Welcome 2008.

It is now 2008. I am still a student. I have a job and a place to live and am almost independent. I am single and enjoying it. I have dear friends, two living parents that are still married, and one remaining grandparent. Blessed I am. Greatful I am.

By the time we hit 2009 all I want is to learn and grow in some positive direction. Learn and Grow. Everyday we learn and grow. Life has so much to offer. So many different places to go, things to experience. I just want to try everything.

My Grandpa Ison died a week and a half before Christmas, during finals week here. At the funeral, my uncle Kevin was reminiscing about a conversation he and Gramps had...
"Joe, how do you do it? How do you accomplish everything you have to every day and not get discouraged? How do you manage to stay afloat when you have so many things to do?"
"Well, I go to bed and when I wake up, I do my best."

I think that is my new years resolution. In memory of Grandpa, in efforts to become a better person, in the pursuit of knowledge and growth... I want to just wake up and do my best. Then there will be nothing to regret, nothing to apologize for and nothing that I can't live with.

But on the flip side of things... I'm in love with post it notes. I think they are one of the most beautiful office supplies available. (insert mind wandering to a situation in which, girl will have to one day admit she's been cheating on her significant other ...**ashamedly** "I wasn't really going to the library. I've never gone to the library... I've been... at staples.")

Nanette

People might not have opinions about things. Should people have opinions about everything? I can't have an opinion on things I haven't experienced or studied. Sheltered existence yields sheltered people. Inhabitants are a reflection of their culture. If one isn't taught to question. One won't.

So many topics to stay on the fence about. Considering one option or the other. Each has it's benefits and consequence, it's pro's and con's. But by sitting on the fence, you experience neither the positive or negative effects of making a choice. Which is barely living at all. Fear of making mistakes prevents agency from ever happening. What kind of a life is that? I can't feel anger for those missing out on mud puddles of life. What do I feel? It's not pity, it's not sadness... but it's something like that.

Decisions are intriguing. With every fork in the road comes different conclusions to reach about ourselves. Like a house with a thousand rooms.... and each room has hundreds of closets. Do you choose to open the doors? So many wonderful treasures could lie inside but by the same token, There could be the things of a most disturbing nature. Do you explore? Do you challenge yourself? Do you find a comfortable chair in the foyer and have a seat, ignoring that the house is teaming with opportunity and leave the house the same person you were before?

Every day is an opportunity. Life exploration. Skip testing the water... I want to JUMP!

There's a new guy at work. His name is New Guy. He's friendly. He asked me what I do here. I told him I'm an underling... a pee on. I'm sure management would look at my attitude and think awful things. Then try to correct the behavior by putting up motivational posters about teamwork and "Every job is an important job" kind of crap around the office. (why they didn't just pay me more for prostituting my time, instead of buying crappy overpriced posters i don't know). New Guy probably thinks this job is all butterflies and puppies right now. New jobs always are... then you find your shoes chewed up and you've stepped barefoot in the doggy shit.

point A-------------------------point B.

Time for a new job. I have yet to ever really experience job satisfaction. But that's just what these menial, devoid of respect jobs are... JOBS. not careers. It's weird to be surrounded by people who have been doing the same thing for 20 years and are proud of that fact. Why don't they just hang a sign above their name plaque "I've Settled For Mediocrity at $9.15 an hour." Maybe I'm just not the kind of go-getter that they were looking for. Go figure.

I don't understand the kind of dedication they're asking for at a whopping $5.85 an hour. You get what you pay for... and $5.85 pays for some awesome myspacing. Make your workers feel important... give them more responsibility, give them something to be proud of... give them more customers, more opportunities to serve their campus. Smells like teen spirit. Smells like someone's been lathering themselves up in self-help books. Smells like someone sleeps to tapes of a man, cashing in on the insecurities of other people, repeating the phrase "I like myself.... I like myself... I like myself."

I'm currently enrolled in german 101. The purpose of the class is to gain a general understanding of the german language and be able to construct simple sentences.

Week one - We introduce ourselves and what we're wearing.
Week two - We talk about our feelings.
Week three - We talk about our Majors and interests.
Week four - We talk about what we Gern (like) and Nicht Gern (don't like)

Seems pretty basic. Feels 5th grader-ish. There just so happens to be one gentleman (though he doesn't deserve such a title) who takes these opportunities to express his violent conservatism. With things such as "ich bin SEHR conservativ." Or his know it all attitude "Germans are the worst drivers. The only accident I've ever been in was in Germany." "When I was there they said it this way." This doesn't even touch upon the EXTREMELY audible breathing and sighing he does when he's called on to speak. I would prefer it if he didn't breathe at all. Today took the cake though...

Nanette, Was Mach du gern?
Ich singen gern.
Was macht du nicht gern?
Ich Koecht nicht gern.

[mr. Asshole], Was mach du gern?
-Ich (some asshole-y thing) gern.
Was macht du nicht gern?
-How do you say I don't like hippies?
"Ich mag Hippies rucht gern."
-Igk magk (audible sigh) Hippies (loud intake of air to buy time to try and figure out how to pronounce it) rukt Gurn. (more rustling of air through his nose hairs). But I want to say I REALLY don't like hippies. '
That would be "Ich mag keine hippies." I don't like ANY hippies. Which introduces the next grammar lesson.

The whole class room was peeeeved. What?! Why don't you like hippies? what's wrong with them?

Mr. Ass "They don't have money. They're not productive members of society."
To which the teacher responded "That is what we call stereotypical."

UPHEAVAL. I wanted to rip his throat out. But isn't that ironic. i hate him for hating other people... this hate thing is very contagious. Ich mag keine Assholes und Extremists. Ich liebe Hippies.

Liebe, Nanette

Life is constantly changing. We are humans... we have an incredible ability to adapt. Constantly you see these movies or new reports or books. Everything's based on a true story. Everyone knows someone who has one of those tragic, my life is worse than your life stories. But the burden never quite kills them. I've never heard of someone dying from stress. I've heard of people killing themselves to end the stress.... But if you just bit the bullet would it eventually go away?

I suppose it's karma. Dig your own hole, sit in your own hole. Right when you learned that maybe hole digging wasn't for you a stranger will walk by and offer a helping hand, maybe a ladder, maybe a rope. Do some people sit in their hole indignant to not recover? What about those people that can only see the dirt in front of them and not the sky over head? They think it's over and end things for themselves.

Patience. We are survivors.

It's a rainy blustery day... I've opened all the blinds in the house, turned off the air conditioning and opened the front door. I'm sitting in the doorway. The sky is grey. The metallic smell from the train station and the smell of fresh rain enters the house. I can hear the trains pull up. Squealing breaks, wheels against rails, doors clanging open and thundering close... all punctuated by the pitter patter of huge raindrops (biggest I've ever seen) against the cement of our front porch.

Colors are more saturated under cloud cover. I love to stare at grass on rainy days. Clouds make idaho look less... brown.

There's a dandelion growing up between the cracks in the sidewalk. Heroic little bugger.

The air fees heavy. The breeze feels so... round. like sinking into feather down. The world is less harsh, less scorching and ragged. I wonder if rainy days feel like this to other people. I still don't know how to describe it. Its like a trusted hand brushing back your hair... an old dog leaning against your legs. I guess the word for it would be familiar. Rainy days are familiar.

I'm particularly fascinated by the shape the wind takes in the grass. It moves in ripples. It's ghost people wading through a pond of green. Mayb eit's mmore like a tide washing up and down a beach... I don't know much about tides... but I imagine they'd move similarly.

The wind isn't blowing in one direction. The trees across the street keep blowing in the opposite direction of my bangs across my face.

I'm sad that no one else is on their porch enjoying this. I could imagine if they were. I'd look up and see the girl across the way, sitting in front of her grey house on her wooden steps, arms resting on her knees, just scanning the area with her eyes. She'd see me. We'd exchange friendly neighborly waves and return to our thoughts. But it would be a moment we'd both note... being able to recognize each other in the grocery store later. But that would just be my imagination.

The only people I've seen have been in cars hurrying by. Each eager to reach their destination. Them... and the homeless man on his bicycle who turned his head to stare at me while he rode away. The rain is really picking up though... I need to close the door.

Nanette

Sad day to lose such an artist/performer.

Here's an article.
http://music.msn.com/music/article.aspx?news=274370&GT1=7702

First Beverly Sills, then Pavarotti?!? Who's next?! Quite the year for knocking them dead.

Well.. I had stake conference with my family yesterday. President L. Tom Perry was speaking in my hometown. The lady sitting two rows behind us totally kicked the bucket mid spiritual lesson. Died. They came and took her off in a stretcher... Cleaned up the urine... And the people in her row returned to their seats. The speaker didn't even bat an eye, he just kept going. Dedication? or Heartless? or confusion about whether to go on or not... I don't know.

So for your own health... don't go to stake conference. And for heaven's sake, don't pee on the carpet.

Oh dear lord... Please let the roommate moving in be normal. Please let all the things I've heard about her already be wrong. Please can I live with normal people this semester... amen.

I've lived in the same house with 5 girls for two and a half years now... which five girls is always changing... There have been 8 weddings. 8 bridezillas. I've gone through 12 roommates...

The new one is completely oblivious to the fact she lives with other people... On the plus side, she's never really home. On the negative side, when she is she's making messes that she doesn't clean up before she leaves the next time. When she is home, she's accompanied by her slightly backwoods homophobic boyfriend who has a tendency to eat and breath, with his mouth open.

Well.. There's another one moving in today. Self proclaimed coloratura soprano. Freshman. 18. Now, if you're new to the music stuff... classification of voice type is very German. Classification can change... but a knowledgeable teacher won't officially classify you until your voice has reached near maturity. (aka 20-22 yrs old for more lyric sounds and about 1000 for larger voices)... Classifying yourself that early as a 'coloratura' is slightly ego-y. Your teacher will give you an idea of where you're going and generalize you like soprano, mezzo soprano... but you don't receive words like "coloratura" "dramatic" "spinto" "Verdi" "Wagner" before your title until you've studied for years.

Please tell me I'm not living with a typical soprano. Please tell me I'm not living with the next department diva. Please tell me everything is going to be fine and that everyone that's met her and talked to me is wrong. Please let this not ruin my semester.

Well... here's to meeting the new roomie today... I'll drink to that. Hand me the Jager.

Nanette

I think it was a science teacher in 8th grade who told me that over the course of seven years you basically become an entirely new person with all the cell regeneration, shedding skin, hair... Personality... I was reading some old journals that I'd written when I was thirteen and I can do nothing but agree.

I was a manipulative little shit. But completely open about it to this book... I wrote about faking an asthma attack at an acting camp to see if I could convince people. Which is just awful... Or convincing the gullible girl that room 112 was haunted... Or forcing myself to throw up at school so I could get out of an assembly... Punching my brothers and then running to my parents crying that they'd done something awful... Lying about places I've been.

I had this conception that if you can lie, you can act. And the determination to be an actress really pushed a lot of fibs out of my mouth into other people's ears. Sad... herm... but probably the basis for imagination.

One of the best behaviors I've shed in that 7 years I feel... Not that it didn't come at a price... friendship after friendship... I've finally learned how to be honest. What have you learned?

Nanette