Day 2: My First . . . Whaaat?

What did I get myself into? Sheesh, I’ve apparently enlisted myself to gush about personal feelings in a quasi-public setting. (Who am I kidding? This is as private as . . . nah, nothing is private. Who am I kidding? There’s no hiding in twenty-first century cyberuniverse.)

So, my first love . . . I’m going to have to go with the Los Angeles Kings. Yes, the hockey team. I was obsessed with them. When I was eleven, I knew all the stats and personal information of every guy on the team—creepy details you wouldn’t even know about your bestie. I would dream about them. I would imagine conversations with some of the players. I would cry when they lost, or when any of the players were traded away.

Okay, so I feel like I’m cheating by picking a sports team as my first love. I didn’t have a true personal relationship with any of those guys. Let me try again.

Ahem . . . my first love was the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard. The memory of our first encounter kept me up at night. I wrote love letters, poems, and sappy love songs about my feelings toward the deliciousness that was this magical dessert.

So you want honesty, eh? My heart’s a frozen wasteland. I had to work for twenty-some years to work up enough emotions to fall in love with someone. Then I liked the situation so much that I married the guy. Sweet? Adorable? Heart-cuddling? Well, I’m trying, alright! Valentine’s Day always makes me a little cynical. In the face of such superficial commercialism and plastic emotions I don’t have the heart to dig deep into how my husband makes me feel. At least not today. And not to you, stranger.

But if you want to experience true love for yourself, hike on down to DQ and dig into a Reese’s Blizzard. Feel the rush. Go crazy. Order two.

Hello, Krista! Are you talking to yourself? Did you neglect all your readers into the ether? Serves you right. Psychosis will be your punishment!!!

My sister Mindy has inspired me. She blogs and ponders and posts and believes like a devoted creature . . . and, quite frankly, puts me to shame. (Isn’t frankly a weird word? To be like Frank. Hm.)

I no longer blog. I never blogged very whole-heartedly when I did. I’m going to change that. I’m going to find a time to revamp this blog, probably when I graduate and hopefully have a free moment (and an internet connection at home). Of course, maybe I’ll decide not to. Maybe I’ll decide to move to Burma and take a vow of silence. Maybe I’ll decide to become a mother and pour my time into forming people. Who knows? I’m not making any promises. Hopefully I will write.

Today I’m going to begin the blog challenge—because I can’t let my big sister one-up me. However, I will only be posting on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’m a student and an editor and a writer and a hockey player and a wife and an LDS woman, yo! I don’t have time to post everyday, okey? Forgive me for this.

So here’s the challenge:

Day 01 - Introduce Yourself

Day 02 - Your First Love

Day 03 - Your Parents

Day 04 - What You Ate Today

Day 05 - Your Definition Of Love

Day 06 - Your Day

Day 07 - Your Best Friend

Day 08 - A Moment

Day 09 - Your Beliefs

Day 10 - What You Wore Today

Day 11 - Your Siblings

Day 12 - What's In Your Bag

Day 13 - This Week

Day 14 - What You Wore Today

Day 15 - Your First Kiss

Day 16 - Your Dreams

Day 17 - Your Favorite Birthday

Day 18 - Your Favorite Memory

Day 19 - Something You Regret

Day 20 - This Month

Day 21 - Another Moment

Day 22 - Something That Upsets You

Day 23 - Something That Makes You Feel Better

Day 24 - Something That Makes You Cry

Day 25 - A First

Day 26 - Your Fears

Day 27 - Your Favorite Place

Day 28 - Something That You Miss

Day 29 - Your Aspirations

Day 30 - One Last Moment

Lucky you—this is Day 1! Intro to Me

I’m a human being: my spirit was formed by my Heavenly Parents in the premortal world, I was physically born on January 28 twenty-two years ago, and I am spiritually reborn every day. I contemplate life, the principles of truth in the LDS Church and in thoughtful people across time, and I think about myself—a lot.

But I won’t wax philosophical right now . . . because wax is messy and I’ve got to go to the opera tonight. (Seriously. Writing for Theatre class.)

No, but truly: How am I supposed to introduce myself? Who am I? What am I? Am I simply the stories I tell about myself? Am I the color of my eyes or the place I work? Am I where I’ve lived or who I’ve loved?

I am everything—my laugh, my whisper, my shout, my song, my cry. I believe in honest contact, in truthful and meaningful living. I’m afraid of disappointing myself. I hope to help people’s hearts to love themselves as growing, learning, stumbling human beings who are loved and capable of love, who can always be better but not be disillusioned by the elusive “best.” I want to appreciate the glory of this world and the miracles of life. I want to remember where my blessings come from, and I want to remember how my trials help me.

My parents named me Krista Alice. My name tells of my devotion to the Savior and also reminds me of my ancestry. It provides me with perspective and with courage. I can be what I should be, what I can be, what I hope to be.

I married Tyrel. I married an angel. I took his name to remember to love him and be more like him. I took the Savior’s name at baptism for the same reason.

I won’t write deeply about my husband here. My feelings are too sacred to share with just anyone. Suffice it to say that I married a man whom I will love and take care of and laugh with and cry with and learn with forever.

Well, this is getting longer than anyone cares to read. I’m even bored with it. Should I have addressed something else in my introduction? Here, let me nutshell like my sister did :)

My name is Krista Alice Holmes Hanby. I was born in the midwinter of 1989. I have two older sisters, two older brothers, and a younger brother (my dear Elder Kylie Wylie LC O Wise Keylay the Mighty). I have a massive extended family who brighten my life. I was born into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in it is the foundation of all the happiness I know in my life.

I enjoy reading and writing stories; getting to know someone enough to participate in a free exchange of thoughts and feelings with them; laughing; playing sports and games; sleeping; listening to and making music; watching and making films and plays; making other people laugh; dancing; doing adventurous oudoorsy things like hiking, rappelling, rock climbing, camping, whitewater rafting, cycling, and fourwheeling; drawing; shouting; crying; skipping; acting goofy; doing bad impersonations; serenading; driving fast and making sharp turn; playing laser tag; riding rollercoasters; being socially awkward; hiding; pretending to be cool things like ninjas and spies; and dreaming.

I want to travel around the world. I want to test myself. I want to know everyone I meet. I want to learn how to deal with change and disappointment without feeling like I’m ripping apart.

And I want to focus, ahahahaaa . . . yeah.

I lived in San Jacinto, Southern California, until I moved to Provo, Utah, when I was eighteen to attend Brigham Young University. Oh, the places I go! BYU has taught me . . . wow. I’ve met such incredible people, studied the most profound things, seen breathtaking arts and ‘scapes, heard heartbreak, felt . . . .

The last four years have been lifeshaping, that’s certain. I graduate in April and face a future severed from the place that has shaped me. Scary? Hmmmm?

I also leave my job, my friends, my professors, my home, my ward—dare I say my self? But I get to take my husband and my knowledge. Somehow, I’ll be alright. Besides, I’ve got a pretty awesome Friend watching out for me.

How you been?!

Wrote this a minute ago, thought I might as well put it here. Didn't edit it, don't care to.
~
You ask me, “How you been?!”
I smile and nod, wondering if I should show you the puzzle piece in my hand
Explain myself

You see
This puzzle piece is my life
My eternity even
And I’m standing here in front of this colossal puzzle
It’s got holes in it
Spaces for me to put my piece the
Little colored cardboard in my palm
Is funky shaped
Y’know?
But there are some empty places that are weird too
And my piece could be comfortable in those
Bit squinched ah well
But
My little life
It’s all sorts of shades and hues
Which don’t quite work with surrounding
Pieces
So this complicates things
Not only do I hafta find the right shape
But I need to blend color as
Well
Not only that
I’ve only got this teensy little straw to peer through
That’s it
Limited view
So now I’ve found a space that seems to fit me well
Enough
Well it leaves a gap
And the grays in my piece don’t
Match
But it’s pretty
Close
I can’t look around to make sure this is the best
Fit
Cause I might not be able to find my way back
If it really is as good as I’ll ever find
And it might be
The puzzle is so vast and the space
Unmentionable
Meanwhile
He’s behind me
Looking at the whole puzzle
Knowing exactly where my piece’s place is
I don’t look back
Can’t lose myself
So I ask back for
His
Direction
He assures me that
It’s best if I find it myself
Y’know?
Work through it all on my own with
His assurance
“Trust me”
For the best
This way
…With the straw

I’ve learned to
Love working out
Puzzles
Y’know?

It's Almost October

No. I don't actually have anything to say.
That's it.
It's almost October.
I haven't posted anything for September.
I feel a little bad about abandoning this poor blog.
But I've been working on The Story lately.
And I'm back at the Y.
And I'm spending my time being awesome.
Instead of blaggering.

For anyone who actually reads this and has been disappointed in the blog...Umm, the blog apologizes for sucking.

Update: Blogging, like all my past boyfriends, has begun to bore me

I refuse to be controlled by the blog!!! >:E

Refugio was amazing. No. Not amazing. Better than amazing. Better than a word or a phrase. Better even than better.

My family's moving for the first time in almost nineteen years. Woah. Nelly. It's kinda exciting. People keep trying to egg on my declared "excitement." Y'know, "Ooo, aren't you just so excited?!" "How do feel about the new house?" "Me me me, blah blah blah."

I think it sucks.

I've been dismantling my walls. These were twelve years in the making, cannibals! Try to imagine posters and collages and photos and glued puzzles and stickers and pass-along cards and figurines and hundreds of glowy stars. Minimal wall space. Excellent accoustics.

GONE! GONEGONEGONEGONEGONE!!!!

Now it's all empty and disgusting. ...Of course it's not clean! Don't be ridiculous. I've still got junk all over the floor and spare bed.

We should be in the new house by next week. It's two blocks away and barely larger. What's the point, you rightly ask? *cough*

...Yeah.

I might actually write something worth reading. Someday. Maybe. I've been working on the Story. It seems to be pulling together. And it's beginning to bore me again.
*sigh*

WICKED DANCE MOVES!!!

Have some sunshine. Go...sing a song or something. Listen to "Somewhere Only We Know," or read a good book...or something. I dunno. Stop reading this crap.

Apparently Religion and Psychosis Don’t Mix Well

Hey you.

I spent the last week at LDS girls camp up in Big Bear. I went as an “adult leader.” Mostly, I “cooked.” And used finger quoties. Like “this.” Or “this”.

It was amazing, of course. The girls were sweet and hilarious and a total blast to (“not”) hang out with. According to one other cook, who shall, regrettably remain unnamed (regrettably, because I know if I told you, loyal readers, an unnamed particular among you might bump her off for me. Thanks for the offer anyway! I think we’re good!), I shouldn’t have been hanging out with them. Then everyone else told me later that I should just ignore that one old hooch.

Of course, being the loner that I am, I had to wander up the mountain and have a good cry first, and seriously consider going home, even though it had only been one day. Instead, I cursed her out…(in my head), and stuck with it.

The other ladies were really great, even though most of them were old enough to be my mother (and even grandmother!). This one woman kept trying to convince me that her son (whom I have never met) and I are perfect for each other.
Yeah.
And she kept saying what a sweetheart he is.
Yeah.
Apparently she thinks her sweetheart son should spend eternity with a sunshiney psychopath. Crazy…?

No, really, she was an awesome lady. I’m glad I met her. But religion and psychosis don’t mix.
I was reawakened to this notion early Friday morning. This was after spending a few days feeling wonderful and spiritual and having girls tell me they love me and having my testimony of the compassion and divinity of women reaffirmed. And then the evening ride down the mountain with my former bishop and his wife, with them telling me what a wonderful young woman I was and all that ridiculousness. They made me feel all silly and weepy, making me consider whether I’ve had such a positive impact as they say on the kids. I’unno ‘bout all that. I hope I’ve changed them for the better.

Yeah’anyway. I went and saw THE DARK KNIGHT a half hour after I got home, my hair still up in braids, finger nails painted a ridiculous color, no shower, no make-up. Oye, was I adorable!

The movie was… It was…

No. I can’t do a critique. It inspired me. It helped me get a read on the crazies in the audience. It made me want to build some kinda non-graven imagey tribute to this guy ----------------------------------->
But I came out pretty messed up after. Talk about an emotional overload. Within a few hours I had sat through a spiritual testimony meeting, a tiny tribute to my past goodness as a human being, and one explosiony, mind-deranging, I-was-afraid-to-laugh, semi-depressing film that I proceeded to see again 36 hours later.

Driving home, I was sobbing. It’s these moments, people, that make me think I’m a freak...like this guy!--------> I can’t tell you why I was crying. I think maybe it was just all those conflicting feelings inside me that I didn’t know quite how to deal with…? So, if any of you are ments (psychiatrists), feel free to give me a salty analysis. Cause this was a bit disturbing, this crying at 3 in the morning for no apparent reason.

Okay. So, I’m tired. Insomnia sucks. I’ma leave you alone now. Go see Dark Knight. It’s violent and disturbing. Don’t take anyone younger than ten or eleven, people, okay? Unless you want them turning out like this guy.
Which brings me to the theory of how he got those scars…

Nah, I won’t go into that now.
Sweet dreams 8/

I Celebrate My Independence By Hurling Myself Down Mountains and Such

So I’m home. Sure felt like a longer trip than it was. And I would have stayed longer if it had been up to me. Spent a few days in Las Vegas. I slipped into a Jacuzzi the first night. These two little girls made me their new best friend against me will. I don’t know why children are so attracted to me. The four year old kept trying to sit on my lap, while the six year old kept playing with my hair and necklace. I kept trying to casually slide away, but they cornered me! Asking me all these questions and telling me every single thing they did, ate, saw, said, and thought in the last week. They were totally adorable. I talked to them and made them laugh. I knew they must have had parents somewhere, but I never saw them. It was pretty uncomfortable.

The view from our fifth floor room of the Cancun was awesome. We faced mostly the South Point, but when I looked left, I could gaze upon an ocean of lights. Really, all those sparkly orange lights looked like the shifting sea. There was even one of those oscillating lights of an airport right on the brink between darkness and sparkles. It looked just like a lighthouse perched on the edge of a dark mass of shoreline.

When we got to Cedar City a couple days later, I was attacked by more small children, though small children I actually knew. Like the Jacuzzi girls, Amalia and Donovan insisted on sitting on my lap or holding my hand or tickling me or playing with my hair. I swear, I’m about this close to pulling a Spears and shearing it all off.

No, I talk about the little uns like I’m ninety and constantly crotchety, but I really love playing with them. They’re tons of fun.

I got my cousin Holly to start reading through The Story. It’s so exciting to talk about it with someone who is so smart and helpful! She seems to genuinely enjoy it so far. I really needed a fresh perspective on it, and motivation to work harder.

I got to blow some stuff up on Friday—which is always interesting with my family. Especially when my uncle who blew his finger off with a cherry bomb when he was a boy is present, carting a few hard core (illegal) fireworks with him.

My cousin who’s my age and I’ve never really liked and is pregnant and it makes me hateful in a terribly jealous sort of way was flaunting her big beautiful belly. Whatever. I don’t want a baby.

Saturday was the start of the real adventures. First, there was climbing through the Mammoth Caves. I got to drag myself, belly sliding on dirt, legs squirming through a few narrow lava chutes. It was so awesome! The first one we went in was really long and big, with high ceilings and real slimy mucusy mud EVERYWHERE. Only my cousin Holly and I ventured through the muck to reach the rocky climb out. At the foot of the last ascent was a pile of ICE water that I, of course, stepped in. Granted, I didn’t have a flashlight. I was relying on the occasional shadow-casting glow of Holly’s light in front of me. I’ve never been in such darkness in my entire life. There was this one point where she rounded a corner and climbed up and over a jut, and I was standing on this slippery rock in the pitch black, surrounded my pools of mud I couldn’t see. It was so awesome!

The second shaft was the best. It had really small openings, and ceilings so low that we had to drag ourselves across the cold ground with our arms. This one wasn’t wet like the first, and it was just Holly and I because no one else could fit. So I got my own flashlight J It was so awesome!

The last one was like the second, except it was shorter and really rocky and there were a bunch of other people in there, too. I bruised my hands pulling myself up over the rocks, and Holly knocked up her shins real bad. We were so amazing when we got out. We were covered in mud.

Then we stopped by the creek and I learned how to fish on a river (and wash out my shoes!). I didn’t catch anything (I only cast five times, and one of the times I got stuck on a rock). But my dad’s last cast caught a little guy, and he let my real it in, and let it loose, playing around with it a bit until it got off. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. The sensation was strange, what with those tugs on the pole, and me caught up with how the fish might be feeling. The spot was beautiful, though. I may proclaim disdain for Utah now and again, but I can’t bad talk those streams and wildflowers and quaking aspens against that mountain backdrop.

After some questionable grubbage on pork sandwiches (ick!), we began our biking down the mountain. Once we got my brakes working right, I was really enjoying the downhill flight, rocky trail and all. Then a damn rock had to go and attempt a homicide. Yes, that’s right, I crashed mountain biking for the first time in my life. And I didn’t even have some of the excuses of previous trips, like last time when I had no shocks and my hands bled most of the way down, or the time before when I had trippy brakes and had to drag my feet on the rocks to stop. No. I had my gloves on, brakes fully functional. I just caught a concealed boulder cutting across the trail. I twisted sideways, three-sixtied on my bike, flung it in the air, landed on my left hip, tucked my head between my arms and rolled. And rolled. And rolled. And rolled. And rolled. Then another rock stopped me.

So, I laid there for a bit, because my left side was ON FIRE. My brother Kyle, who was just behind me, took the bike from off my legs, while my dad told me to just lie there, and my uncle said to relax. My dad rushed over and checked my head, while I told him I was okay, I was okay, I was fine. Then they all laughed, and Holly took a picture on her phone. Wonderful people, huh? I excused myself behind a bush so I could check if I was bleeding in my crotch, because it was stinging so badly. Miraculously, no broken bones, no blood. Bruises ALL OVER my body, nausea for the rest of the day, but I sucked it up and finished the ride. I think I got whiplash or something, too, because my neck STILL hurts.

Pretty exciting, eh? Did you actually read all of that? What do you think of this post? I don’t really like writing about things that happen to me. It’s boring. This is why I don’t write in a diary, either. I usually prefer writing about ideas and feelings and opinions. But I haven’t posted in so long, I just wanted to assure all you faithful readers that I do indeed exist, and I lead a rather dangerous and engaging life. Really. I do.

Ta ta for now. I’m off to exercise my independence in another semi-suicidal way.