Life as I know it now

So my first graduate school semester is over. Wild. It was different than I pictured it would be in both good and bad ways. I’m definitely not in Utah anymore, and again that is both good and bad. There are strange things I thought I wouldn’t miss that I do. Everyone living on top of each other for example. Strange how when your ward is all concentrated into the same two or three apartment buildings you are able to get together far more frequently. Also, it is bad cause there are really no secrets. You can’t really avoid letting the whole ward know you went on a date when everyone has a perfect window view of the awkward doorstep scene. Still, it was a fun thing too. I remember the time I was over at Jackie’s and I broke the door (in my defense, the knob was barely hanging on when I got there) and we laughed so loud Emma brought her home teachers over to make sure everything was alright and so they were able to fix it. Or hearing Alex dance upstairs and pounding the ceiling with our broomstick to remind her that we were downstairs trying to study. Walking to school without fear of being mugged was nice too.

Still, grad school, while different, is still top notch. I really truly passionately love going to school, especially when the entire curriculum is focused on the human body. People have asked me if this is harder than earning my bachelor degree, and I’m not entirely sure how to answer them. By the way, where does the word bachelor come from? Why bachelor for everyone? Why not bachelorette or married man or married woman depending on your status? Strange… Anywho, but as to being harder, I’m not sure that it is harder or easier—just different. It is certainly more intense, and not just because for the first time in the short history of my mortal existence I have a social life but because the workload itself is more intense. It also requires that I am much more self-motivated. Also, it is a lot more hands on and group-work and overall knowledge application and learning as opposed to just fact gathering, information storage, and studying to pass the test. As I said, good things.

There have been some great moments. The other day we pulled the brains out of our cadavers. That was literally one of the most amazing moments since coming here—almost spiritual for me. This lady that we have been working on died at 99 yet her muscles were toned. She was clearly in a lot of pain with osteoarthritis yet she had defined muscles in her legs. I find myself wondering what kind of person she was. Where she came from and how she reacted when someone woke her up too early. I wonder if she was a mother and if so if she ever felt overwhelmed. I wonder what she believed and if she had a short temper when she was hungry. Who was she? I can tell you where her muscles are, that she broke her femur several years ago but the bone started to heal over the plate they nailed to her thigh. I can tell you that she had bad varicose veins and that standing must have been excruciatingly painful for her right kneecap but I can’t tell you what her favorite food was or if she enjoyed long walks in the summer. I hope someday I get to meet her. I guess that’s why holding her brain—the organ that literally was her—her personality, her desires, her dreams, her passions, her thoughts, her reactions, her life really—was so absolutely amazing for me.

Another fun day was the first dinner we had with our class alone. Meeting everyone helped me realize some important things. First, I am much braver than I use to be. I am more confident, less timid (not the same thing), and more friendly. I have wanted my whole life to be more like I have become. What a cool blessing! It kind of came all the sudden, but I’m sure it’s a combination of many different things. I’m just glad it has finally come. Second, my class is chuck full of great people. Fun, amusing, accepting, and eager, everyone has been great. Third, while I am very far from home, I am going to be fine. I am an unabashed home body as I have the world’s most amazing family, but I have learned better than ever before to stand a bit on my own. Another big blessing. Along with that came the most important realization—I am going to be fine. Everything is going to work out just the way it should if I just stay close to God and follow him as I should. Everything is going to be great.
The rest of the greatness of grad school is wrapped up in tiny moment packages I could never number and don’t really add up to anything but make it what it is. Michael walking in with the pronouncement that he either needed a girlfriend or a puppy cause he wanted to cuddle something. Bryce—the vociferous anti-Texan—slipping and saying ya’ll. Emily blushing on cue when we took her sock of to pretend to be daintily horrified. Mike’s picture hanging on the blackboard. Just amazingness concentrated into a thousand tiny minutes. I am so happy to be here.

Well, it's that time of year again. It is a fun time to be an American. A bit economically challenging, but still fun. Last year's Thanksgiving was fun but a little unconventional. This year was different than I've ever experienced before but it was definately wonderful. I drove down to Boise--an eightish hour trip, if you were wondering, and spent time with my Uncle Scott and Aunt Debbie and their two kids Tucker (age 7) and Scottlyn (age 5). It was so very fun. There is something about being unconditionally adored that you can't get over the age of 10. Their kids are sharp too. Tucker can read anything and even Scottlyn can read pretty well. Both are musical and bright, friendly, and generally get along qutie well. I thouroughly enjoyed myself. I especially enjoyed getting to know Aunt Debbie a little better. They have always lived kind of far away from us in Iowa or Idaho and so besides brief trips I haven't really been able to get to know them. She is an amazing woman, though. Most of the women in my family got married pretty early, so it is nice to talk to someone who did the single scene for a while. She is fun, independent, and happy and she was still able to get quite a catch in my uncle, if I do say so myself. The dinner was very good and they even sent me home with leftovers of my favorite dish--a green bean casserole--that she was kind enough to make for me. All in all, it was a dazzling sucess.



Here is my list this year, again no particular order:

1- My testimony of the restored gospel and the peace and joy it brings to my life
2- the Book of Mormon and the peace I feel when I read it (at least the English copy--the Korean one brings a bit of frustration)
3- my amazing and absolutely wonderful parents--for the way they raised me and the sacrifices they made for me
4- raisenettes--my newly discovered favorite treat
5- getting into EWU's PT program, so far it has been a blast
6- the happiness and joy I feel almost all the time--gifts from God
7- my ward and the lessons I've learned here
8- friends. I've never really had a lot of friends or been able to make them easily but here it is a lot easier.
9- my siblings. Heather, Trevor, Sarah, Paige, and Toria. I can't imagine a much better group of kids to grow up with.
10- the gift I have been blessed with for studying--it actually is something I really enjoy doing especially here in PT school
11- The human body and how astounding it is. God really did an amazing job on that one.
12- Always having enough to get by and not starve and a little extra for fun
13- I went to Korea on my mission. How amazing is that?
14- God is in charge of my life. His plan for me is so much better than mine
15- The piano
16- The guitar
17- my bachelor's degree
18- my early education in high school--it was hard but so worth it
19- chocolate--if it's not in heaven I might not stay ; )
20- fun smelling bath soap
21- a knowledge of my self worth no matter what I look like or how many people like me or if I ever date anyone
22- my feelings of security and independence that allow me to be single without being unhappy
23- an army of people who helped me to be who I am--teachers, leaders, friends, etc.
24- coats. It's cold in Washington
25- Texas
26- my car. She is so conveinent!
27- my health
28- my cute little red and tan room
29- sports with my dad
30- exciting weekends
31- technology that allows me to keep in touch with my family who is thousands of miles away
32- my plane ticket home for Christmas!
33- hot chocolate
34- chocolate chocolate chip cookies--my favorite!
35- writing. It's a good way to let out nasty emotions.
36- institute. What a cool uplifting expeirence in the middle of the week
37- my class. I couldn't have picked a cooler group of people to do this whole grad school thing with
38- my computer
39- sunshine
40- the power of prayer
41- the power of optimism
42- the ability to be alone and not feel lonely
43- the ability to speak and understand some Korean. Not many Americans can say that.
44- my George Washington State University sweatshirt--so so so comforatable!
45- Trevor being on a mission
46- my acne clearing up
47- my highlihgts. I think they are so fun.
48- my electric blanket- what a perfect way to fall asleep.
49- a living prophet
50- the ability to recieve revelation of where I should be going in life and what I should be doing.

Well, there it is. I'm sure it's not a complete list or anything, but I guess it works for me. I really truly have so very much to be grateful for. I feel so happy all the time--it almost makes being grumpy and irratable enjoyable because I know soon I will be out of it and that it is so very bright on the other side. : ) Really, though, it is nice to know that no matter how complicated life gets (and trust me, being single at 24 can make life pretty dang complicated around finals week), I will always be able to choose happiness--aided by the fact that my life is so full of things to be thankful for.

Poetic

For the first time in years I was feeling strangely poetic last night. So while I should have been studying the physiological vascular response to wound regeneration I jotted this little ditty down. Poetry always sounds more intense than the situation really is, but at the time I felt like I really captured my feelings here. Weird but very true. I wish I was a better writer, but I kind of like this one. The mood has to be right, I guess and it felt pretty right last night.

Flinch


I flinch when you touch me—
your desire poking through transparent fingers
gently encircling mine, urging them to wake
to respond
to reciprocate.
My fingers flinch as longing overloads the tendons
to respond
to reciprocate
to flinch away.

The vapor blocks my vision—
the spark in your eyes burns away my reason
so near the fringe there is no space to move
closer to you
to companionship.
My senses blocked by too too many needs.
to be closer to you
for companionship
to maintain control.

Your pain attacks my resolve—
your silent hesitation suffocates it with connotation
it chokes on my words that fight to evoke attraction
attachment
commitment.
Desire and conflict tear at logic’s impossible demands
attachment
commitment
isolation.


I flinch when you touch her—
her charming timidity angers and sustains me
broiling concoctionous consort of necessity
your happiness
your freedom
leaves me alone to flinch at the lingering landscape
your happiness
your freedom
my loss.

I flinch away.

It's Cold Again

At the risk of repetition I am going to post my first complaint of the year about the cold and try and attach some mystic slightly poetic highly pathetic meaning to it again. Consider yourself warned.

Washington cold is different than Utah cold. It's not as dry, for one thing, which is nice. I mean my skin still dries out and my lips are still chapped a bit but they don't seem to crack and peel as much, which is always nice for a student budget cause that means you don't need lotion. Still though, it's cold. Everyone laughs when I say that and say it's just starting and going to be so much worse and I'm never going to make it--a sentiment I rather resent as I've never quit anything I've been determined to succeed at. Still, I can honestly say I feel cold here. Maybe part of it is living in the basement too. Not that I don't love my little room--I do, I just am not quite use to the temperature of life here.

I've decided that this temperature--just barely above frozen--is an apt description of myself in a lot of ways. Kind of like the ice right after the Zamboni driver gets done. It is glassy and smooth and welcoming but hard to crack and even harder to penetrate. You can see exactly who I am--I don't try to disguise what I'm really like or put up false pretenses but at the same time I don't let others in easily--not really. I am happy to get to know people and form friendships but I avoid allowing myself to be emotionally vunerable at almost all costs. I wonder why that is sometimes. My family has always been extremely supportive, I have always had good friends, no tramatic events, only one breakup that I thought went over rather smoothly, no huge dissapointments, no drastic failed attempts at anything. I have no idea why I am so protective of myself and insistant to avoid emotional events at all costs, but there you are. I am. Just like the weather here--cold and stoic but still crisp and perfectly upfront at the same time. Bundled and covered up it isn't a problem. It's only when you let your guard down that the cold really bothers you. The rest of the time it's almost tolerable. Just keep your guard up. Don't let anything in.

Also, I learned you have to be careful what you ask for. Again. Why is it that I seem to always need the same cosmic lessons over and over again? You would think I would get the hint and start on some new mistakes, but alas, this is not so. So I say again--make sure what you think you want is really what you want before you think you want it. Otherwise you just might get it and realize how much happier you were before. Of course, I suppose it is that way always. Even things you really do want often seem to have at least some negative consequences when you finally get them. The new haircut may be easier to fix but now all those styles you're use to don't work and you have to start over again. Being newly weds is amazing but it's still hard to get use to his socks all over the place. The appartment is perfect--everything you ever wanted, except for the extra seventy bucks a month. Washington is fun and beautiful and the school is great but the weather is stinking freezing! You get the idea.

Anywho. It's cold. I guess that means I get to bundle up in my favorite sweatshirt ever--an oversized George Washington University one I recieved at a sweatshirt exchange that I never take home for fear my mom will sneakily throw it out in an effort to cutify my wardrobe. I wear it probably every day. Gross? Maybe but I only wear it when I'm sitting in my room alone doing homework, so I'm the only one around to smell me. This is a lovely way for me to get warmth when I know I want it and I don't even mind the smelly consequences. Good. Maybe I'm learning something after all.

Sometimes being single is harder than usual.

Woman Pains

At the risk of embarking on a painfully awkward subject, I have heavily weight the pros and cons of sharing my rather shocking findings of feminine internal behavior and have decided that the information needs to come forth.

I think that on a physiological level, the female uterus purposefully makes life more miserable for poor victims like myself before children are born. Having never undergone said activity I naturally cannot be sure, but that is my belief. Take the pumpkin patch for example--our PT class, which is constantly having social activities, recently went to a local pumpkin patch. Those with kids brought them along and we had a blast. On that tangent, this particular patch had a cannon from which they launched pumpkins--one every hour--at a speed of 900 feet per second into the air, across two fields or so, and in the direction of the evergreen groves. I wonder if the pumpkin seeds affect their Christmas tree crop. So anywho, it was a blast on several levels to play with everyone's kids. As we were going back to the car, one of my fellow single babyless classmates looked over at me and said, "this almost makes your uterus ache, doesn't it." I found the comment strange, but as we helped the little two year old up the path, holding his hand and listening bemusedly to his happy chatter about all kinds of things I'm pretty sure his mom didn't want us to know, I had to agree. A painful, twisting, almost bitter sensation came from inside. Creepy, right? Creepy but true. My own body turning on me. How horribly rude and inconvenient. Maybe that's all part of menopause too. Your body is trying to reward you for doing your job and allowing it the opportunity to carry a child. That would be a lovely theory if only those who actually had bourne children went through it. Now that I think about it, that is not the case. Hmm... I dunno...

I am blond now--officially. The girl at the salon put way too much color in my highlights. I guess that's what you get when you always shoot for the cheapest option. Bet guys don't get that problem too much. Guys get a bad haircut and can get it fixed up in about a month. Girls, we have to wait years or shovel out enough money for another treatment. Me, I'll take the waiting. Anyway, maybe this way the teachers will be nicer to me. No one seems to expect as much out of a blondie who obviously paid someone else to alter my body to force it to become blond. Not nice, when said that way.

And now I fall asleep as I write. That's my excuse for the convoluted excuse for a paragraph above. Goodnight!

Everyday Victories and Disasters

Well, it has been awhile hasn't it? I guess this whole grad school thing is really quite busy in the end. Wild. I'm sure I had a lot to report if I had described the conglomeration of emotions I began this journey with, but three weeks in it feels as if I have grown accustomed to the road and besides the small pebbles beneath my feet there is little to upset or amaze me anymore. Suffice it to say it has been delightfully overwhelming. The most exciting, intense, and natural thing I have ever embarked upon. I am so grateful for the opportunity and still cheerfully confused as to how I ended up in this frozen corner of the country studying physical therapy of all things. In the few times I take to actually think about where I am I get all giggly and puzzled. What a tangled thing life ends up to be.

I opened the pickle jar myself this week. This may seem little more than slight elbow flexion and internal rotation and abduction of the shoulder joint (haha I crack myself up) but really this was a symbolic victory of sorts. High on the list of reasons single women need a man is to open jars. I ask myself, what does this mean? Have the women of the country become so independent that we have revolutionized the manufacturing of pickle jars everywhere in order to accommodate the growing single woman population? Perhaps I was naturally drawn to the jar that was easier to open through a complicated mixture of Pavlov, genetic selection, and feminine intuition. (Really, it was the cheapest jar, but maybe this plays into the psyche of singledom as well?) Maybe the ability to open it means that I have accepted my current single status with grace. Or would it be strength and dexterity? I certainly wasn't graceful in my attempt. Come to mention it, it certainly wasn't an especially impressive display of strength either. I said I opened it, I didn't say it was easy or pretty. Anyway. Eating pickles has never been so complicated.

As for other interesting developments... there isn't too much to be honest. Life is good. Simple, predictable, and all around blissful. Except today in the cadaver lab I totally swallowed dead people juice when the cadaver leg was suddenly dropped in my general direction. Gross gross gross!!! The general response was far from encouraging. First everyone laughed then they all asked how it tasted. If people really wanted to know, they should drink it themselves then I can laugh at them! Oh well. For the record, it was not delicious, salty, or anything I want to focus on too much.

The Colts are winning agin. Leading the AFC, infact. 5 and 0. What can I say, I sure can pick em, huh? and to squash any rumors I was a huge Colts fan almost since I started watching football over 10 years ago. A colt is a delight to any thirteen year old girl plus I liked their colors. Now they are still my team and I honestly count their first superbowl win as partially payoff for years of fruitless cheering combined with the sacrifice of missionary service. Excuse me while doge the lightning bolt. I am an acknowledged Peyton lover, but this year Austin Collie, a BYU graduate, is a rookie on the team who actually caught a touchdown a few weeks ago. So see, I am a real live fan. And they are winning. And I like that.

Speaking of sports, it ends up the rest of the world are Texas sport haters. Who knew? If you ask me, I am a slight female (although I can open pickle jars... hmm...) who is far away from home all on her little lonesome so people should be nice to me and my state. But they aren't! I can understand Cowboy bashing--everyone does that, especially with stinking Tony Romo in the lead. But Longhorn bashing? Stars? Rangers? Even the Mavericks! I defy you to find another man in professional sports who is more down to earth than Dirk Nawitzki except for, of course, Peyton Manning. Grr. I know it's just jealousy and severe inferiority complexity, but still. I wish people would back off if they don't have the backbone to recognize real true talent. Hmph.

Anyway. To quote one of my favorite movies, "life is a quick succession of busy nothings." I had better go to bed. Or maybe I will eat a pickle... its flavor strangely reminded me of the cadaver juice... maybe they were a little similar? Oh on...

Dodgeball Delight

I should be going to bed now as orientation starts tomorrow and I need to be awake and alert. Also I should be punished and sent straight to bed after the pathetic title I gave. Still, I need to toot my own horn a little bit before I forget.

Tonight for FHE the ward played dodge ball. I, of course, am dismal. I played virtually no role whatsoever in any of the first four games but still enjoyed myself and met some kind people. Anyway, so I was horrible. Perhaps my completely nonthreatening and timid playing style was the reason that the last game--the tiebreaker-- found me as the last member of my team still able to play against two stocky boys on the other team. Naturally, as I'm female, smallish, and new they didn't want to release everything they had but things still weren't looking good. Most of the balls were on our side of the gym and they only had 3 between them. They threw two at me at once and somehow I was able to dodge both (a miracle, I'm sure). In an effort to stop one from crossing back over I slid and grabbed it from just over the line. I barely got it but was kneeling at their mercy when they threw the last ball at me. Again some miracle helped me block it with the one I had just got. Everyone (including me) was duly surprised and impressed. Then--my true moment of triumph--one of they boys threw the ball back at me (it had bounced back into their side) and I caught it! It was amazing! That boy was out, it brought in one of our own boys and we won the tiebreaker!

As it was church dodge ball there really wasn't that much competition or anything, but it was a satisfying surprise that I didn't totally embarrass myself. Weird.

Sadness is usually always selfish but that doesn't make the rusty acrid aftertaste any easier to spit out. The knowledge that your life is not what you dreamed it would be, that no matter how happy you are you have failed in some big way from becoming the person and doing the things you always wanted to do is a secret you cannot always keep even from yourself. A life does not have to be bad to be a disappointment when under the microscope. The key of course is to keep the microscope far away from the examination table and giggles and fulfillment are bound to result. I am, after all, happy. Really truly genuinely deep in my bones I laugh all the time life is wonderful brand of happy. I am excited about school, about becoming a physical therapist, about my housing accommodations, about my new hair highlights and about the delicious pasta I made a few days ago. I seek out and take all the opportunities to laugh each day that I can but still... if I am honest with myself my life is still void of the things I want (and have always wanted) more than anything. Being a sister is amazing but I have always always wanted to be a mother. The affection of a parent is both essential and beloved but sometimes I wonder if I will ever know the other kind of love also...

Sometimes I wonder when I will become the main character of my own life. When will my dreams come true? When will it be my turn if not for the spotlight at least for the happily ever after? I mean, don't the Flounders and Charlotte Lucases and Gimlees and Neville Longbottoms eventually get rewarded for their hard work and friendship and determination? Where is their happy ending? Is it their destiny to help others reach theirs without ever finding their own? Where is the justice in that? Surly their stories are real even if they are unsung, right? I mean, being an extra doesn't mean you are a nobody. Being a supporting role surly doesn't mean that is all you are god for, does it? And if the happily ever after never comes along, if Prince Charming gets lost or finds someone else or fate never cooperates and you never catch that big brake or you give it all you have and still somehow fail in your quest then what? Do you make up an almost happily ever after and improvise for life without the fairy tale ending? Can you consider your life a success if you reached all your dreams except for the ones absolutely most important to you? How does one mourn the death of their deepest desire?

Tears taste funny when you are too proud to let them fall. Especially when you hold them in against yourself cause no one else cares. They are more snotty that way, somehow. More salty. Almost like the liquid evaporates a little bit and leaves the remaining goopy dregs just a little bit more minerally than they would be if they just came out right. Instead when they do come they burn a little like acid and shame because they've been stewing for too long. They look funny too--too round, too real somehow. If a tear falls and no one is there to wipe it what is its purpose? What are tears even for--they don't make anything better. Surely if it was just for washing eyes than a good sweat or dust storm would bring them about, not a sudden bout of lost purpose and hopelessness. Why is it that a good cry feels so miserable? What is good about it anyway? What an insipid phrase.

I heard once that God blessed the Brother of Jared with air immediately but made him work for the light. The speaker observed that when there is a true life-depending need, that God will not make us wait to receive it. However, when the need is really just a convenience that seems indispensable to us that it may cost us quite a bit more in sweat, blood, work, effort, and even tears. As a single girl it seems like everything is air, but I suppose much of it is really just light. And the encouraging thing is that after the Brother of Jared brought Jehovah rocks, his faith was strong enough that even his odd and probably insufficient offering was enough to allow God to take care of the rest. It's not really air, I can work and wait.

Also, I know of course I am not going to die tomorrow. I know I am plenty young and should not be speaking so morbidly of burying my deepest desires or balling my eyes out. (Which I do not, by the way). Still, sometimes even the strongest feel a little down, don't they? Sometimes people lose hope in each other. Sometimes... maybe often... we lose hope in ourselves. Hope can be a fickle friend when we aren't' careful. Very fickle indeed. Still, as long as there is hope there is happiness and dreams can be kept alive on a very scanty portion when that is all available. Tonight, therefor, I feed my dreams on leftovers and hope that later I have a more befitting feast for them. If not, though, somehow I think it will all be alright. Dreams, unlike sorrow, are rarely completely selfish and therefor quite a bit harder to kill.

The Overstimulating Sensations of a 28 Hour Car Ride

Yup, you read that right. Twenty Eight Hours. It sounds even longer when you read it in longhand. Somehow I always romanticize it in my head before we actually go. Eating out for every meal, the being together and talking and playing, listening to my favorite songs or a book on tape, and enjoying the general spledor of the great outdoors always seems so exciting and inviting somehow before the trip actually begins. Unfortunately, by the end, those ideals have usually discintegrated somewhat. The hamburger for every meal turns into a constipation concoction in my stomach gurgling with gas and oozing with extremely awkward sensations. I am reminded of the stinkpots in Yellowstone we drove to see one year. Being together becomes more of a sentence than a treat, especially as the conversation leads closer and closer to bickering over which side of the seat line one's hand is lying or whose unmentionable (caused of course by the diet of grease and salt) is filling the car with stink. I always end up hating what once was my favorite song by the end of the trip and the endless drone of the reader proves more hypnotic than stimmulationg as I strive to stay awake and not leave us all as souveniers splattered accross the road. Even the general outdoor majesty turns tired and endless. Especially in Texas with no mountains, rivers, or anything at all to break up the monotomy of sky and prarie, the landscape can seem absolutely eternal. This of course makes me even more proud to be a Texan, but does not change the fact that driving through my beloved state is very nearly unbearable.

And that's just the contrastof what I expect to what I get. THat doesn't even begin on th smells of the thing. Six to eight human bodies cramped in the same twelve by six feet (or whatever it is) for that amount of time doesn't exactly smell good, especially when you add in the grease and salt. You know you smell bad when you smell yourself. You know you are grimy when the scum on your teeth and oil on your face are about the same thckness. When you taste your own breath... well, you get the idea.

But now it's over. An absolutely fabulous week in Idaho on Grandpa's ranch with hourses, ATVs, the rodeo, and all the fishing I could want (which, between you and me is a lot). We got home safely after the ride refered to above at around 9 this morning then I slept grumpily till noon then went to church. Today was actually quite an adventure with broken toes, near death experiences, and worship service as well. Sounds a bit like a movie, doesn't it. All in all a good Sunday.

Cucucucu cucucucu I say, cucuconversation cuconfusion

How I hate the awkwardness of flirtation. Well, not so much flirtation as the uncomfortable mix up of emotion and fear and discombobulation (a real word--I looked it up) of seeing someone and feeling the pheromones rush through the bloodstream and switching intermittently between the hope that he will talk to you and the hope that he won't because you have no earthly idea of what you would say if he did. Then he does begin conversation and my tongue suddenly swells up in my face and dribbles words all over where they don't belong punctuating them with awkward phrases and expressions. What a mess! Okay, so the actual tongue dripping thing was just an analogy but still... a mess.

If I am brutally honest with myself I will admit that while I am certrainly not ugly I could never be called a great beauty and while I absolutely love learning and study I am certainly no genius. Still, calculated objectively I can also say that I am not altogether hopeless as a female. Still, it seems that whenever I stand up in front of a boy...any boy... I end up looking more like Elmer Fudd than anything attractive at all. Well, maybe I don't look bald and baloon nosed but I certainly sound and feel that way. Blah. In an effort to help me out my sister (age 16) gave me a list of chit-chaty topics for my own use. Examples:
-"Darn it's hot..."
-"Do you have any pets?" Then she counseled me to bring up the tragic drowing incident of the family dog in the family pool thinking it would be a good subject. A bit morbid for my taste, but definately opposes the Elmer Fudd model so perhaps I shouldn't complain.
-"How about that meeting, huh?"
-"Are you concerned about global warming?"
-"What did you have for dinner? Do you cook?"
-Anything about herself she suggested.
*Most important-- Avoid politics with old people and liberals and cadaver lab stories with everyone and limit discussions about bodily processes such as digestion, respiration, and the lymph node systems,

Unfortunately the off-limits list contains all the conversation topics that I find truly exhilerating, but what can I do? I guess the best I can do is practice until I can be as good a conversationalist as my little sister, or at least as good as my boy Elmer. Meantime I'm working to keep my pheromones under control (even though I'm not allowed to talk about them.)

Song Lyrics

So I've been thinking lately about song lyrics. What if someone were to find the remnants of our civilization after it were destroyed Pompey style in a freak accident that leaves nothing but a mushroom cloud the size of the Atlantic Ocean and all the song lyrics ever written? What would people say about my society? What would they discern about our way of life? For example: "Just like the white winged dove sings the song sounds like she's singing oo baby oo say oo" or "shot through the heart and you're too late you give love a bad name" or "I'm too sexy for my cat" or even "Listen to the sounds of silence".

If that was all some goupy alien who breathed out of his ears knew about our world, what would he (or she, or it) think about me? Perhaps he would envision some frightening bird/cat cross that bleeds sensually and sings and spends most of my time trying to hear silence through what it considers its lungs. Stuff from nightmeres for sure.

I love laughing at lyrics.

Collection of random thought pieces

So I have a job now. I work around 35 hours each week in a physical therapy clinic out in Denton. It is admitably a bit of a commute but I like it there, so no complaints. The therapist is very patient and friendly and the other tech is also super helpful and I love working with them. Best of all I love worknig in a physical therapy capacity. The patients are the absolute best part. The other day I was helping a sweet Mexican man in his mid forties. He has a bad ankle we are helping him with. Anyway, he asked me how I liked the job and I told him I liked it a lot. He asked about my hours and I told him. He said that it must be an especially good job if I wasn't forced to work on Saturday and Sunday as well. I felt so guilty for all the times I had felt to complain for being at work with nothing to do. How lucky I am to live in such a capacity that I can have my weekends to myself. Indeed how lucky to have a job at all, let alone one that I enjoy so very much. There are funny moments as well. Friday I was helping an older slightly grumpy woman remove an electrode pad from her arm. She was mumbling so I couldn't understand her words very well at first so I just smiled at her but then she said again (only a tiny bit cantankerously) "you're pulling my skin off. Just let me do it." then she took the pads out of my hands and she pulled them of. Uncomforatable at the time but alright later.

On a completely unrelated tangent, I have decided that the popularity of "reality" shows is depressing on several levels. First of all, it shows very clearly that rather than live the reality of our own lives we opt to watch others live their heavily comercialized producer-created "realities" on television and then we laugh at their follies and mistakes. Perhaps because we are afraid to live our own lives we are gratified somehow when others make horribly publicized blunders. It makes me sad, somehow that these shows are so very popular, especially when their popularity spikes by some unexpected tragedy. Sad, somehow.

There was a tornado in this area last week. It was actually kind of fun, somehow. The power died around seven, just as we were planning to tak the girls to mutual. The sky turned staticy, almost like there were black lights shining everywhere. Then we looked up and everything seemed dead for a few breaths. There was no rain and no wind, but in the sky the dark clouds were literally churning in like the lazy bubling of thick soup right before the true boil begins. It was exciting but frightening. Eventually we were all sitting in the far end of the front room as close to the closet under the stairs as we could get without climbing behind the dirty laundry. Daddy had taken the lanterns, lighters, and most of the flashlights for a campout so we used whatever we could including Toria's little "light bright" dude. Paigers and Sarah made a hilariously morbid picture of lightning hitting the house and it all errupting in flame. While I laughted outright, I don't think Toria appreciated it much. We lost two sections of fence but other than that we did alright. Lots others did lots worse. There were trees down all over, roofs torn off, and store signs all over the road. We didn't get power back till about three in the morning so all us girls camped out in the living room with the windows opened since the air didn't work. To my dismay I found that sleeping on the ground was actually super difficult. I thought it wouldn't be so bad as I use to sleep on the floor all the time. Maybe I really am getting old. When the rain came back (and it did with a vengence--huge lightening and thunder a few miles from the house) we were still sleeping and more than a little water poured inside. Still, it was fun. I enjoyed it. Is that sick? I guess I can say it safely because no one got hurt. So yes. I enjoyed the rain and the destruction and the edge of fear and hysteria that kept me laughing all night. Oh dear, maybe I really am crazy.

In a final bit of news, I have found somewhere to live! I am so very grateful. I will room with a girl who is Christian but not Mormon, but with a very reasonable rent, right next to the busstop and close to the school, and sweet roommates to all go with it I am very excited and expecting a great year. We'll see, but I'm excited. : )

The Other Side of the Mirror

Before I begin, here are some discoveries I have made since last writing:

> Barbie dolls have a patheticly small range of motion that is impossible to repeat

> Gas prices went down but have steadily increased since then

> A house in Texas without power for more than 6 hours gets hot fast (this comes from the frighteningish experience of a tornado hitting down a few miles from my house. Wild.)

> You can only watch so many chick flicks before you begin losing brain cells

> Exercise doesn't always work (I have, in fact, gained three pounds since I started going to the gym daily three and a half weeks ago. Time to lay off the treadmill it would seem.)

> Contrary to what you may think blackberries, celery, tuna, pasta, and chipotle sauce do not make a delicious mix. It is, however, eccentrically interesting.

> Wishing something doesn't necesarily make it so and unforutnately doing all you can doesn't even always work. Still, that way at least you have no regrets.

> Blackberry jam is stinking hard to get out of clothes

> Prayer really does work

> laughter is not just for children--we should all try it.

So, my brother left to go on his mission recently. Well, technically he went with Dad and Grandpa to hunt and hang out for a week in Idaho with a before he reports to the MTC but who wants to get technical. The point is, it is so strange to see missionary work from the opposite perspective now that I have had my own experience. To read his e-mails and pray for him instead of relying on his prayers is different. As I read his e-mails I find myself second guessing myself a lot. Is that odd? I find myself wondering, was I this way? Did I have that much faith? Did people actually read my letters? Did I offend people? How was my grammer? Then as my tiny mind begins to whirl like a rusty turbine cliking and complaing as it goes I begin all types of wild worries. Why can't I remember? Why do I care? Am I really dissolving into a materialistic shallow ditz who spends all her free time worrying about what people thought of me years and years ago? What about what people think of me now? Why don't I ever date? Am I going to be an old maid? Will I be grumpy? How will I make my own way? I so want a baby... maybe I'll be able to adopt?

Anyway, you get the picture. Not a good path. The point is it is interesting to watch from the other side. I remember taking off for my own mission. I was so nervous! I spent the night before in a hotel with my parents. I cried myself to sleep with my fist in my mouth to silence my sobs so that my parents wouldn't worry. I just felt so underqualified and weak to the cause that was put up to me. I was scared that I would mess it up and ruin those I was called to serve for all eternity. Rubbish of course. God would never let little old me thwart His work. Still though, at the begining that was what I felt. I guess even now I worry a little though... what if I really did do such a poor job that those who could have been helped were in fact at a disadvantage because they were with me? Still, before I begin on my barrage of questions again I'd better stop now. I did do my best. That I can hold my head up and say. I really did give God all that I could and I know that He more than made up for my weaknesses. Just like the Brother of Jared I gave God rocks and he made light. My brother can and will do the same thing. What a marvelous work missionary work is. It is so big! So amazing when you sit back and think about it. No matter how weak and insignificant we may feel God carries on this great work because it is His. Be it Korea or Seattle, it matters not. What an amazing privlidge it is to be involved in it.