I tried to watch the first episode of the 'Bachelorette' on my brand new liddo iddy biddy purple pc (I paid an extra $12 for the violet hue). I think it takes up too much memory, because it says ...loading... for fifteen minutes. Grrr. It's the first time in a long time I've just wanted to watch the telly late at night. My schedule lately has been thus: 7:30 push snooze on my alarm. 7:35 push snooze on my alarm. 7:40 push snooze on my alarm. 7:43 dismiss alarm before next alarm bleeps in my ear and I throw the phone across the room, rouse a drowsy Luke and blame him for getting to bed too late the night before. 8:03 eat breakfast. 8:16 call Richy for Book of Mormon reading of five to ten verses. 8:23 drive Luke to school before the late bell rings at 8:25. 8:52 fill pink plastic water bottle for 9 o'clock gym class. 10:17 shower until my skin melts from scalding hot water, cleansing my body of any sour or onionish odor (my only 'green' faux pas, I really try and conserve in other ways, like flattening and recycling all my cereal boxes etc., driving tinkling bottles to the glass recycling bin, and I very rarely travel in a private jet). 10:43 write, write, write my book. I am a writing, racing fool. I am racing, racing, racing to finish my book before Luke finishes school in a week!!! 12:43, tummy groans, so I race upstairs and eat two pieces of toast. 12:47 write, write, write and in the meantime, indulge in a coke zero, and nurse it until the bottom of the brown, teeth-staining nectar is warmish and flat. 3:43 wait for Luke on the front porch to come waddling home, blonde wispy hair blowin' in the wind, smiling, teeth too large for face. Huggies. Look at Luke's homework, assess his day, chat and laugh. 4:12 let him go out to play, or arrange a playdate here at grams and gramps, either way, I write, write, revise, write. 6:17 make dinner for the two of us, clean-up, ensure Luke's homework is complete, play a game, chat, give him a bath, chat, and read bedtime book Fablehaven Book #2 for 20 minutes or so, sing songs, brush teeth, call Richy for nightime prayers. Cuddles. 8:57 write, write, revise, write. 11:23 phone conversation with Richy. 11: 39 brush teeth, wash face, say prayers etc. 12:02 out like a light. For the last 2 and a half months I have rarely deviated from this schedule, except when Luke doesn't have a playdate and he just wants to hang out. Does anyone have a calculator because, I am writing all day. I have written 51,000 words of my novel, and no, I am not sending anyone a synopsis, don't ask me what it's about and don't ask me to send you an excerpt unless you are going to commit to actually giving me valuable input. Tonight was the first night (except when I went to see Prince of Persia on Tuesday night) I didn't want to write my book because I was too tired and mentally wiped out. All I wanted to do was watch a mindless, pointless bit of trash on the television, and my brand new purple pc I bought on credit (see last post) is too iddy biddy to let me watch a full episode! Grrr. But, I have a nice life, don't I? It's pretty great. It is currently 11:16 and I am due to call my husband in 7 minutes, I have deviated long enough. Goodnight.

So, I know I'm having bouts of situational depression and irritability. I'm probably not justified having these feelings, since there are many of my close friends who ARE actually going through very difficult changes and I shouldn't wallow in my lesser troubles, if only out of respect for them. Can I winge for a minute, and then maybe I won't be so irritable? I withdrew from school thinking that I would be moving out to Reno to live with a blond, very large, broad-shouldered anti-depressant. Surprisingly, he is a very easy pill to swallow despite the fact that I find dry boogers all over the walls in his apartment. However, I will probably have to settle for St John's Wort as we have decided to stay in Utah so that Luke can finish school here, thus, I'm living with my parents again, and although I love them, this is not my natural domain and hasn't been since I was 18. From that age, I was adamant I remain independent from them, however, irony has woven its way into the tapestry of my life story more than once, and so I must 'eat my words', again, and stay here in Utah until June. My pc is in the shop and has been busted for almost a month now which prevents me from being able to work on my novel ( I am currently stealing my mother's ancient iBook). Against my better judgement, I am very tempted to buy a brand new laptop on credit! And, one or more persons in my immediate family are getting up my keester more than usual, or maybe it's because I'm more irritable than usual, and am not finding it easy to cope with these person(s). I also want to take some furniture restoration classes, and there are none to be found in the greater Reno area!!! Woe is me!

This poem is a pantoum. Pantoums were made popular in the 19th century by writers such as Victor Hugo. This is my pantoum.

This baby, this baby, what is he worth?
His life gave me life, gave my life wings
Without this pure humanity I am a dearth
Of caves, and glass, and empty things

His life gave me life, gave my life wings
My heart gave his heart, gave his heart blood
Of caves and glass and empty things
Fill my cave, and my glass, and my empty things, flood.

My heart gave his heart, gave his heart blood
I cry for him, pray for him, cry for him more
Fill my cave, and my glass, and my empty things, flood
I'll fill your heart, with my cave, and my glass, I pour.

I cry for him, pray for him, cry for him more
This baby, this baby, what is he worth?
I'll fill your heart, with my cave, and my glass, I pour
Without this pure humanity I am a dearth.


Anyways, back out of the world of words, and into my life:
I doubt anyone reads this, which is a good thing, because as anyone who knows me can tell you, I am a private and very modest person. Why are you laughing? Anyways, we are probably most likely moving to Reno! As one of Ayn Rand's characters explains, (I think this quote is in 'Fountainhead') says, "I'm going to Reno". Well, I guess it was a way for her to say, "I'm getting a divorce." In those days (the fourties, I think), Reno was very 'liberal' and granted divorces very easily. Well, I am announcing that Richard and I are NOT getting divorced, we are just moving to Reno. I hope moving to Reno does not make us want to get divorced, because every time I tell someone we're moving there, the response is, "Oh. (then, they pause and they scan my face for any detectable micro-expressions) I'm sorry."
Anyways, yada yada yada.
So, I'm going to finish up this semester and then transfer to UNR? Should I? I think they have a very good liberal arts department etc. That's what they say. It's a beautiful campus. We also have decided to first choose the best elementary schools in the area, and move inside the zoning areas for those schools. The problem is, I've sent two men out there to view homes for rent and make accommodations for our move. Was that a good move? My mom said to have Richard bring a sample of the air in the home for me to smell before I commit to a rental agreement. The one thing I DO trust Richard to do is to get a house that doesn't stink (He's color blind and so his nose makes up where his eyes are screwed up-[like an autistic savant, he smells colors in food, smelly foot odors etc. (I read once where an autistic savant who was very good with everything and anything that had to do with numbers saw every number visually in his mind and every number had a distinct color and shape)]). I guess if the house doesn't smell, and we're in a good area for schools, one could not ask for much more, could they? No pics this time, guys. Soz. Rich has all the pics on his new computer. I don't get a new computer, cuz I'm a giiiirrrrrlllll. I've got to pee now. Goodnight. xoxoxo

Le Chrissimmissy I Le Rrrmemmbeerr Moste.

The Christmas I remember most is the Christmas my family will never let me forget. In fact this particular Christmas, and many thereafter, began something like this: In a lovely home, in a conservative neighborhood, in a cookie-cutter suburban Utah city, I was likely the first to awaken my poor old Gramma Merle who at night would wear a scarf around her head to protect her newly picked-through coif. Then I would crawl into bed with her where she whispered something like, “Elizabeth, it's 4:30 in the morning, don't you go and wake everyone up.” When she would fall back asleep, I would sneak back out of her sofa-bed, and traipse downstairs where I ogled the twinkling lights, the rotund home-made felt stockings and the largest stack of presents this side of middle-class America. Indefinitely, I became exhausted from awaiting the arrival of my competition, and fall back asleep on the couch. When each of them arrived, my six siblings and I would find our own special corner of the living room that we would deem 'Our Space'. This room is where the paper tearing would commence on the early morning of December 25^th, and 'Our Space' was where we gathered our own coveted booty. Pajama clad toddlers-to-teens became one-eyed, one-legged, grisly green pirates.

Mutiny against all order was the order of the day. The teens slept through Luke Chapter 2 while the tots sucked on their candy canes tossing their tangerines and apples aside. The sounds of shredding paper permeated the room with 'wows' and an intermittent 'thanks mom and dad', 'thanks Santa Clause'. The dimly lit basement living room was now the Cave of Wonders. Skis had fallen to the ground, new gargantuan stuffed teddy bears named Duncan were being drooled on and the newest video game console was bleep bleeping in an even darker corner of the room. After one seven year old girl (that's me) saw mounds and mounds of treasure and perused her brothers' and sisters' 'Spaces', she enviously declared, in the whiniest, (so I'm told), most pathetic voice for all to hear, “BUT I WANTED MORE!!!”

Now, growing up, perhaps the only thing my parents could ever be guilty of is providing too well for us seven kids. Certainly, I was dealt an earful by a watchful parent immediately following my ungrateful exclamation, but it is the lesson that I continue learning in the Christmases following that have made a powerful mark upon my life. Every Christmas, every sibling and both parents remind me of my selfish declaration. Especially at Christmastime, those words, “BUT I WANTED MORE” ring through my ears as I see others who are less fortunate. Ironically, now it seems, that each year I want for less than the year before. Perhaps this year I want for three things. I want the courage to forgive those who have trespassed against me, the humility to serve my neighbor, and I really wouldn't mind a pair of those sweater-boots everyone is wearing. So while that particular Christmas may have begun in an uneventful way, its never really ended. I'm sure years will pass, and I will still never hear the end of it. I'm grateful for that.

I published the above on my blog just in case it never gets published by Desnews.

So, it's been a month and a half since I updated my blog. I'm not very good at this, but I have been busy. I am currently writing another novel. The first novel was lost last October when my PC crashed, and since I wasn't ready for that character to die, I had to mourn her loss, it took a year to get over the mourning process, but I think I have put her to rest, and may resurrect her in the future. I have been doing research for my novel most every night and have the outline and some or most of the first chapter completed. My novel's heroine is Suzanne, so while I will not tell you what the novel is about, you may ask how she is. Some of you may know who Anadorinia is, this will give you a clue as to who Suzanne might be. Suzanne is a gamer, you see. She loves computers and all nerdy gothic virtual reality-type computer games. Don't laugh. I will never be an Ayn Rand, I may never even get around to reading an Ayn Rand novel, and most people will probably think what I write is complete drivel, but it must be done. Just a couple of funny things that have happened in the last little while. Richard and I went to Las Vegas for our eighth anniversary. That was so much fun- it was like an extended amazing date. We went to see 'Beatles Love' by Cirque de Soliel. It was amazing. So, I wanted to find a steal of a deal to wear on my super-uber date with my hot hunka love. So, naturally, I crossed the street from the Imperial Palace, where one should never spend the night, to the Forum shops at Ceasar's Palace. I had myself an Aztec Haute Chocolate- yes haute is spelled correctly. It burned all the way down and all the way out, but it was delicioso. So, then, I'm minding my own business, thinking I'm looking haute, when this very delicioso looking latino grabs my hand and pulls me into his shop. He looks at me in my eyes and says, "I din't min to be rrrude, but ckwhat doo yoo ckwhere underrr yourr (ch)eyes?| I'm like, "mmm...(embarassed to say) just some botanical cover-up sticky thing." "So, ckhow eld arrre you?" (Thinking he's going to flatter me by feigning to guess my age as a much younger twenty something) I say, "I'm thirty" He smirks and says, "Thirrrty-what?" Grrrrrrrr........."Thirty....years....old" Needless to say I didn't buy his damn products with smashed up 24 karat gold bits in it. There were some more funny happenings, I'll have to write about tomorrow- since Anadorinia and Corker have a rendezvous in Stormwind tonight.

My dog is afraid of my neighbor's Halloween ghosts they have on their front porch. They are happy looking ghosts, but nonetheless, they have black holes for mouths and eyes. The think is, is that he never barked at the door-to-door salesman who was accosting me on my front porch. Koda never barked once at him. But he barked at the Happy Halloween Ghosts. He stares at them and his ears go back and he backs away and gives a cowardly woof.
So, this has been a lousy couple of days. I was feeling sorry for myself because my ward is so big that no one knows my name, or would care that I died, let alone anyone in my gigantic stake. So, naturally, for General Relief Society meeting, I decided to go to my mom and sisters' gathering for General RS meeting at their stake center. My mom is on the stake RS Presidency and was in charge of organizing the cake-and-drink-after-the-meeting-mingle. So, of course, I volunteer for the set up and cleanup, which eventually set me up for the screw up. No one would think it was that big of a deal to break a platter someone brought to showcase the yummy cakes on. Unless it was a gift given by a friend, or an heirloom, or crystal, or something like that. Well, I shattered the platter, all over the kitchen floor, which was a probable heirloom that was probably crystal and was definitely given by a dear friend to the lady whose husband killed himself last year. I cried on the way home in the car by myself, mainly because I felt like a damn fool.
I also want to vent about the myriad other ways in which I tend to feel like a damn fool. So, I am getting to be disgusted with the very yuppy school my child attends that is trying to make me spend a damn fortune on extra-curricular things outside of school. Not to mention this silly Dragon Pride award program. So little six year-old Luke is supposed to read 900 minutes in a 9 week period. That is just fine. I can handle that. I can also handle the exercise requirements, since he plays soccer at least twice a week. All the other requirements in order for this little boy to feel like he is able to compete with his peers is just ludicrous for a first grader to have to worry about. He has to jump a rope 15 times in a row without making a mistake, for example. Bloody hell. The child is already a perfectionist and harps on himself if he writes a number 3 backwards. So, naturally, I feel like a failure of a parent because I told Luke it was a bunch of rubbish to feel like he had to get a phone call from the school to tell his parents they were really proud of him! We don't need the school to tell him they are proud of him. We are proud of him even if he can't tie his own shoes yet and still wets the bed! He was like, 'but, I want the school to be proud of me!' He also gets: please buy this product from our sponsors, it will go towards buying books for the school! Please buy dinner from Chick-fil-A from this time to this time on this particular day, or your son is not displaying school spirit! WITW!!! (We took him there by the way because I happen to LOVE C-F-A). I wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't that every other day he was bringing something home to try and get us to spend money!!! I have PMS and I'm drinking caffeine and I'm going to have some dark chocolate. Really cliche', but I don't care.