life as understood

One thing I looked forward to this summer, in addition to being married to Sarah, was having free time to write, above all else. I should have known, of course, that such a dream could never be realized. Especially not when halfway through the summer, our tyrannical leaders have decided to overstep their supposed contractual bounds and increase our hours by taking away three of my mornings every week, instead of one. Now Sarah and I see each other in passing between the bedroom and the bathroom between brushing our teeth and getting out of the shower. Fortunately, she's still lovely when she's just woken up, though. I'll abstain from venting about the company and managers that misrepresented themselves to us at the recruiting stage, though I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I am, in fact, making a lot of money. I'd rather have more time instead, but I guess that's why I'm an English major and not an aggressive businessman like the managers and most others here. I hope they really are happy. I'll be quite satisfied writing and teaching literature in my mid-sized western college town. Sundays remain for us a day off, but hardly a restful one. We've spent time now at Williamsburg and Jamestown, the National Archives, the monuments, Old Town Alexandria, the National Cathedral, and now Gettysburg. Independence Day watching the fireworks from the foot of the Lincoln Memorial over the reflecting pond to the Washington Monument was pretty spectacular. This is a great city which contributes to the overall worthwhileness of the summer, even if I'm not spending the summer getting publication credits, like my compatriot-rivals. And besides, we'll be back in Logan in no time. It's hard to believe we'll be going back at all, but we've got at least one more fantastic USU schoolyear ahead. And this time we'll have money.

Well, we're here. The wedding and the receptions are over, we have driven across the country, flown to Mexico, gotten sunburned, come back, and we're now two weeks into the great experiment. A full-time job, that is. Here's the verdict thus far: sign me up for grad school. I'm not for it--at least not for spending over ten hours of each day knocking doors and offering them decent deals on big decisions, instead of spending that time with my wife, or writing, or learning, or teaching, or anything else. At least Sarah and I get Sundays together, and mornings. We generally spend the latter lounging about the house. As for Sundays, we spent the last one at Arlington National Cemetery, and then today at the Botanic Gardens and the Portrait Gallery, both national. I started out the job doing quite well, and since have hit a bit of a dry spell, but I'm optimistic, and I've already made as much as I made all last summer, so I shouldn't complain. I miss people, school, freedom, and Logan, but all is well. This has been a good experience, and we're finding our step. The marriage part is good.

I am getting married in five days. Most everything is done. I took my one and only final today, and I have two and a half days now to finish my one last paper of the semester. It, like the rest of the work I've produced over the last couple of weeks, is probably sub-par. That's how it goes, though. You earn an A in a class for the first ten weeks of the semester, and lose it all in the last two. The GPA is more a reflection of endurance than intellect. I don't know how I'll end up, but fortunately, apathy is another fine by-product of being swamped. I'll just be glad that it's all over. Plus, I'm getting married in five days. So life will be pretty dang amazing then.

I've just been informed that my short story "Superior" has won the USU undergraduate fiction contest this year. That means publication!!! I hope it doesn't mean, though, that I can never submit it anywhere else. We'll see. Holy cow, I didn't expect this at all. It's on the new collected works blog, so read up, if you're interested, before I have to pull it off for copyright infringement or something. Hey hey!

I'm supposed to be writing a historical essay right now for my medieval European history class. I sure hate that. Someone suggested that I start a blog to showcase some of my work as a writer, and I thought "I have a blog". That was many months ago. It was only now that I realized that just having a blog, and throwing up my musings as well as some crappy poems wasn't really accomplishing what that person suggested. So I've started a new blog, for my works. (Here it is. Click here.) I will do my best to update it as I come out with new stuff and feel saucy enough to let other people read it. For those that are wondering, "Superior" is the short story that got me into the finals of that huge national contest. I get married in one month. Now, back to the 14th century.

Sarah's going to pick me up in six minutes to take me to the airport, where I'll fly out to Mozambique. About 18 hours ago, my friends and I returned home from California, where we spent spring break at Steve's house. It was wonderful. I wish I had more time to tell about it. Truth be told, I'm not looking forward to taking off again right now, so soon after arriving. Here is nice. I'm going to miss Sarah a ton. What an experience. I'm a little scared. Two minutes. I'm off.

It became official yesterday at about 8am. My life is amazing. It's too good. I've been realizing over the last little while that life will probably never be as wonderful as it is now, so I'd better enjoy it, but it just keeps getting better. I'm getting married. I'm learning a ton and loving my classes. I've got it all. And now, it's official. I'm going to Africa. Almost immediately after returning from spring break in California, I will be on a plane to Maputo, Mozambique. There, deep in the heart, I will spend a week doing two of the most exhilirating things in the world at the same time- writing and traveling. Not only will I automatically be published--thus directly giving my writing career a huge kick start, spending a week in Africa instead of class, and spending time with my uncles, but also National Geographic will be there. It's networking time. It's a long shot, I know, but maybe I could get my foot in the door looking toward an internship or something. Truth be told, my future career as a professor is probably not in much jeopardy, but the prospect of writing for a magazine, or something akin to that, is becoming more and more intriguing, at least while I'm young and vigorous. We'll see.

Apparently, telling people that as of a week ago, my current status is "not NOT engaged" seemed to raise more questions than answers. And they weren't even questions like "When's the big day?" or "Congratulations." They were questions like "what?". Oh well. To clear things up once and for all, yes, Sarah and I are engaged. To be married. And to answer the next question: We're shooting for May 3, but it's still a bit up in the air, due to our strictly regimented summer plans. We'll see. But we'll be sure to let you know.

About the engagement itself? Yes, well, I had known for a while of Sarah's desire to ride in a horse-drawn carriage sometime, and knowing that such an opportunity exists in downtown Salt Lake City, I figured that would be a special and classy way to do it. Now, I wanted very much to retain some semblance of surprise, so in the midst of wondering how to get her down to Salt Lake, we were offered Jazz tickets. I promptly called up the carriage service and arranged for a 10:00 ride up to Memory Grove, just up City Creek Canyon above downtown. For those that have never been there, it's a beautiful private park near the capitol building with monuments and stunning views of the valley. Anyhow, the game was great, and largely uneventful, except for the white gold ring getting me stopped at the metal detector on the way in. Miraculously, Sarah, who had already gone through toward the door, didn't notice my hasty, whispered explanation to the security guard. Thank goodness he trusted me. For future reference, that excuse seems to work. So, the game was wonderful. We beat the Bucks. Anyway, afterward, we walked toward Temple Square, where I nonchalantly hailed a horseman, and he steered us up the canyon toward the grove. Sarah was delighted at the surprise, which she took to be nothing more than the carriage ride. At the apex of the hill inside the grove, however, I mentioned about another surprise, and awkwardly removed a ring box from my left jacket pocket.

It's nice being engaged. It's only been a week, and I've only been able to introduce her as my fiancee a couple of times, but it's been wonderful knowing that it's a step toward eternal permanence. I couldn't be happier. She's absolutely wonderful. She's my best friend. She makes the prospect of marriage seem not only passable, but quite desirable. So this is my fiancee, Sarah. I love her.

Well, I'm a week into the new semester, and I've already lost control of my spare time, meaning that is essentially doesn't exist- or at least, it shouldn't. The first week was particularly stressful, as I had to try to add three classes to my schedule, for various reasons. I've never had to try to add a class late before. Miraculously, I made it into all of them, despite the English advisor's best efforts to prolong my education indefinitely. Usually, at the beginning of a new semester, I find myself thoroughly entertained by my classes, which case is no different now. I wield a general excitement for the most newfound of learning for a few short weeks, at which point the monotony and stress of an 18-credit load inevitably prevail. But now a slight week in, I'm experiencing quite a novel sensation. My excitement has just been completely superseded by something even greater. Uncle Ken called me a couple days ago and said that F. Ross Peterson, the then-history professor, now-administrator who lured me to USU initially, wants to have an article written for the alumni magazine about my dad and uncles' recent work in Africa, and he wants me to write it. As if this news wasn't good enough, I met with Dr. Peterson yesterday, and he wants to send me with a photographer to Mozambique sometime this semester to write it. When I got home, Steve played Toto's "Africa" for me. He doesn't like to travel much, but he loves his friends even more than he lets on. At one point last night during the movie, sitting with Sarah on the love sac, with Steve and my other best friends surrounding, I had to seriously think things through sequentially to ensure that I wasn't dreaming. Dr. Peterson, the photographer, and probably Ken, and I will be meeting next week to discuss particulars and hash out a plan for the trip. Someday I'd really like to do something big and important that hasn't come to me by virtue of membership in my family- something by my own merits- but maybe this article and opportunity will be somewhat of a stepping stone out into that. I'm gonna take some time to do the things we never had. I guess I can't complain about being blessed.

Historically, I haven't minded Christmas shopping all that much. Prolonged shopping in general tends to have somewhat of a negative effect on me, but not as much this time of year. Enveloped in the joy of the Christmas spirit, it really becomes tolerable, and sometimes even fun. I was getting pretty sick of it after a while today, though, but certainly not to the point of blinding, vulgar rage. But that's what I encountered today at the Grand Teton Mall. Just outside of Old Navy, I rolled into a pretty choice drive-through parking spot right next to a really big truck, which obscured my view of all things northward. Just as I stopped in the space, an old car driven by one of the members of ZZ Top peeked its way around the truck. This man, as it seems, certainly tired from a long day of store-hopping, also really wanted that spot. It was a good spot. He came to a stop directly in front of me and looked me square in the eye. At this point, I could already see the pure hellish rage in his snarl, and a maniacal quiver in his long beard. Slowly and methodically, he raised his huge middle finger straight up to the center of the window. He held his hand there for what must have been five whole seconds, and even bounced it up and down in my direction a couple of times, in a completely successful effort to remove all doubt as to who the recipient was of that triumphant one-finger salute. Shocked, I raised my open palms with a confused smile, and the angry, burnt-out rocker rolled away. In one simple motion, the bottom was reached, and summarily placed behind us. The holiday angst had been vented on both of our behalf. I'll never know who that man was or where he was from, but I hope he felt better about his Christmas shopping after that. I know I did.