Last night one of my kids told me I was OCD.
That's the nicest thing that anyone's ever said to me! Yes, he was being rude and sassy and had mal intent, but it sent a thrill through me the size of Vermont anyway.
In my wildest dreams!
Sure I would have a few more ulcers and a severe eye twitch, but if I was OCD everything in my house would have a place and there would be a place for everything in my house. And I wouldn't be unpacking the last of the boxes from my move, 18 months later.
I have, as of late, been purging myself of more than dog hair, peeps. And I'm down to one. last. room. At least in my house. I may have a room or two left in my head.
I tell you this because yesterday The Mom made an astute observation in my comment box. Actually, it wasn't an observation as much as it was an astute tongue lashing. She noticed that I heinously insulted my peeps by forgetting about my blog the moment I became buried waste deep in dog hair.
It's a classic case of dog hair vs. blog hair. I have been using my dog hair issues as an excuse to avoid my blog hair issues.
Or have I?
MAHALO to The Mom for putting everything into perspective.
Or for not putting everything into perspective.
Either way, MAHALO! (The Mom is one of my Hawaii peeps, btw. I know her in real life. Her name is Ann and her hub was my next door neighbor in the English Department at BYU-Hawaii!)
The thing about Hawaii peeps, is they don't beat around the bush. Wrong or right, they come right out with it. And not delicately. My kids and I have had to refine our sensibilities over the last 18 months because in Utah you don't say what you need to say--unless you say it delicately. Or behind someone's back. In Utah we nip and tuck our thoughts. It's the law. We're not allowed to think faster than 25 m.p.h.
I can't afford another proper authority pulling me over so I've been censoring.
It's a tangled web, censoring. A lot of work goes into misrepresenting yourself and others.
Ah shucks, even that last statement is a smoke screen. (See what I mean about the tangled web?)
Me neither. Alls I know is I'm not saying what I need to say right now. I'm talking in circles. Which is unfortunate because what makes me such a dummy is my absolute allegiance to the truth--mixed with the lie.
Truth be told--mixed with a little bit of lie--I'm at a crossroads. I'm looking down the barrel of reality and seeing that I'm at the end of one road and at the beginning of another. Doors are closing and opening around me. And the best way for me to deal with this is by cursing and vacuuming up dog hair.
And watching Celebrity Ghost Stories.
In other words, I didn't get into grad school and I need to get a job. And a haircut.
My GRE scores said I could get into any Ivy League school I wanted--except Princeton--but BYU is not an Ivy league school, is it? And they don't want me in their creative writing program.
Thankfully, I purchased this book before I got rejected . . .
because it looks like I'm gonna have to edumacate myself--crash course style.
Get it? Crash course. (wink wink).
(Ah, sometimes I crack myself up.)
Maybe it's a lucky omen that I didn't get in. Jared and Jerusha Hess didn't get into BYU film school and they went on to create Napolean . . .
This rejection just means that bigger and better things are around the corner for me. Am I right? Or am I right?
Or does it just means that I'm a big, fat, Mormon loser? Who needs a haircut.
I'm having trouble reading the signs anymore.