Thoughts

A Rainy Sunday Night

2011-09-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

I love rain. I like hearing it pitter patter. It is soothing hearing a thousand raindrops drum on metallic surfaces. Although, I like the sound of rain, the most annoying thing is the drippy kitchen faucet. Same idea right? Water drops landing with a splat on a surface, wrong. Drippy water faucets are never like raindrops. But anyway, back to rain. My favorite is the swoosh it makes when cars drive past. Every time I hear the swoosh I am reminded of winter and snow melting on the road. That reminds me of hot chocolate and blankets, and cold feet that never seem to get warm. As I sit here I am just now noticing my currently cold feet. Maybe that is why the rain reminds me of winter.

I just realized I don't really have a point. Let's just say I like rain, and I am never bothered by my cold feet (though John is)

So, I guess this is going to turn into an update on my life.

Today is September 11th. This day, in itself is a day from reminiscing about the past. Did I know 10 years ago that I would be sitting in a small living room, just starting my last semester from my undergrad, married to the most perfect man I know? Of course not. 10 years ago I was sitting in shock and awe after being bombarded with news about detrimental plane crashes that had killed thousands of people. The insecurity of being in middle school, as well as living in a country that was attacked was all that was filling my mind. I was constantly terrified of not having a future. The what ifs were immense and juvenile, being only a seventh grader.

The future has taken turns I wished for, but didn't think possible. This next weekend John and I will be celebrating a whole 9 months of being husband and wife. We have lived in this cozy little blue and green attic apartment for three and a half months. We are both almost finished with our bachelors degrees and will walk in April. Life is amazing, truly, truly amazing.

This summer has been full of wonderful things. I got an amazing job as a Taylor at Mr. Mac and worked a little over 30 hours a week and had every evening to spend with John!. My job was a little more restrictive that a BYU job so our great plans of traveling the United States all summer long did not happen. We did, however, make it down to San Francisco area the last weekend before school. While much of the trip was fun, we hit an unfortunate bump which was a seized air compressor. If any of you don't know what that means I'll summarize. It is a big, huge, enormous problem. John, in his brilliance and wonderfulness and willingness to fix any problem jumped to the case and after another punch in the gut equaling over $200 we were back on the road, sort of. Yesterday, John finished the project by replacing the water pump, which decided to leak on the same trip. He is tired of fixing the Nissan...it is too be announced on whether we will sell it or not.

One wonderful thing that happened this summer was the renting of this cute, dilapidated attic apartment. It is tiny, old, and dingy. It's size grows on us, we are lucky enough to be shorter that 6'4" so our heads only come in contact with the sloping east ceiling. This happens quite often for me as I try to walk around in the nook of a kitchen. The apartment is old, the floor creaks and the waterlines fill with sediment and a few lights only turn on when they want to. Also the stairs up to our front door rock and wobble as we walk up it. When people come to our home for the first time they worry about the stairs falling, we now clump and jump on the stairs without noticing. The dinginess of this old attic was fixed by cleaning the carpet, washing the walls, and painting the bedroom a fresh mint green. With all it's imperfections, I love this little apartment. When the time comes, I think I will be quite sad to leave it.

With all the imperfections of my life, it is truly amazing. I love it.

Marriage is Work?

2011-02-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

When John and I were engaged, we were told that marriage is hard work, but it is worth it. I was a little timid, but remembering that we have to work for everything I was ready to buckle down and battle it out. We got married and I had the troops in reserve waiting for the hard labor to start...it didn't start a week after we were married....

Well, it might have, because three days after we were married we were unpacking and unwrapping gifts. We got these pretty glasses and John was about to wash the factory off them. He stuck three fingers in (because that is all that could fit in a glass) and spun the glass around. brrrip. He feels some slicing and pulls his hand out. The webbing between his ring finger and pinkie was sliced really deep. John is a really strong guy, but seeing that slice he started rocking. I grabbed a towel, pressed it into his hand, got my purse and the keys and informed him we were going to the emergency room, pronto. Thankfully the emergency room wasn't too crowded and he got five stitches in a little over an hour. John's shocked state was pretty jovial, but when the pain started setting in... maybe that was work to sit and watch him suffer so much.

With the cut healing, we flew to Columbus, Ohio, to pack up John's stuff and drive his car back to Utah. Sitting in a car was not work. It might have been work for him because I, for some reason, couldn't stay awake for two consecutive hours most of the time. When I was able, I was driving and John was sleeping. I guess the hard part of that trip was the four days in a car makes you have intense cabin fever, and blizzard conditions doesn't help headaches and fried nerves. We were able to stop in Nauvoo and do a session. That is one beautiful temple. It was really touching to be in a temple that was almost the same temple that some of my ancestors were endowed and sealed in. ...so back to the cabin fever. Slow Utah drivers, or the people who drive in Utah, are particularly annoying when you have just spent the last twelve hours driving through blizzarding Wyoming. ...maybe that was work...

Home safe and sound, all unpacked, and finally getting used to sharing a bed, work didn't start our second or third week either... Classes started, John has class when I don't, I have class when John works, and when I work John doesn't have class. So, we should get a lot of homework done. My job used to be from 8-10pm. That worked when John was in Ohio, or when I wasn't really needing a social life before John and I started dating. (Saying "I have to work then" cut out a lot of unwanted dates. hehe.) So maybe me having to work so late was work in our marriage... but that didn't last long because my boss gave me a job with slightly better hours, 4-8, and let me keep the wage. Now that John and I get from 8 to bedtime together we have more time together and enough time apart to do well in classes.

Back up, when we got home from the Ohio trip John's tonsil swelled to almost cut off his breathing. We went to doctors so they would prescribe something to alleviate the symptoms (John wanted tonsillectomy). Once again it might have been work to keep happy when he was suffering so much. When the swelling went down and he could breath again it didn't seem like work at all. At least not any work I needed back-up for.

Then we went home to Idaho...John is allergic to something there and got a very irritating, most uncomfortable rash. He was just about to over it when BAM! A huge, terrible, mean stomach flu hit. He was in pain for a week, missing classes and his appetite. Thank goodness he would still muscle down liquid to keep hydrated for me, but nothing would stay in him for more than twenty minutes. I guess you could say that was the work everyone was talking about. He was sick with it for two weeks. It was incredibly hard to see him suffering so much, especially after such a line of other ailments. The only way he could eat saltines and gatorade was if he took an anti-nausea pill and a coating elixir to abate pain. Two weeks. I think it took a lot of work for him to try to be happy for me and patient with me. When you're uncomfortable for so long it is hard to be happy or patient. But John was amazing and pulled through. Yes, it was work, but the work wasn't on our marriage, it was on our health and how it effected our happiness.

I still don't understand why marriage takes work. What did all of those people mean? There is nobody I would rather spend my time with than with John. I could spend every minute of every day with him, but I can't and so I especially love Saturdays and Sundays because we get to be together all day long. I also don't understand why marriage is hard. Is it hard because it is hard to see someone you love struggling so much with forces you or they can't change? Is that what makes it hard. Granted that is hard, but our marriage isn't hard.

John is perfect for me. Golly, he is perfect to me. He washes the dishes after almost every meal. He makes lunches for us every day. He even makes the bed! (that is pretty cool because he didn't believe beds should be made everyday) Now, just so you know, John does have his faults...a few... But he has so many good things about him that I forget he has them. So marriage is work, hard work? Nope! Not for me...(you'll have to ask John what he thinks) I don't think it is work because knowing that I love John and that John loves me more than anything makes any trial seem insignificant, a minor speed bump in the road we are traveling. What a RIDE!

Stars

2010-12-02T16:49:00.000-08:00

Have you looked at the stars recently? Well you should. Even if you have, you should do it again. You can never look at the stars too many times. There is something calming and exciting about looking at the stars. They are there, they are always there. Even when you can't see them because of light pollution, or the moon is too bright, or there are clouds, the stars are always there. They blink and twinkle like billions of eyes looking back at you. When I look at the stars I seem to get lost in the sky. I feel the ground under me, but it is in the back of my mind. I feel like I have taken flight, swallowed in the nothingness around each speck of fire. I can raise my hand and cover the stars. Not just stars but planets, galaxies and universes. All withing the dimensions of my hand.

I have kind of small hands. They work for me. They are kind of strong, but mostly weak. My fingers are long and skinny, like of like me. My finger nails are always short with little ridges on them. My hands have scars on them: from cuts, smashes, picked scabs, burns and scrapes from falling, bracing myself, running into things, and from nowhere I remember. Under the skin are muscles, tendons, blood vessels, bones. Each made of living cells, using air, minerals, nutrients, and water. On the microscopic level the actions of the chemicals that make up each of these things look like bizarre workers living in colonies, each helping each other... But hands. Open and close your hand, slowly. Right now my hands are cold, so they don't open very smoothly. Each finger perfectly formed for it's own purpose. Did you know that God gave you these hands? Think of all of the things hands can do. It would take almost forever listing everything. But one of the things that amaze me is holding up my hand on a starry night and then removing it and seeing how many stars I can cover. There are worlds there, galaxies even...maybe even universes....shall I go so far to say millions and billions of people out there, and maybe another person is holding up their hand and covering our world.

We are so small, smaller than a hydrogen molecule in comparison with everything else out there. Does that make you feel insignificant? I sure hope it doesn't. It doesn't make me feel insignificant. Maybe someone could argue it is my egocentrism that actually makes me feel even more significant. But I believe it is something more. I think it is my relationship with my Father in Heaven. I am His daughter. Wow, doesn't that make chills go down your spine. I am not His only child, but You are His child!!! He cares how I feel, what I think, and the things that concern and interest me. ME! I am one in 10 raised to the infinity and He cares about me! And He cares about you at least as much. What a powerful feeling, and that is what I feel every time I look at the stars.

December 2, 2010

2010-12-02T16:28:00.000-08:00

14 days and 20 hours!!!
Ok, ok, I know I haven't written in AGES! I've been distracted. Now I am bored out of my mind in my History of Creativity class at BYU so I thought I would use my free time to my advantage and update my online life. :) I was going to publish my engagement story forever ago, but I didn't finish it and then life happened, so honestly this is the first time since September that I have been on Blogspot.

Anyway. I am really excited to get married. One of my coworkers asked if I was nervous at all, and I said no. She then asked if I had everything done: no. She asked if I have tried on my dress yet (my wonderful mother is making it): no. She then exclaimed how could I not be nervous!! But I am not! I am excited, thrilled, ecstatic! I have known that I want to marry John for so long that I am ready to be married. I haven't second guessed myself ever since I first said "YES!" and I don't think I ever will. He is such a wonderful man that supports me, helps me, makes me laugh, I could go on and on, but I'll save you some of the sap. ;) He says I am wonderful. I, being a girl, sometimes believe him, and sometimes enjoy how it sounds to have someone so much in love with me that he doesn't point out my faults.

It is amazing: this whole love thing. It is so blinding, but so eye opening at the same time. It has such a power on how I act, how I think, how I dream. The movies have it all wrong, and so right. I can't explain it, which is a little frustrating. I what to tell you exactly how it feels, but I can't seem to put words to it. All I have coming to mind are cliche phrases. When I am with John, days pass like hours and hours, when I am not with him, feel like days. Everything looks better, I notice more things when I am with him. I feel like all of my senses are heightened so that I can capture every little detail when we are together. Food has better flavor, sounds have more musicality, sights are more interesting. I won't even go into the heightened sense of touch and feeling, but yeah, it is pretty amazing. Love is so so SO powerful, beautiful, complex, simple, deep, shallow, felt by everything through everything.

Just to say. Right up until John asked me to marry him, I didn't know what I was going to say. Most of the time I was pretty solid on yes, but sometimes I thought no. I have my reasons, but I had my eyes open the entire time. I did enjoy being loved, or feeling like I was loved. But I had felt that before and it is easily pretended, faked. Not this time though. I wanted to make sure I loved John because he was John. I wanted to be sure of every fault he had, and I wanted him to know every fault of mine. Now, I am sure I don't know them all, his or mine for that matter. But I knew enough of his faults, I know what they are now, but I love them. They make him him and not someone else. He is so imperfectly perfect. Because I know he has flaws, I don't have to worry so much about my own. I feel like now I can focus on fixing my flaws with his help without worrying I will scare him off. We can grow better together helping each other.

It sounds so much fun to spend the rest of forever with John! We have so much fun together in days and weeks and months it just makes me thrilled to know we will have years and years of it. I can't hardly wait to start making memories with John as a family instead of just as boyfriend and girlfriend, or fiancé and fiancée.

December 17th here we come!

August 30, 2010

2010-08-30T21:53:00.000-07:00

I had every intention to write for a full hour, but I got severely distracted by changing the template and color of my blog. Confession, I love black. I love wearing it. I love seeing it. There is a depth, a foreboding, a deep secret in black. For when black is used I cannot help but wonder what is being concealed by the darkness. Black is also easy to make very formal and beautiful. Unlike denim or a dusty anything. Black can be worn casually, and formally. Flaws are hidden and the wearer achieves a slimmer silhouette. I know it is not really necessary for me to need to look slimmer, but as much as you wish to argue the fact still remains that even skinny girls have bumps and lump, granted they are smaller, but still present. And black hides them! Yay for black.

So after that tangent... I also have an extreme love for green, lime green and kelly green, and just very fresh and lively green. Dark greens hold their places too. I get really excited when I find the perfect shade of green. So now that you know a little of my obsession with colors, if you noticed that I changed the template of my blog then you will notice it was a drastic change, and why it was so dark to begin with. Well now this lovely orange color caught my eye, and I decided I was done with the drastically dark for a little bit. Not saying I will stop wearing black as much (just as an aside no I am not gothic, depressed or a drama stage hand, I never wear solid black, from shirt to pants to jewelry. I just like dressing it up and making it stand out.) So I will still where my black shirts, and my dark wash jeans, but my blog will now reflect a bit of exuberant vivacious happiness that I feel, despite how much I still am drawn to lime green on a black background.

Wow, that wasn't really where I wanted to go tonight. Oh well, it was gone to. What I wanted to tell all of you about is the fact that a new semester has started at BYU! Now another secret love of mine is school. I absolutely adore going to class and learning all that there is to learn. I don't like tests so much, in fact I am all for taking tests out. But it is a fact of mine that I am overjoyed to start classes and sad when they are over. This semester I am taking Religion 234, commonly known as marriage prep; Anthropology 101, yes it is full of freshman; Ecology, or Biology 350, I honestly think I was born for this class. Studying how organisms interact with each other and with their environment is what excites me the absolutely very most about studying Biology. Wait a sec, I want hot chocolate, I'm off to get some and will be back momentarily.

And I'm back. Just to clarify, I don't want hot chocolate because it is cold. No I drink hot chocolate all year long. It is just that yummy. So classes, tomorrow I have PWS something or other which translates into Genetics. Frankly that class scares me, and then I have English 312, persuasive writing, which scares me too. All in all I have a semester full of fabulous classes, some will be easy, some will be hard, but I think I will truly love them all. Well I am going to finish my hot chocolate, then it's off to bed! Tomorrow is going to be another fantastic day.

August 13, 2010

2010-08-13T16:38:00.000-07:00

My "loss for words" seems to have taken a couple months to find them. Actually truth, I have been with-holding information. Yes, I admitted it. So sue me.

Well now that I am opening the box of "truths" let me see what I can tell you without letting go of some super exciting and super secret secrets. Don't worry, it will all come out in time and you will enjoy them that much more when you finally find out. Isn't waiting at the edge of your seat fun? Yeah I don't think so either.

So to start these truths. I am actually writing because I have nothing else to do. I moved out of my summer apartment this morning. Oh that was a process! Moral of the story is, don't ever rent an apartment from someone who lets snobbish and stuck-up people manage them. Aka, big management companies. I started packing yesterday after my final. Well my final didn't go as well as I would have wanted it to. Amines frustrate me, what is it about Nitrogen that confuses me? I don't know. But on an up note, I don't have to take anymore Organic Chemistry. Wait that is an up note?? I guess you might think so. I actually enjoyed the classes. Anyway, back to moving. I started at 1 pm and I finished at 12 am. I was packed and moved and ready to start cleaning at 8 am. Dani came at 8 this morning and we started the "cleaning party." I don't know why people call it a party, I didn't like it one bit. We got done and called the manager why she hadn't come yet. She said it was because it was scheduled for Monday. I swear she said Friday. Anyway she came by and checked the apartment at 2. Did you know that we were supposed to have MATCHING vanity lights? Well I didn't, and according to the manager, that is the perfect reason to take money out of the deposit. BOO! I was pretty put out about it for a while. Then I went shopping to raise my spirits. There is just something about slipping into brand new clothes that are a size smaller than you usually put on. (sigh) I didn't get anything. I'm trying to save money. I hate trying to save money. It just makes it that much harder to enjoy shopping. Now to those of you who know me, you know that I am not much of a shopper anyway. I don't go very often, and I can try on tens of clothes without finding a single thing I like. When I am not worried about spending money, I am just frustrated that so many clothes don't fit. When I am concerned about spending money, I usually find something I like but then have to talk myself out of it. This shopping trip I found a dress I really really liked. Guess what. Too expensive. I figured if I still want it in a couple weeks and it is still there, then I will go back and get it. Chances are I will forget about it by then. Ta-daa! Money saved!

Well I did that, now... I am on campus waiting for 6:00 to get closer so I can go to work and then go home for a week or so. I'm kinda excited. I like spending longer times at home. But waiting is why I am now writing. It is kind of pathetic that I have to be homeless before I will write on my blog. Sorry for leaving you guys hanging there. I know how much you really wanted to see what I would write next. Haha! I like to imagine ok, give me a break.

June 15, 2010

2010-06-15T13:51:00.000-07:00

Strangely enough i feel at a loss for words. It has been a while since I have posted, but I seem to be unable to say anything. I have been staring at the computer screen for ten minutes and all I have come up with is how I don't have anything to say. Maybe it is because I have been distracted by watching the Phantom of the Opera while I decided to write.

Do movies ever portray reality or are they all fiction? Is everything fantasized ...everything right down to the emotions they imitate and evoke?

I don't think I want to write right now. I'll try again tomorrow.

Jume 11, 2010

2010-06-11T22:29:00.000-07:00

I have to be honest. Half of the reason I stopped writing everyday is that a couple people told me they read my blog. Super intimidating! I mean that is why I write a blog is so that people can read it. But for some reason my mind sees a difference between knowing someone may read it and knowing someone reads it. It shouldn't scare me so much. I mean the people who have told me are my wonderful cousin Monica, and my boyfriend John. Two people I'm glad want to take the time to read my little ramblings. But honestly it made me re-evaluate. I wanted to be more insightful, less of a ... shall I say "girl". Pretty much I wanted to hide every flaw I have ever hinted at hoping that they wouldn't judge me to be less than perfect. But I'm not perfect. I shouldn't even pretend to be should I? No! But still, I'd like someone to think I was.
I also wanted them to think I was wise. I wanted to say something thought provoking, inspiring, and almost life altering. Sometimes I am that way, I wanted that sometimes to be all the time. But that wouldn't be real either.
More than anything I want to be real. Despite how much being real intimidates me I want people to see me as real, especially those I am close to...to those I love.

June 6, 2010

2010-06-07T13:00:00.000-07:00

So two of my best friends got married to each other this weekend. Someone asked me if that was weird. How could it be weird? I have known Anne for almost 4 years, and Mike for almost two. I have to admit, I wasn't completely happy when they started dating because I had liked Mike first. ...that is an interesting story... But helping them with their relationship has not only made me happy for them, but has make me love them that much more; together and separate. Seeing them tied for eternity felt like the most right thing they could ever do. It fit perfectly. It was completely happy and perfect. I could not more approve of their marriage.

I was a little sad afterward though. I won't ever get to be roommates with Anne again. Because of that we won't be as involved in each others lives as we were. Part of me was sad that I was losing the intimacy of a best friend. And then I looked at John.

I have always wanted a best friend ever since I could remember. Someone who always is game to do something, or nothing. Someone who would lift me up when I needed it, and someone I could lift then they needed it. I wrote about the traits of a best friend in high school, and mused about them in college. Rereading the essay I wrote in high school I still believe Anne was my best friend. If I knew how to make a link I'd share it with you. But the important thing is that I finally had a best friend. Two in fact, because Mike seemed to care just as much as Anne did. Now they are on their way to Kansas for a reception, then to their honeymoon. It will be a while before I see them again.

But thankfully, I still have a best friend here in Provo. One that is always game, one that helps me whenever he can. One that knows me through and through and still likes being with me. I didn't realize it until recently that he has earned the title of best friend. He was and is titled boyfriend, but now he is my best friend too. I am so happy I have John! I wish the world could have as a friend as good as John is to me. I simply adore him.

June 3, 2010

2010-06-03T10:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Wonderful life,
Greetings. I have missed seeing you around. I guess I got so caught up in the "to do"s and the "been done"s that I have forgotten to even keep an eye out for you. I've been sitting in my room staring out the window at the beautiful world around me wondering why I wasn't out there in it. Then when I would go out there in it, I would look back over my shoulder at the window and wonder what I was missing in there. I guess I took the saying "the grass is greener on the other side of the fence" and made it a personal reality.
Last weekend John took me up to the Y parking lot to see the whole Utah Valley. We go up pretty frequently. It is a fun cruise on his motorcycle. So we were sitting on the rock that surround the parking lot, overlooking the world. I can't remember the conversation but I ended up saying something like: Why can't we just be happy with where we are? Why do we have to keep looking for the better, faster, stronger, prettier, and happier person, situation, or thing? Why can't we just be happy with what we have, see it for what it is and love every moment?
I was surprised at myself. I was, again, living a paradox. My days were filled with the unsatisfied longing for the something better and I was sitting there wondering why people would do that.
Well I eventually came out of it. Changing habit is hard, changing attitude is hard, and I had to do both. I had started the habit of always wanted a bigger, better response than the one I was getting. I was of the attitude that if I didn't get the bigger or better thing then I would be unsatisfied and irritated with where I was, who I was, and what I was doing.
Nothing has really changed. Oh yes it did. I started saying "I can" if I wanted to go somewhere or do something, and I started reading and annotating my scriptures again. I think there is something about Alma chapter 26 that will lift anyone's dampened spirits. How Ammon glories and rejoices in the all knowing, all powerful, all understanding God; that great and merciful Creator! It reminded me of the perspective I should be having. It helped me satisfied with who I am and what I am doing. I am a daughter of that wondrous, glorious Being, and I am gaining experience in this wonderful world He has created for us.
For some reason the line from Lion King comes to mind, "You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me." As soon as I remember who I am I remember my Father. It goes the other way too. As soon as I remember my Father in Heaven I remember who I am. I can't remember the one without remembering the other. Thank Him that I remember!
And so Wonderful Life, it has been a while since I have seen you. But it is so good to see you again. Please stay for a while.
Love, your ardent admirer,
Kasia Sue

May 31, 2010

2010-05-31T19:24:00.000-07:00

I was right. I need something to do. I need to make goals and then work to fulfill them. During the semester my goals are met by doing what the professors ask, I want good grades and so therefore I have to preform to a certain caliber. During the summer my goals are simple; I want to read, I want to write, I want to work a little. But all in all these "goals" are very easily met each day with no improvement to my life or for the people around me. What I really want is something hard. Something that will take a lot of effort that I can work on every day that will expand my knowledge, deepen my talents, bring me closer to God and closer to those I with whom I associate. I don't know what that is right now... I could make blankets for humanitarian aid, but that doesn't really take all that long. I could do it anyway. I'll look into that. I really need a big project. One that my dad would say, "That is really ambitious, Kasia." Like he used to when I would share my ideas. I need this because when I would finally concur it I could stand back and see how far I have come. I would see where I was, where I am now, and measure the difference in who and how I am.

For example, my rear bicycle tire had a hole in it. I wanted to ride it one afternoon but all the air had leaked out. I couldn't go with Jesse and John on their short mountain bike ride up Rock Canyon. I hiked around a bit while they were gone, but as I watched them leave and then speed back I was acutely aware of what I was missing out on. So two days later I had a free afternoon, like always. I borrowed my brother's car and went to Walmart to get some ribbon for aprons I was making for Nathan and Millie's wedding reception. While I was at Walmart I, fortunately, remembered to get some slime and a bike pump (I didn't have on and thought I should get one if I was going to maintain a bike). Coming back to my apartment I got my bike. Now, you should understand, I have never fixed something on a bike before, let alone by myself. However, I had watched my dad and brothers fix their bicycle tires plenty of times so I had the general idea. I used the tool and got the air stop out, then I attached the tube to the valve and to the slime bottle. Turning the bottle upside-down, I squeezed the slime into the tire. I watched the steady stream, measured how much I had put in the tire, and squeezed again. The stream had stopped. I pressed and pressed, no more slime would go in. I removed the tube, tried to put air in the tire, thinking that if there was a clog the pressure from the air would get it out. Nothing. What to do?? I decided to take the tire off the rim, thinking that the clot would break free easier if I could move the inner tube around more. Taking the tire off the rim was a struggle. The tire fit very well in that rim. I got it off, used tweezers, hair pins, and a knife and I got the clot out. I finished putting the slime in, and then had to get the inner tube back in the tire and back on the rim. Another difficult process, but it was easier than taking it off. I then filled the tire with air and it was done. I am proud of myself every time I ride my bike. I had fixed it myself.

May 29, 2010

2010-05-29T10:44:00.000-07:00

There must be something in the air, or maybe it is just me. But I seem to be in a really low mood, and quite a few people are expressing the same feelings. The problem is is that nothing is really going wrong. If I had a legitimate reason for this angst then I would be able to fix it, but I can't pinpoint a solid problem. It can't be the weather because it has been beautiful here. Sunny in the morning, cloudy, but making everything look eerily vibrant and vivid. It is a little cool today, it might rain, but I like the rain. So it can't be the weather. My apartment and roommates? No, my roommates are really sweet girls. I wish I knew how to make friends with girls easier, honestly guys are a whole lot more simple. But I have no complaints about my roommates. And my apartment, it is spotless all the time. A wish come true. All four of us make our beds every day. There is rarely a dish in the sink and even though we never have cleaning checks, we weekly sweep and vacuum the floor. So it can't be a messy apartment that is hampering my mood.

I think it might be that I am not really busy. I don't exactly feel lazy but I sure have a lot of my time. Every day I get to wake up when I want to, eat when I want to, fill my day with anything I want to, then go to work. At work I get to take my time doing the jobs that need to be done (which doesn't take long at all). Then I come home and hang out with my boyfriend. I think my biggest complaint is that I have so much "my time" that I feel lazy, useless, unproductive, and self absorbed. I do good things, I read books, I write like I wanted to, I cook a little, I sew a little, I go to the gym, and I tan. But see what I mean? There is nobody sharing in what I am doing, and I am helping my fellow man in any way. I mean who cares if I read for five hours, go to the gym for one, and then go to work? It doesn't affect anyone and it bothers me. I need something, a job, a service project, something to get me out of my apartment and to stop me from being so self absorbed and unsatisfied with my "lazy" life. Honestly someone who wants to sit around and do nothing for an entire summer never did it. It isn't that great in all honesty. I like being busy, really really busy. When I am busy "my time" comes and is enjoyed not regretted. Arg! I need to find something to do!

May 26, 2010

2010-05-26T14:59:00.000-07:00

Time flies on wings of lightning. We cannot call it back. How scary it is when the reality of the speed of time finally...catches up with us. I was stalking on facebook like we all know we do but don't admit, and I just randomly signed on to Facebook Chat, which I hadn't done for about a month. The names that showed on my Facebook Chat were ones that I hadn't expected to see for a long time. Then I realized that the "long time" had passed. It had been two years since I had seen those faces and those names. The boys I had known my freshman year, all got calls, all left by the end of summer and are now all coming home. It feels weird like they should still be on missions. I want to talk to them, but then I realize I have no idea of what to say. The past is hard to erase and so imagining them as completely different people is hard. Does this always happen when long ago friends work their way back into the present?

2010-05-20T09:52:00.000-07:00

Well that was just pathetic. I really have no good excuse for ditching out on a week. It isn't like I was too busy or anything. Well there was Nathan's wedding, and the trip home...which led to an interesting question I ended up mulling over for a couple days, and then...nothing. So really. Hummm I think I had better start explaining myself.

Nathan's wedding and reception was great! Millie and Nathan are so happy, finally married, and so on and so forth. It was a lot of work getting everything together. Mom was amazing. At times her stress level had me a little worried, but I was doing everything I knew how, and helping with everything I could. It was beyond my control. I just hope it was a good experience for her too. Anyway. My tasks included cleaning the house (I am good at that job if I do say so myself); decorating the reception hall (Kim and David's Great Room); helping with cooking meals and a birthday cake; being a scribe to for Mom's agenda (if she can't remember she would tell me and I would write it down); and tending James. I liked that last one. James is a amazing kid. I am quite fond of my little Scrooge.

The day of the wedding was an interesting story. How about I rewind to the night before. We got into Logan at 6:15 and checked into our hotel, University Inn, as soon as we could find it. Did you know there was a hotel ON Utah State Campus? I had no idea! What a cool place to have a hotel. ...side note. At the hotel we met up with Benjamin and Samantha. We unloaded some stuff and then went to a grocery store to find fried chicken and potato salad. Had a picnic in the park, where everyone met Millie's parents, Nathan said good night to his bride, and everyone from Benjamin to James ran around the playground til the sun set. It was fun to watch. I am not sure why I didn't go and join them. That was lame of me. Oh well. Grandma and Grandpa Allred had us over for Anna's Birthday. She turned 15 and was super excited about it. I made her cake, and other than it was a white cake and not chocolate, it fit her desires just fine. Caleb came to Grandma's and Grandpa's house and ten, had cake then we all went back to the hotel. I'm not sure what the boys did, but the girls showered, arranged flowers, detailed guest book pages, ran, then slept.

Then comes the day of all days! (Trumpet intro) Nathan and Millie's Wedding day! Started with me getting a call from Millie that her cousin, the one that was supposed to fix her hair, wasn't coming and she was wondering if I might be able to do it. An hour later I was in her hotel curling as fast as I could. I had 45 minutes to do an hour and a half job. AAAaaah! Thank goodness Millie's hair curls amazingly well and I was done with ten minutes to spare. Gathered everything up and took it to the temple where I was supposed to meet Thomas who would take me back to our hotel so I could help get everything finished, and Millie exclaims, "I CAN'T FIND MY TEMPLE RECOMMEND!" Well I'm out, was my thought, I can't help her here. I assume she found it because an hour and a half later they emerged blissfully from the temple. Millie became an Allred, and both had added accessories on their left hand. It is hard to wrap my head around the fact that a twenty minute ceremony changes everything. Maybe I will understand when I am older. So then pictures, luncheon, travel to Idaho, touch up decorations and hair, reception, decorate car, throw the bouquet, and the happy couple escaped to the mountains. Breath! Well almost. I decided to go home, Provo-home, that night with John. I was tired!! not just tired but dead tired. But I didn't sleep a wink, I was thinking too much, and I was with John, whom I hadn't seen for almost a week.

At 1:30 we finally made it into Provo, I crawled into bed and fell asleep literally as soon as my head hit the pillow. What a day, what a week!

May 12, 2010

2010-05-12T14:24:00.000-07:00

I am home! Well Idaho-home. Every time I refer to my Idaho-home as home I feel like I need to correct myself. I remember the last day home before I went to college. My dad said, "Kasia, this will never be your home again. Well, you will always be more than welcome to come, in fact we want you to come home often, but it won't be your home anymore." I have to admit, that made me really said. I was quite literally being kicked out of the house I grew up in. But it has stuck with me. James once sent me a letter in the mail that said, "Kasia, I want you to come to our house." That struck me too. I was always to be a visitor and even my little brother understood it.

So what is my home? Where is my home? Well, my home is where I feel the most comfortable, the most myself, the most at ease. Right now, in this very transitional stage of my life, my home is as transient as myself. My mom's house, is not my home, but when I am here I let part of myself feel that it is partly my home. My apartment in Utah, well that has felt more like home to me, but since I recently moved it is going to take me a bit before the new apartment feels like home. Sometimes home is more with friends that a location. When I am with family and really good friends that feels like home. Because of that, home sometimes is at work (I know it's weird); home is sometimes in the mountains; sometimes on streetlit walks (the moon wasn't up but the streetlights were). Sometimes home is as brief as a conversation. I guess the saying "home is where the heart is," applies perfectly to what I am suggesting. I do not have a geographical home. Someday I hope I will. But for now, home is with me.

Something I noticed about myself when I was talking to John this weekend. I am not attached to things. Material things. Sure I like the things I have. My laptop, my camera, and my phone are all important to me and I would be upset to lose or break them. But really I don't think I would care that much. It would inconvenience me. I'd have to replace them eventually and I might not have the money for it, but just thinking hypothetically I don't think I would get really upset for very long at all. Things break, that is what they do. Things are replaceable. More so now than ever. This world, this society is always replacing the "old and worn" with the "new and improved." If you don't believe me check it out. Somebody will replace a year old iphone for the new model as soon as it comes out and that year old iphone will be sold on online classifieds, or ebay. The phone wasn't even broken! Just "outdated." Cars as well. With how much they cost, how much headache and irritation goes in to buying them, maintaining them, insuring them, using them. They are sold, broken, run-down, disposed of, misused, mistreated, worn-out, then recycled. Things break. The end.

So I don't get attached to them. However I do get attached to people. It took me three years before I would let myself be truly angry at someone I knew, I'll call her Sparrow. Sparrow was rude, cutting, self-centered, manipulating, and passive aggressive. She would always voice her negative opinion, mope and complain, cut herself down, and she would pick out one person to unload all of her pent up irritation on. For three years I excused her. I knew what she was doing. It hurt me. But I would rather be hurt than leave her high and dry needing someone to validate her. She was brilliant! So motivated! So goal oriented! She was passionate about her interests. She was an amazing person. Finally, I stopped making excuses for her. Finally I was able to say no more and walk away. But still I can't help feeling guilty that I didn't give her enough chances.

If I know someone I am loyal. I am concerned about them. I want the best for them. I will sacrifice my own happiness for the happiness of that person, to an unhealthy degree. Because my experience with Sparrow and with a few other people I have become a little more careful with whom I will associate, but if I talk to you I will like you. I will like you despite the flaws, faults, and shortcomings I see. I will support you, I will validate you, I will care deeply for you. There are very very few things that you could do that would make me change my mind. I feel like there is nothing more powerful than friendship, and nothing can change your worth to God. You can break my things and I won't care. I do not get attached to things. I get attached to people.

2010-05-06T21:09:00.000-07:00

Ah, I am so ... what word fits? I am so happy, no that doesn't capture the flutter. I am so excited, that doesn't capture the angst. I am so anxious, that lacks the happiness. Ah! I am so ... can there be only one word to fit this feeling. I am excited, I am nervous, anxious, flighty, euphoric, depressed, calm and restless. Can these paradoxes be captured in one word? I feel like butterflies have bred a colony in my heart, a wild horse romps in my stomach, my insides want to be on the outside and my outside wants to be stone. How will it all erupt? Will the confusion disappear when I see his face and he holds me calmly in his arms again? Or...what if, I dread, will I become more confused? Will a smile break my stony face? I am not sure and this uncertainty confuses me, and this confusion makes me even more unsure. I don't think I want to unleash the truth on this blog, I know that the reason I started writing this summer is so that I can discover the truth, but I don't what to say just yet. AH! I wish he would just get here so that I will know! AHHH!

2010-05-04T10:15:00.000-07:00

Is today Monday or Tuesday? Ah, drat, it's Tuesday. Well, my excuse this time is that Monday was finally a beautiful day outside. It had barely a hint of chill in the air, but the skies were clear and blue and the sun was warm. Who can stay inside on days like that? Not me. But today is overcast again, a little warmer than it has been, but still threatening rain. It is interesting how vibrant the colors get on overcast, rainy days. The greens are so bright like they are trying to put off their own sunlight. The reds, the blues, the whites the gray, all clear colors. Beautiful and blinding, but not blinding like when the sun is out. More saturated, richer, deeper, fuller colors. I love the look of the world around me in the summer. In the winter all of the colors take on a hint of gray, a blush or brown, faded and worn. But the summer washes away the faded and throws its full color into everything. It is really quite beautiful.

Last night I was talking to John. Well I always talk to John every night. But last night it was a different conversation. I don't think I will ever understand why someone would want to keep coming back to me. I am strange, weird, a bit of a pooka, wild, silly, ah the list goes on and on. But what it comes down to is that I am not your average girl and so I get bewildered when someone expresses interest. Especially when that interest has been going on for about a month, and from our conversation last night seems to be increasing.

I like John. I know I have said it before, but really I like him. He steadies me when I am in a flighty mood. He is very practical where I am rash. He is smart in different ways then I am, so he is always teaching me. He is a little reserved and so I get to break down his wall, crack open his shell, and pull in into the sunlight. I have never felt like I needed to be someone else, that I needed to act like he would want me to so he would like me more. Going into this I decided that I was going to be me completely and entirely, something that I hadn't been in a long time. I was going to be me regardless of if he would like me or not. And he likes me because of it. I have never had to sacrifice my standards, my goals, or my past. If anything he has helped me hold on to them that much more. There is not anything I do not feel like I cannot talk to him about. Sometimes, I admit, I am a little timid bringing up somethings, but once they come out of my mouth, his calm reaction, his gentle response...I've seen him volatile but never when he has talked to me. I feel confident with who I am, with how I am. I am comfortable with him. I tease, and pester, and he teases right back. I have fun with him. I enjoy every minute I am with him, and just want to keep spending more and more minutes with him. It has only been a month, but... I can already tell he is unlike any other guy I have met, or will meet. I like him.

2010-05-02T16:10:00.000-07:00

It is cold, annoyingly cold. I was expecting this time of year it would be warm and inviting to go outside. Apparently I expected falsely. It snowed yesterday. Ever since last Sunday the air has turned cold and the chilly rain has been driving my arms into a jacket and my feet, sadly, into socks and shoes. My feet don't like being in shoes. They like to be out, to dance and skip and run on grass, rocks, and everything. But it is cold, and my feet don't like it. I am also kind of agitated by a sore in my side that feels like a pinch and a prick so I will be keeping this entry short. I don't rightly know what to talk about. I don't really have all that much to say either. I just wanted to keep writing so that I can keep the communication lines open. I really do want to write everyday, regardless of if it interesting or not. So I think I will stop now, and write more tomorrow.

2010-05-01T14:23:00.000-07:00

Ah man, I missed a day again. Well, at least it is only one at a time, instead of a week or something like that. I really like talking. I like keeping communication lines open. Even if I have nothing important to say, just saying it makes me feel like I can say the important things when they do come around.

This morning was my cousin's, Sam's, wedding day. He was married to a girl named Megan Pixton in the Bountiful, Utah, temple at 9:45 am. It snowed the whole time. Talk about spring weather... and global warming... whatever. They are now sealed for time and all eternity as man and wife. What a strange thing marriage is. It is an agreement, legally acknowledged, of cohabitation. What else is marriage? A declaration of love and loyalty, to promise to each other to always be interested and intrigued in the other's life and well being? To promise support during life as they raise children, experience heartache, and happiness. To offer support through heartache and illness, to share successes and trials? All my life, back since I can remember I have wanted to be married, as if it was just the next step in life, like children turning into adults. I thought it was simple: a girl picks a boy, gets him to like her, and boom they are married, have children, grow up and grow old together, then they die in each others arms. A very simple, easy process. Oh how I was wrong. This whole falling in love thing has got me more confused the older I get. And marriage...that is a whole different thing.

People, a stranger. I had figured that falling in love with someone would be as easy as learning to skip. I mean, I already had four brothers (James, the fifth, didn't come till I was in high school) and I generally loved them...sometimes, when they wouldn't torment me. How different could it be to love someone not my brothers as much as my brothers? Well to my childish mind, I didn't love my brothers that much so loving someone more would probably be the easiest thing I have ever done.

Wrong! It is scary, terrifying even. For love first requires risk. The power is completely in the hands of the other person. And they have to handle it gently enough that I feel save enough to trust them. I have to trust them with my life before I knew them, and while I know them. And if they prove to handle it well still, they have to in turn hand me the power to them. Love is given, never taken, it is received and requited, never forced. I could go on for hours about love. But like Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, the more I know about what love is, the less I know about love. Is love only a feeling? Is love a state of mind? It makes me sad to realize that most of the time when I thought I loved someone, I only really liked them. There are very few people in the world I love. Caleb was right. On a scale from one to ten: love is ten, like is 1-3 and there is a space between like and love that no word fits. Love is too strong, like doesn't capture it all. Even "I really really like you" doesn't even begin to capture the whole meaning.

In all this thinking about love there is one thing I have learned. Love does not develop over night, not even over a month. Love is a process that never reached a climax, you aren't sure when you started feeling love, and it will never plateau. I hope I never stop learning to love, by love.

2010-04-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

What makes one day seem better than others when nothing physically about the two days have changed? Yesterday, I kind of felt full of angst and irritation. I was unsettled and unproductive. But today, I feel like I have accomplished a lot, I feel satisfied with what I have done and happy with my state of life. Well, not completely, I still don't wake up til after nine, and I really need a job between nine and five. But on the whole I am generally in a good mood. This morning I got up, put on a sweat shirt because my apartment is cold, washed my face, ate breakfast, then pulled out the material to cut out aprons. I am making the aprons for the servers at my brother's wedding reception. While I was cutting out the material, I listened to Louisa May Alcott's Eight Cousins on LibriVox.com. I highly recommend that sight for books on tape. I looked for jobs on BYU's website, and then presto here I am blogging. I really haven't done hardly anything productive, which usually makes me irritable. I extremely dislike wasting time. But for some reason it isn't bothering me at all.

Maybe it was a change in attitude. Once I start feeling myself be sour, sometimes I just stay that way until an outside force causes me to change. Like someone compliments me, I serve someone, or I get distracted by a project. But it the feeling of being ...shall I say, liked or productive, or even the feeling of worth, usually doesn't stay that long when it comes about this way. So I started feeling myself getting in a sour mood, and I told myself: "Kasia, why are you thinking this way? You are still smart, you are just being lazy. Just because you are irritated at the question of if you should, or can you, buy a car doesn't mean your worth has gone down at all. And you may have felt foolish by locking yourself out of your apartment, but that is over now, and you won't make that mistake again anytime soon. You are just frustrated. You know what you need to do, do it, and stop making it seem like every decision is effecting your worth." I am not sure why, but when I get into a rut, the first thing to go is my confidence in my judgment and my worth. I have to keep telling myself that I am not my mistakes, I am my successes. Then I get a glimpse into the bigger picture and I change my mood. My good mood lasts a lot longer when I am in control of my happiness and do not leave it to an outside source. I guess that is what my old stake president meant to act and not be acted upon. Quite interesting now that I think about it.

2010-04-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I missed yesterday! Wow, talk about spacing out. So last night, after work, I went over to John's apartment. Jesse was there upgrading his bike in the kitchen and making himself a quesadilla at the same time, then five minutes later Clark came, I left to come home and grab some food, and when I got back Tully and Andrew had shown up. We started a movie and low and behold Sydney came in! It was like we had never left Centennial! It made me happy.

Then, John walked me home after the movie. When I had come home to grab food, I had dumped off my backpack, and ditched my shoes, grabbed the food and left. After kissing John goodnight, I realized I didn't have my key, and my apartment here is ALWAYS locked. John hadn't gotten too far, so he came back and convinced me to pound on the door until my roommate woke up and answered it. But she didn't, ever. I hate waking people up. Well in reality I hate inconveniencing people, and me forgetting my key was inconvenient for me; for John, 'cause he is a good guy and doesn't leave girls sitting in front of locked doors; for my roommate, 'cause she was asleep and I really hate waking peoople; and eventually for Sydney, 'cause I went to sleep at her apartment (which is my old apartment though Sydney and I were never roommates). So when I say hate, I mean hate! I was so embarrassed and ashamed to be foolish enough to get locked out. I couldn't stop feeling bad about making people help me. I am supposed to be independent gosh dang it! And there I was helpless and relying on the generosity of others. Thank my Father in Heaven for generous people. So I went to my old apartment, and thankfully, Sydney was still awake. I talked to her a bit, went to sleep and intended on getting up at 8 so I could catch my roommate as she left for class. Oh another thing, I left my phone in my backpack... Arg! So Sydney, wonderful Sydney, woke me up at 8:30 (because she had slept through her alarm three times already) so I could walk to my apartment and catch my roommate.

You know something. Rain, no jacket, bare feet, and walking for fifteen minutes sure can make a person cold. It didn't help that it started snowing five minutes into the walk. So I got to my apartment, shivering of course. And I had already missed my roommate. Not knowing where to go, John was at work, as was Andrew, and i didn't know anyone within a two minute walking distance. I was shivering already and walking back to Centennial was out of the question. I probably would have done it if I had to, or I would have waited outside my door until my roommate got back from class. But, blessed be the name of Heavenly Father, He answered my pleas with a different angel. The maintenance worker, I need to learn his name, was mowing the lawn this morning. He passed once and commented on the weather, thinking I was just hanging out in it. Then when he passed again I said "yeah the weather would be a lot better if I wasn't locked out of my apartment." He said "Oh, well why didn't you say something?" and left to get the keys. HE HAD KEYS!!! It made me so happy, so relieved! I didn't know what I was going to do if I had to walk back to Centennial. Oh God is so good.

Now, I found a key ring, found a carabiner and clipped that dang key to my pants. I considered, not seriously though, getting a needle and thread and surgically attaching the stupid key to myself, but then it would make it awkward to unlock the door. If I don't learn from this experience to keep my key with me always I don't think I will ever learn. I am a hopeless case. But I thank my Eternal Father for sending angels to help the loose screw in my scattered brains.

2010-04-26T21:58:00.000-07:00

I has been just another day in my world. Little of great importance happened today, and I thought a whole lot. I thought about buying a car. Wow, what a financial burden. I don't think I am ready or able to actually go through with it. Yes it will give me more options, but ugh, to tie myself down to car payments for two years!!! I think I have commitment problems. Maybe I should do it so that I experience having to hold on for something for two years. I think I went through this same process with my cell phone. A two year contract is a long time. But now it doesn't seem like anything... well almost. It is usually just under $50 not just over $130 like a car loan would be. How much is it actually worth it? I mean I have been at school for three years now, and I haven't had one. And usually if I need one people are generally pretty generous. Well my roommate Anne was, and my brother, and a few guys I knew, who are all married now... The thing is I was really looking forward to using a car this summer, I didn't think that it would effect me for two years. Now, I could "buy" my mom's Mercury Sable, or I could buy Anne's. Anne wants to sell her car to me for around $2200. The sable would take about that much money to fix it. I am familiar with Anne's car, it is a pretty good car; I am leaning more to buying it out of the two. But after looking at loans and insurance, I am starting to wonder if I should even buy it. The cars for sell that are about the same year and quality as Anne's car are around 1800. She probably wouldn't sell it for that low. So what do I give up. If I buy Anne's car for $2200 I would know exactly what I am getting. If I haggle the price lower, she could sell it to someone else, or be unsatisfied with the sell. But it didn't cost her anything to buy it, and she has probably only put about $800 into it since she has got it. ...not counting gas... So does she make $1400 off me? Or does she try to make that much off someone else? And what is my other option? Buy in a car that is cheaper, which would be a plus, but I know absolutely nothing about. Sure I can take it to a mechanic and ask them how much are the damages going to cost me. I probably might end up spending around $2200 total just fixing it up. Whereas Anne's car is in prime condition right now, well prime for a 2000 Mazda Protege. Bah I don't know. I have never been so immersed in car industry, and I feel like at the same time I am barely skimming the surface.

2010-04-25T20:46:00.000-07:00

So I just realized that I have never said anything about my boyfriend, other than yesterday. But on the whole, I haven't mentioned him. So first off. I have a boyfriend! It's been a long time coming, and it is pretty much everything I have ever imagined it to be. His name is John Aaron Hosford. He is from South Carolina, and is a Mechanical Engineering major. He is really smart, sometimes he tells me about what he is doing, sometimes I understand, most of the time I try. But I never cease to be amazed by him.

2010-04-24T18:03:00.000-07:00

So last night my dream started out horrible, but then it ended happy enough that I don't remember most of it. I wish they would just stop being horrible.

It feels weird being a Saturday that I don't have to stress about what I need to have done Monday morning at eight. This morning I woke up at just before nine, went to Kneaders (I highly recommend their french toast) for breakfast, then went swimming at my old complex's swimming pool. Immediately following I went to a BBQ at a park with a bunch of friends, then stayed at the park until 5:30. Then went up to Rock Canyon to mountain bike. Too bad my tire was flat. So I hiked around as John and Jesse raced to the water fountain and back. I sliced my finger on a piece of shale. It was pretty deep, and it didn't hurt at all. I was surprised. So this whole day, from about a half an hour when I woke up, to just now with John sleeping on the couch while I write, I have spent the whole day with him. I like that kid. I keep feeling like I need to do something. Maybe I need to make those aprons for my brother, Nathan's, wedding on May 1st. There are about twenty-five I need to make. But on the whole I have nothing I really need to do. It is an extremely weird feeling. I can do whatever I want! It's so weird. I don't particularly want to do anything. Maybe take a nap and then just lazy around for the rest of the evening. But from seven to twelve is a long time to just lazy around, and with Church tomorrow at one... I still don't know what to do with this surplus amount of time.

That is so strange. All semester long I wished for just a couple hours to catch up, or to spend however I wanted to. Now I have days and days of it and I am so lost. I almost wish for school.... I didn't say that. I take that back. Let me find another job, plan some trips around the states, write a little, sew a little and in June I will see if I really want to take a class.

April 23, 2010

2010-04-23T18:48:00.000-07:00

I have packed, I have moved, I have unpacked. I feel so accomplished. But now I am bored. I would like to eat, but I need to buy food first, and I would like to go camping, but the people who I am going with are still busy. Sad moment. Anyway. The new apartment is so nice. And, thank goodness, they are meticulously clean! I am going to fit right in....most days. Only four girls sharing an apartment was such a good idea. Everyone is gone now, visiting families, and going to wedding receptions.

I just realized how lucky I was in my old apartment complex. When everyone else was gone,I would go over to someone's apartment and amuse myself with them. Now, I don't have anywhere to go... Wait a second I have my brother's car for the weekend.

Well I'll finish up here first. So for the past couple nights I have been having some terrifying dreams. When I wake up I am so out of sorts that I need about five hours to get back in my usual-chipper mood. Today took longer because moving makes me cross.

So these dreams. Two nights in a row, I was dreaming about everyone leaving. I would be screaming at them to come back, or screaming and crying for them not to go. Last night...I dreamed that I was a small child who loved his mother more than anything. Yes I dreamed I was a boy. But! This boy loved his mother, and when he was about seven years old his mom got pregnant again. The pregnancy made her really sick with migraines and vomiting, and extremely tired. Well the Dad didn't like it and so he would beat the mother. And one afternoon, "I" was playing by the side of a couch where "my" mom slept, and my dad came up all frustrated with her, he turned to me and said "see if she likes this" and sliced her throat! While the boy was watching! It was extremely traumatic! Because I was not just the boy, but also the mother. I felt how sick she was, and how beaten and bruised she was, and then I felt the knife slice into my arteries in her neck. I felt her think, my son is here, not now, not with him here. Ugh, it was terrible. Why would I have such horrible dreams? I wonder if it has anything to do with me hating it when people leave because they have to, because they choose to, or even when they have no choice at all and are just taken. I am almost scared of what I might dream tonight.

April 22, 2010

2010-04-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

Well Summer is finally here. I made a promise to myself to write every day of the summer, and since it is here I had better start. It took long enough. I felt done with school as soon as classes stopped and before finals. Maybe getting a boyfriend has something to do with that... I plead the fifth on that.

Anyway, I have been moving out now that school is over. My brother let me borrow his car and I have filled it to the...rafters? there aren't rafters in cars. Um I filled it to the frame. Maybe that works. I didn't realize I had so much stuff. From four garbage bags full of closes, plus a couple suitcases, and then boxes and boxes of odds and ends. I don't know how to pack smart. I just shoved where ever it would fit, and then strategically put it in the car. I still have most of my kitchen stuff to pack. I am so glad I am just moving closer to campus. If I was moving across country, there is no way that I would be able to take it all. I noticed while I was packing how much stuff I keep because of the sentimental value. What am I supposed to do with all the uplifting notes on tidbits of paper? How am I supposed to keep all the wedding, engagement, baby, and bridal announcements I've received? Not to mention seasonal greeters, well wishers, and sympathizers who have sent cards. I hold on to them as long as I can, but when it comes to moving... it always breaks my heart to have to shove them in the trash with the rotten left-overs. Am I supposed to keep them? But how? Put them in a box that keeps growing with every year, to be sorted through and scrap booked eventually? Or do I file them between the pages of my journal the moment I get them so that my journal is no longer a slender book to write in, but a fat binder that is bulky with sent love? It is so hard to pick and choose between the "best" ones that get kept. I just feel obligated to keep them all. Oooh I hate that word. Obligated. As soon as I feel obligated I cut the strings and remove the thing that is requiring my attention, or concern. I'm sorry if it is your note that gets thrown away. I love it when I have it, and I love it when I read it, but packing it?? That is where I stop. ...small confession, but I am sure other people do it too.
So moving. My best friend, and roommate of three years is getting married. My other roommate of three years is graduation, and I am left in single student housing. So what do I do? I move. I move into an apartment where I don't know anyone in the apartment, or in the community around the apartment. I am a little nervous, a little sad to move, but I am surprised by how apathetic I am by the whole situation. Maybe when I am actually gone I will feel it more... but I don't know, we shall have to see.

Flying

2010-04-10T15:00:00.001-07:00

I wish I could fly. I live on the top floor of a three story complex, and sometimes I think that if I run fast enough, I could just vault of the balcony rail and sail into the sky. Yes, I know i shouldn't do that. Gravity wants my feel firmly planted on the ground. Dang it. But really sometimes my heart, my head, my spirit, my attitude is so flighty, not always because I am happy, sometimes it is angst. I just want to explode into a million fireflies, or confetti, or butterflies. Where my heart can't stand staying in my chest, and my feet hate the ground. Oh how I envy the clouds. Scuddling and sliding over the earth. Sometimes the sun melts them into vapors, but they build up again. Sometimes they are wispy, sometimes they are terrifying and electric, and sometimes they are green and destructive. But then I think of them miles above the buzz and excitement of earth and I love that my feel get to dance on its surface and are not doomed to always gaze, but never rest its weight in one place. But on days like today when the sun is calling all green things to reach out and up I hear the call and wish once more to run and vault off the balcony and fly.

April 10, 2010

2010-04-10T14:59:00.000-07:00

I want to write and write and write, but with nothing important to say. I just feel this huge desire to write. Maybe I will do what my high school English teacher would have us do and just start writing, even if it about nothing, and write until I want to stop. I am not supposed to think about what I am saying or if I am spelling the words right of not, but it is kind of a habit that when I misspell a word on the computer I always reach for the backspace button and fix it, even if the automatic spell-checker fixes it by itself. I don't know what it is about it, I just have to fix it myself. I wonder if that has anything to say about my character. Wouldn't it be so wonderful to have an automatic "spell-checker" in our lives. Not necessarily to correct spelling or the words and phrases we say so that we all speak correctly, but something that immediately corrects any wrong we do, or at least underlines it in a red squiggly line. Then we would know right then and be able to correct it. If it was a common enough mistake the "computer" would just auto-correct with a drop down lightning bolt that we could go back and click to "undo" the correction and leave it wrong, or we could just let it take care of itself. Then again, how much more lazy would that make people. I know lots of people who never bother with spelling because of the spell-checker, it gives a list of options of the correct way to spell the misspelled word. The person clicks on it and continues with what they were writing. If we had a spell-check on life I am sure there will be people who would right click on the red squiggly line, say "yeah that is what I meant" and continue on making the same mistakes, never learning what they are doing wrong. I however would be one that would backspace until the mistake, even if it is a whole sentence or two until I get to the work and write it correctly. If I don't know it I right click, look at the options and then backspace and spell it right. Honestly, I am not flattering myself. Sometimes, I confess, I am lazy and don't care, but most of the time that is really what I do. Sometimes the red squiggly line is not on the page I am writing on, and I don't care enough to go and find it. That red X over the book in Microsoft Word unsettles me. I don't like being incorrect.
But then being Politically Correct bothers me too. I don't like it that everyone is supposed to take an agnostic stance on an opinion. My goodness step on what you believe in, and if you step on someone's toes, tell them to get their foot out the way. This is my opinion. You might not like it, that is ok, you don't have to. So there. (sticking out tongue)
Snap I stopped typing. Oh well starting over again. ...my mind went blank, maybe that is why you aren't supposed to stop...

April 3, 2010

2010-04-03T08:54:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking. Yes that is something that I do quite often, but I don't really let anyone know what my thoughts are, or where they are going or the conclusions that I come to. That was the purpose of this blog right? Well I think I set the standard too high with my first couple of posts because they are very deep, heavy in a way, and not like any sort of casual conversation. That is kind of what I have been thinking about. I want to change the tone of this blog and make it a little more like a conversation, or like story telling. Light and easy. Well that may be an unrealistic goal... I guess what it comes down to is that I want to write whatever comes to mind and not wonder if it is "good enough." Sometimes my posts might be really interesting and sometimes they might be dry. It will depend on the day and my mood, and the general overtone of the mood you are in as you read it. It might also be very scattered and discombobulated.

I was also thinking about this summer and wanting to write more. I have set the goal for myself to post on my blog every day as soon as finals are over. I know, big goal. I am kind of intimidated by it, but I also am a little excited. I want to know how long I can keep up writing, and how I will change, how my thoughts will change and such, as I write.

So, those are a couple reasons why I have set the goal, but I also have one more. Well you might end up getting to know me more than you ever hoped. I--I am a generally open and engaging individual. I love to talk to people; getting to know what drives them to live, or lack of drive to live. I may tell certain people more information than they care to know, but generally I don't open myself up very much at all.

Let me see if I can explain this... Persons make barriers to their character, a system of locks. Their best selves are shone to the general populous, and they get more and more individual as the friends get more intimate. But deep in the labyrinth of locks and barriers is a chamber that is usually locked to the person who houses it. And that is where I come in. I let quite a lot of people into the superficial chambers of my mind, fewer into the middle chambers, and even fewer in the deep chambers. But the very deepest chamber has been kept locked from myself for years. I am scared to even go near it, and even more terrified to let someone else. But that is the most pressing desire of the thing housed in this chamber that is rattling at the chains so to speak. It causes the most distress to my being and asks for the most attention. But because I am scared to even approach it, I let it wail and scream in loneliness and isolation. And that is where this blogging goal comes in.

I lack the words to say all that I want to say, and I lack the confidence in my listener that they will not condemn my exploring thoughts. To be honest, I do not trust either of us with what I imagine is in that hidden chamber. And so, I want to begin trusting you, and me. I feel like it will be easier to trust a non-present you. You will read my whole thought instead of interrupting me as soon as I say something controversial. You will end up hearing my out completely. And because you might be miles or days between me and my thought, I can be protected with time and space instead of barriers and locks. I will then be able to approach my innermost chamber and not have to worry what you will think, and then eventually, I may let someone else approach my innermost part, someone that is present both in time and space. That is the final goal. And this blog is going to be a step for me to finally reach this.

So just as a disclaimer. I am exploring me, you are welcome to observe, actually please feel free to observe. Please feel free to comment. If I say something offensive, it won't be meant that way so please do take offense. If I say something you deem as wrong, let me know. I will hear you out, weigh what you have to say, and possibly change, or not, depending on my own conclusions. We can disagree without it having to infringe on our friendship. But mostly I hope you will find some sort of enjoyment as we learn more about me.

What is in a name?

2009-12-10T13:42:00.000-08:00

What is in a name? We are told by William Shakespeare that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." But why then does it matter that we call a rose a rose, and not a skunk cabbage?

What about the name of a person. I mean there are hundreds of Ashleys, Megans, Caitlins (or Katelynns, or Kaitlyns or a million other ways to spell it). The names of Adam, Benjamin, Jordan and Jesse are used countless times. And when you come right down to it every name has been used before; whether to speak of a food, Apple, or a month, April. So, in reality, no name is original, unique or only one person's.

Depressing? Yeah it kind of is. Who wants to be told that their name, the one their parents gave them soon after, if not before, their birth, is unimportant? Nobody. I mean it is YOUR NAME! Hold that thought I am getting to that.

Well some people are under the impression that the name you are given holds you to a certain standard. For example, a person named Moroni would be immediately expected to "live up to the name." He would be expected to be honest, hardworking, and motivated. Anything less and he would be a disappointment or you'd be disappointed.

You might say "that is a little harsh." But think back to a person you didn't ever like, ever. Would you name your own child the same name? NO! Not unless you met a phenomenal person with the same name that canceled out the bad image. If I am wrong, it is because you are a nice person and don't ever think badly of anyone.

Ok, so your name, that is not unique or original, has certain parameters of expectation. But that means every Ashley will be similar, every Megan will act alike, and every Jordan will have the same expectations. ...This is kind of a stretch. I think this more applies to family names. An Allred will act like an Allred. A Christensen like a Christensen. For example, my older brothers set a standard for my family name in school. Teachers that I never had before expected me to be hardworking, dedicated, well-rounded, and respectful: which I was. It was interesting when I would have to change a teacher's view on the Allred name, because a previous sibling had slacked in their class. My siblings behind me will be presented to the teachers, teachers who will expect the same things they expected from me.

But then, when you are given two or three completely un-unique, unoriginal names what do you get? You get a completely unique person. An individual. Sure there maybe people with the exact same name as you in the world, but they have a whole different set of expectations, a whole different set of parameters in which they are allowed to live.As you live, your name becomes to mean more than those expectations, those parameters. In those bounds that you allow yourself to be held under, you become free. You become yourself. You become unique.

In the House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros has her character, Esperanza, define what Esperanza means to her. It truly is beautiful writing:

In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing. ..... At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth. But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something, like silver, not quite as thick as sister’s name – Magdalena – which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at least can come home and become Nenny. But I am always Esperanza. I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Especially as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do.

After reading this excerpt, I started wondering what names mean, and more importantly what my name meant to me. This is what I came up with:

My name. Kasia. Its mine. The sound is crisp in the beginning quiet in the middle and open at the end. It sounds like a good many words in various languages. In Russia and Czech it sounds like different types of food. In English it sounds like caution. What a gross word, caution. It has a nasally end. The word closes, finishes, the end. It means timidity to me, maybe...also wise, but no spontaneity. No acting in the moment, holding back, maybe even bracing oneself for something bad. A negative word. How I cringe when the sweetest sound to my ears is thrust in the company of such a dismal word as caution.
Now in Russian it is close to the word porridge. Filling food, breakfast, comfortable. In Czech it is close to mashed potatoes, also comfortable but both lacking the spice, zest, and interest I sense in my name. Different. Unique. Original. Now foccacia, a bread. That one I like. Comfortable but covered with spice: intriguing, delicious. Translated in English my name is Kate, or Katie. Crisp but short, an abrupt end, like a click of the tongue. Over when it starts. My name lingers. It sounds like fall and the rustle of leaves. Like the hiss of a warm summer rain on pebbles. The sound of skates of ice. It sounds funny, like a giggle, happy and carefree, wild and open, spice, exotic.
My name was given to me. A permanent birthday present from my dad. Once asked by a stranger how I got my name, she was surprised that as the oldest daughter I was named by my father. I hadn't ever considered it before. But because of that my name means love, a pure love that extends for forever.

So to answer my first question. What is in a name? Whatever you put into it. A rose is called a rose because that is the name it was given. If it was first called a skunk cabbage then the meaning of a skunk cabbage would have changed.

At first your name might classify who you will be. Then, as you grow, you begin to classify your name. You define your name as your name defines you. The unoriginal becomes original, and the common becomes unique.

My name is Kasia Sue Allred. If you don't know me, my name could mean nothing to you...but it means everything to me.

September 6, 2009

2009-09-06T13:17:00.000-07:00

-Many of you who might read this probably didn't even know I was going through it. Sorry it isn't you, I just didn't feel comfortable telling a lot of people about it. My dad is dying this weekend, and so I have began reflecting on many things.

Four years ago this October, my dad, David Alan Allred, went into the hospital for a routine physical to prove that his weight loss was in fact healthy. The doctor thought he saw something and wanted to do more tests, so my dad went back for a CT scan, an MRI, and a biopsy. The first biopsy didn't have anything especially unique, but the scans did. So after a second biopsy, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I can't remember the name, but what it comes down to is this: the cancer was in the liver, but it didn't originate there; the tumors were slow enough growing that radiology and chemotherapy wouldn't work very well; and the cancer was terminal. You might ask, "well what about getting a liver transplant?" I asked the same question. Because the cancer didn't start in the liver, whose to say where it did start? Apparently it was far enough along that is was pointless to waste time finding where it originated. (some guesses were that it started in the pancreas or the spleen) So back to the possible liver transplant. If the doctors remove my dad's liver and replaced it, the cancer that was spread about his body would have ended up back in the new liver. So why not just remove the tumors? They were too big and in a vital part of the liver.

The news was a shock, terrifying, and I completely avoided discussing it. Especially the terminal part. My mom and dad looked at their options. The best on was a clinical study through the Mayo Clinic in Arizona, if my dad could be accepted. He was and began traveling down to Arizona every month for a check up and to get the medication, and every other month the tumors were measured.

December my dad suddenly got very sick, and couldn't keep anything down. He was hospitalized for a week. Every day the question arose, "will my dad die today?" It turned out that he had a pretty serious stomach ulcer, but it was completely fixable. And so after the ulcer was cleaned of infection and had time to heal my dad got better. In January we were informed that the tumors had shrunk by 25%! Amazing news and I began to relax about the whole terminal thing, even though I still didn't talk about it.

The next December/January my dad got extremely sick again. "Was he going to die today?" Test after test everything was "normal". (I have come to hate that word "normal." If it was normal I wouldn't be having problems then wouldn't I?!?) Eventually they checked his gallbladder and decided that it needed to be removed. Full of gallstones and bloated with tumors, the organ was removed. The surgeon suggested surgery on the rest of my dad's tumors, the doctor who specialized in studying my dad's particular cancer looked at my dad and informed the surgeon that my dad was doing the best thing possible. My dad healed from the surgery, and got better. I relaxed again.

That summer, we talked about death in Relief Society. You must understand that I was not ok with death. It is very final. Where the person dying will not be involved in changes, in growing up, in seeing important events. Where the person can not be talked to, will not respond, and can not give hugs on hard days anymore. Anytime I told somebody about my dad's condition I couldn't do it with out crying from the first word, to about a hour after the conversation stopped. It didn't matter if my dad was as healthy as he could be or if he was hospitalized, I couldn't say a word without crying. It effected me so much that if I watched a movie where someone was going to die, I would be sobbing. (Moulin Rouge for example) So when the lesson was on death in Relief Society, I tried hard to hide my flowing tears. I finally decided that I needed to come to terms with the impending death of my father. The rest of the summer was devoted to talking with Heavenly Father about it, looking at all of the other things He gave me so that I could be happy (sunsets), and really valuing anytime I got to spend with my dad. I finally came to terms with it. Now if you ask me about it, I can speak plainly, and in complete control of my emotions.

But that still doesn't mean I wasn't scared when my dad called in December of last year and informed me that he was being taken off the study with the Mayo Clinic because his tumors had grown so significantly that the medication was not working anymore. I thought that the study was the only thing keeping my dad alive. I was terrified that he was going to get sick and die in the next couple of months. But he got accepted to another study that was headed in Twin Falls, only an hour away. He was responding well to the study and everything was ok for the summer, besides a few kidney stones.

August 7th my mom called to inform me of some concerns she had about my dad being really tired and his speech was starting to slur. The doctor attributed it to a rise in the ammonia levels in his blood. August 11 my dad went to a gastroenterologist because he couldn't keep anything down. That day he was hospitalized. His ammonia levels, which where higher than any normal person could handle, peaked again and remained there for several days. His liver was shutting down and his body was slowly poisoning himself. My mom decided to have him try chemotherapy, and had to decide if the nurses were going to resuscitate my dad if he stopped breathing, or had a heart attack. This time, I didn't wonder "is my dad going to die today?" I just asked "when." I guess you could say, I knew it was going to happen this time around. One week, two weeks, three weeks, my dad finally started improving enough to be moved to an assisted living home in Burley (he had been in Twin Falls previously). But after an especially good day, came an especially bad night. The doctors can't do anything more to improve his condition, so they are keeping him comfortable until he passes, which is going to happen this weekend.

Many people have said, "I don't know what I would do, or how I would handle it, if somebody I knew was dying." If you are faced with this situation it is because Heavenly Father thinks you are strong enough for it. He won't give you anything you can't handle. So if you are having to handle it, it is because He knows that you can. This is something that I have come to learn. Also I have come to learn that we should never take for granted the people who are in our lives. Arguments aren't worth having, fights aren't worth having, grudges aren't worth holding. Love them, and love the time you have with them. Because when they are gone, it is going to take a while before you can have it again.

Life is hard. But it is also beautiful, completely stunning, it is fun and full of laughter, it is an adventure. It will not always be happy, it will hurt some, but it will be ok, eventually.

The New Guy

2009-05-04T13:38:00.000-07:00

The bell rang, but the students still loitered around the classroom. School had been in session for a month now and everybody had re-discovered their school friends. Members of each clique huddled together as if not to be infected by the “lack of cool” from the other groups. Mr. Breck was late, again. A couple boys had large bouncy balls, the latest fad, and started bouncing them off of anything that would hold still for a second, people included.

It just started getting out of hand when Mr. Breck walked in with a new student in tow. It took only a moment for the entire class to pass judgment on this new stranger. His tan skin and shaggy brown hair, polo and cargo shorts immediately placed him as an outsider, probably from a southern state, probably California. He was about six feet and fit, but leanly build—a runner of some sort. The jocks snorted, this guy would flatten like a cake on the football field. The nerds scorned him; he was obviously not one of them. The beautiful girls got giddy and started fidgeting at their hair and clothes. His face was strong, masculine and his hazel eyes added to the mystery—he was hott. The self-conscious girls tried to hide their faces by staring at whatever was in their hand. The cool guys decided their best move would be to become friends with this guy immediately; he would, after all, bring around the chicks. Only one person seemed entirely disinterested and that was Andi. She had noticed him when he first walked in, but she was in class for the opportunity to learn, not to gawk at a new classmate.

Mr. Breck called the class’s attention, which was harder to do because everybody began intently whispering. After finally succeeding, he introduced the newcomer as Michael Larsen, from Mission Viejo, California, his dad was the new doctor, and he was related to no one in the area. That information sent a new wave of whispers, some of suspicion, some of deeper intrigue. The girls got even more giddy; if they weren’t related to him that meant they could date him. If there is something everyone should know about small towns it is that everyone, it seems, is somehow related to everyone else. It is an inconvenient truth. If someone wanted to get married, they had to at least travel to the next city over.

Andi looked up from her Biology book again. Why would anyone want to move into this pothole of a town? If anyone was going anywhere, they should be leaving, not coming. Everybody was instructed to take their seats so that class could begin. The students shuffled around more than usual to make room, or remove room for Michael. Andi rolled her eyes, shook her head, and turned the page. People were so predictable. When everybody was finally seated, the only remaining seats were the two by Andi; they were always empty. Apparently, people would rather give up sitting next to Michael, then sit next to her.

Andi was used to this treatment. After all, it had been going on for the last four years. She was the last “new person” to move into town. Her only leg up was that she was the granddaughter of a well known couple. But coming into a small town as a pimple-covered, gangly, deformed, intelligent seventh grader, Andi wasn’t accepted by any cliques and restricted any chit-chat for the teachers. She learned quickly, and usually had to push herself if she wanted to learn more. It wasn’t long before she had read every book worth reading in the school library. Whenever she would ask a question, the teachers would tell her to wait after class for the answer, that is, if they didn’t ignore her completely. One way or another Andi quickly learned how each teacher said they didn’t know. In turn, she realized she inadvertently knew more than the teachers. The teachers, after all, were people who went to the university that was two hours away, learned how to teach, and then came back. Their knowledge of the world was limited to the small town and its occupants.

Michael took the seat on her right, closest to the guys that looked like they might accept him the easiest. He thought the introduction had gone about as well to be expected. A girl with bleached blond hair, heavy eyeliner, purple eye shadow, and a foundation line across her jaw turned back to look at him and winked. She was cute, maybe coming to live in Hick Town wouldn’t be too bad. But she was too far away to talk to, might as well try with this girl next to him.

“Hey, my name’s Mike.”

Andi jumped a little, few of her peers ever talked to her. She slowly lifted her head and turned to look at him, trying to see his agenda. He wasn’t here long enough to ask for help with homework, maybe he wanted to strike up a friendship so that he could use her help later.

“Andi,” she whispered thinking, he might not catch it.

He looked like he was expecting something, but then Mr. Breck started to deliver the prepared lecture. Andi opened her notebook and ignored the new boy.

After class got over, a couple guys surrounded Mike, greeting him with high fives and handshakes, and he forgot about the strange look those beautiful dark blue eyes had thrown at him. The girl, (Andi?) was in all of his other classes, in fact most of the people were. They rearranged seats, as they changed classes, enough that he never got the opportunity to talk to her again. But he did eventually get to sit next to the cute blond in the class right before lunch. She liked to laugh a lot, but rarely said anything to laugh about. He did laugh though, mostly at how she talked like such a hick, while trying to look like a beach babe. “Trying” was the key word. He thought it was interesting that a girl could try so hard and have more success killing her looks, then enhancing them.

Now, there was that one girl, who always sat in the back, didn’t talk to anybody but the teacher, and took extensive notes on the lectures and the book. She was beautiful. Her dark brown hair hung to mid-back, her olive skin held the summer tan well, and her eyes…. If it wasn’t for her dark blue eyes he would have placed her as having a Spanish heritage. He glanced over at her, again. She caught his gaze as he was turning back. He shifted uneasily, blinking to make it seem as if he hadn’t looked at all.

Andi was confused. Nobody gave her much attention, so having somebody try to reach out was extremely odd. Every time he had entered the room he seemed to start walking in her direction until someone pulled him away to go sit with them. Maybe it was just because he was the new guy and wanted to make a lot of new friends. But then again, why did he keep looking back at her? Did she have something on her nose? There he did it again. “So sneaky, California,” she thought when she caught him looking. Trying not to let Mike’s persistent peeking annoy her, she kept her comments about the class to herself. Another rarity. The teachers looked confused, but at the same time relieved. Andi approached them after class to ask her questions. She was trying to not to draw attention to herself, which she hadn’t done before “Californian Boy” had come.

A month passed, Andi started to get used to the strange attention from Mike. Besides, he was starting to date someone else, Melissa, a girl who always had foundation lines and bad roots showing on her bleached blond hair. Mike hadn’t tried to talk to Andi since the first day, but he waved occasionally when he saw her. Andi would waved back, shyly at first, but the more she realized the greetings were really directed towards her, she looked forward the to the small acknowledgment. Sometimes, when he was close enough, he added a “Hi, Andi,” with the wave. Occasionally Andi would catch herself fantasizing conversations. She started thumbing through the fashion magazines in the check-out line—when she thought no one was watching. She spent more and more time fiddling with her hair in the morning before school. She even went to the store and bought her first tube of mascara. Covergirl Lashblast. It cost her ten dollars. It came in a fun orange tube with plastic bristles.

“Man, it’s a good thing I mow lawns for my dad,” she thought. “Now I understand why girls spend so much money on a little black paint.”

One day after school, Andi walked toward the parking lot. On her way she passed Mike and Melissa sitting on a bench in the hallway. “She tries too hard,” Andi thought, rolling her eyes at the fake blond. Melissa, with a giggle and a sneer in her voice, obviously flirting, cooed, “Her? Her name’s Cassandra. She’s biggest nerd of them all. It is all she can do to endure this ‘cramped, cesspool-smelling space of a farm town’ until she graduates. And when she’s gone, I say good riddance.”

Andi smiled as Melissa tried to imitate Andi’s voice, sneer, and still sound flirty all at the same time. It made her sound like a horse. “Pretty sure I said it smells like a cesspool, not that anybody walks around smelling the cesspool. If you’re going to quote me at least do it right,” Andi mumbled to herself. Melissa’s words didn’t hurt, they were true. Andi wanted to get as far away from the small town and the small town people as possible. Everything was fact, even the smell; it was gross. But that didn’t matter—Mike had been asking about her, to Melissa. Well, that would put some more distance between the class slut and Andi, and Andi had no problem with it.

“Hey Cassandra, come ‘ere,” Mike called.

Man did he have guts. Not only was he calling out to the social outcast, but he was doing it while sitting next to the most desperate, controlling, manipulative girl in the whole school. Melissa would not like that either. Andi weighed the options. She could ignore him, like she did with most of the people who called out to her, or she could go over there and torture Melissa even more. Andi grinned, changed her course, and walked up to the group Mike was sitting with.

“Wait—Cassandra? Isn’t that the Trojan Priestess, given the gift of prophesy by Apollo?” Mike asked.

“You know your Classics,” Andi was flattered. “Yes, that is where my parents got it. Unfortunately, that Cassandra was cursed so that nobody would believe her prophecies, and then killed by a jealous queen. When I found out I shortened it, to Andi.”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “She speaks,” she mocked. “Everybody! Did you hear? Andi started a conversation with a student.”

Titters of laughter ebbed up around her; Andi could feel her face start to flush. She took a step back.

“Well there is a first time for everything, Melissa. Don’t you still have to have a conversation with a teacher?” The hall roared as Andi stood dumbfounded—Mike had defended her? At the expense of Melissa’s pride? That relationship was going to be proclaimed done in five…four…three…two….

“What?!” she screeched. “I can’t believe you, Mike! You’re going to sit there and say that to me? We are finished!” and Melissa stormed off.

Mike let her go, and turned, his full attention on Andi. She took another step back, shock still written clearly across her face. She pivoted and began walking in the opposite direction. “Ah great, what did I do now?” Mike wondered as he jumped up from the bench.

“Andi! Wait.”

Melissa was so obviously desperate, and Mike knew what every other successful new kid knew—the fast track for acceptance in his new habitat was getting into a relationship with one of the natives. Melissa had introduced him to the town, and showed him all the cool spots to hang out. She became irritated when he kept their physical activity to holding hands. But he wasn’t going to do anything with her when there was somebody else that truly intrigued him. So, he laid low for a few weeks, waiting for the opportune moment to talk to the mysterious Andi. This was it and she was walking away. So he took off after her recalling everything he knew about her so he had something to say when he caught up with her.

As he had gotten to know more and more people, Mike realized that none of them had plans of what to do after school. They were all going to do what their parent’s did: farm. Few wanted to go to college, even fewer expected to graduate, but they all were eventually going to be buried in the cemetery on the far side of town. Everyone—except Andi. He could tell she wanted to go places, learn things, and be somebody. He could see that she didn’t care about her social status now. To her, high school was only a prerequisite to bigger and better things. Eventually they would leave high school and what somebody was labeled as in high school didn’t matter in the real world.

Watching Andi for four weeks, he had seen how she threw herself into soccer, choir, her job, and school. In school projects she dove deeper than most of the teacher expected. The classes weren’t hard. In fact they were so easy that Mike used Andi as competition: if he worked to keep his grades near hers, he wouldn’t have time to relaxed and forget everything. He would have been acing a couple AP credits this year, down in Mission Viejo. But his father decided to take the hospital job here in Malad, Idaho, a city with a population of fifteen hundred. Andi was now his only hope for his academic motivation.

She was good at everything he saw her pick up. He tried not to be surprised when he caught her juggling a soccer ball. He watched for a moment. Then when she sent it flying into the top left corner of the net from half field, he was amazed, but realized she was too far away to say something smooth. He needed close proximity for his charm to take full effect—it was vital for him to make a good impression. She might reject him if he wasn’t perfect in his delivery. Later, when he stopped by the band room to pick up his saxophone one morning, he saw her practicing the piano. A moment later she moved to the drum set. She put on her headphones, her eyes closed, and started pounding out the rhythm of the song only she could hear. He was entranced. He waited by the door for her to leave. To his surprise, she picked up a trumpet case and walked by him, without a glance. Another chance lost.

Then, today, he had finally got up the guts to ask Melissa who she was, when she came walking down the hall. Right down the middle, not hugging the side like most timid people do. Then she had responded when he asked her to join him. It was more than he could hope for. But Melissa had to go and get all snobby, and now Andi was walking away.

“Andi! Andi—wait up.”

He followed her out the doors. It was a good thing he brought his backpack with him. Now if he could play it smooth.

“What?” Andi snapped.

She was irritated. She had a place in school. Sure, she didn’t love it. But she did like being good at what she did. Having nobody there to notice was just fine with her. All she had to do is wait was another year, and then she would apply to a college on the east coast, get accepted, then leave; never to return. Excepting, of course, the few occasions when she would come home to visit her parents. Now this new guy comes along destroying the status quo. She thought about the make-up, the clothes, and the new hair styles, and was disgusted that someone had that much power over her. She had caved in to the pressure and had been mocked for it.

She spun around, glaring at Mike with venom in her eyes.

“Sorry about how Melissa acted back there. She’s just jealous.”

What was he apologizing for? What did Melissa have to be jealous about? What was this guy trying to pull? Andi scrutinize him. He really was pleading for forgiveness, he was close enough for Andi to see the gold and brown in his green eyes. She blinked and looked away, slightly embarrassed for some reason.

“Um—ok. Thanks,” she mumbled, kicking at the pebbles on the sidewalk.

Mike was so startled at her glare that he forgot what he had planned to say. Then he saw the ferocity soften. Her face was so pretty with her long black lashes framing her purple blue eyes…wait, was there some yellow in there? Andi looked away, and Mike couldn’t help smiling.

Guess I better just wing it, he thought.

“Hey, do you have a ride home?”

Would this man ever cease to surprise her? “No. I was going to ride my bike.”

“Well I have my truck, we can throw your bike in back and I could take you home if you want.”

Andi’s curiosity won out—she consented. Mike loaded up her bike, then opened the door of his red Toyota Tacoma. Sitting on the seat was his long board. Andi grabbed at the sleek board.

“You have a long board?”

“You know what that is? I thought nobody knew what a long board was around here.”

“Yes, of course I know what a long board is, I have wanted to learn how to ride one for years. Ok, maybe not years, but you get the picture. Can you teach me? I mean will you?” Andi looked him full in the face, begging like three-year-old.

Mike felt like he had just won the lottery. “Sure, I can teach you; I have an old one at home. When do you want to learn? We could drop by and get it, then go to this park I found....”

“K. I’m done with my homework and my mom won’t expect me home for the next couple of hours. Let’s go.” Andi climbed into the cab and shut the door. Her reaction surprised herself. Wouldn’t she be more timid or shy around him, he obviously liked her. Andi was tired of keeping mum around her peers. Mike was from places, looked like he didn’t want to stay here, and he wanted to get to know her. It was the perfect opportunity to actually be herself and not have to worry about anybody else.

Mike rounded the truck walking like he was in a cloud. The beautiful, talented, goal-driven girl was sitting in his passenger seat. What was more is that she wanted him to teach her something she had always wanted to learn. Nothing could be better. Then Melissa called to him from the school lawn. He stepped up on the wheel on the far side of the truck.

“What Melissa?” he yelled back

“I don’t want to yell this conversation. Come here,” she ordered.

“Ok.” With that, Mike jumped into the cab, and started the engine. As the truck jumped the curb and drove onto the school lawn, Andi wondered if he had gone crazy. They reached Melissa. She stepped away from her group of friends up to the driver window, just as Mike rolled it down.

Melissa leaned onto the open window sliding her low-cut, silky pink camisole even lower on her already overly-exposed chest, showing the top of a neon-blue, lacy bra. She reached her hand towards Mike’s hair to caress the slight curls.

“I will forgive you for being such a jerk, if you apologize,” she cooed.

“Well, I am sorry,” Mike said, shifting away from her and averting his eyes. “However, I think you owe an apology to Andi here.”

Melissa looked past Mike and saw Andi smirking at her at from the passenger seat. She screamed and backed away. Andi laughed. “Now Melissa,” said Andi leaning across Mike to the open window. “I will forgive you for being such a jerk whether you apologize or not. Now if you will excuse us, we were just on our way out.” With that, Mike rolled up the window and turned to Andi, who was back in her seat, buckling her seatbelt.

“It’s off to my place then?”

She shrugged. An uncharacteristically flirtatious grin stole across her beautiful features.

“Sure.”

Self-inflicted Torture

2009-03-27T22:00:00.001-07:00

The stage lights were blinding. If I hadn’t already known that the auditorium was empty I wouldn’t have been able to tell because the glaring lights put up a screen. Heeltoeheeltoe. Onetwothreesteps,swingarms,natural,relaxed. Poised. Smile,turn,walkinacircle. Nottoofast,nottoobig. .Justenoughtoletthemseehowyoumove. Gracefully. Likegliding.

“Ok girls, the routine looks good (breath). Now remember stand up straight, roll your shoulders back, stick out your chest,(breath) lead with your hips, don’t clomp your heels, glide over the stage. (breath) Smile, look happy, you are all doing great.” The nasally voice repeated the instructions I was telling myself.

She should get off her overstuffed butt cushion and try to do this. I wasn’t really bitter. But after four hours of this, I was wondering what I was getting myself into. The past four weeks had been crammed. “Madam Large” had not been the only one ordering me and nine other girls to become perfect. We were taught how to walk, how to talk, how to answer questions, how to say something intelligent and how make what we say believable. We were drilled on how to perform, how to look sexy, but still sweet, how to demand attention, and how to innocently be surprised at our accomplishments. We were even taught how to dance like the dancers we had never been, how to count to eight a million times in a song, and where we were to put our hands to enhance the visually appealing performance. Not to mention the hours spent in department stores, shopping where we had never gone before. Hundreds of formal dresses were donned and doffed, rows of business suits worth thousands of dollars were sifted through, multiples of skimpy swimsuits were modeled in front of rooms of mirrors, pairs of shoes identically colored in flesh were scored in every store, and many appointments were made with seamstresses. We had blisters on our feet, smelled like a tanning salon and hairspray. Our faces were unrecognizable to us, molded with thick stage makeup, fake eyelashes, and lip plumper. We were pinched and preened; we were insecure and overconfident; we were insulted and complimented.

The sound system popped and squealed bringing me back to the routine I was following. The smile had never left my lips. I don’t think that it could have. The muscles in my face were so tense from practicing that smile that they probably wouldn’t have relaxed even if I wanted them to. Even the forced smile was perfect, stationary but flexible. Natural. In a few more hours, after a quick dinner and more practice and perfection, the final even would begin. Surprisingly my stomach was staying were it was supposed to be. Great, these ladies even had control of my internal organs. Perfect. I left the stage, stroking the black and white keys of the grand piano that was just off-stage. I would need to sit at it for a couple minutes to make sure that my talent was a flawless as everything else. The master of ceremonies cleared his throat in the microphone and started to practice his script.

“We welcome you here tonight, ladies and gentlemen, for tonight one of these lovely girls—blablablah will be crowned the New! Miss! Tri-Cities!”

Even the rise and fall of his voice was perfect.

I was terrified and calm, about to run from the auditorium screaming, about to yawn in boredom. Half of me quivered in anticipation at the thought of winning the crown, the other half said “yeah right.” Two months ago, when I had decided to enter the pageant, I didn’t speak to people I didn’t know, I clung to the shadows, and I had perfected the art of invisibility, and I was sick of it. When I stepped on the stage for the first time four weeks ago, I had put on another person: a person who was confident, the center of attention, beautiful, charming, and witty. The moment I put her on I loved her. At first I took that person off when I left practice, but after the first week I refused to. That person could talk to boys, could be friends with girls, could wear whatever she wanted and wouldn’t care. After four weeks she and I had become very close. We hadn’t quite blended together completely, because I could start feeling my stomach knot, her stomach never knotted. But one day, one day in the future, I would be her, she would be me, and that other timid, terrified person would be completely transformed into the gliding, smiling, laughing, chatting, beautiful costume I had bought with the price of four weeks.

Blind Sight

2009-03-03T01:19:00.000-08:00

Lurid images flick before my eyes.

Tangible to none, but the senses of mind.

Fiery but fringed by latent demise,

The rapid dance of life and death entwined.

With a flutter of bright resplendent light

Their figures flash with searing jubilee.

Faster they spin laughing in new delight.

Terpsichore’s enchanting spirits now free.

Tickling and teasing they pranced about,

Blurring and burning, tearing and turning,

Twisting, writhing, raising terror and doubt.

Phantoms turned demons and then returning.

I blink.They are gone. The fury, the flight.

Black. Death won. They’re gone. But I still live. Light.

Ice Skating

2009-01-20T12:24:00.000-08:00

The cool touch of a breeze touches the hot skin, tickling the hairs as it passes over. Faster and faster, the thrill outweighs the terror. Falling, slipping, sliding uncontrollably, crashing, hurting, worry and fright, fill the mind. But it doesn’t matter because of the flight. Breathless from exertion, speed and fear. Inhaling, the frozen surroundings fill the lungs. Renewed by the frosty air, new elation fills the heart. If one could show happiness by more than just a smile, for the smile is already there. If only the ability to jump, leap and soar, move as gracefully as a swan, or eagles in a death spiral, so close to death but where true elation is found so pure that it’s intoxicating nectar, sweet and powerful runs through the blood numbing the terror in uncontaminated delight. And yet inexperience and gravity take their hold, gripping on the desire to rocket off the surface of earth. And so I am left circling in the group, left to smile, laugh and dream as once again the cool air kisses my skin sparking the euphoria, sending me again into a wild enchantment of what it is like to skate on ice.

A Picture

2009-01-16T12:46:00.000-08:00

Overlooking a valley, just as the day is coming to a close, I stopped; exchanging my breath for the view. The sun was setting in fire, with its red, orange and yellow fingers stretching across the sky. Just above ominous clouds emitted an uncanny cobalt, quenching the rays as they reached heavenward. A lazy river reflected the fire and ice on its glassy surface. The conflict of light enchantingly changed the delicate leaves of the vegetation into sparkling emeralds. The saturated colors became more and more vibrant. I held my breath waiting for the scene to explode. But at the pinnacle moment, the sun slipped behind the horizon. Just as I had been bathed in light, I now stood in darkness, breathing once again. And thunder rolled overhead.

Sounds

2009-01-16T09:14:00.000-08:00

I sit here wondering; how do people live listening to sounds created by a recording, placed in a contraption in their pocket? To miss the sounds of people. The bustle the conversations with laughter and tears. Friends being re-acquainted and new relationships starting, frustrations being vocalized, irritations made known, love being personified all in the exciting drone. Making requests, orders, and demands, mingle with pleas and songs and chants. Calls to people, persuasion, expression, captivating attention. To be active, hearing life. What an improvement than sitting alone, blocking out the world, as a song clouds over the mind.

Eyes

2009-01-16T09:08:00.000-08:00

When you see faces of people walking by do you ever just want to ask what is on their mind?
Their eyes hold such stories of a life you never had.
You see such pain and such happiness, such love and such hate all in the eyes of strangers, or friends you have yet to meet.
But would they tell you?
Would they say what is on their mind?
Would they put on a disguise and hide their mind and the stories in their eyes?
Or would they tell you?
Would you tell them?
Would you tell them the stories that you keep inside but tell everyday with your eyes?