I recently discovered that I do not have as much money saved up as I thought I did. I finally got my clothes out of the laundry room from where they were piled on top of a very dusty drier-- I had forgotten about them for four days. I have been so lazy, my roommate's fiance did our dishes last night; these dishes have been sitting in the sink all week.

I have not posted anything on my blog for weeks, for lack of anything interesting to say. Seriously-- I started to write a couple of weeks ago and got halfway through my first draft before I realized that no one wants to read about the origins of rice. Did you know that the average Vietnamese eats around 500,000 lbs of rice per year?

Things are not going as I had anticipated. My wonderful, exciting life at college that I alluded to at the first of this blog feels like a bowl of overcooked oatmeal. I hate oatmeal.

I am extraordinarily lucky. My roommates love me and accept me more than I could have imagined that they ever would. My professors are brilliant and really want me to succeed. I know that when I come home, I will be loved. Not many people have that. I find it difficult to describe in any available method how much it means to me that I belong in a loving family. Experiences over the past couple of weeks have taught me truly how rare that is.

I have food in my cupboard. I am in a place where making my life better is possible. I have had the blessing of being in a very special ward, much like my home ward in Midway 2nd, except that it is populated with college students within five years of age instead of families of every shape and size. I have a bed to sleep in, I haven't been sick all school year. My voice teacher is great! Most of all, I have a testimony of My Saviour.

Lucky is the word I choose to describe my circumstances. Since this is the season for giving thanks, I guess I'll stick with that adjective. Hopefully if I say it enough times I'll start to really have faith.

I am a daughter of God. I believe that that is more of a statement of what I am not, rather than what I am. Everyone IS a child of God. That means that I am not a child of the world. I am not of little worth. I am not someone who tolerates mediocrity in life. Or should not be. When I look at my face in the mirror, I should not see a girl trying to keep her head above water on her own. I should see a reflection of Peter, reaching out of the water, knowing who to call out for.

I digress, but I'm not sure what else to talk about.

Want to hear more about rice? Did you know that rice is one of the only foods on the planet that is naturally fat, cholesterol, and sodium free?

Maybe I just go stand outside for a while.

Halloween: Celebrating Ugly Since 1,000 BC

2009-11-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

It's curious but not surprising how traditions which are handed down over centuries and continents loose almost all meaning and original cultural value. The customs surrounding Halloween is a good example of this.

On a college campus, or at least around Snow, holidays are a huge deal. Yesterday I had a close encounter with the Grim Reaper (no scythe, which I found less than threatening) after enjoying some hot chocolate and traditional Mexican bread served out by the Hispanic Club celebrating the Day of the Dead. The Alt Space (a student-designed gallery which changes every week) earlier this month was Halloween-themed, and explored the importance of nightmares in human development. October got me curious about the origins of this bizarre celebration.

As it turns out, modern-day Halloween finds its roots in the clash of cultures. In early Celtic Ireland, long before the Birth of Christ, the tradition of Samhain (Old Irish meaning "Summer's End") was thought to mark the end of the "lighter half" of the year and the beginning of the "darker half" of the year. The barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead was believed to be thinner during this transition, and the souls and/or bodies of the dead were able to rise and walk among the living. Bonfires were lit by town leaders in an attempt to divine whether or not they would survive the coming winter. This practice was naturally accompanied by feasting, excessive drinking, and dancing. Fearful of the influence of evil spirits that arose during this time, villagers would don masks and frightening costumes to disguise themselves and confuse the living dead.

When Rome conquered the ancient Britons and Celts, the Roman holiday dedicated to the goddess Pomona was introduced. Being the goddess of fruit and fruit trees, Pomona's symbol was the apple. Thus, we develop the game of bobbing for apples.

Later, after the fall of the Roman Empire, Pope Gregory III establishes All Saints' Day on November first. The night before was called All Hallow's Eve. On All Hallow's Eve, people would make small cakes (soul cakes --> soal cakes) to feed the Saints and ancestors and put them outside their doors. The next day, the children of poor families would go around singing praises and hymns to the Saints in exchange for these leftover soal cakes-- the first trick-or-treating. This incorporation of a Christian holiday into a pagan tradition was an effort to make the people of Britain and Ireland abandon their pagan worship and follow the Catholic church. It kind-of-sort-of worked. The bonfires shrank to candles contained inside gourds-- the first jack-o'-lanterns.

When the first Puritan settlers came to North America, the abandoned the Hallow's E'en holiday, because of it's pagan worship origin. If you have ever read The Witch of Blackbird Pond you will probably remember the villager's reaction to the jack-o'-lanterns. Later, the potato famine struck Ireland and sent the Irish to America, bringing with them Halloween. Over time, the holiday has become a celebration of ugliness and sugar, vampires and ghosts, which Americans spend generously on. The profit earned overall by businesses from Halloween has reached over $7 billion annually, coming in only second to Christmas.

I find it funny that we spend almost as much on a holiday devoted to scaring the living daylights out of people and celebrating all things demonic as we do on the holiday that encourages neighborly love, giving, and celebrates the birth of Christ the Lord. I have never much cared for Halloween in the first place, but it is clear that Halloween has become an important part of our culture and upbringing.

The Bread of Life

2009-11-01T10:44:00.000-07:00

I wrote this last Sunday, but forgot that I had written it.

I have time on a Sunday morning, so here goes something.

Things are going alright for me. I am actually pleasantly surprised at how easy it is to live the gospel when I'm on my own. Not as hard as I thought it would be. On Wednesday night last week, I spent the entire day worrying about the Relief Society Activity (previously known as Enrichment Night). Karaly was in charge of planning the activity, and the activities are always bigger than necessary, so on Wednesday we had demonstrations on how to make bread, homemade laundry detergent, and glass cleaner. It's actually a lot cheaper this way.

Of course an activity committee of non-committed college girls (oh, I'm so used to Midway Second Ward!) is only going to be forced into making bread from scratch, so I volunteered. I immediately regretted doing so, but once you start something, you might as well finish it-- not my usual motto, but I guess we'll run with it. I also realized that I had volunteered myself and my roommate Rachael into making a jell-o salad and a potato salad.

The bread-making demonstration went OK, especially considering that it's about the second time I've ever made bread-- the last time being about five years ago. I felt like Rachel needed me to hold her hand while she made jell-salad, but I was already stressed out with my own projects, I told her to just make jell-o. I made some pretty good potato salad, if I say so myself, and the bread turned out pretty well too.

At the end of the demonstration, I ended up with a six loaves of rising bread dough in three different stages of rising. I helped clean up the kitchen (which was an absolute disaster after the antics of the Relief Society). There were a big group of starving college boys at the institute building left over from Institute Choir practice, so we offered them a meal in exchange for washing the dishes. It was a good deal all around: they got fed and on our good side, we got rid of the leftovers and our dishes washed.

I stayed after to bake the bread, which ended taking until after the institute had closed.

So now I have bread for the Sacrament today, and bread for the next two weeks. I have a plethora of bread.

The Catcher in the Rye

2009-10-20T13:12:00.003-06:00

Today is hard.

That feeling you get when changes are going on around you and inside you and you are helpless to stop it and don't know if you should even try to stop it or if you're just being silly? Yeah.

I wrote this yesterday, but I thought I'd post it anyway.

Things aren't supposed to be this way. Whoever coined the noun "teenager" should burn for causing so much strife in the lives of young people. In ancient times-- or really until recently, there has been no such thing as the teenager. Over time, this stigma of the teen years has developed and mutated into an unnecessary, prolonged period of painful growth. Before, you were a child, and then you were an adult. There was no in-between, no hanging over the edge of the cliff-- there wasn't even a cliff, for crying out loud!

Why does society have to put kids through this gauntlet of junior high and high school? It was never meant to be so. Moreover, society is shooting itself in the foot by screwing over the younger generation with this illusion of a period of teen angst. Still impressionable children, we become what society tells us that we are (or, rather, what we are not): we are not children. We are not adults. We are expected to be rebellious, so we rebel. We are expected to be emotional and melodramatic, so we are. We are expected to go through this horrifyingly long series of rights-of-passage filled with self-inflicted pain, so we do. We are expected to be stupid kids, told to grow up, and then told to act our age.

NO WONDER THE YOUTH OF THIS GENERATION ARE SO SCREWED UP!

Oh, how it irks me.

I have been trying so hard to participate in my English class, and I try so hard to earn the praise and approval of my teacher (whom I have come to admire) and my class. I went through AP English and I get high scores on all my essays, but very rarely does my teacher give me good comments and feedback on them that prove that he connected with the stupid paper. I read and analyze like crazy, lead class discussions, etc., and still I had no results.

I decided not to read "Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger on moral grounds, and instead read the Spark Notes for it so I could know what was going on. I participated in the discussion anyway, and during one of my comments, suddenly my professor informs us that he is having one of the highlights of his career teaching literature.

"Good work today," he tells me after class, thumping the worn paperback on my desk.
"Thanks," I mumble, then as he walks away, "I didn't even read the stupid book. Now I feel guilty. Now I have to read it."

Exasperation.

Star Wars ADHD

2009-10-19T00:34:00.001-06:00

Every time I forget why I decided to major in music, something happens to remind me. Music Theory and Sight Singing/Ear Training are like trying to learn a new language that has no basis in any language on earth. Creating and listening (intelligently) to music is processed in a completely different way in the brain than speech. This, plus the load of one-credit music classes I have to take (classes that should actually be three credits) and the practice time for every class, sometimes gets me really stressed out. Then I have a concert, and get to watch and participate with my professors in the real music-making process, or I go do an observation at a local school and watch kids making music and having a blast. Then I remember why. Besides, I don’t think I would really enjoy or succeed in anything else.

This Friday, I had the opportunity to sing with my college choir in Star Wars in Concert at the Energy Solutions Center in Salt Lake. I know, it sounds really lame, but for all you geeks and techies and Warsies out there: this was an absolute blast.

Before we had even left Ephraim, I quickly realized that I was the one who had to be the adult during this trip—it seems that it usually ends up that way. That’s alright, though, I like it. It’s why they call me Mumsy. One of the girls in the car had forgotten her phone at her apartment and we had to go back for it. The exhaust pipe fell off as we eagerly flew over the ridiculous exit of the complex parking lot. We stopped in the middle of the road after we heard the sickening, unmistakable crunch of car guts against concrete. I got out after hearing the report of the previously attached exhaust pipe dragging behind the car and asked for some gloves. No luck there, so I used an old flier and a copy of a conference-issue Ensign to protect my hands as I got on my back, shimmied under the car, and shoved the stupid pipe back into place. I was then officially dubbed “crazy madwoman” by the driver and had to endure the rubbernecking college students that drove past. I will also mention that I accomplished this while wearing 2 ½ inch heels, so I must have looked a sight.

We finally left Ephraim, and I pleasantly listened to the girlish conversation of the other girls as we drove away. The girl sitting in the front passenger seat was in control of the music. Bad idea. I loved the songs on her iPod, and I would have loved them even more if I had been able to listen to more than the introduction. It was a good song if we got to listen to the first half of the first verse too. I wore my sunglasses so that no one could tell how often I was rolling my eyes. I believe we listened to a total of three songs all the way through on the way up.

Upon the cheery quartet’s arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, we dropped off the girl who sat next to me that hadn’t said a word all trip except to introduce herself. Kate, her name was. We dropped off the ADHD girl, picked up some black pants from the driver’s mother for the concert that night, and then we were off for the Energy Solutions Center. I the rest of the trip still found me seated in the back behind the driver’s seat, even though the front passenger spot was vacant. The record number of car accidents I have been involved with this year has left me a little jumpy, so I find it best not to freak out the driver (which is what happens when I can see what’s happening on the road.)

We hassled with parking for a few minutes (stupid parking lot only had four exits and only one entrance), then I realized what a stupid idea it had been wear my new heels to the concert. A professional, however, does not complain, and I was eager to prove to everyone in the choir and to my choir director that I was, indeed, a professional. I kept my back straight and pace even as my sweaty feet slipped around painfully in the black heels. We got credentials that allowed us past security (I’m pretty sure they were ready to shoot-first-ask-questions-later of anyone without said badge) and followed the yellow tape lines (yes, the choir broke into song at this point) to our chill room. I call it that because that’s what we did there: chill. I played Apples to Apples with some choir people I didn’t know and looked for the opportune moment to talk to Piano Man. No luck. I ate three pieces of the pizza they fed us, and went through the dress rehearsal. Another few hours waiting for the concert to actually start passed, and I toured the upstairs looking at the original costumes and props from the set of the Star Wars movies. Real cool, but I forgot my camera.

Mid-round of a game of Apples to Apples, the choir was visited by Anthony Daniels. Those of you who know Star Wars with any kind of passion, you will know that this is a very BIG deal. A visit and pep talk from the man who played C-3PO in all the Star Wars movies is way cool. He was small, white-haired, and very, very British. He had his white mug of tea in his hand while he spoke in a very correct British accent. In order to avoid confusion with fifty different cameras, Mr. Daniels did a group shot with the choir. He really is quite hilarious, though I'm pretty sure everything he said was an act. That's OK, though. It was real funny how he arranged us for the pictures-- like directing a movie. He shook all our hands as we lined up to walk onstage. So yes, FACE, everyone. I met Anthony Daniels.

They could have at least warned us that there were going to be about forty different fireballs coming out of the stage at the dramatic moments. Needless to say, I as slightly more than mildly shocked as the heat waves washed over me, and the conductor of the Utah Symphony was nearly engulfed in flames. There were laser lights and roaming cameras and audience lights and the world’s largest high-definition screen behind us. If you had any sort of attention disorder, you’re pretty much condemned to a permanent state similar to that of Hammy the Squirrel after this concert— irrevocable spastic hyperactivity. It was extremely difficult trying to remember to look at the conductor and breathe correctly and sing the right notes with so much going on around me on the stage. The fact that the movie was playing behind me really bothered me because I wasn’t allowed to watch it, until I realized that I could see the reflection of the screen in the French Horn seated in front of me.

It was truly an earth-shaking experience when the curtains rose and the scene that met my eyes praised us all with the screams and applause of a manic crowd. It was a little frightening, to tell the truth, but thrilling.

After intermission and some confusion with seating arrangements, the choir was able to watch the last half of the show. I’m not much of a Warsie, but I’m telling you that this was AWESOME! Heather and Hayley, you would have had an out-of-body experience if you had been there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AL8MDmQitU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-Rupj6q140&feature=related

These are the two pieces we sang (forgive the cheesy fan-made music videos)
Duel of the Fates: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaiEHNv2g6w&feature=related OR http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-nfrRSSVDA
Battle of the Heroes: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37TkOu-unz0&feature=fvw

I'm probably way too excited about all this, but I'm probably even more excited about finally figuring out how to put pictures on my blog. Lame.

All in all, the trip as entirely worthwhile, full of rewarding experiences and hype, despite the number of disappointments, not the least of which being my failure to talk to Piano Man— story of my life.

I’m done gloating now, sorry.

I haven't posted in a while, I know. I stated earlier that I blog when I'm happy, and now I find myself clarifying. I blog when I'm happy. I don't blog at all when I'm feeling down. When I can't muster the willpower to feel either, I only blog out of guilt or boredom.

Coming home this weekend was good. Sometimes I wish that I couldn't come home as much as can (and do), not because I don't miss my family and my sphere terribly, and I would like to clarify that I do miss them constantly, but because I feel a terrible jolting every time I switch between the two spheres. And no, I will not quit with the melodrama. It suits me well.

Now finally at my apartment, arrived by the same means I left, I find myself once again hesitant to face the early Monday morning (7:30 class, ugh) with any kind of courage.

Oh well. Life goes on, and I guess I'll just have to go with it. I keep remembering the advice given to me just before I left. I only wish that I had applied it in my life long before now.

1. Do the things you would do if you were happy.
2. Even if you flunk out of your first or second or third (etc.) semester, it's not the end of the world.
3. Be a righteous example to the people around you.

Growing up, I never remember getting along terribly splendidly with my mother. We see things very differently, but our relationship began to change throughout high school. Especially during my senior year, when the anticipation of leaving was getting me worked up, I started appreciating my mom a little more. The thing that has made me most frustrated in our relationship has always been that I felt that she didn't really understand what I was feeling or going through. Mom could never just let me cry-- she always had to tell me what to do to fix the problem. Now I realized what has changed. I am no longer looking for or expecting another person to be able to read my mind through my fruitless attempts to express the way I feel. I am now only looking for sincere love, and that is what I see in my mom now, instead of being frustrated by the technicalities of being misunderstood. It is truly enough for me now to be loved.

There will be more pictures of this even in the future, when someone I know posts them on Facebook.

Home Again, Home Again, Jigity-Jig

2009-10-04T14:01:00.000-06:00

This weekend has been a lot of fun. The break really was just what I needed to throw myself back into school again. Conference has been so wonderful, and so specific to what I need. Although I did not get as much practicing or homework done as I expected (no surprise there) or hang out with my friends, I feel refreshed and ready to go again.

In my long-running analogy of life as a road trip, there really is a desperate need for frequent bathroom breaks.

On Wednesday, the last day of school before the break, I had only slept a total of two hours the night before. This was because of my procrastination and lack of planning and two English essays and music theory homework and late music education homework. I did get everything done, and I felt good about my Intro to Fiction midterm test. I was acting pretty weird all day, and a lot of people gave me funny looks when I tried to verbalize my thoughts. That is Christina on little-to-no-sleep.

Mom came to pick me up that night, and we had dinner with two of my roommates, Eelyke and Asset (Kylee and Tessa) and Randy (or, as we like to call him, Ydnar). Spaghetti and mandarin oranges. Yum. Mom was pretty tired, but so was I, and she had planned on having me drive home. On the way up Spanish Fork Canyon, listening to Believing Christ on CD, we hit a deer. Yes, it was an adventure to be remembered, though I would rather it be quickly forgotten. When we got home, we looked at the car and wondered how on earth we got home alive. It was pretty bad, but not totaled, thankfully.

The next day, I slept in long and late, then spent the day organizing food storage and picking apples with Mom. Heather, Shiloh has gotten so big and her markings are gorgeous! She's still a monster, though, and I have the scratches to prove it. On Friday I pretty much spent the whole day behind my computer screen (a monumental waste of time). I did get some flute practicing done, as well as make Conference Bingo cards for Mom's visiting teaching families. That was fun, but I spent way too much time doing nothing when I could have been doing something worthwhile.

Saturday was General Conference, of course, and that evening we went to watch my cousin Sarah in the Miss Utah Outstanding Teen competition. I don't think I have ever seen anyone more beautiful than Sarah. Even when she's not done up on stage, she never ceases to amaze me. Mom bought me a dress at Cost-Co that I absolutely love.

All in all... well, you get the picture.

Somehow everything's gonna fall right into place,
If we only had a way to make it all fall faster every day.
If only time flew like a dove,
Gotta make it fly faster than I'm falling in love.

This time we're not giving up.
Let's make it last forever,
screaming, "Halleluja."
We'll make it last forever.

Holding on to patience wearing thin,.
I can't force these eyes to see the end
If only time flew like a dove,
we could watch it fly and just keep looking up"

This time we're not giving up.
Let's make it last forever,
Screaming, "Halleluja."
We'll make it last forever.

And we've got time on our hands,
Nothing but time on our hands.

This time we're not giving up.
Let's make it last forever,
Sreaming, "Halleluja, halleluja!"

"Hallelujah" by Paramore.

I Refuse to Pay $1.50 For 30 Measley Minutes In The Dryer

2009-09-27T23:39:00.000-06:00

Saturday is my favorite day. I have just finished my classes, I stayed up late partying last night at the institute stomp with Amy and my roommates and catching up on my TV shows until 1:30. I slept in until 11:00 this morning and only got out of bed to grab something to eat, then got back in bed to watch some Bleach. I really don't watch as much TV as a lot of people think I do-- I only watch on the weekends! Unless it's Tuesday, because then I have to watch Heroes.

My roommate Rachel adopted a cat last weekend when she went home to save it from being eaten on the streets or euthanized in an animal shelter. It's been living in our apartment all week, violating our contract and messing on the carpet, with the promise of a new home with another roommate's brother-in-law today. We'll see how that goes. It's cute, but I'm sure it's carrying pink eye or something.

I know that this will come as a shock to those who have seen my room at any point during high school (or for that matter, at any point in my life), but I am now considered the clean freak in my apartment. Compared to my roommate's cleaning habits (with a few exceptions)this isn't exactly saying much, but I have found cleaning to be one of my major de-stressors. If I have had an abysmally awful day, I can go home and rest assured that the floor will need to be swept, the carpet vacuumed, the sink full of three-day-old dishes, and unidentifiable scum on the counters. I have found that I actually like to clean! My mood is based so much on my surroundings, so cleaning my living space gives me both a small sense of accomplishment and an organized space in which to relax and study. I know-- weird, huh? I know that my mother is pounding her head on the keyboard right about know, yelling, "This is what I've been trying to get you to understand for eighteen years!"

I am waiting around for my laundry, but even more importantly, waiting for the much-coveted $.50 drier to become vacant. I refuse to spend $1.50 for thirty minutes in a drier that doesn't even dry my clothes when I can use the one drier in the laundromat that gives you dry clothes in forty minutes for $.75! Needless to say, I was very upset that management raised the price of two of the three driers last week.

I am battling loneliness.

Two of my roommates got out of destructive engagements just before coming to Ephraim. One of my roommates is engaged and none of us really know why. (We've all met her fiance.) Amy was basically stalked over the summer. I am more than ready and eager to leave behind the heartbreaking, teen-angst woes of my high school life. One roommate has gone through about three guys in the past month, another is hung up over a missionary. Another roommate had a hot, destructive failure of an attempted relationship already and is now blissfully pursuing another. The list could go on. I look around at see all of lonely hearts around my college town and cannot help but look at myself. In a constant self-evaluation, I find that I have nothing to judge all of these experiences against. Having never been truly in love, never been kissed, never been involved with anyone in that way, I look at myself and try to convince me that that's OK.

I shouldn't want that relationship because I want to know what it feels like to be kissed. I should know myself and be able to take care of myself emotionally before I have to take care of someone else too. As one can almost instantly grasp from reading my posts, I am not the best example of emotional stability.

There is a part of me that wants to wait and be alone for a while. That part wants to go on a mission and become the beautiful, intelligent, independent woman I envision in my head. That part realizes that there are issues that need to be worked out before I can become involved in a good relationship like that. That part is also afraid of opening up to someone else so completely, afraid of my selfish nature.

I digress.

While I was scrubbing the floor yesterday, I was thinking about feminism. In our world today, women are treated with more equality than ever before, legally speaking. However, there is a problem with most women's definition of feminism and equality. The true feminist would advocate absolute equality between men and women. This creates a problem, though, between the feminist doctrine and those who cry "chivalry is not dead!" Every girl I have known prefers to reap only the benefits of equality (equal opportunity in the workplace, the right to vote, etc.) and of the older traditions. For example, so many women would call a man a chauvinistic pig for not including her in a conversation, and yet screech in outrage when a man fails to open a door for her. This seems to be a grevious error in logic. True equality would demand that men treat women as "one of the guys" and that women treat men like one of their girlfriends. The cry for equal rights is just that: equal benefits and not equal treatment.

As I was thinking, I realized that women need to realize that they demand from men only the benefits of traditionally male roles while clinging to the very traditions that set women apart. I believe that this comes from a feeling of superiority that originates from the status of an "oppressed" group in society. This relationship of "oppressed" vs. "oppressors" creates a feeling of sympathy for the oppressed, which elevates them morally in our eyes. We now see this every day since the Womens' Rights Movement and the Civil Rights Movement. I wish I had a specific source to cite when I report a case in California in which a white student sues a university for accepting a black student over him, despite the white student's higher scores, to fill a quota for multi-racial enrollment.

This is ridiculous. The movements that originated out of the desire to be equal have instead transformed, using their influence over people's sympathies, into a power struggle. These distorted ideas that began in order to bring peace and equality in American society now only seek to reap more social benefits than their historical and traditional "oppressors," while spouting ideals of righteous anger.

And yes, I do realize that I am a white girl from Utah whose social perspective could not possibly represent the whole of the nation.

That is all.

Circles

2009-09-20T23:08:00.001-06:00

When I realized that I hadn't posted on my blog for the last week or so, I felt bad. Now, five days later, I still feel bad. I have been sapped of the creativity and inspiration I feel like I need to write, which ended up in me slowly turning into an unmotivated blob of flesh-colored jell-o. So don't expect anything fantastic from me today, or for the next while.

Suffice it to say that I post when I am happy.

My rhythm which was so happily and yet so uneffectively applied during my first few weeks of college has been thrown off. Once again I feel out of control and I am not sure what to do to reset myself.

Church made everything better today for a while. I paid my tithing, like I've been meaning to for the past... long time. I hope it will help. That's a rather selfish way to look at it, but I guess it's better than nothing.

I won't go to sleep tonight. I need to figure things out, and everything will look better on Tuesday morning when I have reset my sleep cycle and everything is better. Sometimes that is all I can do to manage: let things fall back into place by themselves after a roundhouse kick to the face.

Speak Slowly for Learning Hearts

2009-09-07T02:56:00.002-06:00

Cheryl had arrived home last night after the sun had gone down and after the mania of Swiss Days cleanup had already begun. Cheryl was glad that she had missed the craft fair, a huge ordeal in the small town she had grown up in. She hated it. She hated the sight of it across the street, the white six-by-six tents set up all over the town square that she could see clearly through the window, and the smashed, brown grass that checkered the square after everyone had gone. She hated the noise; the honking cars, the shouting and general hubbub of people examining the lame merchandise, the annoying musical numbers of fake Swiss groups that played over and over into the night. Most of all, Cheryl hated the smell. She hated the way the smell of trampled grass mingled with the outhouses and spilled drinks and people's sweat. It always rained on one of the two days of the fair, turning the square into a swamp, a dirty, smelly mess.

Cheryl had already greeted Kerri, Dad, and had found Mom cleaning up after the aftermath of scones in a booth. She was genuinely happy to see them, especially Mom, who hugged her and told her she was happy Cheryl was home. She was happy to see the dogs and the cats, and had sent her roommate on her way after she had dropped Cheryl off at her home.

It felt good and strange to be home again. It didn't really feel right-- probably because of the madness going on across the street-- and yet Cheryl fell back into the once-comfortable habits going around the house, swinging around the banister to her room, and again into the kitchen. Her hand squeeked around the white painted pole. Cheryl's room was as it had been when she left, but not how it had always been growing up. Last night Cheryl had consciously thrown her clothes on the floor to make a mess and feel comfortable. When her phone alarm had gone off in the morning at 5:00, blaring full volume, she had swiped it off the dresser and turned it off, a reflex developed in fear of waking up her roommate. It had taken a moment for Cheryl to realize that she was not in her apartment two hours away, but that she was at home again. It had only been three weeks and she felt oddly out of place.

Cheryl lay in bed for a long time, half asleep, but pretened to be fully asleep when Mom came to see if she was awake for church. Cheryl didn't want to go to the family ward, but instead decided to go to the single's ward with her older sister, as it started two hours later.

Climbing out of bed and tossing her stuffed dog onto the mangled covers, Cheryl ran her fingers through her hair as she wandered next door into Eliza's old room. Sissy was dead asleep in the bed, her face half-covered with the green floral blanket. Her mouth was half-open in sleep and she was curled in the fetal position facing the door. Cheryl had always loved to watch people in sleep; she didn't feel awkward looking at their faces and memorizing them in their most honest state. Sleep made people seem more real because they couldn't feel silly for looking silly. It was like picture.

Cheryl smiled and climbed onto the bed behind Sissy, putting her arms around her sister and putting her nose into Sissy's back. She smelled familiar and warm and Cheryl felt safe and loved. Sissy moaned softly and stroked Cheryl's arms.

"'Morning," Sissy murmmured, turning slightly.
"'Morning," Cheryl repeated. She sat up and looked at Sissy, watching her wake up. Sissy opened her eyes and realized who was in her bed.
"Oh, it's you!" She said, sleepily surprised. "When did you get here?"
"Last night pretty late."
"Oh. I'm glad you're home."
"Me too. Where've you been?"
Sissy smiled. "I was out late last night. Guess what?" She said, rubbing her face to wake up.
"What?"
"David asked me to be his girlfriend."
"Oh! That's good."
"Yeah, like, serious."
"Yeah, like, not dating anyone else, serious." Cheyl punctuated, crawling over to the side of the bed Sissy was facing.
"Yeah..."
"Guess what?"
"What?"
"Sam's home."
Cheryl stared at Sissy for a split second.
"What? Why? What happened?"
"Well, it's not really anybody's business."
Cheryl receeded. As Sam's friends, Cheryl considered their responsibility to let him tell people when he chose. Still, she couldn't help but wonder about reasons a missionary would have to come home. Cheryl fingered the edge seam of the comforter.
"Yeah, I guess."
"I was at Veronica's party last night, and he was there." Sissy propped herself up on her elbow.
"Oh."
"Yeah. He's going to come to the single's ward today."
"Well, that's good."
"Yeah, I'm just glad he's getting out there and being open instead of just letting rumors spread around, you know?"
"True."
"David asked me on Wednesday, and I found out Sam was home on Thursday. I held out on David because I was afraid that when Sam came home I'd still be really into him. It was really funny, because at Veronica's house, there was absolutely no chemistry like there was before. David came, and I think Sam was mad, because David really couldn't keep his hands off me." Sissy laughed, and Cheryl resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "You know that feeling, when you can't help someone anymore, because you can't talk, because you aren't really friends anymore?"
"Yes," Cheryl said firmly.
"I hate it."
"Yes."
Cheryl got up off of Sissy's legs. "Let's get some breakfast." She led the way downstairs. There were four flats of strawberries on the counter in the kitchen.
"Strawberries and milk sounds really good." Cheryl suggested.
"It's fast Sunday, isn't it?" Sissy sounded disappointed. Cheryl thought for a moment, searching fruitlessly for a loophole.
"Yeah. Dang it!" Cheryl's fists curled and she led the way upstairs. "Let's go back upstairs where there's no food."
Sissy laughed.
Cheryl and Sissy went into Cheryl's room, still pink from Cheryl's five-year-old obsession with the girlish color. She climbed onto her bed and put her legs under the covers as Sissy made herself comfortable on the end of Cheryl's bed. Leaning up against the pillows, Cheryl played with her stuffed dog fiddling with his ears and hard nose. She looked at her sister and began talking again.
"Have you been reading my blog?"
Sissy giggled. "Yes, and I love it. It's so you."
Cheryl smiled as the warm sensation of safety filled her again. "Thanks. I love it too. Did you read my last post?"
"No, I haven't"
"Oh, well, I wrote it yesterday. I forgot to mention in my last post that the people upstairs stomped so hard that it knocked out the light in the living room." Sissy raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
"Your kidding me!"
"The wire snapped," Cheryl snapped for puncuation, "and knocked out all the lights in our living room, kitchen, and one of our bathrooms." Sissy laughed.
"Oh, geez."
"I know! I'll probably have to make them cookies now, I feel so bad. I went up and told them to cool it, then I called my manager and she had them come down and 'look at the consequences of their actions.'" Cheryl said, punctuating as she went. "I got them in trouble."
"Where they cute, though?"
"No..." she looked for the right words. "They were skater freaks." That seemed accurate enough. "Some of them were... pretty cute, but they were--"
"Skaters. I see."
"Yeah. I was doing so good!"
"What do you mean?"
"I've been so good at telling myself that I don't need a crush to be happy. I don't"
"Well, here's the thing with that: to be in the Celestial Kingdom, you have to be married..."
"I know that, but at this point, I don't need it, and I don't really... want it. You know?"
"...yeah."
"But Anthony has it in for me. She invited me up to her apartment to meet her crush. She invited another guy too. He has my mannerisms! It's so weird!" Cheryl put her hands on the side of her face, exaggerating her dismay.
"Really?" Sissy found that hard to believe.
"Yeah! He kept fiddling with stuff on the table. He found the skissors first, then he discovered the paper towels that I had been playing with. We were both pulling the ply apart. It was freaky."
Sissy laughed at Cheryl and her hand motions. Cheryl shook her head, moving forward in the conversation.
"Anyway, his name was Nathaniel. After he left, I was really twitterpated."
"That's the best part!"
"No! I had to slap myself for feeling that way. I don't need it right now. I shouldn't!"
"Oh, it's OK!" Sissy was still laughing.
"I was doing so good... but I'm over it now. Yesterday morning I ran about four miles."
"I've run that far-- straight?" Sissy realized.
"Yeah, straight. I ran really far."
"What? Why?"
"Well, it was an emotional thing, I guess. I was... really freaked out."
"What happened?"
"Well... the night before... you know how I've been watching Bleach?"
"Yeah?"
Cheryl proceeded to fill Sissy in on the unnecessary plot details of a show Sissy had never seen. Cheryl could tell that her sister was quickly becoming disinterested. Cheryl struggled to put her feelings into the right context, and she knew that these mundane details were unnecessary, but they came out anyway.
"Anyway, I guess I'm just too sensitive," Cheryl continued, quoting an unsubmitted blog entry. "But the things that were happening reminded me of what I've gone through... you know, over the Summer and... high school. I've been doing so well, and I felt great. You know how worried I was about... my sanity, I guess. I was afraid of the weakness inside me, and I got over it. But that just brought all those insecurities and weaknesses rushing back, and I got really freaked out. I did as many situps and pushups as I could do to stop thinking. I prayed that God would help me to sleep that night and that He would help me to face the next day bravely, with Him behind me. When I got up the next morning at five, I put on my tenis shoes and I ran. I ran until the road ran out of streetlights. Then I kept on running. I found a dirt road, and ran along it. I stopped for a while and watched horses running in the darkness. There was an explosion across the field that made the sprinklers stop working. I ran all the way home and deep cleaned my kitchen. I must have looked really crazy to anybody crazy enough to be awake then. I felt really good. I was practically... dancing and singing under my breath; I was singing a song we're learning in choir: 'spend all my time praisin' my Jesus, I ain' got time to die.'"
"Runner's high?"
"Yeah."
"Wow. Did you crash afterward?"
"No. I still feel really good. While I was in the shower I kept telling myself to be careful, because I knew I was going to crash. I'm a phoenix like that." Cheryl added quietly. "But I still feel really good."

Sissy thought for a moment. Cheryl was used to being analyzed like this. Sissy was like a psychiatrist to everybody. She knew that Cheryl had been under some form of depression in high school, and Cheryl trusted Sissy's advice and love. She knew that her sister loved her, and it was one of the most important things to her.

"It sounds like you had some kind of mania." Sissy said thoughtfully.
Cheryl didn't like the word, but had recently learned to accept many words about herself that she didn't like. She nodded.
"I mean, but I guess that's kind of healthy for us, especially since you didn't crash." Sissy told her sister bracingly. "That's good. I'm glad you feel good."
Cheryl smiled. "Yeah, me too. I'm glad to be home. But it feels weird, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, I've felt that way for a while." Sissy looked at Cheryl with that look she sometimes got. A kind furrow, like she was concerned, but with a slight upturn, like she was smelling something unpleasant. "I don't think I could ever live here again."
"I know what you mean..."
"Yeah." Sissy shook her head, dismissing the unpleasantness. "Guess what?" Sissy asked, with that look of excited suspense with a surprise. She paused for a few moments while I looked expectantly excited at her, then she burst out, "David got a calling!"
"Oh really? What is it?"
"He's going to be set apart today as the Elder's Quorum President!"
"Wow!"
"I'm dating an Elder's Quorum President!" Sissy laughed, and Cheryl laughed with her.

All through church, Cheryl's mind wandered to an fro between subjects, but mostly between the minute hand, the hour hand, and her empty stomach. Sam sat several pews in front of them, his blonde head turned steadfastly toward the podium. David helped pass the sacrament as a Deacon. After sacrament meeting, Cheryl meant to say hi to Sam, but he spoke only to Sissy and did not look at Cheryl at all. Cheryl's mind wandered all through Sunday school after confusion about where to sit. David sat wherever he wanted (the back) and Sissy sat next to him, but they made Cheryl go into the room first. If you're going to have me go first, then sit where I sit and don't abandon me! Cheryl thought irritably.

David usually got on her nerves like that. He was a really great guy, she knew, but many of his mannerisms tried her patience. Cheryl felt her patience was easy to try, but difficult to break. He treated Sissy well, and that is what mattered. Cheryl just had to work a litle more to get along with him, that was all.

Later that evening, Cheryl had spent most of the day alone, so she stayed with her sister and David. They went pick up Mom from work in David's truck. David suggested that Cheryl would have to drive and try not to be distracted by the kissy noises in the back seat. Cheryl assured him that it would not bother her in the slightest-- she was quite used to the annoyance in front of her face.

Cheryl hugged Mom when she got in the truck behind the local medical center.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, sweetheart."
Cheryl mmmm-ed in place of "I love you."
"So you delivered a baby by yourself?" Sissy asked from the front seat.
"Yeah, it got my blood pumping."
Mom, as a nurse in the OB, had done this a few times, but Cheryl never tired of hearing the stories. It probably would have freaked most people out to hear horror stories from Mom's years in the E.R., but not this family. David was a paramedic and a translator for the hospital and a man, so his stories were usually even more graphic.

At home, Cheryl, Mom, Sissy, and David sat in the living room and listened to Sissy play a few songs on Patricia's guitar. Cheryl and Sissy sang some of the words, but forgot most of them and enjoyed themselves immensely anyway. This is what Cheryl considered to be a type of peak experience, borrowing the terminology from some faceless name in her psychology class from high school. Singing was the most honest and expressive activity she could do with any kind of talent. Love was everything, and music was everything else. Family was love, and music was the avenue. The four talked pleasantly for a while, David sharing more of his graphic medical knowledge than what was really necessary, but all in all they enjoyed themselves. Cheryl sat listening contentedly, her feet up on the arm of the sofa.

"Cher," Sissy whispered incoherently, waggling her finger to beckon.
"Huh? What?" Cheryl focused on Sissy.
"Cher, come here." Sissy was barely audible. Cheryl got up and knelt by Sissy, leaning forward so her sister could whisper into her ear.
"Could we talk to Mom alone?"
"Sure. Of course." Cheryl whispered, leaning back. She looked at David, wondering how Sissy planned on getting rid of him. She wondered what she and Sissy needed to talk to Mom about. Sissy was looking at Cheryl with a pleading kind of look, her brow furrowed and her mouth turned down in a slight frown. Cheryl sat back on the couch, wondering how she was going to help Sissy get David to leave so they could talk. Then Cheryl noticed Sissy's expression as the unpleasant-smell kind.

"Oh." Cheryl said breathlessly. "Um, I guess I have to go finish something on my... laptop." As the words came out of her mouth, she remembered that her laptop was out of battery and that she was using Sissy's. Amid a confusion of good-nights, Cheryl mumbled something about going to put on jammies and left. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator out of habit and for lack of something better to do. She closed the fridge and opened the door to the walk-in pantry. She turned on the light and closed the door and turned the light off. In the darkness, she sat on two cans of spagetti and stared into the nothingness.

Mania and possible blog titles filled her mind. Cheryl thought for a long time about being blind and what she would do if someone got hungry and opened the door and found her there sitting on number ten cans of spagetti. They all already thought she was crazy.

We no longer meant Cheryl and Sissy. We meant something else now. That was not alright. And then that was alright.

Cheryl sat in the pantry, stared into nothing, and thought about nothing. She sat for a long time, then got up and went to the her overwhelmingly pink room. She sat down at Sissy's laptop and wrote on her blog.

Halleluja!

2009-09-05T15:45:00.001-06:00

On the last post, I neglected to mention that on that day, the people upstairs stomped so hard that it broke the light in our living room. The wire snapped, and as a result it knocked out the lights in our living room, kitchen, and one of the two bathrooms. I went up and talked to the boneheads upstairs, then called my manager. She came over, looked at the light, then went upstairs and brought down five boys to look at "the consequence of their actions".

*sigh*

Oh well. Now I'll probably have to make them cookies or something because I feel so bad for getting them in trouble. I just thought it was really funny-- until, that is, the sun went down and I had to study in my bedroom.

I'm coming home today! Yay! After a near miss yesterday and a very strange dream last night, I'm glad to be doing something this weekend. My dreams always play on my insecurities.

I love choir.

Se Tu M'Ami, Se Sospiri

2009-09-03T18:35:00.000-06:00

My laziness is beginning to take over again! NOOOO!

I couldn't get up today to go swimming. The dishes that I almost always do have been sitting in the sink for the last couple of days! I took the shortcuts to school. I walked home instead of going to the library to study! NO!

I am putting my foot down. This will not happen to me again. I am going to break the viscious cycle!

The close of my third week in this sequel finds me easing into a new and comfortable rhythm. I usually walk to school in the mornings, rising long before my roommate has the faintest inkling of wakefulness. I have started to need breakfast, and to be able to eat it-- a new an unfamiliar sensation. I go to class, study in the library or practice between breaks, and go to the GSC for my two slices of poppyseed bread ($1.06) and my 20 oz. of water (free plus $.25 for the cup when I forget my waterbottle). I usually finish all my homework between classes, so after walking home I collapse on my bed for about three minutes, check my email, check Facebook, and see if anyone has commented on my blog. (Thanks for all the support, by the way. I really appreciate everyone's comments.)

I pause and work on the puzzle in the living room for a while, then make something to eat. I love my frying pan so much, I just might name him. I think Ralph would be an excellent choice. My roommates are all really cool and I think they like me too, so hanging out with them in the evenings is usually a lot of fun. I do some homework, practice for sight singing (thankfully, Rachel brought her electric piano with her), and watch some Bleach. I've only missed nightly scripture study once in these three weeks, and considering the fact that I completely neglected personal scripture study over the Summer, I'd say that's pretty good. The Pearl of Great Price is so COOL.

Thursdays are busy, because I have my Smart Start orientation class to go to, my voice lesson, and I like to go to Convocations at 12:30. Convocations is a class which consists of going every Thursday to listen to a speaker. For example, last week Senator Bob Bennett spoke about the history of the United States, and today a professor from NASA gave a presentation on the issue of climate change. I like these kinds of things, so I guess I should just sign up for the class and get credit for stuff I'm doing anyway...

Fridays, however, are great, because I don't have two of my regular classes, so I get to do more practicing and catching up on anything I need to. I love the library. There are levels of noise, the bottom floor being more often than not deafening. The second floor is quieter, but that's where study groups meet, so in the afternoon it becomes unbearable for single studiers. The top floor is a sanctuary of perpetual quiet. It's advisable to unzip your bag before entering, to avoid the nasty exercise at your study table, which seems much louder than it really is. Even browsing the bookshelves seems to be amplified to many times the actual noise level of books sliding off and on the shelves.

But all of this is nonsense, of course. The subject which nags at my mind at all times, but has increased it's volume since moving to Ephraim, and again since Sunday, is that of the opposite sex. I was doing so well correcting my thinking and my feelings to the point where I knew that a guy to like is not necessary for my happiness. It is simply something that my subconscious has always "needed" despite my constant, desperate claims to the contrary. Whether it be a girlish, middle school infatuation or an unrequited teen angst obsession, for some reason this seems to be one of my many subconscious compulsions.

I was doing so well! But Anthony (Amy's dark side) has it in for me, I'm sure.

But I'm not giving up just yet. I will break the viscious cycle!

Will and Won't

2009-08-29T20:13:00.000-06:00

Sewn up and dried up tears of foolish pain.
Swallowed fear and kicked past in the pants.
Naive and confused, I am nevermore.

Will not look back now.
Will not rip open the stitches.

Say you're still holding on,
That you can't get a grip and pull yourself up.
Say that you can't,
But you won't.
You won't.

But I will--
Will not be a victim anymore.
Will not hold anyone responsible.
Will forget.
Will not beg the overplayed plea.

Adore you.
I am done with sorry.

Meet Philippe

2009-08-27T15:43:00.000-06:00

This week has been really good. I'm glad that I continue to have the strength and optimism that I lacked during my senior year of high school and the summer thereafter. My theory class is making me panic a little, as well as my sight singing class, but I guess I just need to drill those minor keys, minor melodic scales, and intervals into my skull a little harder.

Yesterday was difficult as it came to a disappointing close. I was torn between staying on campus for three more hours for acoustic night at the student center and going home and sleeping. I decided to go home, and I wish I hadn't. On main street, one of my old friends from sophomore year spotted me and dropped an over sized anvil on my head. I saw it falling from the sky, but failed to step sideways. After all, how is a person supposed to react to an unwanted pregnancy in the parking lot of Subway? I mumbled "congratulations" while thinking to myself, don't say that. This is NOT a good thing. What the heck am I supposed to say?.

I'm glad that I decided to take Class Piano I instead of waiting until next semester to take Class Piano II. I get to re-learn everything the right way and correct all of the bad habits I have developed over my years without a piano teacher.

As the clock strikes four o'clock, I count the chimes, one, two, three, four. Time moves on like a fast-flowing river, with me riding on it's inevitable, unpredictable current. It's better than drowning. It's better than fighting. It's better than wasting time wondering why I'm not swimming. I feel glad I'm in my own shoes, and not in someone else's.

Oh, and by the way, my shiny new (borrowed) flute was christened "Philippe" today. He's French.

Groceries, Rain, and Tessa

2009-08-24T16:44:00.000-06:00

Today went well. I actually got something out of my institute class (a surprise, to be sure, but I think I was just too flustered the first day to be very enthusiastic). My classes went smoothly, for which I am sincerely thankful. I had to write two major scales on the board today in front of everyone in my Music Theory I class, and didn't make a mistake! We went on a "field trip" in Intro to Music Ed. to the Library. I was amazed with their music database, but I guess I'm easily amazed. I made flashcards last night with one of my roommates, Eelyk (that would be Kylee backwards) and we exchanged some music which I have yet to fully investigate.

My Intro to Fiction class was a little better today, for which I was grateful, but I came so prepared to class and then couldn't get my opinon voiced. I was a little afraid to speak up, because I think my professor has a slightly misguided definition of Romanticism. Oh well. There is, after all, no replacement for the wonderful, brilliant Miss T. and her AP English class. Lauren, I remembered you today in this class-- you told me college english could never have the smallest glimmer of hope of comparing to Miss T.'s AP English. You were correct, my friend, although I have to admitt that it's better than clutching the sides of my seat, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to pull out my hair in that Philosophy class from Hades.

I walked home, and I was very greatful that the day had gone so well. As I proceeded to send my thanks upward to the heavens, the heavens began to pour rain down on me. I had to smile and just keep walking. After some confusion with cell phones, voicemail, and service issues, I met Tessa and we went grocery shopping at Walmart, kingdom of the Dark Lord Voldemart. I bought a broom, and now my fridge is full and I have a clean floor! Yay for clean floors!

I'm going to do some budget planning now, and then I might go to the institute stomp. Maybe. Maybe I'll just watch some Bleach instead. You never know.

One thing for sure, I WILL have hamburgers tonight-- oh yes indeed. *the peasants rejoice*

I'm really pleased with the number of people I know that are starting blogs. It really helps those of us who are social lazybums to know what's going on in the world outside our individual spheres. I will preach more about spheres at a later date when I have more insight to offer.

[Untitled]

2009-08-21T17:12:00.000-06:00

Inhales.
Exhales.

The first week of classes is over, my workload is still pretty easy, I experienced my Intro to Fiction class for the first time, I just ate good food, and I'm freaking out about minor keys. They must die. In a hole. In the dark. In the rain. Alone.

Since this week has pretty much sucked me dry of all my creative juices, this is what I did today:

Went to Intro to Music Education at 7:30 after waking my roommate up at 6:00 with my alarm.
Realized that I don't have Music Ed. on Fridays.
Went to the library to be bored for a while.
Went to my Music Theory I class and prayed I wasn't called on.
I wasn't.
Worried about minor keys.
Went to A Capella Choir and got hyped up on the excitement of being in choir again.
Went to institute.
Realized that I don't have institute on Fridays.
Went to the GSC and bought a medium water ($.25) and an almond-poppy seed muffin ($1.80)
Sat on a bench by the clock tower and ate.
Waved at a weird kid who said "hello" to me.
Listened to the clock chime 12-noon.
Went to the library.
Read the first couple of chapters of "The Book of Three" by Lloyd Alexander.
Went to Intro to Literature.
Talked to the teacher to get a syllabus after he let us leave 45 minutes early.
Didn't end up with a syllabus.
Walked to one block from home.
Bought four dollars worth of farmer's market produce. (yay)
Walked home.
Collapsed on my bed.
Ate a peach.
Talked to my roommates about the day and the Color Code.
Did my theory homework.
Read two out of four short stories for fiction.
Made a scrumptious meal of rice and chicken with onions, peppers, and cream of mushroom soup.
Did my dishes.
Listened to my roommate complain about her mom.
Read Kelsi's blog.
Wrote on my blog.
Wondered what to do next.
Probably watch a few episodes of Bleach.

Tomorrow is going to be my big cleaning day. I'll do my laundry and finish organizing all of my junk. We got cleaning assignments from our managers, so I'll do that too. I really want to clean the kitchen so I don't feel like I'm going to get sick from eating food off the counter.

Oh, hello roommate.

I need to buy a broom.

The Fifth Day

2009-08-20T17:25:00.003-06:00

As I sat in my chair, first day of my Intro to Philosophy class, in a far corner of the Humanities and Arts building, I clutched table with white-knucked fists to physically prevent myself from running out of the room. Everything about that class was wrong. I had intense physical and emotional reactions to my feeling of horror and disappointment. Philosophy, apparently, is not quite what I expected. Understatement of the century. I cannot even quite articulate why I had such an adverse reaction to the environment of the classroom, but every cell in my body screamed the wrongness of being there. It was difficult to even participate enough to correct the seriously misguided discussion. But ohhhh. Just ooohhhhh. *curls into the fetal position*

Last night, Amy and I went to a mandatory meeting for all music majors and music scholarship holders. I realized that there were some issues with my schedule (such as not being signed up for enough ofthe necessary classes)that I needed to be rectified as soon as possible. I was already stressed out, and one day feels like three. Exhausted, worried, and frazzled, I grabbed a drink of water and an almond-poppyseed muffin with Amy and we talked about our issues with life. It's amazing how much just talking about problems will make them seem a little less worrying.

All is well now; I went home and stayed up until I had everything figured out that I needed to speak with the advisors about. I felt like I was making a pest of myself at the Advisment Center because I was insisting on speaking with a specific advisor. Barbara Dalene is the expert on music advising, and I hope that the rest of the office will forgive me for being picky about who I let handle my future. Everything is ok now. I have transfered out of the Philosophy class from Hades and into Introduction to Fiction, had my piano assessment, registered for my concert attendance class, and I've set up a time for my private voice lessons. I can now breathe a sigh of relief, relax in my room, watch a few episodes of Bleach, and sleep.

In case anyone is confused, this is only my second day of classes here at Snow. It feels like the fifth or sixth day here-- I can hardly believe that this morning was... this morning. So many things are happening so fast that I'm glad I've made the gospel a priority. I don't think I'd be able to keep up or cope on any level if I hadn't spiritually prepared myself for this drastic change of environment. I'm thankful for the strength and optimism that GOD gave me before I left.

A Herd of Holy Cows

2009-08-19T13:20:00.001-06:00

I know I'm not Hindu, but seriously...

Today, I'm not sure which way is up or down. I'm in the library again, and I've decided that this is my favoite spot on campus-- even better than the practice rooms. Snow's reputation as a party school pretty much makes the library cleared of people. I went to the institute building today on accident because I mixed up the times for my Pearl of Great Price class and my choir class. I can tell you I must have looked pretty funny booking it up and down the campus with a panicked look on my face. Oh dear and oh well. I have a long break in the middle of the day after my institute class ends at 12:30. I can hang out in the library until Philosophy starts at 4:30.

This all just goes to show that some girls named Christina need at least 10 hours of sleep to function properly. This is unfortunate, because that works out to only being alive for 58.4% of the day, and spending 41.6% of my time asleep. Maybe I should run for Mayor of LaLa-Land.

I like this spot because I can see the clock tower from behind me. It rings every 15 minutes, so that's nice. I should come up with many philosophical thoughts about our concept of the nature of time if I stay here long enough. I've found that I will never have an empty day for lack of something to do. Here, there is always something.

Anyway, I'm not even through my first day yet, but I have homework that I should get in the habit of, um... doing, I guess.

Barbara-Ann

2009-08-18T20:52:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting here in the library with no one around but some guy working on his laptop in my peripheral. I'm glad to be out of the sun, out of the noise, and in a place that smells like books.

This day has been one of the highlights in recent memory. For the first time, I feel comfortable talking to people I don't know, and I feel great. I feel wonderful. I can't remember the last time I felt this great. Finally, I am able to put the failures of high school behind me and learn from my stupidity and shortcomings. I'm a slow learner, apparently, but I'm finally understanding what it means to go through life instead of letting life go through me.

I love everything about this place-- except maybe the plague of locusts. I pray that GOD will continue to lend me a portion of HIS strength, and that this place will continue to feel so right. Perhaps that is where this feeling of elation comes from: finally being where I'm supposed to be, doing the things I'm supposed to be doing. At least 80% of my insecurities have suddenly been stripped away, a useless cocoon I've stayed in too long. Some left painfully, some I discarded as easily as exhaling.

I know my identity, I know this won't last forever.

I will fall.
I will crash.
I will burn.

I will know that I am worthless.
I will know that there is no hope for someone like me.

These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.

And then there will be lux aeterna, and the Promethean finger will stir the ashes.

I will know that I am bought with a price.
I will know that there is hope while HE lives.

I will rise.
I will soar.
I will sing.

HE knows my identity, HE sees my forever.