daily theories.

Let me be real with you, I love spring term. I wish I could cram all of my college experience into half the time so that I can get a job in my field of study and move on with my adult life. Which brings me to Theory 1 of the Day: I Was Born Thirty Years Old. I was reading picture books (with words) to my younger brother at three or four years of age. A time-out meant that I would sit in a corner of my room and entertain myself by planning my day. I would like to get into the field of Communication Disorders as soon as possible, but I'm sitting in class right now. "Are you paying attention?" Dr. H asks the class. "No..." I say to myself. Which brings me to Theory 2 of the Day: Some People Are Riding a Higher Current of Learning and I Am Still in a Tide Pool. Seriously. Have you ever met someone whose brain just doesn't work like yours? Dr. H is more of a genius than I could ever dream of becoming. The only hope for the rest of us mere mortals is to read the book and hope we pass the test. Which brings me to Theory 3 of the Day: For Some Reason I Keep Getting Better Grades Than I Think I Will. Accounting 200 (aka The Dumbest Decision of My Life) involved three tests. I failed two of them. And when I say "fail," I mean lower than a 60. Have you met me? I do not just fail things. But this... I knew I was going to fail. So why try? (Yes, it was one of those apathetic semesters.) And I got a B in the class. Either our school system is totally whack, or my theory has evidence behind it. (Let's hope that this continues to prove itself over the next two weeks as I finish up midterms and take finals. Especially because I have no idea what's going on in class since I've been typing this the whole time.) So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I am a 30-year-old nerd in a 15-year-old's body (seriously, I've been asked which middle school I attend) whose real age is technically almost 20. And I'm spending my summer in a kiddie pool of knowledge. Peace out, Napoleon.

on pregnancy.

No, I am not pregnant. (Don't worry, Mom.) But I recently watched "What To Expect When You're Expecting." And except for a little bit of adultery and crude humor, it was pretty hilarious. I laughed, I cried, the usual. And halfway through the movie, I was thinking to myself, "Wow, it will be so fun to someday be married and have kids." WHAT? Have you met me? Obviously, there is some very good acting in that movie because I came back to reality this morning and realized that pregnancy will be total purgatory. I am absolutely terrified. Now, children I can handle. I'm a nanny every once in a while when I feel like I am capable of taking care of myself so much that I can take care of other little people, too. But carrying a small person INSIDE of you? Now that's a different story. I woke up this morning and laid in my bed on my stomach thinking about how much it hurt to breathe with my abdomen sandwiched between my other internal organs and a mattress. Then I thought about what it would be like to never lay on my stomach and still have the pressure of not only my internal organs, but the little baby organs of a little baby, and a little baby, all squishing down on my respiratory and digestive systems. Did I mention I also have asthma? "Oh my gosh," I thought. "I'm never going to be able to get a full breath again. I'm going to faint like five times a day from lack of oxygen to the brain. I'm going to go into premature labor on a plane. While I'm unconscious." (Don't ask... I have this terrible ability to imagine the worst outcome possible of any situation.) Not only is not breathing terrible, but do you know the many ways that a pregnancy can go wrong? Seriously. Something as simple as the blastocyst implanting in wrong place can mean that your baby is not growing in your womb, but your stomach. So eat and breathe up, ladies. This may be your last day to do so. (Unless you're not married like me, Mom. Trust me, I have plenty of days/years until I have children. Chill. Don't call Dad. I'm still your little girl... Who squished your organs for eight months. Sorry about that.)

summer has not begun.

Technically, the season we call summer has not begun. And neither have the joyous times that usually accompany the warm weather. Number of times I have actually worn a swimsuit outside: 1. Number of weeks I have spent peeling dead skin off my legs: 2. (You wanted all the gory details... right?) Unfortunately, my summer has not begun, because I am still in the lovely state of Utah. Today I wore a jacket to church and was still cold. Of course, this may be because I am always cold, but I like to think that it's Utah's fault. This week, I am grateful for LJ. On Friday, we had plans to go to a cadaver memorial service for the bodies that we work on in Anatomy. But... Upon arriving at the cemetery, we decided we would much rather go to City Creek, where we drowned our sorrows about school, boys, etc. (but mostly boys and school) in retail therapy. Did I change in a bathroom stall into the jeans I had just bought because my funeral-appropriate dress was ticking me off? Yes. Did I buy a hair wrap that I will probably never wear? Yes. Did we eat an unhealthy amount of Peachie-O's? You betcha. But every once in a while, when the sun isn't shining (both literally and figuratively), you just do what you want.