Oh to be ten years old. . . .

I am at work in the Learning Resource Center at the Harold B. Lee Library on Brigham Young University campus two days before finals. I am at work, surrounded by frantic students with rumpled hair, some odd imprints on the sides of their exhausted faces (the unmistakable sign of an unplanned nap on a keyboard or textbook), stacks of books slipping out from under each arm, barely-honor-code-appropriate 5 0'clock shadow on their faces, and clad in the same sweatshirts and old jeans they wore yesterday which were doubtless picked indiscriminately from a pile on their floors that has been there since the last time they did laundry--if they can remember when that was. Yes, everyone is in a state of frenzied half-consciousness, exchanging knowing glances with passers-by, acknowledging the fact that a wave and a smile might just suck up the last of their energy if they tried it. Everyone, that is, except the blond-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked ten year old standing in front of me. There he stands, using our phone for the seventh time in the last twenty minutes to call his mom who works upstairs, smacking his gum, and carelessly spinning his neon orange yo-yo in ten feet concentric circles which I can't help thinking could easily take out a sleep-deprived freshman. I can hear him trying to convince his mom that he cannot complete the rest of his homework alone, that it would be more fun if they could do it together later, and that he should therefore just watch TV until she gets off of work. Yep, I totally wish I was this kid. I want a neon-orange yo-yo, and I can already think of five solid arguments as to why I should watch TV and not do my homework.

Coping

I have discovered that with great stress comes great addiction. I'm serious, I find myself thinking constantly of the next food/beverage I will consume--my sole consolation in a day of paper writing.

When I discovered they sell these babies in the ever-so-convenient twilight zone of the bookstore, it was pretty much over. One on a good day, three on a bad one. This can't be good. But it is, it's soooo good.

Other coping strategies include: Cottage cheese, Olive Garden, goldfish, impromptu yoga, and excessive hand washing and teeth brushing.

P.S. Don't judge me, I'm watching a movie for homework right now, it's multi-tasking not time-wasting.

Metaphor

As I was standing behind the desk at work gazing absent-mindedly (aka staring down super creepily) at the patrons (that's the fancy name we employees call them) walking through the library, contemplating the gloom and destruction known as finals that lay before me, I came up with the perfect metaphor. It's almost an allegory really. I should give some credit here to Amber, my lovely coworker, who, after being subjected to my metaphoric musings, suggested I write a blog about it (as far as I can figure, this could be for one of two reasons: a. she noticed I haven't posted on here for a month, or b. (and maybe more likely) she thought there was a good possibility that I would stop talking and sink back into thought with this suggestion). So here it is in all its glory (or not):

I was canyoneering several years back with my dad and sister, and we came upon a swim about halfway through the canyon. We stopped for a moment, as one does before any obstacle, and I stood at the brink of the dark abyss of water before me feeling masses of dread and anxiety weigh heavily on my body. This was the. last. thing. I wanted to do. Seriously, the last. It was freezing. The water was stop-your-breath-lump-in-throat cold and there was no sunshine reaching this cranny of the canyon. The canyon was narrow and winding, making the length of the swim impossible to determine--no end in sight. The water's depth was impossible to tell and my feet wouldn't touch bottom. The water was dark and rotten-smelling with a thick film of dust and slime on the surface. And possibly the best part, there was a dead rabbit floating about ten feet into the swim. A dead, unavoidable rabbit. Dead for long enough to be half decayed but still recently enough to be disturbingly recognizable as a close relative to Thumper. As I stared at the cold, narrow, winding doom that lay before me, the inevitability of it started to sink in. I realized that there was absolutely no way I could avoid this. I couldn't turn around; it's not like you can climb back up 60 foot rappels. Even as I realized this my body reeled back in obstinacy. I didn't want to do it. I really, really didn't want to. I remember the feeling of absolute dread as I realized I HAD to do it, that there was no alternative. Needless to say, I did it, I survived, and I accidentally kicked some stinky dead rabbit water in Angelica's face.

This, that I have just described, is what finals are like. They are there, they are unavoidable, they appear to be never ending. Even though every fiber of my being is searching for a way out, I know there is none. They are a necessary evil and I cannot get around them. I honestly cannot see the end of the next two weeks, it does not exist in my psyche. I have to overcome the all too natural resistance and force my body forward. And I might even get some dead rabbit water kicked in my face. So it goes.

Josie May

GOOD NEWS: another healthy addition to the Aho clan has arrived!

Josie May Aho was born early Tuesday morning to Merritt and Stacie in Phoenix. She is perfectly healthy and adorable. I can't wait to meet her! Congratulations guys!

Urban Jungle?

SITUATION: Out my front door, up seven stairs, ten feet down the sidewalk, where the untamed wilderness of the Provo River meets the slightly more civilized world of the Branbury live a legion of raccoons (I would say family, but who am I to assume their relation? Or tribe, but that just seems to conjure up some sort of politically incorrect connotations involving Native Americans).

ORIGIN: These furry little friends (or foes. . . this has yet to be determined) first appeared a couple of months ago. The common consensus seems to be that they were originally attracted by the cat food that some well-intentioned individual started putting out to support the growing number of stray cats also wandering the area. The unintentional result seems to have been the creation of a feeding ground for any and all scavenging animals.

ENCOUNTERS: I will admit that when my roommate Heather first described the raccoons I thought she might be lying, or at least that the animal in question could have been a particularly large model of the aforementioned cats, plumped up by the free food. After my other two roommates and at least three neighbors described similar sightings however, their existence became undeniable. By far the most eventful encounter was Heather's recent. . . experience. For some reason I still haven't quite pinned down Heather was delivering brownies to some boy at two in the morning. While returning to our apartment and text messaging, she heard a hissing in front of her. Quickly pocketing the phone Heather looked up to see one of our furry masked friends poised in the middle of the sidewalk, teeth bearing, hissing (Heather has re-enacted the event for me in the very same spot so as to ensure accurate reporting--though she found recreating the proper hissing noise somewhat difficult). At this point she ran. Taking shelter one stairwell over she watched anxiously for an opening. After a couple of minutes the raccoon retreated a bit towards the riverbed and Heather took the opportunity to sprint to the door and get inside. Fearless and curious as she is, she apparently came back out to observe the raccoon, who, upon seeing her again re-commenced hissing and began approaching her. After slamming the door, Heather spent the next couple of minutes watching through the blinds as the raccoon descended the stairs and sat in front of our door, staring. Now I'm not trying to be paranoid, but I think there might be something up here, are we being stalked by raccoons?

FACTS: According to a disturbing account on This American Life (a public radio show), rabid raccoons are likely to attack and are almost impossible to kill (think 50 bludgeons with a tire iron and five gunshots--two separate accounts). Also, apparently they can pick complicated locks and remember them for up to six years--it says so on Wikipedia which anyone can edit so you know you're getting the best information out there (thank you Michael Scott).

SUGGESTIONS: This is the part where you say something.

Eternal Perspective

THIS, right here, is why I will one day marry

A Very Good Year

All The Best Moments and Pictures of 2008:

JANUARY: When we were at Chili's (it's the new golf course) for my birthday, Estee hit on our 200 lb. black waiter only to find out his girlfriend was sitting two tables over staring us down. She also told him he looked like the black guy on The Office, which he apparently took to mean Stanley instead of Darryl and appeared to offend him somewhat.

JANUARY and 1/2: Not one, but TWO bad haircuts this year! YEAAHHH. In January, as you may recall, I chopped it off to a couple inches above my chin and when it finally grew back I marred my forehead and created a strange excuse for bangs. So I think what I'm saying is, I should totally cut my hair again.

FEBRUARY: Ok, speaking of hair, in February a couple of us went up to stay at a condo in Park City for the weekend and someone had the brilliant idea to dye every one's hair. SO, Estee dyed hers "dark brown", which turned out black, which made her look a little like Cher. Ingrid dyed hers "darker blond" which in fact turned out to be gray, and later pink when we tried to fix it, and finally a nice shade of light brown after an expensive and panicked trip to the salon. All in all a fabulous weekend.

MARCH: When the sun came out this year, all of Helaman Halls migrated to the quad equipped with blankets, sunglasses, and some homework which they promptly forgot about the moment they laid down to soak up the rays. Those were the best days.

APRIL: Ummm. . . so this one time in April I went skiing on a gloriously sunny day on the last day of the season. On medication that made my skin sensitive. With no sunscreen. Then my face turned a color red rarely seen further than a mile from the sun, then a lovely shade of crackly yellow and finally, four days later, it evened out into a nice tomato red and I could leave the house again. Well, I won't do that again.

MAY: I finished my first year of college and left the dorms behind for good. This involved about 37 trips to the car to load up all of my stuff and Deb's and my very last cleaning check during which our RA sauntered into the room in her characteristically slow and heavy-stepped gait, scrutinized every last surface of our room (including all of the really high ones which she could see and I couldn't), and then in her heavy southern drawl asked me to clean the windows again.

JUNE: In June Courtney and I volunteered for the Ragnar Relay which various family members were running. We were assigned to be there from 4:30am to 10am. Consequently I had a 44 oz. Diet Coke. That coupled with Ragnar stickers, t-shirts, and plenty of tired runners to harass with excessive amounts of cheerfulness and on-the-spot ditties (some with accompanying dances) made for a seriously good time.

JULY: For about two months this year I looked like a Dr. Seuss character with a polka dotted tummy courtesy of Ecuador's finest bed bugs. Totally Awesome.

AUGUST: While at the James Taylor concert at Usana (best concert EVER) I sat behind a deceptively mild looking middle-aged couple, probably in their late 40's or early 50's who, between beers, wowed the crowd with their highly suggestive and energetic dance moves and make-out/necking sessions. Definitely one of the more disturbing things I've ever witnessed but admittedly mildly entertaining.

SEPTEMBER: Emma hosted a superhero themed birthday party at the tumbling gym; consequently, Sara sported a rose-patterned swimsuit paired with some lovely tights and a cape which prompted the exclamation: "ROSE WOMAN IN THE SKY!" (ask me later for proper voice inflection directions) which has since been repeated at least once a day, taking on meanings ranging from "hey" to "I have nothing to say and desperately want to enliven the moment"; needless to say it has become a staple in our every-day jargon and thus deserves due recognition.

OCTOBER: A couple of friends, my dad, and a friend's dad Bruce Cummings took a canyoneering trip near Hanksville at the North Wash canyons in October. Pretty much as a constant commentary throughout the trip we were throwing out quotes from Baby Mama and a certain Mad TV skit, and I think one of the best moments of my year was hearing Bruce quoting these (which he had never seen, and would probably, under any other circumstances, find completely ridiculous) on the last day. This just proves that if you repeat anything enough times it becomes funny.

NOVEMBER: Definitely the highlight of the year: the birth of Weston Bruce Hatch. Weighing in at some 7 pounds at birth the kid has gained a pound a week since and is now a 2 month old in 6-9 month outfits and one of the most adorable little chubsters I've ever laid eyes on.

DECEMBER: Julie and Emily threw a SWEET New Years party filled with lots of insane theatre (English accent please) where I was able to act like a crazy person (myself) and no one even gave me a second glance. It was fabulous.

Here's to another good one!