Hello, blogging world! This is my venture into a writer's blog, and so I think the best way to begin is with a story from today. New beginnings, new stories, new adventures. So read on to take a peek into the musings of my mind...
I am taking an English class that I absolutely love, but this morning, I overslept my alarm and was running behind. There is a detour by my apartment that makes getting to class on time really difficult, so I decided to take a shortcut I have tried a few times before. Speed walking down a grassy hill surrounded by trees is not a good idea. I looked up momentarily to see two handsome guys walking uphill, and I thought to myself, "See, other people take this route too!" I looked back down to notice that it was getting progressively muddier, and that is when I slid straight through the mud. I took a knee but popped right back up, determined to make it to class on time. Tim Tebow would have been proud. But then I caught a glimpse of my leg and shoe and realized I was covered in a thick layer of mud and grass. To add to this incredible moment, I could hear the attractive guys muttering obvious things like, "Oh, man, she just slid in the mud!" and "That sucks!" That is when I knew I had to give up and go home. There was no way I could go to class looking like that. Not even if I stopped into a bathroom and tried to clean it off. It smelled like embarrassment, and my red Toms looked like they had survived a muddy soccer game. I really had slipped in the mud.
There is this really lame feeling that washes over me whenever I have to miss class. It is a feeling of being lazy and unmotivated. I hate that feeling. I love school, in a weird 'I'm Hermione Granger!' kind of way. And I particularly love this class, my senior thesis writing course on Women's Folklore. I did not want to miss today. However, getting covered in mud and realizing I could not violate the professor's tardy policy is enough to force me to give up. I came back to my apartment and washed the mud off, all the while planning my e-mail explanation to my professor. The running water offered a soothing moment to remember that this was not the first time I had been late to school because I slipped in mud. In junior high, I was late one day and slid in a big patch of mud on the road to school. I covered my favorite pair of dark wash American Eagle jeans in a thick layer of mud. Being a true pre-teen, I cried as I pathetically trudged back home. I came home, changed my pants, re-brushed my hair, and my dad drove me back to school. This experience turned into a funny anecdote with my friends, but now that is happened to me twice, I think I want something more from it. (I should also add that I am proud to say that tears were not my immediate reaction this time.)
So here is what I have come up with: Sometimes, mud happens. It may be a normal day, with nothing but simple plans. It does not necessarily have to be a day with excitementand high hopes. It can just be a routine schedule, and then... mud happens. As much as this sounds like a simple, home-spun homily, it all depends on what you do with the mud. You can choose to let it ruin your day. You can be angry and curse Utah County for running sprinklers in shady areas, and in the morning no less?!? You can rant about professors who have tardy policies and feel the need to control their classroom like a high school is run. Or, you can take the time to calm down, wash off the mud, and then take a day to yourself. Start a blog that a kind friend suggested, eat the breakfast that you skipped, and catch up on some reading to get ahead of the weekend. Mud happens, but life moves on. And that is the musing of a marvelous me. :)
Please subscribe to my blog, as I hope to make my posts a common occurrence. I would also love any comments or thoughts on my experience. C. S. Lewis said, "We read to know we are not alone." Well, right now, I would love to read that I am not the only one who has ever slid in mud on a normal day.
