and I AM actually still alive...

Here I am. I have neither dropped off the face of the earth, moved to a monastic island in the Mediterranean, or joined the witness protection agency, though my absence might have had you worrying. I'm sorry. But no, I have had none of the above excitement in my life. On the contrary. I am alive and well and...a little bit bored. I am also going to be late getting back from my lunch hour if I don't leave this coffee shop very soon. Lunch hours these days are few and far between, and the time must be used with utmost discernment. So I used this one to put your hearts at ease. I know so many of you have been losing sleep over my lack of...postage. Anyhow, I must get going. Adios.

Only in South Dakota...

While driving to work at 8:00 this morning, I passed my governor. He was standing by himself on the sidewalk in the gap, holding a cup of coffee and waving at all the people driving to work. There's something to be said for living in not-so-metropolitan places.

My Grandpa died on Friday night. My grandpa that I had lunch with on Thursdays. My grandpa that never missed a single one of my concerts. My grandpa that taught me how to play harmonica, and then let me play with him in church. I've been blessed. I've never lost someone very close to me before. But now, I wonder if I heard too many lectures in college about the grief process. I have this usually undesireable ability to disconnect myself from my emotions and view them objectively. This can make it tough to get past the "how I'm supposed to feel" and actually deal with the "how I feel." It' strange really. It's strange to lose someone so suddenly, as I'm sure most of you can attest too. Hmmm. Well, that's about all I have to say about that right now. More later, as usual.

Like rollerskating in the china shop...

Hi. I'm back. At the library. They have added a coffee shop. Right in the middle of the library. Inside this coffee shop is a sign that reads, "Feel free to enjoy your beverages throughout the library." I find this a little perplexing since I grew up in a world where having food and beverages inside the library, especially within spitting distance of the books or computers, was a sin that would at least send you straight to the same zip code as Hell, if not the precise coordinates. But since then, some genious figured out that they could make a buck - heck! thousands of bucks! - if they compromised their committment to careful preservation of their books and documents and just let people sip java while they browse. Don't get me wrong. I like coffee. I like libraries. I like to drink coffee in the library. I just see it as an interesting development.

In other coffee shop news (as coffee shops and their dynamics, social demographics, etc. positively are my favorite topic of discussion) the loathesome Starbucks recently announced that they plan on doubling their number of stores worldwide next year, bringing their empire to a measley total of some 40,000 stores. They must be stopped. With that, my lunch hour is drawing to a close and I must get back to work. More about my feelings on Starbucks later. Or, simply refer to Natalie's recent blog rant on the corporate big boys. We share similar sentiments.

I'm out. Happy weekend.

Monday Monday.

I have approximately 38 seconds here at the computer in the public library to post this. Having no computer at home, I decided I would stop down here after work and "quickly" print off (the highschool activities schedules for the other YoungLife leaders. (Sharon and I have been given the lofty, prestigous, and coveted positions of "Co-Contact Work Coordinators") Quickly. Right. It should not be so hard to copy from a website and paste to a word document. But my brain is very small, you see, when it comes to things of such technological difficulty. And, as is often the case, it has taken me much longer than planned. I had also imagined that after leaving the library, I might get a chance to stop home and grab some dinner before high-tailing it to YoungLife club. Dinner. Right. Also, not going to go as planned. I will survive. I am very excited about club. Last week was our first club of the semester and it went just swimmingly, (seriously...is there really a better adjective than that? I think not...) so I pray tonight is just as fun. Wow. I've seriously exceeded my 38 seconds. I really need to get a move on. It was nice to write for a bit though. Peace.

Pleased as Punch

It is with great joy that I announce to you all: I'm moving. Finally. Not just thinking about it. Not just talking about it. Not just hanging imaginary roman shades on the imaginary kitchen window in my head. No, kids, I actually HAVE THE KEYS to the front door of my own appartment. (Truth: the kitchen window is now a reality, but the roman shades remain a figment of the imagination for the time being.) I know. Hard to believe. Even more shocking is the fact that I signed a six month lease - which sets a new record for comittment in my life. Scary. But exciting. Granted, it's only a four and a half minute drive from where I currently live, but it's still considered moving, nonetheless. This has been a very, very, very long anticipated event as well as an answer to prayer...so I'm pretty stoked. I have my own mailbox. My own fridge. My own bathroom. And best of all - get this - a murphy bed. That's right. And YOU thought those only existed in old movies! But you were wrong, my friend. I have one. And I'd be more than happy to have you over to my new place so I can demonstrate the ease with which one can fold a perfectly unmade bed right up into the wall, leaving no trace of a perfectly unmade bed. What more could a person ask for, really? A dishwasher? Oh, well, I have one of those too! And if you think I'm happy about this situation, you should see my hundreds of books. They're beside themselves with excitement, as they get to come out of their boxes, following three years of musty darkness while they waited patiently in storage. My dishes are pretty thrilled as well. So, that's my news. The other detail in the story is that fact that I will no longer have computer access at my residence. This could be both good and bad for you, my beloved readers. The benefit of this situation is that there will be no more post-midnight writing here in my journal...which means better, more well-rested writing. The bad news is that there will probably be less writing over all...which you may not even notice, since I've only been posting something up here about once every other week. Anyhow. That's all I've got for now. You kids have a good night.

This is my little sister, Sarah Jill. She just turned thirteen yesterday. As I'm sure is the case in most sister-sister relationships, especially those spanning an eleven year gap, she thinks I'm pretty cool. She likes to hang out with me, likes to steal all my clothes, likes to make jewelry with me and style her hair like mine. It would seem that she wants to be like me, to a certain degree. But what she doesn't know is how much I wish I could be like her. She is a far more confident and secure person than I was at her age. She is comfortable with the shape of her body. She doesn't care what her peers think of her. She's quirky and hilarious and has a completely ridiculous obsession with ducttape (She can make pert near anything you can imagine out of ducttape.) and red cars and Geico commercials. She has dozens of best friends, all who love her goofy sense of humor. She's simply beautiful. I adore her. I really hope that someday I can grow up to be just like her.

It's that time of year. Everyone's going back to school, if they aren't there already. Everyone, it seems, except for me. This is the first September in eighteen years that I am not going back to school. For most recent graduates this situation is cause for much rejoicing and gladness of heart, as they watch their less fortunate school-bound friends ceremoniously draw their summer to an end and painfully readjust back to class'n'homework mode. I, however, am not most people. No, for me this detatchment from academia has been a catalyst for an identity crisis in my life. I loved being a student. I loved most everything about it, with the exception of, well, work and such. I'm not really a fan of reading textbooks unless I've chosen them, or writing papers unless I've determined the guidlines. But really, for the most part, I loved being a student. Perhaps the reason I fear the end of that role is because whatever it is that comes next seems sort of...generic. I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before I slide gracefully into a niche, right? I will soon find the joy in being a "young professional", or whatever it is they call people who have just graduated from college. But for right now, when so many lucky ducks are headed across campus, crunching leaves and trying to figure out how to pay for text books, I'm going to wallow in a bit of envy.

Nine years ago I had a crush on a boy I had never spoken to, because he was beautiful and had blonde hair and played the guitar. His name was Chris. Eight years ago I gossiped about a girl I had never spoken to, because she was beautiful and had dark brown hair (I always wanted dark brown hair) and all the boys liked her. Her name was Sharon. Three years ago they met at a friends wedding. Today I was a bridesmaid in theirs. Not only are they one hot couple who is crazy in love with Jesus Christ, their relationship is a testimony to the goodness of God and his faithfulness to orchestrate billions of little details to fulfill his plans for our lives, in his perfect timing. (By the way, the wedding was lovely.) P.S. Sharon's the beautiful one on the left with brown hair. I'm the one covered in...shaving crool whip...er...stuff.

The Great Camping Fiasco

I love camping. I really, really love to camp. So when I asked Adrienne if she wanted to go camping the weekend she'd be home, I had idealistic mental images of a tent in the woods, kayaks in the water, and campfires in...campfire spots. Like most of my camping experiences. Well, Adrienne came home, and we did go camping last week. It just didn't look exactly how I had pictured. There were a series of mishaps and unfortunate circumstances that contributed to the crushing of my camping ideals. The first was the fact that when I got online to reserve our camping spots the morning before, every spot at Sheridan Lake and any surrounding National Forrest campground was already reserved. Hmmm. No problem...plan B...we'd just "find some place in the hills when we get out there." Second problem: the kayaks I rented at an affordable rate turned out to be 12 foot ocean kayaks, not 6 foot river kayaks. We had two of them. I have one compact car. Despite my most valiant efforts, my father convinced me in his logical engineering way that there was no possible way I could put two 12 foot kayaks on top of my itty-bitty hatch-back. So we were forced to borrow my brothers monster truck (Ford F150.) By the time we actually got the whole kayak transportation problem solved, it was rather late in the day, and Adrienne and I were starving. This was just fine, because we had planned on eating dinner at the Alpine Inn, which, in my humble opinion happens to be the best dinner in the hills. Unfortunately, the 1/2 hour wait for a table turned into a 2 hour wait for a table when they accidently missed our names on the list, and we didn't get out of the place until 10:30. By this time it was very dark, and the only place we could find to camp was a lovely AAA approved family campground near Hill City. Nice, but not really my idea of "roughing it." They only had one spot left. We didn't ask to see the spot until after we'd paid for it. (We were tired. Give us a break.) Refer to exhibit C. We were practically camping in a parking lot. It was 112 degrees during the day and 78 at night, so the campfire seemed somewhat impractical. The rest of the weekend continued in pretty much this same manner. Etc. Etc. Etc. A smidge less than ideal. Nonetheless, Adrienne and I had a delightful time. The whole thing turned out to be pretty hilarious in it's not-going-as-planned nature. And, we invented a new kind of water sport. We haven't named it yet. The general idea is that you paddle your kayak out to the middle of the lake, sit there until a speed boat whizzes by, and then "ride the wake." I don't think I'd call it an "extreme" sport, but we haven't perfected it yet. I'll let my know when we do. So, that was the "camping" (only to be spoken of with the use of air quotes) weekend. I'm actually leaving again in 5 minutes for another "camping" adventure, this time in a friend's cabin, with my huge family and lots of board games, and no fire (because there is a fire ban right now). And no 12 foot kayaks.

Exhibit C: The worst camping spot ever (red square)

Exhibit B: My 8 Foot Car

Exhibit A: 12 Foot Kayak

Sorry. I've been neglecting my journal. I was busy getting my kicks...

And delivering my best friend to her shiny new "grown-up" career. Doesn't she just look all grown up?

And attending some first rate sunset viewings...

My apologies for neglecting the journal. I've been out galavanting around the country again, trying to satisfy my wanderlust, which I've determined is a chronic condition that is only growing more severe with time. Three weekends ago I was in Minnesota for my cousin Katie's wedding. While there I beheld three lovely sunsets, (see photo) and visited the one and only Spam Museum (see more photos - the one is of my little bro - in the provided Hormel costume - and my little sister - too cool to put on the costume - racing to see who can get a better time producing and packaging fake Spam) A top notch museum. (Take my word for it...I've been to many a random museum...I know what I'm talking about.) The following weekend AJ and I took a killer roadtrip down to Phoenix. It was terrific. We traveled a bit of Route 66, ate at "Earl's Diner - World Famous Since 1943," and picked up many many hitchhikers. Just kidding. About the diner part. Okay, seriously - about the hitchhikers. To my middleschool and highschoolgirls: NEVER EVER EVER PICK UP HITCHHIKERS. IT'S VERY DANGEROUS AND I WOULD NEVER EVER DO IT OR LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE THAT IT'S A GOOD IDEA. Alright. That said, we honestly didn't pick up any hitchhikers. One, because her car was literally packed to the gills with stuff and there would have been nowhere to put them but my lap, and two, because in New Mexico there are signs every 75 miles that say "High security prison nearby. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Stupid NM roadsign putter-uppers. They should know better than to do that to a person like me. Lucky for AJ, we didn't see a single hitchhiker to pick up after that. Anyhow, we had a grand old time. Well, until the part where I had to come home and leave AJ in Arizona. (Did I mention all my favorite people are moving to Phoenix?) She does, however, have a lovely classroom (see photo) with lovely clean chalkboards and a little reading nook, and her name on the door, so I'm delighted for her. And a teensy bit jealous, because I've always wanted a classroom, even though I don't really want to be a teacher. So, those are some more tales of my journeys. I think I'm home now, for the rest of the summer. Unless I leave again. ;)

I should have said I was sorry...

Some things just "blow over." They say something, you say something, they're hurt, you're mad...or some variation on that theme. And sometimes it's best to just walk away for a little while. Let everyone cool down, take a breather, forget what it was all about in the first place. And it all blows over, like it never happened at all. But sometimes, it dosn't work this way...doesn't blow anywhere. It just hangs over your head, toxic and hiding the sun, tying knots in your stomach. And it doesn't matter who said what first or who hurt who, because if you don't do something about it, if you let it stay there long enough, it settles in and eventually the smog is too thick to see through, and the trees all die and you both get permanent lung damage, and your kid's kid's kids will all get cancer or be born with extra toes, because you thought it would all blow over and it never did.

Dearest Em: Whoohoo! You are getting married tomorrow! (Surprise!) I must confess, I'm a little disappointed. This probably means that we will never be roommates in a tree house (I am certain Jesse would not allow it. Actually, he'd probably go for the tree, just not the extra girl hanging around the house all the time.) However, I can look past this issue, and I want you to know that you are very much loved (by me, by God, by your soon-to-be-husband, and "all the other people whose names won't fit here but were essential, influential and indispensable in multiple aspects of the creation of this album - you know who you are.") You are also very much prayed for and will be greatly missed. (Why are all my favorite people are moving to Pheonix?) Know that you can come visit me in my treehouse any time you want. We will eat vienna sausages and microwave cajun rice (or not) and drink coffee and cranapple juice and listen to Carbon Leaf and talk about our mutual love for...certain color schemes, shady ethnic restaraunts, and "the outdoorsy type." If the weather's nice we'll go for a drive and get "lost" in a canyon in Colorado and be late for church. Until then ~ Peace, love, and lucky second-hand finds. See you tomorrow. ~ Marci

Willful Insomniacs Anonymous

It appears that I am back to my old ways. It is 2:44 am and all the resolve I had to be in bed early (i.e., before 1 am) has gone out the window. Correction: I still have the resolve, but since it is actually past that time now, it's worthless and irrelevant resolve. You know, like eating "The Frankenstein" (10 scoops of icecream, 5 toppings) at the Totem Inn (yes, I have done it) and talking about losing some weight, in between bites.

I have a touch of a cold and I was tired all day long, and I haven't had two normal, restful, 6-8 hours worth of sleep, back-to-back nights in over a month. So I had good intentions. But now I am wide awake and this is the healthiest I've felt in 3 days. So I feel like I should be doing something. Specifically, I feel the need to create. It's this strange craving I get every now and again...okay, about every 6 hours. The feeling that I need to be painting, or writing, or even just playing with some food. The sad thing about this is that to be a functioning person, to get the things done that I need to get done - like work...and...stuff - I usually have to supress that desire. Responsible people can't just sit around playing with their food all day long, right? (Okay, so a few lucky ones can, but these jobs are really hard to come by, and I'm still waiting to hear back on my last four interviews for the position of culinary architect.)

This constant suppression of creative energy results in a fear of starting a project when I do have the chance, because then I'm always afraid I won't have time to finish - something I am notorious for. However, while this may be the case, I suppose it's still better to have a hundred unfinished creative endeavors lying around our lives than to never even give them the chance to become something. That said, I'm going to go raid the fridge for art supplies.