hope is a terrible thing to waste.

my life is so up and down. yesterday was such a great day. hope is a terrible thing to waste, and I feel like a lot of people around me are wasting it. whether or not BYU students like Obama, he is the president of the country in which we all currently live. I think most of my classmates want to improve their country, or if not, want their country to improve. it just seems like people are more mad. no matter political affiliation, I wish people had more hope.

the problem with me is that soon after I clean up one mess, I create another. I've made my life so much harder than it has to be. I've made mistakes recently that I can honestly say I wish I never would have made. truthfully.

people have been so incredibly kind to me lately. I spent a fabulous weekend with my sisters. and just before that it seemed like someone from every sphere I belong to was feeding me compliments. I've alluded to this sentiment before--but I don't deserve it. my friends are so generous with their praises, forming friendly bonds with me while I create enemies out of thin air.

some freshman girls came by our apartment on friday to see what CP was like. I gave them 3 pieces of advice: make freshman year last, next year is not like freshman year, and nothing is as good as the dorms. no really, what I said was, CP is a dump, but all that really matters is that you have good roommates. I said some other things about the ward and my social experience in CP (essentially, I won’t do my laundry here because I don’t want to see anyone). which led to a later discussion on monday night, as I instructed my roommates to tell anyone who comes to the door for me that I was not there. they informed me that I probably care a little too much what people think of me.

I’ve never really thought of myself that way—or at least not recently. I have confidence in me, you know? I have always just done things my way. I can’t remember ever really questioned what the general opinion was on what I should or should not do. but my roommates are right. I change my outfit like 20 times a day. I don’t know if you know that about me. I do. I change a minimum of 5 times every morning—and Sunday’s are the worst. they are the absolute worst. and you know why—because I see people I know on Sunday. and I care what they—probably more than anyone—think. it’s terrible.

so yesterday, I had just started cleaning up a mistake I made a year ago, when I created another one. the old mess has nothing to do with my worries about others’ perceptions of me. the new mess, though, has brought me an enormous amount of pain in just 24 hours. I won’t go into detail because as you might guess, I’m still swimming in it. but I dug up a part of my past that I’m still slightly bitter about, and I was overly harsh and hurt people who the

I’m scared of other people viewing me in a way I don’t want them to. I’m scared of who I am to these people. In their eyes, I’m the person I intended never to be.

I guess being an adult is about learning how to fix your mistakes. I just wish I didn't make any. this poem, and this one, are all about keeping your head up. making it through your trials. all of my problems are ones I have brought on myself.