We could hide inside ourselves and leave the world behind

Date and Time: on the line of 4:15 and 5:15 in the air…December 22 (and again at 9ish and again at 11:30).
Soundage: Sun—Mae
Action: Big Cushy Seat
Reaction: Sun lit horizon

Breathing—such an autonomous thought. One does it involuntarily…not thinking…just acting. This breathing. This release of inner “grossness” (of things that don’t belong) is something our bodies know, instinctively, needs to happen. But what about our souls? This time, this break from normal, mundane, (sometimes not so mundane), crazy life is the exhale of my soul. The crisp white snow against the black shutters. The immaculate look at the world. The clean start, the hope for color…and life…again. Within me is the hope for the clean slate. The hope for the change. The excitement, the anticipation of long forgotten familiarity and the prospect of a new day. Change is not always easily set in motion in my life, but I’m excited for the thought of a “new” life. A new start. THE start. Here comes my life. Here is where it really begins. So this exhale screams—“New life, I’m breathing in.”

My Christmas Miracle

A Christmas miracle. That’s what I was praying for. I didn’t need anything too grand—no bringing someone back to the peak of health, no big packages from Santa. I just didn’t want to sleep on the airport floor. Now I know my dad would have offered a hotel room…but I felt bad even thinking about having him pay for something after he helped with the car. And there I sat. starting at the grimy carpet and silently wondering how many people’s butts had sat just where mine was and where, given the circumstances, my head could end up that night. I grabbed my backpack and placed it firmly and determinedly behind my cranium. There I lay like that last stubborn fall leaf that waited til you had cleaned the whole yard. Completely out of place and just waiting for my turn. Unlike some of my standby cohorts, I was not leaving and just taking the flight they had assigned. I was not going to be sleeping there. Whether that meant flying to LA or Phoenix and then to Boston. Eyes fixed upon the screen searching for the “BOL/S” to move from “Standby” to “Cleared” and fulfill my greatest desire. Silent petitions, pleas, rang out from my lungs to the heavens above. “I need this Father. I need my family…You know that. Please let me get home.” Hours began to pass with little more to occupy my mind than thoughts of a night in the company of others who were stranded…in a place not conducive to sleeping…oh and thoughts about the BYU Bowl Game (Heaven bless Google Text for giving me updates every few minutes). Putting my free cell-to-cell minutes to use I called my daddy over and over again each time giving him the play by play of my life in the airport as a standby passenger (ESPN here I come. “Flights Cross Country”—Commentary by Siovhan Bolton with Color analysis by the girl in the gray sweatshirt.) Hour after hour I approached the desk, figured out that the attendants knew even less about my plight than they did last time and then called home—both spiritually and mortally. And there I asked for it. My Christmas Miracle. To be able to have the most and make the most of the limited time I have with my family. The closer the clock ticked to boarding (every time it was delayed further) the bigger the knot got in my stomach. I needed peace. I pulled out my Ensign and began to read, becoming increasingly grateful that my parents could even arrange to fly me home. Then I realized that everyone wanted to get home just as much as I did. And I began to understand that if someone else (that I was unaware of) needed this more than I did, that I wanted them to have it. Another phone call home and I began to prepare for a night o the floor. And what would any Christmas miracle be without a drunk guy? After the drunk kid staggered over, fell on top of me, rolled off and passed out I really began to worry about the night ahead of me. As I looked at the…passed out college aged kid in his Abercrombie cargo pants and upside down (and backwards) Ohio State visor and petitioned the heavens a little harder. “Please? Please? I hate drunk people…please? They won’t even let him fly…can’t I have his spot?” A phone call to a friend and a move closer to the counter revealed it was almost time to call standbys. An angry mom and a new boarding pass later and here I sit in 10E listening to Hey Jude and exuding thanks for my Christmas miracle…and the drunk who made it possible. Even if that Christmas miracle got me home at 4am.

There was obviously lots of time to write yesterday...

I’m writing by light of iPod. Contemplating hair change, and the repercussions of said change. The color of my nails (a joyous shade of purple/gray), the great outfit I’m wearing, my matching eyeliner (that I FINALLY got to look like Lyndsi Shae’s—score!!), the fact that the one shirt I’m wearing is my roommates but she has my skirt AND my pants so it’s even steven. Tthe Rascal Flatts song on my iPod that I’m in love with for so many reasons beyond the music itself. The fact that my dad will never understand my enduring (platonic) love and loyalty (I may be a stupid girl a little) for one of my closest friends, the fact that said friend and I can’t go one day without talking (heaven bless rollover minutes and his “5”). The fact that my playlist makes me think of the past week…the change, the camaraderie, the love, the affection and the hope. The boy that can’t seem to get enough of my sassy pants (and that still confusing and out-of-the-blue development) and the boy I want to take five minutes and notice me. (I really love this nail polish.) The fact that “All I want for Christmas is You” flooded the acoustics of the bathroom today all courtesy of my cell phone. The Something Corporate ballad that brings peace to my heart. The fact that I’m so totally happy again that I can’t wait to greet Milford with my terrific realization that I don’t/haven’t/and will never again need it (besides for my mom) and that I’M the one that got out and really made something of herself—of her life. Hoping that my luggage rests safely under my seat somewhere. Thoughts of the argyle sweater and my punk rock past. Thoughts that “the dark side” may be the key to happiness, liberation and hope that my life needs right now. (I love Journey.) That if I do it I’ll be the only non-blonde producer but I’ll also lose my title as the only blonde roommate in my apartment. That we now have the super apartment due to my new loves moving in. That my desk might just actually eat Lindsi in her sleep one day. Haha. That in a few months I’ll have my own grown-up apartment (and life) that I can decorate however I want (oh to have money). That JamaL has front-row-joe for the two weeks while I’m gone. That Phoenix might not be the worst place in the world…there’s got to be something good about this hotter than heck thing, right? That Atlanta, Seattle, Bristol, NYC and Salt Lake should all stay on the list, too. That Bryce is such a confused/confusing boy. Forever. That Dani girl and I still know each other that well. That her life is so happy right now. That I can’t wait to wear my new turquoise headband or my skull earrings. That all I want to do right now is…well, pee but I’m sandwiched between to large sleeping men…anyway, is to see how the football game is going/went. To call my friends and tell them how much I love them. TO be I my reading chair, glasses, pj’s and all—becoming ‘bookworm joe’ again. To “happy Hanukkah” my way into the new year. To drive around Provo laughing and remembering forever. To sit and stare at each other as we talk and laugh. To be in my mom’s arms—safe and HOME. I can’t wait. And I’m so grateful. I’m so happy. I’m so glad I’M back. The real me. Siovhan Lorelle Bolton. The best me there ever could be. Take that world.