In The Twilight

Too Depressing for You?

2012-01-29T22:46:00.000-08:00

The other day, someone commented on my wordpress account (where I keep my creative writing) and told me that I am too depressing. This comment caught me a bit by surprise, if only because in person I am a very cheerful, bright person. Reading back over some of the things I've written, I can understand where the confusion came in. So, I decided to write a blogpost in order to "explain myself." I don't want anyone worrying that I am too depressed or moments away from finding a ledge.

Over the course of my life, a lot of bad things have happened. I've got scars (mental, emotional, and physical) that will not go away until the Resurrection. But, those scars are a part of who I am, now. I have actually had psychologists tell me that someone with my baggage should not be able to function, that I should be mentally and emotionally crushed. The fact I get up out of bed every morning and can smile is a fantastic victory.

My secret is rather simple. I write the bad feelings out. When I am upset, I will put the emotion into a poem. When someone close to me passes away, I express my grief by writing. Any emotion that is too great for me to handle alone, I put into words. By doing this, I remove the pain and distance myself from it. Then, I can objectively look at it and overcome whatever the issue is. Yes, this means I end up with lots of painful nonfiction and poetry pieces. But, it does wonders for my psyche. I can usually tell you a) why I am upset, b) what combinations of feelings are causing problems, and c) how I intend to resolve the situation. In its way, writing has become my therapy.

I have never considered suicide. I have never cut myself or hurt myself to "cope" with mental anguish. I have a strong testimony that God lives and loves me. I have hope that tomorrow will be better than today.

I'm a totally different 1%.

Ironically, sometimes I write poetry that is very "depressing" when I am actually very happy. The result is a totally different kind of poem, but I don't think you would be able to tell the difference just looking at them. Here are two examples: one of them was written when I was very happy and one was written when I was very unhappy. Can you guess which is which?

Just Another Foot
I ripped out my heart
And buried it
Six feet deep,
But I can still feel you
Beat, beat, beating it.
You are my ghost:
The stain on the pages
Of my history,
The taint that bleeds
Through every line,
The story I
Will never tell.

I ripped out my heart
And buried it
Six feet deep,
But it wasn’t deep enough
To escape you
Beat, beat, beating it.
You are my demon:
The curse that haunts
My storm tossed sleep,
The shadow lurking
Over my left shoulder,
The pain of my
break, break, breaking heart.

How many feet does it take
To escape the taint,
The stain,
The bruise
Of you?
Pieces of me are
Flake, flake, flaking away
And soon nothing will be left.
Maybe if I rip out my heart,
Bury it just another foot
Deeper,
I won’t be able to feel
You beat, beat, beating
My heart.

Color: Me
I’m white
–skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.

All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice–
Unless they were white.

White. Caucasian. Trash?

I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do–
But never judge me by my skin.

I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside–
Me.

--

At first glance, I probably seem like a very depressing writer. I just want to assure you that writing is just...a form of expressing. Sometimes it helps me heal my soul, and at others I just want to put interesting rhythms together. Thank you for the concern--it really does mean a lot that you would worry.

Modern Monsters

2012-01-20T23:13:00.000-08:00

As a Renaissance scholar, one of my areas of scholastic interest is the field of monster studies. This is an admittedly odd pursuit--it is neither in vogue or particularly well regarded--but I persist in it anyway. The other day, one of my colleagues asked why I liked monsters so much. I smiled at her and said simply, "Because I understand them."

During the sixteenth century, a man by the name of Ambroise Pare published a book called Des monstres et prodiges (or, in English, On monsters and marvels). This book represents one of the first attempts to explain birth disorders and acts as a foundation for monster studies. In it, Pare covers everything a girl with fur to a unicorn. Some of the monsters in the book are particularly difficult to believe (after all, there are very few half-ox half-human beings roaming around). Others, though, hit very close to home. After all, I have a feeling that twins would be very upset if they knew they would have been viewed as monstrous entities.

One of my favorite monsters in all of literature is Richard III (from William Shakespeare's Richard III). He is traditionally played as a heavily handicapped man, usually with a humped back and at least one gimp limb. Normally this sort of figure would be comical or dismissed, but Richard's too cool for that. Instead, he's the villain and protagonist of the play. The entire story focuses on his rise to power and subsequent fall, but he's such an awful person that it's almost impossible to call him a hero. The opening lines of the play are delivered by Richard. He is alone on stage and says,

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

Basically, he's saying that the conflict between the House of Lancaster and the House of York has temporarily subsided, because his brother (the son of York) has become king. With the war put aside, Death is instead busy getting up to shenanigans, and pretty everyone is having a great time. Except Richard. He goes on to say,

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Richard is bitter, because he is unloved. His deformity caused him to be outcast since "monsters" were viewed as subhuman. In revenge for this mistreatment, Richard decides to get some revenge by destroying everyone's happiness. The rest of play follows the outline of his plans--though there is a small hitch in the form of Richmond (your prototypical heroic pretty boy). I understand entirely where Richard is coming from. Nobody, not even his mother, loved him. If I were in that in position, I would probably not be a very nice person either.

Of course, I think I understand him so well because I am a monster too. I have a genetic skin disorder by the name of epidermolytic hyperkeratosis, which causes my skin to grow fast and form thick scales all over my body. (Yes, even there.) Had I been born during the Renaissance, my birth would have been the focus of a broadside. I probably would have been lauded as the Alligator Human. Oh, wait, there's a site that has an article about that: Human Marvels. Point in fact, any time up until the mid-1900s I would've had to make my living as either a beggar or a side-show freak. Or, like Richard, I could've just been a diabolical villain. Take your pick.

Sadly, it took a long time for life to get better for the "monsters" of the world. Disabilities are still taboo. Going through stores, walking the street, even just attending class--I get stared at. People whisper (thinking I'm deaf) about how offensive they find my existence. "What is a freak like that doing out in public?" "That thing has no right to live." "It better not reproduce." Yes, people have said all of those things about me and to me... and worse.

Times are changing. In 1977, America finally emancipated its disabled citizens. Congress signed the American's with Disabilities Act (ADA), and we finally had rights. But why did it take so long? Am I really that different from you? I don't think so. There's a documentary by the name of Lives Worth Living, and it tells the story of the fight to pass ADA. If you want a taste, watch this:

Watch Scaling the Capitol Steps for Disability Rights on PBS. See more from Independent Lens.

In a way, my study of monsters is studying my heritage. All of the stigma, all of the hatred, and all of the determination that come with being disabled are mine. But they belong to millions of other people, too. Through my writing and scholarship I hope to shed light on the evolution of how disabilities have been viewed. I hope that it creates conversation and understanding. I hope that it encourages people to not be afraid. Most of all, I hope to make a difference.

I am a modern monster. A mutant. An ichthyosaur. But I'm also human. Maybe you should treat me like one.

Because of Him

2012-01-16T23:23:00.000-08:00

I had originally planned to write a blogpost about Tebow and my various thoughts on the media today. However, circumstances lead to me having something of a conniption fit. As always, I coped by writing a poem, which I decided to share with you all. Whenever I get scared, upset, or hurt poetry seems to be the best venue for me to vent through. Tomorrow, later on, I will be certain to write up my original post. For now, though, I just...need to vent a little.

Because of Him

He hurt me.
Bits of my soul are
Shattered, tainted, warped
Because of him.

Everyone seems to think
I should be over it,
Moved on,
Healed up.
But it’s not finished.

He hurt me.
He broke me.
He tried to take away my life.

What part of that just
Doesn’t make sense?
I am terrified, trembling,
Shaking with fear
Because I know,
I just know...

Some day he’s going to
Find me,
And when he does?
Bits of my body will be
Here and there...
Because of him.

Individuality

2012-01-05T14:50:00.000-08:00

When I was about nine years old, boy bands became the biggest thing. N'Sync, Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees... Yeah, those boy bands. Many of my friends were very into Backstreet Boys while I spurned the entire thing. Eventually, though, I realized that I was being ostracized because I lacked a patron boy band. It didn't make much sense to me, but I figured I might as well like one of them--if only to fit in. Rather than pick the band all of my friends like, I decided on going with Backstreet Boys' nemesis: N'Sync. I bought the magazines, had the posters, rocked out to the tapes. Oh yes, I was hardcore. My very first tape I purchased? N'Sync's debut album. I was living on the edge of pop-culture. One day, though, one of my friends turned to me and said, "You know, I thought you hated boy bands. So why do you like one all of a sudden?" Not what you'd expect of a life changing moment, eh? I told her that I just did, but the moment has stuck with me for more than a decade.

After the boy band trend began to fade, Pokemon became the rage. I go into that too. There were several years where I just followed the trends because it was easier, because then I'd have more friends. It wasn't until high school that I realized I'd been stuck in an identityless hole. I wore black because my friends did, and I was making lame choices because I didn't know what I actually liked.

Cue epic turnaround.

One day, I stopped wearing black. I distanced myself from the friends who were leading lives I did not want. I even tossed out several cds and movies I owned because I realized I didn't actually like them. Ever since then, I have striven to be as unique and individual as possible. Of course, this does come with its problems. For instance, some time ago I became very enamored with steampunk. Clock gears, Victorian clothing, magic systems... Oh, I fell hard. It was a combination of history, art, and fantasy--what more could a girl want? I tried to convince everyone around me that steampunk was the most fantastic thing ever. Most people just gave me confused looks and went on with their lives. Flash forward two years. Suddenly the popular crowd in my university's theatre department "discovered" steampunk, which I had told them about a year before. My beloved underground movement had gone mainstream, and it has only continued to do so. Instinctively, my reaction is to find a different movement to support. I don't want to be without an identity again, and I really hate being too mainstream. I really hate it. But, steampunk is absolutely wonderful. I mean, it gives me an excuse to wear corsets, goggles, and top hats! (I know, odd things to want to do. But I do love them.) Mostly, I have come to terms with the fact that other people want to enjoy the awesomeness of steampunk.

But... I can't help but feel that my sense of individuality is threatened.

In my family I used to be the anime geek. And then one of my cousins became intensely interested in anime, to the point she began to cosplay. By that time I had found steampunk, so I thought nothing of it. I had my new love, so everything was fine. Lately, though, this same cousin has began to gain an interest in steampunk. You guessed it, I became defensive. "It's my movement, though," I told someone. "If she starts to like it, who am I in the family?" Because, really, I don't know what sets me apart from the rest of my family. I write! But so do several other members of the family... I act! Well, gee, so do half the cousins. I have a degree! Kudos, but so do a lot of other people in the family. I am a huge nerd! Yeah, that's in your dna, kid. If it weren't for the fact I can sing very well, I would probably be having an identity crisis. As it is, I am currently experiencing the need to re-evaluate myself.

Going into the new year, I've decided to make goals rather than resolutions. One goal is to develop a new hobby or talent. Another is to befriend someone new, preferably someone with whom I have not been on good terms. I also want to get accepted into another conference (even if I don't go), and I want to get a much better score on the GRE this year. I'm hoping these things help me feel more like I'm unique, shiny, and lovely. Fingers crossed!

A Puppy or a Man

2011-11-08T22:48:00.000-08:00

We all have our highs and our lows, emotionally speaking. Today was definitely a low point for me (putting it lightly). The stress and loneliness built up to such a point that I just about started to sob; I even felt homesick. This made me start to think about my life, though. I know, I know. Just what you wanted to hear about. At least I'm not ranting? That has to be some sort of benefit, I think.

Anyway, back to my not so grand revelation. This week is my birthday (yay!) and I move into a whole new realm of expectations. Most of my friends from high school are settling down: it seems a week cannot pass without an engagement or baby announcement flickering through my facebook feed. I'm happy for my friends, and I am excited that so many of them are finding their Happily Ever Afters. There are just days where I wonder when it's going to be my turn to ride off into the sunset. Now, I know I'm young. I know good things come to those who wait. But that doesn't make it any easier. Lately I've even started to gravitate towards listening to Adele and Kelly Clarkson because their music reflects the profound sadness of being alone. In many ways, their music is perfect for grad school. As silly as it sounds, grad school is one of the loneliest enterprises under the sun. We are all so busy and working so hard that we just...don't have time to be people any more. We get together to edit homework or discuss the readings for class--not much of a life, if you ask me. And making friends can be complicated, if only because the very nature of grad school is to isolate. How does this scattered little wheel of thought tie together? Well, as I told my bishop on Sunday, "How on Earth am I supposed to get married if I can't even land a date?!" As you can tell, this is a vivid point of frustration for me. In order to date, you have to have friends (at least, that's how it goes when you're someone like me). But having friends and being in grad school don't seem to match up... So, am I just doomed? There are days where I feel like I very well might be.

This entire conundrum is why I've decided to name the next year of my life the "Puppy or Man Year." Basically, it translates to "either I need a second puppy or I need a man in my life before I go absolutely bonkers." One puppy is nice and exciting, certainly, but when snuggling either my toes or my tummy get cold. A second puppy would be able to snuggle my toes while the first snuggled my tummy. It'd be perfect, I tell you! That, and first puppy would have a friend in second puppy! A husband could also fulfill the snuggling/friend position, but... Well, the likelihood of that one just... Mm. I'm not counting on it. So, I think I will instead budget for a second puppy. That seems far more realistic a goal for someone like me. At least there are plenty of dogs looking for a good woman to love them.

The Disabilities Dichotomy

2011-10-27T16:55:00.000-07:00

The fact I have a disability is pretty darn hard to miss. My skin looks like something escaped from a B sci-fi movie, and I get a lot of comments on my appearance. A lot of comments. Lately, though, something strange has been happening to me. I seem to be constantly forgetting that I have a skin disorder; I always seem to be surprised when I catch a glimpse of my skin. I know it makes no sense: how can I forget I have a skin disorder that I've had for nearly twenty-three years? Honestly, I can't explain the psychology behind it.

I have begun to think a lot about disabilities this week because of it, though. I know that there are many people who define me by my ichthyosis, and I honestly can't blame them. If one of my friends seemed to be the missing link between humans and dragons that'd stick out pretty firmly in my mind too. What surprises me the most, I suppose, are people who define me by something else. A long, long time ago (during my senior year of high school) I remember being brought to tears by a single comment. We had just finished one of the performances of the Holiday Dinner, a huge Christmas choir concert (with food) wherein I was one of the narrators. I was thinking about getting to go home and sleep off all of the wassail I'd consumed when a woman I didn't know approached me. She said, "You know, I really loved your performance. I was really touched."

My role, the Queen, had a particularly great monologue about the Savior and the meaning of Christmas. It frequently put me near tears, so I was not too surprised that it had an impact on someone else. "What really impressed me," the woman continued, "was you. I didn't notice your skin until someone else pointed it out to me. You were so confident and strong that I could only look at your eyes; you really know how beautiful you are." I was caught completely by surprise. I have never been a renown beauty; in fact, in high school I was officially one of those "awkwardly pretty" sorts that never got asked to dances. More than that, though, I was...astounded that she had not noticed my skin. I was under the impression that everyone noticed my skin first and me second. To have someone see beyond the scales was amazing. I started to cry even as I thanked her for her kind comment, which in turn made her cry My experience with that concert has always held a special place in my heart because of moments like that.

After a time I began to accept my skin as a banner of honor. I told myself that it meant I had survived the torture of elementary school, the agony of middle school, the dejection of junior high, and the loneliness of high school without giving up. I had been teased, oppressed, hurt, and neglected, but I was still alive. In some ways, pride in my disability began to get in my way. Frequently I would do idiotic things like push myself too hard or get involved in things that were unhealthy for me. (Like fencing... People who can't sweat really should not fence.) One day, though, someone asked me if I had an identity beyond my skin. The question made me uncomfortable, and with good cause. My skin was me; I was my ichthyosis. That lead to a time of major reevaluation of my priorities and paradigms. Not long after I was given a blessing to have my skin disorder healed; I was certain it would work. Weeks passed without my skin disorder clearing up, and I could tell the people around me were frustrated. They had thought that my skin needed to be healed, but what they did not realize was that I was what needed healing. My skin disorder is, in many ways, a psychological condition. Many of the ichthyosis youth hate themselves and hate their appearance. I understand why they do because I have been there and have felt that way. After the blessing, though, ichthyosis wasn't my identity, it wasn't the cross I had to bear, and it wasn't my badge of honor; ichthyosis was just something I happened to have.

Over the years I have learned to laugh at my skin. I tell little kids that I am one of the X-men (since I'm an actual mutant) and at fantasy conventions I joke that I could write the best dragon narrative ever (life with scales is never accurately represented). I've learned to smile at the people who ask me if I'm burned or dirty, and the stares don't burn into me the way they used to. My identity has changed, and I love the new way I view myself.

This week, though, I want to address something that concerns me a little. I have a very dear friend who I love very much. She always tells me how brave and smart and wonderful I am--even when I'm not. This past month this friend's brother has been the focus of a lot of media attention. He is an autistic teenager who did something I admire very much: he earned all of the merit badges in scouting. Now, I do not want anyone to misunderstand me. I think his accomplishment is fantastic, and I think he deserves all the praise this world has to give. What confuses me is that I have known several young men who have made the same accomplishment without getting any recognition beyond a little four line blurb in the town newspaper. Were their accomplishments less because they don't have autism? I had been under the impression that any young man who earned all his badges was something of a superhero, and I wish they would get as many accolades as my friend's brother.

Forgive me if I am not making very much sense. I suppose what this is all about is a matter of two words: "special" and "unique." Now, I know that these words have a whole lot of meaning behind them, and that most people can't agree on how they're different. I believe that "special" is something that comes from a person's heart while "unique" is something innate about them (like autism or ichthyosis). This week I have asked myself time and time again, "Am I special because I am unique, or am I unique because I am special?" In other words, I wonder if God gave me my skin disorder because I am special or if something special came out in my personality because of my ichthyosis. Confused yet? I know I am.

At the heart of this entire matter is the issue of how other people perceive me. I am grateful that so many people look up to me and admire all that I have accomplished; their belief in me gives me strength. I sometimes worry, though, that if I did not have ichthyosis that my accomplishments would not seem as great. I worry that I would be just like the hundreds of boys who are "normal" and are never recognized for the amazing things they do. This world would be a much better place if everyone felt like their accomplishments mattered and that no one was more "special" than anyone else. But it won't happen. What I ask instead is that people see me as a talented young woman with the determination to overcome any sort of obstacle that is put in my path rather than that "amazing girl with ichthyosis." I think most of the people in this world who are disabled feel the same way. We want to be our actions and our accomplishments rather than a single element of ourselves. Most importantly, though, I want to recognize the fantastic, amazing, and special people in my life. They have overcome so many trials and obstacles that would have brought less people down and they still find such great joy in life. They are my heroes; they are who I want to be like when I grow up. They are the truly victorious.

Nevertheless, I Know in Whom I Trust

2011-10-13T00:34:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, during one of the most difficult times in my life, I was trapped on a tour bus bound for Branson, Missouri. It was at a time when I felt very much alone: many of my friends had turned on me, I had broken up with the guy I had convinced myself I wanted to marry, and my faith was in the negatives. At that point, being stuck on a bus for thirty-four hours seemed like pure Purgatory. I was very blessed, though, to have one of my (few) remaining friends on the bus with me, a brilliant girl named Tami. She was the sort of steady, sweet person who saw goodness in me even when I was waspish and cold; and, she was able to act as a balm to my blistered soul. While we were trapped on the bus I told her about an idea I had been nagged with: to turn a passage of scripture into a song. She thought it was a brilliant idea. The only problem? My sense of rhythm was rather lacking. I could not do sonnets, I could not dance very well, and I most certainly did not feel I could write a song. Tami, though, told me that I might as well try. During that bus ride she acted as my support, my confidant, my assistant, and my editor; by the end I had finished the first draft of my song.

While we were stuck in those tiny, cramped seats I had one of the most amazing experiences. For the first time in three years I felt truly whole again, and I felt as though my heart were at peace. I had thought myself past feeling, and suddenly I was awash in emotions. At three in the morning, long after Tami had fallen asleep on my lap, I tipped my head back and stared up at the ceiling. Silence reigned over the bus: sleep had taken everyone but the bus driver and me. In that safe cocoon, I let myself think about the two people I had been writing my song for: my dad and my grandfather. They were the foundation on which I had built so much of myself on, and they were the rock I could fall back on when I gave up on myself. But I had been betraying that relationship of faith and trust. I had spurned their help, discarded their love, and turned my back on everything I believed.

Something I almost never talk about is that, at that time, I believed in nothing. I had convinced myself that God would not let me suffer if He really loved me, and so His existence had to be a lie. I had also convinced myself that my church was false, since it believed in the God I had turned from. I hated myself, hated going home, hated people who had once been my friends, hated my school, hated where I lived, and just hated with every ounce of passion I had in me. I was emotionally and spiritually dying.

My grandfather, who I look up to so much, faced a similar fall when he was younger. He had left the church, joined the army, began to drink and smoke, and turned his back on God. Eventually, he gave up smoking and drinking, and he eventually returned to the church. I was never brave enough to talk to him about that dark time in his life, but oh how I wanted to. I wanted to ask him what had made him come back, and I wanted to know if he truly believed in the church. But I never got the chance.

On the bus that night, I uttered my first prayer in over a year. I asked God to protect us while we traveled--our bus had been the victim of winds so strong we were constantly being blown in a zig-zag across the road--and I asked Him to help me understand why my life sucked. The wind did not stop and I did not receive a heavenly vision outlining how each moment of agony fit into the larger picture. But, I did feel peace and contentment. I even fell asleep, something I had been certain would not happen in such uncomfortable conditions. It is probably, on some level, ironic that I wrote something so spiritual during a time of disbelief. I, however, do not think it was. My soul, which had been starved for so long, found a way to express all of its anguish and hope for things my mind had dismissed.

The song I wrote was an adaptation of what is known as Nephi's Psalm, which is found in 2 Nephi 4. And yes, that is in the Book of Mormon. The original scripture expressed the feelings of a man who felt inadequate and weak, but still knew to trust in the Lord. Those feelings resonated with me on a deep level, even when I professed to not believe in God. My adaptation was meant to reflect the faith of my father and grandfather, and I wanted it to honor them. This was the result:

Behold, my soul delighteth in the Lord,
And ponders things which I have seen and heard;
And yet my heart cries, "Wretched man I am,
Encompassed 'round by temptation and sin."
Nevertheless, I know in whom I trust:
My Lord, My God, My Savior, and My Friend.

Behold, my God hath been my great support,
Hath guided me through affliction and pain.
He hath preserved me, filled me with his love
For He hath heard even my smallest cry.
By day, by night, in Him I have waxed strong
Through His great love my troubles cast aside.

Awake my soul! No longer droop in sin!
Rejoice my heart, and give it place no more!
Let me, O Lord, praise Thee forevermore
Delight in Thee, Redeemer of my soul
Encircle me within Thy loving arms,
For I have trusted Thee until the end.

It is not the most inventive adaptation of Nephi's Psalm in the world, but it was mine. In many ways, the second stanza was my father and the third was my grandfather. Little did I know that the first stanza would eventually come to represent me.

My problems were not solved in one night, or even a month. I fell into something of an uneasy truce with God: I admitted He was there, but I refused to love Him. I still blamed him for all of the difficulties in my life, and I did not believe He would want me even if I did turn to him. Bitterness kept its hold on me for so long...so much wasted time. That year I graduated from high school, and I went to study for my undergraduate degree. That first year was dreadful. I fell into bad habits, I toed the line with misbehaving, and I was a very negative influence on the people around me. And then March happened.

One night I felt particularly restless while eating dinner in the cafeteria. I was withdrawn, edgy, and felt somewhat worried for no reason. Excusing myself early, I went and walked towards the dormitories. Something about the sunset made me stop: I spent a good ten or twenty minutes just staring at it and thinking about my life. And then my phone rang. My father was on the other end of the line, and he had painful news to pass on. Grandpa was dead. His health had been on a decline for months, we all knew it was coming, but to have lost him... I was devastated. I stood there and cried. During high school I had prided myself on the fact that nothing could make me cry, and there I was sobbing like a child. But it wasn't because I had lost my grandfather. Instead, it was because I would miss him. I would not get to tell him about what I was studying, I wouldn't get to hear him say "and that" randomly in his sentences, and I wouldn't ever get to introduce him to whatever poor soul I ended up marrying. Some portion of my testimony had survived even the cruelest of attacks and my most fervent attempts to peel away my beliefs. I knew, without a doubt, that I would see my grandfather again. I knew that we would be a family again. The only thing that truly lacked to make that happen was that I was inadequate.

I prayed like I had never prayed before that night. My knees became locked up and stiff, my body was cold, and my eyes were swollen when I finally rose to my feet. That night I did not receive a heavenly vision assuring me of God's forgiveness, nor did my heart immediately change. I was still vice-ridden and suffering, but I had at last admitted that I could not make it through life alone. I knew that I needed God, and that I needed help. For two-and-a-half years I struggled to find my way back to God. Guilt, self-hated, and low self-esteem dominated that time in my life because I still did not believe that God would want to forgive me. Finally, when I felt as if my soul was going to be ripped to shreds, I went to my bishop. I told him everything: my mistakes, how I felt, and what I wanted to be. He paused for a long moment before saying to me, "The only person who has not forgiven you, Kirstin, is you." I was flabbergasted. I was an awful person. How could anyone have forgiven me? He then reminded me that I had done the work of praying and agonizing over what I had done, even though no one had called me out on it, and that God loved me. God wants to forgive, and God wants to love. I just had to let it happen.

Miraculous changes started to happen in my life. I made progress in my vices, I was able to forgive someone who had dealt me a great hurt, and I started to trust other people. The progress was slow in coming, but it was distinct. By the time I graduated with my undergraduate degree I was an entirely different person. Now, in my first year as a graduate student, I feel it is important to express the journey I have made. This week my faith has (yet again) come under attack. Myriads of people are trying to tell me what I believe, who I am, and what I am not. They say I am a cultist, that I'm not Christian, that I believe in polygamy, that I should accept things that go against my beliefs. Who are they to condemn me? Who are they to tell me what I can and cannot know? They are no one.

Only God may condemn me and those of my faith. Only I determine what I believe, what I know, and what I do not believe in. No amount of hated, derision, or persuasion will turn me from the path I have chosen. My suffering, difficult though it may have been, has made me stronger, and the bigger picture I had asked for all those years ago is starting to reveal itself. Prayers are answered. God lives. God loves. Latterday Saints are Christians. I know these things to be true.

My name is Kirstin, and I am a Latterday Saint. I know in whom I trust.

Love: Me

2011-10-06T00:19:00.000-07:00

Ever since I moved to Alabama, I have been struggling. Negativity, self-loathing, and feelings of being unwanted have abounded in my life, and I couldn't put my finger on why. There are a few things I must admit to before talking about my ultimate revelation, if only because they inform one another.

My first issue arose from the awfulness that was my car. It broke on the way out to Alabama, and it kept breaking after arriving. I was constantly stressing about whether my car was going to completely die that day, whether I would have the money to get it fixed, whether AAA would just start to hate me or not... Point in fact, I became a big worry wart. There is no feeling like that of being trapped and alone, without feeling you can impose on the lives of others for something so simple as a ride to the grocery store. Quite literally, I made a gallon of milk stretch twice as far as I should've just so I wouldn't have to impose on someone else. Which brings me to my next point. I...feel like a sore thumb among a flock of toes.

Weird imagery aside, I feel isolated. Back home I could walk across campus and run into dozens of people who not only knew me but had some sort of fondness for me. At church I couldn't make it to my seat without being stopped by three or four people who just wanted to see how I was doing, and at work I had friends who made the load easier to bear. I haven't really found that here. There are people I get along with, people who I think are really cool, and people I admire, but I don't have anyone I would comfortably call a good friend. As ridiculous as it may sound, I nearly had a hernia trying to find someone to go to a movie with, if only because I thought no one would want to spend time with me. In some little way, I was right. The people I work with now always manage to hang out with one another, but somehow...somehow I always get forgotten. That may have something to do with the different moral code I live by, but it still hurts. It'd be nice if my colleagues would do something sans-alcohol so I could feel safe in spending time with them. They know that being around alcohol makes me uncomfortable, but everything they do seems to revolve around the next glass of wine or bottle of beer; it'd be like me inviting a vegan to a pig roasting. Maybe I am putting more weight into my loneliness than I should, but it's not just isolated to school and work. Even at church I can't seem to find my footing among the people my age. At family home evening, the minute the lesson is over the other kids all bunch together and start to gossip loudly and act like the best of friends. I can stand right next to the circle without them even noticing that I'm there, even when I try to say something. By my nature I enjoy talking to people, but they won't even give me a chance. One of the girls told me that it was "just how everyone was--that they're not accepting" and I wonder how that can be okay. The only relief I find is in the married sisters in the ward, who are the only friends I really feel like I have. They invite me over for movie parties, ask me my opinions on current topics, and I genuinely feel they care about my well being. Only problem? They're married with kids. My relationship with them can't be the same as it would be with a peer, and it's something I am struggling with.

For the other point... Let's just say I managed to offend the wrong person and they refuse to forgive me. It's a very complicated mess, but it makes me feel as if succeeding here is going to take everything I've got.

But! I did not even notice how dark of a spiral I had gone off into. That is a serious, serious problem. It finally struck me this week what was going on. I turned in my first graduate paper, and started to walk across campus to work. I ran into several people along the way, and while they were genial none of them had a vested interest in me beyond light conversation. After turning in my paper I had been looking for someone to celebrate with, someone to commiserate with, and each time one of these people appeared my hopes rose. I thought, "Oh, surely so-and-so will want to talk!" Each time, I was proven wrong. It struck me that I was looking for a familiar face and, more importantly, a friendly face. It was as if I expected one of my best friends to appear so I could tell them about all of my hard work before we frolicked off on an epic adventure.

The problem with this scenario? I haven't given Alabama a chance. I have been so stuck in stress and agony (started by something I had no control over) that Alabama has not become home to me. Currently, it is just a nice place to exist. If I want friends, I need to be a friend to others. There have been times where I have been downright hostile to the kids in my family home evening group (usually from not getting a nap before going), and that's just not cool of me. As for work... Well, if I want a non-alcoholic get together, then maybe I should host one. I hate throwing parties, but I really want to make lasting friendships with the brilliant, amazing people at my school. I'm so lucky to have the opportunity to know such brilliant and diverse people, and at current I am wasting it. That is cruel to them and me. Lastly, I think I've been trying too hard to be some sort of idealized Kirstin. I'm nerdy, a little awkward, sharp, sarcastic, nerdy (yes, twice), and a little crazy; but, I've been hiding those things because I think people won't like me. Look how well that's turned out. I've learned this lesson once before, but this time it's different. This time it's just me, no back-up in the form of friends or family, and I need to make a stand for myself. I need to embrace and show off those quirks in my personality that truly illuminate my personality, and I think (if I do that) the right people will gravitate towards me. After all, how can I find the best possible friends for myself if I don't show people who I really am?

Point in fact, I have a lot of work still left ahead of me, and very little of it is something I can get from a book or cite in an article. But, I think now I have a chance. Recognizing a problem is the first step to fixing it, right? I just need to have a little more patience, a little more understanding, and a whole lot more me-flair... and I think everything will work out fine.

(And by way of side-note, a lot of the stress in my life disappeared after the transmission started to die on my car. Dad drove out Mom's car for me to use, and we sold the Volvo. I feel much better for having that burden removed, and am even managing to drive stick shift. Every day I show improvement--today I even stopped and started on a very steep incline! I just feel very blessed to have a mom that was willing to give up her car so I could feel safe and a dad willing to drive across the country a second time to get it to me. My parents love me so much, and I am so so lucky.)

Adjustments and Adventures

2011-09-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

The trip out to Alabama was nothing if not exciting. What was supposed to be a light trip in which we'd arrive early Saturday (if not sooner) stretched out all the way until Sunday morning. How? Weeell, let's just say things got sticky about 500 miles in. Dad and I were driving through Wyoming when my car suddenly lost all power. We'd vapor locked. It eventually got to the point where we were towed fifty miles back to the nearest mechanic. Highway robbery is still alive, in case you were wondering, but we eventually got back on our way. Ironically, we found out that there was a tornado further along our route that day. Who knows, maybe having that awful breakdown meant we didn't have to deal with a Nebraska tornado?

Evie was a complete trooper through out all of this and only whined when the need to go on a walk arose. We made it all the way to Missouri before trouble started to arise once more. My car locked up again in a little place called High Hill. The people there were so nice! A bride was getting ready for her bridal shower at the local town hall (tiny little building that looked like it could've been a church once upon a time). She had me come inside and gave me a bunch of ice water while I sat in front of the air conditioning. I don't think she realized it, but she literally saved my life. The high temperatures were taking an extreme toll on me, and when I collapsed in that blessedly cold air... Well, let's just say I knew how close to danger I had been. I think it was about an hour further down the road (once we got going again) that we came upon an absolutely awful accident that had happened recently. Because of our delay, Dad and I weren't caught in the cluster of traffic that was paralyzed on the freeway until the accident was cleaned up nor were we involved in the accident. I hate (absolutely hate) breaking down, but it certainly is a better alternative than dying! Sadly, the accident we passed was a fatal one.

Somehow we kept dragging along - at that point we were all very much ready to be done - and when we came to Memphis is was late Saturday night. Dad and I both were very uneasy about stopping, though, and so continued on quite a bit further. I can't quite remember, but I'm fairly certain we made it to Mississippi before we stopped for the night... That or we were very close to the border. When we finally made it to my apartment we were all very happy to have safely arrived. But, it wasn't over! Dad and I quickly made the trip over to meet the members of my church, and after that hour I was completely burnt out. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for the rest of eternity - an option that came to no fruition.

The next morning I started orientation at the university. I was quickly inducted into the world of the writing center, and got to know the other students that were also coming into my department. Christopher, the first person I met, could have walked off the cover of GQ or Vogue. He dresses at the very pinnacle of fashion and is a poet, not to mention as sassy as you can expect. Then there's Erica, a really laid back nonfiction writer, and Collyn, a girl with a tongue so sharp I'm amazed she doesn't cut herself. I also met a guy, Nathanael, who I swear is a modern reincarnation of Mark Twain; ironically, he is a literature major specializing in early 20th century American works... Coincidence? I think not. And then there's Jason. He's another Strodie (which means he is also in the Renaissance program) and just about the coolest kid I've ever met. He is horribly shy, and so to avoid that he has the most amazing ability to ask just the right questions to get people talking. Quite literally, he fires off three questions, you reply, and before you quite realize it you've spent two hours talking to him about yourself...without feeling at all guilty about it. Jason also happens to be very smart, and working with him (so far) has been an absolutely great experience.

At current I'm running around rather like a chicken without a head. I spend several hours a week tutoring at the writing center, several hours more in classes, and even more hours helping two of the professors on campus with their research. As you can imagine, when I'm not doing those sorts of things I am either walking Evie or doing reading for my classes. It seems like a never ending cycle, and time is slipping away so fast! An extra job I have at the writing center is to run the facebook and twitter pages, which gets a bit exciting. We're presently trying to rename our twitter account since it's too close to the name of the University of Arkansas' twitter, but we'll get it eventually. I'm apparently doing good work (so far) and slowly people are taking notice. I have big, big plans for our social media network, and hopefully some of it pans out! If not, I'm at least learning and experiencing new things.

So far the beautiful state of Alabama is being very good to me. There are challenges, as can be expected, but I think I'm flourishing. My biggest concern at the moment is getting my car fixed, which is going to (hopefully) take place on Tuesday. It's definitely getting worse, and I just hope I can make the trip to Birmingham without incident. I'll try to update y'all sooner rather than later, but we'll see what my schedule allows. I have a paper due the first week of October that I want to get started working on, if only so by the time I get it turned in I might've had the chance to edit it at least once...

Here's hoping, right? Right!

---

By way of random addition, Dad and I played a fun game on our trip. We were collecting license plates, you might say. We found almost all of the states (excluding Delaware and Rhode Island if I remember right), France, five of the Canadian provinces, a government plate, and a military plate! It was a great way to pass the time, that's for sure! Funnier still is that we saw Hawaii and Alaska within the first two hours of our drive...within ten miles of each other.

Simple Kindness

2011-08-01T22:28:00.000-07:00

There are days when it feels like everything is going wrong. My back hurts, I have too many textbooks to buy, I can't get my door to lock... Blah blah blah. It's at times like that I usually end up being reminded that my life is not nearly so bad as I like to think it is.

For instance, I was unhappy about the fact I had to work. I was tired and didn't want to do it. When I went to the post office right before my shift to drop off some paperwork I got talking to the post lady. She told me that she'd been at work since four that morning and she would be glad to be off at five. Suddenly my five hour shift didn't seem nearly so bad.

I had the transmission go out on my car while I was adventuring about with my Mom. I was so frustrated that I wanted to cry (transmissions and I happen to be very cursed). That night I found out that one of my friend's had their car's engine blow out entirely. My car was fixed in a few days, and my friend hasn't even begun to get the money together to get a new car.

This morning I didn't want to wake up - I felt like I was on the wrong side of the universe. But when I opened my eyes it was to the wonderful sight of rain falling out my window. This convinced me to get out of bed and check my email. I learned that I had gotten my apartment in Alabama and that everything was all set for me to move in on the 13th of August. I never would've enjoyed either of those things if I had stayed in bed.

I suppose the point is that I am grateful for the small goodnesses in my life. My circumstances are not perfect, but they could always be worse, especially if I whine about them. I am just grateful for how well things are going and for the great goodness of the Lord. He truly is watching out for me and making certain that I have every needful thing. I think with a little bit more trust my problems would be a lot less. For now, though, I'll just celebrate everything I have.

My Father

2011-06-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

I have a fantastic father. He has always been an example of kindness, strength, and wisdom in my life. More than that, though, I am amazed at the humor he has. Even on the worst of days Dad always has a smile for me when he sees me, and he always manages to make some sort of pun, even if it is about what is wrong at the time.

I often don't know how my dad finds the strength to keep going. He has faced so much adversity and overcome so much, and he still has hope. Dad is always talking about the latest brilliant idea he's come up with or how he would improve this or that--he is constantly working to make the world a better place. I respect that element of his personality so much. He really believes that he can change the world, and I know that he can. His intelligence is a tool to help him do that, and he's always humble enough to see how he can improve himself.

How could I honestly have a better father?

When I was born with my skin disorder he could've given up hope or treated me as if I were made out of glass. Instead, he taught me to be strong and to follow my dreams. I was never treated like a hindrance, even when we had to drive through Death Valley without air conditioning when it was 110 degrees outside and he had to figure out how to keep me cool during the journey. If anything, he has always made me feel intelligent and beautiful. I am so blessed to have him in my life. Without his positive influence I could have grown up to be bitter or shy; I am confident and progressive because of him.

I just wish that others could realize how great a man my father is. He is integrity and kindness, joy and intelligence...and yet so many people treat him like he's worthless. When his work tries to break him or people condescend to him I just want to shake them. I want to tell them how fantastic he is and how much they could learn from him; but, I know they would not listen to me.

I just want my father to know that I love him with all of my heart and that I am so grateful for everything he is in my life. I am a success because he has believed in me and because he has taught me how to look for ways to solve the problems around me. I pray that his dreams do come true and that he finds further happiness in his life.

Love you, Daddy.

My Thoughts on Kindness

2011-05-25T12:55:00.000-07:00

Kindness is something I think about a lot. It originally started as something I thought about because it was not a strong point of mine. I was so defensive growing up that I struggled to be kind and selfless. In all honesty, it wasn't until college that I realized how...selfish I could be. And since then I have realized a lot about kindness that has helped me become a much better person.

Kindness is something that cannot be faked or forced. It is something that is born out of genuine concern for others, and if you're not emotionally ready to be selfless then you cannot give true kindness. Now, that is not to say you have to be selfless all the time to be truly kind. Sometimes there are bursts of selflessness that give birth to kindness, and some days it is easier than others.

Another thing I've learned is that if you're looking for the bad in someone you will never want to be kind to them. You need to be willing to admit the good in others in order to want to serve them. I don't always like the people I'm kind to--sometimes I don't even know them--but I've found when I can find some reason to like them it is so much easier to show them kindness. Sometimes I even have to reevaluate the people in my life because I condemned them before I was ready to look for the good in them, and I'm always surprised by the things I let myself overlook. So, in point, let yourself find the good in others and you will stop looking for reasons to not show them kindness.

I've also learned that one act of kindness will lead to another. If you can only do one small thing it will lead to another small thing, and the kindnesses will build up into larger acts.

And, at the end of the day, the most surprising thing I learned about kindness is that you have to love yourself before you can be really kind. Kindness is an expression of love for those around you, but you can not really love others until you love yourself. So, to solve my own problems with kindness I looked inside myself. I had to heal my heart before I could really help those around me, and once I started to work on that being good to others came quickly.

Now, I'm not at all perfect at being kind. I have bad days and selfish moments and I lose my temper, but I really feel like I've come a very long way. And, in many ways, this blog post was for myself. I remind myself by telling others what I think and feel.

Alumna Status!

2011-05-08T19:01:00.000-07:00

This weekend has been such a rush! I am still not entirely certain how I feel, but it's definitely been a great experience.

Thursday afternoon my parents arrived--just a few hours after I had survived my very last final. We puttered around and enjoyed the evening, which was a bit strange. I told Kinsey that I didn't know if I could be entertaining enough to keep them busy in Cedar City, but it seemed to pan out all right. Before I really knew what was happening, it was Friday morning.

Kinsey, Mom, and I spent the morning making "thank you" cards for the professors who had really helped me during my education. There were two who had initially been seen as "hostiles" by a rather naive Kirstin, but this year I've really tried to look past my initial conceptions. Amazingly, my first impressions were proved to be wrong. Because they had different opinions than me I had dismissed them, and that was completely unfair. Both professors are brilliant people in their own way, and I was glad to take the time to acknowledge all they have taught me. Mom (of course) made the most beautiful cards. She's such a talented artist, and I am so blessed to know her!

Once afternoon hit I got into my robes and cap, and we walked over to the school. I got into line with the other theatre majors who were graduating that day (all eight of us) and we wiggled our way into an order. When the procession began the theatre majors all ended up holding hands because we couldn't hold a straight line otherwise (ironically, the dancers marching beside us couldn't keep a straight line and fell behind at least three times). We danced our way beneath the bell tower, jived down the stairs, and passed through the gauntlet of professors cheering us on...and promptly managed to miss our turn. Eventually the college of Performing and Visual Arts was turned in the right direction, and we entered the arena to the sound of Dan Frezza announcing "The Graduates from the school of Performing and Visual Arts." Since Dan is both the husband of one of my favorite professors and the announcer for all of the PVA pre-show messages, it felt rather like coming home to have him do the announcement.

Commencement itself was loooooong. Landon, who beat me out for Student Commencement Speaker, did all right, I suppose. It was very animated and earned a few chuckles, but I like to think I would have done it better (which is likely my own vanity talking). Clayton Christensen gave a really nice address, and I thought his message of asking the right questions was a pertinent one. It really made me think about my studies and if I am asking the right questions of myself. I feel that I am, which makes me feel even better about my choices. I think my favorite part of the ceremony itself (besides moving the tassel over at the end) was the awarding of the honorary degrees. They were such good stories with such good people behind them, and I really want to be worthy of getting an honorary degree some day. And yes, that is officially now on my bucket list.

Saturday we got up early (by my standards) in order to make it to PVA's convocation. The graduates all marched in to the tune of "Swing and Circumstance", and then we all sat on the stage. It was great to watch all of the presentations by the outstanding students for Theatre, Dance, Art, Arts Administration, and Music all presented. We have some really talented people in my graduating class! And then came the important part designed to make proud parents cry: the conferring of the degrees. I was the first student from theatre to be announced. "Kirstin Bone, BIS in Shakespearean Studies." Walking across the stage I shook Dean Mendini's hand and accepted my empty degree case. I felt...effervescent.

After graduation the theatre people all went across the street to the auditorium. We then proceeded to have a rather...epic photoshoot for our graduating class.

Yes, that is us. In a fountain. It was a wonderfully silly way to cap off a wonderful day. My parents, Kinsey, and I then had lunch before I said goodbye to my parents. I'm moving home later this week so I can get ready for the huge move to Alabama, and I am..excited for what waits. Admittedly, I am very sad about no longer having Kinsey as my roommate. I think that, out of everyone I have met here at SUU, she means the most to me. She's practically become a sister to me, and I will miss her so much when I move to Alabama. I have been told repeated times that I can't take her with me since her teacher's certification isn't national yet.

If nothing else, though, I am now an official alumna of SUU, class of 2011. Woo!

The Ways of Loss

2011-04-03T23:47:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about strange things lately... Things like loss. I suppose it's the strange combination of lost houses, lost babies, and lost freedoms permeating the lives of those I know. It seems like something that is hitting as many people as possible.

One of my cousins miscarried the week before last, and in my own personal writing I've taken on the scenario of "what if one of my characters lost their baby". In some ways it is...masochistic of me. My family is notorious for being either very fertile or having great troubles getting pregnant, and I'm honestly more likely to have inherited the latter. I have the vague concern that having a family will be difficult for me, but I'm oddly comforted by knowing that there are strong women in my life who've gone through it and survived. One of my clearest memories is my mother and grandmother talking about what it was like.... I can't even fathom what my cousin must be going through: she doesn't have a testimony of life after death. I am very grateful for the fact that I have a testimony of the Gospel, and that I know families are meant to be united for time and all eternity. There are many members of my family that I won't get to meet in this life, but I feel they're just another thing to look forward to in the life to come.

This year I've also watched different family members lose their houses. Admittedly, that's one a little to close to home. I've been told over and over again that it isn't the physical place that makes a home but the people inside of it, but... I still worry. I suppose I've paid too much attention to the pyramid of needs, which seems pretty insistent that you need shelter to be a happy-pappy member of society. Luckily, everyone I know who has gone through this particular form of loss has had somewhere to go.

And this week a former friend was recently sentenced in an attempted murder case. It still hasn't quite processed that he went so thoroughly... I don't even know how to describe it. Two years ago he tried to bash two guys' brains out with a hammer, and all I can think about is 'what if he had gone after me?' This friend visited my house a month before the attack, and everything seemed... All right? I had expected that I would have been able to see some change in him or sense the darkness that might drive an individual to those sorts of measures, but there was nothing. I don't understand how someone who had served a mission just the year before could do that. I really don't. I know it's not God's fault--we all make our own decisions and Zach made some truly awful ones. I just feel inept for having been blind to what was going on. Is this supposed to be some sort of warning? Some lesson that I'm missing?

Loss in all its forms is...making an impact on me. I can feel it brush past me, like someone walking too close to me in a tight hallway. Next time is it going to crash into me?

Awesome news!

2011-03-28T12:03:00.000-07:00

So, this is about a week late, but it's still too good to not share! I got a letter from the University of Alabama accepting me to the Hudson Strode Renaissance Studies MA and offering me a nice stipend. I'll start as something of a TA, and then in my second year I'll actually teach two classes a semester. Exciting, right?

I have to decide whether or not I'll accept their offer by April 15th. Technically I'm still waiting to hear back from U of U, but... I dunno, it seems like too good of an offer to pass up. I am admittedly terrified of moving across the country--I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for that kind of move. What if I have a total breakdown or something goes absolutely wrong? I'd be hundreds of miles away and isolated. I won't even have a friend in the same state... Jamie suggested I call the bishop of the ward and have him help me find a place to live. I won't be able to get out there until August, after all, and all of the apartments might be gone if I wait til I get there.

Gah, there are so many intricacies to this! Any advice or helpful tips for moving across the country? Should I accept the offer from the UA?

Graduate School

2011-03-16T22:24:00.000-07:00

Since November my life has been caught up with the business of applying to graduate schools and dancing through the various hoops that they have thrown in my path. Money's been tight in my family, so I was only able to apply to three programs: the University of Utah, the University of Alabama, and Brigham Young University.

Brigham Young University was somewhere I had never wanted to go. Growing up I was surrounded by people who didn't particularly care for it (with good reason) and I had never truly been impressed with what I had seen of their programs (or the students who came out of it). Imagine my confusion when I got the very strong impression to apply to their creative writing program. I balked about it at first, but eventually decided that the Lord's will meant more than my opinion of one school. So, I got my creative writing sample together and even got the ecclesiastic endorsement. I could tell that my parents were confused by my decision to apply there, but they understood about following promptings. After all, the family motto seems to be "Going wherever the Lord calls us". Last month I got a letter from them that basically said, "Yeah, we don't want you." My confidence was severely shaken. I'd gotten the prompting to apply there, and then what? A rejection. But I wasn't upset. That was the strange thing. I felt perfectly calm about the situation, and knew that it was for the best. I have since come to think that it was a test of whether or not I would do what the Lord asked of me. I'd gone against all of my preconceptions and desires, and applied to a program I wasn't sure about. I didn't get in, but that's all right. Everything happens for a reason.

At the same time I applied to BYU I also sent in an application to the University of Alabama (Tuscaloosa). A friend at the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference had recommended them to me since they had the Hudson Strode Shakespearean Scholar, which seemed like a perfect fit for me. They would pay for me to study at a research library anywhere in the US or the UK (which would mean I could even go to King's College London or the library at Stratford-Upon-Avon). Unfortunately, U of A was particularly poor at communication. I had no idea what they wanted (their website was uninformative), and so submitted what seemed to be the standard fare. I've not heard from them since, even when I sent an email to see if they had received all of my application material. I don't know that I will ever hear back from them.

After I'd heard back from BYU I had another prompting: apply to the University of Utah. Before bothering with that, I sent an email to two of the professors there. I had noticed that their program was focused mainly on the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries - I'm an early modern student. So, I asked them if there was any room for me in their program. Almost immediately I got emails from both telling me that they were looking for an early modern student, and that I should definitely apply. Feeling bolstered a little, I went through the application process. Since the fee was a one-time thing (a rare thing as far as grad schools go) I applied to both their creative writing and literature programs. I figured it couldn't hurt to try and get into one of them. I honestly don't expect much from the creative writing side - my specialty is play writing, which is not something the U really has the staff for. For my creative writing sample to them I used a revised version of my creative nonfiction piece "And They Call Me a Freak", which is all about my experiences living with ichthyosis. They have four or five faculty members interested in creative nonfiction, so it'll be interesting to see what sort of reaction they have to it. For my critical sample I used "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer", the essay that took me to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I'm hopeful that they will be vastly impressed with my skills wading through the old texts and Middle English translations of Ancient French.

I am really hoping that the U will accept me so I can stay in Utah and get through my master's as quickly as possible. After that I'd like to either get my PhD or an MFA in dramaturgy, which is part of my Master Plan. We'll see if God agrees with that plan.

I just... hope I get accepted into some program. My GPA isn't the greatest in the world (thanks to struggles with PTSD my first two years of school) but my other credentials are rather shiny. Mer... I'm severely conflicted. I'm hopeful that things will work out perfectly, but I can't help but be nervous.

What if nobody wants me?

New Design and Lent

2011-03-09T19:00:00.000-08:00

First off, I decided that my blog needed a facelift. I think the brighter, softer colors look nifty on it, and it pleases me greatly. :D

Secondly, I am struggling over what to give up for Lent. I know that Lent is a Catholic tradition, but my friends in college and I have been doing it every year for the sake of perspective. In the past I've given up teasing, negativity, and sarcasm--all good choices that have helped me grow and flourish. This year, though, I don't quite know what to do. Jamie is giving up novels and video games while Kinsey is giving up sugar. If anything I'd want to give up doubt, but it feels like much of the same for me. I know that confidence is one of my huge issues and in the coming month I'm going to be hearing back from all of the graduate schools I applied to--that means I will be doubting myself a lot. But having given up negativity and sarcasm before it just doesn't feel like... enough of a challenge, I guess? Kinsey teased me by saying I should give up not getting three meals a day, but that seems like Lent in reverse.

I'm sure I'll figure something out, otherwise I may just have to give up doubt. Heh, wouldn't that be exciting to watch?

My Fair Befuddlement

2011-02-20T21:58:00.000-08:00

There is something interesting about life, and that would be the distinct use of God's daily lessons. Do I always listen? No. Does this lead to problems? Almost every time.

All this week He's been bringing up patience and being patient. I got antsy instead, and nearly did something hurtful to a friend. The fact that I got that big of a lesson in patience makes me think that this isn't just a one situation lesson, but that it's supposed to apply to a much bigger scope. Things usually work that way, after all, and Heavenly Father really does his best to help us succeed. I just.. wish I were certain.

I suppose this is just one of those situations where I have to have faith that everything will go according to Heavenly Father's plan.

Cream Soda and Sunshine

2011-02-16T19:48:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I am very, very stupid. This seems to have been a problem for part of the new year, and it only just dawned on me. Ironic, huh? I've been letting other people's negativity get me down, and for what? Absolutely nothing! I don't like being sad, I don't like being upset, and I certainly don't like drowning in drama.

I suppose one thing that helped hinder me was that I was looking for things to go wrong. Doing that of course I'd find things to be upset about and of course I'd be miserable. You'd think that after so many times of learning this lesson it'd click once and for all, and I'm hopeful that maybe this time it'll stick.

I've come to appreciate in the past week how blessed I am. No matter what happens to me I still have my loved ones (both friends and family) and my Heavenly Father; as long as I've got them I can make it through anything. This past week I received a rejection letter from one of the universities I applied to for a master's degree... and it didn't hurt. I had expected to be upset and angry, but all I felt was peace. That school was not where I was meant to go, and I am all right with that. Of course, that did not keep my roommate from getting cream soda and chocolate to make me feel better. I certainly didn't mind! It was a good excuse to celebrate the things going right in life, which was a welcome change.

And, you know what, things are going right in my life. I am on track to graduate with my bachelor's this May, I have a steady group of friends who love me no matter how silly I get, and my testimony is stronger than it has ever been. The choices I have made this year have brought me to a good place, and I am confident in myself. It's a little silly, but I feel great about myself. I take time in the morning to get ready (rather than just rolling out of bed and getting dressed), and I even wear makeup with great frequency because I believe I deserve to look good. All of the awful shadows of doubt and self-loathing are leaving, and I always seem to be smiling. God really does answer our prayers, though it is always on His own time schedule.

In other news I may actually have a date. Shock, I know! The way it came about was pretty funny, too, all things told. Kinsey, the roomie, has been bothering me since the second month of school to ask the guy I like out. I had been rather obstinantly refusing on the grounds that everyone had told me he was not at all interested in dating. Finally I got sick of her pestering, and finally said on Saturday night that if dating came up during Sacrament meeting I'd ask him out. We made it all the way through Sacrament meeting without a single peep or hint of dating (instead it was all about prayers and how Heavenly Father answers prayers). At the very last minute the guy I like got up to give the Institute announcements... and the very last thing he said was, "Ladies, need a date? The Institute is hosting a Sadie Hawkins dance..." You can imagine the smirk on Kinsey's face, I'm sure.

True to my word, I asked him to the dance yesterday with the help of a few of my friends. Throughout the day he got four envelopes with sonnets on the outside of them ("Whoso List To Hunt" by Thomas Wyatt, "Sonnet 29" by Shakespeare, "In This Strange Labyrinth" by Lady Mary Wroth, and "Sonnet LVI" by Edmund Spenser). Inside each envelope was a card containing a single word ("You" "Have" "Been" "Tagged") along with scrambled letters of my name and the dance. He apparently had some trouble because he lost one of the letters, but eventually it all worked out. Supposedly I get my answer within the next day, and here's hoping it's a yes!

I must say, though, that I feel rather conspired against. It seems as if my mother and Kinsey have a higher power on their side.

What do I do?

2011-01-26T08:02:00.000-08:00

I have a problem, and I do not know how to solve it. People have never been a particular strong point of mine, especially when they are very ...vengeful.

Over a year ago I was part of SUU's production of Our Town. One of the hair girls gave me an awful time when I came in for a make-up fitting - she said a number of unflattering things about my skin. I decided to handle the situation by explaining about my skin to her and then never letting her be the one to do my hair. You can imagine how glad I was when the show was over because I thought I would not have to deal with her.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

She's in two of my classes this semester, and it's clear she hasn't forgotten either. In both of our classes she seems to take any chance to glare at me across the room, and sneers any time I try to offer a comment to the class. I could've taken that, but she decided to take it further. Walking out of math the other day she began telling her friends about how annoying the know-it-alls in her English class were and how the ones on the front row were the absolute worst. I happen to be in her English class...and I'm one of the only ones at the front that ever says anything.

How am I supposed to handle someone who seems so intent on being vindictive towards me? She knew I was walking behind them - we made eye contact right before she cut in front of me. I would try a direct confrontation, but I honestly don't think that would work. She seems to be set on being vindictive towards me, and I hate it.

What do I do?

A Glass Future

2011-01-25T10:30:00.000-08:00

This weekend may in fact be one of the longest ones I will have the entire semester, and that's a wonderful thing. Why? Because that means that this weekend is tech for The Glass Menagerie. After two long months of rehearsals, our show will finally be in its last moments before it is given to our audience.

When I first began to the process of Menagerie I thought it was going to be my baby. It was my first chance to assistant direct a main stage production, and for some odd reason I thought that meant I would have a great deal of control. What I neglected to think about at that time was that the show belonged to the director, the stage manager, the actors, the design team...and me. I was on a team of intelligent, creative people, and I had to learn to trust them in their decisions; it was amazingly hard. I've been so independent and self-reliant for so long that accepting the wisdom of others really was the hardest part of the process for me.

Now that we're nine days from opening I have learned to trust those around me, and I have learned how to accept the lessons others have to offer me. Going into our final week of rehearsals I won't be the same snotty kid I was that distant first week - I won't be the all-wise sage, either, but that's all right by me. I am just very grateful for the opportunity I have had to learn and grow. Hopefully the next time I go into working on a show I will be better at taking the input of others and working as a team. I feel as though I will be - let's just hope I'm right.

Time's Fancies

2010-12-15T17:29:00.000-08:00

I just realized that I will be graduating in the spring. It snuck up on me like nothing else has before: I'm graduating. In the spring.

It really does feel like just yesterday that I moved into Juniper Hall for my first year of college. I remember Mom's reluctance to leave, the almost constant sound of giggles echoing down the hall, and the knowing looks when I introduced myself as a freshman theatre student. And now, here I am at the end of the road. I've only got one semester left in my bachelors career.

I don't quite know whether to be excited or terrified.

Part of the process has been a battle to figure out what I want to do with my life, but now the road is clear. I'm applying to graduate programs, looking into my future career, and may even be published soon. Everything is going so well, and I know how blessed I am. I hope I am doing the right thing, but I can't help but be nervous. If I get into the school I want to I'll be moving across the country and will be living by myself. That's a scary prospect in any book, but I bet it would be good for me. I know the school would be.

The beginning of February will mark the opening of The Glass Menagerie, which I'm the assistant director of. It will be nice to have the show open, and I'm sure it will be wonderful. I just never thought I'd get to the point of working in such a high position on a main stage show. When you're in your first year of college that sort of thing seems unattainable, and yet I somehow managed to plop right into it. The process has been very exciting, and it has shown me how much I have grown. If nothing else, I'm shaping up to be a decent director.

I just have to keep my head above water in this last semester, and hopefully all will go well. I bet it will, though. Anything is possible with faith and good hard work.

In My Salad Days

2010-10-19T14:12:00.000-07:00

This past week was very, very busy for me. I was hundreds of miles away from home in the distant land of O-hee-oh (or Ohio as most people know it). I was so far from Utah in order to attend the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference, which was held at Owens Community College in Toledo, Ohio.

My paper "The Forgotten Fool: Geoffrey Chaucer" had been accepted for presentation--something that does not often happen when one is an undergraduate. The fact I got accepted while an undergraduate greatly reflected the rest of the conference: it was a very warm, open environment. I was able to make many friends while I was there, mainly professors and doctorate students, and I honestly had a wonderful time.

The best news of all came on Saturday. I was announced as the winner of The M. Rick Smith Memorial Undergraduate Student Essay Prize, which completely floored me. Of all the undergraduates present at the conference I was selected as the best, and even had members of the panel come up to me in order to specifically tell me about how much they enjoyed my paper. Sometime this week, once I get it uploaded, I will be putting up a link to my presentation, which I remembered to record. Until then, I think I am going to go and take a well deserved nap.

I'm Lucky

2010-09-30T10:37:00.001-07:00

The other day I was talking to one of my friends about everything going wrong in her life, and I realized that I really am blessed. She is suffering from unrequited love, a bad housing situation, and had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia. My little troubles of liking the wrong guy and struggling with my classes really seemed small compared to that. Recently I have been whining too much, and I'm rather ashamed to admit that. I have so many things going right, but I've been ignoring that.

For instance, the other day I found a recording made for me by Grandpa Bone. It's only seven minutes long, but in it he reminds me of his love and reminds me of his testimony. It was made only a few months before his death and is one of the greatest treasures in my life. Literally, it's a miracle that this recording survived, and I've made sure to have it in multiple locations so it stays with me.

I've also been very lucky in my work on my paper. The other day I was absolutely stuck on it, my draft was awful, and I was deeply frustrated. I took a day off, saw a movie with my roommate, and when I came back to my paper I knew where to go. Inspiration is a powerful thing, and because of Heavenly Father's kindness I have finally finished my paper. Now I have two days to edit it, and then I can submit it to the undergraduate contest that is attached to the conference. I'm very excited and confident--I know my work is good and that I am a talented presenter. I have faith that everything will go perfectly.

And lately my testimony has truly been edified. Whether it is my grandmother knowing exactly when to call and make sure I was all right or my mother giving me advice on things she did not know were going on in my life--God has been inspiring the people in my life to make sure I do not fall. The amount of love I have been shown in the past week has truly helped me, and I know I am not alone.

I know God lives and that He loves me.

Poetry

2010-09-28T08:33:00.000-07:00

It is rare that I really find poems that I like, but I thought I might share the ones I do enjoy with you. I've tried to keep it to the shorter poems, if only because posting all of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight would be a little ridiculous. But, these three poems bring me a little bit of happiness. Hopefully they brighten your day at least a little.

Outwitted
by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.

---

The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

---

I find no more peace
by Sir Thomas Wyatt

I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;
And nought I have, and all the world I season.
That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison
And holdeth me not--yet can I scape no wise--
Nor letteth me live nor die at my device,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain.
I desire to perish, and yet I ask health.
I love another, and thus I hate myself.
I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain;
Likewise displeaseth me both life and death,
And my delight is causer of this strife.

Self-Issued Insanity

2010-09-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

Well, I have survived to the middle of the week, and that is something of an accomplishment. Between being dumped for a date and a root canal, I'm pretty impressed with the fact I have made it this far.

But that is not the point.

Recently I have had a lot of occasion to think--about life, loneliness, and race.

My week started with watching My Name is Khan, an Indian film about a man with autism who has to deal with prejudice against Muslims. For those who can read subtitles and handle intense material, I would certainly suggest watching it. I have never felt quite so uplifted by something that handles the difficult topic of racism. Ironically, this came after being forced to read Amiri Baraka's "The Dutchmen", which also handles the same theme. "Dutchmen" made me feel like I was worthless because I have white skin, and I was beginning to think that there was nothing about racism that would resonate with me. Thank heavens I was wrong. While "Dutchmen" bashed and ranted, Khan showed me a different perspective and allowed me to feel empathy for those I did not understand before. I just wished that everyone came at the topic with that sort of sensitivity and ability to address it peaceably.

Of course, the next day the guy I was supposed to go on a date with pulled me aside. "I'm dating this girl" were the words of doom that began the entire downward spiral. Turns out the day I asked him out he went on to ask another girl out, and things are becoming more serious. In a week. I'm just becoming frustrated with dating in general, if only because it seems like everyone else is getting asked out, engaged, married... It's horribly lonely, especially since I'm going to be turning 22 this fall. I know it's not that old--I tell myself so all the time--but I'm afraid I'm going to end up alone. Guys seem to always go for the girl who is under 5'5" and 130 lbs, which I definitely am not. I just want to scream to the entire male populace that I'm really wonderful and that they should give me a chance...but I don't think there's a megaphone quite that big.

Not even an hour after that charming discussion I found myself in a dentist's office getting a root canal. It was just one of those days. Thankfully the root canal was not that bad, and my dentist seems like a pretty good guy.

Life, though, is a really funny thing. I woke up this morning telling myself that things were only going to go up. "It can't get worse than a root canal and a date-ditch in one day, Kirstin. It'll be great." In some ways I was right--it did not get worse. I've realized that my opinion and perspective has a lot to do with how a day turns out, and the fact that I'm specifically looking for the day to go better has made it work. Scary phone calls and boring classes are nothing in the face of stubborn optimism.

This week is going to go better. I know it is. And if it doesn't? Well, that which doesn't kill you makes you strong, and that which does makes you dead.

Color: Me

2010-09-14T11:13:00.000-07:00

Color: Me

I’m white
--skin the color of a fine piece of parchment.
The world tells me, orders me, to hate that
To hate myself.

All of the crimes of the past:
A skin color?
Nobody ever committed a gross injustice--
Unless they were white.

White. Caucasian. Trash?

I don’t believe it,
That I’m worthless because of my flesh.
Hate me for my mind,
Disregard me for the words that come out of my mouth,
Loathe me for the things I do--
But never judge me by my skin.

I am not a portrait of the past.
I am the present, the future, the inside--
Me.

School = Stress

2010-08-27T11:24:00.001-07:00

So, here we are at the end of the first week of school. I feel quite proud of myself to still be alive, especially considering how much homework I've had in the past four days.

It looks like I am going to be nothing if not busy. To start with, I am working on two different plays this semester. I will be working as dramaturge for "Love's Labors Lost" (which means I look up the words they don't know and make sure they stay accurate to the world of the play), and I will also be assistant directing "The Glass Menagerie". Those all by themselves would be enough to make life exciting, but I never know when to stop. I'm also taking a Methods of Theatre Education class with Michael Bahr, who directs the Utah High School Shakespearean Competition; three English classes; my theatre capstone; and, I'm also taking a math class. If I survive to the end of the semester I will probably be very happy, not to mention highly prepared for the next phase of life.

In all actuality, this semester does not scare me. I am very excited to get to work on all of the projects that await me, and I really feel like this is the time to prove myself to myself. The fact that I get to go to Ohio for the Shakespearean Conference and do so much hard work with my classes is the sort of challenge I live for. Besides, it just goes to prove that I am ready for the things that are coming in my career. Speaking of which, it looks like I will get to do an assistantship in the spring and be able to help teach the Shakespeare Drama Lit class, which would be horribly exciting.

I'm just... so enthused about this semester. I can't wait to take it on, tackle it, and conquer it.

Chaucerian Cavorting

2010-07-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

It's kind of funny, but the more I read about Chaucer the more I like him. He's sardonic, self-deprecating,and horribly silly, but he was a man who really shaped his world. As a writer he was able to influence kings and ultimately served as the foundation for an entire language--the most widely used language in the world. If I could be half so influential in my writing I would consider my life more than successful. I'm just grateful to have had a chance to learn so much about a great man, and I look forward to learning even more about him.

General Awesomeness

2010-06-25T10:06:00.000-07:00

Well, I got my paper accepted to the Ohio Valley Shakespearean Conference! So long as I get help from UGRASP (the undergraduate research assistance program here at SUU), I should be heading to Toledo, Ohio this October to present. This does mean I am going to try and find Klinger, and hopefully my friend Olivia will be able to be found as well.

Lately my time has been taken up with writing--in fact, there are many days where it seems like it is all that I do. At this point I have a solid 3032 words on my high fantasy novel, which I am very excited about. I am so excited, in fact, that I am going to be just a little silly and post a bit of it for you. After all, if I can't share with you what's the point in writing? It's still got a lot of editing to go through, but I'm happy with it. This is just a segment of the first chapter.

He had not expected to die.

Not that way, at least. Taking his own life or dying in the war sounded a great deal more palatable than the mockery of an execution that awaited him. Then again, most anything seemed better than being drawn and quartered.

With his hands caught in the strangely reassuring grip of the manacles, he could not even tap his fingers to match the rhythm of the horse’s deliberate pace. The tightly shuddered walls of the carriage prevented him from having much of a view--there was not even enough light for him to see the myriad of bruises and cuts that transfigured his pale skin into a macabre parody of lace. He did not even have the benefit of a sneering guard to give strange looks to since the vehicle was practically a moving cell. No, the only company he had on his final ride was sound: the clomping and chomping of the horse, the shifting of the chains, and then there was Selen Plaza. At first the roar of the crowd was nothing more than a distant ripple at the very edge of his perception. Slowly it expanded into a furious rainstorm of noise until at last sensation exploded into his world with the opening of the carriage door.

Vicious sunlight slammed its way into his unexpecting eyes, causing the poor man to try and pull his head back into the comparative safety of the dark half of the carriage. The Sentinel in front of him gave a harsh command that could not be heard over the soundless screaming of the masses--only the movement of his lips suggested he had said anything at all. Confusion turned the skeletal lines of the prisoner’s face--he did not know what the guard wanted--but the answer became clear as he was yanked to the cobbled street. Ahead of him stretched what seemed to be a writhing tunnel of humanity, and at the end he could see a point where the crowd gave way to what looked to be blessed freedom. But that was not the case. At the end of that tunnel waited the horses, the chains, and the executioner.

With the half-hearted resistance of one hopeless of salvation, he let his feet drag as the police escort of fifteen Sentinels formed their ranks around him and tried to hurry the man to his death. “I wonder if they will run on time,” the prisoner wondered. “It would be awful if they were late getting home to lunch.” And yet his pace remained agonizingly slow.

The semidarkness of the gauntlet was nothing compared to the absolute brilliance of the stairs. Breaking free of the crowd was like surfacing from beneath a wave: there was simultaneously too much and too little going on around him. With no crowd to protect him from the sun, he was basked in the unforgiving noon sunlight and even more thoroughly blinded. A soft silence subdued parts of the crowd: prisoners had been brought to die at Selen Plaza countless times, but few had looked to be so near death upon arrival as the man standing before them. Everything from his glassy blue eyes to the traces of fresh blood on his clothing suggested the most extreme violence--both mental and physical--which was a new level of soullessness for the Politicians to have reached.

The prisoner did not care for the audience’s newfound awe for their government as he had a different battle to face in the form of a sharply angled staircase. He squinted at the faintly blurred shapes of the steps in an attempt to see them better, but misjudged his next step by a few inches. Biting pain--the one constant in his life since his arrest--crackled its way up his arm as the lip of the wooden step gnawed at his palm. Oxygen struggled through his bruised lungs as he tried to push himself upright, but the world seemed to twitch violently to one side at the simple attempt. Fighting back a gasping laugh, he lifted his gaze in order to share the cruel joke with the crowd.

But they did not matter. Nothing did in that moment--even the pain melted away. Caught by a certain green gaze, the prisoner felt everything fall away from his bony shoulders. “Why did you come?“ he was tempted to yell, scream, cry, anything to get his friend to flee to safety. Slowly, panting like a dog caught in the summer heat, the man pushed himself upright and stood tall on the creaking step.

Silence.

For a timeless moment he felt free. But, as always, Lord Time shoved his way back into the forefront, this time in the form of a rough push from one of the Sentinels. As he stumbled up the remaining stairs he lost sight of who he considered to be the most important person in the entire world. The sliding clarion call of trumpets was nothing in speed compared to the flickering of his gaze as he tried to find that one face among hundreds. Left, right, near, far--nowhere. Words proclaiming his crimes were ignored in favor of hunting for that beloved face, and his heart seemed to double the time of its beats with every fruitless moment that passed. Sweat streaked its way through the dirt and gore on his face as the executioner attached the chains first to each ankle and then to each wrist.

And then, there towards the left of the fountain, the man found his refuge. His breathing slowed, and his hands fell limp in the executioner’s cold grip. Even as the growing roll of drums filled the air and the chains bit into his skin, the man smiled just a little. The whiny of a restless horse punctuated the din, and then his world erupted into a myriad of sensations yet again.

Anything.

Everything.

Nothing.

Well, that's it for the moment being. Let me know what you think?

Twiddle and Twitch

2010-06-09T17:33:00.000-07:00

At the end of the day it always comes down to business. The business of breathing, the business of living, and the business of business.

I figured I'd let you all know what I'm up to at the moment, if only to make certain I am in fact living. Currently I am waiting to hear back on my abstract submission to the Ohio Valley Shakespeare Conference. I submitted a paper that would explore why Chaucer was not in William Shakespeare's "Richard II", and hopefully I will hear from them by the end of the month. I'm also working on two books at this exact moment: a Steampunk retelling of "Beauty and the Beast" and a high fantasy mystery. They are keeping me busy, in their own way, and I'm hoping to have the fairytale done by the end of June if things keep on schedule. I'm also making jewelry, which is fun. I've found the long hours of arguing with wire and chain is very soothing to me. My mind is able to take a break, I am able to relax, and my day generally goes better after taking the time to de-stress. It's great.

Hopefully things go well for all of you in the coming week.

Summertime Blues

2010-05-27T12:20:00.000-07:00

There is something about summer--be it the endless stream of vacationing friends, the hazy days, the heat, or the general lack of school--that makes time just drift away. Days begin to blur together until you look at your phone and realize "what, it's Thursday already?" I think this strange, disheartening state is why I dislike summer so much. Oh, certainly, it has its appeal in its freedom and fun events, but that driving passion we experience for it during the winter seems to fade during the first month of summer.

I know that I've been struggling this week, if only because I feel so little motivation. My stories are growing healthily and my writing is only improving, but as a person I feel kind of... flat. Even with my days gaining more structure I always feel like there is more that I could do--then again, that may have something to do with my lack of a job. So, I keep plugging away with applying for jobs, writing, and making jewelry, but I just can't wait for school to start again.

My Theatre

2010-05-25T15:25:00.000-07:00

At this exact moment I am sitting in the library wondering "Where has time gone?" It seems like just yesterday that I was telling Dad I would post a blog after I got done with Spring Break--that was two months ago. Ironically the past two months have been both wonderfully difficult and mildly heartbreaking, which is how things always seem to go for me.

The reason I have not written until just now is that I am a perfectionist. Crazy, right?

For my directing II class I decided to go the route less taken and do a classical play. Professor Marotta thought that I was absolutely insane for picking "The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus", but I was determined to show him that I was the best person for the job. I spent all of March cutting the play down to being only thirty minutes long and containing only three characters, and I managed to cast three fantastic actresses to play the parts--and yes, I changed the three characters to being girls. Professor Marotta was still dubious of my doing such a "talky" play, but I knew it was going to work.

All through April I spent nearly every night either in rehearsal, production meetings, or finding the pieces of costume and set that I needed. Days began to blur together, but slowly a beautiful piece began to emerge from the stinted lines and rounds of laughter. By the time Professor Marotta saw one of my rehearsals--an admittedly rough day--it looked like my play was going to be absolutely wonderful. He was excited to see what I managed to pull out, and I was excited because I knew we were doing something wonderful.

When the night of the performance came everything went beautifully (especially considering that I spent only $20 on the production). The audience seemed to follow the story, and I couldn't have been more proud of my actresses.

Then came the talk-back with the directing class.

Professor Marotta spent a few minutes telling me how many things I did wrong--only one or two things being "theatrical" enough for his taste--before moving on to discuss the other pieces. I was... heartbroken. While we struck the lights and the set I was moments away from tears, and all because I thought that I had failed.

After we were done clearing things away I talked to Dad. It's amazing, but there is nothing like a good talk with your dad to make the world a better place. He reminded me that I had accomplished what I had wanted to do: I did a good play in almost the exact style I had set out tell the story with. Literally, the scenes I had seen going on in my head when I was cutting the script had been brought to life, and he reminded me how difficult that was to accomplish. The best thing he said to me, though? He reminded me that Heavenly Father was pleased with what I had done. In the night of theatre in which my company performed my piece was the only one that did not drive the spirit out.

Because of the opinion of one class I had almost let myself toss the experience off as a failure when I had succeeded in most every way. I've learned that standing up for what you believe in and doing good, honest theatre is not going to get you very many standing ovations. What it does get you, instead, is a stronger testimony and a warmth of soul that nothing else can give. Theatre can touch the heart, inspire the mind, and uplift the soul--when it does that it is my theatre.

The past two months have been hard for me--that much work is draining, especially when taking other classes along with it--but it was worth it. I know who I am and what I want to do, and I'm not afraid to do it anymore.

Look out world; I know scummy theatre isn't the only answer.

My Thoughts on Web 2.0

2010-04-28T10:10:00.000-07:00

It's fascinating how computers have changed, even within the past ten years. Our society has gone from only the elite using computers to their use and functions being a required class for every college student at my university to take. Instead of being all about the companies online, computers are about the people using them. Social networks of all kinds are springing up, damaging the ability to communicate in person but allowing millions to connect in newfound ways. Web 2.0 is a good move in that it is not so focused on the money but instead the content; but, at the same time it is a movement that is making my generation become socially incompetent.

(By way of note, this is for my CSIS 1000 class)

How to Eat an Elephant

2010-01-31T19:14:00.000-08:00

So I don't know how many of you know, but my apartment currently has a dog named Evie (or Flower, as my Dad likes to call her). She's a bit of a spaz dog, and since she's a Chinese Crested she's got... very little hair. One of my roommates, Jamie, decided it would be absolutely hilarious to get our little ten pound dog a rawhide bone that is... almost as big as she is.

Since Evie is a rescue dog she has a few interesting quirks, and we discovered one when Jamie threw her the bone. Our dog actually started to warble at the bone and bark at it and paw at it in a sort of terror. It was hilarious! She eventually tried biting it, after five minutes of examination, but tried to bite it the long way, which meant her mouth did not fit. Well, truth be told her mouth doesn't fit no matter which way she goes. Since I have neither a baby or a spouse, I figured I would share pictures of Evie and her bone instead. Sorry they are low quality, since it's night my phone was somewhat fail at taking pictures.

Within the Self-Truth

2010-01-14T20:43:00.000-08:00

You know, for as long as I can remember I have always been a loner by nature. I have only ever had one or two main friends at a given time, and whenever I've had more than that things... just tend to go badly. More importantly, though, I have always felt as if I have never needed someone else to stick up for me. Nothing (in my mind) could match the sharpness of my own tongue, and no one knew quite enough to save me from the "monsters" of the world--except myself, of course.

And then this semester hit.

It started off with quite the assignment from my Directing II professor, Anthony. He wanted us to tell him "This is my theatre. This is what I have to say." in five to ten minutes--beyond that he gave us no real idea of what the assignment was supposed to be. Since I'm such a loner, it took me maybe half an hour to decide that I could do the project all by myself, which would eliminate the need to rely on other actors. Without quite realizing it I decided to do something.. very personal: Richard III's opening monologue (from Shakespeare's Richard III) and a piece of my own crafting, "And They Call Me A Freak". When I practiced this particular piece it was like clockwork--I did not have to do much by way of emotion and did not feel even the slightest inclination towards crying.

The day dawned when we were to present our pieces, and I was still confident that I would be able to do mine without really having to invest in it emotionally. Everything was fine right up until I had cleared my stage and turned to look at my audience. I realized in that moment that I was exposing a part of my soul that I had not really showed them before, and... these people were not ones that I trusted on any particular level. In fact, for the most part I had gotten along very well drifting at the edges of their awareness and suddenly I was putting myself, and my personal demons, front and center. The ensuing performance was more emotional than I can ever truly explain. Pain, anger, fear, and a myriad of emotions all came to a boiling point together, and I let slip more of myself than I think I have ever shown to anyone in a five minute period.

It taught me something, though. Though these people were strangers, I was able to share my soul with them because that is what I want to do with my theatre. I want people to see that there is a beauty that exists beyond the mortal facade, and I want them to know that truth exists in pain just as it exists in joy. Oddly, now that I have been so frank with them, I've noticed that my life, my perceptions of the world and the people in it, are changing.

Today... I had a genuinely strange dream. For one reason I was at the mall with one of the girls from my Directing II class (one I've known since my first semester here but have never been close to). She wanted to stop in a shop with someone else that was there with us, and I told them I was just going to window shop a little further down the way. Well, I noticed a beautiful costume shop and decided to go in--I did not intend to be more than a moment or two. Once inside I explored a little, and suddenly this guy told me I had no right to be in the store. That beasts were not allowed near such fine things. Long story short, I got chased out of the store. But the people did not stop there. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by people telling me that I had no right to live and that monsters should be killed... I tried to tell them that I was a human being just like them, but they would not listen. One of them hit me, and soon I was on the ground just... sobbing my little heart out. And then the strangest thing happened. Suddenly my classmate broke through the circle and told the people around me that they were the monsters.

At first I was just... disturbed by this dream. Usually when I go out to defend myself people are either stunned that I am capable of intelligent thought or are absolutely frightened of me, but it did not work... And then I realized something more miraculous: I was able to accept the help that someone offered me. It might have just been a dream, certainly, but I believe it is more than that.

I think, for the first time in my life, I am at a point where I do not have to always defend myself. I can step back and let other people fight the real monsters in my world and not feel upset about it. This is such a weird place that I simply do not know how to handle it, but I think it's a good thing.

And to all of you who have wanted to stand up for me... Thanks. And to those who have stood up for me? You mean more than I have ever bothered to say. Thank you. Hopefully I can become someone worthy of your help and friendship.

To The Past

2010-01-04T16:03:00.000-08:00

I feel tangled
When you look at me
Like my skin and my heart are
Trying to get away from me

I hate it

You have no place in my life,
No corner of my heart or
Window in my soul
To creep inside of

Just go away

The past is passed
And should stay that way
Why
Why are you trying to break my heart?

The End of the Year

2009-12-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

I was sitting, just staring at my computer screen, trying to decide what it was I could possibly write about. With work eating my days, I have not gotten up to very much lately, and so I thought I had nothing to say. And then I realized that it was the end of the year--I should have quite a lot to say.

This year has been... one of the most difficult and rewarding that I have ever been through. So, I decided to share with you all a few things to summarize my year and what I've gained from it.

The year started out with, as always, going to school. One day, though, my roommate Beth and I went to Zion's National Park. This particular image is from scaling up a snowy, zig-zagging path. I got a few pictures during the trip, but this one is my favorite because it is my proof that there can be life even when you're up to your calves in snow.

That month was also fun because Beth and I went on another adventure to Provo for the "Life, The Universe, and Everything" Science Fiction and Fantasy Symposium held at BYU. It was great to listen to writers like Brandon Sanderson, David Farland, and Tracy Hickman talk about their craft. I learned a great deal about writing on the whole, and also about the things I've been managing to do right. It was also great because I was able to get a book signed by Tracy Hickman for Uncle Brent--ironically, it was the book with his favorite character, which the copy he had was stolen many years ago. That conference was great for realizing a number of things--like I am not as crazy as I think I am, becoming published is possible, and that characters in books can have a real influence on those that read about them. After all, Tracy Hickman told of a young soldier who had admired the attributes of a character so much that he applied it while he was in Iraq. The young man was wounded, but from where he fell he could see an attack that none of his battalion knew of. Thinking of how his favorite character, Sturm, had been the only one to defend a castle under attack, the soldier got up and warned his battalion of the attack. The move caused such extensive damage that the soldier became wheelchair bound, but his entire battalion made it out alive.

March continued the excitement: Spring Break! Our original plans were to spend most of our time in St. George and forray off into Las Vegas once or twice. The major problem with that plan was that Beth, our roomie who lived in St. George, had to work during the middle of the week. So, on a whim, Kinsey and I decided to just... keep driving past Las Vegas. We ended up spending the three days Beth worked in California, and it was wonderful. Every night we'd watch the Disneyland Fireworks (since we were too cheap to actually go to the park), and during the day we went to the beach. It was... fantastic. Somehow the spontaniousness of the trip just helped clear my mind, and the rest of the semester went wonderfully.

April was riddled with finals and auditions. That's when I got the surprise of being cast in the main stage production of "Our Town". Main stage had never paid my any attention, so I was surprised to be cast as Mrs. Soames, who is a rather fun character role. And yes, I did survive my finals. It was also Easter, which the roomies celebrated by making a basket for ourselves. Part of that included the newest cd by Blue October, and just to share I figured I would post one of my favorite songs from it, "My Never".

May... Ah, May. That was an adventure, of sorts. Going back to Salt Lake was... stressful, in its way. After all of the mess with Phillip I had become... afraid of going back to my parent's house. The state, however, helped ease my fears by taking Phillip into custody and putting him in the state mental hospital. It was strange, but going home for the summer was the first time I had felt safe there in six years... It was very strange. I don't think I could ever explain it in a way that would make sense to anyone who had not lived through the horror, but it was liberating. May also meant my return to work at the movie theatre, which was fun. Almost my entire summer was spent either working or seeing movies (Dad really enjoyed "Up"). However, I did manage to spend a little time working on my books. One fun project I took care of was fiddling with character fashion design.

It was the first time I had tried coloring on the computer, and it was definitely fun. I am still ridiculously pleased with the result, but I've yet to dare doing another.

August was perhaps one of the hardest months. Right at the beginning, just a scant two weeks before going back to school, I had a benign lump removed from my chest. It had been doing crazy things--like going from being a centimeter wide to an inch wide in a week--and the doctor wanted to just keep me from stressing too badly. I was... terrified. I had never gone in for surgery before, and the thought of something going wrong in my body had the strangest taste of betrayal. Once it was over, though, I made a quick recovery--if one ignores how awful it was to take the bandages off. I made it to school all right, even if I couldn't do any hard lifting for two months (which also meant I couldn't do the stage combat class).

September was rather disappointing when compared to the excitement of the months before. I simply went to classes, and started a bit of a war with one of my professors. She was under the impression that I was of lesser intelligence because of my theatre major--once upon a time some theatre majors treated her badly when she was going to school--and I quickly lost motivation in her class. There were so many things I wanted to discuss, but every time I tried to bring up something fun I was immediately told that I was wrong. But, I found salvation in my directing and Shakespearean acting classes. The professors expected me to do my best, and taught me more about my craft than I thought I could manage in one year.

And I can barely remember October. I would go to classes during the day, and then I would spend almost every single night at rehearsal. It was an exciting process, though, because working on "Our Town" made me a great deal of new friends. Lisa, who played Mrs. Gibbs, was an especially great find. She is one woman I expect to see reach the stars, and she's the sort of person I would be happy to go that far. October also meant my first successful college party--we had a bunch of friends over to watch the original "Frankenstein" and had an absolute blast. Afterwards I practically passed out from laughing too much, and my stomach was still hurting the next day. I was shocked enough that people agreed to come over, let alone that they had so much fun that they insisted we party again soon (which we did). And then we hit crunch week: tech for "Our Town". It was the best tech week I had ever been through. All of the rehearsals went very smoothly, and the directors made certain to get everyone out as quickly as possible.

Oh, November was fun, though! I started off the month with my directing project preview--"The Universal Language" with the wonderful Joel Johnson and Laura Grow as my actors. It went wonderfully, which was a great lead-in to the opening of "Our Town". The show went great, and I was rather sad to see it go, if only because of the people I would miss. And then I turned 21! Ironically, my birthday passed almost entirely without recognition. Here and there people wished me happiness, but I didn't get a single rendition of "Happy Birthday" the entire day. In many ways it was nice--I am rather phobic of my birthday--but I oddly missed that one little song. But, it was great to realize I had survived another year. Thanksgiving was a wonderful opportunity to see all of the family I had been missing. It was also a great chance to get my last breath before finals. Once I got back to school it was all work, work, work.

My final directing project went fantastically--the class loved it and I survived it. Then I managed to get my ten page paper done, and I even managed to squeak out of my awful English class with a B. Finals ended in a whoosh, and suddenly I found myself back in Salt Lake City.

It's amazing to think of everything I've done over the past year; most of these things are just the rough highlights of what I've been through. I've learned so much, too. Just because I'm an easy-going, sometimes boring person doesn't make me any less valuable--it just means I am different. I've also learned that friends are people who are able to tell you "no" when need be, but are also there to love you even when the world seems like it's ending (usually only in your mind). And, best of all, that other people are most capable of seeing how wonderful we really are. I've been so busy trying to be better that it took other people telling me how far I've come to notice it, and how grateful I am for them! If not for my wonderful friends, professors, and family I would certainly not be so happy or aware of the great things I have done.

Ultimately, the past is passed, and all we can do is use it as a platform to jump into the future. If we're always staring backwards, hemming and hawing over what's happened, we'll always trip over what is coming in the future. And, believe you me, I intend to jump into the future with my whole heart. I've only got so much time on this Earth, and I want to make the best of it. Other people can be the ones with empty dreams--I'll be the girl that succeeds.

I love you all, and thank you for everything you've done for me. All of the pain, all of the joy, and all of the laughter have been worth every moment. God bless you.

My English 4320

2009-12-11T17:11:00.000-08:00

I'm so ridiculously proud of this paper (even if it's not perfect and the professor gave me lots of guff), so I figured I would share it. :D

Shattered Glass:
The "Ideal-I" in Shakespeare

Mirrors are everywhere in modern society -- it is nearly impossible to avoid them for even a day. Every day people look into mirrors to do their hair, check their teeth, see if they are getting fat, flex their muscles, put in their contacts, debate whether their good looks compare to what is on the latest magazine covers, and a million other things. Inside of a single sheet of glass or metal (depending on the mirror’s make) people impose a myriad of ideas of hopes and dreams and lies -- things that would not exist if not for the expectations of the contemporary society. In modern theatre many characters will reflect this present-day habit by looking in a mirror and telling us what they see; but, in William Shakespeare's time mirrors were too expensive for his characters to do such a thing unless they were a king or vastly wealthy (Hadsund). Instead of using this modern convention, Shakespeare gave us a different mirror through which to view his characters: soliloquies. Whether it is Shylock telling us why he hates Antonio, Macbeth displaying traits of having entered a dissociative state before Duncan's murder, or Edmund railing against his fate as a bastard, we get it all through these speeches, which act as a reflection of the character's mind. The true genius comes, though, when Shakespeare breaks this convention with a character who is aware that he is being watched: Iago from Othello. Our expectations are broken as Iago manipulates what we see and feel, and the looking-glass is shattered.

In Jacques Lacan's "The Mirror Stage" the idea of a person placing their concept of perfection within the constraints of a mirror is first presented. This "ideal-I" is the romanticized goal that all people strive for, even if the reflection will forever be opposite of what they are and nigh upon impossible to obtain. Expression of the striving for this perfect self is often found in the way the life of the person is shaped -- their dreams, disappointments, and beliefs (1-7). In theatre it is difficult for this "ideal-I" to manifest in a form that is easy for the audience to accept, unless one looks through the window proffered by the words spoken by the characters. Shakespeare knew that his characters had to express themselves through their various speeches, and used this to his advantage. He expressed their ideals and disappointments through their reactions to situations, people, and internal realizations by removing everyone else from the stage and letting the character address their inner turmoil aloud so the audience could take part in the mental and emotional journey made throughout the course of the play.

An interesting example of this particular form of genius is found in The Merchant of Venice in Act I, scene iii when Shylock the Jew gives an aside to the audience that acts as a soliloquy. By this point in the play we have learned very little about Shylock and his feelings towards the other inhabitants of Venice, but in this particular speech he unfolds not only his sentiments towards Antonio but also towards Christians and Jews alike. Our first hint that Shylock is displeased with having to deal with Antonio is the way that Shakespeare wrote the piece rhythmically. "I hate him for he is a Christian" (43) is a particularly interesting line in that it ends femininely (without the last syllable being emphasized as it usually is in iambic pentameter), which signifies that the actor is supposed to connect the thought with the next line (Sham). The emotion continues to build as the usual iambic rhythm is broken with a distinct lack of feet in the ending line of "if I forgive him", which gives a clipped, uneasy feeling that tells the audience (subconsciously) that he truly would rather place a curse on his beloved nation than ever truly forgive Antonio (53). Textual content found in the soliloquy also tells us a great deal about Shylock's mental state as he speaks to the audience. Shylock uses an interesting combination of Christian imagery--"a fawning publican" (42)--and exclusive language to reflect a great sense of Antonio being part of an antagonistic other that he wishes to wound in the name of Judaism. He is brutally honest in his reasoning: Antonio is awful in his mind because of his religious beliefs, his driving down the interest rates the Jews can charge, and for his slandering of Shylock in front of his colleagues. Audiences often miss the depth of the Jew in favor of finding someone within the play to hate, even though the truth is plainly found within what he tells his mirror, the audience (Delahoyde).

Lord Macbeth is another character that Shakespeare wrote soliloquies for so that the audience could understand the mental state his character was in. Right before the murder of King Duncan in Act II Macbeth gives the famous "is this a dagger I see before me" speech, which gives us a glimpse into the mind of the would-be killer (i.33-64). Majorie Garber says that this particular soliloquy is where Macbeth realizes that the fantasy he had created of the murder is about to merge with reality. "He tries to avoid the word [murder], to avoid putting a verb to the noun, an action to the idea" (708). As Macbeth struggles with the idea of committing the murder and being unwilling to actually put a word to it, his own indecision is reflected. He hems and haws over "murder" and in turn shows the audience that he's not really certain he can imagine the act, let alone go through with it. In many ways this speech also reflects a descent into one of the dissociative disorders known as Depersonalization, which is defined by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fourth Edition as being "a feeling of detachment or estrangement from one’s self" (American Psychiatric Association). The Depersonalized state is one thought to be triggered by high level anxiety in moment of great peril or duress in order to detach emotions that would be harmful to their mental state. At the Life, The Universe, and Everything Conference in 2009, though, Dr. Allan V. Roe, a prison psychologist for the state of Utah, presented research on how murderers often enter a Depersonalized state in order to commit the murder without feeling any particular emotional attachment to the situation, emotions that will later manifest (sometimes as soon as directly after the murder). These traits manifest in the extra feet and feminine endings that riddle the speech--such as "the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee" (34). Macbeth is clearly under great duress and tells the audience how numb he has become by saying, "To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself" (II.ii.73). He is at such a loss that he is suffering from “a failure to be able to speak, to finish a thought” (Garber 710).

Later in Macbeth (in Act V, scene v) we are given another insightful soliloquy in which Lord Macbeth conveys his mental state to the audience. It is right after he had learned that his wife has apparently died, and the Thane of Cawdor has come to reject the world in which he lives. “She should have died hereafter” (17) is the first clue that his emotional state is not what it should be; not only is the line one that ends on the off-beat in a feminine ending, but it is also a foot-and-a-half short of what it should be. To an actor this would cue that he is supposed to build emotion and tension as his audience is made uncomfortable by the break in the rhythm that they have become accustomed to, and it also tells the reader just how far removed he has become from reality. This becomes more evident as we realize that his “'tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,' is a rejection of time, a rejection of history, and of the learning experience of either life or art” that leaves him embittered towards the world he had once been so content to claim his place in (Garber 722). Ironically, before the "tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow" speech and Lady Macbeth's death is revealed, Macbeth tells the audience that he has realized how hollow his existence has become.

I have lived long enough. My way of life
Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf,
And that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have. (iii.21-26)

At this point Macbeth's inner solider longs for nothing more than the simple pleasures of good company and honor -- things that have been denied him because of his overreaching the bounds of his place (Garber 722). By breaking the natural order, he has shattered his connection to the real world and become a numb, merciless shadow of the man he once was. Thus, when he finally reaches the point where his wife is dead he cannot bring himself to be overly emotional -- there is no capacity for deep feeling left. He has even “almost forgot the taste of fears” (V.v.9). The man has been devoured by the crime as the audience bears witness through the mirror of the soliloquy.

The textual reflections continue in King Lear as Edmund, the illegitimate son of the Duke of Gloucester, diatribes against the social and political limitations that come with his bastardy. In this soliloquy found in the first act he asks,

Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? (I.ii.2-6)

Edmund is not only telling his mirror that he was born a bastard, but is also explaining to the audience why he feels he is mistreated. He goes on to explain that his "heart is as true / as honest madam's issue" and yet he is considered to be lesser since he was born of passion instead of duty (7-15). "Like Iago in Othello, the evil characters in King Lear are notable for rationality ... rationality in an evil character is opposed to credulity in a more sympathetic one" (Wells 267-8). There is, however, a difference between Iago and Edmund: the later is always honest in his soliloquies. The bastard tells us how he feels, why he feels that way, and what he is going to do about it. "Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land" plainly tells the audience that he is out to destroy his brother for the sake of gaining what society and law have denied him (16). At this time, illegitimate children were not allowed to enter a church or inherit property (Pearson 226), and it is easy to imagine that Edmund would be constantly reminded of his place in the world because of such things. “Stripped of any and all rights and burning with a sense of injustice” it makes sense that any of the Shakespearean bastards would rebel against the conventions of their society and the stigma that taints their entire lives (O'Neil), let alone one as impassioned and active as Edmund.

His speech and outrage immediately come to fruition, as Edmund told us it would, when he deceives the Duke of Gloucester through a letter into thinking that Edgar is intending to kill his father. The letter acts as a proof that Edgar should be stripped of his rights and Edmund should inherit instead (30-127). This "closely resembles Iago's equally deceiving 'occular proof' in Othello -- evidence, in fact, of nothing at all" (Garber 657). The audience cannot help but see this coming; Edmund plainly lays out his intentions and carries them out, just as Lord and Lady Macbeth draw out their plans for the audience through their conversation.

But Edmund and Macbeth are nothing when compared to Iago.

In Othello we are presented with a series of dichotomy, the greatest of which is the conflict between the darkness and the light, truth and lie (Garber 590-2). Iago, as a character, acts as the ultimate reflection of this binary by being a definite opposite of Shakespeare's other characters. Where other characters are candid in their soliloquies, "the dishonest Iago (insincere, deceitful, lacking in candor and public spirit) is labeled 'honest' over and over again in line after line [of the play]" but his words never ring true.(Garber 593). He gives us hollow reasons that never seem to be quite enough to go to such lengths--he thinks Othello has slept with his wife but "for mere suspicion in that kind, will do as if for surety" (I.iii.395-6) and “seems to bring up so many spurious motives that they cancel each other out” --such as Cassio’s being appointed Othello’s lieutenant instead of him, Othello’s race, the aforementioned alleged affair, his own feelings for Desdemona, Cassio’s supposed affair with his wife, and the simplistic thrill of the game (Delahoyde).

As a person, he is perpetually surrounded by darkness both literal and figurative. “Iago pretends to be a light-bringing, providing order and clarity, although he is in fact the source of chaos... Iago brings light in order to enforce darkness” (Garber 592). The audience gets a taste of this when he explains the tangle of emotions at work within the play.

That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;
That she loves him ‘tis apt and of great credit:
The Moor ... he’ll prove to Desdemona
A most dear husband. Now, I do love her, too. (II.i.295-300)

At first this seems to be enlightening -- perhaps the entire tangle stems from three men loving one woman -- but then a closer look is taken. Because everyone else is in love with Desdemona Iago would like us to believe that he too has fallen victim to her charms and good looks. After all, loving her is yet another excuse for bringing about the downfall of all those around him. But wait, he loves her and wants use that as an excuse for getting her killed? It is Iago’s way of twisting the situation to his advantage and further confusing his audience so the truth is hidden within a myriad of lies. Interestingly enough, his words on loving Desdemona are immediately followed by his suspicions concerning who his wife has slept with.

The mirror is truly broken, though, with the conspiracy itself. By telling the audience of his plans throughout his soliloquies, "Iago has made [the audience] his unwitting and unwilling co-conspirators, presuming on [their] silence" (Garber 615). But Iago does more than let the audience in on his dark machinations. Through his soliloquies he twists the perceptions of the people watching the play until the looking-glass becomes broken; instead of reflecting truth, the mirror brings the audience into the tangle of lies that Iago has created specifically for them.

Every time Iago has the chance to, he addressed the audience and seems to pull them in to his devious plots as if they were on stage and he were whispering it into their ears (as if they were Roderigo). In Act III, scene iii, Iago is particularly prone to manipulating his watchers. He says, "the Moor already changes with my poison" and seems to laugh as explains just how he's been manipulating Othello (325). But Othello is not the only one who has been played upon: the spectators are also Iago’s victim. "I did say so" he exclaims, reminding the audience that he is the one in control of the entire situation, even what the playgoers are feeling and thinking as they watch the events unfold (329). Even the audience begins to change with Iago’s particular brand of verbal poison.

Many stories are told of audience members in the theatre over the centuries who have risen from their seats and shouted the truth at an unhearing Othello, that Desdemona is chaste, that Iago is his enemy, not his friend. But the play is cunningly constructed to keep us out of earshot unable to insist, like the Duke and Senators in the third scene of the play, that what Othello sees is a “pageant” to keep him in “false gaze”. Until the last act, no one on the stage--except Iago--knows that the audience in the theatre knows. (Garber 603)

And therein lies Iago’s genius. He knows that the audience is his ultimate victim, and in the end denies them what they most desire to know: what he thinks after he has been caught. Through the entire play he has trained them to expect his soliloquies and asides, knowing full well that the watchers are hanging on his every word. At the end of the play he breaks the glass by saying as much to the audience as to Othello, “demand me nothing: what you know, you know: from this time forth I never will speak word” (V.ii.303) One can practically hear him smirking within the words.

Whether it is the character’s honest ideals, as we see with Edmund, or Iago’s twisted plotting revealed within the mirrorlike soliloquies, Lacan’s “The Mirror Stage” provides an interesting insight to the minds of Shakespeare’s characters. Opportunities abound to see this particular element in action, but it is especially evident within King Lear, Macbeth and The Merchant of Venice. Shylock shows the careful reader that he is more than a hateful Jew: he is a man attempting to defend his religious beliefs and his reputation against a spiteful gentile who has caused him great harm. It also reveals that he values his religion above all things, which later explains why his daughter (who breaks the laws of Judaism) is not valued as highly as the audience expects. Macbeth reveals his mental instabilities even before the madness fully takes him by dancing around the word “murder” even when he is the only character on stage to hear such an utterance. Later his mirror also reveals his removal from the world, and that he is dead long before Macduff decapitates him. Edmund rants against his being born outside of wedlock and the condemnation that comes with his father’s sin, and he paints a clear picture of his intentions before swiftly acting on them. He wants to change the unfair expectations of his world, and makes it painfully clear to his reflection that nothing will stop him short of death. In these characters it is easy to see that the soliloquy does what no other theatre convention could: allows the audience to enter the character’s mind and come to a better understanding of their dreams, motivations, and beliefs.

Shakespeare’s genius, however, goes beyond simply letting the viewer or reader into the mind of his characters. He set up a convention of expectation -- the character is truthful within the confines of the soliloquy or soliloquizing aside and thus reveals their true nature to any who witness these speeches -- and then willfully broke it in Iago. As a playwright, William Shakespeare shakes his audience and smashes the established mirror in order to bring the greatest emotional response from the viewer; and, this is only done once in the entirety of the Shakespearean texts.

Iago makes the audience more than simple watchers: through their silence they become unwilling participants in his twisted plans. And then there was nothing. Iago not only manipulated the spectators into being part of his machinations, but he also twisted their perceptions and expectations until they became like Othello. The Moor is reflected in the audience as Iago’s silence eats at them and the peaks of frustration are felt. Why Iago truly drove Othello to murder Desdemona the audience will never know -- when the mirror was broken with his refusal to say another word all communication became impossible. It is impossible to collect anything from the shattered pieces of his mirror at the end of the play except cut hands and a bleeding heart.

Works Cited

American Psychiatric Association (1994). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (4th ed.). Washington DC: Author. Print.

Delahoyde, Michael. "Shakespeare." 16 Nov. 2009. Washington State University. Web. 14 Nov. 2009.

Foà, Ruben. “The Ghetto”. Jewish Ghetto of Venice. 2000. Web. 1 Sept 2009.

Garber, Marjorie. Shakespeare After All. NY: Pantheon Books, 2004. Print.

Hadsund, Per. "The Tin-Mercury Mirror: Its Manufacturing Technique and Deterioration Processes". Studies in Conservation, Vol. 38, No. 1 (Feb., 1993), pp. 3-16. Web. 8 Dec. 2009.

Hunter, Lynette, and Peter Lichtenfels. Shakespeare, Language, and the Stage: The Fifth Wall, approaches to Shakespeare from criticism, performance, and theatre studies. Kent: The Arden Shakespeare, 2005. Print.

“King Lear.” William Shakespeare. Shakespeare: The Complete Works. Ed. G. B. Harrison. New York: Harcout Brace Jovanich, Inc., 1968. 9 Dec 2009.

Lacan, Jacques. "The Mirror Stage." Écrits: A Selection, trans. Alan Sheridan

(New York: W.W. Norton, 1977), pp. 1-7. Print.

“Macbeth”. William Shakespeare. Shakespeare: The Complete Works. Ed. G. B. Harrison. New York: Harcout Brace Jovanich, Inc., 1968. 1 Dec. 2009.

“Merchant of Venice”. William Shakespeare. Shakespeare: The Complete Works. Ed. G. B. Harrison. New York: Harcout Brace Jovanich, Inc., 1968. 18 Nov. 2009.

O'Neil, Colleen. “Deformity and Illegitimacy in Shakespeare's Plays”. Associated Content, 23 June 2006. Web. October 19, 2009.

“Othello”. William Shakespeare. Shakespeare: The Complete Works. Ed. G. B. Harrison. New York: Harcout Brace Jovanich, Inc., 1968. 1 Dec. 2009.

Pearson, Lu Emily. Elizabethans at Home. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1987. 29 Sept 2009.

Roberts, David. “Shakespeare, Theater Criticism, and the Acting Tradition”. Shakespeare Quarterly, Volume 53, Number 3 (Fall 2002) pp. 341-361. Web. 20 Nov. 2009.

Roe, Allan V. "Prison Phycology." Life, the Universe, and Everything Conference: The Marion K. "Doc" Smith Symposium on Science Fiction and Fantasy. Brigham Young University, Provo. 21 Feb. 2009. Lecture.

Ryan, John Augustine. "Illegitimacy." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 7. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1910. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Sham, Peter. "Shakespearean Language." College of Performing and Visual Arts. Southern Utah University, Cedar City. 1 Oct. 2009. Lecture.

Wells, Stanley. Shakespeare: A Life in Drama. NY: W.W. Norton and Co., 1997. Print.

Random Notes To Myself

2009-10-20T10:10:00.000-07:00

**thieves are bad**

Hamlet
Makes more sense with Hamlet being female (aka has more feminine mindset)

Julius Caesar genderbent = Lysistrata?
Contrast of make war not love versus make love not war
Male versus female perspective?

Timon of Athens = Shopaholic
Modern audience can't handle bad economic ending

MacBeth is about silence?
"Sound and fury signifying nothing"

Romeo & Juliet
Love before honor?
Compare to MacBeth?

Portia ~ Julius Caesar
Ophelia Syndrome?

Living

2009-10-14T13:24:00.000-07:00

Working on "Our Town" has lead to me doing quite a bit of thinking about... life in general. At one point Emily, the somewhat annoying main female, asks if people ever really live every single moment of their lives. The Stage Manager tells her that the saints and poets might occasionally, but that no one really does. Isn't that an interesting thought?

Have you ever just spent a day, or even an hour, watching the people around you? It's amazing how much time we spend looking without really seeing. I mean, I've seen friends pass each other on the sidewalk without so much as a "hey, how's it going?" slipping past their lips. Most of the time they did not even notice their friend because they were just... too busy.

Recently, with my life being chaotic I haven't given life the value that I should. I've taken it for granted that I was going to wake up the next day, and that I would have time to do the important things that I always seem to be putting off. But do I really have time? I mean, life is just such a fragile thing that it could be gone before I know it. That's why I've resolved to, even if it is in a boring and easy-going way, enjoy each day as much as possible. I'm going to try to not nitpick about things that are out of my control, and I'm going to try to say only the best of things. After all, did not a wise, loppy-eared sage once say that "if you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all"? Ah, the golden things in the world.

But here's my challenge to you: live. See the world around you, take time to smile, enjoy the fall leaves (if you have them), and really see the people around you. Don't get so busy searching for tomorrow that you loose today.

Busy busy busy

2009-10-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Well, life is certainly keeping me on my toes. Between Shakespeare Acting Styles, Shakespeare in English, Directing I, and "Our Town" I can't seem to find a spare minute to take a breath. Just this week alone I get to write a paper for my midterms and get to work directing my final play and doing rehearsals.

But, it's tons of fun! I forgot how enjoyable doing a play is, and I think "Our Town" is going to do fantastically. Christine Frezza, the director, has given it a twist that has made it a lot less grim and far more enjoyable (at least for me). My character, Mrs. Soames, even got an upgrade, and she's far more interesting than just your average busybody. If you're interested in seeing it, we open on November 5th at the SUU auditorium. We run that weekend, and then Thurs-Sun of the next week. Means I get to turn 21 while doing the play, which should be... interesting.

As for my paper... Well, I'm not certain what I'm going to write it on. I was tempted to do the importance of language in understanding Shakespeare, but I don't think making my professor angry would be a very good idea.

My play should go well. After I've met with my actors I will give you more information as far as that goes, but it'll be an experience!

Anyway, I should run off and work on all the things I've got to do. Loves to you all!

Shakespeare Divided

2009-10-01T10:48:00.001-07:00

So I've come to a conclusion: people don't understand Shakespeare.

Oh, I know a lot of people say that they don't understand Shakespeare, but I think the problem is a lot wider spread than anyone has realized. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, as a Shakespeare major I have to take all kinds of interesting Shakespearean classes from both the English and Theatre departments here at SUU. In the course of this, though, I've realized that many of the people I work with believe that the Bard belongs either to just the English department or just the Theatre department. How screwed up is that?

My favorite part of my major is how integrated the two aspects of Shakespeare have become. In one class I read certain plays, talk about them, and write papers on them. In the other I perform and watch Shakespeare. To me, the line between the two sides has become blurred almost past recognition, and it frustrates me that no one else seems to see how silly it is to have them parted.

Since I got yelled at today by one of my professors about my ideas of integration, I'm simply not going to bother with trying to help SUU make the Bard whole again. They can turn out English majors who know nothing about how to speak Shakespeare for all I care. When I'm a professor, though, I intend to teach a class about Shakespeare. Not Shakespeare from an English perspective, not Shakespeare from a Theatre perspective.

Just Shakespeare.

Gnocchi and Gorgeous

2009-09-21T21:21:00.000-07:00

So, tonight was fun. After family home evening, Jamie, Kinsey, and I decided to do a G Double Header of the Jackie Chan movie "Gorgeous" and Gnocchi Soup. Talk about an absolutely wonderful night! We got to laugh and eat amazing tasting potato dumplings, not to mention I gained a new appreciation of the interesting realm of Chinese humor.

If you feel inclined, I've included the recipe for Gnocchi soup (the Kirstin variation). Have fun!

Saute in soup pan:
2 T fresh, chopped onions
2 T oil

Add:
1 quart chicken broth (can be watered down if you like)
2 cups thinly sliced carrots
1/2 t lemon juice
Italian seasoning to taste

Bring to a boil, let boil for 3-4 minutes (to soften carrots)

Add:
1 Package Gnocchi (approx. 3 cups)
Pre-cooked chicken (anywhere from 1/2 - 2 cups)

Boil until the Gnocchi float to the top, which should take 2-3 minutes. Then you dish it into a bowl, curl up with a good movie, and enjoy!

~~As a side note, yes I did my usual cleaning today. However, since I really attacked the bathroom it took my well into the afternoon and I didn't get to the kitchen. I was a very, very tired person by the time Jamie got home from classes. Our bathroom smells really nice currently, though, and even glistens in the right light. ^_^

Finding Joy

2009-09-18T23:28:00.000-07:00

I think, compared to a lot of people, I'm a relatively easy person to please. Many people have told me that I must lead a very exciting life or do a great deal when no one is looking, which just gives me a bit of a laugh. I learned something very important a long time ago: you should always do what you can to be happy, even if it is just a little thing every day. If nothing else, it took my stress levels down because I was no longer trying to be an impressive person.

For me, the ideal day is one that would perhaps seem boring to others. I'm happiest when I can get up, do laundry or sweep and mop, shower, make lunch, get ready for class the next day, spend time reading or writing, talk to friends, make dinner, and enjoy a good movie. Told you it was boring. Actually, in truth, that's my Monday ritual. I only have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so the other days in my week are falling into a very particular, relaxing sort of schedule. Really, I... just love simplicity. Other people thrive off of the huge adventures, but the stress usually makes it difficult for me to enjoy that sort of thing.

And I will admit that I am not an exciting person. That's not my goal in life. What I am is a relatively happy person who is working on being absolutely joyful. Really, what more could you ask for in life?

Stress

2009-09-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

Honestly, I have to wonder how much more I can take.

If the past six years of emotional and psychological abuse were not enough, now I have to deal with them by going to therapy. It's not so bad, but... it feels a little useless. Sometimes I wonder if my therapist knows what he's doing, but I figure I might as well give it a while longer and see if things improve. If not... Well, I'm just not going to think that far.

Add to that the absolutely awful stress of knowing that, in reality, your future is not really in your control. My school randomly dropped a $600 charge on me today, and the entire matter sent me into such an angst-fit that Kinsey made me pasta-roni to make me feel better (which is saying something, since that's a very heavy comfort food). Money's just.... so frustrating. I could pay it all off at once if I had to, but... financial anxiety is something I can't seem to get rid of. It's something that constantly bothers me: the fear that I won't be able to pay for something. I mean, it really is one of the most awful feelings in the entire world. In my opinion, whoever put us on the monetary track should have been shot. It's just too much stress.

I'm upset, I know that much because my shoulders are so tense you could break iron on them, but I don't know what to do about it. Praying and napping seem like the best options at this point, and I'm just hoping the charge turns out to be a mistake. If not... Well, let's just hope that God provides a way.

I liiiiiiiive!

2009-08-30T15:55:00.000-07:00

So, I said I would write on Tuesday... Here we are on Sunday, and I am at least still alive! Heh, that has to count for something, right?

Well, the week has been an interesting one. Tuesday was extremely busy with a combination of Shakespeare Acting Styles, Shakespeare (English), and Directing I, and I couldn't be happier with it. The classes give me the opportunity to study plays more in depth, and I get to look really smart when I decide to comment. My professors (for the most part) are fantastic, and go out of their way to try to get us all excited about the material. It was kind of funny, but Professor Tvordi (SE) was so excited to have me in her class that she dropped my name no less than six times and kept looking at me through the hour. The rest of the class kept giving me funny looks, but I'm certainly going to try to give them reasonable cause to give me those funny looks. I want to learn as much as I can this semester, if only because it's so directly connected to what I want to do with the rest of my life.

Professor Sham (SAS) came into class and demanded that we all go to the Shakespeare plays that were finishing up this week, which instantly translated to free tickets for the entire class. Hooray! I went to "Henry V" on Tuesday night, "As You Like It" on Wednesday, and finished off the set with "Comedy of Errors." Out of them, "As You Like It" was definitely the best, though "Comedy of Errors" was surprisingly funny... I was impressed. "Henry V", however, was so dull that I fell asleep any time that the lead was not on stage (and even then, it was only a half-of-the-time thing). But, it was a good week. I'm still standing, and I will try to keep on top of my blog.

Nearly Dead but Still Alive

2009-08-24T11:14:00.000-07:00

So, the past week has kind of been nightmarish.

Kinsey's summer roommate (one of her friends from junior high) didn't quite get the picture about leaving in the middle of August, which meant we just got her to move out this past Saturday. What did that mean for me? Spending nights trying to not go crazy while Kinsey was at work and I was stuck alone with the girl. Thankfully, she was pretty easy to appease if one ignored the subject of her cats. Oh, those cats... Bella, her properly named angsty female feline, thought it was appropriate to sleep on my bed (and Kierstan let her even when I asked her not to). The apartment also had taken on the distinct reek of cat over the summer... badly cared for cat. So, Jamie, Kinsey and I went on a cleaning frenzy. The carpets were cleaned, the dishes done, the cat litter changed, the floors mopped and swept, the furniture rearranged...while Kierstan watched movies.

I'm glad she's gone.

I've also been having a battle with my classes, since I have to try and balance things out just right. I will be finished with theatre this fall (I only needed seven more credits and I'll have eight), which means I just need to polish off my GEs and two English classes. However, I don't know if I can finish them all off next semester. There's a weird chance that I might not have enough electives to do it, about six or seven credits worth. I think I may use Maymester, if I have to. I just want to be done so I can get on to my Master's honestly.

It also was a hard week because I went to therapy for the first time. All week I've been keeping a list of things that trigger my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and it amazes me how it shows up. I can't even look at a certain color of green without my shoulders tensing up, and I had never noticed that until I started to look for it. I've got another appointment tomorrow, so we'll see how that goes.

But!

Not everything is doom and gloom. I'm so glad to be back in school that... there aren't words. Summer is a nice chance to take a break, sure, but I've missed the challenge that comes with university. There's nothing like having a Shakespeare double-header, which I get in the form of Shakespeare 4023 and Shakespeare Acting Styles. Tuesdays and Thursdays may kill me (with four classes) but I'm certainly going to have fun with it. If those don't get me, I'm sure Stage Combat might. Holy crap am I out of shape! Doing four laps around a basketball court did not used to be that hard. Luckily, my professor is determined I'm going to succeed and has given me orders to bring big waterbottles to class (I forgot it today).

Also, being with Kinsey and Jamie again is just great. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed them until summer hit. It's been like getting back to business and going somewhere that doesn't haunt me. That, and they are seriously two of the funnest people I know. We're going to be dangerous to our own healths, of this I am certain. I mean, yesterday we made Chicken Mozzarella and pasta for dinner. Can we say yummy?

Anyway, I should probably run. Kinsey wants to go home for lunch, which will probably be leftovers from yesterday. That, or strudel. Maybe... I guess I'll see when we get there.

I'll probably update tomorrow, just to let you know I survived all of my Shakespeare classes. I'm so excited that I may very well hurt myself...

Love you!

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

2009-07-23T23:37:00.001-07:00

No, this is not about a boyfriend. Sadly, I seem to have a particular lack of those over the past few years.

No, this is about a friend. Well... yes, friend probably would be the best word to describe things.

The amazing thing about college is that suddenly you are thrown in with a group of people who know nothing about you, have no expectations of your personality, and are just as scared as you are. This is a great chance to live up to your own hopes of becoming a better person and really cleaning off the slate. That was the first thing that really endeared college to me, if only because I had spent so many years before that building a persona and keeping good people away from me.

At school, I was able to make a group of friends who would shape the next few years of my life--and will have created a change that will last all of my life. Of the original group, though, I am only friends with two of them now. It's a very peculiar thing, to not be friends any more.

I suppose I'll go into storytime, if only for my own benefit. The stories, I don't think, will have as much impact on you.

The first friend I made at college was a girl who goes by the handle of Shematite online. I had moved in a little early (due to being on the Freshman Housing Board) and everything was... absolutely lonely. When I walked past her door, her nametag fell off. So, I picked it up and knocked, hoping she would be in. Shematite seemed amazed to see another person, and when I heard Nightwish blaring from her computer we got talking. It was wonderful, like I had found someone I could honestly relate to. We became such fast friends in that week that people assumed we had known each other for years instead of days. It was wonderful. She was a writer just as much as me, and we had a million things in common.

But there were times, though, when things didn't work. She would randomly disappear into her room for hours, occasionally days, and would never come out. It was heartbreaking, especially since we could tell something was wrong and she would never talk about it. Well, in the coming school year Shematite, Kit, and I decided to live together because we got along so well. We'd found the perfect place that had great rent--even if I would have to share a room for the first time in my life (Shematite couldn't stand to share a room, so I had to). When it came time for classes, though, Shematite finally sat us down and told us she wasn't registered. She couldn't afford school, but had moved down to Cedar anyway. We were hurt and confused, wondering why she hadn't talked to us about it. Then came the waves of sickness, which would follow anyone in the house getting sick and lasting for weeks after. It only got worse and worse until, at last, Shematite (we presume) got fired from her job because she never went. And then she was admitted to the hospital.

She was gone within the week, not really bothering to say goodbye or anything. I was hurt by it, hurt to the point that I did some stupid things. When she would bother to email, however rarely, I would be a bit snipey in return and never let her forget that she had run out on us. Eventually, thankfully, I did get past this point, and I tried to get her talking to me again. But she is the same old Shematite.

We invited her to come to Harry Potter, as a sort of reunion of the old gang, and she agreed to come. Two hours before the midnight screening we had tickets to, she texted to tell us her parents had taken both cars to Brigham. We wondered why she hadn't told them she was coming. I consider that friendship dead, though it has never officially been declared that in so many words. I figure it is for the best, though, because she clearly has issues she needs to work out and I have things in my own life I need to change. I wish Shematite the best, especially as far as her health goes, but I honestly don't think I will ever see her again. Consider it a gut feeling.

A more gruesome story concerns another person I counted a friend: Zach. He was a return missionary who came back for spring semester and lived on the floor below ours. I met him in my History of Theatre 2 class, and we immediately hit it off. Zach was a warm person, quiet and thoughtful, and remained my friend up until this past spring semester. Suddenly, it was like he had disappeared off the face of the planet. There is no chance of my talking to him again, though, as he attempted to murder two of his friends earlier in the summer. Honestly, I am just glad that it was not me or someone I was close to. It's scary to realize that a person can change and be so frightening without your knowing it.

Another, Mike, is really not to be blamed for our loss of contact. He went on a mission, and I am rather horrible at writing. Once in a while we still email, but it feels very much like I am talking to a suit and tie rather than the friend I knew. It's... disturbing, in a way, but he is having great success. Mike will do great things, I'm certain.

The last is probably the most painful. I met Rori at the college dorms, not too horribly long after I met Shematite. We didn't particularly hit it off at first--I don't really remember how we became friends at all. She was the outgoing blond with a plastic smile, and I was the surly brunette who somehow made the table crack up with laughter. But, we became close and even started to write together. For that, I will be eternally grateful. Rori helped me develop some of the greatest characters I will ever have, and she also helped me find the weakness in my own character. However, the discovery of my weaknesses came through the worst form: exploitation of them. Rori and I could bring out the worst in each other, everything from struggles with religion and sexuality to how anxious we could be. Most of the time, things worked very well. We would ignore the bad and enjoy the good while it lasted.

But, things just got to the point of being too much lately.

I recently prayed to find a way to work past all of the negativity in my life. Between my struggles with abuse, my horrid health, fights with friends, work, and religion, I felt like I was drowning. Then, out of the seeming blue, Rori stopped talking to me. I knew she was avoiding me, and I could feel the coming conversation--it was just a matter of how long it would take to break. Today... today was the day.

I don't know if you've ever broken up with a friend before, it is a rather strange experience. We agreed that we were not the best people to be friends at this point in our lives, and thought it would be best to... just not be in contact until things are better. I know that I need to clean my life up a great deal--I have struggles that are so personal only the Lord and I know about them. I also know that there is a lot she needs to do, which she can't do with me as a friend. So, for now at least, we're just... acquaintances with a history. It will be for the best, I know it. It just hurts like nothing else. Time and the Lord, though, will make things work out in the end. Everything will be okay as long as I do the work I am supposed to do.

And if Rori and I never get to being close friends again? Well, then it was not meant to be. I'm only twenty; there is a lot of life left to be explored. I am certain that I will make more friends in my life, and that things will get better. If nothing else, I am on the road to change.

I'm grateful that I got to have these friends at all, that they were able to come into my life. Because of them, I have a great novel that I hope to finish and publish, memories and stories that I'll gladly tell my kids, and knowledge about myself I otherwise would not have. Sometimes, that is all you can hope for when a friendship has to be put on the shelf.

I just hope I become the sort of person that is really worth being friends with. Things are not going to be easy in the midst of all of the coming adjustment, but I know I can survive it--I just may cry a little more.

I love you all, even those that have been put on the shelf. God bless you all, and may the path we walk be only as bumpy as it needs to be.

Catharsis In A Can

2009-07-03T16:40:00.000-07:00

You know, there is something amazing about a can of paint and a roller. At first they seem like just simple things, nothing more than pigment and something to spread it with. But then you start to think about what you can do with paint: change the feel of a room, banish memories of someone who hurt you, make yourself feel better... It's magic.

Today I got a bit of my own catharsis by painting Phillip's former bedroom a bright shade of yellow. Oh, it's not too bright... more of a pastel yellow than anything. It was so wonderful, though. Suddenly it was not his room, but instead the room where Mom was going to do her painting. It was a room full of brightness and hope, and no trace of him. Even his furniture got pulled out. Do you know how much better that makes me feel? He has no room to come back to, now, and that means he is not going to be coming home.

I don't ever want him to.

Dad sometimes talks like he will, that it will just be a matter of time. If Phillip comes home, though, they simply won't see me again. I'll refuse to step foot into that house again.

As it is, I am considering doing something with my room, too. Right now it looks like the corner of the house where I was just slipped into as an afterthought. I plan on changing that. Moving a few bookcases, rearranging the room, adding some better lighting, and (of course) painting that walls will make it much better. Hopefully I will feel more like I belong with all of the changes, which is what I have been longing for. This house never really felt like home, but... it's starting to.

In other news, I got a new beta today. After Larry the Unquenchable Sea Monster died (after two wonderful years together) I did not get another fish, but today... Well, it just seemed like a great time to have a new beginning. His name is Katsu (meaning "victorious") and he is a dark blue, teal, crimson, and green crown beta fish. At the moment he is investigating the plant in his bowl, and looks as happy as can be. I'm very excited. Hopefully we'll have a great two years together. If I can manage it, I will try to get pictures of him up in the near future.

Love you all!

To Those Concerned

2009-05-19T21:20:00.000-07:00

Some of you were offended by my last blog post, thinking that I was too harsh and too brash. I am not apologetic because I cannot censor the way I feel. To those of you who approached me with quiet concern and love, I thank you. Your worry is appreciated. Yes, I will be making certain to get into some sort of therapy since I do have scars from what the moron formerly known as my brother put me through. However, I will not be doing so until fall because there's no point in going to one appointment here and then moving in August. I had planned to do that before I was grilled by other concerned parties who just managed to hurt me. And yes, I do not intend to be at home very often during the school year because it is an impossible place for me to be.

That is the way that things are. Currently I am hurt, angry, and upset. I will get over it, forgive where I need to, and get on with life. Until I do so, I would request that I not be pushed on the matter.

I have feelings too.

Fear

2009-05-08T21:20:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been so afraid that you can't feel anymore? Your head screams at your heart that it should be pounding, but the only answer it gets is the faintest shaking in your hands. Instead of running to hide, you stand there dumbly as your mind attempts to process what is going on.

I spent six years living like that. Home was like that.

My parents, God bless them, made my childhood a bright and happy one. I remember all of the fun things we used to do, and how much time we spent laughing together. It was a golden age, one since tarnished by the darkness of the years. I can barely remember what it was to see my parents being carefree...

Six years ago, just about, Phillip Peter came into our home and made life frightening. I would go to sleep every night curled up around the knot of numbness, that sickening twist of fear, all the while wondering if I was going to wake up in the morning or if Phillip would just off me during the night. My days were cold, walking on a feet-slicing edge of a knife while I waited for the latest explosion. Every day it got worse, the scenes more violent. It felt like I was in some sort of sick, twisted movie where the only ending could be a homicide-suicide combination tabloid cover. Birthdays, holidays, every day could not pass without my mother and father being beaten on by a little whelp of a boy.

Best part? No one believed me when I said I didn't want to go home. They told me "Your parents are too cool! Why wouldn't you want to go home?" Because I didn't want to be near the screaming, the swearing, the hatred that was Phillip. This year, though, things finally got better. The state finally realized that Phillip was dangerous, violent, volatile and ready to kill. They took him into their custody, pulling him out of our house. That's all it is now... a house.

You see, even with him gone I can't seem to escape him. I've told my parents that I never want to hear his name again. I've told them that I am sick of the entire mess. I just want to get on with my life. But how can you let go of someone who has dug his claws into the very cavity of your heart and left poison there to rot it up? Mom, for one, just can't let him go. I told her specifically that I didn't want to hear her rants on Phillip, that I just wanted him to go away.

She doesn't listen.

Everything ties back to him, and her need to talk about how bad he makes her feel all the time. My possible internship with the Folger's Institute Library of Shakespeare? Just tied back to him. My eight page paper on Shakespeare and the shifting moral systems in Western culture? Tied back to him. The weather? Tied back to him.

Why can't it stop?!

I don't want to hurt her feelings, but if she mentions him and how he makes her feel one more time I am going to start to scream, to cry, to stop feeling at all. Why can't she get that?

And then she and Dad insisted that I see "The Soloist." Why did they do that to me? It involves someone who behaves like Phillip does--they should know, they saw it more than a week ago--and yet she demanded I see that instead of "17 Again." All the fear, all the numbness? It's back, knotting and twisting in my stomach just like it used to. My hands are shaking, my head is screaming.

And for what?

All Rise For The Judge

2009-04-18T17:06:00.000-07:00

I just figured that everyone would be impressed with what awesome thing I got to do today.

Yesterday I got an email from one of the professors saying that the high school drama competition needed judges, and I figured the $30 would be good. So, I sent the professor an email saying I could do it. Now, like any sane person, I thought that it was region drama. And then we got there. When I saw the sign that said "Welcome 3A State Drama Festival" I nearly died of shock. I was going to be judging state drama?!?!

Well, before I knew it I was judging kids that had been sophomores when I was a senior. First round was comedic monologues, second round was classical scenes, and third round was dramatic monologues. Oh my goodness, it was so much fun! The kids in my last round said I was the funniest judge they had had all day and that I pretty much rocked. :D I felt pretty cool just then. I remember being at State competition and admiring the judges, thinking of when I would be able to be wise enough to be one. Oh, it was just... Wow. I'm so excited. I'd do it again even if they did not pay me.

Hehe!

Epic Weekend Part 2

2009-04-02T14:35:00.000-07:00

Sorry it has taken so long to get the rest of this up. Between classes, large papers, Spring Break, and conferences I seem to have been unable to really take the time to tell the rest of the story. But hey, here's the rest of it!

~~~~

Well, leaving at five o'clock was perhaps not the smartest idea, especially since there had been storms the day before. Alone on the freeway I was facing wind, ice, and the coming darkness. To keep myself calm, I ended up singing to myself the entire 52 miles of the drive, which (miraculously) worked rather well. Driving through the dark in a truck that old is not something I ever want to repeat, but I made it. My nerves almost didn't, but the rest of me was just fine.

That night Beth's parents were nice enough to serve me dinner, and (even though it was meatloaf) it disappeared from my plate faster than Smokee can twitch his tail.

Sleeping in a bed like that certainly was nice. I felt nice and comfortable, and slept like a log. The next day, Beth and I decided to have fun. We went to the strip mall, and our first stop was Sally's Beauty Supplies. I teased Beth that I should dye my hair purple, and it was amazing how fast we got out of there. She can't take a joke about my haircolor apparently (just because I like to do things to my hair when I get bored). We then walked over to Cold Stone's Creamery to get some ice cream. It happened that, while we were in there, Men At Work's "Land Down Under" came on. There's a common rule that exists in our apartment: Kirstin isn't allowed in public, stores especially, when hyper. I have a unique habit that tends to scare people, though I have never figured out why. When in stores, grocery stores especially, I tend to break out into song. Well, this time I had the music provided and could not resist the urge. Swinging my hips, I started to sing along. The shock came, though, when the guy behind the counter started to sing and dance along with me. Soon we had a sing-along going on, and even Beth got in on the fun.

The rest of the weekend passed with a good deal of laughter, sugar, and movie watching. Honestly, I can't remember everything we did, beyond watching "Howl's Moving Castle," but it was a great chance to bond with Beth. Fun, yeah?

Beth and Kirstin's Epic Weekend Adventure of Awesome

2009-02-18T00:09:00.001-08:00

Brace yourself, my friends, for a tale so epical and wondrous that it needed a title that long. For this is not just a tale of a weekend. No, it is far more. This is the story of darkened canyons, cliffs, and strawberry blonds.

Friday morning there was a magical time where I was planning on going home. I was going to bake my godfather brownies for Valentines Day and pretend that holiday wasn't going on--it just tends to depress me when I think about it too much. But I got a feeling, you know one of those feelings, that it wouldn't be safe for me to go home. So, with a sigh, I let my parents and my ride know I was going to be staying back for the long weekend. I was expecting an affair of dullness and loneliness.

I was wrong.

Beth called me and told me she had been called into work, which I had expected. But then she told me that her parents had invited me to stay down in St. George with them for the weekend. If I went, I would get to enjoy the benefits of a big screen tv, a queen sized bed, and many other glorious things that words could describe in more sentences than I am willing to dedicate. There was one little problem: I would have to drive myself. The thought of driving Gandalf the hour it would take aaaaaall the way to St. George terrified me. I was just getting to the point of passable with the truck on the backroads: going on the freeway would be suicide. Around five o'clock I decided to take Gandalf for a spin to see how good a job I was doing that day at driving him. Suffice it to say, before long I was headed south with my laptop and dufflebag as my only company on the drive.

~To Be Continued~

Gandalf the White, My Roomie, and Me

2009-02-03T16:48:00.000-08:00

So I have had a very bad string of luck with cars. Seriously, it is getting ridiculous. Ever since Kermit (my first Bronco) died two years ago, I have not been able to get a car to like me. The Love Boat (a Crown Victoria) has done the best so far, but I sold that over the summer in hopes of getting a new Bronco. Well, I did get a new Bronco... and it broke. Then I got another Bronco... and it broke.

Throwing my hands into the air, I declared that I would have nothing more to do with cars. But then Dad convinced me I needed to drive something. Well, being a silly thing I agreed to learn to drive stick and borrow his white 1960s Ford truck. He drove it down this past weekend, gave me lessons, and wished me luck.

Well, I have managed to practice driving almost every day this week (except yesterday when we had company over). Beth refuses to ride with me anymore, but today Kinsey agreed to go with me. So, we went rampaging across the countryside in the truck, which we have lovingly dubbed "Gandalf the White." Things actually went really well, right up until the moment I stopped at a stop sign at the top of a small hill. I did everything right, but it wouldn't move. Well, somehow the truck got moving, and then I looked down. I had been in third instead of second. Yeah, that was smart of me.

Kinsey and I got feeling brave, though, and decided we were going to Walmart. For those who don't know the area, going to Walmart involves driving through at least one light and going to the other side of town. Well, we decided to brave it. Chugging along, we took the backroads towards it. Along the way we waved at Rori and Jamie and all of the other girls from JC3, and tried to look as natural as possible going through the city. We made it, I'll have you know that. We were laughing so hard, though, that an elderly lady informed us that we were simply having too much fun. Kinsey and I just laughed and told her that we had just survived a harrowing trek in a vehicle I am still figuring out how to drive.

And yes, we made it home safely, too. Figured you all would like to know I haven't managed to kill us yet.

Just music

2009-02-02T23:40:00.000-08:00

Some songs I feel... attached to this week.

"Angel of Mine" by Amanda Somerville

"First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Leona Lewis

"Breathe Me" by Sia

"Air and Simple Gifts" from the inauguration

Nerding Out

2009-01-20T11:41:00.000-08:00

Today I discovered that it is entirely possible to nerd out so thoroughly that an entire class of theatre majors falls into a stunned silence for several moments, including the professor. I never thought that could happen, and I would have never guessed something I said would be to blame.

I just got out of my Shakespeare Lit. class, during which we had been discussing Henry V, Henry VI (1, 2, and 3), and Richard III. We had been talking merrily about Richard for twenty minutes and the class was winding down even though we still had ten minutes left. Unsuspectingly, Christrine asked if anyone else had something they absolutely needed to say. There was a silence, a shifting in seats as members of the class tried to avoid notice. And then I rose my hand. Expecting at least some sort of random blathering, Christine called on me, and that was when I hit them with it.

While looking at Richard III I had noticed that he had a very particular way of speaking, that he used certain sounds and structures to the way he spoke. And then I began to remember the way that other villains in Shakespeare spoke, the sounds they used. That little seed of thought blossomed when I started thinking about next semester's production of Macbeth, and it hit: Shakespeare tells you absolutely everything you need to know in the text. By the words people use you can determine whether they are good or evil, and certain speeches will use sounds and structures that purposely make you feel uneasy with a particular character. It's genius, really, the way he does it. The sinuous words they use are absolutely glorious!

Shakespeare really is my hero, and it makes me want to get a doctorate in Shakespeare even more. Ah, the love my heart holds for him can not be contained in words alone!

Anyway, after my little ramble, the class stared at me for a number of moments. Then Christine, giving me a look of mild amusement and awe, told me that I needed to get Shakespeare After All by Marjorie Garber. Luckily, my roommate has it so I can see if I like it half as much as I hope to. If I do, I am just going to have to add it to my list of books I need to get.

Well, here's hoping everything is as wonderful as I'd like!

In the Eye of the Beholder

2009-01-05T01:13:00.000-08:00

Many of us get very excited around Christmas--or so I've noticed. People get that sparkle in their eye, and they anticipate that early morning of opening presents and watching the gifts they've given be received. It's quite magical, all things considered, that so many people are simultaneously happy.

This Christmas, I was as happy as everyone else. At the movie theatre, I would wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and I couldn't seem to stop smiling. I was more excited to see my parents' reactions to their gifts than anything--I thought I had gotten both of them good gifts. I didn't even really think about what I was getting, except maybe shooting a longing glance in the direction of the Doris Day dvd collection.

Christmas Eve came, though, and Mom insisted everyone come upstairs. As was traditional, we read the Christmas story and my brother and I got CTR rings. I was surprised at that, I haven't had a CTR ring since I was about eight years old. The last one, you see, had to be cut off my finger when it got smashed on. I couldn't seem to keep another one after that, in the few times I tried. Thinking that was all, I prepared myself to go wander back downstairs and continuing writing on a side project I've been working on. But Mom reminded me that we still had one tradition left: opening a gift from the extended family.

Since Phillip got to pick out which gift I opened, I was a bit worried. I thought he'd go for something peculiar, but it didn't work that way. Instead, he pulled out a decently sized package that was from my grandmother. When it clunked, I was terrified that it had somehow gotten broken. Hesitantly, I pulled the wrapping paper off the box, and I stared at it in confusion for a moment. Inside was a rather beaten, dusty box that looked as if it had been around for a number of decades more than I had. Confused, I slowly opened it, and I stared at what was inside.

Silverware. But, more than that, beautiful silverware. Looking in the box, I found a sheet of paper that declared it was Tudor Plated Silverware as made by the Oneida Community Silversmiths, and the paper was so old I was afraid it would fall apart in my hands. The set wasn't complete, but every piece was so beautiful and fit so wonderfully in my hands that I couldn't help but marvel at it. "It's so beautiful!" I told my Dad.

And then he told me the most stunning thing of all. "That silverware was your great grandmother's. I've known for some time you were going to inherit it."

I stared at the fork in my hand with renewed awe. It was my great grandmother's? She died nearly ten years ago, you see, and I was devastated when she passed away. My childhood is full of memories of running around in her garden and eating pecan sandies with her. We would spend a lot of time tending to the irises, and she loved to just talk with me even though I was just a tiny kid. I loved her with all of my heart, and suddenly I was holding something that had belonged to her for fifty years. I nearly cried I was so touched and so happy. The next hour was spent looking up the pattern and how much it would take to make the set complete. Suffice it to say, the pieces I am missing are on their way now. Dad was willing to go halfs with me on a set that had what I needed, so Grandma Bone's silverware won't be lonely anymore.

I can't wait until the day when I get to use her beautiful silverware with great grandchildren of my own. The set, I hope, is something that will be passed down through the family for many years to come. I could not have received a more beautiful gift.

Pretty, isn't it?

By way of information, the pattern is called "Fantasy" and was made from 1941-1959.

Understanding Yourself

2008-12-30T13:06:00.000-08:00

Christine Frezza is known to say that every play is about a character's journey from ignorance to self-awareness, and Shakespeare once mentioned that we are all just players on the stage of life. So, I suppose you could say that we are all going on journeys of ignorance to self-awareness every day, and that each is a new play for God to watch.

This semester I've been on several journeys, most of them at the exact same moment in time. The funny thing? I didn't even notice. It probably works best that way, all things considered.

My major path, though, has been one of coming to accept myself. All my life I've had ichthyosis, and for most of time I let it define who was. I wasn't just Kirstin. I was Kirstin, the girl with ichthyosis and a sharp tongue. But living like that... It is so draining. This semester I, somehow or another, ended up writing a creative nonfiction story about what it's like to live with my disorder. As I was writing it, I noticed that my disorder was a part of who I am, but it was just that: a piece. I don't know when or how, but sometime in the past year I've moved on, and have really let myself live. Even on days when my face looks absolutely horrible, I still go out and smile at people, even when they give me looks that their mothers would not approve of. I think I may have even come to love myself, to love what I see in the mirror. I may not be stunningly beautiful in the eyes of the world, but... to me, I'm starting to be someone worth noticing. It's the most amazing thing, really, to realize that you love and accept yourself. I feel like nothing can really stop me from doing what I want because I've tackled the hardest thing: myself.

I think I am really going to enjoy the new year, and I wish all of you the best.

Poem #2

2008-11-24T00:07:00.000-08:00

A poem about what I don't like:

To My Friends

Every little look you gave me
with your plastic little smiles and glazed eyes:
I get it now.

You lied.

I told you not to do it, to not hide
what you thought and felt.
But you didn't bother to listen.

You still did it.

Manicured little dreams,
pretty realities that are so empty--
They're crumbling all around you.

I tried.

Now you wonder why every look
is suspect, scrutinized in expectation;
But you can't say I didn't warn you.

I told you so.

A poem about clothing:

My Battlefield

I can see it, from where I'm sitting on my bed:
A single lifeless mass of knitted cloth and soil that seems
determined to crawl onto my side of the room.

I snarl at it, thinking to banish it with a thought,
But it remains, gloating in its filth as it toes the boundary.

Stupid sock.

Poem #1

2008-11-03T14:37:00.000-08:00

Unwritten

The words spill down the page
Stark and curled
On the lined surface of the paper
Meaning. Meaningless.
Words.

Let Me Fall

Words imposed on music
A tuned thought
Heart crescendos with each beat
Breath catches
The soul falls into the rhythm and
Perfection is found

Sickness and Excitement

2008-10-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

Well, life has been... interesting. Elephant Man has completely stolen my life, and I have been feeling like a trainwreck lately. I've had two states in the past week: sleeping and wishing I was sleeping. Beth has decided to put me on vitamins to see if it helps, and if not I am forcibly being carted to the doctor.

Interestingly enough, in the total of an hour when I had time and coherency in the past week, Kinsey attacked my hair. Yeah...

A Thousand Words

2008-10-17T10:28:00.000-07:00

Currently at SUU the Braithwaite Gallery is a display of photographs from National Geographic, and it includes some absolutely breathtaking works. My creative writing professor, as part of our class, took us down to the gallery and told us to come up with a story to tell where one of the photographs was the climax of a story.

The story I would write would be based on the photograph that I considered to be the most striking: that of the Afghani girl.

I can see this photograph being the climax of a story about a girl who has lost everything and has been sold into slavery. She would struggle through the psychological difficulties of being without her family and friends, and she would also have to face the impending problem of becoming a piece of property. The moment of climax, which this picture would capture, would be when she is being sold and suddenly a bid of an unusually high nature is placed on her. She turns her head, and it is her brother who has just placed the bid.

It May Be the Death of a Salesman

2008-10-10T10:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I managed to cut Death of a Salesman down to six minutes and thirty seconds. Peter Sham was impressed when he overheard the mention of that, and I bet he is wondering what all I left in. My group was really excited when they got the script, but I forgot something... We have a group of six instead of the five I originally thought.

Luckily, Professor Sham was perfectly willing to let me be director since I had done the cutting of the script myself. So the parts were given out to the other members of the group. Everything seemed to be fine right up until this morning's practice. I was ready to smack Scott. I really was.

You see, in Salesman there is one character the play can't function without: Willy. Scott's playing the Willy that is known as "sane Willy" (even though he is the one driven crazy by the other and commits suicide... yes, it's irony on my part). The problem? He is not memorized and has not yet displayed a willingness to act. No matter what we did, no matter what was asked of him, he did the same things over and over again. If he is not ready by Saturday night I get the fun job of telling him he is no longer in the production.

But wait! That would leave us without a Willy, right? Wrong. The group decided I should memorize Willy just in case. So much for no stress this weekend. I may just rip my hair out.

Death of a Salesman... In Seven Minutes

2008-10-01T10:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, you read that right. No, I am not crazy. It just happens that for my dear Acting I class I get to do yet another abridged version of a play, and this time it's Death of a Salesman. Oh joy. I was tossed into a new group composed of myself and five others, and between now and next Monday we have to put together an entire seven-to-ten minute version of the play.

Now, I am not entirely afraid of this assignment because we have already done something similar with Hamlet, which I think is a harder show to cut. It also happens that my group for the Hamlet project got extreme props from the professor, and we all earned A's on the assignment.

My fear? Well, two of the people in my group did rather badly with the last assignment, and in a play if one person slacks off the entire production suffers. It's an unfortunate fact of the theatre. However, I have decided to go into this project thinking like a director. I actually had an idea about how to stage it, since we have six people and probably about five roles. I thought it would be interesting to have two people play Willy. I figured one person could do "sane Willy" and another could do the one that is trapped in the past. What that'd do is give everyone a role and create an interesting transition as "trapped Willy" takes over the play. Besides, we have very little to work with on staging, and that would help it out a bit.

I don't know what my group thinks yet, but it was a thought I'd had and figured I should write it down. Either way, at least I know my creative juices still exist.

They Say Inspiration Can Come From Anywhere...

2008-09-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

Well, today I was sitting at school (while trapped there for two hours) when I was suddenly struck by an interesting idea. Of course, such a thing is not uncommon--ideas come from so many different places and things that I'm used to it. It was the nature of the idea that intrigued me, though. I had the clear impression that there was some work I needed to undertake, that I was neglecting something that was left specifically to me.

The true shape of the project didn't set in for another twenty minutes, though. On my way to the bathroom, after putting my briefcase beneath my chair in my choir class, I began to sing--without really noticing--the song I wrote about a year-and-a-half ago: Nephi's Psalm. Somehow or another, while I was getting a drink the lyrics of that song congealed with a scripture reference my mother had given me, Ammon's Psalm in Alma 26. It was then I realized that I needed to write songs for the major prophets of the Book of Mormon. My roommate knows a pianist with too much time on her hands, and I already have it all but figured out which ones I need to do. By the time I'm done I should have a full program's worth of songs, including a duet between Moroni and Mormon and a song where a contemporary person is joined by all of the prophets as they give their advice to the latter days.

It should be epic, but it will probably take me several months. Who knows, maybe I will post some of the lyrics up here as I get them done.

So, what do you think?

Instant Wisdom

2008-09-30T14:55:00.000-07:00

"It is better to be ignorant than to be mistaken." - Russian Proverb
"I'd rather not know at all than jump to the wrong conclusion." - Kirstin's translation

Romance:
It is not the pounding of blood and a reaction to beautiful words, this thing we call romance. No, it is the tango between two souls.

Money:
The empty god of a million wasted lives.

An Ode To My Man Harem

2008-09-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

The past week has been something of a fascinating experience for me, of that I am certain. Oh, it would have been like all the others with the cycle of going to class, going home, causing mayhem, and sleeping if it had not been for one thing: a sinus infection. Third week of school and I get hit with something that devastates my ability to function and leaves me feeling so horrible that it is literally an effort to get my fevered bum unto the couch so my housemates knew I was still playing at living. Thankfully, though, it waited until Friday to really hit, and I was able to force myself to class because I had a much dreaded math exam that I simply could not miss. I didn't move the rest of the weekend.

So, today, a bit on the late side, I am going to type of a brief explanation of something for my creative writing class. Yes, I was too sick to even think in coherent sentences. The writing I did over the weekend is so bad that I am ashamed to claim it.

Dr. P, crazy thing that he is, decided to make life interesting; the entire class knew that one the moment he walked in carrying a stack of dictionaries that was trying its hardest to obscure his face. He then proclaimed that we were going to get into groups of five and randomly pick two words a piece from the dictionary given to our group. That seemed easy enough at first. And then he had us switch words with other groups and pass them out randomly. "Now, class, you're going to write a story off your list of 42 things I had you write for class, and you're going to use those two words you've been given," he said quite gleefully. Looking at the two strips of paper on my desk, I was horrified.

How in the world was I supposed to include "xenogenesis" and "Northamptonshire" in a story about me? Not only am I the near spitting image of my dad, but I also have a decided lack of experience when it comes to random shires in England. I was, to say the least, daunted by the task.

Well, in the end I decided to go with the prompt that simply said "man harem." A few of my classmates initialed by it, indicating that they wanted to hear the story, and I am more than willing to tell it. After all, it sounds a bit weird if you just mention a man harem. I think it probably caught their attention because it is such an odd phrase, and it seems to promise an interesting story at the very least. Personally, I think it's just a funny story that manages to capture my high school experience.

You see, my man harem was a group of guys that more or less treated me like a queen. It helps that one of them, Jon, was so obsessed with England that he was constantly going off about it, so that helps me use "Northamptonshire." I bet he said it at least once, knowing him. "Xenogenesis" presented something of a problem, but then I remember that we randomly had a discussion about how much they look like their parents (all because we were teasing Nick about looking like neither of his parents and more like one of the seminary teachers). "Illiterate"... Well, when you hang out with a group of guys who read manga and whine if you ask them to do more than that, it would seem you have quite an illiterate group. Worse, though, was the fact that they were all illiterate in the world of women. Honestly, the amount of advice I had to give them on getting girls was...sad.

Anyway, that's what I would tell in my story, and how I would use the words.

Sing With Your Lips

2008-09-12T08:22:00.000-07:00

Professor Sham's favorite thing to say about theatre is that you need to be the character. He tells us that we are not supposed to act because that is being a horrible, even wretched, actor. Anyone, he says, can get up on a stage and force what they would do on a character. Real theatre happens when you toss aside who you are, who you have been, and who you will be and simply exist in the moment.

I suppose that's how I ended up on a stage in front of my class lip syncing to "The Winner Takes It All" from Mama Mia.

About a week ago he went off on one of his "acting versus being" tangents, and then gave us all a wicked grin. "In a week, class, you are going to be a lip sync. You will stand in front of the class and convince us that that, up on the stage, is a real person and that the voice is coming from you."

I was horrified. How was I supposed to do that? Oh, sure, I understand the entire thing about being; I've had to let go of who I was many times in the past. But to make it seem like, down to the very breath, I was someone else? That was going to be tricky.

Most of the next week was spent searching for a song, my worry growing with each day as I failed to come up with an idea. And then the coughing started. Beth, one of my housemates, had brought home a cold from the hospital. "Well," I thought to myself when I lost my voice, "at least I would be able to sing along and not be heard."

I stood in front of the class, the first few strains of the music cutting through the air as I tried not to look too nervous. But I couldn't seem to focus. And then the words started. Seconds passed as I mouthed along, throwing my body into the act as well as I could (considering how angry my kidneys are being). I made sure to breathe and do my best with being in line with the words. And then it was over. Just like that. There was a pause as the class considered me, and then came the murmured, "She was out." Out of character.

Or rather, that's how it would have been if I had gotten the chance to perform today.

Becoming One With The Universe

2008-09-05T09:56:00.000-07:00

So I never thought the day would come when I was doing yoga on a weekly basis. Honestly, I think this may be one giant hint from the universe that I may need to just take a yoga class next semester.

You see, last week in my creative writing class (yes, you read that right) we did yoga in order to open up our senses. It was very nifty and relaxing, and I was a much happier person throughout the day (even in math class). What was particularly fascinating, though, was the fact I felt more grounded, even though it had only been a very short session. I had never thought of applying meditation and stretching to creative writing, but looking back I now see the connection as being obvious. Your mind needs to be centered and calm in order to work at its best, and yoga helps with that.

What really stunned me, though, was when I got to my acting I class this morning and the teacher went straight into yoga. We stretched, and zenned, and melded with the floor for an hour. He then told us that as actors we have to be able to focus and empty our minds even in the most chaotic of situations. Yoga apparently helps with that, too. All I know is that I am sitting on a bench just after acting I, and I feel pretty dang good. Oh, that baby cobra position might have made my muscles sore, and I certainly hated the part where we were on our knees... But my mind feels better.

I guess I'll just have to look into doing some yoga on my own until I can get into a class next semester. After all, as an actor and a writer I need to get in touch with myself and the universe as much and as well as possible.

The Source of All Evil

2008-09-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

You would think they were harmless, what with their fluffy tails and floppy ears. And that's where they'll get you every time. One minute you're thinking "oh, it's so cute" and the next its teeth are set so far into your skin that you have to peel the blasted thing off with a crowbar. What evil am I speaking of?

Rabbits. Bunnies. Cottontails.

Whatever you want to call them, they are the source of all evil. Now what, you wonder, brought this up? Well, one of my dear friends introduced me to a variety of rabbit known as the "angora", and in it I found the greatest evil of all. They are so entirely adorable that my soul writhed in fear. A sight to see, they are a breed of bunny that is literally a puddle of fur with two large foofs of fur popping out to hint that there are, in fact, ears lurking somewhere in there. All you see are their cute buttony noses and, horror of horrors, their mouths.

As an author concerned for your well being, I must warn you to look away if you cannot take the cuteness. These creatures are dangerous beyond measure, and will steal your soul as quickly as eat a carrot.

Adventures in Creative Writing

2008-09-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

Well, now, isn't this interesting? My blog has now become the host for a class of mine; rather, my creative writing will now be a huge part of this blog. Dr. Petersen, my creative writing professor, has determined that we get to keep everyone up to tabs on our writing. He, in an attempt to get us more comfortable with technology and also to allow him to see what we are working on, thinks this will be a brilliant idea. Hah.

I suppose this means that those of you who follow my blog are going to be inflicted with more of my writing. Eventually I am going to try and get pieces of my various novels up just so you can see what writing I am doing outside of class.

If nothing else, this should be an adventure. I will try to keep up on my usual blogging, too, which should be easier once I have internet in nine days. Here's hoping, anyway.

Just some interesting songs...

2008-07-17T13:25:00.000-07:00

Isn't There More?

2008-07-14T00:42:00.000-07:00

Work, work, work. That's all I seem to do anymore. It's not that I'm complaining--having money is certainly something I am fond of--but I miss life. It seems that my summer has been nothing but a routine of getting up, eating something (maybe), going to work, coming home, trying to catch up on e-mails, and crashing for the night. If I were to die tomorrow they'd be able to say that my last days had been spent working hard, sure, but what would be the point?

I suppose ever since May I've been extremely pensive about money. You could say my dream world would be one where we don't need it, but I suppose I'll just have to get along with dealing with the stuff.

Right, now that I've ranted. On to the good news! School starts up again in a month, and I am excited beyond words. Getting to be back in Cedar, on my own and relatively free, makes all the work I've been doing worth it. Not only that, but I'm selling my car to a guy at work. This'll give me more money (oi) that I plan on putting towards a scooter. Both of my roommates will have cars, so things like groceries shouldn't be a problem. Admittedly, I have wanted a scooter for the past two years. The only problem's been that it seemed like a silly thing to do, and I doubted my dad would go for the idea. Ha! Now that gas is $4.20 a gallon, though, buying a scooter seems to be on just about everyone's mind. It's understandable, though, since I'd save over $100 a month in gas just by having a scooter instead. Ah, that my dream might come true...

Anyway, I've been saving and looking into getting my motorcycle endorsement. Hopefully before school starts I'll be able to get one. If not, I know how to be patient. After all, I've waited two years already, what's a few more months?

Hm... Oh! Everyone should try to go see Wall-E and Kung Fu Panda. Both are amazingly good, and I spent almost all of Kung Fu Panda laughing so hard my dad probably thought I was going to hurt myself. The benefit of working at a movie theater has been seeing the movies for free, but better than that is that I get to take someone from my family with me. I know Dad was happy to see Indiana Jones for free, otherwise I don't think he would've ever gotten around to it. Not with all of the money he has to put towards my brother's meds and general idiocy. But there's more than that... The people at my work are...different. Many of them lead lives very different from mine, and they like to tease me because I'm the little LDS girl (even though I am older than half the staff). But I can see the difference I make in their lives. One of the women is so depressed that she constantly looks like she's going to cry, but when we get talking she brightens for a little bit. And there's another lady who is working on getting off of caffine and cigarettes, and she calls me her angel because of how I sing when nothing is going on in the box office. It's small things, really, but making them happier... I dunno, it's easier to forget the problems in my life. Maybe that's the trick to it all: make others happy, make yourself happy. Who knows, I'm no expert on life.

In other news, I'm going to be auditioning for American Idol. Some of my friends and I thought it might be fun, but by the looks of it I'm going to be the only one to go through with it. Oh well. I suppose worst comes to worst I will spend hours in line and not even get to audition. Then again, there's always that chance that I'll make it through. Course, I'd laugh if I did. Me? As a contestant on American Idol? Sure, I can sing, but like that? Ha! I doubt it. I guess we'll all see.

Anyway, since I have work tomorrow, I should probably go to sleep. Luckily I have the two days before Batman off so I can reserve my strength, but the fact I've not been feeling well bodes somewhat ominously. Ah, what can you do? If you need anything, don't be afraid to e-mail me. It seems that's the best way to reach me, these days.

Be good, be safe, and don't do anything you'd regret!

The Fascinating Issue of Trust

2008-04-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

Money is an interesting thing. It really is. Have you ever stopped to notice the power it has over people? One day you can think that someone is a friend that trusts you quite a bit, and then comes the issue of money. That blasted creation.

The reason I talk of this is because, like most college students, my money is in short supply. Gas prices are on the rise to ridiculous, rent is not exactly what one can call low, and all the other costs of living seem to be rising more with each day. And in the midst of all of this comes dealing with down payments. Now, usually this would not be so entirely stressful. I've been working all semester to have the money necessary to secure a place to rent, but once in a while I've had to pay for other things like going home and dealing with paying for credits.

One of my roommates decided to go Nazi today about money, and trigged so many of my anxieties stemming from past crap that I wanted to cause her some major harm. For some reason the explanation that I would have almost the entire sum by the 9th wasn't good enough, and she went into attack mode. To say the least right now I am deeply stressed and tempted to call my friend Derek to see how much he is willing to buy my car for.

I really, really hate money. And the thing is, I feel like I can't talk to my parents about it. They have so many financial burdens because of my brother and how work is going for my dad that I just...don't want to be another problem for them. I don't know what to do.

Summer Days

2008-04-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

You know, I never thought I would get to the point where finals week just wasn't that scary. Is that an odd sensation? I still have two papers to write, one of them being an analysis of one of my favorite movies and the other a brief blurb from the perspective of a Renaissance painter, and a radio program to mix, but I'm really calm about the whole thing. My radio program doesn't scare me because I know how to do that, and the papers...those are going to get done tonight. Tomorrow I check out of my room at Juniper, and today I turn in my journalism portfolio. Overall it seems like things are going rather well.

I'm actually going to be living down in Cedar City for the summer, so that should be something of an adventure. I'll be continuing my work at the observatory, so if you want to talk I'll be there every Monday night starting at sundown. Beyond that I'll probably be working another two jobs so my future roommate won't continue to worry about making payments on where we will be living during the summer and the coming school year. While I'm at it, I'll also be writing the book I promised I would finish this year, and I'll be working hard to do everything I can to improve the coming semester.

Life is scary. Life is hard. Life is expensive. Those are my lessons going into summer, and if the stress doesn't kill me I bet it will be a very fun experience. Here's to seeing those of you here at school in the coming fall, and to the rest of you...Well, our paths will cross again sooner or later. Don't be afraid to email me.

To life!

Nearing the Chaos of Finals

2008-04-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

Wow, it seems like the year has all but blown past. Life is becoming a mass of days that blur together and any sense that used to exist has been tossed to the seven winds. The ride has been a long one, especially recently, but I can honestly say that I have been having so much fun along the way. School has been a new challenge that I'm still learning how to deal with in the best way possible, I've learned new ways of dealing with people, and my list of random skills has nearly doubled in just the past few months.

In all honesty I can say that college has been one of the best experiences in my life, and I can clearly see God's hand in my life. Each day He shows me over and over again that He loves me and is looking out for me. It's amazing to think that things so simple as getting a green light when I need one to so vast as being placed into a class just so I could meet a person are all being handled with loving care, and I'm so grateful to the Lord for all that he does.

This Sunday, especially, I felt His love when I taught one of my last lessons of the year. When I was first called to teach the Gospel Essentials class I was worried that I would somehow not be good enough to teach--mainly because of an experience I had acting as a substitute for the class and having only seven people show up--and from the very first lesson I gave He proved that He qualifies whomever He calls. It's amazing to watch that class talk about the gospel with such passion, and I literally just get to stand back and ask them questions on the given topic. Teaching that class has taught me so much about myself and the Lord that I wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world, and I can honestly say that I hope I get to teach another class in the coming year.

I've also had a lot of great experiences with the people I know. Thanks to my friends here at college I've grown into a person that I can honestly say that I am beginning to really love. All of my life I've struggled with accepting myself and being happy with my appearance, and I've never really had people around me who have given me cause to rethink that. My parents, of course, have always told me that I'm a beautiful person inside and out, but do we ever really believe it when parents tell us those kinds of things? I didn't used to, but the last time my dad told me he was proud of me I couldn't help but think, "You know, I'm proud of me, too." I didn't even think that when I did Taming of the Shrew, and that was supposedly my crowning moment. People like Amberle and Rachel have shown me my own strengths and taught me that beauty isn't always as the world sees it. I guess you could say I've learned we're all beautiful, it's just a matter of whether or not we accept that beauty and allow it to blossom. It will take me a while to really accept myself and everything about me, but... Well, at least now I am on the right path.

Of course, life is going to hit a point soon where I'm going to be ripping my hair out and want to run around screaming. Finals are coming up within the next two weeks, and I can't help but be nervous. I've not done so well this semester at staying on top of assignments and doing my absolute best, and I'm worried that I'm not doing so well. Life is stressful, you see, when you have a scholarship that you have to work for, and so this summer I'm going to probably throw myself into work just in case my grades aren't good enough to keep my scholarship. I'm...terrified that I'm not going to succeed here at college, but I know that I have no other choice. I won't let myself fail. Next semester and for the last two weeks I am going to attack my classes with a will, but I don't know how this semester will turn out. I'm not overtly optimistic, but I am willing to accept whatever consequences come of my being an idiot. If I could give one piece of advice at this moment it would be to limit your stupidity to less expensive things.

Something really good happened this week, though. Ashli, a girl on my floor, has started helping me arrange music for "Nephi's Psalm" and she is absolutely wonderful. She was kind of amazed that I am being so ambitious as to want to get it published, but I have a feeling that Grandpa Bone would want me to do everything I could to spread the message of that beautiful scripture. Besides, when you get inspiration like that ignoring it is generally a stupid idea. I just hope my lyrics and Ashli's music can touch people's hearts like the testimonies of the three men it is based off of: Nephi, my grandfather, and my dad. I guess I just have to wait and see.

I've found one thing that makes me rather happy, though, and that's a random musician from Japan. His name is Hyde, and I decided to attach one of his music videos just in case any of you wanted to listen to it. The song is called "Angel's Tale" and it's all about the love he has for a wonderful girl who saved him and how, even though they are apart, he will always cherish what memories he has of her.

God bless you all, and remember I love you.

Sad News

2008-03-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday evening, just after dinner, I got a call from my dad. My grandfather passed away last night.

Daring To Be Passionate

2008-03-26T09:13:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it really does rock to be an Honors student here at SUU. For those of you who have no idea what the Honors group is about I suppose I can give a quick rundown of some of the things we do, and I promise that it has a purpose.

The major thing that Honors is about is being passionate. But Kirstin, passionate about what? Well, that's the awesome thing; in the Honors program we are passionate about anything from changing problems at SUU to doing things outside of our majors to helping the community. One thing the Honors program is known for is what is called a MAD Lecture. Basically what we do is invite someone from the staff and faculty to come and talk for an hour about what they are passionate, especially on a topic they don't teach about. The last mad lecture, for instance, was Bob Ogie talking about Star Wars on a level beyond his usual lecture series, and before that we had a MAD Lecture about yoga. They're a really fun chance to see the people on campus get really excited about something, and if you watch around the school you can always see some sort of notice when one is coming up.

Another thing the Honors people are up to is actually happening this week. Every Thursday at ten o'clock at night The Grind hosts what is called "Vaudville," which is a variety show where people can do anything from dance to sing to juggle. This Thursday, however, Vaudville has been taken over by the Honors Program in order to raise funds. Now why on Earth am I bothering with mentioning this? Well, it just so happens they were daring to put me in the show performing a song with Amberle from a German musical called "Elisabeth." I don't know whether or not we'll be ready for the performance or not; so many things have been happening recently that life is just...I don't even know.

But hey, even if we're not perfect there are a number of kick butt acts from the Honors program that will be presented that night. If you're looking for a cheap date (it's only $3) or something to do with an otherwise boring Thursday night come to The Grind on Main Street at ten and enjoy a good show.

Spring Fever and House Hunting

2008-03-13T20:35:00.000-07:00

You know, I never would have imagined that I could be this close to ending my first year of college. When you're growing up college seems to just be a distant phenomenon that happens to other people, but then it hits you over the head after the awkward period known as "life after high school." This year hasn't been the easiest--I've had to learn a lot about how college works and surviving the system that is so different from high school--but I wouldn't trade it for anything. The friends I've made, the experiences I've had, and the things I've learned are well worth all of the pain, mistakes, and time spent. In all honesty I think I can say college is one of the best things to have ever happened to me.

It's weird, but after Spring Break is over we'll only have a month left of school. And then what? May, June, and July will happen, and after that...BAM! School comes around again. Summer is going to be weird for me, that much I think I am certain of. I'm going to spend my time working and writing, and chances are I will be going insane by the time June 30th hits. I've gotten so used to being on my own and being able to just pop my head out of my door to find someone to go adventuring with that life at home is...foreign. My best friends from school will be either an hour to the north or south, and my friends from before school are also quite a ways away thanks to the move my family made this December. I don't know how I feel about summer, but I do know I am looking forward to the fall already.

And thinking of fall makes me think of the fact Amberle, Rachel, Kinsey, and I have been looking at places to live next year. Manzanita is being torn down over the summer, so there won't be as many options for housing because there is going to be something of a scramble as people try to find a place to live. That's why we've begun looking around now rather than waiting until April, and it's been...so fun. I mean, who would honestly think that going around looking at apartments and houses and duplexes would turn into an adventure? When I was growing up looking for a place to live was boring and scary, but this time around it has been so enlightening. For the first time I really feel like I'm on my own because living at Juniper wasn't a situation where I really had to fend for myself and find a place within my budget. The reason I mention this is because my friends and I today went to look at one place, and tomorrow we're going to look at another.

Holy. Crap. The one we looked at today is a brand new condo (I think it was a condo) that comes fully furnished with a dishwasher, a/c, washer, dryer, beds, and a master bathroom that is so beautiful that it nearly caused us physical pain. It was the most expensive on our list at $1,000 a semester, but when you sit down and do the math it's not so bad. We wouldn't have to buy beds or provide any furniture, which would save of us heaven alone knows how much money. I mean, it comes with a really nice tv, dining table, and everything. I wanted to move in today, but instead we took deep breaths and decided to look around. You see, bothering to keep your options open puts any other place you look at into perspective, and Dad always taught me to look around before really settling on a place.

I really like the one we looked at today, and I do plan on working both over the summer and during the school year so I don't think the money would really be an option. Besides, I could cook for myself which would instantly drop how much I was spending on food by at least 70%. Living on campus gave me great friends and great experiences, and I'm excited to see what awaits in the world of living away from the college. It should be exciting, and I hope I survive.

Beyond that... IT IS SPRING BREAK! Well, actually, I have to make it through one more class tomorrow morning, but after that I am free. Ah, the love of having a whole week where I can focus on my two ten page research papers and do a lot of just hanging out with my family. I hope to see some of my friends over the break, but I'm not going to hold my breath. All of the best laid plans tend to go very far astray. Hm, but it should be fun either way. I have to go pack, but I will let you all know just how much fun I had.

Stay safe, and don't do anything you'd regret.

A Nightmare In Red

2008-03-08T15:09:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to the Faculty Dance Concert because my friend Christian was performing in it. He had mentioned that at the end was a thirty minute tribute to Queen, so I was more than willing to sit through a bunch of dances that would undoubtedly make no sense to my poor mind just to party out at the end. What I wasn't expecting, though, was to understand more than I expected to.

The first dance of the night was a ballet that told the story of two young people as they fought, wooed, and ended up together. That I understood this was amazing in and of itself, but during the dance I was...horribly distracted. Because of a set of red tights. Let's just say the lead male in the dance was wearing tight red tights and had way too much junk in his trunk. We came to the conclusion that his vanity got the better of him and that he stuffed. I don't think I will ever, and I mean ever, be able to think of that kid the same way ever again.

After that came a dance all about the different games people play. My favorite part was the Simon Says portion. Kara and Matt played Simon Says with Matt actually calling out commands and Kara dancing them. It made me happy. Oh, and the Red Light, Green Light portion made me pretty happy, too. Some of the dancing was a bit shotty in the beginning--something I notice because I am OCD about having everything perfectly timed--and I was afraid that I was going to have to suffer through the rest of the show.

And then in the second act a dance came along that fit one of the characters in my book's relationship with his first girlfriend so perfectly it hurt. The first time through the choreography they danced to words on the screen that displayed the girl's thoughts and the occasional speaking of certain phrases, and I noticed how she was constantly going off about loving him but he never really mentioning it. As her portion came to an end she got up and left, but the guy stayed. When they repeated the choreography it was to music, and it reflected the guys thoughts. At the end he left and walked out of the side door that is backstage. It was called Untitled (Regret) for a reason.

After that, of course, came awesome on a stick as we came to the last piece. Five Queen songs in a row with some of the silliest choreography made me happy enough that there weren't words. I wanted to get up and dance along, but figured they might have an issue with that so I stayed seated. The best laugh, though, was right at the beginning. Christian and all of the guys in the show came out in white tank tops, black spandex pants, and red sarongs and danced to "I Want To Break Free." Holy. Crap. Right at the end they were rolling over the floor trying to be sexyfine, and with the last notes of the song ripped off their tanktops. Amberle and I were laughing so hard it was difficult to pay attention to "Bicycle Race." Oh, and "Love of My Life" featured a point ballet piece that was absolutely gorgeous. I know the girl who did the dance because of Costume Construction Lab, and she's an amazing dancer. Even Laura, who could have danced with Ballet West if she dropped twenty pounds, said she did an absolutely fantastic job.

So even thought the night started out shaky with missed cues and dancers who couldn't seem to remember their choreography by the end of the night I was enchanted. Just, please, don't mention red tights near me or I might cry.

Finding Balance: The Seemingly Impossible Dream

2008-02-11T12:35:00.000-08:00

Getting involved at college is a great thing, never mistake that, but getting lost in the rush of things that you get involved with is not such an amazing thing. Actually, it's quite far from it.

I learned that first hand this past week, and it came at quite the price.

This week I've been doing about ten million things, and all of it was pretty much my fault. My typical day this past week ran something like this: wake up, go to class, write a story for The University Journal, turn story in, go to class, edit story, go home and sit down for ten minutes, change into my techie blacks, hurry to get something to eat, run to the theatre, do costume crew for The Philadelphia Story, get home at about eleven or later, and try to slow down enough to manage to fall asleep. Crazy, no?

The ironic thing is that last Sunday I was asked to speak in Church the coming Sunday on a talk based on a talk called "Living a Balanced Life." At that time I thought it was a simple sort of idea that I had in the bag, but then the week actually happened.

By the time I got to Saturday night I had shadows under my eyes, one of my legs was threatening to give out, and I still had yet to write my talk. The next day I got up in Church and told the congregation exactly what my typical day was like, and then I explained that I had gotten something of a wakeup call thanks to the topic of my talk. I had forgotten to balance my life, and because of that neglect I was floundering.

As students and people we can get so caught up in all of the craziness we get involved with, and when we do that things manage to get out of control. We tend to worry so much about our employers, our families, and other aspects of our lives that we forget the duty we have to ourselves. Craziness, right? Isn't getting all of your work done and calling your family and helping your friend with their problems doing our duty to ourselves? Think about it, though. During your week did you take the time to take care of yourself? And did you do something that was completely spastic but made you happy? I know I didn't.

That's why in the coming week I am going to try to make sure I get things done but still have time to relax every once in a while. I'm going to take fewer stories for the Journal and get everything done at the first chance rather than waiting until the last moment. Now the challenge is what can you do to make your life a little more balanced?

That Look In My Eyes

2008-02-01T12:35:00.000-08:00

Determination is a scary thing.

Those of you who know my really well know that when I get my mind settled on something specific strange things begin to happen. The first sign of danger is when I get "that look" in my eyes, which is usually followed by the dooming proclamation that I have an idea. What happens next usually varies depending on the situation, but suffice it to say that the trademarks are relatively easy to follow should you know what to look for.

I pity my friends here at SUU. The other day I got "that look" in my eyes.

Here at SUU I have found that making movies makes me a very happy person, and I have always been very disappointed that there are no real film classes offered. This Christmas, however, my family did a brilliant thing by giving me a video camera (an amazing one to boot) to make all the movies my little heart desired. Well, I got to thinking about what kind of project I wanted to do next, and that is when dangerous things began to happen. Enough with the short films, I thought to myself. I wanted to learn something more, and that meant kicking it up another level.

Currently I am working on writing the script for my first feature length movie, which I plan on filming this spring. Now usually this would seem like a rather crazy attempt since I am a poor college student, but I am planning on seeing if I can't get help on the monetary front. Here on campus we have the UGRAS program, which grants undergraduate students funding for things that will help them learn things and further their field. Since I am a directing major I can probably get at least some money from them after doing some budgeting and finishing the script. Epic, no? I'm also going to talk to my professors and see what help I can get by way of mentoring and advice, and I am also going to get all the help I can from the Media Center in the library.

My plan of action is clear, and look out! Before you know it I may be the next discovered director because I plan on entering my movie in several film festivals around the nation (supposing it turns out like I think it will). Wish me luck!

Life is a Party

2008-01-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

Life is kind of funny. Have you ever noticed that?

For days on end we all go around living life, sometimes without even noticing what we're doing, and then something so entirely peculiar happens that shakes the world up. In my case a number of things have happened lately that just made me sit back and absolutely laugh at myself. And no, I wasn't just laughing at myself for no reason at all.

Recently things have been extremely busy for me, and if you have bothered to open the University Journal or looked on suujournal.com recently you will have noticed how often my name has been popping up in the past two weeks. That, my friends, is because I have been doing story after story for them. In the past seven days I have attended a concert, gone to a film festival, and learned all about the college's chapter of Habitat for Humanity (did you even know SUU had one of those?). It's been blisteringly busy, but I've been having so much fun that I consider the past two weeks something of a party.

Of course, getting the information together for the Habitat story was a bit strange. I had never really sat down and thought about what the organization did, and so I did some research on their website while I was waiting for my contact to arrive. It was intriguing, to say the least, and I was excited by the thought that SUU was going to help the community's poor by building housing. And then I got the depressing news. SUU's chapter is too small to start on that big of projects, but they do offer an alternative Spring Break where they go out of state to do work on other projects. I guess the poor of our community can only hope that eventually SUU's chapter will be big enough to start building houses, and if you want to help out more information is in the Service and Learning Center.

As for my adventures at the concert...Well, that is an interesting matter. The Angeli Duo, two very talented violinists, came to Cedar City and did a master class for local orchestra students before performing that night. It's really cool that the Cedar City Music Arts Association gets so many talented performers to come to Cedar City because it gives the PVA students a change to learn from some of the best in the business through the master classes.

My other assignment was...amazingly fun. I was able to go to the Parowan Film Festival, which is held once a year, and see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid for the first time. It was an absolute blast to be able to see a movie like that on a big screen, and after I had written my story my friends and I went on a second quest back to Parowan for another night of the festival. Oh yes, I went to the sci-fi double feature and got to see Galaxy Quest and the original Planet of the Apes for only $2. Talk about exciting.

Life here in Cedar City is something of a party, and if you know where to look there is something going on every night. Whether it is a RAP activity or a local service project, the world is full of opportunities for new adventures and new friends. What are you going to do with what you've been given?

SUU Idol

2008-01-09T15:45:00.000-08:00

There I was standing up on a stage with a room full of people watching me, and I had no idea what I had been thinking when I signed that paper.

Whether or not you were aware of it, as a part of Welcome Back Week there is a competition going on by the name of SUU Idol. Basically, what happened is that anyone could sign up for an audition, and then you would compete for a spot in the final six. I was there with my friend Laura, who was doing a photography assignment for the University Journal, and supporting my friend Rachel when she performed when it struck me: I could get up and sing something.

One problem. I had nothing prepared. My mind instantly went into a scramble as I tried to figure out what on Earth I would sing, and then Laura leaned over and told me to just get up and sing “Amazing Grace.” With that it was decided. Taking a deep breath I snuck back to the table and signed up for the competition. The girl smiled and handed me a paper with my number on it, and my fate was sealed. There was no backing out. I was doomed.

Almost instantly my upset stomach—the plague for the past week—began acting up again, and I disappeared for the next few minutes in hopes of dealing with that. When I walked out they were three people away from me, and with a nervous sigh I took my seat in the front row. Before I knew it I was up on stage introducing myself to the four judges with a nervous grin. I've never been so embarrassed before in my life, but I was determined to persevere. Taking a deep breath I opened my mouth and began to sing.

For the next minute or so all eyes were on me as I sang the one verse, and it was quiet enough you could hear a pin drop. I was worried that I had botched it. When I was finished the judges gave their critiques, and one of them just...hit me. Isaac, the Simon of the competition, said that my rendition made him want to believe in something. That is the highest form of compliment possible, and I was grinning like an idiot when I got off stage.

I didn't get sent on to the next round, for one reason or another, and I'm okay with that. I was just glad that I at least tried, and that I was able to do so well with no preparation. That kind of opportunity is just one of the many wonderful things that have happened to me here at SUU, and I am so glad I decided to come here. This is where I belong.

Now it is your turn. Go out there, take risks, and get involved. You never know what could happen, but you should at least try.

YAY!

2007-12-28T15:12:00.000-08:00

Happy days are here again! Well, for the most part. Sorry I haven't been on much during the Christmas break, things have been kind of weird for me. The first major thing is that, since my family moved up to Sugarhouse, I haven't had internet for the past two weeks. I know, it is amazing I am still among the living.

Hopefully all of you Christmases (and other such December-y holidays) rocked and that you were safe during the break. My Christmas was...bittersweet. It was really good to be able to see my family again and eat some wonderful home cooked food, but the Sunday before last my great grandfather passed away. That made the holidays difficult, but my family is doing okay.

Right, I have to think positively before I start crying again. Ummm. Oh! For those of you who follow my movie making chronicles I have received an equipment upgrade in the form of my very own camera. Poor Andrew has been without a camera because I am constantly borrowing his. Now I have a very beautiful camera by the name of Giacomo (yes, I name stuff) and am excited to work on all of my dream projects. Who knows, maybe one of these days you will see my name in the credits of an academy award winning film. Yeah, that'd rock.

I've also been having fun exploring Sugarhouse for the first time. Discovered I live about a block away from what my friend Mary described as "everything that matters" in Salt Lake. There is a complex with a Barnes and Nobles, Noodles and Co., Jamba Juice, Old Navy, Footlocker, Training Table, Movies 10, Olive Garden, Shopko, Maggie Moos Ice Cream, and twenty other stores I can't remember, and I live right near it. Go me. Actually I think it's rather silly, but I'm fine with being so close to a bookstore.

Also, I am looking for movie ideas. If you have any let me know, and chances are I will get around to it within the next few months. Right, now I have to go look up textbooks for next semester, so I will talk to you all later!

Ick....

2007-12-10T12:07:00.000-08:00

Well, I have managed to survive nearly an entire semester at Southern Utah University. That's something of an accomplishment. It seems like I will get at least a B+ in my Script Analysis class, a B in Costume Construction, an A- in Arts Retrospective, and a decent enough grade in LM 1000...but Survey of Theater and University 1000 scare me to no end. I have to keep at least a 3.6 in order to keep my scholarship, and, to say the least, I am dying of stress. What that means is if I get less than a B- in any of my classes all of the rest have to be at least an A-...Panic much?

If you get the chance to pray that I won't die of stress that would be really nice, and if you can spare a moment to pray that I will do well in finals week that would rock as well.

And, oh joy, I managed to freak out at Laura. She has been wanting to do a movie featuring the story of one of the alleged theater ghosts, and this past Saturday we went and borrowed a top hot and dance dress from the costume shop with the intent of returning them this morning. The guy that was going to help us with the movie jerked off and wasn't home all Saturday so we couldn't film. And he wasn't available this morning like he said he would be. Lo and behold, Laura just came into my room and asked me what I was going to do about it. Hm, not the best decision. I asked her why she can never talk to Earl, the costume professor, herself or why I always have to be the one with answers. It's as if I am expected to be an all-knowing all-doing god while they don't notice how horribly freaked out I am. She hissed something at me before storming out the door. Whoop dee do. This is why I really shouldn't get stressed.

Right, now that I've binged about that bad crap I will continue on to the rest of my life.

This past week my family relocated to a different part of my state, and so I now get to figure out a very large city when I go home on Thursday. It should be rather exciting. Oddly enough I will be within five minutes of Mary and my brother will eventually go to her high school. I wonder what kind of mischief will come from that one.

Of late I have been running around a bit too much to really get on the internet. Somewhere between classes, shows, assignments, and obligations I disappeared into the masses. Hopefully after this week I will be live for three weeks, but I make no promises about the next semester. It should be an easier one because of all the classes I have (like Acting I, Intro to Visual Arts, and a journalism practicum).

I am going to go work on something for one of my classes, and then work on something for another class, and then hopefully find time for food before working on something else. Cheers all, hopefully I will get to talk to you all soon.

P.S. Josh and Jeni- I will be on MSN after this week at a more normal rate. Hopefully. Considering how little time I've had to sleep I haven't had much of a chance to talk. I <3 the both of you, though. Stay sane.

For the sake of letting you know I live...

2007-11-24T00:10:00.000-08:00

You Are A Weeping Willow Tree

You are a dreamer, and you're into almost any kind of escapism.
Restless and capricious, you love to travel to exotic places.
You are easily influenced by others, as long as they don't pressure you.
You tend to suffer in love until you find that one loyal, steadfast partner.
An empathetic friend, you love to make others smile and laugh.

What's Your Celtic Horoscope?

You Are More Yang

Masculine
Creative
Angry
Spring
Summer
Morning
Sun
Space
Active
Wood
Chocolate

Are You More Yin or Yang?

You Are Destined to Rule the World

You have the makings of a very evil dictator...
Which is both kind of cool and kind of scary!
Will you rule the world? Maybe. Maybe not.
But at least you know that you could.

Are You Destined For World Domination?

Handsome Geeks In Shining Glasses

2007-11-13T23:11:00.001-08:00

I am floating somewhere between cloud nine and heaven.

Okay, so maybe I'm not that high up, but I am pretty much a happy being. Monday night at the observatory was beyond Epic. Yes, Epic with a capital “e” because it was just that amazing.

Laura and I had been floating around all day doing this and that (which did include a trip to D.I.) when we decided to retire to our rooms for a little while before going to work. It was 6:15 when I received a call from Professor Cotts, who is in charge of the Astronomy department, telling me that there were five cars worth of people waiting for us at the observatory. Now there were two astounding things about this: a) we don't open until seven o'clock during the month of November and b) the most we get is a group of scouts numbering perhaps twelve kids, a few parents, and the leaders. Five cars worth of people was nothing short of insane.

So, I scrambled from my room and got Laura before we dashed over to the Ashcroft with all haste. When we got there lo and behold there were five cars full of people waiting for us, and before we got everyone settled we ran out of seats. For the first time that I know of the observatory was so full some people had to stand during the presentation, and as things continued we got more and more people flooding in.

The source of this excitement? Last Wednesday there was a story in The Spectrum about the observatory and about how Laura and I work there, and it just so happened that they re-printed the story on the front page for the Monday edition. Exciting much? When my institute teacher gave me a copy of the story this morning I couldn't help but laugh because Laura and I had no idea that it had been re-printed (we were really confused when people kept mentioning the story in that day's paper about us).

There was just one big problem. For the past month our poor thirty year old telescope, which is a big beastly orange thing, has been out of alignment. We had contacted Professor Cotts about it, but as of yet nothing had been done about it and we were being flooded with people. So, in a panic, I dashed up to the dome to escape the flood of people and placed an emergency call to the professor in hopes of getting someone up to fix the telescope. Professor Cotts was understandably stunned at the number of people crammed into the observatory, but she promised she would call a guy by the name of Neil (who I figured was a professor) to come and fix the telescope. I didn't really expect him to come, but, since we had three more groups on the way and there was some chance of him coming, I went outside to wait anyway.

It wasn't more than ten minutes before a figure came charging out of the darkness with a book on the universe in hand and blew past me with a smile. I was, in a word, shocked because he couldn't be more than a few older than me. Was this Neil? Since there was no sign of the other groups in sight I slipped up into the dome and, wonder of wonders, there was the guy from moments before already working on fixing the telescope. We quickly got past the introductions (he already knew who I was, no shock there) before going back to dealing with the literal flood of humanity that had converged on our tiny observatory.

To make a long story short I will simply give you the larger picture for the rest of my night at the Ashcroft. Laura and I were there from 6:25 until 9:10 at night, and during that time we filled the room several times over and gave six presentations—which doesn't include the two presentations Neil gave outside. We figure over sixty people came to the observatory and two or three other groups had called asking about the coming Monday. Not only were the numbers epic but I learned that Mars is starting to come up sooner along with Orion and Taurus...and I learned how to fix the alignment on the telescope. By the time we sent the last group away and had turned off the porch light Laura and I were tired (I don't know how Neil was doing).

Somehow Laura and I managed to get the whole thing locked up before we climbed into my boat of a car, and soon we were back on our way to the comfort of our dorm rooms. But the story doesn't end there my friends! Neil was following along behind us, and when we got onto what turns into Center Street in Cedar City things got amusing... Yeah, pretty sure Neil started to race us down that street without really intending to. It wasn't until we hit the light right near the Wendy's that it turned into a real race, and that was because Neil did the challenging edging forwards while laughing his head off at us. Oh yes, we accepted and the game was on. I will admit that driving a Crown Victoria was at a disadvantage, especially when he was driving a lighter drifter-style car, but I was determined to win anyway. We shot off along Center Street at a grand five miles over the speed limit, and Neil quickly gained something of a lead. But! Slowly we edged forward, and it seemed we were going to have some chance of at least tying when suddenly Neil put on his brakes. Before Laura and I knew it Neil was behind us, and we had won. I was confused but definitely giddy.

It was a beautiful night of good laughs, record numbers, and handsome geeks in shining glasses. What about that wouldn't be wonderful? Now if I could figure out whether or not the handsome geek already has a girlfriend...

Longest Weekend On Record

2007-10-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

“I came back and Kirstin was sitting on the couch telling her fingers not to argue...while watching The Wedding Planner.” At least, that was Derek's story that he happily told people Monday night.

To say that he was right would be admitting insanity, which I would never do, but in all honesty I think it fair to defend my side of the very, very, very long weekend.

Juniper was a barren wasteland. Once in a while, in passing, I would see a stray copy of the University Journal roll across the floor and a wind would whistle through the empty terrain. There were no signs of life, and I was entirely alone. Well...almost alone.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, but I was fast asleep in my nice warm bed (and remained so until it was much too late in the day). It wasn't my stomach began to yell at me in less than subtle ways that I finally rolled out of bed and faced what had to be the longest day in my life: a day where I was all but abandoned. Yes, my friends, for the first time since school had began I was to be without my faithful partners in crime because of one show: Crimes of the Heart. Ah, but I digress. We were at the point where I finally decided to stop being a lazy bum. As it was, I managed to get out of bed and wandered over to the local cafeteria to eat, and discovered it was closed. I was very sad.

It was in that moment of great need that I decided it was time for a quest! I bounced back to my room to grab my keys and liscence (wouldn't want to get pulled over, after all) before dashing down to my awaiting charriot, which is also known as The Boat or The Crown Vic. Soon I found myself wandering listlessly through the vast aisles of Wal-mart wondering to myself just what it was I had hoped to find in the giant soul-consuming building. I shrieked with glee when I reached the ice cream aisle and happened to discover that, against all odds, Wal-mart carried my favorite flavor of Breyer's ice cream in the universe: Brownie Mud Pie. When I came out of Wal-mart it wasn't with something for lunch, as I had intended, but instead with a shirt and a carton of ice cream. Clearly this failure would not suffice.

So I jumped into my Crown Victoria and began to drive in the vague direction of Main Street. It didn't take me too long to realize that there was a grocery store there, and so I decided to take a chance to explore it. The exterior wasn't very promising with the faded red lettering reading Lin's Market Place and the rather lackluster wood roofing that didn't quite compare to the commercial gloriousness of Wal-mart, but my exploration was not to be unrewarded. This rather unamazing building, you see, gives a 10% discount to any students with valid I.D. includes a sticker for the current term, and I was able to walk out with two things of Swedish meatballs and three york peppermint patties for just over half what it would have cost me in the great and spacious location I had been wandering so listlessly through before.

With a smile on my face I made it back to Juniper, and the rest of the weekend was a very...quiet affair. It wasn't until Saturday night when I was coming back from doing the show—and I was singing quite happily without regard for the empty rooms—when I discovered that I had been in company all along. Liybie, a girl at the other end of the hall, poked her head out of her room when she heard me singing and gave a brief greeting before disappearing once more. I was astonished—no, I was astounded. I had gone two days without major human contact, and she had been there all along! Through the course of the weekend I saw her about...two or three times more, but beyond that I was on my own.

Until Derek showed up.

I was sitting on the couch watching The Wedding Planner cuddling with a blanket—JC300's hallway and lobbey are very cold currently—when suddenly he appeared on the couch next to me. Rather happy for the fact I had someone to talk to I tossed my blanket to the side and pounced on Derek. Snuggling him I informed him how happy I was that he was there and told him all about the quiet that had afflicted the entirety of the dorms all weekend long. Somehow or another he managed to keep my entertained, and when Amberle came home my world was at long last looking up.

Yes, I am just that dramatic.

Monday was, for the first time in recorded history, a promising day. I knew that people would be coming back all day, and that things would finally come back to laugh. All day I watched with glee as people appeared, and I don't think I have ever been that happy to see even the people who annoy the crap out of me. The only down side of Monday was that work caused me to miss Heroes again, and I think I may have to buy the dvd for season two just so I know what the crap happened. I'm sad that I always miss it...

But hey, welcome back SUU! The break without you was painstakingly long! And now...I am going to go catch some z's before I crash on my computer. Night!

Busy Doesn't Define It

2007-10-17T21:38:00.000-07:00

I am not entirely certain that I am capable of thinking enough to write, but I will do my best. Let me think...Tuesday. Yes, that would be the day. I can never seem to remember these kinds of things, but you may have to forgive me due to the late hour of my writing.

The reason for my particularly late writing is due to the rather strange thing that happened to me on Monday while I was making rice for Laura and myself. One moment I was floating around happily reading the forums on National Write a Novel Month and the next I was on the phone with the director of "Crimes of the Heart." It was somewhat confusing but eventually it turned out that they desperately needed someone to come run props for their show, and why they called a directing major rather than a technical major I still have absolutely no idea. Regardless I soon found myself driving over to the theater (I wouldn't want to walk home in the dark, after all) and began to watch the show to see just how things fit together.

I had recently told one of my friends that life was ironic because her life has been sickeningly busy since the beginning of school and now that her life is calming down mine would shoot off into all kinds of busy. I shouldn't say such things. Suffice it to say that from six o'clock to ten o'clock I was learning all about the wonderful world of props and just how much work the properties people do. You know, sometimes I am not certain that actors and audiences realize just how much work goes on to make things go smoothly--heaven knows I didn't always pay as much attention and respect as I should have.

Other than teching for "Crimes of the Heart" I have simply been trying to survive my classes with a G.P.A. high enough to keep my scholarship. By way of good news I got 90% on my Script Analysis midterm and 100% on my Arts Retrospective: Music Final. Yay for good news! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and write a critical review of Henry V for my Survey of Theater class. Cheers!

Oh, and go see "Crimes of the Heart" if you get the chance. It's awesome.

Sexyfine Superheroes

2007-10-10T08:22:00.000-07:00

I don't think I will be eating ice cream for a long while.

Have you ever happened to hear of The Zion? It is a massive compilation of twenty six scoops of ice cream, six sauces, and twelve sprinkles that exists at GranDee's; and, when you manage to finish off that beast your group/name goes up on a plaque. My friends decided that we were going to go and conquer this mass of food...The one problem is there were only eight of us.

Now let me tell you another little story to help you understand why eight people are a problem. Two months ago as a Resident Housing Freshmen Assistant Board we went to GranDee's and conquered The Zion. We had fourteen people and barely managed to finish the beast off, and so to go at it with almost half that number was considered to be suicide.

So, with our motley crew we sat down in our seats and stared at this mass of ice cream wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. Among us was someone allergic to milk, someone allergic to more nuts than she had originally thought, someone who hates chocolate, the comeback kid, and four super eaters who nearly didn't make it.

I got the nickname "slow and steady" because I ended up eating five cups of ice cream and helping drain the bottom of the bowl, and only paused for a five minute break in the middle.

During the gauntlet of ice cream many interesting events happened (as one might expect), and I'm not sure there are words to describe all of them. Where should I start?...Ah yes, the mini yoga session! Right towards the end it was determined that, in order to cleanse various auras and be able to eat more, it was necessary to "greet the sun" and do some yoga. Had you walked into that ice cream store at about...six at night you would have seen three girls standing in the middle of the room doing various yoga poses and giggling madly. I, thankfully, was not one of them. I was laughing my head off at them.

After that they collected themselves and sat down, and we continued giggle in almost an insane manner. We were on the ultimate sugar rush, and that soon spawned interpretive dancing. Before we finished we managed to interpret numerous Walt Disney songs and created a rap of "Dancing Through Life" from Wicked. Finally, though, after about two hours of eating we finished with something of a collective groan, waddled over to the bell, and declared ourselves victorious. Now if you go into GranDee's and look at the names of those who survived The Zion you'll happen to see one that says "SEXYFINE 'Don't just admire us beautiful people, become one of us.' " That oddity would be ours.

Oh, and if you don't get the reference go onto YouTube and look up "abridged Avatar" and click on episode three. Pretty sure you'll get a good laugh, even if it makes no sense. Actually, I would recommend watching all four just for kicks and giggles.

I will have you know that I did go to work after conquering The Zion, and I managed to give a presentation to a group of scouts on the stars and planets. Things went well except for the fact our thirty year old telescope was miss aligned inside, and that led to all kinds of frustration. Oh, Laura, our lactose intolerant person, is my assistant at the Astronomy Lab, and after eating enough ice cream to make herself ill she ate two jr. double cheeseburgers and fiesta potatoes...I wonder how she did it because I'm still not hungry, and those events happened yesterday! Talk about insanity; but hey, she's fun!

I don't think we had an exciting enough day, really. I have to wonder...what's going to happen next?

Why Phantoms Shouldn't Hide In My Closet

2007-10-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

How can I explain today? It all started with Liybie. I blame everything on Liybie.

Now why would I bother to blame a nice girl like her? Because she asked Laura and I to help her recreate a photograph for homework. That's always dangerous. Why? Because the creative juices start flowing and don't stop. Why? Well...I just don't know.

I will say that we did manage to recreate the picture quite beautifully, but that meant we had to make a trip to the soul consuming Wal-Mart. So we went. Nothing really exciting happened...but then things went horribly amiss. We went to D.I.

For two hours we were consumed by the awesomeness of what we found. When at last we walked out it was with leather pants, a leather jacket, a belt, a sweater, two skirts, a fishnet jacket, and 80's prom dress. How we got that much stuff is a story for another day, but suffice it to say we planned on something of a photo shoot for that night.

And then came dinner. Now around JC300 dinner is an adventure--ask anyone who has eaten with us...or near us...or at the same time...or anyone who has happened to hear of what happens when JC300 eats. Pretty all stories lead to awesomeness. At dinner things were going rather normally...until the KaoruHikaru incident. To those of you who don't know what Ouran High School Host Club is you're missing out...Let's just say that it meant false blushing, false tears, and false flirting. Oh snap, it was awkward. But really funny. A girl who we will call "Shematite" for the sake of privacy actually snorted hamburger out her nose. Oh yes, we rock that much. ><

Do you know what happens after dinner on a Tuesday night? LAUNDRY PARTY!!!! If you've never attended a JC300 Laundry Party you are missing out. What happened? Well, most of that will remain a JC300 mystery. But! I can say that it did lead to a rather epic photo shoot. Laura and Shematite got their vampire on and used a boy who will call "Shadow" as their human prop. I got to have lots of fun taking pictures of the event, but at ten o'clock at night Laura finally decided to go back to Manzanita.

And that's when things got scary. Poor Shadow, in his endearing innocence, came upstairs dressed as The Phantom (from the awesome Broadway show)...JThe C300 females struck. He was able to seek asylum in my room, and it wasn't long before my door became the focus of a mob. They pounded, they yelled, they stuck cameras through the door...Thanks to dear Faith, though, we were warned enough in advance to barricade the door so they couldn't in. Shadow eventually took to hiding in my closet to avoid the scary females awaiting outside.

Once the mob was satisfied that Shadow wasn't coming out to play (as they begged him to) they left. Thank heavens. At the moment we're hiding in my room hoping they don't come back, and all the while we're wondering if it's safe. I doubt it is. Poor Shadow is going to have to sneak out my door and pray he's not caught. Hopefully he makes it.

The point of this all? JC300 rocks. Actually, the point is that life is never boring living on campus. @.@ Night all. Pray for Shadow.

Awesomest Job Ever? I Think So!

2007-09-25T14:58:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to work at the Ashcroft Observatory for the second time, and this time we took a camera to attach to the telescope. Thought you all might like to see what we managed to capture of Jupiter and the Moon. Enjoy!

Hail To The Chief Because He Needs Hailed and Why I'm Normal

2007-09-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

Let's start with "Why I'm Normal." Two nights ago my friend and I were in my room watching part of Avatar: The Last Airbender when suddenly the air was filled with shrieks. And I mean SHRIEKS! Clearly it was our duty to go and investigate the source of the noise, and so we went dashing down the hallway to the living room in the middle of our floor. What we found there both shocked and amazed us.

Sitting on the table and couches of our living room where most of my floormates dressed most...peculiarly. They were sitting there (in all their psychotic glory) sobbing and flailing about "David" while speaking in Russian accents. From what I gathered they were madly in love with "David" and were fighting over which one would get his love. So I, being impish, told them that "David" was in the closet at the end of the hall (seeing as he is a made up person I figured he wouldn't mind). Wow. They went shrieking down the hall to pound on the door, and while they did that I bounced into my room across the hall from the closet to attach my friend's webcam to my laptop. The following video is what I caught right after clipping it on....Wow, my friends. Wow. I really am the normal one here.

~~~~

Today it also happened that President Michael T. Benson was instated as President of Southern Utah University. Exciting, no? Well, I decided to go to his inauguration (since I might not ever have that kind of chance again) and I was...amazed. Not only is my new president absolutely in love with the musical Wicked, which makes him cool, but he's a genuinely amazing guy. The plans he has for my school...Wow! The PVA is getting a new building and the Shakespearean Festival is getting a two block village! Pretty sure that's amazing stuff, that.

It seems SUU has made a turnaround with our new president, and I'm excited to see what happens. I've met the man and he's very, very nice. This should be one heck of an adventure!

The University Journal and the No Good, Very Bad Day

2007-09-13T22:46:00.000-07:00

Today was certainly a most random affair, and I...don't quite know what to think about it. I suppose I had better go in a sensible order (mainly so I don't confuse myself). Had you asked me at one in the afternoon how my day was going I would have told you that today was a no-good-very-bad-day and that all I wanted to do was crawl back in bed so I could hide. Why? It seemed many strange things decided to happen just in the course of twenty four hours, and I was not in the mood to deal with it.

Here at college life is an interesting thing, but I have to admit my roommate drives me nuts. For the past two nights she hasn't been here. At all. The girl blows in once in a while to change clothes or pick up a textbook, but other than that she doesn't seem to exist. If that weren't frustrating enough....I can't seem to sleep very well because I never know if she'll come breezing in at one thirty in the morning (like she tends to do more frequently than I would like) and so I don't end up falling asleep until two in the morning.

When I woke up this morning I felt like I had what matched the description of a hangover, and Institute didn't seem like the most pleasant of ideas. Nevertheless I drug myself out of bed, got dressed, and all but crawled my way to the distant institution where my first class of the day was to be held. I sat through it quite neatly, speaking up only when and I had to, and near the end of class Brother Christiansen asked me to stay a few moments after class. I was freaked out. What on earth could he want with me? It turned out he was worried about me. Apparently I wasn't being my "bubbly" self and he was concerned that something had happened. I was...confused. People don't refer to me as bubbly, and yet in the past week I have been called that more than anything else. I'm not sure what to think of it, and I wonder if it's a good thing to be bubbly.

Anyway, after that I wandered over to Arts Retrospective for one of the last sessions of the Art History part of the course. The funny thing is that I don't think I would have ever said I enjoy Art History, but Professor Marvick is just...so awesome that I can't help but enjoy the class. I am sad that we're going to be having our test soon and switching to Theater and Dance with Professor Marotta. Gee, that's depressing that I wouldn't want to study theater.

By the time class was done I was so tired that I simply went back to Juniper and crawled back in bed, setting my phone to ring at exactly 12:15 so I could have time to grab lunch before Costume Construction. Pity I didn't notice I set it for 12:15 a.m. Luckily I managed to roll out of bed five minutes to one, run across campus, and make it to class just in time. I was not a happy person, and things did not seem to be looking up. During the course of two hours I managed to melt part of a table, get gunk on an iron that I got to clean up, had to cut some demonic material, and rubbed part of my hand raw on the scissors.

But! It seems from even the worst situations come the most interesting opportunities if we simply look for them. During class I got to talking with a girl by the name of Dana who is in another class of mine, and I was amused at how well we got along. Not only is she an English Major with a Theater Minor, but it turns out we have a good deal in common. Somehow my roommate came up and she mentioned to me that her roommate is moving out around Christmas and all but dying for someone to buy her contract. It would really be an ideal situation: a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, and no Kitty for $800 a semester...but I hesitate. Even though I am uncertain about the girls on my floor and their motives I have become close to them in my own quirky way. Moving out would mean leaving them, and, even if I saw them around campus, things wouldn't be the same. Is it odd that I am so concerned about people I have only known for a month?

Another positive thing came from talking with Dana, though. I learned she works for The University Journal (the school's newspaper) and it proved to be an interesting topic. Somehow or another I landed in the all but hidden office for the Journal and soon found myself being introduced to "Captain" Goldstein and the various editors (and the pirate names). I was so amused that they all had earned pirate names, due to a strange pirate theme adopted by the newspaper team, and found quite quickly that I fit in with them. By the time I left I had my first assignment as a reporter for the University Journal and the offer to take pictures for them as well. Eventful much? I have until Monday at five to put together my first story, and I am excited. Dana is acting as my trainer, and by next year I could have a paid position with them! That would be exciting, no?

After that I went to the RHA Luau, which was fun. I got to talk to lots of fun people and do some hard work, two things that seem to go hand in hand with being on the RHA. Just a few minutes ago I went out to the floor lobby (partially due to curiosity thanks to the loud noises coming from there and partially due to a bathroom trip) and learned something odd. Here I have developed a reputation as being very honest. I think that is a first.

Apparently at college I am bubbly and very honest. Is that a good thing? I'm confused and I doubt myself a little...but I guess somehow I am going to pull through this. It should be interesting to see if I make it.

Never leave theater people alone with a camera

2007-09-09T20:45:00.000-07:00

...what can I say? We had FUN!

A Random Discourse on Theater

2007-09-06T23:57:00.001-07:00

So I have decided to, once in a while, present my thoughts on a specific topic to you all. The excitement is unbearable, I know. Now I present to you my first discourse, which is on theater, that is largely due to my Survey of Theater class.

And before you ask: No, I haven't edited yet. Yes, I will be before I turn it in. Yes, you can leave your own opinions. No, I will not get angry with you.

~~~

Theater is a magical place, and I have been lucky enough to experience both the art of being on stage and the world that is created when one is in the audience. This variety of experience lends me something of a reaction to the information found in Theater: The Lively Art and the quote by Ms. Ditor, and that reaction is that I somewhat disagree with Rachel Ditor's opinion that the question of what will next happen is the basis of the performer/audience relationship.

But, one may ask, why do I think so? It isn't necessarily the asking what is going to happen next, but caring about the character that is being presented on stage. If one were to sit through a performance of Taming of the Shrew they could easily wonder what was going to happen next as Kate and Petruchio argued in the second act without caring a wit about the actual performance. To truly create the dynamic chemistry between the audience and the performer the actor or actress must make them care about the story and make it vital for them to know what happens next. Taking our earlier situation from Taming of the Shrew, if the actor has done their job of making a believable Kate or a frustrating Petruchio then the audience will not just simply care what happens next (so they know when the end is coming) but they will begin to feel things for the characters.

It is more than a question of what when it comes to the magic of theater, but the ultimate chemistry of the who in theater. Theater can happen without making an audience feel, but when it does that is the greatest magic of all: the magic of true creation.

~~~

P. S. Ugh...I will edit in the morning. Must...fix...stupidity.

Keys to the Heart

2007-09-01T22:12:00.000-07:00

So I was rather amused by a quiz, and I decided to take it. Just because I am that kind of mood I decided to post the results on here. o.O Why? ...er...Let me get back to you on that one.

***The Keys to Your Heart***

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free.

In love, you feel the most alive when your partner is patient and never willing to give up on you.

You'd like to your lover to think you are optimistic and happy.

You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic.

Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets.

Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment.

You think of marriage something you've always wanted... though you haven't really thought about it.

In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?
http://www.blogthings.com/keystoyourheartquiz/

****

Random, no?