The Art of Dying

These are my last days.
These are my last moments.
These are the last pictures these eyes will see.
This is my last smile, to the last boy I will talk to.
The sun is brighter through my window, knowing it will die when I go.
And for this moment, this last fleeting moment, the world seems so perfect to me. So wonderful in all it's simple plainness I wonder why I wanted to leave it.
The pool I found boring, the pink sun kissed skin, splashes, all better than before.
The air is crisper, the time faster.
I love the art of dying.
But I love the art of living even more.


I, am happy.

Appreciate your location in life

Funniest thing? I just got to end my job, my (mostly, always) boring job that was super stressful and that I was absolutely horrible at, and as I sit in my house I look around me and think "What the heck am I going to do?" I always appreciated my job, knew that it made me money, and that I could NOT have a job and how much that was going to suck. And even as I was preparing myself to quit I kind of paded my goodbye, I psyched myself up, telling myself I WAS going to miss things but that I would be okay, that I might very well find moments where I wish I hadn't quit it so early because I could and would and will get bored.

But as I sat in my room and glanced around I got this feeling, this creepy, small, lonely feeling, that my life had so much more meaning in it when I had a job. That I had people that depended on me, that I had something I would plan around, that I had this wonderful constant in my life, and now that's gone.

It's making me sad in a completely different way. Never, ever, under appreciate what you have, even if you think you aren't, there's always something you aren't putting into the equation. And that something is always the one that comes up and bites you in the butt later.

A reasonably priced ticket

I am on the hunt for a reasonably priced ticket. Possible you say? Not. The tickets were originally $35.00 and that's how much I bought mine for. Well being the idiot I am I didn't buy a second. Why? Cause no one wanted to go with me but now well people want to go but I have no second ticket and the concert is now sold out. What that means for me? Triple prices on the tickets, if I'm lucky. I have now posted asking for a ticket for around $75 (not gonna happen) but I have also emailed people for tickets all around $100 (hope they still have them). So now I wait. Am I willing to go higher? Yes. Why? Because the ticket is for my sister and....well I'm a sucker for my sister. And everyone should have the chance to see Mumford and Sons in concert.

ALSO!!

I have a theory going. Wait for it.....I'm lucky.

No wrong word. I'm...blessed.

In the little things. This concert for one, remember this post?, and then I got to go to Disneyland and I was running late to church last week and I STILL made the sacrament (they usually get to that post haste) and just...well little things. I love it. So now I am on this little endeavour and we shall see how it all turns out. I'm so excited!

Hopefully I didn't just jinx myself.

Unhealthy habit

Ever just say 'screw it'? Ever? Not even in a 'I'm going to forget about everything I have been taught in life and go on a drunken coked out murder rampage while naked' but in a 'let's go look at that one guys profile'. You know the guy. The one that "got away". I hate that term. It's dumb. And this post has alot of quotation marks, also unhealthy. Anyway I have this boy. I don't know if he ever got away because I really never got him. But he is very special to me because...well because I just really liked him. And I have this thing where if I liked you long enough and thought you were amazing enough, even if NOTHING ever happened, I will always hold that little part inside of me. That part that liked you.

So this boy Jason*, I liked allot. But we met in unfortunate circumstances (he was on his mission aka married to the Lord, literally. More unavailable than if he really was married) and so we were simply friends. But we were really really good friends. Like really good. As in...unnaturally good. Or maybe that was just me. But he came to our house A LOT. And we're members. So he didn't need to come to our house so much. But he did and I saw how funny and spiritual and nice and decent and amazing he was and I slowly grew a little crush that just kept growing and growing (because the Lord was in on it and he didn't move for FOUR FREAKING MONTHS) until one day I looked at him and well went all gooey eyed. And it was just bad.

So finally he got transferred well low and behold he was zone leader so he came by with the new guys. Nice thanks Jason. And then he came by again (and this was awesome because the new missionaries NEVER CAME BACK until this time) and then one last time and it was literally his last time. He came by to have us sign his journal because he was moving far away and wouldn't be able to visit. Well I was having a bad day and was held up in my room stinky, no shower, in bum clothes, didn't plan on moving for as long as possible and bam Jason's saying he won't leave until I come sign his journal. Well I was stubborn and said I wasn't coming out. And then Jordan called me out to the fact that you know I liked this guy and he was leaving and I could throw my email address in his journal and he could look me up after his mission. So finally after a couple minutes of inner debate (no, I didn't take the time to put on some make up or fix my hair I debated on going out there[and yes he really was waiting]) I finally went and he looked beautiful and I felt dumb but I signed his journal and I tried to make it funny and yes I did put my email address down. And my swanky mom managed to snag his as well and then he was gone.

And...suddenly I don't feel like finishing this story. It doesn't have a happy ending. It...he never got back to me. I emailed him and he never said anything and he never emailed me and then one day I found him on fb (yes I was looking) and I added him and he still, he never talks to me. And now I'm serving my mission forty miles from where he lives and I don't have the heart to tell him.

I had given up on him. Waiting and waiting, hurting, pining for him, hating myself because I thought I wasn't good enough. Until I finally said: no more, I can't keep hurting for this man. And then the dreams started. I never once dreamed of Jason while he was here or while I was hurting for him. It wasn't until after I gave him up that I had a dream and it was a bad one. He was mean to me. Horribly, horribly mean. Called me names and said what was wrong with me and why he would never want me. And it just opened up the can of worms all over again. I was hurt, hurt almost as much as if he would have said it to me himself, and then I was just mad. So mad I had half a mind to tell him off on fb. But I didn't. I somehow controlled the urge to throttle him and slowly I got over him again. I focused on my mission and where the lord wanted me to be. And life was good again.

And now! Now I'm forty miles from his freaking house! What. the. eff. Why?!?!? WHY!?!?!? And to top that all off I just had another dream. But this time it was a marriage dream. He wanted to marry me. He was engaged and saw me and decided to leave his boo thang for me. What is this?? Is this some sort of growing experience? Some sort of...torture? I mean if this is some amazing way of bringing us together than yeah cool awesome but if not....well than it is just rude.

SO the point of the story and then the rant is because this morning I woke up and decided a year a half of my life was pointless and checked out pictures of Jason. And he looked wonderful. And now I'm sad. The end.

*names have been changed.

My Wound

I have a wound on my hand today. My left hand to be exact. And this wound I wear with pride. Allot of pride. It isn't that much of a wound. The upper palm, right below my fingers, is swollen and tender. How did I get such a weird wound you ask. Easy, baseball.

Amazing baseball.

Baseball with my Dad. Baseball I haven't played with my Dad in years. It was magical.

So today I wear the wound with pride. And the second this wound is gone and I can catch balls again you will find me at the park playing. Because I'm 88 days and counting. And that my friend means baseball with my Dad, magical baseball that ended at the tender age of thirteen when I showed I was too wimpy to actually catch the ball, is back on. 88 days of the sport I didn't know I loved. But most importantly: 88 days with my Dad.

My Grandma is my home girl

That was a lie. Cause she is so much more than that. She's amazing. I went to visit her today. It had been a couple weeks and I wanted her opinion and honestly it was kind of a miracle I got over to her because I have not been feeling down to do anything that involved me having to be active, participate, or didn't include food (it's been a rough couple weeks). So I show up, and play with my rad baby cousin and then the house kind of clears out (perfect setting, also unexpected given that I went with two other people and she lives with four other people [all of whom should have been there]) and I start my....expedition. "I need your advice..." I always want her advice. Cause she's perfect. She's lived through so much, she's one of the strongest ladies I know, and she takes everything in stride. She isn't judgemental and she's very kind about her advice. And so we get through my question. And I sit there and she asks me about a going away party and when I'm suppose to go to the temple and when my farewell is and when my talk is and how my family is doing and where my boundaries are and if there is a temple in Oklahoma. And I sit there and answer her questions and she just starts talking and talking. Which was odd my grandma is usually the listener. And I just let her talk and talk and talk and plan and want things and congratulate me. And I start to tear up a little and I don't know why but suddenly I feel very small and very venerable and I want her to stop and I try to get her to stop but she doesn't she's so excited and happy and nervous for me. And then she looks at me and says "You've done enough. The Lord has your back and I have your back and I want to do this." And I tell her that isn't necessary but she is adamant and talks about how I can't do it all. And she keeps talking and talking and I'm listening I really am but I don't remember what she said because all I can think about is how she has my back and how the Lord has my back and how....how I didn't want to be vulnerable, I didn't want to be weak. But the tougher I tried to be, the more I hardened my heart, the less I let the Lord in. And suddenly I can fix how I feel and I get back on track and no it wasn't going to be easy but I would be relying on the Lord and he would be there for me. And that was better than being hard. And I thank her again and again and again and she says she wanted to plan the party and I smile a little and tell her how much more she has done for me. But she doesn't understand and I all I can do is thank her. So again I say: Grandma you are my home girl. You are my counselor. You are my friend. And you are one of the strongest people I know.

Nothing. And Romance.

I want music. But good music. Music that speaks to your blood. That makes your heart race and your toes curl. That caresses your skin and tells you fairy tales of men and places, people and feelings. That takes you through an entire story and at the end says "You've been here before." I want that kind of music. And I'm not finding it. I'm stuff about front seats and back seats. What my name is. Who my doctor is. How someones boyfriend is an alien. How the world is ending...but we are going to just keep on dancing. It's getting ridiculous. But what this is really about is my dream last night. My naked dream. But not in a bad way. I was totally aware of it. Some guy friends came by and I was all naky and they were like "Want to go to the store?" And I was like "Guys I'm naked." And they were like "Dude! We were thinking about going to the store naked too!" And it was decided. I would go to the store naked. And we walked. And I was holding a baby blanket, that was not covering the goods, and a lawn chair. Odd. And we were like, heading to Vons and I was totally cool with me being naked. Until I saw the bus full of children and my morals kicked in and I was like "Oh crap schools out. Guys I can't be naked in front of kids." And I was suddenly self conscious that they had clothes on and I didn't. And they were cool with it. They just shrugged and we turned around and I glided home on my cool lawn chair. And then something else happened after that. I think we went to...a theme park? Idk I just had clothes on in that part of the dream. Weird. My other dream, which I think is a total sign, was of a zombie apocolypse. And I was rockin it. And Preston W. was there. And he was not rockin it. He kept letting infected people in. I don't care if it's your gf she ain't coming in our makeshift hut! Gah! So frustrating. But yeah, I was taking down some peeps. On the for reals. Just come to my house when the Zombie apocolypse happens. It's cool.

Big happy smiley happy face

So I noticed going through my posts that I'm kind of a downer. Or maybe just that last post was super ridiculously sad and bitter so here comes a super happy happiness post. My broham (Charles) plays lacrosse and his team has been winning but wait for it....last game he scored FIVE of the...I think TEN POINTS. What what?!?! Yeah, the only athletic Hanshew. Represent. My mish. What what?!?! Yeah. Oklahoma better be ready! Cause I know I am. The fam bam. Craziness cuteness pie. They want to throw a going away party for me. Three months before I leave. The idea still makes me laugh. I think I'm holding them back pretty well though. I keep telling them I have ZERO friends. They laugh at that and say 'Then it can be a family party." Sweet. Work. Suck. Skip. Books. Yeah! I can read! And I love it! Succession of three days off. Yeah. Have to take it. Whatevs. Maybe I will go back to D Land. Yes ma'am. Running....you suck, skipping as well. Clothes. Oh what up?!?! I don't know how to dress for Oklahoma. It's kind of embarrassing. Whatevs they're all hillbillies down there anyway. I'll fit right in. Um....that is all.....at least on the happiness scale. I'm just a flurry of all things emotional. Cool. Keep it real people. Keep. It. Real.

One flew over the cuckoos nest

Sometimes I feel like I'm crazy.
And some days I feel like I'm the only sane person in the world.
And then there are days where I feel like everyone is crazy and all you can do is manuever your own craziness.
And then theres today.

Today is just a timecapsle of wth? People. You're the spice of life. I got it. But seriously, can't you just leave me alone? I don't want to deal with people, or see people, or hear about people, or have to talk to people. I'm tired of people.

Not all people obviously. My boss=superman. He's amazing. It's ridiculous.
My mom=Called me 'cool' yesterday. Actually I believe she said I was 'so cool'. I don't think anyone has ever just come out and said I was cool. It was kind of magical.
My fam=spice of life. My life at least.

But everyone else can go the heck away. On the serious. I'm tired of you. I'm tired of dramatics. I'm tired of craziness (especially if it isn't my OWN). I'm tired of manuevering around being nice and politically correct, or even socially correct, or even just correct. I don't want to be hurt that someone isn't talking to me. Or they're angry because I didn't talk to them as much as I did to someone else. Or simply because I was there.

HOW DO THE PEOPLE OF JERSEY SHORE DO IT?!?!?!?!

I wish I had a bunch of guy friends because honestly...they're so much better. Women are dramatic and crazy. Men keep it so black and white. And it stays that way with them. You never have to wonder if someone isn't talking to you because something that they said was about you and suddenly you have to wonder what you did that made them mad. No. If a guy isn't talking to you it's simply because he's busy. Or has nothing to talk about. It's amazing.

So please Tuesday, get uncrazy and awesome. For me. Thanks.

The Call

"Have you checked the mail box yet?" It just hit twelve. The mail was suppose to come at eleven.
"It isn't here." My mothers voice says to me. I pause. Something sounds off. Is she lying?
"You sure?" I double check.
"I don't think I can really screw up checking a mail box." I had to give her that. "When were you expecting it?" I sighed my heart dropping.
"Well I was hoping today but I didn't think it would come this early. Probably not til next week...or even the week after." I add as I count how many days it's been since my interview. Only twenty four. It felt like alot. My mother assures me it wasn't here and to be patient. I get back to work, my heart sunk for the week.
I get a call back from her within two minutes. I answered confused. We just talked. She rambles for a moment about my brother and picking up the car before finally saying.
"I lied, it's here. I wanted to surprise you but your brother is taking so long picking up the vehicle." As if the extra two minutes would matter to me. I jump for joy. Yelling and exclaiming my breathless happiness as quickly as possible. She is happy with me and wants me to open it immmediatly. We don't. I wait, somehow. Until after work. As I am driving home, I'm purposfully avoiding the white envelope next to me. The contents of which scare me, possibly to death. Or at least, denial. What will they say? Where will they send me? I'm scared and excited. But it is my fear that keeps me from ripping open the envelope and ruining the surprise for everyone.
I recieve a call from my father, who is at work, letting me know that we should hit the house at the exact same time. I slow my vehicle down. How am I suppose to open this letter? How am I suppose to face my fate? Where will I go?!?!?!? How will I do?!?!?! I immediatly decide I'm not ready for something this big. As to how I even got to this point is completely in question. I'm not strong enough for something like this. I'm not smart enough, I don't know enough. Every fear that I could have is filling me and as I enter my house I hide in my room.
Everything is the same. My house is the same. My family is the same. My mother is cooking, my brother is playing on the tv, my sister is skyping, my other brother is at work and my father hasn't gotten home yet. It appeared I was the only one freaking out. Like my world was being turned upside down and inside out. Like I might have to turn down this opportunity. I search for the strength that brought me to this opportunity and slowly crawl out of my room as my dad walks in.
"Alright let's do this. Where's mom. Okay, where's Kayla." I make myself known and take a seat. Everyone pauses their life and moves towards me eyes just as weary as mine. And in that moment I pause.
I forgot.
I forgot how much this will affect them. I forgot how much they share my fear and desire. I forgot that they want to see me happy. I forgot that they would be missing me as much as I would be missing them. And with my Dads eyes bright (he's the only one that went on a mission) I open the page and read out loud where I will be going.
"Oklahoma, Tulsa Mission. English speaking." That's all I can get out. I burst into smiles. My family cheers and applaudes. My Dad couldn't be happier.
"Perfect, I won't have to worry too much." Everyone agree's, copying his statement. I keep reading the letter.
"I report to the Provo MTC July 6th." More smiles, everyone agrees this is good and continue with their life. I walk to my room my mind spinning.
I was sure I was going Spanish speaking......I thought....I thought I would go out of the US....I wanted to go out of the US.....Why do I want to know Spanish so bad if it wasn't to prepare me for a mission lord?......
I don't understand why I would have such a strong desire to learn Spanish if it wasn't for this. And as I go through my papers I get this feeling. This perfect peaceful feeling that this is right. And suddenly I get swarmed with all of these thoughts.

I had always wanted to go visit little towns.

I had always wanted to get away from the city (see this post, and then this post, both of which seem completely ironic right now and yet so fitting).

I'm not ready to go outside of the US.

This is perfect for not only me but my family as well.

Baby steps.

I don't think I can properly state how badly I have wanted to go visit the sticks of middle america.

And above all else was that feeling. That perfect feeling that this was meant to be in ways that I can't even see. And then I got online and saw this:

Consider the deal sealed.

It's here

It's here. It's beginning. It's legitimate. It's great. It's scary. It's....amazing. I don't think there is anything I can't say as of today, including: I've never been so scared of a little white envelope before in my life.

I, Kayla Obriann Hanshew, have been called to the Oklahoma, Tulsa Mission, English speaking. I report to the MTC on July 6th, 2011 (five days after my birthday) and all I can say is; YES.

Hello mission area (Yes, it does cover FOUR states)

And yes it will be my home for eighteen months. I will be seeing lots of-

And even some

And I don't think I have ever been so excited for anything in my entire life! And I want to write why I think so but not in this post.

What?!

I'm crazy. I've simply decided that.



Reason being: I want things. Things that, if I got, I would have no idea what I would do with them.



That picture in the last post. I want it. Bad.



WHAT THE HECK WOULD I DO IN THE MIDDLE OF NO WHERE?!?!?



I love the city. I hate the city as well. But I'm by no means a freaking cowgirl. I LOVE the internet. I love people....and Del Taco. WHAT WOULD I DO WITH ALL THAT OPEN ROAD?!?!?



Nothing! I would stare at it....and then be like "Where's Del Taco?"

Saddest part? I still want that freaking open road. I want it for so many reasons. I want it as a symbol, not as actually being in the middle of nowhere (though I do still want that [just with a Del Taco]).

Crazy much? Well yes. Thanks for noticing.

Today

This is how I feel today.

Boys

I have two brothers. One Older than me, one younger. And I have a dad. And Uncles. And male cousins. So I know alot of boys...guys....males? And then there is just information out there for the world to find. Movies and books, television and plays. Boys are depicted everywhere. Sorry, males. I'm not trying to say that every guy I meet acts like a child, I'm simply calling males boys.

So I think I know boys....or can at least expect certain things. No chick flicks, don't get all emotional and crazy on them, they don't understand how women work, don't talk periods, don't expect too much sympathy, they aren't very good at being gentlemen, they're pretty immature, they're kind of crude and sexual, and very focused on the physical aspects of women and they really like to talk to other males. And a whole lot of other slightly bitter stereotypes.*

*Not to say that I think all men are pigs or sexist or disgusting or jerks I just kind of clumped them all together for some reason. My bad.

Well that isn't true at all.

I just got to spend a little over forty eight hours straight with a group of four guys, which isn't a lot, but they weren't anything I thought they would be. I was preparing myself for...farting and hitting on ladies and being ignored and rock music (they're all young guys). But I got none of those things. I met a guy who has a greater Disney collection than I do. Was I ignorant enough to think it made him slightly less manly? Yes. I'm sad to admit it but yeah. I thought it was weird. But then I got to know him a little more and I found....he just liked Disney. And soft music, and acoustic versions of songs. He was in the air force for a while. He's now a security guard. He carries a gun and threatens people for a living. So, yes, I was expecting some Rob Zombie. But I never got it. I got Pocahontas and Aladdin. And it was Heaven. Suddenly I wanted MY husband (future husband that is) to like Disney. I wanted to be able to snuggle to Little Mermaid without him thinking he was doing me a favor. I wanted to be able to listen to Disney soundtracks and not have him make fun of me for it. And this man, this amazingly kind man, was so sweet. I made fun of him, constantly, his music, his car, his....dad like accessories (Sunscreen? Really? Yeah I used some. So glad he brought it). And all he ever was, was nicer. He found music I would like, checking to see if what he put on was okay (I tried to not be too picky, I was just shocked he listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir so much). I changed into a Mumford & Sons shirt for the car ride home AND HE FOUND THE ONLY SONG HE HAS BY THEM AND PLAYED IT FOR ME (without saying anything. It was adorable). And it just got better from there.**

Another kid, whom I have known for FOREVER and love dearly, talked about how women should be dressed less skankaly now that it looked like it was going to rain. What guy gets GLAD about that? They were respectful and nice, they never became demeaning or perverted. And I don't know if they were on their best behavior for me and my friend but it was charming. Suddenly I became the only person that said the crude jokes (that's what she said?). And the line of respect between men and women grew. They were careful and secretive with us, they never got suggestive even in joking. They never pushed the line of (BIG SIDE NOTE I am so tired today I CAN'T THINK OF ANY WORDS. I'm like....sexuality?....What does that even mean?)...anything. They never pushed any line. They were careful and respectful. And I loved it. I mean they were still guys and joked about getting numbers but it was so....different. Suddenly it became M.I.L.K. Mother I'd like to kiss (KISS!! How adorable is that?!?). And M.I.L.T.T.O.A.D. Mother I'd Like to Take On A Date. They knew their lines, and they didn't even joke about crossing them.

So as we are driving back to Las Vegas, and I'm in this car full of Disney Music and one Mumford and Sons song, and Disney pins and cute gifts for girls they like and I see a billboard sporting a lady with no top on, one with no pants and then one with a girl dancing suggestively in short clothing and I....I just want to cry for them. I want to take all this away. I want to make it easier for them. I want to keep them so...sweet.

And my respect for them went through the roof. I sometimes forget exactly how hard a guy can have it in this insane world. How if they aren't ready to jump the next girl that crosses their path they're called gay or thought something is wrong with them, and then if they do act like a dog in heat they are considered perverted. It's such a hard line to walk and these guys aced it, in spades. So if I can just say, ladies if you are looking for a man to marry that is respectful towards women I have four.

**The reason his kindness was such a big deal is because....he wasn't into me, I wasn't into him. We're friends. And I found (especially in the singles ward) if they aren't interested in you as a mate...they aren't really that interested in you. And then their kindness and patience for you as a human being goes out the window. Sad, but true. So this is really my reminder about how hard boys have it along with how they restored my faith in males by just being nice, nothing expected, nothing wanted, just nice.

Disneyland

I was gifted the opportunity to go to Disneyland this week. I took it.

I love Disneyland. Who doesn't. And I don't get to go often (This would technically be my third time, but the first time I went I was like...two...so I don't count it) so I was extremely excited. Even more exciting was who I was going with, fun people. Funy boys and a girl, that I have known for years (and some I haven't ever known) and good times were to be had. And I was right.

We left late Monday night, very late, eight. Which wouldn't have been a very big deal EXCEPT I hadn't slept very well the night before because I was giddy as a school girl that I was getting to go to Disneyland. But Gary (my new friend) drove and I hung in the back and insulted his car, and then his music, and watched the lights of Vegas fade and the open road call to us. And we traveled and traveled. And then ate at In n out in Barstow. And then finally we were at the hotel.

Now the deal with the hotel was...well alot of things, we shared a room. SHARED. Four boys and two girls. It was hilarious. But not at first. I was nervous at first. Not because I thought anything would happen...well obviously I was nervous SOMETHING would happen but not anything bad. I just had never had to share a room with so many boys that weren't family before. (I'm going to blog about these boys on another post, this one is simply about Disneyland, but stay tuned, I have been completely wrong about men before)

We finally got to bed (at two) and were back up about six. We had breakfast and finally got to Disneyland about ten thirty (it takes a LONG time to get six people ready and fed when sharing a room). And I got on Pirates of the Caribbean. Can I just say what a great way to start Disneyland? It was simply magical from there. But my favorite part of the day? Well I have so many but I will list only.....four.....

4. Lochlyn Monroe-Have you ever seen night at the Roxbury? Well it's the best friend Craig. Yeah, that guy. We met him. Yep. He was in line at Toy Story. Celebrity spotting, holla.

3. Toy Story-That game is simply fantastical. I wish we could have done it more than once (hour long wait. FULL HOUR)

2. Spending all day with four hilarious guys-Just plain fun (see "Boys" post as to how they renewed my faith in huMANity)

1. Fanstasmic-I ALMOST MISSED IT. I went to World of Color, everyone else went to fantasmic, but by some almighty power that be I made it back and they saved me a seat and my mind was blown. Seriously. I even recorded some of it. It was the greatest thing ever.

Best part of day two? Easy.

Riding Big Bear Rapids ten times in a row at eight o clock at night to see who would get hit worst with the water....then freezing for the rest of the night. Totally worth it.

Did I have fun? Um Yeah. Would I do it again in a heart beat? Um heck yeah. Just another item checked off my mission bucket list. So amazingly fun. I miss it already. I would even share that freaking tiny room again.

Impatient

I'm getting impatient.



I want my mission call now. Right now.



And I think I still have four weeks to go. I'm dying.



I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.



Okay, President Waite didn't say no. But Salt Lake will.



And every moment I don't have my call that thought grows bigger. I have gone through such a roller coaster of emotion through out this process, shock, denial, guilt, meekness, pride, courage, hope, inexperience-ness?. And now impatience. I've never been impatient like this before. My impaitience always follows with Well now you have more time to prepare. Well there is always the possibility you aren't suppose to go. More time to spend with family, friends, job, Disneyland, Mumford & Sons, LIFE.



But now my mind is changing, it's wrapping itself around this idea, this plan, and it's sucking it in completely. I'm letting my head and heart become attached because I don't think I'm going to back out of it, or that it isn't going to happen, or preparing myself for failure. I'm desiring it wholeheartidly.



Now when the call gets here who knows how I will feel, but I want it. Now. I want it in my hands, I want to know where I am suppose to go and when I will be leaving. And yes I am still terrified. But I'm excited now. So excited that being scared doesn't even faze me (right now at least) it's kind of just there. And it's probably always going to be there, and I'm okay with that.

My panic attack

I have had a problem sleeping lately. It's so odd. I like the idea of sleep, normally. Actually, the more I think about it....I always have a problem sleeping, I'm a very light sleeper. It's somewhat extraordinary since everyone else (excluding my papa) sleeps like logs (Do logs even sleep? Who comes up with these crazy sayings?!?!). But I sleep lightly, unless I am completely out of it (which has been happening a lot lately), and I am awaken constantly. Well in the past-oh i don't know-year or so, I have had trouble falling asleep. I either don't make a move towards the bed, because I see it as my enemy, or I just lay in bed and can't turn off. And you can't hate sleep, because it's sleep, and sleep is the nectar of the gods, but I hate the time before you go to sleep. Where you lay in bed and think about life. I used to not hate this time. Heck I used to look forward to it. Plan out how early I could go and lay in bed and scheme up awesome scenarios with boys and how they would rescue me. It was magical.



And then I got into a car accident.



It was a minor one, no one was severely injured. It was raining and my car was really really old and the tires were bald and I lost traction in a turn and hit a wall. Car was totalled though (i still don't understand how, I was doing like fifteen miles an hour) and I had to say goodbye to 'the boat' as we so aptly named it. But when I got home from said accident (and every day after for a good three months) every time I got into bed all I could think about was how I wrecked the car. And how scared I was, and how scared everyone was, and how mad my mom had been, and the fear and the cop and how my baby cousins were in the car at the time.



And then I hated the time before bed. Because suddenly the world came crashing down on me. I would feel like I was being suffocated by my mistakes and the things I couldn't do and my future. It was horrible. And so I started staying up late, ignoring my bed until I could barely keep my eyes open and knew I would get into that bed and pass out. No thinking, no guilt, no fear, just blissful sleep.



And I don't think I have ever really shaken that process. I still feel guilt about the accident but nothing like back then, it's more of just a stepping stone for me, a bad memory. But I still fight sleep. I play on my lap top, and ipod, and listen to music. Anything to keep from being empty and undistracted. It's a horrible habit to keep. I push all of my worries away during the day and then face them at night. It's horribly unproductive. AND it keeps me from sleeping.



So last night, I'm laying in bed, I had pushed myself as far as I could go (it was like twelve thirty [which is late for me]) and finally decided it was time for bed, i was ready. So I lay down, fully expecting to simply pass out and suddenly I thought about my mission. And how I was going to be expected to teach these beautiful people that wanted to learn about the gospel.



Their knowledge and entrance into a religion and truth that I believe in wholeheartedly rests on MY shoulders.



I couldn't do it. I wasn't a good example, I was flawed, I didn't know enough. I didn't have every story of the BOM memorized, or know why Jesus left himself out when he spoke of 'being perfect' in the bible because he hadn't been resurrected yet (obviously I learned it the other day) I don't know the history of the church backwards and forwards, I didn't know about the book of Abraham, or the persecution of the church in these latter days. I didn't know the exact difference between exaltation and salvation. And these are just the things I know I didn't know. I'm still learning about my ignorance every day. It's humbling and daunting, and horrible. I know I'm not a religious scholar, nor am I an apostle, but how can anyone honestly expect me to teach people when I am still learning myself? And I laid there and thought about denying my call, and what everyone would think, and wondering why I got myself into this situation when my ran circled around three things.



1. D&C 4:3- Therefore, if ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work. Not if you're the smartest, not if everyone thinks you should go, not if you're really feeling up to it, not only if you want to. If ye have the desire, you are called to the work. I might get this tatoo'd to my forehead (kidding, kidding).



2. If you have fear, you are relying on yourself. When you rely on the Lord, there is no fear. This was just taught to us by a sub in mission prep. It's amazing how something so simple is so true.



3. If you love everyone around you, and everyone you are expected to teach, like the Lord does you will have no fear. It's more of a continuation of number two but it has been running through my head constantly aspecially after I was asked to teach in Relief Society. If I look at everyone with the love I know that the Savior has for them, I will only wish that they get to partake of the gift that I also have. I won't worry I'm not going to know enough. I won't worry they might make fun of my accent, I won't worry that they might think I'm stupid or that my testimony sucks, I won't worry that they might think I'm ugly. And even if they do, I won't care. I will know I did the Saviors work, that I laid the bait for them (another mission prep lesson, that mission prep class is amazing) and that If nothing else, I planted a seed. No matter how small that seed may be.