Looking Up

This is the type of long post that most people won't care to read (really, I'd skip this one if I were you--there aren't even any pictures), but perhaps my future baby Simpletons will.
(Baby Simpletons, although blogging life lessons trumps studying for final exams at midnight for me, the principle does not in fact apply to you. Please neglect not thine knowledge-navigation, my niño neurologists--Mommy's retirement yacht shan't be paid off on a salmon-snatcher's salary. We all must learn that younglings who are easily distracted from their studies doom themselves to the career path of the surly salmon-snatcher.)

For the vaster majorities: Don't fret--I'll get back to snarky paid programming in no time.



Life definitely kicks you when you're down; I experienced this firsthand in the worst way possible today.

However, I'm not the type of person who likes to stay on the ground (especially when it requires scrubbing blood off the linoleum just to look behind you and see you've made a fresh new trail), so the kick was just what I needed to regain my sense of humor.

Suffice to say that the morning had been terrible, awful, no good, very bad, and even Australia didn't seem like a far enough destination to begin a new life. In some ways it was nice to be at work because it required me to take a break and breathe. In other ways it was awful to be at work because I physically did not have the time I needed to finish my project before I had to defend it to my professor.

I was summoned forth to assist with a balloon order. Obviously, the first balloon I injected with helium got too big and erupted loudly--it happens often and keeps the customer on her toes. Unlike all the other detonations though, this time the balloon actually exploded into my eyeball. As I clutched the left side of my face, I was sure I'd have to buy a  Phantom mask to hide the bloody scarring, or perhaps invest in a blinged-up eye-patch.

My panic-stricken coworker could only find the words to ask if I needed to use the potty, and I nodded in shock, leaving the poor customer with her jaw unhinged on the ground somewhere near where my eyeball likely rolled to a stop. Gross.

In the safety of the secluded potty room, I pried my possessed hand from my face and observed only the dull redness from slight swelling and a sharp blow. The only real damage, other than temporary partial-blindness and engorgement of my facial second quadrant, was emotional exhaustion. I had reached the tipping point and set off to bawling in the public potty stall. This was the icing on the cake: the nasty fruitcake that nobody actually wants but they eat anyway to please the people who think it's good for them.

Sobs turned into laughter, turned into hysterics. Those poor confused other restroom inhabitants.

It was then, kneeling and weeping and giggling on the floor of the vending building's ladies' restroom (I spent a lot of time on the floor today), that I realized that things could only go up from that point, and not just from the standpoint of the world's crappiest day ever. The last few months have been hard for several reasons, but I'm ready to be whole again. I'm giving myself to the Lord. I know the fire would be worthless without this beating and stretching and shaping, and it's all for my good. I'm so looking forward to these changes and improvements I can finally begin to enjoy.

It was still the worst day of my life. I f-f-f-failed my final projects because of a printer malfunction--an oversight that was totally "my bad." Live and learn, Laura. Live and learn. Regardless, I'd be ungrateful if I didn't acknowledge the people who made this day livable. Yes, all of them. You purely cynical bloggers might as well go talk Utah-hate and people-hate and happiness-hate and give up on me right now. This post has reached the point of ultra-sap with no hope of return.

Mom: I called you like 14 times today. I know it probably seemed like you just said the same things to me over and over again while I complained and didn't listen and made dumb decisions. Not true. It meant a lot just to know that you had a hard time sleeping for worrying about my worries. I especially enjoyed when you joked about me failing and not selling my contract and dropping out of school. I told you it wasn't funny, but really it was.

Dad: Your sweet texts light up my whole day. I save them and cherish them. I appreciate your level-headedness when everything I'm doing and thinking screams, "irrational!!!!" I love your dry humor. I just love you, so much that I sometimes don't know what to do about it. Let's pretty please go hiking together over the break?

Chris: Thank you for acting on promptings. I don't think you had any idea what I was going through, and you have enough to worry about on your own. When you spontaneously broke into the flower shop to pick me up from work and treat me to ice cream . . . that was good news. You're the sweetest big brother ever, but we can still feign indifference to each other in public if you want.

Dottie: Thank you for showing me tutorials of how to turn old t-shirts into underwear. Thank you for supporting the pantslessness movement. Thank you for every single note, pillow nugget, and puppy picture. Thank you for chocolate soy milk. Thank you for the best hugs ever. Thank you for being so perceptive and asking me how I'm doing, even when I'm hormonal and a jerk. Thank you for not calling me a jerk even when I am one. Thank you for protecting me from scary roommates. Thank you for protecting me from scary neighbors. Thank you for digging through my unmentionables drawer for my thumb drive. Thank you for your bluntness (but really). Thank you for gummy bear breakfasts. Thank you for your unconditional service and love. Thank you for your example. I miss you already.

Sarah: I don't even know what to say. I would have drowned in the sea of simultaneous college ginormousness and nothingness without you. You do anything you set your mind to, and you set your sights high. I aspire to be like you, and not just because we have to beat the men away from you with pillows and nasty texts so you don't suffocate. Thank you for your never-ceasing wisdom and advice. Thank you for making fliers for me; that took a huge load off. Thank you for being my running buddy always and forever, even when we're married with babies everywhere. I miss you already.

Other Roomates: Thank you for doing things like such as cleaning the oven for me, providing hours of entertainment, getting really enjoyable reactions out of Dottie, driving me places, and the like. If it weren't 1:30 in the morning I would continue. I miss you already.

Changed my mind. There are way more, but I am way done. I must, however, emphasize the good that a run to the temple did for me to finish the day off. The eternal perspective is the best one. And sometimes, sometimes, hymns are even better for running than Ke$ha and Karmin.

Conclusionally, I choose to observe the fact that, in the words of my wise father, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life! And since I did terribly poorly on my final today, the pressure's off for the rest of my finals since it is impossible not to improve upon my tainted record thus far.

. . . and there's the silver lining!

who's playing basketball at 2:00 am in below freezing whether by themself during finals week?
oh campus plaza, you shall be sorely missed.