Love Letters

Hey there. I know it's a little late for me to ask a favor of y'all (in many ways), but I NEED YOUR HELP.

MoreLoveLetters.com is a beautiful website that encourages people to write "love" letters to leave in public to brighten the days of strangers. They also facilitate campaigns where people can nominate friends or family for people to specifically write to. Anyway, it's awesome and obviously something I adore. I suggest that you all check the website every two weeks to write letters for a beautiful batch of people, BUT... This is the most important week to check and participate, because I have nominated one of my best friends, the dearest Bradan Schwanke.

So way back when I nominated him like a month or two ago, he was having a very hard time. By the time they accepted and posted the request (now), he's been doing a lot better. Regardless, I am begging y'all to write Bradan a letter. Just let him know that he's awesome and that you love him or that you like the fact that he wears bow ties. I'm just asking for a short note from a person who is as special and important as he is that he can look at and appreciate when he might ever become sad again.

Tell your friends. Ask strangers you run into or the kid you sit next to in class. It doesn't have to be personal or deep or long or devoid of mistakes at all; it just needs to be kind and uplifting. I want to present Bradan with the largest bundle of letters the world has ever seen! He has done so much for me, and I can't even begin to thank him. This is a way for me to try. 

Very important: DON'T TELL HIM. This is a secret, and I want to totally surprise him if at all possible. You can mail the letters to me (my address is on the website) or just give it to me in person. I'd rather receive the letters no later than October 10th. 

Anyway, here's this. Scroll all the way to the bottom (and then scroll back to the top to maybe help some other people out): http://www.moreloveletters.com/the-love-letter-requests/

I love y'all.

Crap

I wish I had something for y'all to read.

Except "y'all" is probably no one at this point; I've barely posted this year, and when I do, it's just the same old thing over and over. Sadness. Despair. Hope that maybe things are getting better. Realizing that I'm just as pathetic as always.

I'd like to say that I'm getting better. I'd like to say that I was so frightened and so hysterical last week, but now, thanks to Ali and Logan, I've changed. I'd like to tell you about how I've been reading my scriptures and hanging out with the people who love me the most and what blessings these have been. I'd like to say anything and everything about work and school and life. I wish I could tell you about how I've found a boyfriend who is able to show me that I have no need to despair all the time and who is content to just watch White Collar and read Pride and Prejudice with me. I wish I had someone who didn't want to kiss me and that I wouldn't care because I'd already be happy. I wish this person was out there and didn't have a girlfriend. I wish that my friends did have girlfriends and that they would be happy.

I wish I could be happy. I hope no one reads this.

Mistaken Blessings

God doesn't allow us to suffer without blessing us. He gives us little gifts all the time; we just have to choose to see them, even when all we seem to feel is darkness. One of my gifts was the knowledge of this, sent to me in the mail from the first of my Elders. 

I'm not sure what to write because I'm not sure what I'm feeling. I have never experienced anything like this before. The conflicting feelings and confusion surrounding my every thought... 

It shouldn't have been this way. There were two options: not do it and be happy, or do it and get over it. I am the master of my destiny and I chose a third option. I made a mistake. My greatest mistake was freaking out about everything. I overreacted and now I can't stop. I'm trying, I really am. 

I know y'all will disregard or won't accept this apology, if anyone still even reads this. But I am sorry. You are important to me, and I am so, so very sorry. 

There's a blessing somewhere in this. I just have to try to find and share it with you. 

TTM

I finally have a trich buddy. It's not inherently good, for that means that we both suffer from Trichotillomania (TTM), a terrible disorder that affects more than just one's hair. But if I've learned anything tonight, it's that I'm not alone, I'm not crazy, and I can always try to make a negative situation positive. I have my trich buddy to thank for that. 

She called me at nearly midnight. I was astonished and intrigued, wondering why a girl who was one of the best friends of one of my best friends would want to talk to me. But when I answered to hear her sobbing, I knew. She was a Trichotillomaniac, just like me. I knew that, but she always seemed fairly in control as she'd report three days, twelve days, one month free. I was jealous of her; she was what I've been striving to become for the past ten years of my life. I was a failure next to her. 

Tonight, she fell. It wasn't her fault; that's the point of obsessive/compulsive disorders, you can't do anything about it. I understood how hopeless and depressed she must've felt. Two months of hard work were gone in a matter of minutes. All I knew is that I had to pray, for the both of us. After praying and breathing deeply, we began to talk. 

We talked about our pain, our embarrassment, our shame. We talked about the few kids we knew with trich and OCD. We talked about our own depression and anxiety and urges to vomit after spending money. We were two peas in a crazy pod, and for once, that seemed to be okay. 

It was amazing to be able to laugh with a beautiful girl who understood me like I understood her. We took something so dreadful and built a connection upon it, a safety net we could catch each other. Trich doesn't seem quite so scary now that I know I have a perfect ally. She kept thanking me for my help, but I wish I could thank her a thousand times for the hope she's given me. 

...

Two hours later, after having watched vlogs by trichies, reading up on the documentary Trichster, coming Spring 2014, and researching medications proven effective in treating TTM, I need to go to sleep or I WILL pull all my hair out. 

Another Post About Loss

All of a sudden, I feel like I've lost everything. 

I'm losing some of the most important friendships I've ever made. I feel they've lost the ability to care much about crazy old me, and I've lost the ability to stand up to them and tell them how I feel. I've lost so much hair this past week, month, year, decade. I'm losing my friends as they go on missions, traveling the world and serving the Lord, while I stay behind, crocheting scarves and wondering what I even believe in. 

I've lost cable and I'm losing Netflix. 

Dang, I feel empty. I'm not even sure how this all happened. It was like I woke up from a dream where everything was right, where my friends were my heroes and there was bright music and tv show references galore and I was happy and safe. That is a realistic description, both literally and figuratively. I dreamt that this morning and woke up to find I was alone, in pain, and no one would be there to save me with a doughnut, a smile, a muted trumpet, and an homage to Scrubs. 

Something is wrong with me on so many levels. 

And at Last I See the Light

The first Friday of summer ended terribly. 

I'm still not sure what happened. I couldn't stop crying, and I thought I was going to die from hyperventilating. All I could see was the black sky, and all I could feel was the cold grass until Breanne. 

I wish I could remember who else was there; I can only remember seeing Breanne and Erik. Tony was a voice, Gretchen was an afterthought, Taylie and Ali and the Schwankes still don't exist in my memory. I'm sorry if I can't remember you. Know that I am still grateful for your presence and help. 

They sang and prayed and loved me. Adding that to the most wonderful YSA fireside last night by the bassist of Neon Trees and his wife, I've realized that The Lord has been missing from my life. I'm surely having mental and psychological issues, but any problem will be worse unless you rely on Him. I was never strong enough, and when I became lazy and scared of what God thought of me, I gave up. I lost what little strength or faith I had. 

Obviously, I just lost it. 

I'm going to try now. I read my scriptures last night, I changed my background to the temple, I fasted for the first time this year, I really prayed for the first time this month. It feels like too little, too late, but I can't give up hope. If I can get my spirituality in order, I feel like the impending therapy will be able to help me more. 

I just know I couldn't live without Him or y'all. 

Doctrine and Covenants 121: 9-10 ~ Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands... thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with transgression...

Talking

I walked with Cam Kid for a bit after school today. He was wearing a hat for Hat Day unlike the 99% and he was wearing his ridiculous socks halfway up his shins and he was just so beautiful. It felt as if I hadn't seen him in a week or two, what with AP tests and Lagoon and such. I was already missing him terribly.

We walked around silently, trying to help out the new DMs with everything they needed and trying not to feel bored and useless, and I told him how I felt I hadn't seen him though I know I had. And he said: "It's because we haven't talked in a long time. Seeing is different than talking." And even after that comment, neither of us really said anything.

I hate losing my drum majors.

I just hate a lot if things.

I Didn't Cry

Tonight was the last concert. My horn didn't stick or knock or leak. I actually got it back on time. The jazz band played "In The Mood" and blew me away.

But I didn't cry.

We played Jacob's piece and he was so happy and giddy when we finished. Cameron was about to cry before anything even happened. I was able to hit the high A for probably the first time ever and Davis hugged me on stage because I was so proud of myself.

But I didn't cry.

We played Angels and I was speechless. I was mostly in tune, we only missed one entrance, I hit the high Ab. We were loud and proud and in time. As Logan put it, measure 314 came and it was like the Second Coming. I felt like I might burst and that the walls might break and that there couldn't have possibly been another soul but ours. We were the music. We were triumphant. We were happy, I was happy, and the tears started to form.

But I didn't cry.

Awards were presented. My lovely drum major all got the awards they deserved. The crowd was happy for us, for all my beautiful children. I dropped Logan's plaque on the stage. I called up my tenors and baritones. I shook sweet, old, wonderful Miller's hand.

But I didn't cry.

We sang the friend song for the last time. I looked at every single senior and I wanted to laugh but I was so close to crying. I was hugged and jostled and I lost my watch. I was so close to crying when we screamed for the key change and when I met eyes with my friends and my little freshmen.

But I didn't cry.

We watched the slideshows. So many people cheered when the silliest pictures of me came up, it was like they didn't care how stupid I looked or how annoying I'd been because I meant something to them, just as they meant something to me. The loudest cheers came for the picture of us laying on the field in St. George, Miller standing up in a sea of black sprawled across the grass like a star. We were stars, is what Miller told us that night.

But I didn't cry.

I hugged. I was hugged. I hugged my drum majors, Breanne, Tony, Davis, Sierra, Chris, Sam, Taylie, Erik, Jacob, Joe, Tanner, Laura, Solei, Kathleen, Ali, my guardies, my clarinets, my best friends, people I respect, people who respect me. I wish I could name you all because each and every one of y'all deserves to know that I love you and that I would be nothing without you. It's your faith that kept me going, and it's through loving you that I've started to love myself.

I was so close to crying, but I didn't.

I guess I just don't need to cry anymore. I'm too grateful to cry, and I am just so happy to know that my band gave me all it could, and I gave of myself fully in return, and they are in the best possible hands for their future.

Y'all can never know the impact you've had on my life.

Thanks for giving me a reason to smile.

Called to Serve

Cameron got his mission call.

My Dear Cam, who was always too concerned about my asthma, who trusted people and did push-ups and fell in love all so easily, who held me when I cried and thanked me for holding him when he cried, is leaving.

He is leaving to serve The Lord.

And I can't help but be so scared. One of my best friends is going across the world, where he won't know the language or the people or the dangers. He'll be on his own, further from his friends and family than he could ever dream. He could get sick, hurt, scared, lost, depressed, angry, killed.

But I know he is righteous, and I know that God wouldn't let something bad happen unless it would help us and/or us grow. He will protect my Cam until the day he will return with honor, whether that be two months or two years or two millennia from the time he leaves our hands and gives himself fully unto The Lord.

I salute you, Elder Cameron John Thomas. I have the utmost faith in you and God. Together, y'all can bring the gospel to the good people of Korea. You deserve to be a missionary.

Cam Dear, I love you.

Life

I went to the candlelight vigil last night. It was a whole new set of streetlights, like last year, but instead of being alone under the streetlight, I was surrounded by people amidst the candles. So many people got up and spoke with the power of love that I could not even comprehend. It would've been the lowest of many low points for me, but they saved me. I would not have survived without my friends holding me, praying for and with me, relighting my candle, keeping me warm, alive. There are so many who I wanted to tell that I love them, so many people that need to hear it just as much as I need to say it. Life is not too short, but it moves so quickly that sometimes people get lost and lose everything that was keeping them alive. Let's show that we love each other every day.

One day later, I don't remember what the rest of this post was supposed to be.

Death

I don't know know what to do. I'm lost, I'm hurt, I'm dying, I'm dead.

Feeling scared and sad and hateful all the time is not living.

It happens over and over again. It never stops, and there's nothing I can do to even try.

He doesn't love me. She doesn't love me. They don't even realize how much I need them, how their mere existence makes me want to stay alive, how they give me such hope and make me think that if I could just make it through one week or day or hour, then I can be okay.

I'm probably gonna wake up with frostbite.

Rest, dear Josh. Thanks for that one class we had and for being so kind. You deserve to sleep and learn and smile on the inside.

Empty

So much has happened to me.

I had my last guard competition and wept my allotted five times throughout the day. I just might graduate high school. I'm lonely; I'm in love. I'm lost and lazy and lovely, I guess. Lovely, in the sense that I drink tea and would love to read poetry and study ASL if I had time.

I'm turning 18 in about 12 hours.

Somebody make me feel like it's worth it.

Easter Morn

I called Kristian so we could sing "Christ The Lord is Risen Today" at midnight (11 here) for the third year in a row. I hung up two and a half hours later.

And while I'll probably regret most that conversation in the morning when I'm dead, I am so grateful for it. Especially the part where we talked about my friend who committed suicide almost a year ago, and Kristian told me I didn't have to worry about that boy because of what Jesus did on this day.

And I'm just really grateful for the Savior.

Gone

I'm not sure what this is supposed to be.

Am I supposed to give a play by play of this past week? Is there anyone who doesn't already know about how drum major tryouts went and how Lizzie and Darcy finally kissed and that I was sad for most of the week? Does anyone care that I was having the best day ever on Thursday until I blew through an intersection after school and hit a car? Who even wants to know about how I cut my hair and picked out knew glasses and was angered by books and tv shows?

Do I talk about what it felt like to rank my band children, to see some them so disappointed while others were so happy? Or how I felt listening to my English teacher talk about testimonies and quoting scriptures? Or how my fear seemed to slip away as I discovered some amazing courses BYU offers?

Do I feel bad for myself for being so unkind to Logan this week and then divulge on how he was the first to know I crashed because I straight up called him and apologized after telling him I hit a car because I wanted him to know something about my life for once and how he actually laughed because he had no idea what to do and that that inopportune laugh was truly what I needed most on that day exactly two and a half years after Micaiah crashed in his car?

Do I make a list of things I'm grateful for? I should. Will I? Satan tells me I can't.

Do I just shut up?

Do I talk about The Picture of Dorian Gray, a beautifully terrifying piece of literature about art and beauty and sin and how sometimes all three connect and how half the time I was reading it, I was thinking of things I could discuss with my future English students about it?

Do I tally up how many cookies I ate today and feel fat?

Will I ever shut--

Now What

We had the last drum major sectional today. In 96 hours from this moment, my beautiful friends and babies and shining stars will be fretting and wondering how they did and hoping and praying so hard. They've all put so much effort into this, so much more than I ever did, and while I am so scared for them, I know I just need to trust them. We raised them right, didn't we? I hope I did my part.

On March 21, I'll have been a drum major for a year, and that's all I'll ever get. My time is over. It was the absolute best time of my life, mostly because of the people I was lucky enough to meet and work with and love. I say this a lot, that I didn't do anything, it was everyone else who gave me chances and helped me accomplish things and made me feel like I could make a difference, but I really truly honestly earnestly mean it. It was all you guys.

I feel like my world has officially stopped. Without a band, my band, to love unconditionally, what am I supposed to do? Who will give me a chance? What music will give me chills or make me laugh and cry at the same time? How will I spend my afternoons and evenings and mornings and nights and weekends and weekdays? Who will make me laugh, pick me up, inspire me, break my heart, make me feel alive?

What will make me realize that I am so lucky to be alive and that I have a reason to be happy and that I can both love and be loved more than I ever could have imagined?

The First List

I'm happy. I guess I'm happy. I'm happier, at least.

There's still so much for me to worry about:
Colorguard
Graduation
Hair
Gas Prices
College
Teeth
My Eating Habits
Boys
Senior Pictures
Possible Bronchitis
Makeup Work
Sleeping Late
My Birthday
Vegetables
Moffat

But I am grateful for French fries. I'm grateful for medicine. I'm grateful for computers and hugs and sweaters. I'm grateful for Vans and for Converse. I'm grateful for boys. I'm grateful for girls. I'm grateful for stars and stamps and scarves and Sherlock. I'm grateful for high fives, jewelry, cookies, cats, Ticheli, Mackey, Van Gogh, Moffat, Shostakovich, Vivaldi, C.S. Lewis, Donne, Bacon, Shakespeare, Plato, Socrates, Lennon-McCartney. I'm grateful for John and Hank Green. I'm grateful for chocolate and hymns and grass. I'm grateful for the sun and Psalms. I'm grateful for yarn. I'm grateful for cats. I'm grateful that I can see and taste and love. I'm grateful for charging cords.

Based on that alone, it's a wonder I'm not so happy.

This week

I'm torn on what to write about

because there's moments where you feel so happy when shortly before you had been crying, when it all seems impossible because you've begun to doubt that beauty exists not just for the outside world but for you, when what was rough became smooth and when the stars were so clear and proud, proud like split-second you, when you expect nothing and hope for everything and it doesn't matter what happened because opportunity and chance and choice are out there waiting, as you're frozen, stuck between elation and despair, feet sticking to the chilled ground, and you realize that maybe something matters, and maybe you matter

but then there are moments when you see people you love grow, and they make you so happy and scared all at the same time as you prepare them as best as you can, when you turn up the music so loud and they're actions reflect the intensity of the music and the task at hand, when you finally feel in charge and people smile even when I say something really dumb, when you see those bright, shining, frightened, and fierce stares and you think "that used to be me" and you just pray for them, then I realize what a good leader is and I am strengthened all the more

and then there are those when watch Pitch Perfect and even though you don't have a character for your own, you still feel bad because you always give girls a hard time, but honestly they're mostly the best

and then you just need to go to bed.

A Glass Half Full of Chocolate Milk

Hey friend, it's been a while.

Relatively speaking.

Can I apologize to all my friends? I have so many beautiful people in my life, but things have been hard for me. I struggled, but they were always there. They sacrificed so much in the face of my trials, and I know they won't accept an apology, but here it is anyway:

I'm sorry I was so sad. I'm sorry I didn't speak. I'm sorry I came to school with ink all over my arms and left school with mascara all over my face. I'm sorry I kept you up late by both blocking you out and vomiting words in front of you. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm sorry I didn't shut up. I'm sorry for the smiles and hugs and love you had to give me in order to keep me from screaming. I was crazy, I was lost, I was sad, and I am sorry if I hurt you.

I'm not sorry that you're in my life, though. I will never apologize for moving here and meeting some of the best people I could have ever asked for.

Thank you, Janelle, for letting me visit you and your beautiful sister and putting up with my out of tune mandolin and my more out of tune voice. Thank you, Sierra, for letting me celebrate your birthday. Thank you, Tony, for suggesting I listen to Charlie and wanting to prance in the sun. Thank you, Heather, for not forgetting me. Thank you, Taylie, for sharing my feelings, though you deserve much more. Thank you, Caitlin, for sleeping over. Thank you, Taylor, for always encouraging me, no matter intimidating you like to think you are. Thank you, Sabrina, for letting me take my time. Thank you, Davis, for just being kind. Thank you, Gretchen, for saying what I need to hear and then giving a silly apology because your voice supposedly sounded detached and insincere. Thank you, Logan, for arguing and laughing and talking with me like nothing was wrong. Thank you, Natalie, for keeping me sane. Thank you, Sam, for always being beautiful.

I give the biggest of thank yous to Bradan, Breanne, and Cam. Thank you for listening and letting me cry, but not letting me sink too low. Thank you for giving me scriptures and praying for me. Thank you for rubbing my back, holding my hand, hugging me until the tears ran out and the love felt real and couldn't deny the truthfulness of it all. Your smiles and pats on the back and walks and talks and texts and silly faces and simple greetings meant the world to me. I am getting better because of you.

I wrote a real poem last night for the first time since I moved. It's all because of y'all. I'm not all the way better; I might not ever be, but I hope you can see the simple start.

The Only Truth I Know

There were teachers laughing, curtains swaying, kids dancing and cheering and shaking; it was a high school talent show.

Believe me, there were some really fantastic acts. They emerge clean and bright and perfect, but the evening was so enjoyable because of its abundance of overrated teenaged superstars. I loved seeing kids jumping around on stage, not caring how much applause they'd receive. I loved hearing their decidedly out of tune voice hit notes that made my skin tingle. I died when a dear friend had the courage to stand up in front of strangers and sing and play guitar. That's real talent right there. I'm so proud of him, of them all.

It was beautiful. I forgot about my bad day and the tic marks on my arm. I wasn't falling asleep, I wasn't upset at all. They might not have been the best singer, but they all tried and they all had fun. There was a spirit of hard work and youthfulness, and it was fantastic.

Can be like that?

I Hope They Call Me

I went to Lauren Hafen's farewell this morning, and oh my heavens.

 

That girl is a saint.

 

It was like her farewell was a pilgrimage, a holy site for all those band children and popular kids and perfect Mormons who wanted a chance to hug the woman who has been called "a female Jesus."

 

(I feel really sacreligious right now.)

 

So everyone and their mother (I'm being literal with that) showed up and I sat there thinking of quantity and quality of people who loved Lauren. She certainly deserved it; she was kind, talented, enthusiastic, strong, sweet, hot. Everyone was/is in love with her, and their love was completely founded. She is one of the greatest people I've ever met.

 

But I, being an exceedingly faulty being, grew jealous and scared. I thought of my looming graduation, my possible mission, my inevitable marriage. I thought of the people sending me an apology on facebook for being unable to make it. I thought of empty seat staring back at me and extra food rotting back at home. I saw the people I loved moving on with their lives and being so deservedly wrapped up in their bigger and better accomplishments to bother coming to my miniscule successes. I felt so small.

 

And then I remembered last night.

 

We were coming back from the competition. It had been a rough day; we screwed up big time, everyone felt kinda low, and I had been so exhausted the entire day. I was content to listen to the most outrageous cover and overdose on Cheezits. There was a ridiculous amount of cars and lights when we got back to the school, and we realized that Morp was just about to end. I felt a bit dejected, like I had been robbed of a classic high school experience so that I might be able to leave crap on the floor, but I was too out of it to be too distressed. I shuffled down the aisle, not seeing or hearing or caring about anything, so much so that I was completely and utterly surprised when I heard someone shout "It's Emma!"

I looked up and saw a crowd of the most beautiful people in the world with Cam in the front, beaming in his silly Hawaiin wrap. I jumped into his arms without inhibition and he caught me perfectly, spinning me round in circles and setting me down gently. There were high fives from Treven and Jordan and an enveloping hug from Tony. Taylie and Heather and Gretchen all screamed and hugged and asked questions. There were so many people there, exclaiming how proud we made them and how they were sorry we couldn't come to the dance. I couldn't comprehend the love and excitement they had for us, for me.

Part of me says they were just hyper from the dance, and part says that they wouldn't have been as enthusiastic if they had known how horrible things had gone. But a huge part of me can't help but feel that they would've cared no matter what. Those kids have been there for me for the past year, some of them even longer. They have always helped me out, comforted me, danced and wept and looked at the star with me. They have given me someone to care for, a reason to get up in the morning, a challenge to better myself. They're good kids who love their band and their school and their lives. They're good kids who love me.

I wouldn't trade that for a Conference Center full of supporters.

Good Company

So.

Valentine's Day.

[insert the angry rantings of a single senior girl]

But for real, I don't really get Valentine's Day. We should express our love everyday, without prompting. It's more special and meaningful that way, anyway.

I don't like Singles Awareness Day. People don't need to flaunt their singleness. They don't need to be SAD that they aren't mackin in the halls. I know I'm one to talk, seeing as I bemoan my lack of a man on a daily basis, but hey, I've got issues. I just, again, don't like the idea of devoting a day to specifically feel sorry for yourself.

The real meaning of Valentine's Day was made apparent to me yesterday after school in the band room, as I sat crumpled on the ground, my leg bleeding profusely from where Bradan had scratched me as I jumped into his arms, when him and Chris ran in with armfuls of paper towels and Jacob stood at the ready with a ghetto bandage made out of tape and the paper towels were tossed in my lap and on my head and I sat there surrounded by six of my guyfriends wondering what is life. It was so beautiful and surprising to see as these boys I would never have been friends with in Texas, who weird me out and make me want to back away slowly sometimes, in such a new and perfect light. They cared about me, and I cared about them. Maybe it was from all the excessive blood loss, but I felt transcendent, like I was looking down on this sad, strange little group and seeing only the collective and uncomplicated love they shared.

Every day should be Valentine's Day.

The Lost Solution

I don't want to sleep tonight because I don't want to wake up tomorrow because it's not going to be a good day.

My mom says I'm being over dramatic. I say say I'm being optimistic (and then laugh because I know how ridiculous I'm being).

I have quiz in Latin on the one concept I can't seem to grasp. We're starting out ten-page research papers tomorrow. I have to find a time and place to practice/totally perfect my quad. I have to console myself for being a terrible human being. I have to go to my job that grows increasingly more confusing/boring/lonely every time I go. I have to hope that my Latin group is meeting to film our movie or else I'm screwed. If we do meet, I'll have to deal with that bucket of fun. But the absolute worst part of tomorrow is that I don't get to go to jazz band.

In itself, it's probably not the worst thing ever. But jazz band used to give me such hope. I used to sit in there, soaking up the music, smiling when they'd hit a certain note, giggling if there was a certain section that gave me goosebumps. Seeing my friends work so hard to make something fantastic was so brilliant, and adding Clint and Miller in just made it fun for me to watch. When they'd finish early or have a homework day, I'd chat with Cameron, laugh with Logan, get to know Natalie and Jacob and Brayden better. I'd walk with Sabrina on the way to Latin, absorbed in their Latin song that would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. Being in that class made me forget my troubles and focus on the talents and beauty of my friends and their music.

I've lost that bright spot in my day, and what's worse, I lost it to stupid Fitness For Life. That class makes me hurt, physically and emotionally. It is the exact opposite of the therapeutic jazz band. I am this close to seeing if I can just get a GED in order to not need to take PE.

Obviously, I read Edgar Allen Poe to make myself feel better. I am in such a good mood now.

Clearly.

The Awkward Children

I hate the cold. I despise it, I loathe it with all my heart. And yet, I stood outside as it started to snow for an hour after the pep band game, just talking with band kids. I can't even remember half of what was said (though I know it was a lot of me and Logan yelling and trying to one up the other and us and Caitlin laughing far too hard at jokes nobody else got). It didn't matter though; nothing mattered.

We had places to be and hands to prevent from being frostbitten, but we were just having the time of our lives. We could laugh as hard as we wanted and be as awkward as possible and it was all okay. We didn't all know each other very well, but we were the best of friends for that hour, sharing the cold night air and our endless stories and fat pictures with each other. We were tired. We were happy. We belonged.

Everyone should become friends with Whitney Ireland because she is the coolest.

Janelle Made Me Cry

I had my last family show tonight, unless I do Wasatch. I doubt I'll do Wasatch.

But how do I know what will happen? What if I don't get any more scholarships and can't go to Utah State? What if I do? How will my life have any sort of structure when I don't have lunch in the hall to look forward to, where I don't actually eat and laugh til I might cry and shirk all responsibilities? What will I do with band and guard long behind me? How will I occupy my time? Someday, I'll be married and have children and no other friends and what will I do? I love just dancing and playing video games and acting like an idiot with my friends. Mothers don't do that. Adults don't do that.

And what will happen when I forget everything? When I forget screaming about the Lizzie Bennet Diaries and Once Upon A Time and Doctor Who? When I forget about the chinabears? When I forget what is was like to cry with Cam or dance with Tony? When I forget Gretch's sweaters or Erin's faces? When I forget all the talks I had with Caitlin and Sabrina and Breanne? And what about Bradan's hugs? Or how kind Davis was to me? Or Sam's hair and laugh and heart? Logan will still love sushi, but I won't care. The guardies and gingers and jazz band will continue even when I can't recall their names. Next year, the band will go to Grand Nats, and it won't matter to me. Everything will be gone.

What happens to my world, my life, my soul when this happens? Does it fall apart? Does it end? Does it slowly sink away into loneliness and anxiety as I realize that I have lost the things most important to me?

Janelle just had to go and link to John Denver.

Thee Best

Guard competitions are rough. I love them, but they are always hard for me, what with the inability to breathe and the emotional instability that follows. Tonight was especially difficult, and I texted Janelle a bit. She later promised to bring me a treat, and I expected just a soda.

When I got to the school and met me with two sodas, two candy bars, Phineas and Ferb fruit snacks, a box of tea, and a handwritten houndstooth card. I really didn't expect it all to be mine, but she just gave it all to me. She said I had a hard night and deserved something nice.

I certainly don't deserve her. How can I have such a wonderful, lovely, perfect, bestest friend? It is a miracle to meet such a beautiful person, and I am infinitely lucky.

Thanks for noticing I wore matching socks a year and a half ago.

Lost

Sometimes, I can't figure out if I'm happy or sad.

Like, I can't decide whether I'm an optimist who laughs at all the beautiful little funny things in the world or a depressive whose overwhelming self-hatred only pales in comparison to her all-encompassing apathy.

I really can't decide.

(and why did i tell my mom that school was good even though i felt stupid or emotional or in pain the entire day?)

I just feel so alone on this planet of seven billion people. I also feel like I have no right to complain because there are impoverished African children and "starving Ukrainians" and girls here in Cedar Hills or Pleasant Grove or wherever the crap I live that are actually sad and depressed and struggling.

But then, after saying that he couldn't understand how it felt to feel so lonely and weird and ugly and unloved and wistful and melacholic and tired and sad, he looked me straight in the eyes and said:

"I understand everything you just said."
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I can't figure out whether I'm happy or sad.

The Unholiday

I feel like time has all of a sudden sped up and left me totally unprepared.

Caitlin, Logan, and Cam were all taken from me for almost a week. I was left to fend for myself, and when I was so happy I could burst, I couldn't tell them about it, and as I cried my heart out, none of them were there to hug me and make me laugh my troubles away. To make matters worse, I realized that this will be my life in a few short months. Cam will be off in Africa or the like, Logan will be up north, my sister wife will be living a life of her own and apart from me. My time with my drum majors is so limited and all the more precious; I can't handle the inevitable prospect of life without them. It's the beginning of the end.

I got called in to work two hours earlier than originally planned, forcing me to blow off plans with my cousin, yet again. I barely had time to shower after a long and hard practice before hustling over to the office. I had no holiday, and it was like life didn't matter because my life was work and nothing else. The whole time I did paper work etc, I was seized with this fear of becoming a stagnant working adult, always busy but never progressing or moving at all. (This is not a new thought as it sums up my ever-constant idea of my guard abilities.)

I just feel so old; it's as if my priorities all shifted Inge wrong direction. Getting teeth pulled takes precedence over playing at my band concert. Going to Sundance is more important than the fear of not graduating. I just don't care about anything.

Like, at all.

The Perks of Being an Honorary Saxophone

I was sure that I was having one of the worst nights in recorded history. I'd been dragged from my sickbed to go run pep band on my own. I couldn't find an adult or a schedule or a roll. I didn't know when to be where or what songs we'd already played three times. I was running in the cold, looking for a bus to hold six of my kids, tears of sickness streaming from one eye only. People were very kind and helpful, but I was tired and sick and stressed and just done with life.

Then the saxophones invited me to go to Macey's with them to get ice cream and Mexican soda. For some strange reason, I agreed to go, ignoring the awful mood I was in and the looming early morning guard practice. I felt a little bit stupid for letting them talk me into being the odd one out on such a night as this.

Once I got there, I was amazed. The section just instantly welcomed me in, explaining their tradition, telling stories, laughing at my jokes and asking me questions. Drew paid for my ice cream, despite my the awkward slips of my tongue amidst our reminiscing of Financial Lit. Sarah and I shared our girl cup and rolled our eyes at the boys. Tony snorted when he laughed. Ethan gave the most hilarious disclaimers, and Curtin nearly made me vomit. There were dirty jokes and somber moments of regret and this sense of happiness everywhere.

It was astounding how comfortable I felt. They said I was the very first drum major to come with them, but that didn't stop anything. They told a few less dirty jokes, but we all just connected. I felt like I could tell them about my brother's Tina stories and my adventures at DMA and the woes of being a senior in all the sophomore classes. It was so easy; they cared about me and everything that entails, without question. They were loving and joyful and so full of life, I forgot that it was a school night and that I had ever been sick. I could let go and feel them just enjoy my company. They didn't need to test me out or judge my performance; they just asked that I taste the not-that-horrible soda and that I remember, not the practice and classes and work I have tomorrow, but the beautiful night we shared loitering at that table.


By the time I got home, I felt I was the healthiest person on earth.

Life Savers

I have been so busy the past day and a half, and I just love being able to visit people, see new movies, sing my heart out, and eat too much fattening food. Is this how most teenagers live their lives?

I'm not used to hanging out with friends. We always lived too far away or my mom was sick or the house was too messy. Also, I just wasn't very fun to hang out with. My idea of a party was watching Beatles movies and braiding others' hair. People just didn't ask me over very often.

But in the past few months, I've been a freaking social butterfly (comparatively). My friends have reached out and invited me out in public, which is a bit of scary prospect. I've gone on a few dates. I've been sleeping all day and staying up all night. It is such a liberating feeling to have a schedule and prior commitments and to be all dressed up with somewhere to go for once. I am afraid of losing all this when I graduate as most of my friends will still be in high school, and I'll have a new life to build.

I guess I just have to be grateful for now. I'd just like to thank my drum majors for trying their best to help me prepare for the basketball game. I'd like to thank Caitlin and Makani for letting me eat ice cream and scream at the tv with them. I'd like to thank Sam for asking me to help with her science fair project and then to see Pitch Perfect with Allison and Maddie. I'd really like to thank Tony for putting together the best Yellowcard party and for him and Janelle singing with me. Y'all are all my best friends, and I couldn't have asked for a better senior year.

I could wish that I'd been here longer to love y'all, but I believe that everything leads up to now. Things happened the way they did so that this moment could be a perfect goodbye to my childhood and high school career. Y'all make me better, and y'all are the reason I am happy when everything else threatens to swallow me in sadness.

I really can't thank you enough.

Peace Out

Today, I developed the Comfort to Scandalability Theorem which basically states that: "In many situations, how scandalous your actions may be or appear to be and how comfortable you are performing said actions have a direct positive correlation."

I also developed the word "Scandalability." Please refrain from using it in public as it is not actually a real word.

This concept is very easily demonstrated. It's more comfortable to wear sweats than jeans, but it is often frowned upon in our cosmopolitan world. That being said, wearing soffes is far more comfortable than wearing sweats, but I'm nearly positive a mob would be out for my blood if I ever just showed up to school in a pair. With my close friends, I feel safe enough to make seductive faces and use four syllable words and cry like someone on Lortab. All of these actions, however, are deemed weird and awkward and annoying to those who are mere acquaintances. Simply put, when you let your defenses drop, people are not likely to accept what they see.

That wasn't simply put^^

There is an inverse that says when someone does something you're uncomfortable with, their Scandalability increases in your eyes. I think facial piercings are undesirable, awkward, and unattractive. I would never get one, ad when I see someone with a lip or a nose ring etc., I come up with crude stereotypes and don't know how to react to that person. Something they were very comfortable with increased the negative opinions in others' eyes.

Let it be noted that this theorem is not perfect. Disregarding individual circumstances and personalities, the situation has an affect on our comfort and such. I've honestly been tempted to go to the store braless. I would feel so much better making a quick run without the physical and, arguably, emotional discomfort that comes from wearing a bra, and a baggy sweatshirt will adequately protect me from strangers passing by. However, all hell would break loose if I ran into someone I know. Technically, the Scandalability has not changed, but my comfort level has gone from one extreme to the other in an instant.

Basically, I think I'm clever sometimes. I should really just sleep instead.

A Wild Religious Post Has Appeared!

I had a wonderful lesson today.

Maybe because it was only fifteen minutes long.

I always thought that the Holy Ghost was kinda third wheelin' it up there in the Godhead. Like, I knew he was important and necessary and such, but it was like "God and Jesus are the best and oh yeah Holy Ghost descended like a dove whoopee moving on."

But today, I learned that he made one of the ultimate sacrifices. He gave up his ability to have a body and live in this beautiful world so that we could have someone to help and comfort us in this frightening world.

In my head, I see Christ and Lucifer duking it out over the Plan and everyone's focused on them except this one gallant young man who walks up to the Father and says, "I am not strong enough or worthy to save the world, but I'd like to help, if I possibly could." And then he whispers a suggestion into God's ear, who looks a little shocked, and asks if he realizes what that means. The most precious spirit holds his head high and says yes, puffing his chest out and clenching his fists in fear, but all the more determined. God just nods and hugs him. The Spirit and the Father then watched Jesus win the War in Heaven, and the one Spirit watched everyone else get a body, a gift treasured above all, with a smile on his face. Sure, he had given it up, but to Him, and to all of us, it was worth it.

I am not C.S. Lewis. I did not know that was gonna come out^^

But seriously, what an amazing child of God.

Sickly Sweet

Some days are just bad. You feel sick, unable to stand up or smile without an inward grimace or a squeak of pain. You are swamped with meaningless homework that drives you crazy and has a disproportionate effect on your life. You are scared of slowly but surely losing friends and sliding on ice as you drive a stupidly large suburban and what people think of you and your tights and your absurd short shorts.

But sometimes, those horrible days are infused with happiness. Your best friend burns you a bunch of CDs like the wonderful #Cardy she is. You receive many thanks from the people who matter (though you can't help feeling a bit bad for all the albeit happy tears they shed.) you lay motionless listening to 80s hip hop and watching Arrested Development with your family and then retreating to listen to the aforementioned CDs to the point that you almost forget that your nauseous cuz you're laughing and smiling and thinking of the good of the day. The bad starts to blend and mush into irrelevancy, and the good makes itself so manifest, printing its bright images of cups of milk and burgundy blazers and his smile on the back of your eyelids, like a talisman, protecting you from the evil spirits that wish to make you hurt.

These are the very best of the bad days, and I am ever so slightly grateful for their place in my life. I leave you to let Yellowcard and sweet dreams to serenade my sick self off to sleep.