Confessions

I steal blog entry ideas from other people.

I take it as a compliment if they steal ideas from me.

When I was working early morning custodial at BYU, I sang in the bathrooms because I secretly hoped that someone would hear me and tell me I was fantastic. Someone did hear me, and they told me I was fantastic.

When I was 7, President Gordon B Hinckley (then a counselor to Spencer W Kimball) told me I was a really good "sweeper" (I was sweeping the sidewalk outside our chapel in Michigan) I think that might be why I continued to work custodial for all 5 years I was at BYU, even when I was also employed as an MTC teacher. I like sweeping floors because I am good at it.

I still miss President Hinckley. Sometimes I go buy myself a bag of grape hard candies and eat them while reading some of his talks. (He always had candies in his pockets, and would leave one there when you shook his hand. If it fell to the floor, he would tell you you dropped something. I remember specifically grape candies.)

The person who told me I was fantastic plus the BYU bishop who encouraged me to follow a dream plus the member of the Stake High Council who got me through the music theory classes have affected my life more than they will ever understand. I am only in contact with one of those three people. The other two probably don't even know what they did.

I have every intention of going on another mission. (I checked, and I can go again when I turn 40)

I know exactly how much I need to save up in order to go, and when I have to start in order to do it.

When I turn 40 and leave on my mission, my oldest nephew will be returning from his mission, and my next nephew will be a year away from leaving. I did the math hoping I would go at the same time as one of them.

I plan to bring grape candies with me when I go.

The only thing that motivates me to lose weight is frivolously expensive but very cute clothing.

L. Tom Perry told me I was beautiful once. I listen extra well during his talks as a result. While I generally don't believe such things, I have to believe him, because I sustain him as an apostle and I don't think an apostle would lie.

I saw myself in a mirror today and suddenly realized that I have started to look old and tired.

I haven't been on a real date in 8 years and 3 months. (Yes, I know it down to the day.)

I don't count blind dates as real, but I have been on at least one per year since then.

The reason I don't count blind dates as real is because the guy doesn't actually see me and find something attractive about me before we end up spending the evening together.

My grandmother told the family that I spent the last two years of my life sitting in my parents basement watching "inappropriate movies" (say it in a hushed voice, as if to indicate pornography) I was actually working 4 jobs, 72 hours a week. And teaching seminary.

It's a joke now, but when I first found out, I pretended to laugh and then had to go walk through Target for 2 hours while I cried and calmed down.

I really am happier here in Utah. As much as the depression still ebbs and flows, and the job is a nightmare, I am better able to understand my emotions and see and trust myself and have confidence in my choices.

I don't know why location makes such a difference, except that somehow this is where I am supposed to be. And I was always supposed to be here. Minnesota is only where I am from, not where I belong.

I look forward to being the crazy aunt that is here in Utah and available for support and meals if ever any of my nieces or nephews what to come to school here. I hope some of them do.

I promise to never try to set them up on blind dates.

I actually hate hugging people, but have come to terms with it as a social nicety that must be endured in order to establish friendship.

I regret that I never hugged some of my mission companions, since I understand now that they might have needed it. That may be the only regret I have about my mission.

I wish that I was better at hugging and wanting to hug people. I am making honest efforts.

There are some people that I have learned to love to hug. I count that as success.

As much as I protest the cliches, I love baking and sewing and singing hymns. And cats.

I am probably severely allergic to cats, but I am in denial and would like to stay that way.

As a kid, my favorite daydream involved me becoming famous. It didn't matter how, just as long as I was important.

Now my favorite daydream involves a book, a lawnchair, and fresh strawberries.

I don't think I've lowered my standards. I think I've raised them.

But I still wonder what happened to the little girl who wanted to be important, and I hope I haven't disappointed her.