A Trip and A Song

I woke up late today and almost didn't make it to work on time. I had to go the entire morning until 12:00 with no coffee, and it hurt. I'm not one to beg for pity, but.... FEEL SORRY FOR ME. Am I the only one who thinks it's ok to whine on the Internet for the public to read about trivial things like a caffeine headache? Also in case you're wondering why I talk about coffee so much, it's because I feel super cool that I have an addiction, and someday you can all have an intervention for me and send me to rehab where I'll start lots of drama, make some hard-core friends, recover, then have a relapse and never come back. Then maybe I'll write a Song about it and become a rock star. With a tattoo. It all makes me feel so very grown-up, which I am obviously not since I need to reassure myself with things like coffee and driving. I love driving and it may sound pathetic to you, but it's partially because I feel like an adult in my truck. Don't get me wrong, I get high off the view of the open road and the feeling of freedom and all, but secretly, deep down, I am still 16 with a brand-new license and I can't wait to use it. Thank you, Thank you for being bored enough to read my nonsensical rambling. It means so much to me. Now get off your computer and go get some work done.

ZION

The Watchman

Pausing at the roadside Market


Indian Paintbrush. Blooming in Profusion this year.

Grafton. Yeah, that's the whole thing.

ZION is where we went on a Sunday Afternoon Hike/Picnic yesterday. (The Folks and I) We stopped at a tiny ghost town called Grafton on the way in, and it just so happens that Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was partially filmed there, and partially in Zion. I took lots of pictures, as it was an absolutely PERFECT day. Then after our outside dinner we drove home and watched said film, commenting on the scenery.

HAIR

Today I experienced a First-time-in-a-long-time thing. It's wierd and sad how as you get older there are fewer and fewer things that are your First Ever. First, First, First. Fist. Fuss. Fussy. Baby. Dirty Dancing. Swayze. Swanky. Nightclub. Jazz. Blues. Rhapsody in Blue. Ok done with the Word Association Game. Sorry. Sooooooooooo anyways, I got a HAIRCUT. It's been about a year. Ok there was that one little trim in there a few months ago, but that doesn't really count, nor does it count when I trim my own hair... I went to the Paul Mitchell Beauty School: Almost Professional-Quality Haircuts, far from Professional Prices. Wow I should write commercials. And Star in them. I know you're all on the edge of your seats, dying to know whether I chopped it all off in a frenzied moment of frustration, or just went for a teensy tailoring trim. And the answer is... I forgot. Just kidding: teensy tailoring trim. My stylist was a very nice girl with GREAT hair. We always judge stylists by their hair. Every time I've had a bad haircut it's because the girl didn't know how to fix hair, as evidenced by her own bad hair. And not only did this lady cut my hair exactly the way I wanted it, she even took the time to show me some simple tips and tricks on how to fix it myself without taking THREE hours. I have found true hair love. This is the girl I want to spend my life with. I'll be her client forever and ever AMEN.

Late Afternoon

Typically, the concept of Late Afternoon is mildly depressing to me because it forces you to consider the fact that time is passing and the day is drawing near its close. All our lives, time presses us forward, often unwillingly, in the form of deadlines, birthdays, anniversaries, deaths; our trajectory is impossible to slow. Lately, however, (again with the time thing. Lately I've also been getting older) I've noticed that when I'm not at work, it is a most enjoyable time of day. The sun begins to sink and light becomes softer, driving my thoughts in a reflective direction and causing a craving for tea. I often find myself pretending that time isn't passing at all- that I am floating through days but they mean nothing, that there is an eternity of them and I'll spend them wandering the earth, seeing and feeling and tasting everything there is and when I think I'm through, there will be a new generation of world to see and feel and smell and hear and love. Thankfully this is not the case. A beautiful sentiment that makes me happy to know I am not God because I want to die someday. I want an eternity, but not on earth.

Today I finally paid a visit to old Doc, whom Toni has been reminding me about for weeks now. Doc's is a book exchange, packed to the gills with everything from vintage LDS literature to trashy romance novels which I'm glad I'm too prude to peek into, and lots and lots of in between. I have learned something about myself recently: I am a book snob. I love love LOVE to read, and if necessary, I'll devour whatever is placed in front of me without discression. However, given the choice, I would rather read for education than pleasure, not to say that the two are mutually exclusive. On the contrary, I have been deeply enriched by the most entertaining books. I really want to be well-read though. That is my goal because I love being able to discuss books and the more books you've read, the more people you'll find to discuss with, so my plan of attack is of course to start with classics. I already have many of these under my belt, as I have a mother so dedicated to my development of knowledge that she read to us aloud books that I never would have endeavored to tackle on my own at the tender ages of eight or ten. Finding out what was inside the covers of Uncle Tom's Cabin, The Trapp Family Singers, and many other daunting volumes gave me the courage later to venture into stories like Gone With the Wind, Great Expectations, and The Grapes of Wrath. Lately, I've been a little more purposeful about reading books from different eras and viewpoints, but for the most part, if it's on the Classics shelf, I'll buy it. That being said, I do enjoy a guilty pleasure now and then, so I'll admit to having read the Twilight Series, The DaVinci Code, and even some Nicholas Sparks. I am so grateful to my mom for not only putting many patient hours into teaching me to read at a young age, but instilling in me a love of books that will be with me for the rest of my life. You know what they say, "if you can read, you can learn." No I said that. Cause I'm pretty much a genius. (And a narcissist.)