Don't Mind Me, I'm Just Mad at the World.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because the sun is quick to set and slow to rise.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because a mountain of homework looms on my horizon with no end in sight.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because I turn the heat on in my car in the morning and the ac on in the afternoon.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because I am already dreaming of spring. And spring makes me think of falling in love. Every year, without fail.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because my stomach gets a knot in it when I realize that this year, just like every other, February will arrive despite all of my protests.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because I spent this past week in a special kind of gloomy mood that I reserve specifically for the days I am mad at the world.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because Valentine’s Day is practically upon us.

I can tell because my music has been a touch lonelier as of late.

I can tell because I am planning an escape to Tucson.

I can tell because my flair for the melodramatic is at full force once again.

I can tell because I’m not doing any of my homework but the stress has yet to settle into my chest like a bad cold I can't shake.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because I have not been the friend I told him I would be.

It is the last day of January.

I can tell because I am looking toward the future, desperate to escape the stifling claustrophobia of the present.

It is the last day of January.

Bonus Points For Making Me Uncomfortable

I went on a date last night.

And, I don’t know.

He’s nice, and funny. He has super white teeth and understood my Bizarro Jerry reference.

On the other hand, he is absolutely in love with Mesa, Arizona, and he listens to John Mayer. I could never wear heels in his presence and he says Sein-field.

And I know that doesn’t sound like much, but if those are the only things I can think about, doesn’t that say something?

One thing I have learned is that when you kinda sorta like a guy and you go on a date with someone else, it is pretty much just going to leave you thinking about the guy you actually care about even more. So that explains the dream I had last night and the pit I had in my stomach when my date mentioned that he wanted to take me out again. I mumbled something lame, knowing I would have time to figure out a way to decline later.

And lest it seems like I am blowing this guy off because he can’t pronounce Seinfeld correctly and he’s not 6 feet tall, I guess I should just put it out there that I didn’t feel anything. No excitement, no butterflies, no real desire to go out with him again.

So there. Maybe I am just a little bit stuck on a guy who couldn’t care less. And maybe I am a jerk. But I gave it a shot, and it didn’t work out.

Although it would have been nice if it did.

**Side note. While we were picking up out food last night we happened to run into someone my date knew a little bit. {Which subsequently happened at least 5 or 6 times over the course of the night, I wasn’t kidding about the being in love with Mesa thing.} So they start talking a little bit and the guy looks at us and remarks, “So you’re not married right? I don’t see a ring…”

Now that things were nice and awkward and my date hurried to assure him that we weren’t married I chimed in with the fact that it was out first date, thinking the guy would probably look embarrassed and apologize.

Nope.

Instead, he says, “Oh ok, so we’re probably looking at a wedding in midsummer then?”

Not okay dude.

Now, it actually wasn’t that horrible, and I have definitely endured way more awkward situations in my life, but what the heck?! The guy barely knew my date, so it wasn’t even like they were the type who could joke around. He was just socially inept, clearly.

Also, when did I get old enough to be married?

It might have been nice had someone clued me in.

confession #4.

today, linkin park came on the radio on my drive home from school. instead of changing the station, i'm embarrassed to admit i turned the volume up and totally rocked out, all the while thinking of the time so many years ago a friend and i spent the entire afternoon trying to win linkin park tickets over the radio.

commence judgement.

A Bedtime Story

My very first ENG 217 assignment, as promised.

Note, the names have not been changed, on the grounds that it seems kind of pointless.

***
“He’s going to kiss you” Natalie remarked for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“No he’s not” I answered, making sure to turn away from her as I said it so she would not see the grin on my face. I so badly wanted him to kiss me, but I did not want Natalie to know that in case it didn’t happen. I looked into the mirror again to check my makeup and hair, wondering as I did so if my outfit was motorcycle appropriate. Having never been on one, I wasn’t sure. I had opted for jeans and converse, which felt right, but my top was red with flowers, extremely girly and ruffled. It was my favorite shirt, and I needed something special for the occasion. Even my mom remarked how cute I looked as I left the house, surprised that I had dressed so carefully to spend a night with the girls. I just shrugged and ducked out of the house as quickly as possible, hoping to ward of suspicion. I was a terrible liar. My long straight blonde hair was down around my shoulders, sleek and shiny, which was something else that did not seem to mesh with my planned activity for the night. But I liked this boy and I looked best with my hair down. The choice was obvious.

“What time is he coming?” she asked, glancing casually at the clock. I knew she was almost as apprehensive about this as I was, but I felt like we were both doing a pretty good job of hiding it. I looked over at the clock. The blaring red numbers read 10:45. My stomach did a small flip.

“15 minutes.”

“You know,” she said, “I’m not really sure if my parents will love the idea of you getting picked up by some guy on a motorcycle at 11 o’clock at night.”

“He’s not some guy” was my reply. But I knew she was right. The chance of her parents saying something to mine was way too big to risk. “It’s cool though, I’ll tell him to meet me on the corner.” I picked up my phone to send the text.

“Well I’m not sure how I feel about letting you get picked up on the corner by some guy on a motorcycle! What if you get hurt? What if your mom finds out?” The uneasiness we had both been experiencing all night finally started to emerge. Thankfully she waited until after it was too late to change my mind.

“Don’t say on the corner like I’m a prostitute!” I answer as I attempted to keep myself from thinking about her objections. I knew she was fulfilling her duty as my best friend by issuing the standard warnings and I did not have any good responses to her valid questions. I could get hurt; I knew for a fact that he had crashed his bike before. With a girl on the back, no less! And I just about died inside when I thought about my mom finding out. I had no idea what would happen, as I spent my entire adolescence being the “good girl” who never snuck out of the house or did something her parents told her not to do. But here I was, the beginning of my senior year, ready to be a little rebellious. All I knew for a fact was that my father had been in a bad motorcycle crash when he was younger, and when I nonchalantly suggested to my mom that I take a ride on Eric’s bike her answer was a firm and unyielding “No!”

At five till eleven I quietly crept down Natalie’s stairs and made my way to the corner of her street. The dark of the night gave me chills, despite the warm September air. It was quiet. I stopped under the streetlight and listened for the distant sound of a roaring motorcycle. I heard nothing; so I waited. As the minutes ticked by my excited nerves turned to dread. What if he didn’t show up? The thought killed me. Slowly, I sat down and rested my head on my knees, wondering for the first time if I was in over my head. I glanced back at Natalie’s house where her bedroom light was off but I knew she was also straining to hear the sounds of Eric’s bike. Getting stood up was simply not an option. He had to show.

After an agonizing five minutes my phone mercifully buzzed.

Sorry I’m late. Had to stop for gas. I’ll be there soon.

My heart leapt. And then it started drumming faster and faster. Unsure of what to do with myself, I stood up. But that felt awkward. I sat back down and scuffed my shoes against the pavement. When I finally heard the sounds of his bike a smile so big my face hurt appeared out of nowhere. It was the sound of excitement, of freedom, of rebellion, and of danger. All of these feelings were largely unfamiliar to me and what I considered my sheltered life. In that moment, I was completely sure of my decision. I looked down and wiped the smile away, wary of letting him know how excited I was.

He rounded the corner and pulled to a stop right in front of me. I looked up at him as he climbed off the bike and pulled his helmet off. My initial reaction was that he looked different in his non-work attire. I had only ever seen him in a white shirt and tie. My second reaction was that he looked tall. And cute. I smiled again, no longer making an attempt to hold it back.

We exchanged slightly awkward hellos.

“You didn’t bring a jacket like I told you too!” he said.

“I forgot.” I lied. In reality, I was afraid that a jacket in September would tip my mom off that something unusual was going on. No one needs a jacket when it is still 85 degrees outside. “I’ll be fine.”

He chuckled to himself. “If you say so. But if you need mine let me know.”

“Will do.” I did not plan on needing it. After all, it was warm enough outside that I was questioning my choice to wear jeans, let alone a jacket.

Eric tossed me my helmet which I held uneasily in my hands and began to explain the bike: where I would be sitting, where I would put my feet, and a host of other information that I never even processed. When he looked back up at me expectantly I plopped the helmet on my head, hyper aware that it most likely lowered me a few notches on the attractiveness scale I know boys are so fond of. I felt like if I had been a 6 before, the helmet lowered me to a 4.

“You know, if I get hurt, my mom will kill you. And then she’ll fire you.”

“She’ll fire both of us” he said laughing as he walked over to my side and helped me with the straps on the helmet. I looked up so he could see them more easily and found myself staring directly into his face, mere inches away. My stomach danced uncontrollably. When he finished we made eye contact for a fraction of a second and then stepped back. He quickly hopped on the bike and motioned for me to follow.

“Where do I hold on?” I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“You hold on to me!” He grinned at me and I returned the favor, approaching the bike confidently as the sound of my heart threatened to wake the neighbors. I swung my leg over the bike and as I did so my stomach did one final flip and my palms clammed up. I put them around his stomach and shut my eyes in a dramatic fashion.

“You ready?” He called as he kicked the bike to life.

I was.

***
P.S. Posting this feels a little too indulgent. Please smack me upside the head if it was.

confession #3

sometimes, you meet a boy. and you talk and laugh and he gets your number and the two of you hang out. sometimes you sit in his car until 2 am getting to know each other and making plans to eat ridiculous amounts of hamburgers and mexican truck tacos until you get a text from dad, prompting you to reluctantly go inside with a goofy grin on your face. so then maybe a week goes by, and you talk and kinda try to see each other over the weekend, but it doesn't really work out the way you thought it would. and suddenly it is monday again, and you haven't talked to him all day, so you send him a text. and then, then... you get the fun task of accepting the fact that said boy is just not that into you! because, if he was, he would totally answer your dumb text.

It Must Be A New Semester; It's 1 am and Nothing is Done

I like to think that I am not that different than most other people. So when I say that some days are just harder than others, I assume most of you know what I am talking about. I can have a fabulous Sunday at church where I felt the Spirit so strongly I cried in Sacrament meting for perhaps the first time memory (recent or otherwise) and then come home to find that quite immediately and unexpectedly every good thing about the day has fallen apart. And I think you understand what I mean.

Today (the after church part, anyway) was one of those days that can only be characterized as difficult.

It was difficult to be happy. Difficult to carry on conversations without snapping at people. Difficult to talk to most of my friends. Difficult to get out of bed. Difficult to eat. Difficult to feel good about myself. Difficult to be content with the present, difficult to keep an eye on the future. Difficult to get my mind out of the past. Difficult to listen to anything other than Jack’s Mannequin Spinning on repeat over and over again. Difficult to do my homework. Difficult to look at my syllabus to figure out what the homework is. Difficult to keep myself from wallowing. Difficult not to be an obnoxious, self-absorbed pain in the neck. Difficult to get down on my knees and ask for help. Difficult to open my Book of Mormon.

Just difficult, is what I’m saying.

I was texting a friend about this remarking that I could pick out a few concrete reasons for my bad mood but added together they weren’t nearly enough to justify my serious funk. He remarked that sometimes the small things multiply themselves rather than adding. And while that’s true, it is seriously not fair. It’s not fair that a stomach ache plus an obnoxious girl flirting with a boy I like plus a burned tongue plus an older brother who teases me can somehow multiply together to creating 8 hours of serious unpleasantness. Especially after such a good day in church. It’s not fair that I could have come home and painlessly done my homework and then had time to read or spend time with my family or call a friend. Instead, it is now well past midnight and I have yet to touch my school bag. It is 12:45 am and I feel not only unhappy but also idiotic.

I should have known better.

"And Nothing is very strong: strong enough to steal away a man's best years not in sweet sins but in a dreary flickering of the mind over it knows not what and knows not why, in the gratification of curiosities so feeble that the man is only half aware of them, in drumming of fingers and kicking of heels, in whisting tunes that he does not even like, or in the long, dim labyrinth of reveries that have not even lust or ambition to give them relish, but which, once chance association has started them, the creature is too weak and fuddled to shake off." -C.S. Lewis

It Turns Out I'm Fairly Easy to Please

Tonight could have been better.

Let us list the ways.

*ASU could have made their free throw shots. Or their three point shots. Or any shots at all.
*They could have not embarrassed themselves on their home court.
*They could have won. {In theory.}
*The Ex could have sat somewhere other than 10 feet in front of me.
*I could have gone out with a certain boy instead of going to the miserable game.
*I could have gone out with a certain other boy instead of going to the miserable game.
*I could have done something better after the game than going to a dance party when I was not in the mood to dance.
*I could be in bed right now instead of watching Jersey Shore on MTV and eating my weight in honey roasted almonds.

I suppose tonight could have been worse though.

I mean, I did get to spend time at the awesome game with my friends. And I got to see khood shove the obnoxious U of A fan out of her way after the game. And at the end of it all I got to chat with a certain boy on Facebook.

So it looks I’ll be going to bed with a smile on my face tonight, after all.

Go figure.