Guilt Trip

Normal people feel guilty when they've done something wrong... then there's me. I on the other hand am guilty the first time I think about doing or saying those things. I try my best to avoid being mean to people, because I already feel bad about it before I've done anything wrong. When people are rude to me I often just let it pass because I don't want to hurt their feelings, completely disregarding my own. The analytical part comes now, why do their feelings seem more important than my own? Well it starts with the fact that I do not know exactly how other people feel, so I know that I could be hurting them more than I see. So since I know my own feelings I can deal with them, but it is not my right to manipulate theirs. Then, I also know that as bad as I feel already about what I have thought, I know that I will feel much worse when I have said it. I hate being the cause of other's pain, I can't stop thinking about it when I am. If I end up saying the mean thing, I turn it over a million times in my mind and by the time I am done with it, it has become the most terrible thing anyone has ever said. Thus my guilt is increased. The last reason would have to be that people have said things to, and about me that were horrible, and I did not like it. I do not want to be one of those people, the ones who don't care about their effect on others. So I try to be nice, as my guilty conscience directs.

Mesa Vista

This is the second blog I have written today, but it is the more analytical of the two so Mr. Rich this is the one for you. Mesa Vista is a care center in my stake's boundaries, for people with mental and physical disabilities. Twice a year we go and give the sacrament to these people on sunday mornings. And I have a definate love hate relationship with it. I love to go and help these people, but I hate that they have to be there when I do not. My question then, is why do I feel that way (not "how the heck can I have a relationship with a care center)? Well, it all begins with a comparison of my body to theirs. I have a body that I take for granted and that works pretty well, I do not share the physical disabilities that prevent them from blowing their own noses or even walking. It seems unfair to me that I can move freely, do my own hair, and go for a swim, while these people cannot even live with their families or leave the center by themselves for an hour or two. It leaves me questioning why my body is strong and and free and they are stuck inside of theirs. The next step comes from family. I live at my house with mine, while they live in a center and recieve perhaps an occasional visit from their parents. Today there was this boy there who had Downs syndrom he was probably between seven and ten years old. Have you ever seen a child with Downs? They look almost perfect in a way, with smooth skin, soft expressions, and a kindness that you don't often find in anyone else. But this boy lived there, in a care center, while I live at my home with my family. It made me cry, I am not angry with his family, because I do not know why they don't keep him with them, but I wish they could. One time at the care center, I was going to sing in church afterwards, I was about twelve, and I had dressed up for the occasion, and one of the girls was telling me about how her parents were coming to visit, and that they were going to give her a dress like mine. I do not know if they came or if they found her a dress, but I hope they did. The last thing affecting my relationship with this care center would have to be the mind. It makes me feel unworthy to be with them when I think of the many advantages I have. I can read a book, quickly, and completely comprehend it but some of them cannot even talk to explain how they feel. And I wonder how can I even pretend to understand how they feel, whe I have so much. I have so much. And, I take it all for granted, when I go outside, to work, or to a friends, I do not think "how lucky I am," in fact I am probably thinking about some small unimportant thing, like the terrible weather. Who am I to think like that? That is why I love and hate visiting Mesa Vista, because I love to see them I love to interact with them, but I hate to see their pain and to remember how much I take for granted. They appreciate the small things. There is this girl Allison and one time she had a bottle of hairspray that had been replaced with water, and she loved it, she was continually spraying her hair because she felt it was helping and she was so happy. I need to be like that, happy with what I have, and don't we all?

Reservations

There are times when you have no one to talk to. It is not that no one cares, or that no one wants to help, but it is because of you (me). When I cannot find anyone to talk to it is usually because I do not want to burden anyone with my problems, or because I feel bad and I don't want them to understand because if they did I would have to listen to what they had to say. I wish that I could just feel comfortable talking to some one and showing them a part of myself that they may not be able to see other wise. But I don't. There was a time where I was more open, I talked to two people I trusted completely, and it felt good. Until, I was betrayed. That may seem to be a strong word but actually it is weak compared to how I felt at the time. One woman listened to me and helped me, and the other spread my secrets. I still feel sick when I see her. I don't know, that is kind of a stupid thing, it has been a long time and I should have forgiven her completely, and I think I have, until I see her and remember. It isn't fair for me to feel that way towards her when, truly she was trying to help. I can't really help it though, I'm not angry, I just have a hard time retaining food inside my stomach when she is around. I don't know exactly where I am going with this, but I had to get it out on paper (or the Internet) so I wouldn't have it festering inside of me.

MORP

So, Morp is a good thing. I had a lot of fun despite being extremely sick. When I left for the day date I had a temperature of 101 Fahrenheit, and when I got home (around midnight) it was at about 103, so pretty much it was crazy. I still managed to have a pretty large amount of fun. It all started with a trip to the mall, where my date and I thoroughly lost a people scavenger hunt, and came to the realization that young couples don't like to be talked to. Then we went to the park for a picnic and drank Kool-Aid that had double the sugar and Kool-Aid packages for the water in it. Through it all Aubree was kindly reminding me of how out of it I seemed to be, and it was an interesting experience. At the park while everyone else was being crazy on the slides and swings I was busy taking pictures of my date Ben (Belnap) in his best attempt of seductive, dying and dead poses after Aubree quite evilly pushed him down the slide. So after dinner we dropped the boys off at their homes and changed into our cowboy/girl attire. At the dance the mantra became "are you okay?" And of course my answer was consistently "yes," whether or not it was completely true, because at the dance is a little bit late to tell the guy that you can't go. When I finally arrived home I thought that I might be dead, but I wasn't. So here comes the ever-awaited question portion of the blog, how is it possible that with a fever, sore throat, runny nose, and headache I could have a good time? And the answer is: with the help of a sweet date, amazing friends, and slight delirium. Anyways, thanks all of you, especially Ben, for making Morp great.

Rhetoric and Composition

When I was quite a few years younger than I am now, I was once asked the qestion, "Do you believe everything that you read?" and my prompt reply was "it depends on wether it is fiction or nonfiction." Since then, the literature world has not gotten any more simple, through high school I am faced with some teachers bent on teaching me how to write to fit their personal opinions with no consideration of teaching me to write well. This is definately not true of all teachers, but it does rise the question... ... ... What is good writing? And the answer to that question, has not yet been discovered. This past thursday afternoon I accompanied my mom to a lecture on Rhetoric and Compostion at Westminister College in Salt Lake City. I was excited to go mostly because I wanted to be in Salt Lake and not for the lecture, but against all odds it was a lot more exciting than the title foreshadowed (I didn't think that anything could ever be more exciting than Rhetoric and Composition sounded, but it was). What I learned was, that "good" writing-as it seems it must be--is completely subjective, and dependant upon the audience. And, therefore, a really good writer would be one who could appeal to many, or dare I say, all audiences. Now, it seems much to difficult of a task for the average highschool student, and I am no different, except maybe that I actually care. It is important to me to be a good writer, I do not really care wether or not my writing gets me a good grade, I want it to be good, and hopefully a good grade will follow. In this lecture many different types of writing were aknowleged that I had never even thought about before. For example, the lecturer displayed a YouTube video as a form of composition, and though it had many different mediums it was writing. Lab reports, memos, letters, blogs, the backs of cereal boxes. Those are all examples of writing, and someone had to write them. Each of those are different an serve a different purpose, but they are all writing, and people actually think that writing is unimportant and not at all useful. How wrong they are. So its Easter sunday, and I sit here writing a blog about the importance of writing while eating yellow peeps, and waiting expectantly for a dinner of stirfry with brown rice, and an after dinner activity, coloring eggs. And, I wonder why the heck I even care. And really I don't know. I want to have the perfect elixir that cures bad writing and tranforms the minds of young writers, creating a complete moster- the author. But, despite my efforts, I cannot, it is a second type of alchemy, and destined to fail. But i did not write this to be the discourager of students, My actual intent was to show that you can be a good writer, even if all of your essays come out with a large red letter F on them. That is not the only writing, and that same essay could be submitted to a different audience and win some strange writing award. Don't be afraid to find the writer inside of yourself.

About a Boy

This is not a blog about a boy, (although at the moment I could write a great deal about one of them) instead I am going to write about, "About a Boy." It is an amazing movie and... I love it, I love it because I can relate to it. First there is Fiona who is one of the main characters, Marcus', mother. There is one scene where it is morning and Fiona is trying to get breakfast for Marcus, but she keeps on spilling the milk and the cereal and she is just crying, and trying to appear happy and strong for her son. I understand that, I have days when everything goes wrong and I feel like crying, but I know that I should pretend to be happy for the benefit of others. But, those are just occasional days, other times I relate more to marcus. The poor kid is kind of a misfit, he, had friends at school, but they stopped being his friends to avoid bullies. That is not the part that I relate to, but I thought that you might like some background information. Marcus is like me during the Christmas scene, in a way that I think makes him relate to almost everyone, first he gets a tambourine from his mom and a pair of socks from his insane father. And, second he received a CD from Will. He acts happy and excited for all of his gifts, even though tambourines and socks aren't exactly ideal presents, and he didn't even know what a CD was. We have all experienced that type of thing, you recieve an undesirable gift and are obligated to be happy to have it. And sometimes you receive a present you don't understand that turns out to be amazing. The last person I am going to relate myself to is Will, and it is hard for me to do that because, he is kind of a selfish guy, and I don't want to have to admit to any selfishness myself. He lies about having a two year old son in order to find an attractive single mother to date, and have break up with him. When I was in 5th grade I switched back to my old school in the middle of the year, and none of my old friends were in my class. When a girl came up to me and talked to me about her favorite TV show, I told her that it was one of mine too, even though I had never seen it. In order to keep up that pretense, I started to watch the show, and it turned out that I did like it. I do not believe that it is a good idea to ever start a relationship based on a lie, but I was a ten year old kid with no friends in my class, and I did not know what else to do. It ended up working out a lot better for me than it did for Will, but still I can relate. "About a Boy," is great, and I am sure that if you were to watch it you would find a connection too. It contains all the likable things, awkward preteen boys (who actually are now quite good looking), attractive men named Hugh Grant, and ducks who get hit in the head by large rock-like loaves of bread.