I've decided that cleaning at work seems to be slightly therapeutic for me. Not the normal cleaning, because everybody does that all the time. And no one really likes doing the normal every day clean the house kind of cleaning. But once a week I try to do some kind of deep cleaning at the office And that's the kind of cleaning I really enjoy. Making something look and feel immaculate through details other people might not normally notice. It's like my own personal fixer-upper kind of project since Michael and I currently live in an apartment and have no such freedom for such tasks. Right now the highlight in my future is getting to shampoo the carpets at work!!
Today I cleaned the hand rail at work and changed it's color by many many shades... it really was pretty gross. I went through TWO magic erasers. That should say something. And now I am highly tempted to sand the hand rail and re-stain it so it looks pretty again. I'd probably have to get permission before undertaking a project like that... but it does sound enjoyable!
I guess I've really just been in the mood for something to do that leaves me with a finished product I can admire. Not to mention the fact that everyone knows I've been in nesting mode for over two years. Now that I'm married it's all I can do not to attack my apartment with paint and nails and collections. Not to mention the ridiculous urges to start stocking toys and baby clothes I might need in the future (and no that's not some kind of announcement! hah). I just need projects to keep me busy! And I like doing things that will benefit others, even if they won't necessarily notice it. Who knows if anyone at work will notice that the hand rail is ten shades lighter than it was. But they'll feel it subconsciously when they touch the hand rail and it actually feels like wood, and not a thick layer of grime. And that's worth a smile!
Besides, work is like my home away from home since without school going on, my days generally consist of sleeping in, being at home, and then going to work. And at this point it seems everyone I know in Rexburg can be found at my work! Anyway, at this point I'm probably rambling. But that's the exciting thing currently on my mind. Cleaning!!
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
An Autobiography
Growing up I wanted so badly to be a writer. I couldn't tell you how many times I started writing my autobiography. I think even early on I hoped that my life would make a difference somehow. I wanted my experiences and my feelings to mean something to people. I wanted people to change after learning about my story.
Even still I think there's always been a part of me that wants to share that story. Sometimes it comes to me in short phrases. At first, I think these phrases could be a beautiful beginning to a short poem. And then when I sit down to finish the poem, I can't think of how to express the stories well enough in the confines of a poem. I can express the details in such a way to let you feel the emotions behind it. But I can't express them in such a way that you can feel every side of my emotions. If I am happy and sad at the same time, I can express one side of the coin, but not the other quite as well. And I don't think the story is complete unless you understand every emotion that was going on at the time.
Sometimes the idea of writing is liberating. But sometimes, the idea of writing feels entirely too vulnerable. I don't actually trust very many people in this world. And writing something down leaves it accessible to anyone. The idea of someone reading something very sacred to me without appreciating it.. seems devastating. I guess that's what life is about.. taking chances on people, and learning to love and trust others.
I suppose I've always been a bit prone to fear. Although I do my best to ward it off. Or rather I purposefully exit my comfort zone a lot in order to pretend that I'm not afraid. And then I fret about it for hours afterwards. Ha. I remember in elementary school, I used to write my will every night before going to bed, just in case I was kidnapped, or a tree came crashing into my bedroom. It always made me feel better knowing that I was prepared, and that my loved ones would have something of mine to remember me by.
I guess that's what we all want. We want to be remembered. We all love, and want to be loved in return. And somehow we feel safer that way. But being remembered isn't enough, not even in writing. A picture may be worth a thousand words... A picture of a close friend may even last longer than the friendship. But no friendship can be compared with a photograph. We are affected and changed by the living stories of those around us. The present means so much more than the past, no matter how we have been molded by it.
Even still I think there's always been a part of me that wants to share that story. Sometimes it comes to me in short phrases. At first, I think these phrases could be a beautiful beginning to a short poem. And then when I sit down to finish the poem, I can't think of how to express the stories well enough in the confines of a poem. I can express the details in such a way to let you feel the emotions behind it. But I can't express them in such a way that you can feel every side of my emotions. If I am happy and sad at the same time, I can express one side of the coin, but not the other quite as well. And I don't think the story is complete unless you understand every emotion that was going on at the time.
Sometimes the idea of writing is liberating. But sometimes, the idea of writing feels entirely too vulnerable. I don't actually trust very many people in this world. And writing something down leaves it accessible to anyone. The idea of someone reading something very sacred to me without appreciating it.. seems devastating. I guess that's what life is about.. taking chances on people, and learning to love and trust others.
I suppose I've always been a bit prone to fear. Although I do my best to ward it off. Or rather I purposefully exit my comfort zone a lot in order to pretend that I'm not afraid. And then I fret about it for hours afterwards. Ha. I remember in elementary school, I used to write my will every night before going to bed, just in case I was kidnapped, or a tree came crashing into my bedroom. It always made me feel better knowing that I was prepared, and that my loved ones would have something of mine to remember me by.
I guess that's what we all want. We want to be remembered. We all love, and want to be loved in return. And somehow we feel safer that way. But being remembered isn't enough, not even in writing. A picture may be worth a thousand words... A picture of a close friend may even last longer than the friendship. But no friendship can be compared with a photograph. We are affected and changed by the living stories of those around us. The present means so much more than the past, no matter how we have been molded by it.
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