Entry Seventy-Two

What did I expect? I big bang? I suppose not.

I did expect to be a little happier tonight. I was for a while. I was blissfully unaware of the world and its problems. All I had to worry about was getting to the princess while avoiding dancing mushrooms and dodging regurgitated spiky balls. Then, reality called.

Side note: Chris Wolstenholme is amazing and doesn't get enough credit.

Anyway. I am now that I am back in reality I am thoroughly unhappy.

What can I do to brighten my mood? Stop by my sister's place tomorrow on the way to my other sisters place? Sure! Only, that has become a stressful ordeal as well due to the desires of my OTHER sister. The little one. So I get to stress about that. Then it's a long lonely journey to that first sisters place to spend a New Years without TV or internet. I know I sound like a technological addict, but what the crap are we going to do?

In the meantime I am exhausted and wishing that I could just finish my night with a good flick. But the almost 19-year-old I was going to watch it with is monopolized by a former elder and his family. Of course. And when are they finally going to bed? Who knows. He does have a cute brother. Oh well.

I am tired and I think I am going to give up on my li'l sister.

I hate tonight.

Entry Seventy-One

I often miss what I had as a child. I do love the more spiritual understanding of Christmas that I have gained as I've grown. At the same time, there will never be that sense of wonder and magic that Christmas held when I was little.

I miss that. I miss so much of being a child and I often wish that I hadn't been in such a hurry to grow up

I'm scared.

I'm scared to leave what is familiar and comfortable. I fear this great unknown.

Perhaps I will arrive there and they will realize the mistake they made in choosing me over other applicants.

Every time I think about going there I get a knot in my stomach.

Perhaps it is, in part, due to the fact that I have no plan after this. No REAL plan, that is. There is a small inkling in the far recesses of my mind that sometimes thinks that it knows what it wants for me in the future. But planning that far ahead worries me. I fear disappointment.

That't it.

My biggest fear. Disappointment. Perhaps I will arrive at my destination and realize that it's not where I want to be. By then I have no choice but to stick with it.

I need to end this post. It's Christmas eve and I should be thinking about the meaning of the holiday. Not fears and worries.

Entry Seventy

Oooh yes! I'm there.

I was feeling a little awkward with the number of that last entry. MILA did that to me. Sorry.

I have to say, it is hard to keep this up. This feeling that I am okay with it all. There are only so many times that you can tell yourself that you don't care before you become numb to the effects of the words.

It doesn't help when parties involved don't make things easy on you. I'm looking at YOU democratic party and party of 5.

But in all seriousness I need to stop putting my nose where it doesn't belong. And I also need to just take a deep breath, look at myself in the mirror and face facts. I need to man up...or rather woman up. I need to realize that I can't spend my life afraid. I must take some control in the things that happen to me. Just because I tried once and was disappointed with the results doesn't mean that I give up now.

This is failing. I think the little Sarah in me that likes to spout out things is one for the day. Poor little thing. I am really tuckering her out. Three posts in two days!

At least I am seventy now.

Entry Sixty-Nine

I suddenly feel a great need to expel all pent up energy that I have. Mind energy that is.

I also really want to turn seventy before I leave for New Hampshire.

I try to think of this internship as a stepping stone. I feel like all the other stones after it will be relatively close and easy to get to. But this one feels like I have to take a big leap from the shore where I wait. I'm staring at the water raging past and several metaphorical feet away is this stone. It's small and wet. And as I look at it, I'm not even sure that I will make it if I jump. My stomach churns because I imagine myself just barely missing and falling into the rushing waters and be carried down stream. I keep taking a few steps back and gauging the distance. Then I hurriedly close the gap between me and the edge only to stop just short of making that jump. All because I'm terrified of falling in.

It's like that. Or maybe it's more like tromping through a wet and mosquito infested marsh with the summer sun beating on you and a heavy pack on your back. All of a sudden you some to a channel. You've been hopping these things all day. Most no wider than distance between your shoulder and your fingertip. Piece of cake. But here lies a formidable challenge. The Channel is several feet across. Within it is surprisingly deep water. It would surely go over your head if you landed in it. You wouldn't die, but you would be soaked and you're feet may even land in 6 inches of mud at the bottom. Mostly it would just be awful because all the stuff in you pack would get wet and once you climbed out you would have to walk the rest of the way through the marsh water-logged. The distance isn't horribly far. But it seems that unmanageable when you think of how much your pack is weighing you down and how the knee high boots you are wearing make it hard to run. Using your brain, you take off your pack and toss it to the other side. It lands with a juicy squelch telling you that it will be damp when you retrieve it. Then you back up several paces. Take several deep breaths because there is no way out of this harsh unless you make this jump. And you run. You're boots finding no spring in the sodden, grass laden ground. The muck underneath that grass tries desperately to suck your boots into their depths. You pick up you feet and gain a little speed as the gap closes. And then, right at the edge, you leap. For several breathless moments you are airborne. Watching as the other side gets closer. For one horrifying instant you are sure toy aren't going to make it but then your boots find ground again. But it's only the toes of your boots. Your heel hang off the edge and you feel yourself begin to lean backwards. So you throw all your energy into leaning forward. You even manages to get all your internal organs to help and as one you and you heart, liver, stomach, intestine (including your unremoved appendix), kidneys, bladder, ovaries (because YOU of course are a girl), and even your brain throw yourselves forward. You tilt the other direction and your knees come crashing down onto the marshy land in front of you. You made it, but only just barely and your heart thuds angrily against your chest wondering why you just put it through such an ordeal. But you made it. You are mostly dry and on the other side. Ready to trek the rest of the way through the marsh until you come to the nest channel.

Yeah. I think it's more like that. Wow. I need to remember that for some kind of sacrament meeting talk or a lesson on conquering goals or something.

I think I dispelled all the energy I had. Now my brain is pooped and ready for a nap.

Be prepared for a flurry of posts. Now that I have time to spare...(ahem)...I will be spending it letting out all the pent up emotions I've had this semester in such a way that I won't want to stab myself in the eye if I have to read it again.

Next entry...I am seventy.

Entry Sixty-Eight

I really need to be getting to sleep. Church is earlier than usual tomorrow.

I realize that I often don't know exactly what I am writing about on this blog.

(Kudos by the way to my past self for keeping the secret of who I was obsessed with in May so well. I have NO CLUE who it was I was talking about a couple entries ago. It makes me laugh that I kept a secret so well from myself.)

Other times I am actually, dare I say it, impressed with the mindless dribble that sometimes (ill-frequently (eh?)) makes it's way past the blockage of uncreative ear wax. (Nice comparison, no? I imagine creative thoughts creeping through the brain and dripping out the ear. Is that logical?)

I don't often impress myself. I feel that I am mediocre/modestly passable in most aspects (a few being spelling, grammar, math, getting things done on time, life, etc.). Writing also makes that list. At least most of the writing that makes it's way past the afore mentioned ear wax. (Maybe creative thoughts make their way out through fingertips. Flowing like magic. Like on Willow. The power to control the universe is in your own finger...)

Every once in a while I am able to look past normalcy and mediocrity and make my way to a sort of modest creativity.

I think I am okay with that. I know I will never be a great author. The least I can do is write for my own entertainment. For it is in characters of our creating that we can live as we have always wished. In great adventure, romance, and tragedy. These are the things our mundane lives crave. Yet we cringe to experience them in any kind of reality. So that is why we give these experiences to characters.

Let us all who place ourselves in the creative genre hope never to write unless we know those we are writing whether they be real or fictional.

I think that soon, the creative thoughts that flow out of these fingers (yes I do like that imagery better than the ear wax) will soon be incoherent. So I bid thee farewell on this cold December night and hope that the time between this post and the next will be nowhere near as long as the stretch between this one and the last.

Good eve'n.