Icy Tumble.

Happy Valentine's Day and President's Day! :D I have some stories for you!

Valentine's Day morning I woke up mightily early to get in line to buy a new contract for next year. I decided that although I despise moving with a passion -- I'm going to move out of dear little 366. I wasn't sure at first why I should move out. It came as a shock; Sunday night, out of the blue, I had the strong impression that I should not live here next year. I was quite confused. I'm happy here. I love Hillary and Rachel, who have resolved not to move out of 366 at all. Possibly not ever. I like my ward, I'm close to campus, etc.

At dinner group though, I mentioned that I wanted to move into a different apartment, and my neighbor Josie (who I don't actually know very well) mentioned that she too wanted to move out. We got to talking, and we soon realized that we'd be good roommates, and thus we resolved to room together next year. It was strange, but I felt really calm and peaceful about it, although neither of us had any clue where we'd end up living. I had a roommate, but no room.

I worked up my bravery several times during the week and visited a bajillion women's apartments in the ward, because although I felt like I shouldn't live in 366, I had the peculiar feeling that I'd be moving somewhere close by -- somewhere else in Monticello, specifically. However, after exhausting myself by acting outside of my comfort zone, I came home feeling uneasy about everywhere I had looked.

I woke up the morning of contract signings still unsure as to where I should live, which was a little scary. However, now was the time to act. Apartments at Monticello go fast. Like... crazy fast. I went out into the outside world, where snow was coming down fast. I felt a little strange. I don't know how to explain it. I had to sign a contract NOW and I didn't know which apartment I was going to live in yet. But I just felt like Josie would know exactly what to do, even though I didn't.

Indeed, I found the line already extending past the laundry room (eek!) but I found Josie standing near the front of the line. She grabbed me and, with a gleam in her eye, said, "What do you think about white brick?"

I stood there in shock. I hadn't even considered white brick. Pretty much, those are the only Monticello women's apartments that aren't in my ward, and I hadn't even remembered them. I've never seen the inside of them. And the peace inside of me told me that that is where I should live next year. "Yes," I said. "I think that's a good idea." I paused. "What are they like?"

Josie had never seen them either. But Melanie, also in line, had. She described them to us -- bigger bedrooms, LOTS of closet space, slightly bigger living room, two bathroom sinks, and the toilet and shower in their own little room next to the sinks. That would be splendid. Josie and I signed contracts for spring, summer, fall, and winter. I went home feeling wonderful.

In the evening, nearly all my roommates either went home for the weekend or left on dates. Alone in the kitchen, I felt a craving for Ramen, and decided it was a good idea to take advantage of such a cheap craving. I did scramble an egg and drizzled it in the pot egg-drop soup style though, to add to the nutritional value. Tasty. Valentine's Day Ramen. Mmmm. Just as I started to eat, my phone rang.

What? My phone? No one ever calls me! It was Hillary. That's strange, she just left on a date. She asked Anthony to go see Divine Comedy with her. He is, in my opinion, among the cutest guys in our ward.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jenna! Do you want to go on a blind date? And see Divine Comedy?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, one of Anthony's friends is here with an extra ticket and no date."

"What time do I need to be there?"

"Seven!" It was six-fifteen.

"Okay!... What is my date's name?"

"John."

"Okay, bye!"

Excited, I hung up, finished my Ramen concoction, and ran out the door. I had to stop running though, because the roads and sidewalks were ridiculously icy. I got to the Stairs of Death by the duck pond, and warily eyed the stairs. I could see my reflection in some of them. I gripped the handrail tightly and made my way up the stairs. I nearly slipped and died several times on the way to the Wilk, but managed to stay on my feet somehow.

Once at the Wilk, I found Anthony, Hillary, and John near the middle-front of the line. I talked to John a bit, and it was pretty much only the basic questions. We got into the show (which was AMAZING). We sat near Kerstin, Cherish, Liz, and Claire, which I thought was fortunate, because although I visited them, Cherish had been home. So I got a hug from her.

After the show, the Anthony, Hillary, John, and I walked home. We tread very carefully, and John put spikes on the bottom of his shoes to be safe. When we got to the stairs, and the four of us gripped the handrail as tightly as we could, and tread carefully. However, halfway down, I stepped -- and instead of supporting me, my foot slid up into the air -- my hands were wrenched from the hand rail --

I must have had some torque going on because, in the air, I spun ever so slightly -- and I landed heavily on the left side of my thigh on the stairs -- and then onto my stomach --

But it did not stop there -- there was no friction between me and the stairs -- I slid down them, and I could not stop --

My face met the icy stairs, albeit rather gently in comparison to the violent impact my leg had made earlier --

Sliding down, I saw three horrified faces as I slid down -- ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk -- until, finally, the median handrail stopped me.

"JENNA! Are you okay?" screamed Hillary.

"Yeah," I said shakily.

John helped me up, and escorted me by the arm the remainder of the way home. I was winded, and my throat was tight with fear, so when I spoke I sounded like I was crying although I was not. I probably should have been though -- I was in a lot of pain. We went to Cold Stone and got some ice cream. (It was cold enough that the ice cream warmed us up.) I got a strawberry shake, John got a banana split. We got to talking while Anthony and Hillary were waiting for their treats.

"Did you doze off during the show?" asked John.

I was surprised by this question; it had been amazing. "No, I did not."

"Oh. I thought I saw you jerk a couple of times during the show."

I laughed. Oh, I see. "I have a tic disorder of some sort," I explained.

"Ah, I understand then. I also have a neurological disorder. I've got a tremor. See, my hands always tremble a little, in case you hadn't noticed." I had. It was ever so slight, but it was just barely noticable.

And then I had a nerd moment. I couldn't help it; it just came out. It just happened. "That's a lower motor neuron problem!" I commented.

He kind of laughed to himself. "It is indeed. My dad's a neuropsychologist."

After ice cream, we headed back to my apartment, and we played Apples-to-Apples until midnight. John and I tied with eight green apple cards -- pretty much owning everyone else. The guys left and went home. And I went to bed.

Last night there was a triward fireside, during which I spied a very good-looking boy. I decided I would go talk to him afterward. After the closing prayer, I made my way over to the refreshments where he was (of course) gravitating. However, I looked down at my coat and realized with mild horror that my fairly-new coat was missing a button. Oh dear. I had it when I said amen at end of the closing prayer, so it had to be here somewhere. The coat came with extra buttons, so it wouldn't have been the end of the world if I couldn't find it, but I set to work looking all over the floor for it anyway, the cute blond boy forgotten.

A guy from the 171st ward stopped me. "Excuse me, you seem to looking for something. Are you looking for me?"

I laughed. Very clever. "Well, no, actually. I've lost my button. Have you seen it?"

Instantly, about twenty good-looking men in suits and ties were scouring the floor for one measly little button. They made it seem like an intense game with heated competition. Soon enough, one jumped up. "Is this it?"

It was indeed, and all the guys cheered. "It was meant to be!" I heard repeatedly. "Now you have to exchange numbers!" "GIVE 'IM A HUG!" "Twoo wuv!!!" Well, the guy looked mighty pleased with himself (his name was Matt), and I thought it was funny. I did indeed give him a hug to express my thanks, but I didn't bother asking for his number. Even if I had the number and I wanted to take him on a date, I knew I wouldn't have called it. (Stupid phone phobia.) I would have given him mine, but he didn't ask for it; I don't think he particularly wanted it.

Another guy in the crowd did continue to flirt (the one who originally asked if I was looking for him... now that I think about it, I should have gotten his number... dang...). Bryce (in my ward) leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I dare you to go hold his hand. He totally wants you to."

I glared over at him. "No, I'm not going to do that." Even if he is cute. I believe I've mentioned Bryce before, but let me refresh your memory. This is the guy who knocked on our door one night and explained that he needed a girl to cuddle with -- any girl. We, of course, refused him. On a separate occasion, I was visiting another guy at his house, when he just came over and began to cuddle. I demanded that he get off me. He did.

Bryce shook his head at me. "You should. He would like it." Yes, probably, he might, but I'm not going to. I continued to glare. Bryce changed the subject. "I've got some hats you need to look at. I'm going home right now, or I'll be there right at nine to take stuff out of the oven." He was of course referring to my tradition of wearing a cool hat to every ward prayer, and he did indeed have some cool hats.

"Okay," I said.

"All right," he said. "I'll see you then." He proceeded to caress my shoulder and back.

I again glared at him, as coldly as I could. "Don't do that. Please."

He laughed and replied, "I love you because you're a nerd and you're awkward. And you're fun to tease."

I was not at all happy with that comment, but managed to pull off a calm face. "...You love me because I'm a nerd and I'm awkward?"

"Yeah, and you're fun to tease. You have an abnormal personality. You mean you haven't noticed?"

Hillary, who was standing nearby, heard all this and interrupted. "Bryce! That's mean!"

He stopped for a moment and considered. "Oh. I guess that could have been taken as an insult, huh?" No, Bryce, you think?

"Yes!" answered Hillary. "That was mean!"

"Well, I meant it as a compliment, honestly," Bryce retorted. Hillary glared. "Er... a back-handed compliment?"

I shook my head and left, with Hillary and Rachel in tow. Rachel immediately began her complaints. "Jenna, how do you do that? I turn my back on you for five seconds, and you're surrounded by twenty men!" Oh yeah, the button incident. I shrugged. I don't know, I wasn't really doing anything. Just looking for a button. And it doesn't even really do me any good, because my flirting skills are nonexistent. Whatever.

To be honest, Bryce's comment kind of bothered me, especially because it came from him. I'm awkward? I just have to wonder if it had ever occurred to him that knocking around asking for a girl to cuddle with -- any girl -- was actually VERY awkward. And that the general consensus in the female population is that such behavior is, indeed, awkward. No, probably not. He probably thinks that is a most clever thing to do.

But the reason such the comment really bothered me is because it kind of renewed my concern that my actions (or lack thereof) are being misinterpreted by the guys in my ward. I probably confuse them. And that's depressing. I don't regard physical affection as something you do casually with just anybody, or to be funny, or to use in flirting with a stranger, etc.

Someone explain this to me. How is this confusing?

I hug my friends, or people I'd like to be friends with. I don't cuddle with, or hold hands with, or let guys put their arm around me unless I am in a romantic relationship with them or I'm interested in establishing one. Really. I want to know. How is that confusing?

Because, see, I would have thought what a surprising amount of other people at BYU do would be much more confusing -- just holding hands and cuddling with any old person whether or not they're interested because it might be funny or because they just happen to think it'd be more comfortable that way (which it would be).

It's not that I think cuddling or holding hands in and of itself is awkward -- definitely not. I've always wanted to do so. Never have done so, but I want to. Really bad, actually. I mean, that's one of the ways in which I feel close to people, and therefore, it only makes sense that I be careful with it. I bond primarily through physical affection... the people who don't let me hug them are most often the ones I feel most distant from. The ones I get good hugs from are the ones I feel closest to.

I do, however, think it's awkward when the amount of physical affection people show towards each other does not accurately reflect the actual status of their relationship. So, no, Bryce. Don't put your arm around me. Don't caress me, don't cuddle me, don't. It's rather obvious you're not interesting in dating me (leastwise you shouldn't be; you've got a girlfriend) and I'm not interested in dating you. Stop pretending like we are dating.

Okay, I'll get off my soapbox now.

Have a good week and such,
Jenna Griffin

Obnoxious and Serious Invasion of Privacy.

There isn't much interesting happening right now... just obnoxious things. And with finals approaching, we are all losing patience more quickly and well, we are fed up. Ticked off. One fuse too short. Upset. Furious, even.

One of my roommates, Aubrey, has a boyfriend. His name is Ron. He's a good guy and is our age. He hasn't been on his mission yet, but that's because he has to work and save up for it. (Strangely enough -- he shares a major and a job with me -- yep. He's a custodian at the library and a neuroscience major, just like me.) However... all of Aubrey's roommates have gotten quite sick of him. Including me. He NEVER leaves. His omnipresence is a tad bit obnoxious. Visiting hours are from 9am to midnight as per the all-important Honor Code. He kind of respects this. Kind of. Actually, not really. Not at all.

He's a bit clingy. Oh wait. Replace "a bit" with "very." So clingy that Aubrey and Ron are practically never apart. And when they are -- that either means that Ron is at work, Ron is at home and asleep and Aubrey is at home asleep, or Aubrey is in the bathroom (in which case Ron is likely to be found outside the bathroom door talking to her as she does her business...). So her space is invaded, of course, and she doesn't seem to mind that much.

The real problem here is that Aubrey has five roommates who also live in her apartment, and their privacy has also been invaded to the point of extreme annoyance. Haylee has the worst of it, because she sleeps in the same room as Aubrey.

If it's between 9am and midnight, he is pretty much guaranteed to be at our place. Unless Aubrey has a class; then he goes with her to that class, and then they both are gone. (Usually he just ditches his own classes.) The part I really hate -- it'll be five minutes past midnight, and he'll be lying on our couch.

"Ron. It's past midnight. OUT!" I'll say.

"I'm sorry," he'll say. And then not move. He usually isn't out until half past midnight. It bugs the heck out of me. That is most definitely against the Honor Code.

If he's not here by 9am each morning, he's here before then, eating breakfast with Aubrey.

"Ron! Get out! You're not allowed in yet!" Shannon would complain.

"I'm sorry," he says, and doesn't move. Again, against the Honor Code, most definitely.

And -- he just goes into Aubrey's room. Aubrey's roommate, Haylee, hates it -- I mean, he just stands by the door, but nonetheless, he is in the room. Boyfriendless Haylee can never escape from him, whereas the rest of us have our bedrooms that Ron never bothers to come into (because Aubrey isn't in them).

"RON! OUT OF THE BEDROOM!" I scream angrily.

"I'm sorry," he says, and ignores me.

He practically lives in our apartment, and all of us except for Aubrey HATE it.

Over Thanksgiving break, Rachel and I were expecting to be the only ones still here. We... were wrong. Ron and Aubrey were here. Aubrey -- that's fine, she lives here. Ron, okay during visiting hours. But he never left. He lost his keys, and his roommates all left for Thanksgiving. Instead of asking his landlord to be let in, or asking a male neighbor if he could spend the night... guess what Ron does? ... He would have slept in our apartment if Rachel and I hadn't been so upset at him. No, no, he slept outside our front door.

The way our apartment is set up is as follows: kitchen and living room downstairs, and bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. Guys aren't allowed in our bedrooms or bathrooms, and we like it that way. However, although there isn't anything wrong with men in the hallway up there according to Honor Code... the five of us who aren't Ron's girlfriend like to take these things called showers sometimes. And we'd like to be able to take these showers, and then open the bathroom door without fear that Ron will be standing there in the hallway to witness us wearing nothing but a towel or robe. (Most of us prefer to dress in our rooms -- usually the steam will fill up the bathroom, making it impossible to dry off properly, especially when you've got long hair that drip-drip-drips incessantly.)

Our solution?

Red tape!

When Ron and Aubrey were gone somewhere, the five of us shouted glories and hallelujahs (not kidding) and began to clean our little apartment hurriedly. It is impossible to clean when Ron and Aubs are here -- they are usually sprawled on the couch or messily cooking something together. Fine with us, except that they never clean up the messes they make. The five of us soon realized that everyone else was feeling the same thing -- "It bothers you too? Really, I'm not the only one? Oh gosh, I was afraid I was the only impatient one!" We had a Ron-bashing party in his rare absence. We soon discovered that we all deplored Ron's presence upstairs. And we decided that if that was bothering us all so much, that we should make it off limits.

Halfway up the stairs we drew a red line with tape, and wrote on it: "CHASTITY LINE: NO MEN BEYOND THIS POINT! THANK YOU!!! (We do take showers sometimes...)"

Except here's the problem... I'm not sure what made us think that a guy who doesn't take the Honor Code seriously would take our red tape line seriously.

Ron and Aubrey came home. Aubrey went upstairs. Ron followed.

"RON!" belted Rachel.

"What?"

"CAN YOU READ?!?!"

"What? Yeah, why?"

"I SAID, CAN YOU READ?!?! LOOK AT THAT RED LINE!"

He looked at it. "Oh. So?"

"Stay downstairs, Ron."

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"We don't like it when you're up here. We take showers sometimes, you know."

Ron looked over at our bathroom. "But no one's in the shower right now."

"SO?" the rest of us yelled. "WE DON'T WANT YOU UPSTAIRS!"

... And from then on he proceeded to ignore us. From his point of view, if Aubrey doesn't mind if he's up there, it's okay.

We don't know what to do. I would appreciate any advice in how to proceed... Because otherwise... Next step is for all of us to sit him down and confront him about it. And if he still doesn't comply? Honor Code Office. Which could lead to as serious a consequence as expulsion from the university. (I feel bad for saying this, but that would honestly delight me...) Harsh, perhaps. But he should have considered that before he angered five women.

Fall 2008 -- Meet the Roommates.

Here comes the start of a new year. I don't remember what I've told people about the upcoming madness, but here is what I'll be studying this semester... chemistry, physics, psychology, family history, the New Testament, tap dance, ballroom dance, and flexibilty. I'd say that's pretty well-rounded, eh?

I am again living in Monticello. This is the same place I was living for spring term. My room houses six girls: me, Rachel, Hillary, Shannon, Haylee, and Aubrey. We are all in our second year at BYU, except for Shannon, who is in her third. Rachel and Hillary are the same nutcases I lived with last year; Shannon, Aubrey, and Haylee are all new roommates.

I am also employed again. Among the jobs that had flexible enough hours to fix with my crazy class schedule were these: MTC dishroom worker, catering, and custodial. And I am kind of ashamed to say that the custodial job attracted me like a moth is attracted to a fire. I know! The last one I had was way too early to be considered humanly possible! Not to worry though. I work at nights and not in the early morning. And it shouldn't have that great of an impact on my social life because I have Friday and Saturday nights off -- two very important nights for BYU students to have available, if you know what I mean. I do work on Sunday, but I thought about it quite a bit, and I decided that would be alright.

The truth of the matter is, even BYU can't just shut down on Sundays. On Sundays you just have to remember not to take the task of cleaning up campus too lightly. You have to remember that the mission of the custodial crews is to create an environment where everyone has the opportunity to learn and feel the Spirit. I figure that's okay to do on Sunday, especially in dedicated buildings.

So, I work Sundays from 7pm to 10:30pm, and Mondays through Thursdays from 8:30pm to midnight -- in the library -- the Harold B. Lee Library. By far, the biggest building on campus, with the longest operating hours. Some of you older people may think those hours are a little late. I'm a college kid. Since spring term I've been up that late anyway. And my classes don't start until later in the morning, so I shouldn't be too sleep-deprived.

One major plus is I get to hear the cool closing music every night. [Just before closing, someone blasts some sort of music over the loud speakers so that everybody stops studying and leaves.] An even bigger plus? My pay... is pretty impressive for a custodial worker. I get $8.81/hr. And, since I worked six months last year in custodial, in two months I am eligible for a twenty cent raise... which means $9.01/hr. That's definitely not so bad... less Ramen and more steak... And, on Thursdays, we have... er... what we call "training meetings"... in which we all chill and eat food and watch a two-hour movie. While we are still being paid. I think this job may be a good thing.

Well, meet my roommates. [Disclaimer: I have only recently met Shannon, Haylee, and Aubrey. My descriptions of them may not be entirely accurate. Not even my first impressions are entirely accurate... :) ]

First, Rachel, from Bountiful, Utah.

Rachel's dad describes Rachel, Hillary, and I as three squirrels in a box with one nut. And possibly one video camera. Some of you have witnessed the variety of noises I can make. Rachel can do all of these in a much more squirrelly fashion than I can. However, over the course of the past year, we have pretty much invented a secret language. I am not entirely sure how to describe this to you. Perhaps some language samples?

Standard greeting... "Eeeeeeeeeeeee buuuuddeeee!" Repeat as desired. Can last for up to ten minutes. Common question... "Yabbadet?" This is translated as, "You have a date?"

And here is a conversation. Hint for interpretation: Speak aloud when reading. Other hints for context: I was considering working at Scoreboard Grill, in catering, or Brick Oven Pizza. Pudding is code for adventure. And there was a cute guy at Scoreboard Grill whose phone number Rachel wanted to acquire somehow.

Rachel: "Heh, mebbeewen'yoo gittajahba' dat skohbohd'pless, wee'shavv summpudd'ns! Bweehee!"
Me: "Butsai wansa jahba'n ketring'orit brikuven pitsuh. Isa'needs moola."
Rachel: "We'dasstoo. Akae, igissyakin gitajahbwe'rrya waht. ... Hirreekinn'giddajahbad sko'bohd!"

Congrats if you understood that.

Rachel is rather short... and, er, how shall I say? Compact weight. She has brown hair and green eyes and hands with short, little fingers. And she has quite a deep voice. She can hit lower notes that most of the men in my ward. In fact, my sister Becca was able to recognize Rachel on the phone because it sounded like I was talking to a man. She is also pretty darn tough. She chucks packages for a living... in FedEx Ground. Advice from her... Packages are filthy. Who knows where they've been. Scrub your packages, people!

Rachel writes... um... interesting stories in her free time, featuring pheonix-squirrels and tall, dark, ominous men whose hiccups sound like, "YOU'VE GOT FIVE SECONDS TO RUN!" She routinely comes up with crazy characters and then traps then in department stores and slowly kills them off. One by one. She has also studied war and weapons extensively (she even took History of Warfare last semester) and can write amazing battle scenes.

Rachel's current major is Food Industry Management. After graduating, she hopes to go on a mission, complete culinary school... and, as potential careers, she is considering the following: blacksmith, taxi driver in New York city, and Disneyland chef. Her dream house is a grain silo.

Her current suitor is a missionary who she has never met in New York, by the name of Elder Joshua Jolley. I mentioned him before. He sent her a tape recording of him reading aloud all of Deuteronomy 1 as well as three letter of recommendation. (Imagine that! Getting a package FROM a missionary. One you don't even know...). However, Rachel has rejected his proposal of marriage on the grounds that he is only six feet tall and his voice is higher than hers. Also, he is not nearly ominous enough, and he signs his love letters, "85% serious."

Second roommate -- Hillary, from North Salt Lake, Utah.

Hillary is slightly taller than Rachel. She has long, mousy heir and glasses. And, out of all of us, she is probably the most hyperactive. By far. She had ridiculous ADD and is a packrat. She is also likely to have seen every cartoon ever broadcast on the planet Earth. It is virtually impossible to get a hold of her on Saturday morning because she is likely to have been swallowed up alive by the incidence of Saturday morning cartoons. She especially likes the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. She dreams about them.

Despite her ADD and obsession with TMNT, which sometimes prevent her from studying most effectively, Hillary is brilliant. She aspires to do something in the medical field -- last I heard, it was an orthopedic surgeon. Although she has the soul of an angel, this slightly concerns me. I have visions of her randomly remembering some urgently exciting thing she saw on TMNT and bursting into story -- and then having an assistant remind her... "Um, Doctor? We're in the OR, remember?" Bless her soul, but I hope she never operates on me. I'd be in there forever because she'd keep forgetting that she was performing a surgery.

Although Hillary is going through all the pre-med classes, she is an English major. She loves, loves, loves to write. Sometimes, at night, she'll bolt upright with an idea, jot it down, and go back to sleep. Her pet piece of work right now involves a twin-sworded warrior woman by the name of Haika... who won't kill anyone. How that works, I don't know. She likes to knock people out... with... the... hilts... of... the... swords... Riiiiiiigggggghhhhhttttt...

Hillary is an angel, and couldn't ever hurt anyone. Not even on paper. She is awfully sweet, but is sometimes overly concerned for our health. She has been trained in first-aid and emergency response, so if any of us were to be injured, she is bound by law to tend to our injuries. At least that's what she says when trying to convince us not to do something stupid. She also likes to pile corn and asparagus onto our plates at dinner time. And, she has a strange habit of telling me as I drag myself out of bed how beautiful I am... but only when I am groggy. I am wondering if she thinks telling me that when my brain is half-conscious will somehow get the message "I am beautiful" into my subconscious...

It is because of Hillary that I cannot marry Ben Poulsen. Rachel thought it was a swell idea, but I reminded her that Hillary is desperately in love with him. [Not to mention that I've only met him once. At his farewell.] Although she would never be able to purposefully murder me for marrying the man she loves, she would probably attempt it and fail three times. And then, purely by accident, she'd somehow kill me through some outlandish method. I would die a horrible death drowning in hot cocoa because she made me laugh too hard while drinking it... and then poor Ben would be devastated by the violent death of his wife.

Shannon, from Mesa, Arizona.

Shannon is the roommate I share a room with. Like Hillary, she is majoring in English. She is short and slender, and has a round face that she has somehow managed to perfectly frame with short, brown hair. I met her on Monday. As far as I can tell thus far, she is a perfect little package of goodness. She is extremely neat and tidy. Somehow, no matter how I try to make my bed perfectly, the perfection of her bed makes my bed look messy.

She is kind of shy and dreadfully afraid of inconveniencing people. This may prove to be a problem, because I have a similar phobia. I am afraid that if there were ever a disagreement between us, it would never be addressed, because both of us would be too dreadfully shy to bring it up. However, I expect Shannon and I will get along quite well. Out of the blue one morning we began to talk a bit about the gospel and families and such. I spilled all my deep, dark secrets.

I am a little mystified at this. I can count on one hand, with fingers left over, how many people I've told my deep, dark secrets to. And usually I didn't tell them a thing until I had watched their every move for months. And somehow I was okay with telling her some of the things I hide after knowing her for three days. I don't know. I suppose you could say that things are just clicking into place.

Haylee, from Sandy, Utah.

I met Haylee on Thursday night. I have to crack her thick shell and see what sort of person is under there. She seems a bit shy and rather reserved. She, like the rest of us, has brown hair and pretty brown eyes. She was going to major in Accounting, but decided instead on Information Systems.

However, she seems easy to get along with, and, quite importantly, not judgmental. Which in all likelihood means will get along with everyone fabulously.

Aubrey, from somewhere in Australia. I keep forgetting exactly where, but I suppose it doesn't matter too much to me since -- in all likelihood -- I am likely to never get to go there.

So -- of course -- she has one of those remarkably cool accents, plus a fairly deep and pleasantly husky voice to make it even cooler. If Australian chocolate had a voice, it would sound like Aubrey. She's got curly, brown hair with hazel eyes although she isn't very tall. Pretty much, all I can say about her is that she's gorgeous.

From the looks of things, she cooks quite a bit. She has quite the arsenal of spices... we had to move our spice collection to a larger cupboard. Haylee reports that Aubrey has pretty much been all over the world. She has the souvenirs to prove it, including exotic cookbooks which she uses pretty often. Among her other souvenirs from her world travels are some exciting clothes. She has an outfit with poofy pants reminiscent of Princess Jasmine's. And a matching scarf.

She is majoring in Middle Eastern Studies, I think, or something close to it. She speaks a little bit of Arabic and is learning Hindi this year. She writes her shopping list in Arabic.

Personality-wise... I haven't gotten to see much of it, except that she doesn't talk that much.

EXCEPT...

Haylee and Aubrey were roommates last year in Gates Hall. They know each other quite well. Together, they are a perfect pair of extroverts. But alone, they don't talk much.

That wouldn't be so bad, except they have a tendency to isolate themselves in the room they share. Which means the rest of us run the risk of never getting to know them due to never seeing them. I fear that I will be living with two strangers for all of the next two semesters. Especially since what I have seen of the two of them... suggests I wouldn't enjoy a lot of activities we might share.

Haylee and Aubrey appear to be the perfect stereotype of girly girls at first glance.

They went shopping today, spending hundreds of dollars without half a thought. Our apartment is now fully stocked with decorations, a fish, and fairy lights. So I now know I can't ever go with them when they go shopping. I won't be able to buy ANYTHING compared to what they'll get. I would be exposed as a pennypincher instantly.

Their bedroom is interesting. Pink. With a wall devoted to pictures of, in their words, "hot men..." Mainly guys who star in chick flicks and Disney movies and such.

It also appears that they're obsessed with how they look, although Haylee is much more self-conscious about it. They have to be wearing something in style and gorgeous. I've never seen them not wearing makeup, even in the early morning or late night...

Haylee runs and hides if she's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, apologizing profusely for looking like a hobo. At this I blink. Look at her. And marvel. She's apologizing for looking prettier than I probably will on my wedding day. I don't understand. I really don't.

Perhaps it is strange to feel like this... and I know I shouldn't ever feel like this, but truthfully, it kind of freaks me out. It makes ME want to apologize and go hide in my room for looking like a hobo. I mean, I'm not always wearing makeup. I'll even go out of the house and into public, all day, without it. And the sort of clothes Haylee apologizes for looking like a hobo in, are nicer than the majority of items in my wardrobe.

So... I don't know. Haylee, Aubrey, and I will have no problem coexisting peacefully. They seem to be easy to live with. However, developing a friendship might be harder, especially for me. They're so different, and I have yet to find something I have in common with them, except perhaps being female, enjoying good food, and requiring cleanliness. I'm a little nervous.

In fact, I am nervous about this entire semester in general.

We'll see. I hope it works out... Wish me luck.

Love, Jenna the Queasy.

Return to BYU Part II: Men with Faces and Light!

Monday morning we woke up fairly earlyish -- today was the day for emptying my storage unit.

I got dressed, Rachel got dressed, and... Rachelle came over. Angel Rachelle was going to help me move back in! I was getting out my paperwork for the storage unit, when -- VRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! The apartment sprang to life -- especially the blender -- and the three of us jumped. I sprinted to the kitchen to turn off the blender. We had power! The clocks on the kitchen appliances were blinking happily, and the refrigerator was humming with glee... the lights were shining brightly, and, of course, the residents were jumping with joy. Electricity is niiiice.

Rachelle got into her cute little silver Civic, and Rachel and I got into her teal and decaying Mazda, and we drove to Orem. At one point, Rachel and I lost Rachelle. And I hadn't brought my cell phone. So, using Rachel's dying cell, we called Hillary and begged her to find Rachelle's number. Hillary didn't have it, but she hung up and proceeded to tear apart her room in search of an old 68th ward directory. I sighed. "Well," I said dejectedly, "I'll go sign an Intent to Vacate Form and you can go park where she'll see you if see was looking for us."

I went and filled out all the paperwork necessary, and went back outside to -- Rachelle! She was waving happily at me. Now... where is Rachel? Crud. I sighed. We found her near the main road, then I jumped from Rachelle's car to Rachel's car (Rachel didn't have the code to get into the gate). We got into the storage facility and then drove over to my happy little spider-infested storage unit, O16. We broke in (with our keys, of course) and proceeded to... cringe and cough at the dust that flew up in the air at the disturbance of the door. And then we winced as we watched the spiders scurrying away from the sudden sunlight pouring into the unit. Poor creatures. We took brooms to the pesky eight-legged creatures, but after determining that they were all harmless daddy long legs... we were a little less disturbed at our arachnid infestation. We still ferociously took my happy green broom and swept off all the boxes in attempts to destroy any stow away spiders and/or webs, but we weren't quite as concerned as before.

We very carefully packed Rachelle's and Rachel's cars, swept out the unit in an attempt to unhouse as many spiders as we could, and then happily drove back to Provo. However, upon approaching our apartment... no parking spaces. Anywhere. Finally, Rachel found a teeny space on a street kind of close to us, but unfortunately, she had to parallel park to get into it, which she isn't very good at, and definitely isn't good at. Rachelle, however, could not find a parking space. She parked illegally in the lot right next to our little red brick building, and we rushedly emptied her car.

Then -- Rachel and Rachelle switched the places of their cars. Now Rachel was parked illegally, and Rachelle was in that teeny little spot on the road far away. We rushedly emptied Rachel's car, and then -- we determined that we ought to go buy some groceries. In Rachelle's car though -- her Civic had air conditioning, whereas Rachel's Mazda didn't. So, Rachel and Rachelle switched car spaces again. Then we all clambered into Rachelle's vehicle and journeyed to the nearest Smith's.

Sadly, I had a mere thirty-six dollars in my checking account, and a happy little Benjamin my dad gave me (he was concerned that I wouldn't be able to live on thirty-six dollars). So I was careful, but I still ended up buying a lot of stuff -- I mean, the refrigerator was bone dry. Real food is good. All the lines for the real cashiers were full -- and the self-service stations were empty. Unfortunately, those don't accept one-hundred-dollar bills. And the total came to... forty dollars. So... I inserted a five I hadn't realized I had, and then paid for the rest with my debit card. Which effectively lowered the balance in my checking account to a scrawny $1.70. That made me sick inside. Darn it, I need to get that Benjamin into my checking account! It's all I have! I could be mugged any second now! This is dangerous. However... that would require getting to the bank. Which wouldn't be so bad if I had a Wells Fargo account, since they have one in the BYU Bookstore... but I don't. So I live in constant and paranoid risk of mugment. I've never been mugged, and I would hate for this to be the first time -- I mean, it's a hundred bucks. That enough to feed me for... I don't know. A month or longer! I could totally live on potatoes, and scrambled eggs, and other ridiculously cheap sorts of food, and I could totally make it last me for forever!!!

Ooh, sorry, got off track.

Rachelle dropped us off at our apartment and left, since there wasn't any legal parking, and we brought our food inside.

Commence the unpacking! Box after box after box of stuff!

I unpacked all the gajillions of canned food first, which I had used to fill a garbage can that I used to use as a mop bucket. Then there was a ginormous clear bin full of spices and other non-perishable foods that I didn't want mice to get at. I opened the lid. And ohhh... The distinct aroma of a spice cupboard wafted up to my nose. Ah... Spices. The essence of flavor! I filled my cupboards happily. I moved on to the many boxes of dishes. Then the boxes of blankets and bedding. Then the boxes of winter clothing. Then the boxes of school supplies. Then the boxes of piano music and old school books. Then... the printer and the CD player... and... my goodness. It's all out. And put in place. And happy.

And... goodness. It was a lot easier to unpack than it was to pack it all up in the first place. Especially since I was keenly aware of all the nooks and crevices in which I could hide things. And I had already created an organizational system last term. It was a happy, triumphant feeling indeed.

Shortly thereafter, I took a shower to clean off all the dustiness I now felt from the storage unit encounters, and then Rachel and I went to dinner with her grandfather, aunt, mother, father, and brother at Chuck-A-Rama. We stuffed ourselves with not-cold-canned-ravioli-

goodness. Then we went back home.

And it was Monday evening. And I now had nothing to do!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

I went to answer. A blond guy with glasses and brown eyes and two girls (one brunette and one blonde) looked at me. The brunette looked familiar... her name was Michelle and had been in my FHE group last semester.

"Hey," said the guy. "Want to do a makeshift Family Home Evening, since nobody lives at BYU anymore?"

"Of course," said I, and Rachel agreed when she came down. "What are we doing?"

He shrugged. "We were thinking of going to the malt shoppe."

Rachel and I introduced ourselves, the blond introduced himself as Mark, and the girls introduced themselves as Michelle and Shalise.

We had already eaten and were quite full. But FHE was not about stuffing ourselves, it was about having FHE. So, we continued down the red brick building gathering as many girls as possible. Only then did we try to recruit the guys. It is a universal fact that is it easier to convince guys to do something with girls than it is to convince girls to do something with guys. Because we had a fair number of females in the group, and only one guy thus far... it was easy after that. Soon we had more guys with us than girls, including some guys I recognized from spring term.

We walked down to the Malt Shoppe, which was, thank goodness, within walking distance. There was time to talk.

Mark and I finally figured out that we had met before -- he was the faceless man I met with the fantastic voice. I also found out that he was a shameless flirt. He was trying to describe to me a sweet burger... "You know those burgers that have that slightly sweet taste?"

I shook my head no. "Like... they're sweeter than most burgers," he says. "I have no idea what you're talking about," says I.

He was a little bummed that I didn't know what he was talking about, but he continued. "I don't know... the bun is extra sweet." He paused. "Kind of like you."

I just laughed, although I nearly choked on the laughter since the lame pick-up line was so sudden and unexpected. I looked at him more carefully... am I going to have to watch this one? I don't mind the guys that flirt with everyone. It's the ones that single you out that you have to watch out for. Mark just grinned. "Was that subtle enough for you? You'll quickly find out that I'm that one that's always flirting."

"Aha," I said. "Thanks for the warning. That means I don't have to take you seriously."

He nodded. "Yep. Exactly."

We got to the Malt Shoppe where everyone except Rachel and I ordered something tasty. One of my old home teachers, Chris, had a bunch of quarters, and noticed Rachel and I admiring a jukebox. We were flipping through the songs, and suddenly, Chris nudged a quarter into my fingers. I grinned, and punched in a number.

The jukebox got busy quick, but it startled me at how loud it was. Chris looked down at the jukebox and then at me. He seemed to approve of my choice of music, but also looked mystified. "What is this?"

I grinned. "E.L.O." I replied. "Don't Bring Me Down." He may not have heard it before, but he liked it, judging from the look on his face. Encouraged by my choice of music, others in our makeshift FHE group found songs on the jukebox. We all sat down, and, aside from Rachel and I, ate our goodies. Talked to each other about random stuff. And suddenly, the jukebox broke into blatant triple swing.

Here is what happens to you once you've taken social dance at BYU. You sense the beat and you know -- this song is a triple swing, or a waltz, or a cha cha... and you feel the horrible urge to get up and dance. However, in order to do this you must have a partner of the opposite sex. So, here I was, just stewing to dance. Fingers and feet itching. However, I rather sucked at swing. I suppressed the desire, and I would have gotten away with not dancing at all had I been the only one afflicted.

Suddenly, one the guys whose name I unfortunately did not catch leapt up. "Who wants to triple swing?! I need to swing. This is a swing song!" He looked around at the girls. "Don't any of you know how to dance?"

Chris somehow knew I could and pointed firmly at me. So the guy who wanted to dance zoned in on me. "He's pointing at you. You can dance...?" He offered his hands. Well, I wanted to dance, didn't I? The malt shoppe wasn't much of a dance floor, but it would have to do.

The dancing began. I was surprised at how naturally it came, even if triple swing wasn't my strength in dancing. He wasn't the best lead, but then I wasn't the best follower, so it was okay. He twirled me around like a top, which earned lots of cheering and whistling from the crowd behind me. This was a little bizarre... since when could I dance and look goos while doing it? This must be a recent development. The end of the song came, and he dipped me.

I love dips. They don't teach that in class, but it's happened to me once before, and that was with Zach Smith, who actually was the first to try and teach me triple swing. Sniff. And he is gone on his mission. Sniff. He also doesn't reply to mail ever. Sniff. Dancing also reminds me of Clifton. Sniff. Who is also gone. Sniff. And then I remembered that it was when I was going to dance with Clifton that Ryan called to tell me where he was going on his mission. Sniff. Ack, and he is gone too! They're all gone! All of them! It was like a whole row of dominoes. A whole row of very sad dominoes (for me, definitely NOT for them) I had been trying very hard to keep standing. But sad day, now I am all bummed and remembering that all my guyfriends from last year are gone on missions and I won't see them for a while. That always makes me sad.

Well, the dance was over. And here I was missing my friends that I used to dance with. I was very quiet the rest of time, and just eavesdropped on everyone else's conversations. We walked home, and I went to bed, a little lonelier and deader than I had been before FHE. One of those internal voices always says, Don't be sad. They are where they need to be, and you are where you are supposed to be, and the work is going forth, and -- Then the other voice says, Shut up. I know that. Stop thinking about that. The retort: Just because I shouldn't be sad doesn't mean I'm not. Just because it is more appropriate to not miss people quite so much doesn't mean that's what is going on... And soon it is a whole internal argument that even my internal poet gets involved in, starting to quote Dana Gioia's "Unsaid"...

"So much of what we live goes on inside --
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead."

The unfortunate reality is that pretending not to miss your friends doesn't make you miss them any less. I'm not one for poetry. But I like this one. It is kind of comforting, at least for me. Ooh. You know AP English made a lasting impression on you when you feel the great urge to analyze this. I did analyze it... for fun. And I thought I hated poetry analysis. For your sake, I did not include my analysis of Gioia's poem.

Also for your sakes, I have not included all the supercool stuff I've been learning about the brain this week. I've been doing Education Week and I've been to nearly every neuroscience or psychology-ish class offered. I am starting to notice the intense excitement I feel when I'm learning about the brain. Right now I am resisting every urge to tell you all about the pre-frontal cortex and the limbic system. I want to tell you all about nerve cells and dendrites and such. I want to tell you all about how a child's brain develops and how myelination affects the "terrible two's" and the teenagers. I want to explain to you the basic differences between the male brain and the female brain and how that translates into behavior. I want to tell you about brain disorders and how medications like antidepressants work. I want to tell you how stress damages your brain. I want to tell you how your brain stores memories. And I most especially want to tell you how prayer affects your brain... However, I rather feel that you wouldn't be half as interested as I am. So I will spare you.


I will write again soon, and I hope I didn't bore you.
Love, Jenna.

Return to BYU Part I: Faceless Men and Darkness.

I see many of you picked up on my extreme excitement upon coming back home to Provo and BYU. Here is the epic tale of my return.

It is Saturday morning, the long-awaited sixteenth of August. I groggily hear the all-too-familiar sound of my phone ringing... Ah, alarm. That means wake up. Yugh, can it be 6:30 already? I look at the clock. Indeed, it can. Maybe staying up until 1:30 wasn't such a bright idea. But I had to finish packing... which meant cleaning all my laundry. And I had to watch the Olympics, of course. Which meant staying up later than I usually do. And... then waking up feeling a bit more tired than I should like. Oh, sigh. I turned off the alarm and considered getting up and getting ready. But the bed was comfy -- the kind of comfy that never happens when you're actually allowed to be sleeping, and inconveniently presents itself only at the times when it is definitely not acceptable to stay in bed. So... I cuddled up in the blankets, enjoying another five minutes of happy sleepiness, while managing not to fall back asleep. I was much too excited to fall back asleep.

I eventually climbed out of bed and got ready for my flight, which really only took about half-an-hour... I had done most of the time-consuming preparations the night before. And soon I was ready. I kissed the members of my family who were too tired to get up to see me off and hugged them as best as I could while they lay groggily in their beds.

Mother (as I like to pronounce it, moe-thur) and one of my sisters helped me load my two suitcases into the car, and we drove off. The ride seemed so long. And then we got to the airport. Mom tried to get my luggage out, but she was unable. I grabbed my two fairly heavy red bags, my horribly scarred and sunburnt backpack, and my laptop bag. And I waved goodbye to my mother and sister, and I turned to the airport behind me. Goodbye Phoenix.

I checked in my suitcases and made it through security with ease. I got this airport thing down. And, I was among the first of the passengers from my flight to show up in the terminal, so I had a fairly decent choice of seats. All is well. I had about an hour until I'd be allowed to board the airplane, so I pulled out my pen and paper and wrote letters to missionary buddies. The hour passed by as quickly as my thoughts would allow it to -- excitement sometimes makes time last longer. Writing usually makes it go by abnormally fast. So, it balanced out. Before I knew it, I was on the plane sitting in an aisle seat next to a middle-aged couple who both entertained themselves with books. And about a hour and a half later, the plane landed, and I was off to reclaim my red suitcases.

Grandma Salisbury picked up my bags and I, we went and filled our empty stomachs with Chinese food, and we visited my great-aunt Alice. Then it was off to Provo. For real.

I remember during that last ride when I finally saw the Y again. It made me happy.

And then soon the streets started to look familiar.

And then...

"That's my apartment!" I happily leaped out of the car, dashed behind the red brick building where I lived, and made my way to the office where I gratefully commandeered my key for apartment #366. I was the first one to check in for my apartment.

I burst out of the office and made a beeline for the back of the red brick building. They had replaced the back doors last spring term, and they didn't have numbers on them anymore. But ha! I used to live here! I know which door is mine, even if they do look all the same. I triumphantly opened the third door on the left and entered the familiar kitchen.

Wait a minute.

My kitchen was full of random pieces of furniture. Mattresses, book shelves, and other thingamabobs that definitely weren't here last time I lived here. Interesting. I also picked up on the fact that... the refrigerator and freezer doors were open. I inspected it. The refrigerator wasn't on, so it didn't really matter that the doors were open. I closed them. I looked over at my oven. Usually there was a time on the the display. The display was black, blank, and lifeless. I looked over at the where the time on the microwave should be. Same thing. Black, blank, and lifeless. I flipped the switch for the kitchen on and off -- nothing.

My suspicions were confirmed -- we have no electricity. Aw, darn it!

I ran the faucet. The water was warm enough, so we had hot water. That was nice. I'd been paying the gas bill all summer, since it would have been more expensive to turn it off and then pay for the servicemen to come turn it back on. However, I hadn't been paying for electricity -- Ingrid had been in charge of that bill. And it would have stood to reason that she would have canceled the service so she wouldn't have to pay for it anymore.

I should have expected a lack of electricity. I really should have.

I decided to think about it later; Grandma was waiting for me in the car. I went out, retrieved my suitcases, and she left. I lugged my luggage up to my room. Hm. I noticed that the bedroom window had been left open. That was okay -- I suspected that having the window open all summer had prevented my apartment from turning into an oven. I mean, it was around sixty degrees at night. That would have kept it cool. And, thanks to the flyscreen, there weren't any excess bugs or dirt or any other ill effects that could have happened from having a window open for two months.

I went back downstairs and hugged my grandmother goodbye. She drove away, and I was alone. I called up Rachel -- she was ten minutes away -- and she agreed to pay for electricity, since we didn't have any. I waited for ten agonizing minutes. And then -- ka-blammy! I looked out the window and saw them -- Rachel and her mother.

It was like one of those cheesy, cliché moments you see on those stupid TV shows of long-separated couples finally seeing each other, fields apart. And then they run through the grassy fields and embrace each other, spinning around and around and around -- and the whole time some incredibly dramatic and/or romantic music is playing.

Got that image in your head? Now, replace that cheesy, romantic image with this -- instead of the couple, you've got one Jenna and one Rachel. Instead of the flowery fields, you've got a grassy volleyball court. And instead of the background music, you have the Jenna and the Rachel squealing, "Eeeeeeeeeeee!" like two squirrelish mosquitoes on loudspeakers about to collide like two speeding bullet trains.

If that doesn't show you what it was like -- nothing will. It was pure joy.

We got to unloading all Rachel's junk from the back of her father's brand new, shiny, white truck. Her little brother, Andrew, is autistic, and he sort of helped. Mostly he was mischievously putting things in the wheels and exhaust of Dad's shiny, new truck. We got to calling the electric company -- or, at least Rachel did.

She impatiently listed to the computer lady chant off the normal office hours, and that the estimated wait time was greater than five minutes or not. I don't think she was listening to it very closely, but she thought we should go visit the power company in person and set up the account. We found out where the the utilities building was -- less than a block away, and we drove over.

Except -- it was closed. Rachel's parents and brother followed us in that shiny, white truck that -- hm. It shouldn't be making that noise, should it?

SKKKKKRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEE.... skree skkkuuurrreeeeeee... They parked, and it stopped. Rachel's dad determined that the horrid sound was coming from the front wheel. It seems that Andrew had put a rock or something into the wheel and it was wreaking havoc as best it could. And it was stuck in the wheel. Ugh. So we sat and watched Brother Cope drive in backwards circles in the parking lot as Rachel and I waited for the power people to get to us.

Finally, "Hello, Provo Utilities, how may I help you?" YES! YEEESSS!!! Even if Brother Cope wasn't having much luck with the truck -- we are soooo talking to a real man -- electricity, here we come!

Rachel set up the account and such. And then... "Electricity won't be on until Monday morning." Ah, phooey. Rachel and I headed back to our apartment, Brother Cope still driving in circles, backwards. Poor sap. He'd just gotten the truck that morning. Brand, stinkin' new. Unfortunate day!

Aw, well. Rachel unpacked and such. We only had until the sun was down to do whatever it was we need to do...

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK! Somebody loves us? Already? Ee!

Rachel and I answered the door - one of the guys in our ward, Andrew, wanted us to come and watch a movie at his place. Apparently, everybody is ridiculously bored here at Monticello. About three quarters of the previous population left for the next two weeks. Andrew looked dejectedly bored. "Who else is coming?" "Hopefully... as many people as possible. It's like... a ghost town around here. And it's so quiet here."

So, we went to his house and watched a movie called Vantage Point. It was a little annoying because it kept rewinding and showing the same event from someone else's point of view... After that, we watched the Olympics a little. And then I went home to a pitch black apartment.

I started to get ready for bed, beginning with the removal of my contacts. I went to my bedroom and sat on my bed... and suddenly realized... oh. There... is pretty much no electricity. At all. Which pretty much means no light. Which makes it much more difficult to read my scriptures. I sat dejectedly on the bed for a moment.

You people have to understand something about me to fully understand this moment. You people all think I'm perfect. I submit to you that I am not. My whole life... consistent scripture reading has been my nemesis, my struggle. I could never do it two days in a row. I was absolutely amazed when I could do it for two or three consecutive days. And then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, and after approximately fifteen years of constant struggle -- I could finally do it. I hadn't skipped a day for nearly two whole months. Okay, so two months might seem a little pathetic to you, but the truth is, it seems like a great accomplishment for me. One that I am immensely proud of.

And it seems so shameful. To stop now. Just because I have no light. How lame is that.

So, I am on a quest to find light.

Light, light.

Oh! Flashlight! I have one of those!

... ... ... Except... I don't. My flashlight is currently in my storage unit. In Orem. That isn't going to work. I look out my window. Street lamp! That's light! I look out the bathroom window. The volleyball court is lit! I could sit on my back step and read. That would be better than sitting in the gutter and reading by dim and flickering lamp light.

I grab my daddy's scriptures, which I stole (with his permission), and sauntered downstairs to my back step. Now that I could see, I realized and remembered... oh. My contacts are... not... in... my... eyes. Ah, well. It's a good thing I am near-sighted. I will still be able to read. If I hold the book rather close to my face.

So there I was, a triple combination nearly plastered to my face, trying to read it in the dim volleyball court lights.

"Do I know you?" said a bass voice. An extremely attractive bass voice.

I looked up, as is the habit for a sighted person. I was painfully reminded that my contacts were way upstairs in the bathroom as I looked up at the flesh-colored blob in front of me. Aw, crap. But he asked a question; I should answer it.

"Um, I don't know. I can't tell. I can't see you." And it was the truth. I didn't know if I knew that voice or not.

He came closer. I still couldn't see him. "I'm Mark," he said, rather attractively. Dang it, dang it, dang it. I want to know what you look like.

"I'm Jenna. I was here for spring, and I went home for summer," I replied.

"Ah, then I wouldn't know you. I showed up for summer."

"Ah, yes. Then I definitely wouldn't know you." Nice to have that established. We continued the small talk until he noticed that I was busy, and then the flesh-colored blob sauntered off with its attractive voice. I grumbled a little to myself. I didn't even know at all what he looked like. My very best guess? Blond*, I think. Possibly with glasses. And if I had to guess what color his eyes were I would guess dark brown. But I wouldn't bet my life on it for fear of death.

I finished reading and went back inside. I curled up on the couch, because my bedding was still in the storage unit. And I fell asleep.

Sunday morning! Rachel had gone to a farewell, so I had to go to church all by my lonesome. It was pretty much the happiest thing ever. I missed BYU wards. After that, I was pretty much all by my lonesome for a while.

What to eat, what to eat?!

Well, we don't have anything perishable. Nor do we have electricity to heat up anything. I sighed dejectedly as I pulled a can of ravioli out of the cupboard. A spoon, a spoon! Dang it. No silverware. It's all in my storage unit. All in Orem! Gah! I search through the drawers of dishes Rachel brought. And... I found... a spatula!

I sat of my blue couch and ate a happy little can of cold, canned ravioli. With a spatula. If you're hungry enough, it isn't that bad. After that, I pulled out my letter-writing equipment and finished one letter I started in the airport, and wrote another two. In the midst of writing my little brother Cliftonius, I noticed a little teal car in front of my apartment trying to parallel park, and failing miserably. I laughed at it. That must be Rachel. It was. Rachel hadn't been home long when...

My phone went off. Jackie Bodily called to ask if she and Rachelle could come over with a gift. I accepted the offer, of course.

They came; the gift was a chocolate creme pie. Ee! (Aw, dang it. I need to make a pie this month!) Pie is good. Rachel and I devoured it before their eyes, and talked with Rachelle until the sun went down. (Jackie had to leave early.)

Then Rachel says abruptly, "Jenna. Who is Mark?"

I blink. "A guy in our ward."

"Oh. He has an amazing voice! What does he look like?!"

I bow my head in shame. "I don't know." I proceeded to explain the situation.

She scolded me.

"How do you know about Mark?" I queried.

"Um... My bedroom window was open last night. And while I was in bed, I heard this glorious bass voice say, 'Hi. I'm Mark.' And then I heard, 'Hi. I'm Jenna.'"

I laughed. "You should have come down. Then you could have told me what he looked like!"

"Yes, I was debating how to do such a thing. But I didn't have my contacts in either, and I was in a tank top and grubby pajama pants. I was seriously considering looking for some sort of shirt to throw on over my tank, but then it was dark and there was no hope of fixing the pajama pants too at such short notice."

I laughed again. I consoled with the fact that soon we'd have a ward directory, and then we could find out what the mysterious Mark looked like.

Her idea was to get our scriptures and read on the porch again -- with our contacts in, which we did. Sadly, no Mark.

------
*Quick grammar quiz! Blond or blonde? It comes from the French. Blond is for males and blonde is for females. Less well-known is brunet versus brunette. Brunet is for males and brunette is for females. Said the same way, but spelled different. Just like fiancé versus fiancée. If you want to remember it, consider the words male and female. The word female has one more 'e'. This is what you get for corresponding with a nerd. :)

Seizures and Love Letters

Guess what, everyone! I leave on Saturday morning, and I am sooo excited. You all really have no idea. (Perhaps you do, but I will always insist that you don't.) My flight to Salt Lake leaves at 9:40am, so if any of you want to see me, you'll probably have to do it by Friday night, because after that, I'm outta here!

So, as always, you can contact me via email (jennamarie.griffin@gmail.com) or Facebook... or, if you love me extra special, you can call me up (602)577-2899 or perhaps send me snail mail: 366 E. 800 N., Provo, UT 84606. I'll be back for a little longer than a week and a half for Christmas break... not too long though. I'm flying in the evening of December 23rd, and then flying back the morning of January 3rd. And after that? I won't be back until the following Christmas. I don't that'll be too much of a problem, since I think I'm pretty good at keeping in touch. :)

Well, still no good stories. But hey, I can tell you a secret. Or, perhaps it isn't really a secret.

I have an involuntary shivering problem.

I'll be minding my own business, and then, like a Frisbee from the middle of nowhere -- it hits me. I shudder, sometimes violently.

Okay, okay, you say. That happens to everybody. But I say, no! It doesn't! Truthfully, most people shiver only when they have a good reason to... like say, it's freezing. Or maybe something creepy just happened. Or maybe someone sneaked up behind you and blew cold breath on your neck. (Oh, if you don't shudder at the thought, something is sooo wrong with you.)

But I shiver often enough and obviously enough to warrant concern.

I'll be sitting on the couch happily, thinking happy thoughts, being perfectly warm, and then -- graaghglghlgghaa! A series of nerves fire and it's a seizuresque shiver.

You know, it doesn't bother me, most of the time. Except --

Sometimes I shiver over and over and over again in a short period of time. When this happens, the muscles around my spine start to ache and I get a little shaky. But that's okay, it doesn't bother me that bad. Although when it happens on dates, he'll look over at me and nervously ask if I'm okay. It usually scares the living daylights out of whoever he is, even if I assure him this is perfectly normal.

Sometimes this happens: I'll have both my hands in front of me, and suddenly those nerves will fire -- and my arms will tense up -- and more nerves will fire -- and -- SMACK! I've clapped quite loudly, and my hands are stinging. And all this, involuntarily. I can only pray this never happens during a funeral. Or when I'm in the same room as a clap-activated bomb. Or when I'm trying to hide from a killer in a dark room with clapper lights. This could be potentially disastrous, no?

My dad is also quite concerned about this shivering phenomenon. He tells me I should see a doctor or something.

I say, Whhhyyy?! It's totally benign. The worst thing that ever become of it is... hm. Annoyance.

Well, he says, the doctor could give you some anti-seizure medication.

Yes, I say, but why would I want to be taking that for the rest of my life? I couldn't think of a good enough reason. Honestly... I can't stand the sight of blood, so we won't have to worry about me slicing a major artery during neurosurgery or anything.

About a month ago, my dad asked me -- Do you ever shiver like that when you're sleeping and wake up?

Naw, I say.

Never? Are you sure? He proceeds to interrogate me, and I answer truthfully. Soon, I realize... well, yes, I have.

See, sometimes, I wake up suddenly in the middle of night scared to death. I feel like either someone has grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a good, hard shake, or like I've fallen from a few feet in the air onto the bed. I used to attribute this to bad dreams which I didn't remember, but were intense enough to trigger a physical reaction... but... honestly, the shivering thing makes more sense.

Well, of course, my dad would be the first to wonder... What if you're cuddling with your husband and you both fall asleep and then you shiver and wake him up!?

Hm. I'd expect that wouldn't be enough to keep him awake for too long... I don't think that's a disaster. Honestly, if I were him I'd be more worried about wifey stealing all the covers. BAHAHA! And I think many normal couples suffer from the blanket-hog syndrome and the subsequent freezing awakeness of the thus coverless spouse, so I doubt a little shiver now and then would damage our relationship much.

So, all I can say about the shivers is... the condition is much too benign to worry about. Unless that clap thing happens in close proximity to my significant other's face... then I might slap him pretty hard without meaning to. That could damage our relationship much, ya?

Besides. It is obviously a neurological condition. And -- guess what. I happen to be studying neuroscience. What better field than that to have at your disposal if benign ever turns to malevolent. But for now, I feel no need to see a neurologist so I can get anti-seizure medication. All that would really do... is poison my liver. On the other hand... shivers aren't shortening my lifespan much, so I shan't worry about them.

Now for a secret missionary fan club update.

In other news... Clifton... er, Elder Dudley, has recently been stuck in the MTC due to Visa problems. He's supposed to go to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission. Well, he's not in the MTC anymore -- he's been temporarily assigned to labor in the Salt Lake City South Mission. Which I don't mind so much, because that means any letters he sends will still reach me relatively quickly, whereas if he were sending me something from Mexico, I'd probably have to wait for a long time. He sent me a picture of him and a few of his missionary buddies mimicking the Abbey Road cover in the MTC crosswalk. Genius. I shall have to frame it.

Will... er, Elder Budge, is still in the MTC, but he's leaving for Argentina on Monday. Excitement! In less exciting news, some of the other elders in his district... got scavies, and the hermanas in his district... have milk-chugging contests. Mostly he just wants out of the MTC.

And Ryan... er, Elder Strong... has been in Australia for a while. However, I finally got a letter from him. He wrote it almost a month ago, on that eternally long flight from San Francisco to Sydney. He read all ten letters within the first thirteen hours of that flight (in between Preach My Gospel and the Doctrine and Covenants, he assures me). Yikes... that must have been a rather boring flight. :D Thank goodness for email though. His mom forwards emails to me and his other BYU friends. I can tell you that he doesn't like Vegemite; he says it tastes like someone broke a bunch of pens and spread the inky stuff all over his toast. His companion kind of freaked him out at first because he says "I love you" to everyone and their dog, even when they get flicked off. And, most recently, he's pretty much waay excited about preaching the gospel. He loves it, and I'm pretty much jealous that I'm not serving a mission right now.

What else can I tell you?! Hm...

How about Elder Jolley? I can tell you about him. You don't know who he is. Neither do I really. I only recently found out that his first name was Joshua. Before that, for lack of a first name, I called him Oscar. Well, Elder Joshua Jolley is a good story.

I have mentioned my roommate, Rachel, but I don't remember how well I've described her to you. She is rather short. And squirrel-like, definitely, squirrel-like. She makes bizarre noises, and is usually laughing hilariously at something. She often fantasizes about the perfect man -- tall, dark, and ominous (T.O.D.) and preferably a bass or baritone who enjoys serenading. She has a goal to beat the height differential between her parents when she finds her one true love, and her ideal courtship probably involves numerous food fights and contests to see who can make me spray hot cocoa out my nose the farthest. If any of you are Facebook friends with me, look at my videos. There's one entitle, Territorial Dispute. This is Rachel and I fighting over a pillow. Vicious. Like spider monkeys, vicious.

Rachel has a high school friend named Elder Ben Poulsen, currently serving a mission in the Big Apple. Prior to his departure, I talked to him on the phone twice, and met him once (at his farewell). Rachel, Hillary, and I, the terrible trio, wrote him collective letters last semester... Actually, I remember one letter in particular where we all got lipsticks of different colors and kissed the envelope. And then mailed it away, hoping to freak out a few mailmen, Elder Poulsen, and his companion.

Well, at some point during the summer, Elder Poulsen got a companion named Elder Jolley. Rachel was still writing Elder Poulsen, of course. Letters which no doubt were full of random expressions like, "Look! Flaming phoenix squirrels!" "We'll blow up the ocean!" "Hillary and Jenna are Irishmen and I'm an Irishwoman!" "I got Jenna to spray hot cocoa out her nose, all over the kitchen!" "Wakakakakakaaa..."

So...

Rachel phones me and tells me a tale. She's been receiving love letters from Elder Jolley... and some of these letters referred to a future time when they'd be married.

I demand that she tell me everything she knows about him. Everything. Well, she doesn't know what his first name is. Or where he's from. Or anything. All she knows is what Elder Poulsen has told her. And all Elder Poulsen has told her is that the mysterious Elder Jolley takes his pants off at the dinner table. Awkward, yes, but upon reflection... if there exists a girl for a guy like this, it's a girl like Rachel. And at this point I understand why Elder Jolley is sending Rachel love letters.

Rachel was a little freaked out by her not-so-secret admirer, so she sent back an enormous packet -- an "Application to Write Rachel", which also demanded an audition tape and two sources.

I obtain Elder Poulsen's address from Hillary, and send a letter. Demanding to know who Elder Jolley is. And, I add, in lieu of Johnny Lingo, that Rachel is definitely not an eight-cow woman. It's two dragons, or no deal, since I want a dragon and Hillary will want a dragon as well.

I get two letters back... one from Elder Poulsen, who was rather thrilled at getting a letter. He also asked if he might be eligible to win our marriage pan (an entirely different story, which I may tell later) and told me to warn Rachel about Elder Jolley's audition tape.

The other letter was from Elder Jolley. He informed me that his name was not Oscar, but that it was Joshua. He continued to inform me that he was wondering how he was going to get into Rachel's inner circle of friends, but that by writing his companion, I had provided him with a great opportunity. He proceeded to beg me to be his co-conspirator. And he wanted to know what sort of dragon I wanted.

Well, I was tempted to reply back that I would certainly be his co-conspirator. However, upon further thought, I decided that I ought to inquire more about the position before accepting it. Especially after what Rachel said about the package she received from said Elder Jolley. He had filled out the entire application... and provided an audtion tape, where he read the entire book of Deuteronomy. (Holy crap.) She told me he was not eligible to marry her because his voice wasn't deep enough (tenor) and he was a mere six feet tall (too short...). He also didn't seem to be quite ominous enough -- he's mostly just a clown. So sad. They seemed rather perfect for each other. Well, that is it for comical stories for now. Toodaloo!

Life Would Be So Much Better Without Goodbyes.

The next day was Monday... I had resolved not to do anything too academic all day. I cleaned, and then... Hillary left. I bawled. And bawled. I'm not going to see Hillary for four whole months! Gaah! I had a nap. And then I woke up to a knock. Ryan was over again. We went and got the playdough again, and then we came to my place and played with it on my table again. We made fun little critters. And Ryan talked and talked and talked. I told him about what happened with his dirt after he had left last night, and thankfully he wasn't upset with me. He was rather upset with Rachelle though... "You can't tell her that I told you that she told! I'll never be allowed to participate in girl talk again!" He laughed. And then he promised.

The next day was Tuesday. The day for biology. But then I couldn't wait all the way until 7pm. Instead I studied all morning and then went to my professor's office to take it earlier. I felt pretty good about it, and then I went home. I tried to study physics. But I felt dead. The more I tried to study, the more I would remember that Ryan was leaving. His original plan was to leave tonight, but he had bartered with his grandfather for tomorrow instead. So that was another day. But still. The very thought haunted me.

I helped Rachel move out... after that I was even sadder. Eventually Ryan signed into chat, where I talked to him as I tried to force myself to study. His last final had taken him four and a half hours, and he had just finished it. He wanted to know how my biology test went. I told him. He remembered that I also had physics to take, and he inquired if I was studying. No, I wasn't. I couldn't. I mused that I might start packing. He wanted to know if he could help. I figured out that he wanted to come over but was paranoid that I'd be busy.

And so I thought about it. He was leaving tomorrow. I don't need to study just yet. I don't need to pack just yet either. And I was stressed. And what we usually did when I just about going crazy with stress... was go on a long walk and explore all over campus. And find hidden things. So...

I told him that I had decided that I didn't feel like studying, or packing, or cleaning, or anything like that, and that I had decided to go on a walk, and that he could come with me if he wanted to. He wanted to.

So... I came down my stairs to see Ryan dashing through the bushes like Tarzan. I smiled. He was trying to make me laugh, I think. And if it had been a normal day I would have... He's usually very good at it, but my thoughts right now were weighed down with finals and the incessant reminder that he'd be gone in less than twenty-four hours.

Alerted by my failure to laugh at his strange behavior, he must have realized right then I was feeling really horrible. Usually when I was having a hard time, he'd make me laugh and everything would be better. I smiled weakly at him when he finally got out of the bushes, and he gave me a huge hug. And then we started walking, without a particular destination. We weren't walking long when Cute Mike showed up. He was heading off to that biology test. We escorted him to the MARB where our biology classroom was. And then me and Ryan started exploring, like we liked to do. We looped around as we were walking and eventually wound up on the balcony of the JFSB. And we sat and talked for a while. Dallin had left earlier that day. I frowned at that, and Ryan saw. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll see him again... he's living with me when we come back to BYU, so you'll see him all the time!" I laughed.

Then I took him down from the very top of the JFSB into its very depths... into the parking garages. He was fascinated. "Oooh! Next time I play laser tag, I'll do it here!" Then I showed him a few of the secret passageways I knew about from when I used to work as a custodian there. I even showed him the preschool. Once out of the JFSB, we moved on and went down the Stairs of Death... and found a bench and sat on it for a while. Then we climbed up the Stairs of Death again, and then decided to try and get to the top floor of the SWKT. Ryan considered for a moment if it was wise, since that's where all the crazy "psych people are"... Unfortunately, the elevator ignored all our pleas for it to take us all the way up to the twelfth floor. But, it did oblige when we asked for the eleventh. Unfortunately again, once we were up there, all the offices and such were locked and we couldn't see any windows. What good was being so high up if you couldn't look out the windows? So we descended to the tenth floor. This time, success. We found a window, and looked out of it for a while ("Ah, a perfect stalking spot!" he said. I laughed). We also found the neuroscience center. Well, that was good enough. We went down to ground level and then came out.

I suddenly realized that I wanted some ice cream. I told Ryan so, and thus we set off for the creamery. We got there and stood in line for a while. Ryan got cookie dough ice cream... I got rocky road. Again, the cashier assumed Ryan was paying for me. We protested and I paid for mine. Then we headed back to my house, and played with 128's playdough again.

I remembered that I had written him a letter, so I brought that out. I hadn't expected him to open it right then and read it there, but he did. After that we played with the playdough again for a while. We got tired of that, and we fell into silence for a while. I started playing piano for a bit. Then Ryan spoke up. "Jenna, let's make plans for after my mission."

I looked over at him. He continued. "I don't really care if we do them or not, I just want to make them so that I have something to look forward to..." I nodded.

Well, the obvious ones came out... we of course have to go exploring campus some more. And there's sure to be a new building. I'll show that one to you. And we could hike the Y. We never did that.

I quipped, "We should make another pie." He smiled. "I was going to say that."

I continued, "Yeah... I've decided I want to learn how to make really good pies. And so I'll practice when you're gone. Maybe one pie a month. That's... about thirty pies, I think. And then you'll be back and we can make a truly amazing cherry pie for Cherish."

He was listening, but I could tell he was calculating pies in his head. He looked at me after a few seconds. "Thirty pies. That was a pretty good guess. It's exactly thirty pies if you count the one we made on Sunday, and the one we'll make when I get back." Then he got a little intense. "Jenna, you have to make those pies! Let's make a pie chart! Do you have a ruler?"

I did. I went and found it, and brought it out. He took a piece of paper from the printer that Alex had given Jackie (he wasn't going to use it for the next two years, so what a better idea than to give it to Jackie?) and started making the chart. I sat next to him and watched. I wasn't so much watching the chart being born as I was watching how Ryan was making it. He was ever so careful, and he was concentrating. I could tell he was concentrating because his nose was moving forward and back.

"Did you know your nose wiggles when you're concentrating?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "Uhh... it's not because I'm concentrating, I don't think." But now that I had point out his nose-wiggling, it was moving left and right instead of forward and back, because now he was thinking about it. I haven't figured out what left and right nose wiggling means, but I'm fairly certain forward and back only happens when he's concentrating on something and not at all thinking out wiggling his nose. I smiled and laughed quietly.

He finished the pie chart, a square for each of the thirty months. "Alright, for every month, you have to make a pie. Even if it's a mud pie or a pie tin full of whipped cream. Make a pie and then draw it in the square for that month." We had two minutes before Ryan had to leave. "Can you draw our cherry pie in two minutes?"

"I don't know. I think so." I pulled out my markers. Unfortunately, it took a while to find the right colors. I drew and colored the pie hurriedly, and then when eleven o clock came, Ryan hugged me and dashed out the door so that he didn't break the Honor Code. I started cleaning up the mess I had left, and discovered under the pile of markers the letter I had written him. I sighed. I emailed him that I was holding it ransom, and thus he had to come say goodbye before he left and retrieve it. Then I went to bed.

I woke up in the morning... and I was not sure what to think about. I had to take the physics final today. I had to. Today was the last day of finals. I pulled out my physics booklet of chapter summaries and tried to concentrate on it. But then I kept remembering that my best friend was leaving today, and then my eyes would tear up and make it impossible to read. I eventually gave up. I ate some food. And then I tried to pack maybe. Gaah. Can't do that either. I finally pulled out my scriptures and read for a while, not knowing what else I could do. Ryan would be cleaning and packing right about now. He was supposed to leave around 3... and then wouldn't see him for over two years.

I heard a knock at my door and went to answer it. To my surprise, it was Ryan. Already. I answered hesitantly, because my eyes were still a little wet from my cry earlier.

"...Hi... Uhh... I'm here to say goodbye..."

I sputtered, "Already?" There was a telltale crack in my voice. It was only 10:30am. This couldn't be happening already. This wasn't supposed to happen for another few hours...

"Yeah... my grandfather decided instead to come get me at one instead of three..."

All I could manage was a weak "Oh..." We just stood there for a minute. And then... "Well, Jackie is here too if you want to say goodbye to her too..." He came in, and he said goodbye to Jackie. And then Jackie left the kitchen and it was just us two again. Ryan sighed. "Are you studying for physics? You have to take that today, right?"

I nodded. Then I said, "Actually, I haven't been able to concentrate on it. So I've been doing other random things. Reading scriptures. Cleaning a little. I think I went to Creamery, even."

"Hm. You wanna come help me pack?" I nodded. And then we went to his place. I helped him carry his desktop computer back to the place where he had borrowed it from. And then we went and I found his kitchen filthy. "Guck," he said. "I'm glad I'm leaving this for the other guys to clean up." It was ridiculously hot in there, so I opened the windows so that cool air would come in. I helped him finish off him chocolate milk. And then I cleaned some of his dishes while he packed some more. He found his iClicker, which he decided he needed to return at the Bookstore.

Ryan was gracious enough to let me follow him. We talked some, but mostly we just walked. We went and returned his iClicker, and he got about $25 for it. Of course, he had to deposit that in the bank. So we walked to his bank and he deposited it. And then... well, we did our usual exploring again. We walked around the Wilk this time. Then we decided it was imperative to find the Skyroom Restaurant. We found it... on the sixth floor. It was a very nice little restaurant. We looked at the menu... too expensive for our poor college student budgets. But I did notice a little sign saying that they were still hiring. I inquired into the job. I filled out a form for a job for spring term. And then we took the stairs to the fifth floor. We didn't see much interesting, but then we explored until we found a long corridor with no doors or lights or anything. But the walls were covered in paintings. We went down that and we found a flight of stairs. We went down that until we found a window with a beautiful view. Eventually we got down to the ground floor and then we headed home.

About this time I was starting to feel guilty about not studying physics when I was destined to fail it. Ryan turned toward his house, expecting me to follow, but I said quietly, "I think I have to study physics now. I can't fail." He looked at me. "Oh... okay then. I'll take you home." We walked to my stairs and then... then it really was goodbye. Ryan hugged me and held me close, and he wouldn't let go. "I'll be back real quick. It'll only be two years." I nodded and he hugged me harder. I didn't say anything, because I would have burst into tears.

He let me go after what I am sure was longer than fifteen seconds, and then he said goodbye. I managed to say a goodbye and then I turned away and climbed my stairs. And then I burst into tears. I looked up at the sky, holding back huge sobs that were in my throat. As I unlocked my door, I looked back to see Ryan looking back also. And then I went inside. And I just cried for a long time.

I ended up not failing my physics final. I may get a decent grade in that class. I came home after that, and rather than feeling relieved at finally being done... well, now I had nothing else to think about. I now had free time, but no best friend to spend it with. I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

Eastering and the Bestest Gift(s) Ever.

Saturday morning I woke up. And I was already stressing. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness! I have a cleaning check at 2 pm! I have to take a biology test before 3 pm, and I've got to get as much homework done as is humanly possible! I work constantly. Aella calls me, says she'll come get me at around 5:30 pm, and I work like a madwoman. Okay, so I did take a break to talk to Ryan, but I am human and need breaks. 5:20 rolls around and I'm not done with my homework. Sad day. I dejectedly pack my bags full of homework and wait for Aella to show up. She shows up a little late, probably because of the Easter traffic.

Before going to Aella's house, we stop and get burgers and shakes (the size of your face) at JCW's. We go home, eat them, and then we doorbell ditch an Easter basket at her friend Kira's house. Then we rented Stardust.

At some point, Aella started wondered where her sons Andrew and Alistair were. Not in the house... not in the backyard. So, we set off on an escapade to find them.

First stop: the home of Tod and Lara Orchard, bestest best friends and neighbors. I have become pretty good friends with them too, especially with their eldest daughter Ivie, who taught me how to roller skate last time I came. But alas, we find my cousins not there.

Okay. Next stop: the church. Of course, since it's Utah, it's only a short walk to the church. We circle it, looking for them. No, not a soul there.

Okay. Next stop: the school playground. It's just a block further. It's getting cold, but it's only a block further. We circle the school, looking for them. No, not a soul there.

Clueless as to where to look next, we head home. As we approach Aella's little house, we hear boys' voices throwing tantrums in the backyard. Well, we found them. We walk thorugh the gate and... well, we get there just in time to witness Alistair locking and slamming the door shut.

Oh crap. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

All of us are outside. Sweaterless, some of us with full blatters. And... the only one inside is my Uncle Thomas, recently zonked out from some powerful cough medicine stuff. And every single door and window... locked. Locked shut, barring us out forever. And Aella didn't bring her keys.

Cue the wrath of Auntie Aella. I don't know if any one my roommates have ever witnessed this, but think of how tense and easily provoked I get when I am feeling particularly OCD about my kitchen. Multiply that by a thousand, pull the trigger, and you have what I like to think of as megafury. She. Was. Mad. No. Angry. No. Furious. Deathly furious. Especially since she was one of of full-blattered people among us.

Well, soon we are all screaming and banging on the windows and doors. "UNCLE THOMAS! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Let us in. Let uuuuuuuuussssssssssss iiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!"

Nothing. Apparently, Uncle Thomas sleeps like a rock on his own. Add in some rather potent cough medicine and you've got a deep and dreamless sleep, probably of the caliber sort of sleep Sleeping Beauty fell victim to.

We miserably (some of us cross-leggedly) made our way over to the Orchard house. Everyone's blatters were relieved after they rushed to the bathroom, and then we sat in the living room. And called and called and called Aella's house. "Come on, Thomas! Wake up! Answer the STINKIN' PHONE!"

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Tod Orchard, a humongous big, burly man, comes out with a tool kit. "All right. I'm ready to break into your house."

"Nooooooooooo! I want all my locks intact."

Okay. We're not going to break in. What are we going to do?

Enter Tod Orchard again. Add a key prop: a skinny little ladder, namely a skinny little ladder that looks like it definitely wasn't made to support humongous men like Tod. Well, Tod carries the ladder over to Aella's house. Props it against the house, and climbs up that teeny little ladder. Oh dear, what a precarious sight. Big man, little ladder. Be still my soul.

Flashlight and stick in hand, Tod starts banging on the upstairs window (the bedroom where Thomas is sleeping is upstairs). "THHHHOOOOOOOMMMMASSSS! THOMAS! THOMAS!" Yelling and yelling and yelling. Nothing. Finally... the front door opens, and out creeps a bleary-eyed Thomas.

Tod quips, "Ah! Sleeping Beauty! Next time I'll bring you flowers!"

Once inside, Aella finally started to calm down. We watched Stardust, and then we went to bed. When I woke, I went hunting for my Easter Basket. And... inside... Eeeee! The Enchanted DVD! From my daddy! Yay! I immediately called my roommate Jackie, who was basically all by herself back at our apartment. At the news that we now had Enchanted in our collection... "Eeeeeee!" from her as well. In fact, I could have sworn the news made her day. We were thrilled.

The rest of Easter wasn't too exciting, which is good. We watched Enchanted, ate Easter dinner, and went and visited my grandmother. Then Aella dropped me off back at my apartment.

We went to ward prayer as usual. But afterwards... there was a combined hall meeting: Robison and Shipp Hall. Hm. Well, that ended up basically being... asking the opposite gender things you'd always been afraid to ask. Then they'd attempt to answer. After that was over, Ryan pulled me down into the basement and had me translate stuff girls had said during the meeting ("I don't speak girl!") and report on which girls I had discovered had formal dresses during my espionage escapades. Then I went home.

Today I woke up a little late. And... Well, I must say I felt a little down. Why? I don't know. Do you ever have those days where you just feel like crud and you haven't the slightest clue why? I do. And I hate them, because being sad for no reason is a heckuva lot more frustrating than having a reason to be sad. At least with a clear cut reason to be sad, you have something to think about and figure out how to remedy. But here, when I just feel down, it's a thousand times harder to cheer myself up. Well, I must have been feeling down enough that it was apparent. After choir Ryan wanted to know if I was okay. Having no clear reply... I settled on the ambiguous shrug, because it gives the illusion of an answer without actually giving one. (Which is convenient when you really don't know.) I rushed off to biology, kind of glad that I had that excuse not to talk about it. I walk in there, sit next to Jackie, and she asks... "Are you okay?" Dang it. Strike two. "Uhh... I'm really really hungry. I haven't eaten yet." And since it was one'o'clock by then, and it was true, it seemed like a valid excuse. After biology, instead of dashing off to my usual two'o'clock spot in the JSB in front of my next classroom, I dashed off to get some food from the food court.

Armed with a barbecue chicken sandwich and a banana colada drink, I then came to commandeer my usual two'o'clock haunt, starting to cry and feeling ridiculous. Except when I got there it was occupied. Ryan was sitting there waiting for me. Oh dang it.

"Hi, Jenna. ... Are you all right?"

"Uhhh... I... I haven't eaten all day. I've been rushing around trying to get stuff done... and I haven't eaten yet..." Yes, that's right, blame it on a complaining stomach. I think mostly I was trying to convince myself that that was why I felt like crud.

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry." He gave me a kind of concerned look as I pulled out my scriptures to finish the reading assignment for our Book of Mormon class, which he appeared to be in the middle of. And I sat, ate, and read, and just generally tried to pretend he wasn't there. But that wasn't helping and every now and then I'd have to stop reading because there was so many tears in my eyes that I couldn't see the words any more. Ugh. Alas, poor Ryan. He is probably feeling completely helpless, because I'm not telling him what is going on and I obviously didn't want to talk about it. I can imagine how awkward a guy must feel when a girl is just sitting there crying in front of him. I've learned that telling myself to stop crying never results in less tears -- somehow, it always makes me cry harder when I try to stop, because I get frustrated about the fact that I happen to be crying. Ridiculous, I know. So I didn't tell myself to stop crying. I just tried to ignore it. I was miserably trying to wipe the tears away as I read, and then I pulled out my notebook to finish writing for class, and then once I didn't need to do anything else... I laid down against my portion of the wall and tried to sleep, like every other student in that hallway. I covered my face with my bandana, but still... My sniffles were obnoxiously loud. Whatever. By the time the bell rang, I had managed to dry my eyes for the most part, and I thought I was feeling (or at least looking and sounding) relatively okay.

Ryan got up and opened the door for me (he still hadn't said a word since I chowed down into my food), and then we went to our normal seats. I sat down. Hm. Maybe by now I look fine. But then a guy named John came in and commandeered the seat on my left. He looks at me, looks away, and then double takes. "Are you okay?"

Strike three. Just when I thought I seemed sane. "... Do I not look okay?"

"No. No, you don't. You don't look okay at all."

Uggggghhhh.... noooo waaaaayyyy.... "Dang it! And I was trying so hard, too!" Hey, at least I sounded okay... in fact, I sounded playful. Ryan and John kind of chuckled at me, and I think at that point they both decided that even if I didn't look okay yet... judging by my voice, I'd be okay soon.

Hillary and I walked home after class and Ryan went to take a test. Hillary and I stopped at the sound of men singing. Oh, look! A men's a capella group was practicing outside the library! We sat and listened to them for half an hour. Then we went home. And... I guess since the depressed person's first instinct is to sleep... Well, I took my leave and crashed on my bed. And I was asleep almost instantly.

I woke up almost four hours later to screams of glee. "Eeeeeeeeeeee! Bubble wrap! Ryan gave us bubble wrap! Ryan gave us bubble wrap!" My door burst open, and Rachel stood in the doorway. "JEEEENNNNNNNNNNAA! Wake up! There's BUBBLE WRAP! Ryan gave us bubble wrap! I found it in the hallway! He must have slid it under the door!" And it was true.

You know those little manila envelopes that have bubble wrap inside? That's what it was. It seemed Ryan had gotten something in that envelope, and he had torn off the address stickers and such to leave the bubble wrap with envelope stuck on the outside. In that same extremely potent-smelling permanent marker he had used before, he had written on the envelope, "Bubble wrap for my 126 Robison friends... enjoy. Ryan Strong." Oh my goodness. Well, he was smart enough to have addressed to all of us to prevent chaos from ensuing. We were now obliged to share it with one another. He huddled in a little circle around it and started popping bubbles.

Pop. Pop. And you know what? I think bubble wrap has therapeutic qualities. It's just like... each time you pop a bubble, a little bubble of joy also pops inside you, releasing euphoria into your bloodstream.

"I wonder why Ryan gave us bubble wrap. I mean, I'm sure he loves popping the stuff too," says Hillary.

I nod. "Yeah... I mean, whenever I get bubble wrap, it's my favorite thing. Just to sit and pop it all by myself, you know?"

"Yeah. Ryan sacrificed bubble wrap fun for us. It's a sign of true friendship," Rachel says, almost poetically.

And it was true. We sat and popped the stuff until the salmon and vegetables were done. We came to a consensus that it was the best gift we had received since the poltergeist brownies. ("Oh... that was him too, wasn't it?") After dinner, I sent him a gleeful email thanking him for the bubble wrap. He replied by asking me on a date. Haha. A sandwich date. (It's just what it sounds like. A date in which we make sandwiches.)

And so now, after some bubble wrap therapy, I think I am feeling happy again. Which is good, because feeling sad... really just sucks.