There are just so many things!
Things are happening! To me and around me and I just don't have time to feel them all! THINGS!
You may remember my post from a few weeks ago about how I have been neglecting my journal in the valley of tears and whatever else I wrote. Well, the journal is neglected no more but it is unclear whether that will prove healthy or not because I've been writing a lot but it is JUST. SO. DRAMATIC!
But things ARE dramatic! I am in an April whirlwind of emotions. We went to CA and were on Dexter, then came back to our non-Hollywood life, enjoyed a mini identity crisis (aka "a Monday") and then Mom and Dad were in town. We tore up Phoenix during their trip (aka sat by the pool and drove up to Payson to do a little hiking) and then they were gone, taking my bleeding heart with them back to the airport and prompting ANOTHER identity crisis, this one relating not as much to whether Hollywood is in my future and more to whether moving back to Ohio and having my Mom make me peanut butter sandwiches is.
THEN, we went camping last weekend at the Grand Canyon. More about that in a moment.
And intermingled with all of this, there were these horrible things. More and more horrible things that I don't know what to do with. A bombing in Boston. An explosion in Texas. A quite literally unbelievable abortion trial. And did you know that a factory in Bangladesh collapsed this week, killing upwards of 200 people?
On the same day that the factory exploded in Texas, Aaron and I found out, through a series of very strange and inexplicable events (NOT unfortunate - literary humor) that one of my dreams - my very deep, very real, very high-prioritized dreams is coming true with virtually no work on my part. We are going to Israel in September.
Then, this past weekend, we went camping in Havasupai, Arizona with a group of some of the most wonderful and smiley and sweet and selfless people you could ever meet. Havasupai is at the bottom of the Grand Canyon and is home to the most photographed waterfall in the world, according to my Mom's internet research. ("Google told me!") We hiked 8 miles down into the canyon with our packs on our back, which - while certainly great breeding grounds for one of the gnarliest blisters ever seen west of the Mississippi - is also and more importantly one of the most surefire ways to feel absolutely invincible. 8 miles into the Grand Canyon, and just my little old legs got me there! YOUR MOVE, LIFE.
We went swimming and hiking and ate steak and salmon that our friend and trip planner extraordinaire had helicoptored in from the civilization above - isn't that crazy? And then on Saturday night before going to sleep Aaron and I snuck off like teenagers and went up to the waterfall, to look at it under all of the stars. It was one of those moments. Like standing near the ocean at night at Myrtle Beach when I was 13, or like sitting on the back porch of our over-the-top resort suite on our first anniversary. Just one of those electrifying moments that make me feel this certain way I can't describe. A little closer to God, I think.
(I mean seriously, the drama AMIRITE)
Anyway, we survived the ensuing 8-mile hike back UP the canyon with our packs on our backs, though at the end of that one I felt a little less invincible and a little more willing-to-kill-for-Gatorade, which luckily I didn't have to do because there was a nice (and by 'nice' I mean 'didn't say one word to me') Native American lady at the top of the trail selling Gatorades out of the back of her truck. Not a bad idea; business folks - free tip.
So now we are back in Phoenix, reading about collapsing buildings and things being wrecked and broken and torn apart and terrorist plots and arrests and our own Congress trying to exempt itself from its own healthcare law, and then also going to yoga and drinks after work with friends and obsessing over Netflix's "House of Cards" (KEVIN SPACEY !!!!!!) and pretty much living the freaking dream.
My heart just feels pulled. Desperate and grateful. Sad and bursting with happy excitement. This is when people usually go to a bakery and eat a whole cake by themselves, right? Do cakes have gluten?