On Finding A Voice.

The last few days of this week, I have been plagued by a chronic stomachache and a severe lack of motivation. I do believe I am starting to get sick with something, although I hope I don't actually get ill. Thursday was when it hit me really bad.

Dull headache, complaining stomach, and even a little back pain. And the idea of doing homework was just so... unappealing. And the idea of going to class (especially dance) was even less appealing. So I kind of just curled up in a blanket and sat around. Not good, I know.

And then I had the urge to make cookies. I did. Not good, I know.

I didn't actually bake the dough once it was made. I put it in the fridge and let it sit. And then I just randomly made them later when Jackie came home. And ate a lot of the dough. Gaah! Not good, I know.

So now I was feeling worse. And I felt gross. And I needed real food. So I improvised and made onion soup, but I put rice in it because it needed more sustenance. I ate that. And I felt good. Good, I know.

But then Jackie made brownies. Marshmallow brownies. Not good, I know.

The next day I had a little more motivation. I did my homework and went to class. And then came home and felt awful. There was supposed to be a barn dance tonight, I remembered. Ooooh, but dancing sounds very unappealing right now. Moving at all sounds unappealing. Soon people started showing up at my house. And our back door doesn't shut very well, and it often just stays wide open if no one goes over and closes it.

So somehow my place became the meeting place as more and more people starting coming in. Eventually Michael found his way in. I was just sitting on the couch, being anything but the center of attention. Kind of ignoring people. And Michael comes over, and sits on the arm of the couch I was on, and leans over my way. "You going to the dance?"

I sort of mumble, "No, I don't feel well. I don't want to dance."

Rachelle then pipes up from the stairs. "Michael! You coming dancing?"

He answered... in the negative. Dang. Dang. Dang.

But Rachelle somehow still has a voice where I do not. "Why not? Because Jenna's not going?"

In reply, he laughed quietly, but he never actually answered. I groaned. All right, so I feel sick, but not that bad. But Michael doesn't need to know that. I immediately took on my best I-feel-like-crap demeanor and pretty much ignored him until he and everybody else left. After that... I began to realize how bad I really was feeling. Ugh.

I was pretty much moping around for awhile, and then I called my mother. I hadn't really been on the phone very long when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it.

It was Michael. I wanted to scream, Did you not get the message? I don't feel well, and I don't want to do anything tonight. Go away!

Michael said, "We made soup for you since you aren't feeling well. Come eat it."

I blinked. Hm. Do I want to go over there? Hm. He made me soup. Soup does sound good. Hm. Maybe I'll eat it and then come home. Kind of confused, I went over there and was presented... with, well, it wasn't exactly soup. It was more like chicken and dumplings. Still good though. I ate that. And before long I had been dragged into the living room to play video games, and before long a movie was put in... Mr. Bean's Holiday. Michael's friend, Jason, had brought it over. And Jason and his fiancée, Karissa, wanted to watch it. And before I really had realized what was going on, I had been tricked into staying all night.

A note... Michael hates Mr. Bean. He cringed every time something Bean did something stupid... which was often. And, not even five minutes into the movie, Michael's cringes transformed from small cringes into more dramatic reactions... like burying his head in my side. At which point I would attempt to peel him off (I never succeeded).

So, the peel-off method wasn't working. I scootched over. And I was watching him warily through the corner of my eyes with my marching band peripheral vision skills. Okay, now we aren't touching. This is good.

I start paying attention to the movie. I imagine I might have really enjoyed it if it wasn't for -- gyyyaaaaah! In shock, I realize that some time in the last thirty seconds of not really paying attention, he had replaced himself right next to me and somehow he had gotten his hand on my shoulder and he was leaning slightly against me. Oh, no, you don't!

I squirm and scoot over more.

And it happens over and over again. Scootch. Scootch. And then he's really, really close. Scootch, rinse, and repeat. I even tried placing the couch pillows in between us, but I am still mystified at how they ended up in my lap and the Michael ended up where the pillows used to be. Gyaaah! So, that wasn't working. I even tried to physically push him away, but he was so... rock solid that my efforts to push him away were in vain and he didn't budge. He noticed, but instead of taking the hint, I do think he was horribly misinterpreting it as a flirt-back. Gyyaaaahhh... what do I have to do? Scootch, scootch, rinse, repeat. Over and over and over again. By the end of the movie, I was pressed up against the arm of the opposite side of the couch, willing my hips to be skinnier so that I could scoot over more... and yes, Michael was right up against my side.

At this point... Michael was not getting the message. I leapt up and announced, "I'm going home! I... I should rest!"

And I fled into my house and locked the doors, left the lights off, and just hugged myself for comfort in the dark on the couch. Within a few minutes Jackie and Rachelle came home from the dance. "Heeeey!" said Rachelle.

"Hey," I said. After an inquiry into what I had been doing all night, I explained what had happened. I ended by complaining, "And so now my right side is significantly warmer than my left side. He was waaaay close..."

Rachelle gawped at me. And then proceeded to feel the side of my left thigh, and then the side of my right thigh. "This side is warmer!" she laughed.

I nodded miserably. And went to bed feeling horrible.

I didn't see much of Michael at all on Saturday.

But Sunday? Well, I did have to go to church. But I've never been so tempted to just not go. So the whole thing became Operation Avoidance.

I surrounded myself by other girls in sacrament meeting. Phew. Don't have to sit by him at least.

As soon as the "Amen" was said for the closing prayer, I stood up and booked it out of there and hid in the girl's bathroom until it was definitely time for Sunday School. At which point I went to the Fish Class (what we call the Providential Living class), because I was sure he wouldn't go to that one.

Phew. So far so good. But can I make it to Relief Society unscathed? Unknown. Relief Society is in the room right next to Elder's Quorum. It would be tricky business. I carefully went up half of the stairs up to the second floor. Looked up at the top. And, I kid you not, my inside froze. Crap.

Michael is standing post right at the top.

How am I supposed to get past him? Hm. He is more on the right side of the stair... I shall dash up the left side, and... uh... I grab my sacrament meeting program from my scripture bag... and pretend to read it intently as I dash up the stairs, as far away from Michael as I could possibly manage. And there were two people between us. I walked as quickly as I could past him without breaking into a run, my eyes trained on the program in my hand, but my peripheral vision focused solely on my goal... the Relief Society room.

I pass him. He sees me. "Jenna!" he exclaims.

No, no, Michael. I am deaf today. I can't hear you. And somehow, I walk a little faster, still without running. Michael decides I didn't hear his exclamation, and comes after me. No, no, no, no! I am so close to the door! Just several more meters!

In my peripheral I see him dashing towards me. Crap. Oh, but some one stepped in front of him. That may be just enough to allow my escape. I am about to step through the door when --

Bam.

I blink. A fist between me and the door, and a forearm attached to the fist, and biceps attached to that, and shoulder attached to that, and neck... and then Michael's grinning face.

Michael. No. I duck and dash under his arm, into the Relief Society room. Success! I win, I win, I --

Crap. I didn't take into account that Michael, could, if he so wished, enter the Relief Society room. And he did, catching me around the waist. I yelp, and he pulls me close. Craaaaaaaaap. I squirm until I am free, turn around and start towards a seat, but --

"Stop!" I turn and blink at him. He starts singing... "Get your kicks at 366, etc." He had modified the classic song Route 66, and was singing about my apartment. I said nothing until he stopped singing, at which point he looked expectantly at me, and I said, "Uh... clever." And with that I turned around and found a seat at the opposite side of the room, and didn't look in his direction until he had left the room, when I breathed a sigh of relief.

Relief Society passed slowly. I prayed and prayed and prayed that we would get out a minute early so I could escape and run home and lock myself inside. Except it didn't work. Perhaps I wasn't faithful enough, because we were let out a minute late, and I was dashing for the door, when a girl ahead of me opened it and went out. And I saw, waiting by the doorway... Michael. So I steered in Rachelle's direction instead. And we initiated a few long conversations with people.

I kept glancing nervously at the door. He was still there. And then, when Rachelle and I were finished with our conversations, we dashed to the opposite side of the room. There had to be another exit. There just had to be. The unfortunate thing about having church in the testing center is... they kept an awful lot of doors locked. If we had tried to exit any other way, we would have set the alarms off.

Apparently, I am not getting out of this encounter. I turn around and see that Michael, alarmed by his sudden not-being-able-to-see-us-from

-the-doorway, had entered and was walked towards us. I stand behind Rachelle, and hope he'll talk to her instead of me.

And... he does. Yes! As he says something to Rachelle, I dash in front and walk as quickly as I can in the direction of home. Come on, Jenna, you can make it! You can make it! And then... as quickly as I am walking, Michael has caught up and is talking to me. I was unhappy, to say the least, I keep walking quickly. The quicker I walk, the faster I will be home, and the less time I have to spend with Michael.

Once home, I shudder in relief. And I don't have to deal with him again until late that night. Late late. Nearly midnight.

He starts to talk. "So, what are you doing?"

I reveal nothing about what I actually was doing, but I mentioned instead that Rachelle and I had gone to see a friend at the webcam since he lived in California.

Michael gawps, "You are so cool. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Crap! I shall say NO to anything he proposes! ANYTHING!

"Uh... school."

"Oh, me too! What school?"

"Um, linear algebra, chemistry, and Irish dance."

"Wow, you are so accomplished. I just have to write an economics paper and an ethics paper."

"Eew."

A small, very short period of silence. Then, "We should go on a walk tomorrow, Miss Jenna from 366. You know you want to."

...You think I want to? Actually, I don't... "No, not really." Phew. I said no. I said I didn't want to. I said no!

It was almost a victory. Except it didn't seem to occur to Michael that I had said no. "Oh, come on. It will be fun! You know you like walks with me!" he egged, grinning impishly.

I blinked and stared. Did I not just say no, and give my reason as I didn't want to? And what was that? How dare you try to tell me what I should like and what I should want! How dare you keep making decisions for me! How dare you undermine the things I say! How DARE you. In that split second I reflected on how utterly powerless I felt when I was with him, and I almost began to fume. Exactly how explicitly do I have to say no?

I said quietly and coldly, staring as icily as I knew how, "I don't particularly like the phrases, 'You know you want to' or 'You know you like...' That's not very nice. That's not very nice at all."

He laughed smallishly. "Heh. Okay. Bye."

And with that he was abruptly gone. I won that battle, but I'm still not sure if I've won the war or not. We shall see. We shall see.

A New Place For Adventure, Perchance?

I moved into Monticello, my new residence for spring term! I will also be coming back to the same place for fall/winter next year. So far I have three roommates.

The one with whom I am sharing a room is Jackie -- dearest Jackie Corbitt! Except I have a minor fear that one of us might kill the other. Jackie and I are very similar. Except for a few things which often results in sparks flying. Dear Jackie is very... how shall I say... empirical? Well, of course. She's a physics major, and incredibly smart. She has a very linear mind -- very rational. Thus, she has systems.

I've got systems! But... hey, our systems happen to not coincide. And both of us are very resistant to changing these time-tested systems.

For example, take the instance of the peanut butter knife.

Jackie sure does love her peanut butter. She eats it... and almost nothing else. She'll take her knife, get a huge hunk of the stuff, and then she'll put it on a cracker and leave it. But Jackie has this irrational discomfort of eating in front of people. She doesn't do it. She binges in secret. Not really binging, though. She snacks and nibbles... grazes! She'll eat a bite or two. Leave. Come back two minutes, later, and do it again. By the time a few hours have passed, she'll have eaten tons, but none of it will be good for her.

I don't have a particularly huge beef with this. What I do have a beef with is the knife. It'll be covered in peanut butter. And she'll leave it. On my counter. Eew! And she gets upset if we clean it up, because in her mind, it only makes sense to leave it, because inevitably she'll come back and use it again. And thus cleaning it is a futile act, a waste of energy. What she doesn't see is the obvious mess, the blemish on my kitchen. It is quite frankly impossible to keep a kitchen clean when you live with Jackie. I've decided I can handle that, as long as I think of it in similitude of the impossibility of keeping a kitchen clean with children. (Except I do hope my children learn to keep tidy by the time they move out...)

Unfortunately, Jackie doesn't trust my judgment in the slightest, either. She won't listen to me or any advice I may give her. For instance... there is this one guy, Neil, whom I severely dislike and distrust. I tell Jackie exactly what I think about him. But... she keeps going on dates and doing things with him. What she says is that I don't understand, because he's a different person when he's only around her, and when there's a group of people around. I'm not saying I don't believe her. But... I don't. I don't. Jackie doesn't understand people. Well, at one point she told me that she keeps feeling that she needs to stop hanging out with him. I emphatically agree. And then she'll decide, once and for all... no more Neil.

But then! Neil will text, or call, or show up at our door... "Hey Jackie, let's go do something!" And Jackie responds with an enthusiastic, "Yes!" And off she goes. And then she'll disappear for hours and hours, and no one will know where she is. And then she'll come back late at night. Finally, Jackie told Neil she wouldn't date him any more. At all. Maybe Neil is really a good guy, but from what I can tell, he's pulling her strings... "Oh, Jackie, we don't have to date... I respect you... but in the time I've known you, I've become such a better person, and I really just like spending time with you..." etc. I really have no right to have decided this guy is not a good person. I really don't. There is no such empirical evidence to say such a thing. So... Jackie doesn't trust me. Maybe she shouldn't. Maybe I'm just a nutcase.

Maybe I am a nutcase. Last night, Jackie went away around 9 and then didn't come until after 2am... I kept wondering where she was... and finally, Rachelle said, "Oh. Jackie told me not to tell you, but she's with Neil." My heart dropped all the way down to my feet. Now he knows where we live again. And now...

I think the whole point of saying all that was to establish... that now Jackie and I have a big wall between us. I don't confide anything in Jackie. Every time I do, she gives me... a rather condescending look. A sweet, I-care-about-you look, but condescending nonetheless. And what frustrates me is that I'll say something, and she'll completely misinterpret it, and get extremely insulted. And she won't tell me. And so, I can tell she's offended, but she won't tell me what's wrong. Gaah. And she won't confide in me.

This is not a rant about Jackie. I love her dearly. If I wanted to rant, this would be pages and pages and pages long. But I feel I need to establish what the relationship between us is. All I'm saying is that there's a very tall wall between us, that we dance around and pretend is not there. But it is.

That is one roommate. Dearest Jackie Corbitt.

My other roommate, Rachelle Jackson, was in my ward for the last two semesters. She lived in 128, which I believe should have been collectively translated or something. I'm sure the only reason they're all still on Earth is so that the rest of us mere mortals can learn from their examples.

Rachelle and I get along much easier. We are both a tad OCD about cleanth. We are both competent cooks, and we almost immediately discovered that we functioned together nicely while cooking. We like to flip through cookbooks and theorize about cooking some of the goodness we see therein. And we could and would have if we had the ingredients. And when we are cooking together... it is like well-oiled machinery. Immediately when we get to a part in the cooking where only one of us can do the job, one of us unhesitatingly moves to put away used ingredients and clean up messes and dishes we've left behind. And the whole time we'll be talking and talking and talking. I do believe I am quite comfortable with her.

I know Rachelle, but nearly well enough, because I haven't lived with her that long. But... I do believe that I could confide in her. As long as I don't mind the information spreading to a few other people. Which I think is okay with things that I want to tell to everyone, but am comfortable in doing so. Things that I actually need as secrets that no one else will hear though... I still don't know who I'll confide in then. I suppose I could call or email Hillary. But if the situation got bad enough I couldn't ever tell something important over the phone or through an email. Gaah. Oh well. But I can tell Rachelle things, I think. And she tells me things.

I haven't lived with her long enough to be able to give you paragraphs and paragraphs about her. Just that I like her and that she will make the next two months a lot easier for me.

The last roommate I know about is Ingrid. I have had about five minutes interaction with her. But... this is what I know.

She's absolutely gorgeous, like an angel. She has perfect poise, perfect hair, perfect face, perfect style. And her eyes are beautiful. I remember eyes about people... they can tell you a lot about people. You can look in someone's eyes and see how they're feeling. And sometimes, if you're really lucky, you can see what they're thinking. Ingrid was a little aloof and distanced when I met her, but I think she was just a little nervous because she didn't know any of us. Mostly though, she's confident in herself and she has a very friendly demeanor. She kind of glows with happiness and peace, and I get the impression that she has a deep testimony, so I think that maybe she has the potential to become a confidant of mine. I also think that as long as she has her personal space she'll be able to keep her happy, sweet demeanor for the most part. She also has a wonderful laugh.

She's from Park City, so she just drops by about once a day with stuff, and then goes back home. Some time today she'll drop by... permanently.

We may have one more roomie, but we may not. It may just be the four of us.

I've decided that I really like my apartment.

When we moved in at first, my initial project was to set the kitchen in order... of course. I couldn't have any one organizing my domain. The kitchen is Jenna's territory. And oh. I am so pleased with the cupboard space. Cupboards. Everywhere. Which definitely makes it easier to have designated places for things. So Rissa (Rachelle's sister) and I set off to put things away. Except I found nasty surprises in nearly every cupboard. The last tenants obviously didn't know how to clean or organize, or throw away trash. I found cupboard after cupboard full of crud and grime and things that obviously should have made it to the trash. I found a plethora of gross, grimy dishes that I didn't even want to touch. It was even more disgusting than any disgusting pile of dishes I had ever found in 116's excuse of a kitchen. I threw most of them away, only keeping the ones I found left in the dishwasher, which appeared sanitary for the most part. I didn't trust my cleaning skills enough to clean that crud off of the rest of those things. There was the most disgusting dish rack I had ever encountered. There was a pool of stagnant water in the bottom of it, which smelled horrid and seemed to have turned pale yellow with months of bacterial growth or something.

Well, to say the least... I was rather upset. I had no outlet to vent my frustration except to clean and organize, which I was doing frantically. At some point in this process... the doorbell rang. ("We have a doorbell? No way!") I eventually found the landlord outside my kitchen door. He greeted me, explained who he was, and then explained what he was here for. "My wife said that the last tenant left this place filthy. So... if you like we can hire someone to come clean it up for you." Nuh-uh. This is Jenna's kitchen now.

"No. I'll clean it. I've already started anyway."

The landlord looked pensive. Then, "Well, just keep track of how much time you spend cleaning it, so that we can pay you for cleaning it up." With that, he left. And miraculously, my mood changed from just-barely-bridled anger to contentment. I didn't at all mind the idea of being paid to clean up someone else's filthy mess. So I went back to cleaning my kitchen happily. I got all our dishes put away into our cupboards... we now have a medicine cabinet above the oven, and a cookbook and recipe cabinet next to that. We have a spice cupboard, a plate cupboard. A cup cupboard. A bowl cupboard. A shelf devoted to Pyrex items. A shelf devoted to tupperware. A shelf just for mixing bowls. A shelf for Tupperware. A shelf for flower vases (we're girls... we get flowers... the flowers die, and we are left with an assortment of flower vases... I definitely the next guy to bring one of us flowers should forgo the vase and just bring us flowers...). A drawer for utensils and cutlery. A drawer for serving spoons. A drawer for all other utensils. A drawer for rags. A drawer for hot pads and oven mitts. A drawer for rolls of kitcheny things like Saran wrap, aluminum foil, and wax paper. And four humongous cupboards that could be turned into a pantry fit for a queen.

Oh, I could have danced right then. And I did. Only to look down and notice the horrid state my new kitchen floor was in. So... after I swept, I found the oldest mop I'd ever seen and set off to clean that. And then I discovered that my kitchen sink had one of those hose things that you can pull out and spray water anywhere with. I was rather pleased. ("Ooh! I can even rinse off behind the tap when I clean the sink now!") I used that to fill one of our trash cans and I used that as a mop bucket. I mopped happily. Then I cleared the table, cleaned it. Then I scrubbed the counters, since I didn't have any faith that they were actually clean. I scrubbed the happy little windowsill.

And then I looked around at my kitchen. It... was homey now. It was welcoming. It was old-style too. In fact, I might have been glowing right then. My new kitchen definitely had a touch of, "Ooh, look a bunch of girls live here!" That, of course, was okay, since we are all girls. It would even have been all right if it was a manly sort of place. It's okay for a girl to live somewhere that seems masculine. However, it is not okay for a guy to live somewhere girly. Oh, it is good to be a girl.Well, after that I moved on to my new living room. I... have not had a living room for a while. It made me happy. Well, the furniture was all in disarray. And there were boxes and boxes and boxes of Jackie's, Rachelle's, and my stuff all over the place. I sighed. And got to work. I got the feeling that my kitchen-OCD-ness will carry on into the living room.

Then I called Hillary and wished her happy birthday and such. I was quite proud of myself to working up the courage to call someone besides my family. Initiating phone conversations scares me like none other. I know, an irrational fear. But it's so much harder to tell what the other person is saying, and it's even harder to tell what is going on in their heads.

Then our doorbell rang again. Jackie and I answered it to find two men out there. They kind of looked at each other nervously, then proceeded to introduce themselves and ask if we wanted to go see a movie with their big group of people. I considered... I told them I might. Jackie went with them. I... didn't. I don't know what it is about having my home all in disarray, but my self-confidence goes down and my comfort level plummets. I couldn't leave. My house was dirty. And Jenna doesn't do well in big groups of people anyway. Rachelle also left some time later, but with a big group of her high school friends, since one of them was about to leave on his mission.

Now I was alone with the mess. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. At some point, Ryan called me and I talked to him for a while, finding things I could do to clean with one hand. (I suck at holding a phone with my shoulder and neck. I suspect such cursed inflexibility was a result of that blasted surgery. Gaah.) After he hung up, perhaps to call Hillary and wish her happy birthday, I continued my more efficient two-handed cleaning. Then, I went and stood where I could see the whole room. It was a mess, but I needed to know where things were going to end up.

Here I used my imagination. I painted a picture in my mind of the finished room. Hm. The long couch can stay where it is. But I will not have the television on the coffee table. Ooh, there's a desk over there. I shall leave the desk there. And and I'll put the television there. That would be better. And then I can put a printer next to it. Oh, but then you wouldn't be able to see the television from the little couch. Never mind. The little couch looks better where the coffee table currently is. And the little side table will go between the long and little couches, so that it forms a V. Then I can put the keyboard where the little couch is now.

Then I noticed where the electrical outlets were and distressed a little about that... but in the end, I decided my initial plan was better. I moved and moved things until it resembled a real living room. At this point, I was quite exhausted. I should have gone to bed right then. But I didn't. Bad idea. I started thinking about the people I missed. That got the tears going. And then I started thinking about my family, and I lost it. I was up for a few hours after that. I didn't do anything productive. I just thought and thought and thought viciously. It wasn't a good thing to be doing though, because the more I thought, the sadder I got. I finally slept around 2am.

Sunday came, and I woke up to see a beautiful view. I had commandeered the top bunk. And there was a window up there. I had left the blinds open, so I could see everything that was going on as I fell asleep. I like watching people as they go about their lives and they think no one is there to watch them. And so I just laid awake for awhile watching people walk by. I pulled my computer out from under my pillow and turned it on, as I do every morning when I wake up. I didn't have a desk, so I had made my top bunk the place for it. When I'm not sleeping it'll be my desk. When I am, the computer goes under the pillow, and I sleep.

I got up and got ready for church. I didn't feel like prettying myself up. But I did anyway with the encouragement of my roommates, who patiently reminded me that this is the first time the guys in the ward would ever see me. I didn't tell them, but I thought that maybe that meant it was a better idea not to dress up. I have a hard time when guys only talk to you because you're cute.

We marched up to church... which was in the testing center. It was rather bizarre having sacrament meetings in those cursed desks where so many people's lives and grades had been decided.

I met lots of people in a short amount of time. But a few stood out and stayed with the three of us... his name was Michael Smith. RM, like all the other guys in our ward... he'd been back from Albania for six months. He is also kinda good looking... I remember his eyes were blue and friendly and happy, but just a little uncomfortable. Well, this is my impression of Michael. He is rather eager to make friends. I think he can't stand not having anybody. And so now his life is in limbo. So he smiles an awful lot, and throws compliments out like pretzels, hoping lots of people will like him and thus become his friend. He speaks rather loudly too. But... I think he could be a good friend. He'll ask questions, but not because it's the polite thing to do. He seems genuinely interested, and he listens. And he talks fluently and easily, so it is easy to carry a conversation with him, because he'll throw out good questions that you can give real answers to. My guess is that he'll either make lots of friends quickly, or people will think he's obnoxious. I haven't figured out which case it'll be though. But that is my first impression.

Another RM, Kristen, has been back for a month. She went to China. She's quite friendly, and she also, like so many of the people I've met, sort of glows with happiness and peace. She is also quite confident in life and herself. She'll remember your name if you spell it... at least that's my guess since she always asks how you spell your name before she'll remember it. And then, as far as I've been able to tell, once someone has spelled out their name to her, she doesn't forget. I'm Jenna, J-E-N-N-A. Jenna. She knows my name. And Rachelle's, R-A-chelle. And Jackie, with an I-E. I think I could get closer to her if I wanted to. She lives right next door.

After church we all napped like crazy.

Ward prayer was at 9pm in the parking garage underneath one of the neighboring apartment complexes, the Granary. We went down there and I sang alto with Kristen, which earned another compliment from Michael... "Oh, go alto!" And then we went around and introduced ourselves. Then we sang another hymn, with one guy conducting it with his opened pocketknife. Michael says, "Oh man, you're soooo good!" I haven't quite figured out how to respond to Michael's abundance of compliments yet. So I just smiled. They went through announcements. Then we sang happy birthday to someone named Clay. Kristen and I harmonized exactly the same way. We looked at each other and smiled... but Michael didn't seem to notice that Kristen had been harmonizing too, but enthusiastically complimented my harmonizing skills. I smiled again, not sure what to make of the concentrations of compliments on me...

After ward prayer, everyone collectively went to one of the guys' houses. It was an actual house. Big. Nice. And importantly, clean. Rachelle and I found a corner and stayed there, not quite sure what we were doing here. We were going to leave... but then we were noticed. Nearly every guy came and introduced himself to us, and talked to us for about five minutes each. Not a single female soul came and talked to us. Suspicious.

One thing I absolutely hated though, was that when they would find out that Rachelle and I were both pre-med and that I was a neuroscience major... somehow we weren't human girls anymore. Superhuman or something. But not real people. It was worse when one conversation turned into how Jason hated math. And when they found out I loved math... I was even less human. Gah.

I appreciated that Michael still thought that Rachelle and I were still human beings. He even invited us to go watch a movie with him at his place, but then Rachelle doesn't watch anything except for church movies on Sunday, so we declined. Michael was sad, but we said that we wouldn't mind watch the Testaments or something churchy with him next Sunday. He liked that, and then Rachelle and I went home.

We were going to make rolls, but then Rachelle remembered that she had promised Ryan to call him today. She did that. I wandered around aimlessly as she did that, waiting to make rolls. When she was done, we set to making them and talking and talking and talking. We stayed up till about 2am doing such. We also attempted to decide which pie we'd make in May. But they all looked so good. I wanted to make the key lime pie in May and then the chocolate creme pie in June, but Rachelle begged that we do the chocolate first. So that's what we'll do. The grasshopper pie looked tempting too... But we decided on chocolate creme and that's that. Thursday is May, so we have until then to decide.

Well, sorry, that was long, but after all, I am in a new environment. There is so much to describe.

Much love and pancakes,
Jenna!

P.S.
Oh, what joy! I got the B- I was hoping for in physics! Yay! You don't even know how HAPPY I am about that. It was the hardest class BYU has to offer. Most often failed. And... I didn't fail. I got a B-. Yay! And the best thing, I think my poor ego is still all right. I've decided that I don't really need beautiful GPA... it's about learning and not the grades. I learned a lot. And that's all that matters. Okay okay. I'm still mourning the drop in my GPA. And ego is quite bruised. But no tears. I'm okay. I promise. Haha.

Help me.

Tonight we had a session of Stake Conference. Only Hillary and I were home, so we got dressed and started to head on over. I was quite pleased when we got to a traffic light just as it turned green. "Ah! Perfect timing!" I exclaim.

But then, the unthinkable. Will approaches. My stomach drops through the bottoms of my feet, and I groan. "Oh. Never mind. Definitely NOT perfect timing."

So here comes a confession... I really just cannot stand Will. Even though I'm trying not to, I'm sure at some point I may mention things about him I don't like, but I will probably exaggerate because they happen to be my pet peeves. He's really not that bad. I just... don't like him. Forgive me.

Please don't let Will notice us. Please don't let Will notice us. Please, please, please, please let him not notice me... Maybe if I ignore him and don't say anything he won't see or hear or notice I exist....

"Hey, Jenna." Aw, crap.

"Hi Will," I say weakly. I elect not to say anything extravagant and just... be as terse as possible. I really have a hard time with conversations with Will... They're all the same: "Hey Jenna" "Hi Will" "How are you" "Manamana blah blah blah" "Oh that's good..." At which point he always starts talking about incredibly depressed he is, how much he wishes he had a girlfriend, reminiscing about his first kiss and how much he enjoys making out, how he just can't forgive someone for insulting his friend even though he's never met them, and how excited he is about his mission -- doesn't matter what topic it is, as long as he is the center of it.

"How are you today, Jenna?"

Ay caramba. "Not as happy as I could be." That, at least, was the truth.

"Oh... that's too bad. Do you want a hug?"

My soul recoiled. I manage to keep my physical self steady. "No, no, I'm okay..."

And then he launched into an incredibly boring about something, surely involving himself. For someone so depressed, he certainly loves himself a lot. In fact, I would recommend never trying to pick an argument with Will. He is always so incredibly convinced he is right. Since he is always complaining about being depressed, sometimes I attempt to give him advice. But... here's inevitably what happens... he makes up some ridiculous excuse about how that doesn't apply to him in the slightest. And then he goes on about how depressed he is. It's like he secretly enjoys being depressed because it's an excuse for him to become the center of attention, even if it is pity attention.

Hillary and I walk over to the Wilk, hoping to lose him. Oh dang it. He's following.

I whisper to Hillary that we could go through the doors behind the Cougareat, almost no one ever uses those... but Will had the same idea. He was a little ahead of us at this point. He announces, "This way!"

I grab Hillary... and go the other way with the rest of the group. Aha, here is a weakness of his. He can't admit being wrong, and he never backs down when no one agrees with him. He continues on in his announced chosen path, looking wistfully at me. Hillary and I rush to get out and as far away from the last location of our Will encounter, and...

Ah, crap. There he is... The rest of the group starts going down the stairs... and he joins the group again. I grab Hillary... and instead of taking the stairs, I turn right.

We are breathing heavily. Maybe we lost him. I look to my left, down the slope. And there was Will. He had separated from the group and was now walking alone and walking quickly in order to catch up with us. "Hillary! Walk slower! Much slower!"

Will keeps going. We walk slowly. But not slowly enough. Before we get to the place where our paths would have crossed, Hillary pulled out her phone. We stopped as she fiddled with it. "Who's called you?" I hiss.

"No one," she hissed.

Comprehension... Aha. "Ah, I see. Hillary, you're a genius." She fiddles with the phone until Will is far ahead of us. And then we continue in our journey. We walk slowly, hoping to put as much distance between us as was possible.

We finally show up to the JSB. We walk in carefully. Scan the room. No sign of him. We therefore assume that he had found a seat in the huge mass of people. Looking around again cautiously, we carefully pick a spot near the door. We no sooner sit down, when...

"Hey! Do you mind if I sit next to you?" I think I paled, and perhaps started trembling. Through clenched teeth, Hillary muttered, "Yeah..."

The stupid thing about starting something with "do you mind" is that an affirmative answer means saying "no" and a negative answer means saying "yes"... so of course there is room to interpret a "yeah" as "yeah, go ahead and sit here!"

And that is what he did. He smugly took his spot and proceeded into his usual self-centered talk. He then proceeded to brag all about how he got himself a Spanish set of scriptures and a hymnbook. I'm not sure what bothered me about this... by all accounts it was a perfectly innocent thing to do... maybe I imagined it just because I don't like him, but it seemed that it was the sort of action he'd do just so he could say, "Look at me. I'm going on a mission. I'm going to rub it in your face. Look how good I am."

Hillary and I ignored him through the meeting, terrified that he would launch into another intensely awkward descriptive narrative of this one time he made out... And as soon as it was over, we bolted out the door. Ran home. Locked the doors behind us. And finally just breathed.

Oh dear.

I'm a busy girl.
Yesterday I took two midterms and did a lab... today... I took another midterm.

I also got my first paycheck yesterday! It was about two hundred dollars. I bought myself a BYU sweatshirt... because it's darn cold up here. Today it's raining. A lot.

Tonight I get to go to the General Relief Society thingy... Shweet.

Well, about last week.

Monday! Ahh!
So I went to work, then to all my classes, and then I came home and watched Oklahoma!... which I borrowed from Ryan. Then I set off to make cookies... Oh!
I'm pretty sure I haven't emailed off the witty cookie piece I wrote Monday night. I posted it on Facebook, but I don't think I emailed it off. So... here's that. Viva copy and paste!

----------------

Cookies: An Epic Tale
I Am NOT Having Eight Children: A Rant from Someone Who Likes Things Just So

Disclaimer: I am not incriminating anyone in my FHE group at all… in fact, I love them all bunches. I need to vent out my frustrations… which I like to do in comical prose. I may have exaggerated a few details as per artistic license.

Ok… so… we had our first family home evening group thingy where I, Momma Jenna, was in charge. Oy, that was a HASSLE. So, I figured I'd make cookies for random people in our ward, right? And then have a batch for us to eat? (That's what everyone wanted to do... but no one wanted to be in charge of it... go figure). Theoretically, that would have worked. Except I figured that everyone wouldn't be able to keep their paws off of my cookie dough. So I more than doubled the amount of cookies I'd make. In my head this made perfect sense and might even solve some problems.

I started making dough at three after watching Oklahoma!… and here's where the problem comes in. My roommates (especially Jackie) seem to have a sixth sense that knows when sweets are being made. They also all seem to be addicted to raw cookie dough. They were eating dough all the while I was attempting to mix a HUMONGOUS quadruple batch… And I am wondering if the cookie-ingredient proportions were at all what they should be, because as I mixed it together, it disappeared.

It was once perfect cookie dough.

So of course I made a humongous mess mixing together cookies in such titanic proportions. Thankfully Rachel did some dishes, but really I was left to scour the kitchen alone, all the while thinking, "Oh man… I have history reading I should be doing…"

Somehow our kitchen got clean. And then the boys came.

Hands immediately reach into the cookie dough I spent forever making… Oooh, I am sooo mad. I karate kick Clifton, my little brother, in the chest, but gently, and really only with my toe. He doesn't seem to get the message. He swipes some more later, and that is when I drag him outside and lock him out. Unfortunately, Rochelle and Ashley happen to feel merciful at the time, and let him back in almost immediately.

I don't know how many times I explained that the pre-made cookie dough (my sweat, blood, and tears!) was for people in our ward and was off-limits for eating. Alex and Jon were mostly the only ones actually mixing together our cookie dough (which I yelled many times was free-reign for eating... but no one seemed to comprehend that there was a batch of cookie dough I'd let them eat). I'm sorry to complain, but I confess I wasn't quite happy with the consistency of the batch the boys made and was glad that was the batch we were keeping and not giving away.

Oh, but what I really couldn't stand was all the bickering and roaring laughter (I don't mind laughter, it's when I can't hear my own thoughts that it becomes a problem) and mean jokes and funny snapshots… it would have been fun… IF I wasn't trying to make cookies at the time. See, cooking and baking is like... my zen-mode, second only to church... (How else do I get cooking inspiration???) Most of the time I am perfectly willing to step out and initiate silliness and chaos… but I need order. I know there are certain times where you sit down and have a serious (or more serious-than-usual, as is the case with me) face... which for me is in the kitchen.

We colored paper plates with random holiday greetings (and I mean REALLY random)… signed them, put a dozen cookies on each plate, and then went cookie caroling to random dorms in our ward (we tried to give half to people we knew and half we didn't).

In total we made enough dough to theoretically cork out twelve dozen cookies. (I made two thirds of it myself.) We only made five-dozen cookies. All the rest of the dough had already been eaten. So now… here I am, left with a derelict kitchen, up way past my bedtime, and a little too frustrated to sleep… although a thank you letter from Ryan did help (thanks by the way… I really appreciated that!).

If I go to bed now, I shall get five hours of sleep… Oh, the incredulities!!!

I think I am quite feeling back to my silly ol' self. Not that that helps any… it's hard to sleep when you feel like dancing.

♥Jenna

P.S. The JFSB is always neat and tidy. I think I can completely destress there tomorrow morning... neat... and tidy... while rockin' out to Batman of course!

--------

So... that was Monday. Tuesday was very full and no exactly exciting.

Wednesday and Thursday I went to tutor at a nearby elementary school. Me 'n' Elsa (the girl I tutor) are already friends. So... here is about when I dash off to a study group... Well, actually I have another Facebook entry on this experience... But... I think in order to keep this email within tolerable lengths, I shall summarize it.

I forgot about tutoring and completely scheduled something in that time slot... a study group with Ryan, Dallin, Will, Roy, Mindy, Liz, and Claire. I had everything planned... and was falling asleep happily on my bed, when...

BAM!!! My forehead hits the shelf above my bed as I jerk up and out of bed, horrified with the realization that I forgot about tutoring. I instantaneously go from very much relaxed and stress-free to skyscraper-like stress levels. I have a throbbing headache spreading from my aching forehead through to the rest of my skull, and I feel really bad about missing this study group thingy... so I miss it...

But then... there's Will... who happens to be a history genius similar to my friend Zack in Arizona. Who kind of timidly asks if I want to study with him later since I missed the study group. Of course I say OK, cuz... well, I have to admit I suck at history and he happens to be darned good at it.

Yesterday... OK, funny story. My roommate's car wouldn't start one day, and they are already late to a concert... and then they see two guys walking to their car... and "Hey!!! You guys! Can we have a ride?" The guys give them a ride. And then give my roommates their number so they can get a ride home.

However, my roommates walk home, and Jackie decides she's going to ask the guys over as a thank you and have them eat the apple rolls we made. Well, I reminded her that she wouldn't let me give Oklahoma back because she hadn't seen it... and so she stuck it in.

Alas, the two boys come over and scarf the apple rolls, and then sit down and... don't leave. They are watching Oklahoma with us. And that's a darn long movie. And... well, there's a whole lotta stuff about marriage and kissing in that movie. Perfect set up for Jackie to feel awkward.

I was going to go to bed, but poor Jackie would feel so weird watching that by herself with two guys. So... I stay and watch it again. And I make funny comments at the awkward parts to make Jackie feel better. They finally leave at 11:30... and poor Jackie looks exhausted. Haha.

Well, I don't have anything else to say. Buh bye now!