8/31/2009 - Energizer

When I was a kid, used to be that I couldn't fall asleep if the towels next to my sink (which I could see from my bed) weren't hanging straight on their racks. I didn't think much of it then, and in retrospect it's kinda cute in that quirky, tweenage OCD way.

But like everything else (belching in public, or lifting your skirt up over your head to show off those kickin' new panties) you grow up and it's not cute anymore. Not one bit.

The bad thing about moving is that there's a lot to do. And the bad thing about me moving is that there's a lot for me to do - or so I think. I lack that innate ability to look at a pile of dirty dishes and say ehhhhh...I'll do that later. Not I. I have to wash the dishes, then take out the trash and sweep the floors and hang some photos and vacuum the carpet and make tomorrow's lunch and run to the grocery store and...the list goes on.

My ability to clean tirelessly is admired by many, but it's a monkey's paw (a concept only recently introduced to me; means you get one much-desired wished granted, but not without great expense; i.e. you wish for a million dollars and you get it - but only after your beloved Great Uncle Alfred kicks it and the insurance payout comes your way). I can clean like nobody's business, but god...I just can't seem to stop myself. And sometimes there's other things I'd like to be doing - like petting my cat or reading a book.

You know. The good stuff.

8/30/2009 - Throw the Rice

I've been thinking a lot about marriage. Though I've spent my past 23 years actively avoiding giving the subject much thought, the fact that I am at that age where my peers decide en masse go tie the knot all at once makes it hard to ignore.

This being the case (the en-masse marriages, I mean), you will not be surprised to hear that I was recently at a wedding. Considerably more shocking is the fact that I was actually listening to and reflecting on the talk that the officiator was giving. Though the message was something to the effect that a husband and wife should love and honor one another as Jesus loved and honored the church (I'm no Christian, but I'll drink to that), I was particularly struck by the pastor's in-passing remark that we (the attendees) should support this marriage and encourage the young couple making no discouraging remarks about their union. Upon hearing this I thought to myself, Yes, yes, this is wise and true.

For me, this concept is a challenge. Not because I go blathering on about how doomed all my friends' marriages are, but because every time I hear of another 20-something getting married, I cringe just a little bit, thinking to myself that I just don't know. I don't know if we, as young adults, have the capacity to choose a life-parter that we can stand to be around for the rest of our lives. Yeah, we've graduated college and moved out of our parents' houses and everything but really, we're just kids, right?

But the guy makes a point. Acting upon the assumption that we are kind people who generally wish happiness upon those whose marriages we witness, we really ought to encourage the young couples. So long as they're up there tossin' around the I do's and there's nothing much to be done to stop them, what's left but to help them make it through with as little misery as possible? Getting married young has to be tough; getting married young when everybody's telling you you can't make it is probably just a big ol' bitch.

I'm the one on every adventure who hangs back, wringing her hands and saying "I don't know, guys, maybe we shouldn't be doing this;" the one who repeatedly encounters disaster despite attempted feats of spectacular caution. Because I barely trust myself to choose the right outfit to wear in the morning, I assume that few are able to choose the right partner to share the rest of rest of their lives with. I live in perpetual trepedation and find the mere concept of marriage dubious at best - but I've got to give it up for those who proceed with self assurance.

It's a do unto others... thing. In spite of debilitating interest in extreme caution, I hope to be married one day. When I marry, I will be certain of what I am doing. And when someone is certain - as I hope all the young lovers out there are - well, that's something that nobody gets to monkey with.

6/15/09 - Miss Me Not

Dry your tears, o' blog fans, for soon I will return with changes a-plenty.

5/1/2009 - Post-Op

Last night I caved and asked Scott to try and get the splinter out of the bottom of my big toe. It had been hanging out there for a week, doused in Neosporin, swaddled in band-aids, and - much to my dismay - not budging.

So we trained the light of my bedside lamp onto my foot and I lay back while Scott poked and prodded with tweezers and a needle. After some peeps and cringing out of me, he managed to extract a small sliver of something, but more was in there. 

More poking and prodding.

Finally, he got it. Held it up. Studied it. And it looked suspiciously like...

A hair.

A small brown hair, maybe a quarter of an inch long, with a little white follicle on the end and everything; like an eyebrow hair that got lost on its way to my face.

A hair.

In my toe.

On the bottom of my toe.

The end.

3/29/2009 - Just Like in the Movies

Either way, it was going to end up like I was on some television sitcom. Either I was going to uproot my life, move to some strange city, become fast friends with the quirky gay guy at my new job (who would invariably set out to update my wardrobe and emphasize my most positive feminine features) who would bolster me with snappy encouragement while I attempted to snuffle my way through a broken heart; OR I was going to get an email from my ex-boyfriend minutes into a fresh batch of despair over the job in my current city that I couldn't take because that's where my broken heart lay, and suddenly realize that we wouldn't, indeed couldn't breakup because the past two days were just a complicated, emotionally-wrought fluke.

The second one is what's actually happening, by the way. After two days of spontaneously combusting into tears everything swiftly evaporated leaving me first baffled, then immensely relieved. 

So we're back. We're on. And better than ever.

4/28/2009 - In Reverse

When I was in middle or early high school, in the muddled middle ages of my adolescent life during which I regularly attended church and youth group in an attempt to be a Good Christian, I found myself participating in a trust fall exercise (Step 1: Get a bunch of peers to stand around and hold out their hands in the form of a makeshift net. Step 2: Stand on a chair. Step 3: Trust your peers. Step 4: Fall backwards, knowing in your heart of hearts that the hands of your trusty friends will be there to catch you). To make a short story shorter, I went into the trust fall with much excitement and a complete lack of reservation (this is youth group, I told myself, these guys don't fuck around!) only to be - yes, you guessed it - dropped. During the trust fall.

Thanks a lot, peers. 

Anyway, since the youth group leader jumped in at the last moment to grab my skull before it was dashed on the ground I emerged unscathed. Afterwards, however, everyone kept asking me if I was okay and I couldn't stop myself from crying; they were being so nice. 

It's like that, now. I can carry myself with a passable degree of poise and composure until somebody expresses their concern or offers to help and then I'm gone in a siren of wails and a whole mess of hiccups. My friends have been so fantastically, earth-shatteringly kind I don't even know what to do with myself. They've been hugging me, distracting me, offering me their time, their food and their homes. Even as someone who recreationally scoffs at religion, I can say that I am, without a doubt, deeply blessed. One of the women I work with (whom I adore; she's the closest thing I've had to a mentor during my college career) offered to let me and Moxie stay at her house, if we needed it, or to come over for dinner. 

As someone who always wants to take care of things herself, this outpouring undermines my false confidence. The fact that I want to fall into their arms and take up all of their time gets under my skin and reminds me that I'm just a scared kid, desperately in need of some sort of comfort. 

Today I worked on reversing all my plans and fixing up the details so that I could skip town come June. But no. Just as I was panicking because I'd come to realize how good one of the jobs I have a fair shot at here in the city could be for me (but how could I take it, when it meant staying here, where everything hurt?), I got an email from Scott explaining everything, calming all of my fears and snapping everything, suddenly, into place.

This is day three.

On day three, everything has changed.

4/26/2009 - My Diet is Misery

Forgive me if I turn a hyperbolic phrase; I'm not miserable. Doesn't it have flair, though? Can't you imagine some teenage goth chick with white makeup and black fingernails telling you that in a deadpan voice? 

Don't get me wrong; this isn't any picnic. And there is definitely something keeping me from eating. Since Friday night I have consumed exactly 4/5 a box of Mike 'N Ikes, half a banana and 1 handful of Skittles (why fruit and their candy equivalents are the only thing my stomach will even consider is far beyond me). I just have no appetite. I've been sipping on water to keep myself from keeling over, but other than that the very thought of food makes me nauseous. 

Scott came over today. I'm not sure if that's breaking a breakup rule or not but it somehow settled everything in my brain. I made him tell me that it was over and that he was certain about it at least three times. I cried. A lot. Told him some things, shared some feelings, so on and so forth. And when he left, I felt alright. I didn't throw my back against the door, crumple onto the floor and weep tears of pain and anguish; though if I had done that, it wouldn't have been at all out of my current character. I got back to my homework. I went about my business. And I felt okay.

One of the things I'm finding the hardest is removing him from my physical surroundings. On Friday night, immediately after he left, I went around my apartment taking pictures down from the fridge and his books off of the bedside table. I did this numbly, unfeelingly, since I knew that if I thought about it for a moment I would be devastated, and that if I left it for the next day I might never bring myself to do the deed. I came across one last thing tonight and slipped it into the trash can, willing myself not to think about what it meant to me. 

I'm going to talk about this ordeal and about Scott a lot in the next few days (weeks?). What I want you to know, and what I'm going to try hard to concentrate on, is that the past twenty months have been twenty great ones. Falling in love with and getting to know the guy was some of the most fun I've ever had. I look forward to everything in the future and regret nothing in the past. 

We're going to be ok.

This is day two.

Day two is cloudy, with a chance of emotional trauma.