I realize that I have not been giving enough updates for my few (one?) readers. I have got 0 feedback for the new journal idea, so it has been being neglected as well. I thought it was a cute idea, but I tend to be a little too enthusiastic about such things.

In other arenas, my enthusiasm pays off. I have finished yet another masterpiece of fabric. I still have about five months until Halloween, so I could make other options for the base of a costume between now and then. We'll see.

Last night, my husband and I had dinner with some friends. I thought I was the only person in the world who felt five or more side dishes were necessary for happiness. Surprisingly, despite trying all of the side dishes, I woke up this morning and weighed less than yesterday. I guess it is a good thing I didn't allow myself to eat the ice cream I was craving despite that big meal.

After all of my food-related fun, I did manage to accomplish quite a bit today. I finished a personal sewing project of scarlet proportions, got another project well underway, and even washed some laundry. I always find having that completed projects bring a smile to my face. They also have been historically beneficial for getting my house in order. Besides, it's not like I have anything else to do, right?

Maybe if I post early enough, I can bring the good news to other donut enthusiasts. In memoriam of Donut Day, or Bella Happiness Day, Dunkin Donuts (notice a lot of d's involved--so me), one can get a free dreamy, delicious, delicate donut with the purchase of a beverage. The good news is that this applies to hot chocolate as well as coffee. I made sure of this before placing my order. They offered me coffee anyway. I think they may have wanted to see the mingled looks of fear and disgust on my face as they tried to confirm my order. I am a little put out that they didn't offer me whipped cream on mine, but I came home and fixed the problem.

So what else am I doing as I enjoy my cost effective breakfast? I am psyching myself up to look at old handwriting samples. The teacher in Relief Society talked to us about something, so I thought I'd give my database skills a try. They are still good. My ability to read old handwriting is questionable, however. I guess since I am volunteering, they can't be super upset with me if my work isn't absolutely perfect.

Also, if my few readers could give me feedback on a few things, that would be good. A) What did you think of my new blog. B) If I were writing a novel, how much would you pay to read it? C) Would you be willing to read it in installments? D) Are you out there?

As I adjust to my new world, I sometimes reminisce about the wonderful parts of the old. I find myself remembering sitting on a desk chatting with a friend during lunch. I remember opportunities to be heathens by going somewhere with a friend when most people believed I had to be someplace I didn't feel I needed to be. I remember piles of microfiche, rubber stamps, and birthday donuts. This last reminds me that I cut and ran just in time. My coworkers lost the love for birthday donuts shortly before I deserted the ship. It probably has something to do with being healthy. Who says donuts aren't healthy? Not me.

So I have come to the realization that I may need an intervention for my journal addiction. I purchased three more journals today on my small shopping spree. I have to admit that three for ten sounded better than one for six. My husband agreed. In fact, he pointed it out to me. I have to love a man who encourages my delinquency.

I swear that my third journal will have a real post sometime soon. I am not sure how many posts it will have. I am finding that a lack of feedback makes my journaling seem more like narcissism than entertaining others. I never was much for preening in the mirror. This is obvious most days by my lack of desire to wear what other people want to see me in. It does happen from time to time, but that is just a fluke.

So what will I do with my new paper journals? Write all those thoughts that can only be said properly if my hand cramps up from writing longhand. Make long lists of things that are too awesome to completely be shared with the internet. Write myself an actual love letter instead of what I traditionally call love letters until they are almost finished, which is when I decide they suck.

At least I can see my flaws, right? If I don't recognize them, how can I make them go away? Anyway, to bedtime and beyond... Did I mention that I look forward to meeting Mr. Pricklepants when Toy Story III comes out on DVD. (I feel no shame in admitting that I don't care to pay the price for sitting in theater chairs without moving much because my shoes are stuck to the soda slime on the floor.)

"Early to bed, early to rise..."

Ben Franklin's words never quite got through to me. I tried to be productive last night, but my muse only rested at my side for about a half hour. Apparently, it is just as hard for me to complete a short story as it is to slog my way through the million novels in my head to find pieces of one. In order to prompt myself to post to journal number three, I actually started looking through old stories I wrote for my creative writing class back in the day. This led to me obsessively reworking the second one, but the first got posted. Now the question is, does anyone read this anymore?

To begin, one must find a way to completely waste a morning. No one knows how to do this better than a car dealership. As my husband's car was due for a check-up, I bolstered my courage and drove it out to the car doctor. How could this torture me? First, I spent three hours waiting. This would have been torture enough if I hadn't had the wisdom to bring a book.

Add sitting and waiting to the joy of other people sitting and waiting and you begin to understand torture. The first couple of people were fairly benign. One of them kept staring at me like I was interesting. I finally decided he was just jealous of my book since that seemed to be the focus of his gaze. The other had her own book which she was studying industriously. Then some more people arrived. One guy kept talking quite loudly for about a half hour. This would have been less annoying if he didn't come stand behind me like he was reading over my shoulder during this time. His chorus was soon joined by another lady who wanted to talk loudly on her cell phone as well. As she was sitting in front of me, my ability to focus on my book was affected.

They did provide us with donuts, so all could have been forgiven. They even assured me that the airbags were now working properly. This does not, however, appear to be the case. The flattering light tells me that I am still too light to register. I guess I can't be blamed for trying.

I finally made the shortbread thumbprint cookies I have been meaning to try though, so sugary happiness makes almost anything bearable. I have even managed to stay away from the black kitty who is sleeping on our picnic table. I tried barking at it to scare it away, but it saw through my bravado. A cat lady is always a cat lady after all...

"Remember that each of us is being tested, just as the finest cars and planes are tested before they are put into service. They are tested for weaknesses; they are tested for flaws. Can you stand the test? At the bar the Judge will not look us over for medals, degrees, or diplomas, but for scars." - Hugh B. Brown

The most tremendous gift that anyone can give is love. We can spend hours and hours searching for the right gift in a store, but we'll never quite find it.

Between my three journals, I put a lot out there that doesn't seem to get to anyone. I can understand why no one reads this journal anymore, of course. I don't do much of interest most of the time. I mean, who really wants to know that I clipped my toenails again today? Even I don't care to take stock of that.

This weekend was a little more interesting than most. My husband and I got into the car and drove across four states for fun. We stopped to visit with my mother first. If we don't drop in on her, she tends to keep calling again and again regardless of being told we'll let her know when we're on our way to her house. She even called in the morning despite having been clearly informed we wouldn't be arriving until the afternoon sometime. Sadly, parentals can only be so amusing.

We also stopped to have dinner with what my husband dubbed my "Hayride friends". Despite this association, one of them seemed surprised to find that I was wearing a Halloween shirt. I must not see these people enough if they think this is bizarre behavior. They should know better than to be surprised that I think of every day as Halloween, shouldn't they?

According to my scale, I spent the rest of the weekend eating. Being a hobbit, I do love to eat, but I think I may have eaten one too many tasty treats this weekend. I wasn't inordinately hungry today. This is probably for the best, considering the fact that the almond butter I finally got around to trying was trying to vex me. It claimed I would not have to stir, but I spent quite a bit of time stirring and it was still kind of runny.

Once more my journal lacks excitement. But who knows? Tomorrow, I could get attacked by a duck or given an acorn by a squirrel. I don't know. I will know tomorrow, and if it is interesting, I'll even record it here, or I'll say that I posted something more amusing elsewhere. Also if you click on the ads, I will eventually get money, and if you post a comment, I'll know what you thought. Thanks for reading.

"We really are immortal in the sense that Christ's Atonement conquers death, both physical and spiritual. And provided we have so lived Today that we have claim on the Atonement's cleansing grace, we will live forever with God. This life is not so much a time for getting and accumulating as it is a time for giving and becoming. Mortality is the battlefield upon which justice and mercy meet. But they need not meet as adversaries, for they are reconciled in the Atonement of Jesus Christ for all who wisely use Today.

"It remains only for you and me to both seek and tender that forgiveness--to both repent and to extend charity to others--which enables us to pass through the door the Savior holds open, thus to cross the threshold from this life into exaltation. Today is the day to forgive others their trespasses, secure in the knowledge that the Lord will thus forgive ours. As Luke significantly recorded, "Be ye therefore merciful" (Luke 6:36; emphasis added). Perfection may elude us here, but we can be merciful. And in the end, repenting and forgiving are among God's chief requirements of us." ~Lance B. Wickman

My brain being what it is makes me a more interesting person. That is what I tell myself when I wake up in the morning and drag myself out of bed. That gets harder and harder. This is probably a result of the aforementioned brain continuously processing information. Sometimes it is hard to sleep when the little hamster in my head keeps putting new films onto the projector. I begin to dream before my eyes close. At least it is all very interesting.

Life itself is very interesting when one seems to have the ability to drive little creatures crazy. As I was finishing off a borrowed book (reading not writing--I don't play that way), I heard a loud bang from the sliding glass door behind me. I turned around to see a squirrel who had apparently thrown himself against the glass for attention. When I turned to look at him, he was standing on his back paws and staring at me intently. I hadn't fed the squirrels in weeks, so I have no idea why he joined the Bella fan club. Well, it could my animal magnetism...

After that excitement, I tried to work on another new story idea. It didn't go so well. I barely cracked 500 words, but I got two phrases that sound good to me at the moment. We'll see if this one keeps my motivation going.

I can't deny that I have always found drummers to be the most interesting members of the band (unless they're married, but that is another story). That would explain why I married a drummer. He's pretty sexy even without the drumset. Anyway, this train of thought came about as a result of last night's venture into the music scene. We went to see a friend's "symphonic wind band" perform in a semi-local theatre. It was fantastic.

We started the evening by meeting said friend's cats. Unlike the three squirrels in the backyard (Huey? Dewey? Louie?), they did not get sucked in by my charms. I may be losing my edge. It is probably for the best since it means I only brought the minimal amount of dander home with me.

Anyway, the music was rather excellent, as was the comedy provided by the conductor. I am not actually referring to way they wave their arms around expressively. We were also amused to see that Santa Clause seemed to be part of the band as well as a man who began shaking spit out of the parts of his French horn. Not to mention a nice drum intensive peace featuring a chant of "Mambo".

Afterward, we ventured out to the local Friendly's for ice cream. My taste buds were overly appreciative, but my waistline may not be. I am not sure yet.

Anyway, I added the links to my new blogs to my writing page and the top of this one for easy viewing.

Sometimes, you just have to take credit for your own mistakes. I know lots of people who want to take credit for what others accomplished (had quite a few offer to let me do 90% of the work for 10% of the profits and somewhere around 0% of the credit), but so few who will own up to making a mistake. I struggle to own up to my mistakes, but since I don't charge people for them, I guess it is okay if I take a while to do it.

For instance, I have come to grips with the fact that I have misled quite a few people to think I'd die without the light of their love. I never intended to do this, but people see what they want to see, and I can be too nice for my own good.

I also accept responsibility for some of the heartache I have acquired through friendships that definitely fit into the toxic variety. I have given numerous people opportunity after opportunity to prove me wrong when I already know that they are selfish or, worse still, self destructive. In some cases, they looked to me to fix things after they broke them. Of course, I can't do miracles so that never worked out.

I also hold myself fully accountable for the piles of fabric and books that are invading my home. I know I should probably seek counselling for these addictions, but my husband isn't complaining. If I keep them all tidy enough, maybe he won't notice we have no wall space due to the billions of shelves needed to house my collections.

Despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, I have no desire to take the blame for someone else's inability to do their job. I have this sinking feeling that the next time the buck gets passed my way, someone is going to be in for a nice tongue lashing...