With the end of winter semester comes the end of an era. And I mean a LONG era. I am not yet graduated, but I no longer will be taking classes, which means no more homework or exams! Up next: externships. 

Honestly, it was definitely a tough semester to get through. But I tried to strike somewhat of a balance; with my clinic a mere 5 minutes from the German Christkindlmarkt, I made sure to go twice (once alone, once with Rachel, Paige and Nguyen). I even went to Arizona for a quick weekend. Dallin's mom offered to fly me home so she could get family pictures. 

Opening presents early with Dick and Rachel.

My nephew Maverick and sister-in-law Brooke.

My mom's new puppy Lulu.

As an early graduation/Christmas present, Dallin gifted me with a digital drawing tablet. I am over the moon. I have spent the past several days drafting out the first chapters of a webcomic I decided to write; it's the same story I have been working on in novel form for several years. I love the concept of illustrating this story given the intense world-building I have invested myself in. 

In other news, I had to take the Christmas tree down because Atticus kept climbing it and thereby knocking it over. Turns out he's a bit of an adrenaline junkie; not only does he not mind going timber, but he also thinks it's fun to dodge the squirt bottle. Poor Arlo got his nail stuck on the fibers connecting the firs to the base; I squirted him mercilessly with the squirt bottle before realizing he wasn't purposely hanging out within the branches of the fallen tree. Once I began trying to help him, he went into full panic mode and started crying, writhing in my arms, and even dragging the dismembered tree around the house while I tried to find the scissors to get him unstuck. Hopefully next year I can invest in a sturdier tree that can't be knocked over by a 7-pound kitten. 

It snowed for a couple days straight. This photo was taken at 11 PM; the snow reflected the light making it appear earlier than it was.  You can't see the snow blowing in the picture, but we had to walk backwards back to our house!

 

I drank half a ZipFizz so I could be awake enough to study for next week's aphasia test, but it backfired. I am so stoked {for no good reason other than LIFE} that I can't focus. For the past several hours I have been pacing around the front yard, trying to assemble a bunk bed {gave up because I don't even know how to use a screw driver}, and otherwise bouncing in my chair as I excitedly plan the next two years of my life. My poor mom has had to deal with me calling and texting her in an ecstatic flurry. In other words, caffeine has wild effects on me.

     Confession time: I analyze everything.  One minute I'll be totally smiling and the next minute I'll be stressing about something that probably means nothing.  The thought of getting in people's way worries me so much, but I still want to be social, but whenever I am I feel like I say all the wrong things {or is that just me over-analyzing again?}  Words just have a tendency to fall out of my mouth-- as someone who is both a storyteller and also not very secretive about the way life has shaped me, I guess that could only be expected.  I never have bad intentions and would never say something that I thought would bother another, but does it happen anyway? I honestly have no clue.
     Ironically, I received a superior score on my analytical skills when I took the CCTST last week, so you'd think that I'd be able to apply it to my real life and analyze just so I can know the way things REALLY are, not the way I hypothesize them to be in my mind.
    This week has had a lot of plain ME time.  Although slightly disappointed I didn't get to explore all the nooks and crannies of this island like I planned, I've enjoyed some great relaxation, discovering beautiful new sights within walking of where I live.  I've gotten up early and jogged to the Point to watch the sunrise; laid out on the beach with a book; written fiction at a gazebo in an ancient cemetery; strolled through the forest following baptisms at the temple.    I love the sensation of waves lapping at my legs and sand sifting through my toes, the sunshine beating and and the breeze thick with salt. This week the words have finally broken through the stubborn dam in my brain and trickled through my fingers as I've written pages and pages of my novel, listening to the beautiful Game of Thrones soundtrack while I do so {I've never seen it but wish I could}.  Maybe today will offer adventures, but maybe it won't-- and that's okay, because my imagination creates plenty.

     Today has been a very good day-- although busy with school, it started off with getting emails from a special someone who still says "you're gorgeous"-- even from Illinois-- and ended with FHE games at some friends' ward.  In between, I sketched for homework, met my cute South Korean roommate who is finally moving in after a month, ate lots of veggies {I seriously can't get enough}, and worked out {500 crunches + 100 calf raises + 100 squats + 100 situps + 100 high knees + 100 jumping jacks + 40 pushups + 10 clap pushups + 1 minute handstand with stomach against the wall  + 1 minute plank + 1 minute candlestick all followed by some real good stretching and I feel FABULOUS}.
    Have you ever thought about what you would do without the ability to read and write?  Not only is so much of our culture founded off assumed literacy, but whether I'm at school, doing homework, or entertaining myself, my eyes are always flitting from left to right.  As a fourth-grader my life plan was to be a famous author, so my little heart would've melted upon hearing my Critical Inquiry professor complimenting the writing skills in my essay.  He commented that he was raising the bar for me because of it and hoping that I could find an outlet for such potential talent.  Oh, I was grateful! and informed him that I am writing a book and am also an avid blogger.  Without home responsibilities, I spend a lot of time evolving the ideas for my novel, and although it is so much harder than I ever anticipated, it's a work in progress and I love every minute of it.
      On the subject of blogging, I am so happy that I decided to start this blog over seven years ago.  Over the summer I dedicated weeks to organizing and condensing it all {the end of fifth grade up to high school graduation} into the physical format of a 400-large-paged-tightly-spaced book. Having the pleasure of flipping through almost a decade of precious memories that would've otherwise been lost is unbelievably satisfying, although I'm almost convinced that my dad loves it more than I do {church is just one example of the places he has brought it to show people}.  These days, I keep a little booklet with me at all times to write other, more personal  senior year/summer memories that I'd rather not share on the Internet.  The hippocampus is quite an incredible little feature our brains have, and the way our memories can store so much information continues to marvel me.  I'll have totally forgotten something and then randomly it will just resurface in my mind!   If I'm counting correctly, Dallin asked me out for the first time a year ago this week, so there have been plenty of souvenirs my memory has yielded up.  Seriously, to anyone at all reading this, I beg you to write down your memories like I do, no matter how insignificant they may seem at the time, because you'll only start to miss they when they fade away. 
On a totally random note, my friend told me that a guy she was with commented on how different my face looks from the average girl.  It was all complimentary, but here's a fun fact for y'all: I'm 1/32 Native American, and during a trip to Texas last year, my great-grandmother pointed out that I had the same face shape as herself, my grandfather and  my mother.  We all inherited it from our ancestor, a Creek Indian who was born on the Trail of Tears.  How interesting that, despite my blood being almost full-majority European, genes would work in a way to have a person from each generation display a rare physical feature of such precious and tragic heritage.   

this image may appear totally bizarre, but it appears during a brief few pages of my book

It seems as though my right brain is experiencing a boom.  Suddenly everything I want to do has to do with creativity, so I spend my time drawing, creating totally amateur composite images in Photoshop, and most importantly developing new ideas for my book.
Why do I write?  I've written since I was a kid, and though I once dreamed about being a published child writer, obviously it's a little harder than that.  For me though, it's not even necessarily about writing something to make money.  I don't know if I have the capability to write something worthy of the market!  But it doesn't matter-- I write because it makes me use both my brain and my heart.  I have fallen in love with my characters whom I've worked for years to try to develop as realistically as possible.  I spend hours exercising my mental muscles as I try to weave ideas of a plot into something intricate, something original.  In the case of the novel I'm working on now, it's a fantasy, which means that I am not constrained by any means as I create my own world with its own histories and cultures.Writing forces me to contemplate the many factors that cause a person to be the way they are, and to meditate on how a regular person reacts when being thrown into an irregular situation.  The average human is simply that-- human--not as brave and selfless as they would like to think they are.  So what could cause a person to develop these heroic traits?  How might they learn to deal with {since most can't simply shrug off} the pains brought on by sudden trial?  How do they love?

  Wow, do I feel like my life is progressing.    It's strange how fast time flies; this picture is a few days old but already the puppies I could've sworn were just born are starting to open their eyes and walk around!
Anyway, I can't believe how old I've become.  Yesterday I started training for a job at a chic boutique called Apricot Lane.  Second, I've gotten my schedule back for my senior freaking year of HS:

1. Art & Design
2. AP Biology
3. Seminary
4. AP English
5. AP Government/Economics 

  Sometimes my brain feels like it's about to explode.  All of a sudden all the creative juices start running at once, and then I'm off on this busy bee trek of quenching my thirst.  I start drawing and writing {among other things} till three in the morning, when it's not the time, but the fact that the next day's gonna kill me that finally forces me to halt.
  I've never felt more artistically inclined than I do now.  I've never taken really any art classes, but once that pencil is in my hand, I can't put it down.  And when I'm writing, I'll spend hours developing depth by taking personality tests for my characters and trying to come up with fancy plot events to make the story exciting.
  My latest project will be interesting to take on.  It has two narrators from two different settings, one modern times and one in a early AD Scandinavian times, switching off every chapter.  Right now I really have just come up with some character names, basic ideas, and written chapter 1 and 2 as expositions.  We'll see how this goes. 
  I know that my love of the fine arts will get me, uh, nowhere in life.  Just because I'm a singer, pianist, writer and artist in no way provides me with a way of, well, proving for myself.  So that's frustrating.  But till then I am going to search for ways to make this important in some way or another, if nothing else but to make me happy.

  There is something about the taste of creativity on your tongue.
   It is sweet, dripping from your lips and saturating your heart with saccharine elation.   Conceived beneath your eyelids, tiny ideas seek development, seek birth, seek a life of complete fulfillment. Stretching for the opportunity to change the world, they seep deep into rivers of humans blood and course through the veins, rejuvenating, until they reach the tip of your poised fingers.  They pry at your will until your itching hand gives way and you reach for a pen.
  No, once the virus of an idea sparks in your mind, there is no stopping it.  Just as a raging forest fire started as but a tiny flickering flame, so too will the little idea consume you.
  And it is wonderful.  Sugar that coats the world with imagination and allows an explosion of growth.  Tender word, how it shapes the universe with its unique view.  The ink bleeds into a blank sheet of paper, and suddenly your fingerprint has been pressed.   
   There are no limits.
   And you can call it your own.
  Which why I crave that sweet thing called writing.

  O, the tragedies that doth befall a youthful wordsmith, the terrible calamities that maim her ink-stained heart, wounding her mind which once proudly to herself flaunted her work!  O, the dejection that doth sink upon a mellowing scribe, who humbly traces her fingers over her own toil and becomes cognizant of its weakness, its lack of alluring appeal!
  O, my dear book Destiny!  After trudging thy master through two years and two hundred pages of endless writing, why dost thou now appear as a mere child's play?

  Words.  Trampling each other as they battle to reach the focus of my thoughts, the dance of my tongue, the grace of my fingers.  Ideas that spring forth like flowers after sprinkling of summer rains.   The struggle to conceive beauty, intelligence, and adventure as one.
  Colors splash forth, illuminated by brilliant rays of light.  Music ricochets from every soft tendril of wind, every sapphire wave caressing the shore.  
  No detail disregarded.  One breath, and the whole world is absorbed into my soul.  Eyes flutter shut, and darkness is nudged aside by remembrance.  Recollection of everything magnificent.  I gather, I ponder.
  Erupt, Creativity.