Picture a desert. Can you see it? What does it look like?
Now picture a cube. Now a ladder. Now a horse. Now a storm. Now a flower.
This is a game I'd seen before, but not recently enough to remember what was coming when my roommate sprung it on me. I knew the horse meant something... subconscious maybe? Nah... that wasn't it... something.
So I played the game, faithfully drawing out the scene in an old notebook. The cube was an ice cube melting in the fervent heat of the desert sun. But, there was a ladder there to shade it and slow the melting process. The horse was lucky it was melting, because it was a very thirsty equine, and the cube gave it some moisture to lick up. I actually had several ideas about what to do with the horse. Everything from a paint to a spotted-butt appaloosa, to the bay Arabian I had as a little kid that was my noble steed in all of my daydreams. I finally settled on the childhood horse. Oh, and the storm? Everyone was grateful for that dust-devil spittin' storm that'd bring some blessed moisture to the desert. It was juuuust startin' to block out that scorching beasty the sun. The flower was especially thrilled about the storm, and to make sure that was clear, I drew a wide-eyed, toothy grin on the top of that prickly pear blossom's face.
Then came the interpretation. The cube is... <drum roll>... ME! Yep. Apparently I'm cold and icy. Oh, and I'm melting.
But, never fear, the ladder which is... <other drum roll>... my friends(!) are there to slow that process.
Then there's the horse. Um... not sure how I feel about the long-tongued noble steed who was getting some licky-licky ice cube action. This is apparently my lover.
At least I don't have a lover in the traditional sense of the word. Perhaps this is how I would treat a lover if I had one.
I'll stop there and hope you don't have too active of an imagination filling in those blanks.
It means I'll make sure that if I get him a drink, it'll have ice cubes in it! Sheesh! Get your mind out of the gutter!
*ahem*
Anyway, the storm means trials. Apparently trials are a blessed relief. I love trials! I can never get enough! Why, I'm purely melting from the heat of easy life. How can I handle...
I should probably stop. I firmly believe God has a sense of humor, and I also have seen enough irony in my life to believe that Murphy's Law is scientific fact. I don't need my facetiousness transformed into reality. Nuh uh.
And the flower is my children. They love trials too, because it brings them life. Maybe that's what my picture was saying! I will gladly endure the pain of childbirth to bring happy life to my future children.
This flawless interpretation of my desert/cube/ladder/horse/storm/flower scene is brought to you by the Japanese art of Kokology.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
My bi-polar germs
Dear Bacteria,
Or perhaps you are a virus. I would like to recommend you receive professional help for your personality disorder. I tell you this today, because it seems you are in a manic phase, and I don't want to spring it on you while you're depressed.
Now, I understand that you may think you are perfectly fine. "I don't need help!" you may say. But, let's look at the facts, shall we?
Thursday and Friday you were quite chipper. I could feel you inside me all day, and by Friday night, I was pretty sure you were having the party of the decade.
Then came Saturday. You poor germs. I hardly felt you at all. You must have been so depressed while I went to the movies and played games with my friends. It was like you had completely disappeared.
Then we have today. You're certainly in an upswing, and have been getting more and more excited all day! Right now it's the party of the century in my lungs.
All this manic-depressive behavior is quite unsettling to me. So, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This friend has a PhD in psychology, and many years' experience as a therapist for germs. Germs, meet Dr. Mucinex. Dr. Mucinex, meet germs.
Sincerely,
Your Host.
P.S. Go die in a hole.
Or perhaps you are a virus. I would like to recommend you receive professional help for your personality disorder. I tell you this today, because it seems you are in a manic phase, and I don't want to spring it on you while you're depressed.
Now, I understand that you may think you are perfectly fine. "I don't need help!" you may say. But, let's look at the facts, shall we?
Thursday and Friday you were quite chipper. I could feel you inside me all day, and by Friday night, I was pretty sure you were having the party of the decade.
Then came Saturday. You poor germs. I hardly felt you at all. You must have been so depressed while I went to the movies and played games with my friends. It was like you had completely disappeared.
Then we have today. You're certainly in an upswing, and have been getting more and more excited all day! Right now it's the party of the century in my lungs.
All this manic-depressive behavior is quite unsettling to me. So, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. This friend has a PhD in psychology, and many years' experience as a therapist for germs. Germs, meet Dr. Mucinex. Dr. Mucinex, meet germs.
Sincerely,
Your Host.
P.S. Go die in a hole.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Is it selling out?
So, apparently you can earn some extra cash by putting ads on your blog. I don't know how much extra cash, or how it works, because I haven't tried it yet.
However, with tuition coming up, normal bills, a brand new AAA bill I haven't paid yet, and a scammer on Amazon.com that took $80 from me (never fear, Amazon paid it back... in a credit that I can only use on Amazon, and therefore I'm still without $80 or my product), the thought of having a few extra dollars floating around is quite appealing.
But, here's the question. Is it a bad thing to put ads on a blog when you're not actually interested in advertising anything? I mean, isn't that like commercialism taking over our lives or something like that? Is commercialism taking over our lives really a bad thing? Hmmm...
Ooh! Or maybe I'll start a new blog where I write fictional stories, and therefore have the right to "sell" my product by putting ads up on the site.
Either way, at least I have Ad Blocker Plus! ^_^
However, with tuition coming up, normal bills, a brand new AAA bill I haven't paid yet, and a scammer on Amazon.com that took $80 from me (never fear, Amazon paid it back... in a credit that I can only use on Amazon, and therefore I'm still without $80 or my product), the thought of having a few extra dollars floating around is quite appealing.
But, here's the question. Is it a bad thing to put ads on a blog when you're not actually interested in advertising anything? I mean, isn't that like commercialism taking over our lives or something like that? Is commercialism taking over our lives really a bad thing? Hmmm...
Ooh! Or maybe I'll start a new blog where I write fictional stories, and therefore have the right to "sell" my product by putting ads up on the site.
Either way, at least I have Ad Blocker Plus! ^_^
Friday, June 3, 2011
I'm fine, I guess
You know how people always ask how you're doing whenever they see you? You know how the default reaction is to say, "I'm good, how are you?" whether you really are good or not? Then they say, "I'm good," and you both go on your merry way, with the customary greeting done and therefore nothing further is to be said.
Well, a while ago I decided this was lying, and I would actually think about how I was doing before I answered. I could say anything from great to good to fine to alright to "OH MY GOSH I HATE MY LIFE TODAY! My car broke down, I got in a slap fight with a tree, and I have an ingrown nose hair!" Then I would be honest.
But, what about those days when you are clearly not great, good, fine or even alright (eg, your throat is so swollen you can't drink any more than a tiny trickle of water at a time, which just happens to be a symptom of RABIES), but you're not really in the mood to explain why you are "not doing so well" when somebody asks. I mean, when someone asks "how are you," and you say, "bad," they're pretty much obligated to ask why. Only an absolute jerk would be so insensitive as to simply conclude the conversation there... or someone on conversation autopilot, at which point they'll probably say, "That's good," and go back to listening to their rockin' rendition of the fifth movement of Hector Berlioz' "Fantastic Symphony."
Anyway, since most people are not absolute jerks or on conversation autopilot, if you don't want to explain why you are not okay, you must simply lie. Or, if that's not an option, you must convince yourself that you are indeed fine, and answer, "Fine."
So, since I have the above mentioned throat condition (which could also be a symptom of mumps, thyroid cancer, Sjogren's syndrome, goiter, epiglottitis, dermatomyositis, bleeding esophageal varices, stroke, panic attack, or a swallowed object) I'm clearly not fine. However, when asked by a passing person how I was, I really didn't want to tell them I'm a step away from rabies, so I simply decided I was fine.
And here are the reasons why I am fine:
*I can still eek a slow stream of water down my throat.
*I am not bleeding from my ears.
*I don't ACTUALLY have rabies.
*My hair is not on fire.
*All of my limbs are facing the right direction.
*I got a couple thousand words added to my book, and therefore have the ability to be productive when I am sick.
*I have 10 fingers and 10 toes, all of which function as they should.
*I have ice cream in my freezer.
*I do not have to perform the funky chicken to the theme song from Dances with Wolves.
*That one song about "flyyyyyy oh oh here we go" is no longer stuck in my head (Okay, it is now. Nevermind about that).
*I don't have to drive a lawnmower to work every day.
*I am not a zombie, vampire, werewolf, mermaid or fairy... though the fairy might be cool as long as I was bigger than a Polly Pocket.
*I don't have three broken wrists.
*I don't have three wrists.
*I am not bald.
*I can spend the last of the day curled up in my p.j.'s, caressing a mug of whatever beverage I choose, and watching a cheesy paranormal love story.
So, all in all, I really am fine.
Well, a while ago I decided this was lying, and I would actually think about how I was doing before I answered. I could say anything from great to good to fine to alright to "OH MY GOSH I HATE MY LIFE TODAY! My car broke down, I got in a slap fight with a tree, and I have an ingrown nose hair!" Then I would be honest.
But, what about those days when you are clearly not great, good, fine or even alright (eg, your throat is so swollen you can't drink any more than a tiny trickle of water at a time, which just happens to be a symptom of RABIES), but you're not really in the mood to explain why you are "not doing so well" when somebody asks. I mean, when someone asks "how are you," and you say, "bad," they're pretty much obligated to ask why. Only an absolute jerk would be so insensitive as to simply conclude the conversation there... or someone on conversation autopilot, at which point they'll probably say, "That's good," and go back to listening to their rockin' rendition of the fifth movement of Hector Berlioz' "Fantastic Symphony."
Anyway, since most people are not absolute jerks or on conversation autopilot, if you don't want to explain why you are not okay, you must simply lie. Or, if that's not an option, you must convince yourself that you are indeed fine, and answer, "Fine."
So, since I have the above mentioned throat condition (which could also be a symptom of mumps, thyroid cancer, Sjogren's syndrome, goiter, epiglottitis, dermatomyositis, bleeding esophageal varices, stroke, panic attack, or a swallowed object) I'm clearly not fine. However, when asked by a passing person how I was, I really didn't want to tell them I'm a step away from rabies, so I simply decided I was fine.
And here are the reasons why I am fine:
*I can still eek a slow stream of water down my throat.
*I am not bleeding from my ears.
*I don't ACTUALLY have rabies.
*My hair is not on fire.
*All of my limbs are facing the right direction.
*I got a couple thousand words added to my book, and therefore have the ability to be productive when I am sick.
*I have 10 fingers and 10 toes, all of which function as they should.
*I have ice cream in my freezer.
*I do not have to perform the funky chicken to the theme song from Dances with Wolves.
*That one song about "flyyyyyy oh oh here we go" is no longer stuck in my head (Okay, it is now. Nevermind about that).
*I don't have to drive a lawnmower to work every day.
*I am not a zombie, vampire, werewolf, mermaid or fairy... though the fairy might be cool as long as I was bigger than a Polly Pocket.
*I don't have three broken wrists.
*I don't have three wrists.
*I am not bald.
*I can spend the last of the day curled up in my p.j.'s, caressing a mug of whatever beverage I choose, and watching a cheesy paranormal love story.
So, all in all, I really am fine.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Dear Subconscious, You're a jerk.
So, one guy kissed me, then got distracted by another girl, then turned into my ex boyfriend, right as a chorus of sitcom people in the background yell out, "Ooooh! Burn!"
Then I woke up and said, "What the heck?"
Sometimes I wonder if my subconscious thinks it's funny.
Then I woke up and said, "What the heck?"
Sometimes I wonder if my subconscious thinks it's funny.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Alright, Elantra. I'm sorry I complained about you.
My car has issues. The radiator leaks coolant, the parking brake doesn't work, the windshield has a growing crack, and the child lock of the rear passenger door is permanently on. That last one gave my car the name Nemo, in honor of its gimpy fin. It was made in 2002, and therefore really isn't that old, but old enough to start having problems, and cost me an occasional arm, leg, or spleen in repairs.
After today I can look at Nemo and cry with delight, "Oh, you are SUCH a nice car!"
So, last night I promised I'd take my little brother to work in the morning, then made sure to stay up so late that I'd be woken right out of stage 3 of non REM sleep at 7:30, and therefore be completely nonfunctional for him for at least 10 minutes. After a brief hand & foot massage that got the blood flowing, I was up and moving, and headed out to my old car - the Intrepid.
I skipped lightly toward my old wheels, quite happy with the prospect of driving her again. I remembered that feeling of power that the 6 cylinder, 3.5 liter engine gave when I just barely tapped the gas pedal, and the way it rocketed off while passing tractors on the road. I couldn't wait to get back in and drive her again!
I opened the door... well... tried. The lock on the driver's side is broken and didn't unlock automatically like I expected it to. Never fear, I just needed to turn the key the right way and ta da! I was in.
I sat down, and the seat back took a dive. Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Barry ghetto-rigged it with a welder to keep it upright once, but that has since broken, and now it's held up by a bucket... a bucket that has been very successfully squished over the last 3 years while I was away and that really does nothing for the seat back now.
That's okay! Who needs seat backs, right? They're just a simple matter of convenience.
"Be careful with the transmission," Kamaron warned. "It's really slow."
"Probably just needs a tune up," I answered, remembering back to the $100.12 I'd spent on a transmission tune up 5 years ago.
I shifted into reverse. KUCHUNK! "Wow. Yeah, this thing needs some help."
We took the back roads to Kamaron's work. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive through trees and hills and over streams, with a billowing cloud of dust flying out behind us. There was one point we passed a guy jogging on the road. I felt a little bad about engulfing him in gravel road dust, which inevitably sticks to sweaty bodies, but there really wasn't much to be done about that. Right as we passed him, the radio magically turned itself on.
"Oh yeah," Kamaron said as I looked down at the station in confusion. "It does that."
Oh... that's new.
Shortly after that I noticed how warm I was getting, and realized something else I'd forgotten: even though the fan in my car had been turned off by my sweltering father, the heater was still permanently on, and was slowly roasting us all. Lucky for us, today it was cool enough to roll down the windows and be perfectly fine... except for the cloud of dust that wooshed through the car, of course.
Then we turned a corner, driving through a bit of mud while we were at it.
Now, typically, when you drive through mud on a gravel road, the gravel sticks to the tires, then flings itself off, making a loud, rapid-fire thck-thck-thck-thck noise that sounds like your tires decided to engage in hostile warfare with the possums running across the road. This was no exception... only it was louder than usual. Then gravel started flying up in front of the car and pinging the windshield.
I slowed down and the gravel lost enough force that it stopped smacking the glass, "Ummmm... Kam?"
"Did you drive through mud?" he asked, looking as confused as I was.
"Yeah..."
The noise didn't stop.
I pulled the car off to the side. There was no way something wasn't wrong with it. I got out, and walked to the front of the vehicle.
"Ha! Ha. Ha. Ha."
I waved at Kamaron to come see. He joined me and we both laughed. Apparently the front bumper is no longer being held by the bailing wire I installed after it fell off 2 summers ago.
We picked up the bumper and set it back in place, trusting in... well... nothing, really... to keep it attached to the car while we finished our drive.
By the time I got back home, I thought lovingly of my ugly, hatchback Elantra and it's working A/C, nice stereo, automatic locks and, well... intact body parts. Of my 3 cars (alright, the Camry - aka "The Asphyxiator" - wasn't technically mine, but I was the primary driver for a couple semesters), Nemo is, without a doubt, the best behaved car I've owned. Alright, so I just got a new battery and replaced a valve cover gasket, and I still need to spend another few hundred to fix the radiator, windshield and parking brake, but at least, when driving to Salt Lake, BYU campus, or any other location I may hope to attain, I can lean back against the seat and not be reclined in a sleeping position.
Dear Elantra, I'm sorry for the snide remarks. You are wonderful to me.
After today I can look at Nemo and cry with delight, "Oh, you are SUCH a nice car!"
So, last night I promised I'd take my little brother to work in the morning, then made sure to stay up so late that I'd be woken right out of stage 3 of non REM sleep at 7:30, and therefore be completely nonfunctional for him for at least 10 minutes. After a brief hand & foot massage that got the blood flowing, I was up and moving, and headed out to my old car - the Intrepid.
I skipped lightly toward my old wheels, quite happy with the prospect of driving her again. I remembered that feeling of power that the 6 cylinder, 3.5 liter engine gave when I just barely tapped the gas pedal, and the way it rocketed off while passing tractors on the road. I couldn't wait to get back in and drive her again!
I opened the door... well... tried. The lock on the driver's side is broken and didn't unlock automatically like I expected it to. Never fear, I just needed to turn the key the right way and ta da! I was in.
I sat down, and the seat back took a dive. Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Barry ghetto-rigged it with a welder to keep it upright once, but that has since broken, and now it's held up by a bucket... a bucket that has been very successfully squished over the last 3 years while I was away and that really does nothing for the seat back now.
That's okay! Who needs seat backs, right? They're just a simple matter of convenience.
"Be careful with the transmission," Kamaron warned. "It's really slow."
"Probably just needs a tune up," I answered, remembering back to the $100.12 I'd spent on a transmission tune up 5 years ago.
I shifted into reverse. KUCHUNK! "Wow. Yeah, this thing needs some help."
We took the back roads to Kamaron's work. I thoroughly enjoyed the drive through trees and hills and over streams, with a billowing cloud of dust flying out behind us. There was one point we passed a guy jogging on the road. I felt a little bad about engulfing him in gravel road dust, which inevitably sticks to sweaty bodies, but there really wasn't much to be done about that. Right as we passed him, the radio magically turned itself on.
"Oh yeah," Kamaron said as I looked down at the station in confusion. "It does that."
Oh... that's new.
Shortly after that I noticed how warm I was getting, and realized something else I'd forgotten: even though the fan in my car had been turned off by my sweltering father, the heater was still permanently on, and was slowly roasting us all. Lucky for us, today it was cool enough to roll down the windows and be perfectly fine... except for the cloud of dust that wooshed through the car, of course.
Then we turned a corner, driving through a bit of mud while we were at it.
Now, typically, when you drive through mud on a gravel road, the gravel sticks to the tires, then flings itself off, making a loud, rapid-fire thck-thck-thck-thck noise that sounds like your tires decided to engage in hostile warfare with the possums running across the road. This was no exception... only it was louder than usual. Then gravel started flying up in front of the car and pinging the windshield.
I slowed down and the gravel lost enough force that it stopped smacking the glass, "Ummmm... Kam?"
"Did you drive through mud?" he asked, looking as confused as I was.
"Yeah..."
The noise didn't stop.
I pulled the car off to the side. There was no way something wasn't wrong with it. I got out, and walked to the front of the vehicle.
"Ha! Ha. Ha. Ha."
I waved at Kamaron to come see. He joined me and we both laughed. Apparently the front bumper is no longer being held by the bailing wire I installed after it fell off 2 summers ago.
We picked up the bumper and set it back in place, trusting in... well... nothing, really... to keep it attached to the car while we finished our drive.
By the time I got back home, I thought lovingly of my ugly, hatchback Elantra and it's working A/C, nice stereo, automatic locks and, well... intact body parts. Of my 3 cars (alright, the Camry - aka "The Asphyxiator" - wasn't technically mine, but I was the primary driver for a couple semesters), Nemo is, without a doubt, the best behaved car I've owned. Alright, so I just got a new battery and replaced a valve cover gasket, and I still need to spend another few hundred to fix the radiator, windshield and parking brake, but at least, when driving to Salt Lake, BYU campus, or any other location I may hope to attain, I can lean back against the seat and not be reclined in a sleeping position.
Dear Elantra, I'm sorry for the snide remarks. You are wonderful to me.
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