I found this quote typed up on another blog. I think a lot of people feel this way, have experienced this. ARE experiencing this. More people than we might realize. Me included. But I guess love will be that much sweeter when I find it because of feeling like this as I look for it. Him. I don't feel like this all the time, but sometimes, I certainly do. Anyway, this is a good quote. 

"I've found almost everything ever written about love to be true. Shakespeare said "Journeys end in lovers meeting." What an extraordinary thought. Personally, I have not experienced anything remotely close to that, but I am more than willing to believe Shakespeare had. 

I suppose I think about love more than anyone really should. I am constantly amazed by its sheer power to alter and define our lives. It was Shakespeare who also said "love is blind." Now that is something I know to be true. For some quite inexplicably, love fades; for others love is simply lost. But then of course love can also be found, even if just for the night. 

And then, there's another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love. Of that I am an expert. Most love stories are about people who fall in love with each other. But what about the rest of us? What about our stories, those of us who fall in love alone? We are the victims of the one sided affair. We are the cursed of the loved ones. We are the unloved ones, the walking wounded. The handicapped without the advantage of a great parking space! Yes, you are looking at one such individual. And I have willingly loved that man for over three miserable years! The absolute worst years of my life! The worst Christmas', the worst Birthday's, New Years Eve's brought in by tears and valium. These years that I have been in love have been the darkest days of my life. All because I've been cursed by being in love with a man who does not and will not love me back."

--Iris, the holiday


The Asians are having a party in the lounge.

The Guatemalan is cleaning, seemingly listening to the same song over and over again.

The few friends I have left who are single have all left town for the break.

It's my day off and I have nothing to do.


Kids know what's up. String cheese and pretzels are so good.

I talked to my mom today. That's always a good thing. We talked about my social life -- OK, OK, my lack of a social life. I believe the term she used to describe me was, "social recluse." In my defense, after I got off the phone with her two boys came over and I had a nice conversation with them. Yes, they were my home teachers, but it still counts. It does.

We also talked about maybe me going back to school. I'm up for that. I was thinking of what I could go back in -- photojournalism, mass communications (meh.), English teaching. I went online and started looking at what U of U, BYU, UVU and some other schools offer in terms of masters degrees. I contemplated English, just plain English, for about 2 minutes before wanting to barf at the thought of spending all that time with wanna-be intellectuals and people who are so proud of their mediocre writing and opinion of Hemingway and ... another early 20th century writer, that they don't realize they have no true friends and they smell of stale bread and cat urine.

I don't know why they smell like stale bread, it just came to me.

I could go back in creative writing. Though, that would probably be just as bad as English people. English masters students, not, like, people from England.

What I need to find is a masters program for English/creative writing where the people are down-to-earth, the requirements to get in don't require a 10-page research paper and a bachelors in English, and the tuition doesn't cost more than buying a new Toyota every year. Any suggestions would be appreciated. (Let me guess, in my dreams?)

Good thing I like my job and am in no hurry to leave just yet. Maybe by the time I need a change in scenery I will have found a masters program I love enough to ignore the "quirks" of the people studying with me.

The night of my birthday I realized I hadn't blown out any candles. That's kinda messed up. So the next day, I bought myself a cupcake, stuck a candle in it, found my lighter, lit the yellow stick of wax, and blew it out. Yes, I did make a wish, but as I know the rule of not telling others what I wished for, it doesn't matter to you if I wished or not, except that that's the point of blowing out candles on your birthday, right? I didn't want to get gypped of any wishes I'm entitled to, so yes, I did make a wish. You can relax now.

It was a grasshopper cupcake. Like, mint and chocolate, not bug-flavored. Why the heck do they call it "grasshopper" by the way? I guess some grasshoppers are green, but so are frogs and alligators and grass and marijuana. Well, I can see why they wouldn't call it a marijuana cupcake (they'd get a whole new set of clientele with that one) but I think an alligator cupcake is a great name.

Hey, there are only 19 days left in 2010. What are you gonna do with them? I think I'll eat some more cupcakes.


I grow more grateful every day for the body I have. Not just that I have a body, but that I have the body I have. Oh sure, there are things I'd like to change, but the beauty of it is, they all seem to be things within my control to change, if I will just buckle down and do the things I know I should.

I feel really good about life. Really good. About all of it. And I'm not sure where this mounting confidence has come from, but it's amazing. I used the see the faults in my appearance -- from a pudgy stomach to a crooked smile. But lately, I look in the mirror and see good things. "You're hair is looking mighty fine today, Elizabeth. And that shirt? Well, you wear it so well." (Yes, I do talk to myself.) I've heard "motivational speakers" and the-like, recommend to people (especially women, who are so apt to degrade themselves) to look in the mirror every morning and point out three good things and ignore the negative. That's great advice. But I didn't take it. Not consciously, at least. For some odd reason, I just started seeing the good. Out of nowhere. It really does baffle me, actually, because I can't track the source. Was it getting a big-kid job? Was it graduating from college? Was it the fall weather? Was it that new CD I bought? Seriously, I can't figure it out. I'm just hoping it doesn't go away, because I wouldn't know where to start finding it again.

I'm grateful I have a body of flesh and blood. I'm grateful for the flaws that encourage me to improve. I'm grateful my Heavenly Father trusted me enough to send me to earth and use this body, these feet, these hands, this mind and mouth, to do His will.

One thing that did occurr to me while pondering the source of this new-found confidence a few weeks back was the presence of the Holy Spirit in my life. It's not that I just received his companionship, but I have become more aware of it. Prophets and scripture have said that the Holy Ghost brings joy, peace, confidence and a desire to do good. Well, that's exactly how I feel.

So I guess I did find the source.

Why has it come with such force lately? Maybe it's being able to go to the temple more often. Or resolving to improve areas of my life that I've just skirted by with "acceptable" results before. And, I guess I'm growing up. Growing up seems to bring with it more responsibility, more trials and more heartache, but it also seems to bring clarity of mind, better perspective and a realization of the truly important.

No, I'm not saying I'm awesome. I'm just saying I'm understanding more how to become awesome. You know, like Moroni awesome. Or my grandparents awesome. You know what I mean.

"A strong testimony gives peace, comfort, and assurance. It generates the conviction that as the teachings of the Savior are consistently obeyed, life will be beautiful, the future secure, and there will be capacity to overcome the challenges that cross our path." 
--Elder Richard G. Scott 


It was my birthday yesterday. I'm 23 now. Prime number. I like prime numbers.
I went to dinner with some friends -- it was a small group, but a fun group nonetheless. (This is the last week of classes, which didn't occur to me until half the people I invited declined because of the mounting work they have to finish. Bummer.)

 Two of my roommates: Soleil and Kelsey

Me, Sarah, Thomas and Jordan.

Yes, yes I am wearing the same headband and sweatshirt that I wore last year when I went to lunch for Kyle's, Katie's and my birthdays. Totally not a conscious choice. Apparently I need to switch out my wardrobe a bit, huh? :o) 

I'm very blessed, with great friends and a stellar family. Just sayin'. 


Me and dad in January 1996, on my baptism day. 

Dad and Hayden on Saturday, Hayden's baptism day. Hayden is one awesome kid. He has an amazing imagination, always making up stories with strange and funny details. He's sharp too, very smart. And independent. He is also one of the sweetest boys, giving you hugs for no reason except that he's glad you're there. I love Hayden. 

I love comparison-type photos, to see how people have changed.

I don't know if this is true with anyone else, but I look at pictures of myself when I was a lot younger and I can't tell that it's me. Like the one above, I know that's me, but only because I've seen it before and I've memorized what I looked like when I was little. Comparing it to me now? Well, I'd need a picture of myself next to it to see the similarities.

Isn't the weird? I mean, I see myself more than anyone else, yet I can't remember what I look like. Ha ha. You know what I mean.


Conversations with God

It is late at night that I really get to know myself. I kneel -- or, rather, huddle, with face in pillow -- on my bed and address my maker as if I was opening a letter. 

"Dear Heavenly Father." 

Out of habit, but oft times sincere gratitude, I thank Him for the day. And then I commence in on the two-sided conversation, which seems all too often one-sided if I don't stop to take a mental breath.

It is during these late night talks, silently spoken on my drool-ridden pillow, that I talk things out with my maker. He has made me. He knows me better than I do, which makes sense, then, that as I talk, I'm not letting Him get to know me as much as He is allowing me to use Him as a sounding board to get to know myself. His soundingboard of eternal perspective and eternal truth does a miraculous thing: as I speak lies -- about myself, my feelings, my situation, my relationships, my plans -- they are absorbed and, if I am humble, I let them go and I am much closer to ... Him, I suppose. And then, as I speak truths, they bounce back and I am enlightened. I could say I enlighten myself, but I am no atheist, I am no fool. He is allowing me to discover the truths that have been there for eternity but have just now been allowed birth in me.

Tonight I talked with God and He asked me a question that I've been repeating to myself for the past three months: What are you doing with your life? Tonight, I told Him my answer and consequently discovered a part of the true me that has been hiding, scared to show it's face in fear of being laughed at if it were to fail to come to pass. It fears no more. I fear no more. 

What am I doing with my life? I am traveling forward, taking the first chance at using my degree in a field I love. And as I gain experience, I will take the other chances that come along, and further advance. In wisdom; perhaps. In knowledge; at least. Income; I hope. And as I do so, I hope to physically travel to a house on the beach with white curtains and blue walls. I'll wear starched, white cotton shirts and no shoes. I'll eat toast on the deck with the man I love. And maybe, if I'm feeling a little crazy, we'll even have a dog. An outside dog, of course. And there, I'll write and draw and photograph and create and love. I will love. I love now, but there I will love as I have nowhere else. 

That is what I'm doing with my life. 

Sept. 28, 2010

You know how I was saying before that I was discovering myself through writing? This is an example of it. Last week wasn't the first time I wrote something that liberated me through my own honesty, of course not. And this, yes, is proof. It's not, admittedly, a great piece for others to read. But for me, it has become one of my favorites. Why? Because it expresses truth. My truth. You know how there's eternal truths? And scientific truths? Etc. Well, there's also "my truth," which, really, is merely when I am able to write things about myself that are exactly what I mean to write. Just like artists struggle to paint or draw exactly what they picture in their heads, so do writers struggle to express exactly what they feel. This is one instance in which I succeeded.

So that's why I wanted to share it with you. Because so often people talk and write and do things that are falsehoods. Not malicious, and most often not intentional, but all the same, they are not true representations of the person. For those who read this and care to know someone on a truer level, well, here's one opportunity. Whether you wanted to know me this way or not, I don't know, but I thought it worth a try.