Hey big world.

Today I copy and pasted all my p-day emails into a word document. I’m workin on a project for my Print Publishing class. Could this mean my homework is to create something out of the words of my soul? Oh yeah. Am I in the right major? Absolutley.

Do you ever look back at your old writing and think, “Man, I was pretty cool.”
I do. I think, “I sound like I know who I am and what I want.”
But that’s not really what impresses me.
Because I remember those times and I didn’t actually have it together then either.
What I love, what I want back, is that constant pondering.
The searching and discovering that writing brings.
I know I can have that outside of my mission, because I had that before my mission.
I had pens and paper and stacks of true stories from my heart.

Ken asked me last night:
“Do you think you’re having opportunities to release your stress in positive ways?”

No.

I know what I need to do. I am very aware.
Write. Ride my bike. Be outside. Etc.

I know. And I want to. But a girl’s gotta plan her wedding. Even if she don’t wanna.
A girl’s gotta turn in her homework in and plan her sunday school lesson and excel at work and answer her emails and do her visiting teaching. Oh, and a girl should probably build her relationship with her future husband. So where in the mess of all this can I take time for me, without taking time away from one of these other very important categories? There’s not alotta frill in my life to cut out. Not a lot of unnecessaries to purge. How can I have time for it all? And why don’t I have the answer to that question? I plan my life down to the hour. I mean it. It’s written out. I know exactly what I need to accomplish from the hour I wake up til I go to bed. Even that isn’t working. But I am a return missionary people! Isn’t that supposed to mean that I can save the world? At least manage my time? Why do I feel like the same late-for-class mess I was before I left?

A mission does not make you superwoman.
Nope.
Admit it. Face it.
Don’t feel bad about it, ok?

I tell myself this as I’m cryin on the front porch, trying to get it together.
I tell myself:
You can’t cry about regular life! People out there have so much less than you!
Somehow statements like that just don’t help.

Am I whining?

I guess that’s okay.
Maybe the whine has gotta come out in the process of pondering and discovering.

Let’s switch gears.
Time to admit some things.
I do not like Michael Buble.
I do not like Josh Groban.
I recognize they have talent but man they drive me nuts.

More confessions:
I keep buying my jeans too big. Saggy sagggg on accident.
I admire this girl. She inspires me.
There is a big part of me that wants to bust into homemaker ballet. I’m not even ashamed. I think I could be good at the conventional categories of wifery. I think I could cook some knock-you-out dinners and sew some sunny curtains for the kitchen. It must be all this pinterest. I want to DIY my world. I want to live at Michael’s. I want to paint cook and create and glue and arrange. I want to express all this STUFF in me.

Remember? Release stress in positive ways. Ponder. Discover.
These things could be synonymous with glue and paper and frying pans. I believe.

That’s all for today.
I’ll keep trying.

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