Eye heart you

I got my first pair of glasses when I was eighteen months old, so I never really had to "adjust" to whatever trauma glasses introduce to a life. My first pair were thick pink plastic frames that wrapped around my ears so I wouldn't pull them off. They (whoever "they" are, see Elizabethtown) told my mom to tie my glasses to my hair so that if I tried to pull the glasses off, it would pull my hair and I'd learn not to pull. Apparently the method was never applied; I was so attached to my glasses that I wouldn't let my parents take them off when I went to sleep--they'd have to wait for me to fall asleep.

I should insert a cute picture of me here, but I don't have any on my computer. So pretend me as a toddler with thick glasses--did I mention that the lenses were thicker than the frames?

I'm going to skip through the elementary years, when I was the girl with glasses to ninth grade. That was the year I convinced my parents I had to have contacts. I got them for Christmas and began to learn the art of poking myself in the eye every morning.

I left junior high and went to high school and almost no one knew that I had ever been the girl with glasses. But that was a huge part of me. It surprised me when people were surprised that I wore contacts. It still surprises me.

Before my freshman year at BYU began, I decided to get my first pair of glasses in. . . however many years. I can't do the math. Three and a half? Sure. Sounds good. Thanks to technology, my lenses had gotten thinner. I alternated my glasses and contacts that year, the next year, and then the headaches began. I thought the cause was my contacts, so I wore my glasses all the time, but the headaches didn't go away. I couldn't see the boards in classes. . . it was what most kids go through the first time they get glasses, but in reverse.

A trip to the eye doctor revealed that my perscription had changed significantly, for the better. I got new contacts and some cheap reading glasses and I was set. But my persciption kept (and keeps) jumping around, so my eye doctor advised against new glasses. Until this last trip.

Wait? Did you catch that? Do you know what that means?

Yep. Exactly. I'll be a four-eyes again. But you know what they say. . . No, not "Guys don't make passes for girls who wear glasses." What they say is. . .

Four eyes are better than two.

Freedom

I just submitted my grades, which means four days of freedom! (Do completely broke weekends at home qualify as freedom? Discuss.)

And then training. . .

So was I in a good mood this term? Or did I just have awesome students? Because I just gave more A's out than I have in the past two semesters combined. And I'm actually sad to see the students go.

I'm hoping the vivid dreams continue tonight. This is where I'm going to be, if you're looking.

Tuesdays will never be the same

So goes everyone to the world but I. . .

. . . and I'll let you finish the quote. You know it. I quote it enough here. And tonight was going to be one of my many diatribes--and a brilliant one at that. I've been writing it in my head since Wednesday. Something to the effect of my incompatibility with the great outdoors and the fact that I am--gasp!--still single and alone. Despite the truth of that diatribe, I've decided to forgo it. For now. Just be warned that it's coming. Instead. . . well. . . stick around. I'm sure I have something to say.

I've been having very vivid, very intense dreams lately. Not scary so much as, well, terrifying. Terrifying because I can't escape. And because I remember them in the morning.

Last night's was "eg goes to grad school." And yes, I know, I'm in grad school right now. But as much as I love my program and my friends and my professors, I don't feel as though anything has really changed from my undergrad. Maybe it should be "eg goes to a different grad school" or "eg finally gets out of Provo." I'll take your suggestions.

It began with the apprehension that seems to live in the pit of my stomach every time I start looking at programs. Living in a new city, in a new state, with new people, in a new culture. . . trust me to worry about something a year before it happens. But the apprehension started to disappear when I realized that three of my cousins were going to be there, along with Miss K, who in my dream already knew the ropes. And then I met a guy in the program, who told me he knew Tolkien Boy. . . which led to lunch with TB and S-Boogie and Master Fob. And the dream continued until someone informed me that I had made the soccer team and it was time to suit up.

I laughed at the dream when I woke up, relieved that I wouldn't have to play soccer. And then I attempted to forget about it, which I did quite successfully until I arrived (finally) back in Provo and found a packet of admissions info from Houston. And I really want to go. . . somewhere. But all those apprehensions in the dream? They're so real.

Are you this fleeting?

I've had at least a dozen blog ideas going through my head since I last blogged. I couldn't decide on one that could follow up what I'm currently reworking as a poem, even though that wasn't my initial intent. Could I be more convoluted? I'm just going to try to work through some of these ideas. It may turn into the longest post ever; or it might just be a few sentences. I guess we'll see.

Death Cab concert
The Death Cab for Cutie concert was Tuesday night. The Jester came with me and we had fun mouthing along to songs from all the albums. That was probably the best part--they played some of my favorites. Sven always raved about their shows, but this was so much more than I expected. And there was the unexpected bonus of seeing Melyngoch and Ginsburg holding hands.

Death Cab: Directions
Death Cab just came out with a companion DVD to their CD Plans. It's not music videos so much as it is short films that coincide with the music. It's insane and brilliant and makes me more than happy. I get similarly excited about when I see films "coinciding" with poetry. Mixing genres, reinterpreting art. I think we're going to have a movie night to watch Directions. . . and maybe do some brainstorming about how to electrify the world in a similar fashion. (Blame Kj and Aaron).

You're Beautiful
In a moment of weakness or desperation or divine intervention, I signed up on LDS Singles. I've actually "met" some nice people. . . and some really weird people. . . and I've also given myself the chance to consider some truisms I'd always recited about myself and my situation.

This is going to seem snobbish or something, but I've always known I was smart. I didn't need guys to tell me that. What I did need was guys to tell me I'm attractive--to confirm that sneaking suspicion that I'm not a total blight on the human race. And it is nice to hear every once in a while. But once it's been said, I don't want it again and again and again. Established, move on. And I've also realized that I've reached the point where giving up on my education and career just aren't options for me. This is so important, and it's what I'm supposed to be doing. And yeah, it scares me that this will mean that I'm alone longer. . . but I wouldn't be happy any other way.