Update: Timing

Timing sucks.

The past couple of years I have felt like I've been on a different clock than everyone else. Like, I'm off Daylight Savings while everyone else is on so I'm always running an hour behind. And then I'm on it when everyone is off, so I'm always an hour ahead (or would it be the other way around?). This isn't always a bad thing, not at all, but it's more strongly felt when it is.

You know all the stuff I've been through the past year--well, up until I just seemed to drop off the face of the planet and never wrote an update. You know about the bad timing that came with applying to grad school, and the bad timing with my previous job. You also know about my good timing when it came to finding a job after only a month of being unemployed--I had been expecting being unemployed for at least three months.

The four months that I've been working have been good timing. I came in at the right time, just when things started to build in the company, and just in time to prove my worth in order to start getting more responsibility and maybe move up.

I moved last month and that was good timing. It's a little cheaper, and in a house, which is nice.

I had bad timing a couple of weeks ago when I rushed out of the house to get to work and ended up getting in a car accident that totaled Perry. It wasn't my fault, and there were no injuries, but one of my first thoughts was that if I hadn't rushed so much, if I had left the house even a few seconds later, I would have gotten to work fine. And I wouldn't have had to deal with all the stress of talking to insurance and getting a new car (and getting things fixed on the new car). I wouldn't have dealt with the physical manifestations of that stress like sore muscles and a clenched jaw. I think for the moment I'm done though--once I get it registered. It started off pretty rocky, but I think Alfie's and mine relationship will get stronger as we go on.

I've had good timing when it comes to Baby E. Sis, Bro-in-law, and Baby E just moved back here, and I've been able to see Baby E's curiosity and her growth. She's a little mimic, and catches on to things so quickly that it seems like she's changing all the time. I'm glad that I get to spend this time with her.

And then there's bad timing when I finally get to the point when I can put myself out there and want to reconnect with someone and try to give it another go, but I missed the opportunity. Or maybe the timing was always off for us. It's hard when someone being happy means losing a friend and a hope.

I know that the way I plan things, or the timing I want to have, doesn't really matter in this huge plan that God has for me. But it's hard to put trust in Him and not just think that I'm the one that's messing everything up. Because I truly believe that if I keep on trying to do all the things I'm supposed to, and if I keep following the good thoughts that come into my head (even if they seem to turn out badly . . .) then God won't forsake me. He would never leave me on my own. His strength is the strength that I need most in my life, especially when I feel my strength leaving me.

There is nothing wrong with my timing being off. It just means that my life is part of this clock of humankind, the clock that really keeps the whole world turning and going.

Sunday Special: It's Raining, It's Pouring

We're all familiar with the expression "when it rains, it pours" and I think we're also all familiar with how true that expression actually is. It's never just one bad thing that happens, but a whole slew of bad things, one right after another.

I don't think it's been much of a secret that the past six or so months have been filled with a lot more downs than ups for me. It's this pattern that I feel like I've recognized throughout my life--having a streak of good luck, and then all of a sudden . . . not. This time last year I was feeling pretty good. I had a job I liked at a place I loved with amazing coworkers. I'd moved in with my best friend, was just months away from paying off my car, and planning a trip to Prince Edward Island.

Then in July things turned topsy-turvy with the knowledge that I would be losing my job. Fortunately, I was able to keep my job longer than I thought, but with less hours. I applied for jobs, and was turned down for all of them. So I started entertaining the idea of the GRE and graduate school. I looked at programs and found one that I sounded good. I studied hard for a month and took the GRE, then worked hard on getting my application in before the deadline. I even filled out FAFSA to see if I could get any financial help. Then, one week exactly after I got the news of my cousin's death, I received the news that I wasn't accepted in grad school.

That much sadness and rejection from all aspects of my life all within a couple of months is hard to take. I didn't--and still don't--really understand what it was all for. Why did I feel so good about the program I was applying for if I wasn't going to get in? What was the point of studying for the GRE and all the stress that went along with that?

And I've been unsure if editing is even what I want to do anymore. I was 16 when I decided I wanted to be an editor and have been working toward it for the past 10 years, and now I have no idea if it's actually the career path I should go down. But I also have no idea which path to go down if not that one. Or the grad school one.

When I received the e-mail telling me I hadn't been accepted into grad school, I called my mom to tell her and she offered to come up to my place and stay with me. I cried when my roommate came home from school before she went to work and I cried when my mom came and held me. And then I think I shut down. I didn't feel anything either way about it. Then today at church, we had what is called "Musical Testimonies." Basically, you get up and share what you're favorite hymn is, and why, then we all sing a couple verses of the hymn. We sang a few hymns, and I felt tears pricking up behind my eyes, and a little prompting to share one of my favorite hymns--one that feels very apropos to where I am right now:

Lead, kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom; Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; Lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that thou Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to choose and see my path; but now, Lead thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years.

So long thy pow'r hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone.
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!

After giving my testimony and singing this song, that dam I had built up inside me burst open and I couldn't seem to keep myself from crying. Every hymn seemed to have something in it for me

I feel like I've talked a lot about paths lately, but lately they have been on my mind a lot. Taking one step in the darkness, trusting that Someone is leading you, that takes a lot of faith. And sometimes we are taken down paths that end in a dead-end, and we don't understand why, but we have to turn around and find another path. I have a lot of people telling me that not getting into school/not getting that job, etc., means that there is something "better" for me. I don't know if I believe that's true. I think there is a plan for me, somewhere, and that there is something for me, but something better? I don't know.

I do know that I feel like I'm due something good. :)

The future is so uncertain right now, and I'm trying to keep an eternal perspective on it. And taking it one step at a time.

Memoirs of a Teenage Daycare Teacher: 7 (or possibly 8) years later

To give a 17-19 year old the care of your children probably seems ridiculous, but that's how it was. When I was 18 I could be in charge of 4 under 1s up to 28 school aged kids (6-10 year olds). I'm not sure how it was for other daycares, but the turnover rate for teachers at SBA was high, which lead me to being assigned to the 3 year olds just after my high school graduation. I don't think anyone will mistake working in a daycare as a glamorous job. I dealt with vomit, dirty diapers, scrapped knees, fights over toys, kids not eating, and illnesses that most adults don't get (including scabies, pink eye, and strep throat)--I even had snotty noses wiped on my pants. I struggled to get some kids to sleep at nap time, then spent half of those two hours cleaning up from lunch, just to have to clean up again after snack time when the kids woke up. I was a human jungle gym. I was in charge of 10-12 3 year olds on a regular basis, and I loved them. So much so that when I quit to go to college, I cried at the thought of leaving them.

So, no, my first job was not glamorous or enviable at all, but it was rewarding. Some days. A lot of time I felt like I was making up it as I went--which I probably was because I was only 18 and had very little experience with kids beyond the infrequent babysitting I had done in my early teens. I had kids with behavioral problems--probably from being sent to a daycare for 12 hours a day, 5 days a week. There was a boy, 4 years old, who refused to potty train. A 9 month old who cried unless he was held. A little boy and his sister who came every day dirty--once he hadn't had a bowel movement or a wet diaper in three days. Parents who sent their kids to daycare sick, causing the other kids (and us teachers) to catch whatever it was they had. Parents who yelled at the teachers for trying to do their jobs; parents who would go to the local bar before picking up their kids.

Then there were my coworkers. When I first started at SBA, I was a "closer," meaning I would do the snack dishes, then clean the bathrooms, mop the floors, vacuum, and take out the trash. The teachers were supposed to be in charge of their own rooms, but sometimes the task fell to us. One day the woman who made lunch had been going very slowly on the clean up, so when I got there at 3 I was sent to help her. She left and I ended up doing all of the lunch dishes, with only a half hour to relax before it was time to start the snack dishes. Standing at a sink for several hours was probably one of the worst days of work I had.

But not everything was horrible. It was so amazing to be so close to kids--I learned so much. Have you ever heard that we must be like a child? That is something that I learned a lot about while working at SBA. Children are so forgiving. I would have someone tell me I was mean and then five minutes later he was hugging me. Children are loving. Children are honest--sometimes brutally so, but it's really just that they will say what they think. One day I walked into my classroom and a little girl, E, came up to me and said, "You look like Cinderella!" I have to admit, I was a little confused, being brunette whereas Cinderella is blonde. Then the other teacher said, "It's the ribbon in your hair." I had put in a blue ribbon that morning! Of course, then there was the one time that I was wearing a high waisted shirt and one of the kids asked if I were pregnant. And then the time when I was told that I needed a boyfriend, because I was "old enough." I was 18. The kids also loved helping. They would help their friends, and me. When I was a closer, I would frequently get the help of one little girl, who wanted to wash the dishes, and get the trash, and vacuum. It's always nice to have a little someone to talk to. There was always a plethora of hugs and kisses. There is really nothing like feeling tiny arms around your neck.

The day after my high school graduation, my boyfriend broke up with me. In an e-mail. It was a pretty hard time, but I went to work everyday and did what I needed to. I wasn't taking any breaks because I knew that if I did I would just break down and wouldn't be able to go back to work. If work is good for anything, it's good for helping you forget yourself for a little while, especially at a daycare. One day near the end of the week, we were taking the kids out to afternoon recess, but first we made a stop at the bathrooms. Not all of our kids were completely potty trained yet, so I had to take one of them, R, back to the classroom to change her diaper while another teacher took the rest of the kids. R's mom had just arrived, and was watching while I completed this task--which is unnerving, and also a little strange. She got upset about the way I did something, and in a huff said, "I'll just do it myself!" It wasn't a big deal, but it was enough to break the dam and despite my best efforts I started to cry. I was told to take a break, so I went into our empty classroom and had a good cry. When the kids came in, they found me, and little A (one of my favorites--even though I know you aren't supposed to have favorites), gave a soft little, "Hey . . ." He just let me hug him, and I really did feel better. Parents are probably the worst part about working child care--worse than all the diapers and vomit. E's mom was especially intimidating: tall, blonde, power woman. I know it's unfair, but I frequently thought "If you don't like the way I'm raising your kids, then stay home and raise them yourself!"

Another thing about working at the daycare is that there was always something funny to tell. The kids would come up with their own jokes (none of which made any sense), or they would just laugh. The laughter of children is infectious. Then, of course, there were the times the kids didn't know they were being funny. I had to open the classroom cupboard up once, and C saw some candy that had been put in there. He proceeded to try and convince me for 10 minutes that the candy belonged to him. "But Miss Widanee!" he'd protest. "My mom brought it from home!"

The summer after my freshman year at university, I went home and worked at SBA again, to earn money for the study abroad I was applying for. That summer was pretty hard. I woke up really early in the mornings to be there when it opened and I usually worked overtime. It was actually really nice to see the kids get dropped off. There was one little boy who had a hard time with his mom leaving, but we finally got to the point where she would just hand him to me and he'd be fine. This same little boy would sometimes sit with me during my lunch break while I worked on homework for my online class. If he didn't, he wouldn't sleep and would cry and wake up the other kids. During the month of July we had all of the school age kids there all day long. Twenty-eight 6 to 10 year olds. That's where I spent most of my summer and it was hectic. We tried to come up with enough activities and field trips to keep them interested, but when it's too hot most days to play outside, and they have to be quiet for two hours to keep from waking the babies up, it's pretty hair raising. The best day of that summer was when we took the school kids to the zoo. Not only did I get paid to go to the zoo, but I was only in charge of three kids instead of 28. And the three I had were some of the most well behaved ones. We ate popsicles, saw the bird show, and rode the train. I like the zoo, but it is so much more fun when you go with kids!

When I wasn't with the school kids, I usually gave the other teachers their breaks, which meant I got to spend time with all the ages. The baby room was fun, because you just got to hold babies, or play with them on the floor. I got pretty good at holding a baby in one arm and making a bottle with my free hand. The next room up, with the 1 year olds, was nice because they were starting to talk and discover the world outside of themselves. One of the older girls in this room once started "races". "1 . . . 2 . . . 10," she'd say, then run across the room. The other kids caught on pretty well. Then there were the 2/3 year olds. They talk and understand a lot more, but still don't quite get the concept of sharing. It's really about this age that they start seeming like "little people." They are so excited to go to the "potty," and do grown up things.

The 3/4 year olds have, usually, been potty trained, which is nice. They can follow instructions better, and are more willing to help. The 4/5 year olds are amazing. I spent quite a bit of time in this room as the principle teacher for about half a summer. After recess we'd sit and read a story and then be able to have a discussion based on the story. One discussion we talked about what they wanted to do when they grew up. It was fun to tell their parents that they wanted to be a nurse like their mom, or a rockstar. One even said she wanted to be a teacher like me! At this age they still took naps, but it was easier to get them all asleep than the younger ages. Basically, it was just fun to see the changes in age, and to watch the kids grow up.

The kids I used to take care of are now between 7 and 17. That's crazy. I don't know where any of them are, what they're doing. Sometimes I think of them and hope that their lives turned out well. Thanks for allowing me this little walk down memory lane. I only wish I could give you a "where are they now" snippet.

Hey all. So, I made it through the first week of my new schedule. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, it was a kind of stressful week. It's weird to have two extra days of not going to work--it kind of makes you feel a little bit useless. Especially as I am a single adult without very many responsibilities besides going to work.

To make myself feel a bit more useful, I've decided to organize! It wasn't really a conscious decision, more like I started cleaning the kitchen last Monday and then felt that I just couldn't do it until I organized! I spent the afternoon trying to find shelves for our pantry, and then putting those shelves together, putting things on those shelves in some kind of orderly fashion, and then I could clean the kitchen. I am now looking into a spice turntable to organize our spices, then I'll clean out my closet. Exciting times.

I think M might have wondered if I'd gone a little crazy, since we'd gone over a year without an organized pantry or spice shelf. But now I have the time, and it's something to do other than sitting around and pinning things on Pinterest all day.

The week was stressful for a mix of reasons. The change in my routine, then I was "exiled" to a cubicle on the opposite end of the floor from the rest of the staff. And with only three days of work, I feel like I won't be able to get as much done, since I'm trying to put five days of work into three now. I had a talk with my manager and we discussed how I should go about doing my work. It involves me having to let some things go before they are complete, in order to get a larger quantity done in the next six months. That's hard for me, because I want to see everything through, but I understand why it has to be so.

I also came to the conclusion this last week that it really is time for me to move on from the project. I've kept trying to get a full-time job there, and I've just realized that one of the reasons I'm not getting them is because it's not right for me. Coming to this conclusion doesn't not mean I have accepted it yet, though! It's hard to not have any idea what's going to be happening in the next few months. Especially when I felt so good about being at the project when I first started, and then a year and a half ago when I got my part-time position. I was talking to my bishop this week, and we were talking about paths and that sometimes we are lead down a certain path just to come to a dead end, but that doesn't mean that you weren't supposed to walk it in the first place. It's just hard to have all these paths in front of you, but you aren't able to see them. Then yesterday in church, I felt like all the talks were about kind of the same thing. And then the hymn was "Lead Kindly Light." Weird how everything just kind of fits together like that.

On Friday, to "celebrate my first Friday off" my parents took me to see Frozen. I'm not sure, but I kind of feel like my mom knew that I was going to have kind of a hard time last week when she suggested it.  That was a fun movie to do have. I also got a few text from my friends at work, so I know that I'm missed! Then Saturday, the Boy Next Door (I'm not being coy, facetious, or aloof with this name. He literally lives next door) invited me to see The Book Thief with him. That was a good crying movie. I will say this, the movie was beautiful and moving and heartrending. But the book, in my opinion, is more so. I really believe the book is one of the best pieces of literature of the past ten years and everyone should read it. With a box of tissues.

So, while the week was a bit stressful, the weekend was nice. Though by Sunday night, I was EXHAUSTED. M and I watched two movies because we didn't feel like moving from the couch. Here's to a better week this week!

Unknown Paths: An Original Poem

I stand on a road of my choosing,
too many paths in front of me,
each one as less taken as the next.
The paths are dark and winding.

I cannot look backwards,
that road was walked and blocked.
The forest before is the only choice,
which path will lead me safely through?

Some I have stepped towards
only to find they end after the first step;
others seem so dark, tangled, and rough
there can't be any good from walking them.

"Guide thou my feet," I pray as I consider
the paths that lay before me. I am lost.
The way is slow and dark and I,
I am forced to take it, step by step.

So I take that step, cautious and trembling,
toward that path I feel forced upon
and all my hope is given to a faith
which leads me ever onward and upward.

The GRE

As you all know, I spent November studying for the GRE. I did take a break or two for social activities, including the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary! For a geek like me, it was Christmas a month early. But a lot of my time not at work was taken up by studying, learning new things, taking practice tests, then going over the practice tests (which usually included another person for the math). It was a busy month, with not enough reading time. Something I learned, though, is that I'm feeling pretty serious about grad school--if I weren't, I would have given up part way through the month.

Tuesday morning I took the test. It was a really rough morning. Have you ever been walking along, fine as can be, and then you just run into a wall unexpectedly? And you can't see anyway around, over, under, or through that wall? And besides that, you don't feel very good because you just smacked into a wall? Well, that's kind of how I felt the morning of the GRE. 

I had felt fine the day before, and slept well that night. But I hit the wall as I was getting ready to go. Roommate M was driving me since the test was taking place at the university she attends, and she was heaven sent. She talked me into getting out of the car (with some help from a phone call to my mom) and taking the test. And, boy, am I glad she did!

The whole test taking experience is kind of surreal--I know I did it, but I don't really feel as if I did. M walked me to the testing center--which was good because I never would have found it on my own--and figuratively held my hand through the sign in process. Then I signed in and had to read and sign a confidentiality agreement, where I had to copy a paragraph into cursive. I haven't written that much in cursive since I was in elementary school! And they don't even teach cursive anymore, so that's going to have to change soon. Anyway, I went in, they signed me in on the computer and took my picture, which was lovely (/sarcasm). I had to take my watch off, even though it isn't digital, and then I had to stand while they waved a metal detector wand over me. They also asked to see my wrists, which reminded me of Mulan, when she goes to the matchmakers and she has notes written on her arm. 

Then I went in and got started!

Two hours later I had a quick break and about an hour and a half after that I finished. You get your scores immediately, and I was surprised that I hadn't done that bad--considering the wall that morning. I did slightly better than I had on my practice tests (I always ended up with the same scores on allof my practice tests), and my verbal was above average and my math just below. I finished early (I've always been a fast test taker, which is good and bad), and M wasn't back yet to get me, so I just sat and watch the snow fall. I was exhausted! In fact, it took about two days for me to recover, which is why I'm writing about it now instead of yesterday. 

I went to work for about five hours, which made me even more exhausted. So I recovered by lying on the couch and watching Holiday Inn that night. Nothing like some Astaire and Crosby to help a person feel better. :)

I just want to give a shout out to everyone who was so supportive the past month and who sent prayers my way on Tuesday--I needed it more than I knew when I asked for it. 

Dreamland and Other News

These past two weeks I have been having some weird dreams. Have you ever had a series of dreams that are all related to each other? That even take place in the same "dreamland"? The majority of my dreams always did seem to take place in the same world my brain created, but not it has shifted to something much worse.

School.

Yes, I have been having school dreams. The school is a strange amalgam (sidebar: I love that word and try to use it whenever I can) of my high school and BYU. And for some reason I am taking art and math classes. But I can never find my classes, and I've forgotten my schedule, don't know my locker number or combination, and then there are all these people from high school or TV shows/movies I watch. Basically, they aren't the most comfortable of dreams.

Anyway, in other news.

I've decided to take the GRE. I'm looking into grad schools, but I haven't really decided if that's what I should do, but since the GRE lasts for a few years, I decided I should take it, and maybe even apply to a program or two and see what happens.

This has been about 6 months in coming. I received news that I would need to find a new job by the end of the year, which was heartbreaking but at the same time I knew that it is best for me. I'd been feeling for a while that I should start looking for a new job, but something would happen, and I would just brush the feeling away. But, here's the thing, Heavenly Father doesn't give up. In a way, I feel that everything that led up to me having to be let go (which no one really wanted that, but things happen and departments need to downsize) was really just God being like "Okay, Whitney, you wouldn't listen to me before, so now I'm forcing you into it. It's really for your own good." There was definitely some comfort in that, until I started looking for a job.

At first it seemed that I had a lot of options. I even applied for a great, entry-level position. But I kept getting turned down because other applicants had more experience and higher education. Which kind of got me started thinking about going back to school. And now I'm only coming across part-time jobs, even though I've broadened my search terms. The only thing I know is that I want to work with books, in some way or another; they are my passion.

This past week or two I've been thinking more and more about getting my MFA. Maybe it's because of these school dreams I've been having, or maybe because Roommate M has decided to go to grad school, but whatever it is, it's a different path I'm looking down. I feel as though the paths are dark and winding, and I have no idea of which I should go down or where they will lead. But maybe opening myself up to going down different paths, one will become more clear.

Growing up I never thought I would get my master's. That was back in the days when I thought I would be married at 21 and be having kids. My senior year of college, that thought changed. I found out about a creative writing MFA, and I became really interested in doing that. But even then I thought that I would do it once I had a job (hopefully one that would help pay for it), or maybe even years down the road. To be thinking about it at this stage in life is not what I was expecting, even though I know I should stop expecting things to happen when I think they should.

The good news is that my work has decided to keep me on (with reduced hours) until next June, or I find a job. I'm so grateful for them to be willing to help me and give me a lot of time to find something. They have even been working with me to sharpen my skills by giving me different tasks, and telling me about any job opportunities they know of. General Minion, my mentor, has even offered to help me on the GRE, and listens to me when I get down because I can't find a job. She was the one who proposed keeping me on for another 6 months, and she has sent me job listings I qualify for. It's been stressful, and it's been hard, and sometimes it makes me wonder about my talents and whether or not I have what it takes, but there are so many people in my life who are there to support me and to give me encouragement. Everyone goes through this at least once, right? It's just my turn and I know things will be better for it--if only I knew when!

Sisyphus, Part 2

Years ago, I wrote a blog post about how I felt like I was Sisyphus. That I was constantly pushing my rock up a mountain, only to have it fall down again--thinking that I was making progress and then something happening that made it feel like I was taking a major step backwards. In my pessimism, I thought that people didn't even think I was trying, that they saw me at the bottom of my mountain with the rock there, and they thought I was lazy.

And this might be true for some people. But I have learned this past week that there are people who think that I am strong. And that I'm brave. Even when I feel weak and cowardly. Because I keep trying. I keep pushing that rock. And sometimes I slip backwards, and sometimes it seems like I end up at the bottom again, but they know that I can do it, and that I'm trying, and they cheer me on and give me support.

And today, I'm really thankful for those people in my life.

Weary Traveler (PEI Day 1)

This day of traveling was tough for me. My flight left at 6 am, and being the good girl I am who always follows instructions, my dad and I planned for me to get at the airport two hours before my flight. This meant I woke up at 3 in the morning, which is too early for anyone. Once I got to the airport, I realized that security didn't even open until 4:30! I could have gotten another half hour of sleep!

So, I just stood outside security, being anxious for the day ahead of me. I don't think getting 5 hours of sleep helped at all. Once I made it through security, I easily found my gate, and sat down. I was just sitting there, being anxious, when all of a sudden I felt sick. This isn't uncommon for me--I have a nervous stomach, and being anxious just aggravates it even more--but usually it's just a nauseated feeling that doesn't usually ever come to anything (except for a few times in high school). But then I felt that sour feeling which precedes the inevitable, and I stood up quickly to get to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I didn't make it more than ten steps when I had to stop at a garbage can to . . . let's say, expectorate bile. At the gate. In front of a bunch of strangers. At 5 in the morning. The fortunate thing is that I didn't have anything in my stomach, so it wasn't as horrible as it could have been. Either no one noticed, or everyone politely ignored me, but I was able to sit down not much later. At first I was pretty upset about this (being sick makes one upset anyway), but then the thought came to mind, "Well, the day can only go up from here, right?" And it was with that cheerful thought that I boarded the plane to Minneapolis.

I spent most of the flight listening to my "relaxing" playlist on my phone, and dozing off and on. The landing was a bit rough, and it was even worse when I realized I had fifteen minutes to get to my next flight. So, with little in my stomach, and feeling nauseated from the flight, I raced to my gate. A nice airport employee told me when to get off the tram and which direction to head. I made the gate just in time, as the lady who checked my boarding pass told me. Before asking me if I was over sixteen, because I "just look young."

It is this second leg of my journey that the best story comes in.

My seat was next to a guy, probably mid to late 20s. We chatted a little bit, but since I get sick on every mode of transportation (except trains), I eventually said that I was going to try to get some sleep and put in my earbuds. He said okay, and then started talking to me again a few minutes later. After doing this twice, I realized that I wasn't going to get any rest on this flight, so I stopped trying. About halfway through the flight he asked me how I felt about long distance relationships. I told him that I'm not very good with them, and then he asked what I would say if he asked me out. I told him I'd say no. "Well, I'd just like to hang out," he responded, "I'd like to show you Minneapolis." I said that I didn't expect I'd be getting back to Minneapolis anytime soon. Then we got to talking about polygamy, because I'm from Utah and apparently that's all he ever heard about Utah. And I found out he was originally from India. It wasn't a horrible way to spend a couple of hours. But the good part came while we were descending for a landing in Toronto. He leaned over and whispered, "Do you mind if I ask a random question." I didn't. "Well, I have three hours before my next flight, and you have 2 hours. Do you want to have a fling?"

Hahahaha. Seriously, the moment he said that I thought, "Oh, this is going to be a great story to tell!" I politely said, "No." "Are you sure?" he asked, "What if you change your mind?" I told him I wouldn't and the answer was still no. A couple of minutes later he leaned over again and said, "I didn't offend you did I? I just thought that if I didn't put myself out there then nothing would happen, and I . . . I think you're cute and you have a pretty smile." I assured him I wasn't offended (in fact, I was quite flattered that he wanted to have a "fling" with me!).

I went through customs, which seemed an unnecessarily drawn out process, and had half an hour or so before boarding my last plane. We arrived in a rainy Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, about two hours later. Even from the air I was struck with how green the island was! I had had the idea of taking a bit of a walk around Charlottetown that night, but with the rain I didn't want to. Instead, I unpacked (I had read somewhere that if you are staying for more than one night, you should unpack, and I'm glad I did), then took advantage of the jacuzzi in my room and sat in there and read. Then wrapped myself up in a large bathrobe and sat on my comfy bed and watched some TV, with the fireplace going. It was lovely, and helped me recover from all my traveling.

You can see the jacuzzi in the corner

Nice welcoming fireplace, so cozy!

I could almost sleep well on this bed! That's a big deal!

Doing New Things and How They Make Me Feel

You know how in murder mysteries, it seems like where ever the main character goes, he or she is always surrounded by murder? Like, they are on vacation, and someone gets murdered. They just can't catch a break!

Last night I had a dream that I had just arrived on my vacation on PEI and there was a murder at my hotel. Besides showing that I watch way too many murder mysteries, I think it also shows how nervous I am about going on vacation. At least this dream I know won't happen (well, I'm fairly positive), whereas the dream I had about a month ago about missing all my connecting flights was worse because it actually could happen.

Here's the thing: I'm a naturally nervous and worrisome person. I really wish I weren't, but it's not exactly something you can just turn off. So, this vacation, while I am excited for it, also makes me nervous. I mean, I'm leaving the country. By myself. To go to place I've never been, to do things I've never done before; like, rent a car, have my own hotel room, navigate a place I've never been. I've never been on a plane without having someone else I knew with me. So, yeah, I'm a little nervous.

And people, trying to be kind, sometimes make it worse. Having them express their excitement for me makes me more anxious about this trip. That probably seems weird to a lot of you, but it's almost like I have these expectations I have to meet now. My solo vacation isn't so much about me anymore, but everyone who is expecting to hear about it. I know that they are excited for me because they are my friends--I completely understand that. But it doesn't change the fact that every time someone says "I'm so excited!" I get a feeling like a rock in the bottom of my stomach. And then I think, "Why are you excited? You aren't going." Which is probably rude. Sorry.

Lately I've been thinking about the last time I left the country, which was just a little over five years ago. I was sitting in my mom's office at her work, because my plane didn't leave until about 1 or something. She had a TV and DVD player in her office, so I was watching movies. A teacher came in, and after mistaking me for a middle school student (I was 20 at the time), I explained to him who I was and what I was doing. When he heard I was leaving for England that day he asked, "Are you scared?" He was the first person who had asked me that, and it felt good to say, "Yes, a little." I have no idea who that teacher was, but the fact that he could see that I was nervous was such a nice break from all the "Wow"s and "That's going to be amazing"s.

I know a lot of people don't understand why I decided to take a solo vacation--especially all you extroverts out there. I know that sharing an experience with someone can be awesome, because I have shared some amazing experiences with people. But I need a break. I need to be away from my work and my coworkers, and just regular life in general. I need to be able to go on my vacation and not have to worry about if the other person is having a good time, or what they want to do (because I know I would). I can do whatever I want, because it is wholly my vacation. If I want to read in a park (if it doesn't rain the entire time I'm there), I can and I will. Another reason I wanted to do this by myself is because I want to see if I can. I'm a single girl (woman, I guess, but for some reason I can never call myself a woman. A woman is someone who is much more sophisticated and grown up than I am) who wants to travel (even though I'm a horrible traveler), but I might not always have someone to travel with, and I don't think that should be something to hold me back. I shouldn't have to wait for there to be someone to go with me. 

So, this trip, which I leave for very early Wednesday morning, is my guinea pig, my trial run, my beta test. And, despite my nerves, I'm sure I'm going to have a good time.

Spring Time Blues and Tender Mercies

I don't know what it is about this time of year, but it seems that every year around this time, I have a little bit of a break down. It's so weird, the littlest thing can set me off. When I was in school, I thought it was because it was the end of semester and I was just mentally exhausted. But thinking it over, I think it's more that after going through the long winter, you have a week or two of Mother Nature teasing warm weather and sunshine before she takes it all away and it's back to snow and cloudy skies.

Anyway, it sucks. It kind of makes me feel like I'm going crazy. I'm up and down, crying over every little thing--or nothing. My thoughts become irrational, every insecurity comes up, and I can't fight them off. I feel like I need to stay away from people so they don't get frustrated at my bad mood, but really a lot of times it's being around someone that I need that helps. Not a lot of people, but just one other person.

Last week, I went into my closet to cry (in order to prevent roommate M from hearing me) and I was thinking about all those stories you read about in church magazines, and hear in testimony meeting about how someone was having a bad day or they were sick and there was a knock on the door. When they open the door, standing there is someone from their ward, who just "had a feeling" that they needed to stop by. And I just couldn't help thinking, "Why doesn't God ever send someone for me? Why doesn't anyone ever feel like they need to see how I'm doing?" After I got myself under control and had gotten ready for bed, M comes in to say hi (she'd been late coming home and had been on the phone). She asks how my day was, and, since I can't really hide my feelings (hence that not wanting to be around people), she could tell it hadn't been very good. We have a little chat about what had happened, and as she's leaving, she just said, in passing, "I'm glad I felt like I should come say hi." She doesn't even know what that meant to me.

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't get back to sleep. All those thoughts of worthlessness were invading my head. And even though I had just spent five days with family, and my mom was telling me she didn't want me to leave, I just couldn't believe that anyone loved me. I felt friendless and about three inches tall. There had been a quick visit to the closet, but I just couldn't bring myself under control. I laid in bed crying, whispering "stop it, stop it, stop it." I just wanted to stop thinking those things, because I knew they weren't true. Eventually I either tired myself out enough, or Someone was able to calm my mind, but I fell asleep. This morning, I still just wasn't feeling great--partly because I was exhausted. As I was doing my hair and make-up this morning, I get a text from M (who had already left for school): "I heated up some water for you. ... I love your face! Have a good day!" Which is exactly what I needed. Someone to do something nice for me (heat up water for my lemon-honey tea I drink in the morning), and to tell me that they loved me and cared how I was. As far as I know, M has no idea about my tumultuous night.

And work helped. Work always helps, which is amazing to me. Sometimes working fulltime can be tough and frustrating and I just think about all the things I'd rather be doing. But the thing I've noticed about work, is how much it actually helps me. I stay busy and focused on the tasks I need to complete, so I don't have time to worry too much about me.

So, maybe my stories aren't Ensign worthy. It wasn't one of those stories where it's just a completely random person received revelation that I needed them. God knew that I probably wouldn't have taken advantage of it, even if I felt like I wanted it, because I don't share things with close friends, let alone strangers. But the thing is, there was someone in my life who did something she thought was completely normal, but meant so much to me. Hopefully I've cried myself out and cleansed all my emotions (who am I kidding, I still feel a bit weepy). The weather is supposed to get warmer, and M and I are heading to St. George this weekend for my birthday, so that should help to. I think I just need to get away and clear my head.

I'm not sharing this because I'm looking for validation or pity. But, I appreciate reading the blogs of my friends who are honest about things--things that aren't perfect in their lives. And I think that the five of you who read this know that I'm not perfect. (Which, you probably already know.) And to just share in the fact that we all have hard times that we have to work though, even if they are irrational and caused by the weather.

March Book of the Month

There is something about a book that makes you laugh and cry, and laugh while you cry, and cry while you laugh. Those are the books that I find myself recommending the most because if a book can make me feel so much, the author must have done something right.

Which is why my book of the month for March is a reread for me, and something I've mentioned previously in my blog: The Fault in Our Stars by John Green.

This book has become kind of a big deal since it was released in January 2012. I first read it that summer and this month I read it again in one night while my roommate was off on her spring break adventures. I cried just as hard (or harder) the second time around.

The story is narrated by Hazel, a sixteen year old girl with terminal cancer--kept alive by a miracle drug. She meets Augustus Waters at a support group for cancer kids. Augustus lost his leg to cancer and is in remission now. Green has a clever way of writing, with fast-paved dialogue and quirky characters. I love the details he includes--for example, Augustus's parents have what they call "encouragements" (ie, "families are forever" and "we wouldn't know happiness without sadness"), which are so much like the kitsch found in Mormon households that it made me laugh (and wonder if John Green had perchance known a Mormon . . .).

Anyway, this is a book that I recommend to everyone who wants a good book. It's funny, clever, and, yes, desperately sad.

Updates, Updates Everywhere

First, a sad update. I applied for a full-time position at work, but wasn't considered for an interview. At first I was pretty upset about this, and had a little bit of reflection on where I want to be and how to get there, and even wondered if editing was the right path for me. But once I had some time to think, and I met some of the candidates for the position, I realized that I really didn't have the education and experience to help me compete against other candidates. And I also realized that I needed more diversity in my work, including opportunities to use my editing skills. So I asked for it, and my supervisors/managers have been very good at finding a few projects here and there to give me that diversity and practice. So, good and bad there.

In good news, I'm fulfilling one of my New Year's Resolutions! Yes, I am going to Canada!! Prince Edward Island, to be exact. My plane tickets are all paid for, I've got my hotel reservations made, my car rental is set up, and I'm planning an itinerary and packing list. I don't go until mid-June, but it's exciting (and scary) to think about. I'm going by myself--a fitting tribute to Anne, I think. So, funny story, as I was writing down a rough itinerary, I realized I have FOUR days on Prince Edward Island, instead of the three that I thought I had. I was so surprised and wondered what I was going to do with that extra day! Guess it just means that I get to spend another day exploring the island! I've planned an entire day for my Anne pilgrimage--going to Cavendish and seeing the house LM Montgomery lived in while she wrote Anne, seeing Green Gables house, Lover's Lane, and hopefully seeing the Anne of Green Gables musical. The other days I just want to wander around the island and take in the beauty of it.

Let's see, what other updates can I give? My niece is still in the "unborn" stage, but I can tell I'm going to spoil her rotten. I've decided that being the only unmarried aunt by default makes me the favorite aunt. While her other aunts have their own families/children, I can devote all my love and attention on little Baby E alone. She and I are going to be buddies, I just know. I'm going to read to her from all my favorite books from the time she is born on, and I'm going to teach her how to be a geek. I get to feel her move next week when sis and bro-in-law come to visit and I'm so excited!!

So, there is a more general update on my life. I'll be writing a bit more on narrow topics, but just wanted to share a little of what has been happening in my life!

The time! The time! Who's got the time?!

Does anyone else feel that there just isn't enough time in the day to get everything done that you need to do, let alone what you want to do?

I wake up every morning, excepting Saturdays and Sundays, at 6:30. At this point in the morning, I should have gotten the 8 hours of sleep recommended. I say should because I may have had my eyes closed for 8 hours, but that does not mean that I actually slept for that long. The next forty minutes is me getting ready for the day: showering, getting dressed, making my bed, doing my hair and makeup, ending with me eating breakfast while reading my scriptures. Then it's a 20 minute drive to work.

I get to work and I'm there for about 8 hours, taking 30 minutes for lunch where I either read a book or talk to coworkers. I leave work, followed by another 20 minute drive home. Sometimes during my drive home I run errands, so I don't have to leave my apartment again.

By the time I get home, I have 5 hours to try to do all my "extracurricular" activities, as well as those things you are supposed to be doing. These include working out, making dinner, cleaning, taking time to just relax, reading, writing either on my blog or in my novel, working on my lace, interacting with my roommate, keeping up on TV, paying my bills, and at least once a week participating in some sort of activity with my singles ward. Then all of a sudden it's 9:30 and time to get ready for the next day and bed. It's almost like you can't just sit down and watch a movie anymore without feeling guilty for not doing other things. After "going" for 10 hours, you just want to sit down and not have to think or do anything for awhile. Which I like to do. But then I start feeling all guilty when I look over at my lace, or see my novel up on the back of my computer, or notice the dirty dishes in the sink. And then the weekends come and I have Saturday to go places and do errands I couldn't/didn't do the rest of the week.

Anyway, sometimes it just feels like there are all these things I need to do! But the truth is, sometimes, it's okay to come home from work and watch TV. No one has the time to do all the things we feel like we should be doing. I try to write something at least two times a week. And I'm trying to get back to working on my lace after a too long haitus, but I can do that when I'm watching TV. And I try to clean the kitchen while I'm making dinner (or whenever I get in my restless moods and just can't sit still). I think a lot of times I feel like everyone else can do all these things, plus they are married and have kids! But in reality, they all probably feel like I do, that it's just so hard to get it all done in one day. We're all in this together!

The Blessing of Eternity

I've been thinking a lot the past week about how I was going to address this. I'm not usually one to mention sad or very personal things very often on my blog--though I have mentioned in the past the importance of this because it helps other people know they aren't alone in certain situations. But today I want to talk about my grandpa, who we just recently said our last goodbyes too.

My grandpa was one of the most amazing men I've ever met (my family is full of amazing men). Why is it that the most amazing people are the ones the world knows nothing about? I wish everyone could have known my grandpa the way he was--the way I hope I can remember. He was quiet, patient, and thoughtful. I think in my life I only heard him raise his voice once. He was a WWII veteran, spending his time in the war in the Pacific. He met my grandma his first week at BYU, and she made sure to snatch him up quick! I don't blame her, he was a very handsome guy. He raised three kids, of which my dad was the second. I remember him once saying that when he met my grandma's father, he realized for the first time that he could have a job doing what he loved. So he studied industrial education, eventually getting his doctorate and becoming the Chair of that department at BYU.

I don't know much about woodworking, but I like to think of my grandpa as a master craftsman. He was precise and careful. And he loved to teach. He spent two years in Ethiopia teaching at a university. And he taught my dad, uncle, several of his grandkids, nephews, and great nephews. I have this feeling that his shop door was always open, because I remember going in and sitting on his stools and playing with his vises which were attached to his workbench. I also remember sweeping up sawdust, with that faint smell of cherry.

I'm part of his legacy and I hope that I am a good example of what his life was.

When I was told that he died, of course I was sad, because he was my grandpa, but I also felt comforted. He had had Alzheimer's (that awful, awful disease) for the past ten years. I really feel like I have been mourning him for the past four years--about the time he forgot who I was. He had become a prisoner of his own mind and the comfort I felt was from the knowledge that he was free and whole again. I am so glad of my knowledge of life after death! A place where there is no more suffering, and there is perfection. And that he is part of my eternal family, and I will be able to see him again.

I don't really feel that my words are sufficient to say what I meant to say. A week of thought apparently wasn't enough.

Moving Out and Up: Packing, Moving, and Three Flights of Stairs

We had two weeks to pack before our moving day. Here's the thing with me, not only do I not like packing (and, let's be honest, who does?), but I'm really bad at it. I kind of put it off the first week, and then realized that I needed to be more motivated the second week.

I went down into the basement and just randomly wandered around, occasionally putting things in boxes, but I really had no direction! Finally, my mom came down and told me what to do. And then I'd wander around aimlessly again after having finished that one task. But, I was packed in time for us to get everything into one van, two trucks, and a car (it wasn't all just my stuff. Honest!). I have never had that much stuff in my car.

Two interesting things that happened the last week before the move: First, the Thursday before I was in charge of a craft night for the women in my ward (church congregation). I had already told them I was moving, and many of them asked me a lot about where I was going to. One woman who had helped me plan the activity talked to me a lot. I told her about how quickly it had all happened and all the situations I had just explained. And she said, "When things work together like that, then there's a reason." And there probably is. I don't know what the reason is, and I may never know, but it must just be the next stop on this road called life.

The second happened Friday night. We packed what we could in Dad's van, and I just started getting this sinking feeling. I had felt fine all week--little anxiety about the whole situation. I packed a little bit more, with a sad feeling in my heart. Finally, I went upstairs to get a hug from Mom and I just started crying. It was like, in that moment, it all became real. So, I talked to her about what I was feeling and the thoughts going through my head: living with M, a new ward, new city, my fears about what it will do to me and how I'll react. She let me talk and gave me a few tips and head's-ups.

The next day we moved. We live on the third floor, which is a nice place to live (no one above you), but a horrible place to move into. Fortunately, M has some strong friends who helped us move in. Mom and Dad stuck around for a little bit, and helped me set up my bedroom. Mostly, it was just because I wasn't quite ready for them to leave yet. But when they left, there weren't any tears. I spent the evening alone because M went out with a friend.  I just finished setting up my room and read a book. We didn't have TV (I needed to buy some rabbit ears), and we still don't have an internet, so I am so grateful for my new iPhone and it's data plan!

The next day we weren't to church. It was the first time in two years I'd gone to a single's ward, and I was a little nervous about it. But everyone was so friendly! We didn't even need to try to introduce ourselves, everyone just came up and asked us who we were, were we came from, what we were doing. It was kind of fun to see people's reactions when we said we'd known each other since fourth grade. The rest of the Sunday included M and I laying on the floor watching movies in a moving induced stupor.

The next post will be about my new commute!

Moving Out and Up: Applying for the Apartment

It was on a Thursday that we went to look at the apartment. I was going to stop by after work. (Apartment is located in City close to Salt Lake City.) I thought I had it all perfectly timed out, but I hit every single red light on the way to the freeway, then the traffic on the freeway started slowing down the exit before the one I needed. M called me while I was waiting at the light at the exit asking where I was. Then I got a call from Officer Manager asking if we were going to be there soon. When I told her I’d be there in 10 minutes, she said that she had some good news for us.

I also hit every red light from the freeway to Apartment Complex. Gah!

I had been pretty anxious about this all day. It was really the first grown-up thing I had ever done on my own, and I didn’t feel like I knew anything about it. And what if I signed a lease?! Then I’d really and truly be moving out of my parents’ house! M had texted me several times, and I felt like every time she would say how excited she was for it. I didn’t feel I could truly say I was excited, but I was glad for her excitement.

The good news when we got there was that, for that day only, we could get a 2 bed/2 bath for cheaper than a 2 bed/1 bath! And not only that, but there was an apartment available for move in as soon as we liked. While I would have been fine with a 1 bath, I haven’t had to share a bathroom with someone for two years and felt relieved at being able to keep it that way. We went and looked at the apartment, and while we were there, Office Manager told us that we had to make the decision in an hour because there were about 10 other people who wanted it and one couple was coming to look at it in an hour. In a way, I felt pressured about this. We asked Office Manager if we could talk by ourselves for a bit. “Go ahead and talk!” she said. But she never left us alone! It’s hard to have a candid talk about something when the person selling it to you is standing right there! So, that was a little frustrating.

We decided to apply for it and put down a deposit. Apparently, they don’t take personal checks for deposits (who knew, amiright?), so while I filled in the application, M ran around City to get a cashier’s check. While she was gone and I was filling out the application, I had a little private freak out moment. “What am I doing?!” and “Omigosh” were just a few thoughts going through my mind. M got back and we finished the process, with some notes of things we needed to send in (who carries around paystubs with them? Seriously.).  We also set our move-in date for two weeks and two days from then—November 3. And we left.

I asked M for a ride back to my car (I was in heels and parked on the opposite side of the complex). She confided in me that while she was driving around trying to find a bank, she also had a little freak out session which culminated her in calling her mom (who was on vacation on the east coast at that time). I told her of my freak out in the office. But, we both told each other, we felt good while we were IN the apartment. It felt comfortable, like we were meant to be there.

I did have a hard time driving home. I wanted to be strong and brave when I told my parents I was moving out. Ever since I had started looking at apartments, Mom would occasionally tell me “I’m homesick for you already” or something similar. I knew she would have as hard a time with me moving out as I would. Dad I didn’t worry about much—he’d made it no secret in the past two years that he was looking forward to being an empty nester again! Unfortunately, the whole me being brave thing didn’t work out too well. I got home and saw my mom. “How’d it go?” she asked. “Can I have a hug?” I responded. “Is this a goodbye hug?” Dad joked from the kitchen. I nodded, “Yeah, we paid a deposit.”

And then I burst into tears.

In the next post, I’ll talk about packing and moving in, along with a review of our Young Single Adults’ ward!

No Spend Month in Review

So, as some of you know, I decided that September was going to be my "no spend month"--to revive some of my spendings after a vacation and a work-clothes shopping spree.

I felt like the world was working against me. TWO of my favorite clothing websites had huge sales this month (one was up to 70% off!!); Amazon kept sending me e-mails about this on sale, or that, culminating in a ginormous sale on ALL of the David Tennant Doctor Who DVDs--WHAT?!? (That resulted me in sending an e-mail to my parents with a "hint hint". Hey, there's a holiday coming up in a couple months where people buy each other presents.) Anyway, it was very difficult to not spend this month!

Part of what this "no spend month" taught me was that there are just situations when you should spend. I know that sounds weird, but here are a few examples from this month:

I was able to go to the State Fair for free because I was demonstrating lace-making with some people from my class. So, I got in free (SCORE!), but when I told people that this was the first time I had ever gone to a fair before, I felt like everyone was telling me to get a funnel cake. I didn't even know what a funnel cake was, but at least one person said, "Funnel cakes are the best part of the fair." So I decided to get one. No, I didn't need it, it wasn't essential, but it was part of the experience (and it was delicious).

The second example was when I went out with a friend to a singles' dance. We left early (it was . . . kind of lame) and she asked if I wanted to get ice cream or something. We ended up going to Sonic and getting drinks. And it was nice because we just sat in the car for a little bit and talked. I could have said no, but sometimes paying $1.50 for a lemonberry slush is worth it (and seriously? it was $1.50).

Near the beginning of the month I thought, "Wow, wouldn't it be cool if I didn't use my credit card at all this month?" Which, it really would have been, but let's get real here. How do you pay for gas? Card. How do you pay for a birthday gift? Card. What do you do if you don't have cash on you? Use a card. And, honestly, I just don't carry cash around with me that much. I use my card like cash.

I also came up with a monthly budget plan, which is in a way good and in another bad. It makes me feel more poor than I usually do. :(

Anyway, here's how I did it (all moneys blanked out of course--I don't want the interwebs knowing all that!):

I did just notice I forgot to put something on. Guess I'll have to go fix that! Anyway, it's pretty straightforward. All the things I spend money on in a month, all the things I want to save up for, and the things that fluctuate on my spending.

I'm feeling all grown up.

I think people might be interested in knowing what I'm going to spend money on in October, now that I can. Well, Perry needs a new set of tires, and some filters. I do get a new pair of shoes (my reward), but instead of getting new new ones, I'm going to be replacing my favorite pair that broke last month. Sad. And . . . I think I'll buy a the new Rick Riordan book that comes out on Monday. Because I want it. I'm also looking for longer skirts to wear to work now that the weather is getting colder, and maybe some fun tights to help keep my legs warm.

It's hard being all grown up.

We all have bad days

There's this girl I know and I read her blog. And sometimes, I get really jealous of her. There are times when I feel like she has everything that I have always wanted: a good husband, a spot in the MFA program I want to do if I ever get enough money, a baby on the way. I hate that I get so jealous, because she's really great and I think she's an amazing and admirable person.

And then, in my height of jealousy, she'll post something on her blog (as she did today) that helps me realize that her life isn't perfect and she goes through hard times too. It's not that I rejoice in her misfortunes, because it hurts me to hear that something bad is happening in her life, but it makes my heart lighter to know that she isn't perfect, just like me.

I think that this is something that we all go through. We check our facebook or read someone's blog, and it seems like everything is going great for everyone else. This person gets a great job, this person is on an amazing vacation, this guy just got engaged, this girl is having a baby. All we ever see are the amazing things in people's lives, and then we look at our own and wonder what's wrong with us. "Why am I stuck in a dead end job?" We might ask ourselves. "I've never been anywhere cool. I haven't been on a date in three years. I'm still living with my parents."

I know this observation isn't anything new. There's been news articles about once every three months about how there is a rise in depression because of facebook. But I guess what I'm thinking is, sometimes it's okay to let people know that something didn't go right. You don't have to post only bad things--that's going to the extreme in the other direction--but just to let people know that you run into parked cars too sometimes. Or the thought of going to your high school reunion makes you scared because you're certain you will be the only single person left in your class. You don't always need to plaster a smile on your face.

That's something that I try to do with this blog. I try to be positive when I tell stories about my struggles, but I feel like it's important to let people know that I make mistakes. I make mistakes a lot. I'm a mistake maker. But I also sometimes do awesome things and I want to share that too! So, maybe, the 39 people who read this blog will come to it and realize that they aren't alone when their car breaks down, or a customer at work yelled at them, or they just had the kind of day that only ice cream and a tear-jerker movie can fix.

I've always said that if I could make a difference in one life, I would feel that my life was complete. I hope that maybe this little personal blog, sometime, for someone, somewhere, can make a difference somehow.

Here's a new song I discovered. Remember, we all have something to share.

Always better to sleep on it . . .

Last night I had every intention of coming on here and writing a blog post that would go a little something like this:

Whine whine whine. Pity pity pity. Cry cry cry. Blah blah blah.

Fortunately, I decided against it. I would be regretting it today if I hadn't.

The thing is, I was reminded of something that I had learned about my self about 2 months ago, and that is that my greatest weakness is low self worth. For some people, it's addiction, or bringing others down, or food, or whatever. Mine is low self worth.

I'm a Christian. I believe in God and Satan. I also believe that Satan knows how to take the spirit away from us, if we let him. And for me, it's making me start thinking things like I'm not worth it, and reminding me of every stupid thing I've every said or done. He makes me feel like the lowest of the low, and if I don't fight it, I can get taken in.

So how do I fight it?

First by realizing what's happening. I can't do anything until I can think reasonably.

Then I try the most basic of things: count my blessings! Who I have in my life, the things I have been given, etc. Basically, what is it that makes my life so good? Because I do have a good life.

Prayer helps too. That is what Satan doesn't want--us still speaking to God.

And finally, french fries and ice cream. No fail.