Moving On

I just thought I'd mention that I won't be updating this blog anymore.

Before widespread panic ensues (because I'm sure that's what would result if the world thought I was no longer blogging), I should probably mention that I have a new blog. It can be located at my-overactive-mind.blogspot.com. In fact, I've already updated it.

Is this inconvenient? Definitely. Now everybody will have to put this new blog on their bloglist, and delete simpliStephanie.

Is this pointless? Probably. I did, after all, have a perfectly serviceable blog.

Why, then, would I do such a thing?

The only explanation I can offer is this: in my drawer I have about journals, and none of them are complete. I would be motivated to write in my journal for awhile, but eventually my motivation would slip, and my journal would sit untouched for months. Later, I would decide that I should probably start journal-writing again, but find myself unable to work up the motivation. So, in order to get myself to write again, I would buy a new journal, and write in that one until my motivation ran out again.

I find the same principle to be at work here, which is why I'm switching sites. I will try not to do this again in the future, since it probably is kind of an inconvenience, but I'm doing it now. Maybe I'll actually get myself to start posting again, and keep posting without feeling like I need a clean slate.

So yeah. Switch over.

I refuse to spell check or edit this post, and I don't really care how ineloquent it is. It's too late (early?) for me to care. Just go to my other blog. Please?

Dear Diary...

Yeah, so I've been reading my old journals today, and it turns out I was hilarious when I was little! Actually, sometimes I hope my posterity doesn't ever find my journals because of some of the things I say. Was I really ever that... well, for lack of a better word, idiotic? Anyways, here are some of my favorite quotes I've found:

• And then I was like "Evan?!" and he was like, "Yeah," and I'm all like, "Oh my gosh, it's Evan!"
• Dear Diary, Okay, enough of the pleasantries.
• Dear Diary, I had something funny to tell you, but I forgot what it was. Sorry!

And the funniest one of all:

• Would U of U really be that bad?

So Hot Right Now

For awhile, Amanda and I have really wanted to make a music video, and we thought that today we'd finally get around to doing it. So, after putting together the perfect outfits and putting on a ton of makeup, we started filming with Chelsie as camerawoman. Unfortunately, our little project will never come to completion because my mom didn't approve of the song we were using ("I Kissed A Girl" by Katy Perry). I guess I understand where she's coming from, though Amanda's still bugged. We did get some pretty cool pictures and movie clips, though, and let me tell you-- we're so hot right now :)

"I am an artist. I am here to live out loud."

I just made a rather daring decision. One that I'm sure distresses my parents to no end, and one that honestly scares me to the tips of my toes, but one that feels so right that there's no going against it. I decided to leave microbiology and apply for the studio arts major at BYU.

A few weeks ago, I started to feel really uncomfortable about my choice of major. I didn't see how it would work out in the long run, and while I did enjoy aspects of what I studied, it just didn't feel right, like a puzzle piece out of place. So, with prayers, my parents, and an open mind, I once again turned to major lists and career tests, debating the merits of architecture, interior design, nutrition, and even hair styling. I think I knew all along what I really wanted, even as my eyes automatically skipped it and my brain dismissed it as a possibility, declaring it too ludicrous for consideration. I was just too nervous and stuck in preconceived ideas to realize it. I still don't know when the change happened, or what caused it. Maybe I'm a product of my generation, set on finding happiness by being myself, or maybe I was inspired by something higher. However, I suddenly realized that there had really only been one choice all along, and I have been too stubborn and blind to see it.

I have no false notions going into this. I'm not doing this for the money and job security, because let's face it--there's not a lot. I'm doing this because I finally realized that this is my life to live, not anybody else's. I'm doing this because I'll never forgive myself if I don't try. I'm doing this because it feels right, and I'm doing this because all I want to do is make art, forever and ever.

I'll admit that I feel a little silly making a stand like this when I won't find out until next year whether I've even been accepted into the program. However, if my decision is as right as it feels, I know everything will work out in the end, and even if it's not, everything will still work out in the end. Feel free to leave comments or suggestions--I'd love to hear what you have to say. However, nobody will decide for me anymore--the final decision is mine to make. On the bright side, if worst comes to worst I can always go "hunting" in the law library and around the accounting building :)

"A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What one can be, one must be."

A Burst of Inspiration

"Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms--to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

This was written by Viktor Frankl, a Jewish man who survived the Nazi concentration camps, and this is exactly the message I need in my life right now. I guess I've just been viewing this summer as an obstacle to get through--a difficult, painful obstacle that might lead to better things in the future, but doesn't offer a whole lot for the present. It was luck (or grace) that led me once more to this quote so I could relearn a lesson that's been taught to me so often that I really have no excuse to have forgotten it again.

I have been given a certain set of circumstances. My current situation may not be what I would choose, but it's what I have, and most of it is unchangeable. I can't make the hours go any faster, and I can't force the customers to be polite. Why, then, would I give up the only freedom I have left: the ability to choose my own attitude? Rather than asserting myself and saying, "Hey, I'm going to be happy despite it all," I've let my situation rule my mood. By wallowing in my own little domain of self pity, I've effectively cut myself off from all the joy that could be mine. Not only that, but I've also managed to keep my thoughts centered only on me, so others' needs have passed unknowingly before my eyes.

So, the bottom line? I'm changing my attitude. I'm looking outward, offering help where I was demanding it, giving love instead of craving it. This summer is still redeemable, and I'm redeeming it. After all, men are that they might have joy, even when they're working fast food.

Murdering The Messenger

Wow, sorry I've been so negative lately. Next post will be something happy, but for now, keeping with the theme of words I don't like to hear, here's a phrase that's spoken all too often at work that just makes me cringe inside:

"Stephanie, we're all out of [food item] for another [insanely high number] minutes. Could you let that customer know there's a wait?"

Hold on for a second. Is this my fault at all? No! I'm merely a lowly cashier worker/food packer. Decisions as earth-shattering as how much food to cook are reserved for those working revered, managerial positions, the type that I can only dream of. However, apparently one of the perks that comes with holding a revered, managerial position is that you get to avoid facing your own mistakes. Didn't tell the cooks to make enough food? No problem! Make the lowly cashier worker/food packer tell the hurried, hungry, and most likely irritable customers that the food they want won't be available for another 15 minutes. Let her face their wrath.

So, here's a plea on behalf of all lowly cashier workers/food packers everywhere: PLEASE don't kill the messenger. It kind of feels like your gambling with your life when you call up a customer to let them know that their order will be delayed. Sometimes the customer's extremely nice and understanding, and you feel like your head is off the chopping block. Other times they herangue you up and down until you're begging for the firing squad. If common decency's not enough to keep you from destroying the poor soul who was sent to bear bad tidings, consider this: the messenger is usually trying to placate the customer in any way possible. However, I will freely admit that we are vindictive people. If we don't like you because of how you treated us, the likelihood of you getting free drinks or cookies or something just dropped from 90% to 2%.

(Just to clarify, I don't think that anybody reading this blog actually has this problem. However, since I can't say this to the angry customers' faces, this is as good a place as any to vent. This one woman today... was the kind of person who makes me want to swear. Seriously.)

Stephanie and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I was woken up with the worst words one can be woken up with today.

Okay, well maybe not the worst words. I imagine the worst words would be something like, "Stephanie, why isn't your car out front?" or, "I'm sorry, Steph, but mom/dad/Porthos died during the night," or, "FIRE!!!!" However, I think these words definitely rank in my top ten:

"Stephanie, the ward choir is singing today and the pianist is sick. How would you feel about playing in Sacrament meeting today?"

'Nuff said.

(Okay, so it wasn't that bad. Still, sight reading piano music for a performance? Not my favorite thing to do. My dad owes me a huge back rub now.)

Just Call Me Betty Crocker

I embarked on a whole new adventure in the realm of healthy eating today: pita bread. It wasn't just any pita bread, though--it was whole-wheat, homemade pita bread, made with love by me. And let me tell you, I owned that recipe. Mostly. Okay, so only three of the twelve pitas I made actually puffed out, but you can crisp the rest and make pita chips, right? Still not bad for a first try, especially from somebody who'd never eaten one before (for some reason our grocery store doesn't sell them).

Anyway, I was all excited when I brought my tenderly baked sandwich to work today. I thought this would be a perfect way to stop me from eating all the junk at the fast food place where I work. I'd bring my own dinner (healthy pita bread stuffed with healthily cooked chicken and healthy vegetables), and the other food wouldn't tempt me.

Yeah, right.

Still, I think I'll be making them again. I'm looking forward to trying out different fillings, and who knows? My success rate might actually rise above 25% someday :P

Sun, Fun, and a Resolution

Resolved: before this summer's over, I will have a beautiful, glowing tan.

...I think I hear laughter echoing from all my tanless relatives. How odd.

Of course, I don't make this resolution lightly--I fully expect to be mocked and ridiculed. After all, my skin's never tanned before, so why should it decide to now? However, something happened recently to give me hope. Just when I had resigned myself to being a poor white creature all year round, my sister Chelsie came bounding into the room to show me the impossible--she had a tan. Not a burn, or just a multitude of freckles, but an actual tan. Then it occurred to me, if she can do it, why not me? We have the same parents, right? So, it was with grim determination that I headed to the pool today.

And got no results.

Disheartening as this may seem, I have not given up. There are still over 2 months left of summer, and plenty of pool opportunities. Mockers beware, because I'm out to prove that a member of this family can tan, and not just burn.

The pool was a blast, by the way :)

Of Lemmings and Shrinks (or, A Really Random Beginning)

Apparently it's become the trend to write blogs these days, and I was thinking, who doesn't love a lemming, right? Or maybe a sheep, since I doubt keeping a blog will technically lead me off a cliff. Metaphorically, though... but I digress. Anyway, after a little bit of thought (and some freakin' awesome graphic designing on my part), here's my bee-eautiful blog!

I'll try to update as much as I can, and given the massive amount of time that I spend on my laptop (which my mom will be all too willing to testify to), I imagine that'll be fairly often. Hopefully, this will be a good way for those who care to keep up on my life, and it might even help to alleviate some of the subconscious guilt I've been carrying for being such an inconsistent journal writer the past few years, thus saving me from a trip to the shrink's office many years into the future. Of course, I still have my autodysomophobia to work through, so I might end up there anyway. Props to anybody who can define that word.

Peace out.