I was attempting to concentrate on my homework on Saturday night while roommates and company were watching "The American President". Sad to say, I wasn't being very successful - only every now and again was I able to tune the movie out and, for a few moments, focus on translating the words of Cicero and Virgil. During one of these rare moments, my concentration was broken by the sound of The Killers' "Somebody Told Me" coming from somewhere near... "Oh! That's my mobile!" I /love/ getting calls, perhaps as much as Audrey does - whom we usually let answer the phone for fear of getting trampled as she races to the be first to pick up. I didn't figure that Audrey would be so eager to answer my mobile, though, so I hopped off the couch and ran out of the room to see who was ringing me. The caller was an old roommate of mine, Jen, to say that she and Angie (another previous roommate) were just chilling - and would Julie and I like to come round? I motioned Julie into the other room so as not to disturb the movie-watchers, and asked whether she was okay with visiting Jen and Angie. The look on her face said: "What a stupid question!"
When Jen, Angie, Julie, and I lived together, before the summer came around and we went our separate ways, the four of us danced all the time. No matter what we were all doing, it only took one person to turn on a good song - within about 30 seconds all of us would be out in the living room, busting moves and demonstrating our soul. We bonded during synchronized routines to songs such as "Bootylicious" and "Ice, Ice, Baby". When Jen called tonight she mentioned the fact that we could dance, just like old times, and asked if I still remembered the routines. Let's be honest, how could I not? I had, after all, practiced them over the summer - when I missed the girls particularly or needed something to remember home by.
Julie and I hopped on her scooter and, routines in our heads and music in hand, headed for Jen's apartment. The reunion was typical - screaming and laughing and cries of "Oh my gosh, you look so cute!" and "I missed you, it's so good to see you again!" and "So, talk to me...how's life?" We had indeed missed each other.
The four of us, plus a friend of Jen’s, headed into downtown Provo to check out a band that was playing on Center Street. We didn’t stay long, though; there was a strong smell of alcohol and weed that was making me sick to my stomach, and the music (although pretty good) wasn’t really conducive to dancing. While we were standing around, trying to decide if we wanted to leave or stick around for a bit, we were approached by an elderly Native American who was decidedly very drunk. He solicited poor Julie for a dance – she looked rather terrified at the thought and unsure what to do. Jen and I both stepped in and said “I’m sorry, but Julie is mine and I don’t lend her out.” At first that seemed to work, but after a few seconds he turned to Angie instead and made the same drunken offer. Angie flat-out refused, and the man resorted to yelling obscenities and stumbling off into the crowd. We saw our opportunity and made our escape before he could come back. Exit, stage left.
We laughed the whole way back to Jen’s apartment as we recounted past situations that had been similar. Some of them had occurred last year when we lived together and went to many of the same parties (Angie – remember James?), and others had taken place over the summer. It’s always a bit of a shock when that type of thing happens in Provo; you don’t run into people like that very often around here.
Returning to Jen’s apartment, we kicked off our shoes and turned on the music. The first song we played was “Ice, Ice, Baby” – complete with appropriate dance routine of course. The memories came flooding back, and it didn’t take us long to ‘find our groove’…just like old times. We showed off our new moves from over the summer, and recalled our favourite classics. 1, 2, step, shake booty here. Oh, yeah. The four of us busted moves to such artists as Usher, Missy Elliot, Akon, and Ciara. We drank lots of water to keep ourselves from hyperventilating. We talked, shared stories, and laughed till it hurt – no doubt, having that much fun should be illegal.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Mykull, A Frail Dirge
“Nothing happened in the years prior. Nothing that you care to hear mentioned, nothing fascinating that needs to be reported. More to the point, if there’s something from your history you hate, erase it. Done. Ripped from the roots. Where I come from you have to pay a fee to have the city take out the garbage. But if you burn it, no one will know. If you drown it, it will be imperceptible. Take it far away to hide it - then you have power.”
I left the room shaking almost uncontrollably. Of course I had known what I was getting myself into, going to watch a staged reading of Annjilla’s play “Mykull, A Frail Dirge”. The play dealt with disturbing issues using very powerful imagery: it was difficult to watch, or even listen to. We had read the play in a theatre class of mine multiple times; each time it was slightly different, as Annjilla edited and cut and rearranged and tweaked it. That was the purpose of the class, really: to workshop new plays, to prepare them for the stage.
Reading Annjilla’s play week after week was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. It drained me emotionally, and, knowing what I would have to face in class, I was tempted at times to make myself ill and unable to attend. How could I sit in class week after week and listen? It was like lacerating a healing wound, over and over again. And it hurt. Every word stung. Annjilla is simply a genius; she has a way with imagery that very few have. There’s undeniable power in her words. There were times that all I wanted to do was run out of the room, with my face buried in my hands to hide the tears. Had I been sitting any closer to the door, I probably would have.
After reading the play for the first time, we discussed it and went through related improv scenes so that Annjilla could watch and flesh out her ideas. It was necessary that we have a “safe” word – tiger – which could be used, if people got too uncomfortable, to instantly stop the scene and bring us back to reality. We held onto that word like a lifeline. It was our safety net, and yet many people - including myself - were afraid to use it, afraid of being perceived as weak.
I had to refuse to perform. I knew that I couldn’t handle being a part of the scene, but that no matter how bad it got, I wouldn’t bring myself to call tiger. So I watched. And silently cried. I was being ripped to shreds, every line a worse torment than the one prior. Tears glistened in the eyes of a few of my classmates as the intensity in the room became elevated, but I wondered if I was the only one who was quite so deeply affected. I stayed in my seat, my knees pulled to my chest and my eyes riveted to the scene unfolding before me. I wanted desperately to escape. But something kept me from leaving. Maybe it was my stubbornness - I /would/ face this challenge, no matter the pain it caused.
Perhaps that was the reason that I went to tonight’s staged reading and subjected myself to the agony I knew would come. Or perhaps it was because I was required to attend for a grade. Either way, I went. And left shaking.
“Nothing happened in the years prior. Nothing that you care to hear mentioned, nothing fascinating that needs to be reported. More to the point, if there’s something from your history you hate, erase it. Done. Ripped from the roots. Where I come from you have to pay a fee to have the city take out the garbage. But if you burn it, no one will know. If you drown it, it will be imperceptible. Take it far away to hide it - then you have power.”
I left the room shaking almost uncontrollably. Of course I had known what I was getting myself into, going to watch a staged reading of Annjilla’s play “Mykull, A Frail Dirge”. The play dealt with disturbing issues using very powerful imagery: it was difficult to watch, or even listen to. We had read the play in a theatre class of mine multiple times; each time it was slightly different, as Annjilla edited and cut and rearranged and tweaked it. That was the purpose of the class, really: to workshop new plays, to prepare them for the stage.
Reading Annjilla’s play week after week was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. It drained me emotionally, and, knowing what I would have to face in class, I was tempted at times to make myself ill and unable to attend. How could I sit in class week after week and listen? It was like lacerating a healing wound, over and over again. And it hurt. Every word stung. Annjilla is simply a genius; she has a way with imagery that very few have. There’s undeniable power in her words. There were times that all I wanted to do was run out of the room, with my face buried in my hands to hide the tears. Had I been sitting any closer to the door, I probably would have.
After reading the play for the first time, we discussed it and went through related improv scenes so that Annjilla could watch and flesh out her ideas. It was necessary that we have a “safe” word – tiger – which could be used, if people got too uncomfortable, to instantly stop the scene and bring us back to reality. We held onto that word like a lifeline. It was our safety net, and yet many people - including myself - were afraid to use it, afraid of being perceived as weak.
I had to refuse to perform. I knew that I couldn’t handle being a part of the scene, but that no matter how bad it got, I wouldn’t bring myself to call tiger. So I watched. And silently cried. I was being ripped to shreds, every line a worse torment than the one prior. Tears glistened in the eyes of a few of my classmates as the intensity in the room became elevated, but I wondered if I was the only one who was quite so deeply affected. I stayed in my seat, my knees pulled to my chest and my eyes riveted to the scene unfolding before me. I wanted desperately to escape. But something kept me from leaving. Maybe it was my stubbornness - I /would/ face this challenge, no matter the pain it caused.
Perhaps that was the reason that I went to tonight’s staged reading and subjected myself to the agony I knew would come. Or perhaps it was because I was required to attend for a grade. Either way, I went. And left shaking.
Pirates vs. Ninjas
6 October 2005
There’re two sides to everything. "Everything" includes arguments, stories, and...windows? Shocking but true. Right now there is paint on all 3 of my living room windows, in honour of Halloween and our Pirates vs. Ninjas theme. The far left window pane displays an intimidating pirate ship, while the far-right a pagoda. Centered, and underneath our title "Pirates vs. Ninjas", is a sai and a cutlass clashing. Oh the imagery.
Pirates and Ninjas. They’re natural enemies, as everyone knows. Always on opposite sides of any battle – that’s just how things are! Everyone must make a choice...who are they, really? A pirate or a ninja? Or...a robot. According to Audrey’s sister Joyce, robots play the role of 3rd-party mercenaries – always looking out for themselves.
In about 3 weeks my roommates and I will have a party. My apartment will play host to a band of pirates and a gang of ninjas, regular people on all other days - but for the one night, not-so-regular. Neither a pirate nor a ninja can ever just be "regular".
So what am I? Wouldn't you like to know. Don't worry, you will - but, well, that's a tale for another time.
6 October 2005
There’re two sides to everything. "Everything" includes arguments, stories, and...windows? Shocking but true. Right now there is paint on all 3 of my living room windows, in honour of Halloween and our Pirates vs. Ninjas theme. The far left window pane displays an intimidating pirate ship, while the far-right a pagoda. Centered, and underneath our title "Pirates vs. Ninjas", is a sai and a cutlass clashing. Oh the imagery.Pirates and Ninjas. They’re natural enemies, as everyone knows. Always on opposite sides of any battle – that’s just how things are! Everyone must make a choice...who are they, really? A pirate or a ninja? Or...a robot. According to Audrey’s sister Joyce, robots play the role of 3rd-party mercenaries – always looking out for themselves.
In about 3 weeks my roommates and I will have a party. My apartment will play host to a band of pirates and a gang of ninjas, regular people on all other days - but for the one night, not-so-regular. Neither a pirate nor a ninja can ever just be "regular".
So what am I? Wouldn't you like to know. Don't worry, you will - but, well, that's a tale for another time.
Harbouring Irritations
30 September 2005
I’ve noticed myself getting rather snappy. Not particularly rude or overtly scornful, but just slightly off-kilter. I don’t like it. I’m tired, stressed, unwell, and lonely. Unfortunately for everyone else, they’re affected by it. I like to think that, in general, I’m able to hide any bad mood I let myself harbour, and that I don’t let it affect the way I interact with others. Lately, though, my tolerance level has gone down and I feel constantly on edge – afraid that anything might push me over and cause me to snap, to the detriment to whomever happens to be around at the time.
One of the many things that have been irritating me is the state of the house. Honestly, how difficult is it to put your dishes in the dishwasher? I’m tempted to teach a one-time class: "How To Do Your Dishes In 3 Easy Steps". Is that what they need? Someone to show them exactly how to do it, and reinforce in their minds that it’s not as hard as they seem to think? I love my roommates, really I do, but at the moment I'm frustrated with them. I’m not a generally neat person, and definitely not a neat freak. And yet, when nothing gets clean, it grates on my nerves. The environment affects me; I feel stressed, tense, and easily irritated. I have many long days on campus, and honestly the last thing that I want to come home to is a messy house. Not calming, not peaceful, and not motivating.
Yesterday I was on campus all day, until 11:45 – just an example of what a typical day has been like the last couple of weeks. When I got home, what did I find but a sink full of dishes? Surprise, surprise. I was rather upset but decided that the most efficient use of time would be to just clean it up and get on with what I needed to do. So I did, and then proceeded to work on homework for awhile. While I was sat at the table staring at my computer, wondering why on earth I ever decided to go to college, a roommate of mine (bless her heart) walked into the kitchen and put her bowl and cup in the sink…it was all I could do to not take them out of the sink, put them back in her hands, and make her put them in the dishwasher herself. I was tempted to treat her like a 4 year old… “No, that’s not where the dishes go. Now where /do/ they go? Can you find the right place for them? The dishwasher…that’s right! What matching skills!!! Good job.” Patronizing yes, but possibly appropriate for the situation?
My tolerance level was all but reached. Later that evening, as my roommates were getting ready for bed, I reached my limit and stopped my homework to clean the living room. As I came across something belonging to one of my roommates, I put it on the girl’s bed so she would be sure to put it away. Or throw it on the floor, which is fine because I don’t care as long as it’s in her bedroom. Caitlin and Emilie watched me do this and said “Oh, thank you Tarythe, you’re so sweet.” As I was walking out I replied, “No, I’m /not/ sweet.” Once I was barely out of earshot I continued, muttering, “I’m resigned. I’m resigned to the fact that I’m the /only/ one who does anything around here, and basically I’ve reached my tolerance level with this place.” It wasn’t mean, but a snappier comment that was probably necessary. Last night I dreamed that I really let into my roommates, I mean screaming and yelling and actually rather articulately expressing my frustrations about the state of the house. I woke up this morning upset with myself and wanting to apologize to all of them. I hadn’t realized how frustrated I’ve been about this whole come-home-and-throw-my-crap-everywhere thing that my roommates are doing; I suppose I should actually talk to them about it. What? /Talk/ to them about it? But then that would be…responsible? Mature? Communicative? No, way. I can’t do that.
30 September 2005
I’ve noticed myself getting rather snappy. Not particularly rude or overtly scornful, but just slightly off-kilter. I don’t like it. I’m tired, stressed, unwell, and lonely. Unfortunately for everyone else, they’re affected by it. I like to think that, in general, I’m able to hide any bad mood I let myself harbour, and that I don’t let it affect the way I interact with others. Lately, though, my tolerance level has gone down and I feel constantly on edge – afraid that anything might push me over and cause me to snap, to the detriment to whomever happens to be around at the time.
One of the many things that have been irritating me is the state of the house. Honestly, how difficult is it to put your dishes in the dishwasher? I’m tempted to teach a one-time class: "How To Do Your Dishes In 3 Easy Steps". Is that what they need? Someone to show them exactly how to do it, and reinforce in their minds that it’s not as hard as they seem to think? I love my roommates, really I do, but at the moment I'm frustrated with them. I’m not a generally neat person, and definitely not a neat freak. And yet, when nothing gets clean, it grates on my nerves. The environment affects me; I feel stressed, tense, and easily irritated. I have many long days on campus, and honestly the last thing that I want to come home to is a messy house. Not calming, not peaceful, and not motivating.
Yesterday I was on campus all day, until 11:45 – just an example of what a typical day has been like the last couple of weeks. When I got home, what did I find but a sink full of dishes? Surprise, surprise. I was rather upset but decided that the most efficient use of time would be to just clean it up and get on with what I needed to do. So I did, and then proceeded to work on homework for awhile. While I was sat at the table staring at my computer, wondering why on earth I ever decided to go to college, a roommate of mine (bless her heart) walked into the kitchen and put her bowl and cup in the sink…it was all I could do to not take them out of the sink, put them back in her hands, and make her put them in the dishwasher herself. I was tempted to treat her like a 4 year old… “No, that’s not where the dishes go. Now where /do/ they go? Can you find the right place for them? The dishwasher…that’s right! What matching skills!!! Good job.” Patronizing yes, but possibly appropriate for the situation?
My tolerance level was all but reached. Later that evening, as my roommates were getting ready for bed, I reached my limit and stopped my homework to clean the living room. As I came across something belonging to one of my roommates, I put it on the girl’s bed so she would be sure to put it away. Or throw it on the floor, which is fine because I don’t care as long as it’s in her bedroom. Caitlin and Emilie watched me do this and said “Oh, thank you Tarythe, you’re so sweet.” As I was walking out I replied, “No, I’m /not/ sweet.” Once I was barely out of earshot I continued, muttering, “I’m resigned. I’m resigned to the fact that I’m the /only/ one who does anything around here, and basically I’ve reached my tolerance level with this place.” It wasn’t mean, but a snappier comment that was probably necessary. Last night I dreamed that I really let into my roommates, I mean screaming and yelling and actually rather articulately expressing my frustrations about the state of the house. I woke up this morning upset with myself and wanting to apologize to all of them. I hadn’t realized how frustrated I’ve been about this whole come-home-and-throw-my-crap-everywhere thing that my roommates are doing; I suppose I should actually talk to them about it. What? /Talk/ to them about it? But then that would be…responsible? Mature? Communicative? No, way. I can’t do that.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Roommate CVs
28 September 2005
I adore my roommates. Everyone that knows me knows this, as I’m sure to tell them often. Garrett commented one time, “You really like your roommates, don’t you?” “Uh-huh!,” was my quick and merry response. Charlie thought it useful to describe his flat mates to me properly, so I would have an idea of who he was talking about when he mentioned them. He then proceeded to ask about mine: “And there you go, your turn! All I got so far is Audrey, gets ill, pissed off that you hug her lots...!?” (Both not true) So I replied with a full discourse on each of them, which Charlie was sure to take the mick out of… “Sounds like a cv!” he said. “But I would hire them on the spot!” Well, honestly, I tend to write more formally than I speak. Resume-sounding or no, these were my observations about my roommates:
I’ve known Audrey for a little over a year and a half now (a year and 10 months, I think?); the longest of all my roommates. We weren’t friends right away – we both hung out at the same apartment, but didn’t speak to each other much – in a group yes, or as part of a collective conversation, but not one-on-one. It wasn’t until she went home last summer that I realized I actually missed having her around. Undoubtedly the most intelligent of my roommates (book-wise), she was previously a History major but has changed degrees to Anthropology. We’ll see how long that one sticks. She has an impressive command of the English language and is very quick with her words - sometimes harshly so. Very sarcastic - she can slice through any verbal attack or insult with exactness, often leaving no room for any sort of rejoinder. I practically worship her verbal abilities. She has also perfected the “blank stare”, which she uses on people when she doesn’t think they deserve any sort of response or display of sentiment. It’s incredibly unnerving to those who can’t see past it; they automatically assume she hates them. Harshness aside though, Audrey can be very kind and thoughtful, and is loyal to those upon whom she bestows the title “friend” (she doesn’t give out that name lightly – most people earn only “positive acquaintance”). With those she has just met she is guarded and often skeptical, quietly observing the antics of others and occasionally cutting in with a sardonic remark, but among her friends she is not only amiable but high-spirited. One of my favourite things about Audrey is that she and I can hold entire conversations in movie quotes – she’s great fun and I love her to death.
Emilie is the eldest in the apartment. If I had to describe her in one word it would be elegant. Her vintage beauty is evident in her full curves, piercing eyes and long, thick brown hair. Her voice is pleasant; soft. She is compassionate, humble, and sweet – yet at the same time she gives off an air of quiet confidence that leaves everyone awed. She works hard and is diligent in her studies – we don’t see as much of her as we would like to because she spends a great deal of time at the library buried in her books. Emilie contemplates most everything she says and does – thus far I haven’t seen her make a rash decision. She’s very sensitive and emotional, and in being so she is sensitive to the emotions of others. She is a music student and a dancer.
Emilie’s sister Caitlin is a doll, constantly serving others and generous to a fault. The two sisters should have a contest to see who is the nicest; only, the game would be rigged because one would surely let the other win. (This last sentence was stolen from Audrey.) Their altruistic nature is something to be emulated. Caitlin is cute, energetic, and her laughter is contagious. Caitlin is a dancer and a talented one at that – the whole reason she came to this uni was to join the Ballroom Team. Like her sister she has a passion for life, and throws herself completely into everything that she does. She’s bubbly but not annoyingly so – rather, her spirited personality is endearing and leaves most every male that comes round gaping after her. (I suppose it’s only /partly/ her personality that leaves them gaping…)
Julie, who I share a room with, has been my roommate for a year now. Like me she moved into the apartment her first year out here, skipping the halls experience. I’m very fond of her. My Jules is the most random person I know – sometimes beyond the point of decorum - but it is usually entertaining. She has very little sense of tact; audacious as well as spontaneous, she is a good person to have around. We often make use of her intrepidity to do our “dirty work” – if there’s something that needs to be said or asked or done, but we’re too afraid to do it ourselves, we send Julie – and stand back to watch. Julie is extremely talented, and very outgoing – a definite socialite. Her hobbies range from sewing to remote control cars, and her taste in music from classical to hip-hop. Her mum is Venezuelan, and she loves to make the ethnic food she was brought up with. One of her favourite pastimes is scaring the wits out of people – she often waits for me to come home just so she can pounce when I open the door. A very Hobbes-like character. Julie is a crusader of sorts, a champion of the under-dog and the first to try and “right the injustices of the world”. Julie and I have, on more than one occasion, written letters to the president of the university and to the editor of the newspaper, started petitions, and raised issues for debate in an attempt to voice our opinions. Well, okay, so honestly it was mostly Julie. She is absolutely determined in everything that she puts her mind to – once she gets an idea in her head, good luck trying to persuade her otherwise. She’s logical, practical, and a problem-solver; her favourite subjects in school are math and science, and she wants to be a high-school physics teacher.
Then there is Cassidy, the youngest but definitely not the least favourite. Her quirkiness is endearing, as is her sense of humour. She is self-proclaimedly an inept writer, but she speaks well – quick to say funny things which inevitably get added to our quote wall in the kitchen. If there’s one thing that Cassidy has an abundance of, it’s spunk. She never fails to make me laugh – I relate to her sarcastic humour and see myself in a lot of what she does and says. We often have mock fights, which invariably end with the two of us in peals of laughter because one of us has come out with something witty - albeit somewhat cruel - and we just can’t keep a straight face any longer. Cassidy has a kind soul and is very loving, always ready to dole out hugs – of which I demand quite a few. She, like Julie, shares my love of dancing – we can often be found in our apartment with the music blasting while we “bust a few moves”. Also like Julie, she is a socialite, quick to make new friends and kept busy hanging out with old ones. Cassidy is very smart, and a logical thinker - she wants to teach math after she graduates.
28 September 2005
I adore my roommates. Everyone that knows me knows this, as I’m sure to tell them often. Garrett commented one time, “You really like your roommates, don’t you?” “Uh-huh!,” was my quick and merry response. Charlie thought it useful to describe his flat mates to me properly, so I would have an idea of who he was talking about when he mentioned them. He then proceeded to ask about mine: “And there you go, your turn! All I got so far is Audrey, gets ill, pissed off that you hug her lots...!?” (Both not true) So I replied with a full discourse on each of them, which Charlie was sure to take the mick out of… “Sounds like a cv!” he said. “But I would hire them on the spot!” Well, honestly, I tend to write more formally than I speak. Resume-sounding or no, these were my observations about my roommates:
I’ve known Audrey for a little over a year and a half now (a year and 10 months, I think?); the longest of all my roommates. We weren’t friends right away – we both hung out at the same apartment, but didn’t speak to each other much – in a group yes, or as part of a collective conversation, but not one-on-one. It wasn’t until she went home last summer that I realized I actually missed having her around. Undoubtedly the most intelligent of my roommates (book-wise), she was previously a History major but has changed degrees to Anthropology. We’ll see how long that one sticks. She has an impressive command of the English language and is very quick with her words - sometimes harshly so. Very sarcastic - she can slice through any verbal attack or insult with exactness, often leaving no room for any sort of rejoinder. I practically worship her verbal abilities. She has also perfected the “blank stare”, which she uses on people when she doesn’t think they deserve any sort of response or display of sentiment. It’s incredibly unnerving to those who can’t see past it; they automatically assume she hates them. Harshness aside though, Audrey can be very kind and thoughtful, and is loyal to those upon whom she bestows the title “friend” (she doesn’t give out that name lightly – most people earn only “positive acquaintance”). With those she has just met she is guarded and often skeptical, quietly observing the antics of others and occasionally cutting in with a sardonic remark, but among her friends she is not only amiable but high-spirited. One of my favourite things about Audrey is that she and I can hold entire conversations in movie quotes – she’s great fun and I love her to death.
Emilie is the eldest in the apartment. If I had to describe her in one word it would be elegant. Her vintage beauty is evident in her full curves, piercing eyes and long, thick brown hair. Her voice is pleasant; soft. She is compassionate, humble, and sweet – yet at the same time she gives off an air of quiet confidence that leaves everyone awed. She works hard and is diligent in her studies – we don’t see as much of her as we would like to because she spends a great deal of time at the library buried in her books. Emilie contemplates most everything she says and does – thus far I haven’t seen her make a rash decision. She’s very sensitive and emotional, and in being so she is sensitive to the emotions of others. She is a music student and a dancer.
Emilie’s sister Caitlin is a doll, constantly serving others and generous to a fault. The two sisters should have a contest to see who is the nicest; only, the game would be rigged because one would surely let the other win. (This last sentence was stolen from Audrey.) Their altruistic nature is something to be emulated. Caitlin is cute, energetic, and her laughter is contagious. Caitlin is a dancer and a talented one at that – the whole reason she came to this uni was to join the Ballroom Team. Like her sister she has a passion for life, and throws herself completely into everything that she does. She’s bubbly but not annoyingly so – rather, her spirited personality is endearing and leaves most every male that comes round gaping after her. (I suppose it’s only /partly/ her personality that leaves them gaping…)
Julie, who I share a room with, has been my roommate for a year now. Like me she moved into the apartment her first year out here, skipping the halls experience. I’m very fond of her. My Jules is the most random person I know – sometimes beyond the point of decorum - but it is usually entertaining. She has very little sense of tact; audacious as well as spontaneous, she is a good person to have around. We often make use of her intrepidity to do our “dirty work” – if there’s something that needs to be said or asked or done, but we’re too afraid to do it ourselves, we send Julie – and stand back to watch. Julie is extremely talented, and very outgoing – a definite socialite. Her hobbies range from sewing to remote control cars, and her taste in music from classical to hip-hop. Her mum is Venezuelan, and she loves to make the ethnic food she was brought up with. One of her favourite pastimes is scaring the wits out of people – she often waits for me to come home just so she can pounce when I open the door. A very Hobbes-like character. Julie is a crusader of sorts, a champion of the under-dog and the first to try and “right the injustices of the world”. Julie and I have, on more than one occasion, written letters to the president of the university and to the editor of the newspaper, started petitions, and raised issues for debate in an attempt to voice our opinions. Well, okay, so honestly it was mostly Julie. She is absolutely determined in everything that she puts her mind to – once she gets an idea in her head, good luck trying to persuade her otherwise. She’s logical, practical, and a problem-solver; her favourite subjects in school are math and science, and she wants to be a high-school physics teacher.
Then there is Cassidy, the youngest but definitely not the least favourite. Her quirkiness is endearing, as is her sense of humour. She is self-proclaimedly an inept writer, but she speaks well – quick to say funny things which inevitably get added to our quote wall in the kitchen. If there’s one thing that Cassidy has an abundance of, it’s spunk. She never fails to make me laugh – I relate to her sarcastic humour and see myself in a lot of what she does and says. We often have mock fights, which invariably end with the two of us in peals of laughter because one of us has come out with something witty - albeit somewhat cruel - and we just can’t keep a straight face any longer. Cassidy has a kind soul and is very loving, always ready to dole out hugs – of which I demand quite a few. She, like Julie, shares my love of dancing – we can often be found in our apartment with the music blasting while we “bust a few moves”. Also like Julie, she is a socialite, quick to make new friends and kept busy hanging out with old ones. Cassidy is very smart, and a logical thinker - she wants to teach math after she graduates.
The Point of No Return
6 September
If only, if /only/ there was a way to swallow your words. To take back something you regret saying; whether spoken out loud, written down, or implied through actions. Even if there was a window of about 10 seconds – for when words or actions bring an instant remorse – so they could be gulped down and forgotten about. But there’s not. Once you do something, it’s done.
I e-mailed Charlie today. I’ve made this a habit, spending much more time than is generally recommended on my laptop writing long e-mails - about my classes, work, my roommates, my favourite food, what movie I watched the night before, and any other little tidbits he might find interesting. This time, though, was a little bit different. For some unknown reason explained to him my family. When I say “explain” I mean “tell a long story in a few short paragraphs, leaving out many details”. Charlie had asked some fairly personal and difficult questions, and something drove me to answer them honestly; not that I would have lied to him, but I admit I /was/ tempted to avoid the questions altogether. But despite my reservations, I made a command decision. Charlie should know. Anyone who is particularly close to me should know, at least vaguely, my background and where I’m coming from…that way, they will know why I do/ say the things that I do. I typed it up, re-read it a couple of times to make sure that it didn’t sound stupid (I’m not sure my re-reading it helped much though), and reluctantly hit the “send” button. My instant reaction was horror. I e-mailed my Hannah, panicking:
“Hannah, now he’s going to think I’m a freak. What do I do? I cannot believe I just did that; I cannot believe I actually wrote all that, I cannot believe I actually sent it. [Insert panic-driven expletives here] What if he never wants to speak to me again or resents having to read that long rambling e-mail or thinks I’m just stupid and weak, as he always tells me I am? And he’s right…I /am/ weak, Hannah, I /am/ weak. I put on a face but really I’m just terrified…the nightmares are /so/ real and they don’t stop just because I wake up. Hold me.”
Hannah, my darling Hannah, wrote back and assured me that Charlie didn’t think I was a freak, that he would still speak to me, and that she herself was always there for me. It’s what I needed. A friend, someone to comfort me and allay my fears of being cast aside because I’m too much trouble to deal with. Charlie, sweetheart that he is, ordered me flowers – huge yellow roses – and had them delivered to my door. All the way from Arkansas, apparently. Accompanying the flowers was a note, saying simply:
“Don’t underestimate me. – Charlie
6 September
If only, if /only/ there was a way to swallow your words. To take back something you regret saying; whether spoken out loud, written down, or implied through actions. Even if there was a window of about 10 seconds – for when words or actions bring an instant remorse – so they could be gulped down and forgotten about. But there’s not. Once you do something, it’s done.
I e-mailed Charlie today. I’ve made this a habit, spending much more time than is generally recommended on my laptop writing long e-mails - about my classes, work, my roommates, my favourite food, what movie I watched the night before, and any other little tidbits he might find interesting. This time, though, was a little bit different. For some unknown reason explained to him my family. When I say “explain” I mean “tell a long story in a few short paragraphs, leaving out many details”. Charlie had asked some fairly personal and difficult questions, and something drove me to answer them honestly; not that I would have lied to him, but I admit I /was/ tempted to avoid the questions altogether. But despite my reservations, I made a command decision. Charlie should know. Anyone who is particularly close to me should know, at least vaguely, my background and where I’m coming from…that way, they will know why I do/ say the things that I do. I typed it up, re-read it a couple of times to make sure that it didn’t sound stupid (I’m not sure my re-reading it helped much though), and reluctantly hit the “send” button. My instant reaction was horror. I e-mailed my Hannah, panicking:
“Hannah, now he’s going to think I’m a freak. What do I do? I cannot believe I just did that; I cannot believe I actually wrote all that, I cannot believe I actually sent it. [Insert panic-driven expletives here] What if he never wants to speak to me again or resents having to read that long rambling e-mail or thinks I’m just stupid and weak, as he always tells me I am? And he’s right…I /am/ weak, Hannah, I /am/ weak. I put on a face but really I’m just terrified…the nightmares are /so/ real and they don’t stop just because I wake up. Hold me.”
Hannah, my darling Hannah, wrote back and assured me that Charlie didn’t think I was a freak, that he would still speak to me, and that she herself was always there for me. It’s what I needed. A friend, someone to comfort me and allay my fears of being cast aside because I’m too much trouble to deal with. Charlie, sweetheart that he is, ordered me flowers – huge yellow roses – and had them delivered to my door. All the way from Arkansas, apparently. Accompanying the flowers was a note, saying simply:
“Don’t underestimate me. – Charlie
“I love you, I’m just not IN love with you”
3 September 2005
How do you let someone down? Gently, without being vague or “too nice”. How do you tell them that they’re not that special someone? That they’re special, to be sure, because /everyone/ is special, but they’re decidedly not the one meant for you? Perhaps you should say simply, “Marvin K. Mooney, will you please go now?” Yes, that would do the trick; I think I shall try it. No more making up excuses such as “You wouldn't believe the amount of homework I have...” to get out of a Saturday night date. No more hiding in my room to avoid facing someone. No more having my roommate call my mobile to escape an uncomfortable confrontation. Good-bye, unease. Good-bye, unwanted attention. Good-bye, Josh. Enough. Finished now.
If only it were that simple, to push someone aside so easily without fear of hurting their feelings. A harsh rejection could have lasting effects. But, despite the potential for injury, sometimes it must be done. After all, a little honesty at the beginning is better than the harsh reality later, right? With this in mind I approached Saturday.
I knew it had to be done. I had given Josh the wrong impression of how I felt about him, and it was causing difficulties – it was up to me to correct it. Thus far I had been able to avoid going out with him, but I could only keep up the excuses for so long…plus, it just wasn’t fair. But how to do it? There was always the cheap option of getting a roommate to do the dirty work – so I wouldn’t have to feel like the mean one. That’s what Julies are good for! Or sending an e-mail, to avoid dealing with a reaction. No, that was cheap as well. I would have to communicate directly with Joshua, live and streaming, so that I would have to feel the full effects of my words. At least, as much as Josh was willing show.
Friday night Joshua phoned me and extended an invitation for dinner on Sunday, which I declined by saying that my roommates and I already had plans for dinner with Jocilyn. He invited me to have leftovers on Monday, but I was already working. What I should have said was “Joshua, I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression. I’m flattered, but I’m just not interested.” I didn’t say that, and as soon as I hung up the phone I felt guilty. Why couldn’t I just say it? I was presented with the perfect opportunity, and I had passed it up. Chickened out. Acted like the yellow-bellied peace-maker that I am. The second I hung up the phone I regretted it, and had I had his phone number I’d have called him right back and remedied the situation. Instead, I went to sleep that night determined that the next time an opportunity like that came up, I would /not/ pass it up.
I didn’t have to wait long. Saturday dawned earlier than I’d have wished, and reluctantly I got up and faced the hours of homework I knew I had. The BYU football team faced an equally formidable foe that day: Boston College. During the game I sat with my computer on my lap, attempting to do homework in between shouts of “What!!?? You stupid, freaking, ***!!! What the **** kind of call was that? Hey, Watkins, how about you try catching a couple of those passes!” Our poor team was being slaughtered. Well, is slaughtered really an accurate term…? Oh, yes. It is. 21-7 /is/ kind of sad. While the Cougars were trying to win the game, I was trying to win in the battle against my anger (ie. not throwing things across the room)…and Joshua was once again trying to win me over. I was the only one of the three that succeeded, as BYU lost horribly and Joshua was gently rejected. Despite my desire to be doing anything except what I was planning on doing, I braced myself and, seeing my opportunity, grabbed it.
I started out as gently as I could, telling him that I felt I had to be upfront and honest. Halfway through the conversation I second-guessed myself and wondered if I'd said the right thing, but had to realize that it was already said. Audrey watched as I squirmed, wishing the conversation was already over, and like a good friend she held onto my arm and encouraged me. She had been telling me for a while, after all, that even though I myself knew I wasn't interested in Josh, he needed to be informed. As I writhed in awkwardness and remembered my strong dislike of confrontation, Audrey let me squeeze the very life out of her hand - I dug my fingernails into her palm and undoubtedly left marks. Bless Audrey.
3 September 2005
How do you let someone down? Gently, without being vague or “too nice”. How do you tell them that they’re not that special someone? That they’re special, to be sure, because /everyone/ is special, but they’re decidedly not the one meant for you? Perhaps you should say simply, “Marvin K. Mooney, will you please go now?” Yes, that would do the trick; I think I shall try it. No more making up excuses such as “You wouldn't believe the amount of homework I have...” to get out of a Saturday night date. No more hiding in my room to avoid facing someone. No more having my roommate call my mobile to escape an uncomfortable confrontation. Good-bye, unease. Good-bye, unwanted attention. Good-bye, Josh. Enough. Finished now.
If only it were that simple, to push someone aside so easily without fear of hurting their feelings. A harsh rejection could have lasting effects. But, despite the potential for injury, sometimes it must be done. After all, a little honesty at the beginning is better than the harsh reality later, right? With this in mind I approached Saturday.
I knew it had to be done. I had given Josh the wrong impression of how I felt about him, and it was causing difficulties – it was up to me to correct it. Thus far I had been able to avoid going out with him, but I could only keep up the excuses for so long…plus, it just wasn’t fair. But how to do it? There was always the cheap option of getting a roommate to do the dirty work – so I wouldn’t have to feel like the mean one. That’s what Julies are good for! Or sending an e-mail, to avoid dealing with a reaction. No, that was cheap as well. I would have to communicate directly with Joshua, live and streaming, so that I would have to feel the full effects of my words. At least, as much as Josh was willing show.
Friday night Joshua phoned me and extended an invitation for dinner on Sunday, which I declined by saying that my roommates and I already had plans for dinner with Jocilyn. He invited me to have leftovers on Monday, but I was already working. What I should have said was “Joshua, I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression. I’m flattered, but I’m just not interested.” I didn’t say that, and as soon as I hung up the phone I felt guilty. Why couldn’t I just say it? I was presented with the perfect opportunity, and I had passed it up. Chickened out. Acted like the yellow-bellied peace-maker that I am. The second I hung up the phone I regretted it, and had I had his phone number I’d have called him right back and remedied the situation. Instead, I went to sleep that night determined that the next time an opportunity like that came up, I would /not/ pass it up.
I didn’t have to wait long. Saturday dawned earlier than I’d have wished, and reluctantly I got up and faced the hours of homework I knew I had. The BYU football team faced an equally formidable foe that day: Boston College. During the game I sat with my computer on my lap, attempting to do homework in between shouts of “What!!?? You stupid, freaking, ***!!! What the **** kind of call was that? Hey, Watkins, how about you try catching a couple of those passes!” Our poor team was being slaughtered. Well, is slaughtered really an accurate term…? Oh, yes. It is. 21-7 /is/ kind of sad. While the Cougars were trying to win the game, I was trying to win in the battle against my anger (ie. not throwing things across the room)…and Joshua was once again trying to win me over. I was the only one of the three that succeeded, as BYU lost horribly and Joshua was gently rejected. Despite my desire to be doing anything except what I was planning on doing, I braced myself and, seeing my opportunity, grabbed it.
I started out as gently as I could, telling him that I felt I had to be upfront and honest. Halfway through the conversation I second-guessed myself and wondered if I'd said the right thing, but had to realize that it was already said. Audrey watched as I squirmed, wishing the conversation was already over, and like a good friend she held onto my arm and encouraged me. She had been telling me for a while, after all, that even though I myself knew I wasn't interested in Josh, he needed to be informed. As I writhed in awkwardness and remembered my strong dislike of confrontation, Audrey let me squeeze the very life out of her hand - I dug my fingernails into her palm and undoubtedly left marks. Bless Audrey.
Back to the Y
29 August 2005
Today I walked around BYU campus for the first time in 4 months (aside from the trip to the BYU Creamery that I took on Saturday). The first day of uni saw me running around like crazy; going to classes, buying textbooks, getting my schedule sorted. I had 3 of my 7 classes today, and so far they’re not /too/ terrifying. I got out of my 11-1 class a little bit early; being the first day, introductions to the course and to the other students was the only thing on the agenda. It gave me time to buy textbooks and a mobile phone. I've been wanting one for quite a while and finally decided that it had become a necessary part of life. Meetings, classes, work, rehearsals, practices, auditions, social events...with so much to fill up my schedule, I simply /had/ to have a way to be reached. After much agonizing, I decided on Sprint – much to Audrey’s displeasure, who is a Verizon girl. Hopefully she'll forgive me soon. :)
BYU was just as I'd remebered..."The Bubble", it's called, and for good reason. A culture in and of itself...there are many things that are just so BYU it's laughable. As I went through the day I looked around and thought, "Yep, I'm back in Happy Valley. No mistaking this place." For all its oddities though, BYU is wonderful - and the best place for me right now. It's good to be home.
29 August 2005
Today I walked around BYU campus for the first time in 4 months (aside from the trip to the BYU Creamery that I took on Saturday). The first day of uni saw me running around like crazy; going to classes, buying textbooks, getting my schedule sorted. I had 3 of my 7 classes today, and so far they’re not /too/ terrifying. I got out of my 11-1 class a little bit early; being the first day, introductions to the course and to the other students was the only thing on the agenda. It gave me time to buy textbooks and a mobile phone. I've been wanting one for quite a while and finally decided that it had become a necessary part of life. Meetings, classes, work, rehearsals, practices, auditions, social events...with so much to fill up my schedule, I simply /had/ to have a way to be reached. After much agonizing, I decided on Sprint – much to Audrey’s displeasure, who is a Verizon girl. Hopefully she'll forgive me soon. :)
BYU was just as I'd remebered..."The Bubble", it's called, and for good reason. A culture in and of itself...there are many things that are just so BYU it's laughable. As I went through the day I looked around and thought, "Yep, I'm back in Happy Valley. No mistaking this place." For all its oddities though, BYU is wonderful - and the best place for me right now. It's good to be home.
A State of Chaos
28 August 2005
The only way to describe the state of the living room when Audrey, Ted, Julie, and I returned to it after one final trip down to the truck is: chaos. Absolute, utter, chaos. Stacks of boxes littered the floor, bags were thrown all over the couch, and bits and pieces filled in any potentially empty space. The evening had started out pleasantly enough, but ended with me close to tears when I realized just how much crap I had to sort through and put away (or get rid of). Julie took Audrey and me on the back of her scooter to pick up Audrey’s brother’s truck; we were praying the whole way that we wouldn’t get stopped by the police. After getting the truck, we headed to Audrey’s dad’s apartment, where my stuff had been stored over the summer, swinging by Ted’s place to pick him up on the way. We were shocked to see the piles of my stuff and remember how much of it there was. There was, for a while, some debate as to whether or not everything would fit in the back of the truck. Luckily we had Ted, who is simply amazing and miraculously enough stuffed everything in the truck. It was a bit of a balancing-act, with a few of the boxes perched precariously on the back, but it was all in. Audrey drove very slowly back to the Riviera, taking each turn with painful caution. Julie and I followed. Once back at the Riv we unloaded the truck, recruiting the help of a few passers-by, and took everything upstairs. Ted grabbed the last box, made the final trek up the stairs, and dropped the box on the floor. I stood and took a good look at the state the living room was now in. “Holy shit,” was the only thing I could say. After a minute or two I remembered that I actually do have a larger vocabulary than that, and I turned to Audrey and simply said “Hug.” “Don’t be overwhelmed,” she told me, “you have until the end of the week.”
28 August 2005
The only way to describe the state of the living room when Audrey, Ted, Julie, and I returned to it after one final trip down to the truck is: chaos. Absolute, utter, chaos. Stacks of boxes littered the floor, bags were thrown all over the couch, and bits and pieces filled in any potentially empty space. The evening had started out pleasantly enough, but ended with me close to tears when I realized just how much crap I had to sort through and put away (or get rid of). Julie took Audrey and me on the back of her scooter to pick up Audrey’s brother’s truck; we were praying the whole way that we wouldn’t get stopped by the police. After getting the truck, we headed to Audrey’s dad’s apartment, where my stuff had been stored over the summer, swinging by Ted’s place to pick him up on the way. We were shocked to see the piles of my stuff and remember how much of it there was. There was, for a while, some debate as to whether or not everything would fit in the back of the truck. Luckily we had Ted, who is simply amazing and miraculously enough stuffed everything in the truck. It was a bit of a balancing-act, with a few of the boxes perched precariously on the back, but it was all in. Audrey drove very slowly back to the Riviera, taking each turn with painful caution. Julie and I followed. Once back at the Riv we unloaded the truck, recruiting the help of a few passers-by, and took everything upstairs. Ted grabbed the last box, made the final trek up the stairs, and dropped the box on the floor. I stood and took a good look at the state the living room was now in. “Holy shit,” was the only thing I could say. After a minute or two I remembered that I actually do have a larger vocabulary than that, and I turned to Audrey and simply said “Hug.” “Don’t be overwhelmed,” she told me, “you have until the end of the week.”
The following begins my blog. I've thought for a while about starting one, but haven't for one simple reason: I couldn't decide on a title. Yes, I'm just /that/ sad. (slashes added as emphasizers) Though I don't like to admit it, I'm somewhat of a perfectionist and don't often start anything unless I have /the/ most brilliant idea I've ever heard of. That's where my procrastination comes from. It's not /really/ that I'm lazy, it's just that I wait for that sudden spark of inspiration. Sometimes it doesn't seem to come, impeding the completion of important things like my homework.
Tonight, however, brought the spark of inspiration. Well, perhaps not inspiration per se, but rather a thought (I try to avoid having those as much as possible). "I really should get around to publishing a blog." So I made a command decision. I /would/ publish a blog, brilliant title or no, and I would do it as soon as I got home. And ate dinner. And checked my e-mail. Okay, so I would create a blog sometime, when I got around to it, but it would definitely be tonight.
And so this is it, a collection of some of my random thoughts. The good and the wonderful, the bad and the worse (The Bold and the Beautiful? The Young and the Restless?)...all true, all real, all mine. Don't say I didn't warn you. I trust that if you're here, you're interested in knowing the truth. And truth be told, I've actually been writing a blog since I returned from the summer and started school again. It's as of yet unpublished, but won't stay that way for long. I've decided to post these past entries now, as a backlog for those who are interested. Welcome to my life. :)
Tonight, however, brought the spark of inspiration. Well, perhaps not inspiration per se, but rather a thought (I try to avoid having those as much as possible). "I really should get around to publishing a blog." So I made a command decision. I /would/ publish a blog, brilliant title or no, and I would do it as soon as I got home. And ate dinner. And checked my e-mail. Okay, so I would create a blog sometime, when I got around to it, but it would definitely be tonight.
And so this is it, a collection of some of my random thoughts. The good and the wonderful, the bad and the worse (The Bold and the Beautiful? The Young and the Restless?)...all true, all real, all mine. Don't say I didn't warn you. I trust that if you're here, you're interested in knowing the truth. And truth be told, I've actually been writing a blog since I returned from the summer and started school again. It's as of yet unpublished, but won't stay that way for long. I've decided to post these past entries now, as a backlog for those who are interested. Welcome to my life. :)
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