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.