Sickly

I am so sick. I worshiped the porcelain god nine times last night. I feel way better now, but ohmygosh, the weakness and ache.

Truth: last night, I was grateful for that curious and loving spirit that prompted me to sing primary hymns inside my head while my stomach revolted violently. It wasn’t my thought to kneel beside the bathtub and thank Heavenly Father for my body, this life, and trial. It wasn’t me, with teary eyes and burning mouth, who conjured thoughts of…marriage…husband…future. Who thinks of those things at times like that? I did… it was so eerie and unsummoned. But those thoughts were so real and present. I found myself distracted from current difficulties. Maybe that’s why there were there.

Being inside and sick all day does things to the brain. My roommate just came in and told me that she sat by a bunch of people from the ward. “I had lots of fun,” she said. Bully for you. The worst, sourest, most hurtful part is that she opened with, “guess who I sat by in Devo!” “Ashton,” I whispered. Ding ding ding. I was right. I was home, dying, and she was having a great time with the boy who has caught my eye, the boy who I just bought brownie, caramel, and canned milk for. I’m making this amazing caramel thing that absolutely spells love out in big brown letters. A few minutes later, she says, “And guess what else!” I told her I was afraid of her stories, and that I was suddenly grouchy about the one she told me. “I should have never told you,” she said. So now, I’m the insane, single, irrational, sickly, ugly, fat, hopeless roommate.

I started writing this post happy and contemplative. Now I feel worthless and hopeless. Blast.

Observance

I've been spending a lot of time at Kade and Deidra's house because all of the Farleys are there. I am so happy there. I am am so happy among the family. I can just sit somewhere and watch the children stream past like a school of fish, each up to their own activities. I can sit and listen to everyone, each with their own loving exchange of information, ideas, thoughts. I have realized what a blessing it is that we get t o have families here, now. It is not because we need the practice for heaven. We have families now as a blessing, to have a bit of heaven now.

I have long worried that I have been unable to make or care about friends. I make friends, but am not too worried when they leave me, even if it is indefinitely. Being with family has reminded me that I am not a complete wreck. I love them and need them and will be theirs forever. I am theirs forever, whether they want me or not, Heavenly Father has pasted the whole of us together, and there are always new additions. I love family so so much: this is the structure and organization of the eternities, and we get to have the sanctuary and safety of it now.

Everyone was where they were supposed to be. I realized(was taught) that I was where I was supposed to be. I am learning things. I learn about marriage, and am truly, truly being prepared. That sometimes strikes me as being a really obnoxious thought: the only reason that I am single is because I am being prepared. But this week I realized and was grateful for it. If I had a husband, I probably wouldn't spend the hours at the Smiths' home, listening, observing, participating. I am being groomed and wrought and refined for my opportunity. There is no shame in being where Heavenly Father has guided me.

For: infatuation (or, not)

I went to the temple today, and Tyrell, my cousin, accompanied me. I had prayed and prayed all morning that it wouldn't bee too slow, for I needed to go somewhere within two and a half hours of getting in the temple. It was quick, the first time in two months. Heavenly Father really, really, truly, answers prayers.

One of the men who works at the temple on my temple day is a very attractive man. He is just taller than I, with a face like Edward Norton and curly blonde hair. He has the deepest voice and a thick ol' western drawl.He is always done baptizing by the time I get to the font, so I have to glance at him while he sits in the witness chair. I call him Templeguy, because I don't know his name, and have had an ongoing crush on him for two months now.

I'm really good at making doe eyes at him, flirt and glance, bat the lashes, grin and blush. I'm good at those. But I don't know his name, and I've never really talked to him. When I'm around him, I feel like the jumpsuit looks like this on me.

But really, I probably look just as shapeless and white as everyone.

Today was a good day: I knew it would be when I walked to work and my face didn't freeze off my head. Templeguy baptized me. I'm pretty sure I'm in love:infatuation, love, love, infatuation. Difference much? I think not. Tyrell teases me that it was when I hear his accent softly spoken. Nope. It was when I loosened my grip (I always hold on wayyyy too tight) and then he moved his hand gently on my wrist... so lovely. I realize that I'm acting like a thirteen-year-old. But oh my gosh, this boy fills my head and chest cavity.

What if he's married? He doesn't wear a ring, but that's nothing. What can I do? Nothing: I can do nothing, except bite, and I mean bite, the bitterness, and move on. This is when faith is hard, because these feelings, however temporary or shallow, consume me and turn my thoughts like a heavy hand on the reins would a horse's head. I'll get over it. I tell myself that all of these numbers I get from guys are just practice for the right man.

The other day, I had the thought, "I bet my future husband misses and yearns for me just as much as I miss him. I bet he is working hard like I am." I'd rather think that then think that he is some twenty seven year old man-child who won't stop playing, not even to save (improve) his own life.

For: fuzz

These socks are fuzzy. My feet are cold, because the outside is very cold and tries to enter my room by shaking my window with angry wind. I have a solution to these, my problems. Fuzzy socks are the answer. The great thing about these socks is when I wear them with boots to my A.I. class. Nobody knows it, but beneath my poo-encrusted clothes and boots lie some pink, white, and grey fuzzy socks.

Victor for life.




side note:
"In selecting feedstuffs for use in poultry rations, a number of factors, including palatibility,behavioral responses of the animal to the feedstuff, and physical condition of the animal, should be considered."

....behavioral responses? Do you mean, whether or not the chickens will organize into an anarchy, invent flying machines, and take over your farm? How do you tell if a feed will do that....?

For: Nostalgia

I am grateful for things that remind me of home. I'm watching Notting Hill because of the Welsh man. He is so funny. "There's something wrong with this yogurt... That's because it's mayonaise... Oh, right. Yum"

Hugh Grant reminds me of Dustin, my brother, in his mannerisms and expressions.

It is one of my mom's favorites. I wish she were here watching it. I can almost, but not really guess what she would say here and there.

But mostly, I watch it for the Welshman.

For: New Books

Tyrell and I went in on this book together. We were at Deseret Book, and the book was twenty five dollars. I said that on Amazon, it cost thirteen, the employee popped his head in our isle and said, "I can match that!" So Tyrell and I purchased it together, and he is letting me keep it. He made me read it first: I thought he should since he wasn't even keeping it, and we argued for ten minutes. Then we did rock paper scissors, and he won. He said I had to read it first.


So I spent a great majority of the day reading this book. I'm about a third of the way through.

For: family

I'm grateful for family: the organizational unit of the eternities.

For: childhood

Childhood. All those books I read during school, during bedtime, during chore-time. All of the obedience and disobedience and learning.

All the horses that drew mine eyes quicker than a pancake melted butter. All of the horses I dreamed about. I wish those dreams back into my nighttime to fight the others that sneak in, ghouls and ghosts to haunt me all the live-long day.

The games and pajamas. The treats and siblings. Mom and Dad’s bed.

FOR: kind geeks who happen to be Aggies

On this day, I am grateful for the kind and nerdy people that I meet, most especially this man in my class. His name is Chris.

Chris and his wife, Heather, are both aggies, though she is the quiet golden-child of the Ag department. I only met her because I was talking to my friend Joanna and so was Heather. Joanna, bless her spotless soul, has a hard time loving herself ( I think she gives too much love to everyone else, so her love-o-meter runs low by the time she turns inward) and said something that was a bit self-depreciating. Heather said, “Joanna,” in such a way that I realized that she heard those things often, and encouraged and bolstered Joanna quickly so those ugly-vomit-thoughts wouldn’t have the gumption to stick. I learned this girl’s name, found out she was Chris’ wife, and was instantly in more admiration of him for marrying such a girl, and instantly fond of her, for marrying such a man.

Chris reminds me sometimes of Brandon, my big teddy bear a capella singing machine golf brother. We have to take a school van out to class, because class is fifteen minutes away at the livestock center. The first few days, I was really worried because the van pick-up spot was so far away. I begged them not to leave me, but none of the students really knew me, so what claim did I have on their emotions? Chris, though, became my champion. One day, I got to the van early, and sat in the back. All of us piled in as we arrived, and Christ came later than usual. Ty, the driver was about to pull away as Chris straightened with a jerk and yelled, “WAIT! Is Tori here?” AHHHHH!!!! I praised and sing-songed my gratitude and love for my newfound champion: Chris.

Now Chris always says, “Tori is here: we can go.” What the happiest and sweetest consideration he gives me. I love him too much to be jealous of him or his wife: I bet they’re just the kindest and the quickest at growing in this life. He is my hero, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

The watchfulness doesn’t stop there. He notices when I get frustrated in class. He says, “It’s ok, Tori. You’re brilliant. You’ll get it.” I cannot write the sincerity that he has in all of his language. Today, I was moving seats, with three books in my one hand, and a backpack in the other. “Dear, let me help you with that.” He took the bag from my hand, and practically sat me down, like he would a little old lady.

Maybe the reason I have associations with such people is because I need to gain faith in men again. I know there are amazing men out there: I’m related to many of them. I do forget that there are many, many, incredible men in this world. I think Chris gives me hope that you can be a loving friend without strings or intentions. I think Chris is a symbol of real masculinity: pure, loving language; service; heroism; nerdyness; diligence; contentedness; and joy.

Thanks

Time for a Thanksgiving list, because I'm reading Sister Oaks' book, and she often talks about gratitude in the time of adversity.
Yesterday, I was grateful that I could be forgiven of pettiness, anger, shallowness, and grouchiness. I was grateful that I could make amends with my Heavenly Father for being a brat.

Today, I am ecstatic for me, and liking myself. Last night, I was trying to sleep. I was thinking of my roommate, who is very fit and lovely, and I had the thought, “If I had her body…” But then I was like, no! I honestly rejected the ‘offer’. I like mine better. I am fit and soft and absolutely STUPENDOUS! I had a dance party in my room last night, with me, myself, and I. It was amazing. I plugged in some speakers and danced and flipped my hair and jumped around. I love bodies. I love fitness, and I love what I can do because I live in a temple 24/7.

This was a curious reaction within me, so I tested it a bit more. “Maybe if I was a loud and flirty…” NOPE!! I like my subtle flirtations and glances and soft words. She is not soft, she is whiny and shrill. I am a good whiner, but I try to keep that in my room.

One more time, “Maybe if I treated boys/people the way she does…” Nein. I don’t want to be a bossy woman. I don’t want to constantly correct people, like she does. I look wonderful for dates not just to show off but to show my date how much I appreciate his interest. My appearance and actions and words are my thank you note. She dresses according to who asked her on a date: one boy she dressed down for because she didn’t like him, and corrected and lectured him the WHOLE time they were at our house. I like how I am. I try to build other people (I am a meanie to my binger/attention-emaciated/loud roommate. God and I are working on it).

For all that she has ‘going for’ her, she is just as single as I am, and in a much more bitter and bratty attitude about it, too. I couldn’t help but think that I wouldn’t switch anything with her. I am just as lovely (we’re not going to say more so. I want to at least appear humbleish). I really sat and pondered, and came to the conclusion that I am very comparable competition. I am a player in this game. She may get up to bat more that I, but I am a powerhouse. I am an unknown Bambino. I still sometimes struggle to make sure that my confidence comes from me, and not from comparison, but it was a lovely thing to realize that I would trade with here, even to lose the pounds. I’m grateful for my voice, my waist, my ankles, my hair, my clothes, my eyes, my nose, and everything! I WIN at being me.

Victor for life.
For these things I am grateful.

I love Fall. I love Autumn: it’s my favorite. Rexburg autumn and I do not seem to get along as well as Madera autumn and I did. I miss my Mexican-smog-thriftstore-Dad and Mom- Siblings-Grandma’s house-Pookie-St. Joachim’s bells- fall. The fall in Rexburg is flu-hatethatboy-stress-homesick-cold-dateless-hatethatboy-frustration-sleepiness-barnsourness-exercise-selfdoubt-selfhate-pride-humility-hatehatehatethatboy autumn.

I just realized (was reminded by my Friend, the Holy Ghost) that life is grander and bigger that Rexburg. Life is more than the culture that is crated at BYU-Idaho. I mean more than just some SINGLE FEMALE who is an ANIMAL SCIENCE major. I am not just a JUNIOR. I am more than FRIEND: or will be someday. I am not just SUPERVISOR. I am Daughter, Princess, pal, roommate, animal scientist, livestock reproduction specialist. I am journalist, blog-writer, future career-woman, aunt, world traveler, pet-owner, music lover, tax-payer, fashionista, member, womanhearmeROAR!

There is such a culture here. Dating is wealth. Facebook friends are currency. Marriage is the arrival to Shangri-La, and the rest of us are struggling peons, climbing and laboring in vain to find perfection. These may be (minor) exaggerations, but SERIOUSLY!!

I was talking to God last night. I asked if, maybe, could I please have help to not worry. I asked that marriage and thoughts of it might be put in the back of my heart, because I have nothing that I can do to speed its arrival. I pleaded that I might grow up and stop having crushes so easily, “because its breaking me,” I told Heavenly Father. I asked if I might prepare for marriage in the way that I prepare for a mission: by the way that I live. My preparation will be pure living, kindness, practice loving on roommates (gag) and family (YAY!). the preparation for both will be the same in that I don’t really want to actively search: I can’t search for something that a God keeps hidden until His time is right. I won’t anymore. I used the phrase “back of my heart,” at least six times. Because I am breaking.

I won’t be murdered by something that I have little influence over. I will die by bungee-jumping, or steeple-chasing, or mountaineering, or beach-lying. I will not die in the prison. My mind is my prison, sometimes. No longer: my jailor is now in the back of my heart. I will be happy: this life is the time for happiness. Someday I will live somewhere else, hopefully somewhere where the Mormon community is the minority. PLEASE?

Maybe I am learning to lay things at the Lord’s feet. I am doing my best: I am my most attractive, my most charismatic, my most lovely, my most intelligent, my most hopeful, my most wonderful and brilliant. If that is not enough for these damn boys, then I am getting out of dodge, because I am brilliance. They just don’t want to play in the light. Fine, then.
I’m not bitter. Or, I’m trying not to be. Grimace.

Music Video

I've realized that the more odd and random and abstract a video is, the more I like it. This video, White Nights, by Oh Land, is all full of oddness. I accept it fully.

Please notice how the horse's eye is fixed on the camera in a sort of "keep your distance" way. Animals are so hilarious. They tug everything back to reality. I may be caught up in the fantasy land Oh Land creates until I see the wary looks of this Appaloosa. Then I think about what it might be like to ride a tense horse bareback through some mountain lake. Maybe fun... Maybe not.

"Something is about to be born
There's a restlessness in me
Keeps me up until the dawn
There is no silence
I will keep following the sirens
There is no silence
I will keep following the sirens

These dreams under my pillow
In the twilight of these white nights
These dreams under my pillow
In the twilight of these white nights
Of these white nights."