Why 2005 may not be my year...

1. I have been homeless 18 of the 31 days
2. I received two tickets within 12 days. (One for parking in Visitor Parking and one today for speeding in West Jordan trying to get to my class "field trip" in time)
3. I'm too poor to graduate this year

Why 2005 could definitely be my year...

1. I might be able to make a road trip to San Diego next month to see Heather
2. I'm going to Las Vegas in March to see Sarah, Suzy, Circe de Sol and Celine Dion
3. I'm working full-time at Wasatch Elementary, part-time at Kara Chocolates, I'm taking grad classes at BYU full-time and I still have a couple friends. Bra, I can do anything!!

Victory

Today was the first day in over two weeks that I haven't been approached with one of the following phrases...

• "Ew, you look how I feel."
• "Are you feeling okay? Because you don't look so good."
• "Maybe you should go home. You look sick."
• "You look tired. Didn't get much sleep last night?"
• "You look... comfortable."
• "Are you sick? Or just really tired?"

Instead, the only similar approach today went like this, "Wow, feeling better today? You look better." Thanks, Mrs. Wilde. I do feel better.

Comfortable

The other day as I was leaving the elementary school for my lunch break, I passed by our P.E. teacher (also my age and going to the Y) who looked at me and said, "Hi Emily... you look... comfortable."

What was wrong with my homeless garb of my black pants and oversized green sweatshirt that I stole from my brother? And maybe I wasn't wearing make-up and didn't bother putting my contacts in. And maybe my hair was pulled back in a sloppy pony tail. What? That's not attractive?

I need to start showering...

Transient Blog: Day 7

Yes, it has been a full week since I've had a place to live. Need I say more? Really?

Dancing on the Threshold of Hell

Life in #303 has been a whole lot less than desirable. I won't go into details because I don't want to. So you'll have to take my word for it. Or maybe you'll understand when you see me in my car with a suitcase in the back with everything I may need in the next week or so. Or maybe you'll get a hint of what I'm going through when you see me huddled on the couch of #69 trying to catch a bit of sleep. Today Karen asked me where it was that I was living now and I told her. On the threshold of Hell.

But tonight, in honor of our Ann-Marie's birthday, I danced here. Well I didn't dance here. Because I don't dance. But I stood around as I watched other people dance here. Right on the threshold of Hell.

In Da Club

I hate it when cell phones go off in class. Why can't they just turn their phones off before class? I do.

But I forgot today.

And just now, in the middle of my tech class, with 40 other people in this class, while the teacher is giving a motivational speech about technology and teaching, my phone rings.

My ringer of choice? In Da Club.

My Mom is Crazy

I love hearing from other people that my mom is crazy because it validates my own opinion and makes me feel less guilty for recognizing the fact. Today I got a phone call that went a little something like this...

J: Hi
E: Hi
J: Your mom called me today.
E: Uh, oh.
J: Have you talked to your mom today?
E: No. What did she say?
J: She said that you're going to finish school early...
E: Maybe...
J: And then move up here and live with me.
E: What?
J: Ya, she said that you were going to move up here and live with me and she told me that she hoped I didn't mind having somebody living in my basement.
E: Uh... I didn't tell her I was moving in with you.
J: You didn't?
E: No, I didn't even tell her I was moving to Seattle. Only that I might be finishing school early.
J: I told her that you were thinking about moving some place else besides Seattle but she told me that you were moving to Seattle for sure now and that you were definitely going to move in with me.
E: My mom doesn't know anything about me. Or my plans.
J: Anyway, I gotta go.
E: OK.
J: Have a good day.
E: OK.

And then I was left alone. With a million thoughts running through my head. Wondering if maybe she had forgotten her pills. Curious about where and when she had written that story and why, with all the things to do, she would decide to call somebody and share it with people outside of her own head. All of this comes from one simple statement to my mother last night that finishing school early was a possiblity and when asked I also said that moving to Seattle was also a "possibility." I think it wise not to tell my mother anything. Ever.

It's funny, too. Because if my mother knew me at all she would know that I have a huge fear of life commitments. I cry every time I have to sign a contract. For anything. I freaked out when I had to commit to a year for my cell phone. Freaked out even more when I had to sign a contract for an apartment. I freaked out when I had to commit to going to school. I never like being tied down to any one decision. Why would I commit to any type of living arrangement for a year from now? That's just not my style.

Winter Wonderland

On Monday I spent $400 on textbooks. I wanted to die. The lady who checked me out saw the mound of books (obviously since she was checking me out) and said, "Are you sure you know what you're doing? This could be the straw that breaks the camel's back." I told her that my classes were chosen for me and that this would definitely break my back considering I had to walk home with them. Then, as I was bagging them (it took four huge bags) I muttered under my breath, "I'm going to have to start drinking..." and the girl next to me who was bagging her single small text book looked over at me with horror in her eyes as if I had just dropped the F-bomb in the middle of General Conference. So I went to the Sev and bought a Double Gulp Coke and drank almost the whole thing. It was 1.9 Liters. But it was good. Real good. The worst part of it is that now I have to read them all. What kind of sick place is this?

On Tuesday I went to my first class. It's a technology class. I was delighted to find that I was sitting directly behind the only girls who hadn't showered since the 7th grade. I mean, I admit that my showering schedule is less than desirable and that we all have busy lives but... come on... it was the first day of class. If you can't find time to shower on the first day of classes then it's never going to happen. I need to find a new seat. On the plus side, our first class was all about teaching us what a Blog is and how to set one up. I went in and opened my Dashboard to show my three Blogs. Mr. Teacher said I could go ahead and go home. I did.

It started snowing last night and didn't stop. I hate the snow. Mostly because it's cold and wet and slippery. Also, it's white which means it's nasty brownish black. I'm also not a fan because since my car heater is broken, it's cold even when I'm in my car. And since when things are warmer inside than they are outside windows get fogged up and since fogged windows are bad for driving because you can't see through foggy windows and since my heater is broken so it can't make the fogginess go away... I had to drive with my windows rolled down... with the snow coming in my car. How long until Spring?

So I bought Napoleon Dynamite. And watched all the deleted scenes. And then watched all the deleted scenes with commentary. And then watched the movie. I was going to then watch the movie with commentary but I had a headache because the whole viewing experience was accompanied with the sound blasting while sitting right in front of the television because my psycho roommate was laying across our couch, having one of her loud seizure-like anxiety attacks and because our clattering washing machine was on. Thank goodness for Napoleon and his ability to make me laugh so hard I snorted. Many times. With a few gasps and wheezes.

Back in Town

I'm back in town. I flew in on Friday. I really, really, really didn't want to come back. I was perfectly content sleeping in the big bed in the Faerber's basement with no worries about work or school or crazy roommates (although I did share a bedroom with the Poopsmith). But with out the details of the fight between my many personalities, the rational one won and I'm here and ready to start the new semester. On the flight home I was sitting next to a young blonde girl who, when we started our descent into the Salt Lake valley, suddenly burst into tears and didn't stop until after we landed. I knew how she felt. Not because I hate Utah or because I wasn't excited to see my friends, but because last semester almost killed me and this semester I'm adding another class to the craziness.

I might die.

Will you still love me when I have 27 nervous twitches, I weigh a much as your mom and I've been without shower and razor for three months? Will you?