"I MIGHT HAVE BEEN ASLEEP WHEN I WROTE THIS"

This isn't about how I quit college. And it's not about my mom telling me to go back in January. It's not about getting a degree. It's not about an income difference of $30,000. It's about me.

It's about the heart palpitations I had the night before I left, and it's about the fact that my roommate was tossing and turning all night and then telling me that she slept "fine". 

It's about being real. It's about waking up in the middle of the night and asking myself why I was there. What was I even thinking? It's about the sister who went to college for a year and is now a mother and a wife with no degree. It's about how she is okay.

It's about my #realtalk final and how Nelson told me that I probably wouldn't go see the world. It's about how on the inside I was like, "UHH WTF." But on the outside I was just like, "uh". It's about how I want to go to Milwaukee. 

It's about my Call to Adventure. It's about the Phantom of the Opera lesson and how we had to choose Art School or Business School, and how there wasn't another option. Well I just made one. This is about the Do Whatever You Want School.

This isn't about winging it. It's just about me doing what I want and everyone else minding their own business.

7.18.14

I wrote for myself today.

I sat down and I wrote.But in an effort to write for myself and not for the comments, I'm keeping it for me.I feel good about it.This has been long over due, but I don't know I felt like today was as good as any day to start something good, you know?

This is progress.And I am pumped.

CHEAP PANIC ATTACKS & DISHES

I went to Ikea with my mom the other day to buy dishes and forks and knives and pots and pans and etc..

Mom: Honey, which strainer do you want? This one is only $3.
Me: OH MY GOSH MOM PUT IT ALL BACK I CAN'T HANDLE THIS RIGHT NOW.

***WHEN YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR YOUR OWN COLLEGE-STUFF/ADULT-LIFE-STUFF IT'S HARD TO NOT STRESS OUT AND HAVE PANIC ATTACKS.***

Right there in the middle of Ikea, I had a bonafide panic attack. Because like people need so much for college/life. I'm so cheap that I only bought one plate and one bowl and one mug. My mom told me that I should at least get two and I was just like MOM I CAN'T AFFORD TWO PLATES when in reality I probably could but I just couldn't handle buying two plates when I'm single and not really ready to mingle.

And then we went to go pick out some utensils and I was freaking out again because I had to buy four forks/knives/spoons because that's what came in a pack and tbh that's so annoying.

Mom: What else should we get today?
Me: OH MY GOSH MOM PUT IT ALL BACK I CAN'T HANDLE THIS RIGHT NOW.
Mom: We can come back.

Oh my gosh I can't commit to dishes. 

You're the caboose to my train of thought

I'm exhausted and I don't know if I'm just not recovered from the four hours of skating at the all night party yet or if I'm just tired from working 35 hours last week.

And I'm quite upset that 35 hours doesn't count as full-time, not because I need benefits or anything but because every time I pick up my phone I find myself answering"Fitness Center this is Sammy how can I help you?" And I think that's important.

When I was introducing myself to my roommate via email I had to pause and ask myself what I wanted my name to be in college. Because anyone named Morgan can call me Sammy, and anyone named Mary can call me Samantha so what would people in college think about Sam? 

But I don't know how my name will sound in college, so I just went with Sam, because it's only one syllable and I like that.

I imagine this whole "roommate" thing is probably what an arranged marriage feels like. I wonder if girls get their future husbands name in an email. And I'm wondering if maybe they stalk those men via social network.

I wonder if my future roommate has stalked me. And I'm now sort of regretting  all the pictures I've posted of myself eating food. 

But only a little bit because like me eating a hot dog at work while telling people to have a good workout was so ironic and irony is my favorite.

Speaking of irony, I feel like compared to all of you I am so immature (I definitely googled how to spell "caboose"). But all the pictures on instagram and twitter of you kids in washing machines today have got me questioning that. 

Mostly because I've been doing my own laundry since sophomore year, so to all of you I say: good luck in college, I hope you've learned to separate your whites from your red socks.

A LIST OF ALL BOYS I HAVE EVER HAD A CRUSH ON

#realtalk

(In no particular order: a list of boys I have, at some point in my life, had a crush on.)

• Hunter (I can't remember a last name?)
• Erik Ostrom (what girl didn't?)
• Matthew Solomon (just because he loves fishing)
• Tyler Hunt (his school spirit though)
• Cole Walton (seventh grade)
• Jace Gibb (duh)
• Grant Lyman (duh)
• Karl Anderson (pre-Loni phase)
• Hudson Schmucker (the classroom video)
• David Jensen (chemistry, literally)
• Matt Carter (his taste in music is just wow)
• Connor Bush (like he's just cool)
• Connor Bartlett (the hair)
• Garrett Lewis (the hair/jawline)
• Jed Thunnel (the hair/overall coolness)
• Roah Besinger (the hair/poetry)
• Jake Irving (too nice toooooo dang nice)

This was fun (weird).

Stay Gold Boys.

LETS TALK ABOUT HOW I'M OVER YOU BUT MY SUBCONSCIOUS ISN'T AND HOW THAT'S SO ANNOYING

You were in my dream a few nights ago,

And since then I can't get you out of my head.

I've been trying for a year now to put what happened to us into words.

But I tell you what--it is so hard.

Not because it hurts,

Or because there's too many feelings.

I'm having such a hard time writing about you

 because I'm trying really hard not to say the word douche anymore.

I'M A PEACH

There's a Pit in my stomach that no one wants to deal with.

I'm not sure if its there because I only have 5 days to finish that online PE class that's required for me to graduate,

Or if it's the fact that I might not graduate.

Or it's there because I'm probably going to graduate.

It's also very possible that its there because I'm worried about all the attendance schools I have to go to because I hate going to school.

But I only went to half a class yesterday.

So The Pit must not be that important if all it takes is two girls, one red jeep, and thirteen books to make me forget that it was even there.

stay gold,

(and peachy)

suzy e.

THINGS I H8 < U

standardized tests.

petty fights and miscommunications.

public bathrooms.

spilling ketchup on a white shirt.

the ACT.

cats.

bell-bottoms.

waking up early.

tomatoes.

voldemort.

sun burns.

blisters.

spinach.

squirting lemon juice in my eye.

breaking a bone.

getting hit by a car.

skydiving without a parachute.

stubbing my toe.

losing monopoly.

obama.

taxes.

burnt pizza.

space cats.

winter.

the end of Fault In Our Stars.

being punched in the face.

ripped pants.

school.

your trendy shoes.

your pretty little bangs.

your ex-boyfriend's nose ring.

that level of candy-crush i can't get past.

what happened in november.

how long it's been since i've seen him.

how much you don't care.

H8 U.

over it,

suzy e.

MIND THE GAP[S]

I had a gap in between my teeth as a child.

Not the, "Oh my, how chic of your teeth" kind of gap,

But a "Oh my, you look like a walrus" kind.

My parents/orthodontist decided to close that gap.

But I've found that since that one gap has been closed,

twelve more have opened.

Gap #1: the gap between me and boys, I actually can't flirt to save my life.

Gap #2. the one that teenage angst has put between my parents and me.

Gap #3. the one between where I am and Peru.

Gap #4. the 20 minute gap between where I was a year ago, and where I am now.

Gap #5. the gap between me and happiness (high school).

Gap #6. the gap that was between me and people I thought were my friends.

Gap #7. that gap that was there a year ago in third period.

Gap #8. the gap between where I am now (my bed) to where I want to be (my fridge).

Gap #9. the gap that is between me and my diploma (online P.E.)(also sleep).

Gap #10. the gap between me and college ($$$$$).

Gap #11. the one that separates me from my friends who like me (work).

Gap #12. the gap that allows me to waste hours on end (depression, probably).

But there was one other gap that closed, once.

The gap between my head and your chest.

The gap between your arms and my shoulders.

The gap between your heart and mine was a lot smaller on 

July 21.

It was practically non-existent.

I would be willing to let all previously mentioned gaps 

double in size,

If we could only have another 5 seconds on July 21.

STAY GOLD,

SUZY E.

I'M PROPOSING TO YOU.

If you claim to hate Valentines Day, I probably don't like you.

If you post and/or say the words "Single Awareness Day" chances are, I hate you.

Valentines Day isn't a day to wallow in all of your singleness, okay?

IT'S A DAY TO FREAKING LOVE PEOPLE.

Do you have a problem loving people? Your family? Your friends? 
If you answered "yes" to any of the above questions you probably have daddy-issues or something.


Seriously though, the term "Single Awareness Day" is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Because for all of us single people (AKA ME) every time I see a couple I suddenly become very aware of my singleness. 



I'M PROPOSING TO YOU. (just for Valentines Day.)


Okay, so it isn't so much a "proposal" than a "proposition", but it still counts.

PROPOSITION: YOU LOVE EVERYONE TOMORROW AND WEAR RED AND PINK AND GIVE EVERYONE A VALENTINE AND YOU DRAW LOTS OF HEARTS AND YOU TELL EVERYONE YOU LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THEM.


Now, do you think this proposition is too much for you?

If you answered "Yes"---Well then you suck, but I will still love you tomorrow.
If you answered "No"---Good for you I love you all the days.


You can go back to hating people on February 15. But in one hour you're required love everyone, okay?


Love you,
Stay Gold,
Suzy E.

THE IRONY

Let me just preface this post with this: I do not cry in movies. 

I didn't cry in Titanic when Rose let Jack sink to the bottom of the Atlantic.

I didn't cry when Whatshername in A Walk to Remember died after her and Thatoneguy got married.

I didn't cry when Allie and that old man who was supposed to be the old-man-version of Ryan Gosling somehow miraculously died together in the same night in The Notebook.

I DO NOT CRY IN MOVIES.

But I watched Captain Phillips tonight.

And it wasn't that he was held hostage that had my tears flowing, or the fact that [SPOILER ALERT] those Navy Seals shot all three men at the same time and no one even cared that Captain Phillips was splashed with their blood. It wasn't that he was blindfolded when those three died, and it wasn't that he heard those gunshots that were followed by silence and with blood in his mouth cried out, "What was that?!" 

No, no my tears came after that. 

It was when he gets to the doctors and they're trying to fix him up, 
and it was the way he couldn't form a coherent sentence 
and it was that he looked so broken. 

But mostly I cried because no one was giving this man a hug. I know that sounds dumb. But honestly? This man has been held hostage, and he was beaten, and he almost died.
      AND NO ONE COULD GIVE THIS MAN A HUG. 

I know this is just a movie but actually no it's not. Because this happened five years ago. And I don't know if anyone actually gave him a hug, but that's what got me.

The irony of me crying when someone is saved, and not when someone dies.

My life is ironic.

Okay, that's all.

Don't worry, it's going to be okay.

I tried, okay?

The night after the poetry slam, Friday night, I was laying in bed and thinking about all of you.
And my heart was aching a lot a bit.
And it was aching because you hate God.

So I decided to write a poem for you all.
But when I finished it, just right when I put a period to finish the last line of the last paragraph,
My phone died, and with it my attempt to bring you all to love God again.

This poem that I wrote for you, it would have made you believe in God again, I swear.

But maybe it was deleted because I can't be the one to bring you to Him again,

You have to do it yourself.

i want to travel the world not a campus aka real talk

On Monday September 30, at 12:04 AM I posted a piece of writing that I thought included all of my fears.

But I was wrong.

I'm not that afraid of drowning.
Ferris wheels aren't that high.
I'm not afraid for the end of the semester anymore.
And bones aren't something scary, they're something wonderful.

I've realized what I'm afraid of most.

I'm afraid of the world.

And not in the oh-my-goodness-what-is-this-world-coming-to way.
But in the HOW-ON-EARTH-CAN-I-SEE-EVERYTHING-I-WANT-TO-SEE-IN-MY-LIFETIME???? way.

There are so many places that I want to see.

I want to see the sun set on the Taj Mahal.

I want to see the moon shine it's light on the sand through the roof of the Forgotten Temple of Lysistrata in Greece.

I want to see houses of all different colors in Portugal.

I want to spend the night under the stars staring in wonder at the Northern Lights in Norway.

I want to feel the strength of an elephant move under me as it takes me across a river in Thailand.

I want to go see the pyramids at Giza and think about all those mummies.

I want to cross every bridge in Amsterdam, while wearing wooden clogs.

I want to zipline through a rainforest in Antigua.

I want to eat gilato outside of the Trevi Fountain like Lizzie McGuire did.
I want to see what a beach in Poland looks like.

I even want to see Milwaukee.

MILWAUKEE.

Have you ever met a person who wants to go to Wisconsin just to see Milwaukee??

I honestly just want to see everything.
And meet everyone.
And I want to put a pin in the map everywhere I go.


But unfortunately the world doesn't work like that.
Life isn't a beach.

And you can't decide you want to go travel the world,

because apparently you need to spend too much money

and too much time taking classes that you don't even care about

ALL so that you can ease your mothers worried mind 

by having a degree even though just yesterday she said she thinks 

"real life experience is worth way more than a college degree."

(kthanksfornothingmom)

So instead of backpacking across Europe next fall, 
I'm going to be backpacking across Provo.

And instead of finding the quickest route from the Berlin Wall to the Swiss Alps,
I'll be trying to find the quickest route from the David O. Mckay Building to Helaman Hall.

Waiting until I can finally say

The world is my art school.

And I'm majoring in experience.

adios paris

You know those trips you take and you're like, "This is totally great, I'm going to write all about it when I get home so that I can remember it forever."

But as soon as you get home your mom is telling you that you need to unpack and give her all of your dirty clothes so that she can wash them and you need to let the dog out and you need to shower and then you want to go tell all your friends about your trip so you go and hang out with them and then you come home and go to bed and then its three months later and you remember that you didn't write about that trip so now you remember nothing.

This trip isn't like that.

This trip is full of time spent remembering.

Remember the way it looks like the world, and smells like hope.

Remember the way it tastes like ink, but sounds like a PG-13 movie.

Remember the way that you feel after another day in Paris. 

This is the place to become a free thinker, 

and then a free writer.

Remember how you feel here. 

Remember how you feel alive, how you feel like you're an artist, remember how your imagination used to be, remember how it feels to connect with strangers, how it feels to have your writing read.

Remember how you were hoping to get shot as many times near the end of the trip. ("THE SPREAD! THE SPREAD!") Remember how this was the first time in a long time that you want to hear all that a tour-guide has to say.

Remember to enjoy Paris.