I woke up this morning and a dull pain had spread from my head, down into my stomach, and decided to stay there. I felt like barfing and crying at the same time, but could do neither because of the dull, but persistent, pain that had latched on to my spinal chord and permeated out through my extremities.

I was going to finish that post, but I didn't, and now I don't want to, so I'll just leave it as it is.

I've discovered something. After all these years of writing, I've never been completely honest in what I record. It's like I'm writing to my sister or my mom, and even though I can tell them just about everything, it's not everything. But this past week I took a notebook and wrote really obscure things about myself and my thoughts, things that I don't talk about with others and before now haven't written about because I didn't want to explain myself, and I feared being judged or labeled as strange, even by the imaginary readers of my journal-writing. But I put those reservations aside, and let me tell you, it is liberating. Before, I was writing merely to make a record. Now I am writing to free myself. Honesty with others can be difficult. Honesty with myself, well, it can be excruciating. But I'm getting there. And even though the things I've decided to write about in this notebook of mine may be ultimately inconsequential, it has released a weight on my mind that I refused to acknowledge before, but now that is is lifted, I don't want it back.

I may not be a great writer, but something in me says I was born to be one.

I mean, look at this hair. It deserves some time in the limelight.

P.S. I ran across this quote on another blog a week or two ago. It's good, no?

"If we wait for the moment when everything, absolutely everything is ready, we shall never begin."
--ivan turgenev


Uh, I have another amendment to my Christmas list. An amendment to the amendment, actually (or is it addendum?) I don't want all The Beatles' albums (well, I do, but well, let me finish). I want, even more, all, or several of, Josh Groban's albums. I don't have any. And that's really a shame. So, Mom, Catherine, and anyone else wanting to bring me some Christmas cheer, here are his albums (that I would love to have in my possession):
  • Illuminations (2010)
  • Noel (2007)
  • Awake (2006)
  • Closer (2003)
  • Josh Groban (2001)
  • A Collection (2008)
Now, I realize all these Christmas list posts make me seem really selfish, self-centered, greedy, or just completely childish in how I'm overlooking the true meaning of Christmas. But if the media is correct, and they usually are, gifts are the core part of Christmas, so I'm just following the trend. I'm a trend-follower, what can I say.

No but seriously, now. I just want to make sure I don't mess this up. You know, the one time of year I can ask for things and not feel like a jerk. (But, ironically, I still do. Ha.)

In summation, the end.


I was standing outside with some co-workers after 8 hours of designing, editing, and talking of Harry Potter. It was so cold, and being the genius that I am, I wore flip-flops to work and forgot my p-coat. Yeah. So as we were talking, I finally jumped in during a break in conversation and said, "Well, I've gotta go. I'm freezing." And THEN, ok, this is where the story gets good, I was driving home and passed a bank with a ghetto light bulb sign that tells you the time and temperature, and guess what it said. Guess. Yeah, 0° C and 32° F. When I said I was freezing, I wasn't exaggerating. If my 3rd-grade science memorization is correct, 0°C and 32°F is what is known as "freezing." As Sid the sloth would say, "I'm-a-geniuth!" (Which, actually, is funny that I wrote that because I previously, as in, earlier in the paragraph, sarcastically referred to myself as a genius. Coincidence? ... Yeah, I guess so.)

One of my roommates is from Guatemala. She speaks Spanish. She speaks Spanish on the phone. And sometimes she switches back and forth between Spanish and English on the phone. It throws me off sometimes because, I'm not gonna lie, I totally zone out and forget she's talking when she's speaking Spanish, but then she'll say two words in English and I suddenly get really interested in what in the world she's talking about. If only I'd paid closer attention in 9th-grade Spanish. Heck, I can't even remember my Latin name that I was referred to in that class. Estefania? Esmerelda? Estefelda?

Guess what time it is? Late. That's what time it is. I'm pretty sure you knew that after reading the preceding paragraphs. Shockingly, I don't act like this in real life all the time. Just when I'm hopped up on goof balls .... or really tired. One of those two.

Peace out. Word to ya motha.


I changed my mind. Instead of the Bamboo writing tablet for my computer (which I wouldn't end up using nearly as often as I should) I would quite enjoy the box set of The Beatles albums. That's right, all of them. On Amazon, it's $129. I'm willing to go halfsies with someone. Talk about the most amazing rock-filled Christmas ever. :o)

P.S. In case you haven't heard, The Beatles' albums/songs are now being sold on iTunes. This is big news people. Who knew the name of a fruit could cause so much strife between enterprises.


I got paid yesterday. ("Just Got Paid" by N'SYNC. Wow, what a classic. But this one is even better.) Thus I felt rich. Then I looked at my credit card statement and that feeling left.

I'm sorry, can we go back to N'SYNC for a minute? They are so ridiculous, yet I can't help watching their videos. Nostalgia, I suppose. Poor Lance, the lone bass (nobody heard him), always in the shadow of lead singer and lead-looker Justin, and I'm pretty sure his managers knew he was gay long before he announced it. I mean, come on, he gets no face time in the music videos.

I won a raffle this past week. Yeah, crazy, right? I've never won. But that losing streak is over! And not by winning a George Foreman. Ha ha haaaa, inside joke. Anyway, I got a $10 gift card to Best Buy, which I used to by a gift card for iTunes which I used to buy an album by Mindy Gledhill. She's actually a Utahn and a Mormon, and I quite like her songs. They're cheerful, you know? (Click here to have a listen.)

I got yelled at tonight at work. I'm not sure how serious it was (it wasn't a very long chewing-out) but I felt kinda awkward and embarrassed and at the same time had to stifle the desire to argue back because I felt like the edits I made were justified. Instead I said, "Oh, OK. Sorry 'bout that," and looked down at the other page I was editing, my ears and cheeks red and hot and my nose starting to run from the pent up emotion I was trying to shove back down. I was proud of myself. It took about 3 minutes and I was completely fine. Last time I got yelled at on the job (a different job, 2 years ago), I cried and then laughed to try and cover it up, consequently blowing snot on unsuspecting people. It was quite an ordeal. This time, it was much more controlled. Yaaaay, Elizabeth!

And now, for your viewing pleasure, announcing

Yeah, I know, right?

[The caps and exclamation points have two-fold purpose: To annoy Catherine and also to express how incredibly tired and lacking in tact and judgment I am right now. Good thing I'm not at a bar.]

 Did you get your tickets?
 Bored in The Daily Universe newsroom during the summer. Luckily Deon texted me about some way cute shoes and I was able to send pictures of my expressions to her about the shoes she bought.
 Out to eat with the family in Texas. Dad was probably embarrassed by what some of his kids were doing in a public place. OK, not probably. He was. P.S. Rafael's has the best fajitas ever.
I had a nasty cough and told Cath it felt like a troll had moved into my lung. She sent me this amazing drawing depicting my lung.
 This was my response to Cath's drawing. She said, "Oh, is that what a lung looks like?"
 I wish this was better resolution (alas, a picture of a picture taken on a cell phone doesn't do much). Cath looks like she has buck teeth. Makes me laugh every time. Ah, 1999, you were fun.
 I saw this dragon in the store and thought, "Holy crap, that's ugly. Who'd buy that?" Last week I found one in my nephews' bedroom. Ha ha ha.
 Ben sent me this. With it he wrote, "Be happy." He's such a great motivator.
 Thomas sent me this. It's a picture of me. Along with it he wrote something like, "HA HA HA HA HA!"
 One of the twins. Sent from Ben's phone.
 Twin and Rora. From Ben. Or Kelsey. I can't remember.
 Wow, another from Ben. He was bored that day, I think. This piece was titled, "Puppy riding horse riding rocking horse." It'll be worth big money one day. Just wait and see.

Another from BEN! Two puppies and a horse. A half-horse actually, which would make her a Centaur, I believe.
 Stevie sent me this. A Polaroid from an elementary school sock-hop. Wow, we were ugly. I didn't realize how much bigger I was then Stevie. And yellower.
 Speaking of STEVIE! She got Bell's Palsy this summer and thus used the gangster look quite effectively to simultaneously protect her eye when it wasn't able to blink and catch da boyz.

That concludes my presentation. Enjoy your day. I'm gonna go eat a cupcake. 


OK, I'm not gonna lie. I posted the 11.9.10 post past midnight, thus it was actually the 10th of November. However, now I'm telling the truth and posting this at 1:22 a.m. on the 10th and labeling it as such.

All I wanted to say is: I used to be pretty witty on this blog. Like, Catherine-esque blog witty. Don't believe me? Go back to January 2008. Do it. Click on my archive and read a couple. Funny, right? Well, I thought so. Maybe, however, I'm so NOT funny now, that my weak attempt at wit nearly 3 years ago has me confused with genuine humor.

Well, I tried. I think I just wanted to direct your attention to how long I've been posting (3 years is a long time for me to do anything, besides school, which is kinda mandatory, at least in my family). In a few posts, I will reach the big 4-0-0. Don't get your hopes up, I probably won't even realize I'm posting for the 400th time until it's past and I've wasted it on posting a lame YouTube video or simply telling you to look at my photography blog. (Which, by the way, you should do. Here's the link, for your convenience. http://ahjunkphotography.blogspot.com).

Well, good night. I have to work tomorrow, so I should probably get to bed within the next, uh, 4 hours or so.


I took some photos today.

Head here to read a little and see more pictures.


I don't understand how people can stand to be doctors, with all the blood and guts and who knows what else.

I don't understand how people can choose to be police men or army men or any occupation where you may not come home, and you accept it as your way of life.

I don't understand how numbers can excite people to the point of becoming an accountant. How incredibly dull that seems.

And then I hear someone say, "I don't understand how you can enjoy poetry. Or write. I'd hate writing for a living. I hate writing. I'd rather not."

And then, suddenly, I understand all that I didn't.


Christmas List.

it's never too early to post a Christmas list, right? ;o)

 sketch book. not hard bound.

 Bamboo computer drawing tablet. 

small knife. like my brothers'.

bbc's 2009 "emma"

conair hair brush.

old navy black hoodie. size: large. i think they only sell them online now. 

 iTunes gift card. any amount. 

 "phineas and ferb" dvd. any. 

sweater/cardigan. preferably without embroidery work.

isn't this necklace rad?! found here.

Oh, I almost forgot.


I get the bulk of my inspiration at night. Have I told you that before? Sometimes it's quite convenient, as I like to stay up late. Other times I wish it would wait until morning, as I am just drifting off to sleep and I can't muster the desire to get out of bed to write things down. (Unfortunately this happened just last night and I thought, very distinctly, "I will remember in the morning. I will. How could I forget?" Well, past-Elizabeth, you forgot.)

Speaking of past- and future-Elizabeth's, I was thinking today about my future self. I think I'll just keep getting better. At least that's the hope. That's the plan. And to my future-self I would say something very cliche, like, "I knew you could do it."

Sometimes I wish a future-Elizabeth would come back in time and tell the present-Elizabeth something equally cliche, but infinitely more comforting. Something like, "It'll all work out. You don't have to worry about a thing." And yet, if I wish a future-Elizabeth would come to me in the present, and I know what she would say, a part of my present-self must know what she'd say is true now. I mean, the past-Elizabeth's know it's true. But, that's just it: All these Elizabeth's, they're one person I suppose, but all very separate too. Always changing, always being reborn -- and not just in the spiritual sense, which I am, but reborn in so many other ways as well.

I guess the point of all this is just to express this desire within me, at least the present-me, to know the future. It would be grand, wouldn't it? But, just like most of the thoughts I have, I have a counter-thought. And this time the counter-thought to knowing the future is, how utterly lacking in mystery life would be if the future was known in the present.

This, my friends, is what I was referring to as my late-night inspiration. It may seem nonsensical to you, but to me it is an unloading of my soul. Uploading, maybe, since this is the Internet. It has to be done, or else things just get too crowded and my hard drive gets bogged down.

(See what I did there? I distracted you from the melodramatic reference to "my soul" by comparing it all to technology, something so not-poetic it counters anything overly-prosaic I may have said.)

I'm sorry if you were expecting pictures to accompany this novel. Not today. Just words.

Good night.


p.s. When you work at a place that always refers to tomorrow's date as "today," things can get confusing. See, "today's" newspaper is actually tomorrow's. We just design and print it today, thus the reason tomorrow is actually "today." Get it?) But I think I got the date right. It's November 3. Yep.


Today I voted. The second time in my life that I've done that, excluding voting for 5th grade class president and where we should go for our family Christmas break-dinner. I researched the candidates and the Utah constitutional amendments, so I felt justified in taking an "I Voted" sticker. Not those who ignorantly vote for whomever their finger lands on while standing at the machine DON'T deserve a sticker, it just seems like they don't deserve it as much. Or, they should have another sticker that says, "I Voted ... But only so I could get this sticker."

I was gonna tell you who I voted for, but that would be like telling you what I wished for when I blew out the candles on my birthday cake. It'd just be wrong. Plus, if I told you, then those people wouldn't get elected. ... Wait, that IS how it works, right?

After leaving the polling station, I had nothing else to do. That has been happening a lot lately, and will continue to happen since I work at either 2:30 or 6 p.m. That's a lot of daylight to kill. So, I drove up to the base of Y-Mountain with my camera. I started up the first switch-back with no intention of going past the next bend, but my boredom got the better of me, so I just kept going. Mind you, by "kept going" I mean I decided to hike to the top, not that I didn't stop quite often to catch my breath. I always forget how stinkin' steep that trail is and how incredibly out of shape I am. But I made it! I always do. And it felt amazing. There's just something about physical exertion that can't be beat. Couple that with a gorgeous autumn day and a spectacular view, and well, my friend, you've got the recipe for awesomeness.

I have a few more to show you.
Click here to go to my photography blog.