No pictures. No messing around with how to place the words. I just needed to type something. First of all, for those who think tweeting is cool. Well, its not. What happened to the mystery in your life and why are you so insecure that you feel everyone needs to know your business 24/7. People can't go to the bathroom anymore without letting their fellow tweet members in on the secret. It's sad and I think those celebrities who have decided to keep their life personal, are also too busy to spend time online tweeting all day. Getting another headline on People magazine may make you famous but does not mean that you are well liked. Nope. No apologies for that one, so sorry to anyone who tweets. Oops.
Seth and I will be reunited once again either Monday or Tuesday of next week. We are excited. I wanted to note that I have several nicknames for him now. In no particular order; baby boop, baby bear, wittle cwitta (little critter), jet puff butt (because he's a cracka), little tinka (stinker), honey bear, poo bear, cowboy, potter, gordon, lova, my little boy, hidalgo, mountain man...and yeah...I think that's it. We will now be living in Rexburg, Idaho for the next year. Seth is back at his old jewelers job and breaking horses. I'm, well...I'm undecided. Translation-I haven't even tried looking for a job and don't seem that I would fit anywhere in Rexburg working. I feel like the misfit toy off of the clamation rudolph the red-nosed reindeer. The only thing I'm excited about is being close to friends and getting (hopefully) back on the improv team. Seth found a puppy for us to get. I want one. But I also want a baby. Did I mention I want a kid? But first I want to enter a sprint triathalon. And then I would like to learn to play the harmonica. No lie.
My life feels like I don't belong anywhere right now and the past month explaining that in more words was hard. Translation- I went to visit my parents in Taber and decided to take a job selling Taber corn on the side of the road wearing a fanny pack. That's been hard. Humbling. Embarassing...but most of all empowering. I'm glad I'm not above it and actually had the physical strength to move those 50 lb. sacks all day. My back kills, my feet hurt, I have dirt under my nails constantly, blisters, calluses, pealing skin, puffed up hands, and throbbing thumb knuckles from all the shucking. Yeah you heard me...'shucking'. I feel like a blue collar worker and actually have felt proud of myself for accomplishing the task. Will I ever do it again? Never. Maybe. I hope not.
Anyways that brings me to Fanny packs. They are actually useful. They carry my float money and when you are working fast its the only way to go. No I did not try to wear it in a fashionable way either. Waste high with five layers of jackets and a puffy purple vest on. I have no winter clothes so I got to wear my Mom's and Ferris's. Also another humbling experience. I have met some very interesting people selling corn. The joke is on them. They think they are dealing with a poor farm girl who is sheltered when really I'm nothing but an A-list undercover celebrity. I wish. Some people get mad, some people swore, but for the most part everyone was full of so much love. There are alot of good people in the world. There are alot of people that Heavenly Father loves. That's alot of love. I can only imagine...just like the John Lennon song. I'm serious too. Not trying to be funny. This post was for me. Sorry but everyone who reads this just got a dish load of the inner workings of my thoughts in no particular order. Which is accurate according to what thought patterns do.
One last thing,...I keep thinking I'm not a good singer and everyone just says I have a 'pleasant okay' voice to apease me. I know I'm no Byonce or Christina. I know I've never landed a singing role in my life, I know my professors used to tell me I'm not a singer, and I also know noone has ever come out and told me that they really think I have a beautiful voice. I also know Satan plays mind games with you. However, its been bugging me so much lately that I want to record myself to judge just how good I am or not good. Maybe then I can lay to rest this internal battle I have about never being able to sing. Okay. I am done.
