My Life is Weird

But everyone reading my blog already knew that.

Two Wednesdays ago, I went to Acoustic Explosion for my guitar class. It was pretty good, but it reminded me a lot of the scenes from School of Rock where all these mediocre artists are trying to get started. Someone actually used the phrase "stickin' it to the man", and I nearly burst out laughing. It was dark when I came out, and I was tired, so Mason walked me home, because he's the kind of person who will drop what he's doing and take an hour to Wyview and back if you ask. (Further confirmation that I have good taste in guys.)

That Friday, I ran into Mason in the Cougareat in the evening. I had started reading a book there over lunch, and hadn't left yet. We ended up going to watch the Mr. Heritage competition together (which was hilarious), and then I continued reading my book at his apartment while he wrote a last-minute Book of Mormon paper. He turned it in with literally seconds to spare, stealing my title of Best (Worst?) Procrastinator. He then walked me home, and we ended up talking in the laundromat until 4 am about random stuff. (Hey Mom, does the way teenagers use "random" and "stuff" still bug you? Because I totally just did both in the same sentence.)

Needless to say, I slept through Saturday morning's conference session, but it ended up working out, because the internet was really laggy during conference from everyone in Wyview trying to stream it at the same time. I watched it Saturday evening instead, and it was much easier to follow than the Saturday afternoon session that I watched live. Sunday morning, I watched conference with Mason at his old Wyview roommates' apartment, because they actually have a TV. I took a nap Sunday afternoon, and accidentally slept through the last session, which I have yet to catch up on.

Later that evening, I get a text from Mason, inviting me to go to the temple with him and his family on Tuesday to do baptisms. I laughed a bit at the irony of the situation - the first time I met his family, and the first time we did baptisms together, both happening after we broke up. It was really nice, though; the temple is always nice, and I got along with his family really well. (Thanks Pink Floyd!)

On Wednesday, I had to go to the French Club's cheese festival for a Cultural Activity for French 102. I had been complaining a little bit about having to stay late on campus and pay $5 to do this, so finally Mason said, "Look, you've been complaining about American cheese ever since you got here. Now you get to go eat good cheese. Stop complaining." Sometimes, I need someone to point stuff like that out to me. And he was right. Eating mold turned out to be the best part of my day by far.

In my Chem 113 class, we've been doing qualitative analysis. Which, it turns out, I'm really good at. Because of the way the schedule worked out this year, the Tuesday/Thursday class has one less day than the Monday/Wednesday class, so a lot of people in my class are probably not going to finish the last lab. I finished halfway through Thursday's lab period, with a whole lab period to spare on Tuesday. No big deal or anything.

On Saturday afternoon, I got a text from Mason asking what my plans for the evening were. I think it's interesting that even after spending a semester pursuing him, dating for almost two months, and being broken up for almost a month and a half, that kind of text makes me feel just as fluttery and excited as the first time he asked me on a date. We went to a guitar concert that was hosted at Provo High School, which he had to go to because someone forgot to attend three concerts this semester for our beginning guitar class. After the concert, we went back to my apartment, and ended up talking in the laundromat until 2:30 am.

I got home and checked Facebook before I went to bed, because I'm sliiiiiiightly addicted. I noticed that it's Grandpa Norton's birthday, so I sent him a quick Happy Birthday email. He replied the next day, asking why I was on Facebook so late.

"2:30 isn't that late when you're in university."

"I'm pretty sure 2:30 AM is the same time everywhere."

Not much else happened this week that's interesting, as far as school or anything else that's semi-mundane goes. In between school and the obligations of being autonomous, responsible, civilized human beings who eat food, practice personal hygiene, etc., Mason and I found some time to talk about the next two years, three months, and three days. (I'm not counting. I just like being precise.)

Speaking of being precise, I have 13 days left in Provo. I have 13 days until I see my family. I have 13 days until finals are over and I don't have to think about school for months. I have 13 days until I have free laundry and good food. I have 13 days until I can eat a Tim Horton's doughnut. I have 13 days until I have access to a car. I have 13 days until I can see my Calgary friends.

And I have 13 days left with Mason.

(Yeah, we broke up. But it didn't change how we feel, and it wasn't because there was anything wrong. I can already see how it's preparing us better for these next two years. Long-term, though, we still hope the same way we did when we were dating.)

I remember when he got his mission call. After all the excitement was over, we were back at my apartment, eating some celebratory ice cream. I was obviously happy for him, but there was a part of me that realized, wow, he'll really be gone for two years. Apparently Mason picked up on this, because he said, "You're not worried or anything, are you?"

"No," I said, "That's the nice thing about doing what's right - you don't have to worry."

We both know that I might Dear John him. If I'm single when he gets back, we could find that we're just not interested in each other any more. We could even start dating again, think about getting engaged, pray about it, and get a "no". (By far my least favorite scenario. In an it-gives-me-the-urge-to-stick-my-mental-fingers-in-my-mental-ears-and-go-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-until-my-brain-stops-talking-about-it kind of way. If it's not going to work, I would much rather that we figure that out before we get that close.)

On the other hand, it could work out. I really feel like it could. We both want it to, but we also both trust God's plan enough that if any of the other scenarios happened, we would know that we were doing the right thing. So really, we don't have to worry. We can hope for the best and plan for the outcome we want, but no matter what happens, we'll do the right thing, and in the end, that will be the best thing, because it will be the thing that makes us the happiest in the long run. So we'll just go forward in the next two years, and see what happens.

I really hope it works, though. I think it can. I feel that it can.

Please.




Patience is not passive resignation, nor is it failing to act because of our fears. Patience means active waiting and enduring. It means staying with something and doing all that we can—working, hoping, and exercising faith; bearing hardship with fortitude, even when the desires of our hearts are delayed. Patience is not simply enduring; it is enduring well! - President Uchtdorf