Happy Blog

It has been brought to my attention that blogging about the atrocities and pains of life, while relatable, is not necessarily the most enjoyable read, and in trying to keep with the idea that I don’t want my blog to simply be cry fest, I am writing the happiest blog ever written, inspired by Nick Hansen. I guess I shouldn’t say inspired, because he pretty much triple dog dared me, which I can’t very well ignore that… so here goes.

I truly believe that in spite of the seemingly earth shattering stressors that have engulfed my life as of late (finals week) I am doing just fine. I know that I will be fine. This concept is known to others in the major as self-efficacy, in other words, the confidence in ones abilities to complete a goal or task. I feel as though that self-efficacy is a concept that is either built up or torn down through out ones life. I myself was fortunate enough to have loving parents that supported me in whatever I did and reminded me that even if I were to fail at a task, it would be okay, the sun would still rise the next day and my life would go on. Beyond the confidence my parents have instilled in me I feel as though there is another source for which all this self-efficacy and confidence is derived. That of course being from none other than Heavenly Father.

Its funny because prior to getting baptized I remember taking a lot of pride whenever I achieved a goal I had set out for, because I felt like I did it all on my own without anyone’s help… but it was those failures… those moments when I did my best and it still wasn’t enough that really began to wear on me, my self esteem, and my self-efficacy. I had my parents encouragement but I the doubt and inadequacy that accompany such failures or short comings can be maddening and all consuming.


It was after I was baptized that this mode of thinking began to change drastically and for the better. I had to humble myself enough to understand that any task or goal I would accomplish was not of my own doing, it was with the help and guidance of someone who blessed me with the talents and skills I possess. In that same instant I can’t rely completely on the gifts I have been granted to carry me through any mission, I have to be willing to put forth the necessary effort in order to achieve what I desire. Those components factored in, there is still no guarantee for success… while that might sound defeating, that is actually the most rewarding knowledge. This isn’t to say that I would pass the buck of any failures of mine onto that of the Lord, I would never.

What I am saying is that if I am confident that I have done my very best and for some reason I still don’t accomplish what I had expected, it doesn’t mean my best wasn’t good enough, or that I am inadequate, it means that there was something else for me to learn. There is a greater lesson at hand or a different path for me to follow. Where once I would dwell on what I had done or could have done differently, with the love and help of Heavenly Father I have been able to train my past focus to present focus. I can narrow my motivation to finding out the lesson He wanted me to learn and move forward from there verses my former method of letting my thoughts reside in the past.

All that is really required in that instant of doubt or a diminished self-efficacy is to remember that I am loved and I am blessed. I have what I have because He gave it to me.
　

Locked Out

I just had a long quiet drive home which was plenty of time for me to think of exactly what I wanted to say about my experiences tonight. I learned a serious lesson in a somewhat humorous way. In retrospect, locking my keys in my car is a pretty funny thing. Its laughable because its something we’ve all done and its something we all smack ourselves in the forehead over, yet the whole ordeal helped me to realize a thing or two about myself. So my story begins….

Shortly before getting off work my friend announced to me that she no longer had any intentions of going to this costume party with me. I heard excuse-excuse-excuse, reason-reason-reason, but behind all of the rationales and hoopla was the most simple of all, “I just don’t want to go.” I had this feeling all day she was going to change her mind, but no matter how much preparation I had for an immanent let down, I still found myself disappointed when she confirmed my suspicions. I was looking forward to going to this party because of several reasons. I knew it would be an opportunity for me to meet some new people, it would be something different for me to do aside from the typical Friday night hangout, and lets face it, its not often that I get the chance to attend a Thanksgiving inspired costume party.

Upon arriving home and seeing my costume I had laid out before I left for work, a determination built up inside me. I didn’t need my friend to hold my hand just so I could go to the party. Granted going with a friend is safer and makes socializing easier, but I didn’t care. I had wanted to go to this party and I wasn’t about to let anyone stop me, however, there were a few things that had me severely apprehensive about going. For instance, I wasn’t too familiar with the party’s location and I would have to find it by myself. I was also pretty worried about how late I was leaving. Leaving late meant arriving late and I wondered if anyone would even still be there or if I would just be showing up to the party as everyone was saying their goodbyes. There were so many times on the long drive down there that I thought about just getting off the freeway, turning around, and coming home…

My mind wrestled the whole way down there but I finally made a deal with myself. If I could find the place where the party was, then I would at least go in and not let my costume go to waste. Much to my surprise I found it without any trouble (GPS didn’t send me to the middle of no where for once). But then came the next big issue. I had to work up the courage to actually go in by myself. I sat in my car and watched other cars full of people pull up, park, and walk in as if it was nothing. Once more I made a deal with myself. I sent a text to one of the hosts of the party and decided that if he didn’t respond to my text (assuring me I was at the right house) before the half hour struck, I was going to just pack up and go home… the moment I made that deal my phone sounded, “come on in!”

And right there… that above paragraph is where my night took a turn for the worse (although I wouldn‘t realize it till much later). Because it was amidst this trepidation of whether or not to go in that my keys sat ever so peacefully in my ignition. The excitement and motivation to head in quick before I lost the nerve left me locking my door blissfully unaware of the events that would befall me later in the evening.

Here is realization number one. Girlfriends, friends, wingmen, whatever you want to call them, they are like a security blanket. They make me feel warm and protected when I am surrounded by people I don’t know. As per the norm I think I fair much better in social settings when the ratio of people I know to people I don’t know is about even. However, when there are more people I don’t know, its harder for me to really relax and enjoy myself. I am guessing that this is probably normal and that most people would feel the same, regardless of that I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of needing to drag security blankets along, kicking and screaming to things that I want to do just so I can feel more comfortable. No. Instead I am going to just continue to push the edge on my comfort zone and learn to get the most out of these social settings, in hopes that one day I wont need any blanket at all.

Aside from my social anxieties, the party was fun and I was especially grateful to see that even though I had arrived so late, that the party was still in full swing. I enjoyed meeting new people and seeing some old friends at the same time. As the night winded down and I looked at the clock, that long drive home stuck out in my head and I thought it best to get going. After making long goodbyes I began to pilfer through my purse… first I felt panic as my hand searched through the contents of my bag and found nothing that felt like a set of keys. I removed every item from my purse and even looked around in the couch cushions but to no avail. Then I felt pure dread as my mind wandered back to those brief hesitant moments upon my arrival. I began preparing myself as I walked to my car for the possibility that was ahead of me, but I silently prayed nonetheless for a different outcome. Yet as the dome light flicked on once I lifted the handle, there my keys were nestled in the ignition.

My mind began the process of filtering my options when how conveniently a cop was parked in front of the house. I don’t know that I have ever been so grateful to have a cop called for a noise disturbance. I explained the situation and asked him for some help, he informed me that he didn’t have the proper equipment but would radio someone that would. I could have gone back in the house to wait for the other officer to arrive but by this point I was feeling utter humiliation. Sixteen-year-olds who just got their license lock their keys in their car or eighty-year-old senior citizens that are borderline senile. I don’t fit either of those bills so what is my excuse? Am I just that stupid?

So there I sat alone in the freezing cold. The cop that I had asked for help saw me and took pity on me. He came over and made small talk with me. It was nice of him to keep me company until his fellow officer arrived. The twenty minutes the two cops spent trying to unlock my car was unsettling. My heart sank each and every time he yanked the tool upward only to see that my lock button did not follow suit. I prayed and prayed and prayed for a blessing. I just wanted to come home. Then I felt despair when each cop began to apologize… their attempts had failed, I needed to resort to another option. The second officer offered I call a lock smith which all that screamed to me were dollar signs, in other words, money I don’t have to spend. He began to ask me if there was anyone I could call… here is realization number two.

My eyes burned and my voice shook as I tried to explain to him that I didn’t live near by and to ask for someone to come and get me at this hour was pretty unreasonable. Maybe it is my pride that stopped me… or maybe I really just don’t trust anyone enough. The cop could see how unsettled I was and he ran through a pretty typical list. “What about family? A brother? Your parents?” I was shaking my head. How would I explain to them as to how to get here? If I could even wake them up… How could I ask any one of them to hop in their car at 1:30 in the morning, to drive just under an hours time, navigate to a location they were unfamiliar with, and pick me up all because I was so hell bent on going to this party…. No. “What about a friend? Do you have any friends that could come get you or bring you the spare?”… My friends had somewhere else to be tonight. And in that instant it all came back to trust. If I can’t trust people with my little needs, how can I trust them with my big needs?

So many times in my life has my trust been abused that long ago I settled into being self reliant. It just seems easier to count on myself. I can’t rely on the word of others or the commitments that have so falsely been advertised. It is far too damaging to need people that aren’t dependable, especially for someone like me who is so self critical. I blame myself for nearly every injustice that befalls me, as if there were some action or misdeed that left me deserving of such letdowns.

I felt so alone. Each name played through my head like a list, each one crossed off as I answered, “no.” I had no one to call. As much normalcy as I could muster in my tone, I politely asked the officer to call me a lock smith. As he went about radioing someone, a neighbor from two houses away waltzed on over, having been watching the whole scene unveil, and offered his help in the matter. He scurried off and returned with some tools. Some pieces of wood, a screw driver, and a long, thin piece of metal. The two cops noticed him working on my door, they got out of their cars once more and gave him a hand. Inch by inch he pried my door open just enough to slide the metal piece in. I watched from the driver’s side window as he maneuvered and pulled, tugged and bent, shifted and lifted. I watched as the tip of the metal hovered over the U on the automatic lock button… never has the sound of my doors unlocking sounded so sweet. I could have cried… Here I found it easier to trust these three complete strangers to help me in my time of need than my loved ones way back home. I hugged the neighbor, he was my blessing that I had prayed so hard for.

There may be some greater lesson at hand here. I don’t know that being interdependent and relying on people is a bad idea, but maybe I still haven’t figured out how to filter who I rely on and who I don’t. Maybe my problem is my high expectations of people or my tendency to be centrally focused or self absorbed. Perhaps I just need more practice and exercise so I can quit stumbling over these life hurtles.  I was locked out of my car on this night, but now I feel as though I am locked myself out from the people that could potentially hurt me.

If you knew how sick you made me...

Like a virus you plague me. Love is a sickness that I liken to a bacterial infection. With the proper tender, love, and care (and maybe some antibiotics) I can overcome the sickness. I can get better. I can move one. But with you it is different.

You are ever present in my heart and in my mind. Like the virus that you are there are times when I feel fine, when I feel as though I have escaped the hold you have on me, but that is when you are dormant and hiding within the farthest reaches of my heart. All it takes is a moment of weakness for that sickness to resurface and once more I will find myself incapable of evading the haunting memories. My senses are bombarded with things that reminds me of you. Everywhere I go I see places that we used to frequent, each one holding a unique story that can be recalled without much effort. I hear songs playing on the radio that we used to sing loudly and terribly in between fits of laughter. I can still smell that cologne I helped you pick out from the department store.

Like any virus there are triggers. There are certain circumstances in which the particular ailment thrives and flares up. How I wish I knew what caused me to lament this way because if I knew what was prompting such nostalgia and sorrowful longing, then I could better protect myself from it. I could prevent these episodes of sickness… and maybe then we could be friends.

I’ve tried every remedy I can think of. I thought maybe seeing you or even being near you was the source of all the sickness in my heart, so I tried removing you from my life, but that only seemed to make things worse. Then I tried doses of medicine in the form of dating new people, and in true medicine form, it helped alleviate some of the symptoms and I felt better for a little bit, but did it kill the virus? Not even close. I even tried a bigger disease, maybe one that would be more potent than the virus you have inflicted within me, but that effort backfired and I found my heart aching for two persons instead of just one.

You are my virus, the illness for which my heart perpetually pangs for. As with any virus there is no cure. The only thing I can do is get used to this aliment, accept the fact it wont ever go away, and do my best to keep myself healthy and happy in between the bouts of sadness and yearning. Sometimes I wonder what you would do if you knew how sick you made me…

Seriously, go eat a burger...

I am currently writing live from my adult development class. After reviewing some of my blogs it has come to my attention that for the most part my blogs are ULTRA depressive. I’m aware that most of my inspiration to write is derived from negative thoughts or feelings, so its not wonder that reading my blog and knowing nothing about me other then what I’ve written, it would be safe to assume that I am clinically depressed and in need of some prozac… however, for my friends who know me I would hope they would think I’m rather lively and cheerful MOST of the time. So I figured a random blog about cheery things was in order…

So today I was really hoping to get my hair colored. I am breaking with tradition this fall. Generally speaking girls tend to dye their hair much darker in the colder months, which I have religiously followed this tradition for several years but this year I wanted to do something different. I am planning almost a complete overhaul and lightening my hair color to a shade similar to Lauren Conrad’s. Much to my dismay, however, I wont likely be able to start this process until next week.

Let’s see… I am trying really hard to find cheerful things to write about right now. I’m actually in a decent mood, but finding that silver lining is becoming increasingly difficult as the semester winds down. I’ve all but accepted the fact that I’m likely going to fail my abnormal psychology class. This is due in part to lack of attendance and enthusiasm to study… woops. I’ll have to just take it again next semester. I guess the silver lining on that is, hey, at least my dad doesn’t check to see what classes he’s paying for so I can easily avoid any lectures from him on that matter. Also I wont have to purchase the book for the class next go around, because hey, I still have it.

Um, good news… All my financial troubles and worries can lighten up. Well, at least there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I don’t think I’ll be able to breath until all my debt is consolidated in the form a subsidized student loan. I have great friends that are willing to help me figure this kind of stuff out, because I really have no idea what I’m doing. I hate that I am almost 24 and I still feel like I know nothing about the world.
Let’s see, I guess the last good thing I can really think of right now is that although I haven’t worked out in about two weeks, and I’m not really happy with how my body looks, I am grateful for the fact that my body still looks decent in spite of what I’ve eaten as of late. I keep making excuses about working out. I’ve been pretty sick lately and its really hard to find the motivation to get to the gym when I have to carry around a box of tissues… I don’t think the people at the gym really want me there in my current germ-spreading condition. But! I’m guessing I will be well enough on Monday that I can’t make any more excuses. Its time to stop being a fatty… but In and Out is just so freaking good. Those burgers and fries make me so happy, I mean they don’t help me fit into my swim suit but for that moment in time, they make me happy. I think maybe that’s why I’m in a good mood, I am still flying off that burger high from last night.

My friend advised me that writing should always have a lesson or a moral, that way people don’t feel like they have just wasted 10 minutes of their life reading you dribble on about nothing important. So here is my moral, there are still good things in this world even though finals week is rapidly approaching, burgers from In and Out are on that list… seriously, go eat a burger.

Not waving, but Drowning...

I feel so lonely. The worst part about being lonely, other then the fact that you feel like no one in this world understands or cares for you, is the fact that it is self inflicted. I know that the words and comfort I so desire are only a moment away should I ask for it… but there in lies the problem. I have to ask.

Perhaps I am so self absorbed and central focused that I have this belief that those who are closest to me should be able to know and detect when I am sad or when I need them, but I hope that isn’t the case. I like to think I know better than to expect people to read my mind. I think the real problem is that I am just too damn prideful to ask for help.

I depict this aura that tells everyone around me that I am strong, I am capable, I am self sufficient, and that I can get by on my own. Perhaps if I keep feeding this lie that I don’t need anyone, someday it will be true. I think I’ve adopted this mantra because of the amount of times I have been let down by people in my life or better yet, the amount of times I’ve let myself down.

Maybe I am self absorbed, because it always comes back to me, it is ALWAYS my fault. After all, I can’t really pin my disappointments on others, even if I was there for them when they needed it, or if I dropped everything to be at their beck and call, or if I went above and beyond to do them a favor without asking anything in return… the fact of the matter is that I chose to trust them, therefore any pain or discomfort I feel as a result of their actions, is of my own consequence, which isn’t quite a spoon full of sugar to help the medicine go down.

You would think by now I’d have it down to a science as to who I can or can’t trust. I wish these day to day interactions came with some sort of manual or that people wore signs, “I have a nice smile but beware, I have a 75% chance of breaking your heart.” That kind of information would be nice to know because all the time I spend getting to know someone, trusting them, being crushed when they abuse my trust, and then all the self healing, it could all be averted and better spent on something else… maybe homework.

I know its silly, stupid, and irrational… but I feel like maybe because I am so sparing with when I ask for help, that it really isn’t too much to comply. I know that amidst all my sorrows and this lonesomeness that I currently find myself drowning in, that if a friend were to come to me and ask for help with something, I would help them to the best of my abilities and within my means. When I say it is rare for me to ask for help, I don’t mean with simple things like homework projects or throwing a party, I mean with this emotional dirty laundry that I don’t necessarily like to air in front of everyone. I don’t need all my friends to know that deep down beneath this tough exterior is a tender heart that just wants to be loved and cared for. I don’t need people to know how vulnerable I really am or how easy it is to hurt me… I don’t like giving people that sort of power over me.

Love is like giving someone a map to all the places in your heart that will hurt you the very most and trusting them to avoid those danger zones. How foolish it feels when someone veers right into one of those places where X marks the spot and you are the one that handed them the map that guided them there…

There is a poem I read a couple years ago in my poetry class. I wish I still had the book or at the very least could remember the title or the author. Regardless of my inability to recollect, the poem is very fitting for the state I am in now. It is about a man who swims out into the seas on his own, at some point he is so far out that when his friends look on him it seems as though he is waving to them, when in fact he is drowning. Perhaps I have swam so far out on my own that the ones I care about most think I’m only waving.

What a good friend

Irony loves me. Not that laughable irony that you just shrug your shoulders at. No, the one that follows me is that cold cruel one that creeps up on you at a moment of weakness just when you think that it can’t get any worse.

I have been berating myself for being selfish lately and for thinking so much of my own feelings and not putting others needs before my own. Sometimes it is hard at this age to get outside of yourself. So many of life’s biggest decisions are made right now which is precisely why its so easy to become self centered… and while I understand the necessity of it, I vigorously fight it, or have been trying to at least.

An opportunity for me to put another’s needs before my own presented itself so I was eager to take it. I wanted to be that good friend, that good person who could be empathic and nurturing, no matter the hour of night or whatever other task needed doing. Being selfless is supposed to make you feel good. Sure, there are sacrifices that are made but the general outcome is meant to leave you with that warm fuzzy feeling inside, that one that tells you that you did the right thing…

In some instances I felt as though it was all a dream as he told me about how much his heart was hurting and why it was hurting. It all sounded so eerily familiar, as if each sentence he professed from his lips were being ripped straight from the pages of my heart. If I hadn’t known any better I would have sworn that he had taken the words I had said to him myself all that time ago and used it now, but about her…

A piece of my heart will always belong to him. All he would have to do is give the word and as sick, and weak, and pitiful as it sounds, I know that I would run to him. Tirelessly I have tried to get that piece of my heart back but failure after failure after failure… I gave up. I settled into the idea of being friends and talked myself into believing that was good enough.

Its easy to be a good friend to someone, all that’s really required is being there for them when they need it…. Even if that means listening about how his heart is breaking because the girl he gave it to didn’t know how to care for it. The same girl that removed his heart from my reaches. The same girl that I compare myself to and wonder why it is I don’t measure up. So no matter how much my chest burns and I feel like throwing up, I have to listen to him, because that’s what a good friend would do. No matter how tempted I am to scream out how every ounce of agony he is feeling as a result of her carelessness, is exactly what I feel as a result of his, I wont, I will listen because that’s what a good friend would do. No matter how terrible I think she is and how wrong she is for causing any amount of pain to someone I care about so deeply, I will not say a thing, in fact I will defend her actions… because that’s what a good friend would do… and no matter how many tears I have cried, no matter how many times my heart has panged with sadness, no matter how many times he broke plans with me to go be with her or how many times he ignored me, I wont say a thing… because I’m trying my best to be the friend that he needs me to be.

… but my heart doesn’t feel warm or fuzzy.

Or

I feel out of control. There are so many aspects of my life where I am just sitting on the sidelines watching. I am the spectator watching a struggling player on a field and thinking, “I could do better than her,” only to discover that player is in fact myself. I know I can do better and I know I can be better, yet I find myself helplessly falling into my habits every single day. Every night I lay my head on the pillow with the thought that tomorrow is a new day, a fresh start where I can start making the changes in my life.

Every day is a disappointment in which I find some way to let myself down. I make all these agreements with myself that I can never seem to keep. I want so much to be a better student. I want to eat healthier and exercise more. I want to learn to play the drums and I want to get out of debt. Somewhere between procrastination and lazy is where all my problems dwell. If I took half the amount of time I spent laying around and I applied it toward studying, exercising, or preparing myself a healthy meal, I could begin to accomplish some of my goals.

Laziness is only half of the problem, the other half is my weakness for procrastination. I always find that each hour that comes along could be spent towards achieving my goals or… and that’s just it. Or. Or is what gets me. There is something always much more appealing on the other end of or. I could study or I could watch some TV. I could go to the gym or I could take a nap. I could prepare and eat a healthy meal or I could pick up some fast food on the way home. I could save money and help pay off my debt or I could spend it on something I don’t need. Or. Or. Or. Or.

I have read somewhere that it helps to write goals down. I don’t know how it helps, but at this point it is worth a try. I have long term goals but I think for now focusing on the short term ones and accomplishing them first might be pertinent in helping me achieve those more distant ones.

1. I want better sleeping habits. I need to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. This means no TV past 9:00 and ideally, lights out at 10.

2. I want to eat better. I am going to wean myself off of soda, but for now I am going to stop eating fast food, candy, desserts, and junk food in general. This is somewhat extreme so I will allow myself a “free day,”… Friday or Saturday should work, one or the other but not both.

3. I want to exercise regularly and by regularly I mean every day except Sunday. Even if it’s a short run after school or if it’s a full out weight lifting session, I need to work out every day.

4. I want to be better spiritually. After I was baptized I didn’t go a single day without saying my prayers or reading my scriptures, but I have fallen off that and I want to get back to it.

5. I want to get better grades. I need to study more. My plan for this is going to the library up on campus or studying with my friends. I’ve realized that studying cannot occur in my room because I have access to far too many or’s. I need to write things down in my planner and stick to them.

I think five goals and plans for execution are sufficient for now. Tomorrow is Wednesday, its almost 4 and I have every intention of being up at 5:30 to go work out. Sure, it isn’t Monday and it isn’t the start of a new week, but it is the start of a new day. I can be better and I will be better.

If Only

I always seem to find myself here. Completely engulfed and clouded by who I deem to be the greatest thing that has ever walked into my life. I know the cycle from beginning to end. I meet a guy and for whatever reason he becomes everything that I never knew I always wanted. I am like a giddy teenage girl wearing rose colored beer goggles incapable of perceiving any imperfections this boy may possess. I suppose it is pretty hard to see any flaws when I have put him up on that pedestal so high. It is precisely at this point that I am in trouble.

As irony would dictate it any boy that calls this pedestal home usually lands himself there because he is out of reach and is something I cannot have, likely making him all the more alluring. So on I will look, but never touch, and torment myself for whatever character flaw I possess that is keeping me from having what I so desire. Each day is spent either agonizing over the changes I could or should make about myself in order to win his unachievable affections or obsessively trying to find someone who is better, that can dethrone him.

The better part of me knows and is highly aware that this cycle is in full force and cancerous at best. My mind wages an internal war with my heart. My heart wanting what it wants regardless of consequences or reciprocity, while my mind knows all too well that such foolish behavior will only yield more pain and suffering. Yet no matter how much logic or reasoning is sprinkled on the matter, my heart always seems to win the battle, but never the war.

Having gone through this process before I am all too familiar with feelings that go along with it. There is a constant inadequacy lurking behind any confident smile or arrogant remark.  Thoughts of, "if only," or, "what if," plague the mind. Any small gesture becomes an explosion of hope and wishful thinking, which soon is met by disappointment and a foolishness for thinking that reality for once might follow the storyline of a dream. The cycle has taught me that at some point a new boy will waltz into my life so that while one cycle ends, another can begin. Yet I have found that it is hard to maintain faith that there is someone else out there. After compulsive efforts to replace him have been exhausted, a despair has set in and the idea that perhaps it wasn’t the color of the glasses or the height of the pedestal that made him so great… maybe he really is that special.

“If only what was wasn’t and what isn’t could be for just long enough to let me know what its like to know.”

A fine line between hatred and harassment

It is 9:52 AM on a Wednesday. I should be in class right now but am stewing here in my bedroom at the debacle that was my morning routine. Originally the plan was to wake up around 6:30-6:45. I have to look extra nice today for some pictures my club will be taking sometime after our board meeting later this afternoon. I would need to be out the door by about 7:50, slave through traffic, and be seated and ready to go by 8:30 sharp. Of course none of this happened...

I am not a morning person. I would even argue that as a baby I probably only woke up in the morning because I was hungry. Couple this loath of the rising sun with the fact that I am a deep sleeper and you have a recipe for morning catastrophes nearly every time I wake up. In high school it was always a made dash to school, only taking care of the bare essentials before stumbling out the door. In college I conquered this problem by registering for classes starting at 10 AM and later. This solution worked out really well for me as my brain doesn't even begin to function till late morning anyway. Life was great until I started focusing on my major, which by that point there is no picking and choosing when and from whom you take your classes, you just get what you're given. In my case, I was given Dr.... we'll call him Dr. S.

Dr. S hates me. There is a deep fire within his bosom that burns and boils his blood at the mere thought of me. I have somehow taken on the epitome of everything this man hates most in this world and how I won myself this title, is beyond me. I have often said that if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. As my luck would have it, my first class of the morning (at 8:30) is with good old Dr. S.
　
Now for the most part college has taught me that professors really don't care. In fact, I have always said jokingly but serious in the same instant, that in grades k-12 we call them teachers, because that's what they do, they teach. In college, however, we call them professors because they lecture and profess boastfully about their knowledge while you scribble down ever bit of information that might show up on an up coming exam. More or less I've found myself as the teacher, as I would try and make some sense out of the lecture and try and match the information to the chapter we were supposed to be going over. In that respect, I teach myself. I know it is to my benefit to attend classes, but I've always loved that even if I wasn't able to make it, I could always read over the chapter, study hard and do well on the exam, in spite of missing some awe inspired lecture that was meant to change my life. Professors don't care because they get paid regardless of whether or not I pass their class. Beyond that, I am the one paying to be there, if I choose to miss class and fail as a result, then that is entirely me prerogative.

Now where does this land me with Dr. S you might be wondering? Unlike most professors, Dr. S takes it very personally when you miss his class. He has lectured myself as well as my fellow classmates about "professionalism," and what it means to be respectful and "professional." Things like attending class regularly and punctuality will win you this highly coveted professionalism, which at 8:30 in the morning is a rather daunting task for me. Needless to say I have struggled and slipped up. I have been late and missed his class. I still did well on the exam and have been doing my reading out side of class, as well as taking care of tasks oriented with my group project, but these are all trifle matters in the eyes of Dr. S. Missing his class is like a direct attack towards him and whatever he is trying to accomplish.

I believe he gives out 20 points through out the semester towards professionalism, I take full accountability when I say, go ahead and not give me the points. I understand that there need to be consequences for my actions. I am not making excuses. Sure, I'm not a morning person, but how many 23 year olds are? As a professor he can choose where to give out points and on what grounds, I'm not arguing that, but what really gets me is how he will go on and on about professional behavior yet he himself can't exhibit the same. I am pretty sure there is nothing professional about slandering a student to other classmates that isn't there to defend herself. If he wanted to pull me aside after class, set up a meeting with me, or even email me about his dissatisfactions in my absence or tardiness, that would be acceptable. However, to sit and lecture the entire class about professionalism and threaten to remove me from my group project, simply because I am not there is completely unprofessional and as a professor I think much more is expected of him in regards to this professionalism he is constantly boasting about. A college student missing class isn't exactly earth shattering or abnormal behavior, but a professor bad mouthing and gossiping about a student? Suffice it to say that if his behavior continues, there may be a future meeting with a department chair about his actions.

Its interesting because I've never really had anything like this happen to me before. I have had professors that I didn't like, but I have never had one that was out to get me. In all respects I feel like if I were to be crossing the street and he happened to be driving his car down the road, he would speed up to hit me... just saying.
Through adversity we learn and although the lesson I think Dr. S wants me to learn, attendance and punctuality (aka professionalism), is not what I will take away from this. I have learned that there will be people in this life that are outright difficult, if not impossible to please. I can do one of two things, let their attitude towards me govern how I feel about myself or I can accept that despite my failed efforts to convince this person otherwise, I am still a worthwhile person... who just happens to be late.

"Professionalism is knowing how to do it, when to do it, and doing it." - Frank Tyger

From the beginning..

My name is Noelle and I am 23 years old as of this current post. I write this first blog with a pang of sadness because it feels very much like writing in a diary. Through out my life I have always tried to keep a diary, emphasis on tried. I was much better at jotting down my day to day trifles and troubles, woes and wonders, between the ages of about 8 and 16. Perhaps gaining access to a car curbed my need to write, but not the desire. Diaries for as long as I can remember, resembled the essence of a quiet, understanding friend, that would never pass judgment on me nor give me false advice. Many times I would find myself apologizing for neglecting my dear sweet friend to which I would spend pages trying to catch her up on my life. Which brings me back to my original point and the sadness I feel with starting this blog… at 23 I have lived a lot and seen a lot, to which catching up my new friend on my life would just be far too time consuming, which as a senior in college, time is the enemy. So for now, bringing the bloggers up to speed will just have to happen in due time and as I see fit… also side note, I think a blog is like a guy friend. Diary just sounds like a girl and blog… he sounds like a boy… that is all.

To understand me as I am, there are a few key faucets and need-to-knows. I am opinionated. There are few things in this world that I am indifferent on. Sometimes my opinions cause me to judge other people, although in the long run I do my best to open my heart to all walks of life. I understand that I do have a bias against stupid people and lazy people. I care about people and have made it my life’s goal to help any who are willing in any way that I can (this might be where the bias comes from). I am a passionate person. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am logical and rational about 80% of the time give or take, the rest of the time is a real doozy. I am a faithful member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I am honest. I don’t have many secrets. I am prideful and have a hard time showing what I deem as weakness in front of people. I am a communicator. I will text, talk, call, instant message, email, whatever the medium, I enjoy talking and listening. I think deeper then that I enjoy connecting with people. People intrigue me and fascinate me. I want to know each persons story. I like to think of myself as laid back, because I am low maintenance and I enjoy kicking back, but I know better. I am too passionate and high strung to ever really be as mellow as I wish I was. I am an old soul, which always made me seem more mature than I really am. I am fun oriented and ambitious, sometimes I take on more than I can handle and often I put off projects so I can spend time with friends.  I would do anything for my friends, even if it meant putting their needs before mine and causing myself harm, I would gladly do it. I am analytical and I have tenancies to over think nearly every situation. I love love. I love the idea of being in love, I love the idea of people loving one another and getting along. I love idealism and curse it in the same instant. I am a self proclaimed writer, even though my only works that have been published are articles I used to write for the paper while I was still in high school. I have many philosophies about life at this ripe young age of 23. I’m sure through out my writing these philosophies will make themselves very evident. I believe as I continue to grow and learn, these ideals about life may change… but then again, maybe they will stay the same. For this first entry I will leave you with this little gem I picked up from a billboard while on my way to work.

“Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional.”