Yeah, I am pretty pleased with myself, if you can't tell. Next I will try to make homemade oven-baked fries! Wish me luck!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A homemaker . . .
. . . That's me! Not really, but I have been trying a little bit harder than usual lately and have been moderately successful. Go me! Tonight I made ham and potato soup. It is one of my favorite meals from my mother's recipe box, and I have to say that mine was a pretty close match. I am very proud. Unfortunately, my husband wasn't even here to share it with me, but I will still post the pic of my accomplishment.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
This semester . . .
My goodness. I am tired today. Oh, wait, I was tired yesterday, too. And the day before. This semester has been outstandingly exhausting. I always, always, always have something that I have to do. Something that needs to be taken care of. One more item off a to-do list that has no end, no end whatsoever! I feel like I am battling my own life. I never thought that working part-time and going to school was a big deal, I have been doing it for 6 out of my 7 semesters here at SUU. There is just something particularly overwhelming about this semester. I think I know a few reasons.
First, printmaking. To all those people who said, "Just finish that art minor, you won't regret it." Oh. Do I ever. This class has been so extensively hard on me that sometimes I just feel like never going and failing it. We are constantly, constantly working on something. I work my butt off for two straight weeks trying to finish a monster of a lino-cut, just to immediately start searching for an image for my duotone. I finished that in two days, then he immediately starts encouraging us to find an idea for a hand cut film. I just found an image a week ago. I don't have any other ideas. As for Photoshop: I hate you. You never do what I want.
Second, work. Yes, I have had this job for almost a year and a half now, you'd think I'd be used to the insanity that goes down here. I'm not. This semester, I get to waste tons of gas driving to different schools to teach children about art. I drove 150 miles in the first two weeks of October just for the education program. Kill me, this thing still has like 3 weeks.
I feel about as exhausted as I usually feel one week before the semester ends. We just barely passed midterms. I can't believe the toll this semester has taken on me. Come on, December 15th, just get here already!!!
First, printmaking. To all those people who said, "Just finish that art minor, you won't regret it." Oh. Do I ever. This class has been so extensively hard on me that sometimes I just feel like never going and failing it. We are constantly, constantly working on something. I work my butt off for two straight weeks trying to finish a monster of a lino-cut, just to immediately start searching for an image for my duotone. I finished that in two days, then he immediately starts encouraging us to find an idea for a hand cut film. I just found an image a week ago. I don't have any other ideas. As for Photoshop: I hate you. You never do what I want.
Second, work. Yes, I have had this job for almost a year and a half now, you'd think I'd be used to the insanity that goes down here. I'm not. This semester, I get to waste tons of gas driving to different schools to teach children about art. I drove 150 miles in the first two weeks of October just for the education program. Kill me, this thing still has like 3 weeks.
I feel about as exhausted as I usually feel one week before the semester ends. We just barely passed midterms. I can't believe the toll this semester has taken on me. Come on, December 15th, just get here already!!!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Losing you . . .
Saturday I lost my grandparents. I know this is a more appropriate way to start a eulogy than what this post is really about, but they may as well be dead.
I have never really written anything too personal on this thing, but I have to put these thoughts somewhere. And since I have no followers, why not?
Things have been bumpy with my maternal grandparents from day 1: parents start dating. I have always known my dad's feelings towards my grandpa, and when I was too young, I sided with my mother (gender-identified role model). However, as time has gone on, and I have dissected my childhood summers of spending time with them, I have realized something. My grandpa is pretty much a douche bag.
Could someone explain to me how an old man could possibly feel good about himself screaming his lungs hoarse at children under 10 years of age? How do you not feel like a dick? And I'm not saying that you couldn't do it if the child had actually done something wrong, but that's the thing. I remember getting yelled at for the most inane, absurd reasons. We would go camping in their trailer, and my brother and I would have to sleep on the floor in the main room. When we would roll over in the sleeping bags, the trailer would rock a little. Because its a trailer. It's on wheels. But I remember my grandpa screaming from the bedroom, "YOUR ROCKING THE WHOLE DAMN TRAILER!!!" Okay. What the crap am I supposed to do?
I also remember when I was stuck without my brother on a trip with them and they left me in the trailer with their stupid dogs while they went somewhere. I was probably 12. I sat on the couch and drew pictures. I glanced up at the room after about an hour and noticed that the dog had "done its business" all over the rug. I immediately tried to get the rug outside and try to clean it up, but seconds after I had noticed the "incident," my grandparents arrived. Boy, was the subject of ridicule for the rest of the trip. That was about three days. I was a "stupid" child who couldn't notice anything going on around her because she is so busy watching TV and being a retard. Apparently. I'm sorry I can't hear the sound of pooping?
Besides getting yelled at every single day I spent with them, there is also the way my grandpa deals with the world. Everyone is wrong. "Why are you doing it like that? You should do it like this. This way would be better and faster. I don't care if I don't know anything about it or know what your preferences are, you are wrong. Shut up." This was the thing that drove my dad crazy for so many years. My dad likes doing things right. My grandpa likes doing things fast. These ideas do not often align.
So we have been dealing with this nonsense for about 30 or so years. My brother has finally had enough. I don't blame him. Last summer, my parents remodeled a house, and my grandparents came over from Texas to stay for a few months to get it underway. My brother spent many hours out there helping. Or should I say, my brother spent many hours out there being criticized. It would drive any person crazy.
A few months ago, my grandpa sent my mother a hate-email. I don't know the exact contents, but I know that it basically slammed on my family big time. Key points: Dad and Cory are worthless and don't do anything right, Cory and I are ungrateful grandchildren, grandpa wants nothing to do with us. This made everyone really upset, especially my mom. She went several weeks without talking to them.
Then, last week, my grandma called my mom to announce that they were coming over to see Kimball, my new nephew. Whaaaat?? Didn't you say you hated us?
So they show up. My grandpa is acting like absolutely nothing has happened. Everything is peachy-keen and delightful. No one is buying this. My brother and sister-in-law are really upset that my grandpa has said all these really hateful things, but still shows up expecting for them to hand over the baby for them to coddle like they are decent great-grandparents or something. Not going to fly in this family.
So we all gather at Cory and Brittany's house under the guise of "meeting Kimball." But before Brittany hands him over, she says, "We wanted to bring you two here today to talk. You sent us a really hurtful email, but you still show up here acting like nothing has happened. We are still really hurt by the things you said, and we want to understand what is going on here better. We want to put hard feelings behind us."
Immediately my grandpa is like, "I don't know what email you are talking about. I didn't send a hurtful email." My parents immediately start saying some of the things the email said. (I applaud my dad for keeping his temper. He has been wanting to tell my grandpa whats-what for years.) Suddenly (and yet not so suddenly at all, because I was expecting it), my grandpa stands up and heads for the door saying, "Well, I can see that we have just been called here for an inquisition, so I think I'm leaving." My brother, who had been successfully holding back until that point, stands up, heads for the doorway and blocks my grandpa's path. "You're not leaving." Grandpa vs. Cory. (Grandpa: 5'6", Cory: 6'3"). Yeah, he sat back down. But continued to pout throughout the whole thing.
Cory then lights into him with as much self control as could be expected of someone who has been harboring hatred for 25 years. He basically told him the things I have already listed as background in this post. We have spent our whole lives being yelled at and being told we do everything wrong. He treats everyone like they are below him and he is the most disrespectful person in the world. Cory wanted an apology and wanted him to stop treating everyone around him like idiots. My grandma was really offended when Cory brought up being yelled at as kids. She said, "Geez, I didn't know spending two weeks with us could possibly screw you up so badly." (She was putting words in Cory's mouth like crazy; neither grandparent has any fair fighting skills.) My grandpa said, "All I see is a room full of ungrateful people." Oh, I didn't realize we were supposed to thank you for treating us like vermin. Gotcha.
I stayed out of it. This is in a metaphorical sense, because I was in the middle of the room, and, therefore, quite in the thick of it. I couldn't muster up the nerve to say anything at all, except once when I said, "He never said that" when my grandma was putting words in Cory' mouth. Basically, I was shaking and terrified of saying anything. I have a really irrational fear of getting hit when people get mad at me. I don't know why. I wasn't hit as a child.
Anyway, things escalated a lot, and by the time my grandma was just as ready to leave as my grandpa, Cory was just mad enough to let them go. I had left the room to try to find a tissue (I was bawling), and my mom came dashing from the room with inconsolable tears. What in the world is happening? I though. This cannot possibly be real. Things usually work out, even after they have gotten pretty hard. We can't possibly be losing our grandparents. They care about us more to walk out of our lives.
They don't.
I could hear my brother yelling after them as the ascended the staircase to the front door.
"You will never have anything to do with Kimball. You're walking out of our lives. I hope you're happy."
I hope you're happy. That sentence has been ringing in my mind constantly for these two days since it happened.
I hope you're happy.
In retrospect, it's not really the worst thing in the world. My grandparents only showed their faces every once in a while. They call my mother every few weeks, but mostly, I don't hear from them. I have realized that my grandpa is even more of an arrogant a** hole than I thought. Gosh, I have never met anyone so stubborn and conceited. He said, "I'm sorry I ruined your life." Cory said, "Are you really sorry?" And grandpa spat back in his face, very much like a 2-year-old, "NO!"
They blamed Cory for being miserable all those summers ago. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Why didn't you tell your mom you didn't want to come?" Really? You blame a 5-year-old kid for not thinking rationally enough to come up with that, rather than own up to your own stupid problems? What arrogant people.
I am slightly glad it happened. It gave my dad the chance to say some really nice things about us. He was referring to the email where my grandpa called us worthless and ungrateful. My dad said that his children are his favorite people in the world, and that he wouldn't trade us for anyone or anything in the world. He also said that he respects the people we have become and loves being around us. I must say, despite all the ugliness of that day, it was really nice to hear.
I have decided to use my psychology-brain to call them out on their personality disorders. They have to have them. They are too obnoxiously oblivious to themselves to not have one. Grandpa has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and grandma is Codependent. Look it up.
I hope you're happy.
We'll see what the coming months bring. But I am not particularly hopeful.
I have never really written anything too personal on this thing, but I have to put these thoughts somewhere. And since I have no followers, why not?
Things have been bumpy with my maternal grandparents from day 1: parents start dating. I have always known my dad's feelings towards my grandpa, and when I was too young, I sided with my mother (gender-identified role model). However, as time has gone on, and I have dissected my childhood summers of spending time with them, I have realized something. My grandpa is pretty much a douche bag.
Could someone explain to me how an old man could possibly feel good about himself screaming his lungs hoarse at children under 10 years of age? How do you not feel like a dick? And I'm not saying that you couldn't do it if the child had actually done something wrong, but that's the thing. I remember getting yelled at for the most inane, absurd reasons. We would go camping in their trailer, and my brother and I would have to sleep on the floor in the main room. When we would roll over in the sleeping bags, the trailer would rock a little. Because its a trailer. It's on wheels. But I remember my grandpa screaming from the bedroom, "YOUR ROCKING THE WHOLE DAMN TRAILER!!!" Okay. What the crap am I supposed to do?
I also remember when I was stuck without my brother on a trip with them and they left me in the trailer with their stupid dogs while they went somewhere. I was probably 12. I sat on the couch and drew pictures. I glanced up at the room after about an hour and noticed that the dog had "done its business" all over the rug. I immediately tried to get the rug outside and try to clean it up, but seconds after I had noticed the "incident," my grandparents arrived. Boy, was the subject of ridicule for the rest of the trip. That was about three days. I was a "stupid" child who couldn't notice anything going on around her because she is so busy watching TV and being a retard. Apparently. I'm sorry I can't hear the sound of pooping?
Besides getting yelled at every single day I spent with them, there is also the way my grandpa deals with the world. Everyone is wrong. "Why are you doing it like that? You should do it like this. This way would be better and faster. I don't care if I don't know anything about it or know what your preferences are, you are wrong. Shut up." This was the thing that drove my dad crazy for so many years. My dad likes doing things right. My grandpa likes doing things fast. These ideas do not often align.
So we have been dealing with this nonsense for about 30 or so years. My brother has finally had enough. I don't blame him. Last summer, my parents remodeled a house, and my grandparents came over from Texas to stay for a few months to get it underway. My brother spent many hours out there helping. Or should I say, my brother spent many hours out there being criticized. It would drive any person crazy.
A few months ago, my grandpa sent my mother a hate-email. I don't know the exact contents, but I know that it basically slammed on my family big time. Key points: Dad and Cory are worthless and don't do anything right, Cory and I are ungrateful grandchildren, grandpa wants nothing to do with us. This made everyone really upset, especially my mom. She went several weeks without talking to them.
Then, last week, my grandma called my mom to announce that they were coming over to see Kimball, my new nephew. Whaaaat?? Didn't you say you hated us?
So they show up. My grandpa is acting like absolutely nothing has happened. Everything is peachy-keen and delightful. No one is buying this. My brother and sister-in-law are really upset that my grandpa has said all these really hateful things, but still shows up expecting for them to hand over the baby for them to coddle like they are decent great-grandparents or something. Not going to fly in this family.
So we all gather at Cory and Brittany's house under the guise of "meeting Kimball." But before Brittany hands him over, she says, "We wanted to bring you two here today to talk. You sent us a really hurtful email, but you still show up here acting like nothing has happened. We are still really hurt by the things you said, and we want to understand what is going on here better. We want to put hard feelings behind us."
Immediately my grandpa is like, "I don't know what email you are talking about. I didn't send a hurtful email." My parents immediately start saying some of the things the email said. (I applaud my dad for keeping his temper. He has been wanting to tell my grandpa whats-what for years.) Suddenly (and yet not so suddenly at all, because I was expecting it), my grandpa stands up and heads for the door saying, "Well, I can see that we have just been called here for an inquisition, so I think I'm leaving." My brother, who had been successfully holding back until that point, stands up, heads for the doorway and blocks my grandpa's path. "You're not leaving." Grandpa vs. Cory. (Grandpa: 5'6", Cory: 6'3"). Yeah, he sat back down. But continued to pout throughout the whole thing.
Cory then lights into him with as much self control as could be expected of someone who has been harboring hatred for 25 years. He basically told him the things I have already listed as background in this post. We have spent our whole lives being yelled at and being told we do everything wrong. He treats everyone like they are below him and he is the most disrespectful person in the world. Cory wanted an apology and wanted him to stop treating everyone around him like idiots. My grandma was really offended when Cory brought up being yelled at as kids. She said, "Geez, I didn't know spending two weeks with us could possibly screw you up so badly." (She was putting words in Cory's mouth like crazy; neither grandparent has any fair fighting skills.) My grandpa said, "All I see is a room full of ungrateful people." Oh, I didn't realize we were supposed to thank you for treating us like vermin. Gotcha.
I stayed out of it. This is in a metaphorical sense, because I was in the middle of the room, and, therefore, quite in the thick of it. I couldn't muster up the nerve to say anything at all, except once when I said, "He never said that" when my grandma was putting words in Cory' mouth. Basically, I was shaking and terrified of saying anything. I have a really irrational fear of getting hit when people get mad at me. I don't know why. I wasn't hit as a child.
Anyway, things escalated a lot, and by the time my grandma was just as ready to leave as my grandpa, Cory was just mad enough to let them go. I had left the room to try to find a tissue (I was bawling), and my mom came dashing from the room with inconsolable tears. What in the world is happening? I though. This cannot possibly be real. Things usually work out, even after they have gotten pretty hard. We can't possibly be losing our grandparents. They care about us more to walk out of our lives.
They don't.
I could hear my brother yelling after them as the ascended the staircase to the front door.
"You will never have anything to do with Kimball. You're walking out of our lives. I hope you're happy."
I hope you're happy. That sentence has been ringing in my mind constantly for these two days since it happened.
I hope you're happy.
In retrospect, it's not really the worst thing in the world. My grandparents only showed their faces every once in a while. They call my mother every few weeks, but mostly, I don't hear from them. I have realized that my grandpa is even more of an arrogant a** hole than I thought. Gosh, I have never met anyone so stubborn and conceited. He said, "I'm sorry I ruined your life." Cory said, "Are you really sorry?" And grandpa spat back in his face, very much like a 2-year-old, "NO!"
They blamed Cory for being miserable all those summers ago. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Why didn't you tell your mom you didn't want to come?" Really? You blame a 5-year-old kid for not thinking rationally enough to come up with that, rather than own up to your own stupid problems? What arrogant people.
I am slightly glad it happened. It gave my dad the chance to say some really nice things about us. He was referring to the email where my grandpa called us worthless and ungrateful. My dad said that his children are his favorite people in the world, and that he wouldn't trade us for anyone or anything in the world. He also said that he respects the people we have become and loves being around us. I must say, despite all the ugliness of that day, it was really nice to hear.
I have decided to use my psychology-brain to call them out on their personality disorders. They have to have them. They are too obnoxiously oblivious to themselves to not have one. Grandpa has Narcissistic Personality Disorder and grandma is Codependent. Look it up.
I hope you're happy.
We'll see what the coming months bring. But I am not particularly hopeful.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
If there's one thing I know . . .
All you great men of power, you who boast of your feats -
Politicians and entrepreneurs.
Can you safeguard your breath in the night while you sleep?
Keep your heart beating steady and sure?
As you lie in your bed, does the thought haunt your head
That you’re really, rather small?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
All you champions of science and rulers of men,
Can you summon the sun from its sleep?
Does the earth seek your counsel on how fast to spin?
Can you shut up the gates of the deep?
Don’t you know that all things hang, as if by a string,
O’er the darkness - poised to fall?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
All you big shots that swagger and stride with conceit,
Did you devise how your frame would be formed?
If you’d be raised in a palace, or live out in the streets,
Did you choose the place or the hour you’d be born?
Tell me what can you claim? Not a thing - not your name!
Tell me if you can recall just one thing,
That’s not a gift in this life?
Can you hear what’s been said?
Can you see now that everything’s grace after all?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
Dustin Kensrue
Politicians and entrepreneurs.
Can you safeguard your breath in the night while you sleep?
Keep your heart beating steady and sure?
As you lie in your bed, does the thought haunt your head
That you’re really, rather small?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
All you champions of science and rulers of men,
Can you summon the sun from its sleep?
Does the earth seek your counsel on how fast to spin?
Can you shut up the gates of the deep?
Don’t you know that all things hang, as if by a string,
O’er the darkness - poised to fall?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
All you big shots that swagger and stride with conceit,
Did you devise how your frame would be formed?
If you’d be raised in a palace, or live out in the streets,
Did you choose the place or the hour you’d be born?
Tell me what can you claim? Not a thing - not your name!
Tell me if you can recall just one thing,
That’s not a gift in this life?
Can you hear what’s been said?
Can you see now that everything’s grace after all?
If there’s one thing I know in this life: we are beggars all.
Dustin Kensrue
Thursday, September 8, 2011
My husband . . .
The title does not convey what this post will be about. Complaining? Bashing? Adoration? The third one, yes :)
Although I do have a lot to complain about after the week I've had, this is a grateful post. My husband is the best person I have ever known. He does so much for me. This week he has been doing more than usual.
I aggravated my SI joint in my lower back on Monday. And again this morning. So basically I have been hobbling around slowly a lot lately. Here are some of the things that have accompanied this irritating injury: pain while bending over, pain while standing up, pain while getting out of bed, pain while moving side to side, pain while walking, pain while sneezing, general pain. I think you get the picture. This pain (which has been pretty severe some of the time) has prevented me from doing a lot of things, or at least doing a lot of things without taking 5 minutes of struggling.
This is where my sweet husband comes in. He has been doing so much for me. There are little things, like picking things up off the floor because I can't bend over or getting the rice pack in the microwave so I can lay on the heat. But there have been a few times of excruciating pain that I have pretty much not been able to do anything for myself.
This morning, when I re-twisted the injury, I couldn't even move. What's worse, I was in the shower. Thank goodness I am married and didn't have to call in a roommate to come dry me off. So Jacob got to help me hobble out of the shower, help me get dressed, the whole sha-bang. While he was helping me get dressed, I got into a fit of such pain that I started drifting out of consciousness. Almost passing out was also accompanied by nausea. Jacob (who can't stand being around vomit) grabbed me a bowl and stood by rubbing my back as I gagged.
He has also been wonderful in helping me get things done. We had a lot of laundry to do yesterday, but I couldn't bend over enough to get anything out of the dryer. So he got to do it every time. Additionally, this morning I went out to buy my sister-in-law a present, and he came with me so I didn't have to carry it.
And although I have thanked him repeatedly for his generosity and sacrifice, he just keeps saying, "It's not a sacrifice, I love taking care of my honey."
What a sweetie. He is the best thing ever. I can't believe how lucky I am. :)
Although I do have a lot to complain about after the week I've had, this is a grateful post. My husband is the best person I have ever known. He does so much for me. This week he has been doing more than usual.
I aggravated my SI joint in my lower back on Monday. And again this morning. So basically I have been hobbling around slowly a lot lately. Here are some of the things that have accompanied this irritating injury: pain while bending over, pain while standing up, pain while getting out of bed, pain while moving side to side, pain while walking, pain while sneezing, general pain. I think you get the picture. This pain (which has been pretty severe some of the time) has prevented me from doing a lot of things, or at least doing a lot of things without taking 5 minutes of struggling.
This is where my sweet husband comes in. He has been doing so much for me. There are little things, like picking things up off the floor because I can't bend over or getting the rice pack in the microwave so I can lay on the heat. But there have been a few times of excruciating pain that I have pretty much not been able to do anything for myself.
This morning, when I re-twisted the injury, I couldn't even move. What's worse, I was in the shower. Thank goodness I am married and didn't have to call in a roommate to come dry me off. So Jacob got to help me hobble out of the shower, help me get dressed, the whole sha-bang. While he was helping me get dressed, I got into a fit of such pain that I started drifting out of consciousness. Almost passing out was also accompanied by nausea. Jacob (who can't stand being around vomit) grabbed me a bowl and stood by rubbing my back as I gagged.
He has also been wonderful in helping me get things done. We had a lot of laundry to do yesterday, but I couldn't bend over enough to get anything out of the dryer. So he got to do it every time. Additionally, this morning I went out to buy my sister-in-law a present, and he came with me so I didn't have to carry it.
And although I have thanked him repeatedly for his generosity and sacrifice, he just keeps saying, "It's not a sacrifice, I love taking care of my honey."
What a sweetie. He is the best thing ever. I can't believe how lucky I am. :)
Friday, August 19, 2011
Once upon a time . . .
Once upon a time there was a girl who had everything. Or, more specifically, she had a boy who meant Everything to her. Everything was exactly what she wanted. He paid attention to her. He kissed her when she needed it. He loved her. At least, he told her he loved her.
Then, all at once, Everything was gone. He left her, and the reality crashed through her world and demolished all the things she worked for. Confidence. Self-esteem. Purpose. She felt lost and hopeless. Each new day was more long and painful than the last. Then, just as suddenly as he had gone, Everything was back.
Life was renewed to the girl who lost Everything. She was happy. She was beautiful. At least, that's what he told her. Everything had changed and become better. This time, things would work out.
When things did not work out, she hurt more than last time. Could that even be possible. The loss of Everything seemed too great to bear. She thought her body would shut down from the pain of it all. Everything could not be gone. He would come back, just like last time.
And he did. He came back, apologetic. Telling her all the beautiful words she loved to her. "I love you." "You are the one for me." Filling her with his beautiful lies. He kissed her, touched her, held her in all the ways he used to. And then, when the night was over, he was gone.
Three weeks passed, and she was in a trance. Food didn't taste. Sleep didn't welcome her each night. The only thing that she could do to pass the time was run. Run until her body dropped those pounds that might be keeping Everything away. Five pounds. Ten pounds. Fifteen pounds. Then he came again.
Hours and hours they lay together, whispering their sweet nothings that were, as always, really nothing at all. He breathed his wonderful lies into her soul and they renewed the dying spirit that had resided there for three weeks.
And then the truth came, as it always does.
"This was a mistake. I can't see you anymore. This won't happen again."
But she knew better. This time, only two weeks passed before he was back, with his sweet tantalizing words of praise and his increasingly wandering hands. There are no limits on a relationship that doesn't exist. She let the hours crawl by as she waste away her time with the one that could do no wrong in her eyes. And then he was gone again.
She couldn't contain the excitement of these visits. She told. And they told. Soon the World knew about the nighttime wandering and hours of bliss. And the World interfered. He was reprimanded and was forced to feel the guilt that confused her. What was there to feel guilty for? He was merely showing her how much he loved her. That he really was her Everything.
But the end would come, now that the World knew. He came to her, shamefully, with only a moment to spare, as he told her how things would be.
"You can't be in my life anymore. Don't try to talk to me. Don't be around me. Don't come to places I will be. I will never come back. Stay away from me and forget about me."
As she clattered to the ground, he walked away. Everything turned to nothing. And nothing feels like hell. She scraped against the ground as her body writhed in pain. She felt her body disappearing into nothing as the escaped into the Death that was so surely coming to claim her. Death can be the only thing waiting on the other side of pain like this. She felt like the smallest thing in the world. And she wanted that merciful master of Death to come take her from that floor and remove the sorrow that threatened to tear her apart.
As the weeks passed, Death did not come to get her. And neither did he. She didn't see him at all. Only heard of him. Heard of his new Everything. The one he whispered to "I love you." At least, that's what they said.
At last, the shadow was lifted from her eyes. And she understood what it meant. Hours of loving bliss to her were merely passing of time and a sick release of passion and lust. The body she had worked on, for him, felt ugly, used, and dirty. And then the realization came. The lies. The facade. The love that she had participated in was never to be reciprocated. For in that grand game of love, she had played alone.
And she, alone, had suffered for it.
She stands on the other side of it now. Alive and whole. And knowing that it is only her who can change herself from the one who tolerates Everything to the one who knows for herself what it is to be truly loved.
To love herself.
Then, all at once, Everything was gone. He left her, and the reality crashed through her world and demolished all the things she worked for. Confidence. Self-esteem. Purpose. She felt lost and hopeless. Each new day was more long and painful than the last. Then, just as suddenly as he had gone, Everything was back.
Life was renewed to the girl who lost Everything. She was happy. She was beautiful. At least, that's what he told her. Everything had changed and become better. This time, things would work out.
When things did not work out, she hurt more than last time. Could that even be possible. The loss of Everything seemed too great to bear. She thought her body would shut down from the pain of it all. Everything could not be gone. He would come back, just like last time.
And he did. He came back, apologetic. Telling her all the beautiful words she loved to her. "I love you." "You are the one for me." Filling her with his beautiful lies. He kissed her, touched her, held her in all the ways he used to. And then, when the night was over, he was gone.
Three weeks passed, and she was in a trance. Food didn't taste. Sleep didn't welcome her each night. The only thing that she could do to pass the time was run. Run until her body dropped those pounds that might be keeping Everything away. Five pounds. Ten pounds. Fifteen pounds. Then he came again.
Hours and hours they lay together, whispering their sweet nothings that were, as always, really nothing at all. He breathed his wonderful lies into her soul and they renewed the dying spirit that had resided there for three weeks.
And then the truth came, as it always does.
"This was a mistake. I can't see you anymore. This won't happen again."
But she knew better. This time, only two weeks passed before he was back, with his sweet tantalizing words of praise and his increasingly wandering hands. There are no limits on a relationship that doesn't exist. She let the hours crawl by as she waste away her time with the one that could do no wrong in her eyes. And then he was gone again.
She couldn't contain the excitement of these visits. She told. And they told. Soon the World knew about the nighttime wandering and hours of bliss. And the World interfered. He was reprimanded and was forced to feel the guilt that confused her. What was there to feel guilty for? He was merely showing her how much he loved her. That he really was her Everything.
But the end would come, now that the World knew. He came to her, shamefully, with only a moment to spare, as he told her how things would be.
"You can't be in my life anymore. Don't try to talk to me. Don't be around me. Don't come to places I will be. I will never come back. Stay away from me and forget about me."
As she clattered to the ground, he walked away. Everything turned to nothing. And nothing feels like hell. She scraped against the ground as her body writhed in pain. She felt her body disappearing into nothing as the escaped into the Death that was so surely coming to claim her. Death can be the only thing waiting on the other side of pain like this. She felt like the smallest thing in the world. And she wanted that merciful master of Death to come take her from that floor and remove the sorrow that threatened to tear her apart.
As the weeks passed, Death did not come to get her. And neither did he. She didn't see him at all. Only heard of him. Heard of his new Everything. The one he whispered to "I love you." At least, that's what they said.
At last, the shadow was lifted from her eyes. And she understood what it meant. Hours of loving bliss to her were merely passing of time and a sick release of passion and lust. The body she had worked on, for him, felt ugly, used, and dirty. And then the realization came. The lies. The facade. The love that she had participated in was never to be reciprocated. For in that grand game of love, she had played alone.
And she, alone, had suffered for it.
She stands on the other side of it now. Alive and whole. And knowing that it is only her who can change herself from the one who tolerates Everything to the one who knows for herself what it is to be truly loved.
To love herself.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
I am thankful for . . .
Lately I have been so impressed with how blessed I am. I don't mean to rub it in anyone's face, but I am crazy blessed. So many times in a week, I just have to stop and think to myself, How in the world is all this working out so well? Normal people's lives cannot possible work out like this. I just am so amazed at all the things that God has given me. Besides the most obvious one (an amazing husband), I have been so blessed with my family, finances, and, well, just me. God blessed me with a perfectly functional body, a capable mind, and talents that have helped me achieve success for myself.
The other day I was reading in Mosiah, chapter 2, and I read the verses about how we could do everything we could to praise and thank God, serve him every second of every day, and still be unprofitable servants. I definitely know that I am an unprofitable servant, and that I have screwed up so many times its not even funny. Yet, He still blesses me so much.
I am so grateful that I have the truth in my life and that I am able to receive such love from God and that I am able to serve Him to the best of my abilities. Even if, after all of my life spent serving Him, I am still indebted to Him.
The other day I was reading in Mosiah, chapter 2, and I read the verses about how we could do everything we could to praise and thank God, serve him every second of every day, and still be unprofitable servants. I definitely know that I am an unprofitable servant, and that I have screwed up so many times its not even funny. Yet, He still blesses me so much.
I am so grateful that I have the truth in my life and that I am able to receive such love from God and that I am able to serve Him to the best of my abilities. Even if, after all of my life spent serving Him, I am still indebted to Him.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Let me tell you about this piece here . . .
Something I have noticed while working in an art gallery: Art brings out the pompous, know-it-all in some people. Often times, this makes them appear like a blithering idiot (Harry Potter insult). Maybe I just don't know these people and they are actually like this all the time, but it sure seems like a lot of people come into the gallery and feel like they need to explain everything to the poor people in their insufferable company.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."
"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")
"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)
"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)
"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")
Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.
I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.
"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"
Thanks for that.
Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.
UPDATE
Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.
I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.
So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.
UPDATE
Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.
Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.
(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"
(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"
"Where would you even hang that?"
"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)
I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.
Monday, July 18, 2011
The greatest fiction ever written . . .
Two posts in one day. I'm on a roll. (Serious spoilers in this one.)
Tomorrow night I am going to go see "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" with my husband. This is a monumental day, although it was more of a monumental day when the book series actually ended.
It marks the ending of a generational bonding moment really. When people talk about cohort effects in psychology classes years from now, maybe we will be referred to as the "Harry Potter" generation. We were the ones that were young while it came out. We were the perfect age to read the first one, still considered child-young adult fiction, and yet mature enough to read and understand the Deathly Hallows when it came out. Personally, I am glad that I apart of this generation. Harry Potter is so dang amazing.
I don't know how to even express it sometimes, but I think that Harry Potter is one of the most masterfully written book series of all time. I feel this way for several reasons.
Firstly, there is something exciting about reading stories that are monumental. There are plenty of books about everyday life. But Harry Potter is about the eternal fight of good vs. evil. Saving the world from evil is a lot more interesting to read about than breaking up with someone or junior prom. I like reading books that have a real purpose and meaning to them.
Second, I love the intricacies of the series (cannot believe that is a word.) There are so many tiny pieces of this series that fit together so nicely and make the story really seem realistic. J. K. Rowling is the queen of tying up loose ends. I am so impressed with the way she works in little things from the earlier books so they become significant in the last books.
Third, and perhaps I will step into controversial ground here, the symbolism in this book is amazing. Everytime I read the Deathly Hallows, I can't help being reminded of Christ. Yes, Harry is far from perfect and he is not the best Christ-figure in literature, but when he walks into death, willingly, lead by his white-haired father figure, I am reminded of the terrifying and painful sacrifice that Christ made to save us. Not to mention the whole resurrection thing. But I love that something that so many people deem as "evil" and banned it from libraries reminds me of the higher purpose in life.
So tomorrow night symbolizes the end of a long journey for me. From reading the Sorceror's stone in elementary school, to closing the final page of the Deathly Hallows, from watching the first movie, with its awkward children and sub-par visual effects, to experiencing "the motion-picture event of a lifetime" (that just happened to gross $100 million on opening day), it has been a great ride.
I will forever love Harry.
Tomorrow night I am going to go see "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2" with my husband. This is a monumental day, although it was more of a monumental day when the book series actually ended.
It marks the ending of a generational bonding moment really. When people talk about cohort effects in psychology classes years from now, maybe we will be referred to as the "Harry Potter" generation. We were the ones that were young while it came out. We were the perfect age to read the first one, still considered child-young adult fiction, and yet mature enough to read and understand the Deathly Hallows when it came out. Personally, I am glad that I apart of this generation. Harry Potter is so dang amazing.
I don't know how to even express it sometimes, but I think that Harry Potter is one of the most masterfully written book series of all time. I feel this way for several reasons.
Firstly, there is something exciting about reading stories that are monumental. There are plenty of books about everyday life. But Harry Potter is about the eternal fight of good vs. evil. Saving the world from evil is a lot more interesting to read about than breaking up with someone or junior prom. I like reading books that have a real purpose and meaning to them.
Second, I love the intricacies of the series (cannot believe that is a word.) There are so many tiny pieces of this series that fit together so nicely and make the story really seem realistic. J. K. Rowling is the queen of tying up loose ends. I am so impressed with the way she works in little things from the earlier books so they become significant in the last books.
Third, and perhaps I will step into controversial ground here, the symbolism in this book is amazing. Everytime I read the Deathly Hallows, I can't help being reminded of Christ. Yes, Harry is far from perfect and he is not the best Christ-figure in literature, but when he walks into death, willingly, lead by his white-haired father figure, I am reminded of the terrifying and painful sacrifice that Christ made to save us. Not to mention the whole resurrection thing. But I love that something that so many people deem as "evil" and banned it from libraries reminds me of the higher purpose in life.
So tomorrow night symbolizes the end of a long journey for me. From reading the Sorceror's stone in elementary school, to closing the final page of the Deathly Hallows, from watching the first movie, with its awkward children and sub-par visual effects, to experiencing "the motion-picture event of a lifetime" (that just happened to gross $100 million on opening day), it has been a great ride.
I will forever love Harry.
I Like Screamo Music . . .
Yeah, I really do. I am here today to defend it. Because I know the usual labels. "Emo." "Devil music." Etc. But I will tell you why I love it (you meaning the inside of my head because I have no followers.)
When I was younger, right after Britney Spears became a whore and I didn't know who to listen to anymore because I was NOT going to listen to a whore, I was super lost in the music world. I thought that listening to music was fun, there was just nothing out there that I really liked. Except blink-182. But there's only so many times that you can listen to the same album before it starts getting old. And there are only so many times that I can steal my brother's CD before he starts getting really mad.
So began my aimless wandering through the music world to try to find something I really liked. My dad had The Eagles, The Bee Gee's, Pink Floyd. My mom had Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I wanted something that I really loved listening to. It took a while to find it.
High school consisted of piggy-backing off of my friends. They liked popular music. Things with a loud bumping beat and a woman trying to hit every note in an 8 octave range. Mostly it was irritating. I found Green Day but a lot of their stuff is, well . . . questionable. Continual emptiness of the music world.
When I was a Senior in high school, I finally found something I really liked. John Mayer. He fit my mood so well and he sang about things that mattered, much unlike the artists playing in my friend's cars. Okay, so now I have blink-182 and John Mayer. Still only amount to about 60 songs. There has to be more out there, right?
During college, I was introduced to the insanity that is screamo music. By a group of return missionaries, no less. It took some getting used to, but when I was with them, that was all we listened to. And I was finding that I really liked it. I know what you are thinking. . . brainwashing, right? No no
Reasons why I like screamo music:
*Energy: I have never listened to anything that has made me want to get up and move around and wakes me up and want to start punch dancing or something. I just love how excited I get when I listen to it. Its like a legal drug or something. (Yeah, that's me showing off my complete ignorance of the drug world. No worries.)
*Depth: I have never heard such amazing lyrics than while listening to screamo. These people don't just write about sex, drugs, and money (thanks, rap). They have so much to say on the most complicated and deep subjects. No one exemplifies this better than Thrice. Dustin Kensrue is not the immature, idiotic narcissist that other musicians are.
*Musicality: You can't be an "okay" musician and be in a good screamo band. There is no such thing as DDDD EEEE AAAA GGGG riffs with these guitarists. And I have never heard such amazing drumming in my entire life. I love the complexity and the talent that these bands have. This is especially true with The Devil Wears Prada (approach this band with caution, they are a little wild). "With Roots Above And Branches Below" is one of the most intricate, complex albums I have ever heard. I feel like I could listen to it over and over (like I already do) and find something new about the music that I had missed before.
*Worship: Though this is not true for a lot of screamo bands, a lot of the ones I listen to are Christian bands. These means no perversion and a lot of worshipful, thoughtful lyrics. I can tell that a lot of these bands have come unto Christ and love Him just as much as I do.
I know that many people think that these bands are awful, crazy devil-music. But, at least for the bands I love, that is far from true. The sound is hard and emotional, but there are many bands that are far from devil-worshiping. Don't get me wrong, they are out there.
Just thought I would share my message of how much I love this music and give you some solid reasons why you should, at the very least, not hate it.
When I was younger, right after Britney Spears became a whore and I didn't know who to listen to anymore because I was NOT going to listen to a whore, I was super lost in the music world. I thought that listening to music was fun, there was just nothing out there that I really liked. Except blink-182. But there's only so many times that you can listen to the same album before it starts getting old. And there are only so many times that I can steal my brother's CD before he starts getting really mad.
So began my aimless wandering through the music world to try to find something I really liked. My dad had The Eagles, The Bee Gee's, Pink Floyd. My mom had Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival. I wanted something that I really loved listening to. It took a while to find it.
High school consisted of piggy-backing off of my friends. They liked popular music. Things with a loud bumping beat and a woman trying to hit every note in an 8 octave range. Mostly it was irritating. I found Green Day but a lot of their stuff is, well . . . questionable. Continual emptiness of the music world.
When I was a Senior in high school, I finally found something I really liked. John Mayer. He fit my mood so well and he sang about things that mattered, much unlike the artists playing in my friend's cars. Okay, so now I have blink-182 and John Mayer. Still only amount to about 60 songs. There has to be more out there, right?
During college, I was introduced to the insanity that is screamo music. By a group of return missionaries, no less. It took some getting used to, but when I was with them, that was all we listened to. And I was finding that I really liked it. I know what you are thinking. . . brainwashing, right? No no
Reasons why I like screamo music:
*Energy: I have never listened to anything that has made me want to get up and move around and wakes me up and want to start punch dancing or something. I just love how excited I get when I listen to it. Its like a legal drug or something. (Yeah, that's me showing off my complete ignorance of the drug world. No worries.)
*Depth: I have never heard such amazing lyrics than while listening to screamo. These people don't just write about sex, drugs, and money (thanks, rap). They have so much to say on the most complicated and deep subjects. No one exemplifies this better than Thrice. Dustin Kensrue is not the immature, idiotic narcissist that other musicians are.
*Musicality: You can't be an "okay" musician and be in a good screamo band. There is no such thing as DDDD EEEE AAAA GGGG riffs with these guitarists. And I have never heard such amazing drumming in my entire life. I love the complexity and the talent that these bands have. This is especially true with The Devil Wears Prada (approach this band with caution, they are a little wild). "With Roots Above And Branches Below" is one of the most intricate, complex albums I have ever heard. I feel like I could listen to it over and over (like I already do) and find something new about the music that I had missed before.
*Worship: Though this is not true for a lot of screamo bands, a lot of the ones I listen to are Christian bands. These means no perversion and a lot of worshipful, thoughtful lyrics. I can tell that a lot of these bands have come unto Christ and love Him just as much as I do.
I know that many people think that these bands are awful, crazy devil-music. But, at least for the bands I love, that is far from true. The sound is hard and emotional, but there are many bands that are far from devil-worshiping. Don't get me wrong, they are out there.
Just thought I would share my message of how much I love this music and give you some solid reasons why you should, at the very least, not hate it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
The Middle Place . . .
No, not the lame attempt at a memoir by Kelly Corrigan. The place in between my childhood and my adulthood. Still in school, though working half the time. Still in my hometown, though not living with my parents. Still in contact with some high school friends, but not really.
When is my life going to start? When am I going to get out of here? When am I going to spend more time picking up toys and changing diapers than painting my nails and shaving my legs? When am I going to get a job that pays more than $7.50/hour? When will I leave what is still my childhood/adolescence and enter adulthood.
Step 1: Get married. Check.
Step 2: Graduate from college. So close!
Step 3: Attend graduate school. Nooooo! I don't wanna!
Step 4: Have a baby. Yikes.
Step 5: Move to where our life will be, wherever Jacob can get a good job. Wait, what?
Step 6: Start a career. No thanks.
Step 7: Buy a house. With what money?!
Step 8: Live your life. Finally
When is my life going to start? When am I going to get out of here? When am I going to spend more time picking up toys and changing diapers than painting my nails and shaving my legs? When am I going to get a job that pays more than $7.50/hour? When will I leave what is still my childhood/adolescence and enter adulthood.
Step 1: Get married. Check.
Step 2: Graduate from college. So close!
Step 3: Attend graduate school. Nooooo! I don't wanna!
Step 4: Have a baby. Yikes.
Step 5: Move to where our life will be, wherever Jacob can get a good job. Wait, what?
Step 6: Start a career. No thanks.
Step 7: Buy a house. With what money?!
Step 8: Live your life. Finally
Friendship is . . .
. . . I don't know. Can't think of a word that encompasses it all. Probably because the state of friendship varies so much from person to person, friendship to friendship. I have been thinking a lot lately about those people that were such a large part of my life a few years ago, and what in the crap happened to them.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
I hate losing touch with people. But sometimes I feel like its inevitable. I can't think of a single person that I remained friends with for more than 6 or 7 years. Why is that? Maybe its that people can't stand being around me after that long. I don't know. It bothers me.
Someday I very much hope to track down some friends that will actually stick with me. Not these people who are "fair-weather" friends. There when things are fun and exciting. Disappear when your world is falling in. Why can't people just be consistent? Why can't people "be there for you?" People can't be bothered, I guess.
People change. This is nothing new. One person in particular was stalwart and amazing when I first came to know her. She was valiant and strong in her convictions, fearlessly honest, and knew where her priorities were. Where is she now? I don't know. Somewhere far away, making half-hearted suggestions that we should "get together sometime" (could a statement be more vague?). Married to a guy she shouldn't be married to because her mind is fleeting and she doesn't care what she does anymore. She's not responsible for anything. I don't even know her anymore. This is why I don't really follow through on the "getting together" suggestion.
Even some of the friends I have managed to stay in contact with, I am bewildered by. Who are you? Do I even know you? You weren't like this when I knew you.
So now I am here. My best friend is my husband. My next closest friend is hundreds of miles away with very limited contact. When my husband is working, I clean the house, watch The Office, and read Harry Potter. Hoping one day I will find someone who is actually worth getting to know and actually worth inviting over. Someone who won't leave when the trauma comes, when I am sobbing, when I need them most.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Europe was . . .
So amazing. I can't believe that at only 21 I got to go to Europe and experience some of the most amazing sights the world has to offer. We were so lucky to be able to take the opportunity now when we are young instead of waiting until after our future kids have grown up (i.e. 30 years from now). And what a great chance for us to have five weeks, just Jacob and I, to be with one another more than we have in the past six months!
Vienna is one of my new favorite cities. I can't quite explain why. Yes, it can be a very wicked place. Smoking, racy advertisements. But there is something about it there that I just love. It is probably the architecture. People back then (1500's - 1800's) definitely cared more about the exterior of their buildings than American builders do now. And although I can't say that I believe in what the Catholic church teaches, they sure do make some beautiful cathedrals. Vienna is chuck full of them. Stephansdom, Karlskirche, Votiv kirche, St. Peter's . . . they were all so beautiful. I also had the opportunity to get to know Vienna really well. Their U-Bahn system is amazing, and gave me the opportunity to go anywhere in the city I wanted to go. It easily began to feel like home, and while we were visiting Prague, I referred to Vienna as home. I definitely want to go back there someday.
I very much enjoyed the food offerings of Austria and Germany. Man-o-man, Wiener Schnitzel is so good (no, not the American fast food chain; they've got it ALL wrong). European Fanta is crazy good. I couldn't imagine that using real fruit juice could make a drink so much better, but it does. The Turkish people are definitely doing something right with Döners. They are so good, even if I get it "nur fleisch." And while in Germany, I have never experienced such amazing sausages. Münchener Weißwurst, Nürnberger wurst, and the Coburger wurst were some of the most delicious things I have ever put in my mouth!! The Coburger wurst is roasted over pine cones and gives it the most crazy awesome flavor. Even just thinking about it is making my mouth water.
Germany is very beautiful. Vienna is a lot of concrete, but i got to see so much green while I was in Germany. Rolling hills of green green green. Coming back to Utah made me feel like I was wearing brown sunglasses. (Don't get me wrong, I still love Utah). Rothenburg was a great place. It felt and looked just like you would think an old-fashioned, little German town would look. Nürnberg was one of my favorite cities we visited. Besides their crazy awesome sausage, the buildings there are so beautiful. It reminded me a lot of Vienna. Bamberg was also very cool (besides all the drunk teenagers). We walked up the big hill to a cathedral and palace that overlooked the city. We had an amazing view of the red-shingled houses and the stormy atmosphere added to the effect.
Coming home was bittersweet. Yes, I will miss the places I have seen and I will miss the food. But there is something about being home and being back in routine that feels nice. It is also nice to wash my clothes in a washing machine instead of in a sink, by hand.
All in all, the best vacation I have ever been on. I got to spend my first anniversary in one of my favorite cities, and it was wonderful to spend so much time with my sweetie.
Vienna is one of my new favorite cities. I can't quite explain why. Yes, it can be a very wicked place. Smoking, racy advertisements. But there is something about it there that I just love. It is probably the architecture. People back then (1500's - 1800's) definitely cared more about the exterior of their buildings than American builders do now. And although I can't say that I believe in what the Catholic church teaches, they sure do make some beautiful cathedrals. Vienna is chuck full of them. Stephansdom, Karlskirche, Votiv kirche, St. Peter's . . . they were all so beautiful. I also had the opportunity to get to know Vienna really well. Their U-Bahn system is amazing, and gave me the opportunity to go anywhere in the city I wanted to go. It easily began to feel like home, and while we were visiting Prague, I referred to Vienna as home. I definitely want to go back there someday.
I very much enjoyed the food offerings of Austria and Germany. Man-o-man, Wiener Schnitzel is so good (no, not the American fast food chain; they've got it ALL wrong). European Fanta is crazy good. I couldn't imagine that using real fruit juice could make a drink so much better, but it does. The Turkish people are definitely doing something right with Döners. They are so good, even if I get it "nur fleisch." And while in Germany, I have never experienced such amazing sausages. Münchener Weißwurst, Nürnberger wurst, and the Coburger wurst were some of the most delicious things I have ever put in my mouth!! The Coburger wurst is roasted over pine cones and gives it the most crazy awesome flavor. Even just thinking about it is making my mouth water.
Germany is very beautiful. Vienna is a lot of concrete, but i got to see so much green while I was in Germany. Rolling hills of green green green. Coming back to Utah made me feel like I was wearing brown sunglasses. (Don't get me wrong, I still love Utah). Rothenburg was a great place. It felt and looked just like you would think an old-fashioned, little German town would look. Nürnberg was one of my favorite cities we visited. Besides their crazy awesome sausage, the buildings there are so beautiful. It reminded me a lot of Vienna. Bamberg was also very cool (besides all the drunk teenagers). We walked up the big hill to a cathedral and palace that overlooked the city. We had an amazing view of the red-shingled houses and the stormy atmosphere added to the effect.
Coming home was bittersweet. Yes, I will miss the places I have seen and I will miss the food. But there is something about being home and being back in routine that feels nice. It is also nice to wash my clothes in a washing machine instead of in a sink, by hand.
All in all, the best vacation I have ever been on. I got to spend my first anniversary in one of my favorite cities, and it was wonderful to spend so much time with my sweetie.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Life is unfair . . . sometimes . . .
I don't know why I can't focus on writing my essay. I guess I just want to write other things. This is why I am here.
Life can be so dumb sometimes. And really unfair. I really dislike it when people don't suffer the consequences of their choices; the suffering gets deferred to someone else. Like me. I am not saying that I am suffering, trust me, I love my life. But I do have to deal with the issues of someone else because they won't man-up and do it themselves.
Once upon a time, I dated a guy who turned out to be a jerk. That ended in the most ugly way imaginable and I am still suffering the emotional consequences of his . . . jerkiness. But I will have you know that he is the one who destroyed our relationship. I mean, really, obliterated it. Stuck a hand-grenade in the middle of it and ran. And yet, I am the one who's still cleaning up after it.
(I don't know why I am being so secretive about the details, it's not like anyone reads this.)
Anyway, I find it incredibly annoying that even though I am the one who was hurt by everything he did to me, I am still the one cleaning up after him. I am the one who doesn't get invited to things because he might be there.
He's the one who still talks crap about me to our friends. He's the one who runs away from me when he sees me. He's the one who has so much hatred for me. He's the one who left me dying, face down on the floor.
Personally, I think he is the one who should sit at home when everyone is out having a good time. He should be the one dealing with the consequences of his own decisions.
But I am just a little bitter.
Just a little.
Life can be so dumb sometimes. And really unfair. I really dislike it when people don't suffer the consequences of their choices; the suffering gets deferred to someone else. Like me. I am not saying that I am suffering, trust me, I love my life. But I do have to deal with the issues of someone else because they won't man-up and do it themselves.
Once upon a time, I dated a guy who turned out to be a jerk. That ended in the most ugly way imaginable and I am still suffering the emotional consequences of his . . . jerkiness. But I will have you know that he is the one who destroyed our relationship. I mean, really, obliterated it. Stuck a hand-grenade in the middle of it and ran. And yet, I am the one who's still cleaning up after it.
(I don't know why I am being so secretive about the details, it's not like anyone reads this.)
Anyway, I find it incredibly annoying that even though I am the one who was hurt by everything he did to me, I am still the one cleaning up after him. I am the one who doesn't get invited to things because he might be there.
He's the one who still talks crap about me to our friends. He's the one who runs away from me when he sees me. He's the one who has so much hatred for me. He's the one who left me dying, face down on the floor.
Personally, I think he is the one who should sit at home when everyone is out having a good time. He should be the one dealing with the consequences of his own decisions.
But I am just a little bitter.
Just a little.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Some people are just so . . .
This is not a cynical post, which the title may have led you to believe.
I am very excited now. I get excited when humanity shows me its still humane. I get excited when people show me they know how to be people and not animals.
I am grateful for grateful people.
That is all.
Is that so bad?
I enjoy those people who take the time to acknowledge the things that other people do for them.
I enjoy those people who surprise you with a bit more support and follow-through than you were expecting.
Some days, people disgust me.
Today is not one of those days.
I am very excited now. I get excited when humanity shows me its still humane. I get excited when people show me they know how to be people and not animals.
I am grateful for grateful people.
That is all.
Is that so bad?
I enjoy those people who take the time to acknowledge the things that other people do for them.
I enjoy those people who surprise you with a bit more support and follow-through than you were expecting.
Some days, people disgust me.
Today is not one of those days.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Growing up . . .
I spoke with my advisor last week to plan out my senior year. I can't believe I will have a Bachelor's degree in just over a year. Two more semesters. Nine more classes. It really snuck up on me, and now I have to worry about the GRE and grad school and starting a real life. Sometimes I wish I were still six years old. I wish I could go ouside in a shorts and a t-shirt and play in the mud. I wish I could still sleep in the backyard with my brother in a sleeping bag. I wish I could still play with plastic horses and Beanie Babies until I fell asleep face down on the floor. Life was so simple and easy. But I didn't know enough to realize it.
All kids want to do it grow up and get older. All I want to do is be 3 1/2 feet tall and go to first grade.
When I was young, I was constantly concerned with the future. Being old enough to date. Being old enough to drive. Being old enough to stay out later than 10:00. Now I am stuck. Stuck somewhere between the future and the past. By this, I do not mean the present. Half of the time I think about the next 8 tasks and when I should take the GRE and when I'll have to get a new job and when I'll have to move to grad school. The other half of the time I am thinking about the past. How fun it was to be 14 and just play all summer with my friends or be 8 and just ride my bike for hours and hours. How fun it was last summer when I wasn't taking the GRE or worrying about anything in particular.
I forget about my presence in the present. Right now, when I'm thinking about it, I can feel its weight. The homework assignment open in another window, the soreness of my calves from work, the strain of my eyelids from a long day. But soon enough, my mind will drift into another year, another decade, when reminiscing or predicting is more important that what I am doing.
One day, when I'm grown up, I'll learn how to live in the present. And to appreciate the moments that I have.
I'm going to go kiss my husband now.
All kids want to do it grow up and get older. All I want to do is be 3 1/2 feet tall and go to first grade.
When I was young, I was constantly concerned with the future. Being old enough to date. Being old enough to drive. Being old enough to stay out later than 10:00. Now I am stuck. Stuck somewhere between the future and the past. By this, I do not mean the present. Half of the time I think about the next 8 tasks and when I should take the GRE and when I'll have to get a new job and when I'll have to move to grad school. The other half of the time I am thinking about the past. How fun it was to be 14 and just play all summer with my friends or be 8 and just ride my bike for hours and hours. How fun it was last summer when I wasn't taking the GRE or worrying about anything in particular.
I forget about my presence in the present. Right now, when I'm thinking about it, I can feel its weight. The homework assignment open in another window, the soreness of my calves from work, the strain of my eyelids from a long day. But soon enough, my mind will drift into another year, another decade, when reminiscing or predicting is more important that what I am doing.
One day, when I'm grown up, I'll learn how to live in the present. And to appreciate the moments that I have.
I'm going to go kiss my husband now.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Love is . . .
Love is blinding.
Love is crippling.
Nothing with can destroy your life like love can.
Love is intense.
Love is riveting.
Love can leave you reeling.
Love is not a crush.
A crush is blinding.
A crush is riveting.
A crush is fleeting.
A crush is momentary.
A crush means nothing.
Because it holds no weight.
A crush is a paper cup.
A crush lasts a week.
A crush is recyclable.
A crush is disposable.
A crush is flippant.
A crush means nothing
Because it holds no weight.
Love holds the weight.
Love is binding.
Love is complex.
Love is sure.
Love is steady.
Love is secure.
Because it can't be changed by a momentary glance.
A solemn moment in time.
Love endures.
Love perpetuates.
Love teaches.
Love entrances.
Love frees as it binds.
Love makes you better.
A crush makes you fantasize.
Love lives in the moment.
A crush leaves you wounded.
Love heals your bruises and scars.
A crush gives you sorrow.
Love makes you grateful.
Love creates.
Love simplifies.
Love equalizes.
"So come what may, I won't abandon. I won't leave you behind. Because love is a loyalty sworn, not a burning for a moment." -The Weight
Love is crippling.
Nothing with can destroy your life like love can.
Love is intense.
Love is riveting.
Love can leave you reeling.
Love is not a crush.
A crush is blinding.
A crush is riveting.
A crush is fleeting.
A crush is momentary.
A crush means nothing.
Because it holds no weight.
A crush is a paper cup.
A crush lasts a week.
A crush is recyclable.
A crush is disposable.
A crush is flippant.
A crush means nothing
Because it holds no weight.
Love holds the weight.
Love is binding.
Love is complex.
Love is sure.
Love is steady.
Love is secure.
Because it can't be changed by a momentary glance.
A solemn moment in time.
Love endures.
Love perpetuates.
Love teaches.
Love entrances.
Love frees as it binds.
Love makes you better.
A crush makes you fantasize.
Love lives in the moment.
A crush leaves you wounded.
Love heals your bruises and scars.
A crush gives you sorrow.
Love makes you grateful.
Love creates.
Love simplifies.
Love equalizes.
"So come what may, I won't abandon. I won't leave you behind. Because love is a loyalty sworn, not a burning for a moment." -The Weight
Friday, March 4, 2011
In two months . . .
In two months, we will be in Vienna. Crazy! Plane tickets are bought, Jacob's fees are paid, my new passport is here. Things are coming along so well. We still have a lot to do, but I am so excited. This is going to be the best anniversary ever!!
Things left to do:
Pay my fees
Plan out the trip into Germany
Confirm flight
Buy bus tickets down to Vegas
Stop the mail
Pay rent in advance
Pack
Etc.
It's hard to get stressed out about any of this when I am just so dang excited to go!
I'm trying to figure out some things I can do while Jacob is in class during the day. So far, I am just planning on going to the giant art museum there. There is a Sigmund Freud museum there too, so that might have to be on the list too!
Things left to do:
Pay my fees
Plan out the trip into Germany
Confirm flight
Buy bus tickets down to Vegas
Stop the mail
Pay rent in advance
Pack
Etc.
It's hard to get stressed out about any of this when I am just so dang excited to go!
I'm trying to figure out some things I can do while Jacob is in class during the day. So far, I am just planning on going to the giant art museum there. There is a Sigmund Freud museum there too, so that might have to be on the list too!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Joy is . . .
not a passing fancy or a fleeting moment. Joy is permanent marker on a new pair of pants. Once joy has touched you, it is imprinted on your soul. You never are the same.
Joy is fragile. Its not like pleasure. Pleasure is easy to find, temporary, and translucent. Joy is like hand blown glass. It will last longer than you do if you care for it. But if let it slip past you, it is gone. Painfully gone.
Joy comes in those moments that leave you smiling for eight days. Those moments that you can't stop thinking about. Those moments that leave you full and whole. Those moments that, if you could, you would play over and over again to fill your whole lifetime.
Joy comes from hard work, patience, virtue, and appreciation of the beautiful things in the world. Joy comes from selfless love.
Joy is irreplaceable.
Joy is mine.
Joy is fragile. Its not like pleasure. Pleasure is easy to find, temporary, and translucent. Joy is like hand blown glass. It will last longer than you do if you care for it. But if let it slip past you, it is gone. Painfully gone.
Joy comes in those moments that leave you smiling for eight days. Those moments that you can't stop thinking about. Those moments that leave you full and whole. Those moments that, if you could, you would play over and over again to fill your whole lifetime.
Joy comes from hard work, patience, virtue, and appreciation of the beautiful things in the world. Joy comes from selfless love.
Joy is irreplaceable.
Joy is mine.
Friday, February 11, 2011
February 11th . . .
One year ago today Jacob proposed to me. I can't believe its been a year. I know people say that all the time, but its true. It's been a year of joy. Everyday I am just in awe of how lucky I am to be with him. I can't believe that in all my imperfection God still blessed me with a husband that is so amazing. I don't know how I fooled him into buying me a ring and asking me to marry him, but I am just so grateful that it worked and that I have this incredible person in my life. He is an inspiration and an example to me.
I love to see the temple . . .
My friend is getting married tomorrow in the St. George temple. I am so excited to go and watch. Everything about the temple is amazing. Going through a session is amazing. Doing baptisms is amazing. Even standing outside is amazing. But there is something so delightful about sealings. It is amazing to hear my promises again. I love the temple. Even thinking about the temple makes me have a better attitude and spirit.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The natural man is an enemy unto God . . .
I know the title may give you some idea that this is going to be a religious ranting. It's not. We have been studying Sigmund Freud in my Personality Theory class. In previous classes, I had really hated studying Freud. I did not like being told about children's sexuality. Today, however, we discussed the concepts of the id, the ego, and the super-ego, terms I was familiar with but obviously did not fully understand. My professor illustrated the functions of these three "parts" of us by explaining behaviors that each part may be responsible for. These parts are the "id," the "ego," and the "super-ego."
The id is what we are born with. It is established to that we, as humans, can gain pleasure. Unfortunately, this comes in the most untactful, irrational ways. And so the ego evolves. The ego helps the id obtain the pleasure it so vehemently seeks, but it more realistic ways. The ego lives in reality. It is the one negotiating between reality's constraints and the id's needs.
Next the super-ego develops. The super-ego also develops to fulfill pleasure, but it is our voice of moral reasoning. The id may demand that we get a hamburger NOW, but the super-ego knows that politely standing in line is more socially appropriate that jumping on the counter and screaming at the poor Wendy's employees.
Now this is interesting and all, but is it at all true? And how does it relate to the natural man? Well, God states that the natural man (carnal, sensual, etc.) is unholy and must be contained in order to become a child of God. I thought it was pretty cool (and amazing) that something I learned about in psychology, of all disciplines, could be applied to religion. Who would have thought?
The id is what we are born with. It is established to that we, as humans, can gain pleasure. Unfortunately, this comes in the most untactful, irrational ways. And so the ego evolves. The ego helps the id obtain the pleasure it so vehemently seeks, but it more realistic ways. The ego lives in reality. It is the one negotiating between reality's constraints and the id's needs.
Next the super-ego develops. The super-ego also develops to fulfill pleasure, but it is our voice of moral reasoning. The id may demand that we get a hamburger NOW, but the super-ego knows that politely standing in line is more socially appropriate that jumping on the counter and screaming at the poor Wendy's employees.
Now this is interesting and all, but is it at all true? And how does it relate to the natural man? Well, God states that the natural man (carnal, sensual, etc.) is unholy and must be contained in order to become a child of God. I thought it was pretty cool (and amazing) that something I learned about in psychology, of all disciplines, could be applied to religion. Who would have thought?
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Study Abroad is coming along . . .
It appears that Jacob and I will be traveling to Austria this May. Crazy. The only countries I have been to are Canada and Mexico and suddenly I'll be living for a month in Europe. We've just hit the tip of the iceberg in things that need to be done before any of this goes down. I submitted my application yesterday (luckily mine is tiny and easy, since I won't be enrolling in German classes while we're over there) and hopefully Jacob's will be done next week. Still haven't dropped any cash for this grand expenditure, but we're in the process of getting everything done. So exciting! I can't wait to see the beauty of Vienna and Salzburg. I will actually get to see a building that has been around for longer than a few centuries. Anyway, time for class.
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