ReadingReadingReading

You may have noticed that my reading list off to the right side of my blog is outdated. It is, in fact, exactly 12 books behind now, although, to be fair, I still haven't finished Nicholas Nickleby. (I just keep getting sidetracked by all that delicious YA lit in my local library.)

Since last updating the list, I have read the following books:

The Gift, Peter Dickinson
Tears of the Salamander, Peter Dickinson
Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
Aunt Maria, Diana Wynne Jones
Hero’s Song, Edith Pattou
The Lion Tamer’s Daughter and Other Stories, Peter Dickinson
Waifs and Strays, Charles de Lint
Fire Arrow, Edith Pattou
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
Austenland, Shannon Hale
The Blue Hawk, Peter Dickinson

I've also just started The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman, which I have already read but which I thought it wise to reread since a rather intriguing-looking film version is coming out in December (made particularly intriguing because they've used Mars: Bringer of War from Gustav Holst's The Planets in the teaser trailer).

The truth is, I've realized over the past few weeks that I need to stop checking books out from the library. Really. I currently own several dozen books that I have never read, so checking stuff out from the library, particularly things I've read before, seems about as sensible as eating out every night when your fridge at home is completely stuffed.

But I also can't seem to help myself.

Every time I go there, I just have to browse around, lifting a volume or two or ten from the shelves, convinced that unless I check these darn books out right now I'll never have the chance to read them. And I know the books at home will still be waiting for me once I've finished the ones from the library. So really, where's the problem?

In other Lizardbreath-reading news, I've discovered a few more blogs that are slowly becoming daily reads. For some reason (shouldn't be too hard to figure out) I find myself drawn to the blogs of mid-to-late twenty-somethings who are LDS and single. And also female.

And gradually I am beginning to realize that I am not alone, that there are scads of women like me out there, settling down into careers or further schooling, trying to convince ourselves that being single isn't so bad and that a career can actually be pretty fun and that you can also travel and do all sorts of fun single stuff, and then we run across things like this and remember (yet again, like smacking your head into that same tetherball pole) that--wait--yes, it is that bad.

And that guys are just dumb. Because they have no excuse. Because there are hundreds upon hundreds of the most excellent, intelligent, kind, caring and downright foxy women out there just ripe for the picking. (Not me, necessarily, but there are plenty of them out there!)

Seriously. What the heck is wrong with these fellows? Alas, I'm sure, somehow, they would ask the same thing about us.

Edit: Of course, all of you young single guys who read this blog are excepted. Because you are the ones who are Really Trying. (But even still. Look around your ward! Sit next to the girl you've had your eye on for the past two months and ask her out already!)

UGH.

I'm currently working through the finalization of my student loan application and it's beginning to really sink in how much debt I'm going to have for the next 10 years or so.

I guess my dream of having a little house of my own somewhere (and also a car and also lots and lots of bookshelves and also chocolate) is further away than I thought.

Alackaday.

In the moment now

I can hear crickets outside my window.

It's been a damp sort of day, rain coming down intermittently, evaporating into the air only to fall again on the steaming pavement.

I've stayed inside mostly, trying to catch up on some things in my apartment, taking an unexpected nap late in the afternoon.

And now, wakeful, having watched the moon rise red from the cloudbanks and then seeing it paling towards white as it nears and then passes its zenith, I can hear the sound of crickets in between the vague roarings of cars going by the intersection near my apartment.

I can hear in the silence of the evening something like the quiet watchful resting of moonlit mountain nights.

And it tastes like home.

Oh, darn it.

My stupid heart just turned on.

I had spent the morning and a little bit of the afternoon reading Shannon Hale's Austenland, feeling deliciously enwrapped in escapist fiction, comfortably eating sandwiches and completely cut off from the world.

And then, later, as I was looking for a picture in one of my files, I came across all these images of my family and came to myself rather wrenchingly. I couldn't help dwelling over photos of my nephew, grinning with chapped lips and a snotty nose (and those wonderfully adorable blue, blue eyes) at the camera; my niece, face turned slightly away, eyebrows knitted, tongue (just visible behind an O-shaped mouth) tucked thoughtfully in the corner of her cheek; and my dad, eyes crinkling behind years of seeing his children grow from funny little monsters into funny (and sometimes helplessly lost and needy) grown-ups, eyes that I realized are just like mine.

I miss my family.

I miss my old town.

I want to go home and see the mountains and drive up the canyon until all I can see are aspen trees, leaves like coins turning yellow-gold in the ancient light of summer afternoons; I want to smell the mountain morning while walking up the hills on dusty trails, the heat from the early sun already squeezing my pores and making my eyes ache with light.

Please know this: I know I am here and I know I'm here for a good long while. And really, it doesn't bother me all that much. I like it here a great deal; I think, in time, I may even learn to love it.

But there's still a part of me that wishes I could have a piece of that old life in my pocket, just so I could, when I needed to, take it out and dive into a place that feels and is completely Home.

Sharing the goodness

My friend Pat has just written a brilliant Harry Potter spoof.

Ohmygracious. I laughed so hard. My favorite part? Look for the 'half of a two faced moron' quote. Excellent.

Kudos, Pat!

Benumbed and Bewowed

I just finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows a few minutes ago. And I had all these remarkable and clever things I was going to say about it.

But I find that I can't.

But I will say this: this book makes the Harry Potter series one of the most remarkable bits of juvenile literature I have ever read.

I hope those of you who have read it feel the same.

Surfacing

Hi.

I'm reading Harry Potter 7. At last.

So.......

You probably won't be hearing much from me in the next day or so.

Just thought I'd give you a head's up.

If I could have my way,

My days would be spent in eating peanut-butter and jam sandwiches on this really deliciously thick and spongy (and inexpensive, thank goodness) whole-wheat bread.

Because I just love them. Because they are filled with delicious peanut-buttery goodness. And that sugar-free strawberry jam I bought the other day?

An incarnation of delight itself.

So, with the silly young king I say, "How about a peanut-butter sandwich?" Wish you could join me for one. Or several.

Wait, wait! I'm clever...

It was a disappointing weekend.

I had high hopes of sitting beatificially in one of the church pews, one leg crossed over the other, smiling with warm and accepting (and lovely) radiance at all young men who happened to glance my way, who would, naturally, then swerve in for a closer look.

And they would not be displeased.

Alas. Why can life not follow these little scripts we lay out for ourselves?

Firstly, I felt cross on Sunday, mostly because I had banged my knee pretty darn hard on the steps leading up from the subway station on Saturday. By Sunday morning, it was all bruised and swollen and crossing it didn't really help.

Also, I was just not feeling perky. In fact, I was feeling anti-perky. If perky and I had met (which we didn't, thank goodness) we would have created between ourselves an explosion that would have demolished the greater portion of the church building and any surrounding structures within a radius of roughly 200 miles.

Also, I was not a hit in Sunday school. I was, in fact, a remarkably irritating individual, making inane comments at inappropriate moments. Or, perhaps not that bad. Maybe just making inane comments. Which those around me scorned. (I could tell.) No, not really. But we did role-playing, which...was okay, I guess, but really--not one of my favorite activities.

And then, during sacrament meeting, I just sat there, looking at people, feeling vaguely alone and kind of sorry for myself.

Choir practice was a little better: I got to see that one guy again, and I could swear the choir director smiled at me, but then it was over. And I was back in my apartment, secluding myself and watching DVDs alone on my bed.

I've kind of realized that I'm not a sparkly person; I'm not one of those people who immediately grab the attention of everyone in the room. Which is really starting to get old. Because I've noticed that the girls who guys tend to talk to are the ones who are sparkly, who hold the awareness of others like threads in their hands, tugging and pulling eyes to them no matter where they are in the room.

Which means that in order to get attention, I need to be like that.

Which is not really part of my nature. Really.

So do I try to change myself for the sake of meeting people? Or do I sit back in the corners of social interaction and hope that, somehow, the right person will notice me sitting there and somehow be interested?

How the heck do introverts meet their soulmates anyway? Can someone please just explain this to me?

I'll sit and listen. Promise. I'm kind of good at that.

And what change may we now effect?

Just watched A Man for All Seasons.

Feeling a little discouraged about humanity.

Wondering how to fix said discouragement. Any thoughts?

Edit: Okay. I just remembered church today. That helped. But seriously--weigh in if possible.

A one cent reminder

With bags of groceries inexorably cutting off the circulation in the majority of my fingers, I happened to glance down today while making my way uphill from the grocery store back to my apartment. When I did, I saw a penny on the sidewalk and stopped to pick it up.

It reminded me of this post, or more accurately, of the things I talked about in said post, namely that pennies are (if you take them to be) reminders that God is aware of you and is looking out for you.

And just now, with things kind of getting slightly out of control in my life, I was grateful for the small ways in which God reminds us that He's there. And that we need Him. Always.

Mirror, mirror

Yesterday, while staring at my face in the mirror with light coming in from the window to my left, I realized that I could see the way my face will look when I am much older.

It was a strange experience, as if somehow the intervening years between me and my sixty-year-old self had vanished, leaving me face to face with this familiar stranger. I thought I could see that her frown lines were a little too deep, the laugh lines not quite deep enough and her eyes seemed tired and a little sad.

It made me wonder what the next thirty years will bring. Since I'm rapidly nearing my 30th birthday, (holy goodness--only thirteen months away from now), not quite halfway to senior citizen status, suddenly my life seems to be rushing towards me at an alarming pace.

Not that I'm that old--I just can't help feeling that I have little to show for the years I've been here.

I suppose that we all make contributions to the world around us in small ways; I think for me my contributions have been really quite small: developing friendships with those around me, being a decent auntie, trying to be a good daughter and sister. They're not showy contributions by any means, but they're meaningful to me anyway.

I mean--there are times I definitely wish I could have done more with my life, like producing a world-altering novel by my twenty-fifth birthday or creating some other artistic masterpiece, or that, like my wonderful sisters, I could have contributed to the world by becoming the mother of sweet children.

But I'm slowly coming to the realization that my life's path is a track that's different than what I envisioned for myself as a long-ago six-year-old who wanted to be a mom when she grew up. Maybe I haven't made huge world-shaking contributions yet in my (not quite) thirty years. But maybe all that means is that the footprint I leave in the world is sometime in the future, that I'm still trying on shoe sizes, figuring out what fits.

And I think I feel okay with that. I think that the next few years of my life will see me past the many turns in my life path that I can't see beyond at the moment. And even if I still don't make the kinds of contributions I'd like to make, I can feel comfort in knowing that the very small differences I am making are important, and are maybe what God wants me to do here in the first place.

Wanna see something?

Righto. Well, in that case, feast your eyes upon this:


Yes. That is me. Being irreverent with Thoreau's statue. And looking like Dick Van Dyke. Again.

But, on to lovelier things:


This is from the spot on the beach where I sat while my roommate partook of the goodness that is the waters of Walden Pond. Below, you can see my shoes and that sandy strip of shore I talked about in my previous post.


Very sandy, eh?


Here, you can see that Walden Pond actually seems to be a favorite swimming area for lots of folks. We were there on a Tuesday afternoon, and yet there still seemed to be plenty of people there. And really, I can hardly blame them; the weather was perfect, and the sun made the water dazzling.


And the above is a picture I just like because. You know. Pretty. And stuff.

This last picture is simply calculated to inspire envy of the greenest kind. (It is, you see, an illustration of how absolutely perfect the day was yesterday.) These are my favorite kind of days--temperatures in the mid to upper 70s, breezy, with a few cumulus clouds hanging around just to give a nice contrast with that perfectly blue sky. Yeah. I'm sure you're all disgusted right now.


Hahaha. Oh, well.

In truth, it was a lovely, lovely outing. I'm so glad I went. Especially since today the skies are an unrelenting shade of grey. Huzzah.

Such a busy day

My roommate and I were busy gals today.

This afternoon, we sauntered off to Walden Pond, where we spent a good long while walking the couple of miles from the commuter rail station out to the pond itself, then posing with Thoreau's statue, sitting on the beach/swimming (I sat, my roommate swam), then getting a taxi to drive us back to the commuter rail because by that point we just weren't feeling quite up to walking the couple of miles back.

I'll post pictures of some of above activities later.

We also spent the evening doing Good Things by heading off to the Boston Temple to clean with other members of our ward. We spent the entire time dusting off the walls of the bottom floor, which included the cafeteria and the baptistry, so really, we got to see a lot of cool places. (And my neck kind of aches a little...) But seriously--it was kind of nice to be able to serve in the temple in a different capacity than normal. And it's actually a remarkably clean structure already; only when we were in areas with pretty strong lighting was I able to see any dust motes at all flying off of my giant dust mop. (Oooh. That sentence was nice & awkward.)

Anyway.

It was a busy day.

Busy, but good.

And I haven't heard back from the temp agency yet. Alas. Maybe tomorrow?

In the meantime, read some drivel I wrote while we were at Walden. (Or not. It is, of course, up to you entirely.)

I can't describe the peace I feel right now. It somehow doesn't matter that there are all these other people around; somehow the sound of their splashing and chatter just seem all a part of the trees rising over the water and the pale smooth motion of the wavelets tapping the shore.

I see in the sand the imprints of human toes and stick drawings, soles of shoes and duck feet, creating of this sandy shore an unpublished record, document of the day's comings and goings.

But then, shores are always about that, the transition between one place and another, from one state of being to the next, the shore itself the place where we leave our footprints as we cross the boundary between.

I think I stand on the shore longer than most people; it's a personal fault of mine, this endless hesitation. For me, the imprints of my feet in the sand are deep, burying even. I can think of numerous times in my life when I've stood there, for years even, in indecision and terror, both of the land I was attempting to leave and the water I was attempting to enter.

It's good to know that, at last, I'm now knee-deep in water, and can look back at the deep grooves my feet have worn in my spot on the shore. It was terrifying to step into the water; it's terrifying to think that things will only get deeper from here, but I must admit that the sandy bottom feels fine between my toes, and the water is cool and clear.

That's it for tonight. I'll try to post pictures tomorrow.

To Be Continued...

Well, I got a call from the job placement agency. As it turns out, there's a kind of administrative assistant/receptionist job open at the agency itself. So, my contact is going to pass along my resume in hopes that they'll be able to use me for the next month and a half before school starts.

I'm hoping for the best. (i.e. that I'll get the job. In case you were wondering.)

I'll keep you updated, of course. So check here for the latest news on Lizardbreath's search for work!

Oh, hooray!

I think I may have found someone in my ward to get a crush on!

Seriously. I was just sitting there and I realized that I was pretty dang attracted to this guy.

So hooray! And huzzah! And. Like. General celebratory noises.

'Cause it's about darn time.

And now I will go cross-stitch. Bye!

Thoughts

Guys, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Sorry I write about dumb things now and again, nonsensical things that don't matter, even to me.

The truth is that I'm just myself, sitting here in this dark room typing by the blue light of my computer screen, feeling a little lost, a little confused, a little alone, just as the rest of you sometimes feel.

I guess if I were to write about these other feelings all the time we'd all feel pretty weighed down, so I try to make things light a bit, even if it comes across as rather stupid.

So, do forgive me. Because sometimes I just feel the need to stretch out there and paste my faults on a wall so you all will see them and know me for who I really am. Because I'm full of just as much hell and just as much heaven as any other person. As are we all.

And I don't think this is quite coming across the way I wanted it to, but ah, well. That's it for now anyway. Good night.

Is a headache an indicator of lameness?

If so, I have been oh-so-seriously lame, lame like nobody's freaking business.

Yes, indeed. That lame.

Actually, I've spent a great deal of time this past week not doing anything much in the evenings because every time the evening rolls around, I start to feel kind of dizzy and headachy. I'm not sure if it's because my blood pressure medication is just a bit too much for me (I just took it and it's around 108/77 or so, which isn't that low...is it?) or if it's because I'm not drinking quite enough water or if it's due entirely to some other unknown source.

Like a brain tumor.

(Ha. No, I don't really think it's a brain tumor. Not really. Uhm. Hmm...)

But whatever the cause, these headaches are making me behave in a distinctly anti-social manner. For instance, last night I was all set to go see To Kill a Mockingbird, but when the time to depart rolled around, I felt all headachy and didn't want to do anything but eat spaghetti and sleep. In that order.

And earlier, on Wednesday, I could have gone swing dancing, but after institute I felt dizzy and (surprise) headachy and decided that the best thing would be to go home and mope--er, I mean--rest.

So. I have been making choices, based on my hurting head, that have made me feel rather more lame than not.

So tonight, will I allow that aching head to rule me? Will I prevent myself from participating in enjoyable activities because I feel tired and vaguely dizzy? Will I sit at home and read a book or cross-stitch in a decidedly lame manner simply because I don't feel much like doing anything else because I've had a headache since about 3 o'clock?

Well. Yes. Yes, I probably will.

Because, you see, I've decided to accept myself for who I am, and who I am is just a little bit, on occasion, somewhat lame.

And that's okay, dang it. Or at least, it had better be.

It might rain!

Which would totally mess up my desire to see To Kill a Mockingbird at the Boston Harbor Hotel tonight. Because, like, they wouldn't show it. Because of the rain. (It's all open-air, yo.)

However, in all other instances, I am a huge fan of rain. And I'm being quite serious. Because, while I don't necessarily like to be out in it, (unless I have an umbrella and a cute guy to hold hands with), I do like to see the way it makes everything shine, as if the world had been just sitting, waiting for this water to come and transform it into something extraordinary.

Right.

And also, the job interview at the placement services place went pretty darn well. So I'm hoping I'll have some sort of work sometime...next week? Maybe? It all depends on how quickly my contact finds me something, but I'm pretty hopeful because she seemed pretty upbeat and positive herself. Or maybe she just acts that way for all the job applicants...

Nevertheless, I felt good about it, so in general, I'm feeling pretty upbeat and positive myself. About lots of things.

Like jobs. And free movies. And the rain.

Good Business Sense

=Good fasion sense, right? And vise versa?

Or so I attempt to prove below:


So. I believe that with the above outfit (sans camera) I will be able to impress the hair off of anyone I meet tomorrow. Which is good. 'Cause I'm meeting someone at a job placement agency who's going to help me find some work. Which would be really nice.

'Cause them business clothes were expensive. Yah. Really.

OmygoodnessIhavebeensodumb

I've just realized that (duh) the blogs I love to frequent have archives, for crying out loud. Some of which go back years. So when I'm feeling the need for a little MST3K-flavored-Australian blogging, I can check out stuff written back in '05 instead of checking and checking and checking to see if he's posted anything within the past 5 minutes.

Which makes me a cyber-stalker, yes, but at least I feel satiated. For now.

As promised:

Here I am:


Orange-looking indeed, dontcha say?

Aargh!

Okay. And just once can I please have some guy who thinks I am just this super foxy chick? Please?

(Don't know why. I just had to add that.)

What? Pictures?

OhyeahIhaven't...

I haven't shown y'all pictures in awhile.

Let's see what I gots on me camera...


Okay. So the above is obviously a pic of me in a sunburned state, taken pretty soon after my DC trip. After this, I tried to take a picture of myself looking all depressed because I was so sunburned. It didn't work. I deleted it.

And also I kind of forgot to tell you all about something.

A couple of weekends ago, I walked The Freedom Trail around Boston with one of my roommates and a group of girls from our ward. And yes, it was blasted awesome, thanks for asking.


Above is a shot of everyone's shoes hanging out on The Freedom Trail...medallion thing. I think that's what it's called. And my shoe is the blue worn-out sneaker you see bottom center. (The jeans cover up my unsightly ankles. As well as my unsightly pale legs.)

Righto. So, as part of The Freedom Trail, we passed our be-gold-domed (and thusly blasted awesome) State House, which you can see in this skillful and well-framed (or notsomuch) photograph:


(Seriously. That gold dome...just like the one in Riven...)

Ummmlemmesee...what else to show you...

Okay. I think this'll be the last one, just simply because it takes so darn long to get these pictures uploaded, but I had to share this with you.

While on The Freedom Trail, we passed (and entered) a few graveyards. In one of the smaller ones, I noticed this gem of a headstone:


Sorry the contrast isn't all that great; I hope you all can see it. Basically, it's a couple of skeletons having a grand ol' time prancing round some sort of candle or something. I love it simply because it's macabre. And also jolly. And I didn't know they sometimes felt like that in the 18th century.

Seriously--I'm going to have to show you more of these later, but eventually you will see yours truly standing in front of that Very Famous Paul Revere Statue while looking all tired out and orange. Because, er, my shirt was orange. No other reason.

Until then, may your days be less humid than mine. Indeed.

Why PBS is awesome

So...

I know you people are coming here to read stuff I've written on my blog, probably wanting to kind of know what I've been up to and what plans I have for the future and what interesting people I've met and how successful my interactions with them have been.

Unfortunately, at the moment, I'm totally watching this DVD I checked out from my local library: Exploring Space: the Quest for Life. Because I'm kind of a nut where PBS shows about space are concerned.

In other words, I get a kick out of watching NOVA and stuff (and other nifty space-type PBS programming). Which maybe means I'm a nerd. But I don't care.

Now I'm all excited about the possibility of finding liquid water on Europa and discovering whether a manned mission to Mars is not only possible, but on the agenda.

So, if you'll excuse me, I have about an hour to go. And just so you know how I'm doing, I dyed my hair purple. OhyesIdid. So there you have it.

(No. No, really I didn't. But you knew that already.)

Slim rays of hope are still rays of hope.

A boy spoke to me at church today.

I was so nervous!

And so giggly and happy!

Aaaah. Yeah. Not really. I promise.

But a boy did speak to me today, which really beats all the days boys haven't spoken to me, which pretty much have made up the majority of my life. And he was even nice. And he thought we were the same age! (Which was really cute. Because he looked about 23.)

As it turns out, he's one of the Pest Control Summer Guys (PCSGs we call them (no really, we don't)) so it doesn't really matter if he spoke to me out of hey-she's-pretty-I-wanna-talk-to-her-edness, or I'm-just-standing-here-kind-of-bored-and-look-there's-a-person-I-don't-know-so-I'll-strike-up-a-conversation-edness.

It just kind of made me feel a bit happier, regardless of the reason. Because, hey. Males are males and, while interacting with females can be really good times, some moments just require some infusion of the opposite gender. 'Cause those times are even better.

Just a brief note of awesomeness:

This comic is perhaps one of the funniest things I have read in some time. You may not agree. But I agree with myself, so that's all that matters.

It's a world full of doppelgängers.

It's weird to google your name. Really. I just tried it. It's as though there are hundreds & hundreds of Lizardbreath McGees out there, all with different faces and interests, yet somehow connected by our common name. Which, I guess, there are.

But it's almost like finding out you've had a secret twin your whole life. Who was born in 1955. And works as a real estate agent.

Or that your double has blond hair and aspired to being an actress and is now in broadcast journalism.

Or that someone with your name has just gotten married to this guy on a freaking beach.

So it's like finding a whole ton of people who are both exactly like you and really not like you at all.

Weird is just too small a word to encompass it all. But it'll do for now.

Does this make me weird or merely just quirky?

Today I thought up the most excellent blog topic; it was one of those topics that generate thought, discussion and links to your blog from prominent websites. It was even a little controversial and thus would generate even more thought, discussion and links than usual.

At least. I think it was controversial.

The trouble is, of course, that I can't remember what it was.

And so, naturally, the blog topic I'm stuck with is that, for some reason, I find the combination of Triscuits and lemon-flavored no-sugar-added yogurt so tasty I may finish the entire box here in one sitting.

And that is all.

Links, anyone?

And of such boring days are our lives made.

You know, I started out thinking that this had been a pretty uneventful day, but then I realized it had some remarkable moments in it. Such as:

• An albino squirrel. I kid you not; this thing was completely white with red eyes. So, so cool.
• Seeing a jade-green Geo Prism. Alas, little Jade Friend. How I miss you.
• Checking out several DVDs from my local library. Er. Because that's pretty nifty, dontcha know. And one of them is about Victor Borge. So top that, skeptics.
• Walking about four miles round-trip down to a nearby pond that was, like, really pretty and stuff. Yeah.
• Buying Triscuits.
• Realizing that this list sounded a whole lot more exciting in my head.

So. My day in a nutshell. Yeah. I guess it was kind of boring.

Ohyeah! And I also did some pre-registering work for my classes. I'm getting pretty excited, folks! Real registering happens on July 10th, so wish me luck so I can actually get into the classes at the times I want so I'll be able to attend Institute on Wednesdays and meet the Spiritual and in All Other Ways Fabulous Man of My Dreams. Seriously. Last hope here, people.

Ohyeah and fireworks.

Er. Yes.

One of my companions (the one from Texas) told me once that this was her favorite holiday.

So, in her honor, I wish you all a happy Independence Day!

Addendum: Hoorah! I just got to see the fireworks! From my window! I didn't actually go out to watch them because I'm just that lame. (Seriously, people; I'm actually not kidding about this.) But I'm so happy! Because there they are, bursting above the trees, making me feel like America isn't really sliding downhill faster than a miniature poodle in a greased sled. (Uh. Weird image.) And also I don't have to ride the T home when it's impossibly crowded. And also I don't have to stand in the rain for hours waiting for the sparks to fly.

So, yes. I'm happy.

Definitions

While working as the administrator of my company's scrapbook forum, I became really curious about the way many women seemed to define themselves. The usernames they would choose would be something like 'billysmommy' or 'davidsgirl' or 'lovemyhubby.' In short, when they picked the one word or phrase that would become their defining characteristic (on that site at least) they chose something that had reference not to themselves, but rather to a role they played with some other person.

Part of me applauds this; it's the epitome of selflessness, isn't it? This losing oneself to someone else entirely?

But, I have to admit that I feel a little disturbed as well. Not that defining yourself using your roles is wrong; I'd just hate to think that any of these women might believe that was all there was to them.

So, I'm curious. If you were to define yourself by assigning a username that had absolutely nothing to do with your actual name, what would you pick? Would you be a 'MomToJoeTheToddler' or 'CattleRancherGal' or even 'LoudmouthDragonLady?'

'Lizardbreath McGee' is my moniker for now, but I've chosen 'bookish' in the past. And I think it fits pretty well. So, truly; do share.

And two generous servings of diet-breakers later...

I was invited to dinner today. I was a little nervous about the whole thing, which felt a little like a first date when you don't really know the person who's taking you out. Fortunately, all persons involved were female which lessened the tension potential considerably.

There were three girls at the dinner and we all kind of pitched in with the prep work. Hesitant to discuss my dietary restrictions (I guess because they're self-imposed, and I didn't want to cause any kind of inconvenience) I failed to mention that the potato dish I was assigned to prepare was something I really shouldn't be eating. And those two cartons of ice cream bought specifically for the dinner were not things I should be eating either. Nor the M&Ms there for snacking.

So, because of my failure to mention said minor details, and in an effort to appear relatively normal, and to, like, not be rude, I decided to eat the smallest possible portion of both the potato dish and the ice cream. (Yah. Real sacrifice, I know.)

The problem is, both were really, really, really delicious. I had forgotten how...just...you swallow potato and it kind of sits there pleasantly in your throat before moving its solid way down your esophagus and.

And.

Oh. My.

Ice cream? I mean, the real kind with real sugar and, like, these brownie bits and fudge swirls? So delectable I nearly went into a dead faint there on the kitchen floor. I had really forgotten, I mean really forgotten how wonderfully deliciousgoodnessly it sat there on your tongue while it sang sweet songs to your taste buds of love and flowers and that it was the only thing you had ever wanted and it wanted you and you were united now and everything was beautiful...

I.

Oh.

So.

Tomorrow I will return to my diet. I'm seriously not about to give this all up, particularly since I'm so near the 100lb loss mark. But is it wrong to feel that there was something nice about being able to take a break, however brief, from the rigors of said diet? Was I wrong to feast upon a few bits of potato? To relish my two little scoops of ice cream?

Well, yes. Yes, I was wrong.

But I don't regret it. No, not even a little.

And a valuable life lesson it was, too.

Why is it that we feel there's some sort of virtue in being unhappy? When you're grumpy, not only do you feel ornery, you don't even want to feel happy, as if becoming happy would be an affront to your individuality, to your right to choose your own cussedness.

What blasted fools we can be.

What a blasted fool I have been.

Because while I've said to myself numerous times that I would choose happiness over misery any day, the truth is that when the choice comes along I often pick misery. I think I must be a rather obstinate creature. I think maybe most people are.

I just read a post by one of my favorite bloggers. It's basically a talk she gave in her ward on Sunday and it's extraordinary how much it said what I needed to hear.

The Lord has told me (repeatedly, actually) that He's looking out for me and taking care of me. Sadly enough, I tend to forget this or willingly disbelieve it because, somehow, in my limited experience I know that there's absolutely no hope while He's telling me there is. I have, in short, failed to trust His promises, failed to rely on Him for strength when I'm feeling discouraged or lonely.

So. As you all are my witnesses, this is me declaring that I'm choosing happiness and trust in God. Let's hope my resolve sticks this time around.

But even if it doesn't, I know a loving God will be there to remind me that He's there. As always.

Cry me a river

Oh, how sad, how sad am I.

I'm single.

I don't have babies.

In short, as a young(ish) LDS woman I am pretty much a washout.

Which seriously makes me start to wonder here, folks...what does this mean? Do I have to find unconventional ways to feel like I'm fulfilling my mission here on earth? Am I destined for singlehood forever? Am I just that repulsive?

Maybe I'll meet a nice young returned missionary tomorrow in fast & testimony meeting. Maybe that new white skirt I bought (yeah--that swishy one) and that one necklace and that brown shirt will be just what it takes to catch someone's eye and he'll say to himself, "My, what an interesting gal! How I'd love to marry her and make all her dreams come true! But first we must go on plenty of enjoyable dates. And also I think I'll kiss her on that one bridge over the Charles River. Because I'm just that romantic."

Or perhaps I will sit through the meeting, talk to my roommates and try not to think too much about the way I'm still bulgy around the middle and have crooked glasses and a sometimes vacant expression and pretty much no ability to speak to people I don't know for any considerable length of time.

I'll leave it to you to guess which it will be.