Sunday, February 26, 2012

Box of Morgan

Hi! My name is Morgan. Less than a year ago I was hit in the head with a ladder. Before that, it was the gym floor. Before that, it was the laundry room floor. And before that it was the bottom of someone's shoe. Each time, a little bit more of my memories got lost. I can't tell you which one lost the most, or which one did the most damage, all I can say is the gym floor hurt the most and I can't remember a lot of my past. Thankfully, someone discovered pain medicine and journals!

I decided to haul out my journals. Which are full from years upon years of memories. I used to write in my journal daily, up until about four years ago. I wrote about how funny Jason was, how much I felt left out, and how I wanted to be something when I grew up. I found names of people I had met years before I re-met them and worked with them.

While my box is full of a lot of memories, my favorite is a letter I wrote to myself. It was an assignment in one of my classes. I give myself advice: "Don't keep doing your assignments the night before. You can get A's while doing that now, but that won't always be the case." I remind myself of important things to remember: "Remember that Zak can't make flambe." I even give myself a pep talk "It doesn't matter what everyone else does, you're pretty dang awesome, keep it up! Don't make me look ridiculous!" This letter even mentions a movie idea I had. Yep, Awesome!

It really does get frustrating not remembering anything on my own. It can be interesting too though. It kind of gives me insight into who I really am.

For example, I thought I wanted to be a film maker just because grandma worked in the DGM department and I made friends there. Nope. Apparently, I used to dream of getting an Oscar someday (I wrote acceptance speeches on scraps. I saved them). I used to write movie ideas down between poems in my notebooks. I even analyzed some films. "There was this really cool part in the movie I saw today! I think it could be really cool if used to describe a person instead of a plant!" (I don't remember the movie...good going, Morgan, not writing it down.)

I also thought that my sense of humor was dependent and who I hung out with...not true either. I have the same sense of humor now with the friends I have as I did when I was 12. That's kind of interesting.

I also realized that I get excited over all the same simple things. Like coming home. I have a whole entry dedicated to me walking in the door after being gone for a week. Just last night I got excited walking in the front door after being gone all day.

I still believe all the same things, I just have words now to express those beliefs. Before: "Ugh! People are so annoying! No one ever seems to really think! Like what the heck are they thinking!" Now: "Sometimes people really frustrate me. I feel like they don't like to take the time to fully think things through." Same idea, different words. Kinda interesting.

Here I've been, confused as to why I am how I am. I'd lay in bed and try to figure out why I do what I do. The answers have been under my bed the whole time. I am Morgan. I am so much Morgan that I can't be contained in just my mind. That's why Nature created mean little girls and gravity, so as to help me clean out the parts of me that could be stored in a box. Now I am Morgan and part of me lives in a box below my bed.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

All Things Must End

And I am so glad broadcasting is one of them! I'm not a fan of broadcasting. I'm pretty sure I could be doing other worse things, like... um... such as... um...bathing in a tub of cockroaches. That's about it. It's not that broadcasting is bad, and the group is fantastic, but it's just not my cup of tea. I only joined because of David.

Broadcasting is his life. He's always so stoked about it. He makes it sound fun to sit in this dark room all day pushing buttons. When he talks about a game, it's as if he's telling you about the day he walked on the moon or something. It's extremely exciting. Doing it though, not as exciting, to me anyway. I will miss it a tiny bit, but not enough to come do it anymore.

Today is our last game. UVU vs UTPA. #1 vs #2 in the GWC. None of this really means anything to me other than the stats should be pretty interesting.

This is the only time I've ever blogged about something I'm doing as I'm doing it. Huh...looky at that. This probably won't keep happening though, don't get stoked about it.

Foods here, so enjoy this pic:

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

New Post

My friend pointed out that I haven't blogged recently. Two thoughts crossed my mind when he pointed that out. One was "True, I haven't." and the other was "Oh snap, he reads my blog." Him reading my blog isn't a bad thing. It's public...for the public to read. It just made me realize that I have to be careful what I say. I don't want to be like "Oh man, this David kid is being such a jerk." when really he just sneezed or something. I don't want to be overly dramatic, which is probably how I am already. Whatever. Point is, here I am, blogging, and it's public.

Honestly, I've written several posts, I just never posted them. I wanted to post about something that matters to me and I couldn't figure out the words to say it. A lot has gone on in my head recently, and I don't really know one way to sum it up. I like to be efficient, so multiple posts seemed silly. Truth is, I can't really sum it up into one neat little package with a bow. That's not how life is. Life is a big, express mail package that is a pain to ring up at the post office. (BTW, I work in a post office, in case I forgot to mention that.) Everything is too big and too messy to box up for you.

There's been a lot on my mind, like usual. This time, though, the stuff has been working through faster. I think. It feels that way anyway. One major thing on my mind is how I've changed in less than a year. A year ago, I was probably planning on wearing jeans, a tee, and my longboarding shoes tomorrow to school, hair in a messy bun, no make up. Tonight I decided that I want to wear my new sweater dress, leggings, boots, fancy fun socks, and my hair curled a bit, maybe silver earrings and some silvery make up. I don't know if it's all that noticeable, but I am five million times more feminine. It wasn't a gradual change either. It was almost literally over night for me. I got hit in the head with a ladder and everything changed. I can't handle screens for too long, and I always want to be dolled up. The screens makes perfect sense. My brain is still recovering after all. The girly thing though...I don't know what that's all about. It really did happen almost instantly. The day after the ladder, I dressed up. Almost every day since, I dressed up. It's getting more extreme though. I'm super into dresses... that's not how I used to be. You could only catch me in a dress at church. 3 hours, once a week. Now I'm a bit sad I don't own more dresses I can wear to school. That's something that definitely caught me by surprise.

Another thing is how I realized today that no matter what Danny says, it won't be better. I wrote him a letter in November. It detailed everything I felt. I felt like he needed to know. A month later I got his letter. It was an apology, and he wanted me to sort of pretend nothing happened. I am not okay with that. I can't just turn off my memories (even though sometimes other things turn them off for me...). I honestly don't feel like he's sorry. If he was, he'd ask me to forgive him, wouldn't he? That's just how I feel.
In humanities, we watched a documentary on the Mountain Meadows Massacre.  One thing I came to realize is that those decedents will never be happy. Not with a formal apology by Brigham Young and the murderers. They wouldn't be happy if all of the murderers had been hanged. The fact is, some people did something horrible, and it's not okay. It never will be okay. Life goes on, but the pain will be there. No one can magically make it go away.
That's what got me to realize the same thing about Danny. I want him to ask for forgiveness, but what if he does? I forgive him, but then what? I can't forget it. I can't move on like it never happened. Stuff happened, and I'm not okay with it. It's a fact of life now. It's time to just focus on other things instead of magically making the past go away.

In truth, I don't want the past to go away. If it did, I wouldn't have Nathan. He's been there for me day in and day out. The first day I ever needed him, we laid on our tummies doing math homework for Mr. Jensen's class. He made me laugh until I couldn't laugh anymore. He was there on nights when I needed him to just be there. I never let him touch me, but he still promised to keep me safe. After I let him touch me, he's kept me warm and protected. Always, when I lose something, he finds it. Even if it's a small ring I dropped in Lake Powell. He dove in and found it.

The sucky part is, I can't remember a lot of what he's done for me. I didn't keep a journal for the last three years, and some punk with a ladder stole what I did remember. I've been writing the stories in my journal now as I remember them, The most I write, the more I remember. It's kind of a neat feeling. I actually can remember things. It just takes tons of effort and writing. It's a good thing I enjoy writing.

Another big thing right now is friendship. I'm still learning where the line is friends cannot cross. You know, like personal boundaries. For example, I don't dress immodestly, but if my friend still gets bad images, he ain't a friend. Or if he thinks that my girly parts make me incapable of certain tasks, then he ain't a friend. On the flip side of that, if he's completely okay with who I am and what I do, then he's a friend. If he puts aside his feelings for me to just be a friend, then he's a great friend. Right now, I have a pretty small list of true friends, but I think you know who you are. =) Basically, if I haven't said "we're done" then you're still my friend.

Anyway, it's late. Here's a fun picture to keep you entertained.

I found this here:

P.S. Kenzie is in the bed next to mine, and she's giggling in her sleep again. She does this a lot at night. Everyone in my family either talks or walks in their sleep. (Except me...I do...other...things)