Humiliation.

Today was... humiliating. And frustrating. That is all I can say. But I know you people like to hear from me. So I'll tell you about it.

The day started out well, partially because I got more than enough sleep. Last night I was so discouraged and tired and quite frankly -- zombie-ish, that I finished my work early and went home. Shannon was still up and studying in our room, and although I usually can't sleep with the light on, I was out in less than five minutes. By the time I woke up, I had gotten over nine hours of sleep, and I felt pretty good.

First class was New Testament. I always learn something in this class.

Next on my schedule was tap dance. Tappity tappity tap. I got my score back for the test I had taken last time. 89%! This was extremely pleasing. I mean -- that may be the best test score I've ever gotten on any dance test. Even in 280, my second time through, I only got an 88% on my cha-cha test. So I was very, very pleased. I looked at the comments from the graders... "Stiff upper body." Oh. My pleasure dropped into my feet and a little splurge of embarrassment bubbled in my core. Those stupid titantium rods. They may be my claim to fame at times, but honestly -- it results in an extremely inflexible and irreparably tense posture. Oh. Okay, do I go tell my teacher or not?

No! Little shy Jenna screamed in the loudest voice she could. NOOO!

But bold Jenna disagreed. YES! You could SO get some points back for that.

Shy Jenna shuddered. No. No. This is the best you've ever done on a dance test. Asking for extra points is like... disrespectful or something. I don't even want the points. I'm not in this class for the grade. I just wanted to learn to dance. And I hate talking about my surgery. I hate drawing attention to my scar or my stiffness or anything I can't do because of it... Shy Jenna started to beg. Don't make me do that, please....

Bold Jenna immediately pounced upon this laspe in reason. Aha! You know very well that isn't disrespectful in the least bit. You're just scared.

Shy Jenna said nothing, and bold Jenna knew she was winning. Besides, said bold Jenna, next test may not turn out so well. Next test you might need the graders to consider your, uh, disability.

I DO NOT HAVE A DISABILITY! came the outraged scream.

Bold Jenna just laughed in shy Jenna's face. What? You can't do stuff other people can do. Doesn't that mean disability?

The two quarreled all during class. The end of class finally came. I cautiously approached the teacher. She's a nice lady, really. I shouldn't be scared of her. I shouldn't. I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not... Repeating that to myself convinced me barely enough to stay until the line to talk to her was gone and I was standing in front of her. It was my turn to talk.

I opened my mouth. Nothing. I closed my mouth, swallowed, and opened it again. My voice was raspy, but I managed to say, "Um... there were comments on my test that... um... my uh... upper body... was... st-st-stiff..."

Kenady (the teacher) waited for me to continue. It's not like she looked mean or anything. She's very nice. And she's extremely approachable. But for no reason, as I imagined telling her about the rods in my back, I felt hot embarrassed tears starting to form in my eyes.

Oh no, I thought, not now. You don't need to cry, Jenna, this is perfectly okay, this is perfectly okay! I couldn't stop now though. I wanted nothing more than to just suddenly run away and not say anything about the rods in my back. But I couldn't stop now. So I managed to mumble -- "I have titanium rods in my back and I can't bend or um be flexible or um not be stiff or... um... yeah." By the end of that short explanation I was full-on crying. I couldn't see. My throat was swollen.

I was absolutely humiliated.

And nothing makes me cry more than pure embarrassment.

Thus -- a vicious cycle developed: noticing that I was about to cry, I got embarrassed and willed myself to NOT cry. However, feeling humiliation merely produced more tears. More tears lead to deeper embarrassment which lead to more tears -- and so on and so forth.

Kenady was very nice about it, but I knew she couldn't help but notice my tears. I very much regreted having let bold Jenna talk shy Jenna out of saying nothing. She explained that it was mostly my shoulders and neck and arms that were tense rather than my spine, so that shouldn't have interfered much.

I so too humiliated at this point to fight back. Yes, I know. But my neck is a continuation of my spine. A good portion of my neck is fused to titanium rods too. And my shoulders -- I don't fully understand it myself, but ever since the surgery, I've been the tensest thing ever. And you don't even know what I've done to try and reverse it. And my arms -- I don't know what to tell you about that, since I was very careful to make sure my arms were loose and swinging to the beat like you and the TA do when you're dancing. I swear I've done my best.

But I didn't say that. I nodded as bravely as good, said "Okay," and dashed out the door. I was distraught enough that the effort of climbing the RB stairs didn't even phase me. I finally just found a spot in the library and just sat there. It was no use trying to do homework like this. After about half an hour the tears finally stopped. I was just angry at myself now.

Why did I have to start tearing up in the first place? I don't know. I HATE HATE HATE crying. It is my least favorite activity, especially since I still cry when I am trying SO hard not to. I had no reason to cry in this instance, and still I did -- I mean, I did better on my tap test than I did on most of my other exams this week. I was just embarrassed about the "stiff upper body" comment and the frustration I feel for not being able to do anything about it. I guess, for me, tears of embarrassment are harder to hold back than tears of sadness or joy or anger. I HATE HATE HATE it. Rachelle calls it a "gift for weeping" but I personally view it as a curse. Being able to cry in situations where it is okay to cry is nice... but not as nice as this is horrible: the inability to NOT cry in situations where it is definitely NOT appropriate to cry is a curse of epic proportions.

Well, I eventually calmed down enough to finish reading my psychology chapter, get lunch, and stay awake all through the psychology lecture.

Then I went to my chemistry lab class, in which I had my practical exam. Basically -- I was given an unknown ionic solid, and I had to figure out what it was. Mine was a pale yellow. First off, I had to figure out what it dissolved in.

It didn't dissolve in water, or if it did, it was such a slow reaction that it wouldn't ever happen within the three hour lab period. It did dissolve in nitric acid if I shook the test tube for a while. And most interestingly... when I tested to see if the powdered stuff dissolved in ammonia or sodium hydroxide, the instant the powder hit the solution, it turned from a pale yellow to black.

Ooh. That means that the cation is most definitely mercury(I). That was easy. That means all I have to do now is figure what the anion is.

I tested for halides -- nope, no white precipitate at the end of the test.
I tested for carbonate -- nope, no bubbles upon impact with acid.
I tested for nitrate -- nope, no brown ring at the end of the procedure.
I tested for phosphate -- nope, no yellow precipitate of the end of the test.
I tested for sulfide -- nope, doesn't smell like rotten eggs.
I tested for sulfite -- nope, no precipitate of any sort after adding bromine water.
I tested for sulfate -- maybe.

Well, the sulfate test involves this -- add barium chloride solution to your unknown solution. If you have a sulfate anion, it will react with the barium cation to form an extremely insoluble white precipitate. It won't even dissolve in hydrochloric acid. So, if you add a ton of hydrochloric acid to your precipitate, and it never dissolves, it should be that insoluble white precipitate. Any other sulfate precipitates would dissolve. Here's my problem though. I know that I have a mercury ion in my solution. The mercury reacts with the chloride ion from both the barium chloride and the hydrochloric acid and makes a totally different white precipitate that looks exactly the same. And it obviously wouldn't dissolve in hydrochloric acid because it's a chloride precipitate.

But, since all the other tests turned out negative, I figured the white precipitate that I got at the end of the sulfate test was probably a combination of mercury (I) chloride and barium sulfate. I decided my unknown must therefore be mercury (I) sulfate.

Brianna Teerlink, from my ward last year, is also in my lab section. We figured out that we had the same unknown, because, well, it looks the same and it behaves the same way no matter what. I went to go verify that I had gotten my unknown right. Then I could be done!

Professor Brown kind of looked at me sadly when I showed him my work, and said in his Australian accent, "Nope. You got the mercury part right, but it's not sulfate. Explain to me why you thought it was sulfate."

I did. He kind of raised his eyebrows and pointed at the mercury again everytime I said chloride. "Okay," I said quietly. So ALL of the white precipitate must have been mercury (I) chloride, not just some of it.

So I ran every anion test, except the sulfate, again.

All negative.

I was so frustrated that I felt the hot tears coming again. I hid in a corner of the room until they went away. I was still sniffling though.

Again, I ran every test.

All negative.

I really was going to burst into tears at any moment.

Brianna was getting frustrated too. All her tests were negative. Finally, the lab period was almost over. The teacher left for a meeting, and told our TA what our unknowns were so she could grade them when we were done. Brianna finally went to the TA and explained the whole thing. Angela (our TA) kind of looked at us for a minute and then said, you might want to run your nitrate test again.

We did. Both negative. I even made a known solution in which I had personally added tons of nitrate and ran it side by side with our unkowns. That all also turned out negative. The only problem was ... that should have definitely been a positive. DEFINITELY. So... all the tests were negative, including the nitrate test. But known turned out negative too, so we had to assume it should have been positive.

So, our unknown ended up being mercury (I) nitrate. And I left frustrated.

So that was my day. I'm okay now. Just tired and hoping nothing will go wrong at work! :)

Love, Jenna.

Contrary to Popular Belief, I Have Not Dropped Off the Face of the Earth

Contrary to popular belief, I have not dropped off the face of the earth. I'm just busy. Darned busy. This is the story of my life. I warn you -- not particulary interesting.

Monday -- typical HORRID, dreaded, Monday --

I wake up between 7:30am and 8am. I'm out the door by 8:45. Stopping by the outgoing mailbox to drop off my typical first-class mail, I get to social dance class by 9am. After that class, I usually stay an extra few minutes and practice dancing with a red-headed guy in my class named Matthew. After that, I usually stop by the Cougareat and grab something to eat as brunch... Then I head to the basement of the BYU Bookstore and send away my international mail. I study until noon, when I go to chemistry. After chemistry, I go to physics, and then my family history class. I then head off to the dance lab... this is my form of studying for this class. After that, I'm usually a tad hungry again. I'll grab a bite to eat, and then I tackle the horrible task of getting ready for Tuesday, which involves studying until about 8pm, although I get about half my missionary-friend updates on Mondays. I do break and spend twenty minutes reading all those. [I call my roommates to see what's going on for FHE, but the ward organization has been slow and we don't have FHE groups yet. So there hasn't been FHE thus far...] I get to work pretty early (my shift officially starts at 8:30, but I like to be there by 8:10 so I can leave earlier). I work until nearly midnight, and then I clock out, walk home, and pass out on the couch after checking the living room table for mail with my name on it. Hours on campus: 15.5

Tuesday -- the BANE of my existence --

I wake up same time. Dash to my New Testament class to be there at 9am. As soon as the bell rings, I dash to the RB for tap dance. After that, I pretty much have no hope of finding a seat in the JSB auditorium, and the Marriott Center is pretty far, so I dash to the library, turn on my computer, get my headphones, and watch the broadcasted devotional through the blessed thing known as the Internet. I am usually desperately trying to multitask as I listen to it. After the devotional is over, I dash over to the Cougareat for lunch, and then I have a little bit of time to finish up homework before I dash off to psychology class at 1:35. That lasts until 2:45, when I dash to my little locker in the library. I dump my stuff there, grab my lab manual and goggles, and dash to the Benson building. There I face a three hour lab... I am finally done with that at 6. By then I'm starving. It's dinnertime! After filling my belly with foodstuffs, I go back to my traditional spot in the library and try to finish Wednesday's homework in about an hour and a half. Then I go to work, and clean stuff until the cool library music comes on, at which point I go home, and -- you guessed it -- pass out on the couch after checking the living room table to mail with my name on it. Hours on campus: 15.5

Wednesday -- it's all DOWNHILL from here --

Wake up. Social dance at 9, dance, practice a little, stock up on energy via brunch. Study a teensy bit. Head to the Benson building, find a little napping nook -- NAP. Sleep until Hillary or Jackie walks by and wakes me up, and then I go to chemistry class. Then physics class. Then family history class. Eat! Study! Do my physics homework due next Monday. I consider going to the tap dance lab, after which I go to work, come home, and check the living room table for mail with my name on it. And, no I don't pass out on the couch. At this point I usually have enough energy to climb the stairs and actually sleep in my own bed. Hours on campus: 15.5

Thursday -- I like to call it the GOODNESS that is quasi-Friday --

Wake up. Get to New Testament, then tap dance. If I really sucked at tapping, then I stay in the tap room for an extra hour practicing until I don't suck so badly. Then I eat, study a tad, go to psychology class, and then to a chemistry recitation. This basically just means the TA for my chemistry class tells you how to do the homework. Ooh, and you know how I get about half of all my missionary updates on Monday? I get the other half on Thursday. It is glorious. After my chem recitation, I head directly to the family history lab in the JFSB (which I used to clean... strange...) for a family history workshop. Then I study a mite, and then, on lucky occasions, I go home. Yes, that's right... HOME! I actually get to eat dinner in my own abode. And sometimes I even have time to make goodies. Mmmm, goodies. And then, I have to go to work (with goodies in hand). However, in the middle of every Thursday shift, we have what we like to call a "training meeting." In which we... er... train. By, uh, watching an informative, action and romance-filled movie. Like, say... we just watched Atlantis. And the first week we watched a click flick. (I don't like chick flicks in the slightest, but hey, it beats shining whiteboards.) After that, I go home, check the living room table to mail with my name on it, and snuggle into my covers. Hours on campus: 8-15.5

Friday! -- GLORIOUS Friday! --

Wake up. Social dance at 9am, practice a tad, eat some brunch, study a tad, nap in the Benson building. That's often quite hard because it's the chemistry building... explosions abound! But, I've learned to sleep through all the various explosions and such. I wake up for chemistry class, after which I go to physics class, after which I head to the physics lab, where everyone thinks I'm smart. And then, provided I have finished with my schoolwork for the week, I head to my locker in the library, grab stuff I might need for the weekend, and head home. I check the mail, and on the rare occasion that I get something, I read my letters. At this point I have several options, because it is the start of a glorious thing called a weekend. One option would be a date. I have not, as of yet, had any dates. Sad, I know. Other options include passing out on the couch, starting into the enormous task that is writing letters for all my missionary friends, go to a social event, or just be a bum and do nothing. Hours on campus: 7-11

Saturday -- the one day a week I can get away with NEVER setting foot on campus --

Wake up. At some point in the morning, Rachelle and I (and usually a handful of others) go to the temple and do baptisms, unless there is the sad event that the temple in closed. After that, Rachelle and I might go on a grovery store run if necessary, and then we head to my place and make something tasty. This something tasty is usually cookies of some sort, but once a month we make a pie. It has gotten to the point that I feel handicapped if Rachelle isn't there when I'm making food. Rachelle and I think it would be a tragedy if we ever lived a great distance apart. We'll have to be next-door neighbors for the rest of our lives. After the food is done and we've enjoyed it, Rachelle usually goes home, and the rest of my Saturday is devoted to socializing and writing missionary letters and doing homework and all that jazz. Of course, I also check the mail. Mmm, mail.

Sunday -- almost a perfect day of REST --

Wake up. Churchify myself, climb up the hill to the Testing Center, go to church. Come home. At this point I hope to have that thing called homework completed for now, but if not, I do that. I write missionary letters, make and eat a tasty Sunday dinner, and all the wonderful things that Sunday is. I work from 7pm to 10:30pm, after which I come home and sleeeeeeep.

So there. I'm a very busy woman I suppose. Weekends don't last nearly long enough. Y'all are lucky you're even getting this; I have five tests next week which I should be studying for somehow. Truth. Sad, sad truth.

Love, Jenna

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.

The Luck of the Irish.

Why do I dance? I don't know. If you had asked me a year ago what I'd be doing, I'd never in a million years have guessed that I'd be dancing. Never. But the truth is, that is what I'm doing. Perhaps I am trying to instill grace into myself.

Fat chance of that. My right leg is about an inch-an-a-half longer than the other, my spine is all crooked, my shoulders don't line up, and neither do my hips. I am probably the most unbalanced and most accident-prone creature on the market. Let's just say I'm clumsy. Or perhaps gracefully-challenged? To add to that, my muscle memory is way slow, and my inter-brain-muscle communication has a few kinks in it. So it takes me twice as long as the other dance students to learn the moves, and much much much much longer to do without looking like a fool. I'm not complaining (or at least I don't mean to), because those are the facts. I'm pretty happy about what I can do, because truth be told, if I had never had that surgery in the first place, I'd probably be a lot worse off.

If the BYU Dance Department graded on effort, I'd be fine. It doesn't. It grades solely on how good you actually are. I'm never too far behind, but I'm always struggling. Last semester I took beginning social dance and beginning Irish dance. Social dance went all right. I definitely didn't excel. But I felt like I learned what I was supposed to. But Irish dance? Not so much. I had a few mental breakdowns just from that class... that class that didn't really matter. That half-credit class...

So spring term. I take intermediate social dance and ... beginning Irish dance, again. I've never retaken a class before. Never. It kind of bruised my ego a little. Well, a lot.

I remember when I came to Irish dance this term and some of the other students found out I was retaking it. I was met with the inevitable inquiry, "Oh, did you fail it last time?"

I blinked. "No. I got a B. I was delighted with that grade."

It was their turn to blink. "You got a B... and you retook it?"

My response went something like this... I didn't care about that grade. I was not here to add another A to my resume, thank you. I was here to learn Irish dance. I didn't do that last semester. So I'm here to try again. And I'm proud to say... although I am not even close to being the best in the class, I am keeping up. I am actually learning Irish dance. And I don't care if I still don't get an A on the retake. That's not why I'm here.

On the other hand... in social dance, I really am just barely keeping up. Every move involves me being spun like a top. Spin, spin, spin! That, of course, requires great balance, which I don't have. I have to practice spinning without losing my balance at home. If I can spin, I can do it. If I can't, I trip over the guy I'm dancing with, or even fall flat on the floor. But I'm not faring too badly... I've gotten 87s on all my tests, which I'm pleased with.

But I'm behind again in social dance. Last week I missed Thursday's class because I was feeling horribly unwell. So last night, I set off to class fearing that I'd be totally lost and confused. I decided to walk over the long way, seeing as the weather wasn't too bad and I wouldn't mind a walk. I slipped on some shoes, grabbed my dancing heels and my keys, and set off for the RB.

All would have been well, but suddenly --

I gasped out in pain, and stumbling, dropped into the grass at the side of sidewalk. Wincing, I looked down at my feet. And cringed.

I have an absolutely irrational fear of two things. Two. One is heights. The other is blood.

I saw blood.

I... saw... blood.

And I hate to admit it, but it was only a few microseconds after I comprehended what I was seeing that I started to feel like my whole being was asleep. The stinging prickling sensation you get when lose feeling in a limb started at my feet and washed up over me until it was in my head, causing a ringing noise to start echoing in my ears, and my vision to start blurring a little. I was suddenly deeply and acutely aware of each of my heartbeats. Thud. Ka-thud. Ka-thud...

A few seconds later, my brain came screaming back. I'm still here! I'm still here! it reminded me. I was not sure if I was breathing before, but then I remembered to breathe. And I finally gathered up the courage to look at my wound.

A stick had gotten caught in my shoe. It wasn't a pointy stick, but unfortunately it had positioned itself just right so that it stabbed through the flesh on the underside of my foot. Most of the bottom of my foot is incredibly callused -- I remember when I was little, and it was the middle of summer in Arizona, I ran out to get the mail barefoot. My feet have never been the same. But Murderous Stick had gotten it just right, and jabbed right into the uncallused flesh where the arch is. There were a whole bunch of scratches all over both my feet too. I'm not exactly sure how such extensive damage had been caused by such as innocent-looking stick... but it happened.

Well, I couldn't just sit there helpless on the grass bleeding.

I stood up. Replaced my shoes on my feet, and continued to walk to dance class, but now limping.

Well, I wasn't angry at the stick. I was angry at myself. For not looking where I was going and staying away from the stick. For being such a pansy after it happened... but most of all, for now not being able to dance. Why am I always getting injured, huh? It's so lame! LAME! It means a lot to me to be in good health. Before I got my patriarchal blessing, I was secretly afraid that because of my scoliosis and the surgery I got along with it, and any other medical problems I could potentially inherit, I would be unable to keep myself healthy or that I wouldn't be able to do simple things that other people could do. My patriarchal blessing resolved that for me, and I recited a line from it over and over again as I limped to class, my eyes filing with hot, angry tears.

You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Ow. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. Gasp. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You will be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health. You WILL be given the ability to live the Lord's law of health, even if a stick impales your foot.

Even if a stick impales your foot.

I got to class finally, still chanting in my head that one line. I took off my shoes and looked at them. The insole of my left shoe was now stained with blood. How... pleasant. I signed the roll, and then limped off to the bathroom, where I cleaned it off as best I could. Then I limped back to class. Put on my heels. And hid in a corner, tenderly and slowly practicing the cha cha on my own.

And after about twenty minutes of that... I joined the rest of the class and danced for a bit. I danced cha cha. And it hurt, but I was dancing. I danced waltz. And it hurt, and I was grimacing the whole time, but I was dancing. I danced swing. And it hurt, and I wearing a very forced smile, but I was dancing. I danced foxtrot. And it hurt, and every spin screamed up my leg, but I was dancing. And then...

"All right, West Coast swing!" I don't know West Coast swing! I don't know this! I tried to dance as she taught us a new step. I utterly failed. Between the horrid pain in the bottom of my foot and the frustration of not knowing what was going on...

I hobbled over to the sidelines and planted myself in a chair. I am not going to able to dance any more tonight. And I felt disappointment filling up my insides and making me feel a little nauseous. I tried so hard. I don't want to retake this class.

I must have looked miserable.

"Jennnnnnnaaaaa!!!" I looked up to see Kyle smiling down at me, looking concerned.

"Hi," I said quietly. I kind of liked Kyle. He was always so excited to see me, and I couldn't help but grin back at him every time we danced.

"Are you okay?"

... "No." I proceeded to explain how a stick had attempted to murder me.

"Oh no!" he exclaimed. "Do you need a ride home?"

I considered. A ride would indeed be wonderful. I accepted the offer.

And then the instructor announced, "All right, I've decided we won't test swing until the final. And we won't ever test the foxtrot or the West Coast swing. I'm also going to teach you Viennese waltz tonight. We won't test you on that either." I thought for a moment... and realized suddenly, that I had already learned everything I needed to know for the last test of the term -- the final. I knew cha cha, waltz, and swing. I was fine. I was going to be fine.

I watched until the end of class, and then at the end, Kyle came and half-carried me to his car. He drove me home, and then helped me to my door. And then left. Mmm, I wasn't so upset about that injury now. I wrapped it up in a bandage, and ignored it.

The next day, I hobbled on over to Irish dance. I can do this. I can do this. I know I can. Okay, so I had a hole in my foot. It didn't matter. For Irish, you're supposed to be on your toes the whole time. True, my feet would be flying, but if I did this right, I shouldn't have to worry about hurting it any further. I wouldn't be applying any pressure on my wound...

I slipped on my tap shoes and wiggled my feet. They seemed to be operating all right... I got up. And started to jig.

Shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back, shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back. Lift, back, front, back, front. Kick-your-bum, right, left, STOMP, left. Tip, step, back, tip, step, back. Right, left, dot, hop, step. Shu-ffle, hop, shuffle, hop back. Lift, back, tip, step, back.

And then I repeated on the other side, all on my toes. And then stopped and made sure my foot was okay. I wiggled it. It nearly cooed happily. Okay. This is good. No pain. And I'm dancing. Well, as far as injuries go -- I was lucky. So lucky. I can jig, I can reel. It must have been the luck of the Irish, my classmates joked. And I decided they were right. All is well.

I would just close and leave it at that. But. I know someone will reply back asking to know whatever happened to Michael... Well, the truth is, I don't know. It is entirely possible that he's died between now and the time I said I didn't want to go on a walk with him. Last week, Michael came over nearly everyday and stayed until it was midnight and he had to leave. This week... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So, I think I did end up winning more than a battle. I may just have won the war. But I feel absolutely horrible, and a little bitter about the whole thing.

Now that he knows I don't like him... it's like he doesn't even think it's worth his time to be my friend. I hate to say it, because I shouldn't care so ridiculously much -- but I do care. It's like there's a false dichotomy he's trying to spell out. Boyfriend or no friend... or in other words, Michael all the time or Michael none of the time. Hm. Given the choice, I'd choose the latter. But it stings because I'd have been perfectly happy with a happy medium -- Hey, Michael? Why can't I just be your friend? Did that ever occur to you? No? Why not? Gaah. It makes me feel so incredibly... disrespected.

Frustrated, but pretty much okay,
Jenna

Dances and Mission Calls.

Well... Friday afternoon was a tad stressful if I recall correctly. See, for Easter weekend, I had plans to go to my Auntie Aella's house. And I absolutely abhor having to do homework while I could be having some happy bonding time with relatives I don't see that often. So... mad rush to do homework. Mad, mad rush. Then Clifton called... "So... you can come over to my place at seven and we can have dinner... Or, I can just come get you around seven-thirty and we can walk over with Zach and Dallin and their dates." Well, of course, I'm sure you know which option I picked. Gimme the free food any day. Clifton made a nice pasta vegetable dish with a cheese sauce (yes, I'm sure my cheese-hating daddy cringed at that... but I thought it tasted good...). Zach and his date Karissa also shared in the pasta-y goodness. Dallin and Emma had already eaten, so they left before we were done and got to the dance before us. We finally set off to the distant Richards Building after the sun went down.

We were walking over, talking and teasing each other merrily when my cell phone goes off. "Oops," I say. "That's mine..." But the truth be told... it wasn't exactly oops. I left the ringer on purposely. I mean... when you know one of your bestest best friends is opening his mission call at his grandparents' house and you've made him promise to call you immediately thereafter, you kinda end up making sure you don't miss that call...

Clifton kinda looks at me. I tell him, "Ooh! Ryan just opened his mission call!" And of course, since Clifton is also a friend of Ryan's, I am definitely obliged to answer. The four of us were deathly curious. I answer and start what was about to be one of the silliest phone conversations I've had in a while, excluding ones I've had with family members. "Hello?"

"Uh... hello! Jenna?"

"Hey, Ryan." My, this is progressing slowly.

"Are you at your aunt's house?"

"No."

"Are you... on the freeway going to your aunt's house?"

"No."

"Are you... at home?"

Oh, the guessing game is it? Fine, I can take the Burger King route. Have it your way. "No."

"Are you on BYU campus?"

"Yes." You silly goose. I know you opened your mission call.

"Oh. Okay. Well..." And finally it came bursting out. "I opened my mission call! I'm going to the Australia Adelaide Mission! English speaking!"

We express our mutual glee. Meanwhile, Clifton, Zach, and Karissa are watching me intently. "Oh... Ryan? Can I tell Clifton?"

"...Are you with Clifton?"

... "Yes... And Zach and Karissa..."

"Karissa Wainwright?"

"Yes."

"And Zach Smith? And Clifton Dudley?"

"Yes, Ryan."

"... Are you at 116?"

"No."

"Yeah. You can tell them." I tell them. There are cheers of glee.

"...Where are you?"

"At the crosswalk."

"Oh... the one you'd cross to get to the HFAC or the Wilk?"

"Yes."

"... Where are you going?" My, you're inquisitive today.

"To a dance."

"A dance?" Very inquisitive.

"Yes."

"...Is it the same one Dallin and Emma are going to?"

"Why, yes. It is. He's already over there, and we're meeting him there..."

"Oh. Yeah. I should call him."

At this I raised my eyebrows... I wanted to say, What? You haven't told your roommate yet? "Yes. You definitely should. Right now."

And he did. And when the four of us finally met up with Dallin and Emma, Dallin and Emma were beaming. (The other four of us were too, but Dallin didn't notice, he was beaming too much.)

"I have news! I have news! Ryan's going to Australia!"

At this, Clifton took on his smuggest posture, and replied, "We know. He called Jenna." Thankfully, he did not add "before you" because that probably would have resulted in endless teasing for poor Ryan. Haha.

And then... the dancing began. Clifton is a whole level higher than me in dancing skill. But... he had promised to teach me some spiffy moves. The first song was a foxtrot. And that first time mostly he just scoped out what I knew. And then the next two songs... were also foxtrots. Since I was in a beginner's dance class, I hadn't ever really danced with a guy who really knew what he was doing. I learned a little about dance position... I knew that my left hand was supposed to fit nicely underneath the guy's right bicep. But apparently I was supposed to kind of push on him, because that would make it easier to lead. And apparently, my right hand tends to grip rather tightly on the guy's left hand ("Yeah, you're holding my hand a little tightly, but no matter! I like holding girls' hands!" "Clifton!"). And then a cha cha came on.

All right, I think I can pretty much do the cha cha. We did some basic moves, going through random moves like the parallel breaks, the sweetheart... and then we came to the cross body leads. This involves Clifton moving to the side, essentially opening the door for to whip around him. At least I'm moving quickly enough that I feel like whip. The stupid thing is, it's my favorite move and guys generally aren't good at leading it, so I don't get to do it often. So I was excited. Whip! Whoot.

As I execute the cross body lead, Clifton says, "Ooooooh..." And he does it again. And again. And again. All right I think I'm getting pretty good at this. Now Clifton starts giving me some more pointers. "All right. On the cross body lead, take really tiny steps on the cha-cha-cha, and then shoot forward on the second beat. In fact, don't move at all."

I do it. And... it feels even more whiplike. Yesssss. Clifton decides I'm good at the cross body lead, and so starts teaching me higher level steps similar to that. I'm not sure what they were called, but they invovled a lot of twirling as well as what I like to think of as whip action. Niiiice.

Then there were some waltzes. Clifton figured out what I knew, and then he endeavored to teach me some more moves. He taught me some pivots, and then... there was this one. It was actually quite scary for me, because basically... it involved spinning around and around and since I obviously am not the one leading that step, it is kind of like a mini-rollercoaster ride. It was rather disorienting, but Clifton was determined to get that one right. (I suspect he likes that move because spinning kind of means that the lady is closer to the man than usual... and holding on tighter than usual...) I'm not sure we ever did get it down. Whatever.

Clifton also taught me the basic steps for the nightclub two-step, the mambo, and the samba. We did a bit of swing too.

The last dance was a cha cha, in which Clifton did a lot of the cross body lead and the really twirly moves he'd taught me. When it was over, Clifton turned to me and said, "Jenna. You have the best cross body lead I've ever seen in a first-level student. Ever." Oh, yay! I'm actually good at something!

We all walked home, grabbing cupcakes from party-goers trying to get rid of some extra food. The cupcakes were mega-chocolatey so we stopped by Clifton's place for milk, and then he escorted me home. How kind of him, I don't think I would have made it home otherwise. I mean, you never know when those velocibears and badger-raptors will come out and eat you.

This Week in Other News.

Sunday

I went home before Sunday School in church because I wasn't feeling quite so good. I came home and crashed. I slept until later at night. I woke up and did some visiting teaching... Then I went to ward prayer. I took my customary place on the stairs. Ryan came an sat on top of the recycling bin next to the stairs, so we were at about the same level. Clifton*, my little brother... randomly came up and started talking to me. "Jenna. You should ask a guy in your dance class to the social dance club dance on Friday night... because the guys in your class probably won't know about it, and you should go."

I blinked at him. "Uhh... okay." I grimaced a little, going through all the guys in my dance class. The ones I get along with best seem to have girlfriends... and then there's Scott, who is just a little awkward. Oh joy, Clifton. I really don't want to ask anyone.

Clifton switches topics quickly.

"Which girls have formal dresses in our ward?" At this question, Ryan also perks up and starts paying attention. Apparently, this is valuable information.

"Uh... well, for sure I know that I have one... Rachel has one... Hillary has one... Jackie has a few... Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Oh, just that Invitational is coming up."

... "What's Invitational?" Well, apparently Invitational is a formal dance for Heritage Halls. And Clifton really wants to wear a tux, which would only be appropriate with a girl wearing a formal dress. Ah, now I understand. It would be useful to know which girls have formal dresses, so that guys with tuxes or access to/ funds for renting tuxes can ask those ones. Tuxless guys would go for the girls without formal dresses. How... sensible. By the time I ward prayer was over, Ryan and Clifton had convinced me to compile a list of girls in Robison Hall with formal dresses. ("Haha, you know which girls we like!" ... And it was true...) Ay, caramba.

And then Clifton switched topics again. "Hey, Jenna."

"What?"

"On second thought, I'll just take you to the dance on Friday. Just wear the same stuff you wore for DanceSport yesterday. What dances have you learned so far?"

"Oh, okay... Uhhh... foxtrot, cha cha, some waltz, and just very very basic swing..."

"That's okay. I'll teach you what you don't know. And you can meet my sister!"


Monday

St. Patrick's Day! Or at least it was until the Pope announced that it wasn't. Whatever. We still celebrated. We all wore green.

I was doing homework in the MARB as usual, when Ryan and his classmates vacated my next classroom. I was about to pack up... and then Ryan was back. He had turned around and come back. Apparently his next class was canceled. He wanted to sit and study with me... but my next class hadn't been canceled. He looked a little... I don't know... mildly distraught. "Are you okay? Tired, or something?"

"Oh. I... haven't been feeling particularly well..." There was a pause. "And my mission call comes this week..."

"Oh! Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Yeah... yeah... Wednesday or Thursday..." I think that might explain his pallor. Nerves.

"Well, I need to go to class. You should find a more comfortable place to hang out... The MARB isn't the coziest of buildings... Maybe try the Talmage or something..." I sat and tried to think of places with cushy chairs.

"Well, I think the Madsen Recital Hall is empty now. It should be... I mean, that's where my next class usually is..." Definitely full of cushy chairs. So he left and I went to class.

For FHE, we had a combined "family" dinner, in which all the food was green. I made ridiculously green rice krispies treats that stained our tongues green. Mmmm. The main course was pasta with green alfredo sauce. Weird.


Tuesday

I tested the cha cha... and I did all right, I think. Except Scott, my partner... wasn't as skilled as Matt. I had to count in his ear just so he wouldn't get off beat. Ugh. How frustrating.

After my Isaiah class, I came home... and I was feeling a tad ill again. Well, more than a tad. I fell asleep. I accidentally slept through my Irish dance class... whoops. I was kind of conscious again later, and I could tell without looking at the clock that I had missed class. I was kind of half-conscious and such... Trying to convince myself that it was a good idea to get out of bed. I mean, I was a little hungry. And I felt perfectly fine now.

Then my door opened. Hillary poked her head, kind of noisily whispering, "Is she still asleep? I don't know she's awake... Oh, I think she's still sleeping... Sorry..."

Sorry? What, did I have a visitor? Argggggghhhh... I pulled myself out of bed. At the very least I should get something to eat. I open up my door again and poke my head into the world outside. "Who opened my door?" Ooh, I sounded groggy.

Hillary drooped. "Oh, I'm sorry! It was me!"

I blinked so that I could actually see. Oh look, Ryan is waving at me. "Oh, hi... What are you doing here?"

"Uhh... what are you doing here?"

"Uhh... I live here."

Then he got a little playful. "No, I live here." Practically.

"Ryan, I think that's against the honor code. You wouldn't want to break the honor code, now would you? Hahaha..."

"Oh no, I wouldn't be breaking the honor code. All of you would be breaking the honor code for living in my apartment. But because I'm a nice guy, I go sleep over in that place over there every night so you guys can stay here."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you."

Well, I was ridiculously hungry. And I wanted curry rice. Desperately. I pulled out the ground beef and set to cooking it. Ryan came and watched, curious as always at this thing we call cooking. "Is that how you cook frozen hamburger meat?" "Yes." "...You scrape off the the browned meat on one side and then flip it?" "Yeah." "... And then scrape the browned meat on that side?" "Yes, Ryan." "Oh. ... ... How do you stop the meat you scrape off from burning while you're cooking?" "Well, you just stop it from getting dry... so make sure the heat isn't all the way on high, and if it still seems like it's gonna burn, put a bit of water in it..." "Oh." And at this point, I came to the realization that I was missing an ingredient. I handed the spatula to him. He blinked at it. I told him, "I'm going to the Creamery to go get something I forgot. Finish this." And... I left. And I just kind of hoped that my meat would still be edible when I came back. I was back in nearly a jiffy, and I came back to find Ryan... running around the garbage can outside my place. Suspicious. I wondered what horrendous thing had happened to my food. I started walking up the stairs again. He ran past me so he could open the door for me. I came inside, came to the stove... and oh look. It lives. In fact, it was rather perfect. And, the burner had been turned off, and the pan moved to a cooler spot so that the meat wouldn't burn. I couldn't have been prouder.

After Jackie, Rachel, and I ate (Ryan had already eaten), Ryan decided he was going to teach me some racquetball. We walked over to the Richards Building, got our equipment, and then climbed into a racquetball court. Thankfully, Ryan didn't care that I wasn't too good at it, because he wasn't too good at it either. He taught how to hold the racquet, and mostly we just bounced the ball off the walls as hard as we could. Then we got kicked out by some people who had reserved the court, and we went home.


Wednesday

Not much happened. I went to all my classes... but Book of Mormon had been canceled because we had a midterm this week. Ryan and I studied for it for about an hour when we'd usually have class. As we were walking over to the testing center, Ryan looked rather nervous.

"The test shouldn't be too bad if it's anything like last time..."

He nodded, but I don't think he was really paying attention. After a few minutes, he finally said, "My mission call came today... Don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

"A secret? Why, you want to tell everyone yourself?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to tell anyone."

"... Have you even opened it yet?"

"No. No. I'm going to wait until Friday. I'm going to open it with my grandparents. On Friday."

He really did seem a little out of it.

"And I might tell you where I'm going."

"... Might?" I demanded. "You'd better tell me where you're going! Or else..."

He smiled. And we took the test. (I missed one! :( Sad day!) And then I went to orchestra. Then I went home. And slept.


----
* Clifton is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission, reporting June 4th. Dallin, Ryan's roommate... is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission, reporting June 4th. My biology class friend Ben is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission... reporting... you guessed it, June 4th. Whoa.

Dancing the Morning Away, and Protecting Jackie.

Last Saturday morning, I woke up... and it was dark. It was a little depressing. I grouchily got up, showered, dried my hair, dressed in a skirt and nice blouse, put on my heels... and then set out in the cold towards the Marriott Center. Matt, my dance partner, had said to meet him on the north side. I found him, and we went in. We were given a number, (639) and then we went and practiced on the dance floor. Matt seemed rather nervous. Finally, they had us all line up in numerical order (which was ridiculous because there were about 240 couples competing Bronze-level cha cha). We were probably the seventh or ninth heat. And we danced. We felt a little silly. In fact, I'd imagine that kind of what a blind date would be like...

After dancing, we went and did homework in the audience. He did some economics homework... and I started preparing my lesson for my Book of Mormon class... "...Is that for Book of Mormon?" "Yeah. We have to prepare a lesson for a teaching experience... it's not due for a while though... it's just my friend Ryan and I wanted to get it done before all the big projects in our other classes were due..." Matt blinked at me. "...Who's your professor?" "Swift! He's amazing, I'd really recommend him..." Matt kept giving me that funny look. "When do you have him?" ... "Uhhh... Mondays and Wednesdays..." "From 3 to 4 pm?" It was my turn to give him a strange look. "Um... yes... Yes." Oh no... now Matt is stalking me... "Jenna, we're in the same class!"

Whoa. "Wait... we are? I swear I've never seen you before!" "I've never seen you before either!" ... "Where do you sit?"

Matt answers, "Usually the first row."

Now that was a tad strange. "I... always sit in the first row. Always." How can we have never seen each other before?

"I sit on the right... The whole right side is basically from my ward..."

"Yeah, I sit on the left... usually sandwiched between my friend Ryan and my roommate Hillary."

"Yeah, that's weird."

Then the results from the first round were posted. About a quarter of everyone had been eliminated... Matt and I, however, were not. So we danced again. And then... oh look, we made it to the third round. For sure we got out this time! ... No, apparently not. Still in this thing. Fourth round... oh look, they'll calling back 639... again. Fifth round... 639! So we danced again.

Finally, we got kicked out by the sixth round... but we had made it to the top quarter. I think that's pretty good, considering this was basically the first time we'd ever met each other. I went home, tended to a few developing blisters on my feet, and finished preparing my Book of Mormon lesson. Ryan came over and we taught each other our lessons. He taught from Fourth Nephi, and I taught... from all over the place. Mostly from Moroni 7 and Ether 12... Then he left, and continued on to do biology and physics homework and such. I did some HEPE homework too.

Jackie came in to my room at one point and told me that she was going on a date with Neil, but she'd been having minor problems with him. So basically, if she came home with him in the middle of the date, I was now under oath not to leave her alone with him. Oh, joy.

I continued doing homework, and was getting ridiculously tired of it. But then Ryan showed up.

He hadn't been at my place very long when Jackie showed up... with Neil. We're not sure what Neil's problem is, but he... can be ridiculously obnoxious. As far as I have been able to tell... he just can't stand not being the center of attention. So... now it was me, Ryan, Jackie, and Neil in the kitchen. Rachel also showed up... I assume because she had heard stalker stories about this Neil and wanted to know who he was.

The next hour got stranger and stranger and stranger. I wanted to leave. Rachel wanted to leave. But... we were under oath not to leave Jackie. Jackie looked a little uncomfortable... Ryan also made a few funny faces that meant... "Yeesh, this guy is weird..." I mean, the guy wouldn't allow a lull in conversation. No quiet. Where there could have been quiet, Neil was being obnoxious.

Finally, when Neil started singing out putting beans in people's ears (no, I'm not kidding), Ryan leapt up and ran out the door a million miles per hour. Jackie, Rachel, and I burst into laughter, nearly collapsing on the kitchen floor for lack of breath. Neil kind of looked stunned. Soon thereafter, he left too, and us three girls sighed with major relief. Oh good. He's gone.

Fun Times

This week has been busy! But, I think it is going well. Monday was quite busy, and we made tacos for family home evening. Tuesday consisted of an Isaiah test and a calculus test. Wednesday was as full as usual, but I also had a physics test.

I woke up late on Thursday... and barely made it to my social dance class on time at 8am. I signed in, and we danced a little when suddenly the wall separating the two hardwood ballrooms opened. The teacher from the class next door burst in. "Are there any ladies in here who would like to compete in DanceSport this Saturday who aren't signed up already?"

Crickets. We were slightly confused... since entry forms were due over a month ago. It was too late now. Much too late. My teacher piped up. "Extra credit!"

Ooh, extra credit is always good. I tentatively raise my hand. The other teacher immediately grabs me gleefully and pulls me into the ballroom next door, closing the wall behind her. "So, one of the guys in my class had his partner ditch him, and now he is partnerless! And the competition is in two days!" She makes her way over to the microphone. "Matt Romney, come see me!"

A lurpy blonde guy lurks out of the crowd, looking curiously at me.

"I found you a partner! Er... what is your name?"

"Jenna!"

"Okay, Jenna and Matt, new partners!" And she leaves. Matt and I stay at the side of the ballroom and exchange information.

"Er... can we practice sometime?" We end up deciding that 3pm in the JFSB courtyard would be best. I stayed in his class for the remainder of the hour so we could figure out how the other person danced.

After that I ran off to calculus. Then I ran home. I did some homework, and then packed my bag full of shoes (heels for chacha, tap shoes for Irish hard dancing, ballet shoes for soft dancing, and then I was wearing sneakers) and books and ran off to the Cougareat. Jenna craves sub sandwich. Mmmmm. I get myself a nice Subway sandwich, walk outside toward the JSB where my next class is... and then suddenly I realize how incredibly sunny and warm it is. I smile. I find a bench and eat my food. And then it occurs to me. I can just sit here and... absorb the sun. So I had a nap on the bench (which must have been about six feet long... I stretched out on it, and there was still room...). That... was glorious.

Then I went to Isaiah. After that, I had an hour until I was supposed to meet Matt. I decide there isn't time to run home. Nor is there really time for anything except finding a comfy place to do homework. I go to that one bench where I had my catnap, but I realize that it has gotten colder and windier and decide indoors is a better option. I look over at the JFSB. I haven't even gone in there since I quit my custodial job there. But I knew the place inside and out. And I decided the best place in there to study, considering its proximity to the courtyard and abundance of comfy places to sit... was the student commons. I walked in, feeling a little strange. And it was strange. I made my way over to where the tables and couches and such were...

I hadn't even been in there when other students were using it. I usually just cleaned it. Or at least I used to. I scanned the room for an empty table. Saw they were all occupied... But... that couch over there? Empty. But it was clear across the room. So I stiffened my resolve and headed straight for it, concentrating on it, willing others to stay away from it, so that I could commandeer it...

Aha! Here I am. I set my bag down on it, claiming the couch as mine. I then sign on to the kiosk next to it... I was suddenly overcome by an urge to email my dad and tell him hello. And I had hardly signed on, when, "Hello!"

I jump and whirl around. "Uh, hi..." It was Ryan. I keep bumping into him. All the time. Which is weird, because he doesn't stalk me and I don't stalk him. If I minded about it, it could have been annoying. But I don't mind. So I talk to him. "I didn't see you..."

"Yeah, I know," he said reproachfully. Then, "You were just like a zombie." He lifted up him arms so that they were parallel to the ground and started imitating an undead creature. "Just staring straight ahead... and then you walked right past me."

"Where were you?"

"At that table over there, doing homework."

"Oh. I'm doing homework too. Or at least I will be after I email my dad."

"Ah." We carried on some idle conversation, and I wasn't really concentrating on it, because my password repeatedly failed when I tried to sign into my email account. Arg.

He left and sat at his table. I wonder why I hadn't seen him. I had passed within inches of him. I finally figured out that the keyboard was stuck in caps and that that was why my password wasn't working. I finished emailing my dad. And then I moved to the couch I had claimed and started working on calculus. I couldn't see Ryan from there, but that was okay because I needed to concentrate. And I was concentrating quite well when I noticed Ryan had moved from the place where I couldn't see him to a place that was equally far away but where I could clearly see him. That kind of slowed down my work, but whatever... it was only calculus and so I didn't need ALL of my brain paying attention to do it. I finished it relatively quickly. And then he got up and left for his three'o'clock class, which was my signal to change from my sneakers in my dance heels so that I could dance with Matt. I got up and walked out of the student commons into the courtyard. Ah, a wide open space. Cool and windy. It was nice. I fiddled with the alarms and such on my phone until Matt showed up.

Then we practiced and figured out which moves we would do mostly. We decided that we would start out first with the sweetheart, and then do the three cha-cha move... then a few cross body leads... then some parallel breaks... and then repeat. We'd only have a few minutes on the floor. We decided that we would wear red, and then we left.

I then ran off to the RB. I was way early for Irish dance, but that was okay. I commandeered a bench near my classroom... put on my ballet slippers, and then started skipping through the hallways. Then I started leaping. Warmed up, I started practicing the two-hand reel for the heck of it. Once I was confident, I moved on to the four-hand reel, at which I really stink. Wow, Jenna. You must be bored.

"Hi!" I turn around. It is Shannon, who is also in my Irish dance class.

"Hey!" I smile big.

Shannon smiles weakly. "Are you ready for the test today?"

Test. What test. Oh, we're testing on the two-hand and four-hand reels today. Yikes. I'm doomed. Me too. Good luck. You too.

I suspect it was divine inspiration that prompted me to dance down the hallways before class that day. I don't think I would have passed otherwise. I hadn't ever done it before.

We tested on paper. Then we performed our reels in front of some fancy camera equipment so that my teacher could watch us over and over again and give us proper grades (yuck)... and then we pulled out our tap shoes and learned some new hard shoe moves. And at this point I was exhausted. Tired, sweaty. Mostly tired.

I went home, played a game... and slept. Whoo.

But...

TODAY IS PI DAY! March 14th... 3/14... 3.14... get it?

I walked into calculus this morning... to find a pi party awaiting my professor. James and a girl whose name I forgot had baked him a pi pie, and there was great pi artwork on the chalkboard. Dr. Cardon walked in, and we all yelled, "HAPPY PI DAY, DR. CARDON!" He was so shocked. And happy. And excited. He was so happy about the pie that he gave James a hug (James bragged about getting a hug from Dr. Cardon all day). And then, holding the pie in his hands. He looked around at us. "I would feel bad if I didn't share..." "No, we made it for you!" ... "But... but... I want to share..." "Dr. Cardon, it's your pie..." "I really want to share this pie... Can I share it?" "Uhhh... well, I guess so... it's your pie..." "Yay!" exclaimed my professor. And with that he ran off to his office to retrieve his secret stash of paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks. He came back, with them, beaming. We finished off our pi party by deriving pi using infinite series. Fun stuff. Ah, nerddom.

The other exciting happening... also involved pie. Lots of it. You see, I was in the Pi Day Pie Eating Contest. Which consisted of a very happy Jenna shoveling as much chocolate creme pie down her face as she could in 3.14 minutes. I actually got most of the pie down. After the competition (I didn't win... I lost to a teenage boy and there is no shame there) I grabbed some apple pie, because I hadn't gotten any of that. People looked at me funny... but hey, I like pie. What can I say?

I Don't Know What Melodramatic Means... But...

I just realized that I am definitely writing a TON more lately... I attribute this purely to my lack of a job and therefore an increase in time to do other things, including homework, sleeping, writing, and just having fun in general.

As the title may suggest, I went and saw Enchanted last night while on a date. My friend Zach took me. Zach was one of those boys that, prior to our dear bishop's challenge, didn't date much. Little did he know that all the girls he knew wanted to date him.

So, whilst taking a nap Thursday night, my phone rang. I blearily blinked at it... An Arizona number? Hm. I wouldn't have answered it, but I was curious. Maybe a long lost friend was calling me... I answered. "Hello?"

"Uhh... hi... is this Jenna?"

"Yes."

"Uhh... hi... this is Zach Smith... from Mesa..."

Yes, Zach, I am aware that is where you are from. "Hi, Zach!"

"Uhh... do you have any plans for tomorrow night?"

Do I? No... no, I purposely avoid plans for Fridays in the hopes for dates. "No... I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow..."

"Oh... okay... well, um... do you wanna, um, go see, um, Enchanted tomorrow with me?"

My insides did a double flip. Heck yes. FINALLY. We had had a sign on our door for a few weeks that said clearly, "Will open only for dates to Enchanted. Thanks for stopping by!" I had drawn a princess on it... Rachel had drawn a mariachi man on it, serenading her. Unfortunately, although his face resembled the Pringles man, he did not have very good serenading technique. We had written in smallish writing below him, "Note: Proper serenading technique usually involves dropping down on one knee, but with biceps like those, we'll forgive him."

So of course, I answered Zach, "Yes! Of course!"

"Oh... okay. And... do you want to go to the Unofficial Spring Break Dance afterwards?"

"Yeah, sure..."

"Okay, I'll come get you at 6:15 since the movie starts at 6:30, and then I don't know how long the dance will last."

"Okay."

"Alright, then... I'll.. uh... see you tomorrow then..."

Score. Mega score. No way I can sleep now. I burst into Hillary and Rachel's room...

"I have a date!!! Enchanted! With Zach!" I had the phone in my hand still.

"Yay!" said Hillary. "That's not still on, is it?" queried Rachel.

"No... no... but I have a date!" And that's really all that mattered, truly. Because now every girl in the ward was jealous. Automatically.

Later that evening, I was talking to Ryan... and then he started asking about my plans for Friday night. But the poor boy was too late. Jenna's been taken for Friday evening.

Well, the movie, of course, was amazing. I love that movie. Zach hadn't seen it before, but he was pleasantly surprised... and loved it. Then we went to the dance. We were hoping to get a picture with Waldo... but we couldn't find him. That guy is just too good at blending in with crowds of people, even with that distinctive red and white stripety shirt. The dancing itself was nic... except, as you all know, I'm not particularly flexible. So Jenna trying to dance is interesting. I was doing my very best, although I think Zach kind of picked up on my lack of dancing skill and kept giving me hints on how to dance better, such as, "Just find someone who looks cool dancing and imitate them." Unfortunately, I still looked ridiculous. Oh well. At least an artist came over and drew us.

In the middle of the dance, we learned salsa and some other Latin dance in the room next door. I'm pretty at following if the guy knows how to lead. And... Zach definitely knows how to lead. In fact, we kind of ignored the teacher and he just led into more and more complicated moves, because as Zach realized, the moves were just like swing moves, only with a salsa-y step.

Then we went back out onto the dance floor, and waltzed to the slow song, just because we knew how. At then end he dipped me. Score. (Alright, time to cross off "Be dipped" from my Things to Do Before Death List...). There was some amazing gelatto as well as some divine taquitos. They had horchata, but it definitely wasn't up to par with the horchata from Elmer's... it was the cheap kind.

I got home after midnight. And yes... I did have a good time.

This morning I worked on physics. And ate cookies. And was soooo bored. So bored. But I needed a break from homework. So I played the keyboard we have in our kitchen. I don't know if I've just come to recognize Ryan's knock or something, but I heard a knock at our front door and knew who it was... But I was in the middle of a piano piece and just kept playing. I let Jackie open the door. I didn't hear who it was, so I kept playing.

"Jenna?"

"Yeah, Jackie?"

"You wanna go to the MTC? Me and Hillary are both way too tired."

"Yeah, of course... I am so bored. So bored."

Ryan rounded the corner into the kitchen. "Oh good. I've been looking all over for bored people!"

So Ryan and I went to the MTC together. Just as we got there it started sprinkling. We signed in as volunteers, and then got to pretend to be investigators together. Except there were a ton of volunteers (as in more volunteers than missionaries) so instead a different couple got to pretend to be investigators, and we got to pretend to be member friends of said investigators. Ryan likes to go volunteer at the MTC so that he can mooch off good teaching ideas for his mission from the practicing missionaries. Today was a good reap for him, and he was excited when we left and started telling me all about what he learned.

When we got out, everything was wet. There had been a vicious downpour while we had been inside... but now the rain was gone, and the sun was coming out. Perfect. We didn't even have to get wet. We walked back home. When we got to my place, Ryan grabbed me from behind for his hug. "Ahh!" I hadn't been expecting getting grabbed from behind, so I squirmed around until I faced front... ("Argh! Can I please face front?" "Bwahahahaha!")

Now I am doing more homework. Whoo. At least the hard homework is done!

Men Treat Me Like I'm a Princess.

Yesterday was... interesting to say the least. It was an extremely jam-packed day, if I may say so. I woke up around 4am... oh dear, that means I'll be late! So, I call my boss and tell him I'm going to be late... and I was. I then cleaned stairs for about three hours. Then I scurried over to the Talmage building where I did my physics and calculus homework. Then I went to calculus.

After that was over, I made my way to the MARB, and seated myself comfortably on the top level next to a power outlet, where I plugged in my dear Jacques (my laptop) and began to hurriedly do my biology homework. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw some guys walking around with boxes of Krispy Kremes... I felt a twinge of jealousy and then tuned them out.

"HI!"

I jumped and looked up. One of the Krispy Kreme guys was offering me a donut. Oh, yes please. I happily take it. The guy walks away, offering donuts to my study neighbors. I look down at my glazed prize.

At this point, I thought of Ryan, because he often reminisces about Krispy Kremes. The closest shop is in Orem, and neither of us have a car, so our chances of coming across them are slim. I smile as I take a bite of the artery-clogging goodness. He would be so jealous.

My donut gone, I continue working on biology. The bell rings and I continue working. I was right next to my classroom, and the class that was in there now had to get out first. It was suddenly very crowded in the hallways, so I scrunched up a little, and kept my head down. And then...

BAM!

Some black-shoed guy had very abruptly slammed down on the ground in front of me, and I jumped. My head jerked up to see the face of the culprit. Oh, it's Ryan... he was one of the people who had to vacate my classroom so I could get in there.

"...Did you hit your head on the brick when I scared you?"

"No, no, I didn't."

"Is that biology?"

"Yeah..."

"That is a huuuuge book!"

"Yep. ... ... ... I had a Krispy Kreme today!"

"What?!? Where'd you get one of those?" I told him. And then he looked so miffed. "Jenna, you should have grabbed me one!" "That's rude though..." "Then... then... you should have come and gotten me! Pulled me out of class! You knew I was in there!" I shook my head, and started to pack up my biology and put it in my enormous backpack. And he was so sad. I promised that if it ever happened again, I would come get him. He went to his class, and I walked into physics.

It was a tad boring today. After that, I dashed off to choir... then after that I dashed off to biology. And after that I dashed over to the JSB, where I did my Book of Mormon homework, and then proceeded to fall asleep on the ground next to the door of my next class. Except I wasn't asleep... very close to it, but not asleep. Every time someone passed me, I would open my eyes. At one point Ryan had come, but then saw I was asleep, and then left again. At least he thought I was sleeping.

The bell rang. I almost got up... and then decided against it. I just laid there. And then Ryan showed up again. "Wake up!"

"Uggghh... I am, I am..." And then we went into the classroom. I groggily blinked around at people as they came in.

"Are you busy tonight?" I was. So busy. "Yeah... I've got orchestra and a mandatory dance lab I have to go to... So I'm busy from seven to ten!" Ryan sighed sadly. "Oh... Dallin randomly buys things he doesn't need..."

What? That was random. Well, it wasn't, but I didn't know this at the time. Dallin [his roommate] had bought tickets to the men's chorus concert that night, and then after realizing he couldn't go, gave them to Ryan. And now Ryan was desperately trying to find a date. Unfortunately, every girl he had asked had been busy beyond all reason and couldn't go. I sympathize with him, and then class starts.

After that, I ran home with Hillary (who is also in our Book of Mormon class), starving.

Hillary made sloppy joes, and I did my Isaiah homework.

And then I ran off to orchestra and played bassoon for awhile. Then Jackie and I ran off to the dance lab. Ah, so this was why Dallin was busy. He was there too, along with Roy, Josef, Ian, and Michael. Clifton was there too, but he had sprained his ankle. I danced with all of them until about ten'o'clock, at which point we could leave.

The boys left first. And I tried to follow them and catch up, but there were these blasted heels... Oh blast it all. I took off my heels and ran after them in socks... into the outside, where it was snowing wetly. The ground was cold and wet, but... my feet hurt from being in heels for so long, and then it wasn't very far from the Wilk to my apartment. I decided it wasn't worth it to wear the heels.

I dash after the boys... "Hey! I don't want to walk home alone!" I join them.

"...You're not wearing your shoes..."

"No, I'm not."

"And the ground is cold and wet!"

"Yes, I can feel that... It's not that bad..."

And then Dallin pipes up... "Do you want us to carry you home?"

I laugh at this, and protest, "I'm wearing a skirt! Somehow I don't think that would work too well!"

Dallin and Michael look at each other, and form a nice seat out of their arms. Hm. This could be a good thing. "Come on, we could totally carry you!"

I sit down on the arm-seat. And then they lift me up. Whooooaaaa... the instability was amazing... and then Dallin complains, "Michael, you're too short. Ian's more my height, that would be better!"

So they put me down. And then Ian and Dallin formed a seat. And then they lifted me up again. It was misty, and it was snowing/raining. Michael took my shoes and carried them for me.

"Jenna, wave like this!" Michael demonstrated, in much the same way they do in Princess Diaries. So, I waved at the passing cars.

"Do you feel like a princess, Jenna?" asked Ian (or maybe it was Dallin?).

"Yes, yes, I do. This is so amazing!"

Unfortunately, this didn't last very long. The boys below me finally had to put me down. They looked rather dejected and ashamed for not being able to carry me all the way home, and apologized for being so weak.

When I walked inside, my roommates immediately demanded why I looked so smug. "Well... I just got carried home by men!"

"WHAT? Why, you manipulative little witch. ... ... Teach me," demanded Rachel.

"What? How to manipulate men?"

"Yes."

Rachel was upset with the whole night.

Summing Up the Last Few Weeks

Okay, so I've been ridiculously busy. I'm not sure how I got so busy, especially when I have a smaller workload that last semester. Whatever.

I've done way too much homework in the past month, gone on three dates (there will be another tomorrow), cleaned a lot, had some good meals, and ... that's pretty much it. Sad, isn't it?

It has become popular belief (among my roommates at least) that I am way too busy for my own good. And... they're probably right, but I didn't really think there was anything I could do about it. I just kept doing homework... and more homework... and more?

Last Saturday was especially ridiculous, and I suppose I'll tell you what I can remember about it, since it pretty much sums up my current life patterns.

It was bright and sunny when I woke up that morning. And so was I. And I don't know where Ashley was. But it seemed like the opportune moment to tidy up my room. And then, after I had done that, I realized that since it was eight on a Saturday morning, I probably had several hours in the apartment to myself while my other roommates slept. So... I went grocery shopping. I spent all but seventy cents on my meal plan. I proceeded to clean the kitchen.

And then, as I was putting the dishes from the dishwasher away... I realized just how ridiculously unorganized the cupboards were...

I'm not OCD, I promise. But occasionally, when I've had enough sleep and don't have anything particularly stressful occupying my attention, I have little bouts of obsession-compulsion... this was one of those times. Definitely.

Each cupboard I opened revealed a new scene of chaos... and each would summon a shiver down my spine and a twitch in my eye. With the realization the contents of our cupboards were often in plain sight since Jackie has an odd and nasty inability to close cupboard doors once she opens them, I set out to organize them. All of them.

I discovered lots of strange surprises. Dishes that hadn't at all come clean in the dishwasher, but had been put back in the cupboard anyway. Disgustedly, I pulled these out, opened the dishwasher, and put the guilty dishes inside after scrubbing the guck off of them. I left the dishwasher open, ready to receive more offending dishes... but I would later regret this.

I'm not observant enough to know which of my roommates are guilty of all of the offending things that I found in the cupboards... but all these things did was feed the flames of my temporary-OCD-ness. I finally got up to the top shelf of the cupboard above our sink. It held a jumbled mess of what I suspected to be Tupperware.

I pulled up a chair up next to the open dishwasher, right where I could work with whatever happened to be up there. Among the mess, I found tacky, empty plastic containers like you would usually buy at the grocery store, but containing a butter spread or something.

If we were poor and used Tupperware enough that the plastic containers we did own were insufficient for the demands of our apartment's normal usage patterns... I would understand why we would keep them. But honestly... I think we have way too much Tupperware as it is. All these flimsy plastic containers were doing were collecting dust and taking up space. Oh, and provoking a nasty twitch in my right eye.

I made an executive decision to throw them out. Which required getting down off the chair and placing the offenders in the trash can. My arms laden with junk, I successfully turned around while atop the chair. But I lost grip of one the plastic things in my hand... which flew to my left, above the dishwasher.

(The following happened all within two seconds.)

I wasn't thinking. My hand reached out to grab it, and as I caught it, I realized I had just compromised my balance on the chair. Badly. I came crashing down halfway into the dishwasher.

Yelping out in pain, I leapt back up onto the chair, but not at all very gracefully. Instead of resting on the chair as I had hoped to, I realized that I hadn't landed quite as I'd hoped to... and the chair and I fell... the other way.

Crash.

I lay sprawled on the tile, the tacky plastic things crushed and broken (I told you they weren't worth keeping...). The chair creaked angrily, threatening to come apart. I moaned. I swear I must have hit or smashed every square inch of my body.

I now had an instant headache. But strangely, this was the minorest of the many hurts I now noticed. I got up slowly... threw the evil plastic fragments in the trash... and limped to the hallway.

To my surprise, none of my sleeping roommates had woken from the horrid noises I had just made.

I limped to the couch. And collapsed.

Ow. OW. Owwwwwwwww. There wasn't any blood, just a strange stinging sensation all over. My left leg hurt in particular. I think that is what collided most violently with the chair. I lifted up my pant leg... to discover that it was already purpling with what had declared itself a nasty bruise. Ugh. My right knee hurt as well (this was what I think hit the dishwasher first), but it was just pink with irritation. My hands and arms stung with pain from flailing around and unsuccessfully trying to find a handhold. My head had hit something... I think the ground.

Whatever.

At least my apartment was clean.

I spent the next several hours doing homework... namely calculus. And... more calculus. My brain was working so slowly that I'm not sure how I was thinking at all. I trudged through my homework. Problem by problem... Ugh. I was starting to get sooo mad at this homework, because I wasn't getting the right answers immediately.

It soon happens that I am trying out my hand at primal scream therapy. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR

RRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!" I yell angrily at my homework, dissatisfied enormously with it. My roommates peek in to see if I am all right. No. No. Jenna is not all right. Calculus is taking so much longer than it should. Like... I estimated it would take me two hours. I was going on six hours. I hope you understand my frustration. I was MAD at this homework for not cooperating with me. If I had looked in the mirror, I may have seen steam coming out of my ears.

Ding.

'Mid textbook-throw, I look around for the source of this mysterious sound.

Ding. Ding.

Oh! My instant messenger! Someone is talking to me! I consider whether or not to answer it. I was positively fuming and might not be the most pleasant being to talk to at the moment. And it was nine'o'clock at night. Well, I decided I would rather talk to a person than to my calculus homework... I might talk more civilly to someone with feelings.

I look over at my computer screen. Hm, it's Ryan. I determine that I am not going to look at my homework for at least another half-an-hour. I glare at it angrily and I talk to him... but alas! I suppose it is impossible for me to talk to someone without leaking out how I am feeling.

Ryan inquires what I've been doing all day... I reply, Homework. What kind? Calculus. Just calculus? Yes... all day... and I'm not done! And I have more! I've got physics and biology and health and dance and... All day? How long is all day? Six hours on calculus.

Hmm... usually when something takes me all day, it means I need a break, Ryan says.

I don't have time for a break! I'm never going to be done with all this homework! Never! Neeevvvveeerrr!

Ryan obviously disagreed. Wanna go an a walk?

A walk? Hm. Here is where that horrible moment where your brain splits into two distinct voices and they start arguing.

No. Don't do it. You have way too much to do. Way too much.

Aw, but I'm sick and tired of calculus. It isn't even interesting, or fun, or cute, or...

You'll never get done. If you go on a walk, you won't be able to do any more homework tonight, and you'll have to do it on Sunday!

Or... I could do it Monday morning. I can't go on walk then...

NO! You promised yourself you would finish all your homework BEFORE Monday. BEFORE! That means TONIGHT!

But I haven't been on a date with him for... two whole weeks?

YOU'RE TOO BUSY!!!

But I told him no to that date on Thursday and he was really sad...

You were too busy... and you're even busier now... you have two midterms next week.

It's nine, and I've been working allllll day!

At this point, one voice kicks the other's shin.

Shut up. I'm going.

So... I go out into the cold outside. So incredibly cold. It's like... twenty degrees... (warmer than last week, but still). But... I don't feel cold. I imagine if you could see stress, you'd see them radiating off of me like heat waves.

We start walking. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm fine, I just have (insert incredibly long list of things to do before Monday here)..." I think I was hyperventilating... or something.

He looked at me sideways-like. "Jenna. I am not a physics assignment."

Ahhh! Physics! Oh no. "Oh no no no no... I have a physics midterm this week. And a physics homework assignment. And a reading assignment..."

"Nope. There is only the sidewalk... and the snow... and you're on a date... and you don't have to worry about anything..."

With that, we started exploring campus. Last time we went on a walk we explored all over the north side of campus, and it had been considerably warmer. We did a lot of random things... crossed the bridge, wandered around the Wilk, found a wall map and made each other find the other's hometowns... rummaged through the recycling receptacles looking for today's comic pages in the newspaper... drew little cartoon men... realized we weren't sure if cotton candy was just sugar or if there were something else in it... invaded a computer lab to research about cotton candy (just sugar and food coloring, apparently... the trick is the machine)... found the barber shop... rode elevators... found the flower shop... and then it was eleven'o'clock. The campus buildings close down at eleven, so we went back outside.

Walking along the sidewalk to the intersection, somehow we got on the subject of jaywalking.

"I jaywalk all the time... but only at like... four in the morning when I'm walking to work, and not a single soul is awake. You know what's fun? Dancing on the Y in the intersection here..."

We had come to the intersection, in the middle of which was a large white painted Y.

"Have you done it before?" he asked.

"Yes." And the light turned green for us to cross.

I started to cross on the crosswalk... but Ryan dashed out to the center of the intersection and started to dance maniacally. There weren't any cars that had a green light... only cars with bewildered drivers stuck at the red light. I stayed on the crosswalk, the whole time laughing at him (I didn't know what else I was supposed to do!). He danced until the light turned yellow, at which point he dashed to the other side of the street, and swung around the light pole, me laughing the whole time.

We started to walk back to our apartments, but then we saw a large icicle. Ryan decided to try and get the icicle down. He jumped up and broke it off, but of course right below the icicle was a sheet of ice. Icicle in hand, his feet went all over the place... but he didn't fall or crack his head open. "Ah! I almost got myself killed!" Hm, that would make twice in one date, within five minutes.

I kept the icicle, and we kept walking. We got to my back door. And we both ignored it. Instead... I decided I wanted to know how deep the snow was. He tried to push me into it, but I ducked in time. However, I did drop the icicle. It didn't break, but he warned that if I did break it, it would hurt his feelings. We went around to the front of my hall, where there was a large patch of snow.

We left Ryan's phone number in big writing there so that when my hallmates came out they could see it. (Unfortunately for Ryan, the whole thing got annihilated by several inches of snow that came down that night.) I left my icicle next to it in the hopes that when the sun hit it, it would reflect the sunlight and attract people's attentions.

Then we went inside... and began looking at the wood grain on people's door. We found one door pattern that looked like the Salt Lake Temple. Then... there was this one door.

"It... looks like bacon."

"Bacon?"

"Yeah... there's the dark meat in the middle, and then the strips of fat on the side, and..."

He was right. That door looked like bacon. And, of course, we had to tell our friends that lived behind that door. We knocked. And, well, I guess since it was nearly midnight, no one inside had been expecting visitors. Patrice eventually opened the door, but we had to wait for awhile. She answered groggily (we feared she had been sleeping, but no... she had been doing homework) and looked at us with a bewildered expression as we blankly informed that her door looked like bacon. She looked quite confused when we bid her adieu.

Well, guys aren't allowed in the girl's hall after midnight on Saturday... and vice versa. So guys were clearing out of the place. We kept talking, and then it was a minute 'till midnight.

"Aren't you going to leave?"

"Nope. I have a whole minute left." And then he hugged me... and he kept checking his watch... and then he hopped outside exactly as the second hand reached midnight. And then I went home, where I barely escaped getting grounded by my roommates, who had been watching chick flicks in my absence.

So this week I've done a whole bunch of homework.

And I have a date tomorrow (with Ryan, yes...). So... good night all.