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.”