I passed my spring classes with flying colors. I was the number one student in chemistry – pretty amazing, I think. Yes? Yes. Well, summer term has started. There was virtually no intercession between finals and the start of the new term. This term I’m taking psychological statistics and world religions.
Psych stats… is, in my opinion, excruciatingly boring. In order to fully understand this paragraph, please remember that I am among the smaller population of people who are completely and absolutely comfortable with math in all its many forms and joys. However, this class is tailored to a completely different audience: psychology students who loathe, fear, and suck at math.
So you might imagine how awful it might be for me to endure such a class. The first day of class mostly consisted of the professor trying to comfort the class and stop them from freaking out, and trying to ensure the students that math really is okay and isn’t as scary as they think it is. The lectures and activities are carried out under the assumption that no one is going to get it the first time the information is presented. So, built into the class is endless repetition… Just to make sure each student gets it before moving on to a new topic.
Basically, the professor spoon feeds teeny tiny bits of stats – one spoonful at a time. And then he let’s you chew on that for ten minutes or so, swallow, and then digest it before presenting you a new spoonful. Um, thanks, but just freaking give me the whole bowl of beans and let me shovel it in my mouth at my own pace.
Even worse… it’s a four credit class. Um, I’ve have two-credit classes which require more study and mental fortitude. I understand that many of the students appreciate and need the slow and repetitive approach to teaching statistics… but can’t you understand that putting me in such a class is sure-as-heck going to frustrate me.
I miss chemistry. Badly. In fact, I miss using my brain. I’m heavily considering approaching the chemistry professors and begging them to let me do research with them. Oh, how I would love that. Plus, I need to start doing research so that I can get into medical school one day…
The thing is, I need that darned psych stats class. Gah! I also need the world religions class I’m taking to fulfill the GE requirements. And oh, how I infinitely prefer that class to the psych stats class! The professor is Korean and has a heavy accent, but I find that if I sit in the front, I manage to understand him. I find
the subject material for that class intriguing. I only get three hundred minutes of that a week, though. And that’s all… Sigh.
Well, that’s my academic life. Me struggling to stay awake in a supremely pointless statistics class.
But!
My dear Arizonan friends, I bring you good news. I am coming to visit you guys soon. The week immediately following the Fourth of July, I will be in Arizona. Just sayin’. (Although, I’d warn you that I’d prefer to spend most of my time with my family rather than all over the place with a gajillion random people.)
In other news… I am considering oh so many things I’ve never considered before. For instance, I am seriously considering being an RA (Resident Assistant) next year. Why? Well… in times such as these, what of being paid to live with freshmen sounds bad? I would get a nice $356 paycheck every two weeks. I would get to know new people… The laundry would be cheaper ($1 instead of $2.25 per load)… I wouldn’t have to climb a hill to campus everyday… I would get my own room… It would force me to not take a ridiculous class schedule so as not to overload myself… It is nearly impossible to get fired unless you neglect your duties (can you say steady job?)…
And I’m just excited about it.
Granted, here are the disadvantages to doing that:
I would be moving into a ward where nearly all the men are premies. … Lame. Might as well shoot my dating life in the foot. For the RA application, you are required to get an ecclesiastical endorsement from your bishop. So I went and got one. The bishop basically just said, Are you sure? We have a very good group of young men here… and he proceeded to give me a rundown of all the happy dating/engaged couples in the ward. He’s a funny man, but he didn’t have to tell me I’d be kissing my dating life goodbye for awhile. Oh, I know – I am acutely aware of this fact. I shall weep bitterly if I end up leaving.
Also not particularly exciting… I would basically be mom to 60-85 teenage girls (depending on the size of the hall), most of which wouldn’t be very mature. I would most likely hear a lot of “Like, omg, I can’t believe he just did that...” and “That is, like, so retarded” and “So-and-so is really cute, but boys are retarded and dumb and like, we don’t need them.” (Yes, I hear stuff like this all the time from freshman girls during random encounters on campus.) Oh the drama that will inevitably ensue, unless I am miraculously charged with the care of 60-85 unusually mature girls.
You see, I was very lucky to have been placed in Robison Hall my freshman year, which (on the whole) housed a group of girls a bit more mature than your average run-of-the-mill group of girls fresh out of high school. My RA Tess would frequently say how lucky she was.
So I’m a little nervous, but really… I’m more excited. I think I want to do this, even with the potentially grueling and obnoxious consequences. I think I could do it.
And… what else? My health has been improving, although this last Sunday I got miserably sick during church – this lasted all day. And of course, at least fifty people wanted to know what they could do to help. And I didn’t know, but I graciously accepted gifts of saltines and 7-Up from my visiting teachers.
I’ve been eating little bits of bread. I’d say that this was exclusively for experimental purposes, but that’s a lie. I can’t help it. Bread is some good stuff. And hot dogs aren’t quite the same without a bun… and pizza wouldn’t be pizza without the crust. And I love pizza. But I haven’t been getting violently ill… So… I’m still avoiding it, but not completely.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. Love ya, Jenna!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Frustrations and Celebrations.
Celebrate -- I am completely finished with my dance class. This is the third time I've taken this particular course -- and I finally have a nice shiny Silver American dance medal to add to my collection.
However, this has also given me much to be frustrated about. See, the second time I took this class, all my test scores were consistently two or three points higher than the scores I've gotten the third time around. You see my frustration then; tests are basically graded on how good you actually are, and since the scores are lower, that would indicate I've gotten worse. In my mind, this is preposterous. I've been actively engaged in every dance class -- I mean, my mind was constantly working on something. I'd work on technique like no one else I knew in a silver level class. And yet my test grades never were that great... and the grader's comments were always something along the lines of, "You look weak." Or, "You look like you're going to pass out! Have more confidence in yourself!"
The real stinger was yesterday -- the medals exams. I didn't feel weak, and heaven knows I don't freak out for tests -- I'm always calm and confident. I watched the people who had tested before me as they got their results back. Nearly everyone had certificates with official-looking gold stickers signifying "honors." And so, I fully expected my results to come out with an honors sticker on it as well. I mean, I work harder at this than most of the students in my class... and one of my friends who forgot the steps and just stopped dancing during the exam to due extreme flusterfication got the honors sticker.
So, imagine my horror when mine comes out -- stickerless and unglorified. It was like a punch in the face. And the comments... yes, just as usual, I look weak and I don't look confident. However, there weren't any comments about bad technique. They said I had really good technique, but I needed more energy, confidence, and strength. Um -- do I really look that bad? How was my dancing scored lower than the person who I saw (and I know the judge saw) biffed it on the dance floor? I followed every single step, I know my footwork was pretty darned good, and my posture is impeccable. All the men in my class say I'm fun to dance with and easy to lead... I've spent fourteen months working on this dance curriculum and I score worse than my classmates who only spent two months on the same stuff! I don't understand...
Hurt and stung, the reactions of some my classmates to their scores only seemed to make it hurt worse. One girl whose scores were higher than mine was exuding vibes of extreme discontent and displeasure because she didn't get high honors -- only honors. Well, I know she deserved the scores she got. And another girl -- well, her scores were just barely below mine. She burst into tears when she got her scores back.
I finally snuck out of class early because I was so discouraged. I stuck my shiny silver medal onto my backpack next to my two bronze ones and walked home in the thunderstorm. If I ever passed anyone, I made sure my umbrella was in the way of my face -- I didn't want anyone to see me. I felt awful. The dominant thought in my head was just this -- if I work that hard at dancing, and I'm still not doing well, I must not be meant for dancing. Which is a shame... I love to dance. But apparently, I just can't be a good dancer... When I got home, I wanted nothing more than to just curl up and sleep it off.
However, this was obviously not meant to be.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
I look through the eyehole -- home teachers? What are they doing here? I don't want to see them. It would basically just be, "Ooh, you look awful. How can we help you?" I don't know. I'm just discouraged, and I want to be left alone. I ignore them, and eventually they assume no one is home and leave.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
One of my friends. I ignore them too.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Oh dang. Someone else who loves me. Ignore.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
A fourth set of visitors? ...Three people who love me? At this point, I just shake my head, look up at the ceiling in submission and accept that tonight is not the night I get to spend alone sulking. I open the door. Carlos, Kjirstin, and Ashley's reaction to seeing me -- well, not encouraging in the slightest. Their eyes widened and instead of a greeting, Kjirstin asks, "Are you okay?"
I just shake my head serenely.
Well -- they abducted me, made me dinner, and sat me down and watched a movie with me. Coincidentally -- the movie they picked? Take the Lead. A ballroom dance movie. I just groaned inside. But you know what? There was actually a short scene in that movie that made me feel a little better. There was a girl who wasn't very good at dancing -- and finally, frustrated and discouraged, she exclaimed to her instructor, "I guess I'm just not meant to dance." The instructor asks, "Well, do you like to dance?" She says, "Well, yeah..." And the wise reply is: "Then you are meant to dance."
[This seems to be a recurring motif -- every time I get discouraged with dancing, it seems I am forbidden from giving up and God finds some way to tell me to keep going. Every single time. Every time I think I'm wasting my time, it seems like heaven's response is to encourage me to spend more time and effort on it. And, well, I am still dancing. Although, I cannot take any dance classes this summer term, I will be attending social dance club every week -- and then, in addition to that, I seem to have moved into a ward densely populated with ballroom dancers, evidenced by the popularity of a weekly ward ballroom dance night. Strange, is it not?]
Anyway, after the movie was over, I went home -- but I couldn't just go to bed. Comments on my weak dancing kept running through my head. Finally, I thought, well, am I really weak? I don't know. How can I tell how weak I am exactly?
An idea did indeed come to me. I wanted to see how many push-ups I could do.
So I got down on the ground, and settled down on my knees, and then lowered down into a push-up -- and to my shock, I could not push myself back up. No! I refused to fall though. I breathed as best as I knew how... okay, Jenna, push yourself up! And yet I could not move. As usual, I was being stubborn, so I refused to just fall down. So I just held it, exerting all my mind and energy into pushing myself back up. But no, I was motionless -- at least until I started to shake violently. At this point, all my obstinance was swallowed up in shock from the realization that I, indeed, was so weak that I could not even do a single pushup.
And I fell. And for the first time all night, I burst into tears and sobbed. All along, the dance teachers saw what I couldn't -- that my strength is pretty much nonexistent.
I finally realized that although I've been feeling wondrous, splendid, and just really good in general -- I'm not healthy. I've just fooled myself into thinking that I'm doing fine because well -- my point of reference is how awful I felt when I ended up in the emergency room that one time... and when I couldn't walk up to my apartment without help... and when the simple task of pouring a bowl of cereal sapped all my energy. Of course, if I'm comparing how I feel now to how I felt then, I'd say, Wow! I'm doing just great!
And yet, in reality, I have a long way to go until I am fully recovered. That's the theory of relativity for you. Blegh.
In other news --
I only have finals left in chemistry and my Pearl of Great Price class. My last chemistry midterm ended up being a 97% (whoot!) and my eight-page religion research paper was a 98% (double whoot!). Academically, I seem to be doing well, to say the least. I am not concerned about my finals in the slightest. I have no reason to fear either of them -- I already have most of the term's material memorized and down pat.
As far as the bread goes...
I figured it out.
I'm allergic to yeast. Plain old bread makes me sick. Rice bread with yeast makes me sick. Vegemite (basically just yeast extract) makes me sick. Grapes (which have yeast in their skins) make me sick. White flour (which has B vitamins derived from yeast added) makes me sick. And sugary stuff, including some chocolate bars, only makes it worse because yeast grows off of sugar. We have a winner. Yeast is the culprit methinks.
Also supporting this theory, I don't get sick when I eat Cream of Wheat or whole wheat tortillas, so it's not the wheat itself. And it isn't the gluten -- barley also has gluten, and barley doesn't make me sick.
So... I can have pancakes still! And pie (oh, sweet relief)! And banana bread! YAY!!! Oh, life is okay, methinks.
And yet... bread, my number one favorite food in the world, is off limits. And grapes, which come in at about number ten on my favorite foods list, are also off limits. I'm not really all that disappointed about having to avoid Vegemite, though... the best description of the flavor of Vegemite I've ever heard was from Ryan Strong: it's like breaking open a black ink pen and then spreading the ink all over toast. Mmmm. Pen ink. Nasty, nasty pen ink.
So... 'tis the middle of June.
Which means little brother Clifton has been out for over a year! Bwee! I can start counting down now!!! Not that I have started to count down... but it seems now that the option is open for me to do so should I feel the urge. :) Strange. (I don't like counting down until it's been over half-way. It seems just rather pointless until then.)
Mmm... some of you have asked how my missionary friends have been doing. They've been doing well, as far as I can tell. It always seems to me that when I hear from them, they don't really say much about about what's going on with them though. They usually just reply to letters I've written. Lately, the primary message I've been getting from them is concern for my wellbeing because as far as they've been able to tell, I've been sick for a long, long time. And yeah. I kind of have to just laugh to myself, because it's true.
Well, I'd just like to close with this statement:
I just did a pushup. :D
Love, Jenna
However, this has also given me much to be frustrated about. See, the second time I took this class, all my test scores were consistently two or three points higher than the scores I've gotten the third time around. You see my frustration then; tests are basically graded on how good you actually are, and since the scores are lower, that would indicate I've gotten worse. In my mind, this is preposterous. I've been actively engaged in every dance class -- I mean, my mind was constantly working on something. I'd work on technique like no one else I knew in a silver level class. And yet my test grades never were that great... and the grader's comments were always something along the lines of, "You look weak." Or, "You look like you're going to pass out! Have more confidence in yourself!"
The real stinger was yesterday -- the medals exams. I didn't feel weak, and heaven knows I don't freak out for tests -- I'm always calm and confident. I watched the people who had tested before me as they got their results back. Nearly everyone had certificates with official-looking gold stickers signifying "honors." And so, I fully expected my results to come out with an honors sticker on it as well. I mean, I work harder at this than most of the students in my class... and one of my friends who forgot the steps and just stopped dancing during the exam to due extreme flusterfication got the honors sticker.
So, imagine my horror when mine comes out -- stickerless and unglorified. It was like a punch in the face. And the comments... yes, just as usual, I look weak and I don't look confident. However, there weren't any comments about bad technique. They said I had really good technique, but I needed more energy, confidence, and strength. Um -- do I really look that bad? How was my dancing scored lower than the person who I saw (and I know the judge saw) biffed it on the dance floor? I followed every single step, I know my footwork was pretty darned good, and my posture is impeccable. All the men in my class say I'm fun to dance with and easy to lead... I've spent fourteen months working on this dance curriculum and I score worse than my classmates who only spent two months on the same stuff! I don't understand...
Hurt and stung, the reactions of some my classmates to their scores only seemed to make it hurt worse. One girl whose scores were higher than mine was exuding vibes of extreme discontent and displeasure because she didn't get high honors -- only honors. Well, I know she deserved the scores she got. And another girl -- well, her scores were just barely below mine. She burst into tears when she got her scores back.
I finally snuck out of class early because I was so discouraged. I stuck my shiny silver medal onto my backpack next to my two bronze ones and walked home in the thunderstorm. If I ever passed anyone, I made sure my umbrella was in the way of my face -- I didn't want anyone to see me. I felt awful. The dominant thought in my head was just this -- if I work that hard at dancing, and I'm still not doing well, I must not be meant for dancing. Which is a shame... I love to dance. But apparently, I just can't be a good dancer... When I got home, I wanted nothing more than to just curl up and sleep it off.
However, this was obviously not meant to be.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
I look through the eyehole -- home teachers? What are they doing here? I don't want to see them. It would basically just be, "Ooh, you look awful. How can we help you?" I don't know. I'm just discouraged, and I want to be left alone. I ignore them, and eventually they assume no one is home and leave.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
One of my friends. I ignore them too.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Oh dang. Someone else who loves me. Ignore.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
A fourth set of visitors? ...Three people who love me? At this point, I just shake my head, look up at the ceiling in submission and accept that tonight is not the night I get to spend alone sulking. I open the door. Carlos, Kjirstin, and Ashley's reaction to seeing me -- well, not encouraging in the slightest. Their eyes widened and instead of a greeting, Kjirstin asks, "Are you okay?"
I just shake my head serenely.
Well -- they abducted me, made me dinner, and sat me down and watched a movie with me. Coincidentally -- the movie they picked? Take the Lead. A ballroom dance movie. I just groaned inside. But you know what? There was actually a short scene in that movie that made me feel a little better. There was a girl who wasn't very good at dancing -- and finally, frustrated and discouraged, she exclaimed to her instructor, "I guess I'm just not meant to dance." The instructor asks, "Well, do you like to dance?" She says, "Well, yeah..." And the wise reply is: "Then you are meant to dance."
[This seems to be a recurring motif -- every time I get discouraged with dancing, it seems I am forbidden from giving up and God finds some way to tell me to keep going. Every single time. Every time I think I'm wasting my time, it seems like heaven's response is to encourage me to spend more time and effort on it. And, well, I am still dancing. Although, I cannot take any dance classes this summer term, I will be attending social dance club every week -- and then, in addition to that, I seem to have moved into a ward densely populated with ballroom dancers, evidenced by the popularity of a weekly ward ballroom dance night. Strange, is it not?]
Anyway, after the movie was over, I went home -- but I couldn't just go to bed. Comments on my weak dancing kept running through my head. Finally, I thought, well, am I really weak? I don't know. How can I tell how weak I am exactly?
An idea did indeed come to me. I wanted to see how many push-ups I could do.
So I got down on the ground, and settled down on my knees, and then lowered down into a push-up -- and to my shock, I could not push myself back up. No! I refused to fall though. I breathed as best as I knew how... okay, Jenna, push yourself up! And yet I could not move. As usual, I was being stubborn, so I refused to just fall down. So I just held it, exerting all my mind and energy into pushing myself back up. But no, I was motionless -- at least until I started to shake violently. At this point, all my obstinance was swallowed up in shock from the realization that I, indeed, was so weak that I could not even do a single pushup.
And I fell. And for the first time all night, I burst into tears and sobbed. All along, the dance teachers saw what I couldn't -- that my strength is pretty much nonexistent.
I finally realized that although I've been feeling wondrous, splendid, and just really good in general -- I'm not healthy. I've just fooled myself into thinking that I'm doing fine because well -- my point of reference is how awful I felt when I ended up in the emergency room that one time... and when I couldn't walk up to my apartment without help... and when the simple task of pouring a bowl of cereal sapped all my energy. Of course, if I'm comparing how I feel now to how I felt then, I'd say, Wow! I'm doing just great!
And yet, in reality, I have a long way to go until I am fully recovered. That's the theory of relativity for you. Blegh.
In other news --
I only have finals left in chemistry and my Pearl of Great Price class. My last chemistry midterm ended up being a 97% (whoot!) and my eight-page religion research paper was a 98% (double whoot!). Academically, I seem to be doing well, to say the least. I am not concerned about my finals in the slightest. I have no reason to fear either of them -- I already have most of the term's material memorized and down pat.
As far as the bread goes...
I figured it out.
I'm allergic to yeast. Plain old bread makes me sick. Rice bread with yeast makes me sick. Vegemite (basically just yeast extract) makes me sick. Grapes (which have yeast in their skins) make me sick. White flour (which has B vitamins derived from yeast added) makes me sick. And sugary stuff, including some chocolate bars, only makes it worse because yeast grows off of sugar. We have a winner. Yeast is the culprit methinks.
Also supporting this theory, I don't get sick when I eat Cream of Wheat or whole wheat tortillas, so it's not the wheat itself. And it isn't the gluten -- barley also has gluten, and barley doesn't make me sick.
So... I can have pancakes still! And pie (oh, sweet relief)! And banana bread! YAY!!! Oh, life is okay, methinks.
And yet... bread, my number one favorite food in the world, is off limits. And grapes, which come in at about number ten on my favorite foods list, are also off limits. I'm not really all that disappointed about having to avoid Vegemite, though... the best description of the flavor of Vegemite I've ever heard was from Ryan Strong: it's like breaking open a black ink pen and then spreading the ink all over toast. Mmmm. Pen ink. Nasty, nasty pen ink.
So... 'tis the middle of June.
Which means little brother Clifton has been out for over a year! Bwee! I can start counting down now!!! Not that I have started to count down... but it seems now that the option is open for me to do so should I feel the urge. :) Strange. (I don't like counting down until it's been over half-way. It seems just rather pointless until then.)
Mmm... some of you have asked how my missionary friends have been doing. They've been doing well, as far as I can tell. It always seems to me that when I hear from them, they don't really say much about about what's going on with them though. They usually just reply to letters I've written. Lately, the primary message I've been getting from them is concern for my wellbeing because as far as they've been able to tell, I've been sick for a long, long time. And yeah. I kind of have to just laugh to myself, because it's true.
Well, I'd just like to close with this statement:
I just did a pushup. :D
Love, Jenna
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Updates On Life.
Well, I think within the past year in general it would certainly be true if you accused me of not keeping you guys constantly updated on my life. That’s a shame, folks. However, I’ll try to renew my efforts.
Academically, life is splendid. In fact, things are more than splendid. I share the following at my father’s request – I think he just wants to be able to brag, and if I back him up, it must be true.
I’ve been quite sick as of late, which I’ll update you on later, but I’ve been working with my professor to make sure I don’t get too behind. What I figured out is this: there are periods of acute energy and productivity, and there are much longer periods of energylessness and such. I explained this to Dr. Macedone, and after some discussion, he decided that he’d let me work at my own pace on turning in lab reports and homework and such.
That was pretty darned nice of him, so I’ve done my best not to be behind the rest of the class, so he can stay on top of everyone’s grades.
After the first exam, I went to his office to turn in a homework assignment. However, I couldn’t just leave after that. Dr. Macedone is the sort of guy who is genuinely interested in how his students are doing and color coordinates his PowerPoint presentations to match the shirt he happens to be wearing. So we got to talking about how I’m doing.
“How’d the test go for you?” he asked.
“Pretty good, I think.”
“What was your score?”
“67…” The test was scored out of 71 points.
“Hey! Wasn’t that the top score?” he beamed.
“Um… I don’t know?”
Pretty darned excited all of a sudden, my chemistry professor whirled around in his chair to do some tapping at his computer. “Aha! It was! Ooooh, that’s pretty good!” Dr. Macedone sometimes gets ridiculously excited. This was one of those times. He’s also fascinated with grades. In his spare time, he reads the writings of Joseph Smith, plays with lasers, and runs statistical analyses on grade data. I’m not kidding.
In his excited frenzy, my chemistry professor informed me that I’m doing spectacularly well in my chemistry class. In fact, I have the highest grade– I have high scores on all my labs, my quiz and test scores are ridiculously high, and I have a perfect homework score.
Dr. Macedone then continued to rave – and then started to tell me how impressed with me he was. He had expected me to struggle in his class when he found out how sick I was, and he was extremely surprised to find that I was doing as well as I was. He complimented me on my attention to detail, citing numerous impressive discoveries I had made in lab that no one else had noticed. After five straight minutes of heavy praise, he says, “Every once in a while you get students who stand out from all the others… Well, what I meant by all that is, what are your life plans?”
I blinked. “Erm… well, I’m planning on medical school at the moment…”
“Yes! Okay, do you know what this means? Okay. Okay! What I wanted to tell you is that when you need a letter of recommendation, I would be more than happy to write you one. I have all sorts of impressive stories I can tell them that’ll make any medical school want you real bad. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled. I need to figure out how to handle excessive praise. I’m still not sure how to react, especially when it comes from someone in authority.
There, Dad. I did your bragging for you. :)
In other news of note – I am single again. Which I have decided is acceptable, despite the occasionally overwhelming longing to be held and having no one to hold you. (I haven’t had this problem for a few months. I suspect though that at some point in the near future I’ll have this problem, worse than I did before I dated Jared.)
Jared and I dated for two months, and Friday night we decided to break it off. I’m okay, really. My side: I was getting extremely frustrated because I’d never see him and then when we’d try to arrange to see each other more often, it never worked out. Ever! Although I didn’t like him any less than I did before, I was really starting to get mightily stressed out about the whole thing. Taking that and several other factors into account, I decided that I’d bring it up on Friday night when I saw him.
Only Friday night came, he showed up – and he was the one who brought it up and suggested we break up. I wasn’t expecting that… he still likes me an awful lot, but he had been thinking about getting more serious. And seeing as neither of us had had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, he didn’t see how we could make a wise decision about that without having dated other people. Not to mention that the relationship was getting ridiculously hard to maintain, and was likely to only get worse. We are both rather busy people, and it seems that we’ll be even busier people in the near future.
So really, it was quite possibly the easiest breakup in the history of the planet, at least that I’ve ever heard of. We both agreed, and after that, it wasn’t awkward. It was just casual. We were just friends again. And if I need a ride to the grocery store, or he needs a buddy to do something with, we’ve still got each other. It’s pretty nice, actually.
The few of my friends who I’ve told about the breakup immediately demand, “Are you okay?” And I just respond calmly, “Completely.” And then they just kind of shake their heads a little in a sort of disbelief. One commented that Jared and I are both too level-headed and logical about everything. I laughed and responded that I do indeed freak out about stuff. The retort to that was that I’m levelheaded even when I’m freaking out. Someone explain that one to me. I don’t understand how you can freak out in a levelheaded manner.
More news! In the health headlines…
Mostly I’m doing quite all right. My immune system is still attacking my life. The most recent immune problem to befall me? I may have developed an allergy to something in bread. When I eat a lot of it, I get sick. One day I ate four slices of bread – but that resulted in vomiting for about an hour and feeling awful the rest of the day. And whenever I much bread, I start feeling a tad sick again. People keep saying, well then, you’re probably gluten-intolerant.
What do I say to that? Well, I suppose that’s possible, but there’s a lot of stuff in bread that could be causing violent illness when I eat it. Yes, the gluten is one suspect, but there’s also the wheat and yeast that could be the culprits. I personally suspect wheat – because my little sister is allergic, and my mom says she has a hard time with it too.
It’s so sad, though. The bread sickness is a recent development – bread has always been my favorite food on the face of the planet. I make ridiculously good homemade bread – and now I don’t have much reason to make it. I made some last Sunday for the sacrament (my ward has something against store-bought bread methinks), and when Brad raved about the excellence of the bread, I told him to take the extras home. No one really believed me when I said I didn’t want it. But I didn’t. Really.
People give you funny looks when you’re at a fast food place, and you really want a hamburger, and you ask for lettuce instead of a hamburger bun.
So… once I find some rice flour, I’ll experiment with that, and if it turns out rice bread makes me sick too... that rules out both wheat and gluten that are making me sick, and probably means it’s the yeast I have a problem with. Meh.
It’s so sad. I love bread. But now, my life is turned upside down. I see a succulent hamburger, and shudder at the sight of the bun. I see cake, cookies, or donuts and wince… And buttered toast, one of my all-time favorites, makes my stomach drop. I have very little desire to eat anything of that sort. I can eat wheat in small amounts… for instance, a wheat tortilla stuffed with refried beans or hummus gives me no problems whatsoever.
Among other things that haven’t been working so well for me – white sugar, chocolate, caffeine, and soy. A few weeks ago, I ate a chocolate bar I received for my birthday and some bread (before I figured out that the entire bread population was out to get me) – this resulted in lots of shaking and vomiting and just general blegggghhhh. It could have just been the bread, but I don’t think the chocolate helped.
Aside from that, when I eat things that don’t make me sick, I feel quite well. It’s just so strange that the bread sickness came. Coincidentally, when I did a lot of praying and consulting with the Lord on how I could improve my health… One of the few very concrete things I came up with was to avoid bread, although I felt like I should substitute wheat flour for white flour. Crazy. I am beginning to wonder if the wheat flour substitution was counsel given so that I’d discover that wheat isn’t such a good idea.
Random: I think my scripture plant is inseparably connected to my soul in some manner. When I am tired and hurting and sick, the plant wilts. When I am healthy and perky and bright – so is the plant. Just a little bit freaky sometimes. No, really. It freaks me out.
Guys. I finally have a calling. I’m the Enrichment leader in my Relief Society. Although I had a calling in last year’s ward, I never got to do anything with it. I was on the Literacy Committee, whose normal responsibilities include making sure all ward members know how to read. Except this is BYU. Everyone knows how to read, or else is a genius that somehow they’ve gotten by in all their classes without such a skill. So when I’d talk to my Relief Society president to ask what I should be doing in my calling – she’d say, Oh, go talk to so-and-so! And when I’d talk to so-and-so, I’d be referred right back to the Relief Society president. ‘Twas mightily frustrating.
And I love this calling. So. Much. I actually do stuff. And organize things. And plan things, and go to meetings, and ooh! I love it. So. Much.
Well, spring term is almost over. And summer term I get new classes… psychological statistics and some religion classes. I decided to forego taking any dance classes during the summer because I’m going to miss an entire week of school to come visit Arizona in July. So I might see some of my Arizona fans soon. :)
I hope to regularly attend the Social Dance Club on Tuesday nights, and the ward ballroom dance night every Wednesday. So no worries – I’ll still be keeping up with my dancing skills. In fact… maybe if I work really hard, one day I might make it onto team during a spring/summer term so I can declare a minor. (Erm… yes… that would be minor option #4… do I actually plan on having three or four minors? No. So far I only have chemistry in the bag.) However, I do not have the time or effort to try for a fall/winter semester team… not even back-up team. It’d eat up all my time, and it would be take more practice hours than I have to build to skill to even be seriously considered good enough to be on the team. So – spring/summer term team. That’s as much of an aspiration as I’m willing to shoot for at the moment. :)
Anyway, that’s about it for now.
I love you all,
Jenna
Academically, life is splendid. In fact, things are more than splendid. I share the following at my father’s request – I think he just wants to be able to brag, and if I back him up, it must be true.
I’ve been quite sick as of late, which I’ll update you on later, but I’ve been working with my professor to make sure I don’t get too behind. What I figured out is this: there are periods of acute energy and productivity, and there are much longer periods of energylessness and such. I explained this to Dr. Macedone, and after some discussion, he decided that he’d let me work at my own pace on turning in lab reports and homework and such.
That was pretty darned nice of him, so I’ve done my best not to be behind the rest of the class, so he can stay on top of everyone’s grades.
After the first exam, I went to his office to turn in a homework assignment. However, I couldn’t just leave after that. Dr. Macedone is the sort of guy who is genuinely interested in how his students are doing and color coordinates his PowerPoint presentations to match the shirt he happens to be wearing. So we got to talking about how I’m doing.
“How’d the test go for you?” he asked.
“Pretty good, I think.”
“What was your score?”
“67…” The test was scored out of 71 points.
“Hey! Wasn’t that the top score?” he beamed.
“Um… I don’t know?”
Pretty darned excited all of a sudden, my chemistry professor whirled around in his chair to do some tapping at his computer. “Aha! It was! Ooooh, that’s pretty good!” Dr. Macedone sometimes gets ridiculously excited. This was one of those times. He’s also fascinated with grades. In his spare time, he reads the writings of Joseph Smith, plays with lasers, and runs statistical analyses on grade data. I’m not kidding.
In his excited frenzy, my chemistry professor informed me that I’m doing spectacularly well in my chemistry class. In fact, I have the highest grade– I have high scores on all my labs, my quiz and test scores are ridiculously high, and I have a perfect homework score.
Dr. Macedone then continued to rave – and then started to tell me how impressed with me he was. He had expected me to struggle in his class when he found out how sick I was, and he was extremely surprised to find that I was doing as well as I was. He complimented me on my attention to detail, citing numerous impressive discoveries I had made in lab that no one else had noticed. After five straight minutes of heavy praise, he says, “Every once in a while you get students who stand out from all the others… Well, what I meant by all that is, what are your life plans?”
I blinked. “Erm… well, I’m planning on medical school at the moment…”
“Yes! Okay, do you know what this means? Okay. Okay! What I wanted to tell you is that when you need a letter of recommendation, I would be more than happy to write you one. I have all sorts of impressive stories I can tell them that’ll make any medical school want you real bad. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled. I need to figure out how to handle excessive praise. I’m still not sure how to react, especially when it comes from someone in authority.
There, Dad. I did your bragging for you. :)
In other news of note – I am single again. Which I have decided is acceptable, despite the occasionally overwhelming longing to be held and having no one to hold you. (I haven’t had this problem for a few months. I suspect though that at some point in the near future I’ll have this problem, worse than I did before I dated Jared.)
Jared and I dated for two months, and Friday night we decided to break it off. I’m okay, really. My side: I was getting extremely frustrated because I’d never see him and then when we’d try to arrange to see each other more often, it never worked out. Ever! Although I didn’t like him any less than I did before, I was really starting to get mightily stressed out about the whole thing. Taking that and several other factors into account, I decided that I’d bring it up on Friday night when I saw him.
Only Friday night came, he showed up – and he was the one who brought it up and suggested we break up. I wasn’t expecting that… he still likes me an awful lot, but he had been thinking about getting more serious. And seeing as neither of us had had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, he didn’t see how we could make a wise decision about that without having dated other people. Not to mention that the relationship was getting ridiculously hard to maintain, and was likely to only get worse. We are both rather busy people, and it seems that we’ll be even busier people in the near future.
So really, it was quite possibly the easiest breakup in the history of the planet, at least that I’ve ever heard of. We both agreed, and after that, it wasn’t awkward. It was just casual. We were just friends again. And if I need a ride to the grocery store, or he needs a buddy to do something with, we’ve still got each other. It’s pretty nice, actually.
The few of my friends who I’ve told about the breakup immediately demand, “Are you okay?” And I just respond calmly, “Completely.” And then they just kind of shake their heads a little in a sort of disbelief. One commented that Jared and I are both too level-headed and logical about everything. I laughed and responded that I do indeed freak out about stuff. The retort to that was that I’m levelheaded even when I’m freaking out. Someone explain that one to me. I don’t understand how you can freak out in a levelheaded manner.
More news! In the health headlines…
Mostly I’m doing quite all right. My immune system is still attacking my life. The most recent immune problem to befall me? I may have developed an allergy to something in bread. When I eat a lot of it, I get sick. One day I ate four slices of bread – but that resulted in vomiting for about an hour and feeling awful the rest of the day. And whenever I much bread, I start feeling a tad sick again. People keep saying, well then, you’re probably gluten-intolerant.
What do I say to that? Well, I suppose that’s possible, but there’s a lot of stuff in bread that could be causing violent illness when I eat it. Yes, the gluten is one suspect, but there’s also the wheat and yeast that could be the culprits. I personally suspect wheat – because my little sister is allergic, and my mom says she has a hard time with it too.
It’s so sad, though. The bread sickness is a recent development – bread has always been my favorite food on the face of the planet. I make ridiculously good homemade bread – and now I don’t have much reason to make it. I made some last Sunday for the sacrament (my ward has something against store-bought bread methinks), and when Brad raved about the excellence of the bread, I told him to take the extras home. No one really believed me when I said I didn’t want it. But I didn’t. Really.
People give you funny looks when you’re at a fast food place, and you really want a hamburger, and you ask for lettuce instead of a hamburger bun.
So… once I find some rice flour, I’ll experiment with that, and if it turns out rice bread makes me sick too... that rules out both wheat and gluten that are making me sick, and probably means it’s the yeast I have a problem with. Meh.
It’s so sad. I love bread. But now, my life is turned upside down. I see a succulent hamburger, and shudder at the sight of the bun. I see cake, cookies, or donuts and wince… And buttered toast, one of my all-time favorites, makes my stomach drop. I have very little desire to eat anything of that sort. I can eat wheat in small amounts… for instance, a wheat tortilla stuffed with refried beans or hummus gives me no problems whatsoever.
Among other things that haven’t been working so well for me – white sugar, chocolate, caffeine, and soy. A few weeks ago, I ate a chocolate bar I received for my birthday and some bread (before I figured out that the entire bread population was out to get me) – this resulted in lots of shaking and vomiting and just general blegggghhhh. It could have just been the bread, but I don’t think the chocolate helped.
Aside from that, when I eat things that don’t make me sick, I feel quite well. It’s just so strange that the bread sickness came. Coincidentally, when I did a lot of praying and consulting with the Lord on how I could improve my health… One of the few very concrete things I came up with was to avoid bread, although I felt like I should substitute wheat flour for white flour. Crazy. I am beginning to wonder if the wheat flour substitution was counsel given so that I’d discover that wheat isn’t such a good idea.
Random: I think my scripture plant is inseparably connected to my soul in some manner. When I am tired and hurting and sick, the plant wilts. When I am healthy and perky and bright – so is the plant. Just a little bit freaky sometimes. No, really. It freaks me out.
Guys. I finally have a calling. I’m the Enrichment leader in my Relief Society. Although I had a calling in last year’s ward, I never got to do anything with it. I was on the Literacy Committee, whose normal responsibilities include making sure all ward members know how to read. Except this is BYU. Everyone knows how to read, or else is a genius that somehow they’ve gotten by in all their classes without such a skill. So when I’d talk to my Relief Society president to ask what I should be doing in my calling – she’d say, Oh, go talk to so-and-so! And when I’d talk to so-and-so, I’d be referred right back to the Relief Society president. ‘Twas mightily frustrating.
And I love this calling. So. Much. I actually do stuff. And organize things. And plan things, and go to meetings, and ooh! I love it. So. Much.
Well, spring term is almost over. And summer term I get new classes… psychological statistics and some religion classes. I decided to forego taking any dance classes during the summer because I’m going to miss an entire week of school to come visit Arizona in July. So I might see some of my Arizona fans soon. :)
I hope to regularly attend the Social Dance Club on Tuesday nights, and the ward ballroom dance night every Wednesday. So no worries – I’ll still be keeping up with my dancing skills. In fact… maybe if I work really hard, one day I might make it onto team during a spring/summer term so I can declare a minor. (Erm… yes… that would be minor option #4… do I actually plan on having three or four minors? No. So far I only have chemistry in the bag.) However, I do not have the time or effort to try for a fall/winter semester team… not even back-up team. It’d eat up all my time, and it would be take more practice hours than I have to build to skill to even be seriously considered good enough to be on the team. So – spring/summer term team. That’s as much of an aspiration as I’m willing to shoot for at the moment. :)
Anyway, that’s about it for now.
I love you all,
Jenna
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