Limbo...and not the kind with the stick

Great News! I can sleep! YAY! it's a friggin' miracle and i don't know how it happened, but for the past week and a half I have been going to bed around 10:30 and sleeping until 8. It's Amazing. I haven't been able to sleep like that since before my first surgery in April. It could have something to do with the fact that I am working in a butcher shop and have to be on my feet for 8 hours a day, but I'm not going to tempt the fates with questions... It is what it is.
 So why may you ask am I awake right now? because my brain is going at warp speed and if I don't get my thoughts out in some medium, then I will have weird dreams and restless sleep...and no one wants that.
Since 2005 my life has been a whirlwind of awesomeness. I started school, that summer I went to work at Camp Coca Cola in Eureka Missouri, 2 weeks after that ended I was back at school, 1 month after school ended I was back at Camp, a month and a half after camp, I went on a mission for a year and a half. 1 month after my mission, it was back to good ole Missouri, 3 weeks after that I went to Utah State Where I worked full time, played rugby, went to school full time, helped with research, mentored peers in the counseling center, helped plan outreach events, and attended a slew of meetings. I graduated, moved away from Logan and went back to camp this last summer... and now? I live with my parents...
for the past 7 years I have been GO GO GO and for the first time in that long I am dormant. I feel like I am in Limbo. I see the light, but for whatever reason I can't go towards it. in my case, the light is graduate school, living in different cities, being around friends. And my limbo you might ask? A tear in a part of the shoulder called the Labrum. This is only part of Limbo, but consequently the biggest part. I chose to move back home, so that I could regroup, figure out my next move, apply for grad schools, so that, come fall of 2013, I'm gone, back to the tornado that is life, and grad school. But because of my little labral friend, plans are being rethought. I found out yesterday that my surgery will be on Halloween! WOO HOO! I am excited to get my noodly appendage back. I can't wait to be able to lift weights, horse play, and all the other good stuff you can do without worry of something popping or hurting.
So it looks like Grad school is on hold until 2014, that is if I can decide what I want to do. I also would like to live in a different city while I'm figuring it all out. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in on a really cool party that all my friends are having a blast at, and I'm just outside freezing my butt off. I love this precious time that I get with my family and the opportunity I have to see my niece get older, but things can only last for so long, and then its time to move on to the next stage. in this case, the next stage is living closer to friends, and other people in my general age range.
But for now I shall find Joy in limbo, and focus on nursing noodle arm back to health. I'll find meaning in the present, and look towards the future with hope.
And for now I shall join the ranks of the well rested, so I shall end this post with simply
Keep it classy

The Muse is Mute

Is it only me, or does it seem like there has to be some Major life events for inspiration to come? A break-up, marriage, the birth of child, death of a family member, traumatic life circumstances. It's no surprise to me that some of the greatest poets, artists, and musicians have lived pretty crappy lives, but have found inspiration through these events to write books, poetry, and symphonies. in my first my 23 years of life I probably wrote a total of 10 poems, if that. In the last 4 months, I have written over 25 poems, and that's just the finished ones. I have a lot that have been started.
My point is this; My life hasn't been a cake walk for the last year and a half, I would compare it more to a cake walk where the cakes are made out of broken glass and I have to walk on them without shoes; But I have been able to process these experiences through writing, and poetry... But now, I've got nothin'. Bupkiss. Goose eggs. My life isn't by any means perfect, but it's a lot better than it has been in awhile. The problem is, I have nothing to write about, no inspiration comes to mind. I can throw a rhyme together as good as the next incredibly word minded person, but it used to be that I could just start typing and words would cascaded onto the screen, but now I just stare at an empty word document.
I just got a job working a few hours at a butcher shop, but that doesn't exactly inspire the next great American poem. Not many things rhyme with Goat hamburger, or Elk jerky. I guess the next step to finding inspiration would be, falling in love, because I'm sure not going to wish for any tragic happenings, I know better than to tempt the fates. They've screwed with me enough for awhile. Maybe I need to see a baby animal be born, or witness a marriage, or get my heart broken and cut off my ear....wait... that would be art...not my forte
Well, I guess I will continue to ponder on how to get my groove back, maybe I will ask Stella how she did it...Until then,
Stay classy, my well rested friends

                                                               

Inspiration’s Vacation

Where’s the inspiration gone, and why isn’t coming back?

Why did it take the first train out on the one-way track?

I wish I were an engineer to turn the train around

I wish my muse would return

And fill my soul with something profound

To think about,

 To write about,

 To speak a meaningful word

But all that comes out when I open my mouth,

 is what has already been heard

The originality is missing,

The creativity is gone

The sun set on new ideas

Nothing rising with the dawn

the bouncer

My parents house is overrun by two things: animals, and small children. We have 2 cats, 3 dogs, 6 grandchildren, and an adopted grandchild my mom has tended every weekday since she was 6 weeks old. For these reasons we have gates put up throughout the house. these gates serve a number of purposes. 1)They keep the babies away from the stairs. Nobody wants a kid with a cracked skull, and as funny as it is to watch the stick figure baby fall down the stairs on youtube, it isn't real life..this is.
2) keeps the animals out of certain parts of the house. This second one isn't all that useful. the cats can jump over the gates and my mom's 3 lb. miniature Maltese can squeeze through the side of the gate.
3) make my life miserable! this purpose is served very well. if the door is open just a little bit, then my dog can push it open the rest of the way with his head; but if it is shut, he just stands there and barks until I open the gate for him. For this reason I feel like a bouncer at a night club. I have the power to grant or deny access. I could leave him on the other side of the gate, and go about my tasks in peace. Just kidding, he would just bark until I let him through, or stare me down with those sad, "my former owner abandoned me" eyes, and I just can't handle those eyes. So I breakdown every time and leave my comfy armchair to grant him entrance to my bedroom. It's times like these that I wish my dog had apposable thumbs, or a stronger head so that he could push his way through the gate.

Stay classy my well rested friends

Opposable thumbs

This is what separates us from other animals

Sure we can talk, drive cars, and go to McDonalds to get big bums

But nothing compares to opposable thumbs

It puts us in a class all of our own

With one movement we can flag down a car

Or show disapproval.

When combined with a sticking out of the tongue

We communicate disgust to others

Think of how impressive it would be if dogs could give thumbs up to their mothers

Imagine, dogs, gerbils or cats trying to do menial tasks

Holding a fork?

No way!

 Stirring some soup?

Forget about it!

But it would be funny to watch them try.

 We never know how important thumbs are,

 but what if one day, your thumb just up and died?

Gallons of Milk

Superman is...Super. He can catch bullets, run faster than speeding trains, fly higher than a bird, bend steel with his hand, and to top it all off, he has x-ray vision. But even Superman has a weakness. Kryptonite; That green stone from the planet Krypton, that when put within the same city block as Superman, brings him to his knees. A rock! a green, glowing rock, brings the Man of Steel to his knees, and renders him utterly incapable, and absolutely useless! All of his strength and skills means bupkiss when pitted against this glowy stone of death.
    Gallons of milk are my Kryptonite. One gallon to be more specific, but multiple gallons would also be bad. Making a bowl of cereal is quite the task; I grab a bowl out of the cupboard with ease, and open a bag of Marshmallow Mateys with such finesse that any gymnastics judge would be brought to tears. But as I waddle closer to the refrigerator I feel myself becoming weaker; beads of sweat start to form on my forehead, my arm begins to tingle, starting in my fingertips and moving all the way up to my shoulder. As I grab the handle I'm already breathing in and out like I'm about to clean and jerk 500 pounds. I know that Superman never just reached out and grabbed some Kryptonite, but lets face it...I'm awesome. I stare my enemy down, I reach out my hand and grab my arch enemy by the clear neck, I slide the jug across the clear surface so as to save my strength for the "big lift". I reach the edge of the shelf, "the Big Drop", "The point of no return". I can't turn back now, I've tackled, or at least made a valiant effort to tackle 300 lb Polynesians...I will not be defeated by a gallon of milk. I feel the muscle in my upper arm start to pull as gravity takes it's toll and the gallon gets the better of my baby arm strength; I regain power, and lift the jug just long enough to fill my bowl with milky nectar.. No time to think, the pain has already happened; time to go back to the shelf; I do some quick Lamaze breathing and return the milk jug to it's rightful spot. My arm feels like a limp noodle, sweat is dripping from my forehead into my bowl of Mateys, but "By George"!! i have done it.. I have conquered my kryptonite...suck on that superman

Stay classy my well rested friends.
 

Righty

Milk jugs, soup cans, 12 packs of soda,

And big boxes of soap

These are just a few things that have

Blasted a big hole where there used to be hope

I used to be hardcore; you’d never see righty mope

Lifting weights,

Tackling rookies  

Getting slammed to the ground

Get hit,

Get back up again,

Righty could take a pound.

One hit was all it took,

And righty was out of commission

All the beatings before,

And this one little hit didn’t even ask righty’s permission

Now righty hangs like a noodle,

Doing menial tasks

Typing on a keyboard,

And maybe lifting a box of Apple Jacks

But righty will wait for his chance to get back to the gym

To lift 25 pound weights,

Even though right now the future looks grim

Righty is a fighter and won’t ever give up

Even if he gets cut off,

At least his place could be taken by a badass titanium nub

The best time of year

For as long as I can remember, fall has always been a favorite season of mine. the leaves are changing, the weather is just cold enough that you can wear hoodies, and sweaters, but still warm enough that you can wear basketball shorts and flipflops..LOVE!!
It is also the beginning of school. I have always been one of those nerds who loved school, and couldn't wait for those last couple weeks of summer to end, so that school would start. So many good memories attached to this time of year: Hot chocolate, family pictures, raking leaves into a giant pile before jumping into them, Sunday drives through the canyon (there is also a lot of nausea attached to that particular memory.)
  There is another reason That I have come to love this time of year. RUGBY!! pretty much the greatest sport ever invented. This may sound crazy, but I have a very special place in my heart that is cordoned off with velvet rope, and a metal sign that "reserved for rugby". The reason for this goes deeper than a borderline obsession.
  Picture this: the time: August 2009. The Place: Logan, Utah (Utah State University) The person: Me of course. I had just returned to Utah in April 2009 from an 18 month mission for my church In Maryland. I spent an awesome summer working at Camp Wyman in Eureka Missouri, and two weeks after that I had my new Hyundai Elantra loaded to the brim with my belongings. I was going to Utah State to Start My junior year in Psychology. I had been tossed from one adventure to another for the last 4 months and I was glad to start school and get some stability in my life. My apartment was almost literally the size of a shoe box. I unloaded my car, and 5 minutes later was putting half of it back in my car, because of my shoebox of an apartment I shared with one other person I had never met before. I was terrified, and ready to get back into the "Normal life". The past 18 months had been full of selfless service, knocking on doors and studying. The only thing I had to worry about was not killing my companion; but now I was thrown back into the world of class schedules, car payments, and television...scary. I was looking for something besides classes and a job that would let be a part of something and feel the same sense of purpose I had felt for the previous 18 months.
On my second day of school I was drawn to the Quad by throngs of people crowded around various booths. All of the clubs had gathered to give information, and recruit fresh meat for the upcoming year. As I was walking around the quad imagining all the good I could do in service clubs I saw a tall brown girl handling a curious ball that looked like a bloated football; The first words out of her mouth were "wanna play rugby?" to which I replied "is that the sport where you get to hit people?...I'm in". She told me when the practices were, and for the next two days it was all I could think about.
 There were a lot of things I had to get used to when I started playing rugby. there was a lot of swearing, lots of talking about sex, and a lot of playful but sometimes stinging insults. I say again that I had spent the last 18 months of my life as a missionary, I wasn't distracted by t.v., radio, or news, I was pretty much like Bambi: doe eyed, innocent, and naive. The two other things I had two get used were the shortie shorts, that were my uniform, and the running...lots and lots of running...so much running, that when we got tired of running, we did some running for fun. I wanted to die after my first couple of practices, but as much pain as my body was in, and as much as I hated the running, I couldn't let myself quit. I was home.
I had played sports in a city league as a kid, but I had never been involved with a competitive team sport at the collegiate level, surrounded by teammates and a coach that despite, my turtle pace, and a first quiet demeanor, wanted me to succeed, and were always willing to answer my questions and help me in any way they could. I wasn't very good at first, the only thing I had going for me was tackling. I had so much pent up aggression bottled up for 22 years that I could give and take a hit. That was my favorite part. I loved tackling drills. I wore my first bloody nose as a badge of honor. I almost didn't wash my shirt because I wanted the blood to remain a reminder of how hardcore I had become since playing rugby. 
I played rugby for 2 seasons. I scored 4 tries(touchdowns)in those 2 seasons, and actually became an okay rugby player. I was still the slowest runner on the team, but I could turn on the jet packs when it was important; more importantly I was finally part of a team, and seen as an important part of that team.
   I've thought a lot about rugby in the last couple of weeks. I always get jealous when my friends start practices and games. I feel a little sad because I love the sport so much, and also a little envious that I have a stupid shoulder that makes it impossible for me to play. It was actually because of rugby that I hurt my shoulder.
   I was thinking today what would have happened if I had never met Shannon on the quad, and if I had never played rugby. My shoulder wouldn't be hurt, and a couple other aspects of my life would be drastically different. But I also started thinking about the things I would have missed out on. I woudn't have had that feeling of camaraderie and accomplishment that comes from being part of a team; I also wouldn't have lost 35 pounds, and gotten into awesome shape.. I looked Smokin' Hot!.
 Sure I might have saved myself a lot of pain, not playing rugby, but the things I gained mean so much more to me than a stupid lifeless limb.
And so my friends in honor of my lady Aggies, I share with you tonight a couple of rugby poems. I recited each one before different games, to get my team pumped up and ready for war.
Stay classy my well rested friends

 

Give it a Try

When the kit goes on

The switch is flipped

The match comes into play

And everything else goes away

The perfect tackle, the perfect scrum

Watching for the kick to come

This could be the last time

The last ruck, the last try

So go all out

Until you feel like you’re going to die

Let your legs burn and your breath go shallow

The sir, the fans and your team could be gone in a blink

You don’t have time to think

Be the game

Be the ball

Be the tackle and hit the deck like a bomb is coming

Make a try like its laden with gold

The fight isn’t against the other team

Its against yourself

So shut yourself up, and play the game

that your aches and bruises know how to play

Play with heart until it wants to come out of your chest

Play with heart or don’t play at all

Give it your all or keep your hands off my ball

Saturday’s a Rugby Day

“Saturday’s a rugby day”

That’s not what you’re going to say when you get in my way

Your words will be similar to

“I don’t want to die”

As I bust out the Tongan shield and blow on by

You think you came to play rugby

But you came to feel pain

When I step on the field with my rampages

I just go insane

Just watch what happens when I get you in a scrum

The way I drive you all day

Will make you feel dumb

What are you going to do when we get another try?

Are you going to get MAD?

POUT? Or even CRY?

Attempt to push us around

But won’t you be sad

When you keep falling to the ground

Tell me again what today is?

A day of pain, of reckoning, a day to be defeated?

When you walk on my pitch

You better come prepared

Because at the end of 2 halves

You’ll be living in despair

Saturday’s a rugby day all right…for my pack and me

For you it’s day you wish you could take back

My Brain Needs An Off Switch

Why is it so hard to open up to people? To tell another human things that you would never tell another human? Aside from the obvious trust issues that a lot of people have from being screwed over by people who were obviously not hugged as children, what makes us keep some things locked up in a top of the line safe with barbwire and c-4 ready to blow? I have a theory.

            Call it being religious, call it old school, call it what you will but I believe that some things I life need to remain sacred; whether it be religious experiences or personal experiences happy, or sad, some things need to be kept sacred. These experiences cannot be kept sacred however, when everyone knows about them. The more you talk about them, the more value they lose, and the less real, and sacred they become to you. Soon enough they are just another story that is put in the artillery belt to be used in a game of one-upmanship.

            Another part of this theory included the sanctity of relationships. In this case friendships, because I have never dated anyone, but I think the theory could apply interchangeably to both except for the whole making out thing.

Deciding what to tell certain people is like a game of poker. In poker, you don’t just lay your cards out on the table for everyone to see. If the other players want to see your cards they have to pay for it. Sometimes you make some work harder than others to see your cards, but other times, you fold before anyone can get a peak. You never want to give up too much too fast. If you let people know what kind of hand you have before the betting even begins, they are going know how to manipulate and beat you in future hands; but if you keep your cool, and make people pay to see what you have, even if you have a hand full of crap, they will never under-estimate you. This is similar to friendship, because there are certain things that you will let certain people see. You let co-workers see your work ethic, and maybe share mundane “how was your weekend stories”. School friends you talk about parties you went to, how bad the professor sucks, and how much you didn’t study for the up-coming test. If you laid everything out on the table to everyone, you’d be seen as that one girl who “over shared” and talked way too much

            At this point I also integrate my theory of pals, buddies, and friends. A pal is a casual friend that you met in class, or see at a work. You might talk about your weekends, or talk about how you should totally hang out and then never do; the relationship basically consists of intense head-nods as you pass each other in the hall, or a loud “dude what’s up” across the quad.

            A buddy is someone you get along well with and probably even share similar likes and personality traits, but you still only show certain sides of yourself. You go to the gym with your buddy, watch you tube videos, talk about stupid things you did as a kid, what guys you think are hot, and who at school or work you would want to pounce on.

            The friend is the Holy Grail. The friend gets the 360 views. It’s not always clear how the friend relationship starts. A buddy could turn into a friend. It’s more rare that a pal could turn into a friend, but it has been known to happen.

A friend is that person you tell EVERYTHING to. You talk about you relationship with your siblings, why your mom and dad don’t sleep in the same bed anymore, your first kiss, first crush, and the nicknames that people called you in high school. Sometimes we have secrets that we don’t even tell friends; not at first at least. We have to test the waters and make sure that we can trust them. That’s why we divulge the superficial stuff first to see how they’ll react. If we can trust them with those things, then we can move on to topics with a little more meat, like why we get a little glisten eyed every time we hear “everybody hurts” by REM, and how we actually got that scar on our forearm.

When they pass that test, more often than not they move into best friend status, and we divulge the things we’ve “never told anyone else”. These are the topics that are sacred. By sharing these things with the people closest to us, we are telling them “I trust you, and I now know enough of you that I know that you won’t betray me or hurt me, and if you do…well you remember the stories I told you about my uncle who just got out of prison…Ha ha… No but seriously”.

I’m not sure why it is a human impulse to “share” with others. I’m sure that it has something to do with intimacy, and bonding, and building a strong relationship, and the fact that we are the only lucky species to have that whole verbal thing goin’ for us. But when was it decide that sharing secrets would be what brought us closer to others? I’m sure that I have my own logical answer, but for the sake of being contrary, just go with it.

So for the sake of building stronger bonds, we share with people. We share those things from our past that we have conquered or the things we still struggle with, and sometimes we even share our sacred experiences. Sharing with someone can in itself, be a sacred experience. Why do you think that people only have 2 or 3 “best” friends? Because any more than that and they would just be called “friends”.

That’s also another reason that people have “best” friends for many, many years, because after those bonds are formed, they are not easily broken, and when they are, well it’s not just like you can go pick up another one at the best friend store. People also only have 2 or 3 “best” friends because these relationships take a lot of work. Real friendships require communication, compromise, and accepting the other person in spite of their faults (not unlike a dating relationship). 

Having a best friend is like having your own superhero. They know what you’re going to say before you are, they’ll bring any fool to justice who tries to mess, with you, they’ll be your personal warm shield, or human pillow, they have supersonic hearing when you need them to listen, they bear the gift of pity food in the form of chocolate or ice cream, they have x-ray vision that can see into your soul, they teach you the language from their planet that only you two know, and they have the super duper BS detector when it comes to your dating relationships.

I had a point to this spiel and then I started writing and forgot…Oh yeah! I originally started writing this because I was thinking about how hard it is to not be able to always be around your best friend. It’s the greatest thing to be able to share those things you’ve “never told anyone else” with your best friend, but the stronger the bond you form with someone, the more it’s going to hurt when you aren’t constantly around that person anymore. It made me start thinking about why we even put the effort into having a best friend if you just have to be ripped away at some point; any significant relationship for that matter.

It’s that whole inherent need that we as humans have to form relationships with others, to share our deepest secrets, and hopes with another human. I guess, somewhere deep inside, we think that letting 1 or 2 other people know who we truly are is better than letting a thousand people know how our weekend was.

Random awesomeness, or Awesome Randomness...you decide

I've been watching a lot of Grey's anatomy lately. This has been a good thing and also a bad thing.
It has been a good thing because it gives me something to do while I am a sick. It has been a bad thing because I am still waiting to find out what is wrong with my shoulder, and it has made my already active imagination to run rampant...this is not good. The most extreme scenario involves me getting surgery again; but once I am in surgery something goes terribly wrong: I get a blood clot, the doctor has a drinking problem and cuts a nerve, somebody holding the knife sneezes and severs a blood vessel, and they have to amputate my whole arm. First of all, I already feel like my arm is useless because nobody will hire me, because I'm not allowed to lift more than5 pounds. I also don't know if I could do office work because sitting at a desk with my arm in one position for too long, pisses it off, and then I would have to take painkillers, and no one likes a drugged up, loopy co-worker. So basically right now, I am useless...or at least my right arm is... even just sitting in my bed, typing this is getting tiring, but I digress. I think that I'm worthless now, with a ten pound limp noodle hanging at my side all the time, I'd be really great with no arm at all. My shirts would fit funny, I'm not sure how putting a bra on would would work, (I would probably have to wear it like a toga), I wouldn't be able to give a proper hug, (and really like giving hugs. getting them are good too, but I like to be the one providing comfort sometimes, not just getting it) I wouldn't be able stiff arm someone while holding a rugby ball, I wouldn't be able to open jars, or type very well on a keyboard. The hug thing deserves a second mention.
  On the other hand, if I my Dr. was half as hot as McDreamy, or Mcsteamy, I might be okay losing my arm as long as I knew they were operating on me. I doubt that any of these things are going to happen, but the thought of surgery can be scary for anyone, especially if they have already been through it once, and 4 months later, there is no improvement.
   If I did lose an arm though, I would find a way to be okay with it. One of the people I look up to the most was paralyzed from the waist down over ten years ago and she is one of the most amazing people I know. she plays wheelchair tennis, and is on a bobsled team. In the time that I have know her I have never heard her say a negative thing about her life..or about anything for that matter. she's taken everything that life has given her with a smile; at least from what I have seen, I am sure that she has had down days, but who doesn't.
  This post is kind of everywhere, but I have my 2 a.m wind, so deal with it. I have this weird sickness that renders me useless all day, making me feel nauseous and dizzy, but as soon as midnight rolls around, I have all the energy in the world. I could clean my room if I wanted to...I won't, but the option is always there; instead, I watch Grey's anatomy, chew on a straw as a way to channel my nervous energy, and blog.
  I started another blog a year ago, and posted once. I started this blog 3 weeks ago, and I've posted like 6 times, and already had over 200 views. that is pretty cool. I'm not quite sure what is responsible for all these thoughts, and poem making, but I am grateful for it; considering a year ago that I was a shell of a person, and could barely get out of bed in the morning, I am grateful for the new found insight, and contemplation. I hope that this will last. I have gone through a lot of phases in my life. I don't want this new found lease on life to be a phase. I see so many things that I want to do while I have all this time, get in shape, study for the G.r.e, take the G.r.e and pass this time, do things for other people, find a job, be social, go on dates. But I get into this phase of thinking of all these things I am going to do to make my life better, and then it putters off in a week or before it even gets started. But this time it feels different. I know that a lot of these things are going to take time, and not happen overnight, but what else am I doing? for the next year, I am in limbo. I have to take the G.r.e to get into grad school, and this time next year I plan to be in grad school (you see the trend).
  It's just nice to feel somewhat like my old self again. I lost A LOT of confidence, and self-esteem last year and I slowly getting it back, but I don't expect myself to be exactly the same as I was before. I want to be Ashlee 2.0, the new and improved version. I want to be confident in the person I am becoming, and the decisions I am making; and I never want to be ashamed of either of those things. I recognize that I will make mistakes, but I will learn from them and not be overly hard on myself. So many times in my life, I was angry at myself for not being perfect all of the time, but that gets pretty exhausting pretty quick. So I'm trying this new thing, recognizing I'm not perfect, learning from my mistake, improving where I can, and moving on. But also not settling and letting myself remain dormant for too long. I want to be the kind of person who is never done learning. I don't want to be the 60 year old granny who is set in her ways. I always want to be learning, and experiencing new things. Keeping an open mind; not compromising my standards or values, but still, keeping an open mind. It is possible, I promise.
 I can't think of poem right now....so....yeah
Stay classy my well rested friends