On My Mind

Climate change homework. I haven’t done it yet. Typical.

New job at Lee’s MarketPlace. I start Thursday in the bakery, and I’m so grateful and so excited. ITZA BAKERY, GUYZ.

Housing for next year. I’m planning on living near campus next year. I don’t know where and I don’t know how to find what’s best, but I’m determined.

Bleak House. It’s so great. Novels like this make me understand why I love writing so much.

General Conference. Wondering what will be said, how it will impact me, how it will answer all of the questions I have.

Life. I try to be optimistic, but I worry a lot about a lot of different things.

Dating. One of the things I worry about, as it isn’t going real well.

Number Five. Oh, Number Five. You’re so cool and you complicate things a little and I wish I knew what you were thinking and that we could see each other more. Because I like you immensely.

The girl who sat by me while I got my food handlers permit. You were kinda rude. And you answered your phone during the movie. And you shushed someone really loudly before proceeding to pop your gum and text furiously. I’m sure you’re lovely, but I kinda wanted to smack you.

My Little Pony. Seriously. Why does it take so freaking long for the next season to start?

Netflix. We just got it. I’m doomed.

Climbing. The canyon snow is melting and I’m so excited to start climbing outdoors again.

Imagine Dragons. Did I mention that I’m going to their concert? STOKED.

Marriage. Is it cliche’ to say that everybody is getting engaged?

Patience, young Padawan. Boy, do I need it.

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Zipped

My soul is its own blog with a thousand things written that I could and would never publish here, even if ‘here’ was something private that only I could see and understand. I wish I could tell you everything. 
I wish I could mention names and tell their stories. I wish I hadn’t promised myself that I wouldn’t. I wish I wasn’t the queen of false assumptions, because if I wasn’t, I maybe wouldn’t think that everyone else was and that everyone else would read too far into something or much less than I’d hoped. 
I wish that I hadn’t written so much about them right before they left. Now I don’t write at all.  
My life is zipped, an “I solemnly swear to not write about him until I know he’ll stay” signed in broken handwriting across my fingertips. I may have to wait eons to write another name here. 
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Of Mountains and Men

yosemitewall.jpg

Number One stretched his short legs out beneath the table, tearing his Naan into ragged trapezoids on his plate. His gray eyes were set in his head like a fennec fox’s and they would not leave mine in peace for a moment. Eighteen, stupid, I buried my self-consciousness beneath a mouthful of milk balls and a curtain of dirty blonde hair — this guy was the first man I’d ever dated, after all.

“So, uh,” he said, after a few moments of Bollywood music-laced silence and strangled swallows from my side of the table, “do you rock climb?”
Yes, if going three times in your entire life on a fake wall and thinking it was just okay counted, I said, choking down what was left in my cup. You should try climbing on real walls, he suggested. I’d love to go with you, I spewed before the invitation was offered. He was the first man I’d ever dated, after all.
I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t casually glanced through his profile pictures on Facebook before lunch. Blond hair in a wave at his forehead, jawline Paul Wesley sharp, body sprawled across one enormous cliff after another — his page was like a travel brochure for rock-loving hippies. Hot rock-loving hippies. And when I looked at myself in the mirror afterward, I thought, How the crap did this happen? Still don’t know.
After that date, I waited for him to call again like he said he would but never did, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was the first man I’d ever dated, after all. Number Two, Number Three, Number Four, and Number Five followed in fairly rapid succession, numbered because, whether we dated or not, each of them left ripples. They were (and are) all different. One was married to his music and his long board, another to books and philosophy. Those two broke my heart a little and I broke another’s. The last is still being figured out.
But threaded through the lives of all five of them are rocks and mountains. The love of turning the palms of your hands into chalk-covered valleys. Feeling the veins and the insides of a limestone cliff and crawling against its pulse. Sitting on top of the world where the breezes are sweeter and the work worthwhile. These things are what they have given me, what I decided to pursue the minute Number One put down his Naan and taught me about climbing in that little corner of Tandoori Oven.
Nowadays, I spend my evenings dancing. I don purple Cinderella slippers, hoist 60 meters of blue Petzl rope over my shoulder, and waltz until the sun blinks away. If I’m lucky, I get to watch it with battered legs tucked against my chest and a whole canyon spilling out beneath me.
I guess you could say I’ve fallen in love.
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Blog, meet the folks.

I hate introducing new blogs. It’s kind of like introducing your parents to the guy you’re currently dating for the first time: 
“So, uh, guys. This is my blog. You know, the one I’ve been telling you all about with, like, the same interests I have and we met on the Internet and I promise he’s not as sloppy as he looks and, uh, yeah. I hope you like him.” 
I guess it’s waaaaaaay less awkward, unless, like me, you go through blogs like socks. Heh heh. And, by the way, just in case you were curious, I deleted my last blog to give up blogging before reading a few blogs and going, “I MUST BLOG.” 

So, anyway, hi guys! Welcome to my new blog! (And I promise this one’s sticking around.) Follow, subscribe, read quietly and awkwardly from a distance without any indication that you pay one teaspoon of attention to my life . . . whatevs. 

Just say hello every now and again. :]  
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