June 23, 2013

Incidentally, it’s two AM. 

And I’m feeling this strange feeling that I’m watching something minute and complicated implode.  Like the tiniest details in my life are spiraling wildly, chaotically, boringly into dense nothing, and suddenly, I’m feeling like I shouldn’t qualify as an adult anymore. 

Maybe I don’t. Somehow, a fight with my mother, a friend withholding information, and some pounds gained are making me question my innate identity and worth.  That’s it.  I’m doubting, doubting BIG, and those items – those tiny, infinitesimal things! - are pretty significant frontmen on the battlefield of dizzy confusion in my head. 

The good news, though?  This melee may have prompted some sort of emotionally exhausted breakthrough.  Like hope emerging from the recesses of Pandora’s box, I may have hit upon the crux of a really significant issue in the midst of the general madness escaping my subconscious.

You know, I’m fairly certain that my relationship evaluations have never really been about my actions, my thoughts, my words.  “Boys don’t want me,” I’ve long written on my personal assessment sheet.  “Boys aren’t interested in dating me long-term. Boys I want don’t want me back.”

In the midst of my current, minute crisis, however, I started asking myself how much I actually cared about these guys.  How I felt about these guys.  The things I thought of them.  And some simultaneously fascinating and disconcerting patterns began to emerge. 

I disdain men, to a certain extent.  Not all of them.  A fair percentage of single men, to be more accurate.  The married ones are permitted, in my head, to exist as fully fleshed-out human beings, completely capable of caring on a deeper level, of seeing me, in turn, as a dynamic, three-dimensional person.  Single men, however, with rare exceptions, present this bizarre, many-headed opponent, possibly entirely fabricated in my own delightful brain.  “Don’t mess with me.” I demand of them as a whole.  “Don’t assume you’re above me. Don’t think I’m not powerful, intelligent, tough, or whatever because I’m possessed of ovaries. And if you do, be prepared to be sliced to ribbons with words.”

There’s this sickly intoxicating thrill in knowing that even if I’m putting a guy off me – making him believe that he might choose goats first if we were the last two humans left on the planet – that he’s still coming away with the understanding that  I’m an equal.  A spitfire. A pistol. Even a deeply unpleasant harpy. Anyone but a person to be trifled with. 

I cringe over how rare it is for guys in a position to date me to truly care about me as a person, but considerably more damning is a question fully within my power to influence: how often have I truly cared about a guy I was in a position to date?

And there it is.  A question that strips my problems to terrifying nakedness. 

Let’s see... Randy? Chris? Grant? Stephen? Christian? All come with significant caveats. 

Randy was marvelous and awesome to me in record time.  As in ‘roids and blood transfusions kind of record time.

 It took me a good six months before I stopped calling Chris “ginger” 75% of the time I spoke to him. 

Grant was fascinating, and not just because he somehow voodooed me into an about-face from vaguely irritated disinterest to absolute captivation in a single. month’s. time. All while maintaining his own vague disinterest.

Stephen…well, Stephen has a boyfriend now, but also was a great human who was unknown amounts greater due to his hot guitar-playing, stupidly sexy singing, deeply irritating love of reading, and truly aggravatingly attractive face. 

Christian’s welfare always mattered to me like that of a brother; his sexual attractiveness spun gleefully from desk lamp to cute boy in sophomore English and back again, pulling me along in its inebriated wake; and his personal qualifications as a long-term interest presented a considerably more difficult word problem than any given in any calculus course I’ve ever taken.  

The real fact of it is, in harshest terms, it’s fairly possible that the only guy I’ve REALLY cared about,  in a call-me-when-you-need-me, foolishly, soul-baringly familial, flawed-human (based on well-documented experience)-with-divine-potential(also based on well-documented experience) sort of way is Christian.   

Why so rare?

Well, frankly, it’s because I’m still twelve years old.  It’s because every unattached guy I meet remains just a tiny bit the older brother who found me loud, angry, and repulsive, just the barest hint the boys who always teased and teased rough in elementary school, and ever the slightest whiff of the guys who forgot my existence in a school where our grade literally consisted of thirty people.  The guys I meet on a daily basis have absolutely no idea that through my eyes, they may well be guys who underestimate me, guys who think they’re better than me, and guys who prefer girls who are every kind of more than me.  However, what isn’t always crippled in my sense of reality is that among these are guys who are occasionally actually attracted to me. 

And that’s when I get dangerous.

The unfortunately interested male before me has no idea that he’s presented me with a sudden ability to set right injustices the existence of which he has never even considered, much less held responsibility for. Having him want me when I find him attractive is pure adrenaline, and watching him squirm when I come down hard on him a sweet vindication.  Knowing that I can make out with him and feel the exact level of empty hormones for him that he feels for me is a heady shot of potency. 

I can get drunk on the absinthe of unresolved and blithely ignored bitterness, and the intoxication almost lets me overlook the overpowering damage I do with every successive binge.  Meanwhile, the rising tide of the resulting hangover which seems only to build on itself threatens to swamp me the longer it goes unchecked.

Unpack your emotions, I always say.  Are you feeling angry? Mean? Unforgiving? Resentful? Ask yourself why.  The crazy miracle of life is that when you really understand those dully familiar demons, you understand that YOU are the person feeding every one of them, and most beautifully of all, you therefore can release yourself from every one of them. 

Granted, I can’t test this for every person in every life, but in my own, it’s applicable on what I would consider a statistically significant level.  That would be my own brand of statistical significance, which exists with absolutely no scientific basis. The fact is that so much of our own bad behavior comes back to inattention to our understanding of the situation.  MOST ESPECIALLY, our own smallness, cruelty, and negativity can almost always be traced to a reptilian response to perceived threats to our self-worth. 

And really, this – the same devil that I’ve fought twelve ways to Sunday - is here again.  I am kind, I am smart, I am loving, I am funny, I am loveable, but most unshakably of all: I am a child of God.  In dating, as everywhere else, the smallest things can make me forget the crucial importance of my own worth, and when I do, I stop acting in accordance with that worth.

If someone doesn’t respect me, my value doesn’t diminish.  If someone doesn’t think I’m smart, I don’t lose IQ points.  If someone doesn’t think I’m pretty, I can and will still be beautiful to someone else.  I’m enough.  I don’t need to demand that boys see that or else run home with figurative tails clamped securely between taut and terrified hamstrings.  I understand confidence as the ability to be brave enough to love myself. There’s a higher plane of confidence. That plane is peace – not spite, not sarcasm, and certainly not sass – in the face of those who don’t.      

Chris

Hey, haven’t legitimately spoken to you in almost an entire year, despite seeing you in about one class every school day through the duration of that year.  Now I’m going to write you this a-propos-of-just-about-nothing missive.  Ha ha I’m just going to own up to that awkwardness now, as well as the fact that I have no excuse for it.

There isn’t a particularly strong likelihood that I’ll ever see you again, a fact which allows me to write this without significant repercussions.  Even though I did the same the last time I said anything to you in person, I wanted to thank you one more time.  Yes, I’m going to say nice things about you and you are just going to deal.

The experience I had with you smoothed flaws I hadn’t previously been able to fix on my own.  It gave me a faith and optimism for relationships to match my overpowering cheeriness on the subject of just about everything else, a faith I really needed.  You know I didn’t know what it was like to have something real, and I’m forever going to owe you for being willing to try me under those circumstances.

I want to tell you that I did and still do think that you are incredibly giving, selfless when it matters, and unquestionably smarter than me.  I'm really happy I met you, and through you (funny old world, this one), Kate.   

Replies are difficult, so you don’t need to feel an obligation to send one.

Just….thanks, and good luck, with everything.

Spencer

There are many things I could say about you.  You are goofy.  Intelligent.  Competitive.  Optimistic.  You put me on a pedestal at a truly terrifying altitude, but I won't pretend that you don't have a practically daunting list of virtues. 

You remember the story, of course: you wrote the following lyrics (or something very similar, it's been over a year now and my memory is something short of eidetic) in my honor: 

"Why don't you come here?" She purred, 

Pressed up against the door

I know my jaw's supposed to drop,

But this is canned, she's done this before

[Was there something else here?  I feel like there was.  I'm really not sure.]

They say that love is blind, 

But I'd say one-night stands are more near-sighted.

Ha. Well, I suppose I can congratulate myself for making an impression?

I told you that we needed to cut off contact after you sent me this song, and you were immediately chagrined.  You wanted me to know you were sorry even though you couldn't apologize to me directly, and that concern is certainly to your credit, as were the flowers you sent.   

I wasn't actually angry, though. Ha, don't get me wrong, I definitely never imagined someone would bother to compose verse immortalizing me in quite that fashion, but concerned is a much more accurate adjective. A third song about me? Really? I mean, a grumpy song, but still. I was fine with us hanging out and talking, if you wanted to, but if you still cared enough to be lyrically annoyed and put that to paper, you needed some time without my presence, even my virtual presence, to get to a place of apathy.  

Remember your irritation with me when I bailed on some everyday plans to hang out, after our breakup? 

"So I'm really not going to see you today?" appeared on my phone, under your name.

"You'll be fine," I swyped back, returning my phone to my purse and continuing my conversation without a skipped beat.

Ha, I remember being quite taken aback at the texted lecture I received in reply - I could have just apologized, I was being really rude, deeply inconsiderate etc.  Hindsight is much clearer than my poor vision at the time, and now I can understand that that text was more insensitive than I then realized.  The evidence, however, would suggest that my throwaway non-apology was remarkably prescient.  

Congratulations on your wedding, man.  Your wife is ABSURDLY beautiful.  I've never met her, and almost definitely never will, but knowing you, I'm willing to bet that she's also extremely talented, intelligent, and possessed of a delightfully off-beat sense of humor.  Certainly, her blog and instagram speak for themselves as regards her artistic abilities, something I most definitely never brought to the table when you were seated at it. 

I would not be surprised to discover that if she knows of me at all, she knows of me as a less than wonderful human being. If we're being honest, I deserve that more than I'd like to admit. In fact, this merits an official apology, so let me issue one: I'm sincerely sorry for my behavior.  Selfish, reckless with your feelings, and then dismissive of the consequences of my actions?  I'm not proud of any of it.  

It's wonderful that you got into medical school, and wonderful that you married someone who by all accounts is truly extraordinary.  I wish that I hadn't estranged you enough to prevent ever hearing from you, because I know you and your wife are going to go take down the world with your wealth of combined talents and awesomeness.  You're grand.  I'm sorry I was not, as you knew me. 

Randy

You are a great story, you know that?  I rarely resist the temptation to tell people the entire sordid (not remotely sordid) tale from start to finish; meeting you, dating you, and then enjoying, as I still am, your continued radio silence.  That “great” holds no twinge of sarcasm, either; our minute history is funny, unusual, and a marvelous addition to my not-unimpressive quiver of romantic entanglements.

Things I wish to say.  Well, first, you’re under the impression that I was at best more into it than you were, and at worst, doodling your name and mine in little hearts on every available surface.  Haha. The latter has never been quite my style, I’m afraid, but the former is unfortunately accurate.  I would like to state for the defense, however, that my reaction and responses to you are considerably more unique in my history than you may realize.  I feel a childish petulance considering it even now.  Dude, I’m usually the cool girl.  I swear it.  I’m the one waving in the rear view mirror, having moved on without having first informed the guy reflected in it.  I break, and am not broken with, generally speaking. 

As I said, though, you are correct, I did possess the balance of liking.  To an extent, I appreciate your willingness to remove yourself from the equation once that became clear.  I know it must have been unnerving to have me texting you first.  Do me a favor, though, and take note of the following.   I was informed by a truly exceptional source that you needed a bit more push than the average guy.  The defense calls your attention to the fact that in direct answer to this quandary, the defendant was initiating text conversations no more than twice a week, conversations abandoned by the defendant after five to ten texts.  I fully understand that you weren’t into me, and that any level of effort beyond yours was therefore disconcerting.  The defense, however, demands of the jury to decide for themselves whether such actions can accurately be described as being particularly overwhelming or ill-advised. 

Further, it would make me feel better to make a point of the fact that I allowed your departure with no protest.  I understood it – even though it kind of sucked – and I did not follow you with texts or calls or visits demanding explanations or vindication or similar nonsense.  We made out that last time, your assertion that we see where things go ringing falsely in my ears, and following it to this very day, there has been no contact on either side.

I’d like to establish that I do understand, for the record.  I know why you left, and I’d have done the same.  However, I have notes on your departure.  When you are told in no uncertain terms that someone is interested, and you verbally indicate reciprocation, you do yourself and the lady in question a service to explain deviations from this status quo before ending contact.  Your approach, by contrast, was just kind of cowardly, man.  I can’t help feeling like you were simply afraid to be there when I found out that you didn’t like me.  Hey, in point of fact, I’m a tough kid.  I can handle it, and so can any future lady with whom you have similar confounding situations. I deserved at least a text informing me of your disinterest.  Your deafening silence does your legitimately good character no credit. 

Finally, I find myself wanting to defend the extent of my interest, an arguable nucleus for all of these thoughts.  I want you to understand that you are different.  Unfortunately, not in your exit, nor in the fact that our kisses were both early and casual.  You stand alone in your immediate and genuine appeal to me.  I crush hard on boys with abandon and without apparent discretion, but I like them for fairly inane reasons.  This one is hot, that one a musician, that one is funny, that one loves Neil Gaiman, that one rocks some deeply excellent style, that one is hot, etc.   You, however. You grabbed me with the person you were: levelheaded, legitimately compassionate, brilliantly intelligent, opinionated, but not insufferable.  I’ve been known to find these traits and fall in love with them many times over in the people of my life, but only after years of friendship. Never had someone shown me such undeniable evidence of being such a wonderful person so soon.  And I’ll be honest, I have often been guilty of missing the bad in people, but I have yet to be wrong about the good.  You discredit your good by extricating yourself in so depressingly high school a fashion, even from a dalliance as insignificant (and I do know that it was insignificant) as yours and mine was. 

I’m happy I got to know you, and I like to think that your behavior in these circumstances was as singular in your life as mine was for me – that your departure was a fluke, and not the rule in your relationships.  I know that you’re a wonderful person, and you have an absurdly bright future ahead.  Please go live it marvelously.

September 2, 2012

Oh, I should so be doing my Pearl of Great Price Homework right now.  See, I just kind of attempted to do it (and completed one of two worksheets, so kudos to me), but definitely bought the wrong packet of readings - Doctrine and Covenants instead of Pearl of Great Price.  Fail.  Whatever, so that's going to have to wait until Tuesday, when I can buy the right one.  

Also, I'm attempting to write this while watching Megamind.  Inadvisable. Have you missed that one?  I think you have...I don't remember...Grand Dreamworks animated film. Focuses on a really crappy supervillian with a heart of gold and his arch-nemesis with a giant chin and great hair.   Voiced by Will Ferrell, Tina Fey, Brad Pitt, David Cross and totally hilarious.  You'll have to see it when you get back if you didn't catch it on the way out.  Of course, following your immediate and undoubtedly repeated viewings of HP 7.1 and 7.2. 

First week of school.  I love school.  I'm such a sick person.  I forget how insanely exciting is the first week of school - I was practically vibrating with happy energy all of Monday.  Classes seem like they will, at the very least, be a lot easier than last fall semester.  Perhaps even an improvement upon Winter and Spring Semesters :)  I kind of love my classes, and my favorite professor - who was supposed to retire, but got roped into one last class - is teaching one of my classes.  I'm excited.  Do you ever feel like some things are promising because they remind you of other really awesome times in your life?  This feels like the beginning of my fall semester sophomore year.  Most auspicious :)

Hahaha the other thing about first semester of school, however, is that Chris is back in my presence on a regular basis.  

Dahahahahhaa.  

First of all, he was good enough to shave his head.  Well, buzz, if we're being fair.  Regardless, he looks nothing like himself.  That's convenient for me.  It's really difficult to do that stupid thing where you reminisce while creepily staring at someone when their head stares back.

[Interruption of regularly scheduled programming to inform you that I just saw a picture of Gandalf with Morgan Freeman's face captioned "Gandalf the Black."]

Also, his girlfriend is a civil engineer (too lazy to check if I already told you that), so I've seen them wandering around the engineering building together.  So marvelously, hilariously awkward.  The way we determinedly avoid eye contact on these occasions is a work of art.  I've decided that awkward totally improves my life.  Awkward is magnificent.  It's hysterical.  90% of my dating stories would stop being funny if awkward weren't a significant part of them.  

Eh, and at least Spencer is off being good with someone else's family now :)  The girl he's marrying is, like, ridiculously beautiful.  She's all giant slanty blue-green eyes and lots of dark wavy hair and some deeply enviable clothes. As long as we're talking about how strangely my mind works, I will confess some weird depression upon seeing her.  I don't miss Spencer (although he's absolutely a wonderful person), but there's nevertheless something unsettling in feeling that you threw away someone who subsequently proceeded to procure an upgrade on you.  

Actually, I could go on for a while about my thoughts on being around people who knew me at specific parts in my life, and how I prefer to avoid people who are connected to certain eras. 

 The reason I have more thoughts to share on this subject: I was surprised to find people in my current ward - boys - who lived in my freshman ward and remembered me.  Was also surprised to find some level of discomfort with that fact. Not their presence - I rather like both of them, actually.  Honestly, I think I weirdly expect people like, not to recognize me if they last saw me during a completely different phase of my life.  Granted, this desire for shock and awe is a little more justified in their case, as I was all chubby with hair about ten inches shorter and practically black the last time they saw me, but still.  This really strange thing happened freshman year...it's like I was moving on a trajectory following high school, completely changed course freshman year, and then went in an altogether new one for the rest of my college experience.  I wasnot. happy. for so much of freshman year, which is a greater contrast to how I am now than the way I look.  I suppose I want people's jaws to drop at how different I am, even if they have no hope of seeing the true depth of my transformation.  And, it must be said, sometimes I vainly just want them to be like, "hey, weird, that girl's actually sort of hot now.  Who knew." 

August 27, 2012

La, la la la, la la.  That reads a lot more entertaining than it did in my head.  So this evening, I finally moved into my gloriously beautiful new apartment.  And it's really every bit as awesome as I'd expected it to be.  My room is giant, compared to many I've had before, and everything else is lovely.  Extra bonus: all the girls here are awesome.  No reservations, they are grand.  I'm going to enjoy this year.  Ha, especially as one of my roommates happens to cook, quite a bit.  But, she says, mostly desserts for her roommates.  Mwahahahahahahaha I have hit the jackpot of places to live.

This week was one of the fastest that has ever passed in my entire life.  I could swear that I was just sitting and typing to you from Lake Chelan.  The week in Chelan and Seattle was marvelous, though.  La.  

So, in Chelan, we first took the ferry up the lake (it's fifty miles long, so I read yet another book on the ferry ride there and back) to a town called Stehekin, which can only be accessed by boat.  It's small, quaint, piney, and perfect.  Oh, my.  It's really quite a stunning place, Washington.  I can't imagine anyone going there and not falling hopelessly in love.  Unless, of course, they lack a soul or similarly crucial element of humanity.  We hiked around Stehekin and got too much pastry and salad and chicken-bacon-feta confections (yeah, that thing was one of the best I've ever tasted) at the local bakery.  Serious.  It's so pretty.  Then Heather and I played around in the lake all day Tuesday, and commented on how we essentially act like ten-year-olds when we're together.  Hahaha.  We got out goggles - which will always make all human beings look like enormous dorks - and dove for rings in the shallow (read: between six and twelve feet deep) place behind the dock, we took turns leaping into the lake into the most exotic fashions we could and did some Olympic gymnast presenting for our dives, because that just seemed necessary.  We painted our toenails on the dock, I threatened to shove her in (and should have, it would have been funny) when she was being a pansy about how cold the water was, and really, it was just awesome.  We then proceeded to take the jet skis out, and Heather let me drive.  

Mwahaha.  

I'm rather more reckless on jet-skis than any other motorized vehicle, and it's really easy to make Heather freak out.  Well, not really, but she squeals loudly, which is entertaining.  I was flipping lots of donuts and seeing how fast I dared crank it to and generally being entertaining.  At some point in there, I started singing Call Me, Maybe.  I really don't know why.  In a magnificent moment that was criminally not preserved for posterity, I was singing at the top of my lungs while turning into a rather hastily accelerated donut, and somewhere in the middle of "Before you came into my life, I-", we were forcibly thrown from the jet-ski, head over life jacket, in what I'm fairly certain is one of the most entertaining moments of my life.  

There was also a really long political discussion amongst my family, as Dan posted a picture of him with Paul Ryan and Mitt Romney on the facebook page for his barefoot shoe company, and got plenty of seriously negative backlash. The people who were respectful enough to write things such as "You can support whoever you like, and I will choose to use my money elsewhere," have my full support.  I'm totally on board with that.  It's the people who were full of, "the founder is a brain dead tool," "moron," "hates women and should be ashamed of himself" with whom I take umbrage.  Dude, where is it written that disagreeing without vitriol is not allowed in politics?  I hate that attitude.  Disagree like a grownup, and for heaven's sake, stop extrapolating to the lowest common denominator.  Come on.  

"Tell me, Kristen - what is it you want in life and how do you see yourself?"

Let's reverse these, because that's more fun.  And this is going to be some very very candid things from me, which in this case means it's going to sound arrogant.  Bear with me.  

How do I see myself...I see myself as someone who loves, above all else.  Imperfectly, unfortunately, but still.  And we're not just talking about people. Quotes from Chris, "It's kind of hilarious, really, you love...like...everything.  Music, movies, people, food, nature, driving, anything.  You love it all."  I will maintain until the end of time that I'm happier because so much makes me happy.  The more people you love, the more people in your life who make you happy.  Ditto everything else.  

As for the rest, I could quite narcissistically go on about myself for ages at a time, but I'll be brief.  I feel like I'm an unusual combination of a lot of things. I'm driven, sarcastic, musical, tough, and have a strong religious center.  I'm content being single, have incredible friends, crack plenty of jokes - witty and off-color alike, enjoy biting off a snappy comeback with a smile, am occasionally wise, and have been told by a remarkable number of friends and family this summer that I can be counted upon to make smart, well-reasoned decisions. 

There's a line in that Carrie Underwood song, from the Enchanted soundtrack - "you just might wind up being glad to be you."  

Quite honestly, the first time I really listened to that line sometime in high school, I cried.  Because I frankly couldn't imagine what that was like.  However, the arrogance that I've been cultivating since you've been gone has come with a sense of appreciation for who I am.  I regularly feel like the luckiest girl in the world.  It's hard to imagine people having it much better than me.  Life is not a contest, and there are plenty of people prettier, smarter, wittier, more talented, whathaveyou.  In the last two years, however, I've found a magical ability to see other people with their talents so clearly outshining mine and still be very, very happy about who I am (usually).  Indeed, to know that I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be, having exactly the experiences I'm supposed to have.  There's a contentment that wasn't here before.  

What do I want from life...  I want other people to feel that contentment and happiness that I feel.  I want to help people reach their potential, because in exploring my own, I've already been astounded at what I'm capable of.  In a year, I'll have a diploma in chemical engineering.  I can't tell you how insane it is to know that I pulled through this, and even acquitted myself well in so doing.  I want to help people be happy like I'm happy, to be happy because they are capable of unlocking their own greatness, and in turn, to help others.  

Up to proofread, down to bed :)

August 20, 2012

Oh, my good, glorious, paradise.  Have I told you about Lake Chelan?  I'm sure, I can't resist gushing about it to people when I get the chance.   Lake Chelan: eastern Washington state, composed of glacial runoff that is icy cold but so window clear you can see straight to the bottom in thirty feet of water.  Where we stay in Lake Chelan is spectacular. Heather's in-laws  own this place right on the lake which was recently renovated. It's a small grey shingled affair with a red door that kind of feels as though you stepped into Nantucket.  There's a big old dock with jet skis and a super nice boat out back - Dan, Heather's husband, ran a wakeboard school from this very dock for several summers both before and after his mission, and consequently has mad wakeboard skills.  It's really enjoyable to watch him do ridiculous things.  The house has a state-of-the-art kitchen and is perhaps exclusively furnished in aggressively tasteful antiques.  That are strangely not twee, actually, which you might expect.  The house is gorgeous, the wrap-around porch is spectacular, and the view of the lake and surrounding town is unbeatable.  

So basically, my life is perfect.  You should be incredibly jealous.  Here's how I've spent my evening - Heather and I went to a farmer's market, where we fed the goats (which are kind of freaking adorable, and that's not as weird as it sounds) and bought sugar cane root beer and blueberries, cherries, and peaches rather larger than my fist and hooooooly crap, they're amazing.  Then we grilled lemon garlic chicken and corn on the cob, ate said fantasticness, Hez and I watched So You Think You Can Dance, we all made peach cobbler together while listening to Tony Bennet and Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble, and then ate said peach cobbler (again, freaking tasty) and Heather and I went and sat in the hot tub and had a crazy long conversation about the mysteries of life.  

You don't care, and I don't care that you don't, you get to read how awesome life is anyway.  

That conversation with Heather was really grand, too, by the way.  Sometimes, I can be helpful in dispensing advice.  This pleases me on the rare occasions that it manages to happen.  Although, a disturbing amount of times tonight, I sounded like a swallowed a fortune cookie.  Or a really lame self-help book. Heather and I are strong where the other is not.  Heather is selfless and humble where I am selfish and conceited.  I am confident in my own worth and assured of who I am where Heather second-guesses herself.  It really is completely perfect that we're sisters.  I was thinking, too, about how amazing are the people that my siblings married - every last one of them.  I love that I have two new sisters and an older brother, all of whom I respect enormously and love, all in their own rights.  

Related on multiple fronts: Cara, Nate's wife and I were talking when I was in Baltimore the other week.  I simply adore Cara.  She is down-to-earth, unassuming, happy, and loving.  Oh, my gosh, I love her.  [Let's be honest, who'd expect any less awesome a spouse from my this-close-to-perfect brother.]  They got married in 2010, and the first time she met me was at high school graduation. I was saying something to Cara, last week, about how I felt like I had changed enormously since coming to college.  She agreed wholeheartedly, "Honestly, I feel like you're...practically a different person, at least from the one I remember.  You...I don't want to say you're a lot calmer, exactly....But you found out what you wanted to do, and I feel like that grounded you, and centered you.  It's obvious that you have far more of a sense of self, and of what you want and who you are."

I've been reading more in the last few days than I have in (quite possibly) years :)  Mmmm, glory.  I reread HP 7 on Thursday, read an entire book called Fated on the drive up, and have since read the first Stieg Larssen novel.  You have to have heard of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.  There is absolutely no way that you're running around Scandanavia, even under cover of a white shirt and black tag, and escaped the pull of that one.  It's good.  Excellent, on a lot of fronts, including literarily (although I will never pretend to be a true judge.  Especially as Google informs me that I just made up literarily).  Graphic, though, definitely.  My brain was a bit mired in strange Swedish impassiveness after finishing it.  

"Fresh off the GRE test as you will be when you read this, I'm sure your superior brain powers will understand what I'm saying beyond my ability to write it. "

Ha.  Hahaha.  hahahahhahahahahhahahaha.  That's sweet.  My brain was essentially deep-fried for all the use I got out of it for the rest of that day.  

"You know, someday I'm going to end up with diabetes, and will be relying on your very successful brother to save my life, and you'll stop him from ending my suffering as retribution for all of the times I've mocked your sciencyness."

If I were feeling obnoxious, I'd inform you that my brother is studying Type 1 diabetes, which you are born with, whereas the type you can develop is Type II.