the long sigh

*please note that I am wearing the same shirt as I was on this other thesis day. sick.

In an unexpected and blessed turn of events, beside a warmbright fireplace and a twinkling Christmas tree, in a house and in a town buried in feet of falling snow, this little lady may have just finished her thesis. "Finished" meaning she has (finally) made a draft that just may pass muster. "Finished" meaning she has (finally) made a draft that she is kinda proud of. "Finished" meaning that so-help-me if I have to rewrite this thing again, I am throwing in the towel and moving to France, with or without my degree. This sort of torture has a way of killing part of your happy little soul.

And so tonight, I shall sleep the sleep of angels,
and tomorrow, to the city, for some lights and dinner and easy breathing.

On Old Age and Dying

I read an Onion article today about a 38-year old man. 38's the kind of age that, when you're growing up, you think you'll never be. It's the kind of age where, probably no matter how old I am, I'll always think I'll never be. Even when I'm 42, or 69, or 107. Kinda like how I still have out-of-body moments when I read about famous people being 22 or 23, and for a brief second I think, "Wow, maybe I'll be famous by the time I'm 23." And then I realize...

26.

And then this happened: in ten years, I'll probably be married to a 38 year-old. And in twelve, I'll be 38 myself.

And then I realized that my parents probably only have 20 years left to live at all.

(Cue strains of Five for Fighting's 100 Years.)

Memento mori. They're gonna be the death of me.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to the honey-voiced boy about the sadness that life is enshrouded in. The kind you tap into when a warm wind starts up on a dark spring night. The kind you feel when you see how quickly the days evaporate before you, how temporary this current state is, how all these things we take for granted will, in the blink of an eye it seems, change. The kind of sadness that comes when you see goodness all around you and wonder if you've given it all enough of yourself.

In two months time, I will have left this Utah home. I maybe might come back for good someday, but I also maybe might not. And once I've left, my sister will leave too, and then my brother&wife, possibly for good. The girls will grow up. My parents will age. And someday we'll all move away to different places and different lives.

This makes me cry.

I love everything about my life right now. Everything. Nothing is as sweet as what inevitably must change, and nothing is so lovable as that which you can lose.

In fact, I think I love most those things that I count on losing.

I only have this one little life.
Let me love.

music monday

1. "Man on Fire" (Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros)



I try to live mostly without regrets. You know. I think we all do.

But I have a few deep ones.

One is that I didn't become a world-class ballerina. Or even just a professional-quality one. Or even just a serious one.

Anyways, this video is incredible. And it'll keep you dancing all week, no matter what kind of dancer you are.

:)

a black tie white Christmas party

Oh, last night was so wonderful. I could have talked to each person there for hours and hours. There's never enough time, is there, to be with the people you love as long as you'd like to. Thanks to all who came and made last night so magic. So so grateful to have friends like you.

old man Carolyn

I've been sleeping like a grandpa lately. Goin to bed at decent hours (pre 1am) and sleepin like I'm hibernating. Which I suppose is fitting considering I live in a cave.

Other news here?

I am using every chance I get to use the word onus. Try it out. There are bazillions of opportunities every day. And every time you use it, a little Bon Iver will run through your mind. Sigh.

I broke down and bought myself curry this morning. Just because it will carry me through finals (seriously, the place I go gives you SO MUCH), and let's be real: I need to be carried.

I met a man who is into short hair on girls. This is akin to seeing a unicorn.

But alas, I've decided not to cut mine (hair that is) for a while... I figure the next couple years will be easier without bangs and without shortness. You can't braid short hair. You also can't put it in a ponytail. Or a bun. Or a braid bun ponytail. So there you have it. Long hair it is. For now.

Heard a girl pronounce regular "reg-uh-ler." Loved it so much.

I'm listening to loads of French accordion music. It is making my every action smack of romance and intrigue and sparkly walks along the Seine with a crepe in one hand and his hand in the other.

Lots of prepping for the last of a five year streak of Christmas hors d'oevres parties. Fitting that, after so many years of dressing up and being classy together at places, we're finally co-hosting a party.

Been typewriter-loving quite a bit recently as well. Which makes me feel like I'm Ernest Hemingway. Which makes me feel awesome.

Made multiple trips to Smith's for ice cream. The latest and greatest is Mint Moose Tracks: ribbons of thick chocolate through mint ice cream with mint chocolate cups. Incroyable.

Been reading my Book of Mormon in French to myself. My pronunciation is getting better and better and better and faster and faster and faster. If any of you would like a private reading, I do those. Eleven p.m. nightly, in my bedroom, pajahmas required.

I have come to believe in miracles.

And also, I wore my blue paisley blazer today--the one I bought at the street-tent market in Rome, the one I haven't yet worn. It's making everything about my life turn paisley.

Which is always a good thing.