Indecisive.

I'm super-duper indecisive. So this is the other lyric essay that I wrote, but was too busy to finish. I'm unsure whether I like it more than the lyric I posted for class. So. Yup. 

Facebook Post: November, 2012

Miss Amanda,

I am the oldest in my apartment this semester, this is the other girls' (there are 5 of us) first semester. Two of these girls are getting to be incredibly close and always talking about how weird their similarities are. They always talk about how odd it is that two people can be so much alike but be raised so differently. Whenever they talk about it I just say, "Yeah, I understand," because that's how you and I are. I explained that almost the exact same thing happened my first semester to you and me. It was definitely not a coincidence that people like them and like us are (were) put together. I miss you and love you so much!    

~Carly Houze

            September, 2011: For two days, I had gotten to know Missy and Suzanna. I’d already learned that Missy was gutsy and outgoing and that Suzanna was homesick and shy, and that they would probably be decent roommates. But our last roommate, who was expected to walk in our apartment any minute now, was a mystery. We only knew she was expected to arrive Saturday morning. We examined her Facebook profile picture, which was just a close up shot of her making a funny face, and tried to make predictions of what this girl from Cincinnati might be like. Our guesses weren’t even close.

             Carly thrusts the door open, and immediately begins giggling and asking questions and placing boxes on our family room floor. “Oh! Mom, I think it’s cute. Do you think it’s cute? Because I do. I think it’s really cute.” I’m surprised by her short, spiky, slept-on hair and the sweater she wears, with its collar cut with scissors, so that it shows off one of her shoulders and her bra straps. I step forward and pretend to sound confident as I announce, “I’m Mandy, and I’m just so excited to get to live with you.” She smiles at me, shoots her hand forward, and begins vigorously shaking my hand. I pry her hand off of mine and attempt to make a gleeful noise to match hers, but mine sounds more like a sick cat.

            “Hey, cute outfit by the way.” She says as she surveys me up and down, before running out of the apartment to grab more boxes to unpack. I stare down at my plain, modest t-shirt, and my worn-out keds, marveling what she could’ve found cute in this. My head shoots back up to see Carly, carrying a load of boxes, purses, and scarves, too large and cumbersome for anyone of her short, tiny stature to hold, across our apartment. “Oh. I’m just fine! I may not have slept in three days, but I can definitely carry this.” Carly shouts from underneath the blankets that have now fallen out of the box and onto her head. I shake my head, and quietly escape into my bedroom, where I close my door shut.

Facebook Post: Mid-September, 2011

"I miss Mandy." Every other week this is the mindset of all of us. Mandy, I think the only reasonable solution would be for you to just stop leaving :)

~Carly Houze

Two weeks later, I unclick my seat belt and burst out of the car before it’s even put into park. “Thanks for the ride!” I shout to my driver, as I run to the back of her car and begin rummaging through her trunk to retrieve my things. I hear the girls who are also carpooling home from BYU-Idaho giggling from inside the car, whispering snippets about “freshman girls” and “first visit home” and “homesick”, followed by another round of laughter. I don’t care what these girls are saying. Honestly, they’re completely right, but I don’t even care. My first two weeks of college were nearly hellish and I would’ve gladly chopped my leg off, or sold my little brother, among other drastic actions, to ensure a ride home. I wave the gossipy carful of ladies goodbye as they pull out of my driveway, and grab my backpack and duffel bag before eagerly running up the driveway to my house.

            Mom and Dad open the front door before I get to the top of the driveway, and meet me on the front porch. Dad gives me a quick hug, and takes my things, as Mom squeezes me tight, exclaiming, “It’s so good to have my girl home!” I laugh, and try to push myself out of her suffocating hug. “It’s good to be home.” I say, exhausted. Mom immediately senses that the pleasantries are done with, and that it’s now time to “get down to business.” Mom puts her hands on top of my shoulders, crouches down a little so that her eyes are level with mine and asks the relatively simple question, “So. How are they?” Suddenly I’m sobbing…hysterically. I keep gulping, and fumbling over my words. Mom nods her head, trying to appear supportive, though I’m sure she probably wanted to laugh at my emotional breakdown. Finally, I choke out, “They’re just so…so…Oh, Mom. They’re just so…WEIRD.” And I begin to cry again.

Facebook Post: July 2012

"Dearest Carly,

I just think that you are fantastic in every way. I'm so glad that I have a friend like you who shares my love of obscure '40s singers, smiley face fruit snacks, and Disney films. Hope you have a fabulous birthday! Miss you and love you:) "

~Mandy