The Divide

I am watching Grey's Anatomy, and I am stressed out. They're taking their boards, and all of them are complete disasters. Meredith has the flu (like mid-exam she's throwing up into the garbage can), Karev shows up thirty minutes late and misses the entire first section, Christina is being Christina (condescending, arrogant, antagonistic), red-haired girl is sweating like an overweight football player and frantically giving her answers with raised intonation at the end of each sentence, and Avery boy is super distracted by his steel-blue eyes and his mom/red-haired girl. I can barely breath.

They only have one chance for this test, and if they don't pass they have to wait an entire year to take it again. I don't really know the real-world significance of the exam since TV tries to make everything seem like the worst thing ever (Wikipedia leads me to believe that it's a voluntary certification that doctors choose to undertake), but regardless of the ramifications, failure is failure. Halfway through the episode, we find out that one of them didn't pass (omg), but we don't know who. Each of them has good reason to fail (see disaster paragraph above). At the very end of the episode, four of them are standing together trying to refresh their phones to find out their results. They're all convinced that they didn't make the cut. But one by one, they get their pass notification and they squeal and laugh and hug.

Then the failure walks up to the group in disbelief. And the episode ends with the four who passed clustered together staring in shock at the one who didn't.

And even though just moments before it could have been any one of them who didn't pass the boards, there is instantly this insurmountable divide between the passers and the non passer. And now comes my deepest thought of the day (thanks, Grey's!): I wonder if my life would be different if I weren't so terrified of being on the non-passer side of this divide?

Dear Mindi

In high school I had a YW leader introduce me to the show Felicity. Her name was Mindi, and she had all four seasons on DVD, so I would spend long Saturday afternoons at her apartment watching episode after episode. I love Felicity. I love her over-sized sweaters, her blue converse, her awkwardness, her borderline stalker behavior, her infamous season two haircut, her love of Sarah McLachlan, and her endless Ben/Noel debate. My favorite over-the-top-dramatic-but-incredibly-endearing aspect of Felicity is the tapes that Felicity sends to Sally. Sally was her high school French tutor, and Felicity has never been able to talk to anyone the way she talks to Sally. So instead of writing, she records cassette tapes and sends them in the mail. She always starts her tapes "Dear Sally."

In the middle of my Senior year of high school, Mindi moved to Tehachapi, California. After Mindi left, I was really tempted to start sending her tapes, but I felt silly blatantly recreating the world of Felicity. (Or maybe I didn't have a tape recorder.) So instead, I sent her a series of "Dear Mindi" letters. Maybe it's because I've been watching My So Called Life, or because I've been listening to my nostalgia-infused playlist on the way to work, or because I'm back living in the place I grew up, but I've recently been preoccupied with my high school days. At the risk of revealing how silly and emotional I was during high school, I'm going to share a Dear Mindi letter.

Imagine that your laptop is a clunky gray desktop, put on some Sarah McLachlan, eat a pizza pocket, get out your high school yearbooks, and enjoy this lovely blast from the past.

Dear Mindi,

Tomorrow I turn 18 and in 3 weeks I graduate and in 3 months I'll be a freshman in college. I can't imagine actually being done with high school. No more 6 period days where the classes are easy, but you still feel challenged. And all your teachers know your name, and know you're a good student. No more complete lack of responsibility, and no more Mt. View. No more seeing my friends every day and soon no more Vancouver. It's sad, and overwhelming. So many things are changing and life will never be the same. I'll move on and forget a lot of my high school days, and the sad days and the memories will blur into a blob of "high school" that will seem meaningless and so long ago. And I don't know how I feel about it all. I'm excited and I hate it and I'm nervous. But most of all, I hate this limbo phase where change is looming right ahead, and I know it's coming, so everything seems bittersweet. I feel carefree, but at the same time everything is tainted with the knowledge that I know it will be over soon.

It feels like all of high school I've been waiting to get out. I've been waiting to move on and be an adult and live. And now I'm almost there, and I want to go back and be kid. I don't want to go to college. It's like passing through doors that lock right behind you. You can't go back. Maybe I have control issues. I want to be able to choose. But time kind of takes the choice away. And I know college isn't really adulthood yet. But it feels like I'm giving a lot up. And I'll have to take on a lot of new things and independence. I really thought I would act differently to all this change. I thought I would be strong and indifferent and ready for what next year will bring. But I'm the opposite. I'm going a little haywire as it all becomes real.

My life has been consistent for the past 18 years. And now I feel that after this change, more change is just going to come, and I'll constantly be saying hello and goodbye to people and things I'm a part of. I need more consistency. Life really will never be the same, and it's all work and a challenge. It's like stairs leading up higher and higher and sometimes you reach landings and can rest, but ultimately you keep climbing and climbing. You never feel like you've made it, like you can just stop. But I guess stopping would be boring, and you wouldn't learn anything if you weren't going anywhere or doing anything. It just drains the energy out of me thinking about how uphill life is, and it's not going to change. But hopefully I'll change and be better at dealing with it.

All of these realizations are things I've known in the back of my mind. But until now they haven't really affected me, and I'm starting to realize that they are really true. It's so different to have knowledge floating around in your head than it is to really know it's true from experience. I feel like I have a lot of knowledge floating in my mind, but I don't know a lot of things. Does that make sense? So I could spew advice to myself about how to deal with certain things because I know that it will all turn out for the best in the end, but I really don't know that.

I think one of the hardest parts of leaving high school behind is the feeling that I haven't changed anything or done anything with the past four years. I don't feel really sad to say goodbye to friends, but it's almost sadder to know you don't really have anyone to say goodbye to. The past two years I've been floating in and out of groups of friends, which has been fun and a lot less drama. But in the end, I don't feel any strong connection . . . I feel easily forgettable. I just hope that all the people that I will remember will remember me too. I really hope they do. All of my best friends and the teachers that I have loved and the people I had long conversations with. I just want them to remember, so it doesn't feel like it never happened.

I'm being silly and sentimental, and I don't care. I'm too many emotions right now. I just want to fast forward to next year when BYU will be home, and this will feel like a long time ago. I can't imagine walking across the stage at graduation. And that feeling of everything being so final. What was it like for you? Were you as crazy as I am now? I need to feel sane about this.

In one hour and ten minutes I'm legally an adult.

Love,
Kristin

Sleep

I sometimes like to joke that I haven't woken up before 7am since 2004. I probably have. I'm sure there were some early mornings in college where I woke up at 5am or 6am to finish homework for an 8am class. Or to study for finals. Or woke up early to catch a flight or to drive someone to the airport. Sure I can't remember any of those days at the moment, but they probably happened. But I haven't consistently set my alarm for pre-7am hours in many, many years.

Probably since high school. Sometimes I look back at high school and wonder how I maintained my sleep schedule. High school starts so early. Like 7:45am. Even typing that just now I thought to myself, no, I'm just being dramatic--it must be after 8am. So I double-checked my high school's website, and first period really starts at 7:45am. And for a couple of years I took 0-period seminary, so I was at school by 6:30am. And of course I stayed up past midnight most nights having drama-filled AIM conversations. (Obviously.) How did I survive?

As complainy and lazy as I'm sounding, I've never been one to sleep in. When I was really young, I can remember being the first person awake on Sunday mornings. I would get a bowl of frosted flakes and watch The Bozo Show until other people got up. I'm not sleep crazy. I have never slept the day away, and I could probably count on one hand the number of times I have slept past 10am. During my masters program, I set my alarm for 9am (on the off-chance that I didn't wake up on my own before then), but I would usually wake up without it around 8. I'm not a napper. I don't crave sleep.

But the biggest shock to getting a full-time job has been waking up early. I leave for work by 7:30am, which means I have been waking up between 6am and 6:30am every day. The part of me that has always wanted to be an early-morning-gets-a-bunch-of-things-done-before-the-rest-of-the-world-wakes-up kind of person loves this. I feel like an adult with my stuff together. The other 98% of me hates this. It's just a little too early for me. And I do mean a little. 7:30am would be fine. 8am would be fantastic. But there's something about the pre-7am hours that terrify me. I never feel fully rested. And I don't trust myself enough in the pre-7am hours to fully grasp the importance of waking up. I'm always on the brink of completely ignoring my alarm and fading back into a wonderful heavy sleep without a care in the world. Pre-7am, nothing feels more important than resting. Not beating traffic. Not being responsible. Not keeping my job. Nothing.

Once I get out of bed and shower, the heavy feeling in my eyes starts to dissipate. I slowly slip into my professional and responsible mode. But the 10 minutes right after my alarm goes off, when I'm lying in bed trying to will my legs to swing over the side of the bed and fighting to keep my eyelids open, are the most distressing and disorienting minutes of my day.

The World of Tiny Humans

Children are the most fascinating creatures on Earth.

Let me back up. I haven't spent much time with kids. Since I come from a big family, when I hit babysitting age people kind of assumed that I was good with children. The fact that I am at the tail-end of my family and therefore had absolutely zero experience taking care of anyone younger than myself never seemed to click. When I was twelve years old, I got my first babysitting job. And I mean babysitting. My back-door neighbor asked me to watch her couple-month-old daughter for two hours. Since a $4/month allowance doesn't go far, and since in fourth grade I tried to get people to call me Kristy because I desperately wanted to live within the world of The Baby-Sitter's Club, I said yes. But I was terrified. I climbed over the fence separating our backyards, knocked on their screen door, and put on a brave face as the mom handed me the squirming little bundle. For two hours straight I paced around their house, holding tight to the baby in constant fear that something would go terribly wrong. Like it would cry. Or I would have to change a diaper.

I eventually recovered from this trauma and did a smattering of babysitting during high school where I picked up key skills like how to boil pasta and how to switch from TV to DVD on almost any remote. But I spent the last seven years living in a college town where I often went months without seeing anyone below the age of 18.

I'm a little out of touch.

Spending the last six days with my sister's three kids hurled me back into the world of tiny humans. This world is exciting, loud, and repetitive. And I desperately wanted to be accepted. For the most part, this world is really straight-forward. Let them boss you around, laugh at their jokes, have the patience to repeat something over and over and over, and occasionally give them a quarter or a piece of candy, and you will undoubtedly win them over. For example, my niece Jane was constantly telling me jokes. I guess the plural form of "joke" is probably inaccurate because it was always the same joke: "What did the elephant say to the hippo?" she would ask expectantly. I would thoughtfully pause and enthusiastically say, "What???" And she would squeal, "Be quiet, I'm trying to swim!" Obviously. And she would tell the same joke again and again, plugging in new animals or objects in the "elephant" and "hippo" slot. I listened and laughed and she loved me.

But sometimes the rules of this world are confusing. Most significantly, the rules surrounding a high five constantly baffle me. Sometimes when you hold up your hand and invite a high five, children enthusiastically giggle, slap your hand multiple times, and then want you to play patty cake for the next forty-five minutes. But sometimes, for no apparent reason, they coyly run away and, no matter the coaxing or bribing, will not bestow that high five.

Not that this happened to me. And if it did, I'm totally over it. And I'm definitely not lingering on the fact that my nieces and nephew always high five my sister Emily.

Temp Work

I've been doing some temp work for the past 3 days at a company called New Media Management. Or is it New Events Media. Or Media Management for Events? Doesn't matter, I'm a temp. I first got started doing temp work for NMM/NEM/MME last fall through a guy in my ward. His dad owns the company, and he organizes/manages temp workers when his dad needs extra stuff done. He is 18, which is the first depressing part of this story. On the first day I worked with him, he showed me to my station and quickly demonstrated my task for the day. Then he handed the work over to me and said, "See, this is the easiest $10 an hour you'll ever make!" He's clearly never worked at the BYU Internship Office. Or had a real job.

So, let me tell you what I've been doing for the past three days. NMM/NEM/MME has an order for 3,000 headrest covers. Think this:

They put vinyl stickers on each side of these cloth headrests and then de-sticker/wash/press/re-sticker for the next order. On Monday, 18-year-old was at the laundromat, and I was on pressing duty. I'll note here that I was working with a super sweet girl who's age was never verified, but she's taking her driving test today! Good luck Krystal/Krystle/Crystal! (Is this depressing part #2 or am I losing track?) But back to my work. I took a headrest, put it on the ironing press (think oversized waffle maker), closed the press, waited ten seconds for it to beep, opened it, flipped the headrest, closed it, waited ten seconds for it to beep, then put the steaming headrest on a cooling rack to dry. Repeat 1,500 times. 7 hours Monday. 6 hours Tuesday. 

I have to say, as jaded as I may sound, I was actually quite good at this. When there's absolutely nothing to do except lift and lower and flip and wait, it gives you time to think about how to be more efficient. (And how you're 25 and standing in someone's garage getting steam burns and yet still trying to eke a second or two off the process.) 18-year-old and driving-test girl both commented on my speed. I said it's probably because of my masters degree. We all laughed heartily. (Cue inner weeping.)

Today I was on sticker duty, which is even more straightforward than pressing. You peel off a sticker, stick it on the front, flip, peel off a sticker, and stick it on the back. That's it. But you have to do it fast. And while pressing includes the really nice 10-second downtime where there's nothing to do but wait for the beep, there is no downtime with stickers. You peel and stick as fast as you possibly can. And I am the master of stickers. I timed myself, and I was finishing about 120 headrests an hour. Since there are very few opportunities to boast when you're unemployed, I'd like to note that 18-year-old was only doing 60. 

All-in-all this was all fine and great. We listened to the radio, we chatted, and, for the most part, I really didn't mind the work. I didn't have to answer phones or sell anything. I didn't get dumped into some complex new task with no training. I just stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, did a simple task well, made some money, and went home for the day. And part of me even started thinking that it wouldn't be so bad to have a mindless job like this where I could show up every day, do what little was expected of me, and punch my time card. 

And then I got to the final two-hour stretch of my shift today and things got dark. First of all, I was physically exhausted. Standing on your feet all day is tiring, but constantly moving your hands and arms with the right combination of speed and precision is extra exhausting. Plus, my 80-year-old-woman back problems started flaring up. Second, I started hating every single song on the radio. Third, I started to think about how I was giving NMM/NEM/MME my absolute best while everyone around me was just getting through the day. And maybe the logical response would be to do things more slowly, but that's just not in me. If I have a task, I do my best. And this is the point where I (thankfully) remembered that I don't want to be exploited daily to complete some meaningless task. I want to be putting my energy towards something that I'm interested in, that will build my resume, and that takes more than 20 seconds to master. 

I've known this all along, but it was a nice reminder. Being unemployed has put me in a funk. I've been working really hard to find a job, but, at the same time, the thought of actually getting a job is a little bit intimidating. Jobs are complex, and you have to adjust to your role, your coworkers, and a new company. Since I've been met with nothing but rejection for the past few months, it's pretty easy to lose sight of my ability to tackle hard things. So yes. For the first week of a job, it does sound nice to just have a waffle iron  steamer in front of you and lift/close. But anything worth 40 hrs/week of my time is going to be difficult at first. But I can do it. And by day three, instead of hating my life, hopefully I'll be getting comfortable and learning new things. Now, to just get a job. 

Did I mention that in 9 hours and 14 minutes I will, once again, be placing stickers on headrests? 

I took this screen shot on my Mac. Fitting.