Because Jacob just emailed me some OLD pictures from his phone:
Today is one of those days where I’m just going to throw random thoughts at you. And then you’ll read them. Or you won’t.
-Kevin is amazing. Just wonderful. It snowed a bit today, so he gave me his key and told me to take his car to work. Now that I’m used to it, I really like driving his SUV. And the four-wheel drive really comes in handy. I’m glad I get to keep him. The only thing left to do is have him meet Mom. I don’t anticipate any problems there.
-I mailed my application. I started holding my breath, then realized that was a dumb idea and stopped. (That didn’t actually happen, just so we’re clear.) We’ll know in about a month. Keep your fingers crossed. I really want this. I’m trying not to get too excited, just in case there’s a letdown coming, but I’m not going to lie, I’m hoping that this is the beginning of the best adventure of my life. I’m going to rock as a sex therapist. I’m going to rock as a marriage therapist. I’m going to rock as a family therapist. I’m just going to rock.
-Shopping for nice boots is nasty business. I bought two pairs from Nordstrom online (their customer service is SO good). Now that I’ve received them, returned one pair, and received a replacement, I’m not sure that I like either pair. (Kevin said that one of the pairs looked like rain boots, which I think is the worst criticism you could ever give a pair of boots – I hate rain boots because they just swallow up my legs.) So now I’m thinking about returning all of them and not buying any boots. Or just keeping the cheap pair I have now. And to think of all the jeans I could buy for the money I spent on boots! (Not that many, actually, but still, new jeans are new jeans.)
-I’m a terrible mother: after two years of owning the beast, I had neglected to register his microchip. (I swear, I thought I had!) The microchip people had a completely different idea of where the microchip was, so I’m glad it’s all taken care of now. We took him to the Dumb Friends League on Saturday to get his microchip scanned to make sure it was working. We also took the opportunity to look at dogs. It was really sad – we were waiting in the intake room to get Carlos scanned and there were so many people giving up their pets. The woman’s relief was palpable when I told her that I just wanted to check his chip. I’m sure she thought that we were there to sign him over. Of course, he wouldn’t come out of his carrier (you have to fight to get him in, fight to get him out…it’s a whole mess), so she just reached in to scan him. He was such a trooper. After that errand, we ended up at Costco, so he stayed in the car while we shopped. The poor little guy was so happy to be home, he ran out of the carrier as soon as I set him down. I think he thinks he’s going to get returned to the shelter every time we get in the car.
-Dave Logan isn’t going to be the coach of Mullen anymore. Interesting. I’m curious to find out why he’s out. I’m even more curious to find out what direction they’re planning on taking the football program.
-The Broncos game on Sunday was amazing! I was starting to panic and then all of a sudden, it was over. We’d won. Hugs all around and even a high five from the Steelers fan next to me. I’m looking forward to seeing the game on Saturday – I’m hoping (although not confident) that we will win. Kevin took me with him to the Nuggets game on Monday night. (So much sports crammed into so little time!) I really like watching basketball – I need to start doing more of it. It was a really good game, even though we lost.
…well, this was an eloquent post. Here’s hoping for something more coherent tomorrow.
I fear greatly the answers to the questions surrounding death. It pains me to think too much about any of it. Rather than the belief in something after, I believe solely in attempting to make the best of these precious earth-bound moments. And yet, usually catching me entirely unaware, the thoughts creep back into my brain. What lies after? How can we succinctly tie our own spiritualities with the scientific, with the known, with the cold reality of it all?
I remember the immensity that was the moment – that singular moment – when we put down our beloved golden retriever. His head coming to rest for the last time on my shoe. My jerky response as I stood, smashing into the paper towel dispenser. The nurse (nurse? vet tech? lady in scrubs?) attempting to comfort me and me pushing her away because the tears were coming too fast and I couldn’t wait to break away and be alone, where no one would see me crying. I realize that this is in no way comparable to the deaths of those humans we come to love so much, but then again, I think perhaps that even those mammalian deaths hold the keys to true humanity. The singularity that ties us all together: love.
No matter how it happens, death holds some sort of quiet whisper, a moment in which time stops rushing and instead, lingers for the exhale. It’s not something that will ever leave you. (I do not speak as one wizened by so many experiences, thankfully, although the few that I have had with death have been personally profound.)
I was reading in the bathtub (now that I’m taking baths again, my reading material has multiplied immensely) and I found myself falling in love with the protagonist of the book I’d just started – it’s been languishing in one of my book suitcases (yes, I have those) for ages and I’ve just now gotten around to picking it up. She embodies, for the moment, everything I find wonderful: strength, intelligence, determination, the juxtaposition of masculine and feminine, beauty, courage. And yet, I found myself terrified that she’d die before the end of the book. In that moment, I was certain of her death. I flipped to the last page (a terrible habit, but one I take great comfort in – I even do it with romance novels, and you know from the third page how those are going to end) and sure enough, she dies. It’s a beautiful death, really, her soul personified by birds. But now I’m happier to read about her life. I can take comfort in the fact that I already know how she dies, yet I’ve not at all ruined the book for myself.
This is the point of all of this, I guess: even though you can not know the exactness of your own death, you know that at a certain point, it must come. I look at those yellow feline eyes that I love so much and realize that I can’t keep them forever. I push away the melancholy thoughts, realizing that loving him now is so much better than focusing on the pain I’ll feel when he’s gone. I circle back, from time to time, working myself up thinking about the emptiness that the deaths of those I love will leave. I think it stems from the knowledge that one day, I will be without my mother. In my attempts to soothe myself, I have begun to steel myself against the void I know will exist. Void is inadequate. It will be like a roaring vacuum. It will pull at the edges of my soul.
But it is natural. (I remember this book they got us to teach us about death. I’ll never forget how incredibly mystified I was when I read it. I hated the book and yet something drew me to it. It calmly taught children that everything must die, and yet it horrified me. I hated connecting dead leaves to people. Something resonated somewhere deep inside of me. I often think of that book and wonder what it would be like to read it again now. I wonder if it’s in a box somewhere in a basement.)
Death and taxes, they say. But they’re not wrong. To know the eventuality of it before it happens is to hope that one will be able to fully embrace everything that is life knowing the finality of it all. The chance to struggle and create, to learn and understand, to think, to feel, to be, to love passionately and freely is a gift. Those moments are the footprints we leave behind. To love deeply and live fully are my only goals. If at my funeral, people don’t laugh and tell horrifyingly embarrassing yet endearing stories, I will be incredibly bummed. Life is a wild adventure. It’s beautiful and bittersweet.
Either way, it is certain. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that everyone has to do it. Someone’s doing it right now. Someone did it yesterday and someone will do it tomorrow. We are all born and we will all die, but what we do in between belongs solely to us. That’s the best part.
I sincerely hope that parenthood is as satisfying as pet ownership.
Everyone I know makes fun of me for loving Carlos so much. I understand. Cats are weird. Black cats are weirder. People who own cats are obviously incapable of any sort of normal social interaction. We spend all day locked in our houses, knitting or just rocking back in forth in creaking rocking chairs tapping our nails, occasionally reaching for the remote because the Price is Right has ended but Judge Judy has not yet begun and we need to watch some Cops to fill the time.
Okay, so it’s not quite like that.
After Africa, Carlos didn’t speak to me for the better part of a month. I am still not sure if he didn’t remember me or if he was that mad at me. Even now, whenever I pack a bag or something, he wants to get in and inspect it. He’ll crawl right into my backpack or jump into a suitcase, determined not to be left behind.
So after being gone for six days, I was worried I’d be hearing some complaints from him, or at the very least, the silent treatment. (Mike sent me a picture of him and the cat snuggling. I was worried that the cat had switched sides – Carlos usually avoids Mike, even though Mike wants to be friends with him. This is tentative proof of Carlos’ food-for-love program in which he switches allegiances strategically depending on who’s in charge of feeding him.)
I got home. I was checking email and Carlos came over to sit on me, so I moved the laptop off my stomach and let him knead himself into a ball. His soft cat sigh as he fell asleep on me was all the assurance I needed. Last night, I could tell he was feeling particularly possessive: I woke up several times during the night to find him curled on my stomach, on my back, across my feet.
There’s something oddly wonderful about this sort of love. Of course he’s stressful. Cat AIDS is a running joke now, but I’m sure that when he gets sick at some point, I’ll be a giant ball of stress and worry. Of course people think I’m an idiot for owning a cat. (I will argue that this cat has all the perks of a dog – minus the walking and fetching bit – without the 8 hour time limit. I can leave Carlos alone for a day or so and he’ll manage by himself just fine. I don’t have to worry about being home to feed and walk him at 6pm sharp. I don’t have to worry that he’ll make a mess in my living room if I’m not home to let him out. I consider that winning.) But it feels good knowing I have something that really loves me waiting for me when I get home.
It’s days like Saturday that make me realize that the human capacity for emotion is much deeper than we could possibly even realize. Necessities like food, water, and shelter are nothing without love.
Brian and I are standing by his golf clubs. I’m asking what the difference between a wood and an iron is. He tells me that woods are made out of wood. Then he pulls out a club. “So that’s an iron?” I ask. (The club is not made of wood.) No, he tells me, it’s a wood. We laugh. I understand the difference now. If you can imagine that it might be made of wood, it’s a wood, even if it’s made of metal. Irons are more like fireplace instruments. Heavier. Deadlier.
Brian is fiddling with the cover. “Grandpa never had the right covers for his clubs,” he says. And that’s when I feel it. His loss is so palpable in that moment. The fact that everything Brian knows and loves about golf, he got from Marshall. The fact that Marshall and Brian used to go golfing and then go get lunch. It was his childhood. He and his grandpa were inseparable, even at the end.
I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. I do know how to learn about something that they both loved, so I ask more golf questions.
“I’m only telling you this because I know you’ll appreciate it,” said Juanita, leaning into me. She introduces me as her adopted granddaughter. I am so happy in that moment. She didn’t want them to bring that picture, she says, but she’s glad they did because it’s one of her favorites. She tells me that on their wedding day 63 years ago, there’s a picture of him looking at her exactly the same way. My eyes were on her sweater, rhinestones at the wrists. I didn’t dare look up. My eyes were already full. She tells me that even though he was a quiet man, he always reminded her that he loved her. “And he really did love me,” she says. I smile. I mean, I really smile. My heart is full of love and a little bit of hurt – the pull of the sadness of a great loss.
(I couldn’t get a picture of the picture without the glare! I’m sorry for the poor quality!)
The speeches are beautiful. There is nothing better than honest memories. Laughter fills the space. When one of my cousins gets up to say something, I feel my eyes start to fill up again. Even though this is sort of the worst part of life, the saying goodbye, it’s also the best. It reminds you how much love you have surrounding you. It reminds you how much every single person can mean to you, how much they can impact you.
My adopted grandparents. My other grandparents. My spare grandparents. My not grandparents. We never could figure out just what to call them. So we threw terms out and tried them on. They mean just as much to me as my actual grandparents. And I mean just as much to them as their grandchildren. Mom tells me that when I was little, we were leaving Grandma Mary’s house and I asked her, “Who are those people?” They’ve been a part of my life since I was little, since before I could figure out how they fit into the scheme of things.
And I’m so grateful for that.
Marshall was a wonderful father, a wonderful husband, and a wonderful grandfather. I am so happy that I got to be a part of it. And I promise to help take good care of Juanita.
Life goes on, whether or not you’re ready to go with it.
The past few weeks have been a blur of wonderful newness, of comfort and bliss. They’ve also been full of stress, cancer, death, uncertainty, and pain. But that’s how life goes. Sometimes it throws everything at you at once, just to make sure you’re on your toes. So that’s where I’ve been. On my toes.
The first funeral was on Friday. I put on the black dress only to find that I had shrunk (or it had somehow stretched two sizes) and it wouldn’t be suitable. So instead, I found another black dress. This one still fits. (I really do need to start with this eating business. I’m a little bit bony.) I wasn’t going to go, and I didn’t tell Dad that I was going until I was on 6th Avenue, headed west, but I feel like I was in some ways obligated to go. It was good. Merrilee was such a funny person, and the last time I saw her was at Jeanie’s graduation party earlier this summer. It was good to meet the people who meant so much to her. They had pairs of nose glasses that she used to wear on a board, along with pictures of people wearing the nose glasses. It was good that I went because that meant that I got to chat with Jeanie while Dad talked to everyone else. On a nearly irrelevant note, they had mini quiches. I am such a fan of any party that has mini quiches.
But mini quiches aren’t the point. (Unless they are? Wouldn’t it be so nice if the entire meaning of life could be reduced to mini quiches? I could get down with that.)
Life doesn’t last forever.
Marshall died late Thursday night. He is now listening to the harp music at the great golf course in the sky. (What? It could totally happen. Maybe my personal heaven is bubble baths and wine.)
I sat next to him at Thanksgiving and watched as Juanita fussed with him about whether or not he was happy and comfortable. I was really touched by the fact that after so many years together, they were still taking care of each other. He was constantly aware of her presence and she always made sure that he had what he needed – although there was that one time when someone was missing a cup of coffee and she just grabbed his and said, “Here, have this one.” That’s the kind of love that everyone should be looking for. It might not always be the most effective, but at least it’s real. They are seriously the best non-grandparents I could have had. (Although, now it’s our turn to make Juanita cookies just because.)
Cancer cancer cancer cancer. I’ve not got a lot to say about this one. Seriously, every time I turn around, someone else has it. We’ve got two at work, two on one side of the family. I was talking to Mom about this and she reminded me that this is just a bad spell. I warned her that she wasn’t allowed to get any more cancer just because everyone else was doing it. So we go on. I come from a family of tough people, particularly the women. We’ve got this. We’ll tackle it like we tackle anything else. Everyone will help where they’re needed. We’ll cover the gaps and everyone will emerge alright. I promise. And if anyone wants a healing animal, they’re welcome to borrow Carlos for a few weeks. Nothing will make you want to heal like having the very grumpy Carlos around. (He’s currently at the bottom of my bed with his his paws wrapped around my foot. I love him so much. Best worst decision ever.)
Got an email from the other side of the family today. God, I hate holidays so much. When I am ruler of the universe, there will be no family obligations unless, of course, you want to. I am already stressed at the thought of them cornering me. I’m already imagining it happen. And I’m already tense and terrified. Gross.
The grad school application is limping along, coming together bit by bit.
The giant proposal due at work remains unfinished. Tomorrow will be the ultimate race to the finish line.
But those things don’t really matter. I mean, of course they do. I’d be an idiot not to get my application in, since I still have a month left. And I’d be an idiot if I didn’t bust my ass to get that proposal done. But in the larger scope of things, there is so much more that matters, well, so much more.
On the brighter side, guess what’s awesome?
We went up to Keystone yesterday. Day 5 of snowboarding this season. I’m starting to get it. I did a Blue run with the boys then headed back up to find Emily. Spent the rest of the day on some long greens. It was good. Kevin and his brother came down from Vail to meet up with the group. The boys that we went up with are fun – one of them is in town from Boston, and he’ll be on our New Year’s trip. I’m starting to be able to do my toe side stuff, which means I’m actually able to snowboard properly. Pretty soon I’ll be doing sweet jumps! (That’s actually what I dream about.) Mom, best Christmas present ever. Without your insistence, I’d never be doing this. And I think it’s pretty rad. Also, pass is officially paid for now. Be stoked on that.
I have a boyfriend-thing going on. That was unexpected. I blame the Real World for making me question our relationship situation. So I asked him if we were dating. He said yes. Apparently, that was enough of an exclusivity conversation for him. (We later discussed all of this and figured everything out. It was very reminiscent of our first date.)
I am so ridiculously happy. He’s wonderful. He’s smart, funny, sarcastic, sweet. We are different enough that it will continue to be interesting for me. But we are similar enough that we just mesh well. He takes good care of me. The thing that I think I like the most is that he’s up for anything. When I’m like, let’s go to this concert (I’ve done that twice so far), he’s always open to it. He likes the random adventures that I like, which is good.
Broncos game today. I realize that the tickets came to us in the midst of sadness, but on the plus side, Mike and I are sort of going on a double date. I am bringing Kevin, who is awesome and driving back from family vacation in Vail in time for this. Mike’s bringing a girl! I think I’m probably more excited for this than I am anything else.
This is not one of those “live every day like it’s your last” posts, because those are dumb. But seriously, if you’re not doing something awesome, or something that you love, or something that’s wonderful, what are you doing with your life? After babysitting, I slept for nearly twelve hours last night. (that’s the something wonderful I was talking about.) That was exactly what I needed to do after being an idiot and going out with Katie before I went snowboarding. So today is marching forward and if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss all the excitement.
I almost forgot: I started writing about being on your toes and life and then I looked down and remembered all the bandages on my toes. Yesterday morning, sometime in the pre-dawn hours, while I was frantically searching for snowboard gear in my room, I somehow managed to step into the side of a laundry basket, taking skin off of two of my toes. I didn’t think anything of it until I saw little bloody toe-prints. As it turns out, sometimes being on your toes doesn’t quite work out the way you’d planned.
Have a beautiful day, world, you deserve it.
Read more:http://healthland.time.com/2011/11/17/telltale-signs-youve-got-the-love-hormone-gene/#ixzz1f771xSk5
The Broncos won last night!! Such a good game to be at! The fourth quarter was lovely! And the weather was nice. I’m still not on the Tebow bandwagon, but at least I’m feeling a bit more proud of our team. Uncle Mike wins awesome Uncle of the Year award for hauling us back to the Light Rail station at DU, and also because his commentary during the game always makes me smile. He’s the best to sit by. (Also, Mom and I were reminiscing about the drive to Chicago all those years ago. And he still wins for that.)
Tomorrow is National Adoption Day. Did you know that there are over 107,000 kids in foster care waiting to be adopted? A lot of them won’t ever be, which is really sad. Every child deserves a family.
I hope that when I grow up (a little more), I am able to be a foster parent or at least get involved in helping foster kids find good adoptive homes.
http://www.ccainstitute.org/our-programs/national-adoption-day.html
Also, Mike just finished writing a big paper for his psychology class about adoptions and success in life. If you’re interested, you might email him and ask for a copy. I know that he spent a lot of time working on it and considering all of the factors that can affect people who’ve been adopted.
My boss (who has four adopted children of his own) always says that kids who are adopted only want to know two things: why they were given up and who their birth parents are. He’s so right. I know why I’m where I am today and I know half of who my birth parents are, but I find that as I get older, the desire to know just what my biological father looked like grows stronger. Where is this nose from?!
I’m stoked to procreate the regular way one day and have kids who look like me, but I think that should I run into conception challenges – I’d absolutely consider adoption over other fertility stuff. (Not knocking all the IVF and surrogacy stuff, just saying.)
Today is Grandpa George’s birthday (he would have been 86) and my half-birthday. Mom always sends me a text on my half birthday, and every year, I have no idea that it’s today until I get it. (This is also just another piece of evidence that she loves me more than Mike – he doesn’t get half-birthday texts or facebook wall posts.)
Happy Birthday Grandpa George! I emailed Grandma to say that this would have been the age we would have started to tease him about being very elderly.
Pretending that you’re not as poor as you are is getting to be really stressful. I know that I make a lot of lifestyle choices, including my adventures, but each of those choices involve a lot of careful planning and sacrifice. I am so grateful for all of the support systems I have in my life – I know that if I was desperate, I could call Mom, but at the same time, I’m so determined to be completely independent that I won’t dare. There’s no need. I won’t rely on anyone to take care of me. Not now, or ever.
Once bills and rent and loan payments are made, the daily budget sits somewhere around $15 (give or take) – which sounds like it’s good enough until you realize that filling your car up with gas is two days worth of life expenses. Everything comes down to “how many days do I lose?” if I do or eat or buy this or that or the other thing. That said, I refuse to let experiences pass me by. I will not stay home and let life go on without me. There are so many things I’d like to do (like get Simon a new bumper, one month of life expenses) that fall by the wayside. I spend a lot of time stressing out about this (and retirement), especially since I feel like so many of my friends (all of them) are making more than me.
I realize I shouldn’t complain. I’m really lucky. I’m happy at work; I’m learning a lot; it’s a laid-back environment (which I need and thrive in).
But it makes me feel like I’m not good enough, not as smart, not as talented, not as driven, not as successful, not as goal oriented, not as focused, utterly lacking potential for growth. (There’s a lot of NOTs in there, and I’d like to be able to focus more of my energy on being less NOT and more BE – as in I AM successful, I AM goal oriented, I AM focused, driven, etc.) It’s just overwhelmingly frustrating and really scary. I would like just one month where I could buy a new pair of jeans (a week or so out of my budget). Or boots that didn’t come from Target (3x the daily budget). Or eat three meals a day. Maybe next year. Maybe I just need to find another weekend job. Or start babysitting more. I’ve been eating the same damn baguette (1/7 of the daily budget) for three days now, and I’m getting about as annoyed as it is stale.
Sorry, that was ridiculous and completely self-pitying, but it needed to come out. I need to remind myself that I’m wallowing sometimes. It helps when it’s public – it makes you think twice before having any self-depreciating moments. It also enhances the wince and the inner shame. Both are great character builders.
🙂
Tonight, one of my favorite bands is in town. I didn’t even know they were coming (what does that say about me?) until yesterday when I saw that they had tweeted from Colorado Springs. But they’re going to be here! And I have tickets! And I’m beyond excited! Between this concert and the one in two weeks (Mickey Avalon), I am crossing two bands off my bucket list. It’s going to be a productive end to 2011.
Shwayze – Get U Home
Shwayze – Crazy For You
Shwayze – Drunk Off Your Love
Tomorrow is up in the air. I’m either going to take Mike’s car and go up to the mountains before babysitting, or I’m going to write my personal statement for grad school and get the mountain of laundry done before it threatens to eat both me and Carlos.
I’m secretly hoping that laundry wins this battle. I have just wanted to get rid of everything I own lately. I just want to pare down my clothes pile so that I’m only keeping what I’ll actually wear. I would also like to clean the entire apartment from top to bottom.
It’s been one of those really long weeks. I’m physically and mentally exhausted. I’ve done a lot of stuff, though. Boulder, Broncos game, Suite 200 – never again, whatever it was that I did on Monday night. I’m in a great mood and I’d like to channel this positive energy into something useful, like a clean apartment.
J always makes me smile:
We are talking about the communication. It was not odd, just out of the blue.
“I mean, I just don’t get it,” I’m saying. “She’s way out of my league. She’s beautiful.” I draw out the beautiful, lingering on each syllable.
J agrees. “She’s gorgeous!” He says. He extolls her physical virtues for way too long.
“Seriously, J,” I snap good-naturedly (I rarely snap good-naturedly. I’m in a great mood.) “Enough! I know how much better looking than me she is.”
“Oh,” he says, pausing. “Sorry.”
We laugh.
“Do you think he fell in love with you?” he asks.
My turn to laugh alone. “No,” I say, certain.
Our conversations now revolve around the usual things. Work. School, when I’m thinking about it. My inability to find a suitable mate; his ability to find the best ones. It’s a good pattern. We used to meet for platonic margaritas. I miss that.
I wish girlfriends were more lenient. But I get that too. I always hated when H would let his ex get weird around me, which always happened. There’s nothing worse than the awkward run in with an ex. She and I faked a good friendship for so long that eventually it started to become real.
But it’s gotten me thinking. Can you really be friends with an ex? Should you be?
R(2) invited me to climb Kilimanjaro with him a few weeks ago. Then he invited me to the Bahamas. Such a tease – he knew I couldn’t take time off work. I would have gone in a heartbeat. He texts me to comment on my horrible date blogs. He thought the one about him was especially hilarious – he found it when we were still dating. It was all about how to talk to someone sixteen years older than you, the high suicide rate of CPAs, and the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I loved that post. I would later come to adore the man. We still meet for dinners, drinks, whatever. He still beats me at Scrabble every time. I still love that we drank a bottle of wine from the year I was born. (I love that about men – that they actually have wine from the year you were born.) He always teases me about the bookshelf. He built the first one, I still need him to come and build the second one – it’s been nine months. I’ll never get around to it.
I still see his friends sometimes. They’re great people. Sometimes I’m with him when we all hang out, sometimes I run in to them at bars. We always exchange pleasantries. It’s all good on the surface.
You date. You separate. You re-acclimate. Then your relationship becomes something new and beautiful.
E and I have been trying to meet up to hang out for the longest time, going on months now. We should have gone out tonight, but I begged off, still sick and tired. I never want to have fun when I’m sick-grumpy. I wanted to take him to the 1Up, since he’s never been, and I think the nerd in him will geek out so hard over life-size Jenga. We’re excited to be friends with each other. We had a long conversation a few weeks ago. He’d just run another marathon (gross) and rocked it. I love this. I love that even though we have literally nothing in common (except our love for his dog), we can still sit there and be fun people. Next week. I’ve entered it into my calendar, to make it real.
My boyfriends always hate that I’m still friends with most of my exes. I don’t get why. I think that’s a good sign.
I keep bringing up Portland in front of K, for some reason. It stemmed first from public transportation (theirs is so much like ours), then it was the homeless youth, then it was the spiders (HUGE!). He finally asked me what it was about Portland and I had to explain. College, I told him, for a year I did the long distance hell with a kid from Denver who went to school out there.
It was the first time I’d brought up any of the past. I was nervous. I haven’t felt the way I do since my junior year of college. I want to keep him. Therefore, I can’t just let anything slip out my mouth like it usually does. I want to tread carefully with the past. I have nothing to hide, but, still… I want this exploration of each other to be organic (and USDA approved).
I’m talking to E about it today.
“I can’t read him,” I say, frustrated.
“You’re hard to read, too,” she says.
For now, it’s wonderful. I’d like for it to stay like this. Nothing’s official – it’s still in those weird tingly stages. (That was a really gross adjective, I apologize. But I’m sticking with it.) But I like where it’s going. I like what it is. I like that he likes me for who I am – awesome.
(Also, and seriously never tell him this because it comes out so creepy unless I explain it properly, he totally fits into my life plan of having my last name hyphenated to B-S. I think it’s so badass. Today, my favorite professor from college was telling me to go get my doctorate instead of just my masters and I had the sign in my head: Dr. Barry-Something. And it was beautiful. I will only date people whose last name begins with S from now on. I’m already on my third “S” of the year. This may be a strange 2011 trend, though. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.)
Now that I sound absolutely insane, I’m off to bed.
Work is crazy this week, and I have a half-completed marketing plan that’s due by like 10am. Oh great, deadlines. Yay.
I’ve felt that feeling of glorious beginning only a few times in my life, but I can still remember the first moment for all of them.
It’s never a complete memory, just a glimpse, a snapshot.
You will never feel the way you do in that moment ever again. There will be highs, lows, the muddling about in between, but there is never anything so pure as the singular realization of possibility.
Today, I was too busy to write about how I feel about fall. About the way the light looks different now than it did a month ago, how the sun shines on crisp leaves. I wanted to show you the leaves blowing across the road, skipping along and settling. I wanted you to feel what I felt. Color set against the gray light. Beauty in the beginning of the end. (The beginning of anything is always the beginning of the end.)
It is one of those glimpses, a moment slipping away before the barren winter arrives.
Tonight is that feeling. Tonight is full of possibilities. Tonight, you don’t see it coming; you can’t; you’re too excited. It’ll stay like that forever.
The first snow is the best snow. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it and covers you before you have a chance to take it in. You sit by the window. You stare. You watch the flakes fall. You could watch for hours, you’re enamored. You want it to last forever – your childhood is calling. You see snowball fights and snow forts, your yellow kitchen table and mugs of hot chocolate.
You forget the frostbitten toes and pink cheeks. You forget the feeling of wet wool socks. Now, all you can see is the glittering, the snow falling through the eyes of the street lights. You forget that you’ve forgotten to pull you windshield wipers away from your car; that your winter jacket hasn’t been to the cleaners; that you’re going to be late for work.
The snow will turn black, eventually. It will melt away until the misshapen clumps become eyesores. You’ll ache for fresh flowers. You’ll hate how empty the trees are. Autumn fades before you know it, giving way to the endless winter. Just as you think you’re about to go mad with want of life, spring arrives to save you.
You feel the rush all over again. Love is the first day you run barefoot outside, only to realize the ground is still frozen underneath the spreading warmth.
Potential.
Either that, or six more weeks of winter.
a mile high and then some... 