Author Schizophrenia

 It won't stop.
I have been reading Dickens, which means that it is worse than normal.
I have been reading Nickleby specifically. This means that it is especially worse than normal because I still have half the show memorized, which equals more raw material for the schizophrenia to stem from.
I might be crazy, but at least we know I picked the right major, right?

Randomocity

I spent all day at work today, like every Tuesday. Only today was fun and not horrific like last week. And I was thinking today that tuesdays are a perfect example of how you can be doing completely menial tasks for almost no money and still have a good day when you add a good attitude and some awesome people. Like, diet coke level excellent co worker friends. Also, actual diet coke. (that is why the world goes round.)

The following things made my day awesome, or at least noteworthy:

- I made a lot of messes, even for me. And Scott didn't see a single one. I don't think he's ever missed one before. He has a sort of sixth sense; he turns up out of the blue exactly when I do something dumb, almost always. But today, he missed the spilled beets that turned the cutting board purple (probably permanently), the explosion of honey mustard, and the insane amount of times I inadvertently threw vegetables out of frying pans.
- I figured out where the chronic bruises on my forearm come from.  I yank the walk in handle open with the inside of my arm cause my hands are full, that's where they come from! That has been driving me crazy for months. Victory.
- I held in several huge sneezes succesfully, and I did not contaminate any food with the violent symptoms of my nasty cold. I also dosed myself like a druggie with cold medicine and ate airborne pills like candy, soo.....
-  People started looking at me weird while I was swiping their meal plan cards, and that was when I became very aware that part of my face was twitching uncontrollably because I had been holding in sneezes for so long. I really tried to stop it. Unsuccessfully.
- I cannot and have never flipped a pancake or omlette in the air without it crumbling apart. And Gary, bless his heart, was so concerned about this, that he went home and googled "how to flip an omlette in the air". And then he came and told me to practice with a heavy piece of bread. So I walked around flipping bread for a while, and then I threw my very first pancake. It was a big deal. Scott and Elyse celebrated with me, and then I ate the pancake to congratulate myself. boom. roasted. 
- Collin asked me how my dating life was going, and when I told him I didn't have one, he said "Blake, fix that!" I am holding up awkward hands.
- I tried Brough's old "cure for the common cold", aka diet coke and orange juice mixed together. He tried to make me try it back in ninth grade and I wouldn't do it, but today, I got desperate enough. And let me tell you something. It is not worth it, folks. I never thought I would say this, but Brough is wrong.
-Last but not least, awkward comment of the day and possibly the semester.
Brought to you by Collin Maki:

"I'm taking off my pants. You can be in here if you want, but I'd probably get out."

I got out.

The Universe is trying to tell me something

You know those days that make you believe all over again that coincidence is a myth? Like the time I was uber depressed about that awful accidental haircut and wanted to go live in some bushes until my hair grew back and then three strangers told me I was pretty in one day!

This has been one of those days, only all week long. Backstory: Lately I have been feeling kind of slumped. I have a lot of big decisions to make and I am just a bit stuck. And I have just been feeling like nothing will ever happen, you know? All those things on my bucket list just feel kind of far off and that is a little bit despressing. And then some odd stuff started happening this week. For example:

-Instead of having  awful dreams or sleepless three a.m.s, I have been having the best dreams of my life, wherein all the things I think will never occur actually occur.
- The lady at the temple asked me if I was endowed, and when I said no, she shook her head and said, "Not yet. We think positive." Kay, true. That will happen someday.
- I went to the bridal fair with my engaged RS President roommate Stephanie (this year's recipient of my roommate curse). And we went to the S.E. Needham's Jewelers's  station and the one guy told all of the brides to come try on the rings, and Stephanie's sister and I both said that we aren't getting married, right? The bride is over there wearing the bride sticker! And he said, "Please! You're getting married. Not right now, but you are getting married." Wow. That was probably some marketing stunt they have to say, but I don't even care. Way to be all positive, random diamond guy.

This is cool. Not cause I am suddenly unstuck, but these are definite signs promoting positive thinking and patience and hope over all my carefully guarded hopes and three a.m. wishes, right?

Also, I have been listening to Joshua Radin, and that makes unhappiness impossible.
Ha. Stuff will happen.

Also. The Middle just came on the radio. Coincidence? I think NOT!  Is it weird that I believe with serious-not-joking certainty that Heavenly Father has some influence in my pandora stations? Cause you can't tell me that was chance. Seriously. Go read the lyrics.

My dad calls me grace, and that is what we call "sarcasm"

So we all know I'm not the most graceful person in the world. I concentrate really hard on not falling down when I walk home from school, I can't open my car door with my left hand, I get mystery bruises on a consistent basis, and I strategically place the condiments in relatively spill-proof spots at work. This last effort is one I attend to valiantly, but it is, alas, sometimes in vain. Aka, my boss told me a few months ago that he tries to guess what I will spill every day, and it amuses him. " Really, I look forward to seeing what you'll spill every morning!" Outstanding.

While these incidents are generally embarrassing and problematic, they are very seldom painful in any lasting way. I just chalk it up to quirks and wobble on. Bruises schmooses, you know? But lately, I've been burning myself a lot. Last week I was making some girl a chocolate chip pancake at work, and I went to flick a burning piece of chocolate off the spatula into the trash, except that it stuck to my glove and I spent the rest of my shift fake smiling and pressing my newly blistered thumb down on the frosty edges of the refrigerator table.  And then I burned my neck with a straightener yesterday when I tripped over the cord. And about half an hour ago, I poured boiling water on my fingers.

This apparent inability to avoid injury on such basic levels frustrates the crap out of me! I have a job, and a car, and I pay rent, and go to school, and take road trips cause I feel like it, and I am a big kid, dang it! But I don't know if there is much hope for me getting much further than that when I can't master things like 'move your freaking hand out of the way when you drain the boiling liquid off your noodles!'

I just keep telling myself that there is hope as long as I can still tango. In the meantime, I just have to stock up on ice packs and bandaids, and hope the rest of the world thinks it is endearing, just like Scott does when I hit myself in the face with a stream of ranch dressing from a squeeze bottle.

The Power of the Written Word

Once upon a time last weekend, I was with my roommate Ariell and our friends Joshua and Lance in the basement of the Poop House* watching a movie. And it was lateish, like 10:40, when I got a call from my twin cousin Amy, who informed me that she and Mark (her awesome husband. we are friends.) were reading my blog.

Now here's the really flattering part.

Amy told me that reading my blog made them miss me so much that she wanted to come get me from Logan and take me home for the long weekend. Right now. So I of course jumped on that, and Amy and Mark got in their little car at eleven at night and drove from Provo to Logan so that I would not be stranded without a car by myself for the next three days. Thus began an epic journey. Three drive thru's, a spicy McChicken sandwich, two offramp detours, one stop for milk, and two extremely frigid gas station bathroom trips later, we were back in Provo.

Now comes the fun part. Mark was driving, leaving Amy and I to our own devices, which is sometimes a dangerous thing when we are exhausted in the wee hours of the morning. Some odd conversation ensued. Thus:

3:02 Big Amy: "My hand is making farting noises!" (giggling)
3:03 Little Amy: "Whoa. It's gotta be early if Amy is trying to make farting noises with her hands.   How are you doing that?"
3:04 Mark: " Uh. You are doing what?"
3:04 Big Amy: (incoherent mumbling/more giggling)
3:05 Little Amy: "I can't do it! Show me how!" (continued giggling)
3:06 Mark: "Wow."
3:07: Both Amys: (giggling plus a chorus of hand-farting)
3:08: Little Amy: "I wonder if this is what it feels like to be drunk."

After terrorizing Mark with such subjects and sharing some horror stories of really stupid college activities (involving minor trespassing on the part of both Amys), we arrived safely in Provo at approximately 4:00 a.m. And then I spent a whole weekend with my favorite cousin and our favorite Mark, staying up late talking, reading all my favorite blogs, eating Peanut Butter Crunch, teaching little sunbeam girls who all have a crush on Mark at church, and generally having a wonderful time.

And all that would never have happened if I hadn't blogged about my smushed little car.
That is the power of the written word.

*All the college houses have names, right? They live in the poop house. For reals, not for fakes.

Celebrating an absolute Saga of cosmetic damage

Welp. It's official. Jedediah has awful luck.

Backstory: Jedediah is my car, also known affectionately as "Little Jed", which affectionate name is usually accompanied by an affectionate pat on his dashboard. In case you couldn't tell, there's a lot of affection going on up in here. I am kind of attached. ( fun tidbit: I form arguably unhealthy bonds with inanimate objects on a fairly consistent basis.)

Moving right along! Jedediah once belonged to my beloved brother Ben, who bought him in college. Jed was a salvaged title. If I remember correctly, when Ben adopted him, he had already been rear-ended and broadsides a couple times. And then Ben married my sister and somewhere in there they rear-ended somebody, and somewhere in there he got rear-ended again, I think. It's hard to keep track and I probably have it wrong. All I really know is one of those stories includes my pregnant sister, a firmly locked door, a crazy swearing lady, and a call to the police.

At this point in his life, Jed is pretty quirky.  (a fact which absolutely factors into my feelings of affection) In list form:
 -the drivers seat squeaks uncontrollably, which is pretty useful when I want to freak people out.
- the button on top of the shifter isn't attached, and I have this habit of playing with it until it flips somewhere in the car until I dig it out from under the seats and return it to it's rightful place. It's only still there because Ben was super OCD about it, and I obligingly carried on the tradition.
- The back passenger window doesn't shut tight. I discovered this the first time I drove Jed on the freeway and thought he was dead cause there was a tire leaking somewhere. Further experience has demonstrated that the wind just whistles like a freaking banshee the instant you hit 80 miles an hour.
- The volume button is extremely temperamental. The only thing that works is love.
- As a result of all the accidents, Jed's rebuilt body doesn't quite fit together exactly right in some spots. aka, the weather stripping on the trunk doesn't seal, and the drivers visor gets stuck in some cracks above the door, a fact I discovered after smacking myself with it a couple times while yanking it out of the stupid crevaces.
- Finally, the gas gauge is broken, a fun fact Erin discovered when she ran out of gas on the freeway on the way to a final exam. Ben has accordingly taught me to be super OCD about keeping track of the miles. Just like a three year old boy, when Jed says he's full, he's lying, and he will shortly throw a fit and demand sustenance.

So anyway. I'm sure you all cared about that. The point is that Jed, who seems to be a car of fixable accidents, has recently been mushed a little bit, this time in my care. In celebration of the first day of spring semester, the cosmos decided to send me a surprise in the form of some girl who left her car on the hill outside my apartment and did not put it in park. Although I was in class for this little fiasco, the story goes that her car rolled up over the sidewalk , clipped the bumper of some red truck, hit the middle of the mazda parked next to me, and pushed said mazda into my own Jedediah. 

So Jed is okay. Not in critical condition. It's just the panel above the wheel. It even missed the door. However, the wheelwell is mushed in enough that I can't drive the car, cause the wheel won't turn. Also, I've been playing phone tag with multiple insurance companies all week, because somehow they can't determine liability.  How hard is it to tell that it is her fault? Her car was not in park. So basically, we're stuck, Jed and I. And they better get the dang police report and fix my car soon or I will go berserk. And no one wants that. I can be a real shrew when "things like this"* happen.

So cross your fingers for me and Jed, okay? If he doesn't get fixed soon, we won't be coming home next week. Which will be sad cause I miss the fam damily. Of course, I would then be forced to reschedule that dentist appointment where they are going to put a drill in my mouth and make me pay for it. Ah, silver linings!

*"Things like this", including, but not limited to:
- Knocking my car. In this case, literally.
- Knocking my authors. Victor is my homeboy.
- Chronic Diet Coke deprivation.
- Short-term Diet Coke deprivation.
- Forced proximity with lazy co-workers. Story there.

A Hiatus from blogging, and also regular life

Judging space, should you require it:
                                                                                                             
                                                                                                                 
                                                                                                                 


Because I'm a slacker blogger, that's why. Update whirlwind: Finals are over and I survived, like a champion. I had bags under my eyes. I was exhausted. I had a lot left to do. But I was a champion cause I took all those tests and worked all those shifts and wrote all those papers and I didn't even overdose on caffeine and the week contained only minimal amounts of internal author arguments and only one meltdown, and that was in Hobby Lobby and had nothing to do with studying.

So. Notable Holiday Break Occurrences thus Far: (which I reserve the right to blog further about)
- Sleepovers with my nieces and nephew. Also, staying up til three in the morning talking to my sister who I haven't seen in four months. Playing peekaboo and catching children as they jump from the stairs and making cookies and doing hair and tucking in to bed and changing diapers and snuggling to my heart content! I think God made me the youngest sibling because he knew I needed to be an Aunty.

- Going back to work at my old job. Exciting things happened, aka the "Christmas Party" where we all piled into one car and drove to Provo and ate ice cream, followed by some harrowing experiences. (The jury is still out as to whether this subject is internet appropriate. More to follow, maybe.)

-Impromptu drives to Provo with my father where we wandered around the mall eating pretzels and I told him of my ambition to someday own a Prada handbag. Or Marc Jacobs. This is a desire I am kind of ashamed of, because I don't believe in spending thousands of dollars on extraneous purses when there are children starving in Africa. But a girl can dream, both for better systems of goods distribution worldwide as a solution to malnutrition and also of really pretty accessories.

- Christmas shopping with Justin, at which time we drank Japanese sodas and ate a candy bar made of milk chocolate and bacon. It was really odd. Also, it continues to amuse me every time people think we are a couple. Aka, the girl at Kinkos asked her coworker if she had helped "the couple over there". Also, when Justin left me alone in the line at World Market, the man behind me started talking about Japanese soda flavors, only he moved way closer than necessary or comfortable. And then Justin came back and he turned around and moved away very quickly. Ha! He is a good repeller for unwanted pursuers. Not just for region dances anymore!

- Taylorsville's Christmas concert! I was very pleasantly surprised to find that I actually remembered the whole Hallelujah Chorus, and also that I can still sing those notes. Who knew! Love that. I think that Taylorsville's stage will always be one of my happy places, and there is something about standing on that top riser next to Jessica singing high A's that fills my soul in a way no other thing can. Oh, Choir! How I miss you!

- Christmas Day! Going to the Golden Living Branch with my whole family and singing for all the residents at sacrament meeting. I love singing there, be it young women's groups, graces, or madrigals. I like it best with my family. Faking the alto line with Rose was great fun. "We'll just wing it. If we get it right, it will be a Christmas miracle!"

As for the blogging hiatus, it will probably continue following this cop out post. In lieu of blogging, I shall be reveling in the short lived opportunities for interaction with people here in the 801. No promises until the second week in January. And then I will whip out some stuff about the wonderfullness that is life, and maybe delve into some deep thought.

P.S. I find that life, and blogging, sometimes resembles a "CalvinandHobbesian" balance between the pure and active pursuit of joy found in things like Calvinball and Spaceman spiff fantasies and the deeply existential and personally challenging social commentary presented through the eyes of this six year old genius and his pet tiger. Aka, when do you know when to take a break from experiencing and blog about the experiences? Or maybe a better question is when do you stop reporting the experiences and start analyzing them? Just. If I ever start posting recipes of what I made my husband for dinner with step by step pictures accompanied by no intelligent thought, will someone please tell me to get a life? And now that we are way off the beaten track and it is one a.m...... continue hiatus!

P.S. For a good example of such a fragile "CalvinandHobbesian" balance, go here. This is my friend Brogan. He blogs. Rather brilliantly. Feast.

Disclaimer

I can't be witty. I can't be insightful. I can't even be cheerful. There's nothing left. The one thing I want to say is that I went to Relief Society today and we had a lesson on the judgment day, during which we talked a lot about finals week and how it is kind of eerie how the two are sort of the same thing.

Hence, the last thing I have left inside me, standing here on the brink of the semi-annual week of brutality, is a sheer muscle aching teeth grinding will to survive until 1:20 on Friday. From here on out, that does not include blogging.

So basically, this is goodbye. I'll see you on the other side.

Wonky Occurences in the Workplace

More listmaking. Buckle up.

- My alarms decided not to go off this morning. Thus, I woke up at 6:30. You know, the exact time I am supposed to be at work. But that's okay, cause I ran all the way there and was clocked in at 6:38. Did anybody even notice I was late? Not so much. Score.

- Not only did my supervisor not care about this little punctuality hiccup, he asked my boss to give me more hours on his shifts and she said sure cause they like me. Score! More hours agenda taken care of.

- Tonight at work, I was serving food like normal, and I asked this guy in line what I could get for him, right? Then there was this awkward moment when I thought he said "Can I have you?" Pretty sure he meant food, but then he blushed, so maybe he really said you? So that was uncomfortable and stuff.

- One of my supervisors asked me how my dating life was going. And then he told me that I don't have a boyfriend cause my facebook posts are boring. And then at the end of the night he told me to go home and find a boyfriend. Uhh...how do you say....

I like my job. Never a dull moment.

This is the part I call Frantic Oragnization

Guys. It is midnight. And I have spent the past hour making lists and planning every possible thing in my life from here until Christmas. I made a list of all the stuff I need to print, and one of all the stuff I have to do tomorrow specifically, and a list of all the reading I have to do, and The Final List (finals week desperation-style), and posted them on my computer, two different spots on my walls, and in my folder. A copy is going in my planner, too.

Aka. It is late and I am stressed and OCD has stopped making house calls and set up residence until further notice. Here we are, fresh on dead week. This is the semi-annual week marked by obsessive bed-making, sticky notes, frantic folder clean out sessions, freakish efforts to tear out every leftover strip of paper from all the torn out pages in every one of my notebooks.

At this moment, I am fighting for deep breaths. Which is all the more painful because of my lung debilitating hacking cough. The whole day has been a struggle between feelings of suffocation and pain, which is now involved in basic bodily functions like breathing. I have been going to my happy place. Literally as well as figuratively, I suppose. I did have Lit History class today.*

This state of things is, alas, further evidence ( as if my high school schedule wasn't enough) that I am a masochistic human being. Aka, this sounds like a bad day to most people, but really it was a good one. Why is that? Desperate late night organization and homework and resume writing and list making somehow makes me feel quite accomplished. I don't know if that is healthy.

Therapy? I think so.

* For reals. Lit History class is my happy place.