Overwhelmed

Yesterday I was tired. But I sucked it up anyway and went to work and my microscope lab.

I sat through another home teaching visit (this time without Marie) with one of the most smug men that I have ever met who "challenged" (I'd like to say all but forced) Marie and I last month to bear our testimonies to each other. This month I made a joke about how I don't want to be "challenged" anymore. They asked me if I thought God could provide a missionary opportunity for me. I said yes, because He has in the past. The smug one then asked me to share my story. It was the last thing I wanted to do but feeling like I couldn't say no I shared a very personal story about my dad with them. At the end of the lesson they "challenged" me to pray for more missionary experiences. I asked if they were going to continually "challenge" me every single month and the smug one went on about how I don't have to do anything they ask but God knows if I don't do it and it is between me and God whether or not I do. Not true when you ask every week if I have fulfilled the challenge yet- it's not about me and God it's about me and the smug home teacher. He then went on about how he was "inspired" to challenge me. Maybe he felt the need to challenge me, but had it been inspired I think I would have felt the spirit telling me it was so. I didn't. I felt awkward and pressured.

Afterward Skyler came over to replace Marie for chicken pillow Monday. I went visit teaching and I still get the feeling that the girl doesn't like me. Then I went for donuts with Skyler and on the way back he sang along to "Just the Way You Are" and told me that that was how he felt about me. I told him I didn't believe him and he seemed to get offended. I explained how I had just read this article in the Ensign about this woman who didn't believe her fiance when he told her that he loved her because she believed that she was unlovable. I believe that I am not beautiful, not lovable. We spent some time on the couch, me crying, him listening, about how I'm going to medical school in a year and a half, and I will most likely be unmarried, alone, and unhopeful that any man in good standing with the church will want to marry a girl like me, overweight, educated, feminist, ambitious, rebellious, rough and rude.

There was a knock on the door. I made Skyler answer it while I went to put my little exercise clothes on because I knew it was Megan and I didn't want her to see me laying over Skyler's lap crying like a child. We went to Zumba where I did my best to shake my bum, follow the steps, stay caught up, and tried my best not to look like a fool. I don't know how successful I was but I believe that it's the improvement that counts.

I got home and stayed up until midnight finishing some reading that I was behind on for my Developmental Bio class. I attempted to paint my nails. Even after letting them sit for 20 minutes somehow they still weren't dry, and now they look like a piece of crap. I went to bed, exhausted, feeling worthless, with semi-dry nails that now have some sort of pattern on them from my pillowcase.

I woke up at 7:30, got out of bed around 7:45. I thought about not going to class but I went anyway. I was in and out of consciousness for the entire thing (embarrassing). I walked home knowing that the second I walked in the door I would want to collapse into a nap but couldn't, because the kitchen was a disaster area, yet again. I got home. I turned on some James Blunt. I opened the kitchen window to air out the nasty smell of rotting food from the leftovers I took out of the fridge last night and didn't take care of. I started putting a large amount of Heather's dishes into the dishwasher. How often do I have to casually mention that we should all rinse our dishes and put them straight into the dishwasher? How often do I have to do the dishes before she realizes that she never runs the dishwasher unless it's half full from me loading it and needs to be ran? How many times do I have to hear her thank me in a condescending way for cleaning the kitchen, making it sound like I never do when I clean it at least once a week and do the dishes at least every other day and do the majority of the trash taking out? How many of her not dishwasher safe pans will I wash for her so they're not all over the stove or sink? I'm tired of it. I'm tired of doing her dishes and cleaning the entire kitchen after dinner group. One could argue that Marie and I contribute to the mess. Over the last three day weekend Heather went out of town. I cleaned the kitchen the day after she left and it was practically spotless until after her return. I can't do it anymore.

I wanted to take a nap. A brief, hour long nap before my next class so that I could stay semiconscious for the rest of them. And instead I cleaned up after my childlike roommate, who doesn't go to church half the time and still gets asked out by guys in the ward that she's never met. And she's crazy. And she will probably be married long before I even kiss another person.

And for some reason, it just seems like the story of my life. And in case you were wondering, the sentence that defines my life is: "This would be romantic if it wasn't with you."