Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not hard being alone. Don’t let them make you feel inferior for being lonely; for missing arms wrapped around you at nighttime. Don’t let anyone act like missing your someone makes you weak. Don’t let them tell you that you have no right to be lonesome. Love is the best reason in the world to feel lonely. 

Tummy Love

The other day, while I was working, I was given perhaps the best compliment of all time: "You look so good! Your tummy is adorable!" As a "fat girl", most compliments consist of things like "you're not fat" or "have you lost weight?" or "you look so skinny" which is all fine and dandy, but it continues this unspoken prejudice against chubby ladies. It makes the assumption that being chubby is the opposite of being attractive and can be really damaging to someone who walks around with more weight than others may. It may not seem like a big deal, this person commenting on my tummy, but it made a massive difference to me. Her asserting that I am both attractive and chubby was simply delightful, and gave me a massive self-esteem boost entirely unrelated to how thin or fat I look.
I am trying to remember that I am lovely at pretty much whatever weight, and that I should only make efforts to lose weight for myself-- not for others or to shift the way people look at me.
Today, I'm happy to be a little bit fat.

Hamlet meets High School

I've spent the last few days substituting English classes at my old high school, and I have to say, I don't know how these teachers do this every day for years. Years of desperately trying to teach these kids something to no avail (at least most of the time). I have so much respect for these teachers now. I never really realized how much there is to teaching at a high school: grading, budgets, textbooks, curriculum, unwilling students, and miles of red tape. I have little patience for it.
I have learned, though, that I have a unique set of interests. I love making copies, putting in grades, organizing, and even reading up on curriculum. What I really dislike is being put in front of a group of kids who are forced to be here every day, and would much rather be doing practically anything else, and be expected to teach them something. I hate trying to control that demographic, and I loathe trying to teach them something that I'm passionate about just to see them role their eyes and release loaded sighs. It's so infuriating to see such blatant disrespect for, well... just about everything.
If these kids actually cared, I wouldn't mind so much (at least in theory).
For example, the past few days the Juniors have been reading Hamlet and watching different performances of the text: 1996 film, 2009 BBC Performance, and the Mel Gibson film. I get really into this sort of thing. I love Shakespeare and cherish every (almost) performance I see of his plays. So watching these films with the class while reading the play was a ton of fun for me, but I was not met with the same enthusiasm. Most kids fell asleep during the movies, or were texting the whole time, which has been incredibly infuriating for me. I don't understand how you can have such a beautiful thing-- these amazing words and lines-- and sleep through it!
Suffice it to say, teaching is not for me.

I feel like this is relevant in relation to yesterday's post... 

Adulting

Sometimes I get feeling all down on myself because I'm 19 and still living at home with my parents. Granted, I have a job and a bank account and am going to school, but I still feel like I ought to be more. I ought to be paying my own rent and car insurance and buying a more significant portion of my groceries. I start feeling like I'm immature and incapable and generally a very lazy, unaccomplished person. And then I visit my old high school.
In the past year since I graduated I have grown up a LOT. I never realize how much until I'm hanging out with a bunch of pre-graduates. I have noticed that kids never actually speak to each other, but rather yell at each other. And while they're yelling, everyone around them is yelling to, and they're all complaining about how noisy is it, and they then proceed to criticize the people around them for being so immature. And it gets louder and louder until the walls are vibrating and windows are breaking, and they just yell louder over the noise of the world crumbling around them and their yelling.
The best part about high schoolers, though, is how bloody self centered they are. I mean, as a general rule humans are pretty narcissistic and self involved, but high schoolers seem to have selected this one trait of humanity (as opposed to, you know, decency or kindness or, you know, humanity) is this idea that existence revolves around our very selves. They all seem to think that they are the pinnacle of maturity and wit. They're in for a surprise once they graduate I guess..
ANYWAYS. Adulting.
Adulting is basically just trying really really hard to do something, and then failing. And then trying again. It's a futile existence: Work, spend money, work, spend money... I truly don't understand why I was so ready to reach it. I don't see what all the fuss is about. Adulting is poo.
...
...
This has been a post.

Trip to Oregon

The past week I have spent with my brothers in Portland. Since I've gotten back to Utah, everyone keeps asking me "what did you do in Oregon?", which has been a complex question for me to answer. Of course, I did things and went places and saw things, but the focus of the entire trip was spending time with my brothers. The majority of my time was spent at their apartment watching television or reading a book-- just being in the same room as them was exquisite.
David and I had a lot of little chats late at night, talking about everything between puppies and mental health issues. We would drive around the city a lot. He'd show my the most beautiful roads and his favorite houses and stores in the area. We visited a forest in the area and took a short hike and sat on a bench in the middle of the forest for the better part of an hour in complete silence- just looking. It was moments like that I think I enjoyed the most. Simply existing together.
I'm back in Utah now, though, which is a total bummer. It's nice to be with my parents again, but I miss being with my brothers and especially miss not working. I am a bit of a free-loader, I have to admit... Anyways. So that was my trip to Oregon, sorry it's not jam-packed with action and excitement. It looks like my brothers and I are fairly chill together.

I stumbled upon the most incredible program called Silk. You can create amazing art pieces like this on the program with all sorts of different dimensions, colors, and reflections. Give it a go!

Portland, OR

Yesterday morning, I ventured on a new adventure: Navigating an airport by myself. Security, surprisingly, was not the worst part, but rather the plane itself. I really hated that. I was seated in a middle seat next to two older ladies so there wasn't anything to talk about and plus, they took up both of the armrests so I was squished the whole ride. Then of course there's the discomfort of flying in of itself: changes in air pressure, turbulence, loudness... I tried to pretend it was a roller coaster when we were taking off, which was actually helpful, but the rest of the flight, the whole roller coaster analogy doesn't work so well. Very boring. But it was all worth it once I finally got off the plane. I did get lost in PDX, but eventually found my way.
My brothers, David and Kylan were waiting for me and I have to admit I got so excited I dropped all my luggage and pounced. This is the first time I've seen them in months, and the past few weeks have been so hard for me without them. I've missed them deeply, and somehow felt lost and alone without them around. We went to their apartment (which was a lot cleaner than I thought it would be, though that's not saying much) and Kylan made crepes while I registered for Fall Semester and David talked with his old high-school buddy Brendan. For a bit, I felt this trip was anticlimactic, but it should be mentioned that the boys stayed up all night just to be sure they wouldn't sleep through my plane landing (they apparently usually sleep late into the afternoon and go to bed in the morning).
We all had breakfast together with Brendan and a couple of their friends: Peggy and Chris. Peggy was super sweet to me, and as a bonus thought I was over 21 which was exciting for me as I am most often mistaken for a 14 year old (or a 16 year old on a good day). After they left, the boys and I just hung out for a while, chatting and catching up. Kylan opened his birthday presents (I guess I forgot to mention it... Kylan's birthday was yesterday!) and then went to this amazing movie theatre. The theatre has couches and recliners as opposed to classic seats, and there is an incredible restaurant attached to the theatre. They bring you courses throughout the movie. So, we watched the Avengers and ate a variety of delicious, deep fried dishes.
Of course, David and Kylan both passed out during the movie, sleeping through the whole thing. It was wonderful to just be in the same room as them, though. After the movie, we drove around Portland for a bit before returning to their apartment. Kylan went straight to bed, but David and I stayed up late talking and watching netflix (by watching netflix, I really mean thumbing through hundreds of shows saying "nah... no... uh-uh..." and so on). Eventually David passed out and I was left alone. I couldn't help thinking about how happy I am to be here, and how odd it is that we can get together after such a long time apart and be just the same as we always were... it's like no time has passed. But still, so much has changed. We live so far away from each other now, and rarely get to talk. We're leading these almost entirely separate lives, and sometimes that feels so isolating to me. The three of us are all grown up. No more playing Magic in the basement, no more romping through the woods looking for secret bridges, no more fighting over stuffed animals. We're grown ups now, and that makes all the difference. But we are still friends and more than that, siblings, so I guess that's not gonna change either.
I'm so happy that I got the chance to come down here and be with the boys. I love them and have missed them more than I can possibly say. I think this is exactly what I needed.

Feminism & Humanism are two very different things-- That's Important!

Check out this really cool project a feminist artist did in Los Angeles. I was thinking that I should probably try and do something like this in my hometown. I feel like a huge part of teaching people about feminism is by making it readily available through art, movies, music... Everything we can! It's such an important thing to learn about-- if for no better reason than to know what exactly it is you stand against. I'm tired of hearing arguments against feminism that consist solely of statements similar to "not all men" or "feminazis just think they're better than men" or even "your sexist against men". It's about so much more-- it's about a balance of power. It's about overcoming centuries of oppression. It's about equality. I have heard many, many times that if feminism's goal were to create equality, then why is it called feminism? Why isn't it called humanism? After a very long time pondering this, I finally realized that in order to create equality, rights for women need to be raised in order to match the rights of men. Increasing rights for both men and women at the same time, as humanism strives to, would be amazing of course, but would not achieve the end goal of equality.
Anyways. I've been giving this sort of thing a lot of thought and wanted to share a glimpse of my thinking. As an afterthought- there's this rad thing called Third-Wave-Feminism which has an emphasis on equality of races, genders, sexual orientation, and identification (not to mention loads of other neato and equally important things that I'm having trouble remembering at the moment...) Give it a google or something sometime if you're feeling curious. Or bored, I suppose. Learning is always the easiest way to combat boredom.

Future Librarian?

There's a position as a librarian at my local public library and I am DYING to have the job! As a kid, my mother was the librarian for a high school, so I spent a lot of time in the library reading, sorting, even checking in and out books. It was such an amazing atmosphere to be in and it would be a dream come true to work as a real librarian!
I think I'm going to apply and just hope for the best...

Saving Grace

Okay, well I wrote another story and I'm interested in other people's thoughts on it... If you'd like to read it, please have a go and let me know what you thought! 

As a note before you start... I had to extend the story but I'm not sure how I feel about it... I'll put the extension in a different color, so you can maybe comment separately. Thanks, guys! 

Saving Grace

In a small city, on the sketchy side of town, sat an insignificant building hidden behind a line of stores and fast food joints, as if it had something to hide. A vast parking lot separated this building and the others, and in this lot stood a group of venomous people holding various signs and chanting something that had long ago lost its vibrancy and melted into the white noise of the road. The door to the facility was thick and metal, guarding those inside from the group in the lot. The clinic was not as one may expect a medical facility to be. The wallpaper was piss-yellow and shedding from the walls, the ceiling occasionally molted little flakes of paint or plaster, and the smell was comparable to that of a gas station washroom-- sticky and vaguely artificial. The reception area of the clinic was defined by cheap motel paintings and silk flowers coated with a dense layer of dust. Around the room, padded with a thin stip of maroon felt, chairs delineated the walls. In these chairs sat a diverse group of women ranging from ages 15 to 30. Most seemed fairly nonchalant, but in one corner crouched an emaciated woman gnawing at the stubs of what once were nails.

She’d first visited the clinic at 17, and swore she would never come again. At the time she didn’t have a choice, but now, 24 and on her own, it seemed absurd that she was here. Again. Things ought to be different by now. She ought to be ready. Prepared. Mature. She’s not a kid anymore. But here she sat, in the waiting room of a place that had a 1-800 number. The room had not changed since she was last here. The same vase of flowers sat on the same coffee-stained table in the same corner. She peered across the room at the receptionist, trying to remember if she were the same as last time. The receptionist glanced up and caught her staring. The glare she got in return confirmed her suspicions: the receptionist recognized her. After seven years working in this hole, why hasn’t she offed herself yet?  She grimaced.

The door swung open and in walked another girl. Her mascara and nose were already running. The receptionist shoved a stack of paperwork at her and the girl slogged to a chair in the opposite corner of the room. She watched the girl cry over the paperwork and thought of her first visit to the Women’s Clinic. She had been about the same age as Mascara-Face and just as scared. At the time, she thought she had loved this boy, but first loves always end in heartbreak. He stopped talking to her after he found out, and later moved to a new city. Didn’t want the “situation” following him anymore. Her parents took her to the clinic just a week after the news broke, and wouldn’t consider an alternative. As just a kid, she had no choice but to follow along. The office door swung open and she was snatched from memory by an older woman scanning the room. She spoke gently, “Erin? Erin Marcotte?” Erin walked as calmly as she could manage to the nurse, trying to disguise her violently shaking hands. Mascara-Face noticed and lapsed into another wave of tears.

They walked to an exam room where Erin changed into a hospital gown and laid down on the cold metal table. The nurse spoke again, her voice wavering, “Erin, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s an invasive procedure…” Erin cut her off.

“I know.”

“You’ve done this before, yes?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a strong girl.” The nurse patted her hand gently and swept out of the room. Erin looked about,  fighting the urge to vomit. She battled to forget the last time she was here. She tried to think of her boyfriend and her job and her student loans. She tried to remember all the reasons she had for coming back, but she couldn’t help picturing a different kind of life. A life of bottles and toys and tiny shoes. A life of family. Her eyes watered. Some sacrifices she wasn’t willing to make. Tears overflowed onto her cheeks when the doctor entered the room, closing the door behind him with a note of finality.

…

The door of the clinic slammed shut behind Erin as she left. Tears trailing down her cheeks, she walked defiantly past the protesters and to her car. She opened the door, gingerly maneuvered into the seat and smiled, tears still running down her face. Elaine. Gracie. Daniel. Benjamin. Erin sat in the drivers seat, running through what happened just minutes ago inside the clinic. Inside that linoleum hell. It had been the same as last time, right up until her feet nestled into the stirrups. The doctor was under her legs and she could feel the cold clinic air creeping in between her legs and grasping at Gracie or Daniel or Benjamin. The gap between legs kept shrinking until finally, she burst.

“No! No stop! Stop! Stop stop stop!” The doctor didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even say anything. He just stopped. Rushing from the exam room, she didn’t bother looking at the other girls. She just ran. All the while thinking Carrie. Delilah. Jacob. Ford. Jane.

Humming gently, Erin drove from the clinic into the parking lot of a Sears. She walked briskly through the store to the back, where hundreds of miniature outfits hung from the walls and began to stroll by, running her fingers across the dozens of fabrics and colors. The tips of her fingers lingered on an infinitesimal pair of shoes for a moment before she lifted them from their spot and carried them to the front.

“Congratulations!” The young red-haired cashier beamed at Erin.

“Thank you.” Erin returned to the car and was driving to her apartment when she had a crushing realization. She needed to talk to Mark. She and Mark had met in college, and while she didn’t particularly like him, he worshipped her. Erin resisted a relationship at first, but was flattered by his devotion and figured a handful of nights together wouldn’t be so awful. Years passed, and Erin still found herself with him. She never had stopped to consider why, but rather took it as the way things were and accepted it. Mark was there. He was reliable. Mark was… fine. But fine didn’t cut it anymore, and Erin knew it. It’s had to be love. Passion. Excitement. Not merely presence. Not anymore.

Mark and his house appeared outside the car sooner than Erin had hoped they would. As she pulled to the curb and got out of the car, she breathed deep and prepared herself for what lay ahead. Minutes ahead as well as months ahead. This was for the best.

“Mark?”

“Sweetie!!” Mark barreled towards her, and her hand flew to her stomach. He stopped short. “What’s up baby? You okay?” He took her hand.

“Mark, I need to talk to you.”

“Ok.” He smiled at her, waiting.

“Um. Uh, well, Mark, um.” Erin searched for the words to say, and failed to find them.

“Sweetie, what’s up? You can tell me anything.” He kissed her cheek.

“Um. Well, Mark, hun, I think that maybe… I think that maybe we should… you know… not see each other so much… um… you know? Like… maybe take a break or something… I think that would be good… for, um,  you… and… well, me.”

“What?” He asked. Erin took another deep breath.

“Let’s break up.” She spat out. “We should break up.” Erin waited for a reaction from Mark, watching his face twist in stages of shock, anger, desperation, and ,finally, sadness.

“I love you, Erin. I love you a lot.”

“I know you do, but I… I don’t Mark. I just don’t. And it’s not fair to me or to--” Megan. Joseph. Rose. “-- or to you.” Mark nodded once, kissed her cheek once again, and retreated into the house. Erin climbed into the car for a final time. It was getting dark now, and she was ready to go home. She hummed as she drove, running through an endless list of names. Caleb. Joanne. Francisco. And up the stairs. Jerry. Mary. Jaqueline. And finally into her apartment. Jenna. Sean. Jeremy.

Erin collapsed onto her bed and pulled two tiny shoes from her purse. She set them gently on the nightstand, turned off the light, and snuggled under the covers.

“Gracie, I think.” She said out loud.

In Memorium

So sorry I haven't updated this week...
On Sunday, a friend and peer of mine was murdered. We graduated together just last year, and his death came as a real shock to me. He was walking home late at night (or rather early in the morning) when he was shot to death in a drive by shooting. The police don't seem to know much about what happened, so I personally feel like it's unlikely the murderers will be caught.
What is most horrifying to me is that he was the kindest, sweetest person I've had the great honor of knowing. He was so generous and kind to everyone; I never heard him say a single mean thing to or about anyone. He had a contagious laugh, smile, and gave possibly the biggest hugs in existence. His loss is shocking in the first place, but when you consider the violence of it all.. It's just... It's really horrifying.
Anyways. We held a candlelight memorial for him. We put candles and flowers, even little tokens, on the corner where he was killed. It was cool to see everyone come together to remember him.
He was really an incredible person.

Feeling Nostalgic

Last night was one of the best nights I've had in a while. I had a lovely dinner with my parents to celebrate the end of my first year of college. We chatted and ate delicious food and it was so nice to just be around each other for a bit. I think it's so easy to take our families for granted, and while it may be a cliche, it's important to remember that they'll be around no matter what.
Speaking of family, I get to visit Portland next week and stay with my brothers! I've been talking about going down there for years, ever since David moved, and it's finally happening. We bought the plane tickets yesterday, I got time off work, and I'm starting to pack. It's going to be amazing to spend some time with the boys-- we hardly ever get to be together anymore. I see them in tiny pockets of time when they're down here, but of course my life doesn't get to go on break to spend more time with them. There's still always work or school or responsibilities. But for 5 blissful days, I get to be 100% relaxed and free!
I didn't realize how close I am to my family until recently. I used to figure that everyone texted their parents every day and skyped their siblings whenever possible. I thought that everyone still held their dad's hand in the grocery store (this is embarrassing to me as an almost-20-something, but what can I say? He's great at hand holding!) Thinking back, we've always been this way. Obviously there were squabbles, and indeed massive blow-up fights, but it always kind of took the backseat when things got serious. While I love my friends, and I love being independent and young or whatever, I think that my family will always come first. They know me better than anyone else in the world, and they know all the crap I've pulled, and they still love me. That's pretty neat.
I was looking through a few old photos and found these gems. The oldest brother is Kylan, the middle is David, and the only girl is me, and then of course there's mom and dad.

Mom is holding me (I appear to be squirming), then next to me is David, and then Kylan. They're holding their brand-new rubberband guns, which they tormented me with for years to come.

Kylan, Me, and David in front of Yellowstone's famous "Old Faithful"

Same trip, with Dad standing next to his Kiddos.