pack rat

I am a pack rat. I've been that way as long as I can remember. It only makes sense to keep something [or everything] forever and ever...just in case you might need it again...someday. Right?

K maybe not. I've also been trying to break myself of these habits as long as I can remember.

But to no avail.

Case in point:

Two of my roommates put together a box of clothing and shoes that they wanted to take to Goodwill. I thought, "This is the perfect time for me to get rid of all my crap." So I went through my closet and impulsively chose some shirts that I haven't worn since who-knows-when and decided to thrown them in the box. Then I looked through that box...of all my roommates' old stuff...and pulled out some things. So really, while I pulled about eight shirts out of my closet, I only really gained about three hangers. Along with five great new shirts.

Then my third roommate looked through some of my old shirts and decided to keep some of them. In the closet that is connected to mine.

Is it nerdy to say that the pack rat in me was secretly glad that these clothes would not be lost to me forever...just in case I suddenly had a burning desire to wear them again?

This is why I still have pictures that I made in the third grade and handouts I received in Young Women's from when I was 13.

I think I need therapy.

change

I have been thinking a lot lately about how much my life has changed in the past year, so, just for fun, I decided to make a list of things that have happened in the last year. I'm probably missing quite a few things, but here are some highlights.

In the past year, I have:

1. Flown on a plane by myself. Three times. Might not seem like a big deal, but if you know what a pansy I am, you understand.

2. Started my junior year of college.

3. Added a second major.

4. Realized that I don't particularly enjoy my second major.

5. Decided to stick with it anyways.

6. Been a fairly consistent runner (minus the last few months).

7. Made some amazing new friends.

8. Gone to Disneyland with my entire family for the first time in my life.

9. Turned 21. I am officially in the second decade of my life.

10. Bought (aka gone into debt for) a new car. I love her.

11. Moved out of an apartment and into a condo with some new roommates.

12. Bonded with my new roommates.

13. Occasionally painted my nails (thanks to the influence of my stylish new roommates). Haven't done this since I was like...15.

14. Been to QT for Dr.Pepper/Horchata smoothies more times than I can count. The employees know who I am now.

15. Learned how much I don't know.

16. Been a counselor at a youth conference.

17. Started my senior year of college.

18. Become an active part of LDSSA.

19. Gotten up before five fairly consistently. This is also a big deal for me. My favorite part: the sunrises. When I'm feeling optimistic.

20. Been in three different wards. LOVE the one I'm in now.

21. Cooked less and less. It's just no fun when it's for yourself.

Well that's a few of the things, anyway. It'll be interesting to see where the next year takes me...

autofill

Welcome to Katie-land. Take a moment to fasten your seat belts, and please remember to keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. This ride shall heretofore be known as "The Blog." Please relax and try to enjoy yourselves.

Ok, if you've read this blog at all or spent any significant amount of time in my presence, you know that my brain does some special things. Ok, who am I kidding, you only have to spend about two seconds in my presence to know that my brain has a mind of its own. [Stating it that way allows me to disallow any credit for this. I think. Wait.]

Moving on.

Sometimes, when I am listening to songs, my brain fills in the lyrics for me. Yours does, too, am I right? Well does yours fill in the wrong lyrics...consistently? Even when you really think about it, you do actually know the right words to the song? Hmm. Interesting.

Well, mine does.

Three fantastic examples:

1.) A couple of weeks ago, I was trying to tell my roommate Meghan about a song that I really like. I said, "It's by Gin Blossoms. It's called 'I'll Take You Down.'" It only took about five seconds of laughing from my roommate Katie upstairs for me to realize that that couldn't possibly be the name of the song.

It's actually called "I'll Follow You Down." And yes, I really do like it.

Here is the link.

2.) Miranda Lambert. "The House That Built Me." Great song. Except for every time I sing it, it comes out, "The House That Killed Me." Wouldn't that be a great name for a song? Maybe a song fit for a horror film. But it doesn't sound weird coming out of my mouth. To me anyways. Uhh...

LINKKK.

3.) This one might be unfamiliar to those of the younger generation. Or really those of any generation. It's a Chicago song called, "King of Might Have Been." But to me, this song will always be known as, "King of My Backyard." Come on, Brain! That's not even cool. At least come up with something that won't conjure up images of a child sitting atop their swingset with a scepter and a crown. [Not that taking people down or houses that kill people are much better.]

[Could not find a link for this one. Sorry for any inconvenience.]

You have arrived safely back from another trip through the idiosyncrasies of my brain. You are free to unfasten your seatbelts. Please have a great day and come back again.

Disclaimer: You may feel some residual effects throughout the next 24 hours, but rest assured, your sanity will be intact soon enough.

conclusions

Today I came to two conclusions:

1.) After three years of higher education, the most important thing I've learned thus far is that I know nothing. The more I learn, the more I realize how ignorant I am. Which means life will always be interesting because I will always have something to learn.

2.) My body is smarter than I am. Think about it:

I breathe. I don't think about it.

My blood flows throughout my body and does all kinds of cool things. I don't think about it.

My eyes, in connection with my brain, take tons of tiny pictures within milliseconds. I don't think about it.

Heck, I couldn't reproduce those things if I wanted to. Consciously, anyway. They just happen. I couldn't explain to someone else how to breathe or make their blood flow. Because I don't even know how the heck it happens. I try to learn about it, but I don't understand it all. Most of the things I do every day (without even thinking about them) would require extensive calculus and/or chemistry if I were actually thinking about it. But I don't. Those things just happen. But if I were to program a robot to do those things, I would have to teach it all those complicated mathematical equations first.

On the other hand, that robot wouldn't have a consciousness. So I suppose it wouldn't even be wondering about how or why it works the way it does.

Like I am.

What I'm really trying to say is that it's pretty awe-inspiring that those incredibly complicated things happen every day...and we don't even think about it. We try to figure it out, but we didn't make ourselves the way we are.

But Someone did.

I suppose that is my third (unmentioned above) conclusion. Thinking about all of this makes me even more sure of one thing:

That we have a loving Heavenly Father who created us and knows and understands all of this even if I don't. He's pretty amazing.

So my body is smarter than I am because of Him.

Which means all of my conclusions are interrelated. And that's ok with me.

I'm glad to be back in school.

hypothetically speaking

Have you ever tried sleeping in a cave?

Well technically, neither have I. But. If you have ever seen the bunk bed that Katie and I share [yes, my roommate's name is Katie, too], you would most likely have made an observation that went something like this:

"Huh. Wow. Whoever sleeps on the bottom has to sleep in a cave."

That would be me.

And if you have ever slept in a real cave you understand. Unless it was a really big cave and/or had bats in it. Because my bunk bed sports neither of those amenities.

I really don't mind it as much as I thought I would. I do have to make certain accommodations, such as shining a light awkwardly through the wooden slats at the foot of the bed so that I might read at night. But while I joke that I have to get all the way out of the bed to turn over, that isn't actually the case.

Yes, for the most part, I actually enjoy my little submarine-esque bed. It's a little like being six again and being able to sleep in a fort that I made for myself.

Well, just on the off-chance that you ever want to relive your childhood and pretend you live in a fort and/or have impetuously joined the Navy, and decide to buy a bunk bed that more-than-slightly resembles a cave, I caution you:

If your alarm goes off in the morning, DO NOT - I repeat, DO NOT - sit up as fast as you can to turn it off. Because if you are anywhere over 3 feet tall - and statistically speaking, I would surmise that you probably are - you will most likely hit your head on the board above your bed. And that hurts. Really badly. Possibly even a little bit throughout the day.

I mean, not that I've done that or anything.

Just hypothetically speaking, of course.

newest love

So I have a new love.

As you know, for many years, the love of my life has been Dr. Pepper. And then I came to college and discovered Mr. Pibb [you think it's the same thing, but it's not, I promise...1,000 times better]. I have loved Mr. Pibb (and DPep, too, whilst MP isn't available) for approximately 4,381 days. [Just kidding. I have no clue how many days. But I do remember that blessed first night at McDonald's when I tried DPep for the first time.]

Well, step aside Mr. Pibb, you have a new competitor.

And my new love shall be named as thus:

Horchata Smoothies from QT

Oh how I love thee.

Sometimes, I actually crave these babies over Mr. Pibb. I know. Earth shattering.

Before your world stops turning completely, let me just reassure you: I still love me a good Mr. Pibb.

But.

Now they have equal spots as my go-to drink.

Thank goodness my roommates love a QT run just as much as I do.

Bonding time has never tasted better.

[Except for that Mango-Habanero Chicken Chantal made last night. Dang I love my roommates.]

all things

Last week, I was a counselor for a Young Women's conference. It was a lot like EFY but only for girls between the ages of 11 and 16.

Best week ever.

I am exhausted. Still. Days later. But it was great. I felt like it was at least as awesome for me as it was for the girls. There were awesome speakers, incredible role models, uplifting messages, and girly activities like fashion shows, dances, and dress-up parties. It was fantastic.

I took notes through the whole thing and came out with some pretty memorable quotes. Unfortunately, I don't have my binder with me right this second, so I'll post some of my favorites later. However, the quote that stuck with me most throughout the conference was, strangely, not even mentioned in the conference. It was something that just replayed in my head over and over, and I knew I had heard it in a general conference talk somewhere, sometime. I just didn't know why it was stuck in my head. The quote was,

"I can do hard things."

Maybe it was stuck in my head because being a counselor at this conference was hard for me. It was awesome, wonderful, inspiring, and all other positive adjectives previously mentioned, but it was also a lot of work. Maybe it was stuck in my head because I felt so inspired to do something great with my life after listening to so many accomplished speakers. Or maybe it was stuck in my head because Heavenly Father was trying to tell me something...and I'm just not quite sure what that something is yet.

It wasn't until today that I remembered that I wanted to look up the talk where that quote came from. After doing a quick search, I found the talk by Elaine S. Dalton from the October 2008 General Conference. It turns out, however, that I only got half the quote right. Sister Dalton says,

"Last general conference, I was called by President Monson to be the new Young Women general president. As I stood in the presence of a prophet of God and was given this sacred trust, I pledged that I would serve with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. Prior to this calling, I had a small plate inscribed with a motto that read, 'I can do hard things.' That little plate bearing that simple motto gave me courage. But now if I could change that motto, it would read: 'In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.' It is on that strength that I rely today as I stand at this sacred pulpit."

1,000 times better.

In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.

Even hard things.

That quote epitomizes how I felt the entire week.

Thank goodness I didn't have to do that by myself.

And thank God I won't ever have to.

craziness

I thought about naming this post "The Most Random Night of my Life," or "Mom Was Right About Talking to Strangers," or simply "I Hate Bugs," but I just felt like none of them gave last night any justice.

"Let me explain. No there is too much. Let me sum up."

Baaasically, it all started out with a cockroach in Katie's and my bedroom. When Katie saw the little demon creature made by God, she screamed. Then when I realized what she was screaming about, I screamed and we both ran squealing down the stairs. Then my roommate Chantal wanted to help us kill it, and we tried to decide between us who was the bravest, but alas…none of us proved to be of a brave heart. Let me put the rest in bullet point form:

- We attempted spraying the cockroach from 5 feet away so we could stay as far away from it as humanly [or bugly] possible.
- Heard it making noise in the bag and screamed.
- Called all boys we could possibly think of and FINALLY got ahold of Jared Pager.
- He said he’d be there in twenty minutes and joked that he’d bring scorpions.
- I told him I’d kill him.
- Went back to our room five minutes later and discovered that the cockroach was gone.
- Screamed some more.
- Eventually found it under my dresser dying.
- Sprayed it some more.
- Realized it was finally dead and were too scared to pick it up to throw it away.
- Jared arrived and removed the cockroach from the scene.

This is where it gets even more interesting:

- While Katie was outside throwing away the “cockroach bag,” a woman ran up to her and asked to use our restroom.
- Katie was so taken aback that she said yes.
- This woman ran ahead of Katie, opened our front door [much to Chantal, Jared's, and my surprise], and ran up our stairs.
- We got an incredibly shocking view of this woman’s body from this upward angle.
- She wasn’t wearing very many articles of clothing…and what she did have on was…extremely revealing.
- She turned around most of the way up the stairs to ask where our bathroom was. (?!?!?!)
- She stayed in there for a few minutes, and then came out and said, “Nice house,” and left.
- We checked to make sure she hadn’t stolen anything,
- And appropriately named her “the Hooker.” Believe me, she fit the part.
- Interestingly, there were “track marks” in her arms from too many needle drugs…prohhhbably not the prescription kind. If I had to make a guess.
- We didn’t find any drugs hidden inside our toilet.
- Or behind our shower curtain.

Third strange occurrence for the night:

- Our front door handle broke. So we were locked inside and had to take the door handle apart. At 1:00 in the morning. Thanks, Cockroach. Thanks, Hooker.

What an eventful night. Here is what I have learned:

- I am a sissy. [Cait says I should have figured this out from the Litterbug post.]
- My roommates are sissies. [But not as much as me. Maaaybe I should have mentioned that when I said "we" sprayed the bug, what I really meant was "they" sprayed the bug.]
- Don’t let strangers in your house…especially at night when they look like they’re druggies and/or hookers. [Just say no.]
- I could be a handyman. [Except for the fact that my roommates did all that work, too.]
- I am tired. [But I wasn't too tired to go get slushies from QT at midnight with Katie and Chantal. We needed comfort food.]

And, last but not least:

- I have awesome roommates. We have a ton of fun in weird situations. [Even cockroach-infested, full-bladdered-hooker, broken-doorknob situations.]

Lots of laughing ensued after (and even during) all this craziness.

Good times.

reputation

A few days ago we had the convocation ceremony for the engineering school. Because I was a staff member and not a student, this gave me certain privileges. Let's review:

1. I got to go where I wanted, when I wanted.
2. I got to tell people what to do and where to go.
3. I got to wear a headset. (Freaking awesome. Love this. It made me feel important. Or maybe like a kid again. I can't decide.)

And most importantly...

4. I got to eat the food.

When we got to the arena, my eyes first caught hold of the food table - before anything else. My senses for such things are acute. Even if I were blindfolded, I would probably still know where to find the food table. More specifically, I would probably still know where to find the free food table. Immediately I grabbed a brownie, knowing from experience that if I didn't act quickly, I would be out of luck. (Faculty can be so greedy sometimes.)

Later, after the ceremony had started, my coworker brought me three more brownies, which I am ashamed to admit I promptly ate. [My excuse: No time for dinner.] A few minutes later, another coworker offered to bring me some brownies. This time, I refused, much to the shock of everyone around me. I had decided enough was enough. Although I like brownies, I wasn't excited at the prospect of possibly turning into one.

You see, I have this reputation at work. Everyone knows I like food. Free food. And often, junk food. Everyone brings me food. All the time.

Occasionally, I think about changing this reputation, since I'm certain it's probably not the most flattering reputation to have.

But let's get real, people.

I really like food.

litterbug

Today I was sitting outside eating my lunch, drinking my Dr. Pepper (a category unto itself), and reading by the fountains outside the MU like I always do. Just a typical day...or so I thought.

When I finished drinking my 32 ounces of Dr. Pepper (hey...he is a doctor, for crying out loud!), I threw my cup into the grass. Now hold on...please stop judging me. I was not throwing it into the grass to litter. I am not a litterbug. I threw it on the ground simply because sometimes it's windy outside, and the wind has a tendency to want to blow my trash into the fountain. And that, my friends, would be littering by default. So I threw it on the ground so I could pick it up when I was done reading and throw it away.

When I was done reading I put my headphones in and picked some awesome music to listen to on the walk to work. Then I...yep, you guessed it...reached down to pick up the cup so I could throw it away...only to find a swarm of ants crawling around inside of it. My brain went into overdrive. This had never happened before! Before I even knew what I was doing, I threw my hands into the air and sent the cup [and my headphones and my ipod] flying. It took me a second to figure out what had happened. I looked down at the cup, headphones, and ipod lying in the grass and began to laugh. Finally I picked up my ipod, lest any ants should try to infiltrate it as well, and stared longingly at the cup. I wanted to throw it away, I really did. But in the end, I just couldn't get myself to pick up the millions of insects crawling around inside it. So I just left it there.

I know.

I am a litterbug.

I can only pray that Mother Nature [and the poor groundskeeper who has to pick up the cup] will forgive me.

Walking to work, I kept picturing myself throwing my hands into the air and sending projectiles flying. This resulted in my laughing a good deal during my walk. Which made me laugh even harder, because I kept getting really weird stares for laughing so spontaneously...by myself.

Oh, self. What am I going to do with you?

roxy

So I think it's time I finally introduced you to the newest love of my life. [And yes, I might have multiple loves-of-my-life simultaneously. I'm sure you understand.]

If you've already met her, I'm sure you consider yourself lucky.

If you haven't, meet Roxy. [Or, if you have already met her, please allow yourself some time to admire.]



[Just to avoid any confusion, let me clarify: the girl in the picture is me. Not Roxy. Me. Make sense? If you're reading this blog, you probably already knew that. If you're my best friend, and you're just figuring that out now, you're demoted. The car is Roxy. Okay. Just had to make sure.]

*Sigh* Isn't she beautiful?

When I first laid eyes on Roxy, I knew my life would never be the same. Even now, one-and-a-half weeks later, my feelings remain unchanged.

If you're confused as to why I am in love with this car, go back up and take a look at that picture again. Go ahead, right now. Now that you've done that, you're probably not confused anymore. But if there's any lingering confusion, let me just say: I have never owned a car in my twenty-one years of living. Sheesh, that's probably like a fourth of my life. So I've gone one-fourth of my life [give or take] without any wheels. My pioneer ancestors are probably shaking their heads at me in disbelief at this moment, but if you are from this century (which I hope you are, because if you aren't, that would be weird on so many levels), you understand.

Plus, in the one-and-a-half weeks that I've had her, we've gone many-a-place, had some delightful, in-depth, one-sided conversations, and jammed out to some pretty awesome tunes. She's a fantastic listener, let me tell you.

And the best part about it is, I think she loves me, too.



[Again, just as a refresher. Car: Roxy. Girl: me.]

Call me crazy.

confession

When I was around eight years old, it became known to me that many people had chosen a favorite verse of scripture. Well, I didn't want to be left out of such a righteous endeavor, so I decided it was time to choose mine.

So I did the first thing that any self-respecting eight-year-old would do and opened to Genesis, deciding that was a good place to start looking. I only had to read to verse three before the heavens opened, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this verse was my new favorite scripture. For those of you who don't have the book of Genesis memorized, it reads:

"And God said, Let there be light: and there was light."

You see, at the time, I was incredibly scared of The Dark. I didn't like walking around my house at night unless all the lights were on (and even then, you never knew when someone would be hiding behind a couch or something), and going to the bathroom after everyone had already gone to bed was pretty much out of the question. There was probably someone hiding in the hallway for goodness sakes!

Well, umm...I have a confession to make.

I am still scared of The Dark.

I can remember countless times in high school when I would have to walk out to the living room to get something, calmly telling myself the entire time that there was nothing to be scared of. I would turn on every light on the way out, and once I had retrieved what I was seeking, all of my common sense jumped out the window and I would book it as fast as I could back to my bedroom. I've never really been an athlete, but it's interesting how my long-jumps improved during these moments. I would make a flying leap from the hallway, soar over the dog laying on my bed, and land, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over my head as fast as I could. Because let's face it, no murderer would ever try getting past those blankets.

I know my dogs loves me, but it was always during those moments when I knew he was questioning my sanity. He would look up at me with an expression that clearly communicated his distaste at my having ruined his slumber. Sometimes he would even get off the bed and lay on the floor, as if to say, "See what you've done?"

Sadly, it was only after I was tucked safely in bed that I would realize that in my haste, I had forgotten to turn off all the lights.

I wish I could say that since then, maturity has set in, and I am now a rational, level-headed adult who is no longer scared of ridiculous things such as The Dark. Unfortunately, both of my roommates being gone at night brings to the surface many of the same fears that I have always had.

Thankfully, however, I am now better equipped than I have ever been.

After one particularly scary movie many moons ago, Matt gave me a broken golf club to serve as protection so that I would be able to sleep that night. (It may have actually been partially that he wanted to be able to go home that night and sleep as well.)

To this day, that broken golf club sits next to my bed.

Good thing the dark is scared of broken golf clubs.

Hey, we all have something we're afraid of.

reconciliation

Dear Body,

Why? Why.

I feed you. I clothe you. I keep a roof over your head. I take you running 5 times a week.

I thought we were pretty close.

Do you not like the food? I know I feed you a lot of Mr. Pibb, but I thought we both felt the same way about that. You seem to like it. Is it all the candy? Okay, so I know I may eat too much of it sometimes, but you seem to like sugar, too. It's the salads, isn't it? You don't like the salads. Am I right?

What about the clothes? I try to wear only things that will keep you comfortable. We avoid wearing heels (except on Sunday, you know the rules) to ensure total comfort and almost always wear jeans. I thought you liked the jeans.

Is it the apartment? So I know it's not the cutest apartment in the world, but it's pretty nice. I'm a college student - what do you want? The Taj Mahal?

I know running makes you hurt sometimes, but it's for your good. Really. Take my word for it. Feeling like you are going to suffocate is a good thing sometimes. And the muscle aches are indicative of future strength. We are going to be buff. We like buff. Remember?

So why do you make me feel sick so often? If we are going to make this relationship work, you need to do your part, too. We need to work together.

I can't do this alone anymore.

I really do love you. Please try to remember that.

Sincerely and with much love,
Your Inner Self

oh self

Good old Ralph has really done a number on me this time. I'm not even kidding.

So we all know I've done a lot of stupid things in my lifetime. It's no secret.

Well...I might have just done one of the stupidest things in my LIFE. The stupid of all stupids.

Curious yet? You should be.

Okay. Well, yesterday, I got home late, because I went to have dinner with Matt's old roommates. That was actually super fun. I hadn't hung out with that group since Matt left, so it was really good to see them all again. Anyway, when I finally got home, it was dark, and I did the first thing I always do when I get home: check the mail. You probably have suspicions as to why I do this, and you are probably right.

Anyway, there was a key in my mailbox, which signified that I had a package in one of the lockers nearby. The key had a #2 on it, which was associated with the #2 locker. Makes sense, right? Well, I grabbed the key, put it in the lock, and turned. Nothing happened. I turned again. Again nothing happened. I was getting frustrated now, but I wasn't going to give up. I turned it again, and this time, to my astonishment...the key broke. Yep, that's right. It broke. I held half the key in my hand while the other half was still stuck in the lock. I was stunned. I had no idea what to do. I spent the next few minutes ranting to my roommates and to my grandma and my aunt (who sent me the package) about the whole situation. Finally, I called my landlord so he could have someone come by and fix it today.

Wouldn't that be nice if that was the only dumb thing I did? Just wait. It gets better.

Today I got home from work, so of course, I checked the mailbox first thing. Once again, I had a key in my locker with a #2 on it. I turned to stick the key into the lock and realized...

that last night I had stuck the #2 key into the #1 locker. But because it had been so dark, I hadn't realized it.

Oh heavens. I can only imagine what the handyman must have thought when he had to fix locker #1 and key #2 because of some stupid girl in apartment #***. Who has super-human strength apparently.

No one would ever guess that I got a scholarship into a university where I am double majoring and have a 3.7 cumulative GPA.

In fact, I'm even starting to doubt that myself.

appreciation

Remember this post?

I didn't think so. Well now that you've read it again [ahem], you understand.

I am not the typical Mormon girl. I try to be, but when it comes to cute and creative, somehow I just always come up short. One can only hope that for all my weaknesses, I have a few hidden strengths, right? ... I'll take your silence as assent.

Let's take photographers for example. Have you noticed how many awesome photoblogs there are these days? Goodness gracious. Amazing. I am always reminded of how un-artsy and un-creative I am when looking through those pictures. Seriously, they are so creative. I love looking at people's photography. It's one of my favorite past-times. Eye candy, people.

Online scrapbooking. Yet another awesome example. Heck, I can't even scrapbook with real paper, let alone paper in cyberspace! I am always amazed at what people can do with pictures, colors, and seemingly random words that when put together actually convey some sort of meaning. No, not sentences. You know what I mean. Words like: Love, I do, Prince Charming, etc. placed strategically on a page.

Food blogs. Again I am reminded how amazing their food looks and how normal my food looks. Okay, maybe normal is an exaggeration in my favor. Not only does their food taste amazing, but it looks as good as it tastes! People are so talented!

Moral of the Story:

I am so grateful that people create so many incredible things that are so fun for me to look at. Thank you!

...At least I can appreciate it, right? ;)

everyday boredom

You are sitting in class after having already sat through two long classes today.

You check the time on your cell phone. 12:17.

Vaguely you hear the teacher's voice as you stare out the second story windows at the students walking by.

Man they look happy, you think to yourself. And the weather looks beautiful! I've never seen the sky so blue. I wish I could be out there. Hmm I wonder what homework I have tonight...

This snaps you back into reality, and you become aware that the teacher is still talking. Not really knowing what the teacher is talking about anymore, you write down a few phrases, hoping that it will mean something to you when you read it tonight.

You check your watch again. Still 12:17! What the... Oh good, it changed to 12:18. Only 12 more minutes. I can do this.

Finally, the class lets out, and you stuff your notebook in your backpack, throw on your jacket, and speed-walk out the door, down the hall, and out into the fresh air. You're free!

It's then that you realize...you don't have to be anywhere for another three hours. Why were you in such a hurry anyway?

Story of my life.

And you know exactly what I'm talking about.

grace

I went to my new ward on Sunday, and I was pretty excited about it.

As they were passing the water for the sacrament, I tried to grab the tray while simultaneously taking a drink of water.

What actually happened, however, is that while I was grabbing the tray, only two or so drops of water from the cup fell in my mouth while the rest dribbled down my chin and onto my shirt. Now if you'll remember, those water cups are pretty tiny and shouldn't be able to drop much water, right?

Wrong.

At least it looked like a lot of water on my shirt.

Awesome. Good first impression on my new ward.

I guess there's a reason my mother didn't name me Grace.

death mountain

After much introspection and thought during the last several days, it has become apparent to my accelerated intellect that my legs hurt...really bad.

Now okay, I thought I was in relatively good shape. Not great, not fantastic...but good.

I was wrong.

Relatively can mean a lot of different things. Relative to who? To someone who runs a 5K? To someone who eats potato chips all day and never gets off the couch? Yeah, I'm in pretty good shape. How about compared to a marathon runner? A half-marathoner? A 10 kilometer-er? Yeah, I don't stand a chance.

What brought on all this insightful introspection, you may ask?

Well on Monday, a few friends and I hiked Camelback Mountain. For those of you who have never hiked it, I now fondly refer to it as Death Mountain. Um, hello! It's called switchbacks, people. Apparently the makers of this trail had never heard of them. Instead, they put up metal railings so you could pull yourself up the mountain.

Okay, okay...so it wasn't as bad as I'm making it sound (though all the things I've said are true...ahem). I actually got up and down just fine with only a couple of short stops along the way to catch my breath. I'm sure that if I hiked this trail every day, I would be in marvelous shape and never complain again. (Okay fine...probably not possible.)

So why am I complaining so much? Because my legs are complaining. Loudly. They're really rude. Especially my shins and my ankle that I mildly twisted on the way down.

Moral of the Story:

Yeah, you're right. There's really no moral to this story. I'm just complaining.

Other Moral of the Story:

If your legs speak to you, that's probably not a good thing.

Final Moral of the Story:

Get out there and exercise!

Nothing like a good motivational pep-blog to get you pumped.

the imagination that died

I want to write a book. Like, really bad.

I just have one problem. And the only problem with my problem is that it's kind of a big one.

What would I write a book about?

It turns out (after years of attempting to plan this book) that I can only think to write about experiences that I have already had or about ones that I hope to someday have. So much for imagination. Boring. And you thought this blog was boring. Just imagine a whole book of it.

I have started writing several novels...with started being the key word in that sentence. Somehow I just always lose inspiration after the first 10 pages or so.

But, my statement still stands: I want to write a book. Pretty badly. So somehow, someday...I am going to make it happen.

However, please, please, I beg of you...don't hold your breath waiting for this book to be published. You'd probably just faint after the first minute and a half anyway. And I just don't see how that would help at all.

I want to write a song. Like, really bad.

I just have one problem...

My imagination died.

You may find me in Never Never Land for the next week or so. I need to see a certain Peter Pan about a lost inner child that used to have an imagination.

Depending on how things go, I may never come back...

my big brother

Once again, I think I know what you're thinking. You may find that hard to believe, but it's true. Believe me. My major is psychology after all, which everybody knows is the art of mind-reading.

Okay, are you ready for it? I am about to read your mind again, just to be sure. You won't feel a thing. All right...just relax. And...I've got it. You are thinking: Doesn't she have another brother? Doesn't she like him as much as her younger brother? Why doesn't she write about him?

Well, you are in luck. The questions lurking in the deepest recesses of your brain are about to be answered.

As a matter of fact, I do have another brother, and I do love him as much as my younger brother. Feel better, Nosy? The reason I haven't written about Jeff yet (yes that is his name, thanks for asking) is because I haven't had the time or the resources (camping may have been involved).

This:

is my brother Jeff, also commonly known as Studmuffin. If you meet him, feel free to call him that. I do.

Here are just a few of the reasons why I love Jeff:

- Jeff is possibly one of the most brilliant people I have ever met. Like, I'm not kidding. Genius smart. How did he get me as a sister, you wonder? I'm not sure, but I sure feel bad for the kid.

- Not only is Jeff smart, but he's really humble about it, too. You know those people who feel the need to show off their intelligence to anybody and everybody in the room? Well, Jeff is definitely not one of those people.

- Jeff is a really patient teacher. He'd have to be to have me as a sister. Let's just say Jeff might have gotten me through math and chemistry in high school. Okay, fine. My college math class, too. If someone doesn't understand something, Jeff will patiently explain the concept until it makes sense. But he does it in a very kind, non-condescending way.

- Despite all his protests, Jeff is very perceptive when it comes to reading people. He understands a lot about human nature in general.

- Jeff picks the things that are most important to him and stands firmly by them. His faith, family, and politics come immediately to mind.

-Jeff and I have the best inside jokes. Some of them even date back to our elementary school days. ("On and on, and take a step!" or "Ten points for you!")

- He is a very willing helper. If you need help with anything, Jeff will be there, whether he knows how to help you or not. But he usually does. Let's be honest.

- Jeff loves history. Especially anything related to the Civil War or World War II or anything of that sort. He knows just about everything there is to know about the subjects he is interested in. And often even those subjects about which he has no interest.

- Okay, for this one, I need you to play in your mind the most beautiful piano piece you have ever heard. All right, now magnify it by 10. And again by 1,000. That is Jeff playing the piano. No, I am not exaggerating. Jeff can hear anything by ear and with very little practice, play it marvelously on the piano.

- Although singing in public is not really Jeff's thing, Jeff can sing. He has an awesome voice and makes up parts for songs as he goes along. Pretty cool, eh?

- Jeff loves jazz music. I like jazz music. Jeff loves jazz music. Like. Love. See the difference? Jeff spends hours on end listening to cool chords and rhythms from jazz musicians long, long ago.

- Jeff has a passion for learning which I can only hope to emulate in some small way. This zest for knowledge is going to take him a long way in life.

Yep, I know. Somehow I got the short end of the gene-pool stick. But far from being bitter, I am so proud of my big brother, Jeff. I think it's pretty obvious why, don't you?

Love ya, Jeff.