Academia

The past few days, I have been working on a paper.
And I am furious.
The paper isn't a long one, and has been coming along fairly nicely really, but I can't stand writing it. I don't know when my hatred of academic writing became so intense.
The paper is an interesting topic, one I chose myself out of my art-history-loving heart. The research was intriguing and fun to discuss with others. But organizing my work into 5 pages of clear, coherent, organized, academic writing that is still interesting to read has become impossible for me. Does anyone want to read this stuff, really? The laying out of once-interesting research seemingly takes away all joy for writer and reader. I have a dozen more papers to write this semester, and might go insane.
So.
Here is my hope.
My hope is that by blogging every once in a while in my own voice, my colloquial, normal-person voice, with its grammatical errors and run-on sentences, I will be able to balance out my infuriating boredom with academic writing. Because if I don't find some way to balance this problem, I genuinely think I may go insane.

Lucidity

On Thursday, my counselor, "Luke," asked me to start writing down my dreams.
For many weeks now, we have been trying to understand how to get my brain to a state where I am able to visualize. No matter what I do, I can never seem to capture an image of the Savior in my brain. We practice this exercise called "guided imagery," in which I should be able to recognize a point of pain in my memory, open it, and then allow the Savior to enter and heal through the power of His atonement.
I can't visualize Him. Nor am I able to visualize a safe place. The guided imagery can only take place if I find a safe spot in my mind for me and the Savior to communicate. But I can't seem to find a safe place.
My first time with guided imagery went well. I found a place, I could see the Savior, and He was able at least to communicate with me, even if healing was too far off to approach.
I have hit a black wall. The safe place I thought I'd found has been breached. The back of my mind where I could let the Savior enter has become blocked and reduced to nothingness, a black hole in my own brain. And an important idea I was able to summon a few weeks ago has ran out of my mind, dived down my spine, and has settled in the pit of my stomach to hide in pain and suffering.

So he asked me to start writing down my dreams.

I dream a lot. I usually have 5-10 dreams each night that I can remember at least a moment of, plus however many that make an appearance in my subconscious without ever being recognized and recalled. The hope is that in sleep, my mind will be able to push out some darkness, bring in some light, and display answers, whether literally or symbolically, through these nightly episodes.

My first night, I awoke at 2AM, found the nearest piece of paper (a crumpled envelope), and began to write. Tiny scribblings of notes filled every inch of paper, hopping from dream to dream in no particular sequence and with no pause for thought. When I reached the last one in my memory, it was 2:24. 24 minutes of desperate dumping of my memory onto paper to try to find something significant.

Today I woke up and wrote down in semi-detail the one dream I'd had.

I think my subconscious is more alert to my attempts than I want it to be. Perhaps I'll have more dreams tomorrow. Perhaps one of them will scream truth and understanding and clarity to me...but the Holy Ghost doesn't like to work like that, does he.

In a fit of depressed agony the other night, I took a long shower. The thing with 6-person dorms is that the only place to safely sob is in the shower. It doesn't really block the sound or clear the reddened eyes, but no one's going to ask you what's wrong while you're in the shower. It's a college girl rule.

I wrote a poem while showering. I wrote it down immediately after, as I found myself unable to cling to the words; I think it was a dream as well. I can't find the paper on which I wrote it down. But I can remember the last lines, and the disturbing thought of the word "hope" being carved into someone's teeth.

Change of Plans

My last blog post was my annual Valentine's Day post. Basically me trying to pretend I wasn't lonely or wanting or scarred.
You know what? My Valentine's Day turned out to be pretty darn good.
The friend who sent me that kind text that depressing February morning? I'll be marrying him this winter. This wonderful man who is completely devoted, who would do anything for me, who I can't seem to stop loving, no matter how unwise it may seem to both of us at times.
He saw through my numbed, frustrated facade to the woman searching for him. We learned to let each other in, a little bit at a time.
I can't wait till December.

Valentine's

Usually this is the day that I rant. The day I whine about Saints and Chaucer and PDA and ice cream. I grumble and I snarl and I go around hating the world.
Today is different.
No, I don't have a Valentine. I don't have a "significant other." But I have people that care about me, nevertheless.
I woke up to a text from a guy friend this morning that said, "Pretty sure you're the sweetest girl in the world." I got "Happy Valentine's Day!" greetings from many people, which I mostly ignored - not out of spite, I just am not in the spirit of the day today, for or against.

So people can be cute today without my wrath descending upon them. I don't mind the corny Facebook statuses, the bouquets of flowers, the boxes of chocolates...

Today is February 14th. Feel free to celebrate as you will. Personally, I am going to go to work for eight hours, and perkily make sandwiches for hungry lovers. Then I will come home, do my homework, and go to bed. Happy Valentine's.

Yay?

I had a meeting with my boss this morning. He informed me that, being the great worker that I am, I was promoted to Crew Supervisor. Fantastic! I was pretty darn excited, and even more when I discovered that this promotion came with a 50 cent pay raise.
I went into work at 11, then started to black out around 1:30. I intended to sit out a minute, grab some water, and then go back to work until 7. That...didn't happen. I ended up having to go home. It appears I have the flu. Which is a serious blow. Plus, I feel like I betrayed my boss by abandoning him my first day as a supervisor. Sigh. I really hope I recover quickly and by my next work day I'll be fit as a fiddle and ready to prove myself.
But hey. I got promoted. I love my job, my coworkers, and my new brick-red uniform. I just hate the flu.

Derp a derp

This blog is so sad. So so sad. I admit I have no writing talent. This post is basically because I feel like I need to start the new year with a blog post.

2011 was a good year. I discovered a lot about myself, and changed some things I didn't like. I hope to improve even more in 2012.

So, winter semester starts in a couple of days.
I'm taking intermediate tap. I'm excited, but a little nervous. I know that I'm going to struggle, but if I can learn to release my anxiety and not care about perfecting the steps, I might actually enjoy the class.
I've (hopefully) decided on Latin as my language for my major, so I start that up next semester. Probably going to be my hardest class. 5 credits... accelerated...a BYU language class...wish me luck!

Writing 150...ew. Stupid class required for freshmen; so far I have not heard of anyone enjoying it or learning from it.

Book of Mormon is...Book of Mormon. Yep.
Humanities! Yay! Super excited for this class.

I'll also be working 8-hour days Tuesday/Thursday. It'll be hard, but fulfilling.

I'm looking forward to this year. I know it's going to be a good one; I can feel it.

Attempted Murder

Oh November...
Today I am grateful that the semester is almost over.
Last week was simply too busy. I averaged four hours of sleep each night...my body functions on 8. It was not a good week. Friday night, I turned in four essays, worked, went to a Hall Activity, took my exam, and collapsed. For eleven hours. ELEVEN. That's a ridiculous amount of time to sleep. But it felt oh so good. I am so grateful for sleep.

In angry college rebellion, I did absolutely no homework over the weekend. Pure relaxation time. I went to a Vocal Point concert with my sister, then to dinner with her and Jordan plus posse, and finally to BYU's White Christmas. I am grateful for music and family. And my major, which I absolutely adore.
On Sunday night, I stayed up bonding with my roommates. As in till 3:00 or 3:30 Monday morning. I have no regrets. Grateful for my roommates, even if they may drive me crazy sometimes :)
Basically Monday and Tuesday classes were a joke - most of my classmates had already taken off, and the teachers didn't want to put too much work on us that we would forget by the end of Thanksgiving break. Win.
I did have to work before I could take off though. And being the wonderful and charitable human that I am, I volunteered to cover two other shifts so those employees could leave early. Consequently, I worked from 11am to 9:30pm. Gross. But now I'm home, and I don't have to work for five more days. And I am very grateful for that.
On the other hand, I'm very thankful for my job. My 8th hour into work on Tuesday, I looked up at the Cougareat mottos and just felt an overwhelming love for my soft-spoken boss, coworkers, and customers that really don't care how perfect of a job you do, as long as it tastes fairly good. I just love where I work.