I don't have too much to say. There is nothing new going on. Actually, yesterday, my roommates celebrated my birthday. Sarah, the future cake-decorator-for-a-living made me a cake. A few weeks ago, she made these berry creamcheese white chocolate scones. I said, I wouldn't mind if my cake were made out of that. Actually, I begged her to make the cake out of that. So she did. She made two giant cake pans of the scone stuff. Then she slapped them together with berry cream cheese. To top it all off, she poured white chocolate ganache on top. It was amazing.
Sarah is in a book-making class. She made me pick some paper out, and she made me a book! A journal!I will post some pictures later, but let me describe it. It reminds me of Ikea: there is some groovy vintage design on yellow on the front, and a funny vintage-y blue on the inside. It is lovely.
Maddi walked out of the hall after they sang holding the journal and a little box. Inside that box was a 18 inch string of pearls. I cried. That was the most shocking thing ever. I love pearls. I love pearls. They are my favorite. The a couple of months ago, we went to the mall, and in the mall we perused the jewelry stores a bit. They had to drag me away from the pearl rings. I wasn't hinting anything: I didn't expect anything. But they filed that information away. "We drove through sleet and snow to get it." They rode their bikes in the rain on MEMORIAL DAY to get this necklace. I said, "What if I had turned evil since then?" They've had this for a long time. Maddi got me a ring with a pearl and leaf on it. She had tried on all my rings in my box to know what size to get.
Pearls are what you get for someone you love, I said. Yes, they said. We know. You are worth it. Katy said, "Now don't cast those before Andrew." She is so funny.
On a slightly different note, even different key, Andrew asked me to go on a drive with him yesterday. We went way out in the way out. Eventually, we were in some hills that got a bit forest-y here and there. Because we were in his roommate's 4x4, we went on some dirt track through farmland. The track got even more harsh when there were only wheel marks, and no road at all. Still we continued.
Andrew talks a lot when we are alone. When there are other people around, he doesn't talk nearly as much. At all. I don't know what that means. After off-roading, we went to haunted park, the one I told you about earlier. We played on the swings. And we talked some more. By this point, I was talking again. Sometimes, it takes me a while to want to talk to him. Then, Andrew got off the swing, found a giant hose, and sprayed me. I rushed him, stole it, and got him good.
Then we dried off in front of the car. I told him that Joe and Kit were coming to Rexburg. "Who's Joe?" Then, "Where's Joe going to stay?" I don't think Andrew liked my "at my cousin's" answer, because he said Joe should stay with him, at his apartment. I think that would be fun. Then Andrew asked if his niece could stay with me next week. Yes. That would be fun.
Andrew and I headed home. We went past his favorite house, a giant brick monstrosity, that is now for sale for a mere 400,000 dollars. Easy money. We drove past his roommate's and missionary's family home. The back yard is giant. Sometimes, the family will see little kids in the back yard on the trampoline or swing set because the kids mistake their yard for a park. Andrew gave me the tour of the place, insisting that no one was home.
It really was a lovely place. I would marry someone in the family just for that yard. Maybe that is his inspiration...He made me jump on their trampoline. It took me a while to do it, but once I did, I flew. He is a perfect bouncer. I flew. I laughed and laughed. I was kinda hysterical...
I've decided that sometimes we don't get answers. I brought this up in class. Lots of people contributed then. "Sometimes the action you take isn't a big deal. You aren't always going to be sure immediately, or even soon." I've picked my course of action. I am going to continue this. I'm going to pray that I might know how to help him past his stubbornness. I'm going to keep going. Sometimes, I feel such hope and excitement. I don't know. I've, and now it is time to continue with faith. Right?
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Madison Kelly Hewerdine
I have this roommmate named Maddi. She is the most favoritist roommate I've had since Kacey was here. Maddi is the best wing-man a single person could ever ask for. Once, I noticed something at FHE, and commented on it later. She said, "I think I noticed that too." She noticed without me having to point anything out, or ask her to notice.She is my wing-man.
She is hilarious. She is easy to get along with. The things that irritate me about her are so minor that I can't even write them without being petty. Once, she waltzed out of our apartment, for she dances everywhere, and our other roomie, Katy, said, "I have NO idea why she isn't married yet." I agreed. How many blind men must she encounter. How many deaf men she must encounter. How many spiritually-numb, senseless men she must encounter that she is not out of this apartment and in some man's house, a perfect, singing, loving, and laughing partner for his lifetime.
One Sunday night we stayed up until one thirty quoting things. We quoted Brian Regan, She's the Man, and Brian Regan again. She remembers the quotes perfectly from movies. I don't know how she does it. I couldn't stop laughing, which I know egged her on, but I COULDN'T STOP laughing. She is the best at pillow talk. She is the best. Sometimes, we will stay up late talking about the most random things, but I don't mind. I know they are things she wants to talk about. I think making an amazing friend is worth being a bit woozy in class the next day.
She is someone I can talk to without worrying if she is using me. I can tell her my immediate thoughts without worrying about her judging me, or being pleased with the amount of attention I give her. She is easy to give things to. Sometimes, on my kitchen days, she will do the dishes before I get home. Yesterday was our temple day. She usually drives, but yesterday she made me drive because she was going to stay home. "My dad's would kill me," She laughed, but sent me off with the keys anyways.
Who is this woman? Where is her man? She deserves the best. I want to put an add out, but God already has. The only viewers have been the afore-mentioned sensory deficient males.
I wish Joe were older...
She is hilarious. She is easy to get along with. The things that irritate me about her are so minor that I can't even write them without being petty. Once, she waltzed out of our apartment, for she dances everywhere, and our other roomie, Katy, said, "I have NO idea why she isn't married yet." I agreed. How many blind men must she encounter. How many deaf men she must encounter. How many spiritually-numb, senseless men she must encounter that she is not out of this apartment and in some man's house, a perfect, singing, loving, and laughing partner for his lifetime.
One Sunday night we stayed up until one thirty quoting things. We quoted Brian Regan, She's the Man, and Brian Regan again. She remembers the quotes perfectly from movies. I don't know how she does it. I couldn't stop laughing, which I know egged her on, but I COULDN'T STOP laughing. She is the best at pillow talk. She is the best. Sometimes, we will stay up late talking about the most random things, but I don't mind. I know they are things she wants to talk about. I think making an amazing friend is worth being a bit woozy in class the next day.
She is someone I can talk to without worrying if she is using me. I can tell her my immediate thoughts without worrying about her judging me, or being pleased with the amount of attention I give her. She is easy to give things to. Sometimes, on my kitchen days, she will do the dishes before I get home. Yesterday was our temple day. She usually drives, but yesterday she made me drive because she was going to stay home. "My dad's would kill me," She laughed, but sent me off with the keys anyways.
Who is this woman? Where is her man? She deserves the best. I want to put an add out, but God already has. The only viewers have been the afore-mentioned sensory deficient males.
I wish Joe were older...
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Insight
Written 5-2011
Trailing Clouds of Glory do we Come
“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy."
My view on life has been pretty positive lately, and I’ve been a bit proud of my thoughts and ponderings. We hear about the Plan of Salvation every week and every day. I know it to be true, but I have never thought of birth as something that could be mourned. I feel like I’ve had those feelings: the feeling that this life made me leave “God, who is our home.” This poem beautifully articulated this thought and notion, and gave room for me to think further on it. I feel like Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are my best friends, but I don’t think that I’ve mourned leaving their presences. I’ve been indoctrinated about the Plan, and this life, but have thought less about the previous life than I should have. I always figured that I would someday remember the things that happened before the veil, so why ponder upon them now, when I have other things to experience and learn?
The way this poem made me feel changed my ideas somewhat. Isn’t that the point? Isn’t the reason for art to change the way we think about things? Aren’t we meant to grow, stretch, and seek? This poem made me seek: this stanza makes me seek. Sometimes pain is a way to grow- we are meant to come unto the Father with a broken heart and contrite spirit, so maybe the soreness of heart that comes from pain in art can be good for us. This poem made me think about how, when we are born, we fall asleep to our true potential. We forget our Father, our siblings, our Mother, and our purpose. It seems such an odd thing that we are meant to be re-taught these things by imperfect humans. We trail clouds of glory, with each step forward we lose the glory we had before, and have to gather new fluffs of it elsewhere. We leave our childhood home, where God is, and go forward to find Him in our grown-up spiritual mansions. I cry at this: I cry at the thought that I left the nest of safety to come here. I cry that I am still so safe even with the veil between us, Father and I. This little girl has to grow up, and this poem led me to the tiniest bit of understanding on who I am, and where I stand with God. “Heaven lies about us in our infancy.” Maybe, probably, surely. But, in my adulthood, Heaven can lie in me, and with me rather than around me
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Squaw calling O Knight
He calls me squaw. I should never have said that word, because now he thinks it is the funniest thing ever. He sometimes calls me squaw. I said that I needed something to call him in response. I finally came up with, "how about a very sarcastic 'O Knight?'" It is not that great, but I like it, especially with the "very sarcastic" part. I'm tired of playing nobility-and-indians, though. How about we play princess and squire? Or, Queen and Count? Or, Empress and king? Or, Goddess and acolyte? These are all proportionally appropriate for us.
I told him I haven't written his name in my journal yet. He really really doesn't understand the significance of that. I said, "I'm tired of writing the names of boys who don't make it.... I don't think you are going to make it." He was like, "I don't understand. It's fine with me that I'm not in your journal." Poor little boy.
I had the strongest feeling today to say, "You are a waste of my time. I don't want to see you until you are ready to court me." Smile. Then, I would smile. I would smile, turn on my pretty little heel, and waltz away.
But I'm afraid that I would never see him again.
And I kinda care sometimes about seeing him again.
He really is a waste of my time, though. Today he asked if we were going to Devotional, because we always go together. I said.... NO. I told him I was irritated with him. "How come?" "Because I'm thinking about some of the things you said yesterday, and they are irritants to me right now." "Ya, I'm sorry about that."
Crap on this freaking Norwegian. I am tired. At least honesty is rearing her great head now. With that whole squaw-knight conversation I just had with myself: I posted it on Facebook. He wants honesty? He will GETTT honesty. He'll choke on it.
Just like I choke on it. How cute. We will stay proud, narrow-minded, and lonely forever.Together.
I told him I haven't written his name in my journal yet. He really really doesn't understand the significance of that. I said, "I'm tired of writing the names of boys who don't make it.... I don't think you are going to make it." He was like, "I don't understand. It's fine with me that I'm not in your journal." Poor little boy.
I had the strongest feeling today to say, "You are a waste of my time. I don't want to see you until you are ready to court me." Smile. Then, I would smile. I would smile, turn on my pretty little heel, and waltz away.
But I'm afraid that I would never see him again.
And I kinda care sometimes about seeing him again.
He really is a waste of my time, though. Today he asked if we were going to Devotional, because we always go together. I said.... NO. I told him I was irritated with him. "How come?" "Because I'm thinking about some of the things you said yesterday, and they are irritants to me right now." "Ya, I'm sorry about that."
Crap on this freaking Norwegian. I am tired. At least honesty is rearing her great head now. With that whole squaw-knight conversation I just had with myself: I posted it on Facebook. He wants honesty? He will GETTT honesty. He'll choke on it.
Just like I choke on it. How cute. We will stay proud, narrow-minded, and lonely forever.Together.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Update/Round 5
He said, nicely, that the only with a problem with the situation is me. I’m the only one who is upset or feeling drastic about things. SO!? I am a woman. He wants to know what I am going to do about it. He wondered aloud what I was doing to change things.
That doesn’t seem fair. I think I’m still mad. I don’t think things are fixed. I hate that he thinks things are fixed. I don’t think things are resolved.
He doesn’t seem to want to understand. That’s not fair- I don’t even understand me. He called me a Pandora’s Box. He got really frustrated at one point: “I don’t understand. I thought I understood girls. But I don’t.” I said, “I know you thought you understood girls. You don’t.”
I don’t want to trust him. I keep explaining to him that I don’t want to hang out. I don’t want to spend all this time with some boy who is attached. He said that it is my choice. I’m the one who hangs out. I yelled, because it is different for him: he is pretty set, with missionary girl. I am not. I told him that I wonder if I am not putting myself out there, that he was what I spent my time and energy on. He was like, “Whose fault is that?” Then I yelled at him. “I don’t like that word fault. I’m not trying to stay here. I’m not trying to like you. I want to get over it more than anything.”
What?
What now? Bob wants me to present myself the way a salesman would. Bob is also very proud of me for going forty eight hours. He didn’t think I could do it. He kept commenting on it. He was like, “You should feel like a champion. You should be so proud of yourself for doing it. Don’t you feel so much more confident?”
Yes. But I still want Andrew, and frankly, THAT PISSES ME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFF!!!!! I’m exhausted. I told him that we can’t call each other these ‘friendly’ names anymore. No more whore. No more b-otch. No more skank. No more man-ho.
He was like, “whore is like saying I love you.” But I don’t want to say those things anymore. I want to text him right now, saying that I am really mad.
Bob says, obviously this is not a person who really wants to be driven away. “I would be a lot more frank and sometimes mean to him. He seems to want a pity party often, and I wouldn’t give him that. What would you say to him next time he says something like, ‘I feel really depressed and I need some attention right now.’?” I said, “That sucks.” Bob thought that would be a very good response. I think Bob is right. I really need to be less softie and sweet. Bob wondered aloud if I really did have a mean side ( you and I both know I do) “You CLAIM you have a mean side, but you seem to be using passive tone often.” He thinks that being less easy would help me. I think I probably can be more honest, and maybe less tender. I don't know.
It’s true. I don’t want to be passive girl. Help me, Father in Heaven. Help. Nobody else knows what I am feeling or thinking, not even I know these things. Only God.
That doesn’t seem fair. I think I’m still mad. I don’t think things are fixed. I hate that he thinks things are fixed. I don’t think things are resolved.
He doesn’t seem to want to understand. That’s not fair- I don’t even understand me. He called me a Pandora’s Box. He got really frustrated at one point: “I don’t understand. I thought I understood girls. But I don’t.” I said, “I know you thought you understood girls. You don’t.”
I don’t want to trust him. I keep explaining to him that I don’t want to hang out. I don’t want to spend all this time with some boy who is attached. He said that it is my choice. I’m the one who hangs out. I yelled, because it is different for him: he is pretty set, with missionary girl. I am not. I told him that I wonder if I am not putting myself out there, that he was what I spent my time and energy on. He was like, “Whose fault is that?” Then I yelled at him. “I don’t like that word fault. I’m not trying to stay here. I’m not trying to like you. I want to get over it more than anything.”
What?
What now? Bob wants me to present myself the way a salesman would. Bob is also very proud of me for going forty eight hours. He didn’t think I could do it. He kept commenting on it. He was like, “You should feel like a champion. You should be so proud of yourself for doing it. Don’t you feel so much more confident?”
Yes. But I still want Andrew, and frankly, THAT PISSES ME OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFF!!!!! I’m exhausted. I told him that we can’t call each other these ‘friendly’ names anymore. No more whore. No more b-otch. No more skank. No more man-ho.
He was like, “whore is like saying I love you.” But I don’t want to say those things anymore. I want to text him right now, saying that I am really mad.
Bob says, obviously this is not a person who really wants to be driven away. “I would be a lot more frank and sometimes mean to him. He seems to want a pity party often, and I wouldn’t give him that. What would you say to him next time he says something like, ‘I feel really depressed and I need some attention right now.’?” I said, “That sucks.” Bob thought that would be a very good response. I think Bob is right. I really need to be less softie and sweet. Bob wondered aloud if I really did have a mean side ( you and I both know I do) “You CLAIM you have a mean side, but you seem to be using passive tone often.” He thinks that being less easy would help me. I think I probably can be more honest, and maybe less tender. I don't know.
It’s true. I don’t want to be passive girl. Help me, Father in Heaven. Help. Nobody else knows what I am feeling or thinking, not even I know these things. Only God.
Round 4
We had a fight. It was because I didn't talk to him for forty eight hours. I guess I should have given him some warning, but that wasn't the point. I needed space, and sometimes, I am the only one who is in control of that.
We had a nasty ol' fight. At least, it felt nasty. I said, I didn't know how I felt, and that I needed time. It took me a while to figure out what I was thinking. He said he had needed me, that I wasn't there for him, that he wished I'd been more honest. I said I wasn't being dishonest in my silence! I didn't think it was fair to me or the missionary that she doesn't even know about me; if we really are just friends why couldn't he talk about me? He said he told her about us going to his sister's. He KNOWS she would be ok with all the time we spend together. He had a terrible week. Why wasn't I there for him? Why didn't he tell me? How was I supposed to know that things were bad when he doesn't tell and when he only says, "my day was stellar, my day was great." Perfect Perfect. He says he sent three texts and didn't get answers till the next day.
I said I didn't mean to hurt him. I said that I hated how angry I was at him. I hadn't meant to teach him a lesson. He said I had hurt him, and had taught him a lesson. I taught him that you can't depend on people and they are never there for you. That I only let him down. I said "Woah. Ok. Lesson learned, class dismissed. See you around." Then he asked if he was supposed to sugar coat that for me. He said in the entire conversation I didn't even say sorry.
I didn't want to say sorry.
Then he said that he hated that we were saying these things to each other. I hated it too. We weren't those kind of people. He said, "No. We aren't those people. We are double rainbow and go-is-a-hate-word kind of people.
We went to Thai. It took half an hour for us to stop small-talking.
I don't know.
We had a nasty ol' fight. At least, it felt nasty. I said, I didn't know how I felt, and that I needed time. It took me a while to figure out what I was thinking. He said he had needed me, that I wasn't there for him, that he wished I'd been more honest. I said I wasn't being dishonest in my silence! I didn't think it was fair to me or the missionary that she doesn't even know about me; if we really are just friends why couldn't he talk about me? He said he told her about us going to his sister's. He KNOWS she would be ok with all the time we spend together. He had a terrible week. Why wasn't I there for him? Why didn't he tell me? How was I supposed to know that things were bad when he doesn't tell and when he only says, "my day was stellar, my day was great." Perfect Perfect. He says he sent three texts and didn't get answers till the next day.
I said I didn't mean to hurt him. I said that I hated how angry I was at him. I hadn't meant to teach him a lesson. He said I had hurt him, and had taught him a lesson. I taught him that you can't depend on people and they are never there for you. That I only let him down. I said "Woah. Ok. Lesson learned, class dismissed. See you around." Then he asked if he was supposed to sugar coat that for me. He said in the entire conversation I didn't even say sorry.
I didn't want to say sorry.
Then he said that he hated that we were saying these things to each other. I hated it too. We weren't those kind of people. He said, "No. We aren't those people. We are double rainbow and go-is-a-hate-word kind of people.
We went to Thai. It took half an hour for us to stop small-talking.
I don't know.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Romanticism
Every week, we have to write a paper on some of the insights we gained in class. I was reading some of my classmates' insight posts, and one of them began with this quote.
“If true art is a contradiction, we are the greatest piece of art. I mean, natural man and Spirit!”
~Victoria Barros
She used my quote to build he insight upon. This girl, Sadie, thought something I said was enough to chew on, and ruminate upon.
Brother Ward, our teacher, said that he understood art to be defined as when contradictions are tied together in one place. These framed contradictions are meant to change the views of the viewer. All the while, all I could think was, "I am a walking, singing, dancing, sleeping, crying contradiction." God made me. He made many many pieces of art. If that is the definition of art, which I believe is true, then are we not the greatest pieces of art? Body and Spirit combine to make the soul? I am a child of God. I am like Him in many ways. I am a child of Allen and Karen. My body is human, faulty and powerful like theirs. I am a contradiction.
"The natural man is an enemy to God, and has been forever..." "The worth of souls is great in the sight of God." My soul, me, who I am, is a combination of God, and potential godliness, as well as body. I cannot be me without both. I am art. I am not only beloved of my Father in Heaven, but it is His work and glory to bring to pass my immortality and eternal life.
It is my opportunity to give other children the chance to have souls: the combination of body and spirit. It is my job to give the other half to someone. God presides over this, but I have a sacred responsibility to give this gift. Women really are, in a sense, partners with God. A sacred partnership. A sacred artistic endeavor.
If true art is a set of contradictions tied together, then I am true art. God is the true artist. I am His sculpture, His painting, His song, His poem, His dance, and His creative offspring.
“If true art is a contradiction, we are the greatest piece of art. I mean, natural man and Spirit!”
~Victoria Barros
She used my quote to build he insight upon. This girl, Sadie, thought something I said was enough to chew on, and ruminate upon.
Brother Ward, our teacher, said that he understood art to be defined as when contradictions are tied together in one place. These framed contradictions are meant to change the views of the viewer. All the while, all I could think was, "I am a walking, singing, dancing, sleeping, crying contradiction." God made me. He made many many pieces of art. If that is the definition of art, which I believe is true, then are we not the greatest pieces of art? Body and Spirit combine to make the soul? I am a child of God. I am like Him in many ways. I am a child of Allen and Karen. My body is human, faulty and powerful like theirs. I am a contradiction.
"The natural man is an enemy to God, and has been forever..." "The worth of souls is great in the sight of God." My soul, me, who I am, is a combination of God, and potential godliness, as well as body. I cannot be me without both. I am art. I am not only beloved of my Father in Heaven, but it is His work and glory to bring to pass my immortality and eternal life.
It is my opportunity to give other children the chance to have souls: the combination of body and spirit. It is my job to give the other half to someone. God presides over this, but I have a sacred responsibility to give this gift. Women really are, in a sense, partners with God. A sacred partnership. A sacred artistic endeavor.
If true art is a set of contradictions tied together, then I am true art. God is the true artist. I am His sculpture, His painting, His song, His poem, His dance, and His creative offspring.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Sings and Sings
Mamma said, lift your head from the sieve of your hands.
Mamma said eventually this hurting will end.
But the shockwaves on my bones will linger,
Like the ghost of you here in my bed.
When I was lost you thought me a beautiful find.
Sometimes I think of you sleeping, so sleep for a while.
I find myself asking who'd do this to love,
And the white-shouldered mountains they pointed above.
Lord you just dropped me here by the side of this road.
Out here's too cold and I don't want to walk it alone.
I've got a bottle of your blood inside me,
And on old beggar's prayer on the tip of my tongue.
Mamma said, lift your head from the sieve of your hands.
Mamma said that eventually this hurting will end...
Emiliana Torrini, Beggar's Prayer
"Paper Bag"
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything'
But he didn't get it I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
Fiona Apple, Paper Bag
Mamma said eventually this hurting will end.
But the shockwaves on my bones will linger,
Like the ghost of you here in my bed.
When I was lost you thought me a beautiful find.
Sometimes I think of you sleeping, so sleep for a while.
I find myself asking who'd do this to love,
And the white-shouldered mountains they pointed above.
Lord you just dropped me here by the side of this road.
Out here's too cold and I don't want to walk it alone.
I've got a bottle of your blood inside me,
And on old beggar's prayer on the tip of my tongue.
Mamma said, lift your head from the sieve of your hands.
Mamma said that eventually this hurting will end...
Emiliana Torrini, Beggar's Prayer
"Paper Bag"
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear
I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldn't stay, wouldn't put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope
I said, 'Honey, I don't feel so good, don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void,' he said
'It's all in your head,' and I said, 'So's everything'
But he didn't get it I thought he was a man
But he was just a little boy
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
Fiona Apple, Paper Bag
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
legal bob knows how
So I have this married student named Bob. Bob is my student because he has severe short-term memory problems, along with some crazy ADD. He talks about these things all the time, and laughs and laughs about them. He says, "It drives my wife crazy that I am so confident. I'm really overly-confident. I can do anything." He says while NOT doing his homework in our session. Oh, he is so easy to distract. I ask a question, and he has a really long answer: for everything. The bad part is that I want to hear what he has to say.
So this kid, Bob, is going to law school in one year. After his mission, he was a salesman. Sometimes he tells his salesman stories, and relates them to missionary stories. Sometimes he'll say, "And that's when we had money." To some people, "money" means two and a half thousand dollars. To Bob and his wife, pre-Katie/daughter, "money" meant going to Disney World every day for thirty days in a row. "Money" meant going to Disney World, Universal Studios, and other places just to shop and eat at the restaurants there. He wasn't kidding about having "money." Now he has no desire whatsoever to go back to Disney World.
He quit his job as a salesman. He said he couldn't handle the guilt of scamming people every day. His boss said, "Do we need to pay you more money to keep you here?" Bob said there is a point when money doesn't even matter anymore. I told him how some people think "money" means $2,500. He says he made three grand a week. Now, he is here in Rexburg, as a poor father and student. I'm so glad he is.
Bob always has some argument to give, or anecdote, or explanation to explain. He is an extremely confident man. Yet, he loves what I have to say on his papers. He doesn't really spend time complimenting me. And sometimes, his arguments could be seen as cocky, and I will say something like, "I didn't know that..." or, "no, I don't think I try to one-up guys." He will say something like, "I'm sure you don't, even though you have plenty of reasons and probably opportunities to." He is cocky without being obnoxious, and while appreciating my intelligence.
Bob always gives me a daily tutorial on his iPad, but ends the mini-lesson with why Macs aren't better than PCs. He always teaches me things.
Today, he asked how my day had gone, and I told him about how both Jamison and Andrew ditched me at Devotional. He asked if they had cars: he asked if I knew how to slash tires. He said he would slash them for me. He has my back, he says. I take this a a huge sign of acceptance. He taught me about how stalkers stalk people who only pay them half attention. He thinks I should try this, paying only half attention to Andrew. I told him I already revealed my hand, I played the cards. He says it is never too late to play this game. What do I have to lose? Andrew texted me during our session. I told Bob, and then Andrew texted me again. Bob was like, "See!!!! It's working already. I'd now wait an hour to text him back." So I did.
Bob always teaches me things. I'm not trying to tell you I'm secretly crushing on a married man: not happening. But those are some of the best five hours of the week: I'm getting paid to help this guy with his school work. I'm getting paid to get legal/business/communications/computer/lovelife help from legalbob. I'm so excited. What a great end to a rather gross day.
So this kid, Bob, is going to law school in one year. After his mission, he was a salesman. Sometimes he tells his salesman stories, and relates them to missionary stories. Sometimes he'll say, "And that's when we had money." To some people, "money" means two and a half thousand dollars. To Bob and his wife, pre-Katie/daughter, "money" meant going to Disney World every day for thirty days in a row. "Money" meant going to Disney World, Universal Studios, and other places just to shop and eat at the restaurants there. He wasn't kidding about having "money." Now he has no desire whatsoever to go back to Disney World.
He quit his job as a salesman. He said he couldn't handle the guilt of scamming people every day. His boss said, "Do we need to pay you more money to keep you here?" Bob said there is a point when money doesn't even matter anymore. I told him how some people think "money" means $2,500. He says he made three grand a week. Now, he is here in Rexburg, as a poor father and student. I'm so glad he is.
Bob always has some argument to give, or anecdote, or explanation to explain. He is an extremely confident man. Yet, he loves what I have to say on his papers. He doesn't really spend time complimenting me. And sometimes, his arguments could be seen as cocky, and I will say something like, "I didn't know that..." or, "no, I don't think I try to one-up guys." He will say something like, "I'm sure you don't, even though you have plenty of reasons and probably opportunities to." He is cocky without being obnoxious, and while appreciating my intelligence.
Bob always gives me a daily tutorial on his iPad, but ends the mini-lesson with why Macs aren't better than PCs. He always teaches me things.
Today, he asked how my day had gone, and I told him about how both Jamison and Andrew ditched me at Devotional. He asked if they had cars: he asked if I knew how to slash tires. He said he would slash them for me. He has my back, he says. I take this a a huge sign of acceptance. He taught me about how stalkers stalk people who only pay them half attention. He thinks I should try this, paying only half attention to Andrew. I told him I already revealed my hand, I played the cards. He says it is never too late to play this game. What do I have to lose? Andrew texted me during our session. I told Bob, and then Andrew texted me again. Bob was like, "See!!!! It's working already. I'd now wait an hour to text him back." So I did.
Bob always teaches me things. I'm not trying to tell you I'm secretly crushing on a married man: not happening. But those are some of the best five hours of the week: I'm getting paid to help this guy with his school work. I'm getting paid to get legal/business/communications/computer/lovelife help from legalbob. I'm so excited. What a great end to a rather gross day.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Twisted
I want to sort my feelings out: I seriously attempt doing this thirty five times a day. I can't, though, for they are as completely mixed as the air we breath in is. No one except God has the ability to sort the O2 from the N2 and the CO2, and everything else. I can't use my mental hands to untangle this mess. Everything is too closely related, every detail too entwined with the next.
Help me.
Help me.
Help.
We went to haunted park yesterday. We drove past these silos and over railroad tracks to get there. It was cloudy like this, but more pink in the sky. It was a long trip. Then, we looked at the enormous richy-rich houses that are built over by the temple. Then, Andrew wanted some tea. We got some tea. I know he notices I am different. He is trying harder to act normal, to act kind, to be funny. What am I to him? I don't want this anymore. I don't want this anymore.
Cut him off? Keep him close? Sometimes, I feel this hope that his feelings will change, and I absolutely LOATH myself at those moments. I hate what ever gives me those feelings. I hate myself for even wishing on that star. Mostly I hate myself a lot.
Although... today my roommmate suggested that I should act like the girl, whatever-her-name-is, were home. Act around him like she were here. "You'd be doing her a favor," Sara said. Then Maddi looked at me and said, "I don't think that's what Tori wants to do... any favors for ____________"
And I don't. I resent her "perfection." Then, I ended up yelling to my roommates that I was perfect. I am perfect: "I'm a sex-goddess for goodness' sake. I'm intelligent, I'm an amazing future mom. I have PERFECT bloodlines: I mean, look at my hair! His is so thin! I could give his children perfect hair. I am perfect! I am perfect!" My roommates laughed even though I was near tears. They always think I am funny.
I sense some bitterness here. I sense a little bit of anger mixed with a whole lot of sad and hurt and loss and confusion. This situation is so sad, because I don't even know how I feel, thus, I don't really know who I am. Not only do I miss him, but I miss me too. I miss everyone.
We went to ice-cream today after my work, and before his. I came home to make this tirade.
You know it is bad when Miley Cyrus explains the situation somewhat accurately.
Dang.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Comfort and Joy
These are things I pray for right now, because all I'm feeling is loss, and sorrow, and pain. I told him. Andrew. I told him that I had tender feelings towards him. I told him that sometimes I can't answer his, "What are you thinking" question, because my thoughts are sad... "I'm more than good enough. I don't really like that girl who you write...I'll learn Spanish for you.... I want to be yours..." I told him all of this last night.
He is so amazing. He is one of my best friends. When he said he could spend an hour telling me all the things he loves about me, I love.... But then he says, "I don't have romantic feelings about you... I tell you things I don't tell anyone. I trust you... you make me trust you." He and his best friend haven't talked at all in a while. Then he found this girl, and she went on a mission. He was alone. I help him, I fill that.
I told him that nobody likes to be a place-holder. He says I don't replace them, I'm different. I can appreciate that he never said words like, "attracted..." but ... is that what it comes down to?
I feel like I've lost. I feel lost. Why won't my chest stop shaking?
I've lost.
He talked to me all day. We went to devotional together, but then I had to walk away. I walked away from him with a goodbye thrown over my shoulder. What now? We talked on the phone after he dropped me off. We talk and talk. Why is he my friend?
My chest is shaking. I'm shaking. The happy, relieving adrenaline from last night has worn off. I told him I wasn't sad. I told him I might cry, but this morning I told him that, "YAY! I'm so proud of myself. I didn't cry." Now I can't stop. I lost. I put all the cards on the table and lost. Now I'm in debt, or something.
What do I do, God? Please, answer. Please. What do I do? I'm good enough, right? I am a victory, a trophy, a prize. I am Victoria. And still, I have lost. The winner takes it all, Taiwan, a mission, the boy. The loser stands small. Small, but big, with a red, wet face, and loud words.
On the bright side, I have a C- in chemistry. I used to have a D. Thank God. My life can continue, I guess.
He is so amazing. He is one of my best friends. When he said he could spend an hour telling me all the things he loves about me, I love.... But then he says, "I don't have romantic feelings about you... I tell you things I don't tell anyone. I trust you... you make me trust you." He and his best friend haven't talked at all in a while. Then he found this girl, and she went on a mission. He was alone. I help him, I fill that.
I told him that nobody likes to be a place-holder. He says I don't replace them, I'm different. I can appreciate that he never said words like, "attracted..." but ... is that what it comes down to?
I feel like I've lost. I feel lost. Why won't my chest stop shaking?
I've lost.
He talked to me all day. We went to devotional together, but then I had to walk away. I walked away from him with a goodbye thrown over my shoulder. What now? We talked on the phone after he dropped me off. We talk and talk. Why is he my friend?
My chest is shaking. I'm shaking. The happy, relieving adrenaline from last night has worn off. I told him I wasn't sad. I told him I might cry, but this morning I told him that, "YAY! I'm so proud of myself. I didn't cry." Now I can't stop. I lost. I put all the cards on the table and lost. Now I'm in debt, or something.
What do I do, God? Please, answer. Please. What do I do? I'm good enough, right? I am a victory, a trophy, a prize. I am Victoria. And still, I have lost. The winner takes it all, Taiwan, a mission, the boy. The loser stands small. Small, but big, with a red, wet face, and loud words.
On the bright side, I have a C- in chemistry. I used to have a D. Thank God. My life can continue, I guess.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Has a Crush
I have a mean crush on someone. In my mind's eye, he is this golden figure, all honey-colored and warm. Dang, I hate this. Dang, I love this.
Once again, Rexburg, Idaho, United States, North America, Earth, has something to teach me. Once again I live in the refiner's fire. I learn and grow so much up here.
I shot a giant gun last weekend. It was a thirty-aut-six. I guess that is a big deal. This weekend, I made food, rode my bike, and.... GOT ASKED ON A DATE!!! My FHE brother, whom I had an enormous crush on at the beginning of the semester, asked me out Friday night. We went to a Mystery Dinner: Britian 1945. I wore this lovely, lovely honeydew-green dress, with a cream angora sweater over-top. Plus, I was sporting my favorite heels: the creams from Brandon and Sarah's wedding. Jamison, my date, looked mighty fine too. He picked me up, and said, "You look beautiful." Later, he said, "You look really great. You look amazing." Then, at the end, when he came to my apartment (because he asked to) he said "You looked perfect."
I want to write more about my crush, but I feel a bit iffy about it.
I wrote Kacey this week. I am excited for October.
Another week. I'm going to tell him: the boy. I'm going to tell him that I am hurting, and that I love being his friend, but I don't know what to do with this emotion that is choking me.
Tori
Once again, Rexburg, Idaho, United States, North America, Earth, has something to teach me. Once again I live in the refiner's fire. I learn and grow so much up here.
I shot a giant gun last weekend. It was a thirty-aut-six. I guess that is a big deal. This weekend, I made food, rode my bike, and.... GOT ASKED ON A DATE!!! My FHE brother, whom I had an enormous crush on at the beginning of the semester, asked me out Friday night. We went to a Mystery Dinner: Britian 1945. I wore this lovely, lovely honeydew-green dress, with a cream angora sweater over-top. Plus, I was sporting my favorite heels: the creams from Brandon and Sarah's wedding. Jamison, my date, looked mighty fine too. He picked me up, and said, "You look beautiful." Later, he said, "You look really great. You look amazing." Then, at the end, when he came to my apartment (because he asked to) he said "You looked perfect."
I want to write more about my crush, but I feel a bit iffy about it.
I wrote Kacey this week. I am excited for October.
Another week. I'm going to tell him: the boy. I'm going to tell him that I am hurting, and that I love being his friend, but I don't know what to do with this emotion that is choking me.
Tori
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