So Proud

Why yes, I did work on an award winning publication.


Way to go, BYU editing department. Way to go.

Come and see me and we'll brush up on bad habits

I did not hear my alarm this morning. This is the second time in two days.

Not good.


I think it's partially because I've become incredibly lazy since leaving BYU. Let's review the last 18 months of my life, shall we?


January 2010: Begin final semester of school (15 credits). Begin dating a boy. Complete three grad school applications. Work 20 hour weeks. Completely booked schedule 8--5 daily. Fill evenings/weekends with boy, homework, roommates, (very rarely) reading.

February 2010: Begin selling my soul to Stowaway. Begin applying to summer jobs. Receive Emerson acceptance; worry about decision. Continue dating a boy. Continue working 20 hour weeks. Continue completely booked schedule 8--5 daily. Fill evenings/weekends with boy, homework, roommates, (very rarely) reading.

March 2010: Begin to panic about my IS course that is rapidly nearing its deadline. Begin major sociolinguistics project. Completely sell my soul to Stowaway. Break up with a boy. Receive NYU acceptance; worry about decision. Continue applying to summer jobs. Continue working 20 hour weeks. Continue completely booked schedule now 8--6 or 7 daily. Fill evenings/weekends with homework, Stowaway, (rarely) roommates, (very very rarely) reading.

April 2010: Continue completely booked schedule now 8--10 or 11 daily. Continue working 20 hour weeks. Finish IS course in two weeks with -5 days to spare. Finish sociolinguistics project with three hours to spare. Finish three rounds of proofreading changes for Stowaway with two days to spare. Finish all other projects and papers by the skin of my teeth. Finish five finals. Do not fill evenings/weekends as they no longer exist. Graduate. Find a summer job. Make a decision (Emerson).


And here's where things change (drastically) . . .

May 2010: Quit work at IS. Begin work at InfoTrax. Play with roommates and Spokane boys.

June 2010: Continue work at InfoTrax. Look for Boston housing. Attend weddings. Visit home. Play with roommates and Spokane boys.

July 2010: Continue working at InfoTrax. Look for Boston housing. Attend weddings. Play with roommates and Spokane boys.

August 2010: Continue working at InfoTrax. Find Boston housing. Attend weddings. Pack. Quit InfoTrax. Play with roommates and Spokane boys. Move to Boston.

September 2010: Start evening classes. Look for a job. Explore Boston. Visit Washington DC.

October 2010: Continue classes. Look for a job. Explore Boston. Visit New York.

November 2010: Continue classes. Look for a job. Explore Boston. Visit Washington DC.

December 2010: Finish classes. Look for a job. Explore Boston. Home for Christmas.

January 2011: Visit Provo. Beat a snowstorm. Start evening classes + internship. Look for a job.


Now this is where things pick up again . . .

February 2011: Continue classes + internship. Find a job. Start a job.

March 2011: Continue classes + internship. Work 40 hour weeks. Continue completely booked schedule 8:30--11 daily. Visit Washington DC. Fill weekends (no evenings) with homework, roommates, (very rarely) reading.

April 2011: Continue classes + internship. Continue working 40 hour weeks. Continue completely booked schedule 8:30--11 daily. Begin Salman Rushdie paper (and obsession). Visit New York. Visit Connecticut. Fill weekends (no evenings) with homework, roommates, (very rarely) reading.

May 2011: Finish classes + internship. Finish Salman Rushdie paper with eight minutes to spare. Develop nasty cold. Continue working 40 hour weeks. 


But then another downhill spiral . . .

June 2011: Continue working 40 hour weeks. Visit home.

That time that slowed down between May 2010 and March 2011 was too long. Almost a year not filled with an insane schedule, and the two months back wasn't enough to get me to focus. So I'm back to wasting tremendous amounts of time.

Blast.


Good news is, one week until the insanity starts again. And this time it won't end until May 2012.

Here's hoping I survive it.

What happens when you don't see a doctor

So apparently (per 500 Days of Summer, one of the greatest movies ever made) Henry Miller once said that the best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature. I am not trying to get over a woman (cue sigh of relief there), but I am particularly irritated with some of my limbs today. Perhaps the suggestion applies to difficulties other than unrequited love.

This is a story of acute physical pain. Now, I haven’t broken a femur or been in labor, but apparently my experience was pretty close.

Four and a half years ago as a dorm-living freshman at BYU, I ran down my dorm stairs to go to watch the Tuesday devotional with Kait, and I tripped. Luckily, it was the lower end of the stairs and not the upper end, but I still fell and subsequently rolled my ankle and broke the fourth metatarsal in my right foot. (That’s right, I know anatomy terms.) Although it hurt, I was not aware that it was broken, and because of this (and my previous negative experiences with doctors) I did not get it checked for six months. And then not again for another six.

A year after the initial break I began seeing a podiatrist in Provo who tried a variety of methods to fix said broken bone: A brace, medication, three weeks in a boot (in Provo in February). After none of that worked, he suggested giving me a shot of celestone, a steroid that would help soothe the inflammation around the joint that was broken so it could heal itself properly. So, on the allotted day my dear roommate Jamie walked with me to the podiatrist’s office to get this shot.

Jamie (on left) at her bridal shower, a month after her heroic accompaniment.

Going to the office I think Jamie was more worried than I was. She stayed in the waiting room while I went back with the doctor, but by the time I was in the chair and he was preparing the celestone, I was nervous. I asked him how much it would hurt.

“Well, more than a normal shot, but less than childbirth.”

???

Could you possibly have given me a wider range of pain? (NO.)

As I mentioned before, I’ve never been in labor, but I am absolutely certain that this injection was much closer to childbirth than a normal shot. Apparently Jamie heard me whimpering from the waiting room (the walls are pretty thin there, don't think I was being really loud) and panicked. It definitely hurt worse than the broken bone, and I stayed off my foot (and on my couch) for two days.

This is what I looked like while in the boot. Actually, this is what I looked like most of the year regardless of the broken foot. That was my couch, and so help me, if I was home no one else could sit on it.

Two years later the same podiatrist gave me the same injection for a last-ditch attempt to solve this problem. I reminded the doctor of his description two years prior, and he said, "Oh. Well, we'll talk you through it." He then tried to carry on conversation as he was inflicting my foot with fiery pain: How's the summer? When do you move to Boston? Are you excited about Emerson? But I really only remember managing this response: "It's really hard for me to form coherent sentences right now."

This time it was my lovely roommate Kim who took me to the doctor, and knowing how badly it hurt the first time, I had her drive me straight home rather than going back to work. 

Me and Kim (and Melis) the day after, at Annie's wedding.

We were on our feet the next day for Annie’s wedding. Holy goodness, did that hurt. But these guys took care of me, and didn't even complain (much) when I asked them to get things for me so I wouldn't have to walk. Thanks, dears.

Dunkball in tuxes. Heck yes we did. (Photos stolen from Melis.)

BYU Independent Study, this is Allison

The summer I worked fulltime for BYU Independent Study was, for the most part, a good, happy summer.  I loved my coworkers and my boss, and I was (dare I say) excellent at my job. The only downside was how terribly slow my particular position was during the summer—while everyone else had to fly through hundreds of emails a day, I was lucky if I got fifteen.

Once the rest of the department slowed down as well we started finding ways to make the eight hours pass more interestingly: MASH, Dusty Britches, bocce ball, daily trips to the Creamery, online quizzes, blog stalking, and an occasional lunchtime adventure.

My favorite lunchtime adventure came at the request of my boss, Lauren. It was a dreadfully hot day in July, and we were both tired of work and starving. If I remember properly, about half the department was out as well, which made time move even more slowly. For whatever reason, that day Lauren was not able to leave for lunch, but she desperately wanted (craved? she was pregnant) Wendy’s. After discussing this for some time she said, “Allison, if I give you my keys and my credit card would you go pick up some food for me? And an orange drink. Get something for yourself, too.” Happy for any reason to leave the office when it was that slow, I obliged.

I took the keys and credit card, along with my purse and sunglasses, and left the cool office for the scorching heat of Utah in July. The car Lauren drove was small and yellow, with black stripes (or was it a checkered pattern? now I can’t remember) along the sides. I got inside, put the key in the ignition, and the car wouldn’t start. Nope, it set off an alarm instead.

I somehow stopped the alarm and tried again. No dice. What the crap is wrong with this car? Or maybe it’s me. I did have trouble starting my own car on the way to that piano recital. And I can never get home from Powell’s properly. Maybe I have bad car karma. (That was a nice little phonetic joke for you.)

Somewhat shamefacedly, I went back into the office to tell Lauren that I didn’t know how to start her car without alerting the police, not to mention the entire neighboring area. Thankfully, there was a reason for it. What reason I certainly do not remember, so if ever I come across that car again I’m absolutely sure I would set off the alarm.

But I made it to Wendy’s, and we had a delicious lunch.

Snatched

So apparently Saturday is the Rapture.

Photo found here

I only found out about this twenty minutes ago, but I’m told there have been signs everywhere. I don’t really know how I missed them.  

Not remembering the specific details of the Rapture, I looked it up. I would have preferred to ask Seth Hord, but as we no longer live in the same city and I actually have no idea what he is currently doing with his life or if he’s even in the country (anyone know? Is he back from Lithuania?), I turned to the all-knowing internet. I learned some really awesome etymological things: Wikipedia is great. I also read some really perplexing arguments as to why May 21 is the Rapture day and October 21 is the end of the world: ebiblefellowship.com is confusing. Actually, to be fair, a couple things made sense. But most did not.

The last three weeks or so I’ve been blog-stalking a girl I had a few classes with at BYU. I didn’t know her well at all in Provo, but I always liked her, and when I stumbled upon her blog I was thrilled. I’ve enjoyed going through her archives and reading past posts, particularly the ones around the new year. What, you ask, could this possibly have to do with the Rapture? Have you stopped eating breakfast again? Is blogger wigging out like last week? I’ll tell you.

Each new year she chooses a word or phrase for the year, something to work on and aspire to for the next twelve months, like “become” or “happiness” (yes, I did take those words from her blog). I like this idea for a few reasons: first, I love words, and focusing on all the ideas behind one word sounds fascinating to me. Second, I am a terrible goal setter. I don’t do new year’s resolutions, and I don’t make goals. They don’t motivate me. But I feel like this exercise might.

While I absolutely do not believe that the Rapture will occur on Saturday, nor do I believe that October 21 will be the end of the world, I do think that Harold Camping has one thing right: we need to be actively working on progressing and perfecting ourselves. Granted, he says it in terms of immediate salvation or certain destruction, and he would not agree with my rationale at all, but still—if the Rapture actually did happen on Saturday, would I be ready for it?

I’m pretty sure my answer is no. And I’m not okay with that.

But I’ve been thinking about the idea of progression through one word since I started this particular round of blog-stalking, and I feel like it is a good way for me to get to where I want to be. I want to be in a place where I’d be okay if the Rapture were in three days, or if I got hit by a bus, or whatever.

So I’m late for the new year, but who cares. Maybe January isn’t a good time for me to start things anyway. 

Also, what verb do you use when referring to the Rapture? Does the Rapture occur? Come? What happens to the people, exactly? Taken up? I know how I'd want to phrase things, but I'm not sure how they're commonly phrased among Rapture-believing people. 

It's Been A Year

BYU has been on my mind this week.

It was finals week in Provo, and I talked a lot to various friends and family members about their state of aliveness throughout the week. Thankfully, they all survived well.

I talk to them on a regular basis, often about school, so that wasn’t abnormal. The striking thing about this week is that it’s also graduation—and at this exact hour a year ago I was graduating. A year.

Yesterday evening I was talking with a dear friend who happens to be in town and he mentioned that he was really glad I moved to Boston. Partly because we’re now on the same coast and see each other more than just at Christmas, but more because I was able to leave Provo and the whole BYU scene. While I agree that I would not want to live in Provo again and I am so glad I am here, it made me realize how much I do value that time in my life. A year ago I was certain that I would look back on my four years at BYU in a very specific light, shadowed by very specific experiences, and that view really frustrated me. I didn’t want all of my memories dominated by these experiences.

But it’s been a year, and they aren’t what I remember anymore.

I remember how blessed I was to have so many educational opportunities in devotionals and forums, something that I greatly miss.

I remember how much I loved my program, professors, and classmates. I still love them.

I remember how amazing my Jerusalem trip was, something that I could not have had at any other school.

I remember how nice it was to live so close to Todd and Allison, and to spend a year in the same city as Megan and Desiree.

I remember how I met some of my best friends, who are such great examples.

A year ago today. It went by so fast.

Like a jackal.

Feeling Meh

I had a great blogging idea earlier and have completely forgotten it. I guess that happens on the third day of low-grade fever.

I had this conversation with Jessie today:

2:42 PM me: were you so sad last night?

 Jessica: yeah

2:43 PM me: I wanted to cry when we went into overtime because I knew there was no way we'd make it

 Jessica: wow you unfaithful not-a-true-fan

2:44 PM me: they were so tired

  and Florida was playing Jimmer so hard

  you could tell five more minutes would hurt them

 Jessica: it doesnt matter you are still unfaithful

 me: hahaha

2:45 PM I've never had that much faith in BYU

 Jessica: understandable but still

 Both my sister and brother want to throw me out for not believing in BYU. But I believed! And look what happened. 74-83. That's okay; they did way better in the tournament than I've ever seen them do before. Or will for thirty years.

Favorite Weepies song from an album I don't own but do listen to on grooveshark:



Please ignore the pictures and just listen to the music. I didn't make the video.

K, off to buy these shoes. So sorry for the nonsense post. Can't promise tomorrow will be better.


Oh, and so totally jazzed that Arizona beat Duke! Way to go, Arizona. Now let's see Richmond, VCU, Marquette, and Kentucky do as well. Wouldn't it be sweet to go into the Elite 8 with no Number 1 or 2 seeds? Heck yes it would.

Dead (Potentially)

I'm getting sick. I can feel it coming; it started Tuesday night, although I don't think I realized it then. It was creeping through me yesterday, I could feel it in my bones and behind my eyes. Plus I had hot and cold flashes all day long, but my office is the same temperature it always is and I'm only 22.

Why, hello fever. Nice to see you too. Couldn't you have come in FEBRUARY? Like always.

Nope.



Tonight BYU plays Florida in the Sweet 16. While they performed outstandingly well on Saturday (seriously, so well), I'm a little nervous again. K, no, a lot nervous. Since my bracket is completely shot after last weekend I figured I could cheer for my alma mater, though I do hate all the emails they send me. I'm not a student anymore, I don't need to know about deals for sports events. Sheesh.

But come on BYU! Be good just this once. Again.

Also, go vote here.

I think this one might be my favorite:

MARCH MADNESS

It’s here.

Do you think they’ll kick me out of the BYU alumni association if I only let BYU go one round on my bracket? Jimmermania notwithstanding, they just never do that well in the tournament. But then again, they’ve been given a 3 seed. Of course, getting kicked out of the alumni association means no more obnoxious emails. So it wouldn’t be all bad.

That said, so excited. Particularly if BYU and Gonzaga end up together in the second round. What fun I'll have texting the Spokane boys through that game. Especially since it's so easy for me to hate on Gonzaga. And Duke (who is a 1 seed again). 

As long as I end up in the top 5 of the Mitton Family & Friends NCAA Tournament Pool I'll be happy. (That is actually a lie. I want to win.) I just checked the stats for the last three years, and I've been consistently in the middle. But there's a difference this year: I have graduated. Perhaps that achievement will somehow affect this year's mayhem.

And I think perhaps the best part of the welcome email from NCAA Tournament headquarters this morning was this paragraph:

As you know, the Mitton NCAA Pool has always been at the forefront of technology.  So we're excited about some upgrades we're making this year to improve the global outreach of the Mitton NCAA Pool.  You can now follow us on Facebook, just log on and like "Mitton NCAA Pool".  We've asked Bruce to handle our Twitter feed; he'll be tweeting out updates and insights throughout the tournament.  And due to their proximity to second-round sites, Mark and Tyler will be on the ground and live-blogging from the games in Denver (including BYU's matchup with Wofford) and Ryan will be live-blogging from the games in Washington, DC.  Cancel work and get your tickets, guys.

While I knew he was kidding, I am slightly disappointed that we don't have a Mitton NCAA Pool Facbeook page. I'm tempted to start one, although not enough of the participants are actually on Facebook. So it goes.

Let the madness begin . . .

So Close, No Time

One hour until my test.

No time to blog tonight but I'm still thinking about a lot of things including (but not limited to) these:

The Provo Tabernacle fire. So sad. Check out these pictures.

The Google Book Culturomics Project. Can't entirely decide what I think, but I did like David Crystal's analysis. I'll expound on it later.


I will also get back to the fairies, Elizabeth Gilbert, genesis, and just. Add genius and Greeks to the list. Can't wait, can you?


Oh yeah, and I'm still not sick of the Coldplay Christmas song. Although it was interspersed with a good dose of Sufjan Stevens Christmas, and they're just such a great combo.

Friendship

I vividly remember the night we found out who our fall freshman roommates would be. I lived in Hinckley Hall and had made some great friends that summer. I was secretly hoping I would get put randomly with one of them. We all crowded around computers to see who we were living with and if we knew any of the girls. Some knew their roommates, some didn't. I was one who didn't.
Thank goodness for that.

I vividly remember the morning I met Mary. I had come back to Provo a week early so I could work at Legends Grille, and I was miserable. I lived on the floor alone for a couple of days, homesick for my family and friends in Oregon and hating my job. Mary had emailed and told me what day she would be arriving, and that morning I woke up quite early to the sound of the door opening. Mary and her mother apologized repeatedly and profusely for waking me up, and I spent the next couple hours getting to know them both while she moved in.
Thank goodness for that, too.

I vividly remember the day I left my Mary. I was sad to leave a lot of friends, but I think I was most sad about leaving her. We talked regularly on the phone that summer, and I got to see her when we went down to California for Michael and Susie's wedding. It was so much fun to talk to her and introduce her to all my family. She got along so easily with them, and we chatted with Susie and Lisa both for a while. I hated that we only saw each other for a couple hours, but I was so glad that she lived so close to the wedding spot.

We both got busy in Provo, but we were still friends even when we didn't live together. Every time we made time for each other it was like we'd never left---we talked about everything and genuinely cared. She called on my birthday, I called on hers. She was supportive and understanding and sympathetic. I tried to be as well.


Tonight I needed to talk to someone who's known me for a long time: I called my Mary, and it was as though we didn't live thousands of miles apart. She was just as supportive and understanding and sympathetic as she always had been. We laughed a lot, just as we always do. Talking with her lifts my spirit and makes me smile. I was surprised at how much I miss her. But I love my Mary in a way that I can't love anybody else---she was my freshman roommate. And the best one I could have possibly asked for.

Present Appreciation

I read this blog post this morning during my ritual blog post readings, and I realized something:

I should enjoy my current unemployment.

For the last four years, I have simultaneously worked and gone to school, except for that wonderful semester in Jerusalem. I worked as much as they let me at BYU while being a full-time student (and sometimes more than I was supposed to), and I always took more credits than most people thought manageable. To be completely honest, the last two years were so overbooked that while I accomplished everything, I did it on very low energy and with at least one total emotional breakdown. I could routinely expect to get sick once a semester (yes, I did succumb to the swine flu epidemic last fall), and about once a semester I pulled a true all-nighter: ones where I stayed up from 6:30 a.m. one day through 11:00 p.m. the next, not what people try to claim as an all-nighter where they take naps in the day. (They are wimps.)

I need a lot of things going on; it helps me to structure my time more efficiently, it helps me to avoid overthinking personal problems, and it helps me to stay interested in my life. So this whole free time thing I have going on in Boston has been really frustrating for the last several weeks.

However, because I am only taking two classes and I still don't have a job, I actually have time to

• sleep for eight hours every night,
• eat breakfast (when I choose to),
• play the piano,
• work through my homework slowly instead of flying through it,
• read for pleasure for hours at a time,
• clean the house regularly,
• explore Boston,
• research various linguistic phenomena that intrigue me,
• sit and think (or listen to music) on the T without feeling guilty.

It's nice, this slower pace. I never thought I'd like that, but there are things about it that I actually do. Like the fact that I spent today finishing my Book Publishing assignments so that tomorrow I can explore Cambridge before class.

It won't last forever (and I'm grateful for that), but I think I'll enjoy it while it does.

Colleges Thus Far

Emerson, of course. But also

Suffolk University
Tufts University
Boston University
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Harvard University
Simmons College
Emmanuel College
Berklee College of Music
Northwestern University
School of the Museum of Fine Arts
Wentworth Institute of Technology


It's fascinating to see how the campuses vary from each other, and how they vary from schools in the West. Very, very different from BYU or Oregon or even Portland State. But cool.

Letra para Los Hombres Guapos

Dearest Spokane Boys,

I am in Boston and you are in Provo. When we lived in the same city, I saw you every day and I knew everything going on in your lives. Now we live on opposite ends of the country. However, that is not an excuse not to talk to me; I still want to know what is going on. So please be better communicators than I am afraid that you are. No detail is too mundane. I especially want to know when you (finally) catch a fish. Or how you're getting along with the new kid. Or when someone professes his undying love. All are important to me.


Love,
A-Dawg

Every Place I Go

Today's post brought to you by Peter, Paul and Mary:



I said goodbye last night to probably the two most important people from my BYU experience. And it was hard. There is too much emotion involved with someone like that, and it is too hard to know what to say.

But I know at least one of them reads this blog. So, since I don't think I said it last night, I love you. And I will miss you every day.


And just in case you both read it, I love you, too. I know you will do great things.

Last of the Loot

I should be repacking a bag for Boston, but instead I'm playing with this:

It's sleek, shiny, and trim. No overly sensitive mouse and just the right amount of pressure on the keys. All my files transfered in a matter of minutes (ish). And the internet is running beautifully.

I don't care what Apple can do. Louie, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Endings

On my last Monday in Provo, I will be

---doing the last of my packing,
---sneaking into Glenwood to put stuff in Megan's new apartment,
---finalizing my immunization records for Emerson,
---writing an article for InfoTrax,
---purchasing stationary,
---cleaning out the storage closet,
---finding a birthday gift for my mother (post on her will follow),
---returning library books,
---writing a letter to the lovely Sister Sutterfield,
---posting said letter (hopefully),
---playing with the Spokane boys.

Three Weeks Left

I'm leaving Provo in 19 days and never coming back.

Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. I'm sure I'll be back, but I don't think I'll live here ever again. And while I normally have no problem with that thought, I'm currently feeling a little nostalgia (dangerous emotion, that). There are so many things I feel like I missed. You know the "I've Never" game? I guess usually it's a drinking game, I've never played it (no pun intended), but there are a lot of Utah experiences I could put on my list.

I've never . . .

--been to Sundance,
--hiked Mt. Timpanogos,
--done anything in Moab/Zion/Canyonlands,
--gone skiing,
--shopped in Park City,
--floated in the Great Salt Lake,
--seen the Savior of the World,
--driven the Alpine Loop,
--bowled in the basement of the Wilk,
--visited the dinosaur museums.

I did, however, see the Kennecott Copper Mine a few weeks ago. It was pretty sweet.

All This Nothing

My dad gave me the coolest book this weekend.

I also discovered the etymology of the phrase "apple of my eye."

I keep thinking about canaries and whales.


Oh. Best conversation ever.

Last night we played MASH and Thomas told Audge to put Cairo, Egypt as one of the places for him to live. I said, "But Egypt is so freaking hot." His wonderfully witty response?

"Well you're freaking . . . oh wait."

The Man Your Man Could Smell Like

I know some of you have already seen one or both of these, but they're too good not to put up together.

Watch this one . . .


And then watch this one . . .