I look forward to actually being awake in every class

In a few weeks, I'll be starting school again. I have books, I paid tuition (then threw up- seriously, when did it get so high?) and I even have a cute little student ID entitling me to absolutely nothing other than a discount movie admission, which I will no longer have time to see.

Over the last few weeks, I've been trying to mentally prepare myself for being student again. I am surprisingly more thrilled about this go 'round than I was the first time. I loved college, the time, the friends, and even some of the learning, but it was always a means to an end for me. I'll never forget the way I felt the Spring of my junior year when I sat in the counselor's office, going over my credits and learning that I really was just a year and a half from graduation. That was the light at the end of the tunnel for me, I was finally going to be finished and ready for "real" life. How innocently that plan formulated in my head.

Now, obviously, it's different. Now it's not only the means-to-an-end concept that motivates me, it's what excites me. It's taken me a good five years to "figure out" what I think I should be doing to further my education and to come to the conclusion that I do not want to be in a finance class, ever again. In my entire life. No thank you. Clear enough? Seems simple now, but I thought an M.B.A. was always going to be my next step. I thought that was the logical thing to do for my career, a career that I am good at but am not passionate about- at least not the kind of passion I want to usher me into the next stages of my life. I finally reasoned that when you're guaranteed almost nothing in the future, it's a good idea to do something you're excited about in the meantime.

So that's what I'm setting out to do. I'm a little nervous, I'll be in a classroom again. I actually asked my mother the other day, half joking and half serious, "what if no one talks to me?" Which is just silly. I mean, when has that ever been a concern? We all know that I will just talk to them anyway. And that they will immediately decide that I am super cool and they want to be my friend forever and ever. Or maybe that's just what my mother said.

With this coming up, along with everything else happening at the natural full-speed-ahead style of August, I've lost a little sleep. That's acceptable, though. Who needs sleep when you have text books and parking passes and are already in a place where you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can see it, and it feels good. As long as I don't start having any of those dreams where I'm in my underwear and can't remember the combination to my locker.

And a good day to you, sir

"Do I have time to get some coffee before this meeting?"

"The coffee machine is gone."

"What?"

"Why do you care? You don't even drink coffee."

"I do today, brother, I do today."

You know when you, a 27-year-old woman, start calling your coworkers 'brother' that it's an off day.

And today was a textbook off day. The kind of day where you feel like everyone is looking at you like you've forgotten to wear pants. But they're too nice to say anything so they just stare and think "thank God that's not me without pants." I was so off most the day that all thoughts popping into my head about what I need to write about and how it ought to just start spilling out but isn't were superseded by the thought that maybe I really had forgotten to wear pants.
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So, instead of agonize over writing and thought organization and trying to come up with something with purpose or intent, I will just post some photos and call it good.

Cereal for dinner is just the beginning of my crazy

In times of stress, I have been known to do silly things. And consider them to be completely normal.

I eat cereal for dinner, turkey sandwiches for breakfast and Starbucks for lunch. I wake up in the middle of the night and watch infomercials, I run outside, by myself, in the early hours of the morning and I sing in the car like no one can see me. In a moment's notice, I've bought a house, booked a villa and jumped in the car on Friday night to go to Vegas for the weekend. And I've been so lucky, not once has any of these things turned out badly. Even the infomercials.

The thing that resonates most with all of this is that none of it is probably that silly after all. It's just me, and how I do things. Which, perhaps, is why when agreeing to be on a team for the Wasatch Back Relay, I didn't feel strange at all. I was all excited and psyched and ready.

Well, that was two months ago.

Now that it's about six weeks away, I'm freaking out. I don't know if I can be ready. I'm scared of running in the middle of the night. I don't want to let my teammates down. I want to be able to rely on my body. I want to feel like this was not a stupidly insane choice and that my body (and mind) is capable of running three legs of a relay. I want to stop asking myself "what were you thinking when you agreed to this?" I just don't know how.

Yeah, yeah, relax, breathe, follow the training plan, you'll be fine. Yeah, okay. Thanks. But in case no one noticed, THIS IS A LOT BIGGER DEAL THAN CEREAL.

Careless and Misbehaving

I'm such the bad kid these days. I'm ornery and starting trouble with people just for the sake of starting it. Nothing serious, of course, but for some reason overhearing a conversation and then finding it my place to disagree (mind you, I had no opinion one way or the other in reality) by chiming in just seemed appropriate.

I know when I get like this it's because I'm just fed up. And not with anyone or anything in particular, that would be far too easy. I've simply allowed myself to get everything wrapped around me instead of caring to wrap myself around any of it.

This actually comes at a good time, though because my last post seemed to garner some interesting comments and emails. The comments, as you can see, were constructive. The emails, however, were of a variety. While I understand some people would rather email on some topics out of comfort zones, sensitivity, etc. I don't understand only emailing you're a cold hearted b*tch, no wonder you're alone, die! I can't really make sense of that. It's a timing, thing, I guess because a year ago I would have thought a while about that comment and now I just wonder how on Earth anyone has the time because, I tell you, I haven't had the time to so much as pick my nose in the last two weeks and you're off finding people to email and insult? And somehow I don't think saying people, trust me, I have feelings upon feelings. My feelings have feelings. Know the feelingless? I have some! I have them to spare! would actually help matters.

I wonder if you know of the eighteen million other things you could be doing right now, like mowing the lawn, watching Entertainment Tonight (dude, have you heard the latest on Hasselhoff?), or, if you're really bored, picking my nose. Seriously, telling me I'm cold-hearted and to die is really not constructive. Two reasons: One, there are three things that I'm 100%, all the time going to defend, and tip-toeing around feelings ain't one of 'em. Second, statistics actually do show that yes, I will die one day. So basically what you're doing is telling the sun to set in the West and baby, THE SUN ALREADY KNOWS.

Perhaps this is pointless to say anyway because I'm going to continue living in my little fantasy world where everything is mostly good and things that suck will all eventually go away. This fantasy includes the idea that me, myself and my body are just going to be twenty-one years old forever. I'm going to pretend I can bounce out of bed every morning, lace up my shoes and run like it's my job. It's not going to hurt when I walk up and down stairs, I'm not going to have to see a doctor, ever, and when I kneel down to talk to small children I'm not going to be extra careful and groan like I'm seventy-two. Because I'm twenty-one, remember? Keep up.

Mostly, it is because I'm a stubborn idiot and am somehow still feeling the need to do a marathon on Sunday that I am a) not trained for and b) still hem-hawing over three days prior. (Yes, I know.) But the plans are made, the trip is set, the people are loading up and heading out and part of my ill-prepared ass still wants to knock out twenty-six miles.

I already know how that sounds. I already know there's all this "what about the future?" and "listen to your body" business to think about. And the truth is, I probably won't do it. I will probably come to my senses and stand at the finish line and cheer and take pictures.

But I might not. Because I'm feeling ornery, you know, and also, careless.
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My best to all of you racing this weekend. And my best to all of you, really!

Believe: to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing

UPDATE: I meant to add this before now but this "Believe" exercise thing is, apparently, something well known on NPR. I don't know who came up with it or how it came about, but I think it's awesome.
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Well first she did it, and I thought "wow, I cannot attempt that." Then, she did it and I thought "dang, this isn't going to be easy." Then, she did it too and I thought "this is just too much."

But, like most things I do, I wasn't one hundred percent sure about it and yet, I did it anyway. After all, I am, if nothing else, a believer.



I believe that it’s okay to like stuff. I believe we are too hard on ourselves for wanting to consume what’s out there. The issue isn’t spending or buying, it’s control.

I believe happiness is a choice. Every thing, every day. Digging through crap will result in finding a pony.

I believe in the little things, like holding a door and saying “good morning.”

I believe life is very, very short but too long a journey to travel alone.

I believe our bodies are a gift, and we should make every effort to learn to love and treat them as such. I believe we are built to break a sweat.

I believe in kindness, and empathy.

I believe in the power of family, babies and puppies.

I believe you can find peace on the sea, at the top of a mountain or on your living room sofa.

I believe we were created, because I believe there are things that science just cannot explain.

I believe there is absolutely no replacement for education.

I believe music should move you, even if it’s just dancing in the car.

I believe you should approach every situation as if those involved have the best intentions. You will sometimes be disappointed.

I believe, when all else fails, you should laugh.

I believe the ocean has the capability to cure.

I believe shoes should not hurt your feet. This is probably also why I have forty-two pairs of flip flops (a.k.a. “thongs” for my Aussie friends).

I believe in Fall football, drinks with friends, and Sunday afternoon walks.

I believe you can make friends anywhere. I believe I have.

I believe a group, whether your soccer team or your entire nation, must believe in itself to succeed.

I believe we have a responsibility to our planet. I believe most of us don’t take this seriously.

I believe in questioning “the way we have always done it.”

I believe some things are worth the calories.

I believe in travel and broadening your horizons.

I believe harmless superstitions are healthy.

I believe in working hard, and playing hard.

I believe, even with all this, I’m really only on the cusp of knowing all I will truly believe in this life.

Weekend Hallucinations

Last week, I hid something from the blogging "world." I, once again, came down with a cold. Sort of like the one I had a couple weeks ago but instead of my head feeling like it was full of bricks, this one just felt like someone had thrown a brick and hit me directly between the eyes. Thirty-seven times.

I spent any time I wasn't slaving (read: dead-woman walking) around at work staring down one of many boxes of Kleenex or down the neck of the Zicam bottle wondering just how many I needed to swallow in order to get the Mack truck off my forehead. For someone who never gets sick, this one was showing me who's boss. It's like when you trip over something but recover, then look back to see what you tripped on and end up biting it, and cracking your head open. It's saying HA! got ya this time, dumbass!

Thursday and Friday nights, I was pretty sure I was going to die if not from the fever than from the wicked hallucinations the fever and/or the "nighttime" version of my cold medicine was giving me. I always thought the special ingredient included to help you sleep was alcohol, turns out it's LSD. I know this is not super exciting but if a woman made of leaves (and sounded like leaves in a tree blowing when she walked) came into your bedroom, you would want to talk about it, too. Like I said, LSD.

During the time I wasn't making new friends in my bedroom, I spent on the couch where my dog wanted to remind me that yes, it was in fact over fifty degrees outside and therefore, no time to wither away like this. How I managed to pick up a camera during all this will just have to be one of life's great mysteries. I wasn't thinking clearly seems like a good excuse.


I felt a little more human on Saturday morning, which was nice because I had an appointment to get my hair done. Priorities, obviously.

Then, Saturday night came and it rained. As unique as this is for Colorado in March, I wasn't as captured by that as when I walked outside (during the rain, while sick.... I know, I know), took a deep breath and began to feel better. For the first time, my head was clear. It only lasted a moment but for that moment, the reflection of the streetlights on the pavement was my light at the end of the tunnel. It was now possible I was going to live to see Sunday, and maybe even Sunday afternoon. There was hope.

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Sunday did come, and suffice it to say, it was like a new beginning. There was still a truck parked between my eyes but it was more of a half-ton pick up than the Mack truck of the days before. It was also a beautiful day and being able to breathe again, all I wanted to do was get out in it. I felt like a new person, a person that used to run on nice days.

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I know, my intelligence just keeps rearing it's dense head throughout this post. But why concentrate on that when I can tell you about how I laced up my shoes instead? Except for the almost constant need for Kleenex, I was feeling so much better. So I headed out the door, ready for whatever the day would give me. And having no pockets, well I learned of other places handy for holding Kleenex.

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I only got about two miles out when I realized it just wasn't going to be a great run. As I was deciding to turn home, I saw a tractor parked in a lot just two miles from my house. We don't do a lot of farming or loading of farm/ranch type of things 'round these parts, so you can imagine my first thought: crap, the meds have not worn off yet.

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Just to be sure, when I got home I drove back to take a picture. I would have done the same had it been a UFO because, you know, otherwise no one would have believed me.

Re:

It's list time.

Re: Sailing trip
Still working out the details. There's a little more cost involved than I thought but something's still telling me I need to do it. So what's the best way to tell people you're skipping Christmas [gifts] this year?

Re: Half marathon
I'm doing one in a couple weeks. Or didn't I mention that? Yeah, I plan to bring my little camera and make it a "fun run." If I thought this were anywhere near a PR opportunity, I'd need a psychiatric evaluation. Immediately.

Re: Dating
It is less fun than it used to be. I don't like the dragging out of it all. But hey, I'm okay with that. It could be worse, I could be an astronaut.

Re: George Strait
Remains one of my favorite things in music. He was in Denver last weekend. Leave your smoke and mirrors at home, kids, this guy doesn't need any of that, and that's just the way I like it. And if I'm being totally honest, the guy could walk out on stage and sing names from the phone book and I'd love it.

Re: Weather
It has been beautiful here. Spring is coming, I need not whine any longer about hating Winter. I am not sure who's more relieved, you or me.

Re: Caffeine
I haven't had any in three weeks. Some might say I gave it up for Lent, but just started early. I might say I just wanted to see if I could. So far, I can and against all my prior beliefs, I'm not dead yet. I also feel better, I can't explain how. More calm, maybe? I don't know. I'm sure it won't last forever, though. I love chai tea too much.

Toast will only make it better for a while

Last night was intended to be the night where I'd arrive home from a productive day at work, get laundry finished, catch up on some emails, eat a quick dinner and turn in early. It was appropriate for a rest day after a long run, I thought. Instead, what last night turned into was a night where the laundry got moved from the washer to the dryer and not much further, I ate a dinner that I heated in the microwave, went to bed at 6:00 p.m. and then woke up two hours later and proceeded to eat the entire contents of my house.

Seriously, and while I know this is about as boring as blog fodder can get, I ate a LOT. I was in the mood for something comforting and with nothing to blame but who I am and the occasional unpredictability of my mood, I made toast. Lots and lots of toast. It's one of my favorite foods (I was not kidding about that bread thing) and even more, warm toast straight out of the toaster makes me feel like I'm under a warm blanket on a cool but not-too-cold evening. And when I thought I'd had enough toast, I had a glass of milk. And then another piece of toast.

While most people would consider a carb over load combined with a "splurge" to be more along the lines of cookies or cake (both of which I also enjoy) I stuck with my toast. Of course, it helps to have a place to lay the blame so I'm going to attribute it to the increase in running mileage over the last few days. I ran more in the last four days than I'd run in the previous fourteen. The math is easy: I hadn't eaten enough (which is a shock within itself) and I was using last night to make up for it. Running can really do strange things to your body's pattern. But finally, after the toaster popped up and down several times, I felt full.

Then, as if I wanted my own version of a horror movie, before I headed back to bed, I stepped on the bathroom scale. Yes, because I wanted to see what half a loaf of whole wheat bread weighed. Duh, right? Did I mention in three weeks I'm headed to a beach on the East coast in which a beach house is being rented where things like "hot tubbing" are done? Oh, I didn't mention that? Well, silly me.

But balance, right? Balance. Which is entirely how the next few weeks and my approach to getting back to a regular running routine ought to be summed up. I've forgotten how important that aspect is to a healthy training schedule. Which probably explains why I wanted to fill the feeling of recovering from ten miles on Sunday with multiple slices of whole grain tastiness. Or not, I'm not sure.

But it's something to reach for. It's a plan and if there's anything I love, it's that. A goal, something to remember. Something to remind me. Don't have too much, don't have to little. Work hard, rest hard. Balance.

Time for Something

Sitting back at work for the second day in a row with a box of bricks for a head, I'm sort of realizing it's getting near time for a change. Maybe it's just the fact that I'm sick, frustrated that I can't think clearly and have watched one too many beach breaks, but something just feels off. Of course, it also could be the fact that nothing smells good, tastes good or sounds good right now, either. You could put a bacon cheeseburger buffet (four out of five of my favorite things) in front of me right now and I'd be only mildly impressed.

I've been accused before of being a planner- always thinking about and plotting the next step before the current one is complete. Right now, though, I'm less in the mood to plan and more in the mood to do. No doubt I will be just as anal as ever about it, but that feeling of accomplishment might actually push me a little further than just thinking about it. Imagine that.

The little "business" a friend and I sort of started a couple months back is just that: little. It's a fun hobby that brings in extra cash but I feel now just as I did soon after we started, it's not going to be the main event. But maybe that's it, maybe there is no one "main" event. The common thread in anything I have done, do, or will do is ME. So somehow, I need to get a handle on that. I know what I want to do, and what I'd like to do, but can I do it? Can I keep the wheels turning? Can I take steps I've never taken before?

The short answer, I think, is yes. But not because stars are aligned (though that would help) or magic is happening (also helpful) but because I'm willing to do it. I'm willing to do the work. It's different now, at least I hope it is. I think my expectations are real, and my heart is in it. Sure, I'd still like to go back to school or fill my time with doing crafty-type things (as several of my blog readers and I have shared with one another in the past) but now, I want to concentrate on a real shift. A real move toward something different.*

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*I don't actually plan on physically moving at all. For now.

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Housekeeping:

Help me, please. If you fancy yourself at all a smarty or blog superstar, I could really use some info. I will repay in cookies- promise.

Did anyone, when switching from old to new blogger have issues with their sitemeter or statcounter? Where did you put the code in the new format? Am I missing something or am I just slow? 'Cause it ain't workin' for me.
Thank you, thank you.

Because a comment cracked me up

First, thanks for all the handbag advice. When something's on your mind, well, you know, you just want answers! The scariest part? Now I'm thinking I want a different purse altogether. Also, all day yesterday, all I could think about was how I wanted a cupcake and how I wasn't going to go home until I got one. I had a cupcake for dinner. Clearly the universe is out of whack this week and I didn't get the memo.

Now, I'm going to post my "Friday Random Ten" because JACC's* comment on my last post cracked me up. He is always saying I ought to do this but I never do. You'd think all the threats of zombie invasion and cellulite aliens would have pressured me. I love zombies and, someday, I'm sure I'll have to learn to love cellulite. Or was it aliens?

Here's what my little silver iMagician wants to play today:

1. Feels Good Don't It- Brooks and Dunn
2. Give Me All Your Love- Whitesnake
3. And So It Goes- Billy Joel
4. Jump- Van Halen
5. Don't Leave Me This Way- Thelma Houston
6. Always On Your Side- Sheryl Crow
7. When I Close My Eyes- Lizz Wright
8. Come Into My Life- Jimmy Cliff
9. Over The Rainbow- IZ
10. Fire and Rain- James Taylor

How is it that the little magician knows 10 people/bands I would give (or would have given) one of my kidneys to sing duets with? Amazing!

As for other things that crack me up, Dawn's post on proper pronounciation is great as is EB's post on "parenthood" and moms. More people ought to read these ladies, they're good.

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*I know there's something else I'm supposed to do with this, but I'm not sure what. When I figure it out, I'll do it. UPDATE: I did it.

How I Operate*

"So what's your pick for the Super Bowl?"

"Colts. All the way."

"Really? Not the Bears?"

"Nope."

"Don't you think they deserve it after sucking for so long."

"Didn't really consider that."

"Then why the Colts?"

"Because once, at the airport, I ran into Peyton Manning. Literally ran into him."

"So..."

"He stepped on my toe- I was wearing flip flops- and apologized profusely. I didn't know who it was until he was already gone**."

"So what? A guy is polite and it's automatically 'go Colts' ?"

"Yes, go Colts!"

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* I've been informed that a more "hip" way to say this is "How I Roll." However, I've been accused of being many things and hip generally isn't one of them. 'Round these parts, we operate.

**I've known who Peyton Manning is since the Tennessee days, of course. But in an airport, I'm less observant of the people around me, and more so trying to not forget anything in security. Also, this was years ago before Peyton was the most-loved commercial good ol' boy/hero in the NFL. Not to say I don't find the boy attractive, 'cause I do.

Guarantees

This past weekend, I purchased a lot of airline tickets. It just so happened that I found good prices for all the places I need, err, want to go over the next six months. After dropping that amount of money in a matter of minutes, I was feeling a little guilty. A little, uhhh, financially irresponsible.

I reasoned that the savings was something that a) I worked very hard for and b) would replenish soon with a tax return and by minding my budget. Heh, well, mostly minding it anyway. Still, I wasn't feeling great. I mean, what kind of person goes and schedules not one, not two, but THREE coastal/beach vacations within the first six months of the year? Obviously, this kind of person.

After giving my chunk of change to the airline industry, I wrestled for the remainder of the weekend back and forth over what I’d done. No, I couldn’t take it back but that doesn’t mean I could allow myself to feel completely good about it. This is what you save for. But the money could go somewhere else. You do share your money. And you share your time. You’re young, you need to have fun. You’re young, you need to plan. Don't worry, you have travel insurance. And you have a retirement account, several. And mutual funds, don’t forget the mutual funds! But maybe you could have helped someone else out. This is what it’s like to live in my head.

Then, I came into work Tuesday and opened an email that read something like this:

It is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of one of our fellow employees. Mary Jones died Saturday at her home. Mary worked for our organization for over twenty-five years and had recently retired on November 30, 2006. Funeral service and donation information to follow as soon as it becomes available.

Over twenty-five years. Retired six weeks. She wasn’t sick. Children, grandchildren. Travel plans with her husband. Plans to sit back and really enjoy life. I heard all this from other employees, employees closer to Mary than I. And now, there was nothing. She’s gone, there are no plans.

I’m often unsure of what there is to learn from death. I struggle so much with making any sense of it at all. Faith and logic only go so far, when someone’s six weeks into retirement, “the best time of life,” and it’s all gone in an instant. How can you make sense of that, sense of no guarantees? Is there anything to learn?

I have a hard time really knowing the answer to those questions. I probably always will. But little by little, and each unfortunate time I have to be reminded, I think I might know a little more. I might be a little closer to the answer. And yesterday, when I sat back down at my desk and thought about the dramatic depletion of my money over the past weekend, I didn’t feel that guilt anymore.

While I know that saving and planning for my future is important and a priority, it’s not the only priority. We also have to plan for right now. We have to allow ourselves to live right now and take advantage of those opportunities that may deplete our bank account, but will also fill our lives. Fill our souls, even, if we let it. That, I think, might be the only guarantee there really is.

High Diving

When I was three, I started taking swimming lessons. It was at the same pool, same teachers, same lesson mates and it went on for years. By age five, we were well on our way to treading water and not choking on it every fifteen seconds or so. We thought we were pros.

Then came the "big" pool. It had laps and a "deep end." A really, really deep end. With a high dive, which scared the living crap out of me all summer. Just staring at that thing made me want to jump out of the pool, grab my towel, slip on my jelly shoes and high-tail it the heck out of there. Thankfully, we did not have to go off the diving boards that summer. That sweet, wonderful, seventeen year-old swim teacher didn't even mention it, bless her soul.

A year later, I walked into the pool again, having completely forgotten about the high dive. But there, sitting on the deck with my innocent little six year-old feet hanging over the edge I heard the chilling words: "this year, we'll learn to jump off the diving board." What? Diving board? High? Above water? Oh yes, and more. They started us with the "short" board. A mere three (maybe four?) feet above the water, what could go wrong?

Nothing, really. I was all about the short board. Heck, I'd take a running start at that sucker, no problem. Go off backwards? Sure. Bounce twice before jumping in? Yeah, alright. Do a handstand and then fall head first over the edge? Challenge me, puuuhhleeaaase!

All the while, people were just over goin' off that high dive all morning long. I, being the excellent avoider I have always been, just chose to ignore it. That is, until one of the kids in my class mentioned it. Stupid Dusty Reynolds and his high-fallutin', wannabe Superman attitude wanted to go off the high dive. Though I don't remember the exact words I said to him then, if I were to go back to that scene and help myself respond with the benefit of my current vernacular, it would have gone something like dude, you must be on crack!

And then, the most ridiculous moment of my year spent as a six year-old happened. The teacher told him he could, if he wanted to. Then, as if attempting to make me pee in the pool right there, she also said that anyone else who wanted to could also go off the high dive. We just had to follow the rules (no fancy tricks on that one) and go one at a time. Wouldn't you know it, all but me and one other kid lined up. Slowly, one after the next, they took the plunge. Some going down in straight lines and screaming, others looking like jacks sprawled out and creating a smacking sound as soon as their bodies came into contact with the water. Left at the bottom of the steps there was only me and one other girl. She asked me if I was going to go and I told her I didn't know. She then said that she was and me, always the chicken at first but never one to be completly beat, raced up that ladder like it led to Disneyland.

As I approached the top, I was hardly able to stop and ask myself what I was doing. I remember slowly pacing out to the edge of the board, feeling the gentle bounce that I was certain would send me plummeting with even the slightest misstep. I remember the itch in my legs from the chlorinated water dripping down from my swimsuit. I remember the distant calls from the kids below, though I couldn't tell you what their words may have been. I remember thinking to keep my legs together and my hands by my sides, straight like a pencil. I remember stepping off.

I unexpectedly hit the water in a deep plunge, eyes closed the entire time. When I finally felt myself stop, my toes just grazing the bottom of the deep end, I opened my eyes. I remember looking up and thinking I'd never get to the top. I kicked my feet and held my breath. I kicked and kicked, held and held. I didn't have enough air, I wasn't going to make it. I was about to gasp and still, in my six year-old head, miles and miles under the water. I wanted to panic, but had no where to panic in, no one to panic to. So I kicked and kicked, and finally my finger tips felt the air, then my elbows, my shoulders, my face. I took one deep breath, then another before I began swimming to the edge. I turned, looked up at that high dive and grinned, because I knew I'd do it again.

And maybe that's sort of how things are right now. I'm afraid, yet don't want to be left behind. I'm plunging in, and not knowing what to expect. I'm looking up, waiting to get to the top and with every second, doubting I'm going to make it. Doubting I'll ever be able to breathe again. But maybe I will, and maybe I'll go back for more when I do.


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Apparently, it's de-lurking week in the blog world. Not to be presumptuous (yeah, right) but if you're here and you don't comment, maybe this week you can. I suppose nothing bad will happen if you don't but, you know, I saw a hexing book at the library today and nothing would entertain me more than to check it out because then, a girl I went to high school with would have to look me straight in the eye while she scanned the book and my card and resist the urge to say I was right about you all along.

Facing Aversion

Sometimes, I avoid confrontation. I suppose I do it for a lot of reasons, depending on the situation but most of it is due to my laziness or having already moved on to occupy myself with something else.

Just yesterday, I was walking down the street and turning to go into a store. The store owner was standing in the doorway, talking to another patron. She seemed to be upset about something and the store owner was apologizing. As I approached the door, the unhappy customer had turned to leave and the owner, less than two feet away from me, let go of the handle and headed back inside. She let the door shut in my face. There, in that single second I decided that store had nothing for me. I turned to the friend I was walking with and said "never mind" and we walked away.

The store owner, apparently having seen this, came back out the door and said "we're open, come in." Obviously, she thought nothing of what she did. "No thank you," I said. And part of me wanted to walk back in there and tell her why. But that other part, that avoid it, it's hard and will make you uncomfortable for no reason part, just kept walking.

I do this too much, though. With things I think are unimportant, inconsequential. I did it when I was younger, when I didn't want to hang out with someone anymore- I'd just distance myself, until we drifted apart. I don't do that now, but the problem is, the attitude seeps into other areas. Areas it shouldn't. Some things, you have to confront.

We'd been out twice. Once, for drinks, that turned into dinner. It was nice, but I was worried. "No spark," I'd told a friend. She convinced me to give it another chance. I opened an email from him. If I were a celebrity with a fan club, I'd want a letter like this. I'd want a hundred of them. He was a fan. So we went out again. I was tired, just back from a trip. And a marathon. He was anxious, obviously so. I had a hard time engaging and I blamed it on being tired. At the end of the evening, I hugged him and said sure to another phone call, another meeting.

I knew better. Somewhere, and not-so-deep down, I knew what it was. That elusive "spark" I'd wondered about before, it still wasn't there. It wasn't going to be. Something was off, something just didn't flow. It would have been missing, even if the interests weren't romantic. No click, no chemistry. None of those descriptions we use to talk about something good. Someone good.

But the phone calls came anyway. One, two, then three. I'd legitimately missed only one of those, avoided the others. I was ashamed of myself. What was I doing, practicing something this childish, at twenty-seven? So I decided, I had to make the call. And just like that, it was easy. The words came to me, I dialed the numbers. I gave him the explanation, the honest explanation. None of that "I'm so busy" or "you don't want to date me" crap. I said genuine words. Adult words. Call it nerve, call it gutsy, call it about time. What I'm going to call it, though, is growing the hell up.

Things I've Done in the Last 48 Hours That Are Really Gonna Make it Difficult for Someone to Put Up With Me Someday

- Bought two new coats online. To look fabulous, of course, and to stuff in a coat closet that is already packed and has absolutely NO room for one more coat, much less the coats of any other person.

- Bought flip flops online. Hello? They're on clearance. I know there are forty-five pairs in the closet. I know.

- Spent $45 on sending a package of my favorite chips and salsa to Canada because friends of mine are having a party and I cannot be there (don't think I did not see how much a weekend flight to Edmonton was, either).

- Spent 35 minutes on the floor with my dog rocking her like a baby because I hadn't seen her in ten hours.

- Went to the gym and sweat my little heart out on the elliptical and proceeded to take my sweaty, greasy self all over the city running errands with no regard for the noses of others.

- Went to the bookstore and made a list of all the new books I want even though there's a shelf full of unread books right here in my little house.

- Googled "how to mail beer", "how to pack beer in checked luggage", and "how to send beer to someone across the country without the beer exploding" and then got really upset that there was absolutely NO help out there whatsoever!

- Ate Chinese food for lunch AND dinner in the same day. And am sort of still craving it 24 hours later.

- Bought a lottery ticket and then spent a good fifteen minutes looking at boats for sale online because YOU JUST NEVER KNOW.

On Caribbean Villas and also, lots of ( )'s

Well here's where I talk a lot about something I like and wholeheartedly expect that everyone and their dog will then like it, too. Yes, that was a warning because you know I never do that. Never.
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The thing is, you can only like something so much before you have to start sharing it with others. Relax, Internet, you are not the first. That, of course, was Mom. But now, Mom is over it and I'm tired of her what, you think you know these people? attitude and my well, no, not now but maybe someday response. She is just never okay with the way my mind wanders and dreams. She's all concerned with "how much time I spend at the computer" and blah blah blah.
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WHAT?! is this girl talking about, you might ask. And, well, rightly so. I am talking about this:

Oh yeah, I know. Ginormous surprise here, right? Dreaming of a photo that looks like it was taken on an island. What a shock. But really, this gets good. Promise.
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The place in the photo (and 1,000,000 points to you if you already know where it is*) is this. A Caribbean villa built by two self-proclaimed "average guys." (They also proclaimed themselves idiots and insane a couple times but do you see me mentioning that? Oh nooooo. Because I? I think it's genius and we all know me and my rational thinking.)
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So why am I writing about this? Well, for the most part, and as I warned you earlier, I have loved loved loved and followed their blog from nearly the beginning and now that things are complete (for the most part, anyway) I just want to share share share. Of course, I think you should go start from the beginning and read the whole darn thing but that is just me and my amazing and never-failing ability to kill an entire afternoon at the office.

At the very least, though, maybe you'll just want to read the last few months or so and then maybe go visit their new site ( and I swear I am not being paid for any of this, but you know, I really should be because this post is likely to be read by nearly a dozen people and if that doesn't say CHA-CHING! I don't know what does). Now, their new site is just evidence of their love for the island. Yes, I'm sure, like me, they loved it before as visitors but now, it's more of an "invested" kind of love. (Gee, you think, dork? They just built a house there. Duh. Really.)

Anyway.
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They say you can love your dog, just don't LOVE your dog. Well, it's a good thing the same is not true about tropical rocks sitting out in the middle of perfect, tranquil turquoise waters edged by soft, sandy beaches and littered with flip-flop wearers and fine establishments that never run out of rum. Oh, it is a real good thing that is not the case.
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Should the boys from Bongo Bongo ever read this post (and don't think part of me doesn't want to head over there and tell them about it right now) they might think they don't "know" me. Well, they (and my mother) might be right but, also, they might be wrong. They sort of do but I'm really not going to say why because A) it makes me sound a little insane and I realize I am SO pushing that envelope right now and B) they know my real name! Gasp! I know! But, just as a note to them, should they ever see this: think pants. Non-pleated, to be exact.
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So now go, off with you. Off to read about building a villa on an island and how yes, yes friend, you can do it too! Who knows, they will probably come out with a Do-It-Yourself-on-St. John kit anytime now. And, like I said in the beginning, if this sort of reading is not something that interests you then I feel sorry. Mostly, for you. (Kidding, you know I love your little, cold-loving, non-flip-flop wearing soul.)


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* Yes, I will send you your 1,000,000 points. In exchange for $1,000,000. I know, tricky, eh?

Oh.

While listening to REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling and driving down the Interstate:


Me: I love REO Speedwagon.

Friend: Yeah, me too.

Me: No wonder people used to make out to this stuff, huh?

Friend: Used to? I still would!

Me: Alright, me too... but this song bothers me.

Friend: Why?

Me: Because, why should he have to give all that up for love? Why should he have to "bring his ship into the shore and throw away the oars?" No one should have to give that up. I mean, isn't being in love supposed to be nice, and freeing. Aren't you supposed to feel good about what you do and who you are and the things you love? You shouldn't have to give up your ship. That's just wrong.

Friend: They're not talking about an actual ship.

Me: What?

Friend: It means he's giving up all the woman chasing. It's a metaphor.

Me: Oh.

Friend: ...

Me: Well it's a good thing because that would just be stupid. I would never do that.

Friend: Well I don't think you'll ever have to make that choice.

Me: Gee, thanks. I'll never find love.

Friend: No, genius, because you'll never have a ship.

Me: Gee, thanks. No love and no boat. Great.

Friend: Oh geez!

Me: What? You never know? The odds are about the same for both!

Not that you wanted to go anywhere, anyway

It may be difficult to see in this picture, but I am freaking buried in snow. That's the "view" out of my patio door and if you look closely, you can see the top edge of the drift just before the railing. I'm taking the photo from above, so you can sort of see the drift comes about a third of the way up the door.

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In other words: it was dang snowy and windy for a dang long time.

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Thankfully, the job decided it wasn't safe for everyone to come in today... I won't talk about how it took them the entirety of the "delayed start" to decide this because that would just be silly. The important part is, I'm at home and I get to wrap presents all day.

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I'm happy to get this finished now because inevitably, I've forgotten to get someone something and now I'll have a couple more days to get my act together. Yes, I've had lists -come on, who do you think I am?- but there's just always that one little gift you forget.

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I'm also a little upset with Amazon as the CD box sets I've ordered for my grandma aren't here yet and they were ordered over two weeks ago. Don't make me hate you, Amazon, just. don't. do it.

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The snow is probably going to throw a wrench in my plan for running this weekend, too. Following doctor's orders I've taken the last two weeks off from any running, so I was hoping to get my first run in this Saturday and, if that went well, I'd then be able to do my "traditional" Christmas morning run. Last year, I was able to run on Christmas day in shorts- it was sixty degrees (F). I'm guessing this year is going to be a little less pleasant.

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Though I haven't been running, I can't say I feel entirely lazy. I'm glad to have taken the time off and though I thought it would be horrible at first, I now realize the purpose of rest after a marathon: to heal all the little stuff and realize what really hurts. Heh. Really, though, I've been strength training and stretching which are two things I neglected in the past six months.

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Also, and I feel a little silly admitting this, but the Three-in-Three challenge (Nicole's idea that I invited myself to join in on) is going well. Better than expected, actually, as I've lost six pounds so far. I contribute this partly to not wanting any of the billion cookies I baked and also to finally taking the time to get to all the things I'd put off before the marathon.

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I also have gone back to the Three and Three eating habit that my trainer put me on years back (the fact that this is also a "three" thing is strictly coincidence, I promise). You eat only every three hours and not three hours before you go to bed. It's really quite easy. It allows me to plan ahead (which I believe is THE key to healthy eating) and I'm never really hungry. If I eat at 6:00 a.m. and am hungry at 8:00 a.m., I know I only have to wait another hour before I eat again. It's not torture to me and often, I forget about the schedule altogether. Another good tip is to make sure every meal or snack contains protein. Also, if you're going to include a lot of breads or crackers or something, do it before noon. I don't know why, though I'm sure there's a science to it somewhere, but this makes a huge difference.

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This also helps in getting my head together. I feel a little more successful and a little less "stuck." Life wise, anyway. I'm still stuck in the snow.

Tall, Tall Trees

You know, it never ceases to amaze me when you get to have these little "epiphany" type moments at the most random times. Really, it's just incredible that we get to grow and progress enough from time to time so that we can really see the purpose or value in a moment.

My moment, just the other day, was completely unexpected- as they often say the best ones are. I was reading Michelle's blog and this post. To most, it would seem like any other post. We had a storm, a power outage, a run, etc. What's extraordinary about that, right? Admittedly, while I always enjoy Michelle's posts (really, her ability to find just the right mix of enthusiasm and laid-back is incredibly admirable), I thought the same. It's good to hear the perspective of a storm and outage like that from someone who's in it, rather than the news but that's it.

Until I read this part:
Today as I was walking the dog, I took a good look at our trees and decided that I had underestimated their height. I'd say they range from 75 to 125 feet. I also counted - three in the front garden, ten in the backyard. Of these, there are probably eight that I cannot fit my arms around. The middle one in the front is a skinny, woodpecker drilled thing that is mostly dead. Eric and a neighbor have grand plans to take it down on their own. It's probably an okay plan because it is one of the shorter ones. I guess we'll find out next summer.

This is where my "moment" occurred. Big, almost dead tree removal? Epiphany? Wait... what?

Yeah, I know. But stay with me, it all sort of flooded into my head. I pictured the trees in my mind. I pictured this "almost dead" tree in a front yard, in front of a house. I pictured the front windows, a driveway, the street in front of the house. I pictured the family that runs (ha, pun sort of intended) in and out of that house every day. I pictured the hustle and the rushing around, and the quiet moments, too. Not necessarily of Michelle's family, but just of a family. Lives running in and out of the house, past the old, almost dead tree. And then, when she says "Eric and a neighbor have grand plans to take it down on their own. It's probably an okay plan because it's one of the shorter ones. I guess we'll find out next summer." Just like that, so easy.

"I guess we'll find out next summer."

And that's where it happened, and something clicked in my brain. There's a feeling there, something I can't quite point out. I can't explain it. But, at the same time, I want it. I want that part of life where you have a big huge tree in the yard that has to come down and it has to happen next summer and somehow you're just "eh, it'll happen... whatever, no big deal." Because now, in my current state of mind, I would be something more along the lines of "tree? Old? Dead? Has to come down? When? How? You? You're going to remove it? Isn't that dangerous? Won't it be difficult? And when is there time for it? And what and how and when and you, mere mortal man and tree, huge ten-ton tree? HOW?!" Relaxed, don't you think?

Wanna know what I think? I think I'm a little nuts. I think my brain has to slow the heck down for five seconds and take some time to realize I don't have to figure out the entire world of tree removal (or anything else that's going on in my little reality) RIGHTTHISVERYSECOND, ORELSE!! Because that feeling of nonchalant, no worries, comfortable right where you are, dealing with life as it comes to you sounds a whole lot better. And, the best part is, I'm totally capable of that. A little more so every day.

I Am Terrible With Crushes

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I could never pick just one crush
But if I could, it would be YOU!


Sorry to Miss Sizzle, I have failed. I could not pick a "crush", it's just too difficult. There are several insightful women and men I "know" in the blogging world and, even if it's just in my own mind, I would feel bad for choosing only one. Not so ironically, this is how I operate in life, as well. Rather than picking just one to admire, I often give myself several choices depending on my mood. Hopefully, my ingenious poetic talent will make up for my indecision!