Dream a Little Dream of Me

I had a nightmare about my paper that is due this week:

I arrived at my professor's office to give him my presentation, and my professor was no longer who it is now, but rather my high school government teacher, Mr. Nettles. Mr. Nettles smiled his wicked smile, rubbed his bald head and asked me to begin. I looked down at my paper and suddenly realized that all I had were a few bullet points. One of which included a statement that the Enlightenment was actually started in China during the rule of Mao Zedong. Throughout my stammering and completely made up presentation, Mr. Nettles would interrupt me and ask me impertinent questions. Then he pointed to my foot and asked me what happened. I looked down and realized that I wasn't wearing any shoes and my ankle was wrapped with an extremely dirty ace bandage.

I lectured Mr. Nettles for interrupting my presentation, and limped home with my filthy ace bandage as it began to rain. When I arrived home, my cousins Jason and Michael were on the front porch in white plastic lawn chairs. They looked over sodden state and dirty bare feet and Jason told me how horrible I looked. I glared at him and went inside.

And that was that.

The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back

"There are some days sweet like honey, and some days tart like marmite."

Life has been tasting pretty sweet lately. I talked about it with my mom last week. About how I feel so happy and I don't know why. So many things have gone wrong, but I just feel. . .good.

This past week was spectacular. And I really mean that.

My soccer team and I played the worst game of our season on Friday. We lost 8 to 0.

My roommates and I threw a party for Roommate #5's birthday. When I say we threw it, we mean she said what she wanted, she organized it, and got it all moving. So it was really like she threw us a party for her birthday. She is great like that. That is why Roommates #1-3 and I love Roommate #5. We stayed up way past our bed time and drank way too many drinks spiked with 7UP.

That night, a late-hour-fizzy-drink-induced-sleep led to some interesting dreams. Including me getting brainwashed with a cantaloupe smoothie (something Elder U. says he drinks regularly on his mission) by a polygamist group up in the mountains. I noticed that a guy from my ward (who I never want to see in my waking hours, let alone in my dreams) happened to be a part of their group and he was asked to offer a prayer. For some reason he was confused as to what was happening in the world, so as he meant to pray for Japan, he said, "Please bless Jimmy." Then someone in the crowd yelled, "Japan!" He attempted to correct himself, "And please bless Jimmy's dad." Once again,"Japan!" And that was that. I don't know if I escaped from the polygamists or not.

I had an essay to write Saturday, but things just happened so I didn't get it done until this morning. An hour before it was due. Roommates #1 and #3 and I accidentally stayed up talking about boys and The Beatles until day light savings was in affect. I still don't get why day light savings exists.

On Sunday, I went with Lou to the Deaf Singles Ward. I realized how much sign language I actually don't know. That ward is in Spanish, English, and ASL. It was the loudest ward I have ever been to, simply because it is in a constant state of translation from one language into the other two. And I'll tell you what else, there are no secrets among the Deaf. If you sign it, everyone else knows about it.

I got back to my ward just in time for Relief Society. Then I told Roommates #1 and #3 that I would race them home from the church. And then we were off. It led to an an indecent race in our skirts and high heels to our door. I tell you what, I was running like a demon. Unfortunately, my demon-like run wasn't fast enough.

My visiting teachers came over for some pancakes and visiting teaching, but mostly for the pancakes. They are the best. If you ever need anything, they will be sure to get it for you. No questions asked. Which is probably why I will have a husband soon.

At ward prayer, I spent a good ten or fifteen minutes rocking on my heels with Coach Dennet. And then it was off to bed. Three hours later.

Just Call Me Klutzy K

(Dear Sister, Please allow me to use your alias for this post.)

Last night I celebrated Anna's birthday. After a rousing night of Funfetti cake and BYU Creamery ice cream, I decided that it was high time for me to head back home to "El Apartado" to attack some homework. I balanced my leftover Cafe Rio in one hand and my wallet in the other as I hopped down the porch stairs. Certain that I had reached the bottom, I looked up at the passing cars on the street and confidently stepped down from what I thought was the last step. As I fell, I thought to myself, "Oh, I guess I missed a step." I crumpled to the ground in a sad heap and hoped that the girls inside didn't hear my mishap. I was immediately aware of two things: the first was that my Cafe Rio was still in perfect condition and the second was that my ankle was no longer in a perfect condition, namely, it was twice the size of its counterpart. As discreetly as possible, I gathered up my things, unlocked my car from my position on the ground and maneuvered myself into my automobile. Luckily, it didn't take much pressure from my foot to drive home, but it was however an adventure hobbling from my car parked out in the North-40 to my apartment.

I have been trying not to play it up because as a little girl, I was the sort who would put band-aids on mere scratches, wrap myself up in Ace bandages even if there was nothing wrong with me, or wear roller-blade wrist pads pretending as though I had a broken wrist. But it turns out that trying not to limp while limping just looks weirder than actually limping.

All is on the mend now but curse my weak ankles!

A Late Night Kind of Post

Late last night (around midnight-ish), as I was doing the dishes still clad in my sweaty soccer clothes with my shin guards un-velcroed and flopping around my calves, I began thinking about what it was that I wanted out of my life.

I thought about the things that I wanted as a child, such as wanting to be an open-heart surgeon/astronaut/ballerina, having dark brown hair down to my bum, and having a husband with a British accent.

Then I thought about what I want now. The frivolous things such as having a pet dog named Asterix, the opportunity to travel the world, incredible style, becoming a brilliantly famous writer, getting more sleep, and having a husband with a British accent.

I plunged my hands into the no-longer soapy, gray water and thought about how my roommate would cringe if she were still awake. "Those things would be nice," I said to myself, "But I don't think that's what you really want." So I came up with some new things.

Most of all and most importantly, I want my life to be centered on the gospel of Jesus Christ. I want my nieces and nephews to always think I'm the coolest aunt even if I tell them I think video games are mind-numbing and that I would rather talk about something else. Someday I want to have a home filled with laughter, love, music, dancing, and big words. I want a mind always ready with good advice and hands always busy with work whether it be writing, doing to dishes, pulling weeds, or sewing on patches. I want to read every book on my list of "things to read" even if it takes me the rest of my life. I want people to see me and say the the person next to them, "If you don't know her, you should. She is a great person to know, and she'll make you laugh if you talk to her long enough." And you know, I think wanting a husband with a British accent will always be a constant.