Early Morning Smiles

I think I originally created the "can't sleep" label for posts so that I could keep track of the times that I couldn't sleep because I felt compelled to write. But these nights I can't sleep because it is my duty to be awake and feed my baby. And really, who could feel groggy or tired when there is such a happy, cute, wee person who wants to smile and "converse" with coos in the wee hours?

A Few New Flowers

Well, once again, I'm writing an early morning post. Today I woke up at 4:45 am, hungry and wide awake. There was one bird tweeting outside, but I don't think I can blame it for waking me up. It's just getting more difficult to sleep these days, and the slightest discomforts seem to wake me up. I remember a few months ago my cousin-in-law Jess mentioned how she was glad when her pregnancies ended, because then she could finally get some sleep. I couldn't understand what she meant, having only remembered losing sleep after Sam was born, but now I can see her point of view.

Just when I posted about not having the stamina to garden, I did find some time to purchase and plant a few new flowers. I was able to weed one garden bed, and J did a great job of weeding the other one. We've laid down more wood chips, so I think we'll keep the weeds at bay for the next few weeks.

I planted a peach-colored foxglove and a blueish-violet delphinium in the back section of the northwest garden. Both of these are supposed to keep blooming from late spring until mid-summer. I'm especially excited about the delphinium; its colors really pop and look great from a distance. I also had a replace one of our azaleas that died - I put a euryops (bush daisy) perennial, which has been trained to grow like a little tree. I hope this change in height adds some visually-interesting height variation to the garden. We haven't enjoyed too many of the yellow blooms yet, but I'm hopeful.

J got this Tiny Skyline Asiatic Lily at the store, when I sent him on a quest to find "something colorful" for the corner of the northwest garden. I think that the orange color is a nice contrast with the blue of the nearby delphinium. This should reach somewhere between a foot tall and a foot wide. We hope that it gets enough sun throughout the day.

 I bought this brightly-colored Kalanchoe plant on a whim, because it was so striking at the nursery. I didn't realize that it is an annual until I got home, so we will only get to enjoy it this year. But perhaps I'll buy more in the future. This is supposed to get to a height of 14-16".

We also finally decided on a hanging plant! I don't know why, but choosing a hanging plant for the porch is always more difficult for me than it should be. I always visit several stores and mull over all of my options for several weeks before making a decision. I feel like hanging plants are such a big commitment, since you'll be looking at the flowers on your porch for a whole season. And I also don't like petunias that much, and hanging plants always seem to have petunias. I don't mind the miniature ones ("Apricot Red Eye") in this pot, though. This pot also has Bright Cascade geraniums (which are more interesting to me than regular geraniums), Blue Velvet verbena, and Colossal Blue bacopa (which looks more like a lavender).

Going to the Zoo and Outer Space

Every single bird in our neighborhood started singing at almost exactly 5:00 am this morning, which must have been when the sun peeked through some clouds. I've been a light sleeper lately because of this pregnancy, not only because I'm a little uncomfortable but also because I've been having strange, somewhat anxious dreams. I couldn't go back to sleep after hearing the birds, which explains this early morning post.

Lately I've tried to ensure that Sam and I have some special moments together, especially since I know that some things will be different in our home when the baby arrives. About a week and a half ago, Sam and I took an impromptu trip to the zoo after school one day. My brother A was going sailing with a friend, and Sam and I decided to hang out at the zoo since it was near the location where we would pick up A afterward.

That afternoon with Sam was especially fun and memorable. Maybe it was because the zoo was practically empty, since we went in the later afternoon. Maybe it was because the sun came out, and we hadn't seen the sun for a few days. Maybe it was because Sam and I were just in good moods. Whatever the reason, I've been thinking back on this trip to the zoo with fondness. I loved walking around with my little buddy in the pleasant sunshine, hand in hand, and exploring whatever animals he chose to visit.

Outside the komodo dragon display. Sam was a little hesitant to touch the sculpture at first, since he said it looked "so real."

Sam was especially interested in seeing the meerkats, so we planned our route through the zoo around this display.

This week Sam and I also had fun recently creating a spaceship out of a large box. Sam has been into playing with boxes lately. A few weeks ago he and J made a robot mask out of a box that came in the mail. This time we had a bigger box, which allowed for more innovation. Sam designed the box and told me where to create a hatch, wings, etc.

When I told Sam that I wanted to take a picture, he climbed out of the box and struck this specific pose above.

The box is just about the right size for his body. For a few days he would sit in this box while he watched cartoons in the morning. He can even lie down in the box, and he often likes to put his pillow ("Snowman" the elephant pillow pet) and stuffed animals ("Spot" and "Fluffy") in the box with him. I think the spaceship looks a little bit more like an anthropoid Egyptian sarcophagus when he does that (especially with the circular hatch that can suggest a face), but I'm not going to interrupt his fun.

When Sam rides in his spaceship, he sometimes likes to communicate with me and J via walkie-talkie. My in-laws recently lent Sam a pair of walkie-talkies by Fisher Price that J used to play with when he was growing up, and I actually had the exact same kind of set in my house when I was growing up. (J and I also both grew up playing with Speak 'N Spell electronic pads and Fisher Price binoculars. My in-laws still have both of those, and have either lent them to Sam or let Sam play with him. It's fun to see Sam playing with things that I enjoyed as a kid.) Anyhow, the walkie-talkies have been popular around here this past week. If Sam isn't using the walkie-talkies to report to me about something that he's seeing in outer space, he's using them to give me some type of spy/detective update from elsewhere in the house or yard. I've had a couple of updates as to where molehills have popped up in our backyard.

To Desperately Work

I love sleep. I love sleep way more than the average person, I think. But one of the few things that can get me out of bed - even get me out of bed when it is inordinately early - is the opportunity to finish a project. Like the time that I got out of bed at four in the morning to paint the trim in our upstairs bathroom. Or the time that I got up at five in the morning so I could stain the fence for a few hours before going to work.

And now, once again, it is five in the morning. I've been wide awake for an hour already, because my body feels compelled to spread the 20 cubic yards (enough to cover 3000+ square feet) of gravel that we had dumped in our driveway yesterday afternoon. I started to spread some of it yesterday afternoon, but I've barely made a dent in the piles. I'm anxious to continue on the project this morning, but it is still dark outside.

As Sam and I worked in the driveway yesterday afternoon, Sam wanted to chat about different topics to help keep him from being bored. His mild complaints of boredom made me think about how I reacted to work as a child. When I was a kid, especially when I was about nine and ten, I was very much interested in integrating work and play. Most of my playtime and pretending involved some type of work: starting up a restaurant with V called "Surprise Supreme," setting up a business called "[M] and Company" (in which I coerced my siblings A and C to work for me), organizing a ballet class for C and her neighbor friends, and building a ramshackle clubhouse out of wood scraps from our garage.

I would often ensure that these work situations were somehow unnecessarily intense, too. When I wanted to work, I would generate these romanticized situations in which I would need to desperately work. When I organized the ballet class for C and her friends, I rushed to the library to check out an oversized book on ballet; I needed to hurriedly research dance moves before "class" (because I really didn't know anything about ballet). When I built the ramshackle clubhouse, I worked all day long so I could finish the project in a single day. And, back when I was this age, my favorite thing to pretend at the time was that I lived in a forest and I desperately needed to gather food so I wouldn't starve. I would huddle in this little wooded area behind our garage, with my freshly-gathered stash of "edible" sticks and grass, pretending like I could carry on and survive in the forest for another day.

There was almost always some sense of urgency, desperation, or sacrifice in these play scenarios that I created as a child, and I realized yesterday that I haven't changed much. In order to save myself from boredom during this last month of summer, I've obsessively thrown myself into different house projects. Just this week I decided that we needed to clear out the weeds in the driveway. I had the idea that we could get the driveway paved, but after learning that option was too expensive after receiving a few bids, I decided to have these huge mounds of gravel delivered. But, as so often happens, I created a rather narrow window of time to finish this project. I needed to clear the driveway of weeds before the dump truck arrived, which meant that I needed to dedicate hours and hours each day to pulling weeds out of our driveway. And, as if the cosmos cheekily wanted to help me create an especially desperate and urgent situation, it has been raining quite a bit this week. So, I've been clearing out weeds in the rain, as our driveway (and the mossy carpet that has been growing in our driveway) has become muddy and sodden.

On Thursday, after an unusually heavy downpour of rain, J and I went into the driveway in a last-ditch effort to pull up weeds before the truck came the next morning. As we worked in the weeds and mud, kneeling down and practically crawling around to pick up globs of mossy mud and weeds, J said that he felt very much like the two figures in the "Constitutional Peasants" sketch from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. "Dennis, there's some lovely filth down here!" J called to me across the driveway while speaking in a high voice with a British accent. We both laughed, especially since we were creating piles of large piles of muddy weeds, similar to how the peasants build a big pile of mud while chatting with King Arthur. J even was pulling our compost bin around the driveway, similar to Dennis pulling his cart. I keep chuckling about the similarities between us and that sketch. What a desperate, silly situation I created! If anything, my nine-year-old self would have relished the dramatic, sacrificial scenario in which I had placed myself, down to the last raindrop.

It is just beginning to get light outside. I'm going to go outside and shovel gravel for a few hours before the boys wake up.

Update: I didn't end up shoveling gravel in the early morning, after all. My neighbor's bedroom had an open window right next to our driveway, and I thought it would be cruel to be working so loudly in the morning. Luckily, I did end up falling back asleep.

Thoughts on Abuse

The following thoughts are a culmination of ideas that have been swirling in my mind as of late, prompted by a variety of events, including things that have been posted recently on Facebook and blogs that I follow. I feel lucky to say that none of these thoughts on abuse are directly related to me, really, although I have to admit that my thoughts on this topic are loosely informed by my own experiences working with a difficult student.

There are a lot of ways that people define abuse - physical, emotional, even spiritual. I think that everyone has a personal definition for abuse and a personal threshold for how much abuse they can handle. Whenever someone genuinely feels like they are being abused, I don't feel like outsiders should question the nature of the abuse or argue that the offensive actions aren't significant enough to constitute abuse. Really, we can only define what constitutes intolerable abuse for ourselves. As a result, I think that we (i.e. outsiders) should do everything possible to help that person who feels abused, even if our personal definition for abuse may differ.

Speaking of abuse, I am touched by Patrick Stewart's discussion of violence toward women, which my friend posted on Facebook a few days ago. I'm touched that Stewart's activism is prompted by his personal experiences; since he couldn't help his mother get out of abusive situations as a young boy, Stewart feels like he can help his mother now, in a symbolic sense, by speaking out against violence toward women.



Although I don't think that I will ever be in a situation with spousal abuse (J is probably the least violent person that I know), I have sympathy and concern for women who are in that situation. And my thoughts are extended to children who are abused as well. The recent news posts showing the earliest historical example of child abuse (found in an Egyptian cemetery), just make me heartsick. I don't even want to post a link to that article - you'll have to look it up yourself if you want to feel depressed.

So let's not only stop the cycle of abuse, people, but let's be as supportive of victims of abuse as we possibly can.

Math Dreams

 
I just got back from Turkey and trying to get on a normal sleeping schedule. Tonight (this morning?) hasn't really worked though - I fell fast asleep at 8:30 pm and was wide awake at 2:00 am. In an attempt to make myself drowsy, I thought that I would write about the dream that I had a few hours ago.

For years, ever since I was in college, I have had a reoccurring dream about an undergraduate math class. I usually forget about this dream until I have it again. The dream revolves around being enrolled in a math class - but I either have forgotten that I was enrolled or have purposely avoided going to class. And then, halfway through the semester, I realize that I need to go to class (and do all of my homework!) if I want to pass the course. The rest of the dream involves me frantically trying to learn all of the math material and do all of the homework so that I can get a decent grade. Since I've never really liked math too much, the dream ends up being rather stressful.

Math has never been by strong suit. I think that I'm definitely capable of learning complex math, but I didn't have very good math teachers in junior high and high school. I also had some weird circumstances that left me in a weak position. I remember being sick for a few days in third grade and staying home from school. When I went back to school, my classmates had been introduced to fractions and were cruising through the unit. I was able to teach myself and get by alright on my own, but I've never really liked fractions since that point. Even today, I'd rather compute numbers in decimals instead of fractions.

In the beginning of 9th grade I was placed in an honors geometry course. My teacher preferred to cover the material in the second half of the textbook first, with the promise that we would cover the beginning of the book in the latter part of the year. Then, halfway through the school year, I moved to a new state. We had the same geometry textbook in my new class, but this class had just finished covering the material in first part of the textbook. Basically, I moved just in time to cover the second half of the textbook all over again. Since I had already learned that material, I got a great grade in that math class and even helped to tutor my classmates. But I finished the class having only learned half of the course material!

Good thing J is good at math. He will probably better at helping Sam with his math homework. But who knows? Maybe I'll be able to refine my math skills by reviewing Sam's homework over the next 12+ years.

Forgotten and Remembered Course Material

After administering a final exam today, I said goodbye to the students I have been teaching for the past few months. While I hope they remember the things that we have discussed for the rest of their lives, I realize that this probably won't happen (at least, not for all of my students). If anything, I just hope that they are able to interact with art in a new (and hopefully improved) way, after having taken an art history class.

Tonight, while lying in bed and trying (unsuccessfully) to go to sleep, I've been thinking about the courses that I took as an undergraduate twelve to six years ago. While I remember a lot of things from several courses, I'm surprised to realize that I can hardly remember anything from some of the classes that I took. I'm hoping that some of the material has been so integrated into my life that I can't pinpoint where I first learned the material, but I know that isn't always the case. In fact, I know that several courses (specifically the ones which required me to quickly memorize hundreds of facts for the final exam) have been practically lost from my mind. In a few instances, I also feel like the professor's attitude/apathy/teaching style played a role in how much material I learned or forgot.

Undergrad Courses From Which I Remember Practically Nothing

• American Heritage
• Biology 101
• Physical Science 101
• Music 101
• Music 190
• Archaeology of the Bible
• Several religion courses
• Islamic Art
• Medieval Art
• 19th Century Art (taken online through Independent Study)
• Modern Art (taken online through Independent Study)
• HEPE
• Anthropology 101

Undergrad Courses From Which I Can Recall a Wee Bit of Information

• Religions of the World
• Geology of the Planets
• Geography 101
• German 101 (begun online through Independent Study)
• Greek Art
• Non-Western Art
• Greek and Roman Mythology

Undergrad Courses From Which I Can Recall Specific Material

• All my Italian courses
• Art History Methodologies
• Art History 201, 202
• Art History study abroad
• Upper-level art history courses: Baroque Art, Renaissance/Baroque Architecture, Contemporary Art
• Private voice lessons

Luckily, I feel like I have been able to learn (or re-learn) some of the material on my own, since receiving my undergraduate degree. Graduate school also helped to solidify a lot of the things that I first learned as an undergrad. There are a few things, though, that I still would like to remember better. This summer I hope to pull out the art history notes that I took as an undergraduate and transcribe them into electronic documents. Hopefully I'll be able to refresh my mind on a few select topics. And, better still, I hope to realize that I actually haven't forgotten as much as I think that I have.

What about you? Are there classes that you remember distinctly or have completely forgotten?

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

I have never seen anything good come from snarky comments that undermine the belief systems or religion of another group. And I especially am bothered when people claim (or flippantly imply) that a certain group/person is "annoying," based on their belief system or the way that a group/person chooses to act (when such actions are somehow informed by a belief system). These people who complain that other religions are "annoying" could very well be undermining the belief system or ethics which they (the annoyed people) widely claim to uphold. It seems ironic and sad to me.

People! If you are annoyed by a certain group or belief system, can't you keep it to yourself? Does it do any good to complain or be snarky about it? Even if you oppose some of the political or ideological stances of a certain group, I can think of better ways to go about promoting your own agenda than complaining about, belittling, or attacking other people. When I notice people complaining about religion or a belief system, it seems to me that these complainers basically want to view themselves as being superior to the other group. And, in turn, these complaints seem to only function as a cry for validation or affirmation of such superiority. Do we really need to find superiority through the belittlement of others?

I don't think that religions and belief systems are things that should be flippantly described as "annoying" or "irritating." These systems are the things which give meaning and reason to a person's existence. Attacking such fundamental, personal aspects of a person's life seems heartless, especially if goal of the attack is self-aggrandizement.

Okay. It is ironic that I am complaining about people who complain. I get that. But this is an issue which is quite sensitive for me (for a myriad of reasons), and I find myself getting defensive and saddened when I read/hear such flippant remarks. And I don't just get defensive for myself. I get defensive and saddened on behalf my family/friends/neighbors/anyone who is the butt of such a joke or flippant remark.

more late night musings and goals

I decided that I better start a label for all of the posts that I write when I can't sleep at night. It might be fun to go back and read all of my ramblings sometime (and also compare to see if they are less coherent and less grammatically correct than my other posts!). Really, though, my sleep has been a lot better over the past few months. I just can't sleep tonight because I took a three-hour nap this afternoon.

Here are some of the things that I've been thinking about lately:

1) I'm a lazy pile. This past weekend I had two friends run in a half-marathon, and another friend recently say that she'd like to train for a mini-triathlon. In theory, I would really love to participate in a half-marathon or triathlon. I like the thought of being athletic and "tough," but I'm too much of a lazy pile to get motivated for any serious training. (And, to tell the truth, I don't even like running that much. I just like the way that I feel after I finish running.) I keep on resolving to change my ways and become less lazy, but then I quickly talk myself out of such silliness. Case in point: two hours ago I resolved to wake up early and exercise. But since I haven't been able to sleep for the past two hours, I've convinced myself that it would be better to sleep in...once again. Maybe what I need to do is actually register for some kind of event, which would force me to train. Of course, I don't think that I'd be ready to run a half-marathon anytime in the near future, but maybe I could start with a lil' 5K run? (But is this reasoning coming from my logical side or my lazy side? Hmm.)

2) I'm starting a full-time job in September, teaching art history at one of the universities where I have worked before. Yay! I am thrilled to have this position, even though it is only guaranteed for the upcoming academic year. (That being said, I think they will probably invite me to return each year as part-time faculty member. I have been invited to develop new curriculum for a course, and I imagine that they will ask me to continue to teach this same course in future quarters.) Anyhow, that being said, I feel a little guilty about taking this full-time position - in some ways, I feel like I have to justify (to some people, not to myself) why I've chosen to work instead of being a full-time mom. I could list my reasoning for working and teaching here, but I don't feel like it (I'm a little tired of justifying and explaining myself away).

3) I'm going to start singing and practicing again. This time fer rills. Last summer, about this same time, I made the goal to start practicing again and it was a total flop. I'm going to try again, first by learning and memorizing "Deh vieni, non tardar." I've decided that I'll practice three times a week, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.

4) I want to start practicing my Portuguese again. I can tell that I'm starting to forget some words, and my tongue feels a little sluggish when I start to speak. Alguém quer practicar comigo? This summer I plan on reading at least one book in Portuguese. I bought a copy of A Moreninha by Joaquim Manuel de Macedo several years ago, because I wanted to read a book that was considered to be a "classic" novel in Portuguese.

I really hope that I can start exercising, singing, and Portuguese-ing again. It won't be easy. Remember, I'm a lazy pile...

frustrations

Last night I didn't sleep well; I couldn't stop thinking about some things that frustrate and peeve me. They aren't really worth mentioning (they are mostly generalized ideas and aren't related to specific people), but I thought I'd jot down some of the thoughts that ran through my head:

- I wish that there were more hours in the day.
- Right now I don't have a desire to change things that frustrate me. Is that bad?
- Why hasn't anything happened yet?
- Are these frustrations not really a problem, but I'm perceiving them as a problem?

I'm sure that people can relate. How do you deal with frustrations?

adam lambert and lisa frank

I can't sleep. I keep thinking about how Adam Lambert's new album cover is completely hideous. The typeface is awful, the glistening stars on the serifs are ridiculous, and the extreme close-up of Adam's unabashedly Photoshopped-face is silly. I get what the designer was trying to do, in the sense that he wanted a throw-back aesthetic that recalls the '80s. And I know that the album cover is supposed to be campy as an homage to the past. But honestly, the florescent colors, glittering stars, airbrushed look, and even Lambert's eyeshadow just remind me of the Lisa Frank folders that I used to carry in my Trapper Keeper.

Sorry Adam. You probably weren't hoping to be associated with elementary school.

product of mild insomnia

I have a lot going through my brain right now, and I can't seem to fall asleep. Hopefully if I purge all of my thoughts into this post, then I'll be able to get a good night's rest (from what's left of the night, that is).

• The other weekend J and I watched The Thin Man with William Powell and Myrna Loy. I've wanted to watch this old movie for a long time, and I'm glad that we did. It really is quite funny and it's a murder mystery (bonus!). J and I had a couple of unexpected and hearty laughs during the show. I watched this YouTube compilation of clips from the series, and some of the other films look like they might be fun. Has anyone else seen any of The Thin Man films? Which film in the series should we watch next?
• I think I'll be ready to submit my article by the end of this month. I've done a lot of rewriting and the process has been slow-going, but I'm almost there. I hope that this journal approves it for publication. If not, though, I'll try and send it elsewhere. I'm just glad that I (almost) have a succinct article that is short enough to appear in a scholarly journal. And who knew that my thesis could be condensed to almost a fifth of its original size? Not me.
  
• I met a really nice girl today who recently moved to Seattle. We were introduced through a mutual friend via email, and she came over to talk about job hunting in the area (she hopes to land an adjunct lecturer position and wanted some advice). It was so nice to meet someone and feel like I could connect with them on multiple levels. I haven't really made any close friends since moving up here, although I do have some local friends that I knew from high school/college. In regards to making new friends, though, that hasn't really happened. I have made plenty of casual friendships at church and in the area, but no one with whom I've connected on a very close level. J thinks that we'll never be able to recreate the close relationships that we have with college friends, and maybe he's right. But I'd like to think that I'm not so snobby/boring/standoffish/strange that I can't form a good friendship or two.
• I found out today that my mom has kidney stones. Seriously, my mom does not need to deal with that right now. I hope it ends soon.
• I really, really need to stop dreaming about SC. For the past couple of years, I have consistently dreamed about one of my friends. On average, I would say that this friend pops up in at least one dream per month. All of the dreams are really bizarre, too. It's kind of hard to explain, but I know that I keep dreaming about this friend because it bothers me so much. I think I first dreamed about SC when I was a newlywed, and I must have felt guilty that there was a boy in my dream that wasn't J (even though I'm sure that the dream was not romantic). Anyhow, I think my initial vexation has started this whole dream trend. J thinks the whole thing is a little humorous. I'm just irked with my subconscious.

subconsciously busy

I forgot to add one more thing to my "busy list" from my earlier post: I've been subconsciously busy. I have had the craziest dreams lately, and they often revolve around something really stressful. (Which is part of the reason that I've been waking up in the night and having a hard time going back to sleep - hence the reason that I'm writing his post at 3:00 am). Some of them are pretty funny, though, so I thought I'd write them down.

Dream #1: I just barely dreamed that J and I were at a rehearsal/studio recording session with J's old band, Fictionist. We were standing around in an old shack - the interior had been painted in streaks with a bigillion different colors of spray paint. Anyhow, J and I had to go home and grab something (I think they were sandwiches for lunch). As we started to drive back towards the shack, a huge volcano in front of us erupted. J had to turn down the a side street (into oncoming traffic), to try and beat the lava flow before it covered our little Prius.

We turned onto this long, straight boulevard that went directly to the shack. The lava flow kept coming. It was weird - in one way, I was driving the car, but I also was sitting in the passenger seat. I had to push the gas pedal all the way down, so that we could speed up faster than the lava - and we were only barely in front of the lava flow the whole time we drove down the street. If you could have seen an aerial view of my dream, it would have looked like our Prius was surfing in the wake of the lava (it was almost curling up and around the back of our car, threatening to fall down at any second). It was really stressful - even though I was driving the car at one point, at another point I was in the passenger seat and I kept shouting, "I love you!" to J, since I thought we were about to be smothered.

Anyhow, the lava flow petered out at the same time we reached the shack (in fact, the lava flow went about four inches underneath the shack door before stopping). We ran inside the door and announced that we had barely escaped the lava. I remember that Jacob Jones' eyes got really huge and he said, "Really?" Apparently, the band didn't hear the volcano eruption while they were rehearsing. Everyone went outside to look at the lava, but Stu stayed behind. He wasn't even phased by the lava or the eruption. Instead, I must have said the word "sandwich" while I was telling our story to the band, because Stu just wanted to talk about that. He said, "I think it's really interesting that you pronounce the word like 'SAND-wich.' In Philadelphia, a lot of people say 'SUN-wich' instead." And then Stu and I went into a detailed conversation about how to pronounce "sandwich."

Dream #2: I dreamt last night that I had to go on a second mission, but I had the exact same missionary companions, president, etc. In my dream I was in my last transfer (I was about to go home in two days), even though I was with the missionaries from the penultimate transfer of my actual mission. We were at a missionary conference, and I could NOT speak Portuguese correctly - English phrases and sentences kept popping out. Everything I said was Portu-glish gibberish. I was getting really upset and explained to someone, "It's not my fault that I can't speak Portuguese anymore - Sister MC insists that I speak English with her all the time!" I felt like such an idiot and wished that I could go home that second. And then the mission president's wife stood up and started to say how missionaries in Brazil were now required to wear long-sleeved shirts all the time (and she stood next to me and glared at my inappropriate short-sleeved shirt). Then I was really glad that I was about to go home.

Dream #3: I was singing in a choir and needed to find a place to change into my choir outfit. We were singing in an outdoor venue, and people already had started to arrive. I kept wandering around, trying to find a bathroom to use while I changed. Everything was full, so I had to walk down this really long hill until I found another small bathroom. I went inside and was in my underwear when the choir director barged in with her daughter. She said, "I'm sorry, but this bathroom is the only entrance to the venue. Everyone needs to come in here so they can get to their seat before we sing." And with that, a stream of people started to walk through the bathroom. So I had to run up this really long hill (in my underwear) and find another bathroom to use as a changing room. I finally found a one that was occupied, but I was able to sneak in the bathtub and pull across the shower curtain for some privacy. Then I walked outside and realized I had the wrong outfit on.

Anyhow, this is just a sampling of the dreams I've had lately. They usually involve some type of stressful situation in which I have to run around, try not to die, or try not to come across as an idiot. No wonder I wake up in the morning and am still tired.