If I had a breakdancing name, it would be "Split Ends," because that's what my hair is full of.

Well, I am back from my Hawaiian escapades. Highlights include swimming with giant turtles, seeing a whale, beating up the ocean, getting beaten up by the ocean, tanning, reading, losing my iPod, swimming until sunset, catching a cold, hanging with Katie and Michael, driving in our rented Jeep--top down, sun up, exploring a jungle full of wild roosters, driving a one-lane road along the north coast of Maui, swimming in natural rock pools right next to the pounding ocean, eating Spam for the first time.

I would write more, but I am going to an art show of my friend who is no longer my friend.

Psychotherapy--me, mom and daddy.

I have a tendency to freak out at things that don't really warrant freaking out. Maybe they do. I'm not sure. This week, I was offered, and I accepted, a job as a web producer at ABC-4 in Salt Lake City. Accordingly, I've been sorely depressed since.

I'm not sure at what point I'll be fine with growing up, or at what point transitions won't paralyze me.

I once had a broken heart for two-and-a-half years. I won't tell you who did it (if you've known me long enough, you'll know). Just know that it's not broken anymore. But I remember when I would go back home and see the places I associated with him, and how horribly it would rip me apart. Oh, how desperate I became. Desperate and wounded. I went from in love to in despair so quickly. As they say, the first cut is the deepest.

I was putting away clean socks this morning, when I flashed back to my childhood. I remember sitting on the floor as my mom dressed me. She was adept at rolling up our socks, bunching up the heel all the way to the toe in her hands so we could easily slide our feet in.

I've been remembering many more things about my childhood these days. It think because I equate graduating college with entering adulthood. I don't know why I'm so scared about it.

Please tell me it's not as scary as I think it will be.

She's nobody's fool.

Well Active Little Peanuts, since my mom is in a meeting and Alex is at work, I guess you'll all be the first to know that I interviewed for a job yesterday as a web producer and designer at ABC-4 in SLC, and the webmaster just called me with an offer! It feels pretty good. You know, being competent enough to land a job and all.

What is funny is that the song that came on my iPod right after I talked to the dude at ABC-4 was "Telstar" by The Tornadoes, which is a really dreamy sounding, instrumental Britpop song. So basically it was like living a dream sequence from a cheesy b-movie. I often think of my life like a movie, and I look for nice shots and complimentary lighting and where I'd use music and which music I'd use. That's why I like my Super 8 class, because I just like filming every day, ordinary things. Beauty in the mundane is what I'm all about.

I leave for Hawaii on Sunday. I am so excited I can't focus on anything else.

I have so much I want to write about, but I'll do it later.

Deja vu (minus the frilly accents).

It just dawned on me that I am really old. (Of course, this fact dawns on me once every four months or so). I know this because I constantly think about the future. I think about opening an IRA, a 401K. I think about insurance benefits and nutrition. I take a daily multi-vitamin. I prefer staying home more than going out. I decorate my room in my head, and then redecorate it. I bookmark the furniture I want to buy. I consider a commute to work a fact of life instead of a hardship. My Christmas list is composed of practical, useful things that I would otherwise buy myself. I like my parents; moreover, they are my best friends. Luckily I haven't broached the subject of lawn integrity. This would send me over the edge, from my 20s to 30s, faster than the starship Enterprise transporter.

I have a hitting problem. Mainly, I hit Alex because he tickles me all the time. I try to explain to him that if he stops tickling me, I will stop hitting him. So far he hasn't stopped tickling me (I am disastrously ticklish), so I am trying the reverse order.

I like reading my own blog. I was reading some of my July 2007 entries just now, and I am fascinated. I'd forgotten so many things about New York. I'm so glad I wrote them down.

Go on eating your dinner.

Today I got the hiccups while I was helping in Mrs. Parker's class. One of the students I work with tried to scare them out of me. It didn't work. He pounced from the side so I caught his entire attempt in my peripheral. Alas, my hiccups ensued. But Dante. Dante was sneaky. He crept away from our table on the premise that Mrs. Parker wanted to talk to him. I sat there, casually helping the others, when Dante pounced on my back like a lynx. I turned to look at Dante (now rolling on the floor laughing) in a haze, not knowing whether to be horribly upset or in a complete fit of laughter. Mrs. Parker was in hysterics. She'd been watching the whole thing, and she thought it was genius.

Sure enough, he scared the hiccups out of me.

I used apples during math class earlier in the day to teach the kids halves, fourths and eighths. Luckily Thomas was absent, so we each got a whole apple to ourselves, and luckily, Gabi wanted the Granny Smith, Chalise wanted the red apple, and I wanted the yellow one. We all traded one slice with each other so we could try each apple. Boy, did the girls delight at the way my face prunes up when eating a Granny Smith! (If you didn't know, my face massively prunes up when I eat Granny Smith apples). They giggled 'til the cows came home. We have too much fun. I will probably get fired for having too much fun.

I am watching Hotel Rwanda (strike that--sobbing through Hotel Rwanda), and it's scaring the crap out of me. Probably because the US has broken into civil war before, and I wouldn't put it past us to do it again. Probably because the US can profess to be peace-keepers and peace-makers and lovers of humankind until the end of the earth, but until we stop provoking and start preventing and protecting, I will never believe it.

All I Want is One More Chance.

I don't think I told you, but I was called as a Relief Society teacher.

My ward didn't hesitate in throwing me in. I was called two weeks ago, Stake Conference was last week, and tomorrow is my teaching debut. The topic: Joseph Smith. The LDS prophet I know least about and, up until I started getting to know him, have felt the most skepticism toward.

My attitude tonight is completely different than it was a week ago. Last week I was still pretty indifferent, still naive to the greatness of his ministry as prophet. This week, I can't get enough of the guy. If you have never read anything about this great prophet, check out www.josephsmith.net. My favorite quotes: "God has created man with a mind capable of instruction, and a faculty which may be enlarged in proportion to the heed and diligence given to the light communicated from heaven to the intellect; and . . . the nearer man approaches perfection, the clearer are his views, and the greater his enjoyments, till he has overcome the evils of his life and lost every desire for sin; and like the ancients, arrives at that point of faith where he is wrapped in the power and glory of his Maker, and is caught up to dwell with Him." (said just before he died at Carthage Jail). AND, from Parley P. Pratt, one of Joseph's apostles: "It was Joseph Smith who taught me how to prize the endearing relationships of father and mother, husband and wife; of brother and sister, son and daughter. It was from him that I learned that the wife of my bosom might be secured to me for time and all eternity; and that the refined sympathies and affections which endeared us to each other emanated from the fountain of divine eternal love. . . . I had loved before, but I knew not why. But now I loved—with a pureness—an intensity of elevated, exalted feeling."

Despite my newfound admiration for the man, giving a 20-minute lesson on him seems like a mini eternity.

Graduation looms ever closer, and I become ever more skittish and antsy. I wonder when it will end. (Will it?)

Last night Alex and I went bowling with Britt and Brett and Regan. I always love bowling until about halfway through the game. It's around that time I remember how ridiculous I look with my fingers mangled inside a grease-slathered, 8-pound orb. (Not to mention how pitifully I run up to the lane, throw the ball, sulk back to my seat after rolling two gutters, etc).

We went to Red Robin beforehand. We've been going there a lot lately, both because we like it and because they've advertised a delicious-sounding blueberry pomegranate limeade that I was desperate to try. The first two times we tried, our server Ben, who waited on us both times, informed us they were out of limes. Last night, we found out Ben was putting one over on us, because our server Josh promptly revealed that though they did have limes, they were out of both blueberry and pomegranate syrup. I was devastated. However, Josh redeemed himself by listing all the syrups sitting on the bar. The raspberry limeade--not so good, but the mandarin orange limeade was better than the blueberry pomegranate limeade could ever even dream of being. So there.

And lastly, why hasn't winter come yet?

Ahe Lau Makani

Funny happenings of the week at Ronald Reagan Academy:

• Thomas throwing himself to the floor in angst, pretending his Crayola markers are attacking him.
• Thomas lacing his eyelids with stickers.
• My three math students believing I have a fairy in a film canister. It's actually a "device," as Gabi calls it. Alex brought it to my house, also claiming it was a fairy.
• Seventh-grader Adam telling me sheepishly, "You look really nice today, Miss R.

Job search: continues. I have some leads. Those leads have my resume. We'll see what happens.

I leave for Hawaii in 9 days. Well, first we go to San Diego for a day. Then we leave for Maui the next morning. I am going to snorkel the whole time. It's been years since we last went to Hawaii, since sophomore year of high school. We always stay on Maui, at Napili Bay, in a condo there. It's one of the only places in Hawaii that has 3-bedroom condos, a necessity for the eight of us who'll be there this time. The last time we went, my parents had five, disgruntled, ungrateful teenagers. Becky was a junior, me a sophomore, Robert an 8th grader, Katie in 6th, Michael in 4th. Becky had just spent a week in Oahu on a band trip, so she caught a connecting flight to Maui. She was too cool for us then. I remember when we met her at the Kahului Airport in central Maui. She always had an attitude then, a bad one, but it was worse this day. I was intimidated by her. I didn't like her. We didn't get along. She was too pretty; I was too indifferent. We clashed. Robert and Katie were easy-going enough, though Katie always found a way to throw a fit. She was a temperamental child. And then there was Michael. Michael, the babe of the family. The darling, perfect, mistake-proof angel. He was a chub back then, and his agenda for our week on the beach was to sit six inches from the TV and watch Pokemon.

My dad erupted more than once on this trip. "I rented you snorkeling equipment, and you haven't used it once!" (Me and Robert). "You don't come to Hawaii to sit by the pool!" (Becky).
"You can watch Pokemon at home!" (Michael). "I didn't pay five thousand dollars for you to sit your keister in front of the TV!" (also Michael). "Stop blaming other people!" (Katie). "We are never coming to Hawaii EVER AGAIN!" (everyone).

I guess Dad figures it's been long enough that this memory has been burned from our minds, that we're mature enough, and friends enough, to behave civilly. I think he's right. I only wish Robert could go.

I forget which time it was we went to Hawaii--I think it might've been the last time--but I'll never forget what happened. Robert and I had just gotten chewed out by our dad, so we were bummed. We walked to the nearby market. He bought a root beer. I bought a Nantucket Nectar. We carried our libations in paper sacks, pretending we were hobos escaping to our beds on the beach. When we got to the beach, only the locals were there. I remember one of them. He was young, in his 20s. His board shorts hung precariously off his darkened hips, his dreadlocks swaying like ocean waves. He was BBQing. Robert and I found a spot further down the beach, one far enough away we felt alone. In silence, we gazed out toward the Pacific and the setting sun. We sat this way for a while. Probably fifteen minutes. Suddenly, in unison, we both gasped. Out in the sea was a whale, breaching, perfectly centered in the sun. It breached a few times, but never as gigantically as its first jump. Robert and I looked at each other, understanding we'd just been privy to a rare, one-time showing of nature's most carefully made film.

This simple memory is why I can't wait to return.