"The last I saw her she was dancing all alone"

The Little Things

I slightly burned my microwave popcorn last week, and it got me thinking about how the seemingly simple things are actually really difficult to get right. Take making toast. There's 2 ingredients and only one appliance with a max of 3 buttons, but it's tough to master the perfect golden brown. And vending machines. So simple, but often stubborn in their job. There's got to be something to this.

Oh, hi there.

I'm starting to feel just a little bit stuck. It's crept in slowly and is slowly overtaking my ambition. I don't know how to start things anymore. Like this post. It's rough going.

There's nothing really wrong, things just don't feel quite as good as they used to be. The other night I was thinking that it's ludicrous that I'm not always ecstatic about my life. Because come on, man-buns are a thing! And somehow I still have two packets of Pumpkin Pie Pop-tarts left.

Awhile back, I wrote about being afraid of being in the same place in a year...well I traced back and that was in 2013. Not much progress. To be fair, time is a nasty whirlwind that doesn't ever seem to abide by it's own rules, but maybe it's time for me to take stock of Av.

I found this picture the other night. I'm just a tiny afterthought in the corner frame, but I love who I was in that moment. It was taken at a Christmas party my best friend and I threw in 2011. (I can't even deal with that right now!) It'd be nice if our pictures were like Mr. Potter's; then I would know what had captured my excitement and imagination in that moment.  It's been a long time since I've been that hopeful. The mistletoe held promise not fear that night. It seemed that time and future were in my command. Even though the mirror in that house was a mega fat mirror (going home for Christmas that year and looking in a normal mirror was really freaky, but I digress), I still felt really good about my body. My grades were falling into place with minimal homework. The door seemed wide-opened for anything or anyone.

Now most days my door is closed.

I know how hard it is pick the locks I place and tear down the barriers I create, so I've stopped myself. But now what?

Distractions. I think that's what I've been surviving on since BYU. My job was still new. Salt Lake was still fresh. Everything was either being figured out or so full of possibility that I was endlessly distracted by all the impending intrigue.

And then I made nothing happen. The distractions amounted to nothing real. Nothing I could hang my hat on at the end of this often cliche 20-something life I get to enjoy.

I'm going to find a ballet class to attend. And read more literature and scriptures. And force myself to be creative again. Because right now I don't have the spark needed to plan big enough to satisfy that  girl, clad in vintage shoes, hosting a Christmas party.