Daydream believer

The way I see it dreams, and by dreams I mean the grand goals an plans we have laid out for our ideal futures, not the weird release of subconscious energy that happens when we were asleep. Anyway. They way I see it dreams are good for one of two things. Dreams either inspire and motivate us, helping us pick ourselves up by our bootstraps and strive for a better tomorrow thereby making it possible for us to make it through our trials and tribulations and hope for something more. Or. They confirm that life really is just one big shit storm and your are always going to be a disappointment even to yourself. I think that it's one or the other based on where we are and if life is looking up, sort of down, or really epically down. At any rate dreams are a thing most people have, and I am no exception I am here today to  detail my ultimate dream, the big one, where I want to my life to end up. That way when you check on me sometime in the future I can realize how little I've actually accomplished.

So lets jump ahead five years shall we? I'm 26, probably still super single, but totally rocking that single life. I'm an occupational therapist, have been for 2 years now. I'm working as a traveling occupational therapist. I move to a town, work for 6ish weeks, and then move to a new town. It's pretty bad ass. I get to see pretty much all of America this way, staying in all the hip cities, doing all the cool stuffs that there is to do in this fine country. I also have an impeccable wardrobe. And lots of friends, because talking to people and making friends has become easy and my social anxieties are all gone. When I'm not going and doing cool things with my cool (and by cool I mean witty, sarcastic haters of general society like myself) friends I am playing my bass guitar. Because I have a bass guitar, and can play it, really well. Now lets go a little farther into the future, say another 2-3 years in the future. I've settled down by this time. Somewhere really cool, like San Francisco, or Seattle, or somewhere west coasterly. I have a boyfriend/husband, who likes me quite a bit. In fact we are thinking of settling down and popping out rugrats. I am playing my bass guitar in a cool band, also singing backup vocals because that pesky stage fright thing is gone. I'm still an occupational therapist, but a stationary one, working at a school or state hospital helping the marginalized. I am also super duper in shape because I jog now, and like it. Aaaand scene.

Ok, There it is, that's my life dream. Don't mock me, or judge me if none actually happens. I mean if even some of it happens my life is going to be pretty awesome right? And now that all the blogging world that doesn't read this can bear witness to my dreams the pressure is on to actually achieve it. Ready... break.

It Runs in the Family

So as many of you may not know I am spending this summer with my dear younger brother Andrew. He has  job in Salt Lake, I have a job and school and a life in Salt Lake. It just made sense. Some people may be thinking "You're whaaaat? Jessica won't living with your brother create so much strife and tension in your life that you and your brother will eventually explode creating an impassible chasm in what was once a healthy and mostly working relationship? It's one thing seeing him when you are at home and chilling together when you are at family functions, but actually living with your brother? Are you insane?" Well, I probably am insane, but that's a whole other issue that is in no way dependent on my current state of familial cohabitation. Actually my brother and I get along really well. Either that or we are both so busy and see each other so rarely that we are able to repress our rage and hatred really well. But I think it's the former. I mean we hang out and stuff. He has met most of my friends, and he has no friends in the SLC so I have met none of his. It's a really good thing we have going. So good in fact that I have become inspired to jot down a list of things we both do really really well, probably because of genetics.

The duck face shows how cool we are

1. Taking naps, especially of the mid to late afternoon variety. Seriously we are both world class nap takers. I just got up from an hour and a half long snooze, and my brother is still in his room asleep. Yesterday he got up from a 3 hour rendezvous in dreamland thinking he had slept through the whole night. His disorientation was adorable. I don't know if this extreme napping has to do with lack of sleep, some sort of anemia, or a recessive hibernation gene that probably means we are related to bears, but we have this napping thing DOWN. Go team Swensen!
2. Looking alike. Apparently this is a thing, because whenever we go to some sort of public gathering people feel the need to mention it.  Comments like "wow Jessica you look just like your brother," or "are you two twins?" are totally normal and expected.  So expected in fact that I have planned witty my responses that go "yeah it's almost like we're related," and "yes we are, identical twins in fact." I personally don't see it. I mean sure we look like siblings but I wouldn't say that my brother is like a dude version of me, or I am like a chick version of my brother. Which I have heard, often, and have yet to figure out whether to be insulted. I've included a picture to let you decide, and to add color to this post. 
3. Blogging. I don't know if we both do this well, but, well, we do it. My brothers blog  "I live with my sister now" is his completely falsified account of our, or more specifically my, summer exploits. And I have this little thing. Just so we're clear I actually did have human friends over and don't know anyone named Ralph. But hey whatever makes him happy.
4. Being hilarious. Am I tooting our horn right now? Yes. But gosh darn it people find us amusing I swear. Seriously the words "funniest people ever" have been used to describe the comic stylings of the Swensen Siblings. I'm thinking we should go on the road.

And that's about it. Yup, at the end of the day my brother and I live together so well because we're funny bloggers who take long naps and look so much a like that the thought of harming the other person would just seem like self injury. Maybe it's not much, but it's what we have.

Humble Brag

Have you ever carried around a backpack loaded with rocks on some sort of hike, epic journey, or any sort of life travel? If you answered yes to that question, and you are not the evil almost step-mom in the Parent Trap, you should probably take a step back and think about the life decisions that led to you carrying around a backpack full of rocks. It's just not something people should do. Segwaying into where this literal question becomes a horrible metaphor I'm sure everyone has carried around some sort of emotional baggage. Don't worry, I'm not about to go tell you to confess and repent, or seek professional help or anything. I just felt it necessary to try and connect with my somewhat existent readership before focusing this blog post back on what's really important, me. More specifically the emotional rock backpack that I've been carrying around since I clicked the submit button on my application to the University of Utah occupational therapy program at the beginning December. You see, ever since that day I have been waiting with bated breath to hear my fate. Getting into the program was the plan. Not a plan, but THE plan. Failure to get into the program would mean... I don't even know. Talk about putting all my eggs in one basket. Or don't, because I think that would be an odd discussion, as the only eggs I have are in my ovaries. Anywho for months now I have basically been in high stress mode at all times. I've been oscillating between pushing down the anxiety fighting to over take my body and succumbing to anxiety and annoying all those around me with my fears. It didn't help that I had my interview at the beginning of February and was told I would hear back middle to end of March. That is not a time frame, that is a time giant archway that is chilling in the middle of Paris. In the last two weeks I have checked my email more than anyone not in a serious business should. Basically, what I'm saying is that I have been a mess. To all of those who have had to interact with me, I apologize, I'm sure it has been a trial, and I thank you for sticking by me. Fortunately for both my nerves and my already fragile social life all that has now come to an end. Because...

I GOT INTO THE OCCUPATIONAL THERAPY PROGRAM!!!!!!

When I said humble brag I actually meant not at all humble and all brag. Deal with it. So yeah, I got in. I can't remember being this happy in... a long long time. Happy and relieved and just yes. I mean sure, I have to stay in Utah for the next 2.5 years. But at the end of that I will be doing what I want and will be able to do it wherever I want. HAHAHAHA! Triumphant laugh!!!! I'm so happy that just thinking about the fact that my future is no longer hanging in the balance sets me a-dancing. And I decided to share my joy here. Because if I can't brag about myself on my own blog than what is the point of having a blog?

Look out world, my life now has direction, and nothing short of a very serious injury, a sudden love for dancing on poles, a failed background check and/or death is going to stop me.

I have a Confession

The time has come that I confess one of my deepest darkest secrets. I am in love...with Ke$ha. And not in an ironic, sarcastic way. And not the way that I love Rock and Roll High School. where it's ok to love it if you watch it with friends and family so you can laugh at how horrible it is. I genuinely like Ke$ha. I put on her music when I'm studying in the library. I rock out to her alone in the car. I can't get enough of her. Judge me if you want, but she's sleazy and catchy and speaks to my inner slut.

Seriously, how can you not fall in love?

An Analysis of my Social Ineptitude

Picture the average 20-something college kid. Got it? Ok. Now, picture their Friday and Saturday night. What are they doing? Probably "going out." Am I right? Lets say for arguments sake I'm right. Going out is kind of what college kids do. Out can be a number of different places; bars, parties, social events, a concert, a friends house. Out can even be staying in and inviting other people to come to you. One thing going out definitely does not involve is sitting in your bedroom, alone, reading books and watching some-what-less-than-legally downloaded movies on your computer. Which is what I do, pretty much every weekend. You think I exaggerate? I don't. If I am in Salt Lake there is an 96 percent chance that both my Friday and Saturday will consist of me in my room by myself doing not a whole lot. If I'm in Mapleton there is a 78 percent chance that either my Friday or my Saturday will consist of me in my living room, alone, doing not a whole lot. But why do I do these things? I'm young, energetic, mildly charismatic, and can hold my own in most social situations. I have friends, I guess. Why is it that I spend my weekends away from the excitement of the world and the company of others? That my good blog readers is precisely what I plan on working out today in this mildly psycho-analytic blog.

I could make excuses. I could say I have homework to do. Which is true. I always have homework. But I never do it on the weekends. Ever. I does not happen. I could say that I work a lot and am tuckered out by the time I get home. Also true. I do work a lot, and I am usually at least a little tired when I get home. But that's no good either because people who work longer and harder than me still get up and go out on the weekends. I could say that I just enjoy being alone with my thoughts weekend after weekend. This is true too. Once I'm in my PJ's all snuggled up in bed watching some horrible chick flick or catching up on TV, or reading a book I quite enjoy myself. It's relaxing, and gets my mind off things. But to say I prefer it would be a lie. Because there's always that moment. That moment right before I cast off my presentable clothes and crawl into my not-to-see-the-light-of-day clothes where I find myself pausing, hoping, waiting, and wishing that I would get a text saying "Jessica, come out and play! Come be social and engage in age appropriate activities with us!" Then the moment passes, I throw on my leggings and XXL men's long sleeved shirt and I get down to doing nothing.

But Jessica! You just said that every weekend you wish that someone would call you. That means you want to go out! You want to be social! You want to participate in the normal activities of your age group! Why don't you just call some friends and go out and party? That my imaginary mind companion is precisely the problem. I want to go out and do stuff, however I don't want to call people and put together a group to do said stuff. And it's not just laziness that prevents me from picking up the phone. It's fear. Yes you read correctly. I am afraid of calling people and asking them to hang out with me. Does that seem silly? It is, but it is also the unfortunate truth. The problem with me is that I am a pleaser. I hate feeling like I've disappointed people. So when I think about calling friends and asking them to hang out with me I am then bombarded with a thousand nagging thoughts. Thoughts like "what if they already have plans? You know what, they probably already have plans and then they're going to be sad that they have to tell me no and I don't want anyone to be sad." Or "what if they don't have plans but they don't want to hang out with me but feel like that have to. I don't want to be an obligation." Or "what are we going to do, what if what I want to do is lame, what if I can't produce an evening of fun?" All these thoughts and more whiz around my head crippling my desire to call anyone and forcing me into an evening of sweats, sweets, and back episodes of Doctor Who.

So what can I do about this completely irrational fear that any person I call and ask to hang out with me is going to have a miserable time in my company and then hate me forever? I don't know. Seriously, I have no idea. I guess I just need to put on my big girl pants and start calling people and making an effort at being social. But who wants to wear big girl pants when they can wear stretchy pants? I guess the moral of the story is, I have issues, and if you want to hang out with me you should text me or something. Because I definitely won't be texting you.

The Bird

Usually when one returns to one's place of residence after a period of absence, whether one has been visiting one's hometown to enjoy the holiday season or on has been in a psychiatric institution to enjoy mental instability, one expects one's place of residence to be more or less the same. Sure, some dishes will have moved, the fridge will be filled with different sorts of foods, etc. One does not expect to walk into one's living room/kitchen area to see a caged bird sitting on the counter. However that is exactly what happened to me when I walked into my house in Sugarhouse after a period of absence, I'll leave it to you the reader to decide whether I was home for the holidays or recovering from a lapse in my mental faculties. Thats right, there was a bird, more specifically a White Bellied Caiques, in a cage that was occupying a good percentage of the counter space that I use to prepare food on a nightly basis. A living, breathing squawking bird. In a cage. On the counter. In the place that I live. Whaaaaaat?

Needless to say, I was not, and am not (as the owner of the bird has yet to relocate it), ok with the current situation. I don't like birds. On a good day I think that they are creatures, who look alright off in the distance, and who can fly which is pretty neat, as long as they don't get up in my bidness. On a bad day I think birds are dirty, ugly, stupid creatures who exist to fill their bellies with annoying bugs and seeds that need spreading and to fill my belly with their meat. On a really bad day I think that they are Satan's messengers that will one day band together and attack the human race in a relentless and merciless fashion. Thank you Hitchcock/Du Maurier. Why anyone would want to own a bird is beyond me. However, I can accept that there are people out there who don't mind keeping deranged psycho killers in waiting in their home. It's a personal choice, and people have the right to make it. As long as those people don't keep their winged rats ON MY COUNTER! Seriously, it's gross. I believe it is molting right now, and it isn't the neatest of eaters, or defecators. As a consequence I can't use my counter to do anything for fear of getting bird e coli or something. Also it's loud. Every morning as I stumble blearily up the stairs it greets me with a piercing noise that never fails to scare the bejeebers out of me. It has also been shrieking incessantly for the last 45 minutes. The walls are thin. It is annoying. I hate it.

Basically the point of this is to say, I don't like birds. I just don't. I really don't like birds in the place where I'm living. If however there has to be a bird in my place of residence I don't want the bird to be positioned where it renders my counter space unusable, and annoys the hell out of me. I want it in a private room where I don't have to see it, or think about it attacking me in the night. And if things don't change in the very near future either the bird or I is going to meet a very unhappy end.

Sleep is a finicky mistress*

I hereby declare that I have the most delicate sleep cycle ever. Ok maybe not ever, but it's pretty darn sensitive. If I drink caffeine after noon, I don't sleep. If I'm stressed, I don't sleep. If stressful events have just passed and I am filled with relief, I don't sleep. If I take a nap, I don't sleep. The list of things that disturb my slumber go on and on. If any of the afore mentioned things happen, instead of sleep I lie in bed for ages trying to fall asleep whilst my mind zips about at a bafrillion miles an hour. (How British was that sentence?) And then if I do get to sleep it's that weird half sleep where you wake up after every dream and have to repeat the whole process all over again. It is not an enjoyable experience. Even worse is the experience the day after one of these nights of no sleep. See without enough sleep I turn into kind of a bitch. And by kind of a bitch I mean I turn into a super bitch. It's not happy. I basically want to punch everyone in the face, with a chair. I'm grumpy, I'm short, I'm emotional and irrational. It's not a pleasant experience for anyone. And as I'm being a totally horrible person to everyone around me I hate myself, but I can't stop myself. I don't know why I feel the need to share this besides the fact that I had one of those night/days today. And it was awful. And if I hurt anyone reading this with my sharp tones and unpleasant scowls I apologize. It's not you, it's my lack of deep sleep.

*Credit for the title of this post go to Charles Burnett