Experiences with Fish

My friend left on vacation with her family this Monday. She was originally going to leave her fish at her parents' house, to be cared for with the cat. Then she realized that the cat may not enjoy sharing its space with fish. And that, since it's a cat, it may take measures to eliminate them.

That is how I came to be a designated fish-sitter. Also, I have a very difficult time when it comes to telling people no. That may have factored in as well.

But I'm proud to say that since she left her fish here on Sunday night, they haven't died!!

For me, this is nigh unto a miracle. Ever since I've lived on my own, I've kind of been a fish killer. Not an intentional fish killer, mind you, but I've never had the best of luck in keeping little fishes alive. So naturally, when I said yes, I immediately started praying that her fish won't die.

Yesterday, I passed their bowl, and they were both very still. I thought for sure I had killed them. But then they moved. And I breathed an immense sigh of relief. No dead fish here.

Although if you want proof about how knowledgeable one of my roommates and I are about fish: well, we thought that some of the big one's entrails might be spilling out when we saw a string hang from it. My other roommate got a kick out of that. Apparently, it was just pooping.

Speaking of which, I should go feed them. So they don't die. So that next week, I can triumphantly declare that I managed to not kill the fish.

Privileges . . .

Writers, I have realized, have their own set of privileges. When we write, we get to frame the world. Show it to others from our perspective. Indoctrinate them into our ways of thinking (sometimes, anyway--mwahaha). We get to shape reality for ourselves--and, to a certain extent--for whomever else reads what we write.

Sort of daunting to think about, isn't it?

What I tend to forget, though, is that readers also have their own set of privileges. We do not have to accept the reality proffered by everything we read and consume. (And thank heaven, for that, I say!) We get to choose what we believe. We get to see what we want to in writing and ignore what we don't want to see.

(And trust me, as an English major, I can think of a number of realities and ideas I've rejected. Because I disagree. And it's my prerogative to do so.)

This is my way of saying that I like all of you who comment on my blog. Sometimes--but only sometimes--I need someone to question my reality.

The Housing Situation

We found a place to live.

It's darling.

It's a house.

The rent is reasonable.

We move in July 24!!

Also, Heavenly Father loves us.

Unbeknownst to each other, we were all fasting about this yesterday.

Our parents have been praying.

And we'll be living in a house.

A cute, 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house.

Fairness

I've been singing a song of sunburn. Probably because I managed to get a killer sunburn on my neck last Saturday, only to follow it up with a killer sunburn on my shoulders and legs this Saturday.

The first sunburn was the result of pure folly: when my roomate and friends said we'd only stay at the arts festival an hour or two, I took them at their word. I thought that surely, surely I'd not get terribly sunburned in the course of an hour or two.

Three hours later, we left the festival and I looked at my arms with slight dismay. I was, indeed, sunburned. When a fair-skinned person stays in the sun for 3 hours, she burns. Despite her hubris.

Yesterday, my roommate and I decided to relax by visiting the waterpark at Cherry Hill. They have a lazy river that can be wonderfully relaxing. (I say "can be," because at one point there were roughly twenty little munchkins swimming around the lazy river, playing tag and splashing any and all in their path. And pretty much everyone else was in their path.)

We applied suncreen before we left. And she came home with a slightly sunburned face, whereas I came home with red shoulders. A slightly red back. And upper legs that look like they're on fire. Which they sort of are, I guess.

I whined about the unfairness--two roommates, same amounts of sunscreen, and I got fried? And she didn't? And then I heard my dad's voice in my head, asking who told me life was fair.

Nobody, obviously. It's just a presumption I've had. But as we sat in Sunday School today talking about all of the different (metaphorical) weapons we need to bury so we don't fight against God, a girl made a comment about how all of our "weapons" are obviously different things. That's part of what makes us individuals. Part of the reason our lives, our experiences are tailor-made.

It's important that we bury our weapons: not our siblings', not our friends'. We don't share the same weaknesses, just as we don't share the same strengths.

And when I stopped to think about that, I stopped to think about how ridiculous it is to decide our lives are not fair because we are comparing ourselves with others.

Our lives are, in fact, as fair as Heavenly Father makes them for us. And given all the aids and resources He has provided us, I would say that's pretty darn fair. In fact, I'd say that our lives are more than fair, because they are ours.

And we don't really gain much in comparison.

July 4 Thoughts

Two years ago on (or shortly before) July 4th, I moved out of my parents' house. In all my cleverness, I felt it appropriate to give myself indepence during Independence Day festivities. Timing, I admit, that I regretted when the Centerville parade announcer set up shop right across the street and awoke me at 8 AM on the 4th. To add insult to injury, he wasn't even announcing anything important. (Also, he was the same stake high councilman who liked to call me a flautist and not a flutist--something I disliked, because I wasn't playing a flaut, I was playing a flute . . .)

At around the same time last year, one of my best childhood friends and I moved out to Salt Lake City. But she went back to Centerville and I stayed in Salt Lake, where I knew absolutely nobody. (At least, not yet. I think it highly unfair to say there's nobody I know here now) So last Fourth of July, I sat on my bed and watched the fireworks show I could see by looking directly out my window. That moment, incidentally, is one of the few moments in my life where I've felt very much alone and unsure of what I was doing with myself.

This year, as my roommates and I (and a couple of our friends) hiked around to get a view of the fireworks from Sugarhouse Park, the Bees game, or--better yet!--both, we finally found a spot and settled in. And I couldn't help wondering where I would be at this time next year. And who I may or may not be watching fireworks with.

It didn't make me sad. But it was yet another thing to wonder about.

And on a fireworks related note, I spent last ngiht at my parents' house and my brothers executed a show for the benefit of my almost 2-year-old niece and my 3-and-a-half-year-old nephew. (He's at the age where the halves are so important) It may well be the first fireworks show my nephew will actually remember.

My poor little niece was not terribly fond of the fireworks. In fact, that's the understatement of the year. As soon as the first of them went off, she started crying and yelling, "I don't like this! I don't like this!" She wouldn't even look at the fireworks until she was safely in the living room, behind the door. Then she would watch.

My nephew, on the other hand, will make an excellent scout in the future. As the fireworks show progressed, he bounced up and down, excitedly yelling, "Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!"

More and More Changes

I am not opposed to change. There used to be a time in my life where I hated change more than I hated anything else. At that particular time, any sort of change symbolized just one more thing about my life that I had failed to control.

But change, as I have mentioned before, is inevitable. People grow up and move on. Situations never stay exactly the same. Education, though it sometimes felt stagnant, has never truly been a constant.

I figure it's all a part of progression. If everything stayed exactly the same as it always has been, that would mean I was going nowhere. In every possible sense of the phrase "going nowhere."

And then there are times like the present, where I wish I weren't needing to go quite so many places. An educational change. A job change. A location change. (Granted, not a terribly drastic location change, but a location change nonetheless) To be frank, I think the only thing not changing is a relationship status change.

And if that changes and it's right, I'll be fine. But I still can't help thinking that the fact so much change seems to come at once is a little bit of a cosmic joke.

Also, a note to anyone and everyone near me or who will be venturing near me at any given point that may want to play with me: get all of your Katie time in before school starts in the fall. Because I will be working full-time and taking 6 hours of graduate credits, and I fully expect to have no life.

Updates

Now the job hunt is over.

And the apartment hunt is on in earnest.

So, interestingly, is the frustration.