My One-hundred-and-fifteenth Post

I know I haven't blogged very much recently. I really don't feel like writing anything new right now, so instead of a thoughtful and humorous blog entry, I offer you the contents of a word document that's been sitting on the bottom of my screen for a week or so. I don't know what else to do with it.

Two girls stood outside the theater in the sparse shade offered by a nearby tree. The sun glared off the sidewalk, causing the taller girl to squint as she looked down at her friend.

“They’re going to let me take trig/pre-cal next year,” she said, suddenly.

The shorter girls eyes lit up. “Really? That’s awesome, Rhiannon! Maybe we’ll be in the same class. What period are you taking it?”

“Um… actually, I’m… I’m not going to Sabino."

The shorter girl’s eyes clouded over in confusion. “UHS? I thought you were on the wait list.”

“Yeah. They called last week to let me know I got in,” she said guardedly. “I wonder where Allison is.” Rhiannon turned to search the parking lot for Mrs. Brown’s little VW Rabbit. “She’s going to go to UHS, too,” she added casually.

“I know. She told me that the last week of school. ”

The girls stood there in silence for a short while. Rhiannon continued to watch the traffic on the street in front of the theater while the shorter girl surreptitiously tried rearrange her shirt into a more flattering position. A slight breeze temporarily alleviated the heat rising up off the sidewalk, causing Rhiannon to glance up at the sky. “Do you think it’ll rain?” she asked her friend, hopefully.

Her friend jumped at this sudden question. “Probably not,” she predicted, casually tucking her bra strap out of sight. “It usually doesn’t rain until the beginning of July, so we’ve still got a few weeks of this heat.”

“I’m never going to get used to summers here,” Rhiannon complained.

“You’ve been here for three years! You’d think you be used to it by now. I think that’s Allison,” she said pointing to a car turning into the parking lot.

My One-hundred-and-fourteenth Post

Just for you, a recap of how I first read each of the Harry Potter books:

1&2: I had heard about the books from one of my teachers who had been reading the first book aloud to one of her classes. When I saw them for sale at Costco, I talked my mom into buying the first two. (This would have been in 1999, just after book 3 was released. I was 13)

3: Martin and I had devoured the first two books, so we were very happy when my mom brought home the third book a few weeks later. I was very excited, and in order to ensure that the book would be "mine," I promised Martin she could read it first if it could belong to me. After we made this agreement, I found out my mom had bought the book for me, and it would have been mine no matter what. I started reading the book whenever my sister put it down, creating issues when we both wanted to read it at the same time. One night, I was babysitting a neighbor kid, so I had brought the book with me. Martin showed up at the house, demanding the book back.

4: This was the first of the books that I actually read on the day it was released. I woke up that morning, convinced my mom to give me the cash, and then had to beg my brother, Menace, into driving me to get it (we ended up going to a little toy/bookstore nearby).

5: For book 5, my mom ordered the book online, for same day delivery. It was supposed to get to the house by 10am, so I slept on the couch, so I could be the first to see the delivery person when it came. It didn't come before 10, though. In fact, by 2pm, I was very distraught. Luckily, pretty much all of my siblings were into the books by this time, so my parents figured it was worth it to buy a second copy. My dad went out, and returned home triumphant with the book by about 3pm. The other copy didn't come until about 6pm that night. I took the book and pretty much read it all night, falling asleep just before 6am, then getting up at 7:30am to finish the book, and go to church at 9am. Martin was forced to read aloud to the rest of my family for the next week or so, so they could all hear it at the same time, instead of fighting over it.

6: This came out the summer after my freshman year of college. I was home that summer, so I was able to take full advantage of the situation. I illegally stocked my bedroom with wheat thins, licorice, fruit snacks, and Pringles. I had carefully timed my sleep schedule so that I could stay up as long as necessary. I also finally convinced my parents to put a locking doorknob on my door. I went to sleep at about 9pm. My mom and older brother went to good ol' Wal-Mart just after midnight, and left my copy of the book outside my bedroom door. When I woke up at 6am the next morning, I was able to open the door, squeal in delight, and seclude myself in my room until I was finished reading.

7: I’m not sure exactly how this will go down. I’ll be at the Grand Canyon this weekend, so it might get a bit complicated. As near as I can tell, it pretty much involves me, Martin, and Mean Mommy (and perhaps a brother or two) ditching out on our family reunion, and driving for an hour out to Flagstaff in the middle of the night to pick up several copies we’ve reserved at the local Barnes & Noble. Martin will most likely be forced to read aloud to us for the drive back (I can’t read while driving… stupid car sickness) to the campsite. Then my mom has promised to bring us each our own personal light sources so that we can retire to the “reading tent” and not run down the batteries in the cars. There will be a Harry Potter breakfast the following morning, and it is likely that Martin will once again be forced to read aloud to the younger kids (because she’s so good with the voices “Hawy!"). Hoorah!

My One-hundred-and-thirteenth Post

I don’t think we should blame others when things go wrong, and I’d like to think I’m okay with the “buck” stopping here. But… does that mean I have to pretend I’m an idiot?

Somebody I was working with today managed to make a huge mess while trying to show off for me (I’ve gone over it several times in my head… but really, there isn’t any other explanation for what he was doing). Anyway, I sent him off to work in another area so I could fix things up. Several people (including a couple of my supervisors) came by, and asked about what I was doing. I had decided that I was absolutely not going to say “So-and-so did this,” because, really, I should have been more aware of what he was doing and told him to knock it off. Anyway, I just ended up explaining what had happened in ambiguous terms. But I know they all think it was me who did it.

Sigh. Responsibility sucks.

My One-hundred-and-twelfth Post

Unfulfilled Promises
About that political post I was working on… I got scared. It's just going to sit in my drafts folder forever, 'cause I know I'm never going to finish it. I was writing about a recent Supreme Court ruling. It was mostly my internal struggle between liking my First Amendment rights, and wanting my government to be less corrupt. But really, who says I have to choose? (Besides, the Supreme Court is really good at making those decisions for me.)

Harry Potter
One of the problems I've been having lately is that I spent one summer a couple of years ago reading some (quite excellent) Harry Potter fan fiction. Now I get mixed up about whether something really happened in the books, or whether it was just in a story I'd read. So... that sucks.

Angst
I hate my job. It just has me completely burnt out. I was just sitting there last Thursday as the last vestiges of affection I had for my job slipped away. All of the benefits—the friends, the monetary compensation, the feelings of accomplishment, etc.—suddenly stopped outweighing the costs—the late nights, the unappealing work, the unpredictability of it, the suckiness of it. I should quit. But the other two supervisors are going to be quitting soon as well. If we all leave, things will be harder for the people I leave behind. And I’m not sure whether I can do that. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that I don’t actually hate my job. But I did Thursday night. Boy howdy, did I ever.

My One-hundred-and-eleventh Post

Some of you might have noticed that I have not been blogging nearly as much as I used to. This is because every time I sit down to write something clever or witty, I end up writing some simpering rubbish about how awful my life is. But right now I’m working on a political post that is really scary. It’s scary because those of you who know anything about government will realize that I know nothing. Those of you who know little about government will be bored to tears.

So brace yourselves.

My One-hundred-and-tenth Post

My grandma is really good at sending letters. One time she wrote me a letter thanking me for coming to visit her. The next day when I checked the mail, I found another letter from her, because she was afraid she had forgotten to actually thank me in the first letter. But I like getting mail a lot, and I like my grandma a lot, so the letters are a good thing. Not unexpectedly, my grandmother sent me a letter last week after I had been to see her (my mother was in town, so I actually had transportation to Salt Lake, where my grandparents live). Here's the first paragraph of the letter, which is just... well, you'll see...

A strange item showed up after you and your Mom were at our house last week. I asked your mom, but she did not think it belonged to her, so the only alternative we have is to return it to you. Enclosed you will find a shiny gold fake coin. It was behind the couch mixed up with the pink afghan which was also behind the couch.

Yes, folks, my grandmother sent me a shiny fake gold coin. I'm not exactly sure why she thought it had to be mine, as I don't think I've made a habit of leaving behind gold coins when I've visited her in the past.

I love the fact that the coin had gotten "mixed up" with the pink afghan behind the couch. Scandalous! That afghan is such a bad influence.

Anyway, now that you know the truth, you should all be jealous, because my grandma is awesome. And there ain't nothin' you girls can do about it.

My One-hundred-and-ninth Post

When I was eight or nine, I asked my older sister to pick a poem that she thought represented me. I have no idea why. I think it was probably because I was learning about poetry and how it usually symbolizes something else. So I wanted a poem that characterized me. She chose a poem by Emily Dickinson, and I had her write it out for me in her "fancy" writing. In the past, whenever I was having a hard time, I would think about it and be comforted.

Recently the first line has been running over and over in my head. “How lonely is the little stone/That rambles in the road alone.” After a while of just hearing those words in my head, I started to actually think about them. Why had I never picked up on how disparaging this poem was? It was about a lonely little rock who doesn’t care about anything. So I looked up the whole poem so I could sit and stew about it for a while. But when I saw the actual words, I realized why I had never picked up on it before. I was remembering it wrong.

How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn’t care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

The stone isn’t lonely, it’s happy. The stone is happy because it doesn’t depend on other people or uncontrollable events in order to feel fulfilled. It adapts and is happy whatever the circumstances.

I wonder why I was remembering it wrong today, when I never have before. I like this poem a lot more now.

My One-hundred-and-eighth Post

List of books I smuggled out of Martin’s apartment during a recent visit:

• The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
• Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
• Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
• Flowers for Algernon (Daniel Keyes)
• The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
• The Eight (Katherine Neville)
• The Scarlet Pimpernel (Baroness Orczv)
• 1984 (George Orwell)
• The Chosen (Chaim Potok)
• Ishmael (Daniel Quinn)
• Anthem (Ayn Rand)
• Party of One (Anneli Rufus)
• Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters (J. D. Salinger)
• The Joy Luck Club (Amy Tan)

I had to borrow an extra dufflebag just to get them all home. But I'm really happy, now.

My One-hundred-and-seventh Post

Okay, I’ve spent forever creating the most awesome post about my trip this last weekend, but it’s mostly all pictures and quotes, which I doubt any of you would find nearly as funny. Anyway, I guess it’ll all just have to stay on my family’s blog. I will, however grant you a token picture of a bag of M&Ms. Originally, the picture was of Faybe and I making funny faces. We later noticed that Faybe’s massive bag of M&Ms was in the background. I cropped it, but I still think it’s funny that she buckled them in.



Also, I’ve been wearing a sparkly ring on my left ring finger since about last Thursday. My little sister gave it to me. I’m a bit disappointed that nobody really noticed it, though. Actually, Sil saw it during our family dinner last Sunday. But she mostly just raised an eyebrow and asked me if I had anything to share.

My One-hundred-and-sixth Post

It’s 4am right now, and I just got back from a very long road trip. Faybe and I were in the back seat, ignoring all pretenses of personal space as we sprawled all over each other in an attempt to be comfortable. Martin sat in the middle seat throwing up for the last five hours of the trip. (That’s right, Martin, I wrote about that on my blog.) Sweetheart was also in the middle seat, but she pretty much slept most of the time (thankfully). Occasionally, she would wake up and start to fuss a little bit, but I just had to reach over into her car seat and adjust her blanket, and she would calm right down.

Sometimes when you find yourself in the dark, and you think you’re all alone, it’s nice to have somebody reach out a hand and reassure you that it’s all going to be all right; you’re not alone.


More later, but now it's time to sleep.