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.