I just have crazy dreams, okay?

Remember how I like to post crazy dreams I’ve had on my blog? And remember how my psyche is inexplicably morbid? Well, the dream I had last night is too good to pass up. I just have to share it.  

I dreamed that the people in my neighborhood had just survived a nuclear holocaust, but all of our houses were destroyed. There was rubble everywhere, and my family was living in what used to be our kitchen, because we still had some food.

There were also thieves roaming the streets, trying to steal our food. I think I beat some people up. Because no way were they stealing food from my family. Not with me around. No, sir.

The thieves went away, and everyone in the neighborhood was starting to figure out what to do next. We were picking up the pieces, so to speak, and life was starting to look good again. The sun was shining, the grass was green, children were laughing, we were all talking, and feeling like we’d be able to move on and have normal lives. We were just really bonding. It was a like a post-apocalyptic neighborhood barbeque. Except for the part that we were all in rags and we were roasting hot dogs over piles of embers.  

Then a small child pointed up to the sky at a helicopter. At first we were like, “Oh look! A helicopter!” But then the helicopter plummeted to the earth, and we all knew we were going to die. There was an explosion, and we all started running away from the fire as fast as we could. But the explosion kept rolling toward us.

It was like this:

{picture from National Geographic}

Or this:  

{picture courtesy mfran}

I was outpacing my family, and there was—I kid you not—epic, sad, soul-stirring music going on in my dream like we were in a movie. Kind of like that music in “Return of the King” where Sam is carrying Frodo up Mount Doom. “I can’t carry it for you! But I can carry you!” So tender. 

Except the music was not as triumphant. Because we were all going to die. And there was no one to carry us up the mountain. And no eagles either, for that matter.

I kept looking back to see where my family was. My mom was just behind me, but I couldn’t see anyone else.

Then, my mom looked up at me, raised her hand in farewell, and said, “I love you.” I knew she was about to die, and that I was going to die next, because it went all dark.

. . . and then the credits started rolling.

I’m dead serious. There were movie credits in my dream.

Which makes my dream not as sad as it could otherwise be. I mean, it was only a movie, right? A movie within a dream? (ooh . . . it’s like Inception.)

And we all got to die together. Kind of like the Pevensie family in The Last Battle. (Except I don’t know if my sister Sarah was in my dream. Sarah, you could be Susan. Sorry. I still love you. And I’d carry you up Mount Doom if you had to destroy the One Ring. Dead serious. My love is that deep.)  

Sweet dreams are made of these?

I still have to blog about Boston. But let me just say, it was a great trip. Pictures to come soon, because they make me giddy.

Umm . . . so I have some crazy dreams. Anyone who knows me knows this. Sometimes they are Harry Potter-awesome. Other times they are as crazy as Willy Wonka.

And--more often than you'd think--they are morbid. 


When I tell people this, they usually say: "Sweet little Megan, morbid?"

Well, it's true folks. 11 out of 10 Freudians agree that my subconscious is fascinated with morbidity.


My Cambridge buddies remember that weird avant-garde dream with pineapples and head-mashers, right?

Yeah. Last night's dream was even worse. Hard to believe, I know.

But can you say concentration camp and blood-saturated grass?

It was terrible.

Any suggestions on what I should do to avoid morbid dreams? Any idea why they keep happening?

Heeeeeeeelllllpppppppp meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

The Muffin Girl

I was a conversation piece this morning.

I made muffins for a Writing Center staff meeting breakfast and carried the muffins to work. (I'm on the Happiness Committee. Yes, there is such a committee. And yes, happiness = food. Especially at eight o' clock in the morning.)

But, I had about thirty muffins to carry on two plates. I ended up balancing the uncovered muffin plates on the palms of my hands, walking up to campus.

Did I mention there was a cat who was following me?

Yeah, this odd, stray cat came out of nowhere--no doubt enticed by the delicious-smelling muffins--and followed me for a little while, meowing for a muffin.

As I walked up to campus, I think I made everyone hungry. You know how it is--you have an eight o' clock class, you wake up late, and often you don't get breakfast. But here I was, holding plates of muffins like the goddess of the muffin harvest and torturing poor students with the breakfast they never had.

Poor students.

But happy co-workers.

The Happiness Committee strikes again.

Worst Case Scenario

In light of recent natural disasters—the tornadoes in the South, the earthquake in Tokyo, etc.—I’ve thought a bit about what I’d do if a natural disaster occurred here. (I might as well be prepared. There’s supposed to be a flood coming . . . well, any day, really. Kinda like the earthquake we’re due for. Except we have a better idea of when the flood will come.)

Well, since it’s true that “if ye are prepared, ye shall not fear,” here’s what I plan on doing if some big ol’ nasty natural disasters strike BYU:

·         Earthquake.

Possibility: Very likely. Problem is, it could happen tomorrow, it could happen in five hundred years . . . I just don’t know.

Game plan: Find a table to cower under. After I stop screaming, grab my 72-hour-kit (yay!), and head off to the RB with my roommate to raid the RYCL equipment room (it’s okay, we’ll return the stuff we take. Besides, my roommate works there so I’d just check the stuff out from her anyway.). Hike back to my house. This plan would work especially well in the spring or summer. So please, earthquake. No winter strikes.

Game plan B: To be honest, earthquakes terrify me. The shaking, the crashing, the aftershocks, the fires . . . yeah, not a fan. So, I have always secretly hoped that I’ll be in Kansas or Massachusetts (at either of my grandmas’ houses) when the “big one” strikes. But you never know. In a perfect storm scenario, the day the earthquake hits the Wasatch Front would also be the day when a monster tornado decides to sweep through Eastern Kansas, and the day Boston decides to fall into the sea. Pick your poison, I guess.

·         Flood.

Possibility: Again, very likely . . . especially for Salt Lake and Utah Valleys this year. However, I’m not too worried about BYU campus flooding. Or my apartment, for that matter. I live on the 3^rd floor.

Game Plan: Eh . . . if worse comes to worse, I’ll roll up my jeans and place some sandbags. And eat things from my 72-hour-kit.

·         Tornado.

Possibility: You never know. With crazy spring weather, anything can happen.

Game Plan: Bad news—there are no tornado sirens here (imagine that). Good news—there is a cellar in my apartment complex I’ll hunker down there and hope that I don’t get carried off to Oz. Or my 72-hour-kit, for that matter. I don’t want the flying monkeys to eat my granola bars.

·         Hurricane.

Possibility: Not even.

Game Plan: . . .

·         Tsunami.

Possibility: Again, not gonna happen. Although, you never know. If Utah Lake decides to get a little rowdy one day . . .

Game Plan: Pray. Super hard. And hang onto my 72-hour-kit.

·         Blizzard.

Possibility: Could happen. But if it’s anything like the blizzard of 2010, I’m not going to worry.

Game Plan: Survive on my 72-hour-kit and canned goods in the pantry. Cover myself in blankets and every sweater I can find. Try to act like this woman:

See that woman? She is tough. 

 There you have it. My (somewhat sarcastic) preparation for natural disasters.

There are two morals of the story here:

1. I’ve decided that my 72-hour-kit is awesome and will help me survive almost anything.

2. Frankly, you probably don’t want to be with me when a natural disaster strikes. So, good for all of you, bad for me. I kinda have to live with myself. 24/7.

Out of curiosity, what natural disaster scares you the most? 

Run Like the Wind

Don't you love it when you wake up five minutes before you have a German oral exam on campus?

Yeah. I love that, too.

I didn't even hear my alarm go off this morning, so when my roommate woke me up, asking when my exam was, my heart sunk. It was 8:58 and my test was at 9:05. I've never jumped out of bed so quickly in my life.

I didn't even put on a new shirt. I just kept my pajama shirt on, pulled on some jeans, threw on my coat, tied my shoes, and then flew out the door.

Oh boy, did I run. Sometimes if I'm late to an appointment I'll run in spurts/speedwalk so that I don't attract too much attention to myself. But I didn't care this morning. I just ran. I ran until I was halfway up the hill and was panting so much that I had to stop and catch my breath. And then, when I got to the crosswalk at the top of the hill, I started running again.

My appointment was on the 3rd floor of the JFSB, but I did not want to take the stairs--I was pretty sure I would collapse. So, I waited for the elevator, standing next to a girl who looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement. I thought about asking her for the time, but then the elevator opened and I was too concerned with pressing the "3" button.

We rode the elevator in relative silence, except for the sounds of my panting. Wheeze, out. Wheeze, out.

The girl got off at level 2. As she left she said, "Have a nice day." Yup. Pretty sure she was pitying me.

I ran through the carpeted halls of the JFSB to my professor's office. I made it there at 9:07--just two minutes after my assigned time. I felt really proud of myself. And really exhausted.

There are many things that I'm grateful for from this experience:

1. Roommates who look out for me.

2. That the crosswalks were free of cars or bikes when I ran across them.

3. Elevators.

4. Kind Professors.

5. That I have a healthy body--healthy enough that I can run from my apartment to the JFSB in about five minutes.

I think I'll do it in heels next time.

Severe Weather Warning

Today I got about half-a-dozen with that message--"Severe Weather Warning"--from texts, phone calls, and e-mails telling me that a severe blizzard is coming our way.


It's about at the Point of the Mountain right now. And I'm kind of excited.


The best part? I got a partial snow day! Because BYU campus closed at 3, I didn't have to go to my last class. Instead, I'm at home, safe and sound, awaiting this "blizzard to end all blizzards." It's supposed to be the biggest storm since 2001. And I hope that people drive safely tonight. In fact, I hope most people that traveled today are already home.


I've never had a snow day before. I've lived in Utah for about twelve years, but I've never had a snow day. I've always wanted one, to go play outside in the snow and make snowmen and go sledding in our backyard and come inside for hot chocolate. It's fun to play in the snow any day, but it just sounds so much better to do on a school day.


Now I finally get a snow day! . . . well, a partial snow day, but I'll take it.


I'm breaking out the hot chocolate tonight.

The Sandman Strikes Again . . .

Dear BYU PKP-ers,

You know how I tend to have strange, unsettling--although funny--dreams? (Remember that one with conveyor belts and pineapples? Yeah, I do too.)

Anyway, I thought some of you might be interested to know that I had another one.

This time we were all a part of The Oregon Trail; we were acting out the computer game.

And I think we got attacked by a bear.

Don't ask me what I was eating before I went to bed. I couldn't tell you.

But, just for the record, you all looked really sharp in your 1840s get-up. We would have been good-looking pioneers.

Love,

Megan

Just Keep Swimming

Two finals today, four hours.

And then I'll party it up at the formal.

The deep breath before the plunge . . .

Ready, set . . . . GO!

Aragog

Warning: This post is not for the squeamish or the faint of heart. Seriously. If you don't like bug stories and/or have arachnophobia, you should not read this post. You have now been warned.

I don't think that I've mentioned the bugs here. But they're everywhere. I'm always finding them crawling on my skin, in my hair . . . it's really gross, actually. But you just can't get rid of them.

The worst are the spiders. I've seen some of the biggest spiders in my life here. They like to hide out in the bathroom. I get goosebumps just thinking about them. *Shiver*

Well, this afternoon, a daughter of Shelob decided to camp out on my bedroom ceiling. It scared me to see it up there, but I couldn't do anything about it, because I had to run to class.

When I got back to my apartment this evening, it was still there. Except it had moved to a different part of the ceiling. I was actually a bit relieved that it was still there. I know that sounds weird, but I was glad that I could see it, instead of being scared half-to-death that it was hiding out in my sheets.

So I decided to be brave and kill it. Except my version of bravery means throwing an old, empty contact solution case (which I had meant to throw out yesterday) at the spider on the wall, in hopes that it would move down just a bit so I could stand on a chair and then smash it with a cardboard cereal box.

Brilliant plan, I know.

But my aim's not very good. And when the case did hit close to the spider, the spider didn't even move. Or at least, so slightly that it didn't look as though it had moved at all. I threw the contact case at the spider at least a dozen times. And then, the spider fell down the wall and onto the floor.

I did what you'd expect me to do--I freaked out and tried smashing it with the heel of one of my pumps. Except the spider liked to hide in the corners of the baseboards, and I couldn't reach it. So I kept trying to scare it with my shoe so that it would move out into the open, and then smash it with something flat and heavy.

But the spider would have none of it and dashed off into a corner. I was too chicken to try and get it out, so I went over to Sarah and asked if she had any spider-killing tools. She grabbed two pieces of paper and then went over to the spider's "lair." She was going to get it to move out into the open (brave girl) and I was going to smash it with my flat and heavy object (a converter box).

We freaked out everytime the spider moved, but it was still running along the baseboards. Finally, Sarah prodded it just enough that it moved out onto the carpet. We were freaking out and moving away from it. I still had my pump and was hitting the floor frantically, trying to smash the spider.

And I did. A flood of relief washed over me.

And then Sarah started screaming. I thought it was because I had killed the spider and it looked really ugly on the carpet (it really, truly did. Yuck.). But then she cried, "Open up your sink! Turn on your sink! I need to wash my face!" She started splashing hot water onto her face, and then I realized: When I had smashed the spider, spider guts had splashed onto her!

Now it was my turn to scream. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!! So gross!!!!!!!! I felt so, so, SO bad. Sarah kept saying it was all right, but it's not! It's disgusting! Eww, eww, eww!!!!!

Anyway, there's the story. We killed Aragog. And it was probably the grossest thing that I've ever done in my life.

I'm still shivering all over. I hate spiders. "Why couldn't it be 'follow the butterflies'?"

Lost in London

This will be a long post. Just thought I'd warn you.

I flew out of Salt Lake on Friday, with stops in Chicago O'Hare and Newark. I was traveling with another BYU student, Jared Holloway. The layovers weren't supposed to be long at all (about one hour max for each--just enough time to get to the next gate and take a short rest), but something happened to our plane in Newark, and so we had an unexpected delay of 3 hours to deal with plane maintenance. The layover augumented the correlation I make between the Newark Airport and layovers. The last time I was there, we had a layover for 7 hours. Not fun. But Jared and I decided that we need to think of something to do for the 6-hour layover we'll have in Houston on the way back. I wholeheartedly agree.

We were supposed to fly out of Newark around 8 pm, but we didn't end up leaving until about 11:30 pm. So, we got into London-Heathrow about 11:00 am. I really enjoyed looking out of the window at the English countryside below. Beautiful.

We went through Customs quite easily in Heathrow, but when we went to get baggage, Jared's suitcase wasn't there. We're all hoping that he'll be able to get it really soon. I had my first experience on the tube (the London Underground), so that was exciting. Jared got the directions to the Youth Hostel, but the Jubilee Line that we needed to take to get to the Canada Water station was down for the weekend.

We were lost (I was REALLY lost . . . Jared at least could figure out directions a lot better than I could), but we did eventually (after a lot of walking, sweating, taking a lot of buses, and calling the Youth Hostel for directions when we were lost again), we finally made it to the Youth Hostel. Hurray!

A picture that I took on the bus of the Tower of London

A residential area of London (in which the Youth Hostel was located, and which we got to know quite well from walking about so much. :)

Me, after almost 17 hours of flying, tube-riding, bus-riding, and walking. Anywho, the rest of the day was quite nice after getting to the hostel. We walked along the Thames, which was nice. I also got to see Platform 9 and 3/4, which was awesome. I was so excited that I got to do that. I'm Harry Potter geek, so it made me all happy inside. :) We also saw Hyde's Park (which is a lot bigger than I expected), and watched the ending of the USA-Ghana game in a pub.

Well, I need to get ready for my first Cambridge class. (!) I'll post more about getting to Cambridge and Cambridge itself later. By the way, it's absolutely beautiful here.

Along the Thames

Platform 9 and 3/4! :)

The funny "Please Litter" sign at King's Cross. There are no garbage cans at King's Cross.

Hyde Park

The Youth Hostel