I think I'll take a shower since I'm obviously not doing anything productive

This morning as I prepared for classes in my dark and still (mostly) sleeping home I was thinking about things that were important to me. I thought to myself “I want to write this on my blog.” But as I continued to get ready many more thoughts flitted through my mind, “I shall write down a list of everything I want to blog about,” I decided.
Here is what was on my list for the day:

I don’t know if I like grapefruit or not. I eat it for breakfast, covered in sugar, but it makes me thirsty and doesn’t fill me up. I wish had a breakfast food that I was content with. Katie was always so happy with her weird pink cheerios. I wish I was more fond of poptarts or cereal or something. Toaster waffles.

I was thinking about introducing Eric to Urban Dictionary two nights ago, and how when I was with Lauren’s family I read the definition of “Indie Kid” aloud, and her family laughed because all her brothers were so Indie, and Ryan cried “That is everything I’ve always wanted to be!”
“Well, you’ve succeeded!” we yelled. And I was wondering, what do I want to be, and if someone wrote a definition of me what would it say?
Camille asked “What is an Indie Kid?” and the girl from work said, “Oh, I’m an Indie Kid.”
Urban Dictionary says that Indie kids would never ever call themselves Indie. Urban Dictionary never lies.
I wish I was an Indie kid, but merely by wishing so, I cannot be.
Gender: Feminine
Usage: English
Pronounced: BEK-ee
Definition:

Today on my way to school I could see my breath. I was so thrilled, but it was too hot by the end of my first class. I saw kids in HUGE scarves and mittens and wit their necks pulled into their sweaters, but I took off my jacket, and felt happy. I love the winter. I miss the cold. There’s a 30 percent chance of snow on Friday. I can only hope and pray.

I’m sick of being not kissed. It’s been over a year since I had a boyfriend, and I’m really unhappy with that. Bah. Date me.

I can’t seem to make any decisions. I can’t get a spiritual confirmation on or against London. Mom and my bishop say that means Heavenly Father wants me to make my own decision.
I wish he would just let me know what would be best when I keep asking so ardently, reading my patriarchal blessing and scriptures and being not fulfilled.

There are crazy old people ALL OVER CAMPUS. Not terribly old, not the oldness where it’s forgivable to be crazy, preferred even. No this is the oldness where you are a thirty-five year old woman in a class where you’re older than the teacher and everyone in the class. The oldness where you feel like you want to try and be the mother to students who think you are freaking annoying. The oldness where you’re clueless enough to keep on wearing that weird, shimmery blue eyeshadow and having streaky yellow highlights in your almost-black hair. The weirdness where every time the teacher or any students says anything you interrupt to correct them, tell a joke about how old you are, and then talk for the rest of the class period. I am going to kick you, crazy lady.
Today Crazy-Lady of British Lit insisted on interrupting the reading of a lovely poem where “Patchwork” is mentioned.
“Does that mean the girls are like Patchwork?” she yelled.
“Yes,” said the ever-wonderful Professor Westover, “So, they’re being compared to what?”
This question was really just for her, and her retardedness. She was puzzled.
“Quilts,” I said, then louder. “The girls are the quilts!”
“A quilt?” she repeated, dumbfounded. “Oh…. Okaaaaayyy.” She apparently disagreed on the meaning of “Patchwork.”

Lauren I want to be in the police beat.
We don’t know how to get in.
A gorilla made it in today, so it can't be too hard.

I’m making a lot of lists lately. To do, to say, to remember, to write.
I noticed that on everyone’s blogs there have been lists, too.
October is too busy. For the second best month of the year, it’s already starting to suck.

Last night I read the following and then I felt guilty, I'm going to try and do better, maybe then I'll be happier. "Cease to be idle; Cease to be unclean; Cease to find fault one with another; Cease to sleep longer than is needful; Retire to thy bed early, that ye may not be weary; Arise early that your bodies and your minds might be invigorated."
D&C 88:124
I feel like I could be doing so much better.
You know, considering that I am having so much money trouble, it is astounding that I haven't gotten my act together and paid some tithing since my last check.

There’s poop wind blowing in my hallway.
If you were wondering, that was not me being clever or facetious. There is just such a wind blowing.
Our demon toilet has overflowed this week, twice. Today (after three days) maintenance finally came. They tore up our carpet and draped it over a giant fan, so our poop water is now poor air that blows on you if you venture into the hallway.

I wrote half of my research paper for Bio before I decided to do this instead. I need to get my priorities straight.

Having a job is the lamest thing about college.

“You Home? “ I wasn’t. Sorry dear. Wish I could have been.

I can’t think of anything clever to say. I wish you girls would stop saying on your blogs that all your friends are clever and you’re not and then write these lovely, deep, emotional posts.
My post is about lists and poop wind.

Also, I feel lonely sometimes when I write and no one comments, but I know you read my blog and just have nothing to say. I want you to know that I read all of your blogs. I spend so much of my precious time reading through every new post and comment on all the blogs in my sidebar. I love to read your life.
I love to be part of it, even from a distance.

You know, I’m feeling kind of crappy now, and today was such a good day.
Garrison Keller says that this beautiful fall weather make the world wake up and love everything, you can't stop being happy, you remember you're alive and relish in it. Unless you're from Minnesota, then instead, you remember that you're going to die. All day today I could hear the funeral march in my head as I walked. If I ask you ahead of time, will you speak at my funeral? How would you define me?