Is it too cocky of me to say that I think I would've made one hot 80's chick?
Feb 5, 2010
Those Promised Pictures
So here are the pictures that I promised to post of our 80's party. It really was a fun night, despite the fact that it contributed to my subsequent nervous break-down.
Is it too cocky of me to say that I think I would've made one hot 80's chick?
Is it too cocky of me to say that I think I would've made one hot 80's chick?
Feb 3, 2010
The Break-Down
So......... I had a nervous break-down this last weekend. Or maybe it was a mental break-down. I’m not really sure what the difference is. Mental break-down sounds a bit more serious; like there is a probability that your roommate will check you into a psych ward while you are sleeping. I’m pretty sure that things aren’t THAT bad yet… though that might be due to the fact that I’m such a light sleeper that my roommate could never sneak into my room without me sitting up bolt-right and asking her what the H she’s doing in my room. Ha. Jokes on her.
Anyway, here’s how the collapse happened: I was given an assignment to write a paper for British Literature over a week ago. It was only a 3-pager. Not too bad. But when he announced it, I just couldn’t think of a topic. I figured I would deal with it later. The week went by. I realized that the paper was due the day after my birthday. That would be annoying, I thought. Again, I forgot all about it. The weekend came. I had a birthday dinner on Friday night, which turned out to be only slightly less than disasterous. Nearly everything that could go wrong did. It was awesome. The next day we had an 80’s party at work. We all got dressed up, and encouraged the girls to be crazy. I wanted to get into the full swing of things and go all-out, so I spent the morning before I went in to work going to DI to look for off-the shoulder sweatshirts, putting on bright green fish-net tights, and applying blue eye-shadow. Good times. I will post pictures of this as soon as I have them. Anyway, after work my co-workers took me to Applebee’s, so I didn’t get home until around 2am. Sunday I had about 800 things I had to do which kept me from starting on homework. After church I had a RS presidency meeting, then ran to attend the deaf ward for credit in ASL, then went to go see my mom (after all, it was my birthday), then I stopped at work to pick up my power cord (my co-worker had left it there), then I went to my grandparents’ house for the family birthday party. For those who don’t know, I share a birthday with both my grandpa and my uncle. So there is always a bit of a to-do about this day. I just could not miss the party. By the time I got home, I was so exhausted (probably because I stayed up until nearly 3, and then got up for church at 8) that I fell asleep on the luvsac while trying to read. Around 8 pm I decided to start the paper that was due the next day. Nice.
Now, I want you to know that this is not just an extreme case of procrastionation-itis. No, this is much more. A normal happy, healthy, brain-functioning person can whip out a 3-page paper in a couple of hours. I could not. And when I say could not, I mean that. I COULDN’T. I sat there for hours trying to think of a topic. HOURS. I took a break around ten when Dusty came to visit me, and then went to visit some guys in my ward, but all along I was still brainstorming topics in my head. Nothing. I decided to pull an all-nighter. I pulled out the Dr. Pepper, and my roommate made nachos. Then I sat in front of the computer until about 3am. Just sat there. I searched through my book and the online comments from my classmates and surfed Wikipedia for relevant info. My brain was a dark void. That was when I recognized the nervous break-down. My brain was done thinking. Not only was it out of order then, I have since realized that it has been off-line for quite a while now. I’m pretty sure that this craziness was conceived sometime before Christmas, and has been just incubating since then, waiting to come out and surprise me. Sort of like those fat ladies who don’t know they’re pregnant until they go into labor. I feel a little like that. In the way that it snuck up on me, at least. Not in being pregnant or fat.
I wish I could say that it was only the paper that I missed, too. But upon arriving at school Monday morning (or rather Monday afternoon) I realized that I had blown off assignments for two more of my classes. What the--? And I’m now officially 6 chapters behind in my grammar class, which means I have no idea what in the world he’s talking about. I’m pretty sure I don’t help the situation by sitting in the back typing blogs and stories or playing solitaire on my laptop. But what can I do? My brain is turned off. It is like when your car has a dead battery. No matter how many times you try to turn it over, you’re going to end up still sitting in the parking lot with a completely useless car.
The up-side of this story is that my professor was totally understanding for some reason. I simply told him I’d gone crazy, and he told me to take the day off and go do fun things like go tanning, get a pedicure, see a matinee, go to the art museum, etc. He said that only after this, I could talk with him about making up the paper. My other teachers weren’t so understanding. Well… at least not my English teacher. Since I have a hard time communicating with my ASL teacher, I decided not to attempt hand-speaking this problem to him without a brain. Too risky. I will just take the grade dock there.
I have also realized that though I may be failing at life, I can still feel happy. I know, weird, huh? But it’s surprisingly true. I’m stressed beyond belief, but I’m still smiling and laughing. I’m not sure why. Maybe it is because without a brain I am too dumb to feel the full weight of what’s going on here. Or maybe it is because I have this great friend who, when he found out that I was going a little crazy, took me to a drop-claw machine and got enough quarters for me to keep playing until I won. THAT made me happy. I mean, those things are usually impossible, but I WON! See? So not everything is terrible. I see a ray of hope at the end of this excruciatingly long and darkened tunnel.
Anyway, here’s how the collapse happened: I was given an assignment to write a paper for British Literature over a week ago. It was only a 3-pager. Not too bad. But when he announced it, I just couldn’t think of a topic. I figured I would deal with it later. The week went by. I realized that the paper was due the day after my birthday. That would be annoying, I thought. Again, I forgot all about it. The weekend came. I had a birthday dinner on Friday night, which turned out to be only slightly less than disasterous. Nearly everything that could go wrong did. It was awesome. The next day we had an 80’s party at work. We all got dressed up, and encouraged the girls to be crazy. I wanted to get into the full swing of things and go all-out, so I spent the morning before I went in to work going to DI to look for off-the shoulder sweatshirts, putting on bright green fish-net tights, and applying blue eye-shadow. Good times. I will post pictures of this as soon as I have them. Anyway, after work my co-workers took me to Applebee’s, so I didn’t get home until around 2am. Sunday I had about 800 things I had to do which kept me from starting on homework. After church I had a RS presidency meeting, then ran to attend the deaf ward for credit in ASL, then went to go see my mom (after all, it was my birthday), then I stopped at work to pick up my power cord (my co-worker had left it there), then I went to my grandparents’ house for the family birthday party. For those who don’t know, I share a birthday with both my grandpa and my uncle. So there is always a bit of a to-do about this day. I just could not miss the party. By the time I got home, I was so exhausted (probably because I stayed up until nearly 3, and then got up for church at 8) that I fell asleep on the luvsac while trying to read. Around 8 pm I decided to start the paper that was due the next day. Nice.
Now, I want you to know that this is not just an extreme case of procrastionation-itis. No, this is much more. A normal happy, healthy, brain-functioning person can whip out a 3-page paper in a couple of hours. I could not. And when I say could not, I mean that. I COULDN’T. I sat there for hours trying to think of a topic. HOURS. I took a break around ten when Dusty came to visit me, and then went to visit some guys in my ward, but all along I was still brainstorming topics in my head. Nothing. I decided to pull an all-nighter. I pulled out the Dr. Pepper, and my roommate made nachos. Then I sat in front of the computer until about 3am. Just sat there. I searched through my book and the online comments from my classmates and surfed Wikipedia for relevant info. My brain was a dark void. That was when I recognized the nervous break-down. My brain was done thinking. Not only was it out of order then, I have since realized that it has been off-line for quite a while now. I’m pretty sure that this craziness was conceived sometime before Christmas, and has been just incubating since then, waiting to come out and surprise me. Sort of like those fat ladies who don’t know they’re pregnant until they go into labor. I feel a little like that. In the way that it snuck up on me, at least. Not in being pregnant or fat.
I wish I could say that it was only the paper that I missed, too. But upon arriving at school Monday morning (or rather Monday afternoon) I realized that I had blown off assignments for two more of my classes. What the--? And I’m now officially 6 chapters behind in my grammar class, which means I have no idea what in the world he’s talking about. I’m pretty sure I don’t help the situation by sitting in the back typing blogs and stories or playing solitaire on my laptop. But what can I do? My brain is turned off. It is like when your car has a dead battery. No matter how many times you try to turn it over, you’re going to end up still sitting in the parking lot with a completely useless car.
The up-side of this story is that my professor was totally understanding for some reason. I simply told him I’d gone crazy, and he told me to take the day off and go do fun things like go tanning, get a pedicure, see a matinee, go to the art museum, etc. He said that only after this, I could talk with him about making up the paper. My other teachers weren’t so understanding. Well… at least not my English teacher. Since I have a hard time communicating with my ASL teacher, I decided not to attempt hand-speaking this problem to him without a brain. Too risky. I will just take the grade dock there.
I have also realized that though I may be failing at life, I can still feel happy. I know, weird, huh? But it’s surprisingly true. I’m stressed beyond belief, but I’m still smiling and laughing. I’m not sure why. Maybe it is because without a brain I am too dumb to feel the full weight of what’s going on here. Or maybe it is because I have this great friend who, when he found out that I was going a little crazy, took me to a drop-claw machine and got enough quarters for me to keep playing until I won. THAT made me happy. I mean, those things are usually impossible, but I WON! See? So not everything is terrible. I see a ray of hope at the end of this excruciatingly long and darkened tunnel.
Jan 11, 2010
Cat Thievery
Okay, I know, two posts in one day is a little obsessive, but I'm trying to do more writing, and it helps to have somewhere to put it where I feel it won't be wasted. Or at least it MIGHT NOT be wasted. Anyway, I just experienced observing one of the most ridiculous things of my life. I had been eating BBQ chips and cottage cheese (one of the world's most scruptious snacks) and I sealed up the cottage cheese container and turned around to use the computer. Suddenly, I heard a commotion, and turned to see my cat with the entire container--still 3/4 full, by the way-- hanging from its mouth. The dang creature was trying to take off with the stuff! I couldn't believe it! Normal cats will steal a piece of ham from your plate if you're not looking, but my cat tried to steal an entire container of cottage cheese-- and almost got away with it. I wish I could've gotten a picture!
Blessings of Pessimism
Much to my own surprise, this last weekend was a really good one. I thought that it was going to be painful and boring, since the plans I had made originally with a certain male prospect did not go through. I was disappointed, and wanted to sulk, really—I know, that is the worst possible solution to almost any problem. Still it is what I thought I wanted to do. But I didn’t. Instead, I made plans to get myself out of the house, and have fun doing other things.
Friday night, I went out with my co-worker (and new friend), Emily. We called it our own little date night. We went to dinner at Mimi’s Café, and though there was a 40 minute wait before we were seated, we still enjoyed it. After Mimi’s we went to a movie with some friends. Actually, they are some of MY friends from high school, and I couldn’t help feeling like Emily felt a little awkward as I was reminiscing, but she still seemed to have fun. It was fun to see Brady Bradley, and after the movie, we went back to his house to chat and play music. I found out that Emily has a wonderful music talent. She sings and plays the guitar, as well as writes her own music (which I think has a definite Nora Jones feel to it). All in all, it was a good night.
I anticipated Saturday as uneventful, because I knew I had to work all night and wouldn’t be able to go out. But work itself turned out to be an adventure. I learned and helped the girls practice self defense for an hour, which was pretty tiring. Then, I was forced by my supervisor to play his role for the night, and be supervisor on the shift. This was really scary for me, and my fear was fueled by the fact that the night was NOT an easy one. For anyone who doesn’t know (you know, all my fans who are inevitably reading my blog, shocked with intense fascination at the amazing adventure which is my life) I work at a residential treatment center for teenage girls. To explain my job succinctly, I suppose I could say that I am a babysitter of sorts for teenagers with intense emotional problems. I love it. I could go on and on about how much I love my job—and probably will in the future— but for now I will proceed with Saturday’s adventures. All of the girls seemed to be freaking out about one thing or another. One girl had been found with a load of contraband, and was dropped a level in the program, which sent her into what I perceived as small fits of hysteria, culminating in her running out the door and down the street at one point. Of course, she was followed by a staff member, and came back before too long, but the whole night was frustrating because of her anger. At another point, we noticed that one of the girls was missing, and we proceeded for the next ten or so minutes to search the whole house over and over again. When I had just begun to really panic, I found her, tucked in a little ball, shut in her closet. Sigh! By the end of the night, I told my supervisor that he had succeeded in reinforcing to me the reasons I never want to be a supervisor myself. I left work at 12:30 am, only to return the next morning (or really, later that morning) at 7 am. Good grief!
So Sunday was a work day. I don’t really mind working there on Sundays, since it is nice to have relaxing time with the girls. But it is hard to miss church. I feel like I need that refresher every week to make it through the next. Anyway, this week I didn’t get it. I did, however, get a 2 hour nap when I got home from work. And though, again, I was let down by this boy—who I’m beginning to think isn’t worth my time or worry—I ended up having a good time visiting with some friends before finishing up my homework. Then, my roommate came home, and I was surprised that we ended up chatting for hours about missions and boys and life in general. The surprise came because realized that I really like her, and that we’re more similar than I would’ve ever guessed. To be honest, I don’t think I had an entirely positive view of her. That’s okay. I’m not sure she had such a perfect opinion of me either. It is funny what you can think of someone when you don’t know them at all. You observe a person from afar, and say, “She is this way,” or “she must be that way,” when, in fact, you know nothing about how they are. The truth is, probably, THEY don’t even know if they are “this way” or “that way.” Anyway, I think I was able to root out a number of those biases I may have had as I spoke to her. In fact, we get along really well. It was great to have this bonding time with her.
So, overall, it was a really good weekend. I had expected it to flop, but it didn’t. I was pleasantly surprised. You know, this is really why I tend to be realistic, or even pessimistic rather than optimistic. If I don’t expect much, I end up being surprised sometimes. If I expect too much, however, I am repeatedly let down. This weekend, my pessimism saved me. Hurrah!
Friday night, I went out with my co-worker (and new friend), Emily. We called it our own little date night. We went to dinner at Mimi’s Café, and though there was a 40 minute wait before we were seated, we still enjoyed it. After Mimi’s we went to a movie with some friends. Actually, they are some of MY friends from high school, and I couldn’t help feeling like Emily felt a little awkward as I was reminiscing, but she still seemed to have fun. It was fun to see Brady Bradley, and after the movie, we went back to his house to chat and play music. I found out that Emily has a wonderful music talent. She sings and plays the guitar, as well as writes her own music (which I think has a definite Nora Jones feel to it). All in all, it was a good night.
I anticipated Saturday as uneventful, because I knew I had to work all night and wouldn’t be able to go out. But work itself turned out to be an adventure. I learned and helped the girls practice self defense for an hour, which was pretty tiring. Then, I was forced by my supervisor to play his role for the night, and be supervisor on the shift. This was really scary for me, and my fear was fueled by the fact that the night was NOT an easy one. For anyone who doesn’t know (you know, all my fans who are inevitably reading my blog, shocked with intense fascination at the amazing adventure which is my life) I work at a residential treatment center for teenage girls. To explain my job succinctly, I suppose I could say that I am a babysitter of sorts for teenagers with intense emotional problems. I love it. I could go on and on about how much I love my job—and probably will in the future— but for now I will proceed with Saturday’s adventures. All of the girls seemed to be freaking out about one thing or another. One girl had been found with a load of contraband, and was dropped a level in the program, which sent her into what I perceived as small fits of hysteria, culminating in her running out the door and down the street at one point. Of course, she was followed by a staff member, and came back before too long, but the whole night was frustrating because of her anger. At another point, we noticed that one of the girls was missing, and we proceeded for the next ten or so minutes to search the whole house over and over again. When I had just begun to really panic, I found her, tucked in a little ball, shut in her closet. Sigh! By the end of the night, I told my supervisor that he had succeeded in reinforcing to me the reasons I never want to be a supervisor myself. I left work at 12:30 am, only to return the next morning (or really, later that morning) at 7 am. Good grief!
So Sunday was a work day. I don’t really mind working there on Sundays, since it is nice to have relaxing time with the girls. But it is hard to miss church. I feel like I need that refresher every week to make it through the next. Anyway, this week I didn’t get it. I did, however, get a 2 hour nap when I got home from work. And though, again, I was let down by this boy—who I’m beginning to think isn’t worth my time or worry—I ended up having a good time visiting with some friends before finishing up my homework. Then, my roommate came home, and I was surprised that we ended up chatting for hours about missions and boys and life in general. The surprise came because realized that I really like her, and that we’re more similar than I would’ve ever guessed. To be honest, I don’t think I had an entirely positive view of her. That’s okay. I’m not sure she had such a perfect opinion of me either. It is funny what you can think of someone when you don’t know them at all. You observe a person from afar, and say, “She is this way,” or “she must be that way,” when, in fact, you know nothing about how they are. The truth is, probably, THEY don’t even know if they are “this way” or “that way.” Anyway, I think I was able to root out a number of those biases I may have had as I spoke to her. In fact, we get along really well. It was great to have this bonding time with her.
So, overall, it was a really good weekend. I had expected it to flop, but it didn’t. I was pleasantly surprised. You know, this is really why I tend to be realistic, or even pessimistic rather than optimistic. If I don’t expect much, I end up being surprised sometimes. If I expect too much, however, I am repeatedly let down. This weekend, my pessimism saved me. Hurrah!
Jan 6, 2010
January 4, 2010
Today is a stream of consciousness: one long sentence which goes on and on without a breathing point or time to stop and think about anything of significance; no periods; no ending point. I’m sure there will be a punctuation at the end, but I can’t be certain what it will be. I can hope for an exclamation point, but will probably be disappointed. I can’t really even be so hopeful that the day will end in a period. It is more likely that it will end with a dangling participle and a doubled question mark. Very unappealing, and very incorrect. Confused? So am I.
The alarm went off at 7:15am today. I got up at ten past 8. It is the first day of the new semester, and I’ve showed up to my 9 o’clock class at approximately 9:17. I should have gotten up at 7:15 when ‘The Office’ theme song started blaring out of my cell phone, which acts as my morning alarm. I would have too, if the second I turned on the light, I hadn’t heard the bathroom door being closed, and moments after, the shower being turned on. I crawled back in bed, and waited for my roommate to get out of the shower, while cursing myself for not taking a shower last night; I knew that this was going to happen. But really deep down, I don’t care either way. I don’t care if I’m late, not really. It is the first day of class. He is going to hand us a syllabus, and I’m going to be utterly board (no, bored, not board. I’m not a piece of wood) listening to him explain what he expects of us for the next 4 months of our lives. 4 months. I hardly feel prepared for the next 4 days or even the next 4 minutes. Now I’m looking at a calendar which details every day of the next 4 months. The balance is precarious.
My tooth hurts while I’m walking in the cold; one of the ones in the back with a silver cap. I wonder I have a cavity. I can’t really go to the dentist, because it costs so much, and yet I claim to have an obsession with my teeth. I just have an attraction to straight, white teeth. My tooth hurts, but only in the cold. My hands are warm, however. My hands are warm, but my fingers are cold. I decided to wear my mittens this morning. Sister Hood assured me once that mittens keep your fingers warmer than regular gloves, which I subsequently realized is not true. I wear my mittens now to remember her. I loved her when she would give me compliments. She always loved me in my mittens. She’s married now. Everyone is married. I’m not married.
I was just informed that I am the overflow by my ELANG teacher. The overflow. What does that mean? According to him, it has to do with the class filling up, and the school adding another section, which I then added to my schedule. But does that make me the overflow, really? Wouldn’t the overflow be those who didn’t get into a class at all? Or those students who are camping out on the floor in the back of the classroom desperately trying to add add add before the deadline. Adders.
I need to change my email address. I mention it, because I’ve had the thought several times today. Ditzinay is just not a professional address for a 23-year-old college student. And besides, no one uses hotmail anymore. Google is where it’s at. Apparently. Not that I know where that is. The main point is that I’m not there. Wherever that is.
There is a table at the front of this classroom which is crooked. The books and papers on the desk look as if they might slide off. But they’re not. Falling, I mean. They’re just sitting there. Which gives the feeling that the table is not crooked at all. This is very disorienting, and makes me feel as though the whole room is actually on a slight tilt. I’m feeling a little nauseated as I think about this.
One of the most annoying things in the whole world: waiting in line. That is what I am doing now. I don’t care who you are or where you are from (and I’m not imitating the Backstreet Boys or whatever boy band sings this line), no one likes waiting in a line. Especially not an hour long line which culminates in paying someone for something that you don’t even want-- not really. No line should be an hour long, really. But when you’re waiting to go on a ride featuring Mickey Mouse which races through the inside of a plaster and metal mountain, the wait isn’t half as bad as this one. Unless the ride breaks down right as you are about to get on it… which is what a boy informed me as I mentioned this idea to him while standing in the line. He told me that this is what happened to him at Disneyland. I know this boy from my mission. He recognized me, and yelled, “Sista Nielsen! What up?!” from his place in line. He is 10 or so people ahead of me in this line. The line winds back and forth, back and forth in this little square area in front of the registers, which means that I walk past him every 2 or three minutes, every time going the opposite direction. Since the line keeps moving in a steady stream, it makes holding a conversation impossible, but not acknowledging each other awkward since both of us knows that that other is there. I asked him about his girlfriend. 3 minutes later he told me she is not his girlfriend. 4 minutes later I expressed my surprise. After 2 more minutes, he asked how I knew her, and to keep from delaying the answer for another 3 or 4 minutes, I yelled back over people’s heads that I am from the same city as she is. Two minutes later he responded to my yell. And on and on. In that 20 minutes or so, we established only that he is not, in fact, dating the girl I thought he was, that I am from Springville, and he is from Spanish Fork, but that the reason we never met before serving together in Wisconsin is that I am old. All of this was established in much fewer words than I use here. Then I made it to the end of the line and dumped out my wallet. I am leaving the bookstore with 4 small books in my backpack, and $150 less dollars in my bank account.
My next class is in a basement. A lot of my classes are in this basement. There is no service which reaches down here. When I come down here, I become officially dead to the world. No internet. No cell phone. No signal. Not that anyone will call. No one has called me all day. No one has texted. I have checked a few times. I thought maybe I didn’t feel the phone vibrate even though it was in my own pocket. That happens all the time, right? But no one has texted. Not even that boy who usually texts me 5 or 6 times a day. He does this either to tell me I’m beautiful or I’m a mess. I’m not sure which I actually am, but I’m pretty sure that what he means when he says both of these is that he likes me. That’s how it works, right? Either way, he contacts me a few times every week, which is more than I can say about the other guy. The other guy: the guy I sometimes think I like. The one who says he likes me, and kisses me and tells me not to be stressed, but then doesn’t talk to me for another 5 or so days. Whenever he’s not busy. Busy hanging out with other girls—who of course he does NOT like, he just enjoys spending time with. More than me. But I’ve got these texts. Sometimes.
Of course this all comes back to the boy. What were you expecting? I’m only distracting myself with all of the other thoughts, but really it is him I am thinking about. Thinking about what is wrong with me, and why I am even worried about any of it at all, and when did I even start to notice him in this way instead of as a goofy friend that I sometimes watch late-night movies with when I have nothing else to do. But then, what does it even matter when it began? The point is that it began at all. And now I spend my days thinking about what HE is thinking about and wanting to THINK what he is thinking is what I WANT to think he’s thinking. Right? Or something like that. More or less I’m just thinking. About what will happen next. About why I am so crazy. Anxiety. I have anxiety.
My stomach is grumbling. It is 1:45, and I haven’t eaten yet today. I don’t plan to until after my next class ends. But I’m hungry now. I would go and pick something up, but I wouldn’t be able to swallow it. My throat is swollen. I don’t know what I have, but evidently it is some sort of bug, and said bug gives me a ridiculously sore and swollen throat. Not strep, though. It didn’t give me strep. The nurse at work swabbed my throat last night. It hurt like heck, and made me gag, but don’t worry, no strep. Just a totally swollen throat. I will eat some soup as soon as I get out of school.
Hailey Hood (now Jones) just called me. I haven’t seen her for months. We decided to go to lunch. I got some soup. Hailey told me that her husband thinks I will be the first of her companions to get married. I know she meant it as a compliment (or rather he did; she was just repeating it), but it made me feel bad. I’ve been hearing that my whole life, and I’m still here and unmarried, watching the world go by without me. Dating guys who have ‘commitment issues’. THAT is me. I’m going to be the LAST one to get married.
Dramatic. I'm being dramatic. I crawl into bed, and turn on the heated blanket. I sleep with a fan on in my room, and because it is the middle of winter, I have to have the heated blanket to keep me warm. I would just turn off the fan, but that would eliminate the hum. I need the hum. The hum in the background that helps turn off all of these thoughts. I love the hum. Falling asleep... One last thought... What is it for, all of it??
The alarm went off at 7:15am today. I got up at ten past 8. It is the first day of the new semester, and I’ve showed up to my 9 o’clock class at approximately 9:17. I should have gotten up at 7:15 when ‘The Office’ theme song started blaring out of my cell phone, which acts as my morning alarm. I would have too, if the second I turned on the light, I hadn’t heard the bathroom door being closed, and moments after, the shower being turned on. I crawled back in bed, and waited for my roommate to get out of the shower, while cursing myself for not taking a shower last night; I knew that this was going to happen. But really deep down, I don’t care either way. I don’t care if I’m late, not really. It is the first day of class. He is going to hand us a syllabus, and I’m going to be utterly board (no, bored, not board. I’m not a piece of wood) listening to him explain what he expects of us for the next 4 months of our lives. 4 months. I hardly feel prepared for the next 4 days or even the next 4 minutes. Now I’m looking at a calendar which details every day of the next 4 months. The balance is precarious.
My tooth hurts while I’m walking in the cold; one of the ones in the back with a silver cap. I wonder I have a cavity. I can’t really go to the dentist, because it costs so much, and yet I claim to have an obsession with my teeth. I just have an attraction to straight, white teeth. My tooth hurts, but only in the cold. My hands are warm, however. My hands are warm, but my fingers are cold. I decided to wear my mittens this morning. Sister Hood assured me once that mittens keep your fingers warmer than regular gloves, which I subsequently realized is not true. I wear my mittens now to remember her. I loved her when she would give me compliments. She always loved me in my mittens. She’s married now. Everyone is married. I’m not married.
I was just informed that I am the overflow by my ELANG teacher. The overflow. What does that mean? According to him, it has to do with the class filling up, and the school adding another section, which I then added to my schedule. But does that make me the overflow, really? Wouldn’t the overflow be those who didn’t get into a class at all? Or those students who are camping out on the floor in the back of the classroom desperately trying to add add add before the deadline. Adders.
I need to change my email address. I mention it, because I’ve had the thought several times today. Ditzinay is just not a professional address for a 23-year-old college student. And besides, no one uses hotmail anymore. Google is where it’s at. Apparently. Not that I know where that is. The main point is that I’m not there. Wherever that is.
There is a table at the front of this classroom which is crooked. The books and papers on the desk look as if they might slide off. But they’re not. Falling, I mean. They’re just sitting there. Which gives the feeling that the table is not crooked at all. This is very disorienting, and makes me feel as though the whole room is actually on a slight tilt. I’m feeling a little nauseated as I think about this.
One of the most annoying things in the whole world: waiting in line. That is what I am doing now. I don’t care who you are or where you are from (and I’m not imitating the Backstreet Boys or whatever boy band sings this line), no one likes waiting in a line. Especially not an hour long line which culminates in paying someone for something that you don’t even want-- not really. No line should be an hour long, really. But when you’re waiting to go on a ride featuring Mickey Mouse which races through the inside of a plaster and metal mountain, the wait isn’t half as bad as this one. Unless the ride breaks down right as you are about to get on it… which is what a boy informed me as I mentioned this idea to him while standing in the line. He told me that this is what happened to him at Disneyland. I know this boy from my mission. He recognized me, and yelled, “Sista Nielsen! What up?!” from his place in line. He is 10 or so people ahead of me in this line. The line winds back and forth, back and forth in this little square area in front of the registers, which means that I walk past him every 2 or three minutes, every time going the opposite direction. Since the line keeps moving in a steady stream, it makes holding a conversation impossible, but not acknowledging each other awkward since both of us knows that that other is there. I asked him about his girlfriend. 3 minutes later he told me she is not his girlfriend. 4 minutes later I expressed my surprise. After 2 more minutes, he asked how I knew her, and to keep from delaying the answer for another 3 or 4 minutes, I yelled back over people’s heads that I am from the same city as she is. Two minutes later he responded to my yell. And on and on. In that 20 minutes or so, we established only that he is not, in fact, dating the girl I thought he was, that I am from Springville, and he is from Spanish Fork, but that the reason we never met before serving together in Wisconsin is that I am old. All of this was established in much fewer words than I use here. Then I made it to the end of the line and dumped out my wallet. I am leaving the bookstore with 4 small books in my backpack, and $150 less dollars in my bank account.
My next class is in a basement. A lot of my classes are in this basement. There is no service which reaches down here. When I come down here, I become officially dead to the world. No internet. No cell phone. No signal. Not that anyone will call. No one has called me all day. No one has texted. I have checked a few times. I thought maybe I didn’t feel the phone vibrate even though it was in my own pocket. That happens all the time, right? But no one has texted. Not even that boy who usually texts me 5 or 6 times a day. He does this either to tell me I’m beautiful or I’m a mess. I’m not sure which I actually am, but I’m pretty sure that what he means when he says both of these is that he likes me. That’s how it works, right? Either way, he contacts me a few times every week, which is more than I can say about the other guy. The other guy: the guy I sometimes think I like. The one who says he likes me, and kisses me and tells me not to be stressed, but then doesn’t talk to me for another 5 or so days. Whenever he’s not busy. Busy hanging out with other girls—who of course he does NOT like, he just enjoys spending time with. More than me. But I’ve got these texts. Sometimes.
Of course this all comes back to the boy. What were you expecting? I’m only distracting myself with all of the other thoughts, but really it is him I am thinking about. Thinking about what is wrong with me, and why I am even worried about any of it at all, and when did I even start to notice him in this way instead of as a goofy friend that I sometimes watch late-night movies with when I have nothing else to do. But then, what does it even matter when it began? The point is that it began at all. And now I spend my days thinking about what HE is thinking about and wanting to THINK what he is thinking is what I WANT to think he’s thinking. Right? Or something like that. More or less I’m just thinking. About what will happen next. About why I am so crazy. Anxiety. I have anxiety.
My stomach is grumbling. It is 1:45, and I haven’t eaten yet today. I don’t plan to until after my next class ends. But I’m hungry now. I would go and pick something up, but I wouldn’t be able to swallow it. My throat is swollen. I don’t know what I have, but evidently it is some sort of bug, and said bug gives me a ridiculously sore and swollen throat. Not strep, though. It didn’t give me strep. The nurse at work swabbed my throat last night. It hurt like heck, and made me gag, but don’t worry, no strep. Just a totally swollen throat. I will eat some soup as soon as I get out of school.
Hailey Hood (now Jones) just called me. I haven’t seen her for months. We decided to go to lunch. I got some soup. Hailey told me that her husband thinks I will be the first of her companions to get married. I know she meant it as a compliment (or rather he did; she was just repeating it), but it made me feel bad. I’ve been hearing that my whole life, and I’m still here and unmarried, watching the world go by without me. Dating guys who have ‘commitment issues’. THAT is me. I’m going to be the LAST one to get married.
Dramatic. I'm being dramatic. I crawl into bed, and turn on the heated blanket. I sleep with a fan on in my room, and because it is the middle of winter, I have to have the heated blanket to keep me warm. I would just turn off the fan, but that would eliminate the hum. I need the hum. The hum in the background that helps turn off all of these thoughts. I love the hum. Falling asleep... One last thought... What is it for, all of it??
Nov 11, 2009
Pet Peeves
I'm a pretty easy-going person most of the time. It takes a lot to get under my skin. But sometimes people can just be so inconsiderate. This is the root of my most prominent pet peeves as a college student.
Consider exhibit A:
I walk into a classroom a couple of minutes before class begins. There are plenty of open seats, and I am looking forward to getting settled in one of them with my computer out ready to take notes before the bell rings. But The problem with these seats is that they are all in the middle. All of the people who have come in before me have very thoughtfully planted themselves right on the ends of every row. Now I have to strategically try and crawl over 5 people (who surely aren't going to stand and make room for me to get by), careful not to trip over backpacks or kick over water bottles or other miscellaneous items as I stumble through. My favorite part is when people have their little desks pulled out, and I hit my hip on it as I go by. Believe me, this has got to be the most invigorating part of every day. do you see where I'm going with this? Why do people insist on sitting on the ends of rows when they arrive early to class? Why not move to the center right from the beginning, making it easy for late-comers to join? I once had a girl mention to me that she had to sit on the end so that she could get out quickly to make it to her next class. this same girl sat near the front of the classroom, the furthest away from the door, which seemed very puzzling to me. If you are in a huge hurry, don't you think that it would be smarter to sit closer to the exit than plopped right on the end of a row where you block everyone else. Just a thought.
Now on to exhibit B:
I'm walking on campus toward my next class. The sidewalks are littered with people, all headed in different directions. Occasionally this means that you must cross through the direct path of another person. That's alright. the thing that I hate is when I come to one of these moments, and have to completely stop walking to avoid colliding with the other person. It is like they are in the zone, they have a moment by moment schedule to keep, and by slowing down for one second, their whole day will be thrown off. It is as if their day is so much more important than mine that they cannot slow down so that we can both keep walking. I don't why, but this seems to happen to me multiple times a day. It may be an effect of my height-- maybe people don't see me walking there as they proceed to step right on me. But on several occasions, I have not only had to stop to allow another person to pass by me, but have actually had to take a few steps backward to keep them from galloping right over me, taking the entire front of me along with them.
These are examples of absolute inconsiderateness. Is inconsiderateness a word? If it isn't, it should be. I just can't handle this type of rude behavior. We're big kids, guys. Move to the center of the row. Watch where you're walking so you don't step on people. It doesn't seem entirely absurd to me to expect these things. But maybe I am a woman of ideals. After all, we're living in a time when Obama is our president. You never know what to expect.
Consider exhibit A:
I walk into a classroom a couple of minutes before class begins. There are plenty of open seats, and I am looking forward to getting settled in one of them with my computer out ready to take notes before the bell rings. But The problem with these seats is that they are all in the middle. All of the people who have come in before me have very thoughtfully planted themselves right on the ends of every row. Now I have to strategically try and crawl over 5 people (who surely aren't going to stand and make room for me to get by), careful not to trip over backpacks or kick over water bottles or other miscellaneous items as I stumble through. My favorite part is when people have their little desks pulled out, and I hit my hip on it as I go by. Believe me, this has got to be the most invigorating part of every day. do you see where I'm going with this? Why do people insist on sitting on the ends of rows when they arrive early to class? Why not move to the center right from the beginning, making it easy for late-comers to join? I once had a girl mention to me that she had to sit on the end so that she could get out quickly to make it to her next class. this same girl sat near the front of the classroom, the furthest away from the door, which seemed very puzzling to me. If you are in a huge hurry, don't you think that it would be smarter to sit closer to the exit than plopped right on the end of a row where you block everyone else. Just a thought.
Now on to exhibit B:
I'm walking on campus toward my next class. The sidewalks are littered with people, all headed in different directions. Occasionally this means that you must cross through the direct path of another person. That's alright. the thing that I hate is when I come to one of these moments, and have to completely stop walking to avoid colliding with the other person. It is like they are in the zone, they have a moment by moment schedule to keep, and by slowing down for one second, their whole day will be thrown off. It is as if their day is so much more important than mine that they cannot slow down so that we can both keep walking. I don't why, but this seems to happen to me multiple times a day. It may be an effect of my height-- maybe people don't see me walking there as they proceed to step right on me. But on several occasions, I have not only had to stop to allow another person to pass by me, but have actually had to take a few steps backward to keep them from galloping right over me, taking the entire front of me along with them.
These are examples of absolute inconsiderateness. Is inconsiderateness a word? If it isn't, it should be. I just can't handle this type of rude behavior. We're big kids, guys. Move to the center of the row. Watch where you're walking so you don't step on people. It doesn't seem entirely absurd to me to expect these things. But maybe I am a woman of ideals. After all, we're living in a time when Obama is our president. You never know what to expect.
May 14, 2009
Life in General
Writing a new blog. I thought that I was going to be better about this. Turns out I'm not less busy. I think I knew that before, but I wasn't letting myself believe it. I love the new job. The girls are well... interesting... for lack of a better word. They are very energetic, and for the most part, I enjoy spending time with them. Sometimes when they are screaming or throwing fits, it is a little less fun, but I suppose that is just how life is. I get paid for chilling with teenage girls, going to the movies, eating, going shopping, etc. Who can complain?
But in light of my two jobs, I have not a whole lot to talk about. I don't have much of a social life because I'm working 3 nights out of the week. And I'm pretty sure guys think that I'm blowing them off when I tell them that I can't go out because I work until 11 on Friday nights. Guys don't usually call again when you blow them off. That is something interesting that I've learned.
Oh, I also have learned that Applebees has karaoke every Tuesday night! Who knew?! They have themes, and people dress up all crazy cool, and there are drunk people who sing all disgustingly. It is awesome. And the appetizers are all half off. So I can get fat while I'm watching the drunk people make complete fools of themselves. How great is that?! This last Tuesday I got a Blue Ribbon Brownie (desserts are NOT half off, by the way), and I was really disappointed because I remember the Blue Ribbon Brownie being the greatest thing on earth, and it definitely was not. BUT when the waitress brought the bill, mine said $0.00. Confused, I consulted the waitress when she came back to pick up our money. I said, "Um...you sort of didn't charge me," to which she responded, "For what?" This question made me really confused since I had only ordered one thing. So after contemplating for what seemed like a very long time, I said, "Well...for....ANYTHING....?" and showed her my receipt. And here comes the main point of this seemingly pointless story: Apparently Applebees doesn't need you to pay them in order to make money, because the waitress just sort of shrugged her shoulders and said, "Huh. Well, oh well." Oh well. That was it. I didn't have to pay for my less than ideal Blue Ribbon Brownie. They really should change the name. I think it is more like the Yellow Ribbon Brownie. Or The Ribbon That They Give As An Award To The Kid Who Came In Last But They Don't Want Him To Feel Like A Loser Brownie. Maybe that title is too long. Wouldn't look good on a menu. This is why I was not hired as their menu writer. That and the fact that I didn't apply. Do people just apply for that job anyway?
Anyway, aside from karaoke night, I'm going to start going country dancing. I love it, and I miss it. Anyone want to join me? I'm hoping I'll meet my soul mate there. But since I don't believe in soul mates, I think I probably won't.
And that is the status of my life. That and I got a new roommate. Her name is Elisabeth, and she is really great, and she is a good cook, and I like hanging out with her.
But in light of my two jobs, I have not a whole lot to talk about. I don't have much of a social life because I'm working 3 nights out of the week. And I'm pretty sure guys think that I'm blowing them off when I tell them that I can't go out because I work until 11 on Friday nights. Guys don't usually call again when you blow them off. That is something interesting that I've learned.
Oh, I also have learned that Applebees has karaoke every Tuesday night! Who knew?! They have themes, and people dress up all crazy cool, and there are drunk people who sing all disgustingly. It is awesome. And the appetizers are all half off. So I can get fat while I'm watching the drunk people make complete fools of themselves. How great is that?! This last Tuesday I got a Blue Ribbon Brownie (desserts are NOT half off, by the way), and I was really disappointed because I remember the Blue Ribbon Brownie being the greatest thing on earth, and it definitely was not. BUT when the waitress brought the bill, mine said $0.00. Confused, I consulted the waitress when she came back to pick up our money. I said, "Um...you sort of didn't charge me," to which she responded, "For what?" This question made me really confused since I had only ordered one thing. So after contemplating for what seemed like a very long time, I said, "Well...for....ANYTHING....?" and showed her my receipt. And here comes the main point of this seemingly pointless story: Apparently Applebees doesn't need you to pay them in order to make money, because the waitress just sort of shrugged her shoulders and said, "Huh. Well, oh well." Oh well. That was it. I didn't have to pay for my less than ideal Blue Ribbon Brownie. They really should change the name. I think it is more like the Yellow Ribbon Brownie. Or The Ribbon That They Give As An Award To The Kid Who Came In Last But They Don't Want Him To Feel Like A Loser Brownie. Maybe that title is too long. Wouldn't look good on a menu. This is why I was not hired as their menu writer. That and the fact that I didn't apply. Do people just apply for that job anyway?
Anyway, aside from karaoke night, I'm going to start going country dancing. I love it, and I miss it. Anyone want to join me? I'm hoping I'll meet my soul mate there. But since I don't believe in soul mates, I think I probably won't.
And that is the status of my life. That and I got a new roommate. Her name is Elisabeth, and she is really great, and she is a good cook, and I like hanging out with her.
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