Dozing

Somewhere between wanting nothing more than to punch something
And wanting nothing
I went to the gym.
I pedaled hard.

Done already.

Auto pilot drove me home.
Sweet parking spot.

Lucky for me everyone knows I love them
For moments when I bulldoze
Auto pilot, no pilot,
uncaring.

The shower head spouts from the wall below my head.
Hot water.
My Body.
Is steaming.

Bored.
I rest my elbow on the shower ledge.
I Prop my chin in my hand.
The water traces my back, my calves,
Swirling at my ankles.

I don't know why
I don't care.

Lucky for me sleep washes
Away my don't cares.

A bulldozer will flatten
Weeds for a little while.

The world is not a snow globe.

On mornings of snow like this,
I imagine the world has frosted over.
It's not safe to drive a world that He can't see through the atmosphere.
Like from a great big school bus windshield he scrapes the frost away.
The shavings drift down to frost our cheeks with kisses that whisper
He is looking on and He loves us.
Don't forget me,
He reminds
As the flake melts away.

I'm Procrastinating Again.

It's not like I'm out of ideas or that my novel is at a point where I'm stuck. . .I actually just stopped typing mid-dialogue. I hope my characters don't sense my disinterest for the moment. I'm just tired of thinking so much about them, so I want to think of myself. Me. Moi.

I participated in a self defense class this morning and my hand hurts. We were locating "control points" and I may have pressed too hard on the one in my hand. You know, that meaty part between the pointer finger and the thumb. My hand hurts. Ma main me fait mal.

I parted my hair on the unusual side yesterday and today. I don't particularly like it. Nobody noticed. But I wouldn't expect them to. Personne n'a remarqué.

I found a bunch of heart-shaped leaves after my morning run and thought I should collect some and sprinkle them upon someone I love. So I did. I put them on his car with a note that said "I (heart leaf) Devin" on it under the windshield wiper. It made me happy. Ça m'a rendu heureuse.

I find it interesting that like and love get mixed up in meaning. I love my guy friends but I can't love one guy friend in particular until I've liked him long enough to know him enough to love him. For example, I can say "I love Kevin," because he's just a friend. But I can't say, "I love Ken," because I like him...more than a friend. I can only say stuff like "Ken is a great guy," because if I said "I love Ken," then I'd feel weird, because I like him. Does it make sense? Est-ce que ça a de sense?

I will not watch the Twilight movie. Je ne regarderai pas le film Twilight.

I don't have a boyfriend anymore. We broke up October 1st. It sucked at first and sometimes I got reeeeally bored and lonely. And now I'm fine, but I still get really bored. I become slightly curious when weekend after empty weekend comes and goes. I'm afraid I put off a "don't touch me" sort of vibe somehow. Well, I'm not an extremely touchy person myself (until I am dating someone) so maybe that is interpreted as me being someone that doesn't want to be touched. But really I'm just a devoted kind of gal, so I don't go prostituting back scratches etc. for just anyone. Maybe-- no, no maybe. I suck at flirting, that's for sure. c'est sûr.
And I'm tall. I'm pretty convinced some guys are stunned by that. Every time they're near enough to size themselves up, their minds blank and they just sort of walk away. Not my fault how tall I am. Besides, I love it. I guess it just weeds out the insecure. So if I were to answer the question that's actually been posed many times recently, "Why aren't you out on some hot date?" I really don't know. Je ne sais vraiment pas.

My nose has the hiccups. It twitches as though it itches to make me join a brood of witches. And it seems fitting since I'm transmitting a story about witches for my novel. And see, it comes again to the novel that I'm neglecting. I'm bored. Je m'ennuie.

(This post contains 555 words, not including this line, that will not go into my novel.)

There are times, now and again, when a really nasty batch of Macaroni and Cheese comes along. We've all experienced it.

I was at my parents' house (soon it will probably be called just "Mom's house"...),killing time before 11:00 when I'd give Gabi (a girl in my ward) a ride to the bus. I printed off my homework, played the piano, made some popcorn. As I was popping the corn, I had the urge to make some cheese popcorn, because all I've been making is sweet.

I looked high and low for the cheese powder I swear we had once bought. What I did find was a box of mac&cheese that, since I hadn't had any in a really long time, interested me. It was in the pantry. This cupboard, though right in the kitchen, is a completely neglected host of perishing items.

First ignored clue: the box of mac&cheese was in the dark back of the pantry shelf, behind opened cake mix boxes and last (or even earlier) Christmas cookie kits (the kind well-intentioned creative people give in cutesy fabric bags with poems attached). Second ignored clue: the top of the box had a layer of dust that neither blew nor wiped away.

Finally, 11:00 came and I drove Gabi to her bus stop, the aforementioned box tossed in the back seat. I got home and showered and stuff before I decided I wanted to make the mac&cheese today for lunch. I let the noodles cook too long since I was doing my hair. I hate when the noodles are mushy. I dumped them in a strainer and searched for butter and milk. First ignored divine intervention alert: there was no butter. Second: no milk.

First smart idea: I said to myself, during my fruitless search, "Oh, I should just eat my Papa John's left overs."

First and second unsmart ideas: I put a tablespoon of oil in the pot. Then I used a milk box (like a juice box, but filled with milk. . .well, vanilla-flavored rice milk), to act as the needed milk. Come on, my other choices were apple juice or water. Yuck.

I put my nose near to the rip in the little foil cheese bag, but sensed nothing with my half-sniff. I dumped it on the sweaty noodles and stirred. Then it came. First undesirable sense: the smell of rancid powdered milk. Second: the threatening gag reflex.

It's just sitting in that pot until it's cold enough to throw in the trash. I thank God for Papa John's. I literally do.

Fortunate Times

There's always something to look forward to when you choose Asian cuisine for lunch. It's especially true at one of my favorite restaurants in Provo, Saigon Cafe. I went there after a successful finish to a school presentation. I was able to get my car's safety passed across the street as I ate. It really was a wonderful afternoon. The restaurant just added to the joy.

Without fail (I lied, one time they forgot), the meal starts with this amazing appetizer of fried won-ton skins for dipping in this mystery sauce that makes my tongue dance. I've wondered if there's addictive substances in it, it's that good. I've tried to guess what it could be: maraschino cherry juice and bits mixed with pineapple juice and bits. . .and something else. Lemon or orange? It's so good.

The $5 plate comes with a small cup of soup. I always choose hot and sour over the egg drop. Both are good, but the hot and sour is everything your tongue could dream of. To mine at least. Even the spoon is fun, all long and shallow, like a little shoe with a handle.

The plate comes out with two days worth of meat/whatever you ordered, ham fried rice and an egg roll complete with dipping sauce. General Tso's chicken is a long time favorite. Each bite is, how can I say? Like making every green light.

And of course the fortune cookie comes at the end. I always break it in half, pull one half from the other so the fortune sticks out of the end I don't eat. I eat the paper-free half before I read my fortune. I'm always amazed at the taste of those cookies. No two are the same. Seriously. Anyway, this time around it was kinda gross, so I didn't eat the other half. My fortune said, "You discover treasures where others see nothing unusual," which is fortunately true.

After a few glasses of water, I needed to use their restroom; I needed a rest.... It smelled remarkably like baking cake. That was intriguing. When I went to wash my hands, the soap dispenser had two options: soap, or jabón. I'd never tried jabón before. It lathered a lot like soap...

The check came to only $9.56 (I'd ordered the daily special that made my $5 plate only $3.95). Robbery. We left thirteen dollars, all in ones I believe. The bird toothpick dispenser bid us farewell as we grabbed a complimentary mint and shuffled belly first across the street to my waiting, safe automobile.

Love

Love comes...when you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you.
When you dare reveal yourself fully.
When you dare to be vulnerable. -Dr. Joyce Brothers

The love we give away is the only love we keep. -Elbert Hubbard

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies. -Aristotle

Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction. -Antoine de Saint-Exupery

There is no remedy for love but to love more. -Henry David Thoreau

Real love stories never have endings. -Richard Bach

It's Final

So this evening I joined an experiment, much to my personal shame. My friend sent me a forward text. So pitiful. E-mails are bad enough, but text forwards? Well you know, to prove that I know it's worthless, this time I did it. It said:

Sh00t this arrow------> to 13 hearts you truly care about (i better get 1 bak:) and in 13 mins u will have a suprise! :)

Oh, well I realize now that, though I did care about each heart I shot it at, I had the intention of sending it to those who would either take it seriously or know I was kidding and/or bored. Whatever, it still didn't work. Thirteen minutes later I received a text message from one of the recipients saying "Surprise, it's thirteen minutes later!" And a brief moment later a guy came to the door inviting me to go play Ultimate Frisbee. I replied, "I'm sorry, I'm waiting on a surprise." No, I didn't really. I said I needed to go to bed. Which I will eventually. What did surprise me is how fast you can waste thirteen minutes.

Moments When

You see farther than thoughts can reach.

You stand taller than you measure.

You smell the past like you could touch it.

Tears create a map and wash your footprints away.

Confidence pumps your heart floats away.

Your lips Tango.

Falling accompanies no impact.

You awake before the world starts spinning again.

You hear everything like pieces of a puzzle.

You feel deeper than words have traveled before.

. . .

Quirk Tag, I'm it.

Okay, the only reason I'm doing this is because of the person who sent it to me. She's wonderful and makes me feel happy about my quirkiness though she may not even know what that consists of. She's just one of those people that makes you feel normal and loved, no matter how strange you might be.

The game:
1.Link to the person who tagged you
2.Mention the rules on your blog
3.Tell 6 unspectacular quirks about you
4.Tag 6 following bloggers by linking to them
5.Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they've been tagged.

Well, it shouldn't be too hard for me to find unspectacular quirks since I dare classify myself as a writer...or in other words, an artist of words. ;)

1. I have a quirk for straightening things. Victims: The pillows on the couches at my parents house (and those are also organized so as to distribute the patterns and colors equally); Any slanted framed item, be it in my home, the dentist's office, etc.; Bed spreads, couches, chairs, mats, papers, dishes in the dishwasher or items in the refrigerator even; you know, any inanimate thing really.

2. I'm unspectacularly obsessed about my eyebrows. I suppose it kind of branches from the straightening quirk. I pretty much can't stand it if they aren't perfectly in place. Once upon a time I even combed clear mascara into them to keep them from moving. So don't even think about touching them, btw.

3. I eat in an interesting fashion...at least according to my mission companions (several of which were foreigners). So, first of all, serving in France, they eat one food at a time. In the U.S. we eat Thanksgiving style every meal: the whole meal on one plate. So I don't know if it's really all that particular to me, but I taste all the foods that are on my plate and figure out which one I like best and eat it last. It ends up being a sort of prioritized wheel of fortune experience. I don't often physically turn my plate, but I'll eat a little salad, then a little lasagna with bread, then the veggies, then I'll finish off the veggies, then the salad and end with the bread. If there's bread that will usually be my favorite and last bite. It was well demonstrated by lunch with Ben on Saturday, actually. I had a gourmet turkey sandwich and an Australian orange. :) I took a bite of my sandwich, which was really great, so I moved on to taste the orange. As Ben finished his first sandwich, I finished peeling my orange. It tasted great too, so I alternated, rather equally, bites of sandwich and orange til my plate held only napkin, peels and crumbs.

4. I can't fall asleep without a blanket. Except twice so far. Both times I was stinkin exhausted and it was perfectly warm.

5. Wow I'm really struggling now. Well, something I haven't seen anyone else do is roll their tongue upside down. Pretty much everyone can roll it up but I can do it the other way. Ask me, I'll show you. Then you'll try and I'll be impressed if you can, too. Yes, that means I'm a great kisser. ;)

6. Okay last one....I used a life line for this one. My friend Graham has some observations of when I'm thinking. He says if someone is describing something or if I'm reading I apparently curl in my bottom lip. I squint at things when I think. Or I tap my cheek with my index finger. And when I'm all done looking at something I'll let out a sigh. Observant fellow, eh? I didn't realize I did any of that! But as if to prove it all, I was squinting as I pondered if it were truth.

Well there. And I'm not going to obey the rules and link other people to do this, because I'm a big fan of not passing on forwards. No offense intended, Barb. But all comments are welcome.