An Afternoon Well-Spent

Today was rainy and I had a large amount of reading to do for classes. Unfortunately, I ordered my books too late for the most important ones to be here at the moment, so I went about looking for other ways to accomplish the reading assignments from them.

I remembered one semester that I was in the same situation and I found that Barnes and Noble had the book at their store. I sat on the floor in the aisle and read from Eats, Shoots, and Leaves. I received my textbook in the mail shortly thereafter, and didn't have to repeat the practice of being the worst Barnes and Noble customer there is. But I do continue to look at the experience fondly. It was a wonderful adventure to have that evening.

I found myself in the same situation this afternoon and once again found the needed textbooks on the Barnes and Noble website. I found myself at the store thirty minutes later, wandering the aisles crowded with books, a faint smile on my face that wouldn't quite leave, the smell of glue and pages and pastries and coffee mixed together to create an enchanting feeling. Books whispered on the shelves promising adventure and experience and beauty.

I couldn't find the textbooks I needed and decided that they weren't actually to be found in the store after all. Instead of leaving, though, I continued to peruse the aisles. Technically speaking, I didn't find what I was looking for and found myself no closer to finishing my homework by the end of my outing so it could be seen as a waste of a trip.

The thing is, though, is that it was rainy today and I was in a bookstore. Therefore, there was no way the trip could have been a waste. Trips to the bookstore never are.

Cats or Dogs?

Any time someone asks me, "cats or dogs?" I say "birds." I suppose I find it a little bit funny, but it's also true. I'm allergic to the other two choices, and birds sing.

If I were ever to get a pet it would be a canary. And his name would be Mortimer. I think small things deserve big names sometimes.

Chips and Salsa

Chips and salsa is one of my favorite things in the whole world. If you were to ask me if I wanted to go get pasta or chips and salsa I would choose the latter (which is saying a lot because pasta is my favorite meal ever). If you asked me if I would prefer cupcakes or chips and salsa, I would absolutely choose chips and salsa. If you were to ask me if I would rather have ice cream or chips and salsa-- Actually that's too hard of a choice. I would choose both.

Anyways. Chips and salsa, my friends. It is the most wonderful combination there ever was. I always want it. If you replace "tacos, enchiladas, and beans" with chips and salsa in this song you would pretty much understand my feelings.

I made salsa last night and I ate it as soon as I came home from school. The chips were so broken up that it was tough using them as a means of getting salsa into my mouth. So I made chips and salsa "cereal" and I ate it with a spoon. If you are also a salsa-lover and have not yet tried this I wholeheartedly recommend it. Or just get chips and salsa as soon as possible and enjoy them in the conventional way. Either way, partake of the happiness. Because, really, that's what it is.

Some Happy Thoughts

Sometimes I wish people could hear my thoughts because sometimes they're pretty cool or beautiful. And then I remember that I have a blog and that that's what writing is for and I change my mind. And then I'm really glad that the only person who knew about that thought was me. But now all you guys know it, too, so welcome to my brain.

I feel like I forget about this blog pretty often, actually. . .especially because I'm in a creative writing class this semester. All of the little things I notice throughout the day get jotted down on my phone and forgotten about until I have a writing assignment due at midnight. That's kind of how this semester has gone.

I did get accepted to the study abroad program and I'll be going to LONDON! I couldn't be more excited about it. It was kind of a crazy road getting to this point of passports and airfare, but I definitely know that this is what Heavenly Father wants for me right now. And I'm certainly not complaining. Spring can't come quickly enough.

My little brother, Riley, left for an LDS mission last week. I didn't expect to miss talking to him all the time, but I do. His letter home made me okay with it, though. I love that he is able to go and show other people the immense happiness this gospel brings, and I'm excited to hear his stories. He's a good kid and he's going to love it out there.

Sometimes I stop in the middle of my day and realize just how blessed I am. Actually, that happens a lot. Heavenly Father is so good to me and I am so grateful that He knows what's going on and what will bless me the most.

I have realized lately that I have the best job. I get to work with amazing people every day, I get to be proactive and manage myself more often than not, and the people there are the best (I said it twice because it's true)!

I got sick a week ago and completely lost my voice. I have sounded like a dying penguin for the duration of that time and it has been sadly funny. It's been great going to work every day and having my coworkers remark on the minute improvements in my voice. And I sound a lot better now. It's almost back to normal (until I sing. Then I sound like I'm trying to yodel. Which isn't the worst thing in the world. . .) and my coworkers seem just as excited as I am about it.

One coworker in particular has checked in with me every day at the beginning of my shift saying, "Cambry! Say words!" and determining how sad I sound that day. I love that I'm loved.

So basically, life is the BEST! And Heavenly Father is the BEST! And I am so grateful that I have such amazing people, in my life. I honestly can't think of anything I would change except for more Oreos. The world can always use more Oreos.

New Windows, New Imaginings

Well doTERRA moved. We're now in Pleasant Grove and it's a bit more of a drive than I like, but at least the building is nice. There's even a gym that I will likely never step foot in so that's a plus.

The new building has a nice view of the distant mountains, the freeway, and the construction zone of the still-expanding doTERRA building (seriously, it's going to be doTERRAtown or something). In any case, they sat me by the enormous side windows and next to people who are much more content to read comic books than to talk to me. So I find myself staring out the window on a pretty regular basis. But only because the phones are so slow and they don't have any projects for me and we aren't supposed to read or do homework. Yup.

In any case, it's mesmerizing to see the cars drive by on the freeway (way more fascinating than it should be) and I love to imagine where those people are going and what adventures are in store for them. It's also riveting to see the progress the construction workers are making. They're making quick work of the building to be sure. And the other day I saw this:

The forklift was pulling a large flat of bricks out of the back of that seemingly tiny car. They did it and I was so impressed.

Man. And I thought trees were distracting.

A Slideshow of Thoughts

My thoughts are flipping through my brain long enough for me to notice them, not long enough to ponder them. As soon as one thought enters it begins to fade and a new one takes its place. Here are a few.

When I was a little girl I had these gel sandals that were my most favorite shoes I ever owned. I remember being SO excited every time that I saw them in an Easter basket or in a bag from Payless. I stopped wearing them. I think it was mostly because they didn't last and my mom stopped buying them. I saw a coworker wearing some today and I wanted to go buy them right then and there simply for nostalgia's sake. I didn't, though. I'll look at pictures instead.

Waiting for things and not knowing the outcome is draining. I feel like I'm doing a lot of that lately. It's isn't that bad, if I'm being honest, but I prefer knowing things. It's easier to face things when you know a lot of the time.

I have mailed three letters to my best friend in the past week. I suppose you could say that I miss her. She'll be home in six or seven months. I'm excited to see her again. I'm grateful for letters, though. There is something magical about getting a letter just for you in the mail. It's kind of like Christmas.

In the third grade I missed school one day. I think I was sick. It was the day that we learned how to write the letter "z" in cursive. I had to teach myself and I'm still not confident in writing that letter. It probably didn't help that I didn't get a fantastic grade on the "z" page of my cursive handbook. Don't ask me why I remember that. I honestly have no idea.

I came home from FHE and my dad gave me gummy bears. He loves me.

Blogging is an interesting thing. My style of blogging has certainly changed over the years. It's less of a journal and more of a window into my thoughts and who I am. I really like it. I find myself re-reading posts now. . . I didn't used to do that. Of course, I never used to re-read journal entries either. I suppose I still don't read those very often. All my old filled-up journals are compiling in my dresser drawer. It makes me happy to see them.

Sometimes a hug is the best possible thing you can imagine. I'm grateful for the simple things in life that bring us joy. Life truly is wonderful.

Freeway Reading

I don't remember the occasion, but a friend and I were driving on the freeway the other night. I was sitting there watching the lights fly by and I was taken back to my childhood.

I remembered all of the trips my family would take to my grandma's house that would ultimately result in us driving back home after dark. I would have, undoubtedly, carried a book or two with me to read on the trip and, as I get very involved in the books I read, I would find it immensely difficult to let the story go for the hour ride ahead of me.

So I would come up with a way to continue reading even though it was dark and we weren't allowed to have the lights on (because my Dad was driving and that would be a horrible idea): I would sit by the window and hold my book up to catch the light from the street lamps lining the freeway. I would catch a sentence--a paragraph if I was lucky--and wait until the light was no longer enough to discern the letters on the page. Then I would wait. As soon as there was a sliver of light I would resume my story.

Now that I look back on it I realize that this probably wasn't good for my eyes, but it was worth it to me. And you know? It probably still would be: stories make any trip better.

Stowaway

Well I have all my things from my apartment in my bedroom now. It's kind of a disaster right now. I just need to find a day when I can buckle down and organize everything.

I have unpacked a few things, like my clothes, and found that I'd brought home a stowaway in the process. Unfortunately, this stowaway isn't a welcome guest anywhere and I was less than happy to find it had followed me home.

This stowaway is a smell. It is a very distasteful smell that emerged in my apartment about a week or so before I left. This smell originated in our refrigerator and baffled us because it smelled strongly of old fish and we didn't have any fish in our fridge. We cleaned the fridge three times and even gave it a bleach bath, but the smell remained. Some of us in the apartment began losing our appetite and I joked about us joining the stinky fridge diet (because we would open the fridge and immediately lose any appetite we had).

One day Michael cooked the fish she had stored in the freezer. The same smell that had been in living in our fridge was released into the apartment and nothing we did was able to exterminate it. We opened the windows, diffused lemon oil, used Fabreze. . . And yet the smell remained. It did begin to dissipate a little bit the day I left. I was grateful that I would be moving out and away from the smell.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the smell had taken a liking to my clothing and infused my clothes with its essence. Stowaways aren't always a good thing, you know. I'm just hoping that my clothes will air out. . . Fish happens to be one of my least favorite smells.

Frazzled Finals-Brained Thoughts

It's finals week. I've been so busy I'm surprised I've had time to think between all the studying and essay-writing. I feel like, now that worst of it has passed, that I should want to blog and share all the thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head (that I've sadly had to push aside for the sake of productivity) but I don't. I just want to sleep. I've already done more of that today than I have any night this past week (not really, but it feels like it). I'll be grateful to move back home. That'll be nice. I miss my family.

I think tonight I'll take it easy. I may begin to write my last essay for the semester, but if someone invites me to do something (and that something's relaxing) I'm ditching the homework effort. I might still do that. . . I have my poor book that I've abandoned so I could be productive. I've realized that logging out of Facebook on my computer was the wisest decision I've made this past week (aside from hiding my aforementioned book in the study that I never enter).

Every time I hear/read the word frazzle I think of Frizzle. Like Ms. Frizzle from my childhood. Either that or a bad hair day. Perhaps I think of Ms. Frizzle having a bad hair day. I can't really put thoughts to that right now. I've been doing that all week and my brain is on strike. I think, tonight, I'll let that happen.

Thanks in Advance

Tonight I bought myself flowers:

You see, flowers make me really ridiculously happy and I love getting them. In fact, it kind of makes my day because it makes me feel so loved and special. They're also beautiful and happy and all sorts of wonderful.

I recognize that buying flowers for myself is a bit unconventional and, in the eyes of some, sad, but I want to let you in on a secret: my future husband doesn't know me yet. He doesn't know that I've wanted flowers lately. So I bought them for myself in place of him.

So I would just like to say thanks in advance, darling. The flowers were lovely.

Guys, Brains Are Important

Brains are important and I shouldn't be allowed to go out of the house when mine is out of commission. I especially shouldn't do anything requiring competence. . . That usually ends up going poorly for me. Take today for example!

I woke up sick. My head felt like my brain was hiding in a corner just out of reach and that an angry construction worker was going to town with a jackhammer in my skull. And then, of course, my skin didn't want ANYTHING touching it which was difficult because I had to go be a real person today. Well, kind of.

I made it to my English class on time and I even did my French homework before class. However, by the time French rolled around I knew I would be useless in the class. I sent my homework with a classmate and meandered home. I knew I needed to rest up before taking on my French test I had later tonight.

Well I slept until my phone woke me up and then I decided that then was as good a time as any to take the test (as illnesses usually get worse, not better, as evening approaches). I dragged myself out of the apartment, hated the warmth of the sun on my sensitive skin the entire walk up, and considered laying down on the hill leading up to campus (I'm dramatic when I don't feel well, guys).

Anyways, I made it to the testing center, signed up for my test, and walked in to brave the inevitable storm looming ahead.

Something unique about the Humanities testing center is that you trade your BYU ID card for scratch paper and you get your ID card after you're done with your test. As I was waiting to get my scratch paper stamped I noticed that my phone was sitting on the table next to my ID card. I grabbed my phone and put it with the rest of my stuff before sitting down to take my test.

Forty minutes later a girl was missing her phone. Remember that my brain isn't working properly (and that I'm directing all of my smarts toward the test) before judging me on my next actions.

I realized that the phone I had grabbed earlier may not have been mine, but I wasn't sure if I was allowed to leave my desk while I was taking a test. I figured I would just check the phone after I was done and see if I'd mistakenly grabbed someone else's phone under the impression that it was my own.

Well the situation escalated over the next forty-five minutes. I finished my exam a few minutes after the campus police showed up. I exchanged my scratch paper for my ID and went over to my things. There, on top of my backpack was a phone that was the same model as mine, but in a different phone case. I then remembered that I had silenced my phone and put it in my backpack just before walking into the testing center.

With a good dose of embarrassment I walked over to the desk with the testing center people and the policeman with the phone. I told them, "I thought this was my phone and it's not. I am so sorry."

They thanked me for returning it and assured me that it was fine when I asked if I'd caused a problem (I obviously had, but they were too nice to tell me so).

And THAT, my dear friends, is the "brain" with which I took one of the most challenging tests of my life. Brains are important, everyone. Brains are important.

True Story

I want to do anything--let me emphasize that last word:

ANYTHING*

Other than write this paper right now.

Even cry. Crying sounds like an acceptable thing to do right now. In the library. . . Surrounded by a bunch of strangers. . . Yep. Sounds like a good life decision.

Sometimes school is hard.

*(This excludes wanting to murder anyone or steal or create a war or die or any number of other things that would normally fall under the category of "anything." Sorry to disappoint)

Another Snapshot

It was my Sophomore year of high school and I was walking to the front doors with my best friend so we could go home. I ran into my friend Nick. He had another guy with him. Apparently they were friends.

I introduced myself to Nick's friend and, after a conversation, decided that I wanted to know what his name was. He told me it was Steven.

I sometimes have a difficult time remembering people's names unless I'm able to make some sort of connection to it. I have an uncle named Steven so the thought process went something like this: I have an uncle Steven. This guy has the same color of hair as my uncle. Steven. I can remember that.

I committed to remembering his name and walked away. The next time I saw him I said, "Oh hey Steven!" I didn't really catch that it took him a moment to register that I was talking to him. I probably assumed that he didn't remember who I was. He did answer to the name, though, and we parted ways.

A few months later I was talking to Brittney about Steve. She finally broke down and told me that she had been in on a secret but felt bad about keeping it from me. Steve's name was not really Steven. It was Logan. He and Nick thought it was so funny that I was calling him the wrong name that they had decided to keep the charade up for the entire year. I was annoyed, but I decided that, even though I knew the truth, Steven (Logan) would always be Steve to me. And, if it bothered him, he would just have to tell me.

I call him Steve to this day and I still have a difficult time remembering which is his real name. I usually just refer to him as Steve-Logan if he ever comes up in conversation. Seeing as how I'm not in high school anymore and my friend group is largely different, that doesn't happen very often. So his names are buried somewhere in the recesses of my mind right next the equations used in geometry. Unused, maybe a little dusty. . . Old.

This happened years ago and I only thought about it tonight because I met a man named Steven. At least, I think his name was Steven. I don't know for certain, though. After all, I learned in high school that you never can tell with Steves.

Essays and Encouragement

Once again I've left a large-ish essay until the last minute and once again I've discovered myself fighting that bane of existence commonly referred to as writer's block. This is starting to be a sadly familiar experience.

Anyways, I texted someone about how I really didn't want to write my essay and he sent me the most wonderful response there ever was (I think. But I might just be tired and therefore everything in the world is hilarious). . . Anyways.

I was staring at the screen of my computer trying to think of a brilliant thesis when my phone buzzed. I then read the following words:

"Yes you do. If some guy came up to you and was like, "Hey, I want to write your paper," you would be like, "NO!" and then you would shove him in the face. So, yea. . ."

As I was still trying to recover from that text I received another one, marginally less humorous:

"(Wow. . . I'm not quite sure where that came from)"

I'm not sure either, D. I'm not sure either. But sounds like a magical place full of laughter and integrity (and maybe some mild violence but we won't dwell on that aspect tonight).

I think the best part of that whole text is that he predicted my reaction pretty well. 'Cept I would shove this guy in his shoulder or arm. I'm pretty sure his face would be too far away as I'm sitting down at a computer (also, pushing on someone's face is mean. We all learned that in Kindergarten.).

I guess I'd better get writing. I certainly don't want to be obligated to face-shoving. Here we go.

The Heater Troll

The heater in this apartment has a difficult time kicking on the first time. If you pay attention you can hear the click of it trying to ignite five or six times before the heater wakes up and starts to work.

My imagination ran wild when that happened once and I pictured a little troll trying to light the flame. I can picture his hunched form in our closet trying over and over (a little nervously that this will be the time it doesn't work and that he'll get in some sort of trouble) to get the flame to take.

Don't worry little troll. If you can't get it the first time I understand. Sometimes I have a hard time lighting things on fire, too. I just appreciate all you're doing for this apartment. Keep up the good work.

Growing Up

Yesterday, I rode the bus to work. It was kind of a crazy ordeal because the last time I utilized public transportation extensively was when I was eleven. In NYC. With my aunt and cousins. So I kind of just followed and they told me what to do.

But Wednesday, I took the bus. Don't get the wrong impression. I didn't go at it alone--I had a seasoned bus-rider walk me through everything--but I did it. And I feel like I could do it again. It wasn't nearly as intimidating as I'd expected it to be.

It's kind of crazy how much a simple thing (like riding the bus) makes me feel like I'm growing up.

Writer's Block

I have this big essay for my English class due tomorrow at midnight. My roughdraft was hardly helpful because my research premise was faulty and I didn't realize it until I'd already started writing and I had to have a roughdraft due by midnight that night so. . . I just wrote. And now it's kind of kicking me in the rear end. I met with a Writing Fellow and was given a better direction for the essay, and I now have enough research to fill the required four pages, I just need to formulate the research into a cohesive, arguable, interesting essay. And it's due tomorrow at midnight. And I have major writer's block.

On one hand, I want to have another roughdraft finished by tonight so I'll at least be able to turn in a semi-polished copy tomorrow. On the other hand, it's not due until midnight tomorrow so I don't feel the pressure I need to whip this sucker out. And this conflict in my head is distracting me from more important things (i.e. my essay).

So that's the backstory. Now I'm going to type whatever comes into my mind so I can hopefully take down this wall that's in my head and get an essay written tonight.

It snowed today. I like the snow today. Don't know how I'll feel about it tomorrow. I don't usually like snow. Christmas music. I should be writing this on Word so all my typos (most of them, anyway) will get autocorrected. I hate autocorrect on my phone sometimes. It makes me say weird things that don't make any sense. One time Brittney was trying to tell someone she'd be there in a sec and her phone corrected it to sex. She was embarrassed. I would be too.

I miss Brittney. She'll be back in a little over a year and I can't wait. I miss my missonaries. They're wonderful and I miss them. I was going to serve a mission, now I'm not.

I want to be a librarian for an elementary school when I grow up. I think that would be the best job aside from mother that I could ever imagine. It would be wonderful. I'll talk to people to see how I'll be able to reach that goal. I don't like being checked out. Please stop undressing me with your eyes. It's not doing either of us any good. Look back at your computer screen, your homework, and I'll go back to my research.

I need to be better at researching. Wish I'd payed more attention back when we had all those guided lessons about it. Life was easier back in high school. I wouldn't go back. High school is over and I'm glad.

I saw my old roommate today. She's engaged. She's happy. I'm happy for her. May. Spring wedding. It's going to be beautiful.

Sometimes I feel like I fall for the wrong people. Why? Why do I do that? I should be more careful where I let my heart go. But it's easy for me to love people. People provide companionship.

Sometimes I don't want companionship with certain people, though. I need resolution to problems. I'm having a hard time because we haven't talked about the explosion. I feel like the explosion is still going on and I know it's just in my head but the lack of resolution is making me paranoid and I hate it. How to let go?

Browning and Dickinson were both Victorian poets. They had similar enough subject matter and I think my writing fellow is sitting across the library from me. I don't know why that's distracting. Anything and everything has become more appealing than writing this essay. Especially sleep. Snow makes me sleepy. I like the snow today. Dickinson writes about a fly. Browning writes about a slimeball of a monk. Can't you see the link between the two? Do I really have to explain it to you? Also, I feel the pressure to do really well on this because this is my biggest class and it will heavily affect my GPA. Right now I have a B+ and I'd like to do better. So every essay gives me a lot of stress because I feel pressure to do extremely well. I need to let that go. I need to write because I'm discovering something new and exciting. Not because I need a good grade. If I enjoy what I'm learning through my research and writing, the rest will come. Everything will work out.

Dickinson was scared of abandonment. Aren't we all. She was obsessed with death. I learned that in high school. High school again. Our school was remodeled and the old one was torn down. I missed it for a really long time. Lots of memories. But there were good memories in the new school too. I was there for two years. I confuse Yeats and Keats even though they are different as can be. It's their names, I think. They aren't pronounced the same, but the spellings are similar. My shoulders hurt. Both poets write about life not being perfect and the perfect image being marred by something else. Already wrote about that. Tie into thesis. Victorian writers were honest and accessible. That's why I see a syntactical similarity between the two poems. Write about that. Fix it. I'm not proofreading this. Too much thought involved. I can write four pages. I think I've got it now.


The end. You're welcome.

Kitchen Performance

So apparently I dance in the kitchen even if there are people around. I didn't realize this until tonight when my roommate Alisha told me that she thinks I'd be good at the American Foxtrot (and for those of you who are ignorant to what that is like I was, click here) based on the way I dance in the kitchen. I suppose I'm flattered. The people in that video seem to be having a lot of fun! Now I just have to learn. . .

Tall Art

So you remember that Tall Club activity I had last night? Well. It was a lot of fun. I think these are my kind of people (all six of them that were at the activity last night). I'm excited to make new friends and get to know people on campus. I think it'll be really good for me. PLUS, they helped bring out my artistic side!!! We did finger painting and I had a lot of fun creating this little masterpiece with another one of the girls:

I then threw it in the garbage as soon as the activity was over. . . I figured a picture was good enough, especially because I wasn't sure the paint was ever going to dry. Which would've been irritating.

But anyways, people are awesome. Friends are worth it.

On My Mind

This year I've been chomping at the bit so to speak about the Christmas season. I'm not usually like this, but this year. . . well I've probably been excited for Christmas since before Halloween. I didn't do anything about it back then, though. But it's almost Thanksgiving and I haven't been able to wait any longer. So I'm listening to one of my favorite Christmas CDs. And I'm allowed to do that right now because my roommate who FREAKS out every time Christmas is even mentioned before Thanksgiving is over is asleep. So this is a bit of a guilty pleasure. And I am RELISHING it!

I'm also super excited to decorate this apartment. Two of my roommates are determined to get a live Christmas tree so I'm excited about that. It's going to smell delightful in here always. I have all sorts of visions of what we're going to do to this place :)

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We had a cleaning check this past Saturday. None of us passed, some of the fails were ridiculous and I'm annoyed that I have to pay five dollars for a few fingerprints that showed up on the mirror between when I cleaned it and when they checked it, but whatever. I passed the re-check today.

Cleaning checks are kind of the bane of my existence. They cause so much stress in this apartment. But I'm also extremely grateful for them. If it weren't for cleaning checks I doubt much of anyone would do any cleaning besides me, and I wonder if I'd even be able to make it to my bed in my bedroom (I think my small path leading to it would be overcome with my roommates clothes and books and shoes. . . It already happens often enough for me to be concerned.

Karena and Amy's bedroom was a disaster when they came to check the apartment on Saturday, Elizabeth's side of the room was as well. They were in the same condition last cleaning check as well. Because of that, I'm pretty sure our landlords are going to start springing surprise cleaning checks on us. Because of this, I came to the realization that my cleaning the apartment solo between cleaning checks wasn't going to cut it anymore. So I'm creating a weekly chore chart. I really hope this improves things in this apartment.

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Amy is moving out in December. I am going to miss her so much! I've had the opportunity to get to know her a lot better lately and I love her to death! There will definitely be a gap in the apartment without her. I wonder if we'll be getting a new roommate. . . If we are I really hope I grow to love her as well. Good roommates make all the difference.

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I joined the tall club here at BYU a few weeks ago and I'll be attending my first activity tomorrow night. We'll be taking pictures for tall club posters and finger painting. This is right up my alley and I am so incredibly excited for it! It's going to be great for me to get out there and become social again. I think I've kind of allowed myself to get caught up in the scholastics of school and have needed a push to meet--really meet--people. I think this whole club business is going to be my saving grace this year.

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Elizabeth and Karena both have wonderful boyfriends and Alisha goes on dates frequently. And I haven't been and it was really tough on me for a while. But I came to the realization just barely (sitting in the room as adorable couple #2 [Karena and Morgan]) that I am completely okay with being single. Sure it would be nice to have someone, but I'm happy where I am right now. And that makes me even happier because I'm choosing to be happy. And I'm not allowing my happiness to be dependent on the interest of others. I have divine worth and that doesn't change based on what other people think or feel. That is a liberating thought.

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Have I mentioned already that I love Christmas and Christmas music and the feeling of this season and everything about it? Because I do. Life truly is wonderful.