Hmm

I'm in my head a lot. I know this and I kind of like it about myself. I used to hate it because when I realized that I was doing it, it made feel cut off from everybody. I began to feel like I had nothing to offer. The more I thought this way, the more it became true. I have a tendency to think very little of myself so to compensate, I would figure out what the person I was around wanted from me, or what I thought they wanted from me, and I would become that person. This would become difficult when I was around two different people. I would start to short-circuit. This was pointed out to me last summer and since then I have been trying (sometimes failing) to stop being what I think people want me to be and actually be who I am. I got really depressed for a while because I didn’t know who I was. I had no idea what I liked. I wonder if I don’t want to be me because I’m afraid that people won’t like me. But then I think “if they don’t like me then why am I with them?” It’s still hard for me but now that I’ve spent almost a year being aware of what I have a tendency to do, I stop doing it. I’m actually getting a glimpse of “me”. And every now and then I really like who I am. So yeah, that’s my little pondering for the day.

A Room of Dirt.....

So on Saturday the Guadalajara missions team had its first work day to raise money for the trip. On the little paper thingy describing what we would be doing it said, "come prepared for a car wash, yard work and building picnic tables". So great, I get up Saturday morning put on a pair of work jeans and an old t-shirt ( it was supposed to rain last weekend, I don’t think the weather people are on top of things) anyway, I threw an extra pair of shorts in my car just in case so I go to the church to meet up with the group to find out what car I’ll be washing or picnic table I’ll be building. I sign in and take a look at the list, Vicky Manderson: Potato room. what’s a potato room? you may ask, well let me tell you, about 70 years ago they didn’t have fine maytag appliances at their disposal so instead they would fill a small 9 x9 room in the basement with dirt so they would be able to keep vegetables and stuff nice and cold. Fast forward to 2008, we have freezers and fridges. Dirt rooms are so passé. So we arrive at our destination, it’s a fabulous house and the people are very nice and have provided snacks, lunch and beverages. The guy takes us down into the cellar and shows us our task. A little bit of me died inside when I saw what was waiting for us. It wasn’t just a little dirt, it was heaps of dirt, mounds of dirt, a freakin' room of dirt!! As a child this would have been the ultimate play place. But no, not now. Now, it was a nightmare. So we proceeded to spend the next four hours (we were there for five but we took a few breaks, if we didn’t I wouldn’t be here writing this right now). So we finally finished at 2:00 and I went to the Skeffs house to shower up and get ready for work. I swear I almost passed out in the shower. I have a three massive bruises one on my left forearm, and two on my hips. And then several little bruises dotting my legs. I decided not to go into work and just stay put at the Skeffs to recuperate. I did the math while laying on their couch and I moved 1200 gallons of dirt. I am now ripped:)

I'm trying to write my novel but all you do is play.

I have no idea who said that or where it's originally from but I read it in my yearbook that I got from LSS and it's been stuck in my brain for the past two years. But now that I think about it, it's kind of fitting because I am in fact trying to write a novel....but all I do is nothing. I will get these random bursts of writing energy, where I can actually feel it, I need to write, if I don't I’ll put a hole in the wall. I need to put something on paper and look at it and be like" this is mine. I wrote this." So at the Trees, I'm surrounded by some pretty cool writers and they've rubbed off on me and it's ignited a spark. I gotta write. I have to. Or..................um......else. So last night I come home get ready for bed, wash my face with no less than four different cleansers then go and snuggle in between the sheets, close my eyes and then after 6.3 seconds open them again. I'm tired but I know I won't be sleeping. I have to do something.....but what?? (I’m a little slow when I’m sleepy) maybe I could watch a movie....so I turn one on..... A few moments go by and I realize that I haven't been watching. I've been off in vicky land.....I snap back to reality (okay snap is a little harsh, I glide back to reality) look over at my bookshelf and sitting on it is my birthday gift from andy and kat, they gave me a character sketch book (which I've never used because I don't want to wreck the pretty paper) but picked it up and opened it. I slid out the pen and uncapped it. At the top of the page I wrote "Characters". I stared at it for a few seconds then underlined it. Then I started to write. I got my antagonist and my protagonist. I wrote some background info and where I wanted to take this story. Then I got happy and sleepy. I felt like I had accomplished a little something so I slid back under the covers and slipped into the wonderful unconscious state that I am so fond of. So maybe just maybe in five years I'll have the first chapter done:)