money is stupid. so are grades.

I've been waiting for notification from byu about the status of my scholarship renewal. the fact that I have to renew anything is so ... gah! it makes me angry. I would have been a hinckley scholar but for the fatal misinforming or lack of informing of byu so that I didn't take the ACT for the second time to get the qualifying score when I needed to (I took it later and got the score). instead I took SAT subject tests to get into uva, a school I knew I wouldn't be attending. brilliant. so I have a one-year full tuition scholarship that I have to renew every year and the competition for that money is much more fierce and requires much better grades. 

I got the letter today. I only got half tuition renewed, not full. which is better than no scholarship, but it still upsets me. my mom says she's proud of me but this just isn't good enough for me. there are hundreds of people at my school who are getting full tuition scholarships because they have a gpa three hundredths higher than mine. and I'm mad that I couldn't pull off straight A's. I am better than this. not good enough.

and before you jump to conclusions about my exacting parents who require too much of me, no. they have never pushed me to get straight A's or rewarded me for them except for "You make us so proud" moments and an occasional night out to dinner. this is completely self-imposed. I do well because I want to, because I know I can, and I like to be the best. 

working out, wimbledon, work, and wildfires

I've been working out every day with my new short-term gold's gym membership. and by every day I mean so far monday and today. I think it bodes well for the future. I really enjoy it. I don't freak out exercise like some people. I don't feel the need to completely kill myself on a treadmill. I just like to be active and healthy and exercising makes me feel good. I just discovered that I workout better while reading than while listening to music. My favorite part is the euphoric floating feeling you get after when your legs are detached and your head is weightless. I've also been trying to eat fresh fruit with breakfast, something I would never do before. blueberries mmmm.

NADAL WON WIMBLEDON!!! I cannot tell you how excited I am! I was really sad I couldn't watch the match, as it was on sunday. I probably would have watched a bit of it, at least, when I wasn't doing church stuff, but my brothers are extremely impressionable. curse them. it was only possibly the best men's final of wimbledon since the beginning of time! and rafa ended up slightly better than mr. rogers. I think it comes down to their differences in attitude and physical approach. both are incredibly physical athletes of course, and unbelievably talented, but roger's all about finesse and it serves him well against less talented opponents (aka everyone else), but rafa is his match in skill and his gritty, raw power fighting approach gave him the slight edge he needed to beat the "unbeatable" federer. I'm actually sad for federer, who I never used to like before, but found him more care-worthy this season (maybe because of his love set loss to nadal in the french open). BUT not sad enough to want him to keep winning. it's time for a change of power. hellO rafa.

holy crap. the arm. look at the arm.

we're getting a billion kids shoes in the wednesday shipment at work, so last night I was shifting the men's wall about ten feet and adding styles from the bins into the wall. it was more tiring than the usual monday night shifting. I was parched and tweaked my back a couple times and got several cardboard cuts on my fingers again. and got blood on my shirt! but I got it out in the backroom. cause that's gross. I really like the manager aka my boss, dan. because we're mormon, there's an assumed automatic connection that opens up free conversation. at first I thought it was weird, but it's rather complimentary to have your boss share meaningful things like that with you. he has an 18 year old sister, so yet another instance where someone could be my brother (dan, nolen) or father (trowbridge). it's weird to think about. he hired a new manager-in-training named margaret. she's oldish and weird and talks a lot about things nobody cares about or understands. she takes FOREVER to close. but she is very complimentary. but I don't know if dan takes those praises seriously cause she's always saying them. I really don't know why he hired her. she wears scrunchies.

I talked to meesh the other day. I miss her. and today is jessica's birthday. I miss her, too. 

in gospel doctrine a couple of weeks ago, sister havens said that california has huge wildfires right now because gay marriage just became legal there. she is stupid. vermont allows gay marriage and nothing has happened to vermont. and california has had wildfire problems every summer since I can remember. ignorant, self-righteous speculation and logical fallacy. this is why I don't like gospel doctrine in my ward. besides those moments, it's been getting better, though. I still miss the byu ward. it was many times better.

story part 3

He scanned the room, eyes jumping from screaming infant to screaming mother, harried nurse to pooling blood, to unanswered handset on the counter whose persistent ring rose shrill above the chaos like the rising panic in his chest.  He maneuvered through the maze of sick and injured to push through a door at the far end of the room while the nurse's back was turned.  It opened to white surfaces with an equal but more controlled chaos of shouted instructions, careening gurneys, and the feverish movement of capable hands.  The warm, sickly-sweet odor of blood hit his nostrils, followed by a sharp wave of disinfectant.  He stood still, eyes searching for the short hair and high cheekbones of the woman in a crisp doctor's coat who appeared in the mouth of the hallway opposite.  She summoned him with a quick agitation of her fingers.  He dodged the running traffic as he crossed the hall, breath frozen in his chest.  She shot him a brief, warm smile as she gathered his large hand in her fine mocha ones.  "She's alright."  With barely a sound, hot tears escaped his blinking eyes and he wept, softly, numbly, as the panic gradually dissipated.  She pulled his head to her shoulder and rubbed his back softly for a calm minute, strangely separated from the madness that continued to unfold around them, a careful sphere of quiet relief.  "It's okay,  (name) , it's okay."  As he straightened, she was already beginning to turn and head off down the main hall in pursuit of a fleet of gurneys.  "37E on the left.  I'll be back in a few," she called back over her shoulder.

story part 2

which is really paragraph 2.

Light shone behind her closed eyelids.  The beeps, wails, footsteps, shouts, voices hovering over her head, they all faded and grew like a series of doors opening and closing to blare or snatch the sound waves on a whim.  She could feel nothing but an odd, disembodied tingling in her fingertips and the stiff, jutting awkwardness of the needle in her arm.  Her awareness of the IV, the panic induced by its casual intrusion into the comfort of her skin, shut off everything else -- voices, light, numbness -- leaving only a violent nausea that engulfed her and just as quickly 

black.

wake up

I went to see wall-e last night in an intense celebration of America by supporting its failing economy. we didn't set off fireworks in the yard or go anywhere, we just had a good picnic-type dinner, and I've been wanting to see wall-e and didn't particularly want to sit in my basement and watch other people celebrate on tv. so I convinced my dad to take us to the movies. 

it was good. it was absolutely FULL of messages. it wasn't just a finding nemo feel-good movie. when it was over, I was thinking, really hard. it had a deep solemnity about it. and while it celebrated the human spirit, the desire to do good and live life to the fullest, to overcome and find within us the definition of humanity, it also showed how low we could possibly let ourselves become, by ever losing those things in the first place. 

as the captain, thrown by the auto-pilot from his hover-chair, stood up and shakily shifted his massive weight from chubby foot to chubby foot and the watching crowd of human blobs cheered at this amazing feat, I wasn't caught up in the moment. I was thinking how sad the society where that is the mark of tremendous courage and strength and progress. I hope we never get to that.

the amazing thing about the movie's characters, wall-e and eve, are their ability to display astounding human characteristics through virtually no words. just movements. of hands. of eyes. and the repetition of each other's names in surprisingly poignant robotic voices. I have a feeling this means something more than just the contrast to the humans, robotic in their incessant obedience to advertising, technology, and mindlessness.

one of my favorite messages of the movie is that love is more than just attraction or a hundred other things. it's devotion, concern, self-sacrifice. 

it was a hopeful movie. for change and a shouldering of responsibility for ourselves and our planet. and the fact that we are never too far gone to change the way things are. the cowardly thing to do is run away and hope someone else will clean up the mess we made. and growth, life, rebirth, will always exist. hopeful, but still scary. when I left the theater, I was dwelling more on the possible trajectory of humankind than the possibility of backtracking. 

I hope others also felt the weight of responsibility, to make a difference where we can. the creators of this film wielded their power well. now it's up to us.

story part 1

okay, I promised updates on my more recent and, in this case, current writing projects. so, even though this story is in extreme preliminary stages and I'll probably rewrite this opener several times, I'll give you what I've got. but in installments. I have several sections written, so hopefully in the time it takes to release them gradually, I'll have written more and you won't be left hanging. unless I drop the story, of course, but I don't think that's going to happen. I've had a writing subject blank for a period of years now and I'm not about to abandon this sudden creative flow. I have no idea where this plot came from and even less where it's going. feel free to critique.

He had reached the hospital in dangerous time, running two red lights and clipping the bumper of another car while weaving through the stalled traffic in the dusty streets of Marrakesh.  But now that he was here, the adrenaline had run its course, and he sat in his parked Range Rover, one hand tightly gripping the clutch, the other white on the wheel.  Whatever was going on inside, it would keep happening just as doggedly, just as fated, with or without him there.  He was not ready to face whatever reality lay outside the car's fragile box of uncertainty, of waiting.  He stared at the taut knuckle lines of his hand on the steering wheel, and then, in a rush, noticed the abrupt, furious pounding of blood through his wrists, his gut, his temple.  Willing his limbs to obey, he relaxed his hands and raised them to grip the metal supports of the headrest behind his neck.  His breathing became measured.  Face pallid and fingers quivering, he opened the car door and stepped out.

old rag pictures

the rain.

at least his antics didn't require me to laugh.

not called the blue ridge for nothing.