overwhelminggggg

Wild Olive. <3



El libro de Mormon.

"Don't forget to be true to yourself in hopes of doing what everyone else wants."
-Thomas James-

BK=love

It took about four times to spell "love" correctly. :P

Mozz. sticks - $0.00
Icee- $0.00
Mashed potatoes with who knows what added to it- $0.00

Hearts on wrappers,
numbers with mozz sticks "*wink*"
Tom's crazy concoctions comprising of said potatoes and strawberry cola,
snow ball fights with BK employees,
employees using trays to slide down the play-place slide,
calling John gay, the guy who gave me his number,
hugs that crack your back
and heart-felt apologies.
priceless.

A topic with an excuse of posting pictures.

The most beautiful flower ever is
[in my opinion]
the sunflower.
Even its name brings cheer.

it is just, perfection.

I just imagine me sitting in a garden filled with just,
sunflowers
and I immediately feel better.

;;&&;;

&&;;

You know how pictures can speak a thousand words?
These don't speak enough.

Sometimes it hurts.
It hurts to be your best friend.
Some days I completely can't stand you, then I get home and say to myself,
"gosh, I love that kid."

You never express yourself.
I take wild stabs in the dark to try to figure out what is making you so.. so..
RIDICULOUS.
We're all entitled to our ridiculous days.
Don't abuse your right.
I try to talk to you and you either brush it off with a dreaded:
"whatever",
or you just act like nothing is bothering you.
Best friends means:
no judgement
no second guessing
no hesitation
support
[even when support is futile]
comfort
trust
inside jokes
laughter
memories
no stipulations
hugging unabashedly
talking freely
not being ashamed
and so many other things.

I remember when our friendship was so pure
so raw.
When we spent hours online talking into the early hours
about nothing at all.
We were the living proof that two people could have nothing in common
except their friendship
and still get along perfectly.
But now?
I don't feel trusted.
I feel like I'm just another person to you.
I understand I'm not your top priority person.
That's fine.
I just don't want to be last.

This isn't just about today.
[which was still disrespectful],
its been building up inside of me for a while.
I knew you were going through some stressful situations,
so I didn't press the envelope.
I thought maybe when you were done stressing things would fall back in place.
[Which is why I tried to rush the falling pack in place thing]
[[but its to my understanding that didn't help at all from your POV]].

This phrase we use all the time is getting old.
I'm tired of using it,
as are others...
but:
I miss you...
And I know another who does too.

PS if this is Austin, I still love you.

PPS: funny quote I found that is relative to the subject:

"Friendship is the marriage of the soul, and this marriage is liable to divorce."

-Voltaire-

9/11: a composition by Cat

I thought I was alone.
I thought I was the only one who always caught the clock
at that terrible time.
Have you ever looked up at the clock
only to see that time on your clock
and it would send a chill down your spine?

For my English class we were told to write a journal entry about a tragic event. He suggested a few and I used 9/11. Here be it:

“A building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it. Symbols are given power by people. A symbol, in and of itself is powerless, but with enough people behind it, blowing up a building can change the world.” (V for Vendetta, 2005)

September 11, 2001

Today was surreal. I saw the footage, I heard the screams. I heard the fall, but I couldn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel the pain. I couldn’t smell the charred air. I couldn’t sense the panic, but I saw it. I could only see the panic, horror and despair in newscasters’ eyes, and I could hear the stress in their high-pitched voices. It takes a significant event to truly make a newscaster nervous. I can only imagine. They have had the duty of reporting many tragic stories, but this? I can’t imagine. The images must still go through their heads late at night when they let their guard down, safe within their warm beds.

I’m telling only what I remember and what emotion I have obtained since the occurrence. I was eleven then, seventeen now. I remember sitting in Mrs. Tarbox’s room studying Egyptology. The next thing I remember is seeing her looking down at the class very seriously. She informed us that something historic and tragic was happening and in short told us that a plane had collided with one of the twin towers in New York City. Perhaps she mentioned the Pentagon, or the stray plane that missed its mark, but that I don’t remember. I just remember hearing “New York City”.

We gathered in the science room, the largest room available to house the entire sixth grade. The teachers, and I presume the administration, felt it was important we see the footage of our nation’s history in action. The live footage was, and still is, worse than any rated ‘R’ movie ever created, because movies are just that: created. This was real. At first I was in shock. I thought it was a prank, a joke, a hoax. April fools. No one could really fly a plane, a huge plane, into a building, filled with people. Things like that just don’t happen. Not ever. I couldn’t wrap my eleven year old mind around it. It didn’t make sense to me then.

Over and over again and again, they showed the plane colliding into the skyscraper. Suddenly I heard the newscaster, a woman as I recall, gasp loudly then exclaim, “Dear God!” In that moment that tower became the first tower. On live TV I watched a second plane hit the second world trade center tower. It became so real so suddenly. I wanted to blink. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, speak or think. I’m not even sure I breathed. I was in such a state of shock. “It’s real, it’s real. It’s really real” was all that went through my head along with “I’m never going on an airplane”. Yes, it finally hit me. You can see things in your every day life, but not acknowledge them. It happens quite frequently, but I came to a realization: America had been attacked; America was being attacked; an attack was made on America.

For hours, days, weeks, the footage poured into every television in America, and I’m assured any other television in the world. My family and I watched the telly late into the night knowing we now lived in a changed world. We weren’t the only ones with this cold realization in mind.

Over the years 9/11 has become more and more real. I think of the countless people who tried to preserve human life and humanity that day. To the firefighters who boldly ran in when the masses poured out. To the entire community of firefighters who form the tight-knit bond of brotherhood. To the police forces who tried to keep the general public safe, organized and calm in that terrible time of crisis. To those who had no chance of surviving this tragic event. To those who ran. It’s real. It always was.

As an eleven year old, I tried to imagine myself there on that dreadful day. I imagine I feel the weight of the air and smell the horrid smell of fire that consumed all in its sight. I could feel the panic in the air laced with dread, fear and devastation. I watched as human life poured out of the building, soot and dust smeared all over these professional looking men and women. They scream and they run. They run as far as they can. Everyone around me is running. Running from the scene I can not pull myself away from. There is so much yelling and pandemonium. I hear people screaming names at the building hoping, praying that the person who belongs to that name will come stumbling out of the crumbling building. Those who do escape cry out for those who did not. My adolescent mind wonders how these people could look so terrified, so dirty, so crazed. They look like they barely escaped a war zone.

Only minutes later did I notice that the entire building was being ravished by flames. My imagination portrays my idea of how the scene looked like intertwined with fact. Fact was, it was raining. Many wished it was raining actual drops of water. No. It was not that glorious liquid from the sky. Bodies fell from the heavens. In my mind, I thought they lost their balance. Now I understand that they threw themselves out of the building. I still don’t understand completely. By throwing themselves from the high altitude they were at, did they expect to live, or was death by plummet preferred to death by fire, explosion, suffocation or being crushed? Did they not understand the hazard they made by throwing themselves out windows? I know for a fact several people died from being pelted by a victim. Maybe it was a survival instinct. Maybe I will never know. All I know is that bodies fell from the sky and in my immature mind, made the most sickening “splat” sound I could have ever imagined. I never want to hear that sound anywhere else besides in my imagination. Even then, I don’t believe it is a sound you can fully imagine but I am sure it is a sound you can not forget if it is ever heard.

I imagine the distress of the next day, September 12^th, 2001. The family, friends and general mourners gathered with flowers, pictures and questions. Many questions. I imagine papers fluttering in the breeze, dust and ash from the previous day’s travesties. In my mind I see print outs of loved one’s faces with big bold font asking if anyone has seen that person. In my imagination, I can’t see the physical ground zero. I can imagine the forces there attempting a search and rescue and the shouts of joy when someone is found in the rubble.

This isn’t anything I like to imagine or think about often. It isn’t anything discussed in detail with anyone. It’s almost like a private thought or emotion that almost everyone in America shares and just knowing that is comfort enough. There is no need to bring it up every time you think about it. It’s tucked back into the dark depths of your mind where cobwebs grow over that memory. It’s a subject discussed in schools, or in passing, yes, the facts are discussed briefly, but it proves difficult to identify with the emotions experienced on that day. Where were you when America was attacked?

Hate;

I actually have a subject for this one.
This thought was inspired by church today when we discussed hate. One person said that they don't hate, they just hate with a passion. Is that not the same concept? Passion is defined by www.dictionary.com as "any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate." It says it right in there; "hate". So by saying that you "dislike with a passion" its a double form of hate. Its like saying exactly "I dislike you in a powerful, compelling emotion or feeling of hate."

Wow. Huh?

So, the resolve? Don't waste time disliking or hating when you can spend your time wisely by liking and loving. It takes so little energy to like someone, or to love someone. Occasionally, you will come across people who are hard to like, but you just have to look past their faults. Everyone has faults, obviously its just, some people's faults are more on the surface than others. You just have to accept that and move on.

March 14th

I have this theory I have been thinking about a lot lately. I discussed it with Becca and she feels the same way. I [we] believe that there isn't just one perfect someone in the entire world made just for you, but in fact there are several. I believe you can fall in love with anyone at all, if you choose to, mutually. You have to make it work and want to make it work. Of course that little spark is needed, but I'm relatively sure more than one person makes your heart stutter. I could definitely go more in depth, but I don't really feel like it.


Yesterday, Becca and I went to see 10,000 B.C. It is about an hour and forty minutes long, entirely non-fiction, but very good. If you like symbolism and half naked men in loincloths, its a perfect movie for you. I give it a 6/10. It conveyed a cute love story and a good story-line of heroism, but lacked clarity. Many times I had to ask Becca what was going on and half the time she couldn't tell. The filming style [or lack thereof] was something to be desired and some facts were not very factual, [they walk out of a snowy mountainous area and are all of a sudden in a hot tropical forest...] It is entertaining, but don't go if you're looking for something realistic. Wait till it hits DVD and rent it.


Ahh haha. I loveeee Degrassi. <3

Marzo 11, 2008

I'm not even going to bother with an intro to this new blog of mine. It won't be my last first post. I can guarantee that.

I got my new email for BYUI. Its gla08002@byui.edu
I'm pretty hyped on the idea of me going to college.. I just am not as hyped about leaving the people here. Some, yes, I can't WAIT to leave behind, however, some people I just want to put in my suitcase and take with me. Tom for instance. We finally got to hang out today for the first time in a few months. I wicked miss that guy. He is my other half. Its like we were born to be best friends. =] I don't ever want to lose that. EVERRR.

There are so many people I don't want to leave behind. If I began listing, I'd be here all night making sure I didn't miss someone. =/

So, today, Tom and I, as I said, got to hang out. First we went to Sally's to get me a better straightening iron. That was fifty dollars gone in under a few minutes. Then we got Quiznos. Freakin' delishhhhhh. Haha. He got some chicken-bacon sandwich and I got Tuscan Turkey. We both thought the opposite sandwich was appeasing, so we traded half of our sandwiches for the other. Next on the agenda we went to the Mall. Someone [Tommmm] didn't have toll money, or an EZ pass... so, Sally [his GPS that I named Sally] told us out to get there without going through the tolls. So, we went through Maine to get to Newington. I officially love shopping with Tom. At first he was like, mellow in the background while I tried to find a shirt, but then he helped me figure out what shirt I wanted to buy at American Eagle, my new obsession. Then, he insisted upon carrying my bag. Long ago, in like, July, we planned on going to the Mall, but our plans were canceled. Back in July he told me he would carry all my bags like a real gentleman should, and he remembered how he told me that LAST JULY and obliged. I thought I was the only psycho person out there who remembered little trivial things that people say. I have a memory for the oddest of things, but never my work, or due dates... selective memory.

Needless to say, I had a great night, and I know he did too. <3