DONE

Take that, BYU. I have taken my final final as an undergraduate. Granted, it was for HEPE online, but at least it's over. Now on to bigger and better things. But before I go, I think we all need a little party to celebrate. Any takers? (And then we can find a magic pair of jeans that fits each of us perfectly (good thing it's cool for guys to wear girl pants now) and then we can mail them to each other wherever. . . oh wait. Somebody already did that.)

The ABBA Way of Life

Yes, I am blogging in a staff meeting. A staff meeting in which we've been talking about. . . blogging. Isn't symmetry beautiful?

I'm in a slightly-less-distressed mode today. Probably because I'm listening to conversations like "What do you get when you cross spandex and home teachers?" "I don't know, but either way it's uncomfortable."

So let's talk about in the moment writing. It's scattered and frustrating and there are blips of info that you miss because you are writing. For example, I haven't been able to crack a joke for the past few minutes because I've been writing. I'm feeling left out and because my smart mouth is missing, Mike can only use half of his brain. Not that it would be different if I was allowing myself to be sarcastic.

How is this the ABBA way of life? Simply because I had the song "Knowing Me, Knowing You. . .ah ah. . ." going through my head.

The technicalities are mind boggling. . . or blogging. How many a week? Do we need pics? Do we have to ID in pics? (To that I say, only if he's cute and single. In fact, pictures should be restricted to cute and single males. My name is eg and I have a problem. I like boys. There HMP. Are you happy? Are you satisfied? This does not, however, mean that I will not not promise to avoid boys from now on. Boys are everywhere. One half of the population.)

People needing other people. . . damn them

So I haven't been writing. Not like AA hasn't been writing, but still. And I ask myself why is this? And I say to myself, Self, get your butt in gear. But my butt is stuck to a chair in front of a computer. Writing is no longer fun; it is an obligation to my GPA. Graduation means nothing. I finish this semester, go to London, come back to Utah, find a job for summer, begin school in the fall. Nothing changes. I thought something monumental was supposed to happen at some point in time. Nothing. And the damn glass is leaking.