made a new friend.

We used to be at odds. I'm pretty stoked. She let me pet her neck without nipping.




(illustration by Lindsay Petrick)
Tonight a dear friend confessed to me her ongoing unrequited love.

"It's so beautiful, even though it's unreciprocated," was my reply.
"But I want it so much to be reciprocated."
"Of course you do; that's what makes it so beautiful."

Sometimes I get so sick of myself. I feel like a ball of unrequited emotions and yearnings. I hope for feelings of indifference more than for the actual fulfillment of my unrequitement. It's a cynical approach to passion.

Tonight stood out as a reminder to the power and purity of vulnerability, longing; even desperation. I think a lack of indifference is something that should actually be celebrated, praised, treasured, and revered.



Most of you now that my parents are red-blooded conservatives. They are members of the NRA, receive periodic Phylis Schlafly reports, and watch Glenn Beck more than any other tivo-ed program. Republican conventions stand out as a holiday in the logged memory of my childhood.

Although I wouldn't describe myself as liberal, I do claim the title of "moderate". I don't want to launch into the whole of my political theory, but let's just say that these differences between me and my parents have sometimes placed a strain on our relationship. I allowed them to; I used to let it stew and smolder; but then reached a point where politics seemed like the funniest, most ridiculous wedge to drive between myself and any loved one.

For the last year and a half, I've been receiving fowarded political emails from my dad. I read them sometimes. They have subjects like:
FW: Chuck Norris: Dirty Secret No. 2 in Obamacare
FW: Rabbi: Obama Breeds Hate Against Jews
FW: How much is a trillion dollars? TAKE ACTION!
FW: Will Obama's Socialism Enslave Blacks?
FW: Buchanan: In Earmarks Lies Salvation?
Fwd: FW: NBC was suprised?
I think he sends them to everyone on his email list, but I also think especially in my case, he likes to subtly interject these things he sees as important, meaningful, and good. He wants to keep me on the right path, not excluding politics, and feels eager to step up to that duty.

Truthfully, I've found them a little annoying in the past. I'd be sitting in class, my blackberry would buzz, and it'd be another fowarded political message from my dad. But this last little while during his heart recovery, I've missed them dearly.

My heart leaped in my chest just a bit when I received this today:
FW: Buchanan: Dumbo University
I imagined my dad sitting behind his desk at work; breathing, emailing, setting me straight.
I cannot explain my gratitude.



The stars were so bright overhead when I pulled into the driveway at 2:28a.m. that I couldn't help but blog about it at 2:30a.m. So lovely.


thought of something good to blog.

A lot of people have asked me (in real life) why I've pursued a hiatus. I think if I'm as unreserved now as I tend to regularly be, I'll leave a bunch of negativity out there in cyberspace that should be kept in more private records. That said, I thought of something today that I felt excited to share (taken from a page in my sketchbook):

The signal that marked my "growing up" was a shift indoors. From the time I could run I became a dirty ragamuffin. I ate milkweed and clover, hopped ditches, tore my pants on fences, chased cows, stroked horses' noses, formed mud pies, removed leeches from my ankles, climbed trees, created mazes from stacks of hay bails, tromped through corn fields, caught snakes, and ran so hard during games of hide & seek that I could taste the burn of adrenaline in my throat. It was the discovery of talking; connecting with people indoors that sucked me away from that seemingly surrealistic world.

I've felt guilty for years. When I walk through that setting of so many childhood games and experiences; in the place that really reared me, it feels like visiting a neglected family member. Visiting with those who are strangers to it feels like an introduction more than a stroll; like I'm bearing something personal. I judge those strangers by how they react to it; similar to the way I would upon introducing someone to my mother.



I think maybe I should be writing more in my journal than right here for now. I'm gonna try it out. But I think I'll be back soon. I have little self-discipline these days.


man hater.

Okay. I have an idea: How about all the girls at BYU between 90-120lbs. who are virgins, not on academic probation, and have temple recommends, line up in one-piece bathing suits (because they are spiritual) in front of all single Mormon suitors? They can bear their testimonies, conduct conversations using all and any intellectual jargon they know, speak using any foreign language skills they might posses, and have a list of all of their talents, hobbies and any bands they like pinned to their backs.

Yes, today I am bitter and I don't think I can ignore it.

I feel like men (and probably not just Mormon ones) sum their dating prospects up using lists of virtues and drawbacks. It's not that I don't think girls do this or that I can't admit to never having done this myself, but it's awful when you come to realize that ALL you were to someone was that list and that it didn't quite add up.

At BYU it may be worse because there are so many girls to choose from. The grass could potentially always be greener or hotter or more spiritual or smarter.

I was sitting in class last night next to someone who's wife recently gave birth to a baby boy. He's struggled a bit to keep up and looks tired often, but I envied him. I felt reduced to the little kid's table indefinitely; like I'm forced to go back to when I was 16 years old and relive all the ways I've failed in romantic relationships until I get it right at last. I am dealing with drama and break-ups. He is building a little family. I can't help but feel a sting of failure when I see it this way.

If you're someone I've dated and you're reading this; don't take it too personally. This is a frustration that's mounted seemingly by the collection of my dating experience as a whole. There's a chance you may have added to this feeling, but you're not to blame entirely.


no trying allowed.

I've been learning how to dive in my swim class. There are only 2 other girls brave enough to pursue it. (I think everyone else is scared of how deep the water is the diving pool.)

We first learned off the edge of the pool in a crouched position, then standing, and now off the diving board. The rules are the same in each scenario: Aim straight to the bottom of the pool. Leave your feet on the edge as long as possible and point them as they follow the rest of your body on the way down.

When I internalized these rules, I dove the first real dive of my life. I felt myself enter the water correctly and plummeted gracefully down so far that I almost touched the bottom. My small diving group cheered when I arose eager for air at the surface.

It sparked in my mind some Star Wars wisdom:
"Do, or do not. There is no 'try.'" by Jedi Master Yoda
It's funny to quote, but totally true. In diving, you do it or don't. Anything else results in a belly-flop. That last little hesitation invoked by fear or self-consciousness causes you to fail out-right.

In general, my heart and brain have been weighed down by a lot of fears recently. I've been scared that all of my classwork this semester will yield little that I'm proud of. I've been scared of rejection in relationships. I've been scared of financial catastrophe. I've been scared that I'm not the woman I should be.

I've decided to cast these fears off. I am going to put a sincere effort into every aspect of my life that feels worth it; no excuses. I recognize that I might fail; that my best effort in some situations may only result in a confident, feet-first jump off the edge resulting in little grace or beauty. I feel certain to get a lot of water up my nose in the process; but I am absolutely refusing to belly flop.


little ray of light.

I watched the golden light of the sunset change through the leaves outside my classroom window last night. I felt a strong ache behind my left eye and made a concerted effort to hold back tears as I pretended to listen to the lecture. I'd judged my emotional opacity as impeccable until Kenji turned and asked me what was wrong. I relented and told him I couldn't say because then I'd start to cry and I just couldn't allow it.
But as I watched the light, I experienced a small epiphany. I realized that I would one day yearn to be back in that classroom with all of those people the way I sometimes yearn to see that same golden light bleed into the green carpet of my old elementary school. I realized that I may nostalgically look back upon the heartache of boy drama and the chaos of the graphic design program the way I nostalgically reflect on the way kids used to make fun of me on the playground.
All of these difficult things feel like they connect me to the human experience at large. They seem necessary and humbling.


so grateful to have youtube access at byu.

During the two overnighters I pulled at school to work on my pokémon redesign project, this sustained me.It will never cease to be hilarious.


chicken fight.

I awoke this morning at 2:34am to a literal chicken fight. There is a lilac bush outside my window that my cousin's range chickens love to perch in. Maybe there wasn't enough room for all of them to fit comfortably in the wee dark hours.

Although it jolted me to alertness, it didn't strike me as odd at all until I started to think about it on my morning commute. It blended too well with how chaotic and unusual the rest of my life has become. I wish I could tell more about it, that I could offer some sort of explanation, but it's just too complex, too involved, and too personal; even for me.