Titled.

I’ve been staring quizzically at my friend, who is not actually person, for quite awhile.
I think he changes his facial expression like every twenty minutes but all in all, his meaning his clear:
“Hi, Chloe. You suck at this. But I’m not going anywhere. Love you long time.”

My friend is the Decision. He sits glaring and not once has he ever blinked , even though I sit there sometimes squeezing my eyes shut, in hopes that when I open them, he is gone.

He’s never gone. I’ve realized I’ve got to do something about him.

I’ve been plagued with phantasmagoric mental states: Decision as it turns out, is a shape shifter. Occasionally he has blonde hair or occasionally he is a grad school or occasionally he is a crappy summer apartment.

The point is that he’s ubiquitous and entirely unavoidable, which I guess when you think about it, is kind of the point. Because if he weren’t ubiquitous and entirely unavoidable, well then I’d guess we wouldn’t really be souls. Just robots learning to perform a function. Because if everything in life could be fixed by reading the right things or going to the right places, wouldn’t we just be learning how to compute?
Ah. I guess that’s where the whole choosing thing (and closely related cousin: faith) comes in handy.

Someone wise once said: “In mortality, choice isn’t a goal, it’s a method.”

Which at first seems like a nice flowery phrase, but really it means so much. Choice is a method. Not a goal. So the point is not to have choices, but to make them! Cool! And scary!
Choices are not to be collected and put on a bookshelf, looked at and examined, until they are dusted away by the cleaning fairy. No sir. They are to be used. They are utensils.

So this is why I decided (oh!) Decision is my friend and not my enemy. Maybe he’s still the friend I love but don’t like . . . but I’m getting there.

Recurring Themes

So me and Sierra hit the road this last weekend for a camping trip in the Grand Canyon.

We were acting so grown up! Planning it all, fixing the car, having our own tent, oh man. We're like super adults now.

But of course, every vacation needs its indulgence. We had lots of Oreos (more of a staple than a luxury) but even splurged on some Dr. Pepper. It was Heritage Dr. Pepper. Real sugar and no syrup! Also, it comes with letters in a groovy font.

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you see where this is going.

It was Sunday morning. We found a branch that met inside the Grand Canyon and we're all dressed up ready to go (evidence of grown up ness!) We were even ready for church EARLY. So we decided to put a few of those precious cans into the cooler for cold-keeping.

Sierra did it. She picked up on DP and dropped it. It bounced off the cooler. It exploded. Into the dirt.

Shrapnel splattered all over us -- a sticky combination of Dr. Pepper and mud all over our Sunday clothes.

As if the sight of two twenty-one year old girls walking around a campground in dresses wasn't weird enough, you could say we looked a a bit more funny.

I hope the Bishop didn't notice.