11 days post-NaNoWriMo. AKA I can finally write again so here you go.

Hello again!
I took a break from my blog for a while, which isn't nearly as uncommon and as I would like lately.
But this break was big.
Because this break wasn't caused by my being lazy and not wanting to write. This break was caused by me being so busy with writing (and still not wanting to write...) !!!
This break was not really a break at all. It was an abandon everything you know in life and work harder and write more than ever month.
Yes. That's right.
I wrote a book. 
Starting November 1st, midnight, and ending November 28th, around ten ish at night. I wrote a book.
I'm not lying. I wrote 50,000 words in 28 days. Seriously.
Okay, so you probably don't doubt me. All of the "I'm not lying"s and "seriously"s are mostly for me. I still feel quite a bit in awe over the whole thing.
"Did I do that? What? I wrote a book? haha noooo."
But really. It was.... It was a lot of things.
1. It was exhausting.
2. It hurt my social lie more than I would like.
3. It killed my normal sleep pattern.
4. It made me not watch Doctor Who as often.
5. It made me stop reading. Period.
6. It made me cry.
7. It made me think I'm the worst writer in the world.
8. It made me think I'm the best writer in the world.
9. It filled me with some weird evangelical zeal.
10. It made me go insane.
and.... Yeah. That's a pretty good list. Covers just about all of my weird feelings for the month of November.
It had plot wholes bigger than earth itself, characters with zero personality, random deaths simply because I hated everything, and typos as if I were writing as a 6th grader. Actually, that's a really good description. If someone tried to read it now, they would think it was a really bad 6th grader fanfiction of something.
This is actually the first thing I have written for myself, not for school, since then. Which is kinda a long time.
It was the most exhausting, draining thing I've ever done. I still get nervous and my heart speeds up uncomfortably when I think about it.
But at the same time...
I finished.
I really did it.
And that is enough to make me happy.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

—	Ernest Hemingway

this is beautiful.

And although I may be more unsure about everything right now,
I still feel more confident about the way my life is being handled than I have been in a very long time.
And this...
This is beautiful.
(Even if I'm depressed.)

The way things go.

With the way my life has turned, flipped, fell over lately, I have felt like this blog didn't fit me anymore. 
And it doesn't. 
Not really. 
Not the way it used to. 
I debated deleting it. 
I debated starting over from scratch. 
I debated deleting just some posts and leaving important ones. 
I debated starting a new blog and leaving this one to collect dust. 
I even started a new blog (then abandoned that one as well).
Ultimately I just decided to stop posting at all (or as often). 
So for the last few months (actually pretty close to  a year...) I have kept Blogger on my 3rd tab open, always open. And occasionally I'd switch over to it, check my stats, read through a few blogs I follow, then switch back to Facebook, Tumblr, Dr. Who...
Even more rare, I'd open a new post, sit here, type something like "ekjhdfshs" then exit out and pretend it never happened. 
Last night, I blogged and it felt good. 
But it felt weird, because it's like I'm trying to hold on to the way I used to do things but that doesn't fit anymore so what am I even doing, really. 
Ah. My life. 
And so here I am. 
And I have decided that instead of deleting anything, I'm going to put all those posts that would have been deleted in the back of my mind. I'm going to pretend they didn't happen except for on those rare nights that I have to remind myself what I've come form. 
And instead of abandoning this blog completely, I'm going to abandon the way this blog has been set. 
No more "How to" format/title. (Unless it actually fits...)
No more... Well you get the picture. 
Hopefully things will be different now, and I can still blog without forgetting this blog. 

Note to self: This is a good change. This is the way things go. This is the way life goes. 

How to Imagine.

I imagine we stood in line one time. 
We stood in line in the pre mortal world. And we waited. 
Slowly, we made our way up to the front.
Up to where our Father was. 
And we watched him.
We watched him give out words of warning. Last minute hugs. Quick reminders. Expressions of love. 
Slowly, we watched as he told everyone in front of us about who they were. 
You. You're a musician. You will work well with a piano if you put your mind to it.
You. You're a romantic. You will work well as a wife. As a mother. Just keep me at the front of your mind.
You. You're a mechanic. 
You. You're a dental hygienist.
You. You're believer.
You. You're...
And the line moved forward. 
I imagine that as we got closer, we got more nervous. 
What am I going to be? What am I? What do I have the potential for?
We knew we had a purpose. And we knew that it would fit us perfectly. But for the first time ever, we were unsure about what exactly it was. 
It was scary to know that for the first time, we would be without our Father's constant companionship. We would be in a world where we remembered nothing. 
I imagine that as I stepped up to the front of the line, He looked at me and nodded. 
I imagine that he took me in to a hug and told me that I was going to be a writer. That I had many purposes, but next to being a daughter of God, I was a writer.
And I nodded. Remembering the moments I spent in line being fascinated with language, and the way words sounded. The way words sounded while they poured so beautifully out of our Father's mouth. Remembering how much I had wanted to make my words sound like that, too. 
And it made sense.
And I knew that I had one shot in this world to figure that out. 
So I nodded. And He hugged me again. And I promised to come back. And He promised to be waiting. 
I imagine that I stepped through that veil with confidence. 

So what happened next? 

Next... 
I forgot. And I got lost. And everything He said I had the potential to be was lost on me. 
I doubted my divinity. I doubted a plan. I doubted that there was even a Father at all. 

But I made a promise. And there's something sacred about promises. There's something binding about them. Something so binding that it won't ever let me stray too far. 
And I know that I will never be out of reach of my promise. I will never stray so far that my promise will be permanently broken. 
And I will return. 
Because one time, I imagine my Father in Heaven hugged me and told me of my divinity. Whispered words of love. Held me and told me one last time before sending me off in to this world that I am his daughter. 
And I will not let him down. 

How to get your wisdom teeth out (and still love Thursday.)

You know what this week has been? 
It's been terrible. 
It has been a pay $300 for a new tires for a car you don't want anymore type of week. And a get your wisdom teeth ripped out of you type of week. And a just plain crappy week. 
And so here I was, sulking. Thinking about how I feel like death. And I just want more Vicodin. And I'm just so tired. And I started to annoy myself. Like, really bad. 
See, I complain a lot in the first place. More than I should. Oh well. No big deal. But this week it has just been one thing after another and another and I don't even like myself like this. It's miserable and terrible and no good. 
So I sat down and decided I needed to write some things down. 
It has been well over a year since I last wrote a Things I Love Thursday list. And obviously, it is much needed today. 

~I got a new scanner at work. And it works a thousand times faster than my last one. And much more efficiently. Oh I just love it!~
~My mouth is healing (slowly but still.)~
~I ate Taco Bell today. Success!~
~Vicodin. Nuff said.~ 
~Tumblrstake chats about weddings.~
~Darady Bannister's (what's the new last name?) Wedding was yesterday! So so SO proud of her!~
~My very first friend ever, Mattea, is getting married tomorrow! (So many weddings!) 
~My dear friend Heidi got engaged to the love of her life!~
~Watching How I Met Your Mother for the second time through!~
~SO MUCH ICE CREAM.~
~ice packs and ramen noodles.~
~Extra sleep.~
~The Mortal Instrument Series. SO wonderful. Going crazy!~
~Cupcakes and Craigos.~
~Last few weeks of summer. Ah. Almost school time again.~
~Radical Self Love journal is almost completely full. Less than a year!~
~Starting RSLB all over again.~
~Sedation. How I never would have gotten through that procedure without it.~
~Raising Hope at lunch time. Heck yes.~

And um... I think that's good for now. 
So there you have it. 
In the midst a very bad, no good, terrible week... I'm okay. And there are still thing I can love about this crazy life I live. 

For a moment.

For a moment,
My heart is still. 
The pounding stops and I lose my breath. 
For a moment, 
The wind ceases to blow
But the sun doesn't feel so terribly hot. 
For a moment, 
I feel like I'm floating. 
My feet are aching to land. 
For a moment, 
This is different. 
The world isn't what I always thought. 
For a moment, 
You're with me. 
For a moment, 
I dream. 


In a moment, 
I wake up. 
In a moment, 
You're not with me. 
In a moment, 
The world is what I've always known
This is all the same. 
In a moment, 
I've landed
The sky is way up there. 
In a moment, 
The sun burns me
And the wind makes it hard to breathe. 
In a moment, 
Everything comes back. 
And my heart breaks. 


But for a moment, 
You're with me. 
And for a moment, 
I dream. 

How to realize that we are killing love.

I'm scared we are killing love. 
Not just me. Not just you. Not just the few people who go through relationships like underwear. 
I mean us. 
All of us together. 
We are killing love. 
This isn't something I say lightly.
This isn't just some line in Dan in Real life. ("You are the murderer of love!")
Nope. I'm dead serious. 
I don't know how it happened either. 
We grew up being spoon fed love stories. We grew up with fairy tales and romantic comedies and dating websites... 
We have grown up being told constantly that love exists and that it is out there for you. 
That's what the movies say. That's what we keep telling each other. 
Maybe we've becoming too.... too expectant. 
We want someone to write us every day for a year in hopes that our love isn't over. We want a man who will let you have the life jacket and the piece of wood to lay on while he freezes in the ocean. We want someone who will do everything they can to remind you of who you are when you've gotten in a car accident and don't remember the last few years of your life. We want someone to save us from out wicked step-sisters. 
We want love. 
We search for it. 
But we want those stories. 
We want the stories that make you reach for more. That make your heart just swell with love. We want the type that make other people envious. 
And I think when love comes in less obvious ways.... When it just sneaks up behind you while your watching a movie with your friend. Or getting hot chocolate before class. Or when you fall down the stairs in the mall... We don't think that's enough. 
Suuure it's love. But it's not a beautiful love story. 
It's not like Noah and Allie. Or Jack and Rose. 
This is boring. 
We each want the stories we read about. Not some real life story. Not something that can happen at any given moment in the most boring way possible. We want the real deal. The fireworks in the sky while you kiss type of love. 
But the thing is, real love doesn't always come in those type of ways. And that's the scary part.
We don't see the beauty in the "boring" love stories as much anymore. 
And we don't think they are enough. 
So we reach for more. We hope for more. And we ruin what we have. 
We ruin the most beautiful love story while it's in the making because it isn't like the movies 
The reason it's not like the movies, guys, is because you're killing it before you even hit the climax. 
The problem does not lie in your story not being enough. The problem lies in the fact that you are lazy and don't want to work to the end. 
Yes. I'm speaking to you. I'm speaking to all of us. Because I think we all have a tendency to do this. 
I am worried. 
I am worried that my children one day will grow up in a world where people get divorced after a few years because they "just fell out of love." I am worried that my children will grow up in a world where people go in to a marriage thinking "well if this does't work I can always get divorced." I am worried my children will grow up in a world where one night stands are something the people aspire to have. I am worried my children will grow up in a world much like the one I live in now. 
And I'm scared it's only downhill from here. 
I want to believe in love. I want to realize it can come anywhere. I want to know it isn't as glamorous as movies make it out to be. I want to be excited for the messy fights and the irreconcilable differences. I want to be excited for a love story that isn't perfect. I don't want to expect something like the movies. I don't want to waste my life looking for something better than the most amazing love story that could ever be written for me. 
I think we are killing love. 
I think we are expecting too much of it and then leaving it to die on it's own. And I think we are teaching children the wrong lesson. We aren't teaching them to endure. We aren't teaching them to learn and grow from someone totally different from them.
We are teaching them that love can die. 
And I don't want my children to think that. 
Because I don't think they, or anyone, should have to live in a world that love is dying in. 

Aurora, Colorado shooting and how it changed everything.

7/20/2012
I'm sure you've heard already. 
How could you not have? It's on the news. It's on the radio. It's on your facebook. It's all anyone can talk about. 
12 people died today. 
When I say that, I feel almost ridiculous. People die all the time. People are murdered more often than we'd like to admit. 
But these 12 people... These 12 people are different.  
Let me tell you why. 
These 12 people... They are your parents. And your best friends. And your children. 
And it could have been you. 
Imagine with me for a second. 
Imagine standing in line for 5 hours waiting for the most anticipated movie of the year. Imagine laughing with your friends and getting custom t shirts made. Imagine the movie marathons and the popcorn and the staying up late... Imagine being excited. Imagine being happy.
And then imagine that suddenly being taken away from you. 
Imagine turning to laugh with your friend about the weird couple next to you, and then the next moment watching your friend's life be ripped away from her. 
Imagine telling your son to get his feet off the seat in front of him, and then the next moment screaming for his life to come back. 
Imagine being embarrassed to be at movie with your mom, and then the next moment wish you could be with her again anywhere. 
Imagine thinking about how much sleep you'll be able to get before work the next morning and then hearing a gun shot and wondering if it's coming in your direction. 
These 12 people are different because it's us. 
I had someone ask me today why I care now and why about them? 
He spouted off some statistics about the war and how many people, roughly, died yesterday at war. 
And he asked why I cared about these 12 people but didn't care about the 140 that died yesterday at war. 
It made me wonder. Why? Why suddenly do we care? Like I said, people die all the time. 
Why these 12 people? 
It's because this is home. 
It's because this is where we are supposed to be safe and suddenly we aren't anymore. 
I support and care for and pray for all of the people in the war. And when they die, it's sad. But when it's close to home like this... It shakes your world. 
Soldiers sign up knowing there is a risk. These 12 people didn't buy their movie tickets knowing there was a risk. 
And these 12 people could have been anyone. 
Suddenly we realize that this could be it. 
For the first time in my life, I had to face the reality that even though I walked in to that movie with 3 friends, if that had been our theater, I might have walked out with only 2. 
And it could happen anywhere. At anytime. 
Life is so fleeting. But we don't realize it until something like this happens. Not really. 
We don't realize that when you say goodbye to your parents as they are walking out the door for their date night, that could be the last thing you ever say to them. 
We don't realize that when you're walking around campus with your friend, that could be the last time you ever walk with them. 
We don't realize that this could happen anywhere. At any time. 
But I think we're starting to. 
I woke up this morning so angry. I got on facebook to post a status about how I was so mad to be awake. 
But then as I scrolled through my news feed, I realized how lucky I was to be awake. How blessed I am. Because 12 people didn't wake up today after going to the same movie I went to. 
It was far away from my home. But it could have been anywhere. It could have been my theater. 
It could have been yours. 
As I think about today, I pray for the victims. For the people still in critical condition. For their families and their friends. And I pray for you. 
I pray that you realize how blessed you are to be breathing. 
How lucky you are to have life. 
I pray that now... This changes you. 
I hope we don't forget it in a few days and then act like it never happened. 
This changes everything. 
This changes what you say to people. This changes how you treat the people you love. This changes what you spend your time on. This changes your life. 
It's devastating. 
But let it change you. Let it make you better. Let it make you see how beautiful your life is. 
Because it is.
You were blessed enough to wake up this morning.

How to write your story.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a romantic?" 


Yes. Yes they have. 
I'd call myself an extremist in the field of romantics, actually. 
See, I have this problem. 
I'm a story teller. I love the way stories feel. I love the way they sound and the way they look and especially  the way it feels to create one. 
I'm not the best writer yet. I can tell a story like no one's business but writing one is incredibly hard for me lately. 
But I think them constantly. 
I create tragic life stories for people I see in stores that catch my eye. 
I imagine where people are driving too when they seem to be in a hurry driving past me. 
I plan out my friend's lives the way they would be if I was the author of their lives (It's a good thing that I'm not...)
And these stories that I create, I love them. I love everything about them. And they seem perfect to me. I can figure out the ending and then I create the next persons story. 
But my problem lies in my own story.
I don't know anything about my story. 
But I want to. I want to figure it out. I want to know where it's going next and where it's leading ultimately. 
I'd like to know the climax and the resolution and all the little stories in between. But I don't. 
So I make up for that by create a thousand and one possible endings. 
All it takes is me seeing an attractive guy on the street and suddenly I have my life planned out with them. If I were to meet them one day, what would happen next, and how we would end up. 
I have about 25 claimed future husbands and the stories that go along with each of them. 
I've thought of every possibility. 
I imagined it and thought it through and then I set them aside while I create more endings with completely different outcomes. 
It's not a bad system, actually, it's just how my mind works. 
But people look at it and they see a romantic. And maybe that's what I am. I'm cool with that. But it's the only way I know how to think. 
And these stories for my life are wonderful and great and happy. And I love them. 
But only one story can come true. And it's not going to be created by me. 
I think that idea bothers me. 
I think that's why I get so frustrated when my plans fall through. Because I want to be in control. If I wrote my story, things would be perfect. 
I've been hurt. And I've been confused and disillusioned and scared. And I'm not in control. And it's harder for me to let go of control than I thought it would be. 
And sometimes, sometimes the romantic in me gets angry and bitter and thinks love doesn't exist or that love stories... they don't happen. 
But then sometimes, a story pops in to my head. And I see the beginning and middle and end. And I laugh at myself for being so ridiculous. But it reminds me that these stories... These stories could be real. 
Sometimes true love stories actually happen. They don't just exist in my mind. 
None of my stories for myself have taken place. I don't really care. I'm not ready for any of them to take place anyway. And that's fine by me. 
But sometimes, the Lord reminds me that they could. That a true love story could pop up at any moment and take me or you by surprise. And it will be perfect.
And it could be years. I could go study abroad like I plan and come  home and get my masters and then be taken by surprise. I could be 50 with 20 cats when someone just comes knocking at my door for me. Or it could be tomorrow. Or the day after that. 
I'm just at the rising action right now. The climax hasn't hit yet. And that's okay. The story almost gets boring once the climax hits anyway. A good story builds you up to it just perfectly...
I just hope that when my story folds out, I will be taken by surprise, but I want to be able to say "I planned this all along." 

How to be honest.

"Maybe I've lost it at last. Maybe my last lucid moment has passed." 


If I tried to tell you how often I opened this screen and just sat here instead of writing something worth reading, you'd probably think I'm a sad, pathetic person. 
Like, really. I sit here. I type something. Then I sit here and stare at it. Then I delete it all. And then I repeat until finally I decide it's time to sleep. 
Tonight, I feel like it's time to sleep. Actually, I felt like it was time to sleep about... 3 hours ago. 
And who knows if I will actually even post this. Odds are against me, my friends. 


It's been... one hell of a week. 
I won't go in to details. But I'm just so extremely happy it's over. I'm just a little sad the weekend is over too. 
But this week got me thinking alot. 


"There's a plan for you."
"It will happen, I promise." 
"Something better is coming for you."
"Don't stress." 


Can I say something? 
I don't believe you. I don't really believe any of you. 
I mean, it's a nice idea. It's a wonderfully nice idea to think that everything is going to work out in the end for your happiness. It's a nice idea that something better than what you had before and lost is going to come along. It's a nice idea. 
But that's all it really is. It's a nice idea that we tell people when they are sad to get them to shut up. 
Because, you know what, the truth is that we never really know. 
You don't know that the future is bright for me. You don't know that. 
You don't know that something better is going to come along. You don't know that. 
What if that doesn't happen? 
What if the best thing I will ever have is in my past? 
What if I'm going to spend my life with something just not as good as what I had before? 


You know, for once I just wish people would be honest with us. 
I wish someone would say "Honestly, I don't know that this is going to get better. And if it does, it may not be any time soon. This might always suck."
I'd like that. 
I'd like the honesty. And I'd like the reality of it all. 


I'm worried we set ourselves up for disappointment. I'm worried we tell ourselves things are going to get better too often, and then we expect it. We expect the world to work for us. Because everyone tells us it will. 
It's not going to guys, this might always suck. 


But here's the thing. 
If you know you have a God that loves you, then what are you scared of? 


Sometimes, my heart hurts so much that I can barely convince myself that getting out of bed is a good idea.
And to be honest, I do not know that is going to go away. 
I do NOT know that this is okay and something better is coming along. 
What I do know, however, is that my God loves me. And he's not going to leave me in pain. 
Maybe for the rest of my life I will have those days that I wake up, think about the things that suck right now in 2012, and maybe I won't want to get out of bed. 
But that is not all my life is. My life is not just from one horrible moment to the next. 
My life is a collection of beautiful moments with the occasional shitty one. 
And your's is too. 
Maybe whatever sucks now is never going to stop sucking. Maybe what you will have later will just be something a step down from what you had before. 
But that doesn't mean that the life you're going to live is going to suck completely. 
Your God loves you, and He won't leave you in pain. 
You've got nothing to be scared of. 

Who Am I? My ending.

And in the moment you were with me, I believed that would last long enough. I believed that was my ending. 
And that's where I went wrong. 
That's where I messed up everything.
I thought of an ending to the story.
I didn't realize my story is supposed to last forever. 
And you were just a part. 

How to feel... Peace.

I just typed out this whole blog about death. 

I just typed out this whole blog about cemeteries and loss and life. 

And then I highlighted it and pressed backspace. 

I thought typing it would make me feel better.
Then I realized how shallow words feel right now. 

So then I thought erasing it would make me feel better.
Then I realized how badly I needed to post something, anything. 

So I'm typing this. 

And I don't have a lot to say. I already said it all in my post that I backspaced. 

I'm reminded of standing in front of a crowd of people. 

"For in this very room, there is enough love for all of us." 

I'm reminded of heartache and thoughts of an afterlife. 

I'm reminded of friends and love and the way people walk. 

I'm reminded of smells and laughter and moments shared. 

I'm reminded of life. 

And what it feels like to be alive. 

And what it feels like to realize someone isn't alive. 

I'm reminded how fleeting everything is. 

And how close we are to being in our Heavenly Father's arms again. 

For a moment I feel heartache for the people who are gone. 

My aunt. My grandpa. My dear friend. 

So many others. 

For a moment I feel loss. 

But then I feel...

Almost jealous. 

Not of death, I don't want to die. 

But of peace. 

Of being so close to our Father. 

Of understanding finally. 

Of being with loved ones once again. 

For a moment I feel sadness enter the room. 

And then for a much larger moment, I feel gratitude. 

Gratitude for the things I learn from others. 

The relationships I gain with others. 

The memories I have with others. 

I'm reminded of a plan. 

And I'm reminded of agreeing to said plan. 

Agreeing to heartache. 

Agreeing to trials. 

Agreeing to loss. 

Agreeing to life. 

I'm reminded of a plan.

And so I pray. 

Not for myself. This isn't my heartache this time. Not really.

But for my friends. 

For the people my heart refuses to forget. 

And for a moment, 

I feel peace. 

"Everything happens for a reason," they say. 

And for a moment...

I believe them. 

How to swing.

I'm in a swing.
It's raining harder than I can ever remember being in before. And I'm laughing and swinging. 

We're all laughing and swinging. 

It's cold. For a split second I think about how my hair must look now. I become angry that I spent so much time straightening it. But just as quickly as the anger comes, it goes. Because it's raining and I'm swinging. What else matters? 

He's pushing me and my friends are laughing all around me. 

This is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect.

And it fades. 

I'm in a swing. 

I drop my snow cone cup to the ground and push off to begin swinging. 

I close my eyes and gradually swing faster and higher. 

I'm flying. 

I open my eyes and slow down and notice my friends laughing and smiling and spinning on ridiculous toys. 

And this is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect. 

And it fades. 

I'm in a swing. 

Sadness is everywhere. 

It's pulsing from the left and right of me. But there's an odd feeling to it, too. 

Sadness is never purely sadness. 

There's a deep respect too. There's a deep understanding. There's a deep love. 

I'm in a swing and we are pouring our hearts out to each other. And just for a second, as I look up to the stars and offer advice and love, I feel like this is perfect. 

This right here. This is perfect. 

And it fades.

I'm in a swing. 

And everything is different. 

And this, this right here... This isn't perfect. 

Because there's no friends around with smiling faces. 

There's no laughter. 

There's no deep respect or understanding or love. 

There's just a girl on a swing. 

A girl on a swing who is stuck wondering where everyone else went. 

How to know the sun is going to rise.

Today the sun rose.
Just like I said it would. 
"I used to be sad all the time too till one day I realized the sun is still going to rise tomorrow and it's going to set. Everything is always going to be okay." 
Today, the sun rose. 
It started out on the horizon, just a little sliver lighting up the sky just enough to begin to see the blue again. And then quickly it began raising even more and more. 
And now it's above us. It's shining as bright as ever. 
I was right. 
Yesterday the sun rose, too. 
It shined brightly in the sky and made me want to sing and dance and just lay in it. And then just as quickly as it came, it went down again. 
Tomorrow, the sun will rise then, too. 
It will rise far in to the sky and give us light. It will illuminate the places we walk to and the ground we walk on. It will illuminate things that have been there always, but that we've never noticed before. It will rise. And then, before you're ready for it to leave, it will. 
Just like it will today today. 
Because, today, the sun rose. 
But it's not as simple as that today. 
Because today, the clouds took over the sky as well. 
There's no blue. 
There's no chances of staring into the sun and burning your eyes. 
I don't want to lay out in it. I don't want to sign or dance or roll down my window and soak in every second of it. 
There's not a lot to soak in anyway. 
I don't see things as clearly, colors don't shine as vibrantly, and it's gloomy. 
I have thought on numerous occasions today that maybe I should have stayed in bed. 
Today, the sun rose, but it's not as simple as that.
But maybe it is. 
I can't see as clearly. I'm colder. I'm not soaking up anything.
But the sun still rose out of darkness. The sun is still working it's hardest to bring some light to the world, to make it possible for us to see better than we could in the middle of the night. 
Today, the sun rose. 
And tomorrow, maybe it will rise and shine brightly and there won't be clouds blocking it's rays and everyone everywhere will want to dance and sing and lay out in it again. 
But today, today it just rose. 
And that is enough.
"And I just realized everything is going to be okay. It really is." 
"It's not as simple as that."
"Sure it is."

Who am I? Memory 5.

Never ever saw it coming at all. 

It's alright... No one's got it all.

I'm sitting in the car. 
I'm waiting patiently for him to walk to the other side so we can drive home. 
We're quiet. He's always quiet. I'm always talking. 
"Look at the sky flash. I didn't know it did that." 
"It's because of the airport." 
"Oh.... Look at the stars. Aren't they beautiful tonight? I love it." 
"Sure." 
"I don't want to go home." 
"I don't want to take you home." 
"I love this song." 
"Okay, I'll make you a cd." 
"Wonderful. Please don't leave me." 
"Never."
"I want to keep you." 
"How long?" 
"As long as you want me." 
"Always." 


I'm standing in the doorway. 
My heart is screaming and begging and wondering why he is leaving. When did he change his mind? How did forever pass so quickly?


I'm standing under the stairs. 
For a second I feel as if this might be the rest of my life.
I feel whole. I feel like the world is mine. I feel like this is it.
And then I feel crushed. 
"200 books." 
"How many so far?" 
"9." 
This can't be my life. I can't be destines to have this. There has to be more. I need more. 
This can't be my life.  I never wanted this. 
I'm sitting under the stairs and for a second I feel like this is my future. That this is my life. This is the rest of my life. 
And there's no way out. 
I think of it in those terms and suddenly I can't shake the thought that I shouldn't be thinking of it as having no way out. Those arent the right words I should be using. But I used them. I thought them.

And I can't take them back.

You're getting sadder and sadder and sadder.... If I kiss you where it hurts, will you feel better better better will you feel anything at all?

I'm sitting in the grass. 

The sky is dark and for the first time in a long time, I can stare at the stars. 

My body hurts and I can't breathe and I'm breaking in to small parts. Opening old wounds as I allow myself to remember.

I'm on the couch. 

"I won't love again after this." 

"I prayed about it. We aren't meant to be together anymore."

"I love you so much." 

"This is really goodbye now." 

"I'll miss you." 

Some days aren't your's at all.

No alarms and no surprises.  

Who am I? Memory 4. Fat.

It's lunch time. 
"You got too much pudding. No wonder you're fat." 
I'm not fat. 
"You ran the mile in 12 minutes? You should work out more." 
Maybe I'm a little out of shape. 
"You shouldn't stick your stomach out like that, you're just stretching it so it can get fatter." 
Oh. Maybe she's right. 
"I think at recess, you should run. I'll time you."
Yeah, maybe I can get in to shape...
"Your shirt is a medium? I wear a small." 
Oh. I thought medium was normal... Maybe I am fat...
"My mom only eats a banana some days and she's healthy and skinny. Maybe you should try that."
Yeah. I should. 


I was only 8. 
How could you tell an 8 year old they are fat like that?
How sad it is that an 8 year old is so willing to believe it for the next 11 years of her life. 

Who am I? Memory 3. My testimony.

"What are you?" 
"What do you mean, I'm a girl." 
They laugh at me. 
"No. What religion are you?"
I pause and pick bark off the tree next to me. 
"I don't know, what is that?" 
"Do you believe in God?" 
"Yeah." 
"Then are you a Christian or a Catholic?"
"I don't know." 
"You're probably Christian." 
"Yeah... Probably."
"Thank goodness you're not a Mormon." 
I go quiet. That name sounds familiar. 
Two days later, I go to church. That night, I ask what we are at dinner.
"We are Mormon, Maren." 
"Oh." 
I slouched in to my chair and began to lightly cry. 
I don't want to be a Mormon. Mormons are evil. They don't believe in Christ. Some man wrote The Book of Mormon in prison. He made it up. I must be evil. 


"You pray funny." 
"Why don't you  just call him God instead of Heavenly Father?"
"You need to clasp your hands when you pray, not fold your arms." 
"When Satan comes, don't give him the number 666. That way you won't go to hell." 
"My church has been around longer than yours. That proves it's true and your's is fake." 
I believe them. 


I'm sitting in Young Women's. 
"God loves you."
"You can be with your family forever." 
"You're going to be okay." 
"There's a plan for you." 
"Christ died for you." 
I start to believe them. How can this be evil?


I'm sitting in Seminary. 
"Underline this..."
"Don't you love this part here..."
"Look how amazing this next verse is..."
"I'd like to bear my testimony." 
"Christ died for you." 
This is it. 


I'm sitting in Sacrament meeting. 
"I know this church is true." 
"I'm alive because of this church."
"He thought your name on the cross." 
"He love us." 
"Through Christ, everything is okay." 
"You can do it." 
And it comes to me. 
The Church is true, He did think my name on the cross, He does love me, through Christ, everything WILL be okay, and yes, yes I can do this. 


I'm sitting in my car. I'm praying. 
Please. Please listen to me. I need to know what is true. I need to know. Not just believe. Not just accept. I need to know. 
I'm begging. 
I'm crying and I'm begging and for a moment, nothing in the entire world matters more than the answer I want to receive. 
It comes. 
"I love you." 


I'm sitting here. 
I'm thinking back to first grade. 
"What are you?" 
I hold little first grade Maren's hand and whisper "Tell them. Tell them you're a Mormon. Tell them how much you love it. Tell them how true it is."
Or at least, I would, if only I could go back. 

Who am I? Memory 2. The Beach.

My mom's hand is in mine. 
Or rather, mine is in her's. Because mine was a lot smaller.
The sun is setting. 
"Look, it's a Lion King sun." 
"Yes, Maren, it is. It's a San Diego sunset." 
There's a fire going on to the left of us. Teenagers hanging out at the beach. They are laughing and their hot dogs smell amazing. 
I see people in love. 
I'm only 3, but I want that. 
I imagine what it will be like to be in love. I imagine having a family and a home and having someone look at me just. like. that. 
My mom pulls me closer to the water. We stand there, hand in hand. 
"Dig your feet deep in to the sand." 
There's sand in between my toes and on top of my feet. I push them in a little further.
"On the count 3, jump back out of it." 
I nod and giggle.
1
2
3
We jump. 
"Now watch." 
I stare at my feet. They're so little compared to my mom's. 
A wave comes up and washes them away. 
My feet are gone. 
I'm no longer a part of the sand. 
I'm no longer a part of the beach. 
I laugh and we do it again and again as the sun sets. 


Years later.
I'm standing on the same beach. 
I dig my feet deep in to the sand as the sun sets with that beautiful Lion King sun. 
I jump back and watch the waves wash my only mark on the earth away. 
"You coming, Maren?" They have no idea what they are making me walk away from.
"Yeah." 
I walk away.
Maybe one day I, too, will show my daughter how easily washed away our mark on the earth is. 

Who am I? Memory 1. Eating.

"If you don't eat meat you are going to die."
I stare down at my plate and begin to cry. I'm going to die. That's all there is to it. I'm going to die. 
"Go to your room." 
I sit on the floor of my room, crying, making my barbies cheat on each other (my family let me watch far too many sitcoms). 
Hours and hours and hours pass. (okay, maybe only like 15 minutes.) My mom opens the door. 
"What are you doing?" 
"Nothing," I say, pushing my barbies underneath the bed quickly. 
"Are you going to come finish your dinner?" 
"No," I'm going to die. "Can I have ice cream now?" 
"No!" She yells, telling me to keep thinking about finishing my food. 
15 minutes pass and there's a bowl of ice cream in front of me. 


Years Later.
"I'll be surprised if you even live to be 16." 
They laugh around the table and I sink down in to my chair. 
I'm going to die.
No. I'm not going to die. I refuse to die. I don't care if I eat like crap. I want to live. 
Just till I'm 16. I need to prove them wrong. 
I can keep myself alive that long, right? 
Right? 


Thus, beginning a whole series of memories that involve eating.

Who am I?

June 8th, 1992. 
9:32 PM. 
San Diego, California.
I came in to this world, weighing an astounding 6 pounds. (Maybe average is a better word than astounding...) 
12 hours pass, and I'm in my home for the first time, ever. 
No, I don't remember it. But if I did, yes, I would be one of those prestigious assholes that would brag about it constantly. 
I'm 3. 
"It's a boy." 
I cry for hours. Or, at least, what felt like hours to my small 3 year old mind. 
I'm 3, a few months later. 
"We're moving." 
I don't understand. I tell everyone. 
Then we move. 
I'm 4. 
My baby brother is amazing. The world is amazing. I hate meat. 
I'm 6. 
I'm standing in front of mirror, thinking "It's my birthday. This next year, I'm gonna be so mature and life finally get's to start." 
I'm 8. 
I horrified my dad is going to drown me. But he doesn't. I get baptized and live through it. 
I'm 11. 
My best friend moves. I start to realize growing up can really be rather awful. 
I'm 13. 
I'm awkward. I'm getting paid to be someone's friend. 
I'm 15. 
I think I know what love is. And I'm sure the world will change for the better once I'm 16.
I'm 16. 
The world doesn't change. It still sucks. 
I'm 17. 
I'm crying in cars and graduating and sure the world will change for the better once I graduate and turn 18. 
I'm 18. 
I finally know what love is. But the world doesn't change. It still sucks.
I'm 19. 
And this, I really am. I'm finishing my 2nd year of college and working constantly and going to concerts and standing in line for movie premiers. 


But there's so much else to it. 
There's all these stories... 
So...
This is Who I Am. 
Entry one. 
Let the memories and stories, begin.