I Finally Fell In Love, I'd Been Waiting Forever

Some people will want to make fun of me for my sudden declaration of wanting to marry an Amish boy. And some people will be casual and dismissive of my comment, writing it off as whimsy, or silliness.

That's how they always treated me with my declarations growing up, and I still hear echoes of it now. But I can't help it, I cannot help seeing something and being so gripped by that thing that I must share it, with those I trust to understand me. But I can't seem to get most people there; language doesn't do it, and examples don't do it.

Well, so. I've become quite taken with an Amish farm boy. I passed him the other day as he was driving his buggy in the twilight, and suddenly I thought, That. That. He looked strong and sensible and reliable and quiet, and I wanted that - I had never considered before how GOOD for me that would be, until that September quiet and that car ride, and that little burst of fate. I don't know his name, I'll certainly never see him again, but flashes of him keep coming at me.

I'm not being silly. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that's because you're missing something, and I don't know what that something is. I've never felt its loss, so I can't recreate it from a hole that is familiar.

And that is all I will say about him.

A Plea

It's a shame practically no one reads this thing anymore, because I would really like to open up the future of my life to you, the reader. As in, let's play a game called Where Should Elizabeth Move Next? I've had offers for Maryland, Boston, and back to Utah, and I think I can wiggle a Tampa offer if I'm charming enough. The thing is, I have no idea. None. Maybe I'll stay in Buena Vista. Maybe I'll even find a way to pay for college AND keep a roof over my head, although the latter accomplishment is no minor feat, and I think I should receive some sort of heavy duty certificate just for that.

It all goes to show that this life thing? It's hard.

The Hazards of Being a Woman

I have never been more proud of my mother, nor more certain that I was indeed her daughter, than when I saw her reaction to my telling her that my book club insisted on reading "something Jane Austen."

On an unrelated note, I am sorry to report that the bridesmaid dresses are not hideous as I was not-so-secretly hoping (because that's what bridesmaid dresses are supposed to be), but rather very lovely, and I look forward to wearing mine the one time in my life I will get to successfully be a bridesmaid.

While A String Of Pearls Is Nice, This Isn't Bad, Either

After discovering that Frank Warren was locked out of his PostSecret blog (poor, poor call on Blogger's bot's part, because the 11th most popular website in the...country? world? something, gets a lot of hits, and now millions of people are pissed off at Blogger), I realized that I should probably check mine and make sure no e-robot has seized control and locked me out for spam-like qualities. Although not updating frequently probably doesn't make their radar whir, so maybe it was a good strategy on my part.

I have little to say, except that I continue to be unexpectedly happy. Even through setbacks like not having enough money to really buy food, or falling asleep after thirty-six hours of wakefulness and then starting awake the next morning in a cold dread of the parking ticket you know will be snagged underneath the windshield wiper, or maneuvering to talk to that smart, interesting boy you just met and being waylaid by someone from your institute class who just wants to shoot the breeze. Oh, setbacks, how you fill my life with color. Like zucchini.

I've joined a book club, I got called "regal" today by the stake president's classy, glamorous wife, and I get free pizza whenever I want it. Despite the setbacks, life is good.