this is happening.

And by this, I mean blogging. I'm a little disgusted by how infrequent a blogger I've become. I wish I could blame future child entirely, but we all know that I always have some reason not to blog, usually involving T.V.

(Side note: I started watching How I Met Your Mother over the break, and it is embarrassing how close I am to being caught up. I like HIMYM. Is it not cool anymore? I live in a TV time warp.)

(Another side note: This blog post is coming to you in the form of No Delete Thursday. Which means barring a huge typo, or maybe even despite the huge typo, I'm not deleting anything I write. I'm that rusty at blogging. Apologies (or, if it is awesomely embarrassing,) You're Welcome, in advance.

It is weird that I always put off blogging because I really enjoy it. I like interacting with people, and I'm a glutton for attention. It is also a great way to kill time. Maybe my reluctance to blog stems from my superego trying to control the raging narcissist id that is my blogging persona.

Oh shit. Claiming to be a narcissist is what truly annoying narcissist bloggers do in an attempt to be cute. Oh, here is my one-millionth photo shoot of me doing mundane things! Bahaha, I'm such a narcissist, want to see what I wore c/o Anthro?

Damn you, No Delete Thursday, damn you to hell.

News and Updates

-Spouseman claims pregnancy doubles all pre-existing personality traits. Thus, I have become even more antisocial (I find myself avoiding social gatherings for no other reason than I worry about being homesick) and more easily enraged (I don't care if it is No Delete Thursday, I'm not telling you about some of my more awesome rage freak outs.) I'd feel bad for Spouseman, until I remember that not only am I the one rapidly gaining weight and going insane, it is also my job to push this kid out. So, really, dealing with an angry hermit is not that big a deal. Be grateful for that Y chromosome, friend.

Want to know the way I remember which gender has the XX chromosome and which has the XY? XX is the girl because it is closest to XXX which means porn stars, who, in my mind, for the purpose of memory-keeping, are all girls. Sexist? Yes. Even true? No. Meaning men are also porn stars, the part about XX and XY chromosomes is true.  Slightly ashamed that I put that on the internet? Yes. But the integrity of No Delete Thursday lives on.

If this were one of my normal posts at this point I would

a. use a poem to help resolve my deeply rooted issues with the LDS church.

b. insert the word "damn" into another word (i.e. adamndorable.)

c. develop some form of conclusion/ask a question so I could wrap this up.

Clearly, this is not a normal post.

Side note: I really liked how people left comments on my last (non-deleted) post about what poems/bits of literature they have floating in their heads. Aren't words wonderful? I think you can tell a lot about a person based on what poem they keep in their heads. I think you can tell that they are awesome.

Anyway, as I've mentioned, I'm really angry sometimes when gestating. I told this to the person I Visit Teach, and she told me how she kicked in a door while pregnant with her second child. That made me feel really good, because I've done a lot of things (including throwing away any of my husband's church books that were written by Packer, Young, or McKonkie in a fit of church rage) but I haven't kicked in a door yet.

 Spouseman,  if you are reading this, I am sorry about throwing the books away without telling you. (Until now, on the internet.) In my defense, I could have said I threw away all your church books that were homophobic, sexist, or racist (in that order,) and I know you haven't read 90% of them anyway, nor do I think you have noticed their absence. Also, I refuse to look up how to spell McKonkie, but find my way very amusing.

Given that I just confessed to chucking (not even recycling, just chucking,) a bunch of Venerated Chruch Literature away, are you surprised to learn that I am a kickass Visiting Teacher? For real. I hardly ever miss a month. I've given up on many church-related rituals (either entirely, or else modified them so that they suit my needs,) but I'll be damned (if you are a TBM, you might take that literally,) if I don't visit my church sisters. I genuinely like Visiting Teaching, though. I like talking to people about kicking doors in while pregnant, and even having meaningful gospel related discussions without worrying if it is the right "church answer."

I think I would like church a lot more if there were more talk about how human we all are, and less talk about what will happen to people who have double-earrings in the Millennium. (Spoiler alert: Spirit Prison. Seriously, last time I went to Relief Society, one sweet sister was very adamant that this was Christ's chosen way of dealing with multiple piercings.)

Anyway, after typing the word "porn" out a whole lot, I think it is time to wrap this thing up. I should leave you all in order to read some of my fascinating pregnancy literature, but I will probably just join Ted Mosby in another quest to find his future wife. It's been a very fun No-Delete Thursday. Really, I mean that, and if I don't, there is nothing I can do about it anyway.


discuss the following:

Every so often I get finicky and I delete blog posts. Nothing to see here.


and the soul felt its worth

I like to think that all literature lovers are like me, and walk around with lines of poems repeating in their head. If this isn't true, don't tell me, I don't need any more evidence that I'm a little bit nuts.

When I'm stressed, the repeating line comes from e.e. cummings, "and staggered banged with terror through/a million billion trillion stars." Don't we all feel that way, at least some of the time? I've staggered my whole life, even more so now pregnant.

Recently, I remembered the words to the John Donne poem I studied in high school. "Batter my heart, three-personed God." I couldn't remember the rest of the poem, but remembered relating to it strongly when I was 17. (I was a weird 17 year old. I don't think many of my students relate on a personal level to John Donne.)

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Did you skim that? It is okay, you probably already graduated from high school. Essentially, the poem's speaker asks God to batter his heart, because his usual tactics to "knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend" are not enough to save his sinful soul. Instead, he needs God to "break, blow, burn, and make me new." Married to God's enemy (Satan,) the speaker asks God to "Imprison me...enthrall me....ravish me" in order to gain spiritual freedom.

Why did I like this poem? A poem about God raping (ravishing) a soul married to Satan in order to purify it sounds fundamentalist at best. But after re-reading the poem, I remembered the line that interested me as a senior: "Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend/ But is captived, and proves weak or untrue."

The idea that God gave us reason to defend us, but said reason is captive and weak in the mind of man made sense to my often unreasonable teenage self. I felt comforted by the fact that while I may sometimes misuse it, God had indeed given me reason.

Growing up, I was desperate to be Good, more specifically, I was desperate to be a Good Mormon. I felt often like my God-given reason had betrayed me, when I struggled to understand Church practices and doctrine that seemed to defy reason, and frankly didn't make sense. (Wait, I'm really more righteous than my 7 year old brother? And that is why he will someday have the priesthood?)

So I loved John Donne's plea to his three-personed God to batter his heart. The brute force of God would still be kinder than the mental beatings I gave myself every time I flippantly refused to accept that God sees homosexuality as a sin, or dared to believe a woman could choose to stay at home or work outside it and still be a good mother.  If God could somehow break and bend my cognitive dissonance into a temple recommend, into perfect Mormon compliance, I would be happy.

Still, I distinctly remember postponing my Patriarchal blessing because I was afraid God would tell me what I already knew. He would reveal my secret heretical thoughts to the patriarch and my parents. Until God battered the rebellion out of me, the least I could do was pretend.

Maybe I should just stick to e.e. cummings.

I was thinking about John Donne while driving home yesterday, listening to Christmas music on the radio. I've changed my position on God, but I think John Donne did get one thing right: God gave us reason to protect us.

It wasn't rebellion or sin to question my role as a woman in this church, it was the reason that God gave me. It wasn't sin to love my fellow man, Gay or not Gay. It was perfectly, beautifully, reasonable.  God never answered my prayer to batter my heart, because my heart, though broken, was perfect as it was. I knew this driving home, just as the lines of "Oh Holy Night" played through the radio:

"...Till he appeared, and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices."

That thrill of hope sustains me, as I stagger and bang with terror through the million, billion, trillion stars that constitute being Mormon and not-so- Mormon at the same time, especially at Christmas. Pulling into my driveway, I let go of my guilt for the last time, and rejoiced. My soul felt its worth. Now, instead of fearing the beating of a three-personed God, I simply and sincerely hope that what they say about Christ is true.

 His law is love, and his gospel is peace.