Boys over books??!!

I have the Harry Potter, book 7, to read! I haven't started it, but I have it. I don't like to buy hard back and neither does my sister. But my sister didn't want someone telling her the ending of the book, so she bought the hard back copy anyway. She intends to sell it to her friend once she and I have read it. She finished reading it and now it is my turn. I don't want anyone to tell me the end--- so if you've read it, please don't tell me anything about the book.

My sister finished the book on Friday and she gave it to me on Saturday. But I haven't touched it.....

??????????????????????????????????????

I'm awfully confused. Why haven't I read it yet? I have been waiting for the new Harry Potter book for a very long time. And now I have a copy. It's right there... in my papasan, ready to be read. And yet... there it has been sitting all weekend. Not touched. And there it still sits...

I was thinking about it today and I know why I haven't started it yet. I remembered what I did this weekend that prevented me from reading the book. The answer? A boy. Can you believe it? I chose a boy over a book!! I've never done that before!--- A really good friend of mine and I went camping together. He invited me to go with his family. It was really fun.

Here's the thing, though: I don't like camping. Really, I don't. I haven't been since Girls camp and I didn't like it much then. There's dirt and snakes and porty-potties. (ick!)

But this was different. I got to do all kinds of fun things... brave things, even. I drove a four-wheeler! I roasted marshmallows. I ate really good steak and I cuddled by the fire... Yeah, my finger nails got dirty and I felt stinky by the end of the camping trip, but I didn't care. It didn't bother me. And the bug thing wasn't a problem, nor the snakes. We didn't see any snakes. Or bears, which I was convince on our little hike that we'd run into one and then I'd get eaten. But that didn't happen. Instead, we danced under the stars. We laughed and I played Frisbee with his brother. We ate cobbler. I relaxed. I was brave...

It was really great. I never would have believed it if someone had told me that choosing a boy over a book was fun. But it was.

Choosing to go camping was brave. But I still want to read Harry Potter. I think that is what I am going to do now.---Back to books over boys. It was fun for a little while, but I'm ready to get back to my old book-wormy self. Back to the books. For now at least.

Will You

When I'm afraid
Will you quiet my fears?

When I am crying
Will you dry my tears?

If I am hiding,
Will you come find me?

If you look in my eyes,
What will you see?

Will you
Laugh with me
Play with me
Sing with me
Dance with me??

Will you hold onto me
And never let go?

Will you never
leave me alone?

(I wrote this July 15, 2007)

Small print

I remember the moment I decided to be a missionary. I can't say the day or time I gained a testimony and I can't even tell you the moment I first thought about missionary work. But I do remember the moment I willingly decided that I would become missionary.

It was a hard decision. I was in school. I was in my apartment. I like school. I liked my apartment. I liked how my life was going. I knew that there would be sacrifices to make, becoming a missionary. I wasn't sure if I could make the sacrifices. Also, I wasn't sure if I would make a good missionary. It takes talking to people, and I can be really shy sometimes.

But the feeling in my gut and the words in my mind were so strong that I don't think I can ever deny the fact that God wants me to be a missionary. And so it was decided that I would be a missionary. I went through the paper work. I made sacrifices: moving out of my wonderful apartment, quitting school, giving away a lot of my junk to DI... etc. It was hard to make these sacrifices, but I did it willingly. I thought the sacrificing would end there. But it hasn't. I didn't read the small print in the contract.

Dad said that he would take care of Babs, my wonderful perfect car, while I was gone. Apparently things have changed. Dad says that I should sell Babs. I don't know if any of you know this about me, but I really, really, really LOVE my car! I've had it since I was 16 and I really love it.

I don't want to sell my car!!--- I didn't read the small print. That wasn't in the contract. Also... the boy-thing. That wasn't in the contract. I finally find someone who likes me enough who could easily become my boy friend--- my first one--- and I am going to have to say good bye to him. Not only that, but I am going to be away from the snow! I LOVE the snow. Why doesn't it snow in Australia?

Surely this was in the small print. I didn't know I would have to give up EVERYTHING to be a missionary. Certainly not my car! Dear Babs! Dear Babs... how I love thee!...

Laughing Out Loud

I've moved in with my sister and her husband finally, and I'm really happy about it. I finally feel at home. :)

There are a few habits, however, that I have acquired while living alone that MAY become a problem. Or not. You decide which are good habits and which are bad. Here's the list of some of the things I have become accustomed to doing, while living alone:

* Listening to music REALLY loud
* Singing REALLY loud (Yes, in the shower, too.)
* Leaving the bathroom door open when I use the rest room (When I lived alone... who was gonna walk in?)
* Dancing and doing the dishes
* Talking on the phone for an excessive time (I'm talking 5-7 hours on the phone with various people)
* Leaving the TV on while I clean
* Always locking the door when I leave the house (Not a bad habit, but it doesn't make a ton of sense to lock up if there are people still at home.)
* Leaving my journal out where people could potentially read it (Happened to me! My best friend found my journal and started reading it. I was so mad at him.)
* Bursting into song--- for no apparent reason, whether the radio is on or not
* Laughing out loud! (I'll be reading a blog or a book and start laughing out loud; watching TV and I'll laugh out loud; think a funny thought and laugh out loud.)

Eating again

Food is good. I love food: healthy, fatty, greasy, chocolaty, green-y, fruity, milky...etc.

I did not have to force myself to eat this morning. My new best friend has been really great with helping me with my recent, funny eating habits. I told him that I have this funny quark... eating in front of guys. I can't do it. I can't eat in front of guys. Not really. I don't know why! It started in high school. I used to know why it was hard for me to eat in front of guys, but now I don't remember. -lol- So, I have funny habits in the first place, but to top it off, I haven't had the desire to eat.

I woke up this morning-- in my new home, by the way; I'm living with my sister and her husband--- and I wanted cereal. I wanted to eat! I haven't wanted to eat for over 2-4 weeks. (Refer to my "Accidental diet" blog) Wanting to eat feels good. Knowing that I am going to Australia feels good. Having a second best friend feels good. Living in my new home feels good.

Over all, I think I feel good. I'm eating again.

Going Down Under!!!!!!!

I GOT MY MISSION CALL TODAY! I'M GOING TO AUSTRALIA!---- AUSTRALIA PERTH MISSION!!!!

I can't even describe how I feel. I feel like a kangaroo.... I've been bouncing all day! I'm going down under, mate.

Crikey!

Safe

I get scared easily. Halloween? Forget it. I hate Halloween. Scary movies? No way. I get nightmares. Long Test exam? daaaahhhh! I want to run away. I do a lot of thinking. And when I do, I sometimes get really scared about life, about things...

Like the wind right now. I like the rain and all, but the wind is kind of scaring me. I've never been in a hurricane/tornado before. But what if I am in one right now? What if the house blows over? oooo.... I'm actually really scared right now. *hides under the covers*

I'm really happy that it is raining, but--- I'm feeling very unsafe about this wind. It is so noisy. And it's knocking at my door, windows and roof. It's whistling down the chimney. I have a very big imagination. In fact, maybe this is the end of the world! I don't know if I'm ready for the end of the world. What does Revelations say about the end of the world? Does it mention anything about the wind??

Seriously, I'm fine about the wind thing. I prayed. I'm going to be okay. But I think this storm makes a really good analogy for how I am feeling right now.

The wind is my imagination... trying to scare me... about the mission call. But I'm not scared because I have my distraction and my testimony.

Potentially, I could be really scared right now. I am about to get my mission call. I am expecting it tomorrow afternoon. I don't know where I am going to go. With my big imagination, I could imagine... just about anything. Any place. Real or fiction. Just a minute ago, I imagined I was called to the moon. Why would my mission call say that I am called to go to the moon? Are there aliens that need to hear about the gospel?

What I'm trying to say is that I could be very scared right now. But I'm not. Do you want to know why? I'm distracted. I didn't think it was going to be a good distraction, but it really has been. So far, anyway. It's a good symbiosis. He distracts me enough so I don't get scared. I like hanging out with him because he makes me feel safe....

Just once...

Just once, I'd like to get mail for me. Every time I go out to the mailbox, it's mail for my parents. Bills, mostly. Advertisements, too. There are no letters for me. With as many pen pals that I have, you'd think I'd get more mail.

I liked it when I would get mail at my apartment. Yes, even the bills. And, yes, even the advertisements. They were all addressed to me. It's like the messages on my answering machine. They were all for me. Now when the phone rings, it's mostly for me, but I still get people from the ward or people who don't know that my parents are away, calling.

I understand that people call for my parents. And I understand that bills and advertisements and packages have to come for my parents. But just once, I'd like something for me...

I think getting my mission call in the mail is going to be extra, extra special. I mean, it is going to have my name. Correct? It's already special for that reason. And it most likely won't say "Mrs." --- I periodically get mail that says that. I don't know why! (I think they're stupid.)

It will tell me where I'm going and when I'm leaving. That will be special. And it will be from the Presidency of the Church. THAT will be special.

I like boys... continued

My thoughts:
boys, mission, mission, boys, boys, BoYs, MissioN, mission, mission, boys, boys, boys, boys, boys, bOyS, mission, MISSION, boys, boys, mission, mission, mission, mission, boys, boys, boys, BOYS, mission, mission, boys, mission, boys, mission, mission, boys, boys, boys, mission, mission, boys...

Boys
I stutter.
I stumble.
It's your fault...

Stupid Boy.

You smile
And talk.
I feel such a rush
when I'm with you.
I sometimes blush
at the thought of you.

Stupid Boy.

You have big eyes,
A big smile.
I can't help that
I wanna hang out with you
Once in a while.

Stupid Boy.

You come back
Out of the blue.
Make me almost
Fall for you.
Then you leave.

I smile.
I laugh.
We're friends.
You say you'd do anything for me.
Then why don't you explain
If you're feelilng
The same thing?

Stupid Boy.

Stupid. Stupid.
I feel stupid
to like you---
Stupid Boys.

(I wrote this poem May 15, 2007)

Mysterious brusies

The bruise on my knee:
The other day I am sitting in my papasan, reading a book. Princess Bride, if you must know. It was later in the evening. Probably around 6 or 7pm. Anyway, I'm reading and I get to the part where Westley finally makes it up to the top of the cliffs of Insanity when I hear something coming from the back yard: a very loud thump. So I set my book down and run outside. There, in my yard, is a leprechaun. He's digging. Actually, he is putting dirt back on something that he has just buried.
"What are you doing?" I ask, shining a flashlight at him.
"Rainbows land here sometimes," he replies. As I get closer to see what he is doing, I realize that he has buried a pot of gold in the back yard! The thing is, I soon learn, is that it will disappear if I try to dig it up if I rainbow is not shining on it as I am digging.
The leprechaun was pretty nice. A little testy and did not like me asking him so many questions. Up to that point, I had never met a leprechaun before. It was natural for me to ask lots of questions. I didn't know the next time I would run into such a rare person. When I asked him how much gold was in the pot and if it would be alright for me to dig it up the next time a rainbow landed in my yard, he kicked me. On my left knee. I don't know why he kicked me. If you ask me, it was not very nice of him, was it??

The bruise on my hip: I am playing baseball. It is bottom of the ninth. The bases are loaded. The game is tied. I'm up to bat. The first pitch comes. It's a fast one. Swing! I miss. The second pitch comes. Swing! I miss again. The third pitch comes. The pressure is on. CrAcK! A nice hit. It flies over the pitchers head and out into the right field. I start to run. The ball is thrown right over the head of the first basemen, so I keep running. Now I'm to second base. Third! I'm headed to home. "Slide!" the crowd yells, "Slide!" So I slide... just as the ball is thrown to the home baseman. "SAFE!" is all the umpire has to say.

The bruise on my right pinky:
I am in the grocery store, the dairy section of the store. I reach for the ice cream in the freezer and a polar bear's claw reaches out and scratches me. I admit that I am lucky. It could have been worse. His claws were very sharp. But it was an accident. I guess I startled him when I abruptly reached for the ice cream. The bear, as any polar bear would have done, apologized for scratching me. He felt very sorry. I have no hard feelings for the bear. In fact, we're going to go see Surfs Up, the new movie about penguins together. It should be fun.

The bruises on my knuckles:
Boxing. I box. Don't you know that I box on the weekends? There was this match last weekend. And that's where I got the bruises on my knuckles. You should have seen the other guy, though.

I know why the chicken crossed the road

He wanted to be brave. He was tired of of being the chicken, staying on the safe side. He wanted to... well, get to the other side.

I want to get to the other side. It's scary, crossing the road. There are cars. I could get run over. And I'm not really sure what is on the other side. No one ever tells you what is on the other side. What if I don't like it? I guess that is one reason why crossing the road is so risky.

I use to think, What a waste of time...for the chicken to cross the road! He had such a great life, and he was doing fine on his side. Why change that? Why cross the road? The other side can't be much better. But now--- I don't know--- I think it was brave of him. He dared to see things in a different way.

I've often, by the way, compared myself to a turtle. I wrote a poem about it once. I wonder if I can find it... hmmm... I don't think it was that good. Anyhow, I'm like a turtle because I move at my own pace. I'm stubborn, but steady. I carry my home on my back (I take home where ever I go--- Refer to the "Something I learned" blog) and I like to hide, especially when people pester me about my speed or want me to do something I'm afraid to do.

I don't dislike being a turtle. Life as a turtle has it's pluses: I'm happy being myself; I don't have to take risks; and I have a steady pace that gets me places. But my best friend made a really good point the other day. We were talking about my courage-- my lack thereof--- and she and I became concerned. People who are alone can get lonely.

I love living alone. I love being alone. I like reading, singing, dancing, eating, sleeping, napping, working, driving, writing---- alone. I'm comfortable with myself. And I don't get lonely. But someday I could. I don't want to be alone forever. I am a hopeless romantic and I don't want to be alone forever. I could see myself in love, if I found the right guy.

Besides, I gotta learn to be brave. I'm going on a mission. There isn't going to be time to "chicken" out, or hide in my turtle shell from challenges that scare me.

So, I commend the chicken that crossed the road. He was brave. Now, can a turtle cross the road?

Here's my proposal. I want to do something brave each week. I'm going to build up to once a week, actually. For now, I'm going to do two brave things before the month is out. Sounds like a good thing, right? But I don't know what kind of brave things to do. Ideas, anyone?

Something I've learned

I enjoy living alone. It was better when I lived in my apartment. I can't think of a happier time than when I lived at my apartment. Sure, it was expensive. It would have been smarter to get a room mate. But I was really happy living alone. And I didn't go into debt over it. That's probably the coolest part.

It's free to live here. I'm house-sitting (watering the lawn, guarding it from burglers) until my parents get home. They're out of country--- for Military purposes. When I first moved back, I hated it. I wanted to go home, to my wonderful, perfect apartment, but I couldn't. I can never go back. I felt very homesick. I'd never been homesick before, but I was then. It was a little crazy because I grew up in this house, and I felt homesick.

I've learned a lot from not only living alone but from moving. Growing up, we never moved. I lived in the same house (the same room for a really long time too) my entire life. Yes, my dad was/is in the military, but he was never deported for more than 6 months at a time, so we just waited for him until he'd come back, bearing cookies and magnets upon his return home.

It wasn't hard for me to move into an apartment, a single bedroom with a kitchen, balcony, top floor. I had been dreaming and thinking about moving into one for as long as I can remember. Moving back, however, was another story. I never thought I'd be back. And for some reason, it was hard for me. I, in fact, hated everything about it. Instead of looking at the negatives, however, because I knew they were plentiful, I tried to make a list---a list of all the "happy" reasons for living at my parents' house while they are away. I came up with a pretty good list, and it helped me to have a little perspective on the situation and helped me to not feel so homesicky.

But the thing that helped the most was the advice from my best friend. She asked me where my heart is. "In my chest," I told her, all smart-alecky-like. "Then there is your home," she replied. "Home is where the heart is."

I really believe that. It's like the birthday thing. No matter where you are on your birthday, no matter what you're doing, it is your birthday and nothing can change that. I learned the birthday lesson when I turned 17 in Ohio. For some reason I was afraid that it wasn't really my birthday if I wasn't home. But it was. No matter where you go, there you are.

And I've learned that I can make a home anywhere, where ever I go.

So, when people ask me where I want to go on a mission and I say "I don't care," I really mean it. I used to be scared about where I'm going to go. Will I be able to make it into a home? The answer---I'm 100% positive about--- is yes. I can make where ever I go into a home. It will take some work, but I can do it. I can create a groove--- where ever I go.

I'm not saying that I'm not nervous or anxious about getting my mission call. I am. I'm just saying that I think I'm more prepared to open the envelope because of what I've learned. I don't think I'll freak out. Hopefully, anyway. I hope I don't freak out.

Accidental Diet

I've been starving myself for the past two weeks or so. Not on purpose, I promise. I just haven't felt like eating, especially when it is time to eat... When I wake up in the morning, I don't feel like eating breakfast. When it's around noon, I don't want to eat lunch. And when it's evening time, I don't want to eat dinner. I have to force myself to eat something. It's weird because I love food. I shouldn't have to remind myself to eat. I should just eat when I'm hungry, when it's time to eat. But nooooo...!

I make myself eat. No worries. I'm not anorexic or anything. In fact, lately, all I've been eating is healthy food. I've been eating a lot of salads and fruit. I don't want to cook. It's too hot, for one. I don't want to go out to eat. I don't have money. So, I eat fruits and vegetables, once in a while some cold chicken or cold turkey.

I think I've lost some weight. I wasn't meaning to. It just happened. I don't think it's a lot of weight, but I've still lost some.

Why am I not eating? I wish I could say that I'm in love. It would be terribly romantic if I wasn't eating for the sake of love. But I'm not. At least, I don't think I'm in love. I've never actually been in love before, not really. What does it feel like? If I'm in love, who am I in love with? I probably should know that. hmmm....I guess I'm not in love.

I'm not on a diet. I don't do diets. I break them. If I am on a diet, I'm not aware of it. No one told me I was on one. Well, whatever diet I'm on that I'm not aware of, it's working because I've lost a little weight.

Maybe I'm fasting. I mean, I am constantly praying and thinking about my mission call. Maybe, subconsciously--- and without realizing it--- I am trying to fast for 40 days and 40 nights. Or at least until I get my call, which (by the way) should be in the next 2 to 6 weeks! Maybe I'll get back to my good-old-stuffing-my-face-and-eating-junk-food-self when I get my call.

It's official: I hate July

It is just so hot. And I feel drained. I have no energy. I haven't even really worked that hard today, but I feel tired and sweaty. And the cooler doesn't blow that great of cold air.

I asked my sister why it is so hot and why it wouldn't snow or at least rain. She told me it is because it's July. So, I've decided that I don't like July.

But at least the basement is clean now and I can sit down here. It's a little cooler. I just really wish that it would snow. I love the snow! To bundle up in a warm sweater, drink hot chocolate, curl up with a good book by the fire and watch the snow would be ideal right now. Especially the snow part. I'm sick of July. I'm sick of the sweating and the heat.

Oh, gees! I just thought of something. What if I go on my mission somewhere it doesn't ever snow? Where it is hot all of the time? -lol-

You know what? I don't care. I'm going anyway. But I think I'd prefer to have a little snow once in a while. If I'm not going to have any snow where I go, then there should be some snow right NOW for me. I mean, it's only fair.

A little snow... that's all I want right now. Is that so hard to ask for?

Song in my head

ROYAL BLISS:
Take all your favorite thoughts of me
Keep them close inside so you will always see
One time I was there for you not so long ago
In you I'll always what I can call my home

Chorus: Will you wait for me..I'm so afraid to leave
So will you wait for me..I'm so afraid

I cant be strong enough alone
And I cant feel you close enough over this phone
You always said I choose the life of a lonely one
I dont know where I'm going but I'll see you when I'm done

(Chorus)

I've always told myself I cannot fail
But if I lose you then I will

(Chorus)

I like boys

Here are my thoughts: Boys, Mission, Boys, Mission, Boys, Boys, Mission, Mission, Boys...!

I really like boys.

I like how they smell. (I especially love good smelly cologne.) I like how they smile. How they talk. How they laugh. How they tease. I like sitting next to them. Staring at them, while they... well, sing... or work or are doing nothing at all. I like when they drive me places. I like when they pay for me. (Well, honestly, I hate it when they pay for me, but I like it at the same time. It's confusing, I know, but you have entered my stream of thoughts. It is very dangerous. Turn back now while you still can!!)

I like talking to them on the phone. I like when they call. When they hug/touch me. When they look at me in that way that says, I like you how you are. I like their hands. They're eyes. Their voices. I like being their friend.

I like boys, I do. But they clutter my thoughts. Why won't they let me think in peace?

Mufasa

Have you ever seen the Lion King? Remember that scene with the hyenas? The one says "Mufasa," and the other gets the chills. "Do it again! It tingles!" And so the first says, "Mufasa! Mufasa!" and they get the chills.

That's how I feel. I've felt like that for a really long time, too. Whenever I think "Mission--- Me, a missionary!" I get the chills. "It tingles!"

The other thing that gets me is the word "when." When I go on my mission... is a fun phrase to think and say. Or to hear other people say it. It gives me the chills. It is so exciting. And I'm getting closer and closer to actually making it happen.

I mean, basically, I am just waiting for the call. It can come anytime now. I mean, I don't expect it this Wednesday, but soonly.

I just love the idea of being a missionary: bearing my testimony, having the spirit more, teaching and seeing people gain a testimony of the Gospel... "Mufasa! Mufasa!"

Gone Driving

You know those signs people have that say, "Gone Fishin'"? I need a sign that says "Gone Driving." Driving clears my head. I mean, when I'm driving alone, that is. And, boy, did I need to clear my head today!

After I got the news that one of my very good friends just got engaged and is getting married--- I HAD to go driving. I couldn't sit still. I kept pacing. I kept thinking "Oh My Gosh! Oh My Gosh!" I had to clear my head.

Evan and I were really good friends in high school, particularly Senior year. We were so good of friends, in fact, I adopted him as my little brother, and he adopted me as his big sister--- even though he was taller. Well, I am older. Four months older, if I remember correctly.

I guess it's kind of a long story. We dated a few times. But we were mostly just really good friends. He was the type of guy who went out with a lot of girls. He was, in a way, a trouble maker but fun. We talked a lot and played a lot. And then we kind of went separate directions after I graduated. He was in a grade younger than me and we kind of lost track of each other. But I always considered him one of my top friends. And I always will.

Anyway, I don't have any brothers. Except for him. I asked him one day in high school if he would be my brother. He said he would, and he has been ever since. I wish I was a better sister to him. I wish I would have called more or done more big sisterly kind of things. I'm also the youngest in my family, so not only have I never had a brother before, but I also have not had a younger sibling before either. I don't know how to be a good big sister.

But some time last winter I found him on the myspace. And we have been talking periodically since then, through messages and e-mails. Sometimes on the phone when we can catch each other. We both work a lot. I knew that he was dating someone. I had seen pictures of her and them together, and he talked about her. So why didn't I see it coming? Why am I so surprised that he is engaged?

After he called today and told me the news, I had to go driving. I haven't even met this girl. Not really. And she is going to marry MY little brother? Like on Back to the Future, when Marty Mcfly goes back in time, I wanted to say, "this is heavy!"

Driving was good. I am notorious for getting lost. It's one of my many talents, and a burden at the same time. I filled up on gas not too much earlier that day, so I was set. Also, the gas prices went down, did you see? I didn't drive around aimlessly too long, just long enough. Long enough to realize how much I love my "adopted" little brother, my very good friend from high school. I realized how proud I am of him. He mentioned that he plans to go through the Salt Lake temple. Thinking about that makes me so proud that I want to cry.

I guess I'm getting a sister-in-law. Sort of. It's weird. I normally just get brother-in-laws. But I like it. I'm happy for him. He promised I could attend the wedding before I leave. I hope so. I wouldn't want to miss it for the world!

Construction Zone

Every morning I wake up to the sounds of bulldozers, the sound of trucks moving. I feel like Arthur Dent on Hitch hiker's guide to the galaxy. I wake up in the morning, and the house is practically shaking. It used to freak me out, but I think I'm getting used to it. I'm very much like Arthur Dent now, wandering the house in a daze, yawning and pouring milk on my cereal.

I've stopped going in the backyard. It's too weird. There are people on the other side of the fence, wearing hard hats and yelling to each other. Yes, in the morning--- like 8am or earlier.

I guess I should explain. I am living in my parents' house again. This is the house that I grew up in. And for as long as I can remember, there has been a field behind my house. Recently, however, the city has decided to build a park in the field. Not that we don't have a park. I mean, we do. It's, well, up the hill. But if they build a park in the field, then they can tear down the current park and the oh-so- old Police Station and Fire Station (they rebuilt them in 2000)--- and build a box store where the Police Station and Fire Station and current park is. They can make more money. There's nothing I can do to stop it.

When I was little I sometimes imagined what I would do if the city ever decided to build on the field. Lay in front of the bulldozer, for sure! I really couldn't imagine my life without the field behind my house.

But change happens. Life moves on. And instead of lying "flat on my back" in front of a bulldozer, I pour milk on my cereal. I can't stop change. I can't stop the construction, even if I wanted to.

I've never been one to like change, really. (There are exceptions, but for the most part, I dislike change.) "Don't throw off my groove!" is not only a phrase Emperor Kuzco says, but also a creed that I live by. I like my groove. I like knowing what to expect, where I am, what I'm doing, what I'm supposed to do...etc.

Lately, however, my life has been like a construction zone. Normally I would try to think of a way to make the construction stop, stop it from throwing off my perfect groove that tells me what to expect, who I am, and where I am going from here. But I'm not. Instead, I am welcoming this huge construction zone, one that will change my life forever. And I'm ready. Hand me a hard hat. Put me to work.

Where, when, which Wednesday?

I want to be a missionary. I just turned in my papers last Sunday. All I need now is an interview from the Stake President and then my papers of missionary recommendation will be submitted to the first presidency to pray and receive revelation on where I am to go and then they will send me a letter---- THE letter that will tell me where I am going and when I am leaving.

I am told that it will come on a Wednesday.

Some people say that they have impressions and thoughts about where they are going to go, or about the people they are going to serve--- before they get their call. I don't know if I have been experiencing such things. But lately, I have been thinking a lot about Boston, Philadelphia... the east coast of the United States.

Of course a month ago, when I was filling out the papers, I had a lot of thoughts about Australia. And the month before that I couldn't get over the idea of going to England.

Sometimes it about kills me that I don't know where I'm going yet. And other times it really excites me. The other night (4th of July) I was out with a friend. We went to see the fireworks together. Afterwards, we sat under the stars, talking, and looking at the sky. "This time next year," I told him, "I could be ANYWHERE in the world." And for a moment, I stared at the stars and imagined myself one year from then, looking at the same sky (probably miles and miles away), thinking about that night I watched the fireworks and sat with my friend.

Where would I be? Would I be in the United States? Would I see fireworks with my companion? Or would I be in another country? Would I celebrate that country's independence? Are there countries that have their own independence day? Do they shoot off fireworks, too?

What will I be like? Who will I be teaching? Will I be discouraged? What will I be feeling? What will I be thinking?

I like this dreamy-pensive feeling I get when I think about my mission call. But none of this means anything if I never get my call. Sometimes it feels so up-in-the-air that I'm not sure if it is really going to happen. I really, really, really want it to happen. You know what would help me feel like this is all really going to happen? A mission call.

So.... where, when, which Wednesday?? I want to know.

wooooaaaahhhhhh!

My favorite place to be, besides my car, which I named Babs, is in my papasan.

I like to read, sleep, eat, laugh, think, watch Gilmore Girls, sing, talk on the phone, do homework, pretend to do homework, sit and think about how I used to do homework when I used to be in school, cry, pray, rest, watch the snow/rain out the window and/or remember how I used to watch the snow/rain, curl up in a ball, write letters to my pen pals, write in my journal, write poetry, write stories, chew bubbly-bubble gum.... while in it. Obviously, not at the same time. (That would be silly.)

I've fallen out of it before. It was the scariest thing of my life. It was in slow motion and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. I thought I was going to break it. Sounds like a funny thing to worry about but I paid $80 for that very comfortable round chair with a cushion. That is why I learned what the fancy chair is called in the first place. Most people just call it a round-cushioned-chair-thing. But, I call it by its very fancy, rightful name that it deserves to be called because it is a fancy, expensive chair: a papasan. Normally they are over $200, but this one was on a major sale. Even though it was on sale, it was... nevertheless... $80! And to have it break? oh! That would be very terrible. Devastating, really.

Luckily, it didn't break when I fell out. I think the screaming helped prevent it from breaking.

I fell backwards, by the way, landing flat on my stomach with my hair in my face. I was screaming "woooooaaaa----ahhhhh!" the entire way down, very slow-motion-ey.

I laughed very hard. Very, very hard. So did my best friend who witnessed the entire thing.