Confession...

Sometimes I wish my life was a musical. Okay, who am I kidding? I pretty much always wish my life was a musical. I’ve grown up on musicals and have been known to burst into song quite randomly at any time. Oh yeah, no warning (I think that’s why it’s called bursting into song.)

The real reason for the random confession is this: I have seen three musicals within the past month, and I love it. There is something magical about them. Maybe it’s because everything has music accompanying it? Maybe it’s because you get to watch the character development and the plot unroll, all in a short amount of time? Maybe it’s because there usually are fun costumes, or sets, or characters, or _____________ (you fill in the blank)?

I can’t diagnose the cause or figure out the exact etymology of my love. Moral of the story: I don’t know why exactly I love musicals so much. But, for now I know that they make me happy. Wishful, but happy, and that’s good enough for me.

First Good-bye

I said my first real college good-bye today, or at least the first one that I really took note of. Maybe it was because this was a friend who I met freshman year that it struck me so – I am about to leave Provo presumably for good.

While yes, it is sad to realize that in a lot of ways (most notably geographically) my friend and I are parting ways, we are both going on to great things. I will be pursuing a dream of mine, as will my friend.

For me, the past four years have seen a lot of personal growth. I am a different person today than I was four years ago, and if I’m being totally honest, I like the changes. It’s pretty cool to learn more about myself and to see what I am capable of.

All I’ll say is this: bring on the Lindsey 22.0 version.

I Do Not Believe In Umbrellas

It’s the middle of May and I am in a Spring mentality. So, yesterday I went off to school without a hooded jacket or an umbrella (typical), knowing that it could rain. I was only a little disappointed when I walked home from my stupid grammar test in the rain and struggled to get warm the rest of the night.

Even with experiences like that though, I still am resolute in my general refusal to tote around an umbrella the entire day to protect me from water for a few minutes because last time I checked, clothes dry and I don't melt.

Think about it. A wet umbrella is obnoxious, especially to a student. Once I have been dutifully escorted to class by an umbrella, having acted like a true gentleman and taking most of the blows for me (or in this case the rain), I’m left in a quandary with this wet plastic/fabric mess and nowhere to put it.

Would I object to an umbrella’s protection? No. But, am I willing to put up with the nuisance the entire day to save me from getting a few droplets? Not at all.

So bring on the rain.

M Com 320 Test for One, Please.

This morning as my M Com 320 class started, my teacher asked us who was going to take the test today. The test runs from May 16 (code for yesterday) until May 20 (this Friday) and yes, this is the dreaded, already hated (yes, hated in a premeditated manner. Deal with it), stupid grammar test that I desperately wanted to be done with. Call me crazy, call me impulsive, call it senioritis, whatever you will, but I don’t want this grammar nightmare hanging over my head any longer.

So I raised my hand since yes, I was planning on taking the test today. Shortly after I raised my hand, I looked around to notice that indeed I was the only one raising my hand. You may be asking me to hold the phone, but yes, in a class of 25, I was the only one planning to take the test today. Okay, that’s cool. I can handle it. I had already planned on studying and taking that blasted test today. I had mentally psyched myself out to take it today, so it was done – I had already decided.

Whatever. It’s my last semester before I finish my undergraduate education and I’m already accepted into Grad School. Read 'em and weep.

An Eventful Tuesday Night

It all started off in the car. They’re doing some construction on the west side of Campus resulting in some of the roads being blocked off (code for signs that say “Road Closed” and some obnoxious orange cones). I was in the front seat of the car on Tuesday night when the driver and I turned down a road that happened to sport a sign dutifully informing us that the road was indeed closed. Instead of taking an alternate route though, the driver decided that we were meant to go down that road and consequently, we braved the sidewalk in the car. (Oh yes, you wish you were as cool as we were.) We were totally safe (I obviously lived to tell the tale) and it did make the evening more eventful and memorable. Oh Yes. Check violating a minor traffic rule off the bucket list.

After the driving incident and some deep fried ice cream, we saw the movie “The Adjustment Bureau”. I didn’t know much about the movie going into it – I think I saw the trailer once before seeing the movie. Seriously, such a good movie. It was so thought-provoking and it sparked some great conversation. I would recommend the movie to anyone, especially the religious variety.

Many thanks Soccer.

Sad Day

Last Friday as I got into my car after running a bunch of errands, I heard that awful, jaw-clenching, heart breaking, nails on the chalkboard-esque noise of fabric ripping. Yes, brace yourself, my favorite pair of pants, maybe favorite pair of pants ever, had just ripped.

With my heart a little broken and in my refusal to accept that my favorite pants had indeed ripped, I wore them again. Don’t worry – I know now that it was a stupid idea, but in my defense the rip was in a very discreet spot and they were my favorite pants. We (the pants and I) made it through most of the day until (yep, you guessed it) they ripped again. Well there went all of my hopes and dreams of blissful denial, for the second rip brought me to the heartrending conclusion that my favorite pants=ripped. As in done-zo. As in I should not wear them again.

I explored some of the possibilities, namely, I entertained the thought of finding a favorite pair of pants and then starting a food storage-like collection of said pants, but ultimately decided that would just be plain ridiculous.

While I am still in a quandary and find myself favorite-pant-less (as in I don’t have a favorite pair of pants), I am currently holding auditions for the coveted role and am resolutely determined that the show must go on.

Declaration: I am a Communication Disorders major.

Explanation: Senior year of high school I knew where I wanted to go to school but I had no idea what I really wanted to study. Upon my parents’ wise suggestion I asked people what they had done and if they could go back and do it again what they would do. My Aunt Julie was one of the first people I asked. Her response was that she would have studied to become a Speech Therapist and told me some of her reasons why. The idea caught (and maintained) my interest, so I moved that direction as I started my undergraduate education.

Since that fortuitous conversation with my Aunt, I have fallen in love with Speech Therapy and all that it entails. For now, I’ll comment on how I love that it’s a dynamic profession – it requires the Therapist to be knowledgeable and apply that knowledge creatively to each individual client. I am both excited and scared to be that clinician (funny how often those emotions go together). In just a couple months (yikes!) some parents will bring their pride and joy, their baby in for Speech Therapy and they’ll get me. Talk about sink or swim.

Declaration, Part One

Declaration: I am not an English major.

Explanation: This declaration is not breaking news by any means, but certain classes help me to know that I picked the right profession. Today I had one of those moments.

Story: Thus far my M COM 320 class has been very grammar-heavy. This morning we discussed “Punctuation” and “Case-Agreement/Reference” and took a quiz as a means to stimulate group conversations. I sat with 3 other classmates and together we discussed the various questions we had from the quiz. Shortly into our discussion we were stumped, so we called the teacher over and asked him. After a lengthy discussion the question was left unresolved. We had no answer. The teacher had no answer and walked away saying he would ask another professor. Fast forward the next few minutes to the next question we were stumped on. Again, we called the teacher over and after another lengthy, unfulfilling discussion, again the teacher left saying he would ask another professor. Needless to say I was frustrated.

First of all, I feel like grammar should have a right and a wrong answer. I can tolerate uncertainty. I’m religious and I hope to work in a profession that does not have one right solution, but I feel like grammar should be more cut and dry than my teacher made it seem today.

Secondly, don’t mark me wrong for something when you don't know why it’s supposedly wrong. Thankfully we’re not being graded yet, but our first exam is all grammar. Yeah, not excited for that one.

Despite this minor rant, I’m realizing more and more that this class is just a means to an end. This is the last class I have to take where I have to study something I’m not interested in. Hopefully it will help me become a better writer and we can part as mutual friends in June.