Me, Myself and I

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Panasonic Love

For Christmas I got this really nice Panasonic DMC-FZ35!! It's really nice but the only problem is... I now have a hard time NOT taking pictures of myself. It's crazy.
The photo above is an experiment of hanging the camera from it's strap to a pole outside of my house. A little obsessive is only a slight explanation. If you love photography...can I get a woot woot?

Monday, December 27, 2010

A Pointless Post.

I don't understand my emotions. One day I will be as peachy as a peach and then the next, as crabby as a crab. One day I will be content with my life and happy with the results. The the night will come and all I can think about is the mistakes and changes I need to make in my life. But one thing that is not well known about me.. I analyze. Everything.
Analyze #1: I don't NEED friends. I like having friends and being with them can help me mucho, but I can live life without them. Because, I would rather be happy by myself then change who I am to fit into some kind of category. Is there such a thing as a healthy relationship?!?! It frustrates me to even think about.
Analyze #2: With God, anything is possible. Even when I am lost, confused, upset or mad... He can help me realize my potential and see the light. I am trying my best. Yet even that feels sooo very lacking. Is it because I am hyper sensitive and aware of all my downfalls or is it ME, am I just SO pathetic that I can't handle my own life!?
Analyze #3: I think some changes are coming into my life. I am feeling the calm before the storm. This scares me and makes me want to cry because I feel like I'm not going to be friends with a certain individual anymore. ;lkajsdflkjasdlkfjalskdfjakls;dfkasdfa;. Why am I who I am? Why me? For what reason on EARTH did God send certain people into my life?
Analyze #4: Even after everything and everyone, I wouldn't want to change who I was. If anyone is supposed to live a pathetic life, it's me. ha.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Loving Christmas.

Throughout all the world, Christmas has been a season of giving. Of loving others and service. This year has been hard in some ways but very rewarding worth it. It's like a rollar-coaster ride. You are super scared to get on and throughout the entire ride there are ups and downs that are completely terrifying. But once you get off, you look back and realize that it wasn't that bad. That the entire scary experience was worth it in the end. When life gives you lemons... you are grateful. I want Christmas this year to be about Christ, gratitude and loving others. What is your season going to be about?

Monday, December 13, 2010

I found this joke online. I thought it was really funny for some reason :)

"Myra was going to a Christmas party but needed a new party dress.
In the clothing store she asked, 'May I try on that dress in the window, please?'
'Certainly not, madam', responded the salesgirl, 'You'll have to use the fitting room like everyone else.'"

Oh the season to be jolly. I've been thinking a lot about Christmas and what it means to me. In only 12 days it will be Christmas and I haven't shopped or done anything for anyone. How pathetic...I know. For me, Christmas is about Christ. This morning I went to the temple (woke up super early..but it was worth it.) to think about my life more indepth. My plans for life have been shifting, changing with and without my consent. But as of this morning: Go to college (fingers crossed to get into SVU) and then go on a LDS mission! The other night I had a friend ask about the gospel and it made me reflect on how much I truly know. When I am a mom and raising my children in the church, I'm going to want to know the answers to their questions. Soooo that's what I have been up to or at least thinking about lately. Tis the season to pray, think of Christ and serve. Who's with me?!

Saturday, December 11, 2010


"Those who can laugh without cause have either found the true meaning of happiness or have gone stark raving mad"

Thursday, December 9, 2010

71% of the people I talk to the most = Teachers.

Teachers. Where on earth do they even come from? Are they even human?! I can answer those questions for you. They come from heaven and YES they ARE human! (weird I know!)
If I gave advice and I rarely do for people don't ever want advice, they just want to be listened to. BUT the biggest difference between an A- student and an A+ student is....... (drum roll please!)
BROWN NOSING. Even 'sucking up.' However you want to say it, it will still remain the same. I listen and talk to my teachers. I ask them how their days are going, what their spouse is up to, what's been giving them gray hairs, etc etc. All anyone wants in this world is to be listened to and appreciated. (and love and blah blah.) BUT if you want to get great grades this semester.. can I suggest a little tip. GET TO KNOW YOUR TEACHER. Not just for a day but for month, term, semester and even a year. Teachers give you the grades and you give them the attention. :)
"The art of teaching is the art of assisting discovery." ~Mark Van Doren

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Still more astonishing is that world of rigorous fantasy we call mathematics.

Who invented math? Cause whoever did.. shouldn't of. I've definitely had better days. But it's pretty official that I am an emotional roller-coaster with up's higher than Mt. Everest and downs that seem lower than..well..way down. I feel like Atlas. Here I am, standing alone with the world on my shoulders. Kendra suggested that I just "shrug." ha. ha. ha.
Ahhhh. I have nothing to say.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

In the Morning.

"The Room" -By Joshua Harris

This story stood out to me and I learned so much. If you have the time to read it, then please do. Because it's worth it.

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.

I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.