And everything is alright again, in one swift motion, or perhaps a pretty afternoon. I sat with an old friend on the balcony and looked around and realized that life is like this. It’s strange and terrifying and absolutely wonderful.
Last night, Emily and I watched a foreign movie and just talked about everything. It was comforting.
I went to sleep and slept well. Things still aren’t together, and that’s alright. It doesn’t have to happen today, or even tomorrow. It can happen whenever; it’s not going away.
I walked outside my building today and saw what looked like a large sign of garage sales. Families, selling nothing worth having, really. It was sad and thrilling at the same time. To know that three stories below me someone else is trying to make a life and is only hoping to succeed in supplementing their income is a sad thing, but strangely exciting at the same time. You don’t see that at home. It’s strange to be in such a different place culturally all the time without having to leave the city. It’s a cluster of different neighborhoods, different ethnicities, different mentalities, different values and ideals, but it’s home. It’s Chicago.

Being here is hard for me, for some reason. I’m alone, again, even though I have Emily. I miss home, Denver, Danny, Mom.
It’s a challenge, something I certainly wasn’t expecting. I’ve been thrown off, completely. My days are empty. I’m exhausted all the time. I’m finally eating again, which is probably a good thing. I find myself disconnected.
It’s going to be rough, starting this whole life thing all over again.
Maybe once school starts, things will settle down a little bit.
Every year gets harder; I have no idea why. There’s nothing left for me in Denver, really. What would I do? Stay at Dairy Queen and let my chances at life bleed to death? No, please, not that.
I’ll stay here and take my chances.
The ending of the relationship is something I never thought I’d have to take to heart; I never am the one that gets hurt, but this time, I can’t even comprehend it. I’ll take my time, and let myself be alone and comfortable with that, but if things don’t start to get better, I can always get back together with him.
I’m going to concentrate on school, concentrate on trying to form new friendships (yikes!), and then try and let things fall into place.
I just can’t force my life to happen, and for now, it’s in a lull and I think the lesson here is that I have to be okay with that. I have to be self-sufficient and capable of being alone, facing long hours by myself. I can do that. I can work on the things that are wrong with me. I can be a better person. I can try and be social, try and meet new people and do new things. I can do all of this, given the opportunity.
I need to find a job.
I need a day with no tears.
I’ll be alright, I think.
There’s no turning back, not now. We’re too far in.

Sally Mulqueen’s favorite color is yellow. She crochets blankets in her spare time to help children (and niece and nephews, as well). She drives a white Toyota Avalon, digs hiking and pictures of wildflowers and gets along with Fruitypants (remarkably).
Tomorrow is her birthday. On her calendar that hangs on the side of her refrigerator there is a little thing that you should do each day. Some days it’s smile, or do something you love, or cook a good meal, but tomorrow it should say: Call Aunt Sally and tell her that you love her.
I wouldn’t be here (in my beautiful and slightly strange Chicago apartment) without all of the work that she does to help me and Mike. Aunt Sally, thank you.

One time, at Chili’s on State street…..
Aunt Sally, this pico de gallo is for you.
Happy Birthday!

Safe in St. Louis.
Leaving early tomorrow (7am) for Chicago.
Will let you know as soon as I get internet set up how things are.
Mike and Mom are in Omaha.
Love.

I couldn’t have these wonderful adventures if it wasn’t for the people around me that genuinely care about what I’m doing.
Getting coffee the other day, the barista asked me when I was leaving and told me he’d miss me. At the good old DQ (which I am done with, by the way!!), customers wished me well and told me they’d miss me.
I’ve got three sets of grandparents: Grandma Mary, Grandpa Joe and Grandma Al, Juanita and Marshall to make sure things go okay.
I’ve got Aunt Sally helping to figure out all of the Loyola payment issues.
Fruitypants is the hired muscle. (I can’t really think of anything else….just kidding, I’ll miss him a little too)
Dad bought me a bike rack.
Mom and I have done the packing thing, we’ve been to Target, to Costco, everywhere.
The people that I babysit for gave me extra money that they most definitely did not need to give me because they wanted me to do well and they appreciate that they can leave their kids with me and not have to worry. (The fact that they are super right wing makes this even better because it shows that it’s not just the liberals that dig me.)
I never realized how awesome it is to be able to have a dessert party or a dinner with family. A lot of people don’t get to do that all the time, yet even at school, I”m reminded that people care with little packages, usually containing baked goods, usually around finals. (Aunt Sally, that one’s all you).
Mom even gets around to doing stuff like that, sending me the highly anticipated Birkenstocks and not telling me that they were in the mail so I would be surprised.
It’s little things, a card from Grandma Mary with a little saying that she found on the internet or something.
Uncle Mike and Brian “hauled” me (and my stuff) out to Chicago, making a crazy road trip and I’ll never forget that.
Aunt Jan is always there with fun girlie stuff that Mom disapproves of but then uses in the end (haha, the Clinique bag has yet to be picked over, so good timing there).
You guys are great, really, and here’s the big thank you you weren’t expecting but wholly deserve.

THANK YOU!

That was it? It meant more than it looked like, I promise.

But seriously, knowing that you have this great network of people who want to help you is pretty nice.

Also, too many people run red lights.
Simon is getting his oil changed today.

One week.

of course, I’m not ready.

Two weeks from tomorrow.
For now, however, the crows are back again, and for that, part of me is eternally grateful. The backyard is full of birds.

There’s nothing to reinforce your knowledge that life is a gift like driving past a graveyard late at night when the moon is full, half yellow and shrouded in cloud-like mist. Your life is so directly contrasted with the lack thereof, and you thank whoever you will for it.

It’s begun.
The mad packing.
The house is awash in laundry, piles of random things, calculators, paper, boxes, clothes, etc.
The living room is Mike’s.
The dining room (and of course the inevitable spillover into the halls and family room, etc.) is mine.
I’m stoked, seriously excited.
Nervous, obviously.
Freaking out, the usual.

We’re living like it’s never going to end.
That beautiful bubble we’ve created, the one we never want to leave, pops in three weeks. August 7th, summer ends and the rest of my life begins. A chapter is closing. Two summers, one very long winter, and so many tears and laughter, late night run ins at Burger King, countless drives to Red Rocks, concerts, snowboarding, drives to Frisco, ZooLights, Botanic gardens, cuddling, Wii, movies, Stellas, hot tea, hot chocolate, walks with the dog, driving around, loud music, soft music, dancing, plane rides, fights, that contentment of knowing that someone loves you unconditionally: all of this ends in 21 days.
Of course, a new friendship will rise out of the pain of separation, but what we feel right now cannot be duplicated. I cry sometimes, little tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes when I don’t think he’s looking. But he is. He knows. It’s hard to let go of something you’ve grown so close to. I’m not crying because I want it to continue, I’m crying because I’m afraid to lose it.
We’ve been off now since April, broken up but not far from together, and I’m not quite ready. I never am. Every relationship ends with a period when it’s not but still is.
And this is it.
When I talk to Emily, or see my boxes in the hall, or imagine myself walking down Michigan Avenue again, I get that sense of excitment, a little ripple through my stomach. I’m excited. I’m excited in a way that I haven’t been in a long time. I want to go back. Nothing more than that. I want to have my own room, my own place, sitting in chairs with my best friends, laughing or talking or doing whatever may come of it all.
I can’t wait to start over, to get that second chance at Chicago that I never thought I would. I promise, I’ll embrace it and find myself a life that I could only have dreamed of.
I’m running from the past, running toward the future, no disconnect between the two, tears, I’m sure in both places. I’ll have to take Mom to the airport and put her on a plane, and I’m sure I’ll cry then; it’ll be official. But then I’ll turn around and face the city I’ve grown to love and everything will be alright.

I’m off. There’s no turning back.

I’ve been thinking lately.
Thinking too much and not doing enough.
I keep waiting for my life to begin. I rush around, stressing myself out about different things, always trying to carve a little bit of time for myself, which I end up not using wisely and then I am stuck with more stuff and more chaos than I ever intended for myself or my life.
I work, work, work, so hard, as many hours a week as I can get at Dairy Queen and then the babysitting job on the side. I spend long hours for little pay and now I have nothing to show for it. I owe my mom money for the car, which I am so grateful to have, but I can’t seem to get ahead. I have no savings for next year. I did the math in the early spring, figuring out how much money I could make and save for next year, keep as my rainy day or alcohol fund. Nothing. Zip. Maybe two hundred dollars if I’m lucky for myself.
No shopping. No new shoes. Nothing to replace the box of clothes and shoes that disappeared in the move in December. We’re certain of that now. Gone. Something is missing, and we’re not sure how to find it. I was so relieved to get home that I didn’t check the little packing receipts that I had, making sure that everything had been delivered. Now, six months later, no, seven, I am without pairs of shoes that I hold dear, without certain clothes. And here I am with no money to replace them. I’m not going naked, that’s for certain, but I definitely haven’t been able to do the shopping that some of my friends can do.
I stress out over little things. Do I really need new clothes? Part of me says, no, not at all, but there’s that other part that is moving back to Chicago, where the elements of style are slightly different than they are here in Denver, a little more refined, fancy, dress to impress, business, etc.
I am sick, now too. Mom and I made our way to Urgent Care yesterday with my intensely swollen lymph nodes. They’re fine, they tell me, I just need rest. Ha.
The lease arrived today via email. Now, we have to figure out a plan. I don’t have a plan and that scares me. I need to start packing, need to find a way to get this all figured out, need to find a way to somehow be in two different places at once (Denver and Chicago) so that I can get my life settled in both places.
Time is running out.
Last night, I realized that Danny and I have less than a month left of hanging out. The lease on my apartment starts in less than three weeks. I asked for Sundays off, but that’s lame because there aren’t very many of them left. There is no time.
I’m scared. This is the definite end of some things and the definite beginning of others and I’m just not quite prepared. I need a plan, and we don’t have one. All of this is expensive and to find the cheapest way to do it is not something that’s going to come easily.
Ah. And I wonder why I’m sick. I’m out late every night, doing the same thing, haunting the same places and yet I feel as though I’m so busy. I wake up early, sleep a little later if I’m lucky and then do the whole thing over. Entirely.
What if I ship all of my boxes out there again and everything gets messed up? What if they lose all the boxes? What if we can’t come up with the rent money? What if we get evicted? What if? What if?
I don’t have the tools necessary to build a life, we’re working on collecting them. Working on a lot of things.

“We’re getting closer, maybe farther.”

So true. Not only is my source of income ending, but a few of my relationships as well. Katie and I have grown apart lately, more so than ever before, and I think that both of us are okay with that. She’s moved on to bigger and better things, sorority girls and the like, and I’ve just settled into myself a little more. Danny and I are well aware that this is the end of the relationship that we’ve dragged out for too long. We left it for the summer, a fragile bubble of hope, and the bursting is about to happen. There’s love there, but not enough, and the wrong kind. I genuinely care for him as a friend, however, and I am going to miss having someone always there for me when I needed anything. Dad and I had a better relationship over Christmas break, but over summer, there’s been a disconnect and I just don’t know that it will recover at all. All of the effort that I made to overcome the past has been smashed to pieces and will only continue as long as I am in Denver. Mom and I are tense as well, though not irrevocably so. I’m stressed that she doesn’t see certain things as a priority and she’s thinking about other things as well. This move is stressing her out, understandably so, but I don’t think she wants to make this work. (She does).

At times, I’m so very happy and at other time, I’m just so miserable I can hardly keep the tears in my eyes. This isn’t good right now. I’m losing so many things, gaining so many other things. I’m just not ready for all of Denver to end for me. I’m scared that Chicago will be intense and hellish and I’m not sure I’m ready for all of it.
What if I can’t find a job? What if I don’t get straight A’s? What if?

None of this made any sense, I’m sure, because I’m about to switch gears and tell you all how excited I am to have my own place. I can’t wait to cook in it, to have my own space, my own living room, closets, a bedroom. I can’t wait to move in and to see it. I can’t wait to have all of my stuff set up in our apartment, I can’t wait to live with Emily, I can’t wait to get everything settled and get back into the routine. I can’t wait to go to the beach, to drive up Lake Shore Drive, to get Portillo’s and have everyone over for a housewarming party. I can’t wait to drink cheap beer, to try and eat healthy on a budget (not so easy as it sounds), I can’t wait to go back to classes and see all my friends. I think that will be the best part. I’m nervous.