Lie # 1

I'm the hero of this story. Don't need to be saved.

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I'm on a roll here. Two entries in one month. Boom bam, baby.

I'll explain the first line with these two: Last night I needed writing therapy . Today I had an epiphany.

(That is for the teachers and others who have commented on my inability to summarize. There, you go, I did it. Go along now and jump to your own conclusions. Happy? Did you learn anything useful? No. Of course not. Because summaries are useless. Why? Because people make the wrong conclusions even when the have all the facts. However, the percentage of wrong conclusions is increased when there is a decrease of facts. Summaries are mostly factless. Facts are useless without context. Context is impossible without details. I would cite examples of this , but that might just overwhelm you. Conclusion: summaries are good if you want to taunt the reader or listener with promises (sometimes vain) of properly directed conclusions on the condition that you manage you untangle yourself from own misguided and misinformed ones. And really, teasing, that's just plain rudeness.)
*This has been a shameless attempt at justification and a good example of overcompensation. And of exaggeration; I only pretend to hate convention.

You see, last night's piece of work was a chef-d'oeuvre. That's "masterpiece". In case you are wondering if I know what it is, l'humilité is humility. But a fait is a fact and chef-d'oeuvre is what it was.

And it was such because it did what I intended it to do: I was therapized. Honestly, I felt so much better afterward. The only thing that made me feel better after the fact was the fact that I wrote it while playing "New Slang" and when I was done I played it again. And the betterness was cemented.

Just as most of my best work comes as the product of moments pregnant with the urgency of necessity, this free-write was no exception. It was ripe with over-dramaticism and words that don't exist (I'm up to my third in this post). It's no mean feat, you know, to turn off the auto-editor in my brain long enough for the words to come out as the raw sentiments they are somewhere deep inside. Not to mention that those depths are usually closed to me.

Incidentally, when I undertook last night's therapy session, I initially thought I needed blogging therapy. So I started a post. Now I honestly have no idea who reads this thing. Often when I sit down to blog I imagine that no one does, and that I can just send it out to the universe and it comes back to me, pure and untouched: a well-kept secret. Of course, other times, I write with people in mind. Not specific people, but an audience of blurred faces. The problem is, one of those faces may be yours, dear reader, and you might just get your dirty paws on my secret sentiments. So it should be no surprise that the brain-child born in last night's therapy session will never see the light of day. Not in its current form, at least.

So there it sits, a draft in my dashboard; unpublishable because it is too honest to share.

And therein lies the epiphany. One of my past posts dealt with the idea of keeping with a discretion policy and mentions the creation of a blog entitled Monstrous Liar that would be a depository, ironically of course, of honesty; of my anger, fear, and private thoughts (See Nov. 2, a Hendry classic: http://www.angryalien.com/amys_diary.html). In that post I threatened the secret creation of that blog, leaving it as an inheritance for my those lucky individuals who find themselves in my will (which I of course have yet to write).

Well, after much overdone anticipation, I am happy to announce the creation of my blog: Monstrous Liar. Guess what? You are currently visiting it. It is the posts between the posts; the unpublished ramblings that exist behind the scenes. It lives and breathes and hums on my dashboard next to my account settings.

In honor of the comings and goings on this here blog that will remain unaccounted for I have a proposition. Mostly I just want to tease you, I think, with all that I'm not telling. My proposition is this: future unpostings on Monstrous Liar will make a shadow of a cameo on the Bell Tower. They will appear under a subject line of numbered lies. And they will have as their text the title from the original post. The titles likely being lyrics, or quotes, or French: contextless nonsense.

Thus, while last nights posting even included the full text of the song I was playing at the time because it was so integrally connected to the text, it's title was the first line of this post, a lyric I'll leave you to figure out because it's more fun that way.

You've just had your first taste of Monstrous Liar: the unblog. Delicious, n'est-ce pas?

Bienvenue my friends, bienvenue.

Take it slow, take it easy on me. Shed some light, shed some light on me please...

So I've been needing a change on the look of my blog. I may keep playing around but for now I'm out of energy and so I'm going to leave it at this.

I have too many random musings to make them cohesive. And let's be honest, I always muse randomly and I am rarely cohesive.

My plans for this summer are not progressing as I would like them to. I feel so scattered, no direction and fewer and fewer options. I have become obsessive compulsive about checking my inbox, and no, it is not to see who has commented on my facebook. I'm starting to realize how lucky I was last summer in finding options so quickly at the relatively last minute. I think a lot of that has to do with my determination. Last year I was fulfilling the promise I had made to myself to return to France. This year, I merely want out. I'm a big believer in boldness making things happen. I have too many directions this time around for boldness. Hmmm.

In another life, I might have been a maker of maps, methodically plotting and measuring in scales of estimation. Of course, a proper geographer must also be an explorer, a lesson so pointedly learned from Le Petit Prince who meets a geographer who misses the point entirely:

"Exactly," the geographer said. "But I am not an explorer. I haven't a single explorer on my planet. It is not the geographer who goes out to count the towns, the rivers, the mountains, the seas, the oceans, and the deserts. The geographer is much too important to go loafing about. He does not leave his desk. But he receives the explorers in his study. He asks them questions, and he notes down what they recall of their travels. And if the recollections of any one among them seem interesting to him, the geographer orders an inquiry into that explorer's moral character."

So I would undoubtedly have been a captain of a ship and I would have slept with the lull of the sea, the sea, the sea! to ease my restless mind. But in this life I'm here, waiting, and lacking patience. (Not to mention the fact that I have a terrible fear of the sea. But that doesn't mean it doesn't call to me.) I don't do well with a lack of precision, without a destination. All this goalless-ness has gotten me to attempt to figure out what to do with life beyond the summer.

I went skiing the other weekend with mon ami Mr. Smart and we were talking about life and how we would do things differently if the goals and anticipation of future responsibilities were different. I realized I would do whatever it takes to go to school as long as possible, putting aside a nice apartment, home, fancy job, etc. Which, naturally, made me rethink my current position. I kind of concluded that my current life enables me to do more by way of being the "eternal student" since I have summers off to have learning experiences of the traveling variety. It felt good to know that I am where I want to be but I have to admit, I mused over this conversation and my conclusion for days afterward.

I think a lust for learning is a great thing. Not being satisfied with where one is can be both a blessing and a curse as far as progression goes. But I think that the time comes when it is it's time to stop becoming and to start doing. Because the becoming is in the doing. And for me, much as I feel that there is more to be seen, more to learn, that time for me is now, or not far from now. I can't be selfish in the idea of a lifetime indulging myself with knowledge that is rarely applicable and benefits mostly me. I don't feel ready and I'm not sure what it is I need to do but I think it's time I move from the passive learner to the active participant. Self, I've been telling myself, you will never feel prepared enough. Et ce n'est pas la fin du monde ça.

Inclined to place blame or rather trace the root of my mentality I turn to French. Because of French, learning another language, I am at home with the overwhelming lack of knowledge, of preparedness, of completion. But I can't let that stop me. Believing, as I do, that heaven is the opportunity for endless progression, I am somewhat relieved that I do not have to "do it all now", but prioritize. Which, while no mean feat, is far more manageable. At the same time, I am more aware that this life is a gift, that I am eager for it, hungry for it, but that I will only get so much out of it if I don't share it.

President Packer's son quoted in our stake conference the other day a poem quoted by his father in GC 2000. I had never heard the poem, "Man-Making", whose author is Edwin Markham but I think it's all too appropriate with what I've been thinking about so I'm including it:

We are all blind until we see
That in the [universal] plan
Nothing is worth the making if
It does not make the man.
Why build these [buildings] glorious,
If man unbuilded goes?
In vain we build the [world], unless
The builder also grows.¹

This began as a travel blog. Some journeys are more easily documented than others. But really, whatever the kind, the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. And that step is born of mental exertion, of knowledge and decisions and visualizations. I think of all that most go on in the brain for the foot to move, the circuits, the nerves, the synopses, the muscles, all working in harmony toward movement. Right now my brain's just processing. But make no mistake, the first step is on its way.

I feel like this post has been pretty heavy and I don't mean it to be. So I'm going to add some mix things up with excessive randomness.

1) I went barefoot running on Wednesday and got my shoes snatched up by some still unknown hooligans. Who takes an old pair of ugly black flats is beyond me. I mean, every girl out there owns a pair. And now I have to buy new ones. I went back Saturday and ran around the whole track area, including garbage cans in vain hopes of finding them again. But no such luck.

However, since we're talking about luck I should probably mention that after leaving my shoes on the side of the track I had put my car key in them, walked away, had that funny feeling in my gut, turned around and picked up my key and stowed it safely on my person. See, I could have lost my shoes, my key, and potentially my car. Thank you, uneasiness.

2) I could go off on a rant on the uselessness and misguidings of emotions. Easily. I could go as far as to say that they go against the instinct for self preservation. That's counter evolution! I could then juxtapose and say that they are the one thing that sets our species apart and that I wouldn't have been happy as a monkey. Although I probably wouldn't have known the difference anyway. I could make a metaphor out of them, comparing them to a one party agreement. However I could then juxtapose that as well and argue that logic rarely agrees on anything anyway. And I could cite, in outline form if you'd prefer, why (despite my rather convincing counter-arguments) emotions are still totally useless. But then I'd have to find a way to explain away the uselessness of aforementioned "gut-feeling" (feeling being a synonym of emotion). And since I can't tackle that I will let the beast lie.

For now.

3) Last year just before St. Patrick's day one of my preschoolers (Undeniably, one of my favorites; even though I don't have favorites. Of course) came up to us with green magic marker not quite washed out all under his chin. "Miss Hendry," he said, with unusual sobriety and a trace of genuine worry, "I think I'm turning into a leprechaun."

Friday, during lunch, I caught the kids comparing food. One held up a cheese stick, turned to their neighbor and said, "Look! We have the same!" The neighbor held up his or her cheese stick. Both mouths gaped, wide open as if it was the most fantastic thing in the entire world to have the same thing for lunch. Then that neighbor turned to the other and, matching food of some kind held high and mouths gaping, the wave of enthusiasm swept through the entire classroom. Funny how eager kids are to find reasons to find similarities. And to smile, no, gape. I tried remembering the last time I gaped over something because it made me so happy.

All this to say, I love my stinking kids. They make me laugh and keep me young.

4) Saw Vampire Weekend in concert this week and for some reason I can't get enough of Feist. In fact, I haven't listened to much else this week, and, it being a concert week, that is really saying something since usually I listen to nothing but the artist the week before and after.

A lyric I can't seem to shake: "Leave on a high note, there's nowhere to go but on".


And I think that pretty well sums it all up.