My Past Life Revisited, Or, Things I've Learned in the 8 Hours I've Been Home

Intro: Katie and I pulled a Home Alone 2 today, running through SLC International to arrive at our gate with a freshly debarked plane awaiting us. We made it on through an act of Angels. Bags checked at 2 pm, sprint through security, at the gate by 2:15, the time our flight was scheduled to take off.

1. My mother still threatens my life every time I ride in the car with her. Her four-accident-per-year average is no accident. (Punny!)
2. My dad still thinks he knows what's best for me.
3. Politics is a subject I must still avoid when it comes to convos with the parentals.
4. My parents, despite their political closed-mindedness, are slowly branching out into hip foods, i.e. sushi, French cheese, quality breads, and prosciutto. Thank you, Costco taste-testers.
5. My dogs love me just as much as I thought they did.
6. The Bay Area is still my home. I still weep at the sight of it. My parents' home is still my anchor. I may not be the same person I was when I moved out of this place, but coming back here still grounds me like nothing else.
7. Although the idea to move back home is tempting, it's not what I want. It's not who I am.
8. I don't hate Utah, but I do miss living in a place where I can anonymously be Mormon. Meaning, I can live in a place where people don't assume I'm Mormon just because most other people are.
9. I miss sharing the gospel. I miss serving the Lord, acting as an instrument in His hands in spreading His truth. Did you know a replica of the first edition of the Book of Mormon is now sold in Costco? Did you know a book by a former FLDS church member/polygamist's wife is being sold only a few pallets away from our sacred scriptures? I am increasingly convinced of the divine calling my generation has to stand up for truth, to speak out against naysayers and live our lives in a Christ-like way. We have an obligation to dispel rumors that harm our Lord's name and His gospel's reputation. I forgot this these past few months being back in Utah. I mustn't forget it again.
10. My circadian rhythm has never left Pacific time.
11. I am more like my dad than I think.
12. I am less like my dad than I think.
13. My mom still makes better Christmas sweets than your mom does.
14. My mom is a near saint. She epitomizes love and service. She is of faith, of intelligence, of beauty and testimony. I want to be like her.
15. Grandma and Papa are gone, Robert's on a mission, Branky's in Vegas, and Jack and Diane are back east. This means our Christmas Eve dinner is down to the five Ruefenachts. Luckily my parents had the foresight a few years ago to include the Stevens (half of the legendary Stevenachts coupling). My dad invited some of his single, elderly patients, and my mom invited people from the ward, plus the missionaries. All in all, family is what you make it. Family is just as much bond as it is blood. Family is love.

And on that note, I must retire to bed so I can hit the stores early tomorrow!

Much love to you all, sincerely and truthfully.

Buy my face!

For real. Right here.

A blessing, a rebirth.

My life in this altered state continues. I'm hoping for a rebirth when I go home tomorrow, when finals are over.

Today is my last at Reagan Academy. I'm sad. Yesterday was my most torn-up day though. I left the school and called Alex sobbing. That lasted until I got off the phone with my mom, some 30 minutes later. These kids are too precious, too important. Dante wrote me a tender goodbye letter, reminding me of my promise to come back to Reagan if I ever quit my new job. He even used a colon correctly! What an amazing boy. Aspen wrote me some notes too. The others don't seem to care as much, though I'm sure they do somewhere. My young friend Karl was the most dear. Tuesday I asked him what he wanted for Christmas. He looked at me with his little cherub face with that trademark eye twinkle and pointed down to his shoes. He wants new shoes for Christmas. What child wants shoes for Christmas? This one does. Yesterday he said to me, "You are my friend teacher. Yes, you are my friend." After tearing up I returned the sentiment and helped him make stars and glasses and cyclops eyes out of pipe cleaner. This job was too great. I will miss it so much.

One last final tonight. Two more pages to write. Then I will be reborn. Merry Christmas!

One two ready go.

Today is a day too dark to acknowledge. I got a full seven-or-so hours, but that doesn't change the fact today is drearier than any other day yet. Perhaps not really, but it seems like it. Hitting snooze a few times may have helped me, but it didn't encourage the sun any.

I just noticed I only have two Rudolph cards left. Rudolph from the stop motion classic. What am I to do? I've been sending Christmas cards on these things for years! I guess the time has come to stop sending Christmas cards. There's no possible way I can find these cards or anything cooler ever again!!!! Ha! Just kidding. I just found them here.

I haven't been my usual loving self lately. I'm sorry about this, but I don't know what snapped me out of it so I don't know how to snap back in it. But I think perhaps, at the end of January, I will be fine again, because by the end of January I will have settled into my new job, which is what I think is probably the root of all this anxiety and tension building up within me. I'd say more, but this is posted on the Internet after all, and it could get into the WRONG HANDS!!!

Mucho amore,
Lisa

Love--it changes everything. (Hands and faces. Earth and sky).

Tonight I find myself regretting, something I don't often do.

I realized earlier today that I regret not majoring in music. I regret not practicing harder and pushing myself. I gave up on my talent. Sure, I still use it all the time, but I am so out of practice. I feel out of place and alien. Remember how Iris would always let me conduct the choir during rehearsal, and sometimes even during performances? Remember how Stephen Hatfield had so much faith in my potential and wrote that letter to the School of Music telling them why they had no choice but to let me in?

It feels like a different life. I remember those days with a fond indifference, meaning, I am not sure if I am still that person. I was so focused on that. I was so built up and confident. But you get rejected a few times and who wouldn't give up on themselves? I majored in something easy, my secret mistress, and now I feel just as unfocused about that as I do my music.

Please someone, find my confidence and give it back. It's been missing lately. I know--I will find it myself! By doing the things I love and know make me feel good because they make other people feel good too! That always works!

(Do you think it's funny how I start writing about my seemingly endless despair and then talk myself out of it by the end of the entry? I do).

Today Dante found out I'm leaving Reagan Academy. He bawled. He sobbed. He clung to me and wouldn't let go. We are going to e-mail each other until he forgets me.

A big rig passed me as I drove home tonight. This big rig was only the front though. Only the cab. Those always look so weird to me, like a headless horseman only reverse.

I am not sure why I do this, but sometimes when I'm around certain people I get shy and withdrawn. I guess you could say intimidated. I was once voted "Least Intimidating." I am not sure if this is still true. What I mean to say is that certain people intimidate me, and certain occurrences intimidate me. For example, I am increasingly intimidated by people who are predisposed to judge me (think about it and you can figure out who these people might be). I realized this today as I worked on my final intaglio print, which is all about my anxieties and trappings. Some highlights include: taxes, a 9 to 5, the boss man, failing myself and others, selfishness, the future, adult responsibility.

I am always surprised at how much more I still have to learn about myself, but I am rarely surprised with what I find.

If they only knew.

A review of mine just appeared on the PC Mag homepage. All well and good, except that I just googled myself and people are irate about it. Apparently the software is buggy as all hell and is incompatible with previous versions of the software. I wrote the review in mid-September when none of this was really known and before the product had been released--cry me a river! It was still buggy when I used it even without syncing it to a previous version, and the editors changed my rating, so don't get mad at me. Our reviews aren't always directed toward the expert users. Anyway, it's not fun to read about how stupid people think you are. I haven't felt this shunned and rejected since the third grade. I'll get over it.

My college career is over in five days. Through a strange turn of events, I ended up deciding to keep the job at ABC. It was between that and the Herald, which has a 3-11 pm work schedule. I decided it was more important for me to commute and work regular hours than not commute and have no social life.

I want to run away.

Hello Twilight.

It's hard to know what's wrong when nothing's wrong.

Sold to the lady with the bouffant.

When I was a little kid, my mom gave me a bracelet. Her mother had given her this same bracelet when she was a little kid. The bracelet was 14 karat gold. It had little loops linked together for the chain, and a medallion with a treble clef hanging from the chain. It was a beautiful bracelet, and I loved it. That's why my mom gave it to me. (I knew it was gold too. I'd seen some cartoon character bite into gold and have it not leave teeth marks, so I bit into the medallion to see if it would escape teeth marks too. It didn't. I was too young to know). I never wore the bracelet; it merely sat in my jewelry box with all my other jewelry. It was too special to wear.

Time passed and I more or less displaced the bracelet from my mind. It was still a treasure--a gift from my mom--but it didn't garner the same fascination.

The summer before leaving home for college, I had a huge garage sale. There were four or five different sellers on our driveway, and we saw half the town come through our yard that day. It was a fast-paced, consuming day. I hardly knew what I had sold since we had designated one money changer.

I was in my room that night counting my money when my mom came in my room. "Why did you sell the bracelet I gave you?" she asked. I had no idea what she was talking about. Which bracelet? I sold a bracelet you gave me? "You sold my bracelet with the treble clef on it," she said. My heart collapsed into a near attack. I thought back through the day it was so confusing I couldn't remember what I'd sold which old lady had asked for what how much do you want you want how much I didn't remember. But I remembered that old lady. I remember her holding the bracelet and me not looking closely enough and not realizing until then. I sold my mom's gold bracelet for an insignificant portion of its actual worth. I sold it. I sold it. I sold it.

I sold a little piece of myself with it.

So sorry I only talk about myself but I know nothing of the stranger on the other side of the water.

What is it about snow that incites thought? The types of thoughts that only come from long conversations with oneself. The thoughts that surface only through repetitive elements: for me it's the hissing of shower water, the whirring of air through the vacuum, the polka-dotting of the rain, and the frozen time of falling snow.

My involuntary focus on nostalgia continues. I'm convinced now it's happening for a purpose; it's happening because I need to write these things down. I haven't been doing that. I need to. I may never think of them again.

My best friend when I was in second grade was Melissa Jones. She had long blond hair. I don't know where she is now. She lived down the street from our school. Her street was out of a storybook, shaded and protected by oak trees and mulberry trees. Her backyard was really big, overwhelming as the ocean. It was bedded with blue grass (that's what her mom called it). One day at the end of my second grade year, I was walking with Melissa to her house after school. We had frequent playdates. I always looked forward to them. But today was different. Today I knew something, and I knew I had to tell her. The walk seemed slower today, like the news I had to deliver somehow contained the key to altering time. The longer I waited to tell her, the longer the sidewalk stretched on. It finally burst out of me: "Melissa, I'm moving after this year. I won't be going to Sequoia anymore." She started crying. I started crying. We were each other's first best friend, and now we wouldn't have each other anymore.

We wrote one letter to each other after I moved. She sent me her third grade school photo. I probably sent her mine. That was the last time I ever talked to her.

I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.

I've been offered two out of the three jobs I applied for. I accepted one, I'm getting back to the people about the second when the weekend's over, and the third I should know next week. I want the third. It would be the best job ever. I'll tell you more about it when I get it, I guess.

My friend Marcus has kept me pretty up to date with his BFA show since he started the concept. The show is titled "Thought I Knew Him" and deals with the intricacies of human relationships, whether strangers or friends. The concept is excellent I think, and one that isn't necessarily easy to pull off. Marcus reigned in poetry and vignettes from his friends and sculpted pieces to match the poetry. I wasn't sure how it was going to work. Alex and I went to Marcus' show opening last night; it was my first time seeing the show. There is only one other art show that afforded me the emotion I felt last night. It was at the Art Barn in Salt Lake. I was with Capree. But it was this artist from Utah State, a woman, and she manipulated the female form in different ways, and organs. She was motivated completely by the human body. That show moved me. So did Marcus'. I wrote in Marcus' book that, "It's not rare that I love an art show--I love art. But it is rare that the show loves me back. Your show loves me back." Even now as I write this, I am crying, because love is not an easy emotion to forget or handle carelessly. Leaving Marcus' show--walking out of the HFAC--I viewed the people who I might normally think are annoying as friends. As people I knew. I used to view the world this way. I still do from time to time when I am really happy, but I am too stressed to be really happy (for the most part, I am really happy nonetheless).

I haven't been writing as much lately because I've been stressed. Stressed with finding a job I really want (remember: I have one I don't want). But not writing causes me more stress.

Alex and I drove up to Saltair last night to see Iron and Wine. It was a good show. It was also snowing the whole way up and most of the way back. Snowing to the point you could hardly see the car in front of you. I've never felt this before, but there was one point, while we were driving I-15 north through Lehi, I felt like we weren't moving. The snow pelted the car at the same speed, at the same angles. The cars remained equidistant from one another. "Look at the billboards on the side of the freeway," Alex said, but it was no use. I was lost in space and time, trapped in this optical illusion. I couldn't shake it, so I just shut up about it and drove on. I didn't like it.

I have spent almost two weeks without my dear iPod, and I must say, the world is not ending. I am not completely miserable. I just don't listen to music as much.

If I could turn into an instrument this exact second, I would want to be a flute in a trio of flutes, because three is always better than one when it comes to flutes. A chorus of flutes is one of the most beautiful sounds on Earth.

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.

Letter to No One

Dear No One,

I couldn't help but notice how sad you were tonight. You acted happy, but I know that act well. I hate seeing you sad. It reminds me of times I'd rather not think about. Times when I knew you better. Times when you were even more sad, and I was sad too because you were sad. You were mean to me when you were sad. (I never said that. You did).

I felt so bad being happy when you were sad. I was uncomfortable. I wanted to go to you and hug you and kiss your cheek and give you hope. Maybe you don't need hope. You probably don't.

I feel horrible knowing how I felt when I saw you. Wondering what you felt. Remembering how I felt about you. I thought it was all a lie. It might still be. I think it always was for you, and you just led me along. I forgot you easily. You make me forget easily.

I think I saw you watching me. That made me feel horrible too.

I feel horrible saying that I miss you. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. Mostly I want to know how you are, to talk to you like I used to. But things aren't that way anymore. I'm not the same anymore. I don't think you are either.

Sincerely,
(insert name here)

Love me the way I love you.

When I was a little kid, I really loved Ernie and Bert from Sesame Street. I love Ernie the most. Ernie had the greatest laugh--a wheezle, I will call it, because he wheezed and cackled. Ernie sang the best songs. "I'd Like to Visit the Moon," "Imagine That," and of course "Rubber Duckie." Ernie was always a tried and true friend and never had anything mean to say about anyone. Ernie was a little bit of a bum, seeing as how he didn't have a job, but Bert wears the pants in that friendship anyway.

I got Bert and Ernie dolls for a present at my second Christmas. My parents have pictures of how happy I was. Granted, it's not hard to please a little kid, but I was beaming. I continued beaming all seven years I had these dolls.

They went everywhere with me for the space of those years. Well, Ernie did. Bert had to stay behind a lot of the time because two dolls was one too many. But we played and we laughed. Mostly, Ernie liked to snuggle with me in bed. He was a good friend.

By the time my dolls died, they were scuffed and worn. Ernie's left arm hung limply and uselessly at his side, the stuffing long since departed. Bert fared a little better, since he didn't play with Ernie and I too often. Despite the poor physical shape, they still emanated the same energy, and made me feel as happy as I did that first Christmas we spent together.

Before we moved into the house my parents live in now (summer of 1993), my mom had a big garage sale. For some reason, she decided Bert and Ernie needed to move on, and there was nothing I could do to change her mind. There they sat, with all the stuffed animals I didn't care about, like pawns. Like useless, poly-blend throw-aways you win at a carnival. Bert and Ernie were not that to me. They never could be. So I sat at the money table with my mom, all day, pondering what life would be like without Bert and Ernie, angry with her for telling me my most prized possessions weren't worth the move.

Anyway, I am going to see Busdriver and Daedelus tonight, and I am really excited. I'm excited for Alex to come with me too, because he will meet my best friends Capree and Brady. Yay!!!

Yesterday I felt like running away. I haven't felt like that in a long time. I didn't run away though.

I can't believe it's almost November. I can't believe I'm done with college in a month-and-a-half. Gulp.

Open/closed.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Actually I went to bed on the wrong side too. I went out at 11 last night when I should have gone to bed. I didn't go to bed until 12:30, hence the wrong side.

Today I'm on the wrong side because I'm just plain tired. When I get really tired, I get depressed. The whole deal. Sinking pit in the stomach, hole in the heart. It's only temporary, but it sucks nonetheless.

I've got a great job lead for once I graduate. It starts in January--perfect timing--and it's at the SLTrib. Now all I have to do is apply and snag the position! Piece of cake, I hope.

I've always loved being around kids, but I think I've got the best group ever as my students. First there's adorable young Thomas, with his penetrating blue eyes and tender smile. "Thomas," I said to him the other day, "thank you for being so good today." He replied, "Just doin' my job."

Then there's Dante, the autistic genius. He's drawing a comic and he drew me into it. My character is Rock 'N' Roll Woman. I wear red shoes and have light purple skin. I shoot lasers out of my eyes, and I control robots and make them good guys. He made a Monopoly board game based on a book we just read. It is better than the Milton Bradley version.

One of Dante's classmates, Miranda, sets up a shop on her desk. Yes, like a store. She sells paper and metal things that she makes, and the kids buy them from her with money they make out of paper. The other day, she set up shop during class. Mrs. Parker, her teacher, got upset with her and told her, "Class time is not the time to sell things." Sulking, mouth turned impossibly downward, Miranda gently turned her sign from "Open" to "Closed" and put her wares away.

Anyway, I'm going to nap now.