Things you should know about me if we’re going to be buds

I got the idea for this post from this lovely lady.

1. I’m obsessed with all things small and furry (minus gross things, like spiders). I want a cat or a dog so bad.(This is Bigotes, a fine furry friend. You can read about him here and here.)

2. I’m completely terrified of being responsible for another living being—like that cat or dog that I really want. 

3. I’m especially terrified of having a baby some day. I mean, I know I will have a baby because there’s too much in me that wants one to let my fear get in the way, but just so you know, I’m mortified.

4. I have an irrational fear of zombies. I can’t watch shows with zombies in them without having nightmares, and when I get really sick (like such a high fever I’m delusional), I get afraid because I see zombies. (I was going to put a picture of a zombie on here, but they were really gross—some where inappropriate gross—and they were really scary…so I didn’t.)

5. I’m growing a Christmas tree. His name is Alfie, based off of this story (start at 3:28, unless you want to watch Miss Piggy butter-up John Denver, which really—who doesn’t?).

6. I cry every time I hear Alfie, the Christmas Tree. (and almost every time I hear a John Denver song).

7. I wish I could live in a loop from the 24th of August to the 15th of January.

8. I love rain, and thunderstorms.

9. I’m a hot chocolate-holic.

10. I can listen to Christmas music year-round and always wish it was Christmas.

11. I’ve recently fallen in love with Bluegrass.

12. I can spend all day watching Murder, She Wrote.

13. Although I’ve only ever published one thing, I consider myself a writer. I try to own it, even though the idea of everyone having access to my book makes me terrified and excited all at the same time.

14. My mom calls me her “little spider” because I knit.

15. I have an obsession with the written word. I’ll read something over and over again, just to get the language in my head.

16. I’m a binger. I binge on healthy eating, on television shows, on writing, on speaking, on chocolate. Moderation is something I’m still learning.

17. I try to be the best kind of friend there is. I try to be there when you need me, and sometimes even before you knew you needed me. I try to always be available, and if I’m not, I feel like I’ve let you down, and I feel awful about it.

18. I second guess my decisions a lot, but I’ve learned to always follow my instinct because that’s Heavenly Father’s way of letting you know what to do.

19. I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I love the gospel. I try to have my life centered on Christ, although that’s kind of a binge thing for me, just like everything else.

20. I want to learn and be fluent in as many languages as I can.

21. I suck at learning languages.

 

So those are a few things about me that you probably ought to know. If you want to know more about any of them, feel free to ask. :)

Balto vs. Fatty McFatPants

We’ve all heard the old story about how we all have two wolves living inside of us: a good wolf, and a bad wolf (No Doctor Who reference intended). Right? The proverb says that the wolf that wins is the wolf we feed.

Here’s the thing: I’ve got two different wolves in a different fight. My good wolf more or less dominates the bad wolf. No, my fight is between Lean-Mean-Fight-Machine-wants-to-be-fit-and-healthy wolf, and fatty-mc-fat-pants-can’t-even-wear-pants-because-he’s-so-fat wolf. Just picture Balto on the fit wolf side, and an obese couch-potato wolf picking old chips out of his fur because he’s too lazy to get another bag of chips.

Have you pictured it?

These are the wolves that fight inside of me…but it’s not really a fight. It’s more like Balto, standing there looking all majestic, is giving me a “Why You Can Do it Too!” Pep talk, and fat wolf is like, “Nah, too lazy to fight. Sure, go run. Like that sounds more fun than sitting here, eating all the yogurt in the house and watching Deadliest Catch. Knock yourself out, Kid.” I turn to Balto and say, “You know he has a point. Outside is full of bugs, and outside-ness. We should just chill on the couch. That sounds better.”

Anyway, just thought I’d share, so you were all aware of my inner struggle. I think I’m going to go find some yogurt…

I’m practically Michael Phelps, but with more clothes on (trust me it’s a good thing)

So, I’m good at lots of stuff: I’m a good sharer (it’s a real word), I’m good at procrastinating, and I’m like Olympic gold medal medal good at forgetting.

Being good at forgetting (Well, excellent in my case) has it’s Pros and Cons, just like being good at other stuff does (like, if you were good at wrestling bears, the pros would be that no bear would dare face you, and you’d have all these wicked awesome scars that would have super epic stories behind them. The cons would be that no bears would want to be your friend because you never want to just hang out at watch a movie—all you want to do is wrestle. That’s really the only con I could think of for being good at bear wrestling. I guess if you’re only good at bear wrestling, it’d be kind of hard to find a job after you wrestled every single bear alive. And wrestling baby bears would just be mean.)

Pros of being the equivalent of Michael Phelps, but in forgetting, not swimming (although I can swim. not fast, and not for super long—mostly because I forget how many laps I’ve already done…):
-You forget that Doctor Who has new episodes on Saturdays
-You forget that it’s Saturday

Why are these pros? Because at some point you come across something Doctor Who related—be it a T-shirt, a sonic screwdriver, or the Tardis (in T-shirt, keychain, and mug size), and you’re suddenly reminded that not only does Doctor Who have new episodes on Saturdays, but it IS Saturday! It’s like a surprise every week.

Cons of being the equivalent of Michael Phelps, but in forgetting, not swimming (didn’t I write that already?):
-You forget that you have a lesson to plan for the nine-year-old class for church tomorrow (hello, you forgot it was Saturday, which means you also forgot tomorrow was Sunday).

Now you might think that this is only a con come Sunday morning—like “Doh! *facepalm* I need to prepare a lesson”—but you’d be wrong. The reason that this is a con is because, while you’re celebrating the fact that it’s Saturday and Saturday means a new episode with the Doctor and Clara, your husband will say, “We should plan out lessons before we watch the Doctor.” This is the part where you facepalm, slump your shoulders and say “fine,” and then run off to your room to write about the whole experience on your blog while listening to a cd that has nothing on it, but an hour of the ocean sounds and pretend you’re back home in Hawaii and that the sound is coming from outside.

A catharsis...

It's weird. I never thought I'd be here. You're wondering where here is. Here is applied for Grad school, waiting, and missing BYUH. I have literally thousands of old emails stored up. I thought I'd go through and delete a bunch. I had some there from 2007. It's really funny to see my emails from 2008 through now. I can tell where in the semester I was without looking at the date of the email simply looking at which professors I was getting emails from: "Oh, that email is from so-and-so, that was my second semester of school" It's odd. Sometimes I feel like I'm having a heart attack all the time (I'm sure my love of hot cocoa and immense dislike of working out isn't helping). I feel stressed all the time. I miss Hawaii. I always knew I would. How does anyone live anywhere for 11 years, and then not miss it when you leave? November wasn't so bad. I had NaNoWriMo to keep my mind occupied. National Novel Writing Month. I did it, by the way. I wrote my 50,000 words. It wasn't the first time I had written that much, but it was the first time I had written it all within the time-span of a single month. This won't make sense. I feel jittery and nervous. I'm a rabbit, and everyone else is a fox. I'm just waiting for the pounce. I can't exactly fully explain what I'm feeling. It's the limbo period, and I hate limbo, the game, the song, the metaphysical meaning... every thing. I'm ready for Christmas. I'm ready for something to take my mind off of school. It's odd that I'm actually somewhere where it could snow (probably won't but still) and all I crave is the ocean and rain. That's Christmas to me: grey skies, rain, and a crashing ocean. It's going to be a long three months...

Nanowrimo

I’ve heard about National November Writers’ Month (NaNoWriMo) for years. I tried it last year and failed only because I didn’t get the words finished (50,000) by the end of the month. I think I only made it to a little over 19K. Here’s the thing: I’m trying again this year. That little 19K novel has grown to over 75K and is barely half-finished. I’m fully confident that I will not only finish my 50K this month, but I will also NOT finish the story by the end of this month. (Did you catch that? Yes on the 50K words, No on the end of the story.)

You see the nanowrimo story I'm writing this month is the second installment of the story i started last November. This story has the potential to be awesome. I just need to write it…

Now we get to the part I’ve come to write about: I’ve been writing (roughly) 1,667 words every day. I needed to double that yesterday (which i didn’t), and triple that today (which turns into quadruple since I failed to double yesterday). Today I sat down to write, and the words are not only not coming to me…I also have been overtaken by an overwhelming desire to take a nap…

When writing is what I want to do, the words flow. When writing is what I need to do, the desire to nap increases…

Waiting for the next set

I’ve always been able to look into my crystal ball and see my destination: AP classes, graduation, college, marriage. Lately, all I can see is fog. White fog. Fog that says, “Girl, you are asking the wrong crystal ball because I don’t see anything in your future.”

Everyone else is moving on. They’ve got their own places, new jobs, new classes, new cities, new towns. I was that girl. The girl who went to college right after high school. The girl who finished college early. Who was going to teach English in a foreign country. Who was going to worry about grad school later.

It’s frustrating. I feel stagnant. Everything around me is moving, and growing, and changing. And I’m here. Still here. Still waiting.

Jake asked me why I was feeling blue, and I confessed everything. Everyone else is starting school. What if I’m out for too long? What if I lose everything I learned? What if I don’t get accepted? There is nothing wrong with being a mom, but I don’t want to give up my dreams of my PhD either. I can do both. I know I can…I know WE can. What if it’s not in the cards?  Then Jake reminded me of something I told him once while we were out surfing: “You can’t worry about the wave that already came, or the wave that’s on its way. All you can do is ride the wave that you’re on.”

I, being in a particularly sour mood, said, “I’m not even on a wave.” Jake, being brilliant and clever, said, “What about all the waiting between sets? That’s where we are.”

and I get that. I get that we’re in limbo. We’re in overqualified-yet-not-qualified-enough land; we’re in going-to-grad-school-but-haven’t-actually-applied land. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m not a big fan of limbo (the game or the figurative use of the word).

I get it. We’re in between sets, not an undergrad, but not yet a graduate. I got it.

Thinking about it in surfing terms makes it a little more bearable…a little.

I guess I’m feeling ready to move on, ready for the next challenge, ready to get up and go. But it doesn’t matter, because I can’t make the ocean give me another set. I can’t control how big or small the next set will be, or how many waves will be in it, or when it will come. I just have to sit. Wait. Be Patient.

So, until the next set hits. I’ll be sitting pretty, trying to patiently wait like the shark bait I am.

 

Oo-ha-ha

The ache in writing

I love writing. I adore writing with all my heart. There is one thing that drives me nuts about writing: planning. I have so many ideas racking around inside my head, and I know the answer to my puzzle of storyline is locked away somewhere amongst the other ideas. Here’s the part that gets hard: sorting. I know I need to sit down, turn everything off, and just draw out what is going to happen. Except I’m a people planner. I need someone (usually the hubs) to plan with, and to bounce ideas off of. I need to talk about what’s going to happen before I can write it down. When I say it, I can sort it. I love writing. I adore writing. I just need someone else there to help me plan.

 

Thanks hubs. ;)