The 24th year and the dentist

"You have 37 cavities," said the dentist.
"But, I don't even have 37 teeth!" I exclaimed.
"uh-huh." was Dentist's nonchalant reply, in a so-what-matter-of-fact tone.
"But, I've never had a cavity before, and you always tell me how beautiful my teeth are every year I come in! I take very careful care of my teeth. How can this be?! I can't possibly have such cavities you speak of!"

This is how I imagined my dentist appointment would go yesterday. This is how I imagined it would go ever since my sister came home with news from her dentist 2 years ago who had informed her that 75% of people will suddenly start getting cavities once they turn the magic age of 24, even if they have never had a cavity before and even if their dental hygiene hasn't changed, and then it's all down hill from there. Well, my dental hygiene changed after that, you bet it changed. I suddenly became quite intent on flossing every single day, and I went and bought 3 bottles of mouthwash the next day, and I used it multiple times a day until it started drying my mouth out, at which time I pulled back to just once a day. The only oral hygienic habit that didn't change was the 3-6 times a day I found myself at my sink brushing my teeth. Despite these efforts, I was just sure that I would walk out of the dentist when I was 24 with my teeth looking something like this:

With these new habits established, and the old habit continued, my 24th year at the dentist has long been approaching, and as it drew nearer, I grew more wary of the dreaded visit. As everything that is never wanted does, the day came much sooner than I wanted, and not to blow the ending of the story or anything, I survived. Here's about how it went after the traditional teeth cleaning:

Dentist walks in to my kind of pounding heart, brand new dentist I have never seen before. "Hi Michelle, let's take a look in your mouth."
Gulp. Are you sure about that?
He looks into my mouth, "Hmmm. Ahhh." Whatever that means, it's making me nervous. "Well, mouths like yours are bad for our business."
"Huh" is the only thing I can grunt out. Again, don't know what that means either.
He taps a tooth here, taps a tooth there. "You're mouth is so boring! How are we supposed to keep up a business with perfect teeth like yours?"
I give a courtesy laugh, because he's still looking. No way am I getting my hopes up yet. 
He keeps talking, "I guess it's good to keep a nice balance. we would be too overwhelmed with problems if everybody had bad teeth. I guess we'll keep your good teeth around."
"Uh-huh," yet another grunt. Do they really expect you to respond? I never have figured out dentist etiquette.
"One more spot here..." He mumbles. This is it. It's all over here. Here it comes, 10 cavities in one last tooth. I'm a goner. "Now stick your tongue out like a 3-year-old." As opposed to a 24-year-old at the dentist? I stick my tongue out. "Alright, looks good! Have a good day!" Dentist leaves.
I sat up, not fully aware of what just happened, shocked. Could it really be? 24 and cavity free? I'll take it. I can relax for another month or two until it will be time to start working myself up for next year's dental appointment.

Christmas Miracle: Fiery Inferno

Q: How many females does it take to build a fire?

1 shivering body. 1 thought to build a fire in the fireplace. 30 minutes of pure sweat and gruel. 30 minutes of defeat. 30 minutes of unsuccessful fire building. 18 graded papers added to the coals. 3 minutes of flame until the papers and cardboard shrivel up and die. 5 minutes of scrounging around the house for more scrap paper and cardboard, and 6 cereal and granola bar boxes taken from cupboards followed by 3 more minutes of misleading flame. 2 girls raised hopes, and 2 girls valiant attempts. 120 minutes of movie watching after failure is admitted, and  2 blankets and 1 sweatshirt extracted to maintain warmth. 10 minutes of lounging on the couch after the movie finishes, and then approximately 1/2 second of spontaneous bursting of flame. 2 very surprised faces. X amount of time of steady fire until we decide to put it out and go to bed. 2 warmed bodies, and 2 happy hearts. 1 Christmas miracle.

A: 0, just some Christmas love.

Kiddos

I just finished up an internship at an elementary school as a speech therapist. It was such a great experience, and I can't even tell you how much I gained from all the people I worked with. Thursday was my last day, and my heart kind of hurts now. We've had many good times indeed. Kids are pretty amazing creatures, and I learned something new from them everyday. I think they taught me more than I taught them. Just see this list of things I could come up with off the top of my head:

• If you wear a ring on any finger on either hand, it means you're married. Just ask every kid that gasped as they asked if I got married over the weekend.
• My supervisor is a God, just ask the 2nd grader I was teaching opposites to--she was a child, and Mrs. Allen is "a God," not an adult.
• If somebody of the opposite gender brings you lunch, it means *gasp* you like them and you're married to them, just ask the giggly 2nd grade boys in the upper learning delayed class who witnessed a lady drop lunch off to their bachelor teacher.
• My hair is messy, not curly. Just ask the little boy with Down Syndrome who would so happily tell me every time I worked with him.
• You're never too young to start schmoozing the ladies. Just ask the 2nd grade boy who, when asked to define the word 'pretty,' immediately exclaimed the little girl's name sitting next to him without missing a beat.
• The opposite of "hot" is "ugly," just ask the learning disabled boy who asked me if by "hot" I was referring to "hot girls."
• If you're going to refer to something as "easy," don't call it a piece of cake. It only gets people's hopes up, just ask the autism unit.
• Life is full of excitement, just ask the 1st grade little girl with pretty severe mental disabilities who always finds so much joy in the hall decorations she walks past multiple times every day.
• It's embarrassing to like girls, even if you can't help yourself, just ask the two fifth grade boys who drew that such unfortunate, much dreaded slip from the conversation jar--"What girl do you like?"
• Miss Hillary (another speech therapist) is cooler than me. Just ask the kindergartner who thinks I'm the worst ever.
• Santa Clause is of course real! Just ask the questioning and confused 4th grader who came into speech, asking my opinion on the matter, and then explaining that he couldn't possibly be fake because the cookies and milk were gone every year when his dad can't drink milk and his mom hates cookies.
• As modeled by a preschooler, the only way to think is when posed in this thoughtful stance:

 

 

Leaving with several bear hugs that all but knocked me off my feet, colored cards written by my life skills class saying thank you and that they would miss me, an offer to pay me $1,000.00 if I stay by a crushing 6th grade boy, the gifting of the Miss Nelson is Missing books, and countless other thoughtful acts made me feel pretty special as I left. I'll sure miss that school. Those darn kids sure have settled into my heart and left it a little fuller, all 65 of those little rascals.

Family Photos



I busted out my camera this past weekend and took it for a whirl and took some quick family photos for my sister. It's been quite some time since I've done much with my photography, and I was a bit rusty, but it gave me the bug again and reminded me how much I do indeed love it. I wish I had time and opportunity to do more. Here are a few photos from the shoot. They're a pretty adorable family, and I don't say that just because I'm biased.

 

Photographing children is always a bit of a whirlwind, and it wasn't until we were about 3/4 of the way through the photo shoot and plenty of attempts at persuading Kimball to give me a nice big real smile did I realize that this was his nice big picture smile, and the more I tried to tell him otherwise, the bigger his mouth opened. 

 

Again, the "smile". It makes me laugh every time.

 

  

 

 

 



All is fair in love and cannibalism.

**If I'm being honest, this is a very true story. In fact, a truer story has ne'er been told. No overexaggeration, no embellishment. I stick only to the basic facts here folks.

Several weeks ago, I made my way to the good state of Arizona. Caught up in the excitement of a dear friend's wedding, I decided to explore around the city before I headed to the reception. Music-jammin, gut busting singing, fast roaming in and out of streets is what I could have been found doing. I could have singlehandedly put a car full of partying teenaged girls to shame.

In my excitement, I didn't seem to notice how my surroundings were gradually beginning to change. The streets became darker and darker, growing ever increasingly less friendly, when before I knew it, I found myself in the midst of complete slum. The "houses" were shabby and colorless, barely standing. Even the word shack would be generous--maybe only something more than cardboard boxes. As I crept through the street in my car, my heart started to beat faster, and I knew my situation was becoming more dire with every half inch I crept forward, my prognosis growing ever worse with every second as glimpses of movement caught my eye every which way.

Friday nights in date central

I live in probably the world's largest dating mecha. Single or married, if you are not having to pencil in real life around your dates, then you will find yourself with a nice view of some nasty nostrils from people looking down the bridges of their noses at you, wondering, figuring, assuming what is wrong with you. "He must have committment issues." "She's probably a 'career girl.'" "He must be totally insecure." "Yup, incomprehnsible social skills. I can tell." "Not the datable type." With this mantra, weedends are very paired off, and very entertaining. So with this in mind, what might you see on a Friday or Saturday night here? Lots of dinner dates, hand holding, eyelash batting, hearty laughter to not funny jokes, late night secluded strolls, star gazers, bla bla bla, but could there be more to their stories?

Sitting at a traffic light in my car one Friday evening, about 7:00, prime date time (that's clever writing because that rhymes), I caught myself people watching the cars surrounding me, and snowballing into ever increasing judgemetns of each person, becoming the insider of what was really going on in the cars around me...the rest of the story.

Car immediately to the left: A young boy and girl. Girl, I imagine as being about a sophmore, has long hair curled to complete perfection, fancy ruffly blousel, and shiny lips. The car exuded stiffened smiles and forced laughter with unnaturall attempts at filling every second with vivid conversation. Both trying entirely too hard to impress. Definite first date. My prognosis for the night: conversation flopping at some mediocre restaraunt with both members of the party staring uncomfortably at their plates as they eat, desperately trying to figure out what to say next. But a second date? Yes, I imagine there was a second date. She was way too cute for him to not ask her out again, and she was way too giggly for there to not be a second date.

Car immediately to the right: A young couple, clearly "a couple," a little more relaxed, a little less impressive. The girl looked nice, but she clearly didn't spend any extra time getting ready for the date. She was in the middle of something great according to her animation, clearly not needing much reinforcement and clearly the subject being only great in her opinion as the dude's eyes led to a dead stare into the road ahead, contributing nothing. Probably not even listening. My prognosis for the night: Relatively newlywed couple trying to fulfill their date night duty by going to a movie, probably a chic-flic. Probably went straight home afterwards. He might have been told off at some point in the night for not being quite attentive enough, but then again, it wouldn't surprise me if she didn't even notice the lack of attention.

Car just behind to the right: Couple sitting in front, car seat and baby sitting in back. Girl slouching in the passenger seat, leaning against the passenger window with her head slung against her fist. Body posture exuding complete boredom. Boy, once again, staring blankly straight ahead. No emotion. No conversation. No interaction. Prognosis for the night: Going to pick up the cheapest ice cream in the nearest grocery store in attempts to liven up the mundane routine of every night followed by an early bedtime.

My car: What might people have been thinking of me, sitting there with, heavenforbid, nobody but myself in my car? "Probably a crazy cat lady." They might say. "Maybe going to drown her bitterness in some Ben and Jerry's the way she's watching us like that." This is probably what the couple in the first car was laughing at so vigorously. I'm sure they'll milk that subject far past its worth. Glad I could be an attempted start at an inside joke. Anything to fill that awkward silence, right?

Aaand the gap between student and professor grows ever larger.

After 3 minutes of an empty water bottle and dying of thirst while studying, I decided it was about time to take a trip to the drinking fountain and fill up my water bottle. Amidst the filling process, I found myself in the middle of two professors hanging outside their offices, making some "small talk."

"I can't do that. I'm headed out next week," said Professor Aristocrat, feeling as though any other details were unnecessary.

"Where ya' goin'?" Said Professor Dignity, feeling as though it would be awkward to just walk away without inquiring.

"The UK," stated Professor Aristocrat factually, as if bored by the conversation and dull topic.

"Oh good," Professor Dignity replied flatly, as if he was talking to his Grandma who told him she got out and visited the neighbors yesterday, only with less enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I got invited to a thing in York..." said Professor Aristocrat, as if he commuted there every weekend.

That's when I finished filling up my water bottle and had to leave the vicinity of the conversation, but I'm sure the conversation ended with Professor Aristocrat saying something like this, "I just tossed that name out there like it's no big deal, because it's not. Mostly I just said that as vague and cryptic as possible to leave you wondering what earth shattering thing I've done that I would be invited to whatever it is I'm invited to. Have fun reading about me in the news next week. Bye bye now." 

I'll admit, I felt a little out of place--the lowly college student in the midst of hoity toity snooty professor world who would pee her pants if she found out she got invited to York for anything, and would have to give up a whole years pay just to go. Yet here I am getting worked up and excited about my trip to visit the "big city" an hour away and for signing a rental contract for the "super nice" condo I'm going to be living in for the next year. I mean, it does have all new appliances. Meanwhile these big kids don't even get excited for a trip out of the country, most likely for something really really honorary that they've accomplished. Here I am with small talk involving "Where are you from?" or "What are you studying?" or "When me grow up me teech people to talk good. Me going to be speech therapist. Speech pathologist if you getting fancy," or "Do you prefer bacon or sausage?" Pretty sure their small talk is bigger than my big talk. Yup, I just checked. I am worm. Let me just spill my water all over me since I'm not even capable to take a drink and screw the lid back on. Yeah, I'll just take my lowly self and my wet pants out of this highly superior presence back to my books around the corner and continue to stress about upcoming tests, but most currently about how my usual chair that I always sit in every day is taken, and about how I am supposed to concentrate sitting on this weird bench that's all the way on the other side of the room than what I'm normally used to. So please, just pardon me. No, actually, I'm pretty sure I was too lowly to even be noticed by them, let alone pardoned. I take it back.

"I am Michelle Nelson, and I can do hard things."

***Disclaimer: This is not one of my typical posts. I generally try to stay away from writing anything overly personal that exposes me too much, and mainly just stick to the silly, mundane, frequently meaningless things of life (i.e. tea, bangs, killing plants, clubs, shoes, cats, plastic containers, you get the point), but this one. This one is intensely personal. I don't write this to talk about "woe is me," or to show off and say look at me! Look what I did! But rather, I write this, and post it to articulate what I have gradually come to realize what I have learned, and to publicly express my love and gratitude that is all but bursting at my seems right now. I feel extremely vulnerable in posting this, and I'm a little scared to do so, thus please just be sensitive to my insecurities. In fact, you don't even have to feel obligated to comment in the tiny weensiest way. :) Now, let's carry on.

I can't say I've loved this past year. I can't even say I liked it. I surely can't say I would do it again if given the chance, and I definitely can't say I never considered giving up, dropping everything, and downright quitting. There were days where the only thing I could think about was putting one foot in front of the other. There were days where just getting out of bed was accomplishment enough. There were days where I found myself longing to get hit by a passing car on my way to school rather than face another day. There were days I found myself in a state of complete numbness, feeling absolutely nothing, just droning on and on, doing what I had to do, emotionless, entirely dull, entirely deadened. On the hand, there were countless nights I cried myself into a restless sleep, drenching my once white pillowcase with stains of mascara and smears of tears. I frequently found myself staring at the piles of books and things I had to do, responsibilities I had to face, tears streaming down my face, feeling utterly conquered, wondering if this is who I was now, and not liking it. Was I really as robotic and lifeless as I felt? Could I really not handle the simple tasks Heavenly Father had placed in front of me? Had I really lost the hope and knowledge I once had that I really could carry all that was on my plate? My life really wasn't that hard. It was pretty great, and yet I felt overwhelmed. I felt cracking pressure. I felt lost. I felt inadequate to the deepest level. I felt let down, by others as well as myself. I felt depressed. I felt the weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders, compressing me, suffocating me. I felt broken.

But the atonement is real.

Just by the sheer act of not giving up, and putting one foot in front of the other, I was showing faith, the only way in which I knew how. Unbeknownst to me, I was giving God something to work with--some level of forward motion for him to help me through, even if the only thing I could muster was the tiniest of shuffles. He was able to turn it into something significant as I felt the gradual helping and healing power of the atonement take its affect. My burden was never removed, or not even necessarily ever eased, but because I didn't quit, and because I kept moving forward, the Savior was able to mold me, and change me into somebody that could carry the burden. Looking back, all along the way, I may have been bearing my burden myself, but Jesus Christ was bearing me up. I was being held all along as I carried on with such a heavy heart so much of the time, but being blessed all along with tender mercies poured all along my path. Although they did not lighten my load, they made me just ever so slightly strong enough that I could bear everything else and keep moving forward, allowing Christ to continue to change me into the person he needs me to be.

Despite my feelings of being conquered and overcome, and my feelings of sheer despair and insufficiency, I also felt the sense of being inundated with love, and watched my life become enriched with the fullness of some of the greatest blessings I have ever experienced. All those days in which all I could see was the gloom and rain of the world drowning me were really the down pouring of blessings gone unrecognized. People all along my way lifted me up, encouraged me, whether they knew it or not. Lifelong friendships were established who literally and figuratively saved me throughout the year. My path was paved time and time again, guiding me in the right direction, and as I ventured out with trembling nerves with the intention to make a difference and change the lives of those I work with, I have found that in reality, they are the ones that have changed mine. My life has been impacted by the sincerity, sweetness, and genuine-ness of the souls harbored and trapped in disabled bodies I was blessed to interact with, along with the love, devotion, and earnestness of their caregivers in ways in which words cannot describe. Without knowing, they have supported me, pushed me, produced me with motivation, given me purpose to carry on, and have changed me for the better in ways that I could not have been changed any other way. 

It may have been a rough year, but so much good has sprouted from it as well, and although I would not do it all over again given the chance, I would neither exchange my experiences I've had for anything. My dad once told me, "I have never looked back at school and said 'That was fun'. There were fun moments.... Some of the friends made and experiences enjoyed and/or endured were precious or instructive beyond measure. It was a unique time when we could do things next to impossible now. But fun...... Look for those moments. They are precious." At the time I thought he was crazy. I couldn't understand how the pressure I felt could be viewed in such a way, but I think I get it now.

Although I can't say I look on the past year with joy, delight, and bliss, I can say it was one of the richest times of my life, where I felt stretched and have grown in leaps and bounds as I witnessed the love my Father in Heaven has for me as well as for even the lowliest of his children. Through the thick and the thin, he was constant. He was there. Although I cannot say I know what's in store in the coming years, I do know that there will be challenges, many of which even harder, bigger, and quite frankly, better, and I can say that I will be able to come out conqueror through those as well, hopefully as a bigger person than going in, because, as my mom has known all too well and tried to drill into me from the time I was 12, "I am Michelle Nelson, and I can do hard things."

April Showers Bring May Flowers

#1: It's not supposed to "drip, drip, drop" inside.
#2: There are no flowers in my room to begin with.
#3: It's not April.
#4: Please. Stop. Leaking.

This:

versus this:

Flowers from April showers:

Versus ruined textbook from in home May leakages:

There is a difference.

Everything I Know I Learned in Grad School

1. The snooze button can indeed be pushed any number of times with relatively minor consequences, or at least consequences that can be negotiated in such a way that the results outweigh the consequences in the first few dreary moments of interrupted sleep. Who needs a long hot shower? In fact, who needs a shower at all? Blow drying your hair is overrated. Make-up? Optional. I ate a late dinner last night. I don't really need breakfast this morning. Class never starts on time anyway...
2. What can be done today can also be done tomorrow. Or not at all in some cases.
3. In all reality, you're actually usually doing "it" at the precise moment you are telling yourself you can't.
4. The fece draft is always going to be going in the wrong direction, undergo several changes of topic, or is just going to need to be re-written all together, so you might as well not write one at all.
5. Anything can be turned into a joke really. Nobody else may find it funny at all, but you will. Pedunculated fruit snacks. What did one saw tooth wave say to the other....aaaaaaaaaahhh. Mongolian throat singing. You don't even know what I'm talking about. I'm cracking up over here.
6. There is no problem too large that a little nap can't fix. Or a long one. Or antidepressants.
7. Complaining may never have gotten anybody anywhere, but it sure can be validating.
8. If you expect the unexpected, than it's no surprise, and you won't be nearly as Hulk-like angry when everything goes ka-put.
9. Time is not money. Time is sanity.
10. If by "zombie apocalypse" you mean a cohort of insane, sleep deprived, stressed, personality stripped, friendless, socially awkward grad students, then yes, prepare yourself for zombies.
11. The movie I, Robot is totally unrealistic. Robots or any other technology will never run the world because, despite what you may think, they will never work out "the last" hiccup.
12. It doesn't matter what your mom says. You can indeed live on cereal. Well, she might be a little right. Sometimes you do run out of milk.
13. 85% of success is just showing up.
14. Online shopping may not necessarily be cheaper than therapy, but it frees up that time.
15. Wherever you go, wherever you are, always, always, always find the super genius computer savvy guru guy and make friends. I guarantee you, He'll come in handy. See #11.
16. It doesn't matter how close in proximity you are, cars exist for a reason.
17. I don't care how important the words "continuum" or "multifactorial" are, or what meaning they carry in whatever contexts. It's all just semantics anyway.
18. A little trashy TV watched in all secrecy can go a long way...cough, cough...bachelor/bachelorette...what?
19. When all else fails, hard candies will keep you awake...some of the time.
20. Don't be so hard on yourself, put out fires where you can, and give credit where credit is due. (Should that be 3 bullets? Eh, whatever.)
21. Just because somebody is the most genius person that has walked the face of the planet since Einstein doesn't mean she is going to make any sense to you. In fact, quite the opposite. In my diligent research (See #1, 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 11, 19) I have found that the level of genius and the level of saliency and clarity are not as direct as one might think. In fact, they have as indirect of a relationship as you could ever possibly find. Ever.
22. "If a problem can be solved, there's no use worrying about it. If it can't be solved, then worrying will do no good." I may not have actually completely "learned" this yet, but it's a work in progress, and it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's okay. Do as I say, not as I do. Whatever. I'm working on it.
23. There is extremely great power in two simple letters. N-O. When combined, they can all but run the world. Well, except for maybe when it comes to professors. Especially the ones of the genius type (see #20). In fact, it kind of means, well, pretty much nothing in such a scenario. The O turns into a 0, which cancels out the N, thus, it carries no meaning. That's when I learn to just smile and nod as though I understand, and still not really do it in the end.
Example: (if there's one thing I've learned, examples always build your case. Don't know the answer? Make up an example, ramble on about it, and make it fit as many principles as possible and you're bound to be at least semi-right somewhere along the line)
Professor: This 67 page long article fits exactly what we're talking about. Have it read by next class period.
Student: I don't see the correlation. I don't even know what we're talking about. Whatever. Just add it to the list.
2 weeks later and only halfway through the list...
Student: still haven't read the article. It's okay. Just don't worry about it. See #13 and #20.
24. You are in charge of your own education. Take control. Be an advocate for yourself.
25. Falling asleep in class, although not encouraged, really doesn't have much in the way of super terrible, horrible, move to Australia type resulting repercussions.
26. Putting one foot in front of the other really can take you quite a distance.
27. "Me time." It's kind of important. If you don't spend time with any given friend, then you gradually start to lose that friendship. Just like any friend, if you don't spend quality time with yourself, you will also gradually start to lose that friendship as well.
28. Not knowing when to use affect versus effect really is okay. If I've made it through a master's program still using them wrong in every paper I write, then I'd say there are bigger things to worry about, such as the affect (also known as emotion), or lack thereof, being demonstrated in so many of the delayed and disabled children of the world, along with their other countless problems, both visible and below the surface, and the help that they are silently pleading for that they are not getting. And world peace.
29. Bob Marley is a genius (but not of the #20 type) and a soothsayer and truth-sayer when he said "every little thing is going to be alright." It's a great theme song for life.
30. Once a perfectionist, always a perfectionist. I can't just leave the list at 29. I've got to have an even 30.

Faded Periphery

Target found. Zeroing in. Everything else fades away. Nothing else matters. Locked in. Nothing can stop you. Nothing will keep you from from that apple of your eye. You hear vague cheers, encouragement, and comments yelled, all mushed together, somewhere in the background. You can't really make it out, but you know it's for you, and you know people are counting on you.  You push hard and give it all you've got as the adrenaline kicks in. You make some super sweet moves, and bask in some pretty perfect successes, and you kind of feel on top of the world. Still locked on that target. No one will get in your way, and those that do find themselves face planted to the ground, crushed as if they were a fly, left in the dust, or better yet, left as dust in a surprised blunder. There is nothing that can be done as that magnetic pull draws you ever more connected. Nothing quite like it.

Sometimes not so much.

Sometimes you lose the target. Completely. Like you can't make anything right, you can't do anything right. Sometimes you get a leetle tired and have to take a leetle bit of a slower pace. You make some pretty dumb mistakes. You feel like a fool. You let people down. You embarrass yourself, and it can really hurt. Literally. Sometimes you fall, flat on your bum, arms and legs flailing. Not really of the graceful type.  You get banged up a bit every time, but sometimes you get really banged up. You might get a little body-checked. Or you might do a little yourself. You might experience a bruised elbow, a bit of a burn, a swollen knuckle, a would be added appendage, a bloody lip, a pinched nerve, a busted nose, I've seen it all, but none of that matters. You have two choices, but one of them isn't an option, so you get up, rub some dirt in it, bandage up, and lock in on that target again, aiming for that adrenaline height, and attempt to make your team proud.

Either way, whether you "have it" or not at any given time, and no matter how beat up you get, you always heal and the enchantment of the game always perseveres. Whether you only bring yourself to the table, or elicit a whole group of cronies to the team, whether you are old or young, fat or small, married or single, hipster, jock, or regular girl like me, come one, come all. This is not for the timid though, so gird up your loins. It's game time.

The Pyramid Scheme

 

 

                                  Peer mentoring of 1st year grad students.              The male species.
                 Slight flooding of my room
                                        School: 9 credit hours in 8 weeks, thesis, clients Monday through Thursday.
                                                                                                                                                                           Vertigo.                                            
 Called to the Relief Society presidency. 
                          Thesis topic changed, yet again. Back to ground 0.

Add just one thing to the mix above, and suddenly, you get this:

                                              Vertigo.
                                       The male species.
                               Slight flooding of my room
                    Called to the Relief Society presidency.
                   Peer mentoring of 1st year grad students.
            Thesis topic changed, yet again. Back to ground 0
 9 credit hours in 8 weeks, thesis, clients Monday through Thursday.
SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES SHOES

*sigh of relaxation* Now that's much more managable.

 

How am I supposed to stand strong without a good pair of shoes on my feet? How is my pyramid supposed to stay sturdy without a good foundation? It won't if I'm not wearing shoes. I'd say shoes are a good foundation. They turn the craziness, the uneasiness, the out of control into the neatness above.

This, my friends, is the most balanced equation (wo)man has ever known:

• 1 pair of wedges + 1 pair of boots + 1 pair of flip flops + 2 pairs of flats + 1 pair of high heals + 1 pair of boat shoes + 1 pair of slippers + 1 pair of rip off Toms + an 8 month span = survival + the illusion of being seemingly put together and in control

"Look at that girl flailing around running from one thing to the next like a chicken with her head cut off. Oh, but check out those shoes. She's totally got it together." "This girl cannot be my clinician. Like she's going to be able to teach me how to better communicate as my speech therapist? On second thought, those are some pretty sweet kicks. Maybe she really does know what she's doing." "I can't handle everything! It's all going to come crashing down! Today. Right now. But these brand new shoes I just got in the mail would look really pretty great with this outfit I'm wearing tomorrow. I think I might be able to take on another day after all." Point proven.

Money may not buy happiness, but it can buy shoes, and that's kind of the same thing. Just FYI, if you come accross a fun pair of black flip flops that won't dye the bottom of my feet, a pair of sturdy tennis shoes, or maybe a great pair of brown heals, let me know. I've been trying to keep my eye out for these, but looking around the blinders I put up whenever I get online or walk past a shoe store is proving the task difficult.

When it rains it pours. Sometimes pretty literally.

"What was that? A clean, put together, functional wall?" said Water Pipe. "Unheard of! I'll get right on that."

"squeak, clunk, fpt, shhhhhh, spraaaaay," continued Pipe.

"Bubble, bubble. Drip. Pop! Bigger bubble. Oooooze." said Wall gradually.

"Soak, soak, soak," said Wall's buddy, Backpack.

"Ahhhhh. agreed," relaxed Books and Planner.

"Oh boy!" exclaimed Carpet. "Oozy water down wall! I shall spread and disperse."

"Squishy-squish," was Feet's reply to Carpet.

"Poke," said Finger.

"Gurrgle," replied Water Bubble, who recently moved in with Wall.

"False!" called out Tools. "I will not condone such collaboration! I shant let you continue. I shall put a stop to this madness immediately!"

"Get cozy or move out," demanded Furniture to start with.

"rrrrrrip" said Carpet.

"WHOOOOOOOSH" was Fan's reply.

"Slice. Cut. Cut. Cut." Saw said to Wall.

"Eeee-er. ee-er. Fix, fix. Tighten." Wrench said to Pipe.

"WHOOOOOOOOSH" said Fan The Second to Wall's innards.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH" screamed Fan and Fan the Second all day and all night and all day and all night.

"Scrape. Wipe. Patch." Plastor told Wall.

"Yaaaaaay!" partied Dust Bunnies.

"Stretch. Push. Squish." settled in Carpet.

"Left! Left! Left, right, left!" marched in Furniture.

"I'm watching you." Scolded Wall Paint.

Going through some pictures and I noticed something.

I've got a bunch of Calvins for nephews.

I'm a big girl.

Except for when it comes to shots or anything needle-esk. I've spent the past 15 years avoiding needles quite successfully. I've never taken anybody up on a flu shot, never donated blood, only had to have my blood drawn once about 8 years ago, and only had to have an IV once, also about 8 years ago, and I was in a bit of a state of delirium at that time, so it hardly even phased me that I had a permanent needle stuck in my hand. Aside from these times few and far between, I run at the site of any needle. I can't really explain this irrational fear. It's not like it hurts that bad. I'm tough enough to handle the bit of a sting they cause, but they just give me the heebie-jeebies. The only explanation I can give is that I'm afraid of needles like people are afraid of spiders. They're just...scary.

Since I'm a supposed grown up now, and I'm supposed to be doing grown up things like starting internships and working with a real clientele, I'm also supposed to have grown up immunizations in which I failed to get as a wee child. I warn all the people of the world now, that hepatitis shot, it'll catch ya if you don't watch out, but I figured since I'm a big girl, I can do big girl things, and I could handle a simple shot. No problemo.

Turns out? I was kidding myself. When it came right down to it, I experienced something of strange palpitations and awkward heart arrhythmia's, and I concluded I was quite nervous. My roommate, Aimee insisted on accompanying me, and frankly, I was quite relieved. The drive there involved wrong turns, wrongly remembered addresses, a couple panic attacks, and several attempts at chickening out. The talk with the receptionist involved her trying to trick me into getting more shots than I agreed to, and a large chunk of money out of my bank account for an experience I wanted nothing to do with to begin with. The walk into the needle room involved Aimee trying to tell me I will be fine, the nurse telling me she wasn't really a nurse (Great confidence booster), but that I could look at the cartoon pictures on the wall for a distraction (like that's going to make her more of a nurse?), and then ensuing some story about the San Diego aquarium and sharks and then *pop*, the sound of the needle opening, and that's about as far as I got with her story. Something involving Aimee noticing the sudden stricken look on my face along with the disappearance of color, and the extreme tension in my muscles as the needle and my skin were being prepped. Something about Aimee's voice saying, "Just relax. It's okay. Don't look at the needle! Just look at me."

Focus on Aimee. Can't take the suspenseful anticipation. It's coming any second. Focus on Aimee. "Nurse's" rambling story in the background. Ouch! Prick in the skin. Don't think about it! Don't think about it. Find a happy place. Oh my gosh there's a needle in my skin. Stop! You're thinking about it! Focus on Aimee. Will this ever end? Just breath. Breathing away. That's what I'm doing. Breathing in and out. Wait. Pretty sure "nurse" just asked me a question. Uuuuh, wasn't listening to a word she said. She smiled sympathetically and something involving I was done, and wasn't that harmless? Ha. Jokes.

The aftermath involved a bit of trauma, lingering soreness in the arm, an ice cream bar from Aimee for being so brave, a long nap in recovery, and several glances down at the Tweety-bird band aid covering what I swore was the gaping wound left behind. Some may argue I resembled something of a toddler showing off a 3 week old owie to anybody who will stand still long enough. They lie. Don't listen to them.

Nope, still don't do shots. It's not something I do. This time I don't have 15 years to recuperate. I've got a month. Jokes, so many jokes.

It's more than a drink, it's an experience.

Sleepy time tea, it will change your life. It will stimulate every one of your senses in such a pleasant, gentle manner while soothing your soul at the same time. The first warming sensation appears in the nose as you submerge the delicate tea packet into the steaming water. The subtle addition of mint in the gentle concoction immediately diffuses into the air and up your nose, resulting in a sense of tranquil serenity. As the delightful smell works its way through your olfactory system, your eyes will behold the seeping colors slowly oozing their way from the tea bag into the depths of the mug of water. As you leisurely swirl the tea bag through the water, the warm liquid will gradually grow darker with deeper and deeper color, drawing you ever so slightly into a deeper trance. Cupping the warm mug in your hands gives you a whole new sense of experience as a hot, tingly sensation will slowly spread first through your extremities and then gradually up through your arms and to your core. All of this leads up to the climax of the ultimate sipping of the beverage. The delicate hint of mint, the dollop of chamomile, and the slight trace of honey and other flavorful herbs make a blend of utmost pleasantry inside your mouth, soothing not only the taste buds, but the essence of the core being. As the swallowing mechanisms engage and the relaxing warm liquid is felt all the way to the belly of both body and soul, you will find yourself slipping ever more deeply into repose. It's quite the relaxing experience, and you may find yourself just peaceful enough for a restful evening of slumber. It's just what the doctor orders after a long day at work or school. Or at least what I order every night before bedtime.

The only problem is that sleepy time tea before bedtime turns into sleepy time pee-pee time tea amidst bed time. You give some, you take some.

First attempt at the whole "holding-the-camera-phone-in-front-of-you-to-take-the-picture-because-there's-nobody-else-around" picture. Pft. Pathetic. Only got 1/4 of my nightly tea mug.

Second attempt - still no mug, and a handle for a face.

So maybe the third time is almost the charm, but roommate Meridith was rapidly losing interest.

A Perfect Match

I've always really loved things that just fit together in a seemingly perfect way. Just ask my mom when she was digging the bead out of my nose that didn't fit quite as perfectly as I had imagined it fitting. I was just a child then, and my perception of what fits wasn't quite as developed as it is now. This obsession of matching duos is the reason why I make sandwiches to take to school for lunch when I don't really like sandwiches--for the sole purpose of being able to nest it so rightly in my little sandwich container.

I'm also quite convinced that a motorcycle and me would be quite a good match. I'm told I could get this piece of work up and running for only about $700. Honestly, who can refute this? It just fits.

I'm even more convinced that the guy playing the guitar in the very middle is the perfect match for me. I'm pretty sure I could make room for two on that bike for him.

These are all extremely wonderful matches, and they make my soul feel, well, settled, but this next match blows them all away. With this match, I'm not just settled, I'm complete. After 7 years of searching, and after 7 years of disappointment and let down after let down, I've finally found the one. I've finally found a song whose beat goes to the rhythm of the blinker in my car. "You in the barricade listen to this! No one is coming to help you to fight. You're on your own. You have no friends. Give up your guns or die..." If I'm not careful I might get carried away and quote the rest of the musical. I knew there was a reason I feel such a connection toward Les Miserables.

Faces and bathrooms, on the other hand, are not such a fit. I find this highly disturbing.

I don't like the looks of it.