"Rachael, are you ready?" The bat shakily drawled, as was her wont.

Poor gal. There appears to have occurred a particularly violent earthquake this morning while she was applying her eye liner. Or maybe she wasn't going for the 'eye liner' look, perhaps the 'big black spots blotted around eye' approach appealed to her far more.

It's always funny to see the bat decked out. She curls her hair into large duskish clouds that swirl up in such a way that upon first sight one in forced to think that a pitchy storm decided to perch itself upon her head. She then accentuates the inclement weather that whisks about above with red lipstick applied in large, jagged strokes that turns her wrinkled mouth into a pointy rouged star that was slapped on her face sometime earlier. It's a very dramatic affair; whenever I see her with makeup full on I do a little double take that's always a bit difficult to recover from.

“We need to go.” She whistled two minutes later. I looked down at my watch. The clocker read 2, the plane left at 4:35.

“Mormor, we at least have another half hour, don't you think?” I inquired.

“I might get lost.”

To the airport? You jump on the freeway and follow the signs. How could you get lost?

I looked down at the stumpy woman who at that moment in time was busily running into her bedroom door in an attempt to infiltrate the lair.

“Yeah, you're right. We'd better go soon.”

Okay. This week is finished. Finally.

I believe I did OK on my fingerprint, and I also believe that I was thrashed and thrashed hard by the physics exam. As I left the room I couldn’t help but laugh, I had done so badly.

Mediocrity is depressing. An insanely extreme degree of failure, however, is just comical.

No, I didn’t do that wretchedly, although I probably scored 60ish. I probably did average, but it sucked all the same simply because I studied so hard. In the last 2 days I’ve gotten 9 hours of sleep, which is absurdly low for a slumber devotee such as my self. But, alas, I now fly to Cincinnati, and for four days I will be released from the seemingly unremitting clutches of school work. Huzzah. Huzzah indeed.

I am happy to be expanding in the different ways that I am, I rejoice in growth; it truly is a pursuit of mine. But it’s hard. It’s so hard and these last couple of days opened my eyes to a glimpse of pushing oneself and the necessity of doing so.

So Argh. I shall do it and find a way to enjoy it to the fullest. In the meantime I shall eat kix and contemplate packing before attacking my couch in a cataleptic onslaught to which I will shortly succumb.

I bid you adieu.

I busy. I’m busy studying, I’m busy painting, I’m busy commuting between the two.

I’m afraid I can’t write, but Friday morning at 9:35 I’ll be done with this week, done with my fingerprint, done with my first Physics final. I might have time for a quick word, and If I do I'll post. Farewell until then, my darlings.

I spent the last 2 hours curled up into a ball leaning my head on mum. It’s so extremely interesting; when one is ill, there is no better medication then a caring mom. When she came home I hurriedly scampered to her and began to whine. She made me soup, and then put in my ear drops in my evil, tortuous ear while I laid in her warm, big bed. Just mum’s presence is enough to comfort me when I am needy, which happens to be a large portion of the time I’m conscious.

Oh, mum’s a doll.

I’ve run out of paint again, so I’m going to just do one print tonight, and simply gnaw on professor Adams arm when he casts his bug eyes on me through his translucent Gucci glasses and tells me I need to work harder. I need to really buckle down, I realize; the final’s due on Thursday. But Alas! I am tired and annoyed by a rebellious ear. So if you tell me to work harder I’ll bite your arm off.

I’m going to go play Simpsons road rage (best game ever) with Ricky and then go get the fingerprint of pain.

At 1:30 this morning I was woken by a sharp pain in my right ear, which prevented me from sleeping for the rest of the night.

The pain worsened during class today, which made physics even less bearable.

The doctor tells me I have Otitis Media.

Stupid ear.

The beautiful voice of a mezzo soprano washes over me, singing softly and sweetly Mozart’s Ave Maria as it filters through the speakers in front of me. This piece especially is so incredibly beautiful and soft, the singer is absolutely amazing. What miraculous notes enfold me at this moment! She sings with an edgy emotion that creates an eroded tension soothed by the fluid notes she sings.

I had a wonderful day today, it was wonderful to be with my family after mum and I forgot the disturbance of this morning. We had the missionaries over for dinner and had a wonderful evening.

I’m going to Cincinnati on Thursday (maybe Friday afternoon, depending solely upon whether my physics professor will let me take his exam a day early) to see my father’s parents, Mimi and Dada. I’m very excited.

Sleep well, dears. May you fly to the clouds and sweep gently into your reveries tonight.

Professor Rudolph-

I am a student in your Physics 2010 class, and I attend your lectures on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:30 AM. I simply wished to write you regarding your examination policy. This last weekend presented a family emergency to me, and I must fly to Cincinnati as soon as the week is over. It would be greatly appreciated if I could take the exam on Thursday, September 23, as opposed to Friday morning on the 24. I realize we are given a 'freebie' exam, but I was wondering if there was any way I could be granted an opportunity to take the exam a day early so as to improve my chances of getting a better grade in the class. If this is not possible, I understand completely the importance of policy but simply thought I would run it past you in order to be aware of my options in full.

Sincerely,
ivory

(Naturally I put real name, #, email, etc.)

What do you think? Will it work? Cross your fingers for me!

Mum and I are in a bit of a tiff (again). Last year I clearly expressed that I was not helping on the paper route; it’s ridiculous and I refuse to support it. They have to drive down to the paper depot, pick up the papers, stuff them, put them in the car, drive back up to our neighborhood and deliver. Let’s look at this logically, shall we? The depot is a good 3, 4 miles away, and while driving a car that gets 17 miles to the gallon they spend a quarter a day in gas, not including the rapid depreciation of the car due to the miles they’re piling on it. The family receives 6 dollars a day. 6 dollars! It takes 3 people an hour to do the route, and after gas they each make less than 2 dollars an hour.

My sleep is worth much, much more than 2 dollars an hour.

“It’s not about the money.” Jeff declared today at breakfast. It’s not? Oh, so it must be about the exalting elation one experiences while getting up at 5 AM to be underpaid. I understand that. If that’s your cup of tea, that’s just fine, just don’t get me involved.

Today mum came to me at some ungodly hour of the morn and shook me into consciousness. “We need help with the paper.” She said.

I rolled over and mumbled incoherently but defiantly into my pillow.

“Fine. But if you’re too tired to help us with the paper route, then I’m too tired to ever help you with your physics again.” With this she left the room.

What smashing logic! I can easily see how a paper route that is not taken out of financial necessity can be fairly compared to the pursuit of a higher education! It makes so much sense!

When I did wake up to the noise of the kitchen, I heard mum’s sharp tone from my bedroom.

“Is that for Rachael? Give me the phone, I know exactly what to say to them.”

“No, don’t invite her to breakfast, she doesn’t want to come.” Just to prove her wrong I slid out of bed and wobbled over to the table to scornfully fall into my chair.

“Jeff would you like a glass of milk? How about you, Mormor? Ricky?”

How can someone so old act so immature? Am I wrong in insisting to be left out of the paper route? I assisted last week and decided that it was rubbish that I didn’t want to dabble in; I see no reason in doing something so pointless.

So mum and I are in a tiff, and I’ve decided to go to Yale II today instead of Yale I with the fam. Ever since we moved I’ve attended both each week; I want to continue to support the Yale II young women but now also need to support Yale I because I’m in the boundaries. This seems like a small feat, but it’s not; Mormon Church is 3 hours long, for those of you who don’t know, and 6 hours in one day can be a bit much some weeks. So today I stayed home (though I’m going to attend a full 3 hours at 1:00), and I feel like such a sinner! It’s funny, but I feel so rebellious while I’m home alone, I don’t know why. It’s nice to have the home to myself, though.

Frustration is not conducive to decent or lucid writing, I’m afraid, so I apologize for such wretched material. Back in February I put much more time and thought into my blog then I do now, and what I produced was of some merit, I feel. I want to resume writing with some type of rationality, and I truly am endeavoring to do so. It is a laborious task, though, so it will take me awhile to climb back into my better habits. But hopefully I’ll start delivering something better, something deeper, and occasionally comical.

I can’t even end this entry fluidly. Ah, this is terrible! I shouldn’t post this but I need to publish the good and the bad; an accurate portrayal of my thoughts is much more important then flowery articulation, I suppose. So farewell, dearest reader, and do try to bear with me during this scarcity of brilliance. It will return to me shortly, I pray.

Last night I didn’t quite feel like going to bed, so I surfed a bit, read, and tried like mad to download Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow because it looks cute.

Around two o’ clock in the morning the bat entered the dining room in a dress and a wide rimmed hat.

“Where is everyone, did they already leave for church?” She croaked.

“Mormor, it’s two in the morning. Why are you awake?” I inquired.

“Oh, it is? Oh my…” With this she wobbled back into the hallway and out of my sight.

Oh my indeed.

It’s strange to think of companionship; I think the only thing that I’ve ever desired so fervently and yet simultaneously dreaded and feared to the point of aversion is God. There are times when I look and mum and Jeff, when I look at her past marriages and the other failed marriages that seem to obscure my mind, and I simply hate the idea. I loathe and hate and abhor the thought of tethering myself to an imperfect being. Not to say that I am perfect, quite the opposite; surely my flaws and insecurities block such a focal union. There are other times, however, when such a bond feels immensely correct, blissful and complete. I want to raise a family. I want to be a mother and a wife and even a grandmother, although that involves getting old and wrinkly. This topic is particularly divided for me.

Today mum and Jeff and I went to the Slavic festival. There, in the voluntary custody of the white tents and endless tables propping up a canopy of color and intrigue, mum and I stumbled upon a baby carriage. Not a stupid American stroller, but the trademark European carriage that makes the pains of labor a little less agonizing. How delicate it was! But beyond that, how flawless and beautiful and perfect is the being meant to inhabit it! I can barely fathom the joy of holding my own child, my little one. To share the exquisite challenge of parenthood with the man I love sounds superb.

But the aspect that makes this so beautiful is also what threatens me: the challenge. I doubt myself as to if I have the integrity or the ability to develop the maturity to make a marriage work. I can’t get along with people. Yes, mindless PR is simple for me, but actually interacting and communicating and loving someone boundlessly must be so hard.

So hard. I honestly don’t know it I could do it.

But at the same time I know that I can have any logical thing I want, as long as I am careful and work hard to deserve what I want. Thank heavens I don’t have to seriously think about this for another half-decade or so. Thank heavens I feel no pressure as of late (being 17 and all).

I don’t know. It scares me, yet enlivens me. This will definitely be a hardship for me, I know this much. It was for the bat, for mum, for every bleeding woman that seems to surround me. I see divorces left and right; failed marriages seem to be a theme in my family.

Like I stated above, how absolutely ripping that I don’t have to worry about this for a while.

I’ve accomplished quite a bit today, which pleases me. Today mum and I laid tile on the floor in the downstairs kitchen, and our self-cut mosaic looks absolutely smashing. I worked for 4 hours until mum, Jeff and I went to the slavic festival. The festival was amusing; I bought a beautiful doggey puppet that looks like an afghan hound, so naturally I named him Afi.

We then went shopping at market square, and as I was piling the little debbie snacks onto the register (4 boxes for a dollar, you see) I was surprise to see them reach my eye level when the counter only came up to my waist.

Maile’s homecoming is today, so I went over and curled her hair/ helped with the eye shadow/ freaked out with her about how she looked. She’s a very beautiful girl, and looked wonderful tonight. Too bad her date is hideous.

Only one thing is certain for the rest of the nigh: I need a shower and havn’t time to take one.

Bullocks. You can’t have it all, I suppose.

Oh, wait. It's working. Heh, sorry about that, blog. I didn't really want to eat you.

I wasn't hungry.

oh bugger! I came home to quickly change, etc, and go back to the studio and work. But no. I come home with one tiny desire: Change the picture on my profile. I change it- easy. But it won't change on my blog, which is what I was wanting to do. I'm sure I'm missing some button or another but I can't find it and I've flushed yet another hour down the moldy drain that blogger can sometimes be.

Argh. I'm going to eat you, blog! I'm going to eat you and then utter a negative comment about you. I'm going to eat you!!!! DIE!!!

I have an absolutely spectacular update for you all: I’m starting to understand physics. This is such a relief; my first couple of assignments I would sit down in front of my computer, look over a problem, and just start sobbing all over the keyboard. (There is very little exaggeration in this, which is rather sad, I know) But now it takes much more to drag me to tears, such as 3 minutes of investigating the problem, at the very least. My first exam is in one week, and since exams count for about 450% of our grade as in comparison to the pitiful 8% that homework accounts for, comprehension is extremely important. But I’m starting to understand; I’m feeling a wee bit less lost every time I look at physics. My newfound ability almost compensates for the fact that I’m forced to use a mac here in the library (shudder).

Well, the weekend is here at last *heaves a staggering sigh of relief*

Tonight I go home, eat, and watch a movie with mum. I shall have to remind myself in some fashion:

NO THINKING ALLOWED

But right now I’m going to go home, grab some supplies for the studio then come back to work a bit more on the fingerprint of perdition, and then go work out a tad at the field house.

Wow. Macs are even more stupid than I thought. It won’t let me paste into blogger from word (which has nothing to do with my stupidity, I promise) so I’m going to have to email it to myself and send it from home. Gag me!

 

 

*Yawn*

I’m ever so tired. Physics is hard, but I’ll get it down if I labor over the text enough.

Went to special needs today- it was absolutely fabulous.

Ralph Lauren Spring 2005 show is really, really, really cute.

That’s about all the news for today, I’m afraid. Write more tomorrow.

hello? 

What I do instead of physics: figure out our DXG camera 

The Grands are here for a brief visit. Vernon (known better to my siblings and me as Morfar) and his wife Glenda (note: Glenda is the bat’s successor, she married my grandfather probably a decade after the bat and Vernon went their separate but equally odd ways.) They are very education oriented, very concerned with becoming a learned individual. To assist us in this journey, they decided to take us to the Titanic exhibit downtown.

I didn’t really want to go; watching my fellow capitalists and opportunists milk an ancient travesty for every cent it’s worth isn’t something I’m going to condemn, but I’m not going to jump in line to join the whole ‘come get robbed blind by a maudlin, over dramatic display that’s dwarfed by our gift shop, which is then in turn dwarfed by the prices of the items in our colossal gift shop’ thing, however intrigued (or completely apathetic/disinterested) I am.

But whatever. Free food is a guarantee for afterwards, and who knows? I might snag some useless but shiny knickknack from the colossal gift shop, and I know that I love shiny objects…

The exhibit was actually very well-produced, though the fact that the interest in it would be close to nonexistent had it never been for Monsieur DiCaprio bugged me a bit. It was an interesting look into the beginning of the 20th century in this side of the world. There were parts of it that I loved, mainly the recreation of the separate rooms of the different classes and artifacts from the ship. What I loved the most, however, was the guest book. I don’t think I’ve ever been as tickled by pettiness as I was while I read.

“Thank you so much for this life-altering experience and allowing me to relive this sad, sad tale…”

“I never realized how much life was lost, I’m so glad my character lived” (They handed us boarding passes with the name and info of actual passengers on the Titanic, which was really cool. In the end you find out whether or not you lived. My woman rocked.)

“What a beautiful chance to explore this terrible, terrible tragedy. I am so thankful to be able to come through this for the third time!”

I picked up a pen, licked my lips, and began to write.

As I browsed through the gift shop I was amazed at how a boat sinking could bring in such loot. Nostalgia menus, fake jewelry, posters, books upon books upon books, soap dishes with a cruiser and iceberg floating in it, everything. These people must be ingenious.

“Oh my heavens, did you see that silly guestbook?” Mum muttered behind me while inspecting a bar of ‘titanic’ chocolate “on sale” for $4.95.

“Yeah,” I responded. “Did you write anything in it?”

“Ugh. No. You should have seen what people actually wrote in there! ‘My character was young and beautiful and only 25, and she died. How shocked I am to see how many ugly survivors were plucked from the wreckage when my upper-class flower withered and ruined her clothes in the freezing water….’”

I gasped

“I know.” My mother uttered in response. “Can you believe that someone wrote that nonsense?”

“Well of course I can believe it, mum,” I said. “What horrifies me is your failure to recognize and identify my finesse, my unique and novel voice bursting through the mawkish pages of that tribble, my insight and striking world view…”

“I could have guessed. How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea. I hope you realize how offended I am.” I defensively declared.

“Something tells me I never will.” She asserted.

It took the Grands two hours to meander through the exhibition that took me 30 minutes. So I decided to meander through the much more applicable exhibition in the mall windows next door. I found lovely artifacts there, the finest specimens of brown footwear available. Don’t even get me started on the handbags!

Speaking of accessories: Gucci has died. Died. Gucci has kicked the bucket. What a sad demise it is! John Ray replaced Tom Ford and murdered the fashion house. Please, if we could have a moment of silence…