i was reading this book

about a food critic in disguise (it's really very good, and very entertaining, and has some top notch recipes hidden inside-- called Garlic and Sapphires, by Ruth Reichl).

And I was telling this boy about it, and how excited I was about food in general, and how listening to NPR and making chilled pea soup (Barefoot Contessa recipe. I highly recommend it) brought a kind of profound joy to my soul. The conversation drifted, and rested on something else of little importance

and then he stopped me

and said "Wait, tell me more about your book"

I cried about that more than once afterwards, because that may have just been the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me. 

thoughts on holding hands

I went into San Francisco with my family today.

We went to the exploratorium, and played with exhibits I don't really understand (something to do with science and math, two things I have always had an aversion to, sadly enough).

And then I held hands with my sisters as we walked along the Embarcadero.

Holding hands while you walk is like showing everyone that your love cannot be contained by words or thoughts. It's a taking-on-the-world-together action. People holding hands are really difficult to be separated, especially when they're on their way somewhere.

I love holding hands.

I love every second of it.

Because holding hands

means 

that we're okay with telling everyone we see

that we love each other. 

Apologies

Who am I to stop right in the middle of a project and laugh it off like it's no big deal that I started?

This happens, you know.

I was going to run a marathon. I told everybody. I chose one. I didn't pay, but I was planning on it. And then I got out of shape for a week and changed my mind.

And then there's this blog, where I was going to write because writing is beautiful, and it makes me feel as if I am contributing to the world and it brings me love and happiness. But I stopped because I felt there was no reason to continue, that I was writing other things.

What kept me from thinking that I could do both?

So I'm back. I won't promise that I'll write every day, or every week even. But every once in a while I'll spurt out a post about the boy I'm in love with, or how many times I cried today, or how messy my room is, or the ridiculously materialistic yearnings of a 19-year-old college girl. 

Things that restored my faith in humanity today: 1/22/13

1.     At our forum today, we had a speaker that talked about how our generation is losing empathy and our innate sense of wonder. We’re forgetting the beautiful world we live in, and allowing technology to eat us up and take away our ability to be amazed. He showed us a video of people in Australia the first time it snowed there. They ran outside and took off their coats and made footprints in the slush and laughed in the flakes. When he finished his presentation, we began to clap. We never clap. And then the boy sitting in the row in front of me two seats to the left by himself stood up. And he clapped louder. And then others stood, and then others. And then I stood. We all stood and acknowledged that a sense of wonder is imperative to our salvation, our happiness, our very being. It’s a way to celebrate our mortality.

2.     Walking to the library from the Marriott center after the forum, the crowd parted and moved around one person standing, staring up at the mountain. It was a big mountain. And he just stopped and looked at it, like that was the only thing important in the world at that moment. Thank god for that boy in the brown jacket, who understands that when something is beautiful, it deserves to be recognized- even if it’s only for a minute in his head on the Marriott bridge after devotional.

3.     My creative writing professor emailed all his students to remind us of an assignment that’s due at 2:59 today. Proof that he really does want us to pass his class.

4.     In periodicals about five minutes ago, a boy sitting at the counter facing the atrium saw his friend, threw down his book, and waved his hands (each sporting a peace sign) in the air to get his attention. His friend made a face. And then he came over. Now they’re sitting next to each other at the counter facing the atrium.

5.     I can’t be absolutely positive, but I think the boy sitting next to me in the library is praying before doing his mission prep homework. And nobody’s going to say anything to him about praying in public, or challenge his religious beliefs, or look at him strangely. They’re going to let him pray as if their lives depended on it. 

Cute boys

I'd say I hit the jackpot this semester in terms of attractive professors and TAs. Not that I really pay attention to that kind of thing.

Another fun thing about boys: I was at the BYU Democrats meeting last night, and they had donuts and sprite to munch on. The sprite bottle was awkwardly full, so I had to kind of tip it on its side and then squeeze the bottle in spurts to pour it into the cup. This resulted in a large, fairly unexpected splash of carbonated lemon lime crap onto.....

wait for it

the long, denim-ed leg of the tall dark and handsome democrat to my right.

He didn't notice.


So I had to tell him "hey sorry, butIspilledspritealloveryourlegandI'mreallysorryandI'dfixitifIcouldso......"



Chances ruined. 

saturday snow #1

Two strange things happened within the last hour.

1) I went for a walk without having any particular destination or time limit or purpose.

2) I took my camera. And I took a couple pictures. 

This is a walkway. Someone kind man with a big machine pushed all the snow to the sides, and I crushed all the snow pebbles with the heel of my boot. It was very fun. And I didn't even slip! 

First glance: strip mall. Second glance: whoa, monster mountains looming

Another picture of the mountains. And I didn't try too hard to cut the cute boy with the difficult rolly suitcase out of it. 

And this is where I live. 

Maybe someday I'll like taking pictures, and it won't bother me that my ears are falling off from the cold (10 degrees today!) and that I can't tell whether or not my nose is running when I go on walks because I'll have my trusty camera and a mind full of imagination. 

That day has yet to arrive. 

But for now... enjoy the four pictures of Utah snow. 

to begin:

I would like to begin this madness by stating the following:

I don't really like blogs.

I don't like them because of the type of people that usually have them (think whimsical teenage girls with their hearts on their sleeves and an abundance of undirected emotion and angst), and because of what the world expects to see on them (sob stories about loneliness and oh-so-adorable family pictures and beautiful posts about love and loss and heartbreak and book reviews etc.), and because I'm still in the process of convincing myself that writing about life is okay. That writing about life is a perfectly acceptable way of living life. That sometimes writing about life is the best way to live life.

I went through a very long period (very long being about four months, but still) where I had given up any hope of fostering creativity in myself. I had accepted (without much of a fight, I'm sorry to say) that my talents lay elsewhere. Like... talking to people. And... reading. And... you know. Other places.

In a conversation with a friend, I stated "I'm not much of a creator. I'm more of an emphasizer." Whatever that means, I'm now in the process of attempting to prove myself wrong. We're all creators of something. And with that personal essay my professor showed to the class and my parents loved, I figured out that I wasn't just good at pounding out analytical essays. I was good at writing other things, too. I can create some stuff with words and punctuation.


And now a brief explanation of my blog's title:

I become obsessed with things periodically. A certain (and ever-rotating) boy, Back to the Future, the Doors, running a marathon (which I WILL do someday probably), learning to ride a motorcycle, the list goes on. The periods of obsession last from an hour to a month, but one thing can be certain: they pass eventually.

Maybe this is human nature, but I feel like it's more me nature than anyone else nature. While chatting at our pull-out granite-ish dinner table one night, my mom dubbed these passing obsessions "fleeting passions." And that's what they've been ever since.

You'll surely read of more than one if a) you keep reading and b) (more importantly) I keep writing.


That's all for now. It has come the time for me to stop listening to Zeppelin and Coldplay and Creedence Clearwater and get down to the real business: which Woody Allen movie will I watch by myself in my now-warmish (thanks to the maintenance guy who saved me from certain death-by-freezing) apartment?