Pensive

Do you ever feel like everything in your life is overlapping,

and the same things are coming up everywhere?

Like there's some cosmic collision happening,

and you're right in the middle of it?

I do.

And I can't tell if it

just so happens

to all be colliding right on top of me,

or if I'm supposed to be a part of it,

or if I'm just creating a cosmic collision

within the confines of my own head

that is completely separate from actual reality.

I don't like it.

The Feeling of Words

I've got a pretty crazy internal dialogue going on almost all of the time. If I'm not having a silent conversation with myself, I'm most likely imagining some sort of dialogue between myself and another party. This gets real interesting when I'm annoyed with people, and I'll tell you why:

It's because my brain makes up very ... erm ... unique insults.

I think that this must be a pretty typical function, since some of Shakespeare's weirdest (most brilliant?) moments are his insults. There is even an entire online dictionary of his insults: http://www.william-shakespeare.org.uk/shakespeare-insults-dictionary.htm. Not to, in any way, put myself on the same level as Shakespeare, but I think that the human mind gets pretty creative when it wants to tell something else that it sucks.

Unlike Shakespeare's verbose and clever insults, however, mine tend to come in very short phrases, most frequently individual words ... which have absolutely no meaning whatsoever.

Now, you might be getting a little confused right now, and that's completely understandable. You need an example. Let me give you one.

A few days ago, I was perturbed by some person doing some thing that I found rather irritating. Probably something to do with the way that they chose to walk through a hallway or block a path or something similar. My brain said something like this: "Ugh are you serious? Can you not see that there are people here trying to get around you? What's your problem, box elder?"

In case you didn't notice (and you really should have, because I italicized it), the word of that sentence that doesn't make sense is "box elder." Yes, it's technically two words, but it's a single term, so don't get persnickety with me.

As this thought passed through my head, I suddenly forgot about the person doing whatever it was that they were doing, and I wondered what the heck had just come out of my internal mouth. Box elder? Had I heard someone use it that way before? I knew it had something to do with nature, but I couldn't even remember if it was a tree or some kind of stick bug (I just Googled it, and it's a tree... and a bug. Go me).

My first action was to look it up on Urban Dictionary, to see if that had any clarification. (I highly recommend NOT looking up the term "boxelder" on UD, just so you know. It has a "definition," but it's not one you'll have heard, and it's not one you want to hear about.) It clearly had no colloquial meanings that I could have possibly heard.

Really, though, let's think about this. There is no explicable reason for why that word popped into my head at that moment. Who ever even uses that word? I certainly don't, I can't even identify trees, and box elder bugs give me the heebie-geebies ....

So where did it come from? Surprisingly, I think I have an answer for you.

The English language is a delicious one that gives us a lot of different sounds. I'd call it something like ... musically diverse, though not in the traditional sense of the word "music." The production of these sounds creates a physical sensation in our mouths, and, I'd suggest, an emotional response to that physical sensation.

If you don't believe me, read John Keats' ode "To Autumn" out loud, and I dare you not to enjoy the lusciousness of his diction. Your mouth practically explodes. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but you have just got to see what I mean by that. Add on the actual meaning and connotations of each words, and you've practically got a bomb of sensation and meaning sitting right in front of you, waiting for you to immerse yourself in it. I know I'm getting ridiculously English-major-y here, but I can't help it :)

Let's look at a couple of examples of gross words:

1. Moist. Say that one aloud and try not to gag.

2. Flesh. Woof.

3. Pork. Just say it out loud a few times.

4. Puberty. Ehhhhhh.

5. Puss. ... I seem to be selecting a lot of "p" words now ... hmmm ...

6. Nugget.

7. Gluten.

These all just make my mouth feel icky, and then you throw in the meaning of the word, and usually it's just grossie-josie all over the place. Now try to put a bunch of them in a phrase, like "A nugget of moist pork flesh ..." Yeah I'm sorry you all probably just puked. My bad.

You might be wondering right about now what this all has to do with my use of the word "box elder." Say that one out loud a few times. Roll it around in your mouth. Say it with frustration. Annunciate. Throw in a little sarcastic flare. Say the whole phrase if you have to.

If you don't do it, you probably won't get it. And I'm betting most of you probably won't, but I'm telling you, box elder is a very desirable word for the expression of frustration. See, it's got that forceful "b" on the front of it, which gives it power, and that "x" in the middle that gives it a satisfying sting ... The long and short of it is that the physical sensation of saying that word fits really well with the emotion I wanted to express.

But here's the problem: the meaning of the word really detracts from my ability to use it.

I think words are best used, or at least most satisfyingly used, when those three aspects—the emotion being conveyed, the physical sensation and sound of the word, and the meaning of the word—are all aligned.

Let me give you another example. The one that first popped into my head is, unfortunately, not in English. But I think you'll still understand. It comes from the Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi 1:9. In English, the verse reads:

"And it came to pass that he saw One descending out of the midst of heaven, and he beheld that his luster was above that of the sun at noonday."

The word I want to focus on here is "luster." I don't much like it in English, but that word in French is "resplendissement." (Type it into Google Translate (make sure the settings are French --> English) and click "listen" if you want to know how it's properly to be pronounced.) Technically, that word translates to "splendor" in English, which is just another cool effect of translation ... but can't you hear the glistening in that word? It just flows smoothly out of your mouth, and twinkles like stars. Not only is there so much emotion to be conveyed as Nephi is talking about Lehi's vision of Christ, but the sound of the word matches that feeling, and the very meaning of the word. They're all right there together, working to achieve an overall word-experience. It's beautiful! (Yes, I'm geeking out over words right now. Just get over it.)

I guess I don't have too much more to say on the subject. I've probably already said too much. Whatever. If you ever questioned my choice to be an English major, there's your proof that I picked right. :) Hahaha.

Verbal Vomit

There are so many words in my stomach right now. They’ve been writing and twisting around and inside each other for so long now that I think they’ve just become one huge, pulsating mass. (I’m sorry, is this getting graphic?) I just have so much to say, and no where I can say it – not even here, and (dare I say it?) I’m beginning to miss my anonymity.
You know, that’s why this blog happened … so that I could go back into this world of anonymity and stop having my name attached to everything I had to say (I used to be a prolific Facebook Note-writer). Only then I started trusting myself more, trusting other people more, trusting them not to think I was crazy or stupid or emotional or verbose about every silly thing I wanted to talk about, and so I invited them to this blog, and it has become a beautiful thing. I love that there are people who actually read what I have to say. Granted, there aren’t many of you. But I like it just the same. :)
And yet, there’s a bit of a problemo. You see, saying goodbye to anonymity, making my blog available to any wandering eye, not having an iron gate and a guard that only lets selected viewers in … that means I have to be careful about what I say, because I don’t know who is going to read it. And worse, sometimes I do know who is going to read it, and so then I know for sure I can’t write it because you just don’t tell all things to all people. Not all at the same time, at least, and not in the same way.
The same thing seems to have happened to every social networking/blogging thing that I’ve become a part of, and I’m caught in this little Bermuda triangle of wanting to say some things to some people, wanting to make sure other people don’t hear those things, and having this bizarre need to have this all be broadcast out into universe. I might give up on that last part and just write in my journal about it, only here’s the thing: I don’t necessarily want my progeny reading some of this crap. I am blocked on all sides here. Can someone help me out?
Where is that dumpster in the alleyway that I used to be able to barf my guts into? You know, the one that was private, but not too private, and if someone wanted to go look at it, it was their choice and like, ya know, whatever … but nobody you didn’t want to be checking out your Technicolor yawn would be? I kinda miss that.
I suppose the easiest solution would be to simply let go of all the things that are causing the turmoil that has been making me want to deliver a sidewalk pizza like, every single hour of every day for the past week. We’re talking big time thunder-chunder rainbow parfait, splashin’ the hash, lateral cookie toss … I mean it’s ridiculous.
You know what would solve this problem? If people would just say what they think, and what they mean. Because if everyone else was doing it, then I could be doing it, and it wouldn’t be building up inside me like a psychedelic stomach shuttle just waiting for lift-off.
(Side note: I’ve just realized how many times I make reference to vomit on this blog (and based on that fact, probably also in real life) and so I’m considering renaming the blog “Finding the Center of Your Porcelain Chakra” or something … gosh I’m gross sometimes.)

Paper-Writing Ego

I just wrote a 3.5-page paper

in 4 hours

with numerous breaks

(including one to make spaghetti

with from-scratch sauce)

and not a single ounce of stress,

even with the looming 6 p.m. deadline.

I emailed it in 35 mins early.

Am I ridiculously proud of this?

Yeah. I am.

So I have a massive paper writing ego.

What of it?

Wednesdays, and Another Commitment

I think we can all agree that the week would be better if we could skip Wednesdays. They're just awful. It's the day that your exhaustion with the week becomes unbearable, but it's still too far from the weekend for you to be able to rejoice.

Yep. That’s exactly how it feels. My Wednesdays are particularly awful because they are basically Mondays (woof) without the joy of Fridays (Yay!), with the addition of two once-a-week classes, one of which is a 2.5 hour evening class, which means I’m on campus from 10-1 and then again from 3-7:30 (but sometimes as early as 7, though I wasn’t so lucky today). On Mondays and Fridays, it’s usually 10-11, and 3-4. you can see that there is a big difference there. Plus the fact that I leave for class before 3 means I don’t really have a good time for dinner, unless I eat on campus. Let me just stop that little brain fart right there—that is never going to happen. At least, not often. (Oh, that I were a freshman, and could have the wish of my heart: to again carry the magic money card!)
As if that weren’t bad enough, today was made worse by the impending ID Midterm in my Music 202 class, which meant that I was spending every spare moment drilling Bach, Beethoven, Haydn, Handel, and Mozart in my head. Not fun. Because afterwards, all you have in your head is a bajillion little violins and sopranos singing “And suddenly! There were with the angel! A multitude of the heavenly host! Praising God! And singing! …“ and then it goes into the “Glory to God” section of the Messiah, blah blah blah you get my point. It’s all fine and dandy here and there, but the constant pounding is really doing wonders for the state of my head right now. And, to make things worse, there were about 4 questions on the test that I just guessed on, or was stupid enough to think I could go back to later (couldn’t – it was a timed, PPT test with only 2 questions per slide, and those two questions being composer and title (or genre) of the work.) Then there’s the weather, and the fact that the past few days of sunny sunshine and happiness are about to be obliterated with winds, cool temperatures, and the very stuff of nightmares—snow. Oh, and I’m sick. And I have to go to French tomorrow. And I had to listen to another lecture about stinking North Korea, because, as he is popularly known, the Larry Miller of BYU campus is a whore who is prostituting the Kennedy Center Lecture Series by focusing on as many Asian topics as possible to help his little minions/slaves/b’s. (Not to be disrespectful of the Real Larry Miller, of course.) I think you’ve got the idea – Wednesday has been a Wednesday, and a particularly bad one.
I can’t wait for next semester when I only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1:30-6:30. That is SO heinously bearable I can’t stand it. Four day weekends always? I’m all over that.
Now on to my second topic. I had almost forgot about it, but then I looked at my title again. Hah. Well here’s the thing: I stalked somebody again. Blog stalked them indirectly, actually. And, once again, I find myself needing to commit to not stalking people anymore. I can’t do it. There’s too much creepy there. Creepy what I’m doing, creepy what I’m finding, and makes everyone involved, stalker AND stalkee, seem like more of a creeper than any of us actually are. Today, I take a solemn vow: no more stalking. I’m super done with it. Super, super, super done.

Reflections on Valentine's Day

Yesterday may have been the best Valentine's Day of my life, to date. And just to answer your questions, yes, I'm as pathetically single as I've always been; and yes, I've always been pathetically single, at least always on Valentine's Day. So, if I've always been single and I'm still single, what on earth was I doing, rejoicing in a day that many people in my condition (pathetic single-ness) bitterly refer to as "Singles Awareness Day"?

Let me tell you.

I should probably first confess that I have not always been a fan of Valentine's Day. I was always annoyed with the gross couples in high school who always wanted to have their hands all over each other, and then shelled out $40+ for some huge, hideous stuffed animal that their significant other would have to drag around school all day, stare goopily at in every class, and take up everyone else's space with. And that was just the stuffed animal. There was usually also a few enormous boxes of chocolate, and heinous numbers of balloons that obstructed vision, and tended to pop when they hit the lights. (I'm very afraid of popping balloons.) Of course, it didn't help that I'm Mormon and therefore forbidden to date, and that I also had a propensity for balking in the face of PDA that I was expected to participate in, and also tended to reject anyone who tried to date me. Not like that was a huge number of people, but ya know, it happened from time to time. I have also been known to say that I don't like the idea of people waiting for holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries to celebrate love, because shouldn't it be celebrated all year? (Now I see my own logical fallacy: ex. I love Christmas, but we sure as heck don't treat any other day of the year like Christmas.)

However, my attitude about it has completely changed. And for the better, I'm sure. No, I'm not dating anyone. No, I'm not "almost dating" anyone. No, I don't see this changing any time in the near future. BUT I do see it happening some time in the future, and I think that that is something worth looking forward to.

On Facebook, I saw a lot of people posting statuses about hating Valentine's Day, referring to it as "Singles Awareness Day," and even someone who wore all black and then went to an Anti-Valentine's Day party. And that's okay; if it makes you happy to sneer at a holiday dedicated to love, so be it. Good for you. Do what makes you happy. Those just aren't the things that make me happy.

I would hate to think that I shouldn't be able to enjoy Valentine's Day until I am happily dating or married to someone. I would hate even more to think that I should be miserable on such a day because of my relationship status. Could I feel better about myself by being irritated at and speaking out against all the people who are, bless their hearts, so happily situated? I mean, I would hate to burst any bubbles here, but that just doesn't work. There's no happiness in trying to devalue someone else's happiness.

Instead, I'd like to make a suggestion, and that is this: Valentine's Day isn't necessarily about celebrating relationships, it's about celebrating love. It's about celebrating the fact that I love my family, that I love my roommates, that I love Girl Scout Samoas cookies (and Samoas ice cream!); that I love books, and sunshine, and flip flops, and green grass, and friendship, and good food, and swimming pools, and chick-flicks. It's about celebrating the fact that love is possible. Maybe I'm not dating somebody right now, but is that any reason to ignore everything else that I love, and not be excited for when love does come along? I know I'm risking sounding like the BYU stereotypical marriage-rabid coed, but I'm pretty sure I'm right here. (And I'm not marriage-rabid, thank you very much.)

Why not listen to love songs? Why not have happy little hearts everywhere? Why not be happy about life and love and everything that is awesome? Because I'm bitter about not being in a relationship? I'm sorry, but how petty and shortsighted is that!

It's like being miserable at your birthday party because you're not allowed to eat your cake yet. Well sorry, people. It's my party, and I will be freaking happy if I want to. :)

The Diet of a College Student

Here in K1, we pride ourselves on the quality of our meals. We stand proud behind our beautifully displayed pasta bar. We rejoice in our massive exhibition of cupcakes and dipped cocoa spoons. We will ravish your taste buds with our calzones, spaghetti sauces, pizzas, meatballs, and Chinese Buffet Doughnuts. On any given evening, without occasion, we, unlike most college students, will whip up a full blown and incredibly delicious meal. It's a beautiful thing…
… most of the time.
Now, I guess it's not fair to implicate my roommates in this. It's mostly me. I'm really the one to blame here. Why? I'm not really sure. If I had to guess, I'd probably say it's because I either want to go all out, or I just quit. It's kind of like me with cleaning. If I can't do a full-blown spring-cleaning kind of deal, I will probably just ... not. You’d think I’d just get over it and make a quasi-real meal. No. I just go straight down the path of crazy. Here is a list of some of the bad food choices I've made this year:
5. Things Straight Out of the Can
Be it the pineapple tidbits I just finished, the cherry pie filling that left me full of sick, or the jellied cranberry sauce that’s on my list of “never purchase ever again,” I’m semi-notorious for eating stuff out of the can. Idk what’s wrong with it. It saves me from having to do dishes. But it’s not always (read: ever) meant to be eaten that way, so it tends to taste pretty shady. And yet I keep doing it … huh.
4. 7-Up … on Frosted Mini-Spooners

  ⁺⁼

One sunny Saturday morning, I woke up excited for breakfast. As I was about to pour myself bowl of Frosted Mini Spooners (remember, this was back at the beginning of fall semester when I was relishing every moment I had with cereal that didn’t taste like horse feed after a summer of Kashi and Chex. Woof.), I spotted a 2-liter of 7-Up sitting on the counter, and thought, in the middle of my morning intellectual fog, “Soda sweet. Cereal sweet. Sweet plus sweet equal very sweet. Good, yes?” Reason caught up with me for a moment, and said, “Are you serious?” A few seconds passed, and I was unsure of what I would do. Then I said to myself, “I’m in college. I DO WHAT I WANT.” Fortunately, I had enough foresight to only put seven or so Frosted Mini Spooners in my bowl, and only a quarter of a cup of soda in my bowl. Strangely enough, it tasted just like Fruit Loops at first. Then that 7-Up-y tang and carbonated fierceness that Sprite could never harness threw me into a tailspin. Rude.
3. My New Year’s Eve Feast: Ritz crackers, a chocolate Snack Pack pudding, a raspberry peach fruit juice, and peanut butter … I don’t even know what else.
++ +  +  =
Being that I had just flown back home from Christmas break that day, and had spent like 14 hours travelling, it was perfectly acceptable that I didn’t want to go out and party on New Year’s Eve. I’ve never really cared much about the New Year, except how it destroys my erasers because I am constantly having to rewrite the date. I don’t make resolutions, because hey, who wants to be hugely disappointed in themselves come February (or January 5th, as the case may be …) when they realize that they’ve completely failed as a human being, and can’t even successfully give up carbonated beverages for a month (5 days …). Not like I’ve ever tried that, because I have a full-blown addiction to carbonated things, and I would never give them up because I see no reason to, as I have limited access to them.
So as I’m lying on the couch, I realize that I’ve got no groceries, but also that I don’t want to cook, and I’m capital-H Hungry. I’m too lazy to walk to the market (slash forget that it exists), and so I start scavenging the cabinets for things that are edible. What I find are Ritz crackers, a chocolate Snack Pack pudding, some raspberry peach flavor packets, and peanut butter. I might have found a few other things, but I know that those things were definitely there. I collect my items, ashamed of myself, and shut the blinds tight, lock and bolt the front door, fluff the cozy sack, and find pillows, blankets, and my cellphone, and plop down in front of the TV to watch Oceans 11.
But it doesn’t stop here. I know, it already seems bad enough that I’m spending New Year’s Eve alone in my apartment, eating these things, wrapped up in my little cocoon of loser-dom. Oh no. I had to get creative. I’m mixing up my peanut butter and pudding, I’m sloshing juice into my mouth before I can even swallow the cracker (which is, surprisingly enough, not that bad …).
I don’t really remember what else went down in my fit of insanity and sick hunger, but I am not proud. Not proud at all.
2. Straight Sea Salt

I’m one of those people that really likes salt. I like salty popcorn, salty caramel … all sorts of salty things. Now, our apartment has a spice rack, a really cute one, on which there is a bottle that holds (you guessed it) sea salt. And it’s the cool stuff that is in pretty sizeable chunks too. It’s great stuff.
So let’s set the stage for this a little bit. We’ve invited some of the gentlemen from #6 over to watch a movie and make homemade caramel, and we’re having a lovely time with them and a few other people that we didn’t really know. As Logan is stirring up the caramel, I’m chilling in the kitchen and I see this little jar of sea salt. So I start pouring tiny piles into my hand and eating the little pebbles of sea salt. Nbd, right? Well, as I'm going along, my throat kinda starts to burn, but it’s a cold, wet burn (yes, all three of those can be happening at the same time). It was weird, but I didn’t really think anything of it, and I kept eating the sea salt.
Suddenly, I realize that I’m going to barf. What do I do? I walk past everyone straight to the bathroom, kneel down in front of the toilet, and proceed to offer up my oblations to the porcelain god. Then Natalie came in and I was barfing and my face was covered in tears, because even if you’re not distressed, vomiting is one of those things that makes all the liquids in your face start coming out, whether you will it or not. That’s just reality.
1. Campells Chunky Baked Potato with Cheddar and Bacon Bits Soup … on Rice

 ^{+  =}

This was probably the worst possible thing I ever did. Let’s just clarify that shopping hungry isn’t only bad because you want to buy things you don’t need. It’s also bad because suddenly, things that should never, ever look good suddenly look delicious. It’s a good thing we’re not supposed to shop on Sunday, because if I went grocery shopping on Fast Sunday, I’d probably come home with a jar of pickled eggs or pigs’ feet or something. Granted, I was further deceived by the $1 price tag. A meal for $1? I’m on that like white on rice.
Which is funny, because rice is where things start getting really shady… Well, shadier than they already were.
So I make this soup, and realize that it’s not what it was pretending to be. The thing about canned soup is that it looks like there might be some variation in there, but they let it sit in the cans for like a billion years before they try to sell it to the public, and by that point everything has just decided to share flavors and textures, so it’s mostly just this homogenous slop that’s also probably carrying botulism. I realize this, and suddenly also realize, thanks to the stank … I mean steam rising out of the pot it was brewing in, that this soup is very dense with “flavor.” Knowing that my taste buds couldn’t take that kind of intensity, I knew that I had to find some way to stretch the flavor out and dilute it. I was afraid to put water in it, because that would make it grosser. Then I remembered that I had a Tupperware of rice in the fridge from some previous meal. I think to myself, “Soup on rice? It’s kind of like a sauce thing on rice, right?”
WRONG. It was like my mouth was Hiroshima and my own stupidity dropped a starch bomb on me, decimating all hope of happiness for the rest of the night. I was full within like 3 bites, the smell of the Cheese-Whiz-y cheddar “flavor” in the soup was giving me a headache, and I think they used hog tongues to make those bacon bits. So … awful … ughhhhh.