Changes

I won't apologize or make excuses for not writing all the goodbyes I intended to write.  Please.  You know me.  Did you really expect that?  I don't feel guilty.  But I will at least acknowledge that there's been a drought.  It didn't go unnoticed.  Let me summarize this: life is fun and full and sad and beautiful.  Now to the point.

5 days.

FIVE fu-reaking DAYS!

This is going to change into a mission blog after I leave. (i know.  I know. Mission blog.  I'll fight off the shudders if you do.)  I'm going to try and make some time to write down of the funny anecdotes that happen.  But that's in addition to all the emailing and writing some of you don't believe I'll be doing. (Ahem.  John. Ahem.  I'm going to prove you wrong.)  If you want extensive details well - you won't.  How boring would a minute by minute recitation of my day be?  Here let me help you out with that answer.  Super. Boring.  But iiiiiif, hypothetically speaking you did want some more in depth-stuff, here's my email: sierra.gish@myldsmail.net

And even if my posts aren't consistent, I (or rather, Carol, bless you dear sweet woman) will be putting up my mailing address.  So if you REALLY want to get personal - and you do, right?  riiiiiiight - send me some letters.

When in doubt, send them to the mission home.

Sister Sierra Jade Gish
England Manchester Mission
Springwood, Suite G5
Booths PArk, Chelford Road
Knutsford WA16 8GS
England, United Kingdom

And if you can address that ridiculously long thing and write me a letter, I'll be very impressed.  Like pay for your carpel tunnel surgery impressed and grateful.

Right.  So that's that.

Miss me.  I'll miss all of you.

K bye.

Thoughts on a Tuesday Eveing

I haven't written for awhile, not necessarily because I don't have anything to say.  Of course I have things to say.  Don't you know me?  I always have things to say, long involved stories often about nothing.  The problem is right now I have too much to say.  I can't even get a handle on my emotions.

I want to write about my thoughts on serving a mission (29 days.  Twenty. Nine. Days.)  but being aware of the depth and vast range of those emotions, I can't even begin to delve into them.  It's much much easier to recognize that I'm leaving, and stop there.

I'm excited mind you.  I don't want that to be a question for a minute.  I don't doubt my choice.  But humans are hardwired to fear the unknown right?  I think I wrote an essay about it way back in my AP European History Class.  And I'm adventuring into the unknown, a weird kind of structured unknown where I kind of think I know what I'm doing?  The general logistics and overall goal and all that, yeah. But the details?  No clue.  What will my companions be like?  No clue.  What's going to happen to my family, friends, and certain relationships while I'm gone?  No clue.  I mean I have trust and faith and all that, so I'm not really to ulcer level anxiety or anything but if I'm being real then yeah, there's a little bit of fear there.  (Read: TERROR)  And I could go on and on about that.  But I don't want to.  I don't want to concentrate on that.

I want to tell you about visiting my family back east, the sights we've seen, the states we've visited, my lovely and interesting relatives.  And of course the stories of finals, heavily studded with Billy BYU moments.

You know I'm a nostalgic old man right?  Papa Jim style?  Well I'm brimming with nostalgia and sentimentality, and maybe even a few fond tears and I want to talk about that.

Mostly though I want to continue the tradition I started last year, cataloguing some of the people I found in these two semesters of school.  I need to tell you about my roommates, how I'm drastically happier than I've ever been since beginning college.  But two of the most important relationships I've experienced... well I don't think I have the words for those. Here's my conundrum.

1.  These two experiences were crucial to my development and I want to do them justice.
2. I don't want to gloss over them like they didn't exist, though they turned (or may turn) out not so happily in the end.
3.  And I hate people who give mysterious allusions to an event without actually giving details.  Usually I tend to think those people just need validation from others begging to know what happened.
4. I don't want to be like that, because that's not what this is for me.  I write pretty much for me.
5.  BUT this online any joe shmoe can read.
6.  And because it's online and involves other people and is very personal, I can't really say everything I need to anyway.

So I can't NOT write about them, I can't KIND OFF write about them, and I can't COMPLETELY write about them.  I don't know.  I'm pretty sure this can be categorized as a quintessential Catch-22*

All this leads to being a little overwhelmed.  I'm tired already.  Too much to say, too little time.  But I'm going to try.  Beginning tomorrow I'll peg away at the ice block of my brain, hopefully fast enough before it melts into a mess.

Let me put it this way.

"i have come to believe that writer’s block is not so much an absence of ideas as it is a tremendously strong desire to take a nap, all. the. time.

when the desire to sleep is greater than the desire to write–to say something–that’s writer’s block.

perhaps it is that the act of writing or thinking or forming words is the very thing that overwhelms and exhausts. sometimes it’s just harder. sometimes it just costs more.

All this thinking and pondering and remembering crap has worn me right out.  So in light of that, I'm going to bed.  Sweet dreams.  I'll see ya tomorrow.

* I hated that book.  Call me an uncultured unappreciative neanderthal**.  I don't care.  Really, go ahead, do it.

**Irony: needing to look up how to spell "neanderthal"

Missing You

Missing some one is a really a strange thing.  Like love, there are so many different kinds of longing, of missing.  There's the missing of the best friend, the days spent in near perpetual company, the pain of knowing that phone calls (even with the best of intentions) can't quite span the distance, not when compared to feeling of lying on the kitchen floor, completely spent from laughter or tears.

Then there's the missing of the him.  The "significant other."

I don't know where to separate the idea from the reality.  Do I miss kissing him or just kissing?  Do I miss his responses to even the most mundane details of my day or do I just miss telling someone, anyone, all of those things?  Like so many gray areas, it's probably a combination of both.  The actuality is impossibly tied to the dream, the fantasy.

Tangible or not, I know exactly what I do miss.  I miss how he answered the phone, groggy in the morning when I called too early and woke him up.  I miss the, "oh hey girl" and the "hi dude" and the myriad of mis-spelled texts.

And the hardest part is the suddenness of it all.  How do you go from complete confidence to ... nothing?    How do you just cut that part out of your life?  But then again, how do you not?  Because you can't just tell someone out of the blue, after weeks of silence; "hey I didn't realize the importance of you in my life,and this is me letting you know I miss and think about you sometimes and there's a little depression in my heart where the connection used to be.  Not a big hole or anything, but just a little valley, like a spoon is pressing on it.  Hey I just want you to know that even if I didn't love you wholly or dramatically like the stories, I might have loved you as much as I can love anyone right now."

You just can't.  Because all this missing isn't enough for me to go back.  I can't tell someone that they were important and amazing and I miss them, but not enough to actually do anything about it besides acknowledge the sadness of the absence.  That's even worse than complete silence.

So here you go void.  Here's my confession, my acknowledgment.  If you're wondering if he/she ever misses you, the answer is probably yes.  Yes but.  And I'm sorry, pointless as that may by.

I'm home.  Back to the place where my roommates don't play Celtic Women in the morning, followed by death metal.  That place where 2 a.m. is a time to sleep, not bake brownies and invite friends over.

I woke up at one o'clock. PM.  A full twelve hours of sleep.  This may have been because my Dad listened to 1776 the entire drive home, slipping me into a time delayed coma that hit at midnight. Or maybe I finally maxed out on my sleep debt and the collectors came.  With high interest rates and bats and tylenol pm.

I drove out of Cedar City yesterday around six.  I could think of all the reasons why I should be sad.  I could think of all the reasons why I should be excited.  But really, I didn't feel much of anything.  I'd said my goodbyes, breathed in the campus as I walked to my last classes, mentally memorized the neighborhood as I ran late at night to give myself a break from studying.  I even teared up a little bit as I wrote about some people who I made good friendships with, who I won't see anymore.  I won't miss them in the aching everyday feeling that lingers.  I'll miss them when I see them again, and think about all the new memories I haven't been a part of.

But as I closed the trunk for the final time and looked around, I knew it was time to move on.  I'm ready.  It's very matter of fact really.  My two years are over, it's time for summer, and then for transferring.  Maybe it'll hit me later, maybe it already did.  Either way, there are no tears.  Just a soft thoughtful feeling of what I could cry about,.  It's nice to know there are things I could cry about, that I experienced some really good times.  I feel prepared.  I learned not to fear the ladies in the front office - something that's terrified me for as long as I can remember.  I asked a question during my biology final, actually raised my hand for clarification, something I've never done before because I didn't want the surrounding attention.  It's a ridiculous notion, that people around me would notice I had a question and think ... well who know what I was afraid of them thinking, but I was.  My worst fear came true, I planned a program for residents and no one came.  And I was fine.  This year I re-learned (finally) how to really study.  Too many easy general ed classes can ruin even the best of habits learned from Mr. Felt.  But now I remember.  I remember and I'm ready to do it again, for many many classes.

I've said a lot of thank you's over the past few weeks.  Thank you's, and I'll miss you's, and recognized a lot of important relationships.  There's a lot more to dwell on, plenty more I learned.  But right now, it's summer.  I'm home and I have to mow the lawn before my dad gets back from the market.  I just have one more thing to say.

Goodbye SUU.

Generic Name Boy

Dubbed so by none other than our very own Ry Guy.

My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings.  Possible.  Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester.   Dalton and David.  Same initials and everything.  I swear that's a coincidence.

I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman.  Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City."  But I can't just yet.  I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco.  It didn't work out, that's the main point.  But David did, for awhile.

Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy.  We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions.  Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello.  I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.

But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me.  And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on.  We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date.  The next time, he took me to the DI.  Stop right there.  Marriage?  Absolutely.  Done and done.  He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner.  RIGHT up my alley.  He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally.  I picked out a bib for him.  And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.

We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken.  I loved every minute.  Six dates to hold my hand.  Nine until he kissed me.  Yeah I counted.   For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone.  He was grown up.  A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard.  Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk.  That may have clinched it.

He had impeccable timing.  When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my  fears.  At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps.  I felt worn out and on autopilot.  He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs.  I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was.  If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.

I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school.  But I didn't love him.  I wanted to.  So much.  I could see everything working perfectly.  He was so solid, steady, and kind.  But I didn't love him.  After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates.  I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time.  So after the break, it was over.  We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it.  Didn't see him again for a few months.  I took his blood glucose levels for my research project.  Sufficiently awkward.

So it didn't work permanently.  But it was a step in the right direction I think.  He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him.  These are not equal actions of devotion obviously.  But hey, he tried his best with that song.

But it was worth it.  I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.*  I finally dated someone older than me.  I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months.  Good luck David.  You were wonderful, ideal even.  I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.**  Thank you.



*This was a big deal.  Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses.  I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.

**As long as she's not prettier than me.***

***Joke.

Diplomatic and Adventurous

Have I ever mentioned that here at SUH* they take their Resident Assistants very seriously?  Actually I know I have.  They do not kid around.  While some of my other friends went to their schools a day or two early for training, I left weeks early.  August 2nd, a good twenty days before my first residents would arrive.  I arrived and looked around at a room full of people, with no idea what to expect.  From earlier classes I thought I liked most of them, but really I was clueless.

The Resident Assistants are an exuberant bunch.  Very very exuberant.  A roomful of them is more like a roomful of fifty energetic puppies.  They have that kind of awkward air that says "I know I'm being being loud and laughing ridiculously at dumb jokes, but I take pride in this. "  Think Jr. High students at their first dance, secretly feeling awkward, but acting real big to hide it.  Bless their hearts.  I really do enjoy them, just in small doses.  Baby aspirin doses.

Not all RA's are energetic puppies, some are normal people.  After all, I was one right? (ahem)  Madi was in charge of the hall two above me, the lovely C300.  Every month had massive programming requirements, so typically everyone teamed up with each other to plan.  And we couldn't just plan a program, we also had to creatively advertise.  No one would really punish you for just doing a poster, but the disdain in the eyes was apparent.  Thankfully, Madi has the ability for the most creative advertising I've seen.  We did an MBTI program and how the heck do you advertise for that?  With massive paper brains of course.  Massive brains hung all over the hall and connected with string until it looked like a ropes course.  Duh.

So in my search for friend-able people, I found Madi.  She never ceases to surprise me.  One minute she's all soft spoken, eloquent and insightful, "You're a monkey Michael?  And what kind of monkey are you? And what do monkeys eat?"  And then she'll let loose with, "And what sound does a monkey make?   This: OoOOooooOooOOOOOOO- AAHHA - AH AH" a perfect imitation, loud enough to call George of the Jungle's monkeys all the way back from 1997 and send them storming to her house, ready to do her bidding.

One time I had the opportunity to go on a snowshoe-ing trip for a few days.  Did I have any idea how to snow-shoe?  Nope.  We were also supposed to sleep in a yurt.  Had I ever even heard of a yurt?  Hell no. Did I desperately want to go anyway?  Oh yeah.  But tentative as I am, I needed SOMEone to come with me.  Luckily Madi was good with only twenty four hour notice for a spontaneous trip up the mountains.  She took me to her house, outfitted me with snow boots, snow pants, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, basically  making it possible for me to go.  To the yurt we went.

It's like she has no inhibitions but at the same time is completely aware of others and diplomatic.  She can go from a sincere, "Sierra you look beautiful" to the best the BEST zombie dance walk I've ever seen.  Never mind it startled the boy next to her so much that he almost needed a change of pants, and caused the rest of his group to stare in astonishment and then laugh in delight.

She has a story for everything.  "Did I ever tell you about the time a boy turned me down after the second date because I wouldn't convert to his religion?"  "Did I ever tell you about the time I tackled a snowman to avoid a kiss?" They never get old.

And she's responsible for this fantastic quote, "Star Wars 1 through 3 are liked the desperate housewives of the galaxy."

Amen.

Madi.  I will miss you.  One of these summers we really will make it to visit Idalina (one of the people we met on our yurt adventure actually) and go to Floyd Fest.

Also.  You have awesome hair.

(I might miss you the most)


*Not it's real name.  Just how I pronounce it.

My Muffin Top is All That

Oh Ry Guy.

What is the story of Ryan?  Well I'm not exactly sure.  In the same stake pretty much our whole lives.  Went to the same Jr. High (I thought his name was Brian for months) and High School.  And then the same college.  Ryan you creep.  Get your own life.

Joke.

We were always in the same friend group but it wasn't until the last few years that I actually got to know him.  He looks hella intimidating. 

The turning point might have been when a bunch of us planned to cook a Sunday dinner, now that we were far away from our doting, meal providing parents.  Ry guy was pretty much the only other one to contribute a meal plan, cooking skill, and the thought to help clean up.  I thought, "wow Ryan is like a complete person that can function on his own.  Self-sufficiency.  Weird."  This was the dinner when I called my parents and apologized for every single time I turned up my nose at a meal or left without at least putting away my dishes.  Karma has a sick sense of humor.  Um.. sorry again parentals.

So we ate real food together.  And a lot of junk food.  We share this disease - ihateeveryoneitis - and the only treatment was withdrawing from the world inhabited by complete idiots and watching 30 Rock while ingesting large amounts of junk.  Basically we were real big snots.  But everyone else really was stupid so it was ok.  We took many trips to the DI because few other people seemed to appreciate the beauty of already worn clothes.  And then we laughed at the people who actually wore new clothes with name brands.  Weirdos. 

We took many* a trip to St. George to sell plasma and sometimes just to get the heck out.  I followed him to the gym (where he works out obsessively) where he taught me the importance of using the shoulder machine.

"But Ryan I don't want to."
"Do it Gish.  It'll make you look like Michelle Obama."

Let's see.. there's the gym, the food, the clothes, the plasma.  AH.  I also need to somehow incorporate the volunteering with children, the music, and the writing.  Oh look.  I just did.  My apologies, it's just that that the little part of me, you know, the one the dictates my ability to coherently write descriptions and transitions that aren't crap took my last two finals and then curled up on the couch where I've been sleeping and died.

Sooo anyway.  Ryan is a real good writer.  And he tries to make his school work real good and not just slide by.  Once he made me go to the park with him in the middle of the night so I could take pictures of him all dead like with syrup (blood) on his face.  It was negative two degrees and he still took off his shirt for the integrity of the photo.  Dedicated, this boy is.  And he took these real cool pictures:

Ryan kind of does everything.  I think that's the draw.  He's interested in life, in everything, in learning, trying new things, going on adventures.  It's the best.  (This may be why he's changed his major what... four times?)

My ability to write in full sentences is continuing to slip.  Ry Guy.  You are fantastic.  I hope you escape this tiny town one day.  If not, I'll probably come visit you as an old man and remind you what a "downtown" looks like.  One with more than one street. 




*Many?  Did say many?  Mom I mean one.  Really..

To Popcorn Thursday

Bailey.

Bay Girl

Big Girl

Big Earl

Bagel

We have a disgusting lack of pictures together.

You made not just my first year, or my second year, but both years so much better.  On the days I felt homesick, there was nothing quite like seeing your face.  As much as I love the new friends I've made, something special exists in a friend who's known you for longer than a semester or two.  We go back to 10th grade and I loved feeling like someone knew me.  Not just the me I'd introduced to people at college but the me with some history.  While I was still meeting people and doing the awkward chit chat (my other seventh level of hell) we were having real conversations, talking about thoughts and ideas and a variety of topics. 

I like you because we share the same opinions about things overly "cutesy."  While some things may leave certain people gooey with dreaming and longing, you appreciate my eye roll and mimic of vomiting.  Childish?  Yes.  Get over it.
I like you because you like yourself and don't need the attention of other for validation
I like you because together we laugh at incredibly tacky Christmas decorations together.  I meant to post about that one.  The pictures don't quite do the horror justice, but it was a very fun night.
I like you for all the abbrevs you've into-ed to my life.  Sers.  Abbrevs are just totes the best.  You are totes adorbs.

I learned from you to find my passion and throw myself into it.  I so admire how many things you've been involved in.  From the newspaper, to several leadership positions, to giving tours, and talking to prospective students, you've about done it all.  It makes me want to try new things.  In a word, you are BOLD.  I admire your confidence in getting up in front of a crowd, and the way you conduct yourself. 

I learned from you the value of poise.  Yes you joke and goof off, but without a bit of show-offy-ness. (I'm sure there's an actual word to substitute in there.  But I don't have my dictionary currently with me.)  Sometimes I expect a little more glory than I should from my actions, but you inspire me to be a bit more humble and accomplish tasks for the sake of getting them accomplished.

I learned that I have to work to keep relationships that I value.  Since we never saw each other on campus, we deemed Thursday "Popcorn Thursday," from our mutual love of air-popped corn and desire to catch up.  With some slight struggles, we kept it up for four semesters.

And now after pounds of popcorn and a plethora of Modern Family episodes, here we are nearing our last popcorn Thursday.

We're going to have to find a new substitute.  Perhaps Skype Saturdays?  Phone call phwednesdays? 

I think of you as kind of a classic.  Steady, not sailing around in need of pleasing the newest trends and fads. Thank you, for that influence.

Let's stay friends.  I need your good taste in my life. 

Goodbyes: Ally Edition

Crap I'm going to cry.

Ally.

Where do I even start?

We met last year in a crappy little residence hall. This one, in fact. The asbestos? The 1950's carpet? Yea boy.

Honestly, we didn't click right away. She was wrapped up in her long distance boyfriend and the scariest looking roommate I've ever met.* I was too wrapped in looking for the label of cool that wore a certain type of band and thrifted clothes. Once and awhile though we'd start talking, and I think that was the redeeming quality: we had awesome conversations. Without the need to impress anyone I could express my real opinions and we found out we had a LOT in common. Both were raised by health freaks** and had similar experiences with boys and beautiful best friends. In the back of my mind I think I recognized this was a valuable connection to keep.

And then this year it clicked.***  In your words, "Why are we friends?  Basically because we're the funniest people we know."  Yup.  That's it.  We're hysterical.

This has taken a long time to write.  I don't know how to keep track of all the memories.

One time we drove home and got caught in fog so thick we couldn't see the lines on the road.  So we gave up and strolled down the highway at a solid 20mph.  Rolled down the windows (mid january mind you) and turned up the hot air and the music.  Ate cornbread and nearly froze our hands by sticking them out the window.  That pretty much describes it.  

Al.  Who is going to go running with me in the morning even when it's raining?  Who is going to show me the best types of organic food?  Who is going to quote Megamind and Gilmore Girls with me?   Who will NOT go running with me and instead bake a cake with two pounds of sugar in the frosting?  Who else will study biology obsessively with me and crazy dance at those lame institute socials?

I like your house because it's actually a house.  A home.  Not quite my pair of clean socks, but a dryer for the old ones at least.  I can come over and see a real pantry stocked with actual cooking ingredients.  We make real meals and I can play the piano and talk to your sister and aunt.

 Ok I'm stopping here.  There's too much to explain and I just can't quite get it right.  But I'm coming to visit you in Colorado.  And in the fall you better get your butt over to my apartment and visit too.

(I might miss you the most)



*This chick cleaned her nails with knives. True story. She also wore those collars with spikes on them and had random shotgun shells hidden in the room. Which is a feat for a 6 by 12 room.

**Sugar cereals were a dessert and only purchased once a year on my birthday. Honeynut Cheerios were to be mixed with regular Cheerios. I kid you not.

***How much does this sound like a weirdo romance I should be telling to my children about my hubsand? Too much.

Tree Nostalgic

Dalton and I met in our dinky little residence hall.  It wasn't exactly love at first sight but I remember noticing him and thinking, "I could date that boy."  I guess he had the same thought process because he made a mutual friend introduce us.  He also made her swear that she wouldn't  say anything, so of course she spilled everything to me.  "Dalton thinks you're way cute and wants me to invite you to hang out so he can get to know you."  I laughed, a little embarrassed, and agreed, wondering if this slightly High School approach was normal for college.

It took a little while before anything happened. I started actually crushing on him around Halloween. Eventually he got my number and invited me to go slacklining.

 

Then he escorted me through a haunted house - a perfect opportunity to hold hands.  I should probably remember the exact day he asked me to be his girlfriend.  This was, after, my first official boyfriend.  But I don't.  I remember going to a midnight movie, climbing onto an elementary school roof, and a lot of late night walks.  But I can't for the life of me remember that official date.

Ironically he was my home teacher.  But he never came once.  Officially anyway.  I don't know if macking counts.

After the first semester he went home to work until he left for his mission.  We visited each other a few times over the break, but ultimately I couldn't handle dating someone while I was at school, seven hours away, and he was working towards a mission.  Let's be honest, commitment scares the crap out of me.  So does actually falling in love.

And I don't think I ever loved him per se.  I may have been caught up with the idea of it all.  A college boyfriend.  Pre-med.  An easy transition from, hey I like you, to actual dating.  But he was really wonderful, not just an image.  Here was a boy who, instead of teasing me about my ACT score (something I was really self conscious about) made me feel smart.  We studied together.  Here was a boy who, instead of being reluctant to invite me home (because his family hated that we were dating) couldn't wait to introduce me to his family.  And I loved his family.  I practically would have married him just to marry into that clan.  We clicked right away.  I was joking with his dad, talking with him mom, and learning about the middle school life of his little sister.  It was an entirely new world to me.  I felt so grown up, driving a few hours to see my boyfriend - although I never really got used to that word.

We had so much fun together.  We went sledding and he showed me around town.  I introduced him to my friends back home, and they actually liked him too.  Or at least, they said so.  I believed them, because they had not been quiet about disliking the last boy.*  He made me a blanket for Christmas, one I still use almost everyday and I went crazy over-analyzing and trying to figure the perfect gift for a first boyfriend.**  

 We stayed in touch after that semester.  He's on his mission now in Brazil, and we write on occasion.That first semester was a lot of fun. 

Thank you for pleasantly surprising me when it comes to how great a boyfriend can be.  Thank you for kissing me in - actually in and not just under - a tree on campus during one of our late night walks.  I can't walk by that tree without remembering, and smiling.  I'm going to miss that. 

 (The sign reads: always kiss me goodnight)

And thank you for not actually looking like that when we kissed.

*you know who you are chica

**apparently it's a shirt.

In Which I Expose Myself as a Leech and a Hipster

Marleen. Also lovingly known as Marleeny-Weeny.

The first new friend I made in this teensy yet alarmingly huge place I call a university.

She introduced me to her friends, and all of the sudden I had a group of very awesome people to hang out with.* It was miraculous. I didn't bond with a lot of people in my dorm... 'scuse me, residence hall (RA terminology) and it's quite possible Marleen saved my life. Without it I faced a long year of awkward social skills and few friends.

Marleen is also one of the coolest people I know. I liked her because she'd heard of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.** I thought, "this girl has good taste." Then she introduced me to about five million other bands and made me feel infinitely cooler. This girl was not a follower. I liked that she had opinions and personality. Before this I was torn between two styles. The one-dimensional sweet gal full of name brand clothing and pop music (or at least, that's how I saw it) and the slightly more punk, fashion-forward, hippie interested, indie music lover. That semester, I absolutely lived in the second.***

Before I mention these next few things, let me preface it by saying: Marleen was no-where near as lame as I was about these characteristics. Mine were trends I was picking up. Hers were legitimate interests and traits. She thought for herself, without letting other opinions influence her own. In trying to replicate this I went to an extreme. Another fault of mine, a tendency to replicate others, instead of create individually. And she was accepting enough that I felt confident enough to try these crazy things.

(Can we blame this on my inborn personality? An xnxx is in the middle of everything remember? So I tend to lean towards either end, depending on who I'm with because I'm comfortable with most everything. Average peeps. SO average.)

She was a part of my first college rebellion - hair dye. Mama C-roll hated that one. But with subtlety. "I just think your natural hair color is so pretty. Maybe we could do some highlights?" Read: that looks hideous and I think you're a jaded materialistic girl for doing it. Love ya mom.

And a part of my first societal rebellion - no makeup. Yeah who cares if I don't look good! All makeup is a tool to suppress women and impress shallow men! Boo! BOOOOOOOO!****

Ok those are kind of negative things. This is coming out to sound a lot worse than I wanted it too. But these stages I went through shaped what I am now and so they're important.
What I learned from Marleen (the simplified version, without psychotic, over obsessive perfectionist sierra):

1. It's ok to like things that other people are weird.
2. It's also ok to not wear make-up sometimes. You can still be attractive without it.
3. Life is more fun if you don't worry excessively about what others think. Go ahead, joke around with that person you just met, don't worry about a perfect first impression, don't take yourself so seriously.
4. There's more than one genre when it comes to music.
5. There's nothing quite like a good clever pun.
6. Study hard, play hard.

Overall it was the inspiration to be a little more confident in myself. Individual quirks are interesting, they help create a personality. And I did come away with an undying love for farmers markets, teevas, and all things in association with that. Hiking, dreadlocks, and weird people. I had these interests a little bit already, but I developed them that year.

We hiked. We listened to music. We played extreme jenga and went to a bonfire - where a gas can exploded and almost took my head off. Mom? I didn't tell you about that? Nevermind...)

Marleeny-weeny. I hope you get into that nursing program. I hope we keep track of each other. Thank you for being such a witty, down-to-earth, fun-loving, smart individual. I will miss your sass.




*a vaguely leech-like quality

**not very many people I knew had heard of that band at this point. Intro my hipster tendencies.

***I should specify that they're not mutually exclusive. I used to be snotty about it but I've matured. I realize that you can be sweet and a hippie. You can also be a punk and be one-dimensional. Now I LOVE EVERYONE, you're all great. I promise I'll only judge you a little if your truly favorite music comes from auto-tune and random rap verses in otherwise non-rap songs.

****Again, I'm no longer like this. Moderation in all things.

Goodbyes

Three weeks. Three weeks exactly. I'll be officially released as an RA, finished with my finals, and out of my apartment. My dear parentals and I will drive out of this little college city ostensibly (if I'm feeling melodramatic) never to return again. At least, not in the same capacity.

I don't know if I believe in fate or destiny guiding my experiences and leading me to people I had to meet for some grand cosmic reason, to save my soul or permanently alter the direction of my life.* But I do know that what and where I am is not a result of only my efforts. There's a lot of people that went in to the making of this odd, introspective, hard-working, intimidated, bold person that I am today. I'm not the same gal that left Salt Lake two years ago, thank goodness. Wouldn't it be awful if people never changed, never learned confidence, never expanded their world view or thought, really thought about ideas and philosophies? It'd be selfish really if ignored how I got here. Journal keeping isn't my talent and sometimes thank you notes don't do a person justice.

To begin. Janelle. (best said in a really low voice, hhhhhheeey juhhh-nehhhllle.)

My very first roommate - with the exception of my stuffed spotted dog Spot.** I had no idea what to expect. I'd heard my fair share of horror stories about roommates. I believe it was made into a great movie. On the flip side, I'd also heard about instantaneous bonding. The Saturday's Warriors kind, where we knew each other in a previous life.

Janelle was neither. She was on the track team, a thrower I think. Shoot I'm a crappy roommate. Even after two semesters I couldn't remember what the even was called. Just know it was a field event. She was buff stuff.

She was also pretty independent, and disciplined (something I knew very little about.) We didn't hang out every weekend, or braid each others' hair. But we got along and I learned how to share a room, and be considerate of another person. I think that was really my biggest fear, being forced to share a room with someone really self-centered and inconsiderate, to the point where I didn't feel comfortable coming in.

I watched Janelle juggle early morning practices, after school practices, classes, and church and came away feeling pretty impressed. This girl was solid. (Not just because of her rocking muscles.) From Janelle I learned consistency, and the benefits of good habits. She wasn't perfect mind you. Sometimes she snored and kept me up. And after a few failed attempts at ear plugs, I learned to say her name*** janelle. Janelle. Janelle Janelle! until she woke up. Then I'd quickly be quiet, pretending nothing happened and trying to fall asleep before she could. Luckily she has a good sense of humor and we laugh about that now.

We went hiking. And carved pumpkins of the first presidency at FHE together. And saved our change until we could take ourselves to a movie. Yes Janelle dear. You were a very good first roommate indeed.




* Think Wicked song lyrics. BECAUSE I kneewwwwwwwwww YOOOOUUUUUU.......

**He was a dalmation and I was a VERY creative child.
***I also slammed drawers. Passive aggressive I know.