Grateful for:
General Conference issue of the Ensign
Sunshine and crunchy leaves
Playing the piano
Telling stories
One more day of vacation
Birthday card from Grandma
The future


This week, for the first time, I didn't see anyone from my immediate family on Thanksgiving.

This week, for the first time, I made myself throw up. It's harder than it seems, but it was necessary. Believe me. It was.

This week, for the first time, I watched a football game by myself between two teams I didn't care about. (Ohio and Michigan. Michigan won, by the way.)

This week, for the first time, I didn't honk at anyone while driving. No one. Not even the moron who cut me off on the freeway and made me slam on the brakes.

This week, for the first time, I cried during a car commercial.

This week, for the who-knows-how-many-times-it's-been, I decided to be happy regardless. Regardless of what others do, or don't do. Regardless of what my life is, or isn't. It's harder than it seems, but it's necessary. It's worth it.

It is.


Have you ever wanted so badly to be sick that you made yourself so?

Odd, I guess, to want to be sick.

But Sunday night that's all I wanted. To be sick so I could stay home in bed, sleeping away the hours and shutting out the responsibilities of grown-up-hood.

It took a little longer than I had anticipated, but by Monday afternoon, I was sick.

Headache, sore throat, running nose. The whole bit.

So I came home and did nothing. Just looked pathetic and relished the occasional, "You OK?" from my roommates.

Because I wasn't not OK, but I wasn't good, either. And the attention, well, the attention felt good.

This morning I tried to wake up but knew it was a lost cause. So I texted my boss (yes, that's how cool my boss is) and told him I'm be late. I needed the medicine to kick in. He texted back, "Hope you feel better." (Like I said, really cool boss.)

So I got what I wanted — 1/4 of a sick day, extra sleep, a little bit of attention, an excuse not to do my makeup and hair to the full extent of acceptability in the work place — and now I feel better. Top notch, actually. (Rock climbing followed by a hot shower is one heck of a cure, let me tell you.)

I guess I wanted to write about this whole making-myself-sick thing because I am amazed at the power of thought. The power of our minds to control our bodies. The power of our desires almost always turning into real life.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

The mind is greater than the body.

Spirituality is greater than carnality.

Is this insight new? No. Is it comforting, liberating, uninteresting, exciting, life-changing? I don't know. For now, I guess, it's just there.

(And, yes, I made up the word "carnality.")



I think the best part of keeping a journal and writing a blog is being able to go back and see where you were. Today I went back to November 2009, and I found a little gem that I wrote that I think is worth posting again. Coincidentally, it was exactly two years ago, to the day. Not so coincidentally, I still feel the same.


"Everything makes sense when you're with me."
—Relient K, "Savannah" 

I've never been to Europe, but when I think about my future, I have this romanticized vision of living in  Europe. Or at least somewhere with a very European feel -- I guess just about anywhere but the cinder block apartment complex I live now. I don't know where this feeling has come from. Maybe too many Jane Austen movies, too many Michael Buble and Jamie Cullum albums, maybe too many years of dreaming and planning and so little doing. In my head there is a daydream playing on repeat, of white-washed walls and yellow dishes. Of corner markets and mom & pop shops. Of a journal full of more answers than of questions. Of not flying solo, but of having someone to share my laughter with, my dessert, my laundry detergent. This doesn't sound very European, does it? But maybe because both things are foreign to me, Europe and my future life, my mind has combined both together. And both are things I'd sure like to have.

So, Europe, I'll get there someday. And you, whoever you are, we're gonna share a really good life. Laundry detergent and all.



It's an interesting concept, loneliness. I am never really alone — surrounded by friends, co-workers, strangers at the grocery store, the occasional family member — yet I classify myself as such more often than not. Sometimes out of sorrow, sometimes out of delight (have you ever gone to a movie by yourself? Awesome.)

And what's more, every person that classifies them self as alone, as lonely, feels as if they're the only one. And yet, I know better. Everyone does. I am one of billions of people that feels that isolation, the seclusion, the abyss that is loneliness.

That realization does nothing to soothe the sting.

Each has their own brand of loneliness, specially formulated to prick, to crush, to suffocate, to slash, to tear and burn and strangle the life from their frame. No one is alone is feeling lonely (irony, is it not?) but each is alone in their uniquely cruel solitude.

I'm not especially lonely right now, more just pensive. I found several scraps of poems I started more than a year ago on the subject of being alone, each one with strong imagery and no ending. That, in itself is an allusion to loneliness — potent, and seemingly without end.

I want to post some of what I wrote, for no other reason than to share the imagery of loneliness. My own brand of loneliness, from July 2010.

I've heard someone say they were suffocating in loneliness.
But I find it hard to suffocate in nothingness.

The loneliness is maddening
It is relentless
It is without end.
Comparing it to suffocation is not
enough, for it does not kill,
It only ages.
It ages me. I feel my face clenching back like a vacuum pack sealer.
It will not release me.
I am aging alone.
It isn't painful. It is —
What do the doctors say?
— Uncomfortable.
It presses on my chest without,
while the [end]

I am bloated with loneliness.
The pressure builds, pushing my stomach out,
My pants cut into my flesh.

Loneliness is a Texas summer.
Hotter than description.
Barren in brown.

Loneliness is being bloated.
Gas pushing the pants into my flesh.

Loneliness is an imbedded tic.
There, but good for nothing.
There. Sucking life.

Loneliness is who I've become.

I wanted to find myself.
I never wanted to find myself alone.

Words of Wisdom from Elizabeth: Part I

Always have clean ears. You never know when you'll be offered to share ear buds with a cute boy. (Thanks for teaching me good hygiene, Mom.)

I enjoy whistling as much as the next guy, but there's a time and place for it. And in a shared office in the work place is not one of them.

Don't lick foil containers. It doesn't matter how good the Laughing Cow cheese is. Or the yogurt. Don't do it. You're tongue will thank you.

Don't add celebrities — local ones or world-famous — as friends on Facebook unless you actually know them. It's just sad.

"Thank you" is always a good comeback. You will always sounds polite, even if you're also sounding condescending  For example, if someone was to sarcastically say, "Wow, thanks for screwing that whole project up." You can say in return, "No, thank YOOUU."



"This lint ball and this lint ball, they are like racial diversity," she said aloud to herself, raising one hand and then the other, each containing a freshly scooped wad of lint from two dryers. "One is light, one is dark, but they're both made of fabric particles. It's like I'm holding the whole world in my hands."

"That was messed up, dude." She started as a long-legged man across the room replied to her analysis.

"Yeah. Yeah I guess it was. But I'm kind of right, right?"


And with that, he placed two quarters on the nearest washing machine and walked out the door.



Here's a snippet of what I've been up to the past couple weeks. Or, at least what I have photos of.

Last day of work at the Daily Herald. That's Joseph, Sara and me. I miss them.

Here's what I looked like as Ferb during the tri-ward Halloween activity. Seriously, people thought I was the Joker? Really? So sad. I guess no one my age watches Disney Channel. No one single, and my age, that is. 

We attempted the corn maze at HeeHaw Farms. It was stinkin' cold, dark, and we didn't really understand how the whole thing was structured (the start and finish were at the same spot?) so we kinda didn't complete it. But hey, it was fun, and that's what matters. [Jessica, Telisha, me and Ethan.]

Jessica and Telisha at J's cousin's house. We ate doughnuts and explored his sweet house, full of thrift-store/antique shop items from all over the world and from every era. It was so cool.

I opted to dress as Deb from "Napoleon Dynamite" so as to not be confused for the Joker again. (I had Jessica add a Napoleon-heart "tattoo" on my arm to complete the look.) Oh, and I know Deb doesn't wear glasses, but I didn't have my contacts and I didn't want to be blind the whole night. Sorry.

And finally, we had a Halloween-themed dinner on Sunday night. Monster apples, skull-ice punch, mummy pigs in a blanket, dirt cups for dessert. So good. [Josh, Nicole, Justin and Stefany.]

So there you go. This doesn't include the rock climbing I've been doing twice a week with Jessica. So. Fun. My arms are sore, but they are getting buff, and my hands are slowly but surely building calluses. Ah man, there's something so awesome about using your own strength to conquer a precipice. It brings a feeling of accomplishment like no other. It adds another thrill to the concept of progression. Spiritual, intellectual, physical progression. Forever. Shoot dang, it's exciting to know we have unlimited potential. 

P.S. I'm falling in love with scrapbooking supplies and I don't even scrapbook. Yikes. Thanks, new job!