i know. i'm blushing.

One of the nice things about this new apartment is all of the electrical outlets. There’s like one on every wall. Seriously. It’s a huge upgrade from our last apartment, which had about three outlets in the whole place—none of which were grounded.

So I’ve taken this opportunity to get something I’ve never had the luxury of using before: plug-in air fresheners. (Totally classy, I know. What can I say, we’re moving up in the world.)

This month’s flavor?

Vanilla. …Sweet, sugary, delicious vanilla.

And it’s killing me. Every time I walk into the living room, I’m hit with this amazing smell of sugar cookies and frosting. Bryant’s dying too. Every now and then you can hear one of us shout, “I want frosting!” I swear, this air freshener is going to make us each gain 20 pounds. We might have to get rid of it if we don’t get used to the smell soon.

Driving home yesterday, I was wishing I was better at remembering. Remembering everything. Foreign languages, cranial nerves, the names of my friends’ siblings, and just the regular details of living.

I was thinking about the stories old couples tell. I love hearing them recount how they met fifty years ago, the hard times they went through together, the funny thing that happened that random day so long ago. I wish I could remember all the details of my life like that. I know they don’t remember everything, and their retellings likely change with time, but I am still amazed at the minutia they can conjure up. I was thinking as I drove, wouldn’t it be nice to be able to remember everything? To be able to tell those stories to your grandkids, so they could learn how you “knew it was right,” how you got where you are, and all that other good stuff. But I already feel like I’ve forgotten so much. So many of my memories are already hazy. I’ve never been terribly confident in my memory.

Really, we are our memories. All we are is what we remember. If every day, we forgot everything we knew from the day before, we’d never survive. I mean literally. We wouldn’t be able to do anything—walk, eat, talk. What we remember makes us who we are.

There in my car, wishing I could remember everything better, this quote from my favorite book came to mind: “Student of memory. I remember some things and have forgotten others.” I’ve always loved that. Something about it just feels right. It’s calming. And sitting there at a stoplight, I realized it’s ok to forget some things. If we are what we remember, I’m glad I’ve forgotten some things. I thought of this woman I saw on a show a while back (coincidentally, I can’t remember what show) who remembered everything she ever saw. It wasn’t just a photographic memory. She actually remembered everything. She said it was a curse. To never have traumatizing memories fade? To never be able to quiet your mind? I hadn’t ever considered it before then, but it seems being able to forget is a blessing.

I am a student of memory. I forget some things and remember others. I learn from the things I keep. I just hope the things I remember and the things I forget are the right ones. And I hope the things I remember stay in tact in my mind for a long, long time to come. (And I hope the material from my anatomy class stays in tact at least one more week… long enough to pass my last two exams.)

Ever notice how saying “okay” after someone apologizes is very, very different from saying “it’s okay”?

In fact, it kind of means the opposite. The simple “okay” is more acidic and insolent than just letting there be silence.

Just thinking about that today. Funny how the “it’s” is so important.

Remember how I mentioned that I was teaching myself that song?

Well, it’s taken four months, but I finally got it down. Top to bottom by heart. Feeling pretty happy about it.

I think I might try this one next? But probably only if I get to wear coattails like that.

I am tired of smelling the neighbor’s food. Granted, sometimes it smells really delicious, but I’d prefer not to smell anything at all. Ever. Mostly because sometimes it smells really, really, inexplicably awful.

Right now they’re cooking something with a lot of vegetables. There’s definitely some broccoli in there. And probably some beans? It smells very green. Oh, and wait, they just added something else. Teriyaki sauce? Maybe they’re making stir fry. Oops, smells like they just started to burn it. Should’ve taken it off the stove a minute sooner. (I’m not kidding. All this is really happening in real time as I type this post. It would be kind of funny if it weren’t so strong smelling and such a nightly occurrence. I do wish that I knew where it was coming from so I could at least have the satisfaction of confirming my guesses about their menu.)

It’s the strangest thing because we don’t have any shared vents. These apartments don’t have central air or heating. There aren’t any ducts leading from their apartment to ours, that I’m aware of. But the smell wafts into our living room just as if they were cooking in our kitchen.

How do we make it stop??

Some types of change can be really exciting. Like moving someplace beautiful, or accomplishing a new goal, or moving your furniture around and getting a new bedspread. Those are all great changes.

Some types of change really suck. Like when a disagreement changes a friendship ever so slightly, or when you learn something you wish you hadn’t and things become awkward, or when you sense a change in the way a friend treats you and you can’t figure out why. Those changes suck.

Those types of changes leave you empty handed, with nothing but this uncomfortable hint of regret that you can’t really pin down because you don’t really know what it is that you would have done differently. They just leave an irritating sore where they keep rubbing against your thoughts. And you wish you could get some answers, or just let it go.

Almost regret. That’s what it feels like to me.

Good news, everybody.

I haven’t seen a fruit fly in days. I’m pretty sure I won.  And in other good news, the plant that I doused in Raid hasn’t died yet… even though the warning on the can told me that it would.  (Hey, when it comes to combatting bugs, I take no prisoners.  Fraternizing with the enemy is unacceptable.)

…Hang in there, little plant.

Um, so you probably shouldn’t read this post unless you’re my mom or something, because it’s one of those obnoxiously happy ones that makes you want to gag. Sorry. You’ve been warned.

I’m a little stressed. Life is this series of small fires needing to be put out. Nothing big and blazing—they’re all little things. But it’s getting old to constantly be running from one fire to the next. It’s hard to get ahead of the game. I’m behind on my reading; I’ve got a quiz today; supposed to have all the major blood vessels memorized by this afternoon; we’ve got this mysteriously appearing & disappearing swarm of fruit flies plaguing us (gah! I hate those things!); I have to register for summer and fall quarters in less that a week—definitely haven’t planned that far ahead yet; I’ve got two big, stressy exams next week—haven’t started studying; and I have to teach in church this weekend—haven’t organized my lesson. And I know when these things have passed, there will be more little things to worry unnecessarily about.

But.

Somehow, I feel so happy. I’ve got good friends coming to visit over the next few months. Bryant and I just planned a summer trip to spend on the beach with my family. The stars have miraculously aligned and on that same trip I get to get to spend some time with my soul sister that I haven’t seen for seven years. We spent the first sixteen years of our lives joined at the hip and have only gotten to see each other once a decade since. (Though I guess technically, there has only been one decade since…) But still, it’s been a long time, and I couldn’t be more excited. I love where I live. I’m making good friends. I love what I’m studying. I’m married to the best man. And we had a giant thunderstorm last night—first one since moving here—and I love a good thunderstorm.

Is this possible? It seems like it’s not allowed for things to be so good.

Admittedly, my moods still swing like a pendulum. But things still are good.

I know these kinds of posts are the last thing in the world a sane person wants to read, but I just felt so satisfied and happy that I wanted to get these feelings down. That way in thirty minutes, when I’m in a bad mood again, I can remember that, yes, things are good, and yes, I am happy.