Day Two Hundred and Seventy Nine - Shut Up, Shut Up, Please Just Shut Up

New Fall Resolution: I will not give my opinion on someone's life, or their choices, unless I am asked. Please, for the love of all that is good and sugary, do the same for me.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Eight - Life Is...

Life is walking on pavement in crocheted slippers. It is full of strange sensations. It hurts sometimes, but mostly it feels pretty good. It's oddly cozy and yet freeing because there's just some twisted yarn between your toes and the ground. Something about it makes you just want to slow down and appreciate it, the walk, the sounds, the feelings. You can feel the leaves crunch beneath you, not just hear it.

Life is getting thrilled at a random text message from an old friend. Life is crying because the feeling of freedom is overwhelming. Life is a whole lot of hyperbole. Life is missing someone and knowing its not the time to reach out. Life is knowing you have to do some things on your own even though it's scary. Life is learning that you have to wash your washing machine. Life is screaming at your checkbook. Life is keeping all your less than perfect crochet projects for yourself and giving them perfect ones away. Life is breaking up and never speaking again. Life is breaking up and laughing together a month later over a bonfire.

Life is making stupid decisions on purpose because some lessons need to be learned first hand. Life is not making other stupid decisions because watching someone else do it is lesson enough. Life is realizing you're the one person you know that's allergic to alcohol. Life is loving more people than you heart can hold, and adding more each year anyway.

Life is believing in fairy tales, even when your heart is broken. Life is being happy for someone else telling you the beginning of their happy ending and trying so hard not to be jealous. Life is refusing to fall back into safe and familiar arms no matter how hard it is to stand alone.

Life. Real life. Is choosing to not be afraid anymore. Well. Of choosing not to let fear stop you from really living.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Seven - Bubble Bath

I took a long bath yesterday. I sat with my neck up to the bubbles and soaked. I splashed in the water. I giggled. I put bubbles on my head. I sighed deeply. And suddenly felt a year younger and a hell of a lot less stressed. 

Water is soothing to the soul. It's necessary. It flows over you and takes with it all your cares and thoughts. It brings relaxation, and deposits peace. Water is so much bigger than you. There is so much of it. And that is somehow helpful to know as well. 

It's deeper than you, wider than you, both smoother and rougher than you. It brings wisdom in its hidden currents, and can turn you back to right after a number of wrongs. 

Conclusion: Need to find a place with a bathtub. I know it'll be next to impossible in the next year, or next few years, but someday, maybe when I am able to buy a house - it is an absolute must. And when I move to Des Moines, I must find a park or a lake or somewhere that has water for me.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Six - Things I Cannot Change

Once, a very long time ago, I had a boyfriend who went to Basic Training for the Air Force. This will become important later. 

There are certain things about myself I cannot change. No matter how hard I try, it's never going to happen. Being a talker is one of those things. I need to talk to communicate. Not always me doing the talking, of course. I'm all for listening. But the very act of talking to another person, face to face or via text. Personally, I'm half convinced God invented text just for me. It's perfect for my disposition. I prefer the written word over the spoken one, and this way it's instant rather than waiting for the post. But in all earnestness, it doesn't matter. Text, talk, face time, I need to communicate, and often with those I love. 

Don't get me wrong, it doesn't have to be a constant thing. I have so many people I love and deeply care about that if I tried to stay in constant contact with all of them my phone would give me the finger and roll over and die. The majority of them I can go weeks or months without talking to and then suddenly, in a fit of remembrance, a flurry of communication will happen as we get caught up. However, for those in my inner circle, communicating deeply and often is essential. 

Remember that whole, 'I dated a guy who went through basic' thing? That is important because even though he was locked away by the military and I couldn't talk to him, I wrote him a letter every day. Not a little note card. A Letter. Telling him what I had done, what I missed about him, what I had learned or thought or enjoyed. I told him about my good days and my bad. I told him how much I loved and missed him and what I was planning for us when he got back. It didn't matter that I couldn't hear his response, I knew he wanted to hear from me. And he did. Although it vexed his mother more than I could express, both of his calls home went to me. He told me how much he loved me, how much he loved the letters, how they helped him feel connected and loved and not forgotten. I'm not saying every guy is like that, but... I have to communicate. That I cannot change. 

I learned that over the last few weeks. I have so much to communicate, so much I want to hear and be heard. I need it. I need it. That is all. 

Two Hundred and Seventy Five - I Am More...

I am more than what I make with my hands. I am more than what I write. I am more than the thoughts I think about myself. I am more than where I live. I am more than who I date. I am more than my habits or hobbies. I am more than what I think I should be. I am more than where I thought I would be. I am more than my clothes. I am more than my style. I am more than my smile and more than my tears. I am more than my fear. I am more than my triumphs. I am more than what you think of me. I am more than my good days and more than my bad. I'm more than my virtue and vices. I am more than all of my parts combined. Because I'm me, I'm unique, and I'm alive, and each day is made of infinite possibility. I won't let anyone keep me down; including myself.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Four - One Perfect Moment

In the last week, I have had one perfect moment. There has been a lot of work, and a lot of working outside of work, and a lot of not sleeping enough, and a lot of hormones and emotions and facepalms. But yesterday, I was lucky enough to have one, perfect moment. I don't know how long it lasted, I think it was for almost two or three hours. I was in a big fluffy bed, eating a warm apple pie topped with crumble, sipping coffee, looking through a Christmas themed craft and recipe book, while listening to Christmas music, and sharing this perfect moment with a good friend. I was in heaven. I was perfectly and totally at peace, utterly relaxed, without a care in the world. For that moment, everything was perfect.

I think I need those at least once a week. Because lately, with all the change, and all the preparation going on with the change and for the change, I'm having a really hard time getting enough down time. I work all day at work, and then come home and work until I collapse in bed and haven't been getting enough sleep. But I also stress too much and have to remember that everything will get done and I just need to let it happen. This is a happy time, I haven't been this excited in years. I've just got to remember to take a break now and again, enjoy the life I lead, and remember why I'm doing all of this.

For me.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Three - The Incredible Mrs. B

This one is gonna hurt a little but try and stay with me. I've known Mrs. B for 6 years, long before she was Mrs. B. When people write about the term 'ethereal' I've always imagined they must be something like her. She's a waif of a girl if there ever was one. Rarely do I feel husky, but being around Mrs. B makes a mouse feel heavy. But the point isn't how small she is (and I don't mean short here, people, just waif-ish), it's about something I struggle to find words for. Mrs. B has an innocence about her that I've always sort of revered. Not that she's never done anything wrong or that she's some sort of blushing nun. No. She had a loser boyfriend in highschool, and too much drama her freshman year of college, but... even so, her innocence remained. Part of me has always... wanted to protect her. And some part of me... has always wanted her approval.

I'm laughing derisively at myself now, chuckling really, under my breath. Oh silly me. See, I saw her the other day, the incredible Mrs. B. She's blissfully recently married, well employed, and all around just enjoying life. She is everything a 24 year old ought to be. Did I mention she's also stunning? Yea, just in case I left that out, she's just breathtakingly gorgeous. And never more so than when she isn't wearing an ounce of make up.  Anyway. She's everything a 24 year old ought to be. And I... I am none of those things. I am not married, not even close, I do not have a job I love, and my life is in the midst of a giant upheaval. And instead of doing what I planned, which was putting on a brave face and turning most of the conversation to her, instead I just couldn't shut up and drank too much wine.

It literally makes me wince to remember. I haven't been that embarrassed in a long time. Why on earth would she want to hear about my ponderings, upheaval, and lingering confusion and heartache? Dear Lord, I really try not to think about it. I'd like to erase the entire night. I just never shut up. And now, now I fully plan on not seeing her for years, just so I don't have to face it. I don't want to see her until I have my life together, because next to her I just feel... well it's not good.

And I know, she didn't always have it so together. I remember just two years ago, she'd call me at 1:45am, needing a ride home. So I'd go get her, and as soon as she got in my car she'd burst into tears, begging me to let her crash at my house because she couldn't face her mom while this drunk. And I did, I always did. And woke up at 7 to drive her home. But I'm still ashamed that I'm so incredibly dramatastic. Not in that 'did you hear what that %(@^ Rhonda said to me!?' sort of way but in the 'it's been years and my heart still hurts' sort of way. I'm mortified at my inability to fake it, even for a single night. I'm mortified at my tendency to dull my nerves with wine. I'm mortified that someone I wanted to see only the bright sides of me knows so many of the dark ones.

Yet writing this out has made me mostly get over it. I can't judge myself through what I imagine are her eyes. I had a bad night. It happens. And my life is in the middle of a giant, consuming upheaval. I can't change what happened, but I can learn from it. And I can take her off a pedestal, and stop trying to put myself on one. I don't have it all together. In fact. I never, ever will. I'm still gonna send her a Christmas card.

P.S. Mrs. B, just in case you ever read this, feel free to keep the shirt. After 2 years, it's yours anyway. I'm really very glad you're so happy, even if I am a little jealous.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy Two - Waking Up Right

I have guilt issues. And anxiety problems. And I think way too much. Which, at times, can lead to some shitty mornings. Especially mornings where I get to linger in that limbo between awake and asleep. I woke up and immediately my brain started thinking about all the things I should have done differently the day before and worrying about how it might affect my day. And it was filling my newly rested muscles with tension and stress. And that... is no way to start the day.

And then, it hit me. Instead of starting the day apologizing to God about my mistakes from yesterday, which does nothing for either of us, I will start the day asking for His provision, blessings, and guidance. It's a new day. God knows I can't get through it left to myself. At least not well. And He isn't requiring perfection. He's requiring dependence. And I am fully dependent on Him. He knows what the next moment will hold and what I will need to get through it. He knows the joys that are coming and how to make them more joyful than I could have imagined. I need Him. I need His provision, I need His blessings, I need Him. So instead of focusing on the ways I could have done better the day before, I stopped myself, took a breath, and restarted. I asked for His help to live today the best I could, and asked that He provide all I needed for today. Just for today. Because tomorrow will take care of itself. 

And now I really feel as if this day has 10x more potential than it did while I was still in bed, worrying. Amen. And Amen. 

Day Two Hundred and Seventy One - I Can't Imagine

There is a girl that I work with that absolutely boggles my mind almost daily. I cannot imagine what it would like to be her. She cannot communicate her thoughts worth a damn. Honestly. She just can't.

I asked her once what a hospitalist was. "A doctor that works at the hospital."

 I just sort of stared at her. "Isn't that all of them?"

"Well yea," She said, chewing her lip, "But they're, like, different."

"Okay, different how?"

"Well like they're here. At the hospital."

I just shrugged and waited until I could ask another coworker. Which I did. Same question. This coworker responded, "They're the doctors they call when the patient's normal doctors can't be at the hospital or are too far away." Oh. Right. Okay. That makes total sense. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than the first answer. The thing is, the first girl knows that. She knows exactly what a hospitalist is. She just can't communicate it. This happens rather often. I've learned not to ask her questions. Because her answers are just the most unhelpful things in the world.

"Where is *insert name of random medical supply*?"

"Um... like up there on the shelf next to those things." And she points. There are like 20 shelves. And over 14,000 things. Really? At my look of confusion another one answered, "Aisle MN (yes, they're designated by letters), shelf 4, right next to *insert name of random medical supply that she knew I knew what it was called*."

She knows exactly what she means. She knew exactly where the specific thing I am looking for is. But it is 1984 come to life. She cannot express herself verbally. She can cry when she's sad and laugh when she's happy but when it comes to verbal communication - she is simply unable. Whether its how she's feeling to what something is or where things are. She can't be understood.

And I simply cannot imagine what that would be like. Granted, I take pride in my ability to articulate something perfectly, but I take pride in it because of the overwhelming sense of satisfaction of knowing that I can express exactly what I mean, exactly what I feel. It doesn't guarantee that I'll be understood, but I know I did absolutely everything possible. I cannot imagine having deep feelings, or even trying to give directions, and having my own brain and my own tongue work against me to hinder that.

I'm more and more concerned that she is not the abnormal one, but that I am. I've seen that problem in my generation over and over again. The struggle to find the right word, the right expression, and the failure. And the shrug that so clearly conveys that it's not worth the effort. It is. Please believe that it is. It is essential. It is essential to connect to other humans, it is essential to express yourself. It's the only way to really learn, and learn from others, and learn from yourself, and teach others what you have learned. I want to learn from you.

What you have to say is important.

Day Two Hundred and Seventy - The Truth About Tithing

Okay, so spending enough time with the OSM has made me realize that there are very few things I can label as 100% truth. And this time, I'm not trying to. But... this is how I understand it.

Tithe. Most people know what it is. Sort of. Giving 10% of your income away to the church. And that's sort of true. But the concept isn't giving 10% away. Or to the church. The concept is that you get to keep 90%. Because none of it was really yours to begin with. It was all a gift. And in thankfulness, you give 10% back. To God. I personally don't give to churches. I give to charities. Because they help people, and that's where I feel as if my money ought to go. And I give even though every month I look at my checking account and know that I cannot afford to give 10% and still pay my bills. And yet, somehow, every month, I can. Most months I even have a little extra. It's mind boggling. 

But it's not a demand. It's a way to show thankfulness for all He has done for me. It's a way to acknowledge my own humility and inability to create anything from nothing. Only He can and did and chose to love me through it all. The more I acknowledge my dependence on Him, the better. The more I acknowledge His possession of everything - of my stuff - of my money - of me - the better. Because only then will I be able to understand that there is more than to life than money and things. That there is more to my life than me. 

That's how I see it at least. 

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Nine - Vacation

I need a vacation. From myself. From my own thoughts. From my own feelings. From the past and the present and all that is to come. But there is no vacation from me. I'm stuck with me for the rest of my life. It's not that I dislike me. I'm pretty awesome. But I'm overly complicated and very self absorbed a lot of the time. This is one of those times. I need to feel small again, to remember my own littleness. I need to remember the really big things.

Like how much I am loved. Like how my life is made to glorify my God. Like how lucky I am to have friends like I do and the opportunities I have and the life I lead. Like how big the world is and how much life there is to live. Like all the beauty that the world is full of. Like the cool breeze outside my window. The things that really matter and pull me outside of myself, I need to remember those things.

And take a deep breath, and carry on. Everything that was, was. Everything that will be, will be. Everything that is, is. I know what I need to do and will do it, day by day, because each morning, everything is new.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Eight - The Easy Way

I'm an incredibly stubborn human being. I really, really am. Ask any of my friends. When I have my mind set on something... it's not easy to get me to turn away from it. That being said... sometimes I have a tendency to not take help when I really should. I'm convinced that the most difficult way of doing something is the only way because I'm a ninja dammit. I can do anything I set my mind to. And that's true. I can. But why exhaust myself when I don't have to?

That's why... this time, I took the easy way. Life is changing too much for me to sit there and be strong. Because as soon as I get distracted my willpower disappears. And I get distracted really, really easily. Sitting and talking with someone distracts me and then suddenly my hand is itching for a cigarette. And once the itch starts... it takes a lot of willpower to resist. It's like a bug bite. And there is cortizone, but in the past I've said, "No. Cortizone is just not for me. I can just resist." That's kind of stupid. So I went and bought some cortizone so I can still have a social life and quit destroying my lungs.

Meet the eCig. (BTW - this post is completely disjointed, not because I've got nicotine in my system again, without all the harmful chemicals, but because I'm rather severely sleep deprived.) The Djarum flavored eCig. Now, when it the itch gets really, really bad, or when I get distracted, I can take a little break without feeling too guilty.

Because let's be very, very clear about something. No smoker, in the history of ever, has quit smoking because they didn't enjoy smoking. I, personally, love smoking. It's relaxing, it's a rush of endorphines, it's just pleasant all around. I'm quitting because I don't like the smell on my clothes and hair after the fact, and because it'll slowly turn my lungs into nasty black things that don't work very well. And as I enjoy being alive and able to breathe, it's time to stop. The eCig is nicotine in water vapor. Flavored water for that matter. It tastes just like a Djarum. And smells like one too. And has enough nicotine to keep the little parts of my brain that are insistent upon being fed quiet. But just quiet.

Smoking is more habit than addiction. It's the action of taking 5 minutes to just breathe (yes, breathe chemicals but breathe) and think and calm down a whole lot more than the actual nicotine to the system. Yes, I am addicted to nicotine. But my habit is to reach for a smoke. That's what has to be broken. And the eCig will help. That's what it is. Help.

Making good choices doesn't always mean you have to take the hardest way.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Seven - Follow Through

What you believe is your business. Your morals only affect me if you think it is okay to kill me when I annoy you. Then we're going to have an issue. But really, for the most part, I don't mind differences. Sure I think I'm right, if I didn't think I was right I'd change my beliefs until I did. I hope you feel the same way because if you believe something thinking it's wrong... call a therapist. But do me just one favor. Follow through. It's a thought that's been wiggling in the back of my mind for a week now. You all remember Cheerful Boiler Room Guy? Don't worry, he went and disappeared off the face of the earth as promised, and to my increasing relief. However, there were two things he did that made me cock my head to the side and think to myself, "What the hell?"

1) He told me once, "I live as much as I can because I only have one life and then I die and then there is eternal nothingness." I smiled and shook my head, because I disagree. Not about the living part but about what comes after. As a Christian, death is only the beginning. I don't care that he thought that though. If that's what he believes, any little speech I have isn't going to change that. What bothered me is that when he learned that my dad was dead he suddenly wasn't so hard and fast about there being eternal nothingness after you die. "I believe I'll see him again. I know you don't," I said, "But I do." He hesitated, "Well, no. I mean, I don't know. Maybe there's... I mean I didn't mean that he's just..." "Dead?" I finished for him. "Well, that's what you said. You die and then there is eternal nothingness. According to your beliefs, I'll never see my father again and he doesn't exist anymore. He's gone. Forever." And then he started backtracking even more. I don't understand that. If you believe that after death is nothingness and ceasing to exist then... follow that through logically and stick with it. But don't try to comfort me, or anyone else, including yourself, but suddenly saying you're not sure what you believe.

2) Once, after work, when he was walking me to my car, he insisted on opening the door for me. I just looked at him like he was an idiot. Really? I can't open my own door? You have to because you're a man? Really? And he said, "*insert his girl's name here* hasn't opened a door in a decade." And I just stared at him, dumbfounded. I mean just speechless. Really? Was he $^@!$#@%( kidding me? It's somehow of the utmost importance that he opens her door for her but God forbid he's faithful to her!? Let me tell you, as a woman, I care a hell of a lot more whether or not my man is cheating on me than whether or not he opens the door for me. Follow through. Doors mean nothing in the face blatant and repeated unfaithfulness. I mean... seriously. How does that not compute? How does wanting to take care of her and wanting her to feel special and treating her well suddenly vanish when it comes to her deep emotional needs?

The answer to both is because it only worked when it was easy for him. That pissed me off. Believing in nothing after death is easy until you're faced with someone's grief and hope and have to tell the truth about what you really believe - that their hope is false and their grief unending. It's easy to open a door, it's hard to say no to desire.

I can't say I haven't done similar things in the past. It's really hard to have to be honest with someone and truly believe that someone they loved might be in hell. Or to be honest with myself and think that someone I truly loved might be in hell. (For instance, my grandfather on my father's side. By all accounts, he was a truly evil son of a bitch, though I never loved him.) I at least have the cop out of 'Only God knows the heart'. But it's true. I do believe that some people go to hell. And if asked, I'll say it. Because it is my belief, the true conviction of my heart, even when it sucks and when it's hard. Because if you can't say it, don't believe it, when it sucks and when it's hard... then you don't really believe it at all.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Six - Spoiler Alert

A little over a year ago my mom went on a trip to see our extended family. Her sisters and their kids and stuff. She was gone for a week. The thought of sleeping alone, of being alone in a house at night, scared me so much that I bribed a guy friend of mine with food, lots and lots of food, simply to come sleep here every night for a week.

A lot has changed in a year. My mom is gone for a week. (Weirdos, please don't read this blog and come find me.) And... no offense to my mom... but I'm loving living by myself.

See... you remember that blog about me finally understanding that itch for independence that most people get around age 17 that I was only just getting? Yea. Since that bug bit, the itch has been growing exponentially each day. And... God gave me a little nudge. Well, that's how I see it anyway. He gave me a bit of a spoiler. I imagine it went something like this:

"So you think you're ready to live alone, but are still not sure? Why don't you take it on a test drive for a week, see what it feels like?" And then He got very smug because... yes. Yes, I want it very much, please, and thank you.

I feel like I've aged years in the last few weeks. I'm so ready. And so completely scared shitless. I've never lived alone. Not ever. Not even for a moment. I've never lived further than 45 minutes from home. And I'm staring at all of the changes I'm chasing and admittedly wondering 'what on earth am I thinking!?' but am running full force at that cliff all the same.

Because it's time to jump. It's time to leave the nest and fly free. I'm ready. Terrified. And ready.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Five - Worth It

I've fallen in love twice in my life. I've loved many, many people, but there is a difference between loving someone, and falling in love with them. And I've only fallen in love twice. Though I thought I was falling a bunch of times. That rush is addicting. When you can't stop thinking about that person, when you can't stop talking to them, and when you're not talking to them, you're talking about them. Just... gorging yourself on someone else. And I know that I for one absolutely bathe in the attention. My first relationship... well it slowly broke my heart but not because he cheated (which, I guess, is still debatable but I'm convinced even if he never admits it) or because he broke up with me multiple times or any of the other things he did wrong. It was what he didn't do. It took months, but my life slowly ebbed out of me, month by month, due to neglect. The silence is what killed me. Which is a good part of the reason why I love attention as much as I do. I never, ever want to feel neglected ever, ever again.

But there has to be a happy medium between bright flash fires of infatuation and a dying fire that leaves you cold. The fire that burns for a long time, the fire that keeps you warm during the cold nights of life has to be built slowly. You cannot just dump lighter fluid on some kindling and expect the blaze to last. You have to build it. Kindling, then smaller logs, then the big ones. And it has to be fed. The human experience is full of experiences and emotions and thoughts enough to build a fire for a lifetime, if only you make sure to tend the fire. 

I'm so used to flash fires. That's what I did for years when I got too cold and lonely. I grabbed some twigs, a bottle of lighter fluid, and found someone to keep me warm for a little bit. But flash fires have a way of exploding in your face, too. Taking the time to actually build a fire is something that's... almost entirely new to me. That was the second time, you see. I built that fire without ever knowing that I was building it. It started so slow I didn't even notice. I didn't even mean to set it on fire, but I did. But it didn't keep me warm. It left me colder than I've ever been. Because after I lit it, he shook his head and dumped a bucket of cold water on it and walked away. I've never shivered so much. 

I don't want any more flash fires. And I don't want to shiver either. So I've built my own fire. My life is something I'm happy with. My happiness, my warmth, cannot be taken away because of anyone else. I am the tender of my own fire. It depends on no one but me. And I sit, warm, and wait for someone who wants to join me. I won't put my fire out for theirs, and don't want anyone to put theirs out for mine. I just want to share a fire. I'm not going to force it, I'm not going to rush it, but I'm not going to neglect it either. Because one day, in time, there will be that man that will help me feed my fire and I will help him with his, and they'll grow together. And it's worth the time it takes. I know it is. Because one fire made of two will always be stronger than two trying to make one. 

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Four - When The Past Isn't The Past

We are made up of the choices we make when faced with life. The grief, the pain, the joy, the lessons, the love, the memories, the consequences. The past is rarely the past. It affects us most days whether we realize it or not. The lessons we have learned have shaped us. There is a reason we don't try to touch fire anymore. We learned that while useful, if can be extremely painful. We learned to swim because while water is fun, it can be dangerous. Our every day actions and decisions are formed because of what we've learned in the past.

This especially applies to relationships. We act and react based on lessons learned. We've all heard the same thing from people. "I won't hurt you." "I'm not like the ones before me." "You can trust me." And after a while, we just stop trusting people. We've heard it all before and so we're just too guarded, we've been lied to too many times to just jump into it again because... well fuck it really, really hurts. And you get tired of hurting.

But you can't just coast through it either. We can't just... wait forever to trust someone. Going slow is wise, but not really putting yourself out there and waiting for it to all fall apart is a total cop out. And when you do that  - you're creating the thing you're running from. No relationship can survive that. And so you'll walk yourself right into disappointment. But this time... no one let you down. You became the person who broke someone's heart. You became the one that wouldn't give yourself a chance at happiness.

Don't give into the temptation to stop trying because you're afraid.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Three - Emotional Snuggie for the Social Situation

"I'm your emotional snuggie for social situations," he said, sipping his beer. I laughed and had a sip of my wine. He was right. That was it exactly. You see, I tend to get a bit nervous in big crowds. Really nervous, in any crowd actually. I clam up. Except when I'm with The Gentleman. Then conversation comes easily, and people don't make me nervous. He is my emotional snuggie for social situations. 

I just feel more grounded, more stable when I'm with him. He always has a plan, usually a really well thought out one. And because he has a plan, I don't have to. There is a calm that comes when he's around. Everything is okay. He's kind and strong and warm and there is something in his eyes... something deep that is worth waiting for. 

I'm probably too tired to be writing this. There is no real lesson. No thought. I just miss him. And wanted everyone to know a little bit more about his awesomeness. And his awesome quotables. Because that was a The Gentleman original.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty Two - Temptation

There was a man at work. I'll call him Cheerful, for that's how I'll remember him. That's how we first met, you see, he was the overly cheerful boiler room guy. I liked him. He was smart. And interesting. But on my part, there was absolutely no attraction. He didn't look his 36 years, but there was something in his face that made me see him almost as if through glass. I would never touch him. He might as well have been half a world away. I didn't understand it at the time but I do now. I know now what was in his eyes. Hunger. He had half a mind to enjoy my mind, but that wasn't the part that motivated him. It was his hunger for... everything south of my mind. The more obvious it became, the longer the distance grew between us. Until he suggested we find a small corner of the hospital and make out and I hit him. Slapped him right across the face. "I am not a cheater!" He knew I was in a relationship, to suggest that I would ever betray The Gentleman was a slap across my own face. He looked down at his toes, suddenly a hurt boy, and said, "I know. But I am." And walked away. I knew I'd have to be careful with him after that. I didn't want to make it a big deal, but I had no desire to see him or be around him anymore. Not because I was tempted in any way, but because it wasn't healthy. It wasn't right, to be friends with someone like that when I'm in a relationship.

I thought, perhaps, that due to the frequency we saw each other at work, he would be like the others. When the novelty wears off, they get used to me as a friend and we don't have an issue any longer. Instead, he did something no one else has ever done. He very kindly asked me to delete his number, and that we part ways. I was shocked, and yet I felt a warmth in my belly. He was doing the right thing. He was running away. He said as much. He couldn't handle it. I was... so proud of him. I deleted his number the moment he walked away, smiling all the way.

Because just before he did it, I had realized something about myself. My temptation wasn't to make out with him in some dark corner of the hospital, but to comfort him. In time, there was a hurt behind the hunger that tugged at my girlish heart. There was an emptiness and a pain, in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he held his head. And my instinct is to comfort. To offer a kind word, a hug, merely some attention. But for the first time, I knew that I couldn't help. My attention to him would be toxic. It would never be seen as the love and comfort I meant it to be, but a poisonous flirtation. I could not help that man. It was not my place.

And from that realization came another that I was not expecting. I suddenly had so much affection I wanted to pour on The Gentleman, I wanted to cuddle into his side. I wanted to tell him all the things that fear keeps trapped in my throat. I wanted to kiss him and feel his arms wrap around me. I wanted to make sure that The Gentleman never has a broken heart, or feels neglected, or is in want of attention or comfort. I want that still. I can't do anything to help the cheerful man with the sad eyes. But The Gentleman... that I can do.

Day Two Hundred and Sixty One - As I Get Older

From the time we're children, we hear the phrase 'you'll understand when you're older' more times that we could possibly count. Sometimes, they're right. And when we hit that point, we roll our eyes anticipating the time we'll have to say that to a kid. And sometimes, they're completely full of shit.

I've had a whole lot of moments where I realized my mom was right. Where whoever it was that was older than me was right. More than I could ever possibly remember. Sometimes it's maturity, sometimes it's age, sometimes it's experience. But they were right. I understood it later.

But I've also had my fair share of, "Really? Cause I just think you're full of it." There are certain things that I will never get, simply because we're two very different people and see things very differently. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it annoys me that they somehow think their opinion is more enlightened than mine. It's not. It's just different.

I guess the point of this little rant is this: if in time, you find me making excuses for my poor life decisions (especially habitual ones) and hear me give some sorry excuse for it, namely, "*gentle chuckle* you'll understand when you're older," feel free to hit me upside of the head and respond, "Nope. You're just dumb and trying to find an excuse for the crazy shit you do."

Day Two Hundred and Sixty - And Then Sometimes I Get Quiet

I often talk things through. Welcome to the blog. You guys are my imaginary sound board. I vent, I ponder, I  offer commentary on my own life. Talking is sort of my thing. But for the past few weeks... it hasn't been. There are a whole lot of changes going on inside of me right now. I had an entire day dedicated to changing my entire look to make the outside match the inside for heaven's sake. And the inside is still changing and the outside is as well. In a sudden shift of events, I've realized that even my style has shifted fairly significantly in the past few weeks.

Now, I realize how this may look. I changed my outside to match my inside, which coincidentally started changing right around the time I started seeing The Gentleman. I'm also now planning a move to where The Gentleman moved. I know how it seems. But that's not it at all. Dating The Gentleman was the first step in this entire series of figuring out who I really am, what I really believe, and what I really want. The process had already started when I started dating him, it's merely continuing while I date him. And while he has influenced my choice of location, it's not for the reasons you might think. Being closer to him is a definite perk and one I'm very much looking forward to. But I'm moving because his town simply has more job opportunities than mine. Because it's a fresh start. Because I need to live on my own for a while. Because I need to clear my head of all the voices around me (even the great ones, like Erica and the OSM) so I can hear myself again.

I see it... more of a door. The Gentleman opened a door for me. With his town, he opened up an entire world of opportunity that I wouldn't have looked for if it wasn't for him. And when I'm around him... well and I quote, "I'm your emotional snuggie for social situations". Which is totally true! Minus the awkward backwards robe. But he is. And somehow, even though we're taking it slow, I've found the security I needed to make some bigger changes in my life - simply because I wanted to. I found a confidence I was afraid had forever left the building.

And yet, so many of the changes are still brewing away inside, completely silent. It's going to take time for them to get to the surface. You're going to see the changes, not just hear about them. And that was sort of the point all along.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Nine - Independence

In case you'd somehow missed it, I still live with my mom. I don't live rent free, I pay half the rent and we split groceries and I pay the utilities etc. She's my roommate. And I love it. We get along fantastically.

But... well... everyone always told me that they just didn't understand it. Didn't I want independence? Didn't I just yearn to get out in the world all on my own? I sort of shrugged. Not really. I had independence. My mom understood (mostly) that I'm 24. I do what I want, when I want. It's not like I have a curfew or something. And I never understood what was so great about being on my own. That is, until now.

Nothing happened. My mom and I still have a stellar relationship and I still enjoy living with her. I just... can't anymore. I have to move. I have to get away from this town and try something new... on my own. I need my own place, and my own space. (Though I plan on having a roommate, just not one I'm related to.) I need to try to do it on my own. I don't know why. I have no idea. I simply know that I have to.

And I'm excited. There are so many things I want to do. So many ways I want to decorate. So many different things to try. And so many ways to learn the way not to do it next time. All by myself. I get it now. I don't understand it, but I get it.

It's fitting that it while I'm in the Rabbit Hole. Now we get to figure it out together.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Eight - Open Windows

I miss fall. I miss fall for lots of reasons. Not the least of which is my drastically lowered utility bill. I love opening that baby in the fall. It decreases by as much as 80% from the hottest summer and coldest winter months. Because for as long as humanly possible I sleep with my windows open. During the fall, my windows and doors are open 24 hours a day. It gets a little warmer during the day and a little chilly at night, but that's how I like it anyway. I want the chill of the evening to creep into my house. And the air is fresh, and I can smell dry leaves and bonfires and grills and football and apples and cinnamon. It's like my house simply absorbs everything around it because the air just blows through.

I think it's a lot like our minds. I know this sounds weird, but it's something I think the OSM has been trying to teach me since we met. It takes a lot of energy to keep a mind at a certain climate, keeping everything outside of it at bay and heavily filtered. And there are times, during extreme times, that we have to expend that energy. Today, here, is not that time. Today, here, is the time to let the wind blow through. It expands and fills and flavors my mind. I don't have to keep any of it, most of it will just flow right through. But some of it will linger. And of it will swirl and change. And when my windows are open, the things that I create, the sounds, the smells, can float out into the world as well. I feel no need to hoard my own brilliance, nor to keep others out.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Seven - Not A Competition

We all know these people. As soon as you start talking about something, anything, they will immediately try to one up you. You got a new car? Theirs is newer and they paid less. New job? Theirs is better and pays more. Go on vacation? Theirs was better and they know some secret spot that the rest of the world doesn't. Tonight, I was telling a friend how my new relationship with The Gentleman was going. Just to catch them up. A girl overheard us, and immediately started telling me about her new boyfriend. Good for you, I said, I'm glad you're happy. I turned back to my friend and talked about my hair, and my spa day (read previous blog for details) and I chuckled at how I feel a little bad for The Gentleman for having to put up with my caterpillars and bleached out hair for so long. She immediately responded with, "My boyfriend doesn't care. I keep telling him I'm going to cut my hair and he says it's my hair and I can do what I want. He likes it just the way it is. And he'll even rub my legs when I haven't shaved for a week and a half." I smiled, "That's very sweet." I just... didn't want to get into a competition. 

I don't care about her boyfriend. I'm very glad she's happy and is being treated well, but its not a competition. That would be idiotic. We're incredibly different people with incredibly different tastes and needs. I'm extremely happy with The Gentleman, but don't feel the need to impress upon anyone that he is better than their significant other. If you're happy, I'm happy. So for the love of all that is decent, can we stop? What does it matter who makes more money at their job if you're happy with it? Or whose vacation was better? Our lives are different because we are. If we just stopped comparing and started being genuinely happy for one another, the world would be a better place. And we wouldn't be so afraid to step away from the norm and do what's best for us, even if others won't understand it. Even if you make less money but enjoy your job, or date someone solely based on how they make you feel rather than their status or looks. Do what is best for you, and don't feel worse because a one uper can flout a few figures in your face. Smile, and pray that one day they will be so satisfied with their life that they won't have to keep constantly comparing it to others to try and give it value. It already has value, they just haven't figured that out yet. My life is unique. But more importantly, my life is mine. It doesn't have to look better than anyone elses to make me happy. 

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Six - Maintenance

My ancestors are from eastern Europe, Russia, Germany, and England. Mostly eastern Europe. Which translates as = looking like a girl is something I have to work for. It does not come naturally. Naturally, I have a unibrow. (I kid you not, there are pictures, though I'll be damned if they ever see the light of day again.) I have to shave every day to maintain smoothness on my legs. It takes real effort to keep me looking feminine. And for long periods of time, I have been known to quit trying. Winters especially. Because honestly, who cares? It's winter. No one is going to know I haven't shaved in a week. Except my sheets. I mean, sure, I keep my eyebrows separated, but don't really pay attention as they attempt to rejoin my hairline.

And today, it sort of hit me how much I wanted to look feminine again. Not for The Gentleman (though God knows he deserves a woman who cares. Poor thing has put up with my long, dried out hair and caterpillar eyebrows for too long now without saying a word.) but for me. Because I want to look like The Gentleman makes me feel. I even got nail polish. Sure, it's clear, because I prefer the natural look of my nails, but the point remains. I made today a sort of 'spa day' at home (which, if there are any men reading this, was not all massages and hot stones. There were tweezers, scissors, and noxious chemicals involved). My eyebrows are once again feminine. My hair got a desperately needed cut and color. My legs are smooth. My nails are done. And for once, I feel as soft on the outside as I do on the inside. I match.

Because I've found the freedom to match the inside to the outside, whatever that may be. Maybe it's a cut and color. Maybe it's a casserole or two in the fridge. Maybe it's my favorite pair of sweatpants. Maybe it's heels and a skirt. Maybe it's sitting and home reading a good book. Maybe it's going out with friends. I want my life to match me, whatever that may be. And I've finally found the freedom to do it. Which means, today, that I feel like the girl that I am, and tomorrow, my house will get cleaned.

Because my life needs maintenance just like my body does. I've been letting it slide for as long as possible for the last few weeks. I've been too tired and busy. But now is the time to get it back where I want it. I want my house to be as clean as my head feels (no doubts, no worries, no mess). I want my fridge to be as full as my heart. I want my house to feel as relaxed as I do, so it needs to be cleaned. And then, like my mind, heart, and emotions, needs to be maintained in order to remain that way. There is no beauty switch that we can just turn on, nor (short of hiring merry maids) is there a way to keep a house that is lived in just the way you like it without any effort. It's always worth it, I've learned. So when everything is great, enjoy it. Just don't forget that you have to work to keep it there.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Five - Day Four

Despite the confusion that the title may create, I did intentionally name this one 'Day Four'. Because "Day Four" does not refer to how long we've been in the Rabbit Hole together, but Day Four of quitting smoking. See... I'm not entirely sure whether my reaction to quitting is normal, but it is consistent. I would know as this will be my 3rd attempt. (Some may disagree with that number and say that it's higher. I would say, "I only told you I was quitting so you'd shut up and let me enjoy my cigarette in peace.") I only remember two other legitimate attempts. And each time, like clockwork, the process begins.

Day One: Sleep comes easier and I find myself constantly hungry though only able to eat a little at each sitting as the nicotine withdrawl, for reasons unbeknownst to me and science, severely messes with my digestive system, making the entire day rather unpleasant. However, toward the end of the day, the manic energy begins to kick in, making it worth it.

Day Two: Manic energy constantly, the end of the tummy troubles, and lots and lots of eating.

Day Three: More manic energy and the blissful and sweet taste of victory, for surely I have conquered this foe (rather easily).

Day Four: EVERY SINGLE ACTIVITY ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET REQUIRES THAT I SMOKE DURING IT. At least, that's what my brain keeps telling me. Over and over and over again. If I can make it past day four, I'm fairly guaranteed straight through to week two (barring any massive emotional situations). Making it past Day Four is a beast. And I know it is.

But at least this time, I know it's coming. Day Four should be (just slightly) easier to handle when I know the punch my body is going to throw at me. I can do this. I am stronger than the chemical receptors in my brain (or so I keep telling myself. I'm simply glad seratonin doesn't have a cancerous down side at this point.)

My only point is sometimes, you have to do things over and over and over again. Big things. Like quitting smoking (for real, not just to shut your friends up). You have to put your heart out there and have relationships, you have to go through a few jobs, until your life is how you want it. Almost no one quits and stays quit the first time. Just like the chances that you're first sweetheart is the one is only slightly higher than winning the lottery. You learn your pitfalls in relationships and how to avoid them. Even if you feel stupid when you get all giddy (like a teenager) again. Or when you get your heart broken. Again. And I've learned to batten down the hatchets for Day Four if I want any chance of survival. Sure I sound like an idiot for trying (again) to quit smoking. But I'd sound like a much bigger idiot to not try again just because it didn't work the first time.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Four - OSM-esque

The other day I had a sort of epiphany that I would describe as OSM-esque. Because it sounds just like something the OSM would tell me. The epiphany was simple enough: My happiness can only come from me. No one in this world has the ability to make me happy or steal my happiness away. Some people may help my happiness grow, and others may smother it, but I alone can create and sustain my own happiness. Or, at the very least, it has to come from within. I happen to know that without my relationship with God, and His work in me, that I cannot be truly and deeply happy. The point remains that my happiness relies on no one but me. I choose. I decide. I told The OSM this and he said, "I'm so very glad you consider that OSM-esque." And immediately my heart was gladdened. He always helps my happiness grow, though sometimes pruning can be painful, it is also ultimately fruitful. But with or without the OSM, or any of my most excellent friends, inside there is still the ability to be happy. And now, knowing that, I am determined to be happier than I've ever been.

Not a little bit curious as to where this particular epiphany takes me as I follow it down into the Rabbit Hole.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Three - When Life Seems Bigger Than

My life was work, home, and friends. I had them all on a schedule and I kept it for the most part. There were deviations here and there, but they comprised my life. And then, the change that I've been begging for started to come, wave after wave, coming from every side. And now its too much, I cannot juggle the old coming in with the new. It is too much. But there are things that should not be dropped, yet things that must be picked up. The change must come, change defines life. When change ceases, life is gone. 

And now, everything seems bigger than it was. I need time to digest, time to process each change. And instead, I get up at an unreasonable hour and go to work and marvel that there alone everything feels exactly the same. It's like no one has noticed the giant shifts beneath my feet. And why should they? It's just work. And instead of taking up a large portion of my life, it now seems small. It's so hard to concentrate there. 

Then again, it's so hard to concentrate everywhere. Then again, when I'm not at work, I don't try very hard. Life is so full. I helped brew beer this weekend. That's all I did. And that's all I wanted to be doing. Very little else found its way to my brain past the reubens, BLTs, grilled chicken, beer brewing, book reading, and music listening. Especially as it felt like fall all weekend. I even got a thunderstorm. 

And now I come home, and get ready to go back to work. I don't have a lesson. I just know that suddenly life seems bigger than it did. 

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Three - Mute

Sometimes I feel as if I'm mute unless there is a paper and pen in front of me. I can be so full of words but my lips will not form them, my tongue becomes thick in my mouth. My hand speaks for me. It finds the words, and their arrangement, in ways that seem impossible to my mouth. 

And some days, I just feel mute all around. As if neither my fingers nor my lips have any hopes to express what is in me. And perhaps that is its own form of wisdom. When the words run out, does action follow? 

Day Two Hundred and Fifty Two - Scream It Out

I am a ball full of conflicting emotions. I'm happy and scared and nervous and anxious and excited and angry and giddy and relaxed all at the same time. It's overwhelming. Each emotion needs its own space and time and they're so busy fighting for dominance I just feel a little crazy. But I'm hopeful. And strong. I'm choosing to focus on the good, on the happy and giddy and relaxed. I'm trying to talk myself out of the scared and nervous and anxious. I'm trying to understand the anger. I just have to hold on long enough, and I know they'll all fall into place.

I just feel so off. I love the changes in my life recently, there are not enough words to describe how excited I am, or how good it feels, to be with the Gentleman. But it's also completely thrown off every single one of my routines. My home routine is off, my sleep routine, my social routine. Everything. And it's hard to get them all back on track. Some of them will continue to jump the tracks rather frequently. Others need to find their way again in order for me to have any sanity.

The problem I'm finding that I have is how strong these emotions are. They are raging. And I'm trying to express them in texts and blogs. And that just isn't going to work. These emotions need runs, they need knees hitting carpet, they need singing at the top of my lungs, they need screams. These are no little things, they are a storm that will not dissipate until it has run its course.

So if I seem a little over the top for the next few days, it's because I am. I am over the top, and have to be, in order to find my center again. I have to feel all the things I'm feeling. I have to give them a voice, even if it's just feet on pavement to run it out. Even if it's just screaming in my car. Even if it's just writing a poem. Whatever I need. Because I need to be all of me again, but no longer all of me at war.

Day Two Hundred and Fifty One - Overwhelmed by Sadness

Some days, I just wake up sad. It wasn't brought on by a dream or a bad night's sleep. Something in my soul is simply overwhelmed by sadness. Those days I feel the most needy, and the most silent. Nothing will come out. It's not even that it wouldn't make sense if my babbling starting coming out. I rarely make a whole lot of sense. It's just that words won't do it justice. On these days, I am overwhelmed. I cannot communicate.

But those are the days I need the most. Every drop of sweetness is a soothing balm; it's a splash of light and color on my incredibly dark day. Those days are like black holes, and each kind word, each unexpected sweetness, each hand reached out keeps me from falling into it completely.

I wish I knew how to keep those days away, how to dismiss them when I open my eyes in the morning, but I don't. And they go away, even if no hand is reached out. Then I simply fall in, and cry the sadness away. It cannot stay forever, I am too full of happiness. I have found too much strength inside. I am stronger, I am brighter, than the sadness. It passes, like all things. But I can't keep them away. They come. And they pass.

The only question is how. Maybe I can't express the darkness of those days, but I can reach out. I can ask for help. I usually don't do that. I actually try not to. I take a strange pride in being so self sustained. But I'm not. I need people. I need encouragement. I need someone to tell me to stiffen up my upper lip because I've got this. I need someone to give me a hug and tell me it'll all be okay. I need... help. And it's okay to ask for it.

I never want to be a drain, to suck the life out of someone. I never want to be a needy friend. But to try and pretend that I don't have needs is simply laughably proud of me. And pride has never suited me well. I find that it chafes far worse than sadness.