Am I that transparent?

You know things are bad when the guy checking you out at Trader Joe's asks in a it-would-be-patronizing-if-he-weren't-sincere voice, "How was your day?" My answer was simple: "It's done." He told me I looked exhausted and suggested that I switch from sparkling blueberry juice to 200-proof wine. I laughed and said thanks but no thanks. He wished me a good night on my way out the door.

It was a very long week.

I figured something out this week. Being super busy does not stress me out; I think I work better under the pressure of a big deadline. Nope, what sends me over the edge is lots of little nagging deadlines. This week I was super busy and instead of being able to finish what I needed to, I had to spend the whole week dealing with all the other crap people asked for last minute. Even if I didn't have time to edit their stuff, I had to find someone else to do it, and the coordination was just as distracting. I know it's not their fault; most of the people who made these requests had no more control over their timing than I did, and all were apologetic. But after a week of that, it's no wonder I ended up spending Friday night in bed with a bowl of Mimi's corn chowder, a glass of sparkling blueberry juice, and a back covered in IcyHot to try to ease the knots. TGIF indeed.

If you are what you say you are, a superstar...

I've decided that road trips are required to have theme songs. Thanks to Ali, I haven't been able to get "Superstar" out of my head all week. If only I knew the lyrics and not just the general chorus. Guess we should have listened to it more ;)

So Pismo Beach was fantastic. Beautiful scenery, great friends, and tons of junk food. I had a really great time hanging out with people I don't hang out with often, just sitting around a fire and talking. I had never been to that area, so it was fun to see more of the coast and this crazy state I now call home (though I still don't think of myself as being from California. Not sure when that will kick in). I got my picture taken with a burrito in a hammock. We attempted to hide a goose in someone's tent, but even the "special" goose was too smart for that. We cruised the beach...literally. We piled 14 campfire-smelling people into a Mexican restaurant up the road from the campsite (some kid asked his mom where all those people were going. We told him we were going out to dinner. That got us some weird looks). I missed out on the full Pismo experience because I didn't have a bowl of clam chowder, but I don't like seafood in general, so I'm okay with that. And I still have one question:

Why do guys sleep on cement? When given the choice between dirt and cement, it seems to me that dirt would be more comfortable (not that dirt is all that great...my back is still out of sorts). But seriously...how is the picnic table a viable option for sleeping?

It's not like I'm not trying, 'cause I'll give anyone a shot once

Actual conversation at tutoring last night with a woman old enough to be my mother:

"So, are you going to get married soon?"
"Um, no. I need a boyfriend first."
"Why don't you have one? You're so smart and beautiful?"
(I-don't-know shrug)
"What is these boys' problem?"
"If I knew that, I'd have one."

And now for the follow-up question: why is there no good way to say, "No, I'm not dating anyone, but I'd like to be," without sounding desperate and a little crazy? Can we get someone on that?

My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy

These should probably be separate posts, but I'm feeling too lazy to do that. So instead you get bits and pieces of what's been bouncing around my brain recently.

* After church on Sunday, everyone was gathering in the chapel to break our fast before eating. I was handing in my tithing to the first counselor in the bishopric when he said, "Are you dating anyone?" I said no, but that I had been on a date this year, which was better than last year. So he and the second counselor decided that they would help me out. One offered to get up at the microphone to let everyone know how wonderful I was (I vetoed that one). So instead he had me sit next to him and asked if I was interested in anyone. Feeling a little weird about checking out guys with a member of the bishopric, I said no (but really, there isn't anyone. I looked). He said that was okay, I could just sit up on the stand so they could check me out. He later introduced me to a new guy in the ward and congratulated me on sitting with boys while eating. I've been set up by grandparents before, but having the bishopric trying to find me a date was a new experience.

* Saturday I went for a great run out along the bluffs. The sun finally broke through the clouds, and it was a 70-degree paradise. Seriously, I live in one of the greatest places ever. But my favorite was the little kid I heard telling his sister not to touch anything because it was all "poison oak" and "poison ivy."

* I finally convinced my friends that I'm human by having an emotional breakdown and yelling at them. Glad we got that detail cleared up.

* Tonight as I was out running errands, I noticed a bug attempting to escape my car through the windshield. I rolled down the window and tried to shoo it out. The bug was not deterred; he simply moved to the other side of the windshield. So I opened the window on that side. Finally I had every possible window open, but the bug wouldn't have any of it. He could see out the windshield; therefore, that should be his exit. And then I accidentally got too close and squished him. Sometimes I think I'm like the bug--I can see what I want, and I'm going to beat myself against any barrier in my way until I get it. But if I would only step back, I would see the many other, better opportunities waiting for me. And I should take them before I get squished.

I'm a hazard to myself, don't let me get me

So last Tuesday I was talking with some coworkers about how I've never been to the emergency room. No broken bones, no stitches, nothing. Their first reaction was that I haven't truly lived, but I have scars to prove I have. The next reaction was to be impressed. "I mean, you're really clumsy, aren't you?"

Indeed I am. I set out to prove that that night. I was opening a door and got my thumb caught in the door handle, which produced this little beauty:


Two minutes later I was crossing my legs and kicked the bottom of the chair next to me, which produced another bruise that didn't photograph well. I also managed to trip over my laptop cord, pulling it off the desk (luckily it's still working properly...).

Basically, when I do end up in the emergency room, it's gonna be good.

A Realization

I am Elizabeth Bennett. Almost everybody's here: Jane, Charlotte, Mr. Collins. Wickham and Lydia have made themselves very apparent recently. I just need one more:


In the words of Ali: 6 feet tall, 6 figures please.

Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in

...Don't give up on me, I'm about to come alive.

The voices are at it still. They all say give up now. Even the internal one when it's being honest. I have cried and yelled and pushed myself to exhaustion and the answer is still the same. And I hate it.

So please understand that my make-believe ending--the one that I know deep down is not true--is what's keeping me sane right now. Don't take that away from me.