"Hold Our Secrets Up to the Sky"

Over the last few days, I've gotten into a kick of asserting that I am, indeed, a Wimpy McWimperson. Because I am a wimp. I'm not lying.

However (take THAT, Gutwalt... beginning a sentence with however), I feel I might be misrepresenting myself slightly. Enjoy what I am about to do, because it is a rare thing that I will take off a mask and show people what's truly underneath. Especially when I've so conveniently created a new one for myself, one that people readily accept. I guess I look like a wimp. My counter: at least I'm not a pansy boy who would wear an Abercrombie shirt to Warped Tour.

I like to think of myself as a wimp, which is how this entire thing started. I like to think that I cower in fear at the thought of any pain. Which is true sometimes. For instance, if someone offered to shoot me... okay, bad example. I've always wondered what it feels like to be shot, so if someone offered to shoot me in the arm or the leg, I might accept. But if someone offered to stab me, I would run away screaming and never talk to that person again. Not always a bad thing, considering this person has just offered to STAB me. What a freak! How does my mind invent people like this?

The point of all this, creepy people aside, is that I like to sell myself short and think that I'm not brave. But I can be when I see it as worth it. I would take the stabbing for a friend. I would probably scream and cower and snivel, but I would do it. I would risk myself for something worthwhile. Certainly there will be times where I will run away, but there are times where I am tenacious and unbreakable. It's good for me to come to terms with that braver side of me.

And it's always nice to know that my life has a funny habit of always working out. I don't know why this is, but maybe I should take up gambling.

"We'll Have Halloween on Christmas"

Rachael is having a Halloween party tonight. I've been invited, even, so I'm going to pretend that I'm actually going. Unless someone wants to buy me a plane ticket and fly me back to Virginia this afternoon. That someone would be my new best friend... and think of all the perks that gets you.

Perks:
-All-Access pass to my brain
-Permission to call me Zay
-Two words: secret language
-Knowledge of all inside jokes
-Eating Panda Express with me (and I refuse to eat it with anyone else)
-Automatic burns of every CD I own/buy
-Being the #1 speed-dial spot on my phone
-People referring to you as my "other half"

There are lots of other perks, but I started getting bored with thinking of them. Okay, I lied. Actually, it was just tiring going through all the memories and having them stab me in the heart, because I really do have a best friend, and she really is having a hot Halloween party, and it really will happen without me there.

So.

I'm just going to host a party right here on my blog. Everyone come. In costume, of course. I'll be the one dressed like trash.

"It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah"

It must be Halloween weekend because it's SNOWING IN PROVO. I hear a lot of people complaining, but snow is infinitely better than the cold ice-rain we've been having the last two weeks. Isn't Utah a desert? Why all the moisture all of a sudden?

But this is not the reason I am posting. I am posting because I have been worrying over this paper for Am Lit the last few days. I was supposed to stay up last night and get it done, but I collapsed into bed instead. (I try to be like those people who never seem to need sleep, but I DO need sleep, so it always backfires.) I trudged off to English this morning, wondering how I was ever going to finish the paper by 4:30 today and find time to analyze Milton for Brit Lit.

Then my professor announced that the paper due date was pushed back til Monday.

This weekend is gonna be awesome.

"What It's Like When Nothing Feels Alright"

My away message today asked the question "What is wrong with me?" and I got several very nice responses.

Rachael- Something wrong with you? No. You need sleep. Well, some sleep, at some point. And apparently this is that point. I'm hoping you're around at some point because I need/want to talk. Or something.

Art- What's wrong with you is that you thin[k] something is wrong with you, and not everyone else.

Nick- You can see Copeland, Further Seems Forever, Sparta, and Sunshine in SLC on Nov. 27th if you choose.

You can see the kind of relationship that Nick and I have. He tells me about all the good musical stuff that's happening and convinces me to spend all of my money. But I cannot resent him for this because he introduces me to people like Ace Enders. I don't do the whole "celebrity crush" thing (I don't even do the real-life crush thing; it's just not my style, I suppose), but if I had to pick a celebrity to crush on, it would be him. He has nice hands. And his name is Ace Enders. Ace Enders! Need I say more?

But back to my original point. Something IS wrong with me. And looking back at Art's message, I'm wondering if he meant that no one else sees what's wrong with me. His meaning is a bit ambiguous. And he's not here, so I can twist it as much as I want. Hehehe. Although he'll probably get me for it later. Sometimes I think if I were a normal person, I would be afraid and not want to provoke him into arguments. But I have never been a normal person, and he doesn't frighten me. Even though he can make me feel like a stump as no one else can.

I've digressed from my point again.

Maybe it's the weather. Utah rain is the coldest, most horrible thing ever, I've decided. Or maybe it's my new, strange sleep pattern. Or maybe I just need a haircut.

And on the completely random note, has someone ever been talking to you and the thought that streamed below the surface was "just stop talking!!!"? And I do not use these exclamation points lightly. Salesmen. Ugh.

And now I know that I will never be able to discuss what I was originally intending to discuss, so I give up. I figure, if I tried anymore, I would just be diverted again, and the post would become so long that no one would get to the end of it, ever, and it would probably ruin the economy of several small countries. Probably.

My goal in life is to become so well-known as an author that I can point out all of Joseph Conrad's literary offenses, and poor college students will have to validate every single one of my points. Just like good ol' cousin Sam did with Fenimore Cooper (or Fenny, as I will now start calling him). It's a family business, I think.

"Would You Forget Everyone and Forget Everything and Start Over with Me?"

I don't know if I can write this. But I am going to try. Just some realizations I stumbled upon while ruminating to myself. I think I always understood them, but in some kind of nebulous, abstract way. They have only recently been made fairly concrete to me.

What causes people to hold onto pain? To become masochists? Certainly we are not all naturally like that, and perhaps no one is naturally like that. So what happens?

What happens is that we find something precious, something that fulfills a deep need, and we treasure it so carefully. It becomes such a part of ourselves that we cannot let go. And some people will cling to it forever. I admire that tenacity, and I understand it. I know it. But to hold to something through all pain and hopelessness... is this a good thing? It can be. Maybe. I don't really know. But it can destroy a person. And that destruction should never be allowed to happen; people are too precious. Which then leads back into the cycle: people are too precious to let them go, so we hold on and swallow the pain.

So what is the answer? Because there is one. Some people would say, "just let go." That is an action, not an answer, and it seems ludicrous. Why would you relinquish a treasure? No matter how people might tell you to, no matter how other people might want you to, no matter how badly it hurts, you hold on, firm in the belief that you are right. Because you ARE right. This is the dilemma. The answer is not in letting go. The answer is deeper than that, and it is perhaps different for everyone.

It seems unfair that we should hurt and that there should be no cure. No one is going to walk up to you and make everything better. Because no one has that power. Heartache teaches us compassion, because all we can do is wallow in the waiting. Which is the best thing to learn, because when we see it in others, all we can do is hold them and wait.

Wait for what? is the question du jour. What, am I supposed to have all the answers?

"How Does it Feel?"

I feel like I should say something, because I haven't in a while. Thing is, though, I don't really have anything to say. I didn't get to talk about running over people on my French speaking test; that was kind of a letdown, especially because that was the only thing I studied. (Haha, I kid. Sort of.)

Something that's much more important to me than any French test is the fact that, while I will not be home for Halloween and therefore will not get to see Sugarcult, Green Day, and New Found Glory perform, they are coming to Salt Lake City on November 13th. Will I be there? I'd better be. Now I just have to find some cool people to go with me.

This is a more difficult task than anyone would ever think. Why? Well, let's say I meet someone who I think is cool. Good taste in music, funny, willing to be my friend and not just borrow my CDs and suddenly start ignoring me (I might be speaking from personal experience here)... and what happens? A conversation like this:

Me-"Don't touch me."
Potential Cool Person-"Why not?"
Me-"Personal bubble. And you're not allowed in."
PCP-"C'mon, you wanna let me in, right?"
Me-"Don't ever touch me. Ever." Walk away.
PCP Who Has Now Been Demoted-"Where are you going?"
Me-No answer. This is because I am thinking of how best to arrange their death.

Let this be a lesson. To me, probably as well. I am only hanging out with girls from now on. Sam, this means you. And to all the PCPs (WHNBD), I don't care how "alluring" it is that I don't want you to touch me. That is a privilege held by an elite few. Which means not you. Unless you who are reading this are in the elite few; then you can ignore what I said. Because you're rad.

So my dilemma. My other dilemma is that tickets cost money, which I don't really have. Unless I don't want to pay rent, which is always an option. As frigid as my apartment has been recently, I don't think living in a cardboard box would be that much worse. Or, I could stop eating and use the money I save to buy a ticket. There are lots of ways to raise the cash!

1. Go on a mission. Seriously, one of my friends got handed $100 just because.
2. Get someone to write me a check for being a hot-tie.
3. Invent something.
4. Tell my parents I need to buy "more books." (And hopefully keep the quotation marks from my voice when asking them.)
5. Go back in time and stay through the whole Oktoberfest, and find that stupid $1500 engagement ring, then come up with a ridiculous story about how my fiancé dumped me cruelly while crying and get a sweet deal on the thing when I pawn it.
6. Steal people's keyboard letters then sell them back.
7. Ask for donations.
8. Get a sponser. To sponser, um, my coolness.

Yeah, I give up. What a waste. Going to see Sugarcult is going to turn out like going to London or getting my pilot's license: all things I really, really want to do, but until society learns that money really isn't all that important and don't they want to help a girl live her dreams, I won't be doing any of them.

Good thing I have that riveting Geology book to keep me distracted from all my smashed hopes and dreams.

"Heed the Warning Bell, for They Are Coming"

This is what I love about college. A gray, boring Saturday, plans for later in the evening, but nothing but a day of styudying ahead of you. And then a knock at your door and people inviting you to go out to lunch. At least, this is what I love about college after a month and a half when I finally have friends. Here, at least. I rather suspect that Art and Rachael are at least sometimes my friends. And just to clarify, roommates are not friends, they are roommates, so I can't count Jennifer in my "pity me, friendless little girl who is all alone on weekends and no one loves her or cares about her or wants to do anything with her, ever" expository.

The point is, things are gradually changing.

The other point is, go see The Village. I followed this movie for months before it came out, all excited, because M. Night Shyamalan is probably my favorite director; I loved The Sixth Sense and Unbreakable transcended even that. I was planning on seeing his newest movie on opening day. That plan never happened. A lot of things I plan never happen. But I saw it last night, and it was wonderful, and I don't know whether I like Unbreakable or The Village better.

Oh, wait. Hilary Hahn recorded the soundtrack for The Village. That solves that problem. Hilary Hahn = one of the coolest, most amazing violinists you will ever see perform.

The end.

P.S. Aren't you glad I didn't put a schloopy love quote from the movie as my title?

"I Hate the Winter in Lexington"

The cold is coming. The air is tinged with the scent of snowflakes, but so far, it hasn't snowed here in Provo itself. This means I win a bet. (The one bet I will ever win, I guarantee you; I owe Jennifer dozens of muffins by now. This does not mean you should take advantage of me.) This also means that the air is more motionless, more quiet, welcoming the softness of the snowfall. I honestly think there is nothing more beautiful than listening to the silence it brings, so still you can hear the individual patter of each snowdrop. I like to stand in it and let the flakes fall on my face, cling to my eyelashes, dust my shoulders--called back to reality finally by echoing shouts of friends, maybe with a few snowballs to throw. (Note to the Honor Code Office: I do not throw snowballs in Provo. I know this is an illegal activity, and I will be fined for doing so. I reserve that kind of scandal for the heathen states back East, where children participate in these murderous games willy-nilly, heedless of any decorum or common sense. Oh, the horror.)

Snowballs remind me of a movie I saw once. And only once. Words fail me in describing this movie, but "horrifyingly psychotic" comes close. It was directed by Jean Cocteau. Stay away from him. First of all, he's French, and you know how those movies go. If they're not killing each other, they're calling their mothers whores. ("Au Revoir Les Enfants.") But this movie was special. I will highlight one brief scene. It was a snowball fight. A misfit child was ambushed by a more popular crowd, and one of the popular boys threw a snowball at Misfit Boy. The snowball hit Misfit Boy. He fell over, blood spurting from his chest and dribbling out of his mouth. Dead. Who knew a simple snowball could be a metaphor for... whatever it was? I'm certainly not even going to try to analyze my way out of that one. Like I said, French.

Snow also makes me want to fall in love. I don't know why. That, and listening to Dashboard while driving past summery-golden fields. Can anyone explain that?

"Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid"

I don't know what to say. I've been struggling to find the words all day. I'm sorry, I just can't... you know how something is so precious to you, you want to share it with others in exactly the right way, and you want to see the wonder and the beauty that you see, and you agonize over how to show them? This is how I feel. And making a list won't help. Lists are fun diversions. My task was not to make a list. My task was to introduce another character in the play of my life. Only I can't. Not yet. I haven't figured out how. So those of you wily enough will read over my other posts, and maybe even catch glimpses. Snatches. I hope you do. Because it's there, in almost every post. I know, I reread them all, looking to see if it was true, if I really HAD left out one of the main players. The answer is, I haven't. Please forgive me.

"It Starts with One"

I feel like I should apologize for yesterday's post. It wasn't well-written by any stretch of the imagination, and upon rereading it, I'm extremely embarrassed that I let myself hit the publish button. There is enough trash floating around these days, and I shouldn't contribute to it. Then again, I did buy Dan Brown's novel Angels and Demons, so I'm contributing to the verbal slag anyway.

There are other things I should probably apologize for. I apologize for being a naturally nasty person. Please don't encourage my by mislabeling it as wit. I know myself, and witty I ain't, so I need to learn to be something much else. Sweet-natured and kind and understanding and forgiving. And maybe I could learn some long division too.

I'm not kidding about that. Okay, I'm kind of kidding about that. Okay, I'm really, very not serious about that. If you try to reteach long division to me, chances are I will run away. After kicking you in the shins and stealing your pencils. And there again, I'm not a nice person. Stealing poor math majors' pencils. They need those pencils... how else would we cosine our tangents? Or solve pi?

As for me, I would just ask Jeeves. He's a pretty smart guy. Let me ask him right now and see what he comes up with.

Jeeves' answers:
Q. How will we cosine our tangents?
A. 50 trillion pages relating to trigonometry that I refuse to read over, not even for the sake of research. Darn that slippery Jeeves and his dodgy ducking of a simple question.

Q. Who is the fairest of them all?
A. Apparently, something called a "silicon wafer." I kid you not. Computers are taking over the world! Oh. Sudden realization. My computer probably has a crush on Miss Silicon Wafer. I got a biased opinion! Too bad I don't live in a fairy tale, otherwise I could really ask... and not get a lame answer like Snow White. I was happy when she died. And back we are to my acrimony.

Now that my post has come basically full circle, I'll conclude. Hopefully it's more enjoyable than it was yesterday. And points to those of you who know why it's titled what it's titled.

"Time and Time Again"

I'm happy even when analyzing John Donne. Just because I can expound upon imagery.

Apparently, I'm still Catholic. And for those of you who didn't attend Mass on Sunday, it was very liturgic. Matt didn't even know what that meant, so all the more fun. I've decided to switch seats permanently in orchestra. Yes, I like sitting up front, but I like goofing off more, and were I sitting up front, I would've missed Jennifer's attempt to kill Matt with her bow.

And happy birthday Jennifer.

I ran to get to orchestra today. I should've probably left earlier, but I didn't. You know how life goes. You think, "This week will be the week. I won't lock myself out of the apartment or fall asleep or be attacked by a Bush Man. I will get to orchestra on time." And then you realize that you're crazy, and there are a lot of things that are far more important than getting the (flat) A from the oboist.

This muffin has a strange aftertaste. Now I need to eat another one. To clear the aftertaste. This is why I don't drink.

"Home, Is This the Quiet Place Where You Should Be Alone?"

Two things.

I love cleaning the apartment. There is something so fulfilling about cleaning your own space, making things orderly and nice. There is a power and a peace in it. And it's a great time for thinking. I usually listen to my Something Corporate CD while I clean. It's actually my dishwashing CD, but I'm flexible, I can branch out.

The weather took a turn for the much colder today. It was one of those gray, overcast days that just taste of winter. And I sat in the library and looked out at a snow-spotted mountain, and the stillness of those moments was beautiful. Everyone should have a space like that. So don't come find me when I'm in the library. Chances are I'll smile and talk to you, but I'll secretly hate you for intruding on me.

"Note to Self: I Miss You Terribly"

Eventually, all the plotting and the scheming will pay off. I have a nice, warm bed, and yet I look forward to a couch.

"It'll be Italy"

Nicholas Grahm Baker. My Favorite Person Ever. So I declared him in the summer of this year, and so he remains. Why? Let me tell you.

Reasons Why I Love Me Some Nick:
-he introduced me to The Spill Canvas
-he introduced me to Copeland
-the number of truly aweso bands he has introduced me to is really, really quite large, so I'll just say he introduces me to cool music. That I adore.
-he is eloquent
-he allowed me to convince him to get a blog
-he knows what I'm talking about when I say "aha!"
-he's one of The Guys
-he takes beautiful pictures
-he is quite the artiste
-he's really sweet
-I'm his favorite Dickens fan
-he has this hat, and I like to wear it sideways
-his town cannot spell their name properly
-I like saying Nicholas
-his little brother is adorable
-he has a warm laugh
-he asks me to spell check things
-he knows how to use a thesaurus
-his love for Italy
-when my heart is hurting, he recommends Halifax "Broken Glass Syndrome"
-he wears sandals all the time
-he is in a movie that BYU made with a Very Cool Shirt
-he made up new words to "If You Could Hie to Kolob": "If you could spike to Spica..."

I'll miss you, Nick. Have fun in Italy wherever it is you'll be going!

"Playing Music is All That I Really Know"

Did I just invite two guys I've never laid eyes on before over to my apartment in the event that BYU won the game tonight? Why yes, yes I did. Good thing we never win, especially not our Homecoming game. A little statistic for the unknowing: last year, we lost 13-58. I stayed for the whole game. My heart cannot take another loss like that, and so here I sit.

Well, not quite. I just returned from seeing the movie Osama. My roommate and I walked home in silence. That movie is the reason they have closing credits. There is no way someone with emotions could watch that movie and get up right afterward. The emotions just weigh on you too heavily. I may not be loved, but at least I have the power to choose whom I will love or live with. I don't have to be sold into emotional and physical slavery just for trying to feed my family. Religious oppression to the extreme... of course, it was so easy to see from the outside. But how many times do we take our own religions to the extreme without realizing it? How careless are we with other people's hearts and homes and lives?

"The Home That I Used to Live In"

I have a new name: Slackie. It has nothing to do with my being a slacker and everything to do with a boy and a very fake British accent. It had me laughing for hours.

I laughed all the way through Brit Lit and the painfully boring sonnets. I laughed all the way through French, but that's because my teacher is a crack-up. French people sometimes have a sense of humor. Who knew? N'écrase aucun piéton! Yes, I'm looking at you.

I was still laughing when I trudged the well-worn steps up to my fifth floor. Yes, my. But they're actually not that well-worn past the fourth floor. Jamie and I have made it our goal to single-handedly change that fact. Do you know how beautiful the mountains look when they're glowing red from the setting sun? I adore Provo sunsets. One day last year, about this same time, I was sitting in the Jesse Knight Building, calmly reading Cicero, and my friend barges in, grabs my arm, and drags me outside, asking me if I had seen the sunset. Was I indignant at this treatment? Oh, yes I was. I was ready to hit him if he didn't explain himself soon, and then... and then... I have a picture of it. My breath literally caught in my throat. We were silent as we walked back into the building ten minutes later. Well, silent until he asked me what the reading assignment was. I hope he's having fun in Australia and not getting eaten by kangaroos. And those of you who know me well know exactly the laugh I just laughed as I pictured him being devoured by kangaroos. The sadistic, crazy laugh.

I have no idea where I was going with this, but the fact of the matter is, I love M&M's. I can't stop eating them.

"Hope Dangles on a String"

Let me add another character to my Favorite Literary Characters list. Catherine Halsey. I know her. And she's more reachable than my precious Agnes. So here's the complete list for now...

Favorite Literary Characters:
-Agnes from David Copperfield. If I could be one one hundredth as loyal and devoted and constant and sweet and good and wonderful as she is, always, I would be content.
-Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities
-Catherine Halsey from The Fountainhead

"Polaroids of Classrooms Unattended"

I had forgotten what it feels like to be passionate for something, to be so in love with a project or an idea that everything else fades away into obscurity. That used to be my hallmark, and I've been missing myself these past eight months or so.

I blame college. A diploma requires a certian number of credit hours and a certain grade for each of those credits. Stark, methodical, assembly-line cold, like a hospital. The sterile, flourescent lights leave no room for anything else besides an increase in vocabulary. Memorized dates and figures? It is a mask, a façade, embarrassingly fake, and it should be criminal.

Readers acquired erudition without study, authority without cost, judgment without effort.

I read a hundred pages in a book today; I devoured them, hungrily aching for more, starved for the words laid out ahead of me. Do you know how long it's been since I felt this way? This feeling is the reason I'm majoring in English. But my day is choked with so many superfluous things, my major itself is so caught up in nothingness, in earning a diploma, that I can't.

Perhaps this is the reason I enjoy my midterms in my literature classes so much. My brain enjoys thinking a certain way, and finally, finally... in these tests, I can expand it, I can push myself in the way I love to be pushed. The classes certainly aren't doing it. I sit idly listening to discussions, unmotivated to participate in them. I want my own thoughts to be heard and expanded upon. I want to write papers and think until my mind could shatter from the effort, only to be saved in the last second by a single, effortless, transcendent thought that links everything together, and I can see the words and the pages lining up like dominoes before me. Then I hold the power, with a brush of my finger, to topple them all.

I had a melancholy thought today: when the F. Smith is up and running and they tear down the Jesse Knight Building, my tree will be ripped out. I found a place of solitude, of rest and intimate reflection, and they are carelessly cutting me out.

Good thing I discovered the library yesterday. Not "discovered" as in, I first realized its existence. The place is immense, one of the most extensive university libraries in the country; I would have to be more than blind to not feel its presence. It was more of an emotional discovery. We connected, the Library and I, and maybe one of these days, I will stop calling it the Heber B. Lee Library. I'm sure I offend it every time I do.

"I Counted the Webs from All the Spiders"

I woke up this morning to find a spider crawling on my arm. That's all I really have to say. Those of you who know me will know how I felt about that. Someone please come and kill these bugs.

"You'll Be the Tenth Girl on My List"

I just noticed the button that will insert blockquote for you. And to think, I was doing it manually for so long. The only thing that prevents me from looking like a complete stupid moron is the fact that I know how to do it manually, and that is a useful skill. It won't put dinner on the table, no, but who eats dinner when there are posts to tinker with?

Do you know who's great? Russell. And he's Not Taken, for all you ladies out there who want to know. These are all excerpts from conversations I've had with him.
-"You are quite the man's lady."
-"You're like a mentos cannon." "I'm a mannon!"
-"If you're going to steal, do it the cool way."
-"Those rich whelps!"
-"If I were a newspaper, I would aspire to be in a trash can."
-"And they would be like, 'Where did you get that megaphone?'"
-"If you lay here long enough, you would get buried by leaves." "They would get blown away." "Not if you wore velcro."
-"I have a weird fascination with yardwork, I won't lie to you."
-"They can't afford Central American superheroes. Their economy can't handle it."

I had some real rocky road ice cream today. The kind with actual marshmallow bits, not the swirl stuff. I'm pretty particular about my rockey road, and Provo doesn't have the good stuff in their grocery stores. I really miss it. It's my favorite kind of ice cream, of course. I actually had an interesting conversation with an aquaintance about it. He wanted to know if any other flavor would ever tempt me. I guess he was taken aback at my choice or my devotion or something. I had to laugh inside; he had no idea what he was even asking me. Poor boy. So I told him there might be "better" flavors, but rocky road was still my flavor of choice. Satisfying in every way, and exactly what a girl wanted. Nothing would change my mind. I guess I'm stubbornly loyal or something.

Maybe those all should have been different posts because they're so disjointed, but I don't like thirteen tiny posts per day, and I honestly can't think of a way to string them together. Some English major I'm turning out to be.

One last thing before I go: this summer's word was compelling. I used it a lot, and I really enjoyed it. This fall's word is nebulous. I've been noticing myself using it a lot lately, and I really like it, so there you are. Nebulous. Clouds. Chances.

"I Can Feel a Change, I Can Feel, Can You Feel It?"

I've decided I don't like cold macaroni and cheese anymore. It's just not good. The same thing happened to hot pockets. I don't know what it is, but it needs to stop before it starts erasing things on my Things That Make Me Happy list too. Because that would be infinitely tragic.

Do you know how boring it is to lay on your bed and stare at your computer screen for an hour? Well, now I know.

"The Pomp of Proud Audacious Deeds"

I slept for a long time this afternoon. I hate napping for longer than 30 minutes; I always feel so lazy and worthless.

I have to read Marlowe for Brit Lit. Doctor Faustus. I wouldn't mind, except we have a quiz due tomorrow. Quiz for Doctor Christiansen is synonymous with the tormented depths of hell itself. That woman is evil... she gave me a super once, and now I have a taste for it and must (MUST!) get another. I'm like a pit bull that, once having gotten a taste for human flesh, must be destroyed, because it is always seeking for it. Or perhaps I'm more like an English major who, having once gotten a super must now get another, and no one, not even those crazy MFHD people with their Mandy Moore shoes will stand in my way! And if they do, I'll push them off the stairs. Practice for next semester.

Speaking of which, Jennifer and I walked past the Joseph F. Smith building last night. It's the new building that will house the humanities and Marriage, Family, and Home Development people. I say people merely after their MRS shouldn't get such a cool, new building, complete with spiral staircase. They should put them in the engineering building... get them married off faster. But I'm still excited for next semester when all my classes will be in the F. Smith. With a spiral staircase. And probably no natural light... dang.

"The Ending Is All That Matters"

Today has been wonderful so far. I slept in until 10. I have absolutely no plans. And to top it off, I talked to a random guy on the phone for a while who has excellent taste in music. How do I know? He likes "The East Coast Anthem." Need I say more? For those of you not acquainted with the song, allow me to familiarize you:

Walkin' on the streets of DC
on the East Coast where I live
you say "what's the problem?"
"what's with this angry kid?"
You dont like the way I walk
or the way I talk,
or the way I swing my hands,
you dont like the words I speak,
or the thoughts I think
and I know you'll never understand.

You know,
on the East Coast we ride until we die

With my staunch East Coast pride, it's easy to see why I love this song.

And that was my day. How empty I feel, and yet, how filled. Oh, and "Eat, Drink, Man, Woman" is a great movie. Chinese films usually are; they move, unlike Eastern European/Middle Eastern/French flicks.

One last thing: I am listening to a song right now, and I have NO IDEA what band this is. And it's a small, underground band, so googling the lyrics will do me no good. Trust me, I've tried. I know something you don't know/You hid something obvious from me. Anyone know it?

"All These Words I Don't Just Say"

Let me start off by glorifying this song. It has to be one of my all-time favorites. I think it has something to do with the way I adore my older brother, and since he played Metallica in the car while driving me places, I learned to love it to have something to relate to him. I fear I was the biggest failure in his eyes: a loser, a disappointment. I somewhat redeemed myself when we were discussing movies this summer, and I told him "SLC Punk" is one of my favorites, but the fact that I like (liked, actually) Good Charlotte knocked me down quite a few points in his eyes.

I'll glorify my other brother in a later post. He's a sweet kid too. But I want to get to my thoughts today too, because there are many.

I haven't been sleeping very well lately. It hasn't been as bad as that one night I cataloged, but rest has been shallow and uneasy and hard to come by. I don't really know why this is suddenly the case. I'm not exactly content where I am right now, but that's been the case this last, long while. Maybe it has something to do with the point of emotional exhaustion I have reached. In the movie "Nicholas Nickleby," one of the characters says, "I'm tired of being strong!" and I mock her relentlessly for it. Mostly it is her whiny, simpery tone, but I think I also despise her for her weakness--fear that I have the same weakness and that someday that mask will be removed, and I will be exposed. Deep and private pain is no picnic, and it's no wonder I've wanted sometimes to walk away from it. What keeps me clinging? Some bright, foolish, ethereal hope, no doubt. Hope has become a sacred word for me.

I don't use words lightly. I try to say what I mean, and I know I fumble, but I try. I care about people, and I want to give them the best that I have. I don't really know how to; as stated before, I'm terrible at giving advice. But I can listen. And really, I think that's the only thing I CAN do. The helplessness of it is frustrating, but I'm learning to deal with frustration. And so, thank you to everyone who has opened up to me, and also to everyone who has been there for me, listening to my concerns, allowing me to be the person I want to be.

"I am a Butterfly, You Wouldn't Let Me Die"

My best friend is a cockroach. Normally, that could be a bit depressing, but I've found some advantages to it.

Advantages to Having a Cockroach for a Best Friend:
-she loves darkness, so you can be up all night talking to her
-debates over whether or not she can fly
-calling someone a cockroach is just dang fun
-cockroaches skulk and steal, so you never know what treasures will be obtained
-they don't die--ever
-threatening her with flourescent lights at random times, just to see her sweat

Oh, and to clarify, she's a real person, but I like to call her a cockroach. The moral of the story is, get close to me, and I'll call you names. Lamehead.

"Something Is Rotten in the State of Denmark"

I started writing a post, then when I was almost finished, I realized how terrible it was. And now that I've said that, you're all going to wonder exactly what it was that I was writing. Well, guess what? I'm not going to tell you. Ever!

Yesterday I started a craze of blogmaking. That's really awesome, except I was the one making blogs for people, and now I'm worrying about Jennifer's blog not being at ALL what she wants. I want people to see blogs I've made for people and think they look cool or whatever. But the truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm wholly uncreative. I have ideas, but no means of making those nebulous thoughts concrete. I would like to fiddle more with my own blog, but my time is severely limited, what with homework and hockey games and lesson planning and birthday parties. Which reminds me, Jennifer's birthday is on the 19th, and I still have no idea what to get her. I'm terrible at gift ideas. I'm terrible at a lot of things.

Things I Am Terrible At:
-creative endeavors
-gift-giving ideas
-time management
-remembering to eat
-writing letters
-giving advice
-being responsible

Something positive to focus on: I got a phone call yesterday informing me I had purchased a person. Phone calls like that always brighten any day. Of course, I was terribly confused for a bit at how I had managed to be in two places at once, but then everything was straightened out.

"My Heart's Beating Out of My Chest"

I couldn't get to sleep last night. I lay there for hours, my mind racing, knowing I had to sleep but entirely unable to. I haven't done that in a long time. Not even on those horrible nights... once I made my mind up to go to bed, my head would hit the pillow, and off I'd drift.

The thing that most disturbs me is that I woke up with my mind racing too. Well, more accurately, my heart racing. It was as if nothing had stopped while I had been unconscious. It made me afraid of what dreams I had had and couldn't remember. Also, the word "grenouilles" was replaying over and over. I couldn't make it stop. Frightening, really.

The frogs have died down, but the adrenaline surge is still going. I hope that whatever it is, it stops, because this is really a most unpleasant feeling. One reason I don't use drugs, ever, illegal or otherwise. I can't stand the artificial feeling.

Oh, and I kept thinking spiders were crawling on me last night. Terrifying. Something is wrong somewhere. Maybe someone spiked my orange juice. Or maybe I need to relax and think about something else.

Kicking it Off

So I decided to scrap my livejournal. I hate that thing. I'm not smart enough for it, I guess. Some people had really great-looking ones, but mine always looked hideous. And of course I was too proud to ask for any help. I like figuring things out on my own. And with that introduction, here is my new blog.

I'll start things off with just a list of rules. I like lists. They keep things orderly. I break into random lists constantly. I'll see if I can do that here.

-Do not ask for the URL to my other blog. You ain't gettin' it. That thing is for me, and me only.

-If you see a spelling/grammatical/what-have-you error, please correct me. I hate looking foolish. I do it enough already.

-Understand that it's hard for me to say what I feel. But writing is a release for me, so I try to work everything out in print. If for some reason I write something depressing and I haven't told you I'm having a bad day, it's probably because I'm trying to get myself to a point where I can talk about it.

-No math.

The last one I think is pretty self-explanatory. And so with that, I open the forum to my soul. Or at least to some rather pretty words. I would hate to see my soul splattered all over the computer screen.

The joy of a cameraphone