School things

First off, I really want a hamburger. All over the city, the smell of hamburgers has been following me until no other food sounds like it could compare.

I said it on facebook but it bears repeating. I really love being a student. I wish there was a way I could be paid to go to school forever without being a teacher.

My one class today was awesome. Not because of the subject matter, though I think that will be at least mildly interesting, but because I knew about 50% of my classmates, and I love *love* being in a class where people I know come and sit near me/by me and ask how my summer was and tell me about theirs and chat with me before class. It was great last year, even when I didn't know anyone, but it's fantastic this year, already.

Also I love that my job is actually proving to be kinda useful to my friends as they start their TA's (teaching assistantships) I was able to give lots of decent advice today just in the five minutes before class about Blackboard and experts and training classes, which was so nice. Huzzah.

Also either I or my supervisor have a stalker, so that's interesting... on the "Springfield Bear Confessions" page:  

4890- There is this lady I think is insanely cute who works in the library. Sometimes she teaches classes in a room on the second floor, sometimes I see her in Cheek, and her office is in the back corner of The second floor of the library. She is so hot, I think about her while out with my girlfriend, I dream about her in my dorm room, and I cannot get her lovely body out of my mind. I know a wonderfully cute and married woman like that would never give a guy like me the time of day, but now that I have her in my mind I cannot seem to get her out of it. I have fantasized about her all summer, even when I tried not to. How the hell do I get her out of my head. I dont wanna seem like some stalker but I cannot live a normal life when every thought is of her. I wrote a paper recently that mentioned the library, when I reread it I realized I had changed at that mention and wrote 7 pages of fantasy about her.

 ...Yeah. Pretty sure it's about my supervisor, but our office is in the "back corner of the second floor" of the library, we have tech training in a room on the second floor, our other training center (and most of computer services) is over in Cheek so we are over there all the time. (She teaches classes way more often, which is why I think it's her.) The only thing that isn't accurate is that neither of us are married, but ours is the only office in any corner of the library on the second floor... so I'm almost positive that it's her.... it's too many specifics not to be.

And that's pretty much everything I wanted to say...  Now to find that burger!

Revelation

by William Carlos Williams

I awoke happy, the house
Was strange, voices
Were across a gap
Through which a girl
Came and paused,
Reaching out to me--

Then I remembered
What I had dreamed--
A girl
One whom I knew well
Leaned on the door of my car
And stroked my hand--

I shall pass her on the street
We shall say trivial things
To each other
But I shall never cease
To search her eyes
For that quiet look--

Thoughts on 30

It's been a long time, I know. I haven't blogged recently cause all I would blog about is how busy I am and that seems like it would get really old really fast.... but I'm going to blog about how busy I am tonight. :) I'm still working as a grad assistant at Missouri State. That, plus actual classes, plus Pixelscopic, plus preaching at church, plus sometimes singing on the worship team, plus maintaining a healthy relationship with a person you don't live with (I'd forgotten how much time that takes!), plus trying to maintain my other friendships, means my writing (blogging, writing, and even my writing group, sadly) have all taken a backseat to surviving.  Don't get me wrong, I love everything I just mentioned, I'm just often overwhelmed.

Take this week for example: I got home Sunday night from my family "4th of July" celebration.  I basically fell asleep as soon as I walked in the door and slept for 5 hours. Then I woke up, ate dinner at 2 in the morning, and went back to sleep. Monday morning I got up at 8 in the morning and worked on a paper that was technically due that evening though I got an extension, and prepped for class, then went in at noon to work, then straight to class and I got back home at around 9 that evening. Monday night I wrote a final (take-home essay) and went to bed around midnight or 1. Tuesday I got up at 9 went into work at 11 (oh and I should mention its a very busy time at work because it's almost a new semester and we got a lot of sudden new documentation that has to be done.) I left at 4:30 went home, met up with Jason and friends and went to Silver Dollar City for the evening, got home at 11:30 or so and crashed. Then on Wednesday I left for work at around 8:45, worked until 5:30-- and I do mean *worked* I think that's the most I've ever done in a single day at work--, came home, proofed and e-mailed my final and started work on my final paper for the same class... I finished it at 5 AM and went to sleep at 6 AM.  Then I woke up at 8:30 got to work at 9:30, worked for 2 hours, grabbed lunch with Jason, took my car to the dealership to get it maintained, went home took somewhere between a 30 min and 1.5 hour nap, while also doing laundry. Got up, showered and packed and packed and packed. Ran to Wal-mart, had dinner with Jason,  watched a Dr. Who, revised my paper and e-mailed it out, curled my hair, and went to bed at like 1 AM... only to get up the next morning and leave for St. Louis so I could get on a plane to come to Philadelphia. Lots of fun happened in the week, but not enough sleep and a *lot* of work also happened.

And now here I am in Philadelphia!

And I looooooooove that I could come see Kara, because I've missed her so much.

But today is my 30th birthday and I feel old. And not where I wanted to be in my life. I feel like I should have a plan, but beyond some "it would be nice" ideas, I don't have a clue what I want to do after I graduate (probably in May or this time next year)... I feel like I'm about a year farther into my life than I was at this time 10 years ago, which feels pathetic. I don't know how I will make enough money to support myself and I don't know how I will find time to write when it feels like I don't have the time to write now. And I'm worried about my retirement on a practical level (I should have already saved a million dollars by now! I can't get that time back when it comes to investments!)

So my 30th birthday has a very mixed set of feelings in it. It's great to be with Kara, and to relish in just how very *known* I am with her, but I also find myself introspecting, which frankly is always dangerous with me. I think knowing how little I can predict the future makes me want to be very secure financially and have a million back up plans... and I'm not and I don't and that's not likely to change... that is unless someone knows how to make a million dollars painting my own nails, baking cookies for people (for free), crafting, and writing YA books?

So... Thirty... how about you prove me wrong.

Don't Call Me Fragile

So I've got about five blogs swimming around in my head, and no time in which to blog them... but when have I not chosen to procrastinate on a big paper four days before it's due? I may end up having to take Wednesday off from life.

Anyway the River Pretty Writers Retreat was this weekend, and it went well I think. I really love getting a chance like that to be away from the rest of the world for a while and getting to know people better. I  made a lot of new friends this weekend and strengthened several that were made last semester.

Something that is interesting about the workshops in the writing retreat: We are given writing prompts or exercises and then somewhere between 10 or 20 minutes to write. Then someone reads what they've written and everyone else reacts to it. I've noticed that I tend to write non-fiction in these workshops, because it's hard for me to be spontaneously creative in that way. (For instance, of the three or four exercises this weekend, only one was fiction.)

It's a little rough because a lot of what I write about is being a widow. I think I just need to accept that I need to write a memoir to get out all the stuff, instead of revisiting it over and over and over. Widowhood dominates my writing more than it does my life.

Interestingly enough though I had three very distinct widow experiences this weekend.

One (and chronologically the final one) happened in conversation. One of my writing friends is a poetry guy and somehow over the course of the last 6-8 months that I've known him he didn't know about Nathan. So we were helping a girl who had gotten pretty intoxicated get to bed and he made a comment about his wife having a lot of health problems and so he was sort of trained to take care of sick people. And I agreed, and made some comment about recovering from caretaker fatigue. I said something about taking care of someone with cancer, thinking that he already knew my background, and he asked who and I said, "Oh... my husband."

We had been walking and he stopped dead in his tracks. He had no clue. He asked if he could give me a hug. I obliged, half because he looked like he needed a hug. Several times the rest of the weekend he commented on my strength.

Two happened at the student reading (I really can't remember if this reading was before or after the next experience, but I've got a organizational plan which places this one here.) One of my friends from the last retreat read a story, a fictional piece which takes place 10-15 days after his wife dies. (His wife is not dead.) He mentioned it was the most difficult thing he's ever written and the hardest thing he's ever had to do. It was really interesting to hear what he thought it would be like for him... It made me think about how, before Nathan died, I thought I might handle his death. It isn't the first time I've said this, but before he got sick I thought that if Nathan ever died I'd become a hermit. I'd run off to the upstairs of my parent's house and become a hermit, and never venture out into the world again. That's what I thought. This friend was very concerned about what I thought and how I reacted to his piece, but I can't be insulted by someone truly trying to imagine what life would be like. He said a lot of things that weren't at all like what I'd gone through... but he said some things that were right on. And that doesn't mean that he was wrong about how he'd react-- it just means that he is not like me. It did make me slightly paranoid (as I often am) that the way I handled Nathan's death makes it look like I didn't love him with all that I had. But that's my weird issue, not his. And it was sweet of him to be concerned about my reaction.

And then there was the third experience, which also happened at the student readings. A boy from Oklahoma read something he'd written from the perspective of a Marine Family Relations Officer. I can't tell you what the story was about... at all. Because towards the beginning of the story he read the words, "fragile widows."

And it was all I could do for the rest of his reading was not walk up to him and punch him in the nose and then yell, "Who's fragile now!?!"

I was ticked.

Not only was I mad for the cause of widows everywhere, but I happen to be dating a Marine. Now it's true he's not an FRO, but one of the many reasons I like my Marine is that my widowhood says to him that I'm very strong. He has seen widows in mourning and he does not call them fragile. He calls them strong. I was so put off by how wrong this guy's casual reference to myself and my sisters in grief was.

It really angers me how prevalent this idea of the flawed-ness or fragility of widows is in society. Maybe it comes from the people who try to imagine (like me, once) what they would do if they lost their spouse. **This is different from my friend who honestly and sincerely put himself through the real imagining of what would happen. Much like an actor he put in the work to make himself that character-- to have that character's experiences.** Maybe it comes from the pity. I heard a woman say to my friend (after he made a general announcement that his wife had not died) how glad she was to hear that his wife was alive because she'd been feeling so sorry for him.

Again, a reason I appreciate Jason. He does not pity me. He wishes that I hadn't had to go through it, but he doesn't pity me. He also doesn't view the terrible side note that I once had a husband who died as something that's wrong with me. In fact he's baffled by the fact that anyone would.

I'm a widow, and that simple fact has taught me that I have a core of steel. Much of what I am has been stripped or blown away, but that doesn't mean I'm fragile. I've been tested. If life is a fist fight I've been fighting a berserker who is three times my size and not pulling his punches. Being hit doesn't make you fragile. Heck, even being broken doesn't make you fragile. Strong things break all the time. What makes something fragile is being easily broken. And trust me when I say that the death of one's spouse is not an easy blow.

Yes, I am a widow but don't call me fragile.

Push Play

Since Nathan's diagnosis it has felt like my life has been on pause. I used to comfort us actually, by saying that our lives were just on pause and soon it would resume.

Then Nathan died and the DVD totally stopped. The disc made that screeching noise that means it stopped spinning and there was just a blue screen. (What? It's just my DVD player that makes that noise? Oh. Oh well, go with a record coming to an abrupt stop if you are more familiar with that noise... or squealing breaks... whatever. Anyway.)

After about a year the picture came back (though someone had rewound it a ways) and when I took that first class it was as if someone had pushed the play button.... but they hadn't taken pause off so my life was still running in slow motion.

And since then the speed has slowly been bumping up, every now and again.

Until now... Now it feels like I'm playing at normal speed, again.

And I'm not going to lie-- it's a little overwhelming. I'm already the type of person who will just leave things be longer than they should because I'm normally quite fine with the status quo, but there are a lot of things that are being added to my plate and I'm not used to it, yet.

Tim (the preacher at my church) is going on sabbatical at the beginning of May until late August. I'm not really taking up a lot more responsibilities there, actually. I'll be preaching a few more times, but it's not crazy.... but I *am* feeling a little more weight and expectations falling back on my shoulders as a leader.

School is hitting that very busy time, when lots of things are coming due.

Work is also hitting a heavy load time.

And then there is the whole being in a new relationship thing... Which is wonderful, but part of the problem (and part of the wonderfulness) of a new relationship is you don't want to do anything else when you are with that person... so all of your responsibilities have to get shoved into the time that you *aren't* with that person.... and of course both of you are actively trying to make the time you aren't together as small as possible, because twitterpation is for realsies.

And of course in the background of it all is are the widow issues that I'm constantly dealing with to some extent or another.

So I'm searching for balance, and finding it rather elusive. I have to learn how to get work done when I'm hanging out with Jason. (And to be clear, this is totally my problem. He tries to encourage me to do what I need to and I get all pouty and say no.) I have to learn how to actually do my homework when I have free time instead of napping or watching the last season of Eureka or trying to find a side zip hoodie. I have to learn how to clean my house and put away my stuff and do things even when I don't feel like it, because I don't have time to do it later.

So basically I'm praying that I somehow get it all accomplished by a miracle.

And I know that it shouldn't take a miracle. I know this is the normal pace of life for most people... but it's been so long since my life was going at this sort of clip that it feels like things are spinning a bit. Remember merry-go-rounds from when you were a kid? Remember how it was really hard to grab ahold and run with it and jump on if you came to it already spinning at full speed? That's a bit how it feels now that someone finally pushed play on my life.

But it's good, too. It's so good.

I'm just not sure how to both enjoy it and keep up.

Bomb Diggity List

So you may have noticed of late a distinct decrease in blogging.

This is for many reasons but the biggest of which is that I've started dating someone... in fact, I even call him my boyfriend from time to time...

And obviously new relationships take up a lot of time, which one might normally spend blogging.

But despite my lessened blogging time I'm having a fine old time and remembering all over again all the wonderful things that boys can/will do for you that you *could* do for yourself.. only you spend three times more effort than they seem to expend on the same activity.

So let me give a list to you of the many reasons why I have remembered that Boyfriends are the Bomb Diggity. (in no particular order)

1. Boyfriends can change your lightbulbs without a step ladder.
2. Boyfriends can hang that last picture in your stairwell that neither you nor any of your other friends could reach to hang.
3. Boyfriends will watch Dr. Who with you.
4. Boyfriends will make you breakfast for dinner. (Best pancakes evah!)
   4.5 Boyfriends will buy you dinner (different night... I don't have two dinners a day).
5. Boyfriends will play games with your friends.
6. Boyfriends will convince you to try Star Wars Risk, which you will like despite your initial misgivings.
7. Boyfriends will introduce you to yummy new foods like corned beef hash and horchata (not at the same time).
8. Boyfriends will tuck a blanket all around you so you won't be cold anymore.
9. Boyfriends have tiny tiny screwdrivers to fix your broken sunglasses.... and they will do the fixin for you, even though you totally just meant for them to bring over the tool so you could fix your own eyewear.
10. Boyfriends will take away the excess cookies so you are no longer haunted with the choice of either wasting the cookies or eating the cookies- neither of which you want to do.

Diggin' it

Holy crap. Long time no blog. Sorry dudes.

I'm on Spring Break now... I spoke at church last Sunday, and life is just generally keeping me pretty busy. I'm really glad I spoke on this Sunday rather than next Sunday cause I would have felt it hanging over my head all break and I have no such feeling right now.

To celebrate spring break, I got 4 new nail polishes (they were on sale!) Three of them are glitter... I might have an addiction, but it's such a pretty one that I can't seem to care.

Things I'm currently totally digging right now:

These "potato" candies from See's in the mall. (They contain no actual potato.)

My new nail polish.

This fox basket I saw at Target.

My red ombré... I can't believe I haven't blogged since ombré!

This gorgeous Art Deco style homage to The Last Unicorn.
http://szienna.tumblr.com/post/34593495945/my-first-halftoned-work-submitting-it-to-a-24h

And since we are on art, I'm mighty partial to this one act that is finally in print.

I feel like there are other things as well, in addition to the obvious and constant, family and friends, but I don't know quite what they are. I'm about to go eat lunch with a friend... Weekday lunches. Add that one to the list of things I dig... but I don't have any pics of that.

Balancing the scales

One time in college I was a terrible person.

Kara and I were roommates and if you know anything about us, you know that Kara is a morning person and I... am not.

Except for this one weekend morning when I woke up raring to go at like 8AM. Fluke thing. It happens sometimes.

It doesn't often happen when a fluke happens to Kara on the same morning, though.

So I was up and at 'em... and I got up. And I showered... and I got dressed... and I'm sure I looked at my homework... and I sat around waiting for Kara to wake up at any moment, but she didn't and I was bored.

So I wrote a short paper I had for a class.

And she still wasn't awake and by this time it was at *least* 10 AM (and it should probably be noted that I don't even think it's sleeping-in until it's 11. )

But I was soooooo bored.

So I printed my paper.

On the printer I had in our room.

Which happened to be very noisy... no annoying loud shrieking or anything, just noisy in that clunking printer way. I did this with the hope that it would wake up Kara so she would come out and play.

And it totally worked! The printer made noise and she made her cute yawn noise and woke up, surprised that I was already up.

The problem is that later that day I admitted my secret plan to her.

And to this day I've never been able to live down that time I printed something out just to wake her up.

But  my friends, after a decade long grudge, the day has come when Kara and I once again stand on equal footing.

Guess who texted me at 7:00 AM this morning. (Sure, she offered up some malarky about getting the time change wrong.... but you know what? I *had* to print that paper, too.)

And once the text woke me up I couldn't go right back to sleep.... so I texted her back at 7:15 and we talked till 8:40.

There are very few people in this world whom I'd wake up for at 7:15 just to shoot the breeze with.

But at least now we are even.

Unfortunately I don't know how to print something at her place in Philly.

Procrastiblogging: Grad School Edition

Is it sacrilegious to praise the Lord for Pepsi and Ritz chips? Cause that's what I wanted to do this afternoon.

I've been having a very sleepy day, and Pepsi granted me caffeine and the Ritz Chips granted me... something to eat with my caffeine. 

Big test tomorrow. Procrastiblogging has begun!

By the by, I'm speaking in church on March 10th. It's actually part of a sermon series, which makes me feel cool and official.

So what's happening in my life and my mind these days?

A lot. Most of which I'm not prepared to blog about, some of which I can't.

But if there has been a theme for 2013 thus far, it's been, "Expect the unexpected."

The surprises have been all over the place. Some really good things, some really tough things, some things that are yet to be determined.

I'm still loving grad school. I think I love it more this semester than I did last semester. So that's awesome.

The boy situation has taken an interesting turn... which is all I'm prepared to say at this juncture. 

Family has it's mixture of good things and bad things, as per usual, but the good things and the bad things that you would expect seem to be switched, actually.

Spring break is approaching- The first Spring Break I've had in.... many years. I'm very excited about having time to just relax and watch some television and read some "for fun" books and hang out with friends.... I think becoming a creative writing professor might be a really good idea for me. You know, if I'm not going to become a world famous author. Not taking that last option off the table just yet.... or ever.

19 of 30

The List

19. If you could live anywhere, where would it be and why?

Well, this isn't a fair question at all. So my answer isn't going to be fair, either. I'm making up a new city. It's called Philamemfield.

It's the combination of Philly, Memphis, and Springfield.

Here's why:

I think that there is something truly wonderful and special about growing up in a super small community. There are experiences and topics that only people from my town can understand. Often small towns get dogged on for being resistant to change and "backwater." But you know what? It's like I have a huge extended, extended family. Yeah, everyone knew my business, but... it also kept me out of trouble. The one time I remember hanging out with "unsavory" sorts from some other town in highschool I saw like 5 people from my church, and all I wanted was to get the heck away from those boys before they did something illeagal and I got in trouble. My childhood was idyllic, and I think a good portion of that is from growing up in the wholesome countryside. Also I miss having snow that stayed on the ground for longer than 12 hours before melting away. Plus it would be nice not to have to drive 5 hours to get home.

That said, I love living in Springfield, where if I realize I'm out of chocolate chips I can run to the store on the way to my friend's house at 7 at night after driving through for Chinese takeout. And I can order a pizza and have it delivered to my house. And I can leave for work 15 minutes before I have to be there. And I don't have to plan going to a movie a week in advance if I don't want to. And I can go get pancakes at 3 in the morning if I want to. And despite all that I feel safe driving and people are super nice and there is parking wherever I go.

Which leads me to Philly which has beautiful historic architecture and a rich history and fabulous museums and bookstores and restaurants and culture... and Kara. And I miss living in the same town as her. So much.

To-Done List

I've done well today.

I kept telling everyone that I needed today off... And because I actually got my wish I used it to my advantage.

So, today:
I put away all my laundry but the dirty stuff.
I did my dishes.
I collected and documented all my taxes (have to actually take them to the accountant, but I wasn't going out in that even if the office was open today.)
I finished Beowulf.
I collected all the vocabulary I could glean from the first chapter of my Grammar book. (One more chapter to go before Sat!)
I paid my bills.
I mopped my kitchen floor.
I e-mailed people.
I spoke to friends.
I somehow managed to get 22 and 29 likes on two Facebook statusi made only an hour apart. Jigga wha?? That's what happens when most of one's friends are at home all day, too, I guess.

I just generally knocked a whole bunch of stuff off my to do list like a boss, and I'm feeling mighty victorious about it.

Which is really good cause this weekend is gonna be kinda crazy I think. Crazy, but in a good way.

Now here's hoping I can get out of my driveway tomorrow morning.

Motivational Star Trek

I really think I might be ok with being hit by an ice storm that shuts down campus. I need a day when I can't find anything to do but all the stuff I've been putting off.

I seem to be severely lacking in motivation lately.

For instance there is an embarrassingly large pile of clothes at the foot of my bed right now that are all *clean.* Do I need to put them away?

Yep.

Have I continued over and over just to dump out the clean laundry in that pile whenever I needed my laundry basket to wash more clothes?

Yep.

All my tax stuff is sitting on the half wall that separates my stairs from my hallway.

Pretty sure I'll be getting money back from that, and yet the papers remain.

Two bills are sitting on my table right now, with no reason to not mail in.

Still they sit.

Big test coming up next Tuesday-- need to start prepping for that.

Have barely done anything.

Dirty dishes from the weekend are sitting on my kitchen counter.

I don't even think I *looked* at them today.

There is just no sense of urgency for any of it.

Bills and taxes aren't due yet. No one sees the laundry or knows how long those dishes have been there (Well, ok, you do now.) The test is an entire week from now.

But everything is going to hit the fan soon. I've already got things piling up for this weekend, and on Sunday night when I'm totally overwhelmed, I'm going to be remembering how all I did Tuesday night was read one chapter of my Grammar text which I didn't absorb very well and which by the way that test is over...  oh and paint my nails.

And then I will raise my well-manicured fist to the sky and yell:

"Khaaaaan!"

And I'll feel slightly better.

Experience

Last night I went to a party.

This party was the 30th birthday of a grad-student friend of mine (and two other girls, who I didn't know.) It was kinda nuts, which I knew it would be, going into it.

Eventually some other grad-student friends showed up and I was glad to have some people at the party who I actually knew, but for a while there I was just standing around wondering how soon it would be polite to leave.

I didn't really want to go in the first place. It's not my scene- but... everyone has to have an experience like that at least once, right?

Probably not, actually, but I'm not sad that I went.

I'm also *not* sad that I didn't drink and left after 2 hours. When I left you literally couldn't even walk through the house. You just had to lean one direction and hope that the crowd carried you that way.

That's only a slight exaggeration.

I took cookies.

Most people show up to these things with beer or Jello shots. I brought cookies.

But they were a hit, and the birthday guy took a huge plate of them (the ones where I'd added raisins, which I think are disgusting, but he requested, so fine.) and hid them in his room.

And I also got to connect/touch base with people outside of school, which was really nice.

And now this morning I feel great and I'm actually up way earlier than I normally am, though I have no doubt there are a lot of people moaning in bed and pulling the covers over their eyes.

And just to complete the experience I think I'm gonna go get fast-food breakfast, cause it feels like the right thing to do. :)

This is Country Music

I've been on a country music kick for like a month now. I like a lot of different music. I like singer songwriters, I like folk, I like pop/top 40 music, and Broadway and all sorts of other music, but I got sick of the top 40 music that I had been listening to. Basically what happened was I had my radio on when a song came on that I was  already tired of because it had been so overplayed.. and when I switched to another station it was playing the same song.

So I switched to a country station and I've been enjoying it. In part because I don't already know all the songs, but in part because I really think there is something to country music.

This elicits eyebrow raises, disdain, scoffing, or groans depending on who is reacting. And quite often I hear, "Why?" in a pained voice.

Now the thing is, I'm not a musician. I like to sing. I like music, but I don't pick it apart, so some twang or some steel guitar or some notes that are sidled up to, rather than hit straight on don't bother me that much... It's just flavor. I don't know what it means when Pandora tells me that I like "Major key tonality"

What I care about are the lyrics, and country music, while often labeled cheesy and even cliché, says a lot about me and to me. This might be because *I* am cheesy and cliché, but I prefer to think of it as "true of heart" and "honest" and "direct."

It reminds me not to start feeling sorry for myself:

"Every time you think you got it bad, you can find someone who's got it worse. All the things you take for granted now, they started out as blessings first. If you got someone who loves you and a steady job that puts food on the table, if you're strong and able, Man, be grateful" Be Grateful - The Farm Inc.

"Every storm runs, runs out of rain, just like every dark night has its day. Every heartache will fade away. Just like every storm runs, runs out of rain." Every Storm Run Out of Rain- Gary Allen 

Yesterday Pandora played a September 11th song that made me cry all over again, even 11 years later:

"Did you feel guilty 'cause you're a survivor? In a crowded room did you feel alone? Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her? Did you dust off that Bible at home? Did you open your eyes, hope it never happened, close your eyes and not go to sleep?" Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning? - Alan Jackson

 There is a lot of truth in the lyrics:

"Funny how a melody sounds like a memory" Springsteen- Eric Church 

(That's just good poetry no matter who you are.)

And it also reminds me of how I want to love and be loved:

"I'm a long gone Waylon song on vinyl. I'm a back row sinner at a tent revival. She believes in me like she believes her Bible. She loves me like Jesus does." She Loves Me Like Jesus Does- Eric Church

"I am a short fuse, I am a wrecking ball, crashing into your heart like I do. You're like a Sunday morning, full of grace and full of Jesus. I wish that I could be more like you. I'm hard to love, hard to love, I don't make it easy. I couldn't do it if I stood where you stood. I'm hard to love, hard to love. You say that you need me. I don't deserve it, but I love that you love me." Hard to Love- Lee Bryce

Especially in that last quote: "You're like a Sunday morning, full of grace and full of Jesus." Whoa. Honestly, I'm happy I switched over to country for a bit just so I could hear that one line. I want that. I want to be that. I want someone to believe that of me.

And in the meantime I'm awful happy that someone had the guts to put it into a song without irony.

How it Falls

A post to commemorate Valentine's Day:

Turns out, I don't really mind Valentine's Day. I mean I hated it when I was a highschooler. Nothing worse than everyone getting balloons and flowers and ridiculous amounts of *stuff* at school and you not getting anything. In high-school I was very much aware of how single I was.

But that lessened considerably in college... Kara and I had some pretty fantastic times on Valentine's Day, whether we were single or she was dating someone. (By the time I was dating someone, homegirl was married!) And then Nathan and I started dating and I had five V-Days where I got to celebrate in a "normal" way... (though I've always thought roses were a big waste of money.... give me cheap but pretty flowers and your time/energy any day over needlessly expensive foliage!) and then in 2011 it was my first day back to work after Nathan's death. That was shocking for me to discover, by the way, but I blogged about it so I know it's true. I totally did not remember that.

And last year I had a good time.

And what I said then, I still feel. I saw someone post on facebook about how much this particular person (who is happily married, btw) hates Valentine's day... and I mean, you'd think that of anyone I'd have a reason to not harbor any kindness towards the day....

And yet.... I do have a fondness for it. Maybe it goes back to elementary school when we made the boxes and everyone in the class got a valentine. (Kara is a genius, by the way, and next year I will be having an elementary school themed Valentine's party... I just didn't have enough time to pull it off this year.) Maybe it's just that I like love, even if I don't have "my" person... I still don't mind having a holiday that celebrates love.

Kara sent me a song that I've been listening to over and over today. I love it. A lot. She said it reminded her of me, even though it isn't a perfect match and that "the writer of the song doesn't know it, but he is in love with you." Unfortunately I think it was written by a woman (the one singing), but that doesn't matter. I still love this song.  It's haunting in that way that all of my most favorite songs are.

And maybe that's why I like Valentine's Day?

Cause I'm very loved.

And known so well.

Despite not having a box of stained glass tears.

Weird Paranoia

Do you ever have moments of paranoia? Where you have (from your perspective) a really great conversation or time with someone, and then you don't interact with them very much for several days (or a week, or weeks) afterward and you suddenly start doubting it all?

You wonder if it ever happened at all.

DID that old man in Wal-mart wink at me or did I just think he did? Did the other person have as much fun as I did, or did (s)he just pretend to? Did I say something offensive, or was I boring, or not interested enough in them, or have they just decided that they have what they needed/wanted and that's the end? Or has something more interesting happened in their life and they'd rather focus on that than me-- no offense!

Oh sure, if you look at the bare facts they seem to indicate certain conclusion.

But since when did human interactions ever kowtow to logic or reason?

I'll take "Since Never" for $500, Alex.

I think this is why I like directness so much. I'd so much rather know where I stand than skirt around something and wonder and wonder and attempt to read between the lines and then wonder if there even are lines or if I just made them up.

It's kinda like the word "weird" for me. I look at it too much and I'm just sure that I've misspelled it. Still. Even thought I know I haven't... It's only 5 letters for Pete's sake! How can you over-think 5 letters? How much more straightforward can it get!? Yet, if I stare at it for much longer I start to wonder if it's even a word at all. Maybe that arrangement of letters actually means "snaggletooth" or "destiny" and I have no clue and no one will tell me, cause I should be able to tell. I mean, come on, isn't it obvious?

Problem is that I get to this place a lot faster than most people, I think.

And the worst part is that this paranoia is the strongest with the people I know the least.

The juxtaposition between the virtue of modesty and the attractive quality of confidence is a thin and exceedingly difficult line for me to walk... I mean if we are going to be honest here... Not everyone is gonna like me (Say it ain't so!) I am going to be offensive, or boring, or not interested enough in them. Someone will decide that they have what they needed/wanted and that's the end. Something more interesting will happen in their life and they'd rather focus on that than me, no offense. And who the heck am I, to think that I deserve their attention just cause I liked spending time with them? Little full of yourself, aren't you, Renée? Land-a-goshen, just let them be and stop acting so desperate!

Did you see that? That is basically a direct translation of what happens in my head on a pretty regular basis...

It's kinda funny. For most people paranoia is that others are out to get them. For me it's that they aren't out to get me, when I want them to.

It's Not Just Men

So I've spoken to two guys in the past three days who, when describing a relationship that had just ended said, "You know I was there for her when she needed someone over and over and over, but when I needed someone, she wasn't willing to be there for me."

And I listen to this and I think: dubbya tee eff, ladies??? (side note, I know that wtf, omg, and btw stand for real words.... but those letters in succession have become words in their own right in my mind, which is convenient as it lets me escape any actual cursing!)

Ok, so obviously I'm someone that people are willing to talk to, and some people would argue I am too available to lay troubles/frustrations on... it does certainly land me in the friend zone more often than I would prefer. So maybe I have high expectations of what it means to be someone's friend, but I don't think my expectations for a friend should be more than my expectations for a significant other. There is something wrong here.

I hear a lot of complaints about the men of my generation. It's generally about how they are childish. How they sexualize and objectify women. How they are lazy and entitled. How they just want to fix things instead of *just* listen. How they couldn't find their emotions if emotions were those fuzzy yarn balls and located in a cardboard box labeled "Your Emotions."

And I'm not trying to say that's not true, at least in part. I am completely cognizant of the photo-shopped  pictures of girls with perfect bodies that get shared all over facebook. I know why they get shared and I know that even those girls don't actually look like that, and I feel deeply how sadly *lacking* I am in comparison.

But what I'm saying is that it's not just the men. Only they can't say this, because that would make them sexist jerks. Girls sexualize and objectify men, too. (I'm looking at you, Magic Mike and Ryan Gosling memes.) And we are childish, too.

When I was growing up we didn't have all the Disney Princess stuff that is so prevalently pink in stores today.... but that didn't mean we didn't have Disney Princesses... And that didn't mean we didn't want to become Disney princesses--- we did. I remember so much stuff in reference to girls being princesses, even in college. But have you ever really watched a Disney princess movie? The men are fake. That sounds weird, but especially in the early ones, the men are just cardboard cutouts. I think Eric from The Little Mermaid was the first one to have any personality, and even then he doesn't have much of one. If there is a male protagonist, then there is something to the girl, but if a female is the protagonist... well mainly the man is just there to cut down the brambles and throw a sword around.

And women have incorporated this into their modus operandi. Women act entitled too. We are entitled to have our breakdowns and our hormones and our changeable natures-- you know, if we want to. And the men better well be able to put up with that. They had better be strong and protective and thoughtful and reasonable and willing to fix it all. But they had better not expect a princess to get her hands dirty. They had better not expect a princess to get off her butt and lend strength or protectiveness or thoughtful reasonability or support.  Gah, I mean how selfish could men possibly get? Are they really saying they can't be strong all the time??

Turns out that both men and women are insecure. We all have moments of strength and weakness. We can all be pretty crappy to each other. I'm just frustrated. I expect better of us. I expect better of all of us. And I really don't think it's fair to just lay the blame on one side. There is plenty of blame to spread around.

18 of 30

 Here's a blast from the past-- Something off the 30 things list!

18. What has been the most difficult thing you have had to forgive?

I think the reason why it has taken me so long to write this one is that this is a super hard question to answer... because I don't want to tell some story about how someone did something wrong to me. Bringing up someone's past mistakes isn't a good way to demonstrate your forgiveness for them. And also... This is gonna sound sooo full-of-myself, but honestly I don't have a hard time forgiving people, so it's not like there is one thing that sticks out in my brain as the hardest thing to forgive...

But when Kara was here last, we got to talking about something that I think is pertinent.

I think the most difficult thing I've ever had to forgive is Nathan leaving me.

And it was so hard because I couldn't even be mad at him. He didn't have a choice in the matter.

But still.

The one person in my life who had vowed to be with me forever left me alone to deal without him.  I mean if forgiveness is necessary because a person has been wronged.... Well, I've been wronged.

I've been stripped of the illusion of mortality that is supposed to last me well into my 40's, maybe beyond, and I know that you can't trust anyone... because even if they are worthy of trust there are things beyond all of our control.

And now I have to keep living in the world like I'm not aware of those two things.

So I had to forgive Nathan, or God, or the universe, or something, for making me the way I am and then taking it all away from me for absolutely no good reason.

And while I still struggle with the repercussions of the wrongness, I still think I can say I've forgiven it.

And that's 18 out of 30.

It's Me Who I Don't Get.

You'd think... with all the time I spend by myself and on myself and blogging about myself that I would be more familiar with myself.

But I'm not really.

On a very regular basis I surprise myself. It's as if I barely know the person whose skin I'm wearing... whose brain I inhabit.

Several times this weekend I got super dramatic about people actions secretly meaning they hate me... And while I know that it's not true even in the slightest bit I also know that jokes like that normally come from a pretty insecure place.

Last week I wondered if I should really be a writer at all.

Today I got super concerned cause Kara replied to an e-mail I sent with a question, and that is all. Now, sure it's not normal for her to just ask a single question but Kara has never been the type to be pithy when she's upset with me and yet I was seriously concerned.

I was also frustrated all morning for no reason whatsoever.

And there are so many other reactions I have that I simply don't understand.

Why am I startled or confused or skittish? What the heck is wrong with me? Do I need a self-interpreter?

You'd think that the only person who I wouldn't need explained to me would be myself, but it is almost always the opposite. I can normally read others exceedingly well.

It's me who I don't get.

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.