Christmas Eve and I'm blogging. Well done American culture. Round of applause for your successful transformation of an old-timey, paper-lovin' boy into a blogging sensation. Anyway, Billy, events have taken quite a surprising, yet not unexpected, turn. I would like to start with a declaration of my distaste for my ex-brother, Lucifer. He's a pathetic, vile, lonely creature intent on destroying any happiness in this pathetic, vile, and lonely world. But, where the world has redeeming qualities, Luci has none.

Second, I don't know who I am. Every time I think I figure it out, every time I feel comfortable, I feel a rug pulled from beneath my feet. Catching myself over and over again is exhausting, and shatters my metaphorical wrists. When one's comfort zone is removed, their bubble popped, they are left as the most vulnerable form of themselves. Coincidentally, it is also their truest.

So I know these repeated obstructions to happiness will eventually refine my true form into something marvelous, that they will hone it into a flawless diamond if I react correctly. Right now I can't help but feel as if I'm headed towards a more coalful end. What with Christmas on the horizon and all.

PS-it didn't snow. Effing ridiculous.

So with all this underlying my thoughts, I'm worried about my reaction to a certain decision I'm waiting for regarding January 5th. The way I see it, the Lord called me for January 5th. He doesn't make mistakes. Unfortunately I'm outrageously pathetic, and did. It's all my fault and I thought I was fine with it. I've told everyone I'm fine with it. I act like I'm fine with it. I'm not.

It's testimony to me that the Lord is so much more than the devil. Devil's Trials are meager and simple pop quizzes in comparison. My silly September Folly was nothing in view of the embarrassment of a moved date. Having the surety of a mission has kept me going for so long, once that was removed I just...I don't know who I am anymore. What will I do if I can't go? At first I thought I could be relieved of all manner of duty and light and fall, and fall hard. But I quickly decided I wouldn't. But there's always a good, a better, and a best. Good is not completely turning my life around. We're for sure there. Maybe. Indecision, you are my bane. Anyway, I decided I would go to BYU. If I can. If not, get a job, move out, earn money til I can. Simple enough. The third and best choice would be to keep trying until I can get another call.

Part of me just wants to give up all together. The part that's blogging right now. The part that got angry when everyone knew about my date being pushed back. Secrecy gives me away, and yet I cling to it like a drowning kitten. I hate. No direct object needed. And yet I love. Too much. How do we find a happy medium? How do I find peace with myself? find balance? It's like I've been juggling multiple lives and personalities and now they're all coming crashing down into a new, angry being I don't know. It begs the question:

Who am I?

Who am I, Billy?

Why am I so angry, Billy? ALL the time. And at everyone but the one person I really ought to hate.

Soul Vomit...Soulmit? Voul? Voulmit.

I'm afraid. I've spent my whole life confronting and conquering fear, of logically taking it apart and then realistically eliminating it that I don't really know what to do now that I feel it. My greatest fear used to be of myself; something I could never fully understand or confront. But I'm afraid of rejection. I'm alone and too afraid to fix it.
It's transferred into the workforce, as well. I've finally gotten interviews for jobs and stood them all up. What's wrong with me, Billy? I thought I was fixed. I thought after going to the temple I wouldn't miss..."them" anymore. The temple was the single most amazing experience of my entire life. For those few hours I felt so close to my Father in Heaven. I felt loved. But it didn't erase the sorrow completely.
I feel so protected it's amazing. I'm not scared of myself anymore. I proved that I could control myself, and now I don't have to worry as much about it. One of His many wonderful gifts. But I still think about them often. I smell them sometimes in a single brisk breeze in the autumn air, or clinging to my clothes as I slip them on. I miss feeling wanted. I miss getting a compliment, and being able to truly believe in it.
I don't have night terrors or scream into my pillows anymore. Nor do I find time to privately convulse and cry. When I do, the tears come swiftly, silently, sneaking up like a...a something that sneaks up. Then, just as ghostly as it appeared, the feeling washes over and away, leaving me empty, but able to cover up and regain composure.
I want to feel wanted. Wanted by someone whom I want back. Someone who understands me. Who respects me. Who doesn't need an explanation, but accepts me for who I am. When I was with them I never had to worry about being manly, and in doing so found myself more masculine than I've ever felt before.
I've been avoiding writing about any of this because I wanted it to all go away. A part of me wished I'd wake up and forget it had ever happened. Or for someone to tell me I'd been dreaming. But keeping all these thoughts bottled up like this for so long...it's just made it harder. I've tried talking to people, but I can't, and end up worrying about what they're thinking, my thoughts coming out in short, incomprehensible outbursts. I thought I could get it all out physically: running, dancing, celloing, etc--anything. I should take up jujitsu. I need to hit something.
My dance has never had such emotion and vigor. I know it looks horrendous, but it's satisfying to feel the emotions and energy running through my veins from my pulsing, broken heart to the very tips of my fingers, finally exiting my body like a breath held too long, returning to the universe from which it was first borrowed.

And now I'm posed with another question: Will I get married?

I have to believe that we can fall in love again. That this heart can beat for another. But I'm too afraid to find out. I spoke earlier of my yearning to be loved and wanted, but I don't know if I really want it, when considering the cost. All the comfort and lonelilessness might not be worth the pain and memories. Aaaaand cue tears. Surprising every time. Well, I think that concludes my soulful upheaval and hurling. Gross.

Tuesday, January 26

Right now I should be writing my American Heritage essay. Or doing my Family History homework--due tomorrow. Or finishing up my Comprehensive Scholarship essays. But no. I'm blogging. I'm avoiding the inevitable because I'm too much of a coward to face problems head on. I'm more comfortable running away and talking to a vast, expansive void known as the internet that can neither reply nor give me comfort. Why do I need comfort? By all accounts it makes no sense.

I wasn't wearing my glasses. The dirt residue from the melted snow had made it almost impossible to see the median. I thought I was far enough over. A bump. Scraping sounds that, were I to describe them, would make me sound like a moron. The sound of rolling metal as I see something roll away from my front left tire. Signal. Pull over. Put on the emergency lights. Hazard lights? What have I done? The thoughts come flowing in now, simultaneously rather than one after another. I won't be able to make it home. I'll have to walk to work at midnight. My phone is dead. I should call my parents. Oh they'll be so mad. I broke the car. My phone is dead.

Facebook.

I could use Facebook. Retrieve missing part from the tire. I've parked in a precarious place. A fleeting thought, quickly taken over by others. Focus. Walk to somewhere with internet connection. Facebook, calling out for help. Don't stress. People are willing to help me. Rescue. Relief. Just a hubcap. It's all right. Walk to car. Where is it? Are those the blinking lights? I don't see blinking lights. I've let the battery die by leaving on the hazard lights.

Gone.

Just gone. Like a mother blue-bird coming back to find her eggs missing, probably eaten. Except it wasn't just the eggs that were missing; it was the whole nest. Has someone stolen it? Did it roll away? Towed? What am I going to do?

Pray.

No, not pray. Speak. Communicate. Lay my woes upon the shoulders provided for me.

Cry.

Oh great. Now this is just getting out of hand. But it feels good. Let go. Let go of my inhibitions and my perceptions of others' perceptions. Cry like you cried at the duck pond. Except this is different. A quiet, silent release of my pent-up tear ducts. Each one carrying a little more of my woes, fear, and self-fury.

Turns out it had been towed. $120.

And now I listen to a woman I can't forget go on and on with rude, stuck up insults, stinging and cutting. But I've cried out all my tears, so it's easy to pick up my old mask, comfortable and familiar. Smiles. Laughs. It's all okay. Or at least it will be.

Everyday Italian -- Thursday, January 14

Halibut
Ingredients...and What You Do With Them
-Drizzle Olive Oil
-Salt & Pepper
-Flip and repeat
-Halibuts cook about 4 minutes on each side

Sauce (for the Halibut)
-Olive Oil
-Things that aren't onions. Sheltons? Sounds like a nerd got beaten up multiple times a day.
-Crush Garlic with the flat of the blade. Of the knife.
-Artichokes (frozen ones, but then thawed, obviously)
-Salt & Pepper

Work on Fish

-White Wine to get the brown and flavor off the bottom of the pan. All that stuff that white people say, "Eww don't get any of that on my miniscule portion." Mmmm.
-Chicken Broth. Dunno how much. But enough to make it look good. And the right consistency. And enough amount wise.
-Tomatoes. Chunks, most probably.

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Great. I've done it Billy. I've allowed myself to feel. I believe I have fallen in like. Unattainably so. And thrice. What AM I to do with meself? It's probably because of all my Nicholas Sparks-Jane Austen alternations. Some have tried to label these as "crushes" but I refuse to have my first crush. Besides, the word's vile. Seriously, the terminology is just as bad as the word "pelvis" for, well, your pelvis. "Crush" makes me think of two overly well-built Russians you can barely tell the gender difference of mud-wrestling. Not attractive. Not necessarily "Russians" either. Just as long as they're from some sort of Slavic nation, ya know? Anyway, I just need to quench 'em. I've snuffed out most of the flames of love before they could even get a firm hold on just the paper and kindling of my emotions. Sometimes, I've been so good, so watchful and observant, that I was able to stop the sparks from reaching anything flammable at all. But, I mean, it's not like you can stop the hands from striking flint and stone at all. And I'm afraid, this time, I've let it go on far too long. I'm positive I can snuff out the fires, (let's face it; I'm a cold, heartless stone with only the preface of a human body) but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get burned. Just a little, but still. For someone who's never swum in a pool, the ocean can be pretty daunting. Ooh, nice metaphor! Snaps for me.

Dear Billy,

This week has been...special. The same description my mamma had to use for me for so many years, I'm sure. Well, we'd best begin at the beginning.

Sunday.

Though Sunday was reportedly the last day of the week, seeing as it was the one of rest, I am going to begin my week with Sunday. Except that Saturday was really the day of rest 'cause in Fiddler on the Roof their sabbath is on Saturday and since Jesus was also Jewish that wins hands down. Sunday was suckish. The end.

Monday.

First day of classes. For what I had anticipated it wasn't nearly as blood-sucking as it could've been. I hadn't gotten my schedule finalized, and had to attend two classes I wasn't enrolled in. Embarrassing? Oui. However, I walked in like I owned the place (slash sat in the third row, behind as humongous a kid I could find and I'm tellin' ya, he was a beast) and managed to enjoy myself. I found two superb friends in Biology, both blonde, both very kindly, and made a new one in Chinese. Nice girl. Reminds me of someone famous...and European. Kind of like a mix between the attractive French chick on Mr. Bean's Holiday and the lady from Bournes Identity and Supremacy, before she (spoiler alert) dies. So does Dumbledore. Get over it.

Tuesday.

Just two classes this day, but still so freaking busy!!! Marvelous devotional given by President Samuelson and his wife. What a great way to kick off the new semester...on the second day. Guess this means the first one didn't count. It was good to see Randee and Matt again, Billy. Sigh. Still no word back from the nice elderly folks in charge of housing about my being released from my contract, but it'll come.

Wednesday. Today.

Another long, but great, day of school. Finished all of my homework before hand, so nothing else to do at 10 at night but Facebook Stalk and blog. I got offered a job at the Doughnut Shop from 10-2. AM. Or midnight to 3. But I live at home so I'll have to pass it up. Oh wait! This just in: Nathan Oler has been denied his request to terminate his agreement which nearly cost his family Christmas! I don't think I take rejection well. I'll leave out the other things I had to say 'bout them ol' geezers. Some would call that "editing" or "censoring" the blog. Still no vacancies in the Biology class I'm not in but attend like I am. The professor says he can't add anyone for fire safety reasons. I'm thinkin' of going down to the Fire Marshal, having him sign an exception form (courtesy of Word Processor), and persuading Dr. Bio that way. We'll just have to see. In the mean time, I'll just go talk to another counselor...again. I don't know if I need them, or if I just abuse them now, but that's their problem.

But if I did, it'd be Billy.