Saturday, March 31, 2012


I need to rant. My chest area feels like its about to explode. And since I'm pretty sure practically no one reads my blog (and those who do have probably already heard me rant so its not a big deal), its a SAFE ZONE. Don't like it, don't read it. Prepare for lift-off.

Holy cow, what do you do when you miss someone so badly and you can't do anything (ANYTHING!) about it? Why is it that I am prone to miss EVERYTHING. people. places. food. friends from the past. historical times that I've only ever read about, but resonate in my heart, and I want to go live them soooo badly. Huh? Why? WHY? I want an answer!

But back to the original question. Really. What do you do when you miss someone so much but you can't do anything about it because it has to come from THEM and not you. And you're not even sure if it does have to come from them. What if deep down (really really really really really really really really) deeply dark down in the depths of their soul they miss hanging out with you too but they just don't know it because they're being stubborn. but perhaps if YOU reached out they'd reciprocate. Or they'd just punch you in the face. One or the other.

But either one would be just fine!!! I don't mind getting punched in the face!!! At least....I don't think I do....I've never ACTUALLY been punched in the face before to reference my feelings about it, but I feel like it'd be an okay experience. Shocking, yes. Bruise, maybe. But it'd heal (unless he's the incredible hulk). And it would be CONTACT rather than this awkward avoidance. HELLO EVERYBODY! THIS IS A SMALL CITY! WE HAVE ALL THE SAME FRIENDS! WE SHOP AT THE SAME STORES! HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO AVOID YOU.

Actually, I've done very well to avoid. It's actually quite easy. A little too easy. Which tempts me to go out of my way to make something happen. Because while all this avoiding is happening my brain is having a trillion instances of contact by wondering if, when, where, right now? the contact will happen. It's gotta happen eventually, right? RIGHT?  And so all the time no physical contact is happening my mind is running into a cement wall every millisecond. Which does some pretty severe damage after a while. Especially if you're a girl who's read too many romantic novels where people DO just happen to pop out of the blue and random things happen which creates a great plot. So while my mind has been taught to expect these things in these kinds of situations, nothing happens. Nothing. BLAGH!!!!!

Rant over. Kind of. My rib cage feels a little relieved of pressure. I think.

But really, what do you do? What would you do? What should I do? Chances are, you don't know, because you don't know the whole story. Not even I know the whole story. I only know my freakin half of the whole story. There's pretty much one person who might know and they've already told me. I didn't like their answer.

Crap it.

So what do I do? You might not believe it after this hugely emotionally immature rant that I would be capable of such a mature thing, but I pray. Really. Really. Really hard. Because even though I don't know the whole story, and no-one I can talk to knows the whole story, there's wonderful Father in Heaven who DOES know EVERYTHING. Hence Alpha and Omega. Hence--O M N I P O T E N C E. It's actually pretty darn cool. So every night I pray for someone I miss. I pray that that person is happy and that everything will work alright for them. But my prayer isn't entirely selfless. I also pray, plead, really, that I will be okay too. And I pray that if any contact SHOULD happen, that it WILL. Either from me, or someone else, that it will happen. And then I start to feel pretty darn hopeful. Maybe not completely content, not a cent less confused, not a tadpole less missing someone, but hopeful for the future. Because it WILL be alright. It will. I've got a warm location in my heart confirming it to me right now.

And now, my chest feels relatively normal. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to work on homework now. Glory be! Pretty much prayer is the most awesome thing in the entire universe. Pretty much.

Friday, March 30, 2012


#1: READING. Just check me out reading about Little Bear, while holding Little Bear. Reading is AWESOME! 

#2: BIKING. Pretty much, as this picture demonstrates, I've loved biking (or tricycling, same diff) since I was 2. 

 #3: DINOSAURS!!!! So, yes, I love dinosaurs. They are the coolest. Next to whales. And elephants. Pretty much big animals are awesome. No offense little ants and mices. (Yes, I understand that the plural of mouse is mice, but ants and mice doesn't sound pretty. Mices sounds better.)


#5: SASSY ATTITUDE. Just look at that face, its got some sass! 

#6: OBSESSED WITH WEDDINGS. Okay, so I might have been obsessed with weddings since I was about five years old. It just happens. Not my fault. They're just so beautiful! And dreamy! And its all about boy and girl in love with roses and happy people. Who DOESN'T like weddings?

#7: TOM-BOY-ISH-NESS. I know I'm girly, and I know you know I'm girly, but somewhere, deep down inside is a bit of tom-boy-ish-ness which just happened to be more dominant around age 7 . Demonstration below. Yes, I am wearing Ben's shorts. And yes, you could probably fit about 5 of me inside that shirt. And YES, I am wearing socks with my boy's sandals. It's okay, I'm cool. (Note: Tom-boy-ish-ness still exerts itself at times, such as when I get into the mud, or around a tree I want to climb, or around bugs)

#8: POPCORN. I have loved popcorn since my dad first fed it to me at a few months old. I taught my 2nd grade class how to make air-popped popcorn for a project.

#9: OLD FASHIONED STYLE. So pretty much people back in the day knew how to be fashionable. Word.

#10: AWKWARD. Just look at that sad photograph. The glasses. The awkward arm position. The ribs poking out of nowhere. Let's face it--I've always been a bit awkward. It's okay. I see the humor. :)

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Society's Dastardly Zits

Here's the opening paragraph of an essay I'm working on. I like it. A lot. I feel like it will capture people's attention! Ha!

When you get a large zit on your face, what happens? Pus inside the zit increases until the pressure inside the skin pocket becomes too great until—WHAM! It pops, spewing bacteria all over. Now, let’s take this metaphor and displace it onto societal power conflict. When power is unfairly divided among members of society, pressure ensues among those without power. This pressure includes feelings of powerlessness, inferiority, and frustration. It builds and builds over years, sometimes decades or even centuries, until it finally pops and violence ensues. This much is clear, but what’s not clear is where the source of the societal power conflict lies. What is the metaphorical oil clogging society’s pores and creating such dastardly effects?

Friday, March 23, 2012


Story from High School. Don't judge. :)

Once, long ago, there lived a young slave girl named Nahia. She worked for a wealthy family that had made their fortune in wine making. She did not remember her parents, so she was not sad to be alone without family. Her ancestors had long ago been forced to live India, to be packed in slave boats headed for Italy. Her father was white, making her skin creamier than most slaves, though her hair was just as black as her mother’s had been. She served the Belladonna family, consisting of only a father and his daughter. The father, especially loved to spoil Nahia, and greatly enjoyed looking on her lovely face. He rarely made her do the hard chores outdoors. In fact, he would always give her the easy indoor tasks to do, so that she could keep her countenance fair, and so he could look at her often. This special attention made his daughter, Stephania, very jealous of Nahia, and Stephania grew to hate her more than the dirt that got on her pretty shoes. When the father would have to leave the manor for business, which was quite often, Stephania would work Nahia to the bone. At times such as these, Nahia was lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a night, and one meal a day.
            Time went by, and Nahia and Stephania both grew up into young women. Nahia was beautiful in both spirit and health. She was diligent in her work, yet also yearned for something more. Stephania, was also very pretty, but only because she primped and prettified herself many hours each morning. One day on a soft winter’s night, Signor Belladonna came home from one of his long journeys, with a young man. A handsome young man by the name of Giancarlo Vittorio. He had come to meet Stephania, and if things went well, to be married to her in the coming spring. That night, as Nahia served the dinner, Signor Belladonna had his eyes on her. When Nahia was younger, he enjoyed watching her quickness and grace as she worked. Now that she was a grown, though, his mind was on other things. It was not uncommon for slave girls to be sold as prostitutes when they came of age. Why should he not keep her as his own prostitute? It would make him happy, and she could keep her home. In his eyes, it was the perfect solution.
            Signor Belladonna was not the only man with his eyes on Nahia, though. Though Giancarlo was meant to be courting Stephania, he could not help but glance at Nahia every chance he got. Her movements were full of grace, as though she were dancing. As Nahia bent over to dish out his food, he longed to reach out and wrap his finger around one of her dark curls. “’Tis a shame,” he thought to himself, “that one so full of beauty and grace is condemned to the life of a slave.” He hoped that maybe he could speak to her a bit after dinner. Or perhaps he could stay in his room a bit longer the next morning, and wait for her to come and clean it. No, he would wait till he saw her in the barn, and then go ask for a horse to ride. Perhaps he could even persuade her to go riding with him. His mind turned round and round going through each possibility, so that he hardly spoke to Stephanie throughout the whole dinner.
            Giancarlo’s divided attention agitated Stephania. Although she was particularly bright, she was not so dull as to not notice how Giancarlo’s gaze followed Nahia throughout the whole evening. This made her even angrier. She would talk to her father directly after dinner, and insist that he release Nahia that evening, and send her to the city. Since Nahia received so much attention from the men in this house, surely she would receive much business in the slums. The thought of this made Stephania giddy, and she did not mind so much anymore that she received no attention from the men.
            The dinner finished, and the men hurried off to their rooms. Giancarlo wanted to get to his room so that he could sleep, and perhaps, if he was lucky, dream of Nahia. Signor Belladonna hurried off so that he could find Nahia. He did not want to wait any longer. Before he could catch her, though, Stephania caught up with him. She expressed her concern to her father that Giancarlo could never love her, with Nahia flitting around. At this, he laughed. “Love’s got nothing to do with it!” he told her with a smile. “Marriage is not about love. Marriage is about money, and status. My dear, if you want love, get yourself a lover. If you want a marriage, I’ll find you a rich man.” He chuckled to himself as he walked away while Stephania stomped in a rage to her room.
            He had completely forgotten his plans with Nahia, until he heard her singing in the dining room. Quickly, he turned himself around, and headed down to find her.
            Nahia was kneeling on the floor, polishing the silver and singing Christmas songs, when Signor Belladonna entered. He stood in the corner, behind her, watching. She did not notice him there until he was behind her, and she heard him laughing gently. She stood as quickly as she could, and glued her eyes to the floor. As he did not move or say anything, she slowly looked into his face. He looked redder than usual; he had drunk too much that night. But she was not afraid as she should have been. Instead, she asked him if she could get him anything. In answering, he grabbed her hair and viciously locked his lips to hers. Poor Nahia was in such complete shock, that she did not fight to get away. Luckily, she awakened from her shock, and was able to pull herself away before he pulled her in any closer. “Signor!” she shouted at him, “What in the- What- Why- How--“ She could not complete her thoughts. He mistakenly thought she was speechless because she was so overpowered by him, so he stepped into her again, this time grabbing her waist and kissing her neck. Furious, she wrenched herself away from his grasping hands, and ran to the other end of the room. “What do you think you’re doing?” He shouted at her, suddenly realizing she had refused him. “You will come here to me now, or you will be gone from this house forever!” Tears of fury sprang to her eyes, and she dashed out the door into the night. She had nothing to return for; she had never been paid for her services, and only owned one dress. She stood for a moment, hesitating whether or not to go take a blanket to keep warm. But she did not want to have any memoirs of the Belladonnas, and by the look of the clouds, she decided it would not rain until she could find some sort of shelter. She decided to find her way through the vineyard to the road, so it would be easier to hide, should Signor tried to find her. As she walked past all the dead looking vines, cold rain began to fall, and the winds began to blow around her. The limp vines caught up in the wind, and whipped her legs, as if trying to stop her. She only ran faster. She ran until the her ribs ached so badly that she could not breath. Then she laid down, pressing her cheek against the cold, wet ground, and letting the rain wash away her tears. She lay there, crying, till she could cry so more. Then, she got up, and walked till she found the road, and then walked along it until she was too exhausted and cold, that she could go no more. Once again, she lay down on the ground. She had no more tears to cry. She was too numb to move, and yet too full of pain to sleep. So she lay there, eyes closed, feeling the rain was away her grief. After a few hours, when the sun was dawning over the horizon, she heard a carriage coming. Nahia tried to get up to move out of the way, but found that she had no control over her limbs anymore. She could not even lift her eyes to see what direction the carriage came from “Ah well,” she thought to herself, “so I will be trampled by this carriage, and die. At least I will die free.” The idea of death was really no tragedy. In fact, death could be much better than her life had been. She found herself welcoming the horses forward. To her surprise, the horses slowed and stopped. She heard the carriage door open, and someone run toward her. Suddenly, she was lifted in up and carried to the carriage. As soon as she entered the warmth of the carriage, she fell asleep in his arms.
            Nahia slowly awoke from unconsciousness more comfortably than she’d ever been in her entire life. Although she was not quite awake, she knew she was warm, she could feel many blankets and pillows surrounding her, as well as a fireplace nearby. Once or twice, she also felt a gentle finger trace the lines in her face, or brush her hair from her forehead. The third time this happened, she was awake enough to make the decision to open her eyes. Putting all her energy to work, she slowly opened her eyes to see her visitor. When she saw him, though, she nearly passed out again. Could she be seeing correctly? No. She couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. She must’ve died. Yes, that was it. There could be no other reasonable explanation as to how or why Signor Vittorio was sitting next to her, quietly playing with her hair. A soft smile washed over her face. If this was death, it was bad at all. All warm and cozy, lying next to the one man she had ever dared to admire.
            Nahia took a deep breath, trying to suck in all the warmth and comfort. Her smile grew more pronounced as she did this. She felt the movement in her hair stop.
            “So, you’ve finally decided to wake up, have you?” Giancarlo’s soft whisper stirred up butterflies in her stomach.
             Slowly Nahia opened her eyes, dreading to find out that he was just an illusion. But, even with her eyes wide open, he was still there. Her brow furrowed, confused at what had happened, where she was, why he was here. So many questions ran through her mind, and yet she could not utter a syllable. Before she could find the words to express her questions, he arose and silently walked out the room. As if waiting for that cue, a little girl ran into the room as soon as he had left the room.
            “Good morning, my lady,” she said as she curtsied.
            How strange it felt to hear the exact phrase Nahia had used every morning previously, used on her!
            “M-my name is Aina. I am to b-be your servant,” she stuttered as she slowly dared to glance up into my face.
             I knew only too well that servants were never supposed to look their masters in the eye without permission. I pretended not to notice. Quickly, she shot her eyes down to her feet again, and continued, “If there’s anything I can get you, . . . . . . .you’re supposed to stay in bed until tomorrow, . . . .you’ve been sick. . . . . .” She looked up at me with her large dark eyes, as if expecting an answer.
             “Oh, well, um, I am rather hungry.” I was just as bad at being the master as she was at being the servant.
             “Oh, yes, of course, Signor has already sent for your meal. Anything else?”
            “Um, well, could you just answer me some questions?”
            She did not say anything, but lifted her head, staring me face to face. I took it as a yes. “How did I come to be here? Why am I here? Why is Signor Vittorio here? He’s supposed to be courting Ste--I mean, Signorina Belladonna.”
            “You’re at the Vittorio castle. You’ve been asleep for at least two days. You’re not to leave bed, except to go to dinner this evening. Signor’s had some gowns made for you.”
            I easily guessed that these were the exact words Giancarlo told her to tell me. I also knew that she knew much more, and would be easily persuaded to tell me all she knew.
            “And what do they say in the kitchens? What do the maids gossip of?”
            Her eyes sparkled as she quickly spoke “Signor Vittorio was supposed to b-be courting Signorina B-belladonna. We expected him to be g-gone for months, b-but he returned before the end of the first night, with you in his arms. He’s said nothing in explanation, only that ‘he prefered diamonds to pyrite. He did not leave you alone for more than five minutes while you slept. At dinner this evening, it is to just be you and him. And the gowns that you are to wear! They are most beautiful. And so many! I think he means for you to stay for quite a while, if not for good.”
            She suddenly froze, shocked that she how much information she had just told this stranger. Her chin glued to her collar bone, determined to look straight to the ground. Nahia knew she would be severely beaten if she ever told anyone. She pitied this girl. How unfair that she would remain a slave, when she herself had become something more. Perhaps someday she would have the same good fortune that Nahia seemed to have.
            Nahia warmly smiled , and assured her that no harm would come to her for speaking too much. Still nervous, Aina ran out the door, eyes still on the floor. Seconds later, a different servant brought in a tray with wonderful food. Nahia had never been allowed to eat, except for tiny pieces she had snitched in the kitchen.
            Nahia slowly ate her meal. Afterwards, she was exhausted. She still hadn’t fully recovered from the previous night’s exercise, and was glad she still had some hours to rest before supper that evening. At the thought of supper alone with Giancarlo, her stomach curled, and she felt her head spinning. She laid back on her many pillows, and shut her eyes, trying to clear her mind. She was asleep when Giancarlo crept into the room, and silently, lovingly watched her sleep. By the time she awoke, he was gone.
            Nahia awoke to the tiny jingle of a bell. Aina stood there, obviously still cautious. In her arms, was a beautiful periwinkle gown. Nahia tried to get out of bed, but found that after days of not walking, her legs had forgotten how. Aina helped her into a room connected to the bedroom, with a large tub filled with soap suds. Nahia could not remember the last time she had had a bath, or if she ever had. She often washed herself in the river, but that was nothing to this luxury. On a chair in the corner, lay a beautiful periwinkle gown. At any other time, she would have insisted on soaking in the tub longer, but the dress was haunting, constantly reminding her of what lay ahead. She quickly towled herself dry, and then called for Aina to help her get dressed. She would have dressed herself, but the dress looked so elaborate, she did not think she could figure out how to do all of the clasps and buttons. Nahia was furious when Aina tried to force her into a corset. Nahia refused to corrupt her body in order to look beautiful. Aina insisted that all noble women wore them. The war raged on until finally, Nahia ripped the garment from Aina’s hands, and threw it into the bathtub.
            Even without the corset, the gown fit beautifully. The satin and velvet felt so good on her body, after a lifetime of wool.
            As soon as she was dressed, she turned to leave for supper. Aina stopped her before she had gone two steps, and pulled her into a chair. Next to the chair, lay a dresser covered hair and make-up products. Nahia had never used any of these on herself before. She allowed Aina comb out her hair, dry it by the fireplace, but no more. She relentlessly refused to be made up into some fake ideal of beauty. Remembering what had happened to the corset, they compromised. Aina pulled up half of Nahia’s hair, to keep it out of her face, and put make up only on her eyes.
            Before Nahia left for dinner, Aina led her back into the room with the tub. In the corner, was a large full-length mirror that Nahia had not noticed before. She slowly, cautiously walked over to it, afraid of what changes she would see in herself. She never expected what she saw, though.
            The woman in the mirror was beautiful, there was no denying that. But it was not a beauty made by powder and gloss and pins. The beauty lay in her loose dark curls, her warm skin, flushed cheeks, dark eyes. She regretfully agreed with Aina that the make up on her eyes was wonderful.
            Aina led Nahia through the large chateau. They winded through halls, up and down stairs, through tapestries, until they were faced with two large oak doors. Two men stood in front, guarding. They were obviously expecting Nahia, for as soon as she came into sight, they began pulling open the doors. 

One Day

This a journal entry I wrote in High School, detailing a morning in the life of teenage me. It's kind of funny. And still kind of true in some ways!
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

No. I threw my hand to turn off my alarm clock. I missed. Slowly, I raised it again, and let my limp arm fall. Again. And again. And again. There. Got it. I just wanted a little longer. Too . . . comfortable. . . .warm. . . . .dreams. . . . .


Fine, I would get up this time. I found my cell phone with my eyes closed to turn off the alarm, and laid back on my pillows, remembering my dreams, trying to finish them. Every night, I would get about ¾ through a dream, and then, have to wake up. Where was I . . . . . . hmmm. . . . . .I had dreamed of a boy. Which one? Hmm. Oh yeah. Peter. That’s peculiar. I barely even know Peter. Never talk to him. Hmm. Odd. Oh well, he’s tall, handsome enough, and was very nice in my dream. So, what were we doing in the dream. Hmm. I sorted through every detail I could remember, and found nothing. There must be something. Yes-lunch, pizza, lunch ladies, hmm. That’s not worth much. I threw it away, and decided to get up. This decision woke me suddenly, and I threw my leg up as far as I could, pulled it down to passé position, and then quickly jumped out of bed. I know. I have a very peculiar waking-up process. Here I am dead asleep, or trying to be, but as soon as I decide to be awake, I am, and I nearly always strike strange dance poses somewhere between there.
            Now then. What to wear, what to wear. Hmm. I should probably put a shirt on before my mom opens my door to make sure I am awake. Or even worse-before my brother opens my door. Ha. That would be bad. Very bad indeed. I turned to my close in contemplation of my chronic dilemma of what to wear. It’s true, that my closet is full of shirts, but, I easily think of a problem or two with each one, and find that I have nothing to wear. So I just grab one at random, put it on, only to take it off and put it back. “I’ll just have to start out with pants today, then,” I mutter to myself angrily. Everyday, I go through this same routine of finding clothes to wear. Heaven’s sake! People are out there starving and naked, and I can’t find a single shirt of much too many, to wear to just another day of high school. So I trudge back, grab the one I had tried already, throw on some jeans, and walk full of dread to the bathroom.
            I stare hopelessly back at myself in the mirror. “Why?” I question myself. “Why, everyday, do all the girls go to their bathrooms, to tug, curl, rub, paste, and paint all over themselves, just to make ourselves “hot”, so that boys will like us, then dump us, and make us more miserable than we started out in the first place?” I thought about this for a moment. Blank. No answer. Oh well. I might as well just follow the herd.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Snow Cabin

So this winter all my friends went up Hobble Creek to a cabin for a little getaway in the snow. :) It was fantastic. Here are some of my favorite pictures.

Kelsi!!! Look at the color coordination!

 Me! Happy!

Brandon! Suspicious because he just had snow thrown in his face. 

 Such happy roomies :)

 Something happened......over....there.......?

 Over the meadow and through the woods
on a piggy-back ride
we go!

 Model shot. 
We're look so youthful, and handsome. Yeah.

(I'm so glad Beth was able to squeeze in her head. If only you could see more heads...)

So happy! 

Oh yeah. Backrubs. All. Morning. Long.

These pictures are pretty much the best reasons I can give you as to why I love roommates, friends, winter, cabins, snow, and vacations from school. 

Pretty much they keep me sane and happy.

A Hike in the Rain

Last weekend I went hiking above Pleasant Grove and took these pictures.

 There were these cool cotton-like plants! So cool! 
Plus, while we hiked it sprinkled a little rain, so there were tiny droplets of water on the cotton plants.
Supes cool.

 A little stub. :)

 Look out the droplets!!!

I love God's creations.

Quote Journal

Check out this cool journal I found at the BYU bookstore! I filled it with some quotes for my best friend. I thought I'd share the quotes I found.

I love uplifting quotes. :)

Friday, March 16, 2012


I love it when I'm reading a TEXTBOOK and I literally LAUGH OUT LOUD because something is so funny they put in there. Believe it or not, scholars CAN be funny!

Here's the line that made me laugh out loud today:

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that people aren't following you."


Thursday, March 15, 2012

Charli and the Chocolate Gorging.

So, I originally created this blog to share some silly romantic stories and diary entries from me when I was a teenager. Because they're HILARIOUS! Please, enjoy this little gem:

            As Charli sat there, eating chocolate, she pondered what had happened. Two nights ago, she had been dancing in the moonlight. Now, she was laying on the floor of her apartment, eating chocolate and any other comfort food by the handfuls. For the past few months, she had been having the time of her life! She had been living the Hollywood love life. She had found the love of her life. She still had the love of her life, somewhere. That was it. Somewhere.
            Charli had been dating Eric for months now. Of course, they had known each other long before that. They were good friends all throughout high school, junior high, and even elementary school. They really hadn’t seen each other as more than friends until he came back from his mission. All the sudden, from the second he walked off that plane, he was an object of interest. He was suddenly not just a boy, but he was a man, and a bachelor at that. He asked Charli on a date his first night back because, secretly, he had always hoped for more than friendship between the two of them.
            From there, it all just went smoothly.  Charli just couldn’t get him off her mind. How could she forget the way the chills went down her spine every time he reached for her hand. Or the way he’d whisper in her ear, and spread warmth to the tips of her fingers. They had going on like this for months. Nearly six months, she reminded herself as she chowed down on the ear of a chocolate bunny.
            Six months of seeing him at least a few hours every day, thinking of him the rest of it, and dreaming of him at night. And then, he had just up and left, just like that. For no reason at all. Well, there was kind of a reason, she reminded herself with a sigh that dribbled chocolate down her chin.
            They had gone on a romantic date. Dinner under the stars. Afterwards, he walked her home. At her doorstep, after another perfect kiss that made the whole world disappear, she told him how she felt. She told him she loved him. She had never told any other man this before, and she told it from the depths of her heart. And then, he simply said goodnight and walked away. He didn’t answer his phone that night. Or the next morning. Or the other five hundred times she had tried calling the next day. And now, here she was, alone, except for seventeen chocolate creatures,  twenty-three empty wrappers, and all of the stuffed animals she owned. Boy, was love confusing.
            She’d never allow herself to fall in love again. Ever. Never ever. She’d go to school, and become a successful career woman. Who needs love? Not Charli. And yet, every time she told herself this, it didn’t dull the pain. If anything, it made it worse. So she tried to just not think or feel at all. She looked down on the bunny she was half way done with. The giddy smile on its furry face made her sick. So she bit the whole head off and chewed it as monstrous and unlady-like as possible.
            Just then, the doorbell rang. She decided she didn’t want to get it. She was covered in chocolate crums, her hair was in a wild pony tail on the top of her head, and she was wearing her favorite pj’s she’d had since high school. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for visitors. But it rang again, and again, and again. So finally, she got up, brushed herself off, and walked to the door. It was the postman. He was carrying a large parcel, specially shipped from New York City, for Charli herself. The return address said it was from Eric! Quickly as possible, she signed the clip board, grabbed the package, and slammed the door in the poor man’s face.
            She hugged the box tightly against her chest, and then ran to her stuffed animals. She wanted to have an audience for this moment, whether it would be for the best or worst. Slowly, and cautiously, she started cutting off the tape from the sealed box. As soon as the box was opened, though, she lost all control, and threw the contents all over her furry friends. A hat, some chocolate(as if she hadn’t had enough already), some confetti, there must be more. At the bottom, laid a thin parcel wrapped in tissue paper. She ripped it off, and out fell a little dress. A perfect little dress. It was an old fashioned dress, and it reminded her of her grandma’s pictures of her youth. It was lavender, with short sleeves, and a v-neck collar. Around the waist, was a dark purple ribbon, which was tied in a bow in the back. She noticed now that the hat would match perfectly with it. The skirt flared out, and looked as if it were made especially for swing dancing. But, even though it was a very beautiful dress, she couldn’t help but be disappointed. A dress? He had left for days, and sent her an old fashioned outfit? There had to be more, she just knew it. She looked around at the mess she had scattered around her. There must be a card or paper somewhere….there it was. Right in Mr. Whisker’s lap. She picked up the folded piece of paper. Carefully, she unfolded it, and read:

            Dearest Charlotte,
I am extremely sorry for running off on you like that. I don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry. So sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me. And, I’m going to make it up to you. Tomorrow, at 11:30 a.m., I’m going to pick you up for a surprise outing. I want you to wear the dress I sent in the package. My sister picked it out. I hope you like it.

            With all my love and hopes,

All the sudden, with that one little letter, the world had spun right side up. She sprang up off of the ground, dusted all the chocolate crumbs off her clothes, and ran to go get ready for tomorrow.

worth waiting for.

I have one other thing to say.

I know a wonderful woman who loves a man who does not love her. I know another wonderful woman with the same problem. I know ANOTHER wonderful woman with the same problem. I know a wonderful woman who has not been in a relationship in YEARS and just can't seem to find someone to love or to love her. I know a wonderful woman who has NEVER been in a relationship and just can't find love yet.

I know a wonderful man who loves a girl who doesn't love him. I know another wonderful man who spent months falling in love with a girl just to have the relationship dissolve. I know another wonderful man who just can't find a girl to fall in love with. I know another wonderful man with the same problem. I know ANOTHER wonderful man with the same problem.

My point is, LOVE IS HARD. It is not easy. It is difficult to find, difficult to develop, and difficult to maintain.

But it is worth it.
It is worth waiting for.
It is coming.
It is possible.

I believe this. I know this. I feel this.

And if love is worth it, worth waiting for, possible, and coming, why stress about it? We shouldn't! Rather, we should enjoy each moment of the journey as it leads us, slowly but surely, to love. Even if not in this life, even if for a short duration of time, love is worth it. It is worth waiting for. It is coming. And it is possible.

And I think to myself, "What a Wonderful World."

I am grateful for wonderful roommates.
I am grateful for indoor plumbing.
Chocolate pudding pie.
A job.
I am grateful for pioneers.
I am grateful for scriptures.
I am grateful for a loving family.
I am grateful for a beautiful world.