And Then They Put Me In A Straitjacket

I have found that the more education I receive, the more I am convinced that I have a serious mental illness. Delusions of grandeur? Check. Panic attacks? Check. Constantly performing rituals that make no sense? Check. This must mean I have a hybrid of Schizophrenia, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Obviously it is quite easy to become completely dysfunctional with this pattern of thinking.

Cut to this afternoon and picture this. Me, lying on the floor, bathing in my own tears, as I wail about my diagnoses to my mother. If you can't imagine that, then envision something really pathetic times 23.  

Socks and Crocs. The poster-child of pathetic. (And I secretly kind of like Crocs? Should I have admitted that to the world-wide web?) 

I was 100% sure that something was wrong with me. If there wasn't something fundamentally flawed about me than why do I cry when everything is going right? And why do I think bad things about good people? Am I evil because I think slacklining is kind of lame? All of these questions were simmering in my brain for weeks and erupted into a big volcano of crazy. 

This experience led me to evaluate not only the state of my mental health but also the type of person I am. Is someone considered "good" if they can manage to be happy all the time, no matter what? Am I considered a "bad" person because I seem to experience the whole spectrum of emotions at any given time or place? Is stealing samples from the Winco bulk section "bad"? (Different debate for a different time, my fellow samplers... shout out to Kenzie Kerr, Queen of Sampling.) 

Now that I have managed to write a paragraph of only questions, I will endeavor to write a paragraph with no question marks and maybe some answers scattered in there as well. 

If being "good" means that I need to find joy in every little thing, than I have failed. There are a lot of things in this world that make me want to curl up in a ball and ugly-cry. These panic attacks are the result of missing my mother, feeling stupid, and witnessing all of the hate in this world. But I have come to understand that God gave us the ability to feel emotions because they are essential to our overall happiness. As an individual, I cannot feel love towards someone unless I also get annoyed by them. I cannot be thankful for the blessing of getting an education without hating the fact that I have to take tests and actually go to class. I cannot learn to serve others unless I also experience selfishness.

 It is important to remember that we are not crazy or "bad" because we fall into negative thoughts on a daily basis. Rather, we are "good" and resilient individuals because we still choose to try and be better. We choose to feel joy with the knowledge that sadness will inevitably be there as well. And most of all, we can let our crazy out by talking with one another. We are not alone in our happiness, which also means we are not alone in our moments of sadness and loneliness. As humans, we have the ability to vocalize our emotions and insecurities. They are not something we should be ashamed of, rather it is something to be proud of. "Your character is ugly and beautiful at the same time and I love you for it."

My mother: the woman who validates my erratic emotions every day and still likes to hang out with me. 

Wow. Didn't know I could be so deep and philosophical, eh? Just shows you what weeks of panic attacks and contemplation does to ones thinking capabilities. 

Happy National Zucchini Bread Day! 

Apologies: I Am A Middle School Boy

I love pranks. And chicken nuggets. And dinosaurs. And acting like a dinosaur. And running like a T-Rex. And corn dogs. And Lord of the Rings memes.

It really goes on and on. 

But I love pranks. I wouldn't consider myself to be an expert prankster who creates elaborate and complicated booby traps, but I am a pretty decent liar. Which I have heard is a good qualification for full-time missionaries? 

So this is me saying I am sorry Logan. I am sorry I told you my sister was having twin boys. And I am sorry I let you believe that lie for over 24 hours. Sorry I made you call her at 11 at night to congratulate her. And I am sorry for getting in a one-sided water/spitting war with you. Most of all, I am sorry you biked off in a huff...and that I giggled about it for a ridiculous amount of time afterwards. 

hehehehehehehehehehehhehehehehehehehehehehe.... but it's still funny. 

Before the Falling-Out. 

And now some more male prepubescent characteristics I have accumulated over my lifetime. 

Did I mention that I like dinosaurs? There is a building full of them on campus. Such a wonderland. 

I saved this picture under "Cute" on my computer. Pretty much sums it up. 

****I will accept a Baby-Tractor as a gift anytime, anywhere. Or a ride in one. Or a picture of one.***

Your mother is taking a nap in the sun. What do you do? If you are me, you cover her in seaweed and then shriek, "LEECHES! LEECHES! GET OUT OF THE WATER!"

 Pachycephalosaurus shenanigans.

If you are bored I will gladly rub food all over my face. 

My middle school-aged brother and I get along great. And before you get concerned about the fate of my nose, this was my idea of a "dope picture". 

I contracted this horrific injury rock climbing. But don't worry I bragged about it for days afterwards to my friends. Which is something twelve year old boys tend to do on a regular basis. 

A recent To-Do list of mine. High expectations= high outcomes. 

To all fellow middle school boys; Puberty won't last forever, but immature poop jokes and fast-food lovin' will. 

Rock on suckas. 

Correction on Being Corrected

I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THE AVA-LUNG. You do not breathe through your nose. Rookie mistake.

Boo to the freaking YAH!

Take that Mr. Logan Jones.

I am the zebra kicking your face in this scenario.

The Etiquette of Being Corrected

I love being right. Ask my room mate. We have "lively debates" over pretty much anything, even if we agree with each other. But don't worry, we both have come to the conclusion that arguing (when somewhat respectful) builds inter-brainular cells. If that is the case, then my little noggin has a multitude of very strong, stubborn, inter-brainular cells.

But sometimes I get into an argument or discussion where I am clearly wrong. Now, this doesn't happen too often (that I am aware of at least) but when it does it is painful for me and entertaining to everyone else. Once you realize that your information is extremely flawed, pretend like you knew it all a long. Be like, "oh yeah, I didn't realize we were talking about that". Or, "I think you understood my point incorrectly". Nobody will believe you but you can sometimes scrape by with a little bit of your dignity still intact. 

Let me illustrate this concept with an example...

I will be the first to tell you that I am not the most informed individual when it comes to backcountry skiing. I love to do it but I am still learning and I am on the right track and yadda yadda yadda. BUT, I love to be a mockingbird and repeat whatever my sister tells me so that I sound knowledgeable in group settings. This isn't a unique thing okay? Everybody tries to appear smarter than they really are. 

And this weekend I got an Ava-Lung for backcountry skiing. It's a pretty dope device that allows you to survive longer if you become buried in an avalanche. It looks something like this.

Can you tell that I was a little excited about my new toy? Thanks Jessica and Dan!

Later this weekend, I was feeling a little hardcore and decided to start dropping sick backcountry tidbits into my conversations with friends. This in and of itself was a bad idea because my friends actually know more than I do. Classic mistake.

When it got down to it, I tried to explain how an Ava-Lung works. I was very confident that I knew exactly how it operated. And I was wrong. So wrong, that my explanation of how to work it, if followed, would have killed someone. I guess breathing in one's carbon dioxide is lethal? 

But of course I was very adamant that I was right, and then when I was caught in a corner, I switched my argument around in a sheepish manner. "Oh, I thought I was saying that? Did I say breathe in through the mouth instead of the nose? How silly of me. I must have just mixed up my words a little. I know what I am talking about." Then everybody laughed at me and I changed the subject my pride was wounded.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that Logan Jones knows more about Ava-Lungs than me. And backcountry skiing. And how bikes work. And predicting when it will snow. But not how to process gluten. Totally have you beaten in that department buddy.