A Sleepy Girl's Thoughts on Life

Lonely Night, Lonely Life

2008-01-23T00:38:00.000-05:00

When did it become so easy to cry?

Maybe it's because...I MISS HIM. It's not really all the time that I miss him. It's just sometimes, when I feel he should be here to share something with me.

I want to feel him next to me in bed at night. I want him to see our (my) puppy's latest trick or cute picture. I want him to watch American Idol with me and complain the whole way through.

Sure, I've felt this way before, after other break-ups. But I feel like this time is somehow different. I was never really in love before this. I had deep feelings, but not in the same way. I had never so desperately wanted to spend my life with someone.

Of course, just because I wanted it doesn't mean it was right. It couldn't have been right. I couldn't marry an alcoholic with a bad temper and no college degree. There, I said it. I kept those things a secret for so long because I was afraid of people judging him, or judging me for being with him.

I didn't define him by his addiction or by his shortcomings. I wanted to see something more beneath the surface. I wanted to see only the good -- his quirky humor, the sweet words he whispered in his scruffy voice, his sense of adventure. I wanted to believe he could change. I wanted to believe I could help him.

But in the end, I just gave up a part of myself. I'm not sure if I really helped him at all. I was just his enabler. And now, we're both left weaker. I still care about him in an unbearable way. But I know with every fiber of my being that I cannot be with him, that I shouldn't even be communicating with him.

And in the moments of weak resolve when I've contacted him, I end up justifying this all over again. To him. Because he is constantly arguing in favor of our relationship and what it once was. He says he wants to be with me. And sure, in a perfect world where alcohol and money and responsibility don't exist, I could be with him. But otherwise, I would just be hurting myself.

I realize that when I call him, I'm not only hurting myself, but him too. Calling gives him hope when I know all too well that there is none. It's selfish of me to want to know about his life or to want to hear his voice. I always thought he was the selfish one in our relationship. Now I guess it's my turn to admit that I have to let him go.

Here I Go Again (On My Own)

2008-01-09T20:47:00.001-05:00

It's like the song says. Here I go again. On my own.

It's been well over a year since I've taken the time to write down my thoughts. So why now? Because I can't keep it inside anymore. It's the same old story. I threw myself into a serious relationship. I gave it all I had. I fell in love. Not a little bit. A lot. It was passionate/can't live without you/best sex I've ever had -- that kind of love. From the sound of it now though, it seems like maybe it was just lust. I guess I don't know what it was.

But I know how it made me feel. It made me feel needed and wanted. It made me feel like I had a place in the world and a future. But only during the good times. When it was good, it was so far beyond good. But when it was bad, it was so much worse than I could have imagined. I guess that's passion for ya.

And now that it's finally, truly over, I feel alone. I feel sad. I feel like someone died. I feel like I'll never find such a magnetism with someone again. I wish I could be with him. I wish he was somehow himself but still different. I wish it would've worked out. I wish everything I did for him paid off. I wish I could've helped him more.

And now I can't help him. I can't keep wanting to be needed. But it's so hard not to. It's so hard to let it go when he insists that we're meant to be together. It's so hard to not want to hear that.

My brain knows I can't ever be with him. My mind knows that giving him another chance could be the biggest mistake of my life. But my heart? It is completely illogical and irrational. It wants to be loved. Even if that love is only verbally expressed.

Love is complicated. Relationships are complicated. Men are complicated. But nothing is more complicated than the human psyche. For once, I wish I could just empty my mind completely and start over.

My Life in a Box

2006-10-18T15:27:00.000-04:00

I remember that cool fall day a year ago. It was a weekday, but I wasn't at work, which means it must have been Columbus Day, or maybe Veteran's Day. It was a little like today, deceivingly sunny and chirpy, with that sneaky chill in the air. And the leaves were turning, the orange ones blowing around past my windshield.

I had a mission that day.

A mission to completely pack up my life as I knew it and cart it all back to that place where I came from. I was going back to my roots--my parents, my childhood home--and I was going to do it as quickly as possible.

I stopped at the storage place along the way hoping to find some packing material for my fragile dishes. I walked in, all disheveled and wind-blown in my lazy pants and sweatshirt, and I remember thinking how strange this all was.

I remember wishing that I didn't have to do this alone. Thinking how nice it would've been to have him help me this one last time. How nice it would be if he could just go and do everything for me. He would have known better than I where to find packing stuff, after all...heck, I don't even know the technical term for "packing stuff."

But not surprisingly, I found it anyway. I bought some big sheets of brown paper that were lying around the store, and triumphantly hauled them inside to my cozy, now half-empty apartment. I walked in and felt the stale warmth of the sun coming in through the huge balcony window. The place had already taken on such a feeling of emptiness, of impermanence.

It used to be a place of love. Friendship. Hope and future. Now it was just a meaningless space surrounded by walls, filled with piles of random things. Picture frames, dishes, tools. I separated them all out.

His pile. My pile. His pile. My pile.

We used to share everything. Now we shared nothing.

I got out my new packing material and my boxes, and I started to pile things in. At first I was methodical, labeling each box based on its contents: Kitchen, Bed sheets, Books.

But my organizational scheme soon gave way to chaos, and box after box got a perhaps more appropriate label: Misc. The Misc. boxes held everything and anything: picture frames, misfit articles of clothing, a shoe here, a shoe there, my pretty blue shower curtain.

I finished in a few hours, lining up all of my boxes by the door. And there they were, all of my important life posessions, dumped into brown stiff cardboard, in a place that I would never call home again.

I made sure to neatly pile his things in another part of the room. I gave one long look back, taking in the desolate expanse, and I walked out the door.

A week or so later, my boxes and I were home. I unpacked only what I needed, which, again unsurprisingly, wasn't much.

And the rest of the boxes, I left in the basement. The cold, dust-filled basement. I'd come down every once in a while to get an erstwhile item or two, but for the most part those boxes just sat there. Shelved away in my life and in my mind. Memories pushed aside so I could start over again.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, in an effort to clean up the atrocious packing job I had done a year earlier, my mom went through those boxes. She unpacked and re-packed and threw out, unaware of the sentimentality of that act.

The undoing of what had become permanence for me. The stirring of old memories.

She asked me to venture down and go through some of the mess. She wanted to know what could go and what could stay.

I obliged. And there they were. The infamous Misc. boxes. Still filled with my random crap.

I picked up a picture frame, laying down on its face, and for a moment everything came flooding back. I could see the apartment. I could see this picture of us in the apartment. Sitting on my white bookcase in our bedroom, front and center. It was quite possibly the best picture of us ever taken. I'd had it blown up to 5x7 to fit the frame, a pretty gold one with swirls of green and bronze around it.

I didn't know what to do.

I set the frame down as I looked around at everything else. Another picture of us in a different frame--one that in fact I had given him (somehow I ended up with it). And then another. And then the little toolsets he bought for me just so I'd have them. The air purifier that he bought for our room.

"Well, what do you expect?" my mom said, noticing my perplexed expression. "He was your life, Lauren."

And then I knew what to do.

She was right. He was my life.

But not anymore.

I opened the frame, and I tried to take the picture out. The funny thing is, it was stuck. Somehow water had gotton inside, and the picture was literally fused to the glass. I couldn't take it out without ripping and ruining it.

I tried peeling the picture off slowly, hoping to maybe salvage it, or at least salvage the frame glass. But it didn't take. So I ripped hard, and part of the picture ended up stuck on the glass.

I held the curling picture in my hand, our smiling faces still intact, and I couldn't help but feel the irony of the situation, the figurative metaphor for our relationship and the way it ended.

I gave the frame to my mom, who was very excited that she'd have another item to put in her garage sale pile.

"What about this?" she asked, pointing to the ruined photo. "Should I throw it away?"

"Yeah," I said. It came out easier than I thought it would.

Because the damage had already been done. It was the original rip off the glass that hurt just a little bit. And the real rip the year before that hurt a lot.

I know my memories will never really leave me. I know I'll always have things that remind me of him. But I also know that I'm happy now, and that I'll be happy in the future. I know that I can go to the store and come back with all the "packing stuff" I need without lamenting the fact that I don't have a companion.

I have a different life than I had with him. And it's a good one.

I surveyed the now-repacked boxes in the basement, all neatly closed and stacked. All filled with what used to be my life, and again relegated to this dark, lonely little part of our house, and that little corner of my mind.

"Let's go back upstairs," I said to Mom. "I need to go to sleep."

"Okay!" she chirped, happy with the work she'd done.

Without a second thought, she picked up my old photo, crumpled it in her hand, and threw it in with the rest of the trash.

Upstairs we went into the warmth and the light. And I didn't look back.

The Year of Me

2006-10-12T16:01:00.000-04:00

It's been one year.

One year that has undoubtedly been the most challenging and self-affirming of my entire life.

In the past year, I've felt heartbreak. Love. Pain. Intense relief.

I've felt emotions that I didn't even know existed until something happened that tore my world apart. I've been so far down into that deep dark hole of depression that I thought I'd never see the light again.

And I've come through it.

I've realized what's important in life. I've become closer with my family. I've become closer with myself.

I've learned to love who I am. I've even learned to like the way I look. I've learned to stick with the people who are good for me. I've learned to stick with the decisions that make me stronger.

It's crazy, but I've somehow grown up in the past year. To think, all this time I've been wondering why bad things were happening to me. I never stopped to consider the fact that it didn't matter why. It only matters how I respond to these things, and how I continue to lead my life.

And right now, I think I'm leading a pretty good one. And it's not because of any one thing, either (though, yes, my wonderful new relationship sure makes me happy).

But I promise, it's everything. It's the combination of my attitude, my achievements, my decisions, and my relationships.

Sure, nothing is perfect. My dad's still sick, to an extent (hopefully a small one). I still live at home with my parents and don't make enough money. I still feel sleep-deprived every day. I still wish I could put all my energy and passion into school and quit work.

Yes, all of those problems still exist. But they're lessened by the fact that I've come such a long way.

For once, I can say I'm happy.

And all it took was one year...yes, it's been exactly one year since we broke up. But I'm not writing this post to honor that somber anniversary. I'm writing it to honor me.

Because on this day last year, I'm ashamed to say I didn't like who I was. Or maybe I didn't know who I was.

But this year, I know exactly who I am.

And I freakin' love me!

Now I think that calls for a little celebration.

The New Relationship Post

2006-09-20T13:44:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm not in control.

Of anything. The traffic, my emotions, my relationships with other people, my pets, bad luck, good experiences, my LIFE.

I feel like total crap today. I feel sick to my stomach. I feel tired. I feel unmotivated. I feel not pretty.

And I feel...powerless to change any of that.

I feel things spiraling away from me. I can't seem to put my mind to anything and keep it.

I fear that I'm too easily manipulated by others. I don't know who to trust. And I'm not putting enough stock in the people who have already proven their trust to me.

I like to believe what makes me feel good. I like to believe what makes me feel safe. I like to believe that the easy way is the right way.

None of this is true though, is it?

I think a lot of my uneasiness is stemming from the fact that I am starting a new relationship. With a guy, yes. A guy I met in "real life."

Yes, it happened (!!!). I met someone (!!!). And I've been riding on this giddy feeling ever since. But it's starting to dissipate now, and the fear is kicking in... :-(

I don't want to make myself vulnerable. The strange part is, it's usually just the opposite for me. I'm usually guarded. I'm usually "safe" because I don't put too much of myself into the equation.

But now, after almost a year of being "single," I am so eager to be involved in this type of relationship. Too eager, perhaps. Am I jumping head first into this because I am lonely? Or because it's right? Because I am needy and insecure? Or because it's actually healthy for me?

I feel myself depending on him a little bit. And that really really scares me. I don't like putting expectations on people because inevitably they'll never live up to said expectations. The problem is...I expect a lot. Perhaps too much.

This guy's not perfect. Of course, I don't think anyone is. But is he perfect enough for me? Is our social and physical chemistry enough? The spark is there this time, but is all the other stuff there? Should I be having these insecure and fearful feelings this early on? What does that mean?

I love being with him. But I can't help feeling that my life was a whole lot easier without anyone else in the equation. Is that a bad thing?

I have so many questions. How do I possibly answer them?

A Belated Memoriam

2006-09-12T14:26:00.000-04:00

I meant to write a post about 9/11 yesterday.

But I didn't.

In fact, after deeply conteplating what the day meant to me--and to so many other people--on my drive in, thoughts about it vanished almost completely. I got carried away with work and then with class, and with everything else that normally bogs my mind down in the course of an overcast Monday.

I even complained about the weather, the fact that I was tired, and the prospect of going to a five-hour class. I believe I even wrote in one e-mail "Why does today suck so bad?"

And I must say I'm rather ashamed of myself. Yesterday sucked, yes, but not because of my mundane and trivial problems. It sucked because of something that happened five years ago that our nation--and possibly the world--will never forget. History changed on September 11, 2001. I feel I must acknowledge that. I must put my life in perspective.

And yet, at the same time, maybe it's good that I was able to let go yesterday. That I was able to be so ignorant. I suppose that makes life easier.

It's just like with my dad's cancer. If I constantly think about it, I can't possibly lead a healthy life. I can't concentrate on anything important because what he is going through so easily trumps anything I'm going through. Thinking of him being sick makes me feel sick.

I know it's important to remember and to honor those who lost their lives and those who became heroes on that day five years ago. But there is only so much we can give of ourselves--as individuals, and as a nation.

Now, I'm talking from the perspective of someone who was as detached from that day as anyone could be; I wasn't even in the DC area when it happened, and I didn't know anyone directly affected by the tragedy. So I know that makes all of this easier for me. I know I might sound ignorant.

But I can't help thinking...when are we going to let ourselves heal?

I guess the answer is that it isn't up to us. It's up to time. It's up to the next generation. It's up to the world.

Or perhaps this is something so cataclysmic that we will never heal from it.

And maybe we shouldn't.

My heart and thoughts go out to anyone affected, no matter how remotely, by the events of September 11, 2001. May you continue to gain strength and peace in the wake of such a life-changing event.

Revelations

2006-08-18T12:40:00.000-04:00

It's been 17 days since my last post.

Normally, I'd sit here and apologize to all my readers who have checked my blog in the past two-plus weeks only to find nothing. Over and over again.

I'd apologize if the reason for my absence was laziness. And I'd apologize if the reason was a lack of creativity and ideas. But those, my friends, are not what has ailed me these past weeks.

I've simply been swept away with life.

I've realized that the more I'm in the blogosphere--both writing and lurking--the less I'm in my life. Because as cool as this whole blog thing is, let's face it, it's not real life.

When I'm here, I lose myself in something. Something that I immensely enjoy, yes, but also something that's maybe not the best thing for me. I live vicariously through other people's blogs, and that deters me from living on my own.

And I write so much in my own blog about my thoughts, dreams and emotions that they begin to lose all real meaning. I overanalyze them and convince myself of things that don't really make sense, or aren't really "true."

So, I unknowingly gave myself a break the past few weeks. I just let life take over, and I didn't worry about frantically thinking of angsty topics to keep up the momentum on my blog.

I'd much rather be living my life--doing things that keep me busy and give me a sense of accomplishment--than writing in this blog. I love writing, and I love blogging, and I love everyone involved in this great blogging universe, but it's not really worth me worrying about it, is it?

I shouldn't look at the calendar and freak out because I see that it's a Tuesday and that I wrote my last blog entry on a Tuesday which means it's been at least a week since I wrote something. Blogging shouldn't be a chore. It should just come naturally.

I figure I'll just let it ride from now on. I'll let the words out when they come to me. But I won't under any circumstances force myself to open up a new post only to sit there and stare at the blank screen. If I don't feel like writing, I won't be writing. If I'm too busy with friends or school or any number of other things, I won't be writing.

When I have a moment of clarity to really think, that's when I'll be writing. Not when I'm simply bored, but when I'm inspired.

That inspiration could come every day. Or it could come only every two weeks.

See ya when I see ya. And until then, remember that life does exist outside the comforting confines of the computer screen. Sometimes we all have to step outside our comfort zone to remind ourselves of how capable we really are.

To Sink or Swim

2006-08-01T16:35:00.000-04:00

There have only been three guys I could see myself marrying.

Three in 24 years.

I'm not sure if those are good odds or bad. Probably bad, though, considering that I barely knew one of them. I'm not giving any other details away, but the point is...how do I find "the one"?

It occurred to me today that I'll never really know for sure if someone is indeed the one I should marry. All I can know is what I feel. And if I feel perfectly confident, then I know it might be right. If I feel a little something tugging at my thoughts like a big black rain cloud, then I know it might be wrong.

I've felt both ways before. I've felt completely in love and confident that nothing in the world could keep me from my destiny--from marrying that man (or boy, as he was back when we were in high school). But of course, those hopes were dashed not even a year after I felt those strong feelings.

And I've felt the opposite of confident. I've deluded myself into thinking that someone was my destiny. But I could never completely ignore that pesky little feeling, the one that told me I would be making the wrong decision.

I don't really know what else to do other than try to be true to my feelings. They are all I have. And for better or for worse, I think they've served me well--when I've actually listened to them.

We all have a lot more truth in us than we think we do. It's abiding by the truth that's the hard part. It's doing what you know is healthy for you--rather than what is comfortable or safe. It's listening to your gut instinct even in the most trying circumstances.

I've learned to respect my gut instinct. And I'm hoping it will serve me well in my next pursuit. Online dating.

I'm just trying it out. I'm not going to get hopes up that it will actually accomplish anything. But I do at least hope to get some valuable learning experience out of it--whether it's good or bad.

And yet, I must admit that I still hold out that little glimmer of hope, that feeling that maybe this new avenue--though somewhat scary and completely unfamiliar--will help me find the fourth guy I can see myself marrying.

Even if I find him, and even if I don't end up marrying him, at least I will have loved again. Lived again.

Until then, the lonliness will continue to consume me. Hopefully I'll keep my head above water, gasping for air and fighting with all my slight might. I don't know how I'll survive without being able to float. I always sink right down because I'm afraid to get my ears wet.

Here's to the next six months of online dating. I'll be here, just treading water in a big sea of uncertain possibilities.

I figured me out

2006-07-25T23:29:00.000-04:00

The sad reality of my life is this: I need men to feel good about myself.

And even sadder? More often than not, men make me feel bad about myself.

I am constantly looking for their approval. Because for one reason or another, I base about 99.9 percent of my self worth on my looks alone.

I know this is ridiculous. Yet I cannot change the way I am.

I somehow grew up to be this way. Why? I truly do not know.

I have great parents. They love me unconditionally.

I had a happy childhood. Nothing really traumatizing ever happened to me.

Maybe it was the little, every day things that made me this way. Like my mom's constant complants about her own body and hair. Or the way she agonized over the clothes I would wear to school. The way she'd yell at me until I wore the exact outfit she picked out.

Maybe it was that my dad didn't give me enough affection. Maybe he didn't hug me enough, maybe he didn't tell me I was pretty as much as he could have.

Maybe it was society. For placing so much emphasis on women's bodies on TV, in advertisements, and everywhere else.

Maybe it was the people in high school. Those girls with their tan skin, big boobs and little waists. The ones who seemed to always have the boys' attention. They didn't do anything to me at all. But I still hated them.

And yet somehow, I came out of all of this hating myself.

I'm intelligent, kind, and even pretty good-looking. But I still have a problem with me. I still don't feel comfortable in my own skin. I still need constant attention and reassurance to feel good.

The crazy thing is...the more attention I get, the more I crave. It's never enough. I'm always craving. Always interpreting the worst out of every situation that even remotely involves my body image. Always searching for reasons why I'm not good enough.

Maybe the blame shouldn't fall on anyone. I can't blame my parents for making me this way. I should be grateful to them for being as wonderful as they are. And I certainly can't blame people that didn't even know me, or something as abstract as society itself.

I can only blame the one person who has the ability to someday change this sad reality.

Me.

I missed my own Blogiversary

2006-07-21T14:37:00.000-04:00

I'm not gonna make a big deal about it or anything, but...

it IS pretty impressive that I've been blogging for an entire YEAR.

I didn't expect to stick with this at ALL. You see, I had another blog before this (started back in 2003), and it was just horrendous in comparison. No really good writing. Just a basic day-to-day summary of my life, except I only wrote every couple weeks and then stopped altogether.

I started "A Sleepy Girl's Thoughts of Life" simply because I'd been reading other people's blogs, most of which were powerd by Blogger. I thought the design looked cool and professional, so I figured I'd give it one more shot. For the first few months I had okay entries--better than my previous blog but still nothing special.

Then it was like something snapped inside me (could've been the big break-up, or really any number of things that brought on my onslaught of sadder times). I just relaxed and let the words pour out. My writing became more emotionally-charged, more real. I stopped trying so hard.

And look at me now. I can't even believe the stuff I write on here sometimes. I feel like being so honest and candid about certain subjects--about my insecurity with life in general--might not be the smartest idea. But it's been well worth it.

Now I have a place to go when I need to vent. I have something I can be truly proud of and can call my own. I have all these intelligent and interesting personalities reading me--and me reading them--and reacting to me.

And I've become a much better writer in the process.

Don't get me wrong, I always knew I was good. I just didn't know I had this in me.

Bring on the next year!

This what we dream about
but the only question with me now
Is do I make you proud
Stronger than I've ever been
Never been afraid of standing out
But do I make you proud
-- Taylor Hicks (don't make fun, he's good)

*Let's pretend I posted this on July 5, the actual date that my little blog turned 1 year old.

Life Goes On

2006-07-20T13:55:00.000-04:00

I look down at my turquoise strappy sandals--the ones that match the flowy skirt I'm wearing perfectly--and I see a small smudge of dirt. It's just a faint stain, but it sends a chill right through my heart.

Because I've just realized that these are the shoes I was wearing the day my dad had his car accident. These are the cute sandals that trudged through the dirt with me to look at the accident scene, the ones I had to wash off when we got home from the hospital.

And this is the long flowy skirt I wore to work that day--50 days ago, to be exact. A Thursday, just like today, only very, very different.

It amazes me how easily I can block things out. It's not that I'd forgotton about my dad's accident, but I'd just gone on with my life. The little reminders of what happened have faded away: His cuts have been long healed, he's finally been able to go back to work, he bought a new car, he's started treatments again.

Even so, everything's still not how it used to be. He still can't sleep in his bed because it hurts him to lie flat. But regardless, life has simply...kept going...for all of us.

I guess it just makes me uneasy because I feel like we're in this nice lull. Almost two months have passed with nothing really bad happening. No hospital visits, no accidents, just business as usual.

And remembering that day, that feeling of panic, scares me. I remember that morning when he left for work. I said goodbye to him so nonchalantly. I don't even know if I told him I loved him. I was too occupied with my own morning routine.

And not even an hour later when I found out what happened, that nonchalant morning goodbye haunted me. What if that had been the last time I got to see him? To talk to him? To give him a hug?

The worst part is, I still don't think I hug him enough. I don't say "I love you, Dad" enough. Despite everything we've been through--every scare and every "lesson"--I still don't appreciate my time with him enough.

It's very easy for me to fall into a preoccupied state. To want to be away from my parents because living with them can get on my nerves. To want to do my own thing and not worry about them.

I suppose that wearning these shoes today was just the reminder I needed. The reminder that family should be my priority. That even though life goes on and time heals, we can't forget those important experiences--and the lessons we learned from them.

The reminder that my parents are growing older--and I'm growing up (yikes!), so I'd better make the most of every minute.

And nobody knows what's gonna happen tomorrow
So don't let go, now we've come this far
You've got to believe
it'll be alright in the end
-- Duran Duran

Singleness

2006-07-19T14:16:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting at work, staring vacantly at my computer screen. A Grateful Dead song starts playing on my iPod and I immediately hit the skip button when all of a sudden...BAM...it's the Smashing Pumpkins. 1979.

It's him.

Another one of his favorite bands, another one of his favorite songs, and yet another reminder of what used to be.

And I hate it. I hate having to take pause in the middle of the afternoon just because some song makes me feel sad. I hate that things like this can still affect me so profoundly nine months after we broke up. I hate being such a girl.

And perhaps most of all, I hate my singleness. I even hate the fact that I hate my singleness. Because my rational self knows I need to be alone. And it knows that most days I'm perfectly happy alone.

It's when I'm confronted with little reminders of our coupledom that I get all nostalgic and long for that warm body next to me. It's not even his body I want. It's just any body. Faceless.

I haven't found my body yet.

Every time I see a couple holding hands, I wonder when it will be my turn to have that special connection with someone. Every time I hear about another person getting engaged, every time I see a cheesy romantic comedy, every time, every time, every time.

It feels like couples are all around me. It feels unfair. Why do all these people get to have what I want? What have I done wrong? When is it my turn to be happy with someone?

I don't understand how some people find contentedness with someone so early in life. Theoretically, it just shouldn't be possible. Out of all the people in the world, they find one who is "perfect" and who they're perfectly "happy" marrying. And yet they've barely even explored the world, barely even experienced anything. They're not even mature adults and yet they're getting married.

I suppose I'm jealous. It's hard not to be when I have very good friends who are all settled down with their perfect guys, planning out their lives. They have someone to call whenever they want. Someone to be there for them no matter what. The only people I can depend on in that way are my immediate family. And even then, I can't ask too much of them.

Maybe I'm being selfish. Sometimes I think I just want someone there--that body--to make me feel better. To complete me as a person. I want to take all I can from them and suck them dry of all compassion and love.

I want a human sponge. I feel like I've fulfilled that role for other people. I know it's not at all healthy. But I still want it.

Sometimes my singleness feels refreshing. And sometimes it feels like this--stifling and empty. I guess those are just the ups and downs of finding my own way.

And after so many years of letting someone else lead me blindly around, I know I have to be my own leader. My own source of confidence. My own biggest fan.

It's just kind of crappy.

Shakedown 1979,
cool kids never have the time
On a live wire right up off the street
You and I should meet

I Want More

2006-07-18T12:14:00.000-04:00

Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.
-- Miriam Beard

I always heard that once you started travelling, you couldn't get enough. But I never believed it until now.

I never believed it until I sat lazily at the top of the Eiffel Tower with the wind whipping through my hair and cameras flashing around me. I never believed it until I dragged my heavy suitcase all over two cities, across streets, up and down countless sets of stairs, and in and out of sweaty subway cars. I never believed it until I was sad to take that plane ride home.

My trip to Europe was special on many different levels. Perhaps the most important of these is that I was able to share it with my sister, who happens to be my best friend in the whole world. She was my partner in crime as we navigated our way from place to place, metro to metro, hotel to hotel.

She was always there to listen to me complain, or to tell me I got the directions wrong--or when I got them right, though it didn't happen too often. And she was there to make me laugh, and to plan out a schedule of the day's events, and to let me know when I was being a brat.

Little sister and I spent about two weeks together 24/7--probably the most time we've ever spent consecutively--and we had a wonderful time. Sure, we had a skirmish about halfway through the trip (at the very top of the Eiffel Tower, no less), but it only reinforced the fact that we have such an iron-clad, strong relationship. I couldn't imagine taking such a trip with anyone else.

A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.
-- George Moore

Now, this trip was also special because it was my first foray abroad without my parents or some other force leading me around. As I detailed in an earlier post, this prospect terrified me to no end. But what I found when I got there surprised me even more: I was completely capable of travelling.

Little sister and I read the signs. We consulted the maps. We asked people. And when all else failed, we simply guessed. And about 97 percent of the time, we guessed right. We took everything in stride, and it worked like clockwork.

I'd like to describe every site we saw, but there are just too many. From the gold and marble sumptuousness of Versailles to the stoic and majestic turrets of the Tower of London, I took everything in with excited reverie.

Each museum beheld countless masterpieces: the Mona Lisa, Monet's impressionist paintings, the Rosetta Stone, Rodin's Le Penseur, the Parthenon sculptures, artifacts and armour and blinding jewels galore. Each church boasted beautiful stained glass and vaulted ceilings stretching up to the sky, with the bodies of great men and women, royals and heros alike, buried beneath the cold stone floors.

Each restaurant and piazza or square had a different, unique feel. Each place, right down to the outdoor bird market in Paris or London's Tower Bridge, was utterly beautiful. And not just beautiful in the conventional sense, but beautiful in the sense that these were all part of a different culture, perhaps even a different time. Everything was so steeped in history and heritage that it was simply impossible to see anything as short of magnificent.

And the people were magnificent, too, Londoners and Parisians both. The waiters in France went the extra mile to help us understand menus, and the tube attendants in London always went out of their way to come over when we looked lost. The boys in the pubs with their cute British accents were sweet despite their drunkenness. The Parisians drinking wine in the evenings on the Eiffel Tower lawn didn't hesitate to treat us as their own by asking for a cigarette.

The night shift man at our hotel in Paris always chortled out a happy "Bonsoir" when we came back from dinner. And our tour guide for Stonehenge gave up his umbrella so some of us wouldn't get soaked. The people were just as refreshing as the sites themselves.

Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers, that the mind can never break off from the journey.
-- Pat Conroy, The Prince of Tides

About halfway through the trip, as we rode on a crowded car in the Paris metro, I remember thinking to myself, I can do this. Not just this right now, but I could do this interminably. For once in my life, I felt perfectly capable of finding my way in the world, both figuratively and literally. And even more than that, I wanted to keep going, to see as much of the world as possible.

Travelling had become the hunger I'd always read about. I wanted more. I want more. I want to see Greece, Thailand, the rest of the UK, Australia, and countless other places.

I want to experience other cultures.

I want to meet new people.

And I want to be surprised by my own capabilities over and over again.

It's all just too good of a feeling. And I don't want it to end.

(pictures to be added in later when Blogger cooperates with me!)

The Resurfacing

2006-07-14T12:08:00.000-04:00

I've been back in the country for almost a week now, and this is the first time I've sat down to write. Like any writer, I'd thought about what I would write plenty of times--during the trip, on the airplane, in bed at night--but I just didn't have the urge to do anything about it until now.

In truth, there is too much for me even to capture in words. I saw too many amazing things and experienced too many new and wonderful feelings. My trip to Europe was a completely overwhelming experience in all the right ways. A completely healthy exercise and--now that I look back on it--a completely mandatory part of my growth.

I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've always been scared of new things and new places. I've never wanted to find my own way. My parents have always known this fear in me, and they worked diligently over the years to fight it by encouraging me--and often, pushing me--to do the things that scared me most. But being the stubborn girl I am, I always fought them right back, thinking of convenient excuses not to study abroad or take other risks of similar magnitude.

So, when my good friend asked me if I'd like to do this two-week trip with her, that familiar sense of fear kicked in. "Don't do it!" my fragile psyche screamed out at me. I all but capitulated to its selfish whims.

And then, in one of the most logical moments I've ever experienced when dealing with my own mind, I let the fear go.

I could not think of one single good reason why I shouldn't go on this trip. And the old standbys just didn't make sense anymore. Almost nothing would be worth missing this opportunity. I had finally reached a point in my life where I could take a risk and be perfectly fine with it.

As the airplane lifted off into the air on that Saturday three weeks ago, I felt serene and excited. I far over-packed for the two-week trip, but I felt confident knowing I had left the biggest obstacle of all back at home--my fear.

'Cause I remember how we drank time together
And how you used to say that the stars are forever.
And daydreamed about how to make your life better by
Leaving town, leaving town.
~ Dexter Freebish

Au Revoir

2006-06-23T13:53:00.000-04:00

I'm off to Europe today for two whole weeks! Wish me luck.h

On the schedule:

London: British Museum, Big Ben, lots of castles, Stonehenge, Stratford-upon-Avon, the Tower of London, and much more

Paris: Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, the Paris bird market, Napoleon's tomb, Versailles, the Champs d'Elysees, Seine River cruise, and much more

I'll back on July 8th with beaucoup stories to tell.

We'll see if I can understand even a word of French--note that I studied French for four whole years of high school--or for that matter, a lick of English.

Write ya in two weeks! Keep up the blog front while I'm gone. As excited as I am to go, I shall indeed miss it.

Runaway Train

2006-06-15T13:15:00.000-04:00

Do you remember
the smell of my hair
my favorite shirt
my eyes lighting up?

Do you remember
that time I threw your remote
that time you locked yourself crying in the bathroom
that time we each ate a two-foot wawa sub?

Do you remember
how I always left your TV on
how you left the toilet seat up
how we ate together at the table?

Do you remember
the way I laughed at you
the way I said I love you
the way I cried?

Do you remember
our pets
our birthdays
our home?

Do you remember the little things?
the habits
the gifts
the endless banter?

Do you remember the big things?
the fights
the smiles
holding me close?

Do you remember our firsts?
Do you remember our lasts?
our last movie
our last hug
our last kiss?

Do you remember
the night it all ended?

I remember.

Sometimes I wake up and realize that my life is passing me by. Sometimes I regret things that have happened. Sometimes I wish I could go back to different times. But mostly I savor the things I remember, both good and bad. The things that have marked me.

Even if it would make life easier to forget, I find myself hoping that my memories don't fade. And yet I see it happening already. I had trouble even thinking of specific moments to include in the poem I just wrote. And yet, the fact that I wanted to write that poem shows that I'm hanging on to something.

The past few years have been a blur of wonderful and heartbreaking moments. Right now, I remember them...mostly. But I suppose it's the natural progression to forget, especially when the subject is particularly painful or nostalgic. I suppose there's not a whole lot of good to be had from dwelling on the past. I suppose writing my feelings may help, but only to a certain extent.

I think I've reached that extent. There's only so much I can feel, write or say to mourn the loss of my relationship. There's only so much I can keep giving. Because it's not giving back anymore. It doesn't even exist...and I don't even want it to exist. I'm just continuing to adjust to the void it has left.

Memories may be precious, but I've realized something. In certain cases, forgetting is simply the best thing.

A Letter

2006-06-12T15:19:00.000-04:00

Dear Self,

I'm writing this to tell you I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I was fooled into thinking I loved him. I'm sorry I thought so much of him. And I'm more sorry I thought so little of myself.

I know I deserved better. I know he deserved...different. I know I was miserable for a reason--many reasons, actually. I'm sorry it took me so long to see them.

I'm sorry I spent so much time trying to make it work when I knew it couldn't. I'm sorry I deluded myself into thinking that there was long-term potential when you--my soul--kept screaming out at me that there wasn't. When I envisioned myself leaving him at the altar and tried to imagine how in the world I would get away with that.

I'm sorry I felt so sad that sometimes I couldn't get out of bed--both before and after it ended with him.

I'm sorry that I feel stupid today, the very day I found out he is engaged to someone else.

It's not that I want to be that girl. It's not that I'm not happy for him. It's just the fact that he's moved on so effortlessly, in so little time. It's the fact that this makes the time we spent together seem somehow... much less important...less real.

I feel that I put more effort and more heart into the relationship than he did. I always thought I had the upper hand, the power position, the ability to leave. But I think that it was him all along. And that makes me feel slighted, used, duped.

I'm sorry I feel that way. I'm even sorry I'm writing about this in my blog.

I'm sorry I didn't listen to my parents. I'm sorry I didn't listen to my friends. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, self. I'm sorry I was so afraid of hurting him that I hurt you instead.

I promise to never ignore you like that again. I promise to never put myself second again. And I promise to hold out for the very best.

Because you are a kind soul, and you deserve it.

Love,
Lauren

PS Can you stop being so damn depressive?
PPS I'm sorry I just swore at you...let's add that to the list of things I won't do anymore.

A Job Well Done

2006-06-08T15:45:00.000-04:00

Picture it: Last weekend, midday, my dad's hospital room.

I'm sitting at the foot of his bed holding a crossword puzzle. I read the clues to my family, trying not to scream the answers out even though I know some of them immediately.

My mom gets one right away. "Good job!" I say enthusiastically.

She finds this hysterical.

It's become somewhat of a habit for me, but one that only comes out with my family. For some reason, I'm always patting them on the back for even the tiniest of accomplishments.

My mom gets a particularly difficult jar open? She gets a "Good job!" from me.

My dad manages to turn the channel from American Idol just in time for LOST to come back from commercial break? He gets a "Good job!" from me.

I suppose it has something to do with me being protective of my parents. Wanting to make them feel good.

So I find it a little odd that I don't take this same approach with myself. One of the things I realized last year during my little pre/post break-up breakdown was that I constantly derided myself.

Make a wrong turn? "Lauren, you idiot," my brain screams at me.

Start to cry? "Shut up, stupid."

Those negative thoughts would run through my head all day. But slowly I learned to change these negative thoughts to positive. So instead of "Lauren, you idiot," I would say to myself "Don't worry, it's no big deal."

I haven't quite gotton used to mentally rewarding myself yet, but maybe the fact that I'm "Good jobbing" everyone around me means that I'm on the right track.

So, in the spirit of loving myself, I will now acknowledge a few of my recent accomplishments, no matter how insignificant they may be:

- Going grocery shopping for my parents (and offering to do so even without being asked) - Good job!

- Refraining from eating the whole lemon merengue pie and instead having just a sliver - Good job!

- Making an appointment to take my car to the dealer (finally) and an appointment to get my hair colored - Good job!

- Taking over something for my boss today at work even though it was somewhat stressful - Good job!

And finally, the best one of all...

- Downing an entire bottle of wine last night, getting totally drunk, missing one of my inane MTV shows that I shouldn't be watching anyway, and not giving a shit about any of it? A JOB WELL DONE, LAUREN!

Sometimes you just need to give yourself a pat on the back.

Sometimes you just need to get drunk.

And sometimes...you've gotta do both.

Always Half Empty

2006-06-05T15:24:00.000-04:00

I don't get them.

Those people who are so happy-go-lucky about everything. The ones who write things like "I love being in this world" and "I love my life" in their AIM or Myspace profiles. The ones who are always laughing, always offering up a nice phrase or a funny story. The ones who ask "Why are you sad?"

That's the thing. They don't get me just as much as I don't get them. They don't know why I'm sad, and even if they did, they still wouldn't get it.

They're optimists.

Me, the Pessimist

I've always categorized myself as a pessimist. For as far back as I can remember, I just knew that word described who I was.

Maybe that's because I never see the silver lining in a situation. Because I concentrate on the negative instead of the positive. Because my very first inclination is always to feel sorry for myself.

Them

I find that I can peg an optimist almost instantly.

I was interested in a guy a couple months ago, but there was something that bothered me about him. He was just too happy. Too upbeat, far too enthusiastic, and sickeningly nice. "Normal" people may see these qualities as strengths, but I just see them as annoyances.

Because how can I, the devoted pessimist, relate to an optimist of such severity? It is almost as if I feel he is missing something. Without that pointed ability to quickly zone in on the doldrums of life, he is not a whole person.

Empty or Full?

Being a pessimist can be damaging, yes, but it is also the only way I know to truly experience life and all that goes with it. I experience such a range of emotions. I let myself fall deep into the darkest depths. I let myself cry incessantly.

I give in to my emotions, almost always, whether they're happy or sad. I don't ignore the positive. Rather, I deal with the negative first. I just don't understand people who seem to exude that positive energy all the time. I find them exhausting.

And I'm sure they find me exhausting, too. And depressing, even.

I'm an emotional person. And this is how I live my life.

I don't choose to see the glass half empty. It's just what I do.

Sweet and Sour

My various profiles will never say that I love life. I will never say that I love my life. I'm grateful to be alive, yes, but I'm not ready to make such a blanket statement about my state of being. Sometimes I do feel like I love life, but sometimes I feel like it could be a whole lot better.

What is life without pain? Without torment and suffering? I keep wondering why bad things happen, but maybe they happen to teach us to appreciate what we really value in this world. To help us appreciate the sweeter times. After all--and to use a cliche (forgive me)--would the sweet really be so sweet without the sour?

I appreciate the bad just as much as I appreciate the good. Because the bad makes me who I am. And believe it or not, despite all my emotional issues, I've finally come to appreciate myself as a person.

I'm a pessimist.

And I like it that way.

Scared

2006-06-02T16:32:00.000-04:00

I noticed the flashing red lights immediately. I thought nothing of it until a moment later as I carefully negotiated my way along the narrow road past the firetruck.

And then, as I maneuvered around the shards of broken glass, a horrible feeling hit me.

Could this be my dad? We were so close to home. He'd left right before me. But he knew the road. The ambulances couldn't possibly have gotton here that quickly.

I craned my head, searching for the damaged car. But I couldn't see past the ambulances in the few moments it took me to drive by the scene.

I looked back frantically as I turned at the stoplight just up the road. Still, I could see nothing.

No, that couldn't be my dad. No, I can't think like this. I can't worry all the time that something bad is going to happen. This is not healthy.

Still, I felt uneasy. So I took my cell phone out of my purse and placed it in the cupholder next to me. Waiting. Hoping that it wouldn't ring, but waiting just in case.

I drove along, listening to a Britney Spears song, slowly letting the uneasiness slip away from my thoughts.

Until I heard the all-too-familiar sound of my cell phone. Vibrating in the cupholder.

I picked it up with fear, my heart beginning to pound. I saw the number I didn't want to see. Mom.

"Lauren, dad's been in an accident."

My heart sunk. I immediately started to cry.

I felt fear, yes, but more than that I felt guilt. I had a feeling that it was him. And yet I didn't stop. I didn't bother to turn my car around and go back to look. I thought that would be crazy behavior.

I drove right past as he was being pulled from his horribly wrecked car. I caught a glimpse of the stretcher. How could I not know?

Luckily, I got to the hospital quickly. I saw him. Bleeding, scared, in pain. I cried for him some more.

And miraculously, he is okay. A broken rib, a punctured lung, lots of cuts and scrapes. But he is alive. Lucky. Very, very lucky.

And yet, I can't figure out why this happened. I have a hard time calling a cancer patient who gets into a horrible car accident lucky. He's already weak from chemotherapy, and now he has to heal from this.

How many challenges are going to be thrown his way? He hasn't had an easy life, not in the least. He's worked so hard for everything. He's given so much of himself to his family and everyone he has ever known. He's the type of person I want to be. He's the type of person everyone should aspire to be.

I'm scared. These bad things just keep happening. My world feels so fragile. Vulnerable. What's to stop another horrible thing from taking holding of my family? Why are we even here? What's next?

The world has become a scary place to me.

I'm afraid of dying. And I'm afraid of living. And I'm afraid of losing someone that is such a necessary part of my life. Someone that has made such a positive impact on the world around him.

He doesn't deserve any of this. We don't deserve any of this. But does anyone?

I don't want fear to take hold of me every time I see a car accident on the side of the road. But now, what choice do I have?

Love or something like it

2006-05-31T13:37:00.000-04:00

I'll never forget the way he looked at me.

It was prom night, our first and only. I was wearing a beautiful periwinkle dress with roses around the bodice. My dark brown hair was piled half up in wavy curls. My eyeshadow complemented my outfit perfectly, the trademark sparkles around my eyes glinting just so.

I stood at the top of the stairs and stared down at him. Big bright smile. Big brown eyes. Focused solely on me.

I remember how wonderful that look made me feel. I remember being so proud of him, of us. Of just the simple fact of being together.

I had a picture of that look of his. One of my parents snapped it at the exact moment that he saw me appear at the top of the foyer stairs. And as much as any picture could capture an emotion, that one captured it. Anticipation. Joy. Love.

I think he really loved me.

I'm not sure if I still have that photo. I may have thrown it away during one of my concentrated efforts to purge him from my life.

But now I wish I'd kept it, if not just to capture that happy moment one more time. Since that night, I'm not sure that anyone has ever made me feel the way he did with that one simple look six years ago.

I need to be loved. Every fiber of my being is constantly yearning for affection.

I need to be wanted.

I now realize that one of the reasons I may have stayed with CollegeBF for so long was that he wanted me so desperately. The first time we broke up, I remember thinking, "How will I ever find someone who loves me as much as he does?"

I'd already found one guy who loved me almost unconditionally (at least that's how it felt to me). Wouldn't I be crazy to give this one up?

Because no matter how hard of a time we had, I could always find happiness in those simple moments. Moments similar to that prom night so many years before.

Moments where we'd be lying in bed and he'd just stare at my face. When he'd graze my cheek gently with his hand and whisper, "You're so beautiful."

I'd always respond with a sarcastic comment or a little smile, but inside I was singing with happiness.

Just like DishonestBF before him, he validated me. And as much I miss that constant validation, I know I'm better off without it. Because I shouldn't need a man to love me, to look at me, to tell me I'm beautiful.

These things should come from within.

Maybe I'll never find anyone who loves me as much as he did. But I think I at least owed it to myself to find out.

Or maybe...that person should be me.

I used to be

2006-05-28T23:14:00.000-04:00

I used to be this bitter:

Ode to the Enemy

I hate you all.
You who embitter my heart and harden my gaze
to falsities and trifles
and promises.
You who by your existence and being
force me to feel guilty
for the ugliness of others.
You who are inhuman fools,
basking in the empty void
of that which you call living.
You who are blameless and superior
in your righteous ignorance.
You are wrong in character.
You should not be.
Yet I am wrong in hate.

Forgive your enemies, he said.
But never forget their names.
I hate you all.
(2001)

I used to be this sad:

Worth

I'm twisted in circles.
Wandering through days, nights,
I sleep, wake, up and down.
I am the value of a lost circle,
The average of meaningless symbols,
The circumference of hopeless dreams, Around.
(2002)

And at one point, I used to be this happy:

My Release

A thousand emboldened white stallions
Run with thunderous hooves
Across the plain of my longing heart
(2001)

But now? I don't know what I am. I'm not even writing any poetry to prove it.

*All of the above poems written solely by me.

The Crying Game

2006-05-23T11:43:00.000-04:00

I remember a time when nothing could make me crack. When I would sit trembling in frustration or anger, and still not a single tear would fall. When I was so defiant and stubborn that I even had trouble crying at my grandfather's funeral.

I'm not sure what brought about a change, but somewhere along the way, I became a crier. And not just a crier, but a weeper and a sobber, too.

I think it happened
sometime in high school. The pressures of fitting in and looking good were a lot for me to handle, and the tears came so naturally. Night after night, I'd think about how unhappy I was with myself. I'd weep quietly in my bed, writing sad poems in my diary, looking disapprovingly at my own red eyes in the mirror. It became a viscious cycle.

And eventually, it became a way of life. An essential way of coping with anything that even mildly upset me. I've broken down in tears while sitting in traffic just out of sheer frustration. I've burst into salty spasms because I missed my favorite television show. I've cried at home, at work, and in front of many other people.

For the past few years,
I've been crying about nothing at all. Well, it seems like nothing, at least. It's just that I often cannot even pinpoint the stimuli for my breakdowns.

But I do know that one single, negative thought, no matter how fleeting, can be a very powerful mood shifter. My negative thoughts can move mountains. I'm lonely. I'm worthless. I'm sad.

That's all it takes.

Spiraling down from there is a natural, seemingly logical progression. I fear that I may need this progression to survive.

It's rare, but sometimes I don't cry for weeks at a time. And just when I've forgotton what those warm tears on my cheeks feel like, a little buzzer goes off. It comes in the form of the most insignificant thought, but it reminds me to cry.

Last night,
I cried, thus breaking a very long streak of happy, sob-free days and nights. I'm not sure why I cried, but I know I needed it. It only lasted a few minutes.

I thought about being tired. I thought about being alone. I even thought about him. And then I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning feeling fine.

Why do I cry for no obvious reason? Do I chalk it up to being a girl? Does it run in the family? After all, my sister cries at those "Save the Children" commercials.

I know it's natural to cry at the big things--deaths, relationship problems, extreme stress. But is it normal to cry at all the little things? Have I turned into a sobbing brat? Or am I just extremely sensitive?

It feels so repetetive and pointless,
like a game. I go around the board, landing on the same spaces over and over again. I pay my luxury taxes, I pay my rent, sometimes I even win money off Community Chest. But I never get to the end. I don't pass "Go" as often as I should. I just feel defeated all the time.

So when is it my turn to shine? When do I get to beat the Crying Game?

The Loneliest Number

2006-05-18T13:13:00.000-04:00

I'm not good at being alone.

In fact, I hate being alone. Anywhere. In my room, in the car, in an empty office.

I think I've forgotton how to enjoy my own company.

I need human touch. I need to feel the warmth of another person next to me. I need to be hugged.

I need conversation. I need someone to talk with, someone to argue with. I need the presence of another human being.

The smell of his skin.
The familiar tone of my sister's laugh.
The way my mom smacks her gum while watching TV.

I need it all.

Without it, I am alone. My mind takes me to far away places. Sometimes they're silly. Sometimes they're places I don't want to go.

I need friends. I don't need television.

I need human companionship. I don't need a boyfriend.

I'm not one of those people who can disappear for hours by herself. I'm not one to venture out into the city all alone for a day. To sit solitary, still and quiet in a movie theater.

I remember how it felt to eat lunch alone sometimes in college. Everyone else buzzed around me as I sat at my empty table. I always brought something to read. I knew I couldn't face it otherwise.

I couldn't sit there and look around at everyone. I couldn't meet their eyes. Because I was alone. And in my head that made them better than me.

I'm not sure why I hate being alone so much. Because I know that we're all alone at some point in our lives. We're born alone, solitary beings. And eventually we find a special person, have a family of our own. Yet in old age, so many of us find ourselves alone once more.

Somehow, we all make it work. Why can't I?

When did I become so afraid of myself? When did my mind take this hold on me?

I think learning to be with yourself--and only yourself--is a vital part of growing up. Learning to be completely independent, soul, mind and body, is very special.

And maybe it takes a lifetime for some people.

Maybe it took my grandmother most of her life to learn to live alone. Or maybe she knew how all along.

Maybe she's perfectly happy with her little dog, her nice community, her Mah Jong games. Or maybe she's not.

Either way, I know she still misses my grandfather. I know she'll never stop yearning for that essential part of her life. I know she'll always long for that human touch.

I've never spoken to her about any of this, but I think I know how she feels.

I realize that I need to learn to be alone. I realize that I need to accomplish that before I can settle down with someone, before I can move away from my family.

But I also realize that companionship is a fundamental need. It's crucial to my happiness, crucial to who I am at my very core.

In 10 years, I could be the strongest, most independent woman in the world, but that won't change this one fact:

My name is Lauren, and I need people.

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one

No is the saddest experience you'll ever know
Yes, it's the saddest experience you'll ever know
'Cause one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number, worse than two

It's just no good anymore since she went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday
~ Three Dog Night

Thanatophobia

2006-05-17T10:11:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I worry that I'm dying.

I know, the magnitude of that statement is, well...scary, to put it mildly. Insane, to put it bluntly.

But I've always had this intense fear of my own death. I've always felt like it would take me by surprise. That I would die young without warning.

Maybe in a car accident. Maybe in an even more violent, non-accidental way that I don't even want to think about but that I DO think about every time I walk alone at night.

Or maybe, as I've recently become compulsively obsessed about, I'll die of some fatal illness. I suppose it was my dad's sickness that really got me started on this. We never knew the tumor was there, despite the fact that it had been growing for at least a year. I look back at pictures of him from that time and I think, "How did we not know he was sick?"

We didn't know because we couldn't tell. Or we didn't pay enough attention to the subtle symptoms. We didn't take them seriously because it's just not normal to think about death all the time, or at all, really.

But now I think about it even more than I used to. I think about it when I feel strange pains in my body. When those shooting pains go up my leg, or when my lower back aches day after day. When I experience that occassional shortness of breath and my heart seems to skip a beat. When my leg tenses up and I carry around that dull ache.

I think that maybe all of this could mean something. And I won't know anything about it until it's too late.

I fear my death so intensely. And yet, I'm not really sure why.

Maybe it's because I fear the unknown. Because I don't really know if I believe in Heaven. Because I don't want to end up just a pile of bones in the dirt.

This feeling came over me as I was driving in to work the other day. There was a big truck behind me in traffic, and I thought about how easily it could plow right into me if the line of cars stopped suddenly. That's how a girl from my college died. How easily her life ended in an instant. How easily that same thing could happen to me.

But as I thought about it, my eyes intently watching that truck in the rear view mirror, I realized that maybe death would be a release. A long, sweet rest from the stress and turbulence of life. No worries, no pain, just nothingness suspended forever.

My sudden complacence with the situation scared me. Was I okay with dying? Even worse, did I want to die?

I'd spent so long being afraid. Was it normal to feel serene about my eventual demise? Even if it came all of a sudden? Even if I was so young?

I don't know why I think about these things. But death consumes me.

Every time I get in my car and fasten my seatbelt, I think about it. 42,000 fatalities a year on our nation's highways.

Every time I feel a strange pain, I think about it. It only takes one sunburn to develop skin cancer.

And every time I hear about someone dying young, I think about it. Alcohol poisoning. Car accident. Sickness. Murder. Drowning. Fire.

There are so many ways to die. People die every day, young or old.

So I suppose that all of this is kind of silly, because we're all going to die eventually. We're all on that path. What does it matter when or how it happens?

What does it matter as long as I make my life worthwhile?

I'm really not sure what or if it matters. I'm just sure that if I keep thinking about it, I may ruin however much time I have left.

Behind on Life

2006-05-08T12:52:00.000-04:00

I do everything five years too late.

At least that's what I keep hearing lately.

In high school, I never cared about how I dressed. I didn't put in much effort to put outfits together or wear jewelry. And I absolutely hated shopping.

Now, I can easily drop hundreds of dollars on clothes, shoes, jewelry and purses.

I also never went out in high school. I never went to the parties, never did much of anything short of a movie or dinner with girlfriends.

Now, I do that kind of stuff on a regular basis (except the parties, because well, people don't really have those too often).

In college, I started drinking alcohol, and I met a lot more people. I even stayed out late and did really bad-ass things (note sarcasm here) like skip class and spend the night in other people's dorm rooms. But I acquired a boyfriend right away, and mellowed out from there.

So, in the past seven to ten years, I really haven't done much of anything that most people my age have. I was a late bloomer as it was, but having two serious boyfriends held me back even more.

And now I'm finally catching up with myself.

My parents and sister keep remarking that they don't understand my behavior. By behavior, I mean going out more with friends, staying out later than I ever have before, and being much more interested in guys and dating.

But I keep telling them that this is how normal 20-somethings act. Am I right? I don't think it's odd that I want to have fun for once in my life, that I've become more outgoing and more interested in being social.

Yeah, it may not be my usual style to want to get the phone number of a random and drunk but totally hot guy at a bar. It may not be like me to be interested in someone even if I don't see any relationship potential. And it may not be normal for me to want to stay out all night just chilling instead of sleeping.

But that's the thing about growing up. You've gotta do it sometime. You've gotta try new things. You've gotta allow yourself to experience all that life has to offer.

So what if I'm five years late on all this stuff? All that matters is I'm doing it now.

And not cause I need to catch up, but because I'm finally ready for it.

Maybe I'm not behind in life after all. Maybe I'm just getting comfortable with my own pace.

If you call

2006-05-05T10:43:00.000-04:00

I will answer.

It's that simple, isn't it?

I think the first sign of a doomed relationship must be when you choose not to answer the phone.

Oh, he calls too much...why is he bothering me again?

I'm too busy right now.

I don't feel like hearing his voice.

He's probably drunk and I don't wanna deal with it.

I'm mad at him so I will make him suffer by ignoring him.

There are so many reasons not to answer, not to be there for him.

And yet if it's right, none of those should matter. Perhaps they shouldn't even exist.

All of the above reasons have gone through my head over the years. And I've let them dictate my actions. Yet I never realized that every time I had one of those thoughts, I poisoned my relationship.

Because a relationship shouldn't be about playing mind games.

It shouldn't be about avoiding the other person.

It shouldn't be about thinking of reasons.

There are a lot of reasons not to answer. But there should only be ONE reason to pick up the phone, and it should trump all others.

Once that's gone, there really isn't much left to talk about, is there?

I think
it's getting to the point where I can be myself again.
It's getting to the point where we have almost made amends.
I think
it's the getting to the point that's the hardest part

If you call
I will answer and if you fall
I will pick you up
and if you court this disaster I'll point you home
I'll point you home

You think,
I only think about you when we're both in the same room
I'm only here to witness the remains of loving you
You think,
we're here to play a game of who loves more than who

You think,
It's only fair to do what's best for you and you alone
You think,
It's only fair to do the same thing for me when you're not home
I think,
It's time to make this something that's more than only fair.

I'm warning you, don't ever do
those crazy messed up things you do.
If you ever do, I promise you
I'll be the first to crucify you
it's time to prove that you came back here to rebuild?
Rebuild...Rebuild

The Barenaked Ladies had this shit figured out way before I did.

I'm a lot of things...

2006-05-03T13:31:00.000-04:00

...sweet, silly, clumsy, kind of an airhead sometimes, smart, shy, sincere, a bit introverted, lazy, pessimistic, clever, fiesty, curious, polite, sort of an exaggerator, loyal, whimpy, girly...

Sure, I could go on and on, because of course, I'm a lot of things.

But am I selfish?

This is the question that's been on my mind the past few weeks. It's strange to consider it, because I've always thought of myself as almost too giving.

Anytime someone has needed me, I've tried my very best to be there. I've freely loaned things to family and friends without a second thought. I've done everything possible to give up my time, money, food, et cetera to preserve and grow my relationships with other people.

But suddenly, I find myself feeling differently.

I'm not spending enough time with my parents anymore, despite the fact that I live with them.

I'm not spending nearly enough time with my pet bird, Precious, despite the fact that she's been my loyal little companion for the past 14 years.

And I'm not calling my friends as often as I should, despite the fact that they are some of the most important people in my life.

Basically, I'm doing whatever the hell I want.

I'm starting to think it's a reaction to being single. When I first began dating my ex five or so years ago, I was so naive and open. I gave him everything.

But as the years wore on, I became less and less willing to compromise. By the end, I was so sick of worrying about his feelings, wants and needs that I became completely inflexible.

If he wanted to do something that I didn't want to do, I'd end up crying on my bed (literally having an adult tantrum of sorts) until he did it my way. And if I did have to compromise, I'd never let him hear the end of it. Somehow we ended up fighting against each other on everything from whose car we'd drive to where to go for dinner or what TV show to watch. And those were just the little things.

I went from being an extremely patient person to being a time bomb of emotion that could unleash at any moment.

Thankfully, now that I'm finally alone, I'm so much more serene. And I'm relishing only having to worry about myself.

But am I becoming too set on my own desires?

Is it okay to be that flaky friend who doesn't always call?

Is it okay to interact with my mom only via e-mail because I get home too late and don't see her for a day or two?

Is it okay to let my bird sit in her cage for two days because I'm not there to spend time with her?

If I'm not even willing to make time for my pet and my parents, how would I ever make time for a boyfriend? Or even a husband some day, and children?

I'm so many years away from being ready for those types of commitments. It feels good to realize that.

But I'm still not sure if it's okay to be this way, even if it's just a phase. Even if putting myself first is supposed to be "healthy."

Because I may be a lot of things, but I don't want to list selfish as one of them.

The Struggle

2006-05-01T12:01:00.000-04:00

My entire life has been a struggle. Not a struggle in the conventional sense. Not in the sense that I had a bad childhood or grew up poor or came from a broken home. Not a struggle against society, and not against my parents.

This struggle has been against myself.

Because I, dear friends, am quite possibly one of the laziest people ever to be lazy. I've been waging a fight against my overwhelming lack of motivation for as long as I can remember.

And not only am I lazy, but I have a tendency to be very pessimistic. This pessimism coupled with laziness makes for a very lethal combination. So lethal, in fact, that I've spent many weekends lying frowny-faced and sad in my bed for hours doing absolutely nothing at all.

Take yesterday, for example. I woke up with high hopes, ready to throw on my bathing suit and wash my car. But as soon as I realized it was too cold outside to do what I wanted, I sunk into an irritated and listless state. I threw myself face down on my bed, and I just laid there.

I thought about how I needed to clean my room, how the weather was perfect for rollerblading, how I wanted to go shopping...and then I thought about how all of that seemed like too much. How I didn't have the energy. How I had nothing to look forward to, no one to talk to, and no one to see.

How suddenly a simple weekend day had turned into a gargantuan reason to sit in my dark room and be sad and lonely.

The tears started to come as I laid there in silence and stillness. I tried to blink them away, feeling the familiar lump in my throat. Wishing that there was an "easy" button for my moods so that I could be happy again.

And then, after about 30 minutes of monotony, I made a decision. I had to get up to maintain my sanity.

I know it sounds like a simple thing, but jerking myself out of one of those moods will always be one of my most difficult struggles. I am one stubborn girl, so you can imagine how hard it is for me to talk myself out of or into feeling a certain way.

I finally told myself: This is unhealthy behavior. Why would you want to keep doing something that makes you feel so horrible? Of course, that worked (those therpaists really do know what they're talking about sometimes).

And I stood up. Breathed in the now-slightly-less-depressing air, and started my day. I cleaned my room first, then the bird cage, then my room again, then the bathroom. Then, I moved on to myself: painted my nails, showered, did my hair, put on makeup. And out the door I went to go shopping, singing happily while blasting my old Ace of Base CD.

Later that night, I was taken aback when a strange feeling came over me. What was this feeling that brought a (gasp) smile to my face? Oh yeah, satisfaction.

It was a good day, I thought to myself. And I made it that way!

It may not seem like an accomplishment to most people, but yesterday was a personal triumph for me. I know I'm constantly rambling on and on in this blog about my emotional issues, and I may be sounding pretty crazy right about now. But crazy makes me who I am.

And whether or not you struggle to overcome laziness or anything else, know this: There's no better satisfaction than being in control of your own life.

And yeah, I'n one of those people who has to work pretty hard for that. I have to constantly wrest my life away from my irrational emotions and bring it back to reality.

But the struggle makes success that much sweeter.

123.8

2006-04-26T11:33:00.000-04:00

!!!!!

Yeah, you read that right.

123.8, BABY!

My goodness, this is the lowest I've weighed since...college.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

Is it wrong that losing a few pounds can make me this deliriously happy?

Isn't there more to life than this?

Is this all that matters to me?

Oh well, I'm not going to ponder these things now. I'm just going to bask in this feeling for a bit.

Then I'll get back to being my normally contemplative, complex and troubled self.

Right now I'm GOLDEN. Awwwwwwwwww yeahhhhh.

*insert Xena Warrior Princess call here*

Extreme Dating

2006-04-24T15:37:00.000-04:00

Over the weekend while working on my short film with the two girls in my group, I got to do something special. Girl talk.

Previously, our interactions had only consisted of casual conversations about our film. But on Saturday, as we taped up large black trashbags to the windows (trying to simulate a night scene during daylight), our conversation became much more personal. And not surprisingly, we got on the subject of dating.

I explained the story about now I became single, expecting the usual sympathy for having just gotton out of such a long relationship. Well, it turns out that the older girl has been engaged twice. Hearing that really made me grateful that my experiences haven't really been so bad. She regaled us with tales of her evil ex's, funny dates she's been on, and all the male antics she's seen in her 34 years.

We laughed and laughed, throwing in "I'm sorry's" when appropriate and the occassional piece of advice (example: "Never ever go near him again for the rest of your life"). Then, it was my turn.

"Tell us a story, Lauren," they asked eagerly.

And I couldn't think of a single funny dating story.

Sure, I have serious relationship stories and serious betrayal stories. But those are definitely not stories I want to dredge up and talk about. I guess I'm short on stories simply because I haven't done much dating in my lifetime. I've really only had a few real or serious boyfriends, a few hook-ups, and a few "relationships" that lasted only a couple of weeks.

I've never done the casual dating thing, the blind date, the pick-up at a bar, or online dating. I haven't experienced the things that most people my age have. I guess I should consider myself lucky for that. I haven't really had to deal with horrendous dates, being cheated on, or even being treated very badly. For the most part, I've been able to spend time with good guys.

But good guys don't necessarily make good relationships. I've been with good guys, yes, but have I been with great guys? I'm not sure that I have. I don't think I've ever experienced amazing, over-the-top greatness, in any sense.

I've never been with a guy who I've considered smarter than me. I've never been with a guy who I was so attracted to that I couldn't keep my hands off him. I've never been with a guy whose sense of rightness and moral compass rivaled my own. I've never been with a guy that I've admired so much that I wanted to be like him.

I want all of those things in a man, but I have yet to find a single one.

So far, I've only seen the middle of the road. I know that I need to meet more guys if I'm going to find one that deviates from the middle and jumps into that other extreme. I need to have the bad dates, the set-ups, the jerks. Because if I don't meet all those guys, the ones in the negative extreme, how am I ever going to stop ending up with ones that are just...average?

I've come to the conclusion that one extreme or the other is far better than the middle. The middle is too easy at first. It sucks you in, and then you're stuck because you can't think of a good enough reason to claw your way out. It took me almost five years to think of that reason this last time.

And it was the simplest and most instinctual reason out there.

I want to be happy.

I've never been happy with average. It just took me 24 years and a whole lot of tears to realize it.

Phased

2006-04-21T12:46:00.000-04:00

Last night as I wallowed in yet another overwhelming rush of self-pity, I realized something: My moods come in phases.

Every week or two (but usually once a week), I become this depressed shell of a person. I let every anxiety, every bad experience, and every insecurity have its way with me. Sometimes, I cry in loud sobs without restraint. Other times, I resist the tears, feeling that familiar lump in my throat and torturing myself by not allowing the emotion out.

I sit on my bed with my head leaning against the wall and my laptop in front of me. I put up a sad-sounding away message on IM, then think better of it and up an obscure song lyric, then change it again and put up an angry message. Yesterday I started with "incomplete," then went with a lyric to Everclear's "Overwhelming," and finally ended with "I like to throw things."

Not surprisingly, these three away messages--all put up within the span of 30 minutes or so--truly reflect my typical state of mind on one of these downer nights.

Usually I'm lonely, and that's what sparks the negative feelings. Then I think about everything that's worrying me (school, work, my dad, my weight, decisions, etc.), and I begin to feel overwhelmed and powerless. Only then do I move into the third phase: Anger. Anger that I allow myself to sink into sadness. Anger that I want to be happy and I can't. Anger that nobody knows what I'm going through. Anger at myself for being...myself.

It's a tough thing to realize, but almost all of these "depressed" situations result from the way I perceive myself to be. That is, I tend to perceive myself negatively.

I hold myself to an impossibly high standard as far as physical appearances go, and I'm simply never truly happy with the way I look. Yes, I have plenty of days where I look in the mirror and like what I see. But I also have plenty of nights where I catch my reflection while stepping into the shower and recoil in disgust. Sometimes, seeing my body brings about such a strongly negative reaction that is surprises even me.

But it's not just my looks that are a problem. There are other things that I wish I could change about myself, too. My social anxiety, for example. It's gotton a lot better in recent years, but I still immediately want to run and hide when I am forced--or asked--to engage in a social group setting.

The types of situations where I am in big groups and I don't know many people--or anyone--bring out my worst qualities. They bring out feelings of inadequacy, fear, self-defeat. I feel awkward and incredibly insecure. I feel like less of a person. I feel like a failure.

Acknowledging those feelings right now makes me want to scream. My heart is beating faster as I write this. Because it is the most frustrating thing in the universe to have to conquer this fear all the time. I'm always so jealous of people who have no problem with this. My mom, for instance, can walk into any group setting and fit right in. She's always the life of the party.

Me? I'm nothing.

Ah, see? See that there? I just called myself nothing. What a horrible insult. Sometimes I can't even believe these things come out of me. How can I be so self-depracating?

And here is where the cycle continues. When I get to the point, this point right here, where I can calmly analyze why I'm feeling down, it all turns around. I start arguing with myself about my negative feelings. I think, I'm NOT nothing! I'm something! I'm proud of myself! I've done a lot of great things in my life. I'm conquering my fears.

And the good starts to creep back in to my mind. Like, the other day, I was so worried about giving my film pitch in front of the class. I was so anxious that I worried about it for the entire weekend, building it up in my head until I became sick to my stomach.

But guess what? I prepared, and I KICKED ASS. I volunteered to go first, marched confidently to the front of the room, spoke in a loud, firm voice, and made eye contact almost the whole time. I said everything I wanted to say, in the way I wanted to say it, and I truly conveyed my passion for the topic.

The way I felt after that presentation is the way I feel on one of my great days. Yes, I have good days, and I definitely have bad/sad/depressed days, but sometimes I have great ones. Days where nothing can get me down. When the sun feels like its shining even if it's overcast and rainy. When I can sit alone in my room and just be content to be. When I can post an away message about how much I love life (something I actually did last weekend), and leave it up there for more than a half hour.

When I can just be me, content with who I am, without the possibility of being phased.

That's the phase I want to be in all the time. The joyful, go-lucky, ambitious, fucking awesome phase.

But do I need a happy pill to get there?

Or do I really have the strength within me to do it on my own?

They're Everywhere

2006-04-20T13:27:00.000-04:00

Men, guys and boys...

I see them in other cars as I drive to work. I see them at the ATM machine. I see them sitting outside eating lunch. I see them in the elevator, the parking garage, the sporting goods store, and every other conceivable place.

There is definitely no shortage of men around me. But there is a shortage of game. My game.

I ain't got one.

The guy in front of me in line at the bank today turned deliberately and smiled at me. He was cute in a boyish way, just my type. I smiled back.

And that's where it ended.

I stood there frantically trying to think of some way to initiate conversation, but in the five seconds that took me I got too winded or scared and gave up.

He moved forward to the ATM and finished his transaction as I stared at his cute outfit--nice-looking jeans and a blue collared shirt. It looked like he was depositing a paycheck.

Then he turned to leave, and lingered for a moment. He looked at me again as I stepped forward to the machine. I turned my back to him, and heard the familiar slap of the door closing as he undoubtedly left the building.

I quickly finished up my transaction and burst out into the decadent spring air. I stood there for a moment, looking left, then right. Could that be him walking away toward the metro in the distance?

If this was a movie, I would have run down the street in my heels, bounding after him with passion and fearlessness. I would have reached him in a matter of seconds, and tapped him gruffly on the shoulder.

He'd whirl around to face me with a look of surprise on his tanned face. I'd stand there, noticing his chiseled features, panting too hard to speak and not even caring about my hair, which was mussed perfectly by the wind. And I'd do nothing but stare back at him.

We'd share a special moment, right there in the middle of the sidewalk as people rushed around us to the metro. Someone nearby would start to play a saxophone. And it would be easy, and comfortable...and just perfect.

It would make the best story ever for our grandkids--the chance meeting at the ATM machine, the chase down the crowded street, the pure spring air.

Just like a dream.

But in real life? I let him walk away until he materialized into the crowd.

My life is not a movie. My life is not a dream. My life is far from... perfect.

And truly, these things don't happen to me very often. Cute men at ATM machines don't normally smile at me. It's not often that something inspires me to make up a cheesy movie fairy tale story.

Maybe today meant nothing at all. Maybe he smiles at everyone. Maybe he's happily married and has five kids.

But now I'll never know.

Life is all about having the guts to go for what you want. Having the gumption to grab hold of opportunities when they come your way.

Next time I'd better snatch that opportunity up... before it walks out the door of the Bank of America.

My most missed memories...

2006-04-17T10:10:00.000-04:00

...aren't from past relationships, high school prom, or even those all-night sleepovers where my friends and I used to belt out Spice Girls' songs.

My most missed memories come before all that. They take place by the creek in the woods behind my house, or in the mulch beds by the front door. They take place in the breezy days of spring and in the sweltering summers.

Those were the days when my sister and I would venture joyfully outside and unload our creativity on the world.

We'd throw on our mud boots and wade through the creek, marveling at the little schools of fish, water spiders and the ocassional crayfish. Then we'd snatch up our precious walnut shell boats and race them down one of the many rivulets of water, running alongside to catch them before they were swallowed up by the creek.

We'd stand on the gigantic tree trunk that had fallen across the rushing water, daring each other to jump off onto the small sliver of sandy beach and rocks. Then we'd venture across the tree to the other side of the creek, where we sometimes saw a mysterious "witch lady" who would creep up behind us with her german shepard and send us running.

We'd work meticulously for hours making mud pies and cakes. They were beautiful creations, garnished with leaves, flowers and even red berries from the wild Russian Olive trees. As our creations baked in the sun, we'd move on to the next game.

Maybe we'd hop on the swingset--she on the short swing and me on the taller one--and compete to see who could get the highest or go the fastest or touch the nearby tree branches the most times.

Other days we would pick "skunk cabbage" and onions from the swamp, or wild violets from the grass. We'd stir up caustic witches' brews in the big black cauldron our dad brought home one year for Halloween. We'd build little houses out of hay bales under the canopies of branches, and proclaim them as our own.

Or we'd move to the front yard, where we sat in the mulch beds sculpting out homes for our many toy animals. Those turtles, tigers, frogs, horses and dogs sure had it made in the shade of the hedges and flowers our parents had so carefully planted. They even had their own tin foil-lined swimming pools.

And after spending hours on end outside, covered in mud and muck and out of breath, we'd run inside for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

These days, my mom still makes me grilled cheese sometimes.

And it always takes me right back to the old times when everything was so simple. When my sister and I bonded over mud pies and walnut shell boats. When the world around us--the trees, the creek, even the red Virginia mud--was our playground.

We had an amazing childhood together, and it built the foundation for the close relationship we have today. And though I know we'll have many more good times, I don't think they can ever top the carefree summers we shared all those years ago.

The Russian Olive trees with the red berries have been long cut down now. The huge tree trunk over the creek has washed away. And now there are kids on motor bikes galavanting across the creek instead of the witch lady and her dog. But I still vividly remember what used to be--the feeling of wet mud on my hands, the putrid smell of the leafy green skunk cabbage, and the sound of my sister's laughter.

I will always remember those as some of the best days of my life.

Stifled

2006-04-14T10:23:00.000-04:00

Living at home is getting to be...difficult.

It's a weird thing actually, because I really do love living with my parents. I love talking to them. I love laughing with them. I love watching them dance around outside on the deck with oldies blaring from the speakers.

The one thing I don't like is the fact that they still act like my parents. And they still expect me to act like their little girl.

They don't expect me to stay out late. They don't expect me to go anywhere without telling them first. They don't expect me to be gone more than I'm at home.

I think it's hard for them to accept that I can take care of myself and make my own decisions. That I'm finally at a point in my life where I just want to relax a little bit.

Yeah, I don't mind sitting at home with my parents watching TV. But if that's my entire life, boy does that get depressing. I don't want to just sit around anymore. I don't want to just do homework on the weekends. I don't want to be so...boring.

So, lately, I've been doing what I want, regardless of how they feel about it. And yet, I feel so guilty for it. I feel guilty because I don't want to worry them. I feel guilty because sometimes I'd rather be somewhere else than at home with them. I feel guilty because it's easier to ignore everything going on at home.

My dad started treatment this week. He seemed fine at first, but now I know that he's not feeling well at all. And what can I do about it? I feel helpless, and I feel guilty for wanting to run away from the entire situation. I want to go out tonight...but should I stay at home instead? Does my dad need me? Or will my presence just bother him?

My parents say they never see me anymore. That makes me feel bad. But I also have to ask myself...what is there for me at home? Every time I sit there in my room, I just get down. I think about how lonely I am. Now that I've been constantly surrounding myself with people, I've been a lot happier.

But my happiness is overshadowed by my parents. By their comments: "Don't you ever do homework anymore?" or "You got home at 2 am last night!" By my mom's e-mails to me where she signs her first name instead of "Mom."

She says she does that because she's not allowed to behave as a mother would in this circumstance. What circumstance? I'm just staying out later than I used to and asking them not to interrogate me all the time and not to call me five times when I don't pick up my cell phone. I really don't feel like that's a big deal.

But I guess it's a big deal to them.

I guess I just feel guilty...for having my own life.

Does that mean it's time to move out again?

Rainy Days

2006-04-07T10:07:00.000-04:00

They always get me down. When I wake up to a dark, overcast sky, life just gets a little more intolerable.

My commute to work was shorter than usual, but that didn't cheer me up. It's Friday, but that doesn't really matter to me either. The scale registered even lower this morning, but I just don't even care right now.

I wasn't thinking about any of those things while driving in this morning. Nope, I was thinking about how strange it is to lose people. Typical me, thinking about the big depressing picture.

Why can't I just be content with feeling happy? Taking satisfaction in the little things?

Because...I think I like being sad. Seriously. I think it's the way I feel most comfortable. It's just...me.

I torture myself by listening to music that I know can bring tears to my eyes. Even at this very moment, as I sit at work, I'm playing perhaps the saddest song I've ever heard on repeat.

I listen, and I think...how weird is it that he's no longer in my life? It's such an odd sensation when I suddenly realize that I haven't talked to him on a phone in weeks. That we haven't spoken on IM since the day he ousted me. That all he is now is just a screen name on my IM buddy list.

I know I should take him off my list. I know it. But I can't. I just can't let go yet. And I hate myself for that. I hate myself for being so weak. I hate myself for writing another damn post about him.

But how can I help it? I'm human. I'm sensitive.

But is he? Does he even care? Does he think about me?

I know this won't make sense, but I think what scares me most about all of this is how well I've been doing without him. Honestly, I don't think of him very often. That's why it took me by surprise this morning when he popped into my head.

I'm fine when I don't think about him. It's when I remember that the trouble comes. It's when I realize that I'm moving on. It's when I feel that void get a little smaller, a little shallower. It's when other people in my life start to fill it.

Isn't it funny how we always find people to almost "replace" others? When DishonestBF and I had our falling out, he was there to dry my tears. He was the one who came into my life like a freakin' hurricane and changed my world.

And five years later, I know that will happen again now that he's gone. Someone else will come along. But this time, I'm not going to make the same mistakes. I'm not going to attach myself to someone just to heal myself. I'm going to be strong.

I don't wanna miss him. It hurts to miss him. And it hurts more to think that he probably doesn't even miss me at all.

What were we doing all those years? What were we doing if all that we're left with is this...nothingness?

And WHY DO I CONTINUE TO CARE?

I sincerely hope that he's stopped reading this blog. Because I don't want him to think this rambling post means anything. It's the same one I've written in different words many times over.

It doesn't mean I want him back, even as a friend. It doesn't mean I'm not moving on. And it doesn't mean I'm not happy without him.

All it means is that I'm thinking, feeling a little melancholy on a rainy day.

One step forward...

2006-04-05T14:34:00.000-04:00

...and two steps back.

Story of my life.

This morning, I practically screamed out loud when the scale registered a cool 125.0. Yes, that's one twenty FIVE point ZERO. The lowest I've weighed in ages. I hopped off joyfully, silently wondering how in the hell this happened, then pushed the scale back into the linen closet and pushed the door closed...

RIGHT INTO MY NOSE.

I am not kidding. I fucking closed the door. On. My. NOSE.

I don't even understand how this was logistically possible...although I guess I shouldn't be surprised considering that my lack of depth perception has caused much worse accidents in the past (running into buses, head-first into glass doors, large columns in parking garages, etc).

Thankfully, I don't think this blow did any real damage. I didn't hear the familiar crack or experience any bleeding. Whew.

My mom's comment? "Maybe now you can get your nose fixed!" Gotta love her for finding the silver lining in that one.

***

Another step forward: Rollerblading is my new favorite form of exercise. It's so much fun. I go around the cul-de-sac trying to do turns and tricks, then speed down the hill past my house. It makes me feel super cool.

Step back: I've become recently obsessed with sitting in my bedroom doing nothing. I can just sit in my bed with my laptop watching some inane television show for hours. My parents have even started commenting on the fact that I am turning into a hermit.

Step forward: I'm getting my hair cut and colored this Friday. Gotta do something about these unsightly split ends and dark roots.

Step back: There is a large chance that I will cave and get new highlights, which will only lead to more roots in the future. But they just look so cute, especially for summer.

Step forward: I'm totally done with boys. Totally and forever. I am woman, hear me roar.

Step back: Okay, I lied. I like talking to boys, looking at boys, and getting attention from boys. I need boys. Dammit.

Step forward: I've been going to bed earlier.

Step back: I've been getting to work later. Hey, that's the best way to shorten my commute, right?

Step forward: I've been writing in this blog much more frequently. Oh, and yesterday I reached another milestone: my 100th post!

Step back: I am also reading other people's blogs much more frequently. Like, when I have other more important things to do. And also, today's post is really sub-par.

Maybe that's because I'm just not experiencing any angst today. Wait a minute, now that's what a call a step forward!

Cut Off

2006-04-04T10:39:00.000-04:00

So this is what it feels like.

I left my cell phone at home today, accidentally. I think this is the only time I have ever gone off to work without it.

The sinking feeling hit me in the pit of my stomach about 10 minutes into my commute. I quickly debated turning around, but common sense prevailed and I didn't look back. And yet, the whole drive, I wished I would've just taken those extra minutes to speed home.

I kept thinking I heard it vibrating. I'd turn down the music and jerk my head toward my purse, only to realize all over again that the phone wasn't there.

Now I sit at work feeling...uneasy. It's a strange, worried feeling. Almost as if a part of me is missing.

I knew I was very reliant on my phone, I just never knew I was this reliant. It's my connection to the outside. Sure, I have a phone at work, but no one calls me here. And for that matter, I don't know anyone's numbers because they're all in my phone. Which I don't have. Because it's at home sitting on the kitchen counter.

What am I going to do if something happens to my car? Sure, it's practically new, but knowing my luck the day I don't have my cell phone is the same day I have some car-related catastrophe.

And what am I going to do on my long drive home without my phone to keep me occupied? I usually call someone to prevent myself from literally falling asleep as my car inches slowly forward in traffic.

I remember back in 2004, I dropped my phone (well, my entire purse) into a fountain. My phone died and never turned on again. The next two days were pure hell. I didn't have any of the phone numbers I needed, and I seriously could not communicate with the outside world (I was in the process of moving, so I didn't even have a computer for e-mail or IM). I resorted to using my roommate's phone to make short calls.

I bought a new phone as soon as I possibly could, and all was right with the world again. But I didn't learn my lesson.

When I moved into my own apartment later that year, I never bothered to get a land line. I had my trusty cell phone, after all. But what would have happened if I lost my phone? Luckily, I never had to find out.

I remember another time when I left my phone at home. My ex and I took his boat out on the Potomac for the day. When I realized I forgot my phone, I completely flipped. "What if something happens to us? What if my mom is trying to call me?" Yes, in case you were wondering, the boat had a radio. Yes, I completely overreacted. And yes, he had to convince me that we shouldn't go all the way home just so I could get my phone.

And now, here I am, without my phone again. Yes, it's only for a day, but I'm still having the same irrational reaction. I am clearly far too reliant on this form of technology.

Obviously, there was a time before cell phones. I didn't get my first one until the very end of high school or beginning of college. What did I used to do back then?

I think I need to remember that my phone is really just a security blanket for me--a modern convenience. It's not everything. It's not something that should ruin my day if I don't have it, or send me into total panic mode. It's odd, but I think it's actually taken away some of my independence.

So, I guess this phone-free day is good for me. I'm cut off. It feels wrong, but I think I will try to embrace this feeling. It's actually kind of liberating. For today, I am unreachable, no matter how many times you call. Ha!

Let's just hope I don't fall asleep in traffic.

Nap, Anyone?

2006-04-03T16:51:00.000-04:00

So this is new: Today, April 3, is National Napping Day!

What brilliant genius thought of this?! To designate a day for naps on the very day after that evil Daylight Savings conspiracy took effect is just...staggeringly awesome.

And this is the SEVENTH annual Napping Day. Those folks may be brilliant, but they really need to work on their marketing. 'Cause I ain't never heard of this day before now. And believe me, I'm the first person who would want to celebrate a day honoring sleep, of all things.

Apparently, businesses are encouraged to have nap-related functions on this day, where they allow employees to settle down for a few winks. Um, why isn't my workplace in the spirit? Is anyone else's employer recognizing this holiest of days?

I mean, we're not so lucky like all those people in Europe who take siestas after lunch. We've just gotta keep on truckin' and catch bits of sleep where we can--during meetings (ahem, me in our 1.5 hour all-staff meeting today) or on the way to work (hopefully not while driving, as I am wont to do). I think we Americans deserve a nice nap once in while.

In college, I took naps on a regular basis. The feeling of settling down into my soft bed with my stomach full from lunch and soap operas still on the brain is nothing short of amazing. So satisfying.

Unfortunately, today holds no naps for me. I've got class until 9 pm and then it's home for regular old sleep. I tell myself that I'll go to bed by 10:30 or 11 at the latest, but we all know it'll be past 12 and I'll still be sitting on IM wasting away.

Ah, sleep, you nasty trickster. You continue to elude me.

Hopefully someone got a nap today. I'll let ya know when I get mine. Someday.

Oh, and P.S.: I've been popping those yellow Easter candy Peeps all day and let me tell you, they really do help with the fatigue. Sugar cures all. Even life sometimes. Cheep cheeeeeep!

Last Chance

2006-04-03T11:01:00.000-04:00

Life is so fragile.

I've been reminded yet again of that simple fact.

Today I found out that a girl I knew in high school just passed away. I don't know what happened, but it was obviously sudden. She was only 23 or 24.

There she was, going to school, working, living her life. Now she's gone. Just like that.

It's so eerie to see her Myspace page filled with comments from friends honoring her memory. And underneath all of those, comments from the days before she died, where people were just asking her to hang out. Who could've known that she only had a few days left?

And I don't really understand. It just seems so meaningless. Why was it her time to go? What is life for if not for living? Why do some people get to live to be old and have families, while others are taken so quickly?

This is the third person from my high school (that I know of) who has died since we graduated. And I know of a few people from college who have also passed away. It scares the hell out of me. It scares me because I can't imagine myself not living. Not doing the things I want to do in my life.

It scares me too because I can't imagine losing a good friend. I've never lost someone close to me who's not a family member. And yes, losing grandparents is horrible, but it's...different. They were able to live out their lives, have children and grandchildren, make a mark. But people my age? Or people even younger? We've barely even had our chance.

I'm so afraid to die. I know it could happen at any moment. Every time I get into my car could be my last. And that's why I'm kicking myself for feeling the way I did yesterday.

How can I get all depressed when I have a life to live? When I've been given this gift, this CHANCE, to do something real? For whatever reason, I'm still here, and I need to start appreciating life.

I've feared death for as long as I can remember. Not only my own death, but others as well. For the longest time, I was so paranoid that someone in my family would get gravely ill. And then, when that actually happened, it made me realize how nothing is concrete.

Life is so unpredictable, always changing. And I can't rely on good luck to get me through it. Inevitably, something horrible and world-shattering will happen to me. It already has. And it will happen again.

What can I do but try to prepare myself for it? I must truly appreciate every moment I have with the people I love. I must be a good daughter, a loyal friend, and a supportive sister. I must do everything in my power to live a fulfilling, satisfied life, no matter what the obstacles, and no matter how long it lasts.

I know I should not think of death as such a scary thing. I know that it can bring with it peace. And I truly hope that is what it has brought to my former classmate, and to those who love her. I hope that they can accept this sad turn of events and celebrate who she was. Remember and honor her.

Because in a time like this, what else can anyone do?

Hole

2006-04-01T17:37:00.000-05:00

I'm so sick of myself and my crazy mood swings.

If I'm not surrounded by people for even a couple of hours, I fall right back down this hole. I know it so well now. I've been there many times before.

It's a hole of sadness. Melancholy. Isolation.

Stress. Pain. Guilt.

Everything bad that I could possibly feel is down here with me.

In this goddamn hole.

I hate it here, but I'm stuck. I'm stuck because I don't know the way out. I never have and I probably never will. Because instead of dealing with the situation rationally, I go all emotional batshit on it.

I think about how sad I am, how horrible my life is, how I'll never ever just be a happy, normal person. This is bad thinking. This is the thinking that gets me into holes.

I realize this, but I continue to think this way. It's who I am. A feeling-sorry-for-myself little weakling. A sad little pessimist.

It would be nice to have someone to hold me during these times. To have someone to just listen. To tell me it's okay to cry.

But I've got no one. I keep saying I'm okay with no one. But, really, I need someone. I need people. I keep trying to fool myself, but my emotions know better.

And the worst part is, who wants THIS? No one wants to deal with me and my emotional theatrics. Even worse, I already found someone who could deal with it, who could deal with it well, in fact.

And now he's gone, too.

I'm so frustrated.

I'm frustrated because I'm stressed out right now and I'm avoiding my work like the plague.

Because I'm lonely right now and I'm still not calling anyone, or telling anyone besides this stupid blog.

Because I'm trying to be independent and I'm failing miserably at it.

Because I need to take a shower but I'm too lazy and depressed to care.

Because I just curled up and slept for the past four hours just to avoid feeling like this.

Because I don't want to be this way.

Because I was getting help for this but I thought I didn't need it anymore.

I think maybe I do need help. But I'm too damn afraid and stubborn to ask for it.

Follow Me Down

2006-03-31T14:10:00.000-05:00

I've just now started to notice that relationships have a way of following me around. Even in the simplest ways, they have changed me. And those changes have stuck.

My most recent ex, for example, got me hooked on nice cars. Before meeting him, I knew nothing about cars and couldn't care less what type I actually drove.

Now? I'm a total car snob. I can't drive a Civic or a Corolla, because that's what everyone drives. And I'm totally into performance and aftermarket parts: turbos, special exhausts, big rims, chrome, ground effects. You get the picture. I've spent well over $1,000 just adding options onto my own car.

It's the same way with nice speakers and bass. Yeah, I may think "systems" are kind of silly, but thanks to him, I have an appreciation for the stuff. If I could only justify spending the money, I'd probably put a small system in my car...and then crank up the bass to one of those rap songs he got me hooked on.

And what about Canada (his birthplace)? I was indifferent toward it before, but I love the country now. It brings back memories of relaxing vacations, beautiful countryside, and kind people. I'll gladly go back someday. I laugh at all the Canadian jokes (especially those Molson beer commercials) and I still resist the urge to say "aboot" instead of "about."

Those are the positive things, but there have been negative impacts too.

He made me hate PDA (public displays of affection), because he was always trying to touch me and kiss me in public. After a while, I barely even tolerated holding hands. And now? I'm still pretty against all of that. Maybe it will take the right person to reverse the trend.

It's quite astounding what an unhappy relationship can do to a person. Not only did I hate PDA, but I started not to even like kissing. Toward the end, I guess I was so unhappy that any physical contact made me want to bolt. Scary, huh? I'm happy to say that I think I've been cured of that one now.

I wonder if I've had the same impact on him. Will he continue to drink soy milk and like vegetarian restaurants? Will he always love birds? Will he watch Laguna Beach and all those other shows I forced on him that I think he secretly kind of liked?

I know I tried his patience like no one ever has before. Will he keep his habit of exploding during a simple argument?

I know I drove him insane over what he ate. Will he continue to think twice before he binges a whole bag of chips or half a pizza?

I know I did a lot of things that changed who he is, that gave him new interests and new habits, and that gave his life a different meaning.

He did the same for me, and I'm still noticing those changes reverberating throughout everything I do.

I think I'll be noticing them for many years to come.

And surprisingly, I'm okay with that. As long as I can look back with closure instead of bitterness, appreciation instead of regret, I know I'll be just fine.

Another Day, Another Dare

2006-03-30T16:27:00.000-05:00

That's how it always goes.

Today at work, my co-workers and I somehow got into a discussion about hazing rituals, and out of that came the mention of the infamous "milk bet."

I hadn't heard of this before, but urban legend states that it is nearly impossible to drink a gallon of whole milk in an hour without throwing up during the ordeal or for at least 15 minutes afterward.

Being the crazy daredevil that I am, I immediately scoffed.

"What's so hard about that?" I said. "I love milk, especially whole milk!"

My co-workers snatched the opportunity up.

"We'll pay anything you want just to see you do that at work tomorrow."

I laughed. This dare had my name written all over it. "You bring me the gallon, and I'll drink it," I said confidently.

Shortly afterward, I went back to my desk to research the topic. What I found was quite alarming.

Apparently, this has been tried hundreds and hundreds of times, usually by big burly guys who have a much better chance than I would. And in almost all of these cases, the brave souls have failed. And not only failed, but failed miserably in a mess of their own milk-covered vomit. Projectile vomit.

People have tried everything to make this work. Chugging it. Taking it slow and splitting it up into increments. Eating bread beforehand. Doing it on an empty stomach. Training by drinking gallons of liquid each day for weeks on end.

When I read one person's account titled "The Day Jesus Stole My Stomach Lining and Beat Me to Death With It," I knew I had a problem.

Plus, people have stated that this exercise has caused them to hate milk forever. I know I simply could not live in a world without milk. I love the stuff. Chocolate, soy, whole or low-fat...it's all yummy goodness to me.

And those folks over at Got Milk have been telling us for years that milk makes your bones stronger and prevents osteoporosis. How could I forgo this beverage that is so delicious and has such healing powers? And that goes so well with a big slice of chocolate cake or a few Oreos?

I really do think I could do it without vomiting, but I had to admit defeat before the challenge even began. I've decided that my love of dares is just not strong enough to transcend my love of milk. And for that reason, I cannot take on the great milk challenge at this time.

But if anyone does, let me know it goes, kay?

For now, I hang my head in shame, but mark my words: One day, after possibly years of rigorous training and milk drinking, I will do this. And I will win.

Maybe I'll even make a documentary out of it called The Day Jesus Stole My Stomach Lining and Beat Me to Death With It. You'll have to come out and support my film, kay?

I'm Okay

2006-03-30T09:48:00.000-05:00

I finally believe it: I'm going to be okay.

Yeah, you heard me. I'm going to be OKAY!

No more being sad. No more being lonely. No more wanting something that doesn't even exist.

Why was I thinking I needed a boyfriend, anyway? What are they good for?

Why would I want to be tied down? Why would I want to have to get into stupid arguments over stupid meaningless things? Why would I want to have to consider someone else's feelings?

I didn't realize it until now, but boyfriends and relationships are highly overrated.

For once, I'm putting ME first, and it feels fabulous.

Get this: I'm going to Europe this summer. For two weeks with one of my best friends.

Yeah, me, the little whimpy girl who can barely navigate airports. The girl who stops herself from doing things just because she's afraid to take a risk. The girl who, until a few months ago, would never even have dreamed of taking such a trip.

But I'm doing it, because if my experience with [the guy whose name I am no longer mentioning] taught me anything, it's that you've gotta LIVE. That's what life is for, and this is my big chance.

So here I am, on a breathtakingly beautiful early spring day, stuck in this interesting spot that's post-boyfriend and pre-therestofmylife. And ya know what?

I think I'm gonna like it here.

Dare Me

2006-03-27T13:57:00.000-05:00

I've always had a little thing with dares.

But not all dares, just dares dealing with food. And not all food either, just really weird concoctions of things. Or things you wouldn't even normally eat.

Like leaves, for instance.

I'm not sure when it started, but I've been eating leaves, flowers, etc. all my life. Not whole ones, and not on a regular basis, but sort of just for fun.

I was once dared to eat a couple random leaves off a tree.

So I did.

They really taste just like lettuce. Grass, too. It's all just yummy leafy greens.

While vacationing in Hawaii one year, my sister and cousin dared me to eat the orchid that garnished my smoothie.

So I did.

I still have a picture somewhere of me smirking with a beautiful purple orchid hanging out of my mouth.

In college, the dares multiplied. My immature friends and I would sit in the dining hall mixing our food together in horrible hybrids.

I'll never forget the great french fry dare. It was one solitary fry covered in ketchup, tartar sauce, green cake frosting, soda, and who even knows what else. I was dared--for free, I believe--and so... I ate.

It was the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. I seriously almost vomited in the long, agonizing minutes it took me to chew and swallow.

But did that teach me? Of course not.

I've eaten a big dallop of Crisco. I've eaten an entire piece of pizza that landed cheese-down on the dirty floor. I used to pride myself on the number of hot dogs I could eat in one sitting.

I've stuffed my mouth so chock full of Jelly Beans that I could barely breathe (and Jelly Beans will never be the same). I once drank Tobasco sauce straight. I 've chugged the remnants of a co-worker's melted banana ice cream mess.

And, most recently over the weekend, I stuffed a big ball of carrot cake in my mouth at a restaurant. Again, it took many minutes to chew and get it down.

And for the first time, I felt a twinge of apprehension as I lifted it to my mouth. For the whole rest of the night, I walked around with a weird feeling in my stomach. I guess that's how undigested cake feels.

Or maybe it's just that I'm gettin' too old for this. I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I did before.

Cake stuffing would've been nothing four years ago. A bunch of hot dogs would've been nothing in high school. Now, I'm lucky if I can eat two.

But some things never change.

After the recent cake incident, my friends and I started reminiscing about the old dining hall days. And sure enough, they'd mixed up a new concoction in a matter of seconds: the requisite french fry, ketchup, A1 sauce, mustard, cake and some beer all smashed together with a fork.

The dare was made (with money involved, no less)...

...and I so graciously declined.

Yes, we may still be the immature girls who snuck salt into people's drinks in the dining hall, but I've finally learned to say no to a weird food-related dare.

And that, my friends, is progress.

Epiphany

2006-03-24T13:11:00.000-05:00

You know what? It totally just hit me...

I don't like him very much as a person.

I realized this as I was reading something he wrote and LAUGHING. Laughing in annoyance, and in glee. In pure joyous, unadulterated glee that I have escaped him.

I am through. I am free.

He can "wish the best" for me all he wants. He said he wishes me "nothing but happiness."

Well, I'd like to say thank you to him. He's given that happiness to me now.

Thank you to him for being the person that he is. For teaching me what I don't want in a mate, and in a friend. For loving me and then letting me go. For making me angry. Making me know my mind. Making me experience the lowest lows and making me get through them on my own.

I'm happier now than I ever was with him.

And that? Is hysterical.

I wonder if he thinks we'll be friends in the future. I'm stating this right now: We won't be.

It's impossible now. Too much has happened, too much has been said. And, as I mentioned, I don't really like who he is anymore. The blinders have been lifted.

I just did something amazing. I went into my mailbox and deleted the last positive remnant of our relationship I have.

It's an e-mail from the month before we broke up, an e-mail where he calls me "beautiful, thoughtful, wholesome, intelligent, supportive, respectful, understanding, fun and gorgeous." An e-mail where "Every day I spend with you is more fulfilling than the last." An e-mail where he loves me.

I deleted it, then went into my "Deleted Items" folder and deleted it again.

The box popped up: "Are you sure you want to permanently delete the selected item?" FUCK YES.

And click. Gone. Metaphorical, isn't it?

When I relayed this whole recent saga to my sister, all she said was, "You know, it's all just kind of funny."

And I agree. It's all very freakin' funny.

HAHAHAHAHA. I win.

PS: Please shoot me if I devote another post to this. I'm done.

A Weighty Problem

2006-03-24T10:20:00.000-05:00

I've got a bit of a recent obsession.

Weighing myself.

Ever since my dad brought the shiny new Weight Watchers scale home from Costco, I'd been waiting. Thinking about it as it sat in the darkness of the hall linen closet.

Finally, a few weeks ago, I built up the courage. I slid it carefully out from under the towels and pressed the SET button. With a deep breath, I gingerly stepped on to the cold surface.

I looked down at the flashing dot on the screen. No reading yet.

Closed my eyes as I waited in suspense. Then cracked them for a minute. Still nothing.

And then it appeared: 128.7.

My heart lurched. While it was't as high as it could've been, it certainly wasn't as low as I wanted either.

Growing up, I never thought I'd be standing on a scale registering a number of that magnitude.

When I rowed crew in high school, I weighed a petite 107. This earned me a spot in the lightweight boat. "Don't feed the lightweights," we used to joke. But I ate everything I wanted and more, never gaining a pound.

Slowly, that 107 became 117, which in turn became 125, and now has almost reached 130.

I'd give anything to go back to 117.

And yet, I'v proven to myself time and time again that statement is a lie. I'm not willing to give anything. I can't even get myself to exercise on a semi-regular basis.

I'm pretty good with controlling what I eat. And I've definitely decreased my portions. But if I don't do something else soon, I'm afraid that number will just keep climbing.

Don't misunderstand me, it's not the number I'm most worried about. It's the way I look. The way I see my body.

And I know a decrease in my weight means something about my body must be getting better. It means maybe I'm losing some of that extra fat that has so lovingly attached itself to my hips and thighs.

So, I've fallen into a habit of weighing myself every morning and some nights. I don't know why I do this, because I'm not exercising, so it's basically just a crap shoot if my weight has changed.

This morning, I weighed in at 126.5. The lowest yet.

How'd that happen? Was it because I skipped dinner the other night? Because I actually exercised last weekend? Who knows.

All I know is that I'm sitting here stuffing my face full of Swedish Fish candies. I ate a chocolate bar last night, and I'm going out to lunch today.

I'm thinking maybe the scale will register a bit higher tomorrow morning.

I think, if I could just lose 10 pounds, maybe I'd be happy. But the truth is, it's not the number on the scale that will make the difference.

I won't be happy until I can look in the mirror and like what I see. Until I can look inside myself and like what I see.

And until then, I'm afraid for anyone else to see me. Inside or out.

One Final Goodbye

2006-03-23T12:11:00.000-05:00

I've been mulling over how to write about this for the past four days. I don't want it to come out like an attack. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to use insults.

But the fact of the matter is, for some reason or another, I'm hurt. I'm hurt because the guy I devoted five years of my life to, the guy that I at one point thought I would marry, the guy that I put all my faith in...has disappointed me one last final time.

The other day, he cut off all communication with me.

Now, up to that point, we really hadn't been speaking anyway. We were both going on with our lives without eachother. But for some reason, he felt compelled to let me know that we would no longer be friends, acquaintances, anything.

So all those times when he told me we'd always be there for each other, I guess he lied.

All those times he said he respected me so much as a person.

The times he told me he always wanted to be in touch.

Lies, lies.

The abruptness of his "excommunication" felt like a slap in the face. It came out of nowhere. He told me that he read my blog and it sounded like I was having a hard time getting over him. So, basically, he took my internal thoughts and used them against me, all the while feigning that this was for my own good.

Of course I'm having a hard time. We had a very lengthy, very emotionally-involved relationship. I'm still mourning the loss of that. But that doesn't mean I'm mourning him.

It wasn't until later that I found out the real reason for his recent actions: he's got a new girl.

I'm happy for him. But I'm not happy about the fact that as soon as someone new came into his life, I was forced out with a simple "best wishes, take care."

I didn't expect to remain close with him. But more than that, I didn't expect to be treated this way. I deserve better.

I think what's bothering me so much now is the fact that I am just now realizing the type of person he is. He's the type of person to let someone else determine his actions. He's the type to act like something's for your own good when he's the only one benefitting. He's the type to be your best friend and then talk shit about you the second you leave the room.

I don't know why I never saw any of this before.

He has made me feel like I just wasted the last five years of my life. I clearly didn't teach him anything. He clearly didn't learn, or become a more mature, decent human being. What was it all for?

Well, the answer is easy: I learned from it. I've learned to be an independent woman. While he's off jumping into a new overly-dependent relationship, I'm giving myself time to breathe. I'm moving on, too...with myself.

I know my anger and hurt over this recent incident will fade easily away. And I'm fine. Perfectly fine and satisfied with the knowledge that we are truly over. He may not realize this but, we've been truly over for months. It had nothing to do with whether we were speaking or not.

This recent action just gives me a new reason to be angry. But the anger won't last--after all, I don't have stock in him anymore. It doesn't matter to me how he treats people. He's someone else's problem now.

You know, I can't even remember the date we broke up. I believe it was early October, but I don't have a specific number in mind.

But the other day, Monday, March 20, that's a date I'll remember. It's the day he dropped me like a bad habit just because some girl told him to.

And I'll never forget that.

PS: If he's reading this, then he deserves all the shit I just threw at him. I told him to stop reading. And if he is truly done with me, he shouldn't be looking at this blog ever again. Best wishes, sucker.

Thoughts of the day

2006-03-20T14:39:00.000-05:00

Oh Monday,
please end as quickly as you came.
You're sneaky and cheeky, always the same.

Oh Monday,
please let my mid-term be already over.
Give me some luck or a four-leaf clover.

Oh Monday,
please let me fast-forward to tonight, to sleep.

Dear Monday,
You are such a creep.

Sincerely,
Sleepy Lauren

***

On my mind today...

How can today be the first day of Spring when it's going to snow tomorrow?

How can I still be listening to this sad song when all it does is get me down? Do I like being down?

How can I be having a perfect hair day when the one person I want to see it isn't around? Why do I even care?

How can I have a mid-term at 6:30 tonight when I'm not even stressing out about it yet?

How can life just be...average?

...

I DON'T WANT AVERAGE.

I want amazing. I want rainbows. I want everything to fall into place.

I want a fairy tale. A success story. The best time I've ever had.

My parents always said I could have everything I wanted if I just set my mind to it.

Well, this is me. Setting my mind. I'll start with Monday, and I'll go from there.

Watch the F out, world.

Always on Your Side

2006-03-18T22:28:00.000-05:00

He didn't call me on my birthday.

I knew he wouldn't. I knew he shouldn't. But I still find myself feeling disappointed.

It's simply one more reminder that it's all over.

We'll never be the same. I've lost a best friend. And that's the way it has to be.

I feel empty. It's almost like the feeling I get when I'm hungry. But my stomach is still full from dinner. It's not food that I need.

I want love. I want that feeling back. And yet I know that even if we were still together, that feeling wouldn't be there.

Those days are over, but I remember when we used to be happy. So happy.

When I was home for the summer and far away from him, I'd walk around the house holding a framed picture of us. I'd sleep with it right next to my bed. I'd write gushy entries in my diary about the perfect moments we spent together. I'd spend endless hours thinking up the perfect gift for him: an engraved memory box, a framed collage filled with our pictures, a hand-made Valentine's Day card.

I loved feeling like I could give him the world. I loved being his world. I loved knowing that he felt the same way.

Knowing that he'd always be on my side.

I thought I was over this. But all it takes is a Saturday night spent alone in my bed listening to a beautiful, melancholy song to get me thinking again.

Hurting. Wanting. Holding back tears.

I can't concentrate tonight. I can just lean my head back against the headboard, close my eyes and listen to this song, feeling the pain I've felt so many times before.

Thinking that maybe if I let myself feel it just one more time, it'll release me.

My yesterdays are all boxed up and neatly put away
But every now and then you come to mind
Cause you were always waiting to be picked to play the game
But when your name was called, you found a place to hide
When you knew that I was always on your side

Well everything was easy then, so sweet and innocent
But my demons and your angels reappeared
Leavin' only traces of the man you thought I'd be
Too afraid to hear the words I'd always feared
Leavin' you with only questions all these years

Is there someplace far away, someplace where all is clear
Easy to start over with the ones you hold so dear
Or are you left to wander, all alone, eternally
This isn't how it's really meant to be
No it isn't how it's really meant to be

Well they say that love is in the air, but never is it clear,
How to pull it close and make it stay
Butterflies are free to fly, and so they fly away
And I'm left to carry on and wonder why
Even through it all, I'm always on your side

Another Year

2006-03-16T11:08:00.000-05:00

I'm 24 today.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.

A lot has happened in a year. It's amazing how much can go on in 365 days, and how much a life can change.

Let's see how mine has shifted since March 16, 2005.

July: I started this blog. I believe it's one of the best decisions I ever made. I've done some of my best writing here. I've met new and inspiring people. I've learned to search inside myself. And most importantly, I've learned not to be afraid of what I find.

May: My grandmother passed away. It broke my heart. It broke everyone's hearts, but most of all, it's impacted my grandfather. I know he misses her every day. I cannot imagine having a wonderful companion for 60+ years and then having to go on without them. We all miss her dearly.

July: I lived with a boy who just so happened to be my boyfriend, and I managed to piss my parents off quite a bit.

August: I went back to school, and am currently in my second semester as a graduate student. I'm pursuing something I love and it thrills me to no end.

October: The boy and I broke up, around the same time that two of my very good friends got engaged. I moved back in with my parents. At first, the lonliness enveloped me like a thick fog and I felt very sorry for myself. But slowly I realized that life can be just as sweet even without a boyfriend--even without that particular boyfriend.

January: My dad was diagnosed with cancer. You know all about this by now, but let me just say that it's always on my mind. Obviously, when I'm distracted with the every day happenings of life, I momentarily forget. But there's always that instant where it all comes rushing back. I'm not sure I'll ever fully accept it. I just wish it would go away. For him, for me, for everyone.

March-August: I traveled to North Carolina, Texas, Canada, New York, Connecticut, Massachussetts, and California (twice).

Anyway, those are the major highlights. I went over them all in my head as I was driving in this morning. I was feeling sort of melancholy about my birthday.

Yeah, it was a beautiful day with lots of sunshine. Yeah, my friends are going out to dinner with me tonight. Yeah, my life's really not so bad.

But I still had the overwhelming urge to cry.

Then I arrived at work and found a few pleasant surprises.

Myspace comments wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Facebook wall messages.

E-cards.

And a big bouqet of beautiful flowers waiting for me at the front desk. It's the first time anyone has sent me flowers. And it's not from some guy either, it's from two of my lovely girl friends.

Thanks guys, you've reminded me yet again to be grateful for the wonderful people I have in my life.

You've reminded me that today is not the day to wallow in the low points. It's a day for record highs.

So it comes down to this: The day may be only half over, but I simply couldn't ask for a better Birthday.

Butterflies are free to fly, and so they fly away

And I'm left to carry on and wonder why

Even through it all, I'm always on your side

Writeability

2006-03-14T12:07:00.000-05:00

A guy who can write is hot.

I don't care what he looks like. I don't care if he's a good conversationalist. I don't even care if we click.

Forget likeability, it's all about writeability, baby.

There are some blogs I read on the internet that just flabbergast me. And I always find myself surprised when I realize that the eloquent writer is a male.

For some reason, I've never thought of men as very good writers. This must go back to my experience with the opposite sex. Clearly, I haven't personally known any really talented male writers. So I figured their entire gender was made up of half-illiterate, non-creative types.

I have come to realize that this is a ridiculous assumption. First of all, look at all the great male poets. Alfred Noyes? He's a hot writer. "The Highwayman" gives me butterflies when I read it.

I find myself fantasizing about some of the male bloggers I come across on the Internet. I don't know them at all, but I know their writing. I know how it feels to be pulled in to their world for just a few minutes. To see what they see and feel what they feel. With no spelling errors to distract me.

I've always found intelligence attractive. But a good writer and storyteller is even more impressive than just a smart guy. Great writing takes not only intelligence, but creativity, a special sense of diction, a rhythm.

Only real writers pore over every single word to make sure it's the right one, or carefully consider the placement of a period or comma.

Only real writers look at everything they write as its own, self-contained piece of art--something infused with meaning that resonates with readers.

Sentence length, syllables, and even the way each word sounds all make a difference to the real writer.

I consider myself a real writer. I do all of the above, tweaking each article, blog entry and assignment to meet the standard I've set for myself.

To think that there are guys out there who do that same thing makes me weak in the knees.

I haven't yet had the pleasure of dating a writer. But I sure hope I get the chance.

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

The Click

2006-03-13T10:54:00.000-05:00

You spend two hours together and the conversation flows along with its own force. You laugh at his dumb jokes. He laughs at yours.

It's simply effortless.

Then, you spend more time together, and the conversation's still flowing. Ten hours go by, and you're still having fun.

No awkward pauses, just comfortable silence between topics. It feels good.

You just...click.

We've all been there, right? Conversely, we've all been in the opposite situation: the not-click.

He's a great guy. He's kind, gentlemanly, sweet.

But you've got nothing to talk about.

It's a strain just to get a conversation going. The silences are uncomfortable. You're trying so hard to feel that click, but it's just not there.

I think I'm starting to realize that you can't create chemistry. And moreover, it shouldn't have to be created. It should just occur. But how often does this really happen?

I've had okay chemistry a few times, but I've only experienced great chemistry once. With my most recent ex. Despite any underlying problems we had, that chemistry kept us going for four or so years.

And I'm not really sure why it even existed. Was it mutual passions? We both liked buying DVDs, spending time on the boat, and our pet birds. Maybe that was it, but we didn't know we had any of these things in common at the very beginning. And the chemistry was already there.

Was it similar personalities? He was outgoing and talkative, I was quiet. Probably not.

I guess chemistry is just a combination of everything. For one reason or another, all the little things just come together in a perfect fit.

We both liked cuddling. We both hated seafood.

He could do all the talking. But he also was a great listener.

He'd watch Laguna Beach with me. I'd watch "Pimp My Ride" with him.

He got me out of the house. I got him to relax once in a while.

He was caring. I loved being taken care of.

We dressed like bums on weekends. We liked each other better that way.

I had some chemistry with DishonestBF, too. It was just so easy to be with him.

We used to sit around making ferret noises at each other--I think it was the ferret in Budweiser commercials that got us started on that. Weird, yes. But also totally, hysterically awesome.

I'm still waiting around for someone to make ferret noises with. For someone who will tell me I'm beautiful when my hair is dirty and I'm wearing an old t-shirt and jeans. For someone who makes me laugh without even trying...by just being himself.

So how many not-clicks do I have to wade through to get there?

This is how we party

2006-03-09T12:41:00.000-05:00

While cruising on Myspace (translation: stalking people from high school) the other day, I came across quite a few profiles of people I knew. Well, I didn't so much know them as hate on them in high school for being pretty and popular.

But anyway, it's been five and a half years since we graduated, and these people look like they haven't changed a bit. Their profiles are all linked together, because they're all still BestFriendsForever. And they have all these pictures up of themselves dressed in their cheapest outfits at some club or another.

My blood began boiling as I looked at one particular girl's profile. In almost every single one of her pictures, she looks like a slut. Seriously. She's showing off so much skin and cleavage that I can't believe she owns any other type of clothing. Imagine my surprise when I clicked on the very last picture and saw her dressed in (gasp!) a turtleneck and jeans. I almost didn't recognize her all covered up like that.

As for the rest of her pictures, she looks so un-classy, and yet she's proudly showing this off like it's some achievement. In fact, her profile suggests that her entire life consists of going out, drinking and dressing slutty.

So why does this bother me? I'm sure it's because people like her remind me of what I am not. She stands for everything that I am against.

I do not own one article of clothing that even comes close to the type of thing she wears on a night out.

I don't go out to clubs. In fact, I've never even been to one!

I don't get drunk and grind up against people on the dance floor.

I barely even frequent bars.

Why is it that I turned out this way, and she turned out the other way? What is it inside me that's turned me off to the clubbing mentality that so many other 20- and 30-somethings embrace?

I guess it goes back to upbringing. My parents were always protective and strict, not to mention conservative. In high school, I never went to the parties, never even had a more than a couple drinks in four years. I wasn't in that "cool" group.

Obviously, it's also about personality. I'm shy and I don't like attention or big groups of people. And that's caused me to make friends with similar people. I don't have a group of friends that goes out all the time, and I certainly don't have anyone to encourage this behavior.

And as much as I say I hate the club scene and all the people that go along with it, I'm not sure that's entirely the case. I only say that because I know I'm not part of that world.

Because I'm too afraid to have fun like they do.

Because I can't even get up and dance unless I have quite a few drinks in me.

I shudder to say this, but...I'm kind of jealous. I didn't used to be in that "cool" group, and I'm still not. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to change who I am--and I know I'm way cooler in my own right--I just feel like sometimes I'm missing out.

Maybe eventually I will learn how to party, too. It sure would be nice to let loose once a while--to really experience life as an almost 24-year-old single girl. Here's to hoping my inhibitions will loosen up a bit before I get too old to enjoy it anymore.

And for the record, I still think that girl looks like a slut. She needs a big dose of class, stat.

This is how we party,

fooling with your body,

come on everybody,

can't get enough of you.

The Unknown Variable

2006-03-07T12:48:00.000-05:00

So, dating.

I'm not really sure I like it.

I've barely even started, and it's, like, so complicated already. All this crap about when to call and what to do and who's going to pay. And that doesn't even include the part about who makes the first "move." What a mess.

Oh, and most importantly, it's not so easy to find a mutual attraction. It seems like the playing field is always uneven--girl likes boy more than boy likes girl, or vice versa. This creates all kinds of problems on all kinds of levels, and simply exacerbates all of the above.

So I find myself thinking...why can't I just find the PERFECT MAN? And exactly one second after I thought that, the epiphany came to me: This is what every other straight woman on the face of the EARTH is also thinking.

This is not a new concept. It may, however, be new to me. In my previous life of coupledom, I never actually entertained the fact that I could find this "perfect man." But now that I've had plenty of experience to realize what I do and do not like, I find that I am far less tolerant of the "do not like" qualities. I'm ready for something BIG, real and PERFECT, goddammit.

Something a little easier, where I don't have to "accept" undesirable qualities and where we can share mutual passions, and even mutual attraction.

I really think I deserve it.

But then I think, am I being too picky? Should I give some people a chance even though they don't entirely measure up? Or would that be dating just for the sake of dating?

Quite frankly, dating kind of sucks, and I'm not sure I want to do it just to do it. It's really not fun enough for that. And hello, I'm a relationship girl. I don't think I can really just date/fool around without the possibility of a long-term arrangement.

So, I've decided to compile the essence of my PERFECT MAN. This way, I at least know what I'm up against. Yes, I know I'm insane. Here goes...

LAUREN'S PERFECT MAN:
- Enjoys reading for pleasure
- Knows how to write well
- Has an interest in art and culture
- Impresses the hell out of me without trying too hard
- Eats healthy most of the time, and binges with me on occassion
- Exercises and cares about his body
- Brushes his teeth twice a day
- Will entertain going to a vegetarian restaurant with me
- Isn't overly interested in the bar/club/drinking scene
- Has an ambitious, goal-oriented profession (i.e., not a golf caddy/bartender/retail associate)

- Likes to spend lots of time with me
- Likes to talk, but not gossip too much
- Is a gentleman when he needs to be
- Doesn't engage in constant public displays of affection
- Isn't too religious and leaves me to my own devices in that area
- Is smoking hot (in my opinion, not necessarily society's)
- Helps me to try new things, meet new people, etc.
- Will always stand up for me
- Is charismatic and has that extra spark in his eye
- Can appreciate quality films in any genre and discuss them with me

- Can put up with my stupid TV shows...and even watch them with me
- Can cook once in a while (or even better, all the time)
- Gives me thoughtful--and not just expensive or practical--gifts
- Writes poetry or plays a sexy instrument (guitar, anyone?)
- Surprises me with flowers every once in a while
- Knows how to maintain and possibly fix a car
- Likes nice cars
- Can laugh with me and at me
- Can accept the fact that I don't eat seafood and not push it on me
- Listens to music other than just mysoginistic rap

- Doesn't make serious comments degrading any race, social class or gender
- Can roll with the punches
- Is almost always on time
- Wants children
- Dresses nicely when appropriate
- Can be a lazy bum with me on weekends
- Loves animals, especially my pet cockatiel
- Isn't afraid to make the first move
- Isn't afraid to split the bill

- Loves to cuddle
- Loves bubble baths
- Will participate in outdoor activities: bike-riding, walks in the woods, rowing, ice skating, rollderblading, etc.
- Appreciates nature
- Is very close with his family
- Doesn't lie
- Doesn't cheat or steal, get into fights, insult people all the time, etc.
- Loves my friends
- Loves my family
- Loves ME!

As my mom always told me, "Don't settle on the important things." And I think she's right. If a factor is missing from the equation, things just don't add up. I always sucked at math, but in this case, I want to get the equation right.

Yeah, my list may seem pretty implausible, and clearly every guy I date is not going to possess all of these qualities. But the one I marry? He sure as hell is gonna.

Living in the Past

2006-03-06T13:57:00.000-05:00

I've been reading my old diary entries since last week. And sure enough, after the diaries came my high school year book.

It was only natural that my photo albums followed...and I stopped right in the middle of cleaning my room yesterday to flip through some memories.

Some pictures made me smile, and some made me stare off into space as I recalled fleeting glimpses of the people and things that have marked my life.

Why am I always reminiscing?

I miss people. Not just an old boyfriend, but old friends. I even miss people that I dislike.

I think sometimes I like feeling sad. I like thinking about what was. I'm always looking back as if all that stuff is so much better than what I have--what I am--now.

Maybe that's because I only choose to remember (I mean, really, vividly remember) the good. I remember the fun, the friendship, and more or less block out details of the bad times.

In retrospect, everything is rose-colored and glittered with happiness. Whereas real life, RIGHT NOW, is just that--it's real. It's not muddled in any way by my selective memory, not painted in pretty tones by my wishful thinking.

It's all the rich, gritty colors of life. And sometimes I'd just like to escape it, to go back to simpler times.

But my memories are fading. I can't remember things people said, or what I was wearing on specific occassions. Mostly I remember feelings, thoughts, and emotions. I remember a mood. A tone of voice. A song on the radio. I remember...

...my first kiss. It happened on the stoop of my parents' house, a summer night swarming with mosquitos and lit only by the dim house lights. I was absolutely terrified. I wanted to be anywhere but there. And then it happened, short, soft, a little awkward--not a great kiss by any means. Yet I walked into the house that night feeling excited, on top of the world, special.

...the day I got my first car. I was so surprised, and yet I was afraid of being entrusted with such a big responsibility. I also felt freedom, and gratefulness to my parents. And I felt proud that they gave me such a privilege. I remember how my mom had to prompt me to sit in the driver's seat and touch the controls. I felt like the car was some delicate, off-bounds thing that didn't belong to me. And yet, it did.

...when I spilled red nail polish all over the upstairs hallway carpet. The minute it happened, I felt intense fear. Ironically, I don't even remember really getting trouble. But I do remember that long walk to my parents' room, my heart beating wildly, to deliver the bad news.

...a fight with my sister. I don't even know what it was about, but I know we couldn't stand not speaking to each other for more than an hour. We wrote each other notes of apology, and then she made the first move. "Friends?" she asked. "Yeah," I said as we hugged. I remember seeing my aunt watching us go through this little ritual, and immediately feeling dorky and goofy. But I also felt the intense safety of that hug--total unconditional love.

...my first butterflies. Before he was my high school boyfriend, DishonestBF was just my friend. We were leaving the school's football game on a cold night, and he gave me his jacket. We walked close together up the stadium steps. I could feel the warmth of his body, and I knew something was going to happen between us. And it did, later that night. I didn't feel scared this time at all. Just anxious, excited, intrigued.

...I remember so many random snippets like these. There's not much to them, but they're there. I guess I pull them out on days where I'm feeling sort of...empty. Yesterday was a day when I needed to feel those emotions again--fear, happiness, excitement. It was a day when I needed to feel alive.

I don't think I'm quite done with the diaries yet, but I tucked the pictures back into my desk drawer. I'll leave them there for another lonely day.

Flashback

2006-03-01T23:28:00.000-05:00

I ventured down into the basement over the weekend. I only searched for a moment before I saw the box labeled "Mementos" sitting on the shelf. I knew what I was looking for when I lifted the lid.

And there they were: My diaries.

All five of them, all differently shaped and decorated, spanning over 10 years of my life.

I no longer keep a diary (I guess that's what this blog has become), but somehow I wish I still did. I wrote faithfully, with just a few breaks in between, from 1992 all the way up until 2003. Sometimes, my diary was my best friend. And I believe my diaries made me the writer I am today.

Reading my words now from another time is both wildly amusing and enlightening. I see how much I've grown and how I've changed.

I see that everything was so simple, and yet everything was so important. Some entries give me a true glimpse of who I used to be--a sometimes insecure, sometimes carefree girl--and others tell me nothing, just the inane ramblings of a teenager.

On this day many years ago, I wrote:

3-1-97

Ah! The 1st Day of March! My B-Day is on the 16th, you know!

Well...the Tom [named changed to protect the innocent] problem is solved! He wrote me another letter saying he was sad at my response, but he was glad we could keep being friends. He also said it was a relief to tell me "you know what." Well, it's all patched up and over I guess; and we can pretend nothing ever happened on Monday.

Today I was proud because I woke up at 10:00 on my own! Go me! Dad got this idea to take us out somewhere. So, I took a shower and we left for Burger King. He made us sit in the car booth there (a booth "in a car") and I was soooo embarassed! After that we went to Borders... [it goes on with more inconsequential details of my day].

In case you're wondering, "Tom" was a good guy friend who confessed to me in an e-mail that he'd had feelings for me for years. The situation with him caused huge, gargantuan drama in my life at the time.

But it's not really the content of this entry that strikes me. It's my way of looking at the world like everything meant something, so much so that a trip to Burger King warranted a mention alongside my boy drama.

I guess when you're 14, everything matters. I didn't have anything too serious going on in my life, so naturally I took everything seriously. But I was never too serious; things could be bad one day and the next they'd just be breezy.

It wasn't until the following diary--and the end of 1997--that I got really, truly depressed.

But we'll save that tale for another day...

Ode to Bubble Tea

2006-03-01T12:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, so, bubble tea. The minute I tried it, I was hooked. It's like a smoothie, only fresher and fruitier and with yummy balls of tapioca goodness at the bottom.

I know, it sounds odd. But it's the most brilliant thing ever invented.

Bubble tea hasn't quite gone mainstream here in the States, but you can get it at no less than five different places at Eden Center in Falls Church.

It's heaven.
Dear Bubble Tea,

You are the sweet nectar
that keeps me going.
You are the fruity goodness
that's always worth knowing.

You are so cold
that you numb all my troubles.
You are so yummy,
especially with tapioca bubbles.

Thanks for the memories,
the tea runs on OC nights.
Thanks for the tastiness.
You know such great heights.

No matter what, a bubble tea day is a good day. Which makes today AWESOME.

So much for smiles

2006-02-27T15:10:00.000-05:00

So how's that smile thing going for me? Well, just listen to this...

I'm in the packed elevator on my way up to the 9th floor, standing at the back, looking tired.

At floor 5, good-looking older man in front of me looks over. I don't smile, neither does he.

I look down for a second. He looks back at me.

I start to smile.

He speaks: "Hey, smile! I never see you smiling."

I smile and laugh: "I'm not a morning person."

He says: "Nobody is."

I say: "I'll try to smile more. I didn't realize it."

We hit his floor. "See ya," he says.

"Bye," I say, still smiling.

***

I don't even know what to make of this. In one sense, maybe I should be flattered. But in another, I should see this just as more irrefutable proof that I project a negative aura. However, maybe it worked for me this time, since the guy did start up a conversation. He seemed nice.

And I do know one thing, I walked off that elevator feeling pretty good. Thanks, random elevator man, for making this too-often-straight-faced girl crack a smile.

Maybe next time I can do it without prompting.

The Religion Post

2006-02-23T13:27:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to scare myself a little.

All my life, I've been without religion. I've been to church maybe a handful of times in my almost 24 years. I have indeed read the Bible, but it was for class and I didn't really buy into it.

Until now.

Last year, I started listening to Christian contemporary music. I came across it one day while changing radio stations, and it stuck. My grandmother had just died, and the lyrics gave me comfort. I cried as I listened to Natalie Grant's "Held." It was speaking to me.

Soon I realized that all the songs on that radio station meant something to me, not just because of their lyrics, but because of the beautiful and inspiring melodies. Happy music.

For months, I just figured this was a fluke. I liked the music, but I still didn't want to acknowledge that I believed the messages that went along with it. This was a big change for me. Not only have I never considered myself religious, but I've actually made a concentrated effort in the past not to have anything to do with religion.

Until now.

My ex-boyfriend always tried me to get to go to church, to at least consider having religion in my life. I always bucked because, put simply, religion meant nothing to me. Having lived without it for my entire existence, I didn't feel like I needed it.

And when my ex kept pushing me to go to church and embrace it, I think I even started to resent religion. It was pushing us apart. I felt like he was trying to change me, and I bucked.

Again, until now.

Now, my life has changed. When my dad got sick, I couldn't understand. I felt so powerless, and I began to see religion in a different light. I always used to see it as some made-up world where I didn't belong-- a world where people just used it as an excuse for everything that happened.

But now I think that maybe its purpose is very simple and much more noble than an "excuse": to give us hope. I may not believe that there is some great being up there making everything happen for a reason, but I do believe that we all need something to get us through the rough times.

And this Christian music? It gets me through. It gives me a way to understand the world around me. I realize that it doesn't matter why my dad got sick, and it doesn't matter whether or not I believe in God.

It only matters that I keep up my positive thinking, that I refrain from being angry over things I cannot control.

I still don't know if everything in the Bible actually happened. I still don't feel comfortable going to church. But for the first time in my life, I see why other people believe.

I listen to the Christian radio station in my car every day. I have a playlist on my iPod called "Inspirational music." I've got Christian song lyrics in my IM profiles.

And yeah, it scares me a little.

But it may just be one the biggest steps forward I've ever taken.

There is hope for the helpless, rest for the weary,

and love for the broken hearts.

There is grace and forgiveness, mercy and healing

He'll meet you wherever you are.

Cry out to Jesus. Cry out to Jesus.

~ Third Day

To Blink or Not to Blink

2006-02-22T13:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know everyone hates DC area traffic. And I know everyone writes about it, like, all the time. And therefore I know that this is just going to be another one of those posts. But I just can't take it anymore. I must say my piece.

First of all, I know everyone around here drives like arrogant, drunken a-holes on their way home from frat parties. I know that, and I've accepted it. The collective mentality of drivers in the DC metro area, much like that of a wild grizzly bear, or I don't know, a rodeo bull being ridden to within an inch of its life for sheer entertainment's sake, is very vengeful and full of rage. That's us.

Being uptight, impolite denizens of society dressed up nice in suits is our thing. Okay, cool. What I am not cool with is that we cannot even seem to exercise the slightest bit of common courtesy to our fellow drivers. Particularly, using blinkers seems to be a major stumbling block. I can't even count how many times a car has cut me off within the past few days without even so much as a flick of the blinker.

People don't seem to understand that blinkers have an actual purpose on a car. Yes, they are there for your very own safety. They announce that you're coming so people behind you don't a) run into you b) swerve off the road trying to avoid you or c) shake in epileptic rage and scream obscenities at your ugly Honda with the really loud, stupid-sounding exhaust.

Plus, they're so easy to use! All it takes is two simple flicks of your wrist. You barely even have to move your arm. The only reason not to use a blinker is the same reason people choose not to wear seat belts: sheer laziness. Or, worst case, sheer ignorance.

If you're going to cut me off, if you need to sneak in front of me for some reason, at least give a little advance notice with a blinker. And if you can't do that, at least give me a little wave when you're finished screwing me over.

And for that matter, am I the only one in all of Nova/DC who waves anymore? I always wave, whether people willingly let me in front of them or not. It's like saying "thank you" when someone holds the door for you. Not waving and not blinking are just ways of showing your supreme sense of entitlement over other drivers. And they will hate you for it.

And eventually, we all just hate each other. I may think I always blink and wave, but every single time someone messes with me by not extending similar courtesies, my patience grates a little more. And I start to drive faster. To push the cars in front of me. To swear and scream and cut people off.

AND I BECOME ONE OF THEM.

Please, save us from ourselves. Next time, JUST BLINK. Just make someone's day suck a little less. Just be an okay driver.

Thanks.

Oh, PS, two Canadian Geese were sitting on the road today as the snow fluttered down around them. I had to slow down so they could waddle away. And my road rage? Just melted.

It's Official

2006-02-21T13:36:00.000-05:00

I don't know how to flirt.

Once upon a time, I used to know. But after being in a relationship for so many years, I'm afraid I've forgotton how.

I think this results largely from the fact that I've spent the last four or five years sending off "I'm taken" vibes to any guy within a five-mile radius. I got really good at either completely ignoring members of the opposite sex or just plain not even noticing them. I'd never even crack a smile. This goes double for the times that a guy would actually look at me. In these cases I would just stare vacantly or look quickly away.

I can't even remember the last time I looked a man in the eyes and held my gaze. Nowadays, if I see a cute guy in the elevator, I do nothing. If he looks at me, I look down. It's almost as if I am afraid. People keep telling me to emanate friendliness. How am I supposed to do this when I'm so out of the habit of even smiling at people?

I guess it'll just take practice. Today, I got into the elevator with an older guy and quickly stepped to the back, head down. I could feel him looking at me, so I popped my head up and gave him a quick smile. He didn't really smile back--I think I took him by surprise--but it's a start.

Smiling is just the most rudimentary form of flirting, and I can't even get that down. So you can guess how I fare with actually speaking to guys. Most of my problem is that I wouldn't know if I was flirting even if I was doing it.

I've actually been told that I am a natural flirt, just because of my sweet nature. But I think this only happens with people I feel comfortable around. Take UW, for instance. I probably flirt with him accidentally all the time. Once, I even touched his knee while talking to him. And I didn't do it because I wanted to flirt, I just did it instinctively.

I'm like this with my friends, too. I don't go around touching them, but I'm confident with them. I can make jokes and say witty things. I'm always on top of my game.

But when I do want to flirt, even with a guy who is already a friend, I'm completely incapable. If it's someone I like, I'm okay at making casual conversation, but I have no idea how to let them know I'm interested. And I wouldn't dare touch their knee.

Or, I might think I'm flirting with them, but really I'm just being my regular self and I need to take it up a notch. I just don't know how to do that. I don't know how to be coy, cute, foxy.

I think I'm just not used to interacting with guys properly. I'm used to ignoring all randoms and being overly nice to the ones I already know. What I need to do is give the randoms some encouragement and stop giving out the wrong signals to any others.

And most importantly, I need to look the world in the face and smile.

People love you when you smile

And hate you when it's through

Lots of happiness

We are wishing you

If you come from Jamaica or Honolulu, yeah

Keep a smile on your face

I'll see the good that you do

~ Vitamin C

The Hospital

2006-02-17T14:00:00.001-05:00

It's a scary place.

If you're there, it's not where you want to be.

It's sterile and cold.

Until this year, I hadn't been in a hospital in ages. Then a co-worker became hospital-bound because she was pregnant with twins. I visited her. I felt the smallness of her room, sensed the lonliness of the place. I silently thanked the world for sparing me from ever spending too much time in a hospital.

And then January hit, and the hospital became my second home. I learned my way around. I drove straight there from work. My mom and I ate meals there, rested there, even cried there.

Right after we found out about the cancer, my mom broke down in tears in the main lobby. And people just went on with their business, breezing past, trailing IVs, stealing a glance or two. I guess tears are just typical in a hospital.

People expect them.

It's probably the only place you can sob hysterically and gratuitously in public without creating a spectacle. We walked around with red, flustered eyes and no one seemed to even notice.

Everyone in a hospital has their own problems. When you're in a crisis situation, you can only worry about yourself, your loved ones. Your problem becomes the biggest problem in the world, and you don't pay attention to anyone else.

I know I didn't.

I cannot remember much of anything about the hospital except my own experiences. I can't even tell you if I saw anyone else crying, because I wasn't looking. I was only looking at my mom as she buried her face in her hands and murmured inaudible words through tears on her cell phone.

I never want to see her in that kind of pain again.

And for that matter, I'd much rather never be in a hospital again. I've had two surgeries, I've visited my dad, I know the fear he felt...I think I've paid my dues now. That's the thing about life, though. It doesn't matter what you want or what's happened to you before.

You don't always get your way.

There are people who have had easier times than me and people who have had it a lot worse. We all have wonderful fortune, and we all have bad luck. It's how we deal with it that defines us. And I am so proud of my family for this past month.

It's been a nightmare, and we've come through it. Our love for one another is intact and stronger than ever. My dad is happy and hugging me tightly every night before bed.

My family amazes me.

And more than anything, I'm thankful for that.

On Lonliness

2006-02-16T12:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I'm tryin' to figure out something: Why am I so damn lonely?

I don't live alone. I have friends. I have people I can call. I have a great family and in fact live with three-quarters of them. I have pets. I have nice co-workers, a job, classmates at school.

But there is one thing I don't have, and I bet you can guess what it is: A boyfriend.

So, to revise my original question, why does my happiness depend on having a boyfriend?

On the phone the other day, my sister told me that I shouldn't expect to be happy with a guy until I can first be happy alone. Of course, I immediately bucked this concept. Because, really, have I ever been happy alone? No.

I didn't have a boyfriend until the end of my junior year in high school. And, yes, for the majority of those first 17 or so years of my life, I was alone and miserable. I was always insecure, always yearning for attention from the opposite sex. Always shy, always having crushes who would never ever return my affections.

When I finally did start dating, I tended to latch myself on to people, which explains why I've already had two very serious, lengthy relationships at the tender age of 23. I bounced from one relationship, one kiss even, to the next. I couldn't bear to be alone even for a small period of time.

The one exception is the summer after my sophomore year of college, all of which I spent completely single. And actually, it was a great summer. I spent it with my best friend S., who was also single at the time, going to concerts and goofing off. I never had any real dates. Maybe just a hook-up or two. And I was okay, self-confident, and even happy.

So how do I get back to that place now? Somehow my confidence has plummeted this past year, and I don't know how to fix it. It's like I'm afraid to just be me.

When I'm alone with myself, which is far too often during my commutes to work/class, my thoughts always lead to dark places. I am constantly worrying about everything from my body to work to my family. But mostly, I'm feeling lonely on those car rides.

K used to tell me all the time that I was beautiful. I always thought I didn't need that encouragement, but I was wrong. Because now that no one's (revision: no guy's) telling me, I don't feel so beautiful.

Today, for instance, I got all dressed nice in a skirt, straightened my hair, put on my pearls, did everything. And yet...I still feel like crap. I LOOK like crap. My mom and dad both told me I looked nice, but that didn't make me believe it.

I know it's all in my head. I feel like some attention from a guy would make me feel better...but is that really true? Probably not.

So, bottom line: I think my sister is right.

I need to fix myself before I can expect someone else to fix me. Because who wants that job, anyway?!?

Quick V-Day update: It was uneventful. UW (i.e., office stalker boy) gave me simple card. He gave a bunch of girls in the office cards. Pretty nice, actually. My boss gave me a single rose - so sweet of her.

And my dad gave me a pot of flowers and an adorable red frog stuffed animal which I have appropriately named "Froggie." My family also had a nice dinner with the good wine glasses and homemade pineapple upside-down cake. I guess it wasn't so bad after all...

Love & Loss: The Big Post

2006-02-13T14:23:00.000-05:00

I have a hard time getting over things. Whether it's sadness, bitterness, or just plain old rage, I've never been adept at just letting anything go.

Betrayal
It took me YEARS to truly get over what my high school boyfriend did to me. After we broke up, he betrayed me in the worst possible way--by going behind my back and hooking up with my best friend, of course. And they both lied to my face about it. I was not prepared for such a breach of trust, especially since it was coming from the two people I trusted most.

I lashed out at both of them, and anger became a fixture in my life. I had wild fantasies in which I plotted the ways I would get back at them. I wanted them to feel my pain. This incident occurred in the very beginning of 2001, and now, five years later, I can finally say that I am officially over it. Former best friend and I have reconciled. We even hang out once in a while.

As for dishonestBF, well...we're on good terms too, but we're not "friends," not even acquaintances. The last contact we had was a random facebook message from him in which he told me his dad had just had a heart attack. I suppose he wanted some support from somebody, though I'm not sure why he came to me.

And after hating his guts for all those years, I told him how sorry I was about his dad. I comforted him as I would with any friend. That's how I knew I had finally left the past behind. I'd let it go.

And as horrible as this entire double betrayal was, I know that it helped me to grow. It taught me to tread lightly and not to trust so freely. It taught me not to give so much of myself. It taught me to forgive.

I know that I'll never again harbor such bitterness inside me. That feeling tore at me for so long. It didn't hurt them at all, it hurt me. And I refuse to ever hurt myself that way in my lifetime.

Puppy Love
Just as I couldn't let my anger go, I have had difficulty letting love go. Even after dishonestBF brought out a side of me I never knew existed, I still missed him. The fact that I still had feelings for him made everything so much harder.

I always thought we would get married, even after we broke up. Sure, it was high school puppy love, but to me, it was real. I truly thought we would be together forever. Looking back, this was such a silly thought, since we had barely experienced life for ourselves, let alone together. We hadn't lived together, hadn't taken a trip together, hadn't had sex, hadn't even slept in the same bed for a night. All we did was hang out in his basement and park next to each other at school.

And yet, I loved him. I loved him for being kind, for the way he treated me, for his big brown puppy dog eyes. I didn't see any of the bad, though it was all there--the random lies he told, his inescurities, the fact that he didn't brush his teeth as often as he should.

Maybe that's what love is. Maybe it means you only see the good. Maybe it means you have such faith in someone else, and in your relationship, that you can't imagine ever not ending up together.

If he hadn't broken my trust in such a pivotal way, who knows what might have happened. We could still be together. But that's the thing about love. Even when it seems like forever, you're always one lie, one fight, one anything away from losing it.

He was my first love, and we were all wrong for eachother. I know that now, and I am so glad that we didn't work out. But, still...nothing since has ever felt so right.

I hope one day I'll find that puppy love again, that feeling of forever togetherness, that confidence in another person. It may open me up for betrayal, but in the end...it's all worth it.

Grown-up Love
As soon as DishonestBF was booted out the revolving door, in walked CollegeBF. He says it was love at first sight. It wasn't quite the same for me. In actuality, I wasn't over DishonestBF, not in the least. But I needed to move on, and that's what I did.

We really enjoyed being with each other. He made me laugh. He listened to me. He gave me advice. He taught me how to be more independent. He helped me to be more outgoing. Oh, and he brushed his teeth every single day.

We spent every day together and yet never got sick of each other. We had so many lazy days full of movies, television shows, and late nights. During my sophomore year of college, I spent more time in his room than mine, more nights in his bed than mine. And then, it happened... we did get sick of each other. He taught me how to fight, to resent, to yell. I didn't ever have the feeling that we'd be together forever. And it ended.

Yet nine months later, it started up again. We were just so comfortable together. When I was with him, it felt like going home. Safe. Warm. Snuggly. We had such a strong bond, such a strong sense of trust. After DishonestBF, he was the first guy I had really opened up to. I felt like I'd done the inevitable--I'd found someone I could trust again.

In the end though, the trust wasn't enough. Our relationship outlasted our respect for one another. My inability to just "let things go" translated into an inability to compromise. And despite being together for so many years, I never felt completely sure that he was the one. I knew this because of my experience with DishonestBF...I knew what that fuzziness should feel like, and it wasn't happening for me.

I couldn't overlook the problems we had. If anything, they intensified. Yes, I loved him, but at some point I must have stopped loving him in that way--the unconditional way. I knew I couldn't marry him, and I knew I had to finally make a decision without worrying about its impact on him.

We were on the path to marriage, and though continuing down that path would have been much easier for me, I chose to hop off. I left all that I knew and all that made me feel safe, and I finally did something for myself. It was the most liberating thing I have ever done.

CollegeBF taught me to be true to myself. He taught me about grown-up love--living together, buying groceries together, really compromising--and I am eternally grateful. Yes, I still miss him. But I take solace in knowing that I made the right decision. In knowing that I wouldn't take one bit of our relationship back. It shaped me, and I like who I've become.

Future Loves?
Through each of these experiences, I have become wise. I know what I want in a mate. I know what a healthy relationship should be. And most importantly, I know a little better what love means. It means compromise, forgiveness, mutual respect. It means you can have all of this and still be happy. It means you can be the angriest you've ever been and just let it all go with a simple "I'm sorry."

It means you know you want to be with someone for the rest of your life without having a single seed of doubt.

I may only be 23, but I'm ready for that feeling. And when it hits me, I'll know.

I Want

2006-02-13T11:03:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I can do this. Be single.

I'm so lonely. I just want someone to care about me. And I need someone to care about.

I need something to keep me going. And right now, school and work are not enough. Family is even not enough.

If anything, I just want someone to pay attention to me. I want someone to cuddle with. I want someone to hold my hand.

I want someone who will listen.

I want this feeling in my throat to go away. I want to be able to sit at work and not feel like crying.

I want hope. I want to be happy. I want a good life.

Is that really so much to ask?

Lauren: The Complete Collection

2006-02-10T14:02:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling contemplative today, so I've decided to search inside myself for those interesting things that make me unique. Sometimes I pigeonhole myself as just some boring, average person, but there's a lot more to me than I give myself credit for. In fact, none of us are boring or average...we've all got our quirks, our passions, our secrets.

Here is a partial list of the traits, likes, dislikes, wants and needs that make me special. Hey, I'm feeling more special just by writing this.

1. I wear holiday socks all year long.
2. On average, I go to the bathroom once every hour that I am awake.
3. I love singing and dancing, but only when no one is around.
4. I listen to Christian music 24/7, but I'm not Christian.
5. I don't eat seafood.
6. I could easily be a vegetarian if I felt the need.
7. I practically invented the socks with Adidas sandals look.
8. I like dressing like a lazy bum.
9. I have an obsessive personality.
10. I am fascinated by crime. I read entire books about it.

11. I know the entire history of Henry VIII and all his kids.
12. I'm half Italian - my dad immigrated when he was 13 years old.
13. I have no middle name - I used to want it to be "Angel."
14. I want to name one of my kids "Canyon." Sucks for him.
15. I still count in my head to do simple arithmetic.
16. I've had two eye surgeries. My eyes are still messed up.
17. I'm against thongs. They make me feel fat.
18. I actually like living with my parents.
19. I'm happier with a boyfriend than without one.
20. I miss cuddling.

21. Everyone thinks I only like bad movies, but my taste is shifting.
22. I bought the Hillary Duff and Ashlee Simposn CDs by choice.
23. I never tire of re-runs of Saved By the Bell, Sister Sister and Roseanne.
24. I wish life really was a Seinfeld episode and I could be Elaine.
25. I've reached a point where I'm embarassed of my weight.
26. Sometimes I feel pretty, and sometimes I feel ugly.
27. I wish I was born blonde.
28. I love the color of my eyes.
29. I tried to learn the dance steps to the "Baby One More Time" music video, but failed.
30. I want to own an aviary of birds.

31. I'm afraid I'll never get married.
32. I pretend to be neat, but I'm a slob at heart.
33. I want to be a video editor.
34. I'm a car snob.
35. I don't like bars or clubs.
36. I like winter only because I can wear bulkier clothes and it's easier to feel cute.
37. I've been to a therapist.
38. I could eat sunny side up eggs every day for breakfast.
39. I'm stingy when it comes to buying food.
40. I have over a gig of songs on my iPod, but I listen to the same few on repeat and skip the rest.

41. Britney Spears is still my idol.
42. I like all music but rap.
43. I could be a better friend, but I'm the perfect daughter.
44. I love raw sprouts and avocado.
45. My hands and nose are always cold.
46. I wish my boobs were bigger and my butt was smaller.
47. I like being intelligent and calling myself a writer.
48. I love to see my name in print...and to read my own writing.
49. I am an artist - I just wish I painted more often.
50. I like reptiles, but not spiders.
51. I hate exercising with a passion.
52. I used to paint my nails black and I tried to dye my hair blue.
53. I still don't know if I believe in God.

Now, your turn...what makes you special?

Validation

2006-02-09T12:11:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up like this. Why does my happiness always depend on validation from others?

I know I shouldn't care what anyobody thinks of me, but the cold hard reality is that I DO care. I care so much that something as simple as a comment can ruin my whole day.

Every time office stalker boy tells me I "don't go out enough," it hurts me a little. Despite the fact that I loathe him, it still hurts.

And it's not just other people that hurt me. I hurt myself far too often. I allow my negative thoughts to control my moods. I've broken down in tears while looking for something to wear more times than I can count.

It goes something like this: Try an outfit on, am unhappy with outfit, try another outfit, am unhappy, try a third one, am unhappy, get frustrated, look at heap of discarded clothes on bed, get more frustrated, think about how much my life sucks, throw crying fit.

What an unproductive way to spend a morning. And yet it happens. However, it hasn't happened in while (due in part to a wonderful book), but even so, I continue to look for validation.

This very morning, I had trouble finding something to wear. Now, I didn't get upset or anything, and I eventually found something. I'm just not totally happy with this outfit...it doesn't meet the idea of perfection to which I hold all aspects of my appearance (therapists calls this "appearance perfectionism").

Anyway, I saw my dad in the kitchen as I was eating breakfast, and I waited for him to tell me I looked nice. Sometimes he does that. But this morning... I got nothing, and that made me feel bad. Clearly, this is ridiculous. First of all, why does it matter what my dad thinks? Secondly, who even knows what was going through his head this morning anyway?

But the point here is that I wanted that validation. I wanted something, anything to help me believe that I looked okay. And for some reason, I can't give myself the validation...it always has to come from someone else.
I know I won't be truly happy until that reassurance comes from within.

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up like this. But maybe I should be wondering about how I can change it.

The countdown continues...

2006-02-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

Six days and 8 hours until the bane of all holidays. Tick, tick, tick.

In hopes of taking control of V-Day and making it the first-ever L-Day (all about me, of course), I've decided to treat myself to a little somethin' somethin.'

Here are a few items I'm considering:

Monster Ballads: Platinum Edition (inspired by a post from another intelligent blogger)
I love monster ballads. All of them. This compilation CD is sure to have my heart fluttering as I sing at the top of my lungs.

Just Like Heaven DVD
Such a cute romantic comedy. How can I resist Reese and that "cute in a non-conventional way" Mark Ruffalo? They fall in love...and he brings her back to life...literally! AWWWW.

Syberia II PC Game
Syberia I had an engaging story, stunning graphics, and a female protagonist--which is a rare thing in the gaming world. I couldn't tear myself away from it. Imagine my dorky-computer-game-player glee at finding out that there is a sequel.

Popular: The Complete First Season DVD
One of the best shows the WB ever cancelled (after only two seasons). It's a bit pricey, but definitely worth it.

iPod Car Adapter and Charger
I've been too much a cheap-ass to buy this thing, even though I desperately want (and need) it.

In addition, I will probably go on a movie-renting binge at Blockbuster just to keep myself busy on the fateful night. My must-rent list currently includes: Sideways, Before Sunset, Winged Migration, Indecent Proposal, and Mad Hot Ballroom.

Armed with the above necessities, a big old bag of Swedish Fish, and a bottle of Arbor Mist, I think I just might survive this V-Day.

Er, I mean L-Day.

And by "survive," I mean I don't end up crying or feeling too sorry for myself.

Yes, it's a low standard, but believe me, the bar is high enough.

The Smackdown

2006-02-06T16:36:00.000-05:00

I really wish I had the fortitude to lay the smackdown on someone. You know what I'm talking about--the rare occurrence when someone is so asinine and so very deserving that you just go off on them in an explosion of verbal bitchery.

I don't believe I've ever had the privilege of said smackdown. I'm just not cut out for it. I go over these tirades again and again in my head, plotting exactly what I'll say in my moment of sweet redemption, but when it comes down to it, I'm a total pushover.

Today I had one of these moments. My favorite office annoyance, UW (who else?) came by again to "say hi." But he didn't so much say hi as annoy the total crap out of me:

Me: How was your weekend?

UW: Not so good.

Me: Oh, that's too bad.

UW: How was yours?

Me: Pretty good, actually.

UW: What did you do?

Me: I rented a bunch of movies.

[Discussion of movies, including my opinions on all of them]

UW: You need to go out more.

Me: Well, that's not really something I enjoy.

UW: Oooookayyyyy (in really sarcastic/"you're a loser" way)

[Awkward moment of silence as I stare at him in seething rage with a half-smile plastered on my face and he shakes his head and pretends he thinks I am a loser]

UW: Okay, see ya.

Me: Bye bye [in annoying sing-song tone with as much contempt as I can muster]

Analysis: Okay, so, yes, he picked on me again. He does this every. single. time. he talks to me. Without fail, he always makes fun of me in some way. Either I am stupid for wearing gloves in the office (my hands are cold, okay?), or it's the fact that I "need to go out" more, or some other stupid reason (my iPod songs suck, for example). Now, maybe this is his way of "flirting" or whatever, but it's getting really old. It's getting insulting.

Usually I just attempt to defend myself by saying "Look, I'm not a loser" or "I don't need to go out." But today I attempted to tell him straight out that "going out" (whatever the F that means) is just not something I normally do. Of course, it didn't come out as I had planned. What I really wanted to say goes something like this:

Look here, stalker-boy, I'm sick and tired of you always telling me who I need to be and what I need to do. Your opinions do not matter to me at all, mostly because I have absolutely no respect for you. I don't enjoy being picked on and verbally harassed just because you think you like me.

And for that matter, what do you know about anything anyway? You don't know me and have no right to judge me. I take pride in my life and I especially take pride in the fact that the most important thing to me isn't how many bars I managed to stumble to last weekend. It's nice to know that just because I didn't get shit-faced last night doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy myself.

I'm sorry if I do more meaningful things with my time, like watch independent films--I am a fucking film student, aren't I? And I'm really sorry that you're such a sorry fucktard that YOU need to laugh at ME just to feel good about yourself.

Please, just go back to a bar somewhere and drink your sorrows away. Go find a girl who will be impressed when you tell her all about how drunk you got in Spain, or that you used to actually know how to brew beer (ohhhh, what a useful talent in life). Please go talk to someone else, because I'm sick of trying to be nice to you. Fucker.

Whew. I feel better. And I do apologize for the profanity, but in rare instances it's just necessary to make my point.

We're gonna make a better day

2006-02-06T10:26:00.000-05:00

Hands down the best part of the Super Bowl: "You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted to Lost."

Oh, and I only watched the halftime show. Didn't see a lick of football, and I'm proud of it.

I also managed to watch four movies this weekend and get most of my reading done for school. I highly recommend Grizzly Man, Crash, and Cellular...all excellent and thought-provoking films. The fourth movie? Guess Who. It was fun, but not fun enough, and clearly it paled in comparison to the others.

Oh, and also, I woke up this morning on time and feeling refreshed. It was such a strange feeling that I had to sit there and actually ponder why I wasn't hitting the snooze button on my my alarm. Better yet, I left for work on time and arrived on time even after a detour to Blockbuster.

Things just seem to be looking up. And I am very thankful.

All around the world, you've got to spread the word
Tell them what you've heard
We're gonna make a better day
All around the world, you've got to spread the word
Tell them what you've heard
You know it's gonna be o.k.
~ Oasis

Today

2006-02-02T12:48:00.000-05:00

It's Groundhog Day, one of my favorite holidays. And I can't even write a post about it.

I can't be witty. I can't be creative. I can't think straight.

I can only sit here and contemplate my life, my family, and everything that has led up to this day.

I can only question why certain things happen.

I can only try to understand how everything has suddenly changed.

Yes, it's Groundhog Day, but it's also the day I finally accepted the facts: My dad has cancer and he needs chemotherapy. He is sick, and he's going to get sicker, and I'm afraid.

I'm afraid the chemo will drain him.

I'm afraid I can't be strong for him and for my family.

I'm afraid...that we will lose him, and I'm even more afraid to say that out loud.

Up until this day, I hadn't thought of that as an option. I thought maybe the cancer was localized. Or, if not that, then surely it hadn't progressed past the second stage. I thought everything would be okay, because he's such an inherently good person.

But I guess none of that matters. We're dealing with something much bigger than I can fathom--something so unsettling that I get nauseous when I think about it. And if I keep thinking about it, I lose myself in it.

It's swallowing my family. And it's not fair.

Please let us make it through this.
Please let us beat the odds.
And for once...please let me have faith.

On Valentine's Day

2006-01-31T16:03:00.000-05:00

I was just flipping through my calendar when, to my utter horror, I realized that Valentine's Day (i.e., the worst holiday ever to grace the Earth) is exactly two weeks from today.

This will be my first Valentine's Day without a boyfriend since 2002. This is a problem for a variety of reasons. First of all, I'm lonely, and my lonliness will be compunded infinitely by all the lovey-doveyness going on this Feb. 14th.

Secondly, I freakin' love getting flowers...I mean I LIVE for getting flowers. I pretend to be this independent feminist woman and all, but flowers are my weakness. I love being a girly girl and getting a big bouquet of roses from my boyfriend just for the hell of it. And it's always been a secret wish of mine to have someone do something really romantic...like take me to a bed and breakfast and surprise me with flower petals on the bed. I know it may not seem like much, but it has yet to happen for me.

This brings me to my third reason...I always put so much stock in this stupid holiday. Especially when I have a boyfriend, my expectations are just too high. I'm always wanting the fairy tale, and I never get it. I'm positive I won't get it this year, with no relationship or boyfriend to speak of. Back in high school when I was single, I contented myself with fantasies of some secret admirer surprising me on Valentine's Day. But again, this has yet to happen for me.

I guess I've had some good Valentine's Days, but my memories of them have more to do with disappointment than romantic evenings. Let's take a journey through the Ghosts of V-Days past:

2000: My first V-Day with a real boyfriend. I was expecting so much from my high school boyfriend that I practically told him to surprise me with roses at my house before school. He did just that, but I wasn't really surprised since...duh, I pretty much told him to do it. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of my V-Day issues.

2001: My first V-Day with my college boyfriend. It was actually one of my better V-Days. He brought me a single rose in the morning, then another in the middle of the day, and one more in the evening. He showed up dressed to the nines and led me back to his dorm room, where he cooked a nice dinner. It was a delicious and cute, low-key evening.

2002: My friend Steve was nice enough to invite my two roommates and me--all single--out to dinner. We dressed up and went out to Olive Garden or some similar place, and I think he bought us dinner. However, as I remember it, I think I also complained (in my head, of course) about how he should've brought chocolate or at least a rose for each of us.

2003: I'm back with my college boyfriend (the one from 2001). Earlier in the day, my roommate's boyfriend drops off a huge bouquet of flowers. It's gorgeous, and I can't wait to get my own. My boyfriend comes from work later with a small bouquet of roses, and proceeds to tell me that he got them from a street vendor on his way home. These roses so paled in comparison to my roommate's that I acted like a compelete brat for the next few days. I even cried.

2004: This was supposed to be a great V-Day. Still with the college bf, I decided to do something special and made reservations at a cute bed and breakfast in Rochelle, Va. I was already unhappy because I thought he (being the guy) was supposed to plan the day.

Anyway, I woke up on V-Day with no sign of flowers from K--this after I had complained for an entire year about the street vendor flowers. I threw a total tantrum and went into high hysterics. I cried on his bed and went to sleep until he brought some flowers back. Of course, after all that, they still didn't measure up.

So, after I calmed down, we drove to the countryside B and B. It was adorable, and that evening he took me out to a field and gave me these gold heart-shaped earrings, which matched a necklace he had given me years earlier. We also found this great restaurant and had an pretty expensive meal complete with wine and even fondue. I felt like the most ungrateful girlfriend ever.

2005: Last year wasn't so bad. I was with the boyfriend still, and he agreed to take me out to one of my favorite (and very expensive) restaurants, 2941. We were running a little late, but we dressed up and made it in time. Dinner was exquisite. We had a seven-course meal and I loved every bit of it. We even had a nice bottle of $90 wine, and K ended up dropping a lot of money that night. Oh, and he bought me a big bouquet of flowers in a real vase from a real store. Finally.

To sum up: I am what many people would call A HIGH-MAINTENANCE VALENTINE'S DAY BITCH. I expect far more than any guy has been willing (or creative enough) to give. While I don't expect a guy to spend much money on me, I do want something that shows that he really cares...something unique and different from the norm.

Despite the fact that I know it's just a money machine manufactured by the likes of Hallmark, Valentine's Day seems to mean something to me. I think I just want one day to be treated like a princess. Seriously, don't we all deserve that for one itty-bitty day a year?

*Postscript: After thinking about these past experiences, I realize that I should just be happy with whatever V-Day 2006 brings. I don't need the attention of a guy to make or break me. If something nice happens, I'll be grateful, and if something doesn't, I'll be satisfied, too.

I'm sick of life

2006-01-31T11:23:00.000-05:00

This happens to me sometimes. I'll be cruising along just fine and then all of a sudden I hit a rough spot.

I am feeling so unmotivated. Nothing excites me. I have nothing to look forward to. The things that should make me happy...don't. To put it simply, I just don't care enough to care. About anything...

School should be fun, but it's stressing me out right now.

I haven't woken up on time or slept straight through the night in two weeks. I'm always tired.

Work is just a place I go to be. My strong dis-interest in it is draining me.

I don't bother making my hair look nice anymore. It's been many days since I straightened it or even wore it down.

I don't see my friends. In fact, I am barely communicating with them.

I've stopped taking my cell phone with me everywhere I go. Because honestly, no one ever calls.

Food has lost its allure. I haven't been indulging in anything I like, and my appetite has definitely diminished (good because maybe I'll lose weight, but bad because...you know, I love food, normally).

And here's the really scary part: I don't even care about my TV shows. There is not one single show that I must watch...and if I miss it, so what?

I don't know why I get this way sometimes. Obviously, with my dad getting sick, it's been a tough year. But there's more to this than that. I've seen this pattern before.

Sometimes I just get sad, and there's nothing anyone can do about it but me. Since I've never been a positive thinker, I must content myself with the fact that this too shall pass.

You know that sinking feeling you get when you hit a big pothole in your car and it jerks and makes a horrible sound? Well, I just fell in the big pothole of life. And it's really jagged and ugly and it totally just threw my alignment all to hell.

My cringe-worthy past

2006-01-27T11:04:00.000-05:00

I first started dating during my last year or so of high school (yes, I was a late bloomer in that sense). At first, I was completely scared and clueless. However, I somehow gained enough confidence--or maybe it was naivete--to make some bold moves on guys.

As I think back on it now, these moves weren't so much bold as completely ridiculous. I was so NOT smooth. In fact, I bordered on needy and desperate. Here are just a few examples that I still cringe just thinking about:

1) The video store hook-up
There was this guy who really liked one of my friends. He started talking to me just to get to her, and when she refused him he decided he liked me. At first I was appalled, but then my natural insecurity set in and I began to enjoy the attention. Plus, I'd had only one boyfriend at that point and was ready for more "experience."

The guy--who was more of a "bad boy" and not my type at all--worked at a video store near our high school. I started to visit him there, and we first kissed at my car after one of my store visits. That day as I drove away, I immediately start worrying about how the kiss was. I hadn't had much kissing experience, and I didn't want him to think I was a bad kisser.

So I did exactly what I shouldn't have done: I called him not even 10 minutes after the kiss took place, and proceeded to tell him that a) I was happy we kissed, and b) I hadn't kissed anyone in a while so I may have been out of practice. Seriously, I did this. It was quite possibly the most pathetic action I could have taken in that situation. Talk about sending the wrong messages.

Of course this whole "relationship"--which only took place in the video store and included no actual dates at all--went nowhere. I eventually decided I didn't want to date him because he was settling for me when he really liked my friend. But seriously, I'm not sure he would have wanted a girl who engaged in cheap, tame video store hook-ups and then assualted him with her neediness anyway. Oh, and after I "rejected" him, we "hated" each other for a little while. High school. Ugh.

2) The car kiss
For some reason, I began liking one of my neighbors. He'd lived there forever, but one day my good friend and I decided he was super hot. We started talking to him and hanging out with him every so often. Eventually, though, he and I would just talk on the phone without actually seeing one another. So I'd do really dumb stuff like pretend to get the mail when I knew he'd be driving past on his way home. I was such a stalker (and still am, for the record--watch out).

So one day he told me about the great new Pontiac his parents bought. I wanted to see it, and he told me he'd be on his way out (or was it in?) so I could go outside and meet him in front of my house. I went, of course, and waited on the stoop until he drove up. I ran across the lawn to the car, and hopped in. We sat there awkwardly talking, when all of a sudden I get this burst of insane cockiness.

Right there in his car pulled over on the side of the road in front of my house (with my parents inside and able to look out at any moment), I ask him straight out if I can kiss him.

"Can I kiss you?" I say.

"It's up to you," he says.

"No, a kiss takes two people," I cockily reply.

I guess he said yes or something, because we did kiss. I thought I was real smooth. Oh, and it gets better... I think I may have told him his lips were soft afterward.

Can you guess what happened after that? I hopped out of the car, he went on his way to wherever he was going, and we never hung out again. I was a total loser. The end.

3) The e-mail emergency
I had plenty of crushes in high school, but there was one that I felt I should act on. I didn't act on it in a normal way, of course, by flirting and trying to get to know the guy. No, I e-mailed him. Anonymously.

I sent out a secret admirer-type e-mail explaining that I liked him and giving little hints. He seemed very intrigued (and was probably a little scared), but he kept e-mailing me back and asking questions. It went on for maybe a week or so until I finally tripped up. I accidentally sent him an e-mail from my non-anonymous account...the one with my full name in the "from" field.

I really wish I still had that horrible e-mail trail, but I erased it in utter humiliation, so I'll recount from memory here. He wrote something like, "Oh, I didn't know it was you." I responded by saying how sorry I was and how ridiculous I felt. He assured me that I had nothing to worry about, but he never came out and said he liked me back. We started talking in class for a little while afterward, but nothing else ever came of it.

Even if he had liked me before, my crazy stalking definitely scared him off. I'm sure he told a bunch of his friends about it too. It's a wonder that I actually ever landed a boyfriend in high school.

So, the point of all this is...I would never do any of this stuff now. I wouldn't do it because I've learned to value myself more and to have some class when it comes to guys. I guess in a way I've learned to play the "game"--to refrain from putting my vulnerability out there.

But in another way, I haven't learned anything at all. Back then, I at least had some guts. I could tell a guy I liked him, and I could ask a guy for a kiss. I could do things that I am now absolutely terrified of doing. Maybe it's because I'm older and wiser, or maybe it's because I'm so jaded, but I'm afraid to put myself on the line like that now.

I may have been a naive and sometimes desperate 18-year-old, but at least I wasn't afraid of rejection.

So, girls, anyone got any stories as cringe-worthy as these? Please assure me that I wasn't the only loser on the planet in high school.

I have a problem

2006-01-25T15:22:00.000-05:00

Well, two problems...

1) I am obsessed with reading my own writing. I swear, in every other way I'm completely self-depracating and insecure, but as a writer, I'm a complete narcissist. One of my favorite activities is to go back and read my blog entries, chuckling at how clever I am. Yeah, it's sad.

2) I am also obsessed with the new Jason Mraz song,"Geek in the Pink." I have been listening to it on repeat all day, as I am wont to do with songs I love. But let me tell you, the lyrics are HOT. He's just so damn cocky and confident in this song, and his voice is so damn smooth. He's all talking about how he could be "the one to take you home, the one to turn you out."

Yes, please, Jason, turn me out. DO IT. I want you.

Okay, three problems...

3) I'm so pasty white that I am turning translucent. I look like death. I try to compensate by putting on lots of blush, but then I just look like the Clown of Death (hmm, idea for a good horror movie?). It's scary.

Real problem update: My dad is home from the hospital now, and is on his way to recovery. We're still waiting for test results, but I'm feeling like we'll be getting good news.

A Lauren Morning

2006-01-24T10:35:00.000-05:00

E-mail I received today from K, my no-longer boyfriend (I don't like the word "ex"):

Subject: A Lauren morning......

So I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock. 9:04 AM. I was in disbelief. I looked at my mobile and realized I wasn’t dreaming. I got ready for work and drove like a bat out of h3ll. Made it here before 10. I definitely thought of you.

K

In a word: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. This is quite possibly one of the best e-mails I have ever received, because he's just SO dead on with his analysis. The only difference between K's "Lauren morning" and a real morning in my life is that when I wake up past 9 am, I don't even bother trying to salvage the day. I just close my eyes and let it ride.

I am notorious for sleeping in on a regular basis. I've been doing it all my life. Without fail, if something important is going on, I'll attempt to sleep through it. In high school, when I had people coming over for a group project, the doorbell usually woke me up.

In college, when I had a presentation to give for my final linguistics project, I woke up after class had already started.

Fire alarm going off? No problem, I'm still sleeping.

I've perfected the art of rationalizing in order to catch a few more winks of sleep. It's a breeze for me to wake up late and start thinking wildly of some excuse that precludes me from actually getting out of bed. I love the feeling of rolling back over into a deep slumber, with not a care in the world.

I simply love sleeping. And nobody knows that better than K.

In college, he was the one who brought me lunch when I spent all day sleeping in his loft, skipping three classes in a row. If I had class before 1 pm, I couldn't make it there. I actually counted once, and I skipped my 10 am Italian class more times than I went to class. I ended up with a B for the semester...pretty damn good for a chronic skipper.

Now that I'm in the real world, I still have this problem. Every so often, I have a day where I can only force my eyes open long enough to shoot off an e-mail or a phone call to the office. Sleeping in is just a vital part of my survival.

Thanks for the e-mail, K. You made me smile, and that's something I really need right now.

Worrying is my specialty

2006-01-23T13:45:00.000-05:00

I can't concentrate.

I can't sleep.

I can't do anything.

I've always been a worrier, but lately my anxiety has taken on astronomical proportions. Obviously, finding out that your dad is really sick will do that to you. My life has been interrupted and it hasn't yet bounced back. How do I bounce back from something like this?

How do I sit at work when my dad is at the hospital wincing as he gets out of bed so that he can get his strength up? When he is all alone in that dark, sterile room with nurses taking his blood and checking him constantly?

How do I go on with my normal routine when I've been at the hospital for hours on end, day in and day out? When I know more about that hospital than I'd ever want to know and more about it than what's going on at work?

How do I go to class when I could be visiting my dad and keeping my mom company? When at any moment we could get the call about his test results?

How do I live when everything is hanging in the balance?

Thinking of all these things I have to do just makes me tired. I have plenty to do at work, but I'm not doing it. I have to go to class tonight, but I'm not looking forward to it. I had to get up this morning, but it took every ounce of self control I had not to roll back over and call in sick.

I dread human interaction. I just can't stomach having to be pleasant and polite and chipper right now. Not when there's this war raging inside me.

I want to be in one of two places: My bed, sleeping for 24 hours straight, or the hospital, being with my family.

I belong no where else.

My Worst Nightmare

2006-01-20T13:44:00.000-05:00

It's completely amazing how your life can change in one single instant.

When I wrote my last post at around 5:30 pm on Monday, I was worried about a few things...

The car getting fixed
The money to pay for the car
What to wear on a "date"
Some stuff I was doing at work
Classes starting
Missing my ex

Right after my Monday post, I took my dad to the urgent care clinic for bad stomach pains. No big deal, I thought. My mom even had chicken soup cooking on the stove for when we got back so she could nurse him back to health.

No one touched the chicken soup.

We ended up at the hospital emergency room until 3 a.m., when my dad got admitted for a blockage in his colon. It could have been anything, but the doctors dropped the unspeakable word: cancer.

Immediately, fear gripped me.

But I still knew there was a chance that this would turn out okay...that this didn't have to end in the worst possible way. I didn't allow myself to believe anything until we knew for sure. I kept a positive outlook, and I thought that would be enough.

It wasn't.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006 is a date I will never forget. It was the day my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer.

At first, I couldn't cry. I couldn't speak. All I could do was stare at the doctor open-mouthed in complete shock. As my mom put it, it's like being run over by a cement truck. It's pain. Fear. Disbelief. So many emotions all at once with one single thought at their center: This can't actually be happening to my family.

I don't have the strength or the ability right now to get into details, but things are looking okay so far. After all the bad news, we seem to be on a more positive track. But we're still waiting to see if the cancer has spread. And we need all the prayers and hopes we can get.

Right before going in to surgery yesterday, my dad said "My daughters aren't even grown up. I'm not done yet." And he's right...we still need him. Our family needs him. He is part of us, and we are part of him, and we're not ready to let him go. He's our dad...our "Popskers," and we love him so much.

Because, really, what is my life without him? It's not my life. I still feel like I'm looking down at someone else's family. It's surreal.

These past four days have been the longest of my life. But we're going to be dealing with this new challenge for years to come. And from now on, I'll look at everything differently. My entire world has been placed in perspective. It has changed forever.

Look at what I was worried about before...

My car? Don't care.
My clothes? Don't care.
My job? Don't care.
My classes ? Don't care.
Being lonely? Don't care.

But now? My family is all I care about.

And we're going to get through this together.

PS: If you're someone who knows me in "real" life, and I hadn't yet told you this news, I apologize for the shock. It's been an insane couple of days and I haven't been able to readily talk about this. However, writing it here has been very therapeutic and I am on my way to acceptance.

Looking forward, looking back

2006-01-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

It's the little things that remind me of him.

A U2 song on the radio.
A package of Jambalaya instant rice in the pantry.
A red Saab zipping by.
A picture.
A word.
A thought.

On days like today, it's everything, really.

I miss him most when I'm sitting at home being lazy. We used to be lazy together. We would curl up on the couch and watch Lifetime all day. Or we'd make a leisurely Blockbuster run and come back with six pre-viewed movies to watch together.

We loved buying movies. We loved walking around Target for two hours and looking at every single thing...the toy cars, the electronics, the furniture. We'd deliberate over everything from vacuum cleaners to plasma TVs, but in the end we'd just come back with some DVDs and a peppermint patty or two.

We enjoyed being together. Sometimes I forget how much we enjoyed each other. But some little thing always jumps out and reminds me what I'm missing. Today, for instance, I finally unpacked my digital camera, and there he was. There were a bunch of pictures on it that I'd forgotton about...pictures from when we were still together.

There we were in Canada.
K and his dad lounging in the water.
His parents at their cottage.
And then we were back on his boat in DC.
K posing proudly at the dock.
Me in a candid on one of our "nature walks."

It was strange to look at those photos--ones I hadn't seen since the break-up occurred. It was a glimpse of us at another time. And that glimpse helped me fully realize that so much is behind us now. We can look back on everything and feel sad (that's only natural), but we can't ever look back with regret, and most importantly, we can't ever go back.

The future is ahead. Sure, I can miss him all I want, but that won't change anything. And now I know that it shouldn't change anything. My life changed when he came into it, and it's changed just as profoundly now that he's gone.

And both times, those were changes for the better.

My World

2006-01-12T12:22:00.000-05:00

What's goin' on in my world right now?

Let's see...

1) The car fix is costing even more than I thought. Are you ready for this, folks? It's almost $2,500. Yes, that's more than a thousand, more than TWO thousand, in fact. Wow. And I'm usually such a cheap-ass with money too. To think of everything I could buy with this much money just blows my mind.

Honestly, to a person my age, that's a lot of money. Sure, I have it. But I can't just drop that much and feel okay about it. I don't have lots to spare, especially not thousands. I'm still considering whether to use insurance or not, but either way I've screwed myself. Again.

Maybe I should just become a hermit and stay in the house. Then at least I'd stop sabotaging myself. Oh, who am I kidding, I could screw myself anywhere. I'm sure I'd end up hobbling around the house running in to walls and breaking bones and such.

2) Since the car is in the shop, I have no way to get to work, so my wonderful and generous boss is allowing me to work from home for a few days. This working at home thing is...interesting. I admit it does take a lot of discipline, and so far I'm impressed with myself.

Currently, I am propped up on my bed with my fluffy pillows behind me and my laptop on my lap (how appopriate) listening to some tunes without the added headache of headphones. My TV is just a few feet away and yet I've resisted the urge to turn it on. I'm trying to create a decent work environment here, after all.

I do wish I could do this all the time. I'm so much more relaxed at home in my sweats and a t-shirt, with no make-up on and my hair thrown casually back in a ponytail. One would think that this uber-relaxed state would make me less inclined to work, but in actuality I'm so grateful for this situation that I'm bent on increasing my work output. I am determined to prove that I can work from home in a responsible and successful fashion. Now let me just go get a snack, pet the dog and play some Nintendo, and then I'll get right back down to business. Haha, just kidding.

3) I'm going to a bridal "trunk show" this weekend with one of my best friends. I'm really excited for my first foray into the world of wedding planning. I, like probably every other girl, have always dreamed of a perfect wedding. There's something fantastical about it. So for now, I will live vicariously through everyone else until it's my turn. And don't worry, I'm not saying I want to get married any time soon, I just want to have a wedding. Unfortunately I haven't figured out a way to have one without the other. Foiled again!

4) Lately I've been thinking about this blog and who reads it, and I've been wishing I had preserved my anonymity a little better. I don't mind revealing my personal life to people, but I do mind when I know exactly who I'm revealing to.

You see, one day I casually mentioned to my dad that I had a blog. Well, he pretty much annoyed me until I told him the link. I'm not sure he even reads it, but nonetheless it's always in the back of my mind that he could. So I naturally censor myself, which kind of sucks. It's not like have very many sordid details to reveal anyway, but still, I think I shy away from specific topics.

In addition, my ex is an avid reader of the blog (hello there, K, I'm sure you're reading this right now). This is also kind of an odd situation. Being single now, I have an inclination to regale you all with my pursuit of the opposite sex, but with K as an audience, I feel uncomfortable doing so. You see, we agreed not to tell one another if we start dating again. Well, if I can't tell him, and he reads the blog, then I guess I can't tell the blog either.

Maybe I need a new blog with a new address so that I can escape all that I know and be thrust in to the world of obscurity. What do you all think?

It's just a car...

2006-01-10T12:12:00.000-05:00

I must keep telling myself that. It is a machine. An inanimate object. It doesn't do anything except sit there and let me drive it. It's ONLY a car.

So why am I so upset?

On my way in to the parking garage this morning, I ran into one of those big, square support poles. I mean, I really ran into it. I scraped up the whole entire rear passenger door, along with denting it and warping it. My side sill is also hanging down precariously on one side like it is trying to escape the ugly mess I've created.

When I got out of the car to survey the damage, I actually kept myself composed. I kept saying, "It can be fixed, it can be fixed." But when I came inside I made a beeline for the bathroom with my cell phone, and broke down in to tears--the first time I have ever cried at work in my entire life.

It looks horrible, it's all my fault, it's so unbelievably unnecessary. And from the looks of it, it's going to be a very expensive repair.

I just didn't need this right now, ya know? My life was actually going okay. I was feeling happier. I was being more social. I was watching less TV. But now I've got this to weigh me down. Now I am feeling self-depracating all over again.

I just am so angry at myself. And I'm scared, too. You see, I have this eye problem. Long story short, my eyes don't really move together all the time, so I have horrible depth perception. My driving ability aside, I know this problem has most likely contributed to many of my car accidents because they always occur with something in my peripheral vision.

In this case, for instance, the pole was on the right side, which is the eye that does not have much peripheral mobility. My other most recent car conundrum, when I hit a nasty curb, also occurred on my right side.

I've also had my share of accidents on the left side...this is because my left eye, while having full mobility, has really bad vision. Now I've got glasses for that, but before I had them, I had to turn my head at an extreme angle past where I would normally hold it just to see clearly on my left. This is my explanation for the great school bus incident of 2000. I won't go in to details here, but I was trying to change lanes on the left, I turned my head too much, and I didn't see the school bus stop in front of me. And I hit it.

Sounding scary yet? The worst part is...what can I do about this? I have to keep driving. I have no other option. I guess I just need to exercise more caution in the future. But I don't really know how to avoid these things from happening because they just happen. One minute I'm fine and the next I'm running into something.

And now my car, my poor beautiful car, is ruined. Sure, it'll get fixed. But that doesn't change the fact that I did this to it. I disfigured it. It's going to need new body parts and new paint. And I'll probably be out over a grand. Lovely. Great way to save money. Go me.

Just this morning, one of the guys working in our yard referred to my car as "that little yellow racecar." It filled me with such a sense of pride. Because I love my car. I really do. I love it, and I'm proud of it.

But I guess that's the problem. I shouldn't be so attached to a machine. I shouldn't want to cry when I think about it all wounded in its parking space in the cold garage.

After all, no one was hurt.

The car will be fixed.

And hopefully, so will I...as long as I remember that it's just a car.

Ode to My Glasses

2006-01-06T12:46:00.000-05:00

(PS I love writing odes about stupid things, so get used to it)

Oh, beautiful glasses,
you are so pretty.
You make me look smart.
You make me feel witty.

I never thought
you'd make me feel this way.
I always thought
I'd cast you off in a day.

But now I know,
that you're not half-bad.
In fact, I can't bear to part with you,
lest I become blind (and sad).

And I think, what did I do
before you came on the scene?
Did I just walk around
bumping into beams?

You give me the ability
to see, to read, to drive,
better than ever before,
I'm so grateful you've arrived.

But one more thing
before we go...
I also love the way you look.
I love to put you on show.

You kind of make me appear
like a sexy schoolteacher,
like a smarter version of myself.
You bring out my best feature.

Oh, darling DKNY's,
thanks for all you've done.
It's only been a few weeks,
but you and I have sure had fun!

Me in my new bling-blings

Okay, but seriously? I really do love my new glasses. I was so nervous about getting them because I thought I'd feel stupid wearing them. But as it turns out, I like the way they enhance my image. They are almost like an accessory to my look. I look older, I look smarter, and I feel more sophisticated.

Plus, I can see! I can recognize people when I look at them. I can change lanes without fear of running into large yellow vehicles. And I can read things even before they're one inch from my face.

I had only planned to wear the glasses sometimes, like while driving or in meetings. But I wear them all the time, from morning to night. I can't bear to go back to the land of the un-seeing and the un-sophisticated.

My glasses become part of my identity, and that's fine by me.

Have I grown up?

2006-01-04T10:46:00.000-05:00

I know it's lame to post forwards, but I think you'll find this one entertaining. My good friend sent it to me today. Let's see if I've really grown up (my comments are in bold)...

25 ways to tell if you have finally grown up

1. Your houseplants are alive, and you can't smoke any of them.
No, actually my plants are all dying. But they died in college too...I remember when my bonsai lost all its leaves and I had to nurse it back to health. No growing up points here.

2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.
So true. And doing it in a twin-sized, rickety loft is really out of the question. +1

3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.
Yep, no more wine coolers stacked up in there anymore. +1

4. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.
I get up at 7:30 am, but same difference. I could never stay up until 6 anymore. +1

5. You hear your favorite song in an elevator.
All the freakin' time! I love those elevator compilations of Britney songs. +1

6. You watch the Weather Channel.
Um, yeah, how will I know what to wear to work or if I need extra time to de-ice my car? And I love those Storm Stories shows. +1

7. Your friends marry and divorce instead of "hook up" and "breakup."
Yes, I currently have three engaged friends. +1

8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.
Don't even remind me. I miss summer vacations. +1

9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as "dressed up."
Yep, jeans and a sweater won't cut it on a normal work day. +1

10. You're the one calling the police because those stupid kids next door won't turn down the stereo.
Those damn kids and their music. We let them slide at the apartment because we knew we'd need to make noise at least one rare day a year when we had a party. +1

11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.
Yes, sex has now become a socially acceptable topic of conversation. +1

12. You don't know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.
No freakin' clue. Or Waffle House, for that matter. +1

13. Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.
Yeah, I didn't used to have payments or insurance. Now I got both, but I also have a kick-ass car that is all MINE. +1

14. You feed your dog/cat Science Diet instead of McDonald's leftovers.
I don't have a dog of my own (it's a family dog) and never did. And I'd never feed it fast food. No points here.

15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.
I can pretty much sleep anywhere. And, shhh, I still kind of like sleeping on the couch.

16. You take naps from noon until 6PM.
Totally. I could sleep forever. +1

17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.
It's been so long since I've been on a date that I don't think this applies to me.

18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 AM would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.
Yeah, or as it used to be for us, eating Domino's buffalo wings at 3 am in the dorm lobby. Ew. +1

19. If you're a girl, you go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.
Hahaha, I never bought those things in the first place. I am a good girl.

20. A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer "pretty good stuff."
Actually, even a $2 bottle is still acceptable to me. Hello, Boone's Farm and Arbor Mist!

21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.
Yes, I always eat a full breakfast at breakfast. Can't start my day without it. The days of Waffle House at midnight are over. +1

22. "I just can't drink the way I used to..." replaces "I'm never going to drink that much again."
Yeah, pretty much. I rarely ever drink at all (although, when I do, I am kind of impressed with my tolerance, which has somehow stuck with me over the years). +1

23. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.
Yeah, especially when I'm in school. +1

24. When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate her instead of asking "Oh, man--What Happened!?!?!?!
Haha, this hasn't happened yet, so I can't give myself any points.

25. You read this entire list looking desperately for one sign that doesn't apply to you and can't find one to save your sorry old butt. Then you forward it to a bunch of old pals & friends 'cause you know they'll enjoy it & do the same!!
I guess I am forwarding it by posting it here, so one last point for me. +1

Let's total it up. Out of 25 possible points, I have scored 18. So I have more than halfway grown up. How depressing.

I really miss the days when throwing water balloons was the most important thing on my schedule, when I could wake up at 1 pm every day just in time for my soap operas, and when I never had to buy my own alcohol.

Ah, college. How I miss ye.

Shit shit shit

2006-01-03T15:08:00.000-05:00

I NEED HELP.

UW (my unwanted advancer--you must know who he is by now) is back. He came by my cube earlier and we chatted awkwardly as usual. Then my phone rang and my caller ID showed it was him. I didn't answer, and congratulated myself on avoiding a potential "situation."

But, alas, I cannot escape. He came back to my cube and asked me to do something with him. Outside of work, of course. For the second time in two months and for the what seems like the millionth time since I've started working with him.

So, he asked me to go to the 9:30 club with him Saturday night to see his friend's band play. Immediately, I am nice in my response, despite all my instincts. Here's the train wreck as it occurred, with my comments in bold. Keep in mind that I do not like this guy romantically and am not interested in dating him.

UW: "It'll be fun. You can get out."

Me: "Yeah, I never go out." Idiot! Why did I say that?!?

UW: "Do you listen to No Doubt?"

Me: "Yeah." Stop egging him on!

UW: "The band's kind of like that. It's ska."

Me: "Oh, I like ska." What is wrong with meeee?

UW: "Yeah, it'll be a blast."

Me: "Well, I'm not sure, but I'll let you know. I have your number." Oh, great, now he expects you to call him.

UW: "Okay, yeah, just let me know. I'm meeting some of my other friends there." Does he want me to meet his friends? This is bad.

Me: "Okay, I'll let you know."

UW: "Okay, just let me know." Um, calm down buddy.

Me: "OKAY."

Awkward silence. And then he leaves.

Alright, so I know I handled this situation completely wrong. I was way too nice and even encouraging. What the hell? Well, I think the problem is that for a moment there, I actually considered accepting his invitation. I've been so darn lonely. And I guess it made me feel good to be asked to do something. But when I think about it, I know that this would be a stupid move. Because I do not want a romantic relationship with UW. And I think that is what he expects.

Now the problem is that I have to somehow get out of this. But how? I need advice. Major advice.

Or maybe I should just suck it up and go with him? Can someone please let me know what they think? I've asked for advice from y'all before, and no one's given it, but it's an EMERGENCY this time, guys. Please, please just come out of obscurity for a few minutes and help me out. I'd appreciate it immensely.

Bridget Jones had it right...

2006-01-03T12:42:00.000-05:00

I read the ever-so-popular chick lit book, Bridget Jones's Diary, a couple years ago when it had just come on the scene. Back then, I never could quite understand Bridget's strong disdain for "smug marrieds"--her term for married couples and just couples in general. But now I realize I didn't understand it because I was one of those couples, and so were all my friends. I was surrounded by coupledom, and it suited me.

But now that I'm single, I totally get it. Bridget had a damn good point. The problem with couples is that it's nearly impossible for them to co-exist with singles. It's like apples and oranges. Couples and singles don't mix. How not fun is it to go to a movie--or even worse, dinner--with your couple friends? Sure, they can tell you how happy they are to have you there all they want, but that doesn't change the fact that you're just the third (or even the fifth) wheel.

Now, my problem is that I've suddenly switched categories. There I was, at the height of my coupledom, enjoying being with all of my couple friends, when suddenly I was thrown out of the mix. Now I'm the only single out of my group. And I find that it's a difficult transition because I've got almost no single friends.

It's not that I can't hang out with my coupled friends now, it's that it's harder to hang out with them. They've got built-in companions in their boyfriends, and I've got...well, no one. I think sometimes the smug marrieds of the world don't realize how lonely we singles can get. They take the fact that they have an insta-companion for granted. And in that kind of a relationship, it's easy to forget about other people. Heck, I know I was guilty of it when I was coupled up.

What's even more frightening is that a bunch of my couple friends are now engaged. One after another, they're dropping out of the single world forever. They're all taking this new step forward, and it scares me. I mean, obviously I'm thrilled for them and I'm so excited that they've found happiness with someone. But on the other hand, I'm being left behind. When they're married, I'm really going to be in a different category. Heck, we'll even have to check different boxes on our tax forms--me single, them married.

And I know what's going to happen too. I know their husbands will have to come first. That's the way it is, right? Once you've got a husband, he is everything. You have your own little family, and your friends become less to you. They might not mean less, but you definitely don't need them in the same way.

I really just don't want to lose my friends. Maybe that's why I'm scared.

Or maybe I'm scared because I'm so alone.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'm finally realizing what it means to be married--to spend the rest of your life with one person and to value that person above others. And I wonder when it'll ever happen for me. And I wonder...

Will I ever be ready for it?

The Gift of the M

2005-12-28T00:20:00.000-05:00

My holiday was great.

There are plenty of reasons why, but I'm going to concentrate on one particular aspect: my sister. I love my sister infinitely and unconditionally. She has been my best friend ever since she was born, and our relationship has always been wonderful.

It has been so wonderful, in fact, that I didn't think it was possible for me to really know her any better.

But this holiday, she surprised me. The story goes like this...

A month or two ago, my dad hinted that my sister and I would be getting iPod nanos for Christmas. I was really excited about this, since my old mp3 player stopped working ages ago and I still hadn't gotten my hands on an iPod of any sort. Of course I relayed the news to my sister, but she wasn't as thrilled. She had more of an "Oh that's cool" reaction, but she wasn't as giddy over it.

Then, a week or so before Christmas, my dad posed a question to me: "What would you rather have, electronics or jewelry?" Well, since my dad had just brought in all of his Christmas gifts for people at work, I assumed he was asking what he should give to a woman at work. So I said jewelry. It wasn't until later that I found out he asked my sister the same question...and that he meant for me to answer the question about me (duh).

My sister told him she'd take the jewelry since she figured I'd want the electronics. And yes, she was right...if I had understood him correctly, I would have said electronics. But my dad told her my answer, and she told him she'd take the electronics to make me happy.

We compared stories and quickly realized that there was only one iPod (the electronics) and a very nice piece of jewelry to be split between us. I cursed my idiocy as I realized that I'd be getting the jewelry and my sister would be getting the coveted iPod. At that point she even said she'd switch with me once we opened the gifts, but we figured we'd see how it went. I knew I'd get an iPod eventually even if I didn't get one on Christmas. However, I was still pretty disappointed.

Now to Christmas Eve. My sister opens one of her gifts, and it's an 80 Gig external hard drive. She loves it, and she and I both think it's the electronic in question. We are happy that everything worked out...maybe there are two iPods, or no iPods at all--fine either way.

So then I open my jewelry, and it's this gorgeous black band bracelet with a diamond heart in the center. It's a niiiice piece of jewelry...very classy, and it's really my style. I'm happy.

That is, happy until a few minutes later, when my sister opens the iPod. The only iPod.

"Crap," I say totally out loud when I see it.

We fill my parents in on the little issue. But before anyone can say anything else, my sister offers it to me. Right then and there, she just gives it up. I say no, she can keep it, but she assures me it's okay.

"Just don't show it to me again," she says jokingly.

So now I've got the nice piece of jewelry (which is worth more than the iPod) AND the iPod. Honestly, I didn't expect it. I figured once she had it in front of her she'd be too captivated by it and just tell my dad to get me my own. We're hi-tech girls, after all, and we never pass up a chance for a cool new gadget.

But my sister says she's perfectly happy because she got other great gifts. She feels grateful for what she already has.

I feel grateful for having such an amazing and giving sister.

I hug her tightly and I start to tear up.

I love her! I love her even more than my new iPod. And that's sayin' a lot.

If I've learned one thing this year, it's that family is the best gift of all. On to 2006!

PS: M, don't worry...you're going to get your own iPod soon enough.

Thursday Thoughts

2005-12-22T14:02:00.000-05:00

I've got no overarching theme to write about today, so here's what's on my mind in no particular order:

I'm lonely.
Is the lonliness ever going to go away? And, am I ever going to have another relationship? Because sometimes I feel like that will never happen. It's just such a daunting thing to imagine.

I don't know how I'll ever get to know someone as well as I knew K. Or how I'll ever feel as comfortable around someone. Or how I'll break into their world--their friends, their family, everything. I'm scared. And yet at the same time, I'm excited.

I'm hopeless.
Hopelessness is one of the worst possible feelings. And it's not even a real feeling. It's irrational. It doesn't make sense. There's always hope, no matter what. But despite the fact that I realize that, I still feel hopeless.

I'm never getting married.
Isn't it funny that when I had a serious boyfriend, I was afraid of marriage, and now that I am single, I am sort of obsessed with marriage? Before I had a comfort zone knowing that I had someone to marry when I was ready.

But now...now I've got no one. And if I don't meet someone soon, who knows when I'll get married. I could be past 30 and still waiting, which is scary because (a) I can't imagine being alone for that long and (b) I won't be able to have kids until I'm older, which messes up my life schedule.

It all just seems so far off now. Before, when it was right there staring me in the face, I wanted to run and hide. Now I feel like I should be running toward it.

I'm afraid.
I think much of the uneasiness in my life comes from unknowns. I like knowing what's going to happen. I like coming to work with an idea of what my day will entail. Unknowns scare me. Because when I don't know what's going to happen, I always jump to the worst possible scenario.

If I'm going on a business trip, I worry that I'll miss my plane. And if I'm a single girl, I worry that I'll be single forever, that I'll never meet the right one, that I'll get my heart broken.

I am a product of my own emotions.
Sometimes life is all about introspection. Some rare days, like today, I can see my feelings clearly and understand why I am this way.

The other days, it's all just a mess of tears and muddled negative thoughts with no way out.

Poem of the day

2005-12-19T16:15:00.000-05:00

I listen to the same song,
very loudly in my headphones
on repeat for hours.

Here I sit at work,
and do nothing
but shoulder-dance in my office chair.

HAPPINESS.

I have a confession to make...

2005-12-19T13:05:00.000-05:00

... the Backstreet Boys friggin' ROCK.

Yes, I'm finally stating my love for them publicly. Well, not them per se, but their music. I've always been drawn to it, mostly because I love happy music. As I'm sure I've stated before, I love the stuff that motivates or inspires me, and the BBoys do this damn well.

What is *happy* music, you say? Well, as my college roommate S can probably tell you, it's upbeat with a lot of high-pitched singing and high notes. Yeah, S is not a big fan of said music, especially when I played it over and over in our dorm room until she wanted to throw my speakers out the window. Ask her about that "Runaway Train" song and she still cringes and shakes with rage.

Well, I am easily obsessed with music, and I've been listening to this one new BSB song ALL day, even in the car on the way to work. I don't get sick of it. It makes me SO giddy that it's practically a drug. And wow, those boys can sing. They hit those notes like only real men can.

To give you a little background...despite being a teenybopper during the big BSB craze, I was never a rabid fan. Sure, I had a crush on Nick Carter, but I'd never even seen them in concert. However, I have always appreciated their music and their beautiful way of harmonizing. Plus, their songs are all so damn catchy. Now, I do own two of their CDs, and those have burned a hole in my CD player more often than not over the years.

I guess now I'm sort of rediscovering the Boys. The last time I was this excited about one of their songs was back in 2000 with "The Shape of my Heart." I'd crank that thing up on my mp3 player headphones for hours. But after that, I forgot about my favorite sugary pop group for a few years...until a month or two ago, when I needed music I could sing along with during my horrendous commute to work.

So I dug up those old CDs and resumed my love affair. I scream the lyrics out as I sit in traffic. And it really does make my ride more bearable, along with the added bonus of preventing me from falling asleep while driving (no, seriously).

So, thank you, Backstreet Boys. You have impacted my life in a positive way. And no matter how washed up or silly people think you are, there's always a place for you in my playlist.

And may I just say...

I just want you to know
that I've been fighting to let you go
Some days I make it through
and then there's nights that never end
I wish that I could believe
that there's a day you'll come back to me
But still I have to say
I would do it all again
Just want you to know

I'm so glad you're back.

Doing a 180

2005-12-16T13:54:00.000-05:00

Wow, I'm starting to realize that my blog has become way too depressing. All I do is complain and lonely this and sad that and blah blah blah. Well, I'm putting my foot down and thinking positively from now on (or at least for today). It's Friday, after all, and I can look forward to a weekend full of sleeping, eating ice cream, and hanging out with my sister. What could possibly be better than that?!

Oh, wait, I know! Maybe the fact that I have plans tonight. Yes, me, having plans other than watching Jeopardy. First, I'm doing the Last Supper with the ex, which...is a little depressing. Crap, there goes my positivity (yes, I just made that word up).

Well, I am looking forward to this dinner, but I am also dreading it because it will be our last face-to-face interaction in a long time. We both know we need to wean ourselves off of depending on and being around one another. And, put simply, it sucks. We were friends to begin with, and we still feel like friends, and we'd like to continue to be friends. But life is not so easy in the land of breaking up. It's too hard right now to be good friends because we are so used to being more than friends.

In addition to the final meal, we're also doing the traditional exhanging of the belongings. You know, I have his socks and some shirts, he has my DVD, and et cetera. Now, I've never really done this before...this big break-up closure thing. So I'm not sure how I'll handle it. I'm hoping to just keep a positive attitude and not let all the symbolism of moving on get to me. Because there's no way around this. It had to happen sooner or later and I have to accept the fact that we both must move on. Sigh.

But on a more positive note, there is also a happy hour tonight for one of my good friends at work who is leaving to go back to school full-time. I really want to go to this, but I've got the Last Supper also. Oh, and they're in the same place...the mall. So maybe I can pop over to happy hour and make an appearance after the Last Supper.

But wait, my schedule continues! Later on tonight, my sister and I are going to a house party one of her roommates is throwing. Oh, and yay, I get to see my sister! I haven't seen her since Thanksgiving, which really isn't that long, but I just miss her THAT much.

Okay, so that's it. My post today seems to be infused with this weird fake chipperness, doesn't it? Well, I'm trying, folks. I'm trying to be positive and be happy. Because it is really difficult to live my life when I feel so down. And why should I live like that? Feeling that way doesn't help me, it stifles me. And I'm SICK OF IT.

I'm ready to fly,
I'm ready to soar
I'm ready to leave this world behind.
I'm ready to open up the door
I'm ready to fly,
I'm ready to spread my wings across the sky
I think it's time
I'm ready to go
I'm ready to fly.
~FFH

It's all changing.

Friend Loss

2005-12-14T15:28:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling all nostalgic again today at work. As I've mentioned before, the sad songs always do this to me. This time it's "Let There Be Love" by Oasis, which is probably one of the most brilliant songs I've ever heard. But anyway, what I'm feeling today is "friend loss." I no longer feel like I am part of a group of friends.

I feel isolated.

Anti-social.

Alone.

Let me explain. I DO have friends. Really good friends. The problem is that I've entered a stage in my life where I don't have the type of friend situation I used to have.

For example, in high school, I had my solid little group. We'd eat lunch together and hang out on weekends, and a bunch of us were on the crew team. We enjoyed being together, Shalini, Stacey, Ashley, Erin, Melissa, Whitney, Alex and me (hopefully I'm not forgetting anyone).

Then we all went our separate ways to college. I always assumed I'd stay friends with almost everyone, but of course that didn't happen. We tried, but most of us lost what we had in common before (going to the same high school and knowing the same people).

I experienced some friend loss then, but I made a whole new group of friends in college. It was me, Shalini--who's stuck with me forever--Diana, Kyle, Steve and Adam against the world. We had a great time together, whether it was drinking in someone's dorm room, launching gigantic water balloons at people, or playing endless hours of Mario Kart.

I remembered all of this last night as I watched the video I made sophomore year out of all our old webcam footage, just a bunch of clips of us goofing off, being drunk, dancing and having fun, all set to the tune of "DuHast" by Rammstein. Unfortunately, through break-ups and hurt feelings and losing touch, our group didn't last. Some of us are still friends, but we won't ever have that wonderful dynamic we once shared, and some of us don't even speak anymore.

And this brings us to the present. I haven't yet been able to find a new group. I've got my friends, and some of us are like little mini-groups, but everyone is in different places and doing different things. We don't see each other much, and we certainly don't share a very strong sense of camraderie. It's usually just me hanging out with one other person.

Now, part of this is due to circumstances. For the first time, I'm not living in the bubble that is high school or a small college. It's harder to see people and keep in touch. Also for the first time in a long time, I don't have a guy to lean on. I don't have my built-in companion.

But I still find myself thinking about those old days when there was that feeling of togetherness.

I've never liked being alone. And now, when I should be out having fun as a single 23-year-old, I'm feeling more alone than ever.

The single state of mind

2005-12-12T13:48:00.000-05:00

Lately I've found myself searching. Searching...for someone. You see, this is the first time in basically four years that I haven't had a boyfriend. I'm not used to this lonliness. I'm used to always having someone there to just chill with or talk with, someone to lean on in bad times and smile with in good times. Now that I don't have this anymore, I yearn for it pretty much all the time. I'm just waiting to meet someone that can fill that void.

So one thing I've started doing is looking on myspace.com. I know, it's sad...and I don't really intend to meet my soul mate via the Internet, but it can't hurt to look. And it makes me feel better to look. I see that there are lots of single guys out there, and a lot of them even sound decent in their profiles and look cute in their pictures. But the biggest thing I've noticed while looking at all these people is my new judging scale for potential significant others, or even just potential dates.

I'm become incredibly picky.

I figure that there's no point in starting a romantic relationship with someone who has no long-term potential. I certainly don't want to go through another painful break-up. So this next guy is gonna have to be pretty perfect. How do I know if he's "perfect"? Well, I have this automatic list of deal-breakers in my head that jumps out at me whenever I see a less-than-perfect quality. Here are just a few...

1. Bad grammar: He must have writing skills. If he spells simple words wrong or doesn't know where to place a comma (or God forbid, a period), he's out.

2. NASCAR/four-wheeling/etc: I'm not into these things, and I don't want to have to deal with someone who is.

3. Football fanatic: Same as above.

4. Bad teeth: Ugh, I just can't stomach them. I need clean, pearly, straight white teeth.

5. Too religious: If he appears to put too much emphasis on religion, that's it for me. I don't want some heathen, but I'm not dealing with this religion issue again. I'd really just like someone similar to me (not religious, but not evil either).

6. No college: Sorry, I don't mean to be snobby, but I sort of am in this way. You need to be educated.

7. Bartender: You're a drinker and/or like spending time in a bar...definitely not my type.

8. Partier: If you refer to yourself in this way, or put down "drinking" as one of your interests, then I lose respect for you. This is not a legitimate description of your character, and if you think it is, then you're not my type.

9. Too political: I don't want to have to argue with you over politics, partially because I don't like politics, but mostly because I don't understand them.

10. Bad background graphics: If you've got those annoying templates on your profile that make it almost impossible for me to read about you, then you're (a) stupid or (b) completely lacking in any design sense whatsoever. Either way, no soup for you.

11. Use of the word "peeps" or other obnoxious slang: Sorry, I need someone sophisticated who can carry an actual conversation without annoying me.

12. Pictures with women hanging all over you: You're trying too hard to look cool. Stop it. This goes double for including too many pictures of yourself drunk.

13. References to porn/sexual degradation of women: You're my worst enemy.

14. Smoker: No and never. Unless I can make you quit.

15. Using a really stupid phrase as your myspace headline: Here's a perfect and very real example: "hello baby girls was up wanna talk write me back." Not only is it devoid of punctuation and proper sentence structure, but it includes misspellings, slang AND degradation. Wow. I think this guy might just be the opposite of everything I stand for.

Now, I know I sound like a total shrew, but I assure you that's not true. I like to have fun, but I'm looking for a real guy--someone I can respect and admire and who does the same for me. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that most of the men in the world don't hold up to these standards.

However, there are a few things that immediately catch my interest. Here are some of my deal-makers:

1. Guitar player: I will automatically overlook some, if not all, of your other flaws.

2. Graduate school: You're smart enough to seek higher education, so that's a good sign.

3. Good dresser: If you're dressed nicely in most of your pictures, with very few instances of the dirty baseball cap, then I'll like you more.

4. Nice blue eyes and blonde hair: You're automatically cute.

5. Good body: Sorry, I know it's superficial, but I want you to be cut. And if you post a picture showing this, then more power to you.

6. Well-written profile: Your profile, to me, is sort of like a persuasive essay. If you write well, with good sentence structure, economical use of language, creative word choice, and a touch of humor, then you pass. If you don't know what I mean, then clearly you fail.

7. Any reference to Jeeps: I love Jeeps and always will. If you share this love, or own one, then you've got my attention.

8. Good height: The more inches you are above me, the better you are in my book.

9. Animal lover: I love animals, and I need to share that with someone.

10: Good cook: You like to cook? Well I like to eat!

That's all I can think of right now, but I'm sure there's more. Just thought I'd give you a glimpse into my current state of mind.

Here with me

2005-12-08T15:36:00.000-05:00

I'm procrastinating again.

I've been attempting to write an article on ignition interlock devices, but after all the research I've done, I find myself rather sick of them. Does anyone know what they are besides me? I'm thinking unless you're a cop or working at a DMV, probably not. So, here: Interlocks are devices that prevent people from driving while intoxicated. They are wired into the car and function like very sophisticated breathalyzers. I think they are a wonderful idea and I advocate that they are built in to every new car. This would really cut down on meaningless, tragic drunk driving-related injuries and deaths.

Alright, so that's that. In other news, I'm currently listening to my new CD, 'The Ballads" by REO Speedwagon. It's great...it's all that monster ballad stuff that I love. It's smooth, punchy and inspirational. Plus, it has one of my all-time favorite songs, "Can't Fight This Feeling," which fills me with a little shot of joy every time I hear it. Seriously, that song is responsible for a lot of the things I accomplish in my life. It fuels my usually burned out fire.

Speaking of, another thing that fuels my fire lately is the PostSecret book. I certainly hope most of you have encountered PostSecret before, but if not, here's your chance. Put simply, it's an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. Most of the secrets are very compelling (similar to haikus) and they are often visually stimulating as well. The whole thing is just brilliant, and it gives us an insightful glimpse into human nature at its worst and its best.

Anyway, the book is wonderful, because it's just full of these secrets. I read through it in an hour, but I keep going back to it. It never gets old.

The secrets will also be on display this month in Georgetown. The guy who does this (Frank Warren) has received over 10,000 secrets. That means there's bound to be a bunch of new ones at the exhibit. And how interesting to read other people's most intimate thoughts with a bunch of strangers. It's like an experiment in itself, and I can't wait to be a part of it.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore
I've forgotten what I started fighting for
It's time to bring this ship into the shore
And throw away the oars forever

The girl in the auto parts store

2005-12-08T10:22:00.000-05:00

I finally did it. I went to the auto parts store by myself.

Yes, in the past I've always been fortunate enough to have my boyfriend or my dad with me. But this time, I decided--and was also pretty much forced--to brave it alone. It was the same scene as usual...a bunch of questionable-looking males congregating at the counter and not a woman in sight. I walked in and immediately relegated myself to the aisles so no one would notice me. My mark? New wiper blades.

Unfortunately, the wipers were not to be found in the aisles. I walked up and down aimlessly until the noisy crowd at the register dissipated a little. I emerged and timidly approached the more harmless-looking of the two male cashiers (in this case, the younger one). He was kind enough to point me in the right direction and look up what size I would need. I was almost home-free.

But as I turned to walk toward the wiper display, a tall guy in a blue shirt blocked my path.

"Hi," he said very confidently.

"Hi," I replied in an almost inaudible voice. I slid past him, but not before he could get in another sentence. "How are you?" he said.

"Fine, how are you?," I said back, louder this time.

"I'm greaaaat," he said in a far too enthusiastic voice, and with that he looked me up and down, almost nodding in approval.

Seriously, I don't know if I've ever felt so looked at before. I mean he did it in such an obvious way. At this point, my back was turned to him a little, and I just wanted to cover my ass with a sheet and get the hell out of there.

But I still needed my wipers. So I ignored him completely until I found them and then went to pay. He was still hanging around creepily and I avoided eye contact. At one point he made a joke about lubricant or some other disgusting thing, and he looked over at me, expecting me to laugh uproariously I guess. I cracked a very small smile and then high-tailed it out the door.

So, what did we learn from this? Absolutely nothing. It confirmed why I don't like going to the auto parts store by myself. However, I did notice one thing. Despite the fact that the leering guy made me uncomfortable and annoyed me, I think I was sort of flattered. I know that's gross, but I bet that if I went in to the auto parts store and no one had paid attention to me, I may just have been insulted.

It's an interesting paradox, really. As a woman, I loathe it when men degrade me in this way, but I look to men for approval, too. And here I thought I was some sort of feminist. But really, I'm just human.

Snow and sad songs

2005-12-06T10:22:00.000-05:00

Last night, feelings about the big break-up hit me like a ton of bricks. It was different this time, though...worse that usual. The feelings were more real. It was like I finally really realized what was going on. I guess I'd just been trying not to think about it so much that I didn't allow myself to really feel it. Well, last night, I felt it with an overwhelming sense of lonliness and loss, and pain--physical pain that I could actually feel in my bones.

So, I did what I shouldn't have done. I IM'd K. I was weak, and I knew it wouldn't help the situation, but I wanted to share it with someone. And who better to share it with than the one person going through the exact same thing as me? We talked for a little bit, not for too long, and it helped a little. But really it just made me cry harder. We just got each other more down with our sad talk. It got to the point where I had to take deep breaths so I wouldn't have a completely hysterical crying fit.

But one thing he said caught me. He said he kept listening to sad songs. I said he shouldn't do that because they only make things worse. But really, I do the same thing. Why is it that when we're depressed we want to wallow in it by playing sad music? And more importantly, why is it that when I'm down, every single song seems to speak to me? I am beginning to feel like I'm in a movie with my very own backing track.

Driving in this morning, I marveled at the beauty of the snow glistening on the trees and grass. I was listening to my newly acquired Oasis CD, and a song I've never heard came on, but before I knew it, the lyrics were speaking to me.

But I hope you know
That it won't let go
It sticks around with you until the day you die
And I hope you know that it's touch and go
I hope the tears don't stain the world that waits outside
Where did it all go wrong?

And I got all sad, whizzing through a snow-blanketed world, and I felt like I'd be lonely for the rest of my life. But strangely...it felt kind of good. It felt good to let myself feel. And it's okay to listen to the sad music, because it can help our emotions come out, which is all part of the grieving process.

It's okay as long as we don't let irrational thoughts take over. Rationally, I know I won't be lonely forever. Eventually, at some point, I will date again and I will find someone who is right for me. So will K. But what last night really made me realize is I don't need to push myself into anything. I'm not ready for that yet. I'm still raw. And that's okay, too.

Happy Anniversary to me!

2005-12-05T13:04:00.000-05:00

On a more upbeat note than the last post, I thought I should let you all know that today is my blog's six month anniversary! I can't believe it's been that long already...and that I've kept up with it all this time. I've really enjoyed sharing my thoughts with you, and I hope you continue to enjoy and/or gain something from my blog.

Now, a few stats, brought to you by my handy dandy sitemeter:

Blog's birthdate: July 5, 2005
Total number of visits: 1,231+
Average visits per day: 20
Average visit length: 1:27

Total number of page views: 1,968
Average views per day: 34
Average number of comments: 1-3 legitimate ones per week

Number of continents represented by visitors: 3+ (N. America, S. America, Europe)
Countries represented by visitors: 6+ (U.S., Belgium, Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Canada, Austria)

Total number of posts: 40
My most memorable posts:
The sweetest thing...isn't flowers!
Old-Fashioned Romance
Award-winning Curves
It's all very meta
Seasonal Shock
Songs of our Lives
The Wind of Change
The Sleep Post (Featured in the Nov. 30 edition of DC Blogs!)

Now, our goal for the next six months will be to increase all of these stats. I want more countries, more continents, and more readers in general. I'll definitely be trying to vamp up my writing, up my posting frequency, and diversify my topics for you all...because, really, what is a blog without its readers? Thanks for sticking with me so far...here's to a very blog-happy New Year!

PS...yes, I know I'm a huge dork. Just go with it.

What is wrong with me?

2005-12-05T11:00:00.000-05:00

Today's post takes the form of a poem. And it rhymes, because that is the most enjoyable form of poetry I can write.

Something wrong
By Lauren (aka Sleepy Girl)

I have so many things to wear,
yet I hate every single one.

Sitting in front of the TV can really depress me,
but I don't have the energy to do anything fun.

I desperately want to meet someone new,
yet I'm afraid to go on a simple date.

I think about being skinnier all the time,
but I don't do anything to lose extra weight.

I want to hang out with my friends more,
yet I don't keep well enough in touch.

My life on the outside is fine,
but I just don't like it as such.

And that makes me realize
it's on the inside, you see.

That's the only reason
there's something wrong with me.

The Sleep Post

2005-11-28T11:53:00.000-05:00

I'm sure some of you have wondered why my blog is titled the way it is when I have never written a post about sleep. Well, here it is: the BIG sleep post.

I have had an addiction to sleeping for as long as I can remember. I've always been able to sleep in every chance I get. Once, I actually slept until 5 p.m. (having gone to bed around 11 p.m. the night before). For some reason, I'm always tired. I am tired even when I get a good night's rest. And I am also tired when I get too little sleep. My eyes constantly feel like closing, and sometimes it almost hurts to stay awake.

I've never been able to figure out why I'm like this. I have considered that there may actually be something wrong with me. You see, I don't just sleep in my bed. I can sleep everywhere I go. In high school, I would fall asleep sitting up in class. This continued in to college, and got even worse. I'd fall asleep sitting in the front row. Nothing deterred me. The teacher could be next to me and I'd have no shame. This is because I don't think I could control the sleeping, which is why there may be more to this than just "being tired" or even being lazy.

My roommate in college, S, can attest to all of this. She was there on the days where I'd decide to skip my three morning classes and sleep until 2 p.m. It was as if nothing was important enough to pull me from the bed. Or, I'd be in my boyfriend's dorm room, sleeping the day away as he and his roommate came and went. They'd go to class, bring me back lunch, have people over...all while I was up in his loft sleeping. It's amazing that I managed to get the good grades I did. Now, I didn't act like this all through college. After sophomore year, I wised up and only took afternoon classes if I could...and I made sure never to skip a class, even for sleep. There may have been a few times in class where I dozed off, but for the most part I was back on track.

This takes us to the present. I've never liked waking up early (meaning before 10 a.m.), so I just get to work late. I've worked it out so I can arrive at work at 9:30 a.m., which is great. But still, even waking up at 7:30 is too early for me. I know that most people are up at 6 with no problem, but I just can't seem to do it. And lately, I just haven't been sleeping well at all. Last night, it took me over an hour to fall asleep. I was just lying there in some limbo-like state, thinking and thinking, but not sleeping. Once I did doze off, I fell into my dreams (which I can't remember now). But when I woke up this morning, I actually felt pretty good. On less sleep than usual. So, maybe I have been getting too much sleep all my life.

There's one more problem. My dreams. Or nightmares, as they often are. I always dream. I would say I have dreams about 90 percent of the times I'm sleeping. And, for quite a long time, most of these were nightmares. We're not talkin' your normal nightmare either, these things scared me so bad that it would take me a minute to understand they didn't actually happen when I woke up.

Usually, I'm being chased. Someone is after me and they are going to hurt me. Or my house or my room is under siege. I've been shot in my dreams, I've been kidnapped, and I've been running from wild animals. I've really almost died in my dreams too. But of course, I always wake up right before that happens. They say that if you die in your dream, then you're really dead. Hopefully, that's an urban legend. I think I dream in nightmares because of stress, of worry, of fear. I mean, I worry constantly when I'm awake, so I guess it makes sense that these feelings carry over in to sleep.

Anyway, as you can conclude, sleep has always been a problem for me, and it continues to be. My lack of sleep seems to conincide with my dreaming. In fact, I almost sleep worse when I have those vivid dreams. That doesn't make sense at all, since the dreams mean I'm in REM (rapid eye movement) sleep, which is the deep sleep that's supposed to make you less tired in the morning.

But it's when I have these dreams that I get the least sleep. It's when I wake up knowing exactly what I dreamt about that I feel tired and groggy. But when I don't remember my dreams, when I've only touched the surface of sleep, that's when I feel most refreshed. I know, it completely contradicts the scientific explanation. What can I say, I'm an enigma.

Sweet dreams.

I'm not thankful for...

2005-11-23T12:59:00.000-05:00

Alright, I know it's almost Thanksgiving and I have a lot to be thankful for. I really do. But I'm going to buck the tradition of the "I'm thankful for..." post. I mean, we all know I'm going to have to recite that list at the dinner table tomorrow anyway, so in the interest of not being redundant, I'm compiling a list of things I'm not thankful for during this special holiday season.

1. I'm not thankful for... being at work all day today. Instead of being let out early before holidays, as per usual, our HR dept. sent a special e-mail saying our offices WILL be open until 5 p.m. today. Total diss. But of course I'll be using liberal leave and skipping out early anyway. Still, though...way to be in the spirit, office.

2. I'm not thankful for... all of the tickets to see the baby panda being taken within hours of going up for grabs. I'm in love with the panda, and there's nothing more I would like than to see him when he is still all cute in his little bear cub stage. I'm sure there's a whole bunch of people out there with the max amount of tickets, and I have none. People need to spread the love a little.

3. I'm not thankful for... being served frozen green tea today at Panera. I ordered iced green tea, as I always do, and they decided to add actual ice to it and make a green tea slushy thing. The result? A watered-down freezing drink and an annoyed, freezing me. Who orders slushies in 30 degree weather? Tell me, WHO!?

4. I'm not thankful for... accidentally running my car into a curb on the way home from class Monday night. I guess I was just so tired that I let the car drift and BAM...curb, meet prettycar. I am still worried that I threw off my alignment or my suspension or my rotation or some other such car thing. Which means I'll be completely paranoid until I go to the dealer. And I hate the dealer. It's all my fault, too. Ugh.

5. I'm not thankful for... my sister having to go back to school in a few days. I just got used to having her at home, and I don't feel like I've gotton to see her enough. I'm ready for her x-mas break to start, stat, so I can have my best buddy back.

And finally...
6. I'm not thankful for... the frickin' cold! Today is the coldest day yet, and I think I am developing a cold and a stuffy throat. The winter always gets to me, mind, body and soul. Rawr.

Aaaaand, that's about it. I AM thankful for just about everything else in my life: my family, my friends, my co-workers, my pets, my lifestyle, my car, my health and everyone else's, my Uggs which are currently keeping my feet warm, and of course, the baby panda, Tai Shan. He brings a smile to my face even when I'm feeling not very thankful at all, and that, my friends, is magical. You keep on kickin,' little guy! You rock!

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!