Waffling in THREE dimensions.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

No Disciple

I thought I would call it power, short for willpower. Or discipline, maybe self-mastery. When my roommates would ask, "How do you stay up like that?" I would say "Discipline." And they would stand back in awe of my prowness in the uber-man sleep schedule. But none of those words fit. I thought briefly today on the ideal balance of word choice, the affect of rhythm and cadence in a piece; spacey sorts of things I never detailed well enough to transcribe. And on the Internet of all places! For shame! And none of those words fit. I do not feel discipline, for if I did I certainly wouldn't be proclaiming to the Interwebs that I possess some magnificant power to stay away for prolonged periods of self-sacrifice that certainly demand their adulation! I must apologize for my frequent use of exclamation marks; they are most unseemly. I feel a need to apologize for many things tonight, including the desire to apologize. For these things and more, I am sorry.
The fact remains: none of those words fit. I like them; they are courageous words, full of boldness with a certainly manly essence not unlike commando and bravado. Many things that have the swooping doe are manly, or feel such by the sweeping declension they allow in delivery. They are the breed shouted by base jumpers and other falling men. It is well known that men that fall are the most rugged of all.
I read in my psychology text that unsymmetrical men are poor lovers, or perhaps less sought after. I prefer the later recollection. The first has been bothering me I seem to have spent too much time in front of the mirror. I feel far to womanish at this moment to use words that end in doe. My vanity tells me, perhaps erroneously, that I am not to far removed from the unnatural ideal refined at Beauty Check. I am such a girl (not literal!). If you care to, my ego could use a huggle. Hugglez are, in my mind, the ideal portmanteau, or at least the one most painfully burned into my vocabulary. For this, I will always hate the Internets. You see, my parents never huggled me as a child.
Mostly, I think, at this moment, which is brief and so often wrong, that it may be an (ever so slightly) feeling of overwhelming inadequacy with just a touch of hyperbole. Shades, you drama queen! Certainly, such words of fortitude would not describe a man in my situation, however passing it may be. But I did not expect such results, and what man can? I have done it before, and will do it again. This is, however slightly unpleasant, important and necessary as far as I have pushed my situation. But I will tell them it is discipline. What else could I say? Anything else is incriminating. I shall press on, and shirk these doubts, or as many as temporarily possible before they once again shamble upon my shoulders for a harmless ride. You're too heavy, I say wearily. They just giggle.
Mostly, I worry that I am an outlier.
"Outliers make statistical analyses difficult" Harvey Motulsky.

I have a statistics quiz to take now and three weeks of assignments to power-thru in less than 11 hours. Who needs sleep? No, you're never gonna get it.

Shout-out to Melanie for posting a comment! I thought long ago people had given up reading this blithering blog.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

He wants to meet every week...

...but I really don't. I prefer to spout, or claim to, heresy rather than attend early morning meeting on the internet, the subject seems invariably tied to those meetings which I desire to shirk. The meetings feel awkward (I am grasping now), perhaps more uncomfortable? In any case, I can always easily imagine many other things, perhaps some actually more productive although it is impossible to be objective of such, I'd rather be doing. I give the answers they seek, or some semblance that appeases. I say it easily, uncomfortably so. I cannot even be certain how much of it I mean, but I intend it all. Today we, the first councilor in the bishopric who wants[on assignment from the bishop and with the love of God] to meet with me weekly and myself, discussed finding truth, building a stronger testimony, and so on. Apparently, the testimony I shared with him was insufficient, as he invoked the Lord to provide me with one. I forget the wording and am probably over analyzing things. I told him I came here knowing that regardless of the faith I had when I applied, I would have a fuller understanding, would know, if this was the right path. Or the wrong one. Or the only one.

In brief retrospect, I find it odd that he never mentioned missionary experience or preparation, usually a staple in these asides, in the quest for truth he intimated. I still (even at this moment!) find it amusing that his search began out of a desire to cease embarrassment in seminary and verification that he wasn't involved in the wrong church. Common desires, I suppose. The delivery reminded me of an episode of Boston Legal I watched last week where James Spader's character asked William Shatner's why he believed in God. The response, which I cannot recall exactly, was that there was no risk in believing and being wrong, but you were "screwed" if you didn't believe and turned out to be wrong. It's a lot less funny now that I've tried to write it down. I suppose this should remind me now of all those scriptures that say not to laugh, because it is a sin (TG Levity). The episode was titled "The Good Lawyer" if you should decide to seek it out.

Of course, in my great wisdom I went forth to journal, for this can hardly be called a blog (it has no traffic!) as I prefer the word to be understood as, these events and whatever understanding I had concerning it and the implications of it, and for it, and with it. I made the unfortunate mistake perusing Myspace, though perhaps not thoroughly enough to warrant such word choice. I happened upon Justin's page, now maintained by Courtney's postings and clippings of Justin's letters. There has been a great divergence in our two paths; this troubles me somewhat.

I feel like I'm "writing," see "journalling," in the style and meter of scripture. Perhaps that is pretentious, but in no way is my writing anywhere never such prominence. There is a pressing sort of need to address in the constant redefinement of words and topics. I hate it. I apologize to the one reader, whomever the unfortunate may be, that reads these lines that flow like wax, but worse so when they are heated.

I hope that I did not sound too confrontational in this post. I have not intended to display some animosity towards my bishopric, whom I much prefer to those I've experienced in the past. I may seem opposed to those meetings they prescribe to address shortcomings I do not recognize as such, being almost an affront to the character of my person. Perhaps I am. I can certainly think of other things I'd rather be doing. I was told to be sincere in my seekings this week, to fulfill those other promises of increased faith and such. My ability to do such is already another skepticism among many of those other more dogmatic verses. I also question my ability to be coherent on the internet.

This whole blog-thing would be better if I bothered to revise things. By the time I "finish" writing these, I am quite unsatisfied with them. Or do I quit writing them because I am unsatisfied? That, too, sounded significantly more elegant in my mind. Also, I should probably wake up Jon so we can go home-teaching. To the appointment he set for 1.30. There are a great many other things which I shall not write of at this time. Amen?

Monday, February 19, 2007

The Line

I'll admit I like to walk the line. But where is it? You can only tell by where it slopes off. I was reading the wikipedia, and after a long series of events, I found this gem:

"The worst sinners, according to Jesus, are not the harlots and publicans, but the religious leaders with their insistence on proper dress and grooming, their careful observance of all the rules, their precious concern for status symbols, their strict legality, their pious patriotism... the haircut becomes the test of virtue in a world where Satan deceives and rules by appearances." -Hugh Nibley, professor at BYU.

Not anymore, he's dead, but I still like it.

I find the lists of ex-mormons and former latter-day saints very interesting. Apparently Ted Bundy converted. The articles are not limited to members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but rather the entire latter-day saint movement. I'm pretty sure these sorts of readings would not be looked upon kindly. I believe that if the religion is true, it should stand on its own merits, critically. But those critics are often silenced; I just read the wikipedia article on the September Six. Sometimes this sect seems slightly shaky, and more than seldom secretive. I wonder what's in that Church Handbook of Instructions they give to Bishops...


I've also includes a little screen grab from her wiki-entry that may not be there for much longer. I believe it pretty easily demonstrates the inherent awesomeness of Wikipedia: anyone can edit and anyone can be awesome.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

I forgot one:

6. Not with Jon.


Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Single's Awareness Day

I just sent these off to the Scroll for their new feature Top Five, like Letterman's but more crappy. I used Jon's email for convenience.

Top Five ways to spend Singles Awareness Day:

1. Flirting with that coy Ticonderoga in the Testing Center.

2. On the phone with Mother.

3. Same way as the last five Friday nights: Godzilla movies.

4. Sharing your emotional inadequacies with 15 close friends on X-Box live.

5. With a tub of ice cream, bath salts, and Hugh Grant's smile.

No, George W. Bush presidential library should NOT be built in Rexburg.

Paula Zaughn is NOW talking about homosexuality. The panelists were talking about that Snickers Superbowl ad, apparently it was a big deal. I just thought it was a crappy commercial. There's nothing manly about ripping out chest hair. If anything, the removal of hair makes one LESS manly. Besides, no one eats Snickers without hands, Twix maybe, but not Snickers. I know, I eat everything I can without my hands; Fruit by the Foot is a delicious challenge in oral dexterity. NOW they're talking about Ted Haggard, who is claiming to be cured of his homosexuality. I don't believe it. Only three weeks to cure the gay? That's faster than I get any of my Amazon shipments. Where is the justice?? He still sets off my gaydar. One of the panelists (the token gay panelist brought to weight in when they talk about gay things) said something amusing, but I've forgotten. Happens a lot, I'm fried. Paula really needs more gusto, more excitement. Astronaut Love Triangles! Those are exciting! Talk about those, Paula, don't disappoint us. Your correspondent has a horrible audio, Paula, he tried to do a walking narration thing, I'm certain there's a jargonic term for it that I am unaware of, in a parking garage. Paula, get to the astronauts. Spare me the Homeland Security news, aside from the budget figures which I may cite in my complaints of ineffectual government waste. Colors don't make me feel safe, textures do. Use textures, Chertoff. Kittens will be the new texture for completely safe. Puppies the next level, because they make some people (uncaring people!) uneasy, and so on. I think the highest level should probably be a shark or something, no one wants to pet a shark. Maybe Aquaman, but he really sucks. Hard. Maybe feral raccoon, those aren't very cuddly.
Paula's lackey got an Imperial Wizard for an interview. Wait, she just said "...which at times uses hateful terms." I missed who the reference was to. I like that the guy actually dresses like a wizard, shows commitment. Oh Paula, why did you just shaft your goon with that swift summary? I bet she was hurt. They're talking about what it means that the KKK is changing its recruitment strategies and whatever. I hope they never start targeting nerds. It won't be easy to villainize K^3 or rather, K Kubed. Shudder. Paula's freaking out now about an Arab American gaining a prominent position in the Department of Homeland Security. She's Lebanese. Last I checked, the largest religion in Lebanon was Christianity, with 55% of the population. But that was from the census taken in 1932, the most recent. They won't take a new one because of the potential divisiveness. That was an awkward word. Anyways. Quit freaking out, Paula! Larry King has Buzz Aldrin on tonight. He probes, "Was it just love that drove her to it?" Love or obsession? Obsession, hands down. Anyone who drives 900 miles wearing miles is obsessed. That's the sort of thing crazy people do. Her mug shot makes me feel slightly sympathetic for her. Like a wet kitten. Poor kittens! They can't swim! They do mew a lot when wet. It's pretty annoying really. Stupid kittens. Come on guys, let's stop calling it a "love triangle." It shall be a LOVE SHUTTLE. Sex in space seems pretty messy anyways. They had that couple that went up, I forget details. Larry's making a big deal about it, but it's really pretty simple: Eunuchs in space. The baggy prison-orange space suits would go great with their lack of testicles.

I am rather tired. It is one of those weeks, where the planets align and cosmic forces conspire against me. I have gotten less than 8 hours of sleep this week, I think. It's not worth detailed analysis, that would be depressing, or exhausting. I'm doing alright. My eyes aren't red, but they are burning. Lots of naps. Naps are the devil. They eat time and are hardly refreshing. Adam wakes me up from them to ask if I know anything about Facebook. I know what it is, but have never bothered to use it. He wanted to read his girlfriend/fiance's page or something. I wasn't very interested. He was so insistent that I had to refrain from feigning sleep! Which I was doing so he'd go away. Didn't really work. I don't feel much better now. I'll be up again tonight. And tomorrow night probably too. Maybe the night after. Maybe I'll get into the Uberman schedule. I hope not. I have no desire to become nocturnal. Those these ciestas are becoming a common occurrence. After greater consideration, ciestas are too short. It's more intense than that. Much more. I'm quite stiff. All over. And losing weight. I'm concerned about that a bit. I'm pulling long hours. But I've felt great about my test scores thus far, so I'm not likely to stop.

The Scroll is a continual disappointment, a matter of shame. They're publishing bloggers now. Like it's hip or something. Too bad they picked an idiot, some bible belt blogger or something. I'll try to find a link to it. They guy argued that Bush should build his presidential library in Rexburg, after having the proposal to build it at
his wife's alma mater rejected by the school. He argues that because of it's overwhelming support of the Republican party Rexburg would be the perfect place. I do not contest that, it is overwhelming like Republican. So much so that I received audible gasps and commendation from the professor for my bravery to "come out" as a Democrat. It was weird. Kind of liberating. But I don't think I surprised a whole lot if they had paid attention, several comments in previous class periods had suggested my political persuasion. He describes Southern Methodist University as "a liberal college campus". Wow. I can't say I'm familiar with that school, having only breezed through the Wikipedia article, but it seems pretty bold, but then again, everything looks liberal compared to BYU-I. What really strikes me as odd is when he, for some, reason mentions the religious demographics of Rexburg stating, "Rexburg doesn't have any Methodist bishops-- or any Methodist churches for that matter. Heck, there's not a Methodist church in the entire county." That seems like a good reason why Bush not would want to put his library here, also because Rexburg sucks. No, thanks Lockwood. http://www.biblebeltblogger.com/biblebelt/2007/01/forget_about_sm.html

Need to get to that Meeting. HARD.

Monday, February 05, 2007


I was tired..I was just brushing my teeth, thinking about how nice it'd be to go to bed. That song, from Sesame Street, Everybody Sleeps started going through my head. It was taunting me, in a way, but I dismissed it, because it is delightful. But it came back, stronger. I began to think: This could be really annoying after a while. I thought about a man, tormented by insomnia, that song...

Also, the faucet in the bathroom is broken. It will turn to Hot so far that it turns to Cold. Completely around. It is possessed. Now to try and get Adam to cut my hair. He's getting married or something. I don't try to keep up. It's closer to two a.m. than it is not, yet we're all still awake. And I plan to get up early tomorrow too! Adventure!

Friday, February 02, 2007

The words and the bees

It is so cold today that the children don't have school. It was warm before today. My father said, "Maybe that Al gore is on to something." It took him a while to come along, I'm surprised they denied it ever. The way he demonizes the gays as minions of Satan or whatever (never listened that closely to his tirades), I'm surprised global warming wasn't previously considered a part of the Fullness of Times. The latter looks to sell.
It feels like a cold day, like it should be. There hasn't been much snow. The ice was caking and cracking on sidewalks. I like to step on the edges where it arcs over the land it covered previously, even though I drift side to side on the sidewalk, looking like an ass, trying to stomp them. It makes a satisfying crunch, sometimes a crack. Wonderful.
I did some research; terrifying. It was for a grade, why else would I face such abyss? It was silly really. It is silly. Why would I want to become a beekeeper? How could I become one? Why would I want to be a writer? How could I become one? Neither is viable; they require support. I have too much of a fondness for the semicolon anyways. Beekeepers never use the semicolon. Really, it's funny looking. I think that's why everyone hates the semicolon. And no one knows what it does. I do, but still wonder if I should. It's like a drug, the semicolon. I rarely use the colon anymore. It makes me think of poop. Maybe I need more fiber.
I stole it: The data. I stole it. The terms of service say I can't do a lot of things with the data without their written consent. They posted it on the Internet. They don't want it cached without their consent. I wonder if Google wrote them. I don't think I'll mention it. None of you mention it either.
I've been thinking a lot lately, but not enough about my classes. Though really, beekeepers don't need to go to college. Bees sting them all the time, and
apiarists don't even give a crap. Like ninjas. Everything seems to go back to that. I suppose it is childish, but I see no harm in the vice, moreover, I have no desire to release it. I thought it was rather silly, perhaps that is not the best word, but my procrastination period grows dimmer by the minute thus I have no time to revise, that the career research library on campus does not include criminal as an option. That is, it was not in the file cabinet, I suppose I should have asked the secretary. There are any number of illegitimate careers they aren't training us for.
It's become a terrible thing, the way I've been thinking of things. That fiction class and that career class. Horrible things. I can't shake narration. I sit on the toilet and think about the duality of myself and its applications in literate possibilities. When urine sprays, obfuscated by a rogue hair, I leave the water closet thinking of how that could be used in a novel. I haven't been writing it all down as I should have; I don't want to believe it's come to that yet, or I just can't focus myself, I haven't been doing it yet. I still fall victim to that silly belief that I may be able to recall all these things later. I don't have any stories yet. I don't know. I can't shake my constant feelings of confliction. Conflict Ion. That's what it suggests. Oh, blogger, you are a machine.
I don't feel well. I will blame the pressures this weekend present, never myself for dealing with them poorly. I blame myself for much bigger things than failing to reread novels. I've already read it, isn't that enough? No, it isn't; I know this, but will I actually bother to? Probably not. I don't make wise decisions.
I should start using the first person plural. That is how We feel. Conversations of inadequacies bring it up, though I never state it. How silly is it to blame only part of yourself? At that moment, We blamed the part that was, but also the part that wasn't for making the other part be not it. We are sure that doesn't make sense. But really, I should be speaking as a singular, because there are never two of me at once. I blame that part of we, but cannot help but feel that I, being a product of that we, am also to blame for not being I all the time. It is confusing, I am sure. I think about Duality a lot, but I've never even looked up the word. It sounds nice though. I don't expect you to understand (yet), I think that may be my life's work, though I also hope it isn't; it seems so insignificant. I aspire to greater things, but we do not. You can see, I am conflicted. Can you love Me, but not We? I feel like you do.
But feelings change. I hate I, being I, because he is so moody. Really, We are so moody. I heard it described: lambda. That's how I think of it now. It was very reassuring to know that I wasn't going crazy, or rather that it wasn't a symptom of it. I am being nondescript; I apologize. Does that make it easier? It's easier to when the variables are undefined, but what does it mean then? The blog doesn't have units for those sorts of things. There are other reasons I hate I, and it is important to realize that I is a function of time, being present now. I don't expect understanding, I would not demand it. Now I use words again with different meaning. Does anyone understand what I am saying. I am merely typing it. The flow. I don't think I want to write stream of consciousness, I am not that great at reading stream of consciousness. I don't think I have the imagination for it, at least, compared to people in my fiction class who described a sort of self-substitution with the protagonist. It seemed strange, a sort of empathy so honed, or the opposite, that disbelief was suspended, characters not only became real, but became Them. I didn't even think the book was that good. Perhaps I couldn't suspend my disbelief as well. Seriously.
I suppose I should stop. I didn't know where it was going. Perhaps I should allow that to continue further in other things, but do I have the time for such endeavors? I cannot be certain, though I suspect 'No'. With so much time spent trying to figure out who I am, or We are, or whatever. We am. I don't know why, but I find it quite euphonious. Maybe I need a typewriter. Maybe I need to stop letting(?) my thoughts hijack myself. Perhaps I need thoughts. This isn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. Read into that, I'm not sure what it means.
Accidental symbolism. Like when I cut my finger on my Career Inventory Surveys that I printed out, also for that class. I just thought of that now, or rather was reminded of it. It was something I thought of in a creative writing class I took in high school. I really sucked in that class. I had no stories to tell. I am out of time. But the thought I had then was simply to insert things that might have some symbolic meaning, or c/would acquire them through the course of the narrative, that the reader could then differentiate at their own pace, with little effort on my part. It strikes me as odd now, that I have learned that both Faulkner and Hemingway did similar things, though such is a rather bold statement on my part. And perhaps rather inaccurate as well. Hemingway had his iceberg theory and Faulkner was so dense that... I don't know. I'm out of time to write, still have things to finish, and I don't have time to refine and support such bold arguments on my behalf. Perhaps later, I tell myself, but I know this to be a lie. I'm getting pretty good at telling those. Really, I should be done now.