On the train, for rare moments, you can see into the car in front of you, and that operator's booth is lined with wood. For a minute you imagine the train is a classy, wonderful thing, like in a Wes Anderson movie. Except, right when you are thinking of all of those nice things, a lady gets on, tripping on whatever her drug of choice is. And she is loud, and obnoxious, and people are holding her back. And it breaks your heart.

School is literally almost done. I can see the end, which is this Friday and also next Thursday. Writing final papers has kept me so stressed that I am afraid it isn't really done after all. I dream of still having classes, even when it is ninety-five degrees and I am in another state. My professors are mad at me because I have missed, like, five days straight, but I just want them to remember that I am on vacation. All that I am ready for is miles and miles of fields. But right now God is just reminding me that he loves me, even when I am miserable and grumpy over finals week. I just need to be content in the situation I am in, which is writing papers. And not sleeping. Basically I am blessed to be in school at all, even though sometimes it sure feels like more of a burden.

Babysitting is almost done, too, and right now I am just so glad that I don't have to be a mother for, like, a whole bunch of years. I don't know how to make kids fall asleep well enough for that responsibility.

"We are having a hookah party. Too bad you couldn't be here right now. I'll take pictures of everyone for you."
-my Mom, calling me to tell me about their night. Provo has really made my parents wild and adventurous.


I have been hanging out with a lot of foreigners lately. Which would be neat, I guess, except we don't speak the same language, so a lot of words get lost in translation. Also, I do not have enough money to go and visit them for at least three years, possibly five, so that is probably not polite.

driving in the rain makes me ache for a home that i can't even remember, outside of the lens of being eight. i want to pack up and go to the northwest for a weekend, even if it is still cold. maybe it will just remind me that i don't need to miss it that much. but gas is probably cheaper there too, so we will see.

but i have literally been packing boxes for a lot of today, and that is always a nostalgic thing to do, because of finding old letters, and photos, and art projects. also, i took three whole weeks off of work, starting june eighteenth, so here's to counting down to that.

all that i am hoping for even now, at the end of the semester, is just a day with no funny car noises or a headache or sore muscles. not even, like, a rockstar boyfriend (which is what i was always wanting for a few years of life, oops), or fifty dollars. also, i would like to not do another group project for two years or so, because, really, who wants to meet up at the u on a sunday? i sure don't. and i am sure tired.

i feel like i have been gone for a month except i haven't. probably i have just been to provo or have had a really bad attitude for a whole month straight. God has definitely been doing things this last week though that i wouldn't expect and it shows me i am a big baby. and i am happy right now. truly happy. utah isn't so bad after all.

so there it is. ask me again in a week and a half how i feel and i will say JUBILANT because school is out. but not because i am working full time. that isn't the reason.

"Of course I am responsible. I have to make up for the vikings who wasn't.....So make sure Marley comes in. And make sure to let Brewster out."
-Kim reminding me how to take care of a house. That kid deserves a whole entire book filled with things he says.

i was on the outside, i was lookin' in...

--Britt Daniels. After the show I still love him, and perhaps even more just because he can play real rock-n-roll, on the spot. When I listen to Spoon in my car now, I smile all the time. That and dream of learning piano. One song down, today, about a whole bunch more to go. I guess these things take some time.

--Selfishly I would love to turn off my cell phone for a week and quit dealing with all of the text messages that keep popping up. Quit dealing with false reality and tired phone calls and Provo always being angry with me. Maybe the real world would give me a medal for that. Except I need to keep in contact with people for silly group projects. So, basically, I blame college for using my cell phone this week, or else I might be tempted to throw it out the window on the interstate. Oops.

--A confession is that My hair is not growing very much anymore. I keep trying but no results. Mainly I think that I will just start washing it less than every other day, even. Maybe that sounds disgusting, but my hair always did look better dirty. Now that it isn't so curly anymore I don't know what to do with it except keep it gross. Weird.

--I love Gary Lutz stories. I read one for creative writing about fifteen times just because I loved it so so much. Probably the smart thing to do would be to buy one of his books real soon.

"I mean, my middle name could be gray area!"
-Ramsey DeGeare, on some forgotten subject.

Back and forth, somewhere in between slightyclosetoSixth North and Provo is where my heart has been this week. I guess I am pretty tired, but it has been a good, long week to reevaluate and even be grateful for the things that don't make sense.

It was the photos she brought. Everything had been vague, a blur until that moment. Life seemed to be fuzzy, and Michael couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always forgetting something. When he felt the gloss of the photo against his leathery hand, though, something inside clicked. He started approvingly through the sequence. At first the gloss just felt good on his hands as he listened to the drone of his daughter’s voice. The air was thick with her words and he didn’t hear them as much as he just heard sounds. The man he perceived to be himself advanced through the stack of photographs again. This time, though, memories began to flood over him like lava pulsating from a volcano, charring and carrying away all things with it. There was the sound of a child screaming, the feel of holding a baby for the first time, terrifying and yet so purely beautiful; the grandeur and illumination of the ferris wheel at the county fair. Michael felt something inside of him that he hadn’t for a long time: clarity. He jumbled through the photographs once more.

"My mother makes bombs."
-My Norwegian brother Kim, being totally serious.

I have probably had, like, a shot of Kahlua in the past ten minutes just by eating these cute little Mexican chocolates. I think I may love them. Today was a good Easter. I got to see some very good friends of mine and play some buumpball, which is SPEED in Kim's language. It gives me hope that Jesus died for me, paying my debt in full, then rose again to be my LIVING SAVIOR. What a beautiful, beautiful thing. And so I am grateful for this family. For drives to Provo. For watching pieces fall off of a backboard, for forgiveness, for green bean casserole, for health.

"Mom, I'm going to prom in California this year."
"Did you brush your teeth?"
-a conversation between the mother and her 15 year-old daughter, visiting from Boise.

I have heard my share of arguments, complaints, and fights this week. But I am happy, usually, and ready for the sun to start shining down.