Saved Ringtone

I’ve been saving a ringtone
just in the off chance I ever do get your number.

that way whenever you call
I’ll know it’s you
and I’ll get that sudden lurch of butterflies
before saying hello.

and I know that it’s stupid
but if anyone else’s number showed up
to that saved tune,
it just wouldn’t be the same. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Stuff That's Changed

Hello, dear & faithful readers.

You may or may not have noticed things are slightly different around here. Let me explain:

Change #1:
I've decided to break up the "Experiments in Writing" list. It was just too long & it annoyed me. So now you can enjoy either "More Light-Hearted Experiments" or "Experiments That Are a Bit Heavier." If you want to read all of the "experiments" (I don't know why, but you are welcome to) the tag cloud still has all 55 posts under the tag "experiments." I will continue to tag them as "experiments" but will also tag them as their respective mood.

Change #2:
The tag/list of "Random, Possibly Funny Thoughts" is no more. I just wasn't using it so I've integrated all of those posts to "More Light-Hearted Experiments."

Change #3:
I've added a tag/list called "Updates." It is for more personal updates about my life that aren't really experiments in writing. They're more like heads-up on my life, or basically what most blogs are. This post, for example, will be tagged and listed as an "Update."

Change #4:
This one only affects people who access my blog via posts on Facebook. Up until now I've been posting the link to the blog itself: justkellyandherstories.blogspot.com. Now I will be posting links to the newest post. This is solely to see which posts are more popular to satisfy my own egotistical curiosity.

I think that's everything. Thank you again, faithful reader, for being a faithful reader.

Love you.
Mean it.

An Apology to Joseph Conrad

"His was an impenetrable darkness. I looked at him as you peer down at a man who is lying at the bottom of a precipice where the sun never shines...I saw on that ivory face the expression of sombre pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror--of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision--he cried out twice, a cry no more than a breath--
'The horror! The horror!'"

-Joseph Conrad

Heart of Darkness

I owe Joseph Conrad an apology. 

I used to really hate his guts. When I was a freshman at SUU, I took ENGL 2010 from Professor Charles Cutheburtson (spelling may be slightly off). It was called "Terrorism in Pop Culture." It was quite a nifty class, actually. I was able to write my final paper on the t.v. show 24. But we read a book by Joseph Conrad that I hated. It was called The Secret Agent. It had a cool premise. A guy joins a sort of anarchist group but is too cowardly to be a suicide bomber for their cause. So he ends up strapping a bomb to his mentally retarded brother-in-law and tells him to go run into a crowd. If I remember correctly, the brother-in-law doesn't make it. He trips or something and explodes before he gets to the target. That's a pretty awesome premise if you ask me. However, I found the book to be painfully boring. I could not get into it despite my best efforts. Too much time was spent talking about the cause (which didn't make much sense. Not because I was only 18 years old but because it was a weird, convoluted cause) and not enough time was spent actually taking action. It was the first book ever assigned to me that I didn't finish. From that point on, I did not care for Joseph Conrad.

Fast-forward about five years. I am assigned to read Conrad's Heart of Darkness. It's a three chapter book but the chapters are quite long. I was about a third of the way through the first chapter and I was dying. Nothing interesting was going on and it was killing me. I just so happen to be in the newsroom when I was reading it and I lamented about having to read this book. Just then, John-Ross Boyce, a good friend of mine and the co-editor for the V, interrupted me, shouting, "Shut your fucking face!" I was a bit thrown off by this. I was used to John-Ross shouting and swearing at people and inanimate objects but not at me. He then went on explaining how Joseph Conrad is the greatest British writer to ever exist and how Heart of Darkness was the best thing to ever come off of that godforsaken island (meaning England, I suppose.) I was taken aback by his statement. John-Ross is one of four people on this planet whose taste and opinion in books I trust without question (the others being Joe Willis, Augustus Johnson, and Davey Morrison-Dillard). So I begrudgingly took his word for it and decided to keep reading.

Around 2 a.m. the following Sunday morning, I texted John-Ross and apologized for doubting him. I had spent most of the day reading and around the middle of the second chapter, things got very interesting. VERY interesting. I couldn't put the book down. I read the remainder of the book. When I was finished, I sat in awe of what I had just read. It was tragic, complex, chilling, devastating, and so beautiful. I loved how the idea of darkness was used within the novel. There is the literal darkness of the Congo, the darkness of how the Europeans view and treat the natives, and finally, and perhaps the most powerful use, the darkness that exists inside each individual, how a man can lose himself within the evil that he can become. That's why the quote I used above is so poignant. Kurtz looked inside himself, recounted the years he had spent living in the heart of the Congo. When he realized how much the darkness, the evilness had taken over him, all he could whisper was, "The horror! The horror!" It's devastatingly beautiful. I loved this book. I really, honestly loved this book. 

And so, Joseph Conrad, wherever your soul may be right now, I'm sorry I wasted so many years hating your guts. I'll never doubt you again.

Love you.

Mean it. 

How to Commit Immigration Fraud: A Love Story

Today is your lucky day, faithful reader. My good friend Jon and I were having a conversation yesterday that was so interesting and humorous that it deserves further exploration here. We were talking about marriage in regards to how if a non-citizen marries a citizen, the non-citizen becomes a citizen. I asserted that if I had a friend whose visa was about to expire, I would marry him so he could become a citizen. Jon seemed bewildered by this, but it was not something I threw out there willy-nilly. There is a logical thought process behind this. Allow me to explain:

It's a regarded fact that I am fiercely loyal to my friends, almost to a fault. If one of my friends needs my help, I typically drop everything and go to their aid. Now, for me to be willing to marry one of friends in order for him to get citizenship, we'd have to be really super good friends. I'm talking there is no one either of us loves or trusts more as a friend. This is not a common occurrence for me. I can think of four people who qualify off the top of my head. Next, he would have had to exhaust all other possible options for him to get an extension on his visa or an entirely new visa. There must not be any other options for him. Third, he must have a job. He can't just be loafing around doing nothing. And before you all call 'objection!' yes, it is possible to have a job and not qualify for a work visa.

Now that the ground rules are establish, let us delve into this fantasy scenario of me committing immigration fraud. My "husband", let's call him Dean, and I would probably have to live together. That's fine with me. We'll have separate rooms and treat each other like roommates. To nearly everyone, we'd just be best friends who also happen to be roommates. We wouldn't wear rings, of course. If someone were to ask (say the Immigration Services) I would explain (perhaps in a semi-hostile manner) that wedding rings are an archaic symbol of ownership and I, as a feminist, refuse to be owned by anyone, even if only symbolically. For the same reason, I wouldn't change my last name. That's just a whole lot of paperwork for something that's not really real.

Now, Jon brought up an interesting point. What happens when one of us wants to get married. For Dean, it's no problem. We'll just get a divorce and he'll get married. For me, it's a bit trickier. If I do ever end up getting married, my hope is that I will date my future husband for a very long time before we actually tie the knot (I mean, this would be a real marriage, not one to commit immigration fraud). Hopefully in that time Dean and I can get a divorce and call it good. However, I am one of those kill-joys who believes in being 100% honest with the ones I love so I would have to explain to my boyfriend/future fiance that Dean is more than just my bestie/roommate.

This is where the humor is brought in. Could you imagine such a conversation? It's what romantic-comedy films are made of! And it would be just too funny for me not to lay out for everyone. Let's call my boyfriend Tom. The scene begins with us sitting on the couch.

Kelly: Tom, I love you. You make me so happy and I know I want to be with you for the rest of forever.

Tom: That's how I feel, Kelly.

Kelly: And I know that we've been talking about marriage a lot lately... But there's something I have to tell you. I'm already technically married. To Dean.

This is the part where Tom has a minor to major 'freak-out' moment. It will probably include a lot of accusations, questions, swearing, and general anger, panic, and confusion. I will wait patiently and then continue.

[Insert explanation of how Dean and I got married so he could stay in the country, how we've never, ever done anything that married couples do, and how we're planning on getting divorced on XXX date here.]

Hopefully after the explanation in its entirety and after Tom calms down a bit, he'll be understanding and stick around. If not, well, he can go screw himself. Like a said, fierce loyalty. It can be a bugger.

Love you.
Mean it.

My Tattoo Ideas

I've always wanted a tattoo.

Even when my dad said that if I ever got one, he'd remove it with a cheese grater. Even when the LDS church forbid them, I'd still think about what I would get. But since that isn't really a problem anymore, (the cheese grater might still be a viable threat) my tattoo ideas have become a little more...serious? Realistic? Plausible? Whatever you want to call it, I'm really thinking about getting one.

But when it comes to what I would get, I'm torn. I've never really been attached to any image, or at least one that would translate into a good looking tattoo. Considering that I've spent most of my life with my nose in a book, it makes sense I'm not a real 'image-oriented' kind of gal. The first image I seriously considered was the symbol for the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense (BPRD).

It's from the comic book series, Hellboy. When I unexpectedly moved back to Provo, I didn't have any friend close by. So I started reading more comic books. I really liked the Hellboy series. Hellboy is destined to bring about the end of the world and in each comic book, he's pressured into fulfilling this destiny. Yet he choses to fight fate. It's his life and he wants to live it the way he wants. His struggle was something I could really relate to, although I doubt I'm the one that will usher in the end of the world.

I've thought about getting some text tattooed on me. The only issue with that is I have about a million and one things to choose from. "Don't let the bastards win" was my granddad's motto. It's always been able to get me through pretty hard times. I also like the idea from Kurt Vonnegut's "Breakfast of Champions" of having a door with the words "Destructive Testing" on it.

The character of Dwayne recalls the story of when he had gone to the General Motors headquarters and had taken a tour of the research facilities. There was a room where the researchers did everything thing they possibly could to every piece of the car. They lit the upholstery on fire, threw gravel at the windshield, ran the engines at high speeds with almost no lubrication, etc. That sign, "Destructive Testing," was on the door of that room. Dwayne then says, "I saw that sign and I couldn't help wondering if that was what God put me on Earth for--to find out how much a man could take without breaking."

Another idea also comes from a Kurt Vonnegut book, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater. In the book, Mr. Rosewater is asked to "baptize" these twin babies. He gives them a little speech about life here on Earth: "...you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies--'Goddamnit, you've got to be kind.'" I think that sums up my feelings on life rather nicely.

But the one tattoo I know I am going to get is a scarlet letter P on the back of my right shoulder.

There are a couple reasons for this. One, one of my favorite American novels is The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. All the other reasons tie in with that story. For a good portion of my life of my life, (nearly 43 percent by my calculations) I hated my life and nearly every single part of it. I hated myself and I often wished I didn't exist. But around the time I turned 22 years old, something changed. I found myself happy. Really happy. Ridiculously happy. It was almost startling because I didn't know people could be so happy without exploding. I loved my life and I loved living it. Then, as time when on, people would accuse me of being prideful, of thinking too highly of myself. Every time this happened I wanted to tell that person it has taken me nearly a decade to learn to love myself and I'm never going back to the way things were. If they thought I was proud, they could go fuck themselves. This is where the tattoo comes in. Just like how Hester was forced to wear her "sin" for public display, even though she didn't feel it was a sin, so will I. Pride is my "scarlet letter." 

Love you.

Mean it. 

Feminism & Keeping my Last Name

The other day I was having a discussion in the newsroom. Unlike most conversations that occur there, this one had nothing to do with sex, alcohol, obscure cinema, or dorky stuff. It was about the idea of women who keep their last name or hyphen their name when they get married. It was an interesting conversation, mainly because it was something I had thought about before & made a decision on years ago and have not thought about it since. I have always planned on taking my husband's last name should I find myself getting married. Like I said, I decided this years ago and haven't really thought about it since. But now I'm starting to reconsider it.

For as long as I can remember, I've always been a champion for women's rights. I guess you could call me a feminist, even though that title carries such a negative connotation nowadays. It seems like in today's society the title feminist is synonymous with bitch. I've been called a feminist before and I instantly get angry because it is said in such a negative fashion, as if the word "bitch" automatically has to follow the word "feminist." When did this happen? When did believing in equality between the sexes become such a negative thing?

It's kind of funny. In my improv group, they all know my political & ethical beliefs lean more to the left and about my passion for women's rights and they exploit it during games, which results in hilarious outcomes. Just last practice I was in a game of "Buzzers & Bells" with Chris and this other girl who is called Captain for some unknown reason. The scene was we were all at a feminist rally and Captain had brought Chris there to pick up on chicks. I came on later as an active participant in the rally. While talking to Captain & Chris, I began listing off facts (that are in reality accurate) about the oppression of women in the workforce, at school, etc. Captain then said something like "Wait, my mom raised me to stay at home, cook, clean, have babies, and wait on my husband because he's the leader of the family." What happened next was perfectly described by Reed & John afterward:

Reed: Kelly, your reaction to what Captain said, that furious rage, was so funny because it was so real.
John: Kelly, how did you get steam to come out of your ears? That was amazing.

Basically, it took all my strength not to kill a bitch right then and there.

I know people laugh about my feminist tendencies and yes, I'll admit it's one of my eccentricities but I don't understand how feminism became such a negative thing in our society. I grew up with the mentality that I should never be denied anything solely based on the fact I'm a woman. I have this "motto" of sorts: "I wish people would quit telling me I can do whatever I want. I never thought I couldn't." That's the God-honest truth. I grew up reading the works of Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, Alice Walker, Eleanor Roosevelt, and others. I was drawn to powerful females throughout history, who fought for their voices to be heard. And even though I know my liberal vote doesn't mean a whole lot in this strict conservative state, I still vote because women who came before me fought tooth and nail so I could have the right to vote. If I don't take advantage of it, it's like their sacrifice doesn't matter.

So why am I still made fun of when I show my feminist side? Why is it something to be mocked? I really don't understand this at all. And if I were to tell my family & friends that I was considering keeping my last name or hyphenating it or whatever, I know I'm going to be made fun of. But why? What is so wrong about wanting to keep my identity? What is so wrong with fighting for equality? What is so wrong with wanting to show everyone that I am more than just a woman?

I guess I'll just add it to the list of things I just don't understand about this world.

Oh, and p.s.
"Women who aspire to be equal to men lack ambition."

Love you.
Mean it.

The Worst Part of my Day

I've developed this habit of texting people at night when I'm in bed.

It takes me a long time to fall asleep, usually 2-3 hours. Those 2-3 hours are horrible. It's when I feel the most alone. I spend most of my days alone, either by circumstance or by choice. It doesn't bother me for the most part. But when it's dark and I'm left with nothing else to distract me, demons come out of hiding. Those old familiar feelings of loneliness, isolation, misery, & despair, I'm so used to them they've become second nature, a morbid "normal" for me.

So I text people. I know texting is one of the lowest forms of communication, probably only beaten by Facebook but it's all I've got to feel connected to someone in those hours of darkness. It's a frail but real feeling that someone out there gives a shit.

It's no secret that I hate night. I've become afraid of the dark over the last few years. I don't know why. Something about it is terrifying. You can't see what's there in the dark. No one can see you either. But this awful feeling like I'm completely alone that comes on only at night is more terrifying to me than pitch-black darkness. And if I can get just one person out there to text me, to make some simple, feeble form of communication to me, the night seems less terrifying.

I wish I could get over this need for connection at night. I'm sure my friends are getting rather sick of it. I know if I had a more solid stable for of connection with someone here then maybe I wouldn't feel the need to make desperate attempts at night to fill the darkness.

The only good thing about the night is it seems to make me more honest, more bold in my writing. I'm never braver than I am at night. I guess since I feel alone, I don't think as much about people reading this and therefore, I don't feel the need to hide anything. It's just a theory.

This is the worst part of my day. And it happens at the end of every goddamn day. So if anyone out there gets a seemingly random text from me at night, just know I'm only trying to make it to morning.

Love you.
Mean it.

#5: Do you believe in God?

A lot of people have been asking me about this lately. Actually, people have been asking me about this ever since I moved back to Provo. It surprises me how much it comes up, but it surprises me more how much people care.

Anyway, the answer to the question "do I believe in God" is yes, kind of.

Allow me to explain:

Since leaving the religion I was raised in (LDS), I haven't joined any other religion. I no longer consider myself a religious person or even a spiritual person for that matter. The only belief that I can claim technically isn't a spiritual or religious belief but rather an intellectual movement that started in the 17th & 18th centuries. Called Deism, it's the belief in a supreme being based on rational thought but not one who has any interaction with its creations. Some have called it the "Divine Watchmaker" god. He created the universe and everything in it but once he was finished, he let go and watched it "tick." You can read more about deism here. A lot of famous and prominent  people have subscribed to this idea including Napoleon Bonaparte, Marlon Brando, Benjamin Franklin, Victor Hugo, David Hume, Thomas Jefferson, John Locke, James Madison, Thomas Paine, Alexander Pope, Mark Twain, George Washington, and Voltaire.

This idea of a "hands-off" kind of god makes sense to me. I can't, for the life of me, claim to be an atheist or even an agnostic. In studying different theories on how the universe was created, there are simply too many variables that needed to be just so in order for the whole thing to work. For instance, as Bill Bryson puts it in his book A Short History of Nearly Everything:

"If the universe had formed just a tiny bit differently--if gravity were fractionally stronger or weaker, if the expansion had proceeded just a little more slowly or swiftly--then there might never have been stable elements to make you and me and the ground we stand on. Had gravity been a trifle stronger, the universe itself might have collapsed like a badly erected tend, without precisely the right values to give it the right dimensions and density and component parts. Had it been weaker, however, nothing would have coalesced. The universe would have remained forever a dull, scattered void." 

It just doesn't seem mathematically probable for that kind of precision to happen all by accident. I can't force myself to believe that it's all random, that there isn't some supreme being making sure that it all is just so. It's just too improbable.

However, my belief in a creator does not automatically mean I believe in an interactive God. To be completely honest, I do believe in a God but I do not believe he gives a shit about any of us. There is just too much pain and suffering in this world to believe God interacts with us. The pain and torture that mankind inflicts on itself, especially on children & others innocent of any wrong doing is incomprehensible and unbearable. If God really did care and really did interact with his creations, why is there still so much suffering? Yes, I understand the concept of free-will and people must face the consequences of their actions, but what about people who are the victims of someone else's bad choice who are completely innocent? How can any God justify abused children? How can he justify natural disasters or terrorist attacks? How can he justify letting me be born here in America where I live a pretty damn comfortable life while at the same time there is a 23-year-old woman in a war-torn country pregnant by a brutal rape with no hope for the future? I've heard arguments that it's just God's way of rewarding our faithfulness in the previous life. I'm sorry but I find that to be bullshit. It's God playing favorites, which doesn't seem like a very just thing to do. The only way I can rationally explain why God allows all of these horrible things to happen is he does not interact with anything in this world.

Now, do I stil believe in being moral. Of course I do, you shmuck. I still believe in justice. I still believe God is going to reward or punish you for the life you led on this planet. If you worked hard, did your best to find happiness, helped your fellow men, or, at the very least,  did everything you could to not make anyone else's life any shittier, I think God will reward you. If you went through life maliciously hurting others for your own personal gain, God's going to punish you. There has to be a point to this horrible mess we call life and I think it's to find happiness and help others. That's it. Pretty simple.

So to summarize everything just discussed:
Do I believe in God? Yes.
Do I believe he gives a shit about us? No.

Love you.
Mean it.

#93: What is your favorite physical feature of the opposite sex?

Some girls dig muscles. Others like a nice smile. Me, I like a guy's hands.

Let me explain.

I have rather small hands. The ring size for my thumb is size 6 and doesn't fit on most girls' forefingers. While my hands are small, my fingers aren't stubby. They're proportional to the rest of my hand and my wrist. I guess they could be described at dainty. They remind me of women in the south before the Civil War. Those Southern Belles had dainty hands and kept them as white and as soft as possible. To me, my hands are extremely feminine.

Now, it's no secret that I like my guys to be more on the intelligent dorky side. However, I love it when guys have strong tough hands. Since my hands are so feminine & dainty, I like my guy's hands to contrast sharply with them. I like hands that are big, calloused, rough, ready to take charge and do some hard work. I love holding a guy's hand or playing with his hands when they're really "manly" like that. Whenever I meet a guy who has hands like that, I instantly find him attractive. If I meet a guy who has hands just like mine, I'm typically turned off to him (there have been a few exceptions but that is the general rule).

p.s. Any innuendos found in this entry are purely coincidental and are the fault of the dirty mind the reader. Shame on you. Get your head out of the gutter.

Love you.
Mean it.

It's Nothing Fancy

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up you heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all of these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore."
-Neil Gaiman

I've only been in love twice in my life, like the real honest-to-God love. The kind where you're willing to change every plan you had for the future so that you can spend forever with that one person. The kind of love where you know each other's major flaws and you don't care. The kind where nothing else really matters, so long as you're together. And it's one of those things that's both horrible and wonderful.

I think sometimes the concept of love is overrated. It's blown out of proportion, made into the monstrous ideal that no one can possibly achieve. All those love songs, all those romance movies, they contribute to love being something so complicated and intense. I don't believe that's what love is, not the kind that really matters anyway.

You want to know what being in love means?

It means there's someone who's willing to put up with all your bad behavior, all your shit, all your annoying qualities, and love you in spite of them.
It means someone is on your team and will defend you & stick up for you, even when they know you're wrong.
It means being willing to rewrite every plan you ever had because you know you could never be happy without that one person in your life.

It means having someone's laugh to wake up to.
It means stealing kisses in the dark.

But more than anything, it means you have someone you can come home to, that you can get through even the shittiest day because you know they're going to be there. 

That's it. It's nothing fancy. So stop making it that way.

Happy Goddamn Valentine's Day.

Love you.
Mean it.

What Does It Mean to Let Go?

What does it mean to let go?

It seems like you can do everything possible to forget, to give up on things ever being the same again. You can replace pictures in frames, you can delete numbers off your phone, you can give borrowed & forgotten clothes to charity. You can do everything you can think of to rid your life of reminders of the way things used to be, but even then it's no use. Your dreams suddenly become infected with memories you've tried so hard to forget. People you have deliberately tried to erase from your mind appear in your dreams and there's nothing you can do about it.

It isn't fair.

You try so hard to let go, to move on, to forget but you find your nights haunted with faces & feelings you could have gone a lifetime not remembering. And you wake up with those ghosts still fresh on your mind. Like a sneak-attack, you're caught off guard. You've worked so hard to build up a giant defense, impenetrable to such painful thoughts, and in those first few moments of the morning they are all brought crashing down. You feel everything all over again, all at once. All the pain. All the betrayal. Everything you felt in that one moment when you knew you've lost everything and you can't breathe. But thankfully as your senses come back, you're able to shove all those awful feelings away, lock them up and rebuild your walls so you can function once again. But those first few moments every morning are unbearable. And it's all so unfair.

You do everything you can to let go of the past but then you're blindsided by an attack from your own subconscious. You're suddenly afraid of your own mind. And you wonder each night before you go to sleep, what torture will you experience this evening? What horrible things will you remember tonight?

What does it mean to let go?

I wish I knew.

Love you.
Mean it.

I'm Going To Bed Unhappy

I'm going to bed unhappy
not by choice but by habit.
I have no one to stay up with
so what's the point?

it's just this whole ridiculous impossibility of proper timing.
seems like everything must be
just so
to squeeze any happiness or love out of the moment.
And once you find that moment, that perfect serene moment,
it then fulfills the title of "moment" and is gone before you even realized
it was here.

I'm just so sick of being told it's not the right time.
it's not the right time for risks,
it's not the right time for chances,
it's not the right time for happiness,
it's not the right time for love.

bullshit.
I can't think of a better time for love and happiness in a person's life
than a time that is labeled
"not the right time."

And I don't mean to complain (though I'm doing it anyway)
but deep down everyone is afraid.
And I try to be tough and cynical,
make self-depricating jokes about being
"The Dateless-Wonder"
but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid.
I'm afraid
of what everyone else is afraid of.
And if you don't know what that is,
well, you've never had your heart broken, I suppose.

And it's not that I'm insensitive
or impatient
(though I have been at different places at different times)
but when you have a good thing staring right at you
ready to put up with your shit,
ready to be patient,
ready to listen,
ready to give a damn about you,
you'd just be stupid not to grab at that.

But now I'm just rambling and maybe tomorrow I'll regret writing this,
but like I said,
I'm going to bed unhappy
so who gives a shit?

Love you.
Mean it.

Letter to my Unborn Daughter

To My Unborn Daughter,

Right now, I am sitting in the hall that connects the GT building to the CS building on the campus of Utah Valley University. I've been reading Robert Louis Stevenson for my British Literature class, waiting for someone to text me or call me so I'll have somewhere to go besides home. The sun is starting to set but it won't be beautiful for another hour or so. Hopefully I'll be gone by then.

Why am I telling you this? Honestly, I had no idea how to start a letter to you without it sounding terribly cliche or trite. But now I don't know where to go from here. So if the rest of this letter is a bit all over the place, like I'm making it up as I go, it's because I am.

I am terrified I'm going to be a terrible mom to you. I don't know why. I had a great example in my mom, your grandmom. You'll never meet a more loving, self-sacrificing, selfless woman in your entire life. Any time one of us kids needed something, my mom would drop anything and everything to help us. She would do anything to help us. I don't think I can ever come close to how wonderful she is.

I want you to know that even if I mess up, even if I am not always perfect, it doesn't mean I don't love you. There was a time when I was very angry at my mom because I saw all the mistakes she made in raising me. But now I realize she was just trying to figure things out as she went along, which is what I'm sure I'm going to be doing too. But I know, without any doubt, my mom loves me and nothing will ever change that. Even when I break her heart (and I have) she still loves me. And that's how it's going to be with you.

I want to tell you a few things I have learned to be true in my life. You can take them or leave them. If there's one thing I've learned with my parents, it's that they are not always right; what may work for them and be true to them isn't always true to me. But I'm telling you them just the same. Do what you will with them:

Always be kind to others, even if you know they don't deserve it.

To forgive someone is one of the hardest things to do in this life. Don't do it until you're ready.

Don't lie. It just makes everything worse.

Always search for those people in the crowd who don't seem to quite fit in, who seem out of place. They will end up being some of your dearest friends and will nearly always have the best stories.

Never be afraid to try something new.

Always say "yes" to adventure.

It may take time to learn to love yourself and your life. But I promise it will happen.

It's okay to be smart. It's okay to be driven. It's okay to be passionate. Anyone who says otherwise doesn't know what the hell they are talking about.

Read everything and anything you can get your hands on.

There will come a time when you will fall in love and he will break your heart. It'll hurt like hell for what seems like forever but I promise one day it will stop.

Be brave. Take chances.

I want you to know I will never ever stop loving you. I know you're going to do great things in your life and I can't wait to be right there with you.

Love you.
Mean it.

New Plan of Action

"Be so good at what you do that they can't ignore you."

-from the film 

Miss Representation

Long Shot

About last night,

I know people do silly things
when they’re not thinking clearly.
And alcohol is notorious for making one
not think clearly
Maybe it makes me too optimistic,
too hopeful.

But when I was driving home
I thought about everything that had happened 

and everything that had been said, 

thinking of all those reasons you listed, 

why you’re no good
for anyone.
When I said I liked you, 

I was telling the truth and 

even after you listed your reasons
I didn’t change my mind.

And while driving home in 2 a.m. fog, 

an occurrence so rare for this place
I’ve only seen it once before in my life,
I realized I was being foolish.

And while trying to sleep that night,
trying not to notice your scent still lingering on my clothes,
I knew I was yet again a victim
of my own wishful yet silly thinking.

And I don’t blame you.

It’s not the first time & 

I knew it was a long shot
to begin with. 

Love you.

Mean it. 

The Past

Once again I find myself unable to sleep.  I guess this is the sucky part of having a mind that is always working, always thinking; it's a real bugger to turn off.

Lately it seems I have a lot more on my mind than normal. Even when I manage to fall asleep, I keep having these dreams that wear me out to the point I wake up even more exhausted than when I fell asleep. I normally don't buy into any "dream theory" or the idea that dreams have special significance. I think dreams are just a manifestation of what's been on your mind. Which is why these dreams lately have been so troublesome to me. Without going into a ton of detail, in my dreams I've been encountering people from my past (most of whom I would like to keep in my past) and having to confront them with how much pain they have caused me, usually with violent consequences. Why am I dreaming about these things? I haven't thought about those people in months. Why now? Why now, when I finally feel like I've got my life back together and found happiness am I bothered with these stupid ghosts of my past?

I guess I'm slowly and begrudgingly learning I can't truly escape my past and that's okay. When I moved here, I had nothing but all my memories of Cedar City. I was lost trying to figure out where I fit in. Once I did find my place, with help from my improv group, school, working for the Review and some really great friends, I turned my back on my past life in Cedar. I didn't want anything to do with it anymore. It was almost as if I wanted to believe it didn't happen. Once I finally was able to enjoy living here in Provo, I didn't want to look back and remember how good I once had it.

I guess, like most things in this world, it's a matter of balance. I can't get stuck in my past, living in regret and yearning for the way things were. But I can't try to escape my past either. I can't deny who I was and how I lived my life. More importantly, I can't lie about how happy I was there nor can I lie about how, at times, I was miserable. And how often times the same people who were causing me so much happiness were also causing me so much misery.

Maybe it's time for me to write the story of why I moved here, the reasons and the people responsible for the abrupt and painful change in my life. The one-year "anniversary" of me moving is coming up. Maybe I'll have it ready for posting by then.

March 12th 2011. Save the Date.

Love you.
Mean it.