For New People

If you've just now found your way onto my blog, hi :) I tend to write about a lot of varied stuff, from "Cognitive Dissonance" to [Mormon] church stuff; memoirs and essays to ideas and opinions and sociological views of the gender differences. I haven't written in pretty much forever since mid-October because it's been crazy-busy and I've gone through a lot of "potential-blog-posting-experiences" (maybe I should write about that time I had a nervous breakdown at Bogus Basin during Christmas Break) which range from *perfectly normal* to *you could write a freaking book*. I'll try and possibly catch up on some of that later. Anyways, some of my early stuff on this blog is... well, kind of really opinionated (hence the blog name!)

Before you read some of my early posts, this is my disclaimer: For a few months back there I wasn't really a happy camper with the church, and was all fired up and ranting about all the some of the wrong reasons. Some of those posts and my views in them kind of take up the tone of bitterness, because I went through this stage where I was just picking church doctrine apart and trying to find things to argue about and disprove. (I think I'm out of that phase now but I'm still having a hard time with church for different reasons.) Now, I'm not saying that I am now completely disowning these views, but that looking back I find that some of them are just angst-fueled and, in a nutshell, childish and making me sound like a whiny teenager who has taken it upon herself to unveil the "inequalities of life". I don't want to delete them because, hmm, this is difficult to word. I still believe in some of the things I have previously written about, but not to the point I was at and I think some of the posts really aren't worth looking at. But I'll leave them up, and you can read some of them if you want even though some of them are really dumb.

Please keep in mind that while I am not apologizing for the views and opinions in some of my earlier posts, my views have changed a little and many of the posts are only emotionally-driven, so I do not want to engage in a "comment-war" about them. If you feel differently from them you can sure let me know, but please remember my views have changed to a certain extent and I don't really want to spend time arguing about these posts.

If you're new, here's four of some of my posts that are actually really worth reading:

Cognitive Dissonance Part I: Psychological phenomenons interest me and I spend much time reading up on them (Wikipedia is a very close friend of mine). Alongside that, I've come up close and personal to some psychological conditions either through myself or through personal or second-hand experiences with others. Plus, I love Les Misérables, the character Javert (along with *cough*RussellCrowe*coughcough*), and researching things. Bingo. Plus, I get pretty creative with the story narration. It makes a pretty interesting read. [Note: It says "Part I" because I was originally planning on writing another post about it. But meh. Not feelin' it. It probably won't happen. Très désolé.]

CPR and Life... Totally Random: This isn't really a big post. It's pretty good, though, if you want to see me talk about an abstract way of looking at CPR and the concept of hurting someone to essentially help them in the big picture. (I have to warn about a Star Trek [2012 movie] spoiler, though.)

Memoir: Okay, this was actually a Language Arts gosh darn essay assignment that I think I did pretty well on. If you wanna read about mah family and maybe get a little depressed gain insight into the experiences of losing a parent, this is actually a brilliantly excellent (excellently brilliant?) essay to read. I believe that the subject of death does not have to be depressing, it depends on the view of the reader. Go ahead and read!

Clothing Memories: I compare this post to the Memoir post above, but un peu différents. It was actually a submission to a website (wornstories.com) about the memories associated with an article of clothing. It's kind of personal, but really good. Highly recommended.

I Am Not a Boy: Now, okay, this one is kindaaaa politically-motivated. But not like all of my garbage beginner posts. In a good way. No matter your political agenda or personal beliefs, it's a pretty good read. Seriously. I don't really know how to explain it or put a summary, but if it's on this list, it's one I think you should read.

Sooo I'm hoping that by now there's going to be a change in the attitude or maybe a slight shift in views of future blog posts, starting now. I can usually find something interesting to write about or recycle one of my thought-provoking essays [hopefully] without offending anyone (I'm the kind of Language Arts student that mostly hides in the shadows but consumes books like chocolate and writes really good essays if I don't procrastinate and if I actually give a crap about the topic. All that added to a small-but-growing list of missing assignments, and you get a kid who is good enough to stand out but then again *not living up to her potential* AKA I'm super lazy. In other words, I'm that student that kind of intrigues LA teachers but I'm kind of weird and lazy so they don't really get into it with me.) (Just to be clear, I have loved/really liked every single Language Arts teacher I've had [CyrRiceFineThomasWelker] except for 7th grade.)

Okay. That went off on a slight tangent (probably due to the fact that it's 12:56 am and caffeine is fighting sleeping medication. "Sleep? Who needs sleep? I don't!" That's not what my doctor thinks) My little dog has been alternating between trying to sleep and giving me pitiful little glances letting me know that he wishes I wouldn't keep him up and that I would go to sleep ("seriously, even though you sleep pretty much all day and it's not like you have a busy life"). I'd better go :-)

Happy reading, 

Kelsey

Clothing Memories

[I originally wrote this as a submission to wornstories.com/. The guidelines said it had to be less than 600 words, so hopefully there are not many mistakes because of my attempt to squish it down. I tried to find a picture of the dress when it was brand new, but there's only two in existence and I can't find it in our picture black hole. Taking a picture of its state now, about 18 years later I believe would be anticlimactic.]

When you first look at my bed, it probably looks like it could belong to any other teenage girl: bedspread, pillows, and a few stuffed animals thrown in the mix. But if a quick scan turns into a searching glance, you would see that in the corner under the blanket is a small lump. This small lump isn’t another stuffed animal or small pillow.

That lump is a size three button up silky-like red dress that I sleep with. Every night.

Of course I realize that dresses are meant to be worn, not slept with. But this, this is my security blanket. The person who owned it before me only wore it on a few occasions, since it isn’t your average casual or church dress. Between the top button on the neck and the one below it, there’s a circular space designed to show a little skin with a heart charm hanging down into it. It almost seems slightly risqué, at least on a conservative Mormon. The previous owner doesn’t care about the fact that I sleep with it as one would sleep with an old, faded favorite blanket. The previous owner is dead. The previous owner was also my mother.

I found the dress when I was around thirteen. I was sifting through my mother’s hope chest at my grandparent’s house. When my grandma came in and saw that I had found it, she smiled. “I remember that dress. Your mom wore it when she and your dad and Grandpa and I went to see “The Phantom of the Opera” at the Salt Palace. I think we got it at somewhere like… Dillard’s? No, I’m pretty sure it was Nordstrom.” Going through some of my grandma’s old pictures, I found a picture of the night they went. My mom is wearing the dress, with her hair down and her typical large smile spread across her face. Whenever I look at pictures of her, I study the eyes and the smile and think, she really didn’t know what was coming for her, did she?

At night I clutch the dress in my arms, holding it tight, inhaling that musty-yet-sweet smell of years passed in a cedar chest. It is soft to the touch, cool against my face, and makes me almost believe that my mother is here. I talk to it sometimes, pretending it is her. When I hug it, I hug my mom. When I tell her that I love her, it is she who hears it, not a piece of lifeless red fabric. One may chalk it up to madness; I chalk it up to grief.

The dress is among the few things I have left of a person I do not remember, aside from a few memories. It represents the person who loved singing alto in various choirs. It represents the person who would sneak microwave popcorn into movies using her purse. It represents the person who dedicated her life to her family and to her career as a psychiatric nurse. It represents the person who dealt with kidney disease and dozens of surgeries, along with a few near-death experiences. It represents the person who longed for a child for years, and in turn received two miracle babies.

Sometimes during the night the dress escapes above the covers. When my dad or stepmom wake me up, I try to hide and cover it. They never say anything, but I’m sure they’ve seen it and know of its existence. My family never talks about her, they pretend she never existed. She and the sadness from her death are not supposed to exist in our seemingly happy and normal family. But when I have no one else to turn to, the dress with the remnants of a person long gone will always be there to comfort me.

[UPDATE: I did find a couple of pictures of her with the dress, but not the one from the "Phantom of the Opera Night"... I'm sure the picture vortex in my house swallowed it up. This one was taken by my iPod camera and not scanned, thus the poor quality and discoloration. The poor quality does not, however, change my depressed look... :)]