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.