On the Last Twelve Months

It's that time of year again! It seems everyone is talking about reflections and resolutions. I admit it can get old pretty fast, which is ironic considering the holiday's moniker, but let's hope you aren't sick of such talk yet, because I'm adding this post to the list of cliché New Year's stuff.

Every New Year's Eve I have a bit of an end-of-the-year crisis, and today has been no different. It's as though 2010 is a pet, and I didn't know how much it's meant to me until it came time to euthanize . In addition to making me miss my actual pet that died in 2009, these feelings caused me to ask, "What do I have to show for this year?"

My immediate answer was a rather depressing, "Not much," but now I realize there actually were some notable events in 2010.

January:
Started my second semester of college (with mononucleosis).

February:
Had Valentine's Day with my first boyfriend and saw the end of the relationship.

March:
Kept up the schooling while friends at other colleges were on spring break. They laughed.

April:
Finished the semester before said friends. I laughed.

May:
Went in for some uneventful jury duty and attended a job fair.

June:
Had the ol' wisdom teeth extracted and started a survey call center job. I enjoyed the former.
(I lied. This was actually in May, but I don't remember anything from June... I blocked it from my memory due to survey-induced emotional scarring)

July:
Saw a lightning show that was way cooler than the scheduled fireworks. Started a blog.

August:
Quit the survey job, picked up some weed-pulling jobs, and drove the nine hours to college all by myself.

September:
Worked up the guts to audition for the campus sketch comedy group. (I'll get 'em next year)
Also sprained my ankle.

October:
Reached the alive-one-fifth-of-a-century mark and had a couple awkward encounters with the ex-bf. Also realized it was, in fact, an ankle sprain; got x-rays and started physical therapy.

November:
Bought a pair of used skis.

December:
Posted my first YouTube video (as fanfareone - don't mock; I know it's a cheesy video)
Drove home for Christmas - again, on my own.

Resolutions?
They don't seem to work very well, but this year I'm planning on:
Completing the whole workout program I started to do with my roommates but couldn't finish due to the ankle.
Taking a skiing class.

And definitely:
Starting the year out single - and with a sense of possibility.

So as much as I'll miss 2010, I think I can safely say I'm ready for 2011. The drive back to school, however, is a different story...

The Good Semi-ritan

Well, I'm home for Christmas, and seeing how long it's been since my last post made me a bit sick, so I figure I should write about the trip home a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving.

A certain car went up through a mountain pass, and fell among snow pack, which stripped it of its traction, and slowed it, and stuck, leaving it stranded.
And by chance, there came up a certain tow-truck driver that way: and when he saw the car, he stopped and suggested a way to apply the tire chains, but wouldn't help, save to tow the car up the hill for two-days' wage. So he passed by on the other side.
And likewise another tow-truck driver, when he was at the place, came and looked on the car, and tried to put the chains on, but couldn't, and passed by to tow another car.
But a certain policeman, as he drove up, came where the car was; and when he saw it, he had compassion on its passengers,
And parked behind the car with his lights on for safety, and when he couldn't apply the chains, he called for a tow-truck driver who could, and he went to them, and chained up the tires, and helped get the car moving.
And when they got back down the mountain, the road was cleared and they could take the chains off and drive the rest of the way home.
Which now of these three showed the true spirit of Thanksgiving?

Luckily, when I had to make the drive by myself this past week, the weather was great until I got to my own neighborhood.
Safe travels and Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones - and if anyone wants to learn how to put tire chains on, I'm here for two more weeks.

Facebook Event

On Facebook, I was invited to participate in an event of testifying today. I figure a blog post is more spacious than a FB status, so this is where it's happening...

God is a loving Father who blesses us according to our needs and our worthiness to be blessed. I certainly don't understand everything that happens to me or others, but I trust that it is for a reason and that injustices will eventually be made right. In recent years I have learned to trust in the Lord's timing and in the promptings He sends through the Holy Ghost, because as smart as I like to try to be, I know that I know almost nothing. Someday I hope to understand more.
I know that God still reveals knowledge today and that His only focus is to make our salvation possible. His son, Jesus Christ, suffered to atone for our sins if we will repent, died, and was resurrected so that we can overcome death. Life would have little meaning if this truth weren't so. Please take the time to notice tender mercies God has given you every day, and give thanks with all your soul.

Climacophobia

This post will actually include several funny stories, all related to one event.

Five weeks ago, I hurt my ankle - Ha ha ha ha - oh wait, that's not a funny part. While descending the stairs in the campus bookstore, I overshot one step, thereby missing the bottom stair and doing a lovely ballet pointe, complete with a loud pop in my left ankle. As I was collapsing, I took time to consider how strange it was that instead of feeling pain where pain was due, I experienced the odd light-headedness that comes when my blood pressure has dropped; the vision becomes impaired and ears feel full of cotton... I'm pretty sure my skin felt tingly too - everywhere but my ankle, that is.

My roommate who was with me dashed to get a drink of water - for me, not herself - and I sat, hunched, right there in between flights of stairs hoping I wouldn't have to visit the ER (emergency room - not endoplasmic reticulum; sorry, I've been in lots of biology classes lately). When the haze wore off, we slowly made our way to the car where I remembered I kept an elastic bandage. The ankle did fine supporting weight, but did feel funny, so I wrapped it tightly and took some ibuprofen to handle any swelling until we'd get home.

People who saw my wrapped ankle asked what happened, so I'd tell them I missed the last step and something popped, etc. but my friends suggested I exaggerate the story, like saying I fell down a huge flight of stairs. I suggested I'd rather not lie and make people think I'm a huge klutz... plus I've seen movies where that exact story is the one the battered wife tells so her husband won't really throw her down the stairs. "I'm so clumsy," she says. Since my roommate was the only one with me when I hurt myself, I didn't want to suggest that she is physically abusive...

Over the next week, I kept the ankle wrapped, tried to elevate it whenever possible - I even set a chair by my bed so I could theoretically sleep with the foot raised- iced it once or twice daily and ended up having another roommate who's into massage therapy relieve a bit of the tension.
By then, it didn't hurt as much to walk around campus, so I figured it had healed fine. Great! No need for a doctor appointment.

When I thought about what I wanted to do now that I could walk without wincing again, the first thing that came to mind was start an extreme workout program with my roommates! So that's what I did: exercised at least an hour six days a week for four weeks until yesterday. While we're only 1/3 of the way through the program, my ankle has been sore and swelling every few days this week and I decided to be sure I didn't permanently damage anything in the accident.
I went to the doctor's office on Friday, and amazingly they took me back to the room right away, fifteen minutes before my appointment and when the assistant left, the doctor was in within two minutes. This was good because it gave me less time for reflecting on the first time I sat in that office, when they drew blood and left me there, alone and lightheaded (see similar description above) and then came back and told me I had mononucleosis. [SIDESTORY: some people call mono the "Mormon STD," because it's supposed to be the kissing disease and is more PG-rated than actual venereal diseases. When they told me I had mono, I felt like I had tested positive for HIV (this isn't to laugh at people who have), fearing the ostracized life I would lead and thinking myself some kind of monster.]

Anyway, the doctor poked around at my ankle and foot to decide what exactly needed to be x-rayed and then I got to go back to the little room and sit on a table that looks like something I've seen dead bodies on in TV shows. First, the lady handed me a little lead-filled loincloth to tie over my clothes, because I guess if the radiation goes crazy on me, my brain doesn't matter as much as my pelvic area... I'd never had x-rays taken except for dental purposes, so I guess it was about time to take six of my left foot area and try to catch up the radiation - I can't let my jaw win! I must also make note of the strange feeling that accompanies being positioned and left in a room by a nurse who dashes out and slams the door every little while. This time I felt like a radioactive monster... Also, it was funny that there is no real noise or visible indication that an x-ray is being taken, except that the lady has left the room.

I know the machine worked, though, because after a while of waiting back in my patient's suite, I got to see the images. Doc came in and sat down, holding each one up to the light - so he could see it and I had to lean over. I have some pretty bones, I must say. There were no fractures or anything fishy, so after checking my tendons for tears one last time, the doc called it a sprain, got me set up for some physical therapy and wrote a prescription for an anti-inflammatory - the same kind, in fact, that I was given last December for my mono-swollen spleen. I think my doctor may have some hidden, Naproxen agenda... Oh he also said "no strenuous activity." Of course, I nodded in agreement while inside I said, "Oops. Does 'extreme home fitness' count?"

So it's looking like I'll be taking a break from the workouts for a bit, which is unfortunate because I was enjoying increased fitness. I'm considering doing an altered form of the program for now, avoiding anything that could strain my ankle, but I'm not sure if it's better to do just part of it, or none at all. At least after this Thursday I'll have some sub-extreme ankle workouts to do...

I'm Still Alive!

Sorry it's been a while since I last wrote, but I've been busy beyond all reason with assignments of many varieties (speaking of, I should probably be working right now, but this is for mental health). I've thought of a plethora of brief anecdotes and observations I could share, but I'll post those another time - hopefully soon.

For now, I want to talk about today. Not "what I did today," but on the significance of September 29th. It is one of those dates I will never forget, since it has been an eventful day in almost every year of the recent past.

Three years ago today, my youngest niece (until next year) was born, breaking the tie in the niece/nephew ratio for our family. She has been a joy in the lives of all who meet her, just as delightful as her cousins. In her little lifetime, she has shown me the pure, childlike love spoken of in the scriptures and has, on several occasions brought tears to my eyes. To feel her small, tender hands reach to hug me is an irreplaceable experience - one that even now cannot be recalled with dry eyes. Today I am reminded of how grateful I am that she is part of my "famoly."

Two years ago today, something else happened in our family. Having celebrated the aforementioned birthday over the weekend, we all met on this Monday - with out-of-state brothers on the phones - to learn that my parents would be divorcing just short of their 30th anniversary. Regardless of the surrounding circumstances, an announcement so out of the blue induces shock along with a myriad of emotions - mostly tearful. It is a hard thing to learn just before one's 18th birthday that the perceptions about one's home and family for all those years will no longer be accurate, and perhaps never were. It took many weeks and months - perhaps still years - to work through our grief; such change is not easy, no matter how necessary it is. Some forget more swiftly than others, but I am brought to recall the many tearful nights spent alone and with my siblings, and grieve for my own past self.

This year, 9/29 was a fairly usual Wednesday, but I have been brought to remember another painful piece of the past. Today is the day my former datee began his two years as a missionary - the first two weeks of which will be spent at my place of employment, the training center. As was hinted in a previous post, things did not end well between us, and while I am glad he has taken this step (I did care very much for him this time last year), I feel uncomfortable chancing an encounter by donning my mail room apron. It was made known to me that my associations with this person were the means of turning him toward a more constructive path of life, so for that much I am grateful. Today I felt a few shadows of sorrow, but the tears do not come anymore in this thing, for there were far, far too many in months past. I still await a feeling of closure, as though it is an envelope that will not seal, when I have other letters yet to write.

As months pass, the tears will dry - at least those of sorrow, I hope - and perhaps next September will bring more reasons to rejoice.

These are the Future...

I am now back at school and one week into classes. The reality that I wish I could ignore has started creeping back into my life. Don't get me wrong; I love school and learning and classes - even tests. Really. The problem is the classmates, and it always has been.

In university-required classes, students complain - a lot - because they somehow feel that prerequisites are squelching their creative souls. They lash out by playing Solitaire or Farmville on their laptops. Way to be. I was hoping to escape their whiny slackertudes upon beginning my major studies this semester, but I find that my cohorts are STILL complaining about how boring a class is, or lamenting the fact that they have to be there. Last I checked, majors are one of the optional parts of one's college experience. I selected the major of Wildlife and Wildlands Conservation, as did many of the angsty students - unfortunately - and I'm sadly realizing that there is an inescapable evil in my world: There will always be the obnoxious ones.

No matter how engaging or enriching I find a study to be, there will be at least ten head of classmates that refuse to enjoy anything about the class. I have a professor who is passionate about plant life and listening to lecture gets me excited to learn as much as I can. But I hear the blond, tight-jeans-with-high-heels girl a few rows up complaining about how lame the class is. I cannot for the life of me understand why she is in a major all about things living when she couldn't care less about any thing's life other than her own and that of whatever guy she finds most attractive that week. There are plenty of girls like that around here. This probably won't be the last you'll hear on the subject from me. I can only pray she will marry some nice RM who doesn't care about brains and decide to quit the major. Because as important as patience and charity are, I'm not strong enough to be in classes with that type of person for three more years. Hopefully the Second Coming isn't too soon, because I'm clearly not ready.

I want to be with people who love learning and understanding like I do. I am in awe at the plants and animals - and world - that our Heavenly Father has created and I feel honored to learn about and work with them. I have chosen this major because it's what I love; it certainly won't make me wealthy beyond all reason, and it isn't highly prestigious, but I actually want to be here. I worry that some of the people around me chose the major as a safety - "Well, it seems fun and ya don't have ta be to smart, so... why not?" - I mean, it certainly isn't law school, but I feel rather insulted by the group in which I find myself.

All I can do is pray that I will resist the urge to smack people... Maybe you should pray too.

What I did this summer was...

While home for the summer after my first two semesters of college, I found it necessary to find temporary employment. Of the half-dozen places to which I applied, only one scheduled an interview with me: a "research" company which shall remain nameless. "What does one do when employed at such a company?" you may ask. Well, my position was euphemistically labeled, "telephone interviewer," aka: those people who call you during dinner with an opinion survey. My dreams had at long last been fulfilled! Actually, I didn't ever have dreams about scoring such a job, and if I had, I now realize they would have been nightmares.

It was easy enough to get hired (it should have tipped me off when the people interviewing after me came in ripped jeans and dirty tank tops... in fact, my interviewer was wearing baggy jeans and gangsta-style sneaks), and I foolishly thought, "How bad can it be talking to people on the phone?" This is the Hannah that still has to work up enough courage to call and order pizza. This oughta be good...

I breezed through the training like I was born to use that computer survey system, and the training supervisor seemed spitefully amused at my light-hearted wit. Then it was time to make real calls... to real angry people. And the blood pressure started rising. It wasn't such a big deal when people turned me down, I mean we get paid by the hour and there are no quotas because they want legitimate survey results, but I soon learned that it takes a very specific kind of person to handle a job like that: the kind with tattoos and missing teeth and tobacco breath. That kind of person really excels. I'm pretty sure if that job was all I had to look forward to for the rest of my life, I'd smoke too.

Words cannot describe the dread I began to feel as I prepared for each shift (hours are voluntary - just call to sign up). It didn't take long to discover that more than two hours of smelling my smoker coworkers gave me a headache and after four hours of sitting at that computer I wanted to cry. In fact, with one particularly irate batch of registered voters, I did just that. I'm a tender person as it is, and after an already tolling day, an ignorant man insulting my intelligence for some coworker's negligence was just too much. And it's difficult to respect the supervisors when the most advanced word in their vocabularies is "verbatim" and they often misuse it in their sentences anyway. Finally, I just stopped signing up for hours - and what a relief it has been.

Anyway, I have just a few points I want to make with all this narrative. Obviously, I want to encourage you all to be kind on the phone. I know it's annoying when someone wants to conduct a twenty-minute survey with you but please don't yell; it's just his/her job. So if you must decline, do it in a way that does not belittle the messenger. In the time between calls, as I looked around at the older people who have been telephone interviewers for years, I knew that nobody worked there because they liked the job. It's just the only way these people have to support their children and pay the bills. Now, more than ever, I am truly grateful that I have a future and it starts with my next semester of college. I will never go back to that dump, or any other such job. I learned what poverty smells like (a mix of cigarettes and scalp grease), and whether I live alone or have a large family I intend to avoid that smell forever. I will make something of myself, and that is a choice.

Getting Schooled

As I prepare to head back to college this fall and many of my friends embark on journeys at their universities of choice, I am brought to consider how infinitely superior college is to high school. I never realized just how much I detested the latter until I experienced the former. Sorry if you don't like lists, because it looks like I'm making more! (It is my blog, after all)

So

Ignoring the obvious monetary aspect, overall college life is better than that of high school because:

1. You have more flexibility with when you take classes

2. There are all kinds of people to meet

3. Plenty of courses outside the areas of math, English, science and history are available

4. You can be more independent (decide when/what to eat, make weekend plans, etc.)

5. Cliques are either nonexistent or far less rigid

6. Most people there chose to be there

7. It really doesn't affect you if other people skip classes or show up late (except in the case of lab partners)

8. Yes, there are still immature nincompoops, but the chances of a competent-person sighting are far greater

9. You start anew every semester!

And now for some observations of why my university is uniquely better than my high school (and in some cases, other colleges and universities):

1. With a student body of over 30,000, I can't be singled out as the nerd, teacher's pet, lame single girl, or other shameful labels

2. I'm not the only - how do I say it tactfully? - non-desecrated person on campus

3. Teetotalism is enforced

4. Although there are still annoying couples, at least they don't [publicly] practice premarital reproduction

5. In a stadium of 64,000 fans, the football team actually wins multiple games a season

6. There are dance teams/clubs with members that do something other than shake their giant rear ends to dirty music

7. I don't step in gum every other day on campus and the grounds are impeccably clean

8. Nobody writes profanity - or anything - in bathroom stalls

9. Being honest, caring about grades and keeping yourself pure are actually considered admirable qualities. Who knew?!

Well, there you have it - just a few of the reasons I have found to prefer college over high school. To my friends who will soon begin 13th grade, and to everyone returning to school, I say, "Make it a great year!"

My Life is a Poorly Composed Melodrama?!

Warning: This post contains references to the Twilight "saga" (I shudder to admit).

For those of you who are unaware, I am not a fan-girl of Stephanie Meyer's teenage [blood]lust series. I have not read the books and plan on continuing to abstain from the literary meth that has ravaged the lives of so many of my contemporaries. I have relented and viewed the "films" that are already on DVD for the purposes of 1. understanding the "culture" in which I am forced to live - by, well, being alive in 2010 - and 2. having a good laugh at poor acting and such. Anyway, I make mention of this so you know that I do not write this as a fan-post.

Awkwardly enough, I feel the need to publish this because in the months since seeing New Moon, I have been shocked - and rather disgusted - at the comparison I've been able to draw between my own life and that of main "character" Bella. One moment; I need to go vomit.

Okay, here we go...

I'm the teenage daughter of divorced parents. My skin is the kind that some might call "ivory". This year I went through my first breakup ever, which was with a hard-to-read, pale-skinned, (dare I say soulless? Perhaps not quite) teenage boy who has weird eating habits and was still 17 when I turned 18. The relationship had a strange beginning; even though he was relatively withdrawn for most of the time I knew him, one day a switch seemed to go off and he decided I was worth a relationship. He promised to protect me and said I was so very important to him, and just when I started to believe him, he changed his mind. Oh, did I mention his absurdly large hair? Yeah, that too.

It's not clear how much of what he said to break things off was true, but he had to leave the state - or country - and didn't want to hear from me ever again. I didn't go into the woods and fall to the ground in mourning, but I did waste many tears longing for what used to be and agonizing over what went wrong. It took a few months for me to feel like myself again and let go of my anger. Unlike Bella, I did keep living and I did a lot of thinking (*huge divergence*). Like in the movie, whenever I do something thoughtless or idiotic, I am reminded of this former boyfriend, like his ghost is following me. Go figure.

For the remainder I'll provide a list of what similarities and differences remain, because paragraphs seem too formal for such subject matter.

Similarities

~ I still have an occasional dream crashed by ex-bf and it ruins my day (I don't screech like a banshee in my sleep, however)

~ I like dog-people, ha ha

~ Being with friends helps the pain go away

~ Vampires can't use their powers on me

~ Guys dig my wheels

Differences

~ When my warm, cuddly rebound comes along, I won't reject him and go back to the unhealthy relationship

~ Hopefully, I don't attract abusive relationships and volunteer to beat myself up like Bella does

~ I won't be jumping off any cliffs

~ I-i-i-i t-t-talk and think pretty well

~ I don't want my blood - or soul - sucked out

~ I can make a rational decision

And there you have it. If I think of any other items to add, I will. Here's hoping that I don't have to write another such post after seeing Eclipse...

On Embracing

Just over a year ago, someone showed me how to hug. Having grown up in an environment where little, if any, affection was displayed after surpassing toddlerhood, hugs were understandably not my thing. When I realized what I'd been without for so long, however, a simple hug came to mean the world to me. That simple, effortless act of caring - when received on enough occasions - served to remove the distrusting and doubtful reservations that had kept me from living happily for eight years.

But life changes and I don't get as many hugs anymore. While most of the hurt has healed, it feels like that void will linger, only to be lessened by the occasional embrace of a friend or perhaps a dream that makes me dread wakefulness. I never knew how much joy a touch could bring, or how much sorrow its absence could cause.

I don't publish this to invoke pity (although sympathy hugs would be appreciated, ha ha), but to call the reader to consider the value of a hug. I appreciate the loving people who give their kind embraces freely and I remember being one who felt awkward receiving a hug. If you're one of those, just smile and let it happen maybe it can change your life.

It's difficult to know what the future will bring, and while past embraces cannot return, let's all look forward and hope hard for lifetimes of sincere, fulfilling hugs.

Progress!

All right, the blog is looking a million times better! Oh, and apparently "Writes of Passage" is a fairly common play on words used in many contexts, so I've decided to go back to one of the other awesome names on my list. The design changes were all courtesy of Eli, big brother extraordinaire, and the background is a photo I took last summer. For now, I'm trying to think of a clever post to make, so check back soon!

Origins

By now you are probably wondering who you are, why you are here, and how this blog is so lame-looking and yet has my name attached to it, but I know you came for The Hannah, and You know you came for The Hannah. So now that we're on the same page, let's discuss how this blog came to be, and be assured that I will be working on the appearance for all you shallow critics out there.

I've actually been thinking about starting a blog for a few months now, since I've been making a lot of observations on people and the world as of late - so many, in fact, that Facebook just can't handle all the posts it would take to get my thoughts out.

The title of the blog is one of many I considered but it seemed the most pertinent. I consider myself to be in the thick of "growing up" experiences, enduring many rites of passage in the last two years. So it applies to much of what I'll be writing, and it's win-win, because who doesn't love a good play on words?

I intend on writing any deep or hilarious thoughts that come to mind because you all know laughing is one of my greater strengths. For any fans of a certain vampire "saga" that seems to be popular beyond all reason at the current time, I probably will write occasionally to comment on it so I'd suggest working on developing a sense of humor about these things because I won't be apologizing. No worries, though; this isn't going to be a bashing blog. Most of all it will be about my experiences so all my fans can keep track of what I'm up to. Bwah ha ha!

I hope this will be enjoyable for us all. Good luck.