Hmmmm.

Education and Training: Vocational/technical school; license

Salary: Median—$45,960 per year

Employment Outlook: Good

Definition and Nature of the Work
Funeral directors arrange funeral services and burials. They work in funeral homes, where bodies are kept until cremation or burial. Most funeral homes are small and owned by the funeral director. Some, however, have many employees. Funeral directors are sometimes called morticians or undertakers.

When funeral directors are notified of a death, they arrange for the body to be moved to the funeral home. They get the information needed for the death certificate and for the newspaper death notice, or obituary. They meet with the family of the deceased to discuss the details of the funeral service, including the selection of a casket. Funeral directors help the family to set the time and location for burial, arrange for a member of the clergy to conduct any religious services, and choose pallbearers. Once these plans have been made, funeral directors contact cemetery officials, the clergy, and the newspapers.

Funeral directors need to know about the funeral customs of various religious, ethnic, and fraternal groups. They must also be familiar with the laws dealing A funeral director is sometimes called a mortician or an undertaker. They need to know about the funeral customs of various religious, ethnic, and fraternal groups. They must also be familiar with the laws dealing with the handling of dead bodies. Since many funeral directors are also licensed embalmers, they may prepare the body for burial. They arrange the casket in a parlor and take care of lighting and flower arrangements. They stay in the parlor to greet and comfort the family and friends of the deceased and to make sure that the services run as planned. They also arrange transportation to the cemetery or crematorium for the family and pall-bearers. Funeral directors lead the funeral procession to the church or cemetery, where they may help direct the service. If burial is to be in another area, they oversee the preparation and shipment of the body.

Abby Holyoak Funeral Services and Inc

If you couldn't already tell, it's been a lottle difficult to focus tonight...
So for the better part of my shift I took an apptitude test for personality and career profiling.
After answering what felt like 3 billion questions (in reality 485), I learned that I am
~ Gregarious
~ Friendly
~ Assertive
~ With Poise
~ A Leader
~ Provocative
~ Self-Disclosed
~ Talkitive
~ Sociable
~ Intellectual
~ Concientious
~ ...

And more than that....

The 3 occupations I am most suited for are:

1. Funeral Director
2. Psychologist (clinical, school, or counseling)
3. Other counselors (educational, vocational, school, rehabilitation)

Funeral Director....

What does that even mean. Can anyone really see me as a funeral director?
Those poor people would probably kill themselves and join their relatives after suffereing through the funeral process with me.
Wow.
Bless my heart, I would be the worst funeral director in this world and the next.

I'm not sure if UVU offers a degree in Funeral Directives and Operational Procedures.
Either way, I think I'll stick to English and History Education.

Whoa baby.
Wow.

Goodnight, dear void.

WRITE. SPEAK.

WRITE.
WRITE ANYTHING.
WRTIE NOTHING.
WRITE IT ALL.
WRITE NONE OF IT.
WRITE.

SPEAK.
SPEAK WHAT YOU MEAN.
SPEAK WHAT YOU DO NOT MEAN.
SPEAK DIRECTLY.
SPEAK IN A CIRCLE.
SPEAK.

Sam

Once upon a time in a land far far away, there lived a boy. He was a handsome boy.
He was a prince. Or so they told him. He'd never felt like
a prince; always being told what to do
and where to go and just what he should be doing when he went. He'd never felt that his
life was his own. And now it was. It was a secret. One that ran to the very core of his existence.
He was no prince. If fact he was far from any kind of prince. They told him that princes were bold,
brave, and strong. They told him that princes grew up to be valiant Kings, nobly serving their
subjects with honor and valor and unwavering conviction. This boy was none of these things.
He knew nothing of valour and courage; of strenth or conviction. He really felt he knew nothing at
all. He knew this though - he was no prince. And he was running away. He was tired of all the lies,
all the secrecy; always pretending to be someone and something he was not.
He knew that the life he was living was no life at all. There had to be something
else out there. Something more than what he had now. So he packed up and left just before the break
of dawn. And he was gone. Never to be a prince again. Never to be told where to go and who to be.
He was his own. He learned to play the harp and played in an inn not 50 leagues outside his home kingdom.
And he made certain that no one knew he was once called, "your highness" and "prince". As he played,
as he lived, he learned of all the things he'd been told about. All that the
lessons and books had described. He married and had a few girls and learned what the word courage meant.
Living taught him that valour wasn't just for kings, it was for all people.
He learned that every boy could be a prince. What he thought he had to be in order to be a prince
had always been apart of him. He just hadn't known how to see it. It was as if the boy hadn't known
his own name. When he played then harp, when he went home at night, he knew his name.
One day the boy ventured back to his kingdom. Things hadn't changed much, but he had changed. He walked with conviction and honor; the look of bravery etched in his face and the gleam of boldness in his eyes. The King and Queen hardly recognized the boy who had left them so many years before. They had sent many valient Knights to look for the boy but none had ever returned with word of his whereabouts. When the boy had left, he'd been a boy. The boy returned now a prince and a man. They welcomed him back with open arms.

His fellow townsfolk had
always known that the boy was the runaway prince. And they'd known the boy's name all along.
They'd seen in him the prince he could have been and the man he always had been.
They knew he needed to find a way to see. They never called him "Your Highness" or
"Prince". They knew he would learn those names in time. They called him Sam.

Rome...Rome...Rome...

I'm finding that I spend a great deal of my time just thinking. Past, present, future... It doesn't really matter which of those I choose, thinking is done. I wish I were kidding when I say that some days I spend hours just sitting and thinking. Mostly I blame my adorable little sister for this past time. When Anne was little she used to not be able to sleep because she was thinking. No joke, she would spend a good hour or so starring at the wall, just thinking before falling asleep. She thinks and wonders about everything. When we were both younger, it used to drive me nuts. She had to ask questions about anything and everything all the time. Nothing was just accepted at face value. She had to know the why or how of it all. With growing into adulthood I have since ceased being annoyed with her inquiries and now admire the workings of her little mind. (Little - not noting the size but merely the age - comparatively - of her mind to my own or to ... the dinosaurs... ya, I should have stopped at dirt police.)I wish I didn't just accept the world around me but that I questioned and challenged it at every turn. Rome wasn't built in a day and hopefully there is still a chance for me to be like Anne.

Thankfully I now have a job where I get paid to do just that(...build Rome). Not that I get paid for the things I'm thinking because they are significant or profound... more that I now have the opportunity to sit in a cubicle for 8 hours, five of the seven days of the week. When I'm not studying or gabbing or otherwise filling my time, I just sit and think. My thoughts are sporadically interrupted by "Hello, thank you for calling Jitterbug"s but never for much more than 45 seconds. Then it's back to staring at Bekah's lovely colored pencil drawings and thinking more about:

my life and who it is that I would like to be someday,

or why it is that I'm currently in the emotional state that I am in,

or how it is that I've managed to screw up yet another set of relationships in my life without even meaning to or realizing it,

or which president was it that came after Jackson - Van Buren or Harrison?,

or which state is missing from the list this time - Mississippi or Kentucky?,

or who came up with the rules for naming bicarbonate sulfate and why is that the only organic compound I can remember?,

or why does the semi-creepy CS agent next to me have such a sexy voice?

or what do I need to bring on my trip to St. George?

or does semi-creepy CS agent man know I think his voice is sexy?

or where in the world DID my bandwagon go?

or how early do I really have to get up if I want to go to the gym tomorrow?

or why do I have NO desire to be in a relationship despite current situations being good and by all considerations the best prospects I've ever had?

or did Shopko have a matching necklace to go with those earrings and bracelet set I bought? Did I just miss it? What else can I wear with that? Pearls SO did NOT work!

...and so forth.

Now, I realize that this thinking isn't maybe as profound as some thinking, but I've come a long way.

Let's not lose focus here... Rome... Rome... Rome...

Ah phooey! It's all Greek to me anyways!

Goodnight, dear void.

East coast, Nevada

He laughed. It had been months since he'd felt this happy. He had known that the day would come when he'd finally be able to put things in the past but it had felt like an eternity to get to that place. So dumb. He still couldn't believe he'd gotten so upset. She hadn't meant what she'd said anyway so why did he have to make her feel so badly for it? It had been mostly his fault anyway. When you provoke a person into saying something, can they really be blamed for it? He'd been asking for it. And, boy, did he get it. It was the truth. They'd both known it the minute she'd let the words slip from her mouth. And then she was gone. For better or worse, they had stopped calling one another and eventually allowed themselves to drift apart. He might not even recognize her if she passed him on the street anymore. (He'd recognize her. How could he not?) And for what? A moment of stupid passion; aggression unmeant to hurt or linger permanently, like a scar on the beautiful face of their friendship. A friendship that was supposed to be so much more than just a friendship. And now... look where they were. Her - somewhere on the East coast and he - stuck in Nevada with no prospects of leaving and no ambition to follow the woman he secretly wished was still in his life. But she wasn't. Not today at least. And today was all he could live in. At least he could laugh again. He prayed she could too.

Feelings...Biznuz

Why your feelings gotta be all up in my biznuz?
I just trying to be friends and you go all whack on me?
What dat all 'bout?
Now we can't be no friends, dawg.
I say I no want to be lovers and you go a-wall.
Why your feelings gotta be all up in my biznuz?

Goodnight, dear void.

Disclaimer: I mean no disrepect to any reader. This is how my feelings chose to express themselves this evening. Please forgive. Peace and blessings.