cellular

overhearing arguments always makes me uncomfortable. the onset of that sick feeling in my stomach is almost immediate as soon as I realize that people are arguing and that I am intruding by being within reach of their voices. I am not the type of person to actually argue about an important or personal issue with anyone. will I argue about the virtues of one reality tv show over another? yes. will I actually raise my voice and tell someone that they are being a real (expletive)? probably not. when faced with a real live confrontation about something important I suddenly find myself suffering from lock-jaw. it becomes physically difficult to utter distinguishable words. the man in the hall next to me who is arguing with someone on the phone at this very moment is not having any difficulty saying things like 'you are being completely unreasonable' and 'well it's a good thing that is not your decision' and 'that has nothing to do with you'. so uncomfortable.

that's amore

things I will miss about New York:

performers in the subway
Central Park
laundromat lady
late night dinners
the couch
cupcakes
the Met
friendly middle aged New Yorkers
taxis
hearing Russian every day
the dogs
Sephora on every corner
my homegirls (Kristine, Catherine, and Brooke)
doing things by myself and it not being weird

42nd street

tonight on my way home i ate an entire bag of gummy worms. i just couldn't stop. i didn't even try to stop. i kept chewing and chewing and chewing and before i knew it i was home and they were gone.

gray matter

My subconscious hates me and is torturing me with dreams. And let me tell you, the ol' subconscious must have been working on the dream from last night for a while cause it was a real doozy. Gone are the happy dreams of impossible situations that I long for with all my little heart. The happy dreams that can't and wont come true were hard, but reality is harder. Instead of being forced to face my own latent hope for a past that can't come back, I'm forced to face my present reality. Sleeping and dreaming should be an escape from your real life where you ride unicorns and eat ice cream without getting fat, not a reminder of sad truths. This is a formal request for my subconscious to have a heart and leave me alone. Couldn't it pick up a new hobby? Instead of making up dreams it could write poetry or remember grocery lists or take a smoke break or something for a few hours.

god bless us everyone

i think i have a cavity. every time i eat something i feel a twinge in one of my molars. it's possible that this is because my diet consists entirely or sweets. i woke up with a stomach ache last night and realized that it was because i had drunk a 32oz. cherry pepsi and eaten an entire bag of salt and vinegar potato chips before bed. normal. stress-ball. death. chubby.

hugs are warmer when you're in them

I just realized that is is one of my last three days of classes at BYU for time and all eternity. I woke up from a little nap in the library with the panicked realization that my days are numbered. why have i not thought about this until right now? and why am i napping, blogging and listening to celine dion christmas music in the library instead of writing a paper or having an anxiety attack. so far my panic is being kept at bay by fat free fig newtons, the sweet sounds of celine and the promise of popcorn and dr. pepper for dinner. i'm afraid that any time i try to sleep for the next week I'll wake up with this same weighty panic animal sitting on my chest, just waiting to spring. seriously, how did this happen without me noticing? granted i've been at BYU for an obscenely long time and i guess i thought that there would always be another semester, more vending machine bingeing, and endless nights in the good ol' hbll.

open mouth staring

I like to consider myself a kind person. However, when faced with an overly chatty person at the checkout counter I become cold, callous, and unresponsive. Unsuspecting cashiers release the Kraken of fury inside me with their relentless attempts to make small talk. No, I do not want to talk to you about my Thanksgiving travels. What I do with my brownie mix is none of your business. Why are you asking about my day? WE DON'T KNOW EACH OTHER! I will politely answer at least one question with a 'fine' or a 'sure', but anything beyond that makes me uncharacteristically and irrationally homicidal. I have tied to figure out why I have such a huge problem with small talk over the exchange of money for goods. So far no acceptable reasons have surfaced.