Secrets

I have a lot of secrets. None of them are anything particularly exciting, but rather, things that I only think to myself. I think about a lot of things...and people would probably think I am a nut-case if they knew about some of my thoughts, which is why they are secrets ;)

I might try to get back into blogging. It will probably be mostly insignificant ramblings, but...meh.

I am a fan of dreams. When I dream, I have some pretty strange dreams. I love when I can remember details from my dreams because they are usually REALLY strange...

For example, these are a few details from my dream last night:

-My friends', Kayt and Dave, recently told me that they live in a pioneer house...this house (that I have never seen) was in my dream. I remember there being  a lot of rooms. I remember the kitchen sink was HUGE. There was a room with sparkly asbestos ceiling that had a massive leak. There was a room that was set up with padded chapel benches set in scattered rows around a small, old television. I remember wanting to have the house...and then my dream changed into:

-A train station. There was an Asian man and his three children. Two children were little girls that I recognized (my next door neighbors' daughters). The third child was a little boy...but he looked like an armadillo. The train station was elevated above a mass of water...an ocean, I think...and it had tracks that were lined up like piers. The piers were close enough together to jump from one to the next without falling into the water below. I watched the Asian man and his children exit the train and he somehow became distracted by his oldest daughter. From where I was watching I could see the younger daughter playing on the tracked piers. Her father noticed and started to yell at her to get off the tracks. She started jumping from one to the next coming closer to where I was standing on the cement, but the gap from the last pier to where I was standing was larger, so she fell into the water. I jumped in and the water was thick, so I could not easily find her. I dove down and found an item of her clothing. Continuing downward I pulled her to the surface and she swam back to her father easily. I was leaving the water, when I watched the armadillo/son jump into the water, but he swam and jumped in and out of it like a dolphin. When he would come out of the water, I could see the thick, slimy, brown liquid slide from his shell.

And then I woke up. Weird, right? Feel free to interpret:)

Limbo

I am stuck in limbo. Figurative limbo.

I graduated in May...seven months ago. We moved to Texas. I didn't want to worry about getting a job while in such a temporary location (temp. jobs aren't the most appealing), so I didn't work. Instead, I studied and tested for my ACSM Certified Health and Fitness Specialist certification, worked out a lot, tried to be a cook (less frequently), and fried my brain cells on pinterest (more frequently...much, much more frequently). 

The condensed version (but, not really) of my summer. Now, if it isn't obvious enough already, I might point out that my summer was not particularly productive...and not even as relaxing as I might have liked. A better word to describe it would be...boring. I do feel good that I was able to get back into shape. I am hoping to actually put use to my certification. I still suck at cooking...and I don't like it, anyway (sorry, Robbie). And there is never really much to say about pinterest (except that it is highly addictive).

SO. Why am I stuck in limbo (because, yes, I know I ramble)? Because I was supposed to do a lot more with the last seven months. I was supposed to find out more about continuing my education (which I actually do want to do...I miss school quite a bit). I was supposed to be preparing for work (specifically work that would help me to get into school, again). I was supposed to sew (I did...fix a skirt...). I thought I might read more. I wanted to get a six pack (wretched, delicious buffalo wild wings...and cheesecake factory...and cheesecake factory). 

So here I am. No school, no work, no six pack (I did make a couple of scarves and a baby blanket...and purchased another book...that I might read). How do I feel? Incredibly lazy. Do I care? 

Yes...........................and no. 

School seems incredibly menacing (but still rewarding). Applying for jobs flat out sucks (and apparently I am terrible at networking). I am going to start training for a show that will take place in March (so, I guess I will have done something). 

So this is my limbo. Want school. Want job. Don't want to do what is necessary.

But hey, at least I blogged again.

What Not to Wear...

I am not a pack-rat. I am simply a collector...

When I first got a job I didn't know what to do with the extra money. It was burning a hole in my pocket. So, of course, I did what any sensible teenager (haha...) would do...I went shopping. I was a hand-me-down dresser for most of my life leading up to that point...that, or my mom made my clothes (they weren't trendy or 'cool'...so I tended to prefer the hand-me-downs). Because of this, my enlarged income satisfied my long-time thirst for new clothes, clothes that were 'cute' (with older brothers, I wore a lot of t-shirts). This is how my collecting began.

I tried to be thrifty. I made some effort to find deals and get the most out of my money, and I did pretty well. My wardrobe grew substantially. I realized that it was easier to buy new clothes than it was to do laundry. Plus, being in high-school, I didn't have much else to put my money toward (because, heaven-forbid, I save it).

Over the following few years this collection simply grew, I discarded a few things here and there, but for the most part it only increased. I am generally the same size as I was in high-school, and everything still fits me...

But, I am female.

A misfortune of being a women is facing the ever-changing fashion trends. It feels nearly impossible to keep up.

With the seasons of fashion, my taste in clothing has changed. What was cute in high-school, and even the first few years of college, is no longer in style. What impact did this have on me? Well, it was simple. I hated my clothes. I would wake up in the morning, and if I weren't crunched for time from over-sleeping, I would sit in front of my over-flowing t-shirt assortment...and feel a complexity of emotions. Anger, at the rapidly changing trends. Sadness, for hating my once-loved clothes. Pity, for myself....and generally depressed.

Generally speaking, those emotions are rather unpleasant...so I did something...well, I did something after months and months of avoiding it. I began to dissemble my wardrobe. Pieces found new homes at Deseret Industries, with my sister, and my niece. I tried to do it slowly, but realized that getting rid of my clothes was like pulling off a band-aid. It had to be done quickly, with as little thought as possible. My sister took what she wanted, and the rest I shoved in bags that I would never again open.

This was last night and now I feel differently. Sad, because my options are nearly diminished...yet, slightly relieved.

Unfortunately, this doesn't mean my shopping bug has been cured. I still want to keep up with the nasty fashion trends. I still want to replace my wardrobe.

But I don't hate my clothes nearly as much anymore.

Regret

I know I don't really have time for this, as finals week is approaching rapidly, but I had an experience today.

I was not feeling well as I was coming home from school today, but soon after taking my seat on the bus I was joined by an older man, who immediately asked me if I was an artist. Of course, I would be obligated to hold a conversation with a person when I didn't feel like talking to anyone, but despite feeling unwell I responded cheerily. We continued to hold a conversation until his stop and I immersed myself in my own thoughts; however, it was brief. Another passenger then tapped my shoulder and inquired about about my hat. Unfortunately, I was not able to tell her where it came from because it was a gift, but we spoke for a few more minutes until she also reached her stop.

Some days I find that having a simple conversation with a stranger, about almost nothing at all, can brighten my day. The bus ride was wonderful, but the title of this post is Regret, so I suppose that I must address it.

When I got off the bus I approached the crosswalk, eager to be at home. I noticed a man carrying a cane waiting at the crosswalk. Our eyes met briefly. He looked a bit shy, and I sensed some worry. When the signal changed I began to walk across the street. I walked slowly, waiting to see if the man could manage crossing on his own. I should have payed more attention. When I turned to see how he was doing, I saw that he had only taken one step and was very hesitant to continue into the street. The signal changed again, and he was still on the other side of the road. I wished I had run back to help him. I waited for the signal to change again, but before it did the man had already requested assistance. I started toward home again, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he had made it across, and then I felt sorry for not having means of transportation to offer him. I do not know where he went after that, but I regret not offering my arm to him when I recognized his need.

I do not know why this experience had such an impact on me today, but when I stood and watched him as he struggled with the decision to step into the crosswalk I felt my heart breaking for him. I wont hesitate again.

Michael William Lindsey a.k.a. Mikey Pooh

This month can't pass fast enough.

It's hard to believe that it has been nearly six and a half years since I met Mike.

I can remember the day that he stepped through the door of Ms. Brown's chemistry class. He was nearly 15 minutes late for class, because apparently he could not find the classroom. Mike was a a pretty average looking boy. Green Abercrombie & Fitch polo, jeans, gel encrusted hair, scrawny...cute. I didn't know it at the time, but I was lucky. I was the student with an empty seat next to me that day. Ms. Brown instructed Mike to take a seat and handed him a copy of the course syllabus.

Mike and I didn't talk a lot during the first week or two of class. I was new to the school and only knew one other person in the class. I soon realized that she and Mike were friends, and took advantage of her acquaintance with him. The three of us worked together during the first lab, but once I realized how fun Mike was (and I'm pretty sure he thought I was cool, too...) we paired off. We were now permanently lab partners, but it still took some time to form our real friendship.

I worked up the nerve to call Mike for 'help' on an assignment that was due the next day. He gave me some brief advice, and our conversation immediately deviated. We started writing notes to each other during class. We got into trouble for talking during class (I've never been glared at by the teacher in the way that Ms. Brown glared at me. It was soul-piercing). We ate lunch together. We became inseparable. It was pretty apparent that we were both pretty interested in each other, but because we weren't yet 16, it was nothing more than a mutual 'crush'.

We continued to talk on the phone often. On one occasion, I played Popcorn Popping on the piano over the phone for him, and he played the guitar and sang for me. We would talk for hours. I was always a bit paranoid that my parents would be listening-in, as I did not have a cell phone yet, but it didn't stop me. I remember falling asleep talking to him on the phone. I remember laughing to tears. I remember a five-hour conversation about the gospel and hearing Mike bear his beautiful testimony to me for the first time. I remember making plans.

Mike and I remained close for the remainder of our sophomore year, but summer came around and Mike went to debate camp. I wasn't able to talk to him as much; we were both busy. The summer flew by, and our junior year quickly approached.

The weekend prior to the new school year, a mutual friend hosted a party. I was thrilled to see Mike again! I found him at the party...asking for another girl's number. I was bummed...but I dismissed it for the most part. I talked to him soon after, and everything seemed normal...until he asked me to grab a drink and a brownie for him. When I returned, he told me he didn't want them anymore and soon left to socialize with someone else. At that point, I wanted to go home. I hadn't come to see anyone else. I had other friends, but in the previous year, Mike was my companion and I had wanted to spend time with him. I found a seat on the porch swing next to Ben, and quietly sat tuning in on bits of his conversation with Christian until my parents could pick me up.

I received a call the next day from Mike. He was calling to let me know that he was not going to ask me to homecoming anymore, as we had planned months earlier. The conversation was short, less than a minute. I knew that our relationship would be changing.

Mike and I didn't talk much after that phone call. He was spending more time with his debate friends, and I kept busy with my new job as a lifeguard and swim instructor, but I missed Mike.

One night, I was logged into MSN Messenger and his name popped up as 'available'. I engaged in light conversation with him, asking how he had been. He had recently turned 16, so I asked him if he had been on any dates. He responded in a way that I hadn't expected. I teased him a little, but it soon turned into an argument. That argument changed our relationship permanently. He had displayed an arrogance that I had never know him for. I was hurt by his words and his attitude that night, and I had determined from that argument that I could not maintain a friendship with him.

Following our argument and a bitter email, we did not talk for months. He started eating lunch with a new group of kids. We didn't have any classes together, so it was fairly easy to avoid contact with him. We were becoming strangers.

It seemed that our friendship had completely disappeared, until I was surprised one day to feel a tap on my shoulder during lunch. I was a bit startled to see Mike when I turned, but entirely shocked when he asked me if I would go to Junior Prom with him. In my awe, my reply was not convincing, and he restated his request. I would go to Junior Prom with Mike. I had answered, and he left. I wasn't sure what to do at that point. This boy, that I had decidedly despised, would be my date for the Junior Prom!

For weeks we exchanged information about where we would meet and what we would wear and who would be in our group for the dance. I was precise and demanding about what he should wear, in order for us to match. I wanted him to wear a white tux and a red bow-tie. It had to be a white tux. We were going to be the most stunning couple to ever attend the Junior Prom, and I didn't feel any guilt forming requirements for Mike. I felt like he owed it to me after what had happened to ruin our friendship. If he wanted it back, he would have to work for it. I was merciless, but he came through. I think that was the most expensive apology that I have ever received from anyone.

The day date was fun, disregarding the awful sliver that penetrated my palm during our mini-golfing at Boondocks, and the dance was...loud (but we looked DANG good). I was still a bit uncomfortable, as we were in a group with his debate friends, who were dating each other, and who I was not acquainted with at all...but it was fun. We watched a movie, ate some food, and had some car trouble afterward (the battery died), but I got home feeling like my friendship with Mike had never been impaired.

Once again, we became inseparable, but this time it was different. We were 16. For about a month, Mike and I were officially 'an item'. Unfortunately for him, I was young and afraid of commitment. I broke-up with him. We still talked a lot. I cried on his shoulder. We went to lunch together. We watched movies together. We were best friends.

Our Senior year began. I got a new boyfriend. Mike had a few new girlfriends of his own. We kept in touch. We offered each other advice, but we didn't see each other as often. I watched Mike go through some tough times. He had to make a lot of decisions, and not all of them were what I would have wanted him to make, but I always knew that I wanted to be his friend. Through thick and thin. I made sure I could be there for him in whatever way possible, if he needed me.

The day came. We marched onto the stage, one following the other, to receive our High School diplomas. Mike and I were growing up. Our plans would be changing drastically.

I moved to Ephraim, he moved to Salt Lake City. We were hardly able to see each other. We made visits and talked as regularly as we could, but for a time I didn't know what Mike's plans were. I knew that he wasn't attending church, which made me sad, but I was still his friend. Then I received a call. I have never been happier to hear news through a telephone.

Mike would be serving a mission. He hadn't told anyone yet, but he was getting his papers ready and was arranging everything with his bishop. I danced around my apartment with joy. Literally danced...and yelled...and nearly cried. Mike would be serving a mission!

A few months later, after a weekend of anything and everything we could think of to do together, I attended Mike's farewell. He spoke eloquently about his struggles and his trust in the Lord, about his family, about his friends, about the things that matter. I bawled. I could hardly imagine spending two years without my best friend, but I knew that the Lord had called him to Taiwan because he was needed there. I knew that the next two years would change his life forever. I stayed with Mike for as long as I could that night. We played Jenga (I dominated). I didn't want to say goodbye, but I had a two hour drive back to Ephraim. Pulling out of the driveway, I burst into tears once again. I had to pull over, only yards from his house, because I couldn't see the road well enough to drive. I regained some composure, and headed back to Ephraim.

The next two days were torture. I got to talk to Mike like we always did, but I knew that it would only be a matter of hours until our communication would be severely limited. He was set apart as an Elder, and left me with a short text message, that I will keep forever. I cried myself to sleep that night, and every night that week.

Mike left for the MTC the next morning, and I had a letter ready to send. I wrote Mike whenever I could. I sent him packages. He wrote me back. He sent me a package.

One letter was not as cheerful as the others. Mike's uncle had passed away. Of all the things to experience while serving the Lord, I can imagine that a death in the family would be the hardest, but Mike kept working hard to become an incredible missionary. I watched his testimony grow. Every letter I received from him was a witness that he was doing the Lord's work, that the gospel is true, and that Christ lives. I was grateful to be able to see such changes in my best friend.

It has nearly been two years since Mike left. He will be coming home next month and I am beyond excited. I am proud of the work he has done. Despite the trials of losing a parent and uncle, a close friend, while serving the Lord, he has endured to the end. Mike is one of the most incredible people I have had the privilege to know. I look forward to being friends with him forever.

This month can't pass fast enough.

A Special Sandwich

Today I realized that I have been a glutton to a new kind of food. It's something that I can't share with anyone else, and it has a bitter-sweet flavor...mostly bitter, actually. I have been cramming myself full of Cecily Speaks Sandwiches. Yes, that is right. I have spent more time than I would like to admit eating my own words...feasting on my own words. Yuck...

I spent a few minutes reviewing previous posts a few days ago, and I still believe that I had sense behind most of the things that I wrote...but, I think that I have also experienced a realization that I am guilty of a few
of the accusations I made of the general population.

I read my post Something Blue, and I still stand by everything that I wrote in that post. However, I did find it a bit humorous that sometimes letting marriage happen naturally can be something that happens fast.

'Every relationship needs to progress, right? Well in Utah County that doesn't mean you learn something new each day about the person you are dating...it means you are attracted to them, you make them your significant other, and two weeks later, you have a date set...in four months (max!). Don't take it slow or anything...you are only committing for eternity.'

Here it is...the bitter taste of my writing. Haha. I met Robbie at the end of February, we were talking about marriage within two weeks, engaged in two months, and married in four. Don't worry though, I feel pretty confident that I made a smart decision for this eternal commitment:)

Now, I still think that every word in that post is true. Marriage is a big deal, and should be a decision that is made very carefully...I just got lucky and found the perfect man...I had to take advantage of it:)

Unfortunately, I wrote another post...and I think I devoured every ounce of it. Bloggers Make the Perfect Housewives. This was before I became a blog addict (please refer to Confessions of a Blogger). In the months since I wrote that post I have come to LOVE blogs. Especially the kind written by mom's who craft and sew. I actually like reading about the cute little things that they make for and do with their kids. And I am obsessed with tutorials. I can't get enough of the simple ideas for skirts and dresses, and pants, and bow-ties, and basket liners, and duvet covers, and...well, everything. They are just so fun!

'Ha...any of those sound familiar? Well, lets face the facts. In Utah, the typical wife...is the typical housewife. Wake up, make breakfast, wake up the kids, pack the kids lunches, clean the house, read a little, choose a font for the new wall-stickers, pick up the kids, make snacks for the kids, take the kids to dance and soccer practice, pick the kids up, take them to piano lessons, make dinner for the family, pick up the kids, set the table, welcome home the husband, eat a quiet family dinner around the kitchen table, clear the table, wash the dishes, help the kids with their homework, get the kids in their pajamas, get the kids to brush their teeth, get the kids to climb  into bed, read a bedtime story, tuck the kids in, finish off the day with a little pillow-talk, lights out.'

As entertaining as it was to poke fun at the stereotypical 'mormon-mom', I think they are amazing. I want to be so amazing one day. I want to sew my kid's clothes. I want to make them fun treats. I want to craft. I want to cook. I want to be the mom that does everything...I guess I better figure out how to be that wife first though...haha. Anyway. I will eat those bitter paragraphs without too much complaint...

It's a good thing I can laugh at myself and move on...I have some work to do. One day at a time:)