My sister

Sometimes, I just need my Moses fix. I don't know what it is exactly, or why, but Moses has always been my favorite type of therapy. Seeing him come running up to me or listening to him prattle on about his day is like an instant decompression from any stress I'm under.

When I was in Ogden and going to school, he was my instant stress reliever. When I was a nanny and spent basically every waking moment with kids, all I would need to do is come to Talia's house and see Moses to remember why I became a nanny in the first place. He's just an adorable kid all around, and a huge blessing in my life.

I decided last night, though, that Moses is not the only reason I come to Talia's house. Sometimes I just really need my sister's advice. She is always willing to listen to my problems (or the things in my life that I see as problems) and give me sound advice. There is never a problem that I take to her that she does not advise me to pray/fast over. She is such a wonderful example of womanly virtue for me to follow. I just feel so incredibly blessed to have her in my life.

My sister is 8 years older than me, but she is one of my dearest, closest friends. When I was younger, she was always the incredibly cool older sister. She could do no wrong in my eyes. Now, through more clear eyes, I see that she has faults just like the rest of us, but she is a strong, spiritual, successful woman, and I would consider myself blessed if I turn out half as well as she has.

Rocky Mountain Power Sucks!

Well, the title may or may not be completely self-explanatory, but basically, Rocky Mountain Power Sucks. The Malad Valley of south-eastern Idaho is my haven, my escape, and my heritage.

My family has lived there/owned land there for four (actually, my generation is the fifth) generations. My great-great-grandfather emigrated there from Wales, and raised a family on land that's still "in the family." My great-grandfather and grandpa were born and raised there. My mom spent her childhood visiting her grandparents in Malad, and I spent my youth visiting there. The Malad valley is more than just a beautiful, scenic, and serene place to visit. It is the most heritage I have. It is the resting place of the mortal bodies of four of my grandpa's grandparents. It is where the physical body of my dear, sweet grandma will lie until the second coming.

It is the place I run to when I need a break from life. It is, in every way imaginable my haven. So, when I received an email titled "Help us save the Ranch," my heart dropped out of my chest and into my stomach. The beautiful Malad Valley is in danger of being overrun by huge power lines, with basically no public input or thought of the public impact.

So, here is my plea; visit the link above, write Rocky Mountain Power (or even PacifiCorp, their mother company) write to the Idaho Attorney General, the Idaho Public Utilities Commission, write to friends, co-workers, anyone who will help get the word out. This cannot be allowed to happen to my beloved Malad.

My addiction

Well, if my work would let me, I would constantly work 80 hour weeks. It is my vice and my addiction. I work almost that much as it is (65-70 hours, usually) and any time someone asks why, I say that I need the money and leave it at that. Lately, I've been wondering for myself why I constantly work that often. I do not necessarily save loads of money (even though I know I should) I don't have tons of huge bills to be paid. I'm really very good at my job, but my family is convinced I am working myself to death.


The reason I have come up with is that I am, in some weird way, trying to avoid my life through an addiction to work. Work is stressful, exhausting, and incredibly draining. Life can be rewarding, fun, happy (and is, when I have a random shift or day off) It should be an easy choice between the two, but I have chosen the unlikely option.


I think the reason is that, while work is stressful, draining, exhausting, it is work. I do not need to take responsibility for any of it. If something goes wrong, I can write it off in my conscience, and when my shift is over, return to life. Life, on the other hand, is wonderful, and I quite enjoy it, but when something goes wrong, there is no one BUT me to take responsibility. The only place to run to is work. I think this is why I choose to work constantly, with only short spurts of life thrown in. I would rather give up any happiness I could gain from life in order to avoid the possibility of sadness. I guess I am a fair-weather life liver. If I can't have all happiness, I'd rather not have any.


I've tried to convince myself that this is an absolutely normal and healthy outlook, but now that the prospect of three full days off from work staring me in the face, I am terrified. I feel almost like a junkie who has just been thrown into the drunk tank, suddenly faced with the prospect of an entire weekend spent detoxing and sober. There will be no work to numb the impact of life for me, and the thought panics me more than I can describe.


I have no idea what the next few days have in store for me (and the thought is scary), but I am really excited to find out. (and absolutely determined to use self-control and NOT go into work early)