Mama said there'd be days like this.

Okay. So, yesterday was really pretty awful.

Well, okay. It was really just the morning that was awful. I mean really awful. Well, I guess not as awful as falling from a truck that's going 70mph just after the love of your life tells you he's in love with your best friend, and they're going to run away to Reno, (who the heck would run away to Reno?!?), so you bounce along on the abrasive pavement for awhile and then come to a stop. And then a bee stings you.

It wasn't that awful.

But it was pretty bad.

On Monday, I got a call from someone at one of the local libraries who wanted to set up an interview with me. You see, I had applied for the "Flexible Assistant Librarian" position (which basically means that you have to be able to answer any question that anyone throws out to you, because hey--you're flexible, and also, you need to be able to work odd hours, like from 3am to 6:30am, and that daunting 4pm to midnight shift). So, I started thinking to myself, "Oh, cool! I want to work in a library again. And look! There's an opening! In the library!" So, I applied.

Anyway... So I got that call Monday, and I scheduled an interview for Tuesday morning. I made sure to get enough sleep the night before, so I woke up all bright-tailed and bushy-eyed, (which was probably the beginning of my troubles), and actually felt pretty confident that I was going to waltz right in & knock their socks off. (I think librarians wear socks. Gosh. Maybe that was my first mistake.) Come to think of it, maybe librarians don't waltz either. That little jig I did probably didn't help matters at all then.

The interviewers were very kind & very professional, and despite that, the moment I sat down at the large conference table they were using as an interviewing desk, I was suddenly so nervous that I could hardly remember how to say "Hello" and "um." (No, actually I remembered how to say "um" very well. Rather too well, in fact.)

Well, before the interview, they had all the applicants fill out what amounted to a mini quiz in world culture & history, to see where we had strong areas of expertise. Ugh. I had forgotten how much I hated feeling like I didn't know what I was doing, especially since it had been two years (if not more) since I'd even thought about world culture & history, let alone tried to prove to someone that I knew anything whatsoever about it.

So, during the interview, my brain decided that it was definitely time to go to sleep. I mean, of course it would want to go to sleep. It was a completely comfortable environment, except for the small, niggling feeling that I was undergoing a microscopic examination at the wrong end of the microscope. So, while my brain proceeded to shut down, I forgot everything about anything I had ever done, except stupid and odd anecdotes, like helping a patron find a book titled "Everyone Poops," which anecdote I positively giggled over like an overdosed cheerleader. (And yes, I did just link you to Amazon. And no, I'm not being paid for it. Viva big online bookstores.)

The interview proceeded to go from bad to worse (a hackneyed phrase, yet well applied, I think) as I began to start sentences, change my mind halfway through about what I wanted to say, then forget entirely where I was going with the sentence. Ugh. I felt unbelievably stupid, and of course, the longer the interview went, the stupider I became.

Finally, the ordeal ended, and I've done nothing much since besides rehash the experience, and perform a few hundred mental self-flagellations for good measure.

I just haven't felt that stupid for a long time. And now, I don't think I ever want to set foot in that library again! It's not that the interviewers were unkind--as I said, they were very nice. But, reliving that in context is not exactly high on my priority list. In fact, what am I doing??? Do I really want to be a librarian? I'll feel that stupid all the time!!! I have to rethink my life. And that always makes me irritable. And a little taciturn. (Um. See my previous post. Not this one.)

But you understand why, don't you??? I hate to admit this, but I really am rethinking things with my life plans. I've actually been doing some design work for another scrapbook company (and don't worry--it's totally on the up & up), basically drawing doodles, and purchasing nifty gizmos like drawing tablets & whatnot. And I actually enjoy it. A lot. I mean, I stayed up until about 5am one night (morning?) trying to finish stuff for this company, and then had to go to work at my daytime job after only 2 hours of sleep, but I feel like I'm finally using one of my talents in a way that will enable lots of people to see what I do, and enjoy it. (Even if they do use it for scrapbooking.)

I don't know. And I guess that's what's driving me the most nuts. I like to know where I'm going (even if it takes me forever to get there). So this sudden uncertainty has hit, and I'm just a little bit lost.

And rambling--HOLY COW! How long is this post, anyway?

Sorry friends, I'll stop now. Thanks for reading this, and for caring enough to...erm...care. Yeah. Y'all are great.

And no, I'm NOT DEPRESSED. Just a little confused. As always.

Shoot.

Help? I'm a dumb person. I'm a... Oh, help.

Doodle, doodle.

I just got this really cool drawing tablet a few days ago, and I wanted to share what I've done with it so far. Yes. So, this drawing will ultimately end up in the Louvre, I'm sure.

Okay, well, maybe not.

Actually, it's just a silly (and really awful) drawing of a girl with a grim look in her eye waving from a park bench. And, since my profile pic had been (up to this point) a flower, when technically, I'm not even in the plant kingdom, I thought I'd try to get a profile pic at least somewhat closer to what I look like. Except that I'm not that stick-thin. Definitely. And also, I'm not made up of sketchy black lines. And also, my eyes don't look that grim. Usually.

Anyway--enjoy!

So, what do May showers bring?

Snow. Of course. It's only natural. You see, for the last week, we've been having unseasonably warm temperatures, and the week before that, it seemed like every day the high temps were either meeting or breaking records set back in 1935. (Or was it '34?)

Anyway, so on Friday, it was pretty warm, but windy. Saturday it was cooler, and kind of overcast. Today, as we were going to church in the morning, piling into the car while trying not to knock each other out with the huge ol' bags o' church stuff we were all carrying, my dad opened the garage door, and I gasped. And yelled. And I quote myself:

"Snow! What the--HOLY COW! IT'S TOTALLY SNOWING! IT'S JUST NOT RIGHT!" Yes, indeed. While the grass was still vibrantly green, (and shiny, in fact--wet from all that precipitation), there were thick clumps of something that was undeniably more flaky than rain. And sleet. It was totally snow, yo.

It snowed again briefly as we were coming home from church. It didn't stick, and in fact, while the snow line has moved significantly down Mount [won't mention his name, especially since I found out he was two-timing with Libby - Kim, you were so wise to refuse him], still, it's well above even the highest house in my little community.

So, I guess I didn't mind so much. And it's not really SO strange that it snowed in May... Here in Utah, that's actually kind of typical. It's that temperatures were in the high 80's like TWO DAYS AGO. So, that thing they say about "just wait 5 minutes and the weather will change"? Yeah. TOTALLY designed for where I live.

Ooooh, this is gonna be good!

Man. Actually sitting down to write this post makes me feel kind of cheesy. And a little bit like I'm cheating. Um. This was going to be a funny, light-hearted, 'Aw shucks, I'm so silly' type of post, but now that people are kind of being serious about this, I guess I'll need to start off with being serious too.

I'm... *clears throat anxiously*...er, not...really...in love with anybody...

Well, at least not a person. No, I'm afraid my infatuation with Rolando Villazon was brief, and it's over now. I've moved on to inanimate objects. (I'm talking really inanimate, here.)

I'm, uh, in love with...a mountain.

Here's a transcript of an earlier conversation I had with my parents:

***********************************************************

"Yes, Mom & Dad, Mt {name not revealed for security purposes} and I are IN LOVE, and you can DISAPPROVE all you want, but we're going to RUN AWAY. Or rather, I'm going to run away. To the mountain. And live there happily with all the birds and the saplings and the squirrels. Yes. So I am."

"But Lizardbreath, how will Mt. {something or other} support you? Can you possibly be happy living in the wilderness with the birds and the saplings and the squirrels?"

"Yes. I can LIVE ON LOVE ALONE. And so I shall. 'Cause the squirrels certainly won't be sharing anything..."

"But Lizardbreath, you won't possibly be able to have children. How can we turn you into the grandchild-producing daughter we always dreamed of?"

"The trees and the flowers will be my children, Mom and Dad. And if those aren't enough, we'll adopt an elk...(what is a baby elk called?)...an elk child. Yes. Preferably one that is half child and half elk. So it can eat grass. And also make cute cooing noises."

***********************************************************

Okay. That's enough of that. Ick. Cheesy.

Um, and I really am sorry to get everyone's hopes up. I'm really not in love at the moment. It really is that I was just reminded of being in love by that thing I couldn't remember, that I talked about in that one post. Previously.

But, if I am in love, and if I do decide to run away to that unnamed mountain, surely...surely, you all, my very good friends, will not disapprove...........????????????

Oh, and here's a picture of him. Er, it, I suppose. If I were to fall in love with the mountain, I don't think I could pick a better one.

***Urg! A pic will have to be inserted later. Looks like the Blogger Picture Inserter is down. Blah.***

***Edit: Okay--Apparently it was just THAT ONE IMAGE that Blogger was having a problem with. Whyyyyyyy???? (She asked whinily.) Anyway. I guess this one will do. It's a nice shot, even if it is about a year old. I guess he/it hasn't changed that much since then, though.***

A Blog, Baby-Sized.

While I fully support, nay, encourage the documentation and photographic-evidence-collection of the growing-up years of young children, and while the internet is really a nice, sure-fire way of storing said documents and photographic evidence, and while babies are really undoubtedly cute...

Still, is it necessary to create a blog 'written' by a baby who, from the evidence of the photographs, is perhaps not yet a year old?

We are of course living in an age where the 'fully competent' age of the average computer user is steadily declining. According to research printed in the New York Baby Times (a completely fictional, yet widely read publication), the average age of computer company CEO's was (as of March 2006) roughly 3 years and 2 months.

However, having a baby who is not only savvy enough to type up a blog by himself, but competent enough to navigate the complicated byways of the Blogger domain (i.e. can insert pictures into the text) is enough to stretch the gullibility of even this astute reader (i.e. Me).

However, if you must visit the site, simply to see if this baby could possibly have written his own blog, or to test the cuteness of said baby (I think he rates at least a 9 on a scale of 1-10--a 10 in the bike helmet), then CLICK HERE. However, be forewarned--there are a couple of shots of him clad in nothing but a diaper. Also, there are a couple of graphic pictures of a violent hailstorm. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Is this title profound?

I was going to write something profound tonight. It had something to do with night breezes and possibly praying, and the way something felt a little like falling in love.

But I can't remember what it was.

And, instead of writing it down like a sensible person would've done, I sat there on the couch, watching a recorded Gilmore Girls episode, drawing swirly doodles & dots. I was entertained, but I wasn't profound.

Maybe being entertained is a little bit like falling in love--we fall in love because we're amused, because we have witty conversations with the person we fall in love with. Or perhaps not.

And now I'm sitting here, lounging in my pajamas, listening to crickets and the sound of my fan oscillating in a monotonous undertone to the thoughts in my tired brain.

Maybe wearing pajamas is a little like falling in love. Or crickets, perhaps. Maybe crickets make more sense. They're black. And they have carapaces. Just like...falling in love?

And now I'm trying to keep from falling asleep, and proving mostly unsuccessful, except that I wanted to sit here and write and try to connect a little bit with all of you. Say something profound, try to change the world a little bit for the better, and failing mostly, but still feeling okay about it.

Maybe...maybe that's all a little bit like falling in love.

Man. I gotta sleep.

Because flowers are gooey happy pretty.

Yes. That is why. So, here:

















(I think you can click on it for greater detail. And no, I don't really have anything more to say today. Boring. Yeah.)

I thought Mother's Day was supposed to be about flowers, not dead bug carcasses...

Who knew? I mean, I spent all those years coloring in crayon on construction paper, and buying kitchen appliances, and writing heartfelt letters. I never knew that what my mom wanted all along was to have all of us kids do a kamikaze clean in our unfinished basement, which until about 4:00 this afternoon was filled with boxes and boxes of old school projects, stuffed animals, clothing from the 80's and stuff from my mission that I never thought I'd throw away.

Oh, yes. And dead bug carcasses.

(Although, I suppose the 'dead' part of that phrase is a bit redundant.)

So, in other news, right now my entire family (well, all of the siblings at least) are gathered around our speaker phone in the kitchen, listening to my brother (now on a mission in Japan) talk to my parents. We've got people sitting on our (don't worry--it's clean!) kitchen floor, people perched on the stools at our kitchen island, and my brother-in-law gesticulating about a missionary taking a spider monkey home from Brazil. Ohyes. And, my nephew eating pretzels. On the floor. That might be a bit unsanitary.

And me, of course, sitting here, typing on my laptop, trying to make out exactly what my brother is saying while my brother-in-law is talking about a tropical bird. (He tells great stories, by the way.)

Well, I'm actually a bit distracted right now, trying as I am to listen to my brother on the speaker phone. So I guess I better go.

I just thought I'd tell you all that I'm covered in dust & spider webs, (and the ever present dead bug carcasses) and that from the roughly 10 boxes of shtuff I had sticking around in the basement, I'm down to two. And a half. I'm still not ready to toss out my discussions...maybe in another 10 years or so.

Ring the Bells! Here's PROOF!

Actually, I don't really know if ringing bells is the most appropriate thing to do in an instance like this. I mean, do people usually ring bells when proof is brought forth? No. They usually sit on those uncomfortable wooden chairs in the courtroom and scratch a little behind their ear. Yes. Or maybe they make a little paper airplane out of that sheet of paper the nice lawyer handed to them. Yes. Or surreptitiously pick their noses.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. PROOF! I HAS it! (I do, indeed.) And here 'tis:















And, for a nice closeup, check THIS out!
















Yeah. Laser-emitting eyeballs my left foot! HAH, I tell you, HAH!

And now there's even MORE of them! They positively compose a crown! Yes, even a crown of African violet flowers. A veritable crown. Indeed.

Now I lost my train of thought again. But, I feel at peace. And vindicated. And all those good things.

Pesto and Smarties

Fear not, noble readers, lest you fear from the above title that I have committed a candy cuisine travesty. Rest assured, I did not eat my smarties with pesto.

And while we're on the subject, can I just say that smarties really are nothing like antacid tablets? Oh, sure. They may have that same chewable dissolve-y-ness, they may both have that same kind of powdery exterior, but oh, my friend. Smarties unfortunately lack that peculiar anti-acid power that antacids seem to carry in abundance. (Lucky antacids. All the smarties wish they had that power.)

I found this to my sorrow this evening, where, as I sat at my computer, trying to come up with fabulous designs for stuff, which I'm still acutally not very good at, and no I will not go into more detail than that, I found that that Turkey & Basil & Pesto sandwich I had for lunch had caused an uproar in my stomach. No, not a sick, yucky uproar, but a burning sensation in my lower esophagus, which caused me to clench the sides of my chair with my white-knuckled fists and declare soberly, "I can't believe I ate the whole thing."

And now I only have smarties to cure me. Sigh. But the pesto was worth it. Oh, so worth it. Ohhhhhhh yeah. And the smarties t'aint bad neither.

I has a disease

Do you ever kind of say harsh things to yourself? Like, you're sitting in a room full of people, and someone says something funny, and you laugh, and then you say something that you think is funny, except that when you say it, everybody either looks away or gives a nervous chuckle, then coughs, then changes the subject, and then you spend the rest of the night kind of sitting with your arms crossed over your chest, calling yourself an idiot? Repeatedly?

Or you're at work, and you tell the shipping department that they totally don't need to work on this order, because even though the customer needed it by Friday, she wasn't willing to pay for 3rd-Day freight so that we could guarantee it would arrive by Friday, and then when the customer calls back to see if her order has shipped, you totally cave and say, "Yes, YES, we'll ship it today, only please, PLEASE don't hurt me!" And then you run down and tell the shipping department that, yes, they have to ship that order today, except now they only have one hour to get all the products together, get the order packaged, into the UPS system, invoiced, and on the pallet? And then they throw half-empty boxes at your head? Which you duck because you have pretty okay reflexes? And then you run upstairs to the safety of your cubicle, where you sit with your head in your hands and tell yourself that you're an idiot? Repeatedly?

You see, I think I call myself an idiot to make myself feel better. Isn't that sick? Aren't I ill? The truth is, I call myself an idiot, because I want to prove to myself (and other people, who, somehow, I think can read my thoughts) that even though I behave like an idiot, at least I KNOW I'm an idiot, so they (the other people) don't have to call me one themselves. So really, I'm just acting in self-defense. Sort of. Does this make any sense?

Probably not.