Touch

This is going to be an odd post for me, of all people, to make, but so be it. It's what I've been thinking about lately.

But let's start at the beginning, shall we?

I went to that documentary on Monday. All by myself. Yes, it made me cry, but I still consider myself an emotional badass for going.

Anyway it was well done, and at one point a mother was talking about when her daughter died and she said, "It was terrible but in some ways it was such a relief, because I knew she wasn't hurting anymore and when you're a parent and your baby is hurting all you want to do is just pick her up and hold her, but she wouldn't let us do that. It hurt her too badly to do that. So when she was gone I could finally hold her the way that I'd been longing to do for months. And that's what I did. I crawled up into bed with her and just held her."

I really identified with that.  I didn't crawl into bed with Nathan after he was gone, but there was a very long time when I couldn't touch him at all. When any physical touch caused him pain, and all I wanted was the peace and reassurance that just holding his hand would bring. And then there was the night when he was actually feeling good enough to let me sit in bed with him and watch a Netflix show. It felt like Christmas to both of us. I was practically high on touch and all we did was sit next to each other.

While I am not a touchy person with the world at large I'm actually pretty affectionate in a relationship, though I still have a low PDA tolerance. But because of this I noticed that whenever I felt bad and Nathan would sit by me or lay down and talk to me or just hold my hand it made me feel better. Measurably better. So much so that I would sometimes make him sit with his hand over my eyes when I had a headache. He was a patient soul. :) But it helped.

And this isn't just a placebo effect. This is why they do kangaroo care for premies-- This is a serious thing. Even the NY Times thinks so. They call it "skin hunger" for widows/widowers. It's sensory depravation, until you get used to not having that support anymore. Because that's exactly what it is. Support. It's physical proof that you aren't alone.

And I've been thinking about all this a lot.... and how it's a lot easier for girls to give physical contact, because guys get labeled as skeezy or "coming on" or whatever, whereas girls who initiate contact are normally just sweet or friendly. So I've been thinking about trying to alter my non-touching stance on life. Not to become a flirt or anything, but because I think I might be doing the world at large a favor. :D Plus... people are afraid to hug me... it's weird and it's awkward for them and I don't like that.

So today I have a friend who got some bummer news. And then some more bad news. And then some more. And no one died or anything but it was just a really crappy day for him-- full of rejection, and I knew about this via fb, and I expected him to skip the class we have together today, because it was such a bad day. But he didn't and he came into class and he was just agitated. This is a guy who doesn't really hold a lot in, so he was doing pretty well just to keep it down to a mutter and the occasional half-serious threat to poke his eye out with his pen said under his breath. And the whole class long all I wanted to do was just grab his wrist and hold it. I know that sounds weird, and this wasn't a romantic interest thing, I just felt like he needed to be touched. But how weird would I be if I actually did that? So I didn't, obviously. But after just having so much empathy for him all class long and wanting him to feel better, when it was over and he stood up, I stood up too and said, "Do you need a hug?"

And he said, "What?" And was shocked/confused for a second before what I said sank in and he said, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

And so I gave him a good *real* hug as people were gathering up their stuff, and he thanked me several times. But it really wasn't a hardship or a problem. It was easy. Honestly, I don't really feel like it was enough, but at least it was something.

We all need that from time to time. The reminder that we really aren't alone. The reassurance of touch.

Go!

It was a day. I worked and went to class today and it felt very weird. I got stuff done, but I'm not sure how, and I don't really remember much about my classes. And a song on the radio made me tear up on the way home and I just feel weird. In part normal and in part very distracted and in part sad. A friend described it tonight as "an out of body experience" and that pretty much nails it.

I just miss him, you know? I mean not just as a husband or as a love even but just on the basest of levels, as a *person.* He was a really good person. He was my best friend.

I think that often times people will place a loved one who has died on a pedestal  Glossing over their faults until they forget that the faults ever existed at all... or they get painted as virtues. Aka, instead of Nathan having a bad temper, he was "passionate."

I don't want to do that. It's important to me to remember his flaws, in part so that he doesn't become some paragon that no one can ever measure up to and in part because it makes him less human, and the man I loved was very human.

There were times when he had really crappy priorities. Sometimes he wouldn't even take a break from whatever website he was working on to spend an hour with me the entire night. He also thought that he could play his guitar and have a conversation with me about something and actually hear what I was saying, which wasn't even close to true. He had a terrible temper and would drive really dangerously when he was mad-- which in turn infuriated me, which he *knew* and this only made him more prone to reckless driving, rather than less. He was very stubborn and wouldn't try new foods.. or eat vegetables (though after he got sick he was better at this.) He was a flirt, oy vey, he was a flirt! I often thought he was too ready to give his opinion when it wasn't asked for and there were many times when his brazen opinion conflicted with my own and embarassed me entirely. He wasn't fair when we had arguments sometimes and he would fight to win and make assumptions about my motivations that weren't even a little bit true.

I miss all of that... and I miss the good stuff, too.

He was always willing to get up from a chair or from bed or where ever to get me something.. even if it was just a drink of water I could have gotten myself. He called me beautiful at least once a day... often way more than that and any belief that I am pretty comes directly from the fact that I really believe he somehow thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He would come up behind me in the kitchen just to hug me and because he "missed me." (At the time I would get annoyed cause it's hard to cook while someone is hugging you, but looking back I treasure it.) He made me laugh all the time, I loved how much he could make me laugh-- And he didn't even think he was funny. He never made me change light bulbs or kill spiders or take out the trash or worry about car repair... and while that probably sounds pretty commonplace I really appreciated it. He was *really* sweet and romantic, though more given to the occasional grand gesture than a constant stream of romance. (Aka the anniversary poems blogged about here.) He was always very nice to waitstaff and as a result always got incredible service, and he wasn't afraid to be silly. I miss being silly very much.

I wear my wedding rings and Nathan's on a necklace one day out of the year-- Today. I think this is a tradition that I can keep up. Subtle but right. It's an anchor to my past and an acknowledgement, but it doesn't turn into a weight that holds me down like wearing them everyday would. It's also comforting to reach up and feel the smooth metal, warmed by my skin, when I'm missing him.

So it was a day.

Not all bad. Not all good.  Full of support on facebook and in person, for which I thank you most sincerely.

Let's make this an amazing year, guys. Let's make this the year that everything works out well.

Ready?

The Sad and the Shallow

*sigh*

Actually doing surprisingly well this week, all things considered. Spending real quality time with friends, painting my nails three times (I'd actually cut way back on that and was only painting them once a week or so but I binged this weekend.) And writing, or at least trying to write. I need to get back in the habit of going to Starbucks or Panera after work to write, I think.

Anyway, I've been good.

But facebook is really sad for me tonight. Nathan's "sister" has a friend who passed away today, and a friend from high school (really she was my sister's friend first but we had choir together and so I would say that she was my friend, too) has a baby who developed some sort of mysterious neuro-degenerative disease and they are going to be taking him off machines tomorrow.

And my heart is broken. I have so much empathy and compassion for just how hard things are for both sets of family and friends who are struggling to cope with and understand this incredible pain of loss.

Before I read any of that, though, I posted a new profile pic. Just cause I was bored of my old one and wanted a pic with my yellow shirt and my "cat eye" makeup.

And it makes me feel so sad and shallow. I mean I don't think I am actually shallow... and I know that beauty routines are a coping mechanism of mine, and I know that my nail stuff is actually very deeply related to Nathan, but I sometimes still look at it from an outsider perspective-- especially someone who's got something *real* going on, like dealing with death-come-too-soon and I just shake my head.

It's so hard. It's so hard what they are dealing with... And here I am, being excited about a color and some makeup, waiting for my nails to dry. And I feel like "that girl." The oblivious insensitive one who doesn't get it and has obviously never had any "real" life experiences.

But I'm not oblivious though I'm sure I'm insensitive at times but I do get it and I've had some doozies of experiences... and for me it's so nice to get lost in something that I know doesn't matter. That no one really cares about. I find so much freedom in frivolity. I don't know why, but shallow silliness is so soothing for me.

But then again, I might be crazy.

For instance I'm thinking about going to a documentary being shown on campus tomorrow evening about cancer patients and their caregivers and their care providers. Yeah that's right, this is something I choose to do on the eve of the second anniversary of my husband's death from cancer. Wtf, mate. And yet, I think I might, I really think I might. I *want* to see it. I'm really interested in what it has to say. I'm also just the slightest bit afraid of it.

We'll see how brave I turn out to be, I guess.

What-if

I try not to play the "what-if" game very often, but today it seems to be following me around a little bit. Walking across campus I found myself thinking about how much I love being in school... and wondering if I would be in school right now if Nathan were still here.

I'm not sure that I would be. I think I would be a mom right now, with not-enough-time for going-to-school-ness.

And then I watched the season finale of Parenthood.

And there were some scenes of the couple in which the wife has breast cancer that were super reminiscent of my life... and I remembered that relapse happens... and so it's possible that even if Nathan hadn't died we might still be dealing with the same things. I might still be dealing with the stuff that we had already been fighting for so long. Only it would have been 2 more years. I've been a widow at this point for longer than Nathan had cancer. I can't imagine how hard and scary it would be to go through everything that we did and have everyone celebrate being "done" and then for a relapse to happen.

And I can't imagine what doing it all over again would have done to me.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that a lot of times I play the "what-if" game with the perfect scenario. What if Nathan had never died and everything had gone just according to plan?

But there is a flip side to that, too. What if Nathan had never died but had been constantly suffering for the last two years? That doesn't even bear pondering it hurts so badly. What if Nathan suffered for 2 years and then died this week? What if I had been laid off and then he relapsed? What if we had adopted a baby and then I lost Nathan? There are so many terrible scenarios that could have played out and didn't.

Don't get me wrong. If I could have my life back as I planned it to go, I would take it. But if life held any more pain for him... well, I guess I'm glad it wasn't my choice to make.

Two Years Ago, Today.

Two years ago I went to sleep on the night of January 20th, totally exhausted, but happy that the next day was a Friday. Fridays meant that I didn't work so I just had to take care of Nathan and we didn't have any doctor appointments so it was only the ever-present cycle of medication monitoring, diabetes regulating, heating pad/pillow adjustment and whatever else Nathan needed or would let me do to try and make him more comfortable.

He hadn't been able to sleep lying down in months, so I went to bed alone, as usual. I hadn't slept next to him for about three and a half months except once at the hospital when they moved another bed next to his and let me sleep in it. That was one of the hardest things, because we were always touching while sleeping. Sometimes it was just an arm or a leg but we were normally completely tangled up with each other. Even now I ache for the comfort, reassurance, and safety that sleeping next to my husband gave me.

I went to bed around two, I think, after either taking off or putting on his compression socks- not sure which, now, either was nearly a form of torture for both of us. Nathan slept- what little the pain would let him sleep- in the living room in his recliner. At this point I was always so exhausted and he wasn't able to yell loudly enough to wake me up if he needed something so he would call my cell phone (which I kept by my pillow at full volume) to wake me up. When my phone rang I would roll out of bed not even completely conscious-  just knowing he needed me. I controlled the pain meds at this point. Not because he might have gotten addicted-- he was hurting enough that wouldn't be possible, but because he wasn't lucid enough to remember things like how many he had taken and what time he last took them at. Even I had to write it down- there was so much to remember.

He usually needed me once or twice a night... if the pain was really bad a lot more often than that. At this point Nathan had the walker and we had a toilet riser and handles around the toilet, but he still needed my help. So there was usually a bathroom trip in the night. The bathroom was ten, maybe fifteen, feet from his chair. The trip there and back completely exhausted him and would usually take at least thirty minutes. It had taken up to an hour before. There are so many things about ambulation that we just take for granted. Nathan needed the walker even to get around our tiny apartment and he hated it so much. This was the guy who would play Ultimate Frisbee for hours without stopping. Who would chase squirrels and climb trees for no reason whatsoever.

Anyway, on this night I went to bed at 2AM, hoping that we might be able to get three or four hours in before the next pain med dosage. I was shocked when I woke up at 8AM and Nathan hadn't called me. I went into the living room and checked on him, but he was sleeping... well, it never looked comfortable, but peacefully. I was so excited. I thought maybe we were hitting an upswing. He'd done so well immediately after the bone marrow transplant. I just wanted him to get past all this terrible pain and start feeling better. I went straight back to bed, after I knew he was ok. In hindsight I know that he was sleeping so well because he could no longer feel the worst of the pain, but I didn't know that then and I was so tired and so happy.

He finally called me again at noon. Later, I would be so grateful for all the sleep I'd gotten that night, because when he called me and I stumbled into the living room he told me that he couldn't move or feel his legs. He had to explain it to me twice, because I couldn't understand it. I didn't understand how someone could become paralyzed from the waist down overnight. And then I freaked out. I totally and completely freaked, and he was there, making me come over to him so he could hug me. Telling me that it was going to be ok. Calming me down so I could call his bone marrow transplant physician at Barnes and then the ambulance to come get him, and his mom so she knew what was happening. He did that until the very end, always the one offering comfort rather than asking for it. Such an incredible man.

We spent the rest of that day in the Springfield ER, figuring out what to do and then they decided to transfer him to Barnes. Paula arrived and we ended up driving to St. Louis at around midnight, and spending most of the next day in their ER. Nathan had surgery Saturday night to try and drain the fluid around his spinal column that was pinching the nerve and not allowing him to move/feel his legs. He was sedated for the pain (and I think his O2 levels were low so they had intubated him as well?) at that point so Paula and I decided that he would want to go ahead with the surgery. It would only give him an 8% chance of being able to regain the use of his legs, and it was risky, but without the surgery he had a zero percent chance. After the surgery he would have had to wear a back brace for two months or so, I think, but we agreed that if there was any chance then Nathan would take it. He had to be able to run again, someday. He had to.

I didn't sleep until Sunday morning I think. He made it through the surgery well, but we wouldn't know if it had done anything until he woke up and probably not even then, what with the swelling brought on by the surgery. They brought him out of sedation sometime on Sunday, and his legs were the same, but we knew there might not be immediate results. Paula and I set up a rotating shift at the hospital.  I had nights and I'd come in whenever I woke up for the days, but that way Nathan was only alone during the ICU mandated "no visitor" hours and we could speak to the doctors whenever they came in. Nathan was still highly drugged for all of this, which offered much laughter, even if it was slightly desperate laughter. At one point a male nurse was in the room, talking to Nathan about his pain and Nathan said, "Hey, When do I get my slippers?" The nurse asked him what he meant and Nathan said, "They said I would get some slippers. I want my free slippers, dammit."

The guy asked Nathan where he was and Nathan said he didn't know and the nurse said, "Well, Nathan you are at Barnes-Jewish. They don't give anything away for free here."

Nathan sort of drunkenly murmured, "Yeah, that's the truth." I just laughed.

He developed pneumonia at some point- one that antibiotics and anti-virals did nothing to fight, and the pnuemonia is what actually killed him, on the morning of Jan 29th. I'm not going to blog about the very last days.  If you want to know about them, you can read this post. I just haven't really talked about this part before, and I guess I sorta wanted to explain why I might not seem much like myself this week, or why I might make decisions that run counter to my "norm."

I guess I really just wanted to feel like I wasn't the only person who had this information. Like someone else understands, even if just by proxy, a bit of what it was like-- two years ago, today.

Veteran of the Heart

Just so you know, I think this might actually be up to three different blog posts, but I can't seem to organize my thoughts into anything of a decent cohesive length.

I watched the Silver Linings Playbook yesterday because my friend (Kara T.) really wanted to see it. Plus it's generally a positive movie and, you know, nominated for like 6 or 7 Oscars.

I knew going into it that the main girl was a young widow. And so I went into it expecting to relate somehow. I fully expected to cry.

But I didn't. At all.

None of it felt real or true... I didn't buy the ending... In effect it just didn't line up for me.

And I couldn't help but wonder why.

Is it because each experience of grief is so different? Or am I abnormal? Jennifer Lawrence has a best actress nom, so I don't think it's just that she doesn't do a good job. Is it that no one in the Academy has had a "young grief" experience? That can't be it.

Or is it that I'm not really a widow, anymore.

I mean, of course, I *am* a widow-- I always will be.  I've earned the title. And I do think "earned" is the right word. Widow(er) is a signifier of experience-- gained just by making it through each day. It means something along the lines of  "veteran of the heart." But I feel like that's not the main distinguisher right now. It's kinda like getting a doctorate. There are some times when being called doctor is a big deal and you want that respect, but when you are with your family or on vacation that title isn't one that you use. Basically, "widow" is not how I define myself and I don't think it's how others define me and maybe that's an important distinction.

I was reading a book last night (Yes, I started at 2 AM.... Yes, I went to sleep at 6AM... Yes, I woke up at noon and proceeded to roll over and finish the book without even getting out of bed. Yes, I think you should consider that cute and not deranged.) But in the book the main character is speaking about his mother who passed away less than a year earlier and says of the cemetery  "I still can't think about her being there. It doesn't make sense. Why would you stick someone you love down in a lonely old hole in the dirt? Where it's cold, and dirty, and full of bugs? That can't be how it ends, after everything, after everything she was." - Beautiful Creatures

That I totally relate to. I really struggled just after Nathan died with him being "so far" away from me in Arkansas, but then Kara reminded me that he wasn't really there.

We are coming up on "hell week" for me. It starts on the 21st and culminates in the 29th. I've already caught myself getting a little manic in my quest for company. Last year we had a big to-do. I don't want that this year. I don't know exactly what I will do, but I know I it will be something smaller, quieter.... some sort of tradition I might actually be able to maintain.

I can't believe it will be two years. In some ways it feels so much longer and in other ways not nearly that long. I keep expecting my life to be vastly different, but it's not my life that really seems so changed. It's me.

A New Semester and Much Coat Discussion

I love that last semester at this time I didn't know anyone in my classes and this semester I've got a friend in every one of them and I'm waving at people in the halls and saying hi before class. I'm like friendly and gregarious and outgoing.... I could do this. I could go to a grad school and make new friends.

...right, guys?

I would like to stage a protest. In the movies and TV shows, once someone has been to a person's house from then on they could show up at any moment. They won't call beforehand, they won't text, or facebook or anything. They just show up. And that person is always appropriately dressed for the stopping by, even though it's 10 at night or 7 in the morning. No one has ever just dropped by my place unannounced, except Nathan when we were engaged and that still didn't happen that often. Well, and Kara might have... but even she normally called. Still- I kinda wish it would happen in real life. Where are the script writers of my life?

I'm really gonna have to work hard to get back in the habit of homework... I fell out of the habit so quickly!

Ok, so I posted the other day on fb about seeing a girl on campus who had the same coat as me and suddenly figuring out what "those buttons" were for. And Kara told me I had to blog about it cause she didn't understand my explanation. So for Kara:

This is my coat the way that I normally wear it. It's a little "soldier" styled.

ala this Civil War coat. The internet labels it as being a "13th regiment" coat. This does not seem like enough information to tell someone anything, but there you have it.

I can button my coat all the way to the top and then hook the collar- I never do because my neck isn't that long and that's super uncomfortable, but I could. And I thought the top button that was on the same side as the button hole was just for symmetry's sake- You know-- like all the other buttons on that side of the coat! Buttons just look pretty, right?

But then I saw a girl on campus who was wearing my same coat-- only she was wearing it like this:

These pics have been lightened so that you can see a little better- hope it helped. 

You see there is an extra buttonhole on the "inside" flap of the coat, making it possible to fold the sides over and button them to themselves. It's still soldier-y but it's also a little more trench-coat-ish with a lapel. I don't really care for it, on me, because it seems like the coat wasn't really made to do this, they just added it as a feature, and I find it more flattering the other way. Plus, I don't love having two collars and this way means I can only button it at the third button which is practically at my natural waist. It would work better with a scarf, but I'm just as happy to not have to add a scarf to my winter gear list.

Still I thought it was kinda amusing that I've had this coat for almost two years and have just now figured out this "feature." And even then, only with help.

In other news, I walk across campus twice a day to work and to class. I actually like that I have to walk that much. It's healthy. What I dislike is taking my coat off and putting it on over and over and over. Tomorrow I will put my coat on at least 5 times. I don't even put on lip balm 5 times a day! It's tiresome.

Selfishness

My grandfather is back in the hospital. Spinal compression fractures. The same thing that Nathan suffered through the last 4 months- that hurt him so badly. The same thing that made it so he couldn't walk and put him in the hospital the last time.

There isn't much to say that I haven't already said here or here or on facebook, except that I hate how selfish this makes me feel.

Cause while I absolutely want Pappy's back to stop hurting...

I also want someone to take care of me. I want to not have to be strong and tough and in control. I want to have the freedom to feel a little sorry for myself and to break down. I wanna be a girl and not have a logical handle on my emotions.

Yeah, that's totally sexist. This is me not caring and longing for some antiquated gender roles.

And I know that talking about it isn't gonna change a darn thing. And I know that I have really great friends who want to be there for me... but what I feel like I need is a very specific type of comfort that just isn't available to me, right now.

And how can I be bemoaning my lack of a boyfriend/male companion when my grandfather is in agony?

I think it's because I can't think about Pappy very hard without having a breakdown that I will not let myself have without someone I trust who could just love me and hold me.

But I don't have that.

So it's string or nothing, precious.

Cookies and Compliments

I'm happy. I'm just so darn happy.

Now a smart man might observe that I've had an extrovert's dream weekend- Multiple people wanting to hang out with me every day this weekend- much laughter and fun, and it's not even over quite yet.

I just don't know how I've managed to find the very best people in all the world and convince them that they should like me and hang out with me, but it keeps happening.

I was thinking this weekend.  (Shocking, I know.) Some friends of mine and I were talking about a mutual acquaintance and commenting that she kinda always seems grumpy and in a bad mood. (Pretty sure that none of you know her, so I'm not terribly concerned about revealing her gender.) Anyway, I think I'm actually the one who said that she kinda seems to hate everything. And then a little bit later I had to add-- but she has gone through a lot of very hard terrible stuff. Then we mentioned another person who has also gone through some rather trying circumstances and turned to some unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Now I really don't believe that there is a scale of heartache. I don't think you can compare pain. Kara told me a story in college about her best friend in high school who had a brain aneurysm and then her mother passed away within the space of a year or so. (Sorry, Kara, if I don't have the details quite right.) Anyway, Kara was telling me a story about how after all this terrible stuff had happened Kara broke up with or had a fight with her boyfriend and was crying to her friend about it and expressed feeling bad because it was nothing compared to her friend's sorrows, and this friend told her (a very wise high schooler) that all pain is the same. That has really stuck with me. It has been a comfort when I had "very little" pain in my life but it still hurt like the dickens, and it's been a comfort to me since Nathan died. Pain is pain. It hurts and you just can't compare it, because in the moment it just hurts and that's all. There are specific reactions that it's harder to understand unless you've been through a similar situation, but the hurt... that's universal.

But back to what I was saying- I would not say that I've had a worse experience than these two other people. Everyone's pain is the same. The causes and our experiences are vastly different, but when it comes to dealing with pain... well, I've been in that game, at least. And I know... I *know* how easy and how tempting it is to let yourself turn to those coping mechanisms which aren't healthy but numb the pain. And I know how often I would like to just be in a bad mood because I want people to understand that I've gone through something and the world owes me more kindness. And I know how nice it would be to let those coping mechanisms and anger become walls that protect me from an existence that isn't what it should be, and I have no judgement for these people... cause I get it... oh gosh. I get it.

But I think that my life is better because I** choose joy. I think that I'm able to be so very happy-- despite everything-- because I made (and keep making) a decision to look for the beauty- to seek out the good and glorious, to make jokes and laugh and enjoy everything that I can. Now, that can make me a little saccharine at times, I know, but it's because I'm determined to notice and point out the sweet.

We know the pain, it's easy to feel the pain... sometimes people have to be reminded of the positive- especially when it happens in the middle of the pain. But it's worth it. It's so worth it, because it means that I can be happy, despite a life that is not all I want.

I just want it for other people too. I wish I could share it with them. Everyone should be able to be as happy as I am.

I wish I had a magic wand. I wish I had a way to give happiness. But all I have are cookies and compliments.

**This should probably all come with a caveat that it's also super hard, and I really, truly, and honestly believe that I could not have chosen joy if I did not have my faith. If I didn't have that baseline of hope and comfort and joy, I do not think I could be saying any of this. And that's probably why I have no judgement of how other people deal with their great hurts- because if not but for the grace of God, so go I.

Not Having It All Together

So Kara said something when she was down that I've thought a lot about.

She said that it really looked like I had my life together.

And I laughed and thanked her, cause I think that is a wonderful compliment.

But I've been thinking about it ever since.

And I'm gonna be honest here, because that's what this blog is all about-- the open, honest, real me.

And let me just say straight out-- It's not true that I've got my life together. I don't.

What I have together is my act. You see, I pretend. I can actually put up a really really good front, because I was in theatre for a long time. And I think that it makes people who care about me worry less, and I'd do just about anything for the people who love me. So making sure that I look like I've got my life in order.... well if it makes me look good and it makes them not worry... Where's the harm?

Except, here's the thing... I don't want to be the Joneses. I don't want someone to compare what they see of me to their own life and think that they don't measure up... I don't want to be anyone's yard stick. Because I don't have my stuff together as much as it seems like I do on the outside and everyone always takes the worst of their own life and the best of someone else's life to make those comparisons... So I'm gonna be real. Here, if nowhere else.

So real stuff:

I get cavities a lot cause I take terrible care of my teeth and drink too much soda.

On the flip side, I never ever eat enough fruit or vegetables.

I desperately want some guy to fall head over heels for me, but I get crushes on guys who are unobtainable because they are safe and I got lucky with Nathan in that he eventually decided he loved me, but I'm not sure that's ever gonna happen again.

I don't know what I'm going to do with my life. I want to write, but I'm also terrified of it, and I know exactly how financially unsound that is and if I'm going to have to support myself for the rest of my life, I'm not sure that I can do it, but none of the things that I like to do make enough money to live on.. except maybe teaching, but I hated teaching at the high school level and I don't know if it will be the same at the college level, and even if it isn't, then I still have to put in another two years after this master's.

Which will most likely be in a different town than this one..... This town where my friends are and the support system that has gotten me through so much, and I'm terrified that if one more beam falls out of the system then the whole thing will collapse.

I can *feel* my biological clock ticking, but I know that to have a baby there are so many ducks that have to be in a row and none of them are and that scares the heck out of me cause I don't want to fall in love and get married just for a baby... but I *really* want that to be a part of the plan and I feel really old to not be anywhere close to that.

I know what I'm good at, and I throw it at people in the hopes that they will admire it. In the hopes that they will think that I've really got my act together, in the hopes that they will like me, but I am constantly afraid that I'm not really liked, just generally tolerated, and I read *way* too much into how people act around me. And I just think too much about friendship in general.

And I'm not happy with my weight but I don't do a darn thing about it, except to attempt to cut back on calories, which doesn't seem to have any effect whatsoever (probably cause I still don't eat enough vegetables), and I hate exercise because a) I suck at it and b) I hate getting sweaty.

And I drink bottled water, cause I'm lazy and tap water doesn't taste good and Britta pitchers are annoying, even though I know it's terrible for the environment.

And the only true opinion I have about politics is that I hate how mean and angry it makes everyone.

And while I have a tremendous amount of faith in God, I hardly ever read my Bible and my praying is pretty much exclusively what I want for myself or my friends and very little about worship. And obviously if I'm worried about all the stuff above I'm not doing a good job in trusting in the God's plan.

And I just want everyone to think that I'm practically perfect, because I'm ashamed of my flaws and I think they will make you not like me that much. And I probably have some fear issues that are unresolved..

And I'm pretty sure I have terrible taste in music, but I just like what I like.

Oh... and I'm an orange vampire... as when I "eat" an orange I just suck all the juice out of a piece and move on, and I know that's super weird and gross, but I don't like the pulp part, and orange juice is *not* the same.

Now does that sound like someone who has it all together?

And the list could go on and on...

So I guess what I'm saying is... you still don't need to worry about me, loved ones... but if you aren't... if you are just one of those people who casually knows me and have ever found yourself lacking in comparison. I'm sorry. The dice were weighted. This chick most definitely doesn't have it all together... not even a little bit.

A Sickness Pro/Con List

Sick Pro:
I don't have an appetite at all.

Sick Con:
I don't know if I'm eating enough.

Sick Sidenote: Definitely impromptu-ly ate 3 pieces of pizza tonight... I think this means I was not, in fact, eating enough.

Sick Pro:
Everyone asks how I'm feeling.

Sick Con:
I barely see anyone for their own protection.

Sick Pro:
Lots of movies and video games.

Sick Con:
Absolutely no productivity.

Sick Pro:
I really think I look prettier when I'm sick- My flushed cheeks even out my normal raccoon face.... or is that I'm paler than normal. Regardless it's like how girls who used lead paint on things used to get so pretty just before they died of lead poisoning.

Sick Con:
I have no proof of this and it might in fact be a delusion brought on by cold meds.

Sick Pro:
I'm not calling in to work/class sick.

Sick Con:
I'm sick on my vacation.

Sick Pro:
I think this list is interesting.

Sick Con:
No one else does.

Perked

I knew that I wanted to see "The Perks of Being a Wallflower."

Nathan always used to say I had a sixth sense about previews. He said I could tell if it was going to be a good movie from the preview... even when the preview makes it look like something else. I think that's what happened with this movie. I had no idea what it was going to be... and yet... It was so good. Like... I'd go watch it again right now, if I had someone to go with.

I'm probably overselling...  It resonated with me.

It's set in Pittsburgh... My mom is from Pittsburgh so I'm vaguely more familiar with Pittsburgh than any other major city in the US... and I'm fonder of it for that reason, too. Perhaps nonsensical, but true.

I just... yeah... it was good... it was good in that way that makes you not want to go home when it's over... that makes you want to drive to the middle of nowhere and look at the stars on a blanket, or find a swingset and swing in the dark, or fall in love.

Good in that simple, quiet, beautiful way... like looking out at the newly fallen snow from a bay window.

And it hurts a bit, too.. but still in a good way-- like finally accepting a truth that you've been denying for too long of a time... or crying the tears that you normally choke down.

Am I being pretentious? Am I talking in words that sound pretty but mean absolutely nothing? or in cliches? I can't tell.

 I should probably stop... I think I'm in a mood that desperately wants to put words to something that words can't define.

It's dangerous to go alone! Take this.

I was speaking to a friend of mine last night. (And lest you get any ideas, let me be clear that while this friend of mine is male and quite dear, he is also happily paired off.) We were speaking of relationships and the beginning of relationships and he was lending me a male perspective, which I always appreciate (remember-- though I was married, Nathan was also the only man I ever dated!) and my friend was advising me to perhaps be a bit more forward/obvious because it can be scary for a guy to just walk out on a limb. (And I can get so shy when I like someone that I know I send mixed signals.) And then he said something that finally made sense of an issue that often bothers me.

He said, "You have a lot of.... how to put it... self-assurance? You know you are awesome and kissable, and I think sometimes that might translate to guys as 'untouchably pristine' or confident."

Oh.

OH!

Is that why I don't get asked on dates or flirted with the way that I see happening to most girls?

Is that why, even though I think I'm reasonably attractive and have a pleasant enough personality and work very hard to be the best version of myself, I find myself so often unchosen?

He's right about the self-assurance... I know that I'm loved and that I can be loved. I believe that I'm a good person and worth getting to know. I know I'm smart and pretty good at a lot of different things... I even think I can be rather adorable at times.

But he's wrong about the kissable. I don't know that I'm kissable. I'm actually really adamant about a guy having to make the first kiss move with me... because I desperately need to feel that I'm kissable, and me making that move would prove nothing. I don't think that a guy would be super likely to turn down a kiss... and I need to know that something in me inspires the notion of kissing, not that he-- whoever he is-- is just along for the ride.

I don't want to seem "untouchably pristine" or so confident that I'm intimidating. That's actually the last thing I want. I *want* to be touched. I want to be loved, I want to be in a relationship with a person who thinks I am a person... who sees my flaws and my positive traits and accepts the bad with the good. I want to be in a relationship with someone whose flaws and positive traits I can also see and accept... cause that's what real love is-- when the drawbacks don't actually make a difference.

I guess... I know I'm a good person. I know I'm worth knowing. I don't know when guys are interested in me at all. I only know when I'm interested, and not much ever seems to come from that. And I don't know that I'm actually attractive. Whatever it is that makes a person "dateable"... I don't know what that is, and I don't know that- what that is- is me. (Just keep re-reading the last sentence and eventually it will make sense.)

Which leaves me rather at an impasse, I suppose... but now I know a little more about how I am perceived .. and knowing is half the battle.

...

GI JOE!