tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35693604061057332752024-03-05T01:52:42.144-05:00Wonders Never CeaseThe world from the perspective of a nineteen year old nut case.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-75456972597045733962013-04-16T09:14:00.000-04:002013-04-17T15:20:40.127-04:00Marathon MemoriesToday is almost over. It'll probably end before I post this. But still, here I am, on a day I'm sure I've posted about before.<br />
<br />
It's Patriot Day in Massachusetts (not to be confused with Patriots Day, which is federal holiday, and something else entirely) and two other states. For me, this morning, that meant that I was very sad, because one more of my old traditions was missing.<br />
<br />
On Patriot Day, the Boston Red Sox play an early day game, which lets out just in time for all of the fans to pour out of Fenway Park and go watch the end of the Boston Marathon, for Patriot Day is also Marathon Monday. This was the game that Daddy and I always went to (with one exception that I can remember, although possibly others). We would go, watch the game, watch the Sox kick some ass, and then we'd wander down to catch some marathon runners finishing. Of all the traditions I had with my father, this one I think I cherish the most. More than the boat show, more than father's day car show, more than the Beach Boys, summer cook outs, or going together the the BCF. Patriot Day is our day.<br />
<br />
This morning, I posted this as my facebook status<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="userContent">Today is Marathon Monday, which means I should be with my dad at Fenway Park. We used to go to this game every year and I miss it.</span></blockquote>
<br />
I watched the scores of the game on the MLB app on my phone while I was in class. I watched the Sox win, as they always do on Patriot Day. And then I came home. I turned on my computer to put on some music, and checked my facebook. When I heard the news, there was only one news website who had an article up, and it was only 3 or 4 sentences long. I was one of the first to hear about it. And I was instantly crying. Not sobbing just yet, for I thought it was some sort of accident and I didn't know anyone was hurt. I thought it just scared a bunch of people. So I was crying, and then I found out that people, dozens, were hurt, missing limbs, and I got scared.<br />
<br />
My father doesn't break tradition. I couldn't call him. I needed to know if he was okay, but I couldn't call him. I didn't have the guts. What if he didn't answer? What if someone else answered and told me he was hurt. What would I do? I was shaking. It took me three minutes to write a very short text message, but I didn't have the guts to call him.<br />
<br />
He was fine. He <i>had</i> broken tradition. Later, I found out cell phone service had been cut off, so if he had been there, he wouldn't have answered. Most of my friends in Boston were on facebook immediately, posting links, expressing fear and outrage and hope that everyone was fine. But one friend, I didn't see among the crowd. I had to go to work, and spent much of the night fighting off the fear and anxiety and the urge to vomit. I put on a good face of fake cheer. Customers probably thought I was just some ditzy girl, but my co-workers were concerned. They knew that my smile was fake, and that I didn't usually make the sort of mistakes I was making over and over and over.<br />
<br />
Until finally, the last friend I was worried about posted on facebook about being stranded. And I laughed and laughed, and no one understood when I explained "oh, no, nothing is funny" because I was falling over in hysterical laughter.<br />
<br />
But my heart is still breaking. I can't make it stop hurting. That's my home. And they broke it. I could have been there. If I weren't in Virginia, I would have been there, in that very plaza. And I have never been so scared.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-54145739737391430232013-03-23T15:58:00.002-04:002013-03-24T14:57:18.001-04:00Open and HonestIn repairing my mental health I made a promise to myself and a friend (and maybe posted it here on my blog? I can't remember) that I would post at least once a week. I had to hold myself accountable. I had to do this, if I ever wanted to make myself feel pleasant again. I had to, if I wanted to get rid of everything I hate about myself.<br />
<br />
So can we add to the list of things of things I hate, "not keeping my promises"?<br />
<br />
I've always, always, prided myself on being a very honest and open person. But I'm coming to realize that I've been lying. Not just to people, but to myself. Open is not something that I'm good at. It never has been. Sure, I put on a good face. I talk CONSTANTLY. The endless babble that flows from my mouth and fingertips annoys the piss out of some people. No one cares that I just painted my nails. I do that two or three or more times a week. It's not news; it's not special.<br />
<br />
Everyone knows about my family drama, and that's "personal" so of course I'm open, of course I'm honest. Except that I'm not.<br />
<br />
I don't feel like I'm very honest. I don't feel like I'm very open. I share actions, but I don't share feelings unless they are the obvious sort of feelings. My last post, I really got into my feelings, and it scared me away from the blog for... how long? A few weeks, anyways.<br />
<br />
And a lot has happened in these past few weeks:<br />
1) <b>My mother had a custody hearing about getting Lauren back. </b>Originally I wanted to write a whole post about this. I am so torn, so broken up over this. Lauren doesn't know what she wants, and I just want her to be wherever she's most happy. I think things are perfect just the way they are: Lauren with her nice, big, family, and Amanda home with my mom (provided my mother continues to stay sober). Lauren visits my mom on the weekends. But Lauren sometimes feels out of place with Mindi and her family, and also feels obligated to go back to my mother. She misses Amanda when they aren't together. But then, at other times, she's so happy where she is. She's happier there than she ever was living with my mother, and feels obligated to stay with Mindi, because she was taken in and loved just as much as any of the other kids. Right now, nothing has been decided. I don't trust my mother, probably never will, but I trust my sisters enough that if the situation ever got dangerous, they would say something, so I'm okay with them living with my mom. They go back to court in June.<br />
<br />
2) <b>I bought an antique sewing machine.</b> Remember how I said (or did I say?) that I had almost entirely stopped writing? Well sewing has been filling the creative void for me. I'm very slow, and end up having to rip things apart constantly. I've been working on this one quilt for ever and have to keep taking out stitches, but I'm enjoying it, and I have completed a few things at least. Anyway, the other day I was out with my future Mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law at an antique shop. I saw this pretty old table, and then realized it was a sewing machine cabinet, and then realized that it still had the old machine. When I found out that it was only $20, I decided I had to have it. The table alone is worth twice that, and if the machine works (it definitively needs to be cleaned and oiled first. Cobwebs everywhere and it squeaked like a seal when I turned the wheel. BUT all the parts moved so that's a good sign) it's worth a small fortune. I'll keep you posted on how that goes. I had to leave it at my MILs house, because Jeffrey made me promise to stop bringing home stray furniture. He's right. I do have a problem. I can't walk away from a pretty piece of furniture unless I know it's in a good home.<br />
<br />
3) <b> I'm in disgustingly bad shape.</b> I knew I was in bad shape. I've been in bad shape for years now. And Jeffrey hasn't been in the best shape either, so we decided to go for a jog. I didn't make it out of the parking lot before I felt like dying. I suffered from a headache for the rest of the evening. It was horrible and embarassing, but mostly, scary. I can't even run an 1/8th of a mile. I can't even jog that far slowly. I decided I wasn't ready for jogging yet. I need to get in shape, but I can't make myself feel so sick again. I'm too busy for that. So I went for a walk last night instead. It wasn't more than 3/4 of a mile. I was panting by the time I got there. WALKING. Not even walking briskly, but just walking like a normal person walks. Even at my previous worst, I could do that. I used to be able to walk endlessly without feeling anything. And now I cant. I'm scared. I don't want to be that sickly. I need to get better.<br />
<br />
4) <b>My coworkers have changed!</b> I have worked at Wendy's for over two years now. And it's greasy and gross, and the smell of french fries has permanently permeated my skin. It doesn't wash off. Customers are rude asshats almost just as often as they are kind. It's surprisingly hard work, in a physical sense, and I don't particularly enjoy any of it. It doesn't pay anything and we end up with a new manager, on average, every 3 months. Half of them are jerks. My favorite manager was transferred about a month ago to a new store. We were really upset. She loved our store, and we loved her. Yesterday, I found out that she had been transferred again, BACK TO US! The new manager that had replaced her (whose name I never even learned. I never worked a single shift with her) hated our store so much that she threatened to quit if they didn't transfer her. So now we have V back and it's super awesome. I don't really have friends outside work, and she was the closest thing I had to a best friend in the area. I was heartbroken when she was transferred. All of us were. On night shift, my shift, we are a group of best friends. There are only two people I don't like. And on the same day that I found out V was coming back, I found out that M (one of the two I don't like. She's a bossy rude bitch, and she likes to push and shove people. I'm clumsy enough on my own. Please don't knock me into the fryer.) had put in her two weeks notice. All in all, awesome.<br />
<br />
5)<b> </b>And most importantly, and the reason I started this post, <b>Jeffrey and I had a pretty serious argument/discussion.</b> It started about grammar (just because I don't write much any more doesn't mean I don't still care) but that was more just the surface stuff. What it came down to was that whole "open and honest" thing that I kept trying to pretend when it wasn't really the case. I don't want to go into particulars here, because it's fairly personal (I'm not opposed to sharing if anyone is curious, but I don't like to air my dirty laundry online so publicly). It was crappy, and I still feel awful about some of the things I was thinking and feeling, but eventually I shared them, and he had no idea that I had been thinking and feeling such miserable things for so long. There are not a lot of things I hate more than arguing with Jeffrey, but, as crappy as it was, I think it was probably a good thing. It cleared the air in a lot of ways.<br />
<br />
And already, I'm starting to see that I'm getting better. My <a href="http://wncboat.blogspot.com/2013/02/a-new-leaf.html">first blog post after the break</a>* I mentioned an argument I had with Jeffrey, in which I said nasty and hurtful things. I didn't do that this time. I wasn't even tempted to. I didn't even yell. We just talked angrily. And it was good. It was awful, but it was good. We both have some things to work on, but we are working on those things.<br />
<br />
I'm going to be more open and honest on here too. Because I want to be. Because I need to be. Because I want to be someone that I like, again.<br />
<br />
______________________________________<br />
* What do I call that break? The post I made on Feb. 12 feels like the first post on a brand new blog, but I've chosen to keep this on my old blog (because back story is nice, right?) It's like a different timeline though. I feel like it needs a name.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-46233770320642114132013-03-05T18:55:00.003-05:002013-03-05T18:56:53.563-05:00While You Weren't SleepingThese past couple weeks, I haven't been sleeping properly. I've been suffering from anxiety attacks that keep me up at night, and nightmares what wake me up once I'm finally down. I got no sleep for so many days in a row that I couldn't remember my last good night's sleep. It was so brutal that one night, I had to get out of bed, and turn on the lights to fight off the anxiety, and then I was so frustrated and tired that I lay on my living room floor, sobbing.<br />
<br />
When I first started not-sleeping I wished for a fast-foreward button. I just wanted to be a few years ahead of where I am now. I'm making progress towards what I want, but it's slow-going. I was miserable with everything. I started to write a blog post about it. About how I felt miserable even though my life is great, even though everything is going in my favor, about how confused I was about feeling so awful. Things for me a great, so why did I feel so down?<br />
<br />
By the end of last week, I was so tried, and so miserable that I wanted to kill myself. It's been a while since I felt like that, and admitting it right now makes me really uncomfortable. I think it was just the lack-of-sleep. Right now, I don't want to die. Not at all. At the time, I just wanted the pain to stop, and sometimes I get caught thinking that's the only way to make it. Not usually, not often, but sometimes. Sometimes, when I'm emotionally drained and phsyically unwell, when the anxiety is too much, and the exhaustion is overwhelming, I think like that. I think it would be easier to just roll over and die. Just to make it stop.<br />
<br />
And I think that's why I stopped blogging last year. And I think that's why I don't talk to my best friend anymore. Because when I feel like that, I know better than to share. If they believe me, they will be worried, scared. No matter how desperate I get, I wouldn't do it, because I couldn't do that to the people I love. Jeffrey, Amanda, Lauren, all of my friends, would be hurt. I couldn't hurt them like that, no matter how desperate I was. One person's pain is nothing compared to the pain of three, four, five or ten people.<br />
<br />
So if my friends realized how serious I was, they would be concerned. And more likely, they would think I was just attention-whoring, and that would be even worse, I think.<br />
<br />
I don't think like this very often. I need anyone who reads this to understand that. The big, the bad, the bold "I want to kill myself" is not an everyday occurrence, or even an every month, or every year thing. It just happens once in a while.What I'm really talking about is that miserable feelign that proceeds it. That "fast-foreward button" thinking that I do. That's why I stopped talking. That's why I shut down. That's why.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I fall apart. And I'm okay. I will eventually be okay. I'm blogging right now, because holding myself accountable is something that will, I hope, help me be okay, and stay okay.<br />
<br />
Even when I fall apart, it's not that bad. While I was drowning in exhaustion, I made a friend. I'm not good at making friends. I have friends in Massachusetts, and I have friendly acquaintances everywhere I look, but I don't really have any local friends, besides Jeffrey and his family. I am friends with my manager at work, but if she gets caught hanging out with me outside work, she'll be fired, so we don't very often. I don't want to. I don't want her to get in trouble, and I get nervous. I worry. I care. But now I finally have a friend who I wouldn't be afraid to call up and say "Let's go on an adventure, today." Of course, he's moving at the end of this month, so that sucks. I already have plenty of friends who I talk to online only. I want an adventure buddy while Jeffrey is at work! I want someone who I can invite to have dinner with Jeffrey and I!<br />
<br />
And now I've totally changed topics, but I'm going to leave it, because I think it's also good to remind myself that there is hope. There are good things.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-34892589859107435072013-02-20T09:05:00.000-05:002013-02-20T23:30:39.979-05:00Switching Schools?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->I am so proud of my high school. Always have been. I went
there for four years and loved it the whole time. Even when I was failing
classes, I was learning so much. Some of the teachers from that school hold the
top ranks on my mental list of the smartest people I know. It was a good
school.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not really proud of my university. It’s a prestigious
school, with a wonderful reputation. I’m lucky to have gotten in, with my high
school grades what they were. The campus is beautiful. The people are friendly,
and there are some super silly traditions that appeal to me immensely. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But honestly, the whole experience feels a bit like a joke. I’ve
been there for two years and I don’t feel like I’m any better off for it. I
haven’t learned anything in my classes, and it bothers me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m smart, but I’m no genius. I have a lot to
learn, and I’m paying an arm and a leg for these people to teach me, or at
least point me in the direction I need to teach myself, and they aren’t doing
either. I’ve learned more in my own free time these past few years than I have
in classes, or doing projects for classes. That’s not okay with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The English department is decent. Not quite up to my
standards, still haven’t learned a lot in those classes, but the professors at
least seem very knowledgeable about their subject areas, which I can’t really
say of other professors. But the education department, is laughable. No one
likes it. It’s unorganized (a trait I’ve grown to associate with the entire
university) and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the staff don’t
communicate with one another. I’ve had the head of the department lose my
paperwork. I’ve filled out four forms with the same information on each, just
formatted differently. I’ve been told one thing by my education advisor, a
different thing from the head of department, and a third thing entirely from
the department secretary. No where have I been able to find a complete list of requirements
for teaching licenses. I have had to piece together requirements listed on
several different forms and make my own list.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My fiancé, who is going for his masters degree through the
same program, took a required class called “Integrating Classroom Technology.”
The professor had never taught before, so I wonder how much he really knew
about technology in the classroom. How was he supposed to know the difference
between effective and ineffective strategies, beyond his own personal
preference, if he had never run a classroom prior to teaching about classroom
technology? (as a side note: man only had a bachelors degree, even though he
was teaching a graduate class. I don’t believe that degrees define worth or
skill, but he already, in my opinion, was not qualified. If they weren’t having
someone qualified, they could at least pick someone who was unqualified who had
been through the same process!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want to finish at my university, but I’m too far
into my English degree to transfer. I would much rather have a degree from a
school I can be proud of. It doesn’t even need to be as good as Sturgis was. Just
needs to be better than this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently found out that the other college in the area DOES
do teaching licensure (despite having been told to the contrary in the past). They
also have a program where someone who already has a degree can just take
classes for their teaching license. I’m nearly finished with my English degree,
and was planning to spend a million more years getting my teaching license
anyways, but now I’m considering just finishing my English degree really fast,
and switching to the other school. Dropping my Education stuff temporarily. I
haven’t made the final decision yet, I need to do a lot more research before I
can, but that’s what I’m leaning towards right now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I think it might end up being cheaper that way anyways. </div>
E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-78411511491073236152013-02-12T18:04:00.003-05:002013-02-12T18:09:46.025-05:00A New LeafIt's been a year and a half since I posted on this blog, but not for lack of caring, or lack of wanting to. I still want to blog. I'm now going to be blogging again. <br />
<br />
Before I stopped posting, I was posting less and less, and less. I can't pinpoint exactly when it started because it wasn't a sudden thing, it wasn't a certain moment. It happened slowly. Bit by bit, I stopped.... stopped everything. I stopped writing, I stopped reading, I stopped cooking, I stopped caring about school, but most importantly, I stopped loving, and I nearly stopped caring.<br />
<br />
This blog was one of the first things to go, because no one who read it would hold me accountable. No one would send me a concerned email, and I knew that. Then I stopped writing entire. It was a solitary activity. No one would notice. Slowly, I began to hate myself, and stopped doing things that made me happy. I knew I didn't deserve to be happy. I knew I didn't deserve to waste my time on frivolous activities that weren't actually productive. I withdrew from my family, from my friends, even though I was having really intense social cravings. I wanted friends more than anything in the world, but I pushed away the ones I had, and I couldn't make new ones - I didn't deserve it, I didn't need it, I'm socially awkward, I get anxious in social situations: I had every excuse in the book playing through my head, constantly.<br />
<br />
<br />
I still cared for everyone, in my heart, but in my actions, I may as well have been a stranger, or worse. I was even driving a wedge between Jeffrey and I. We started arguing. I was nasty towards him. I'd say mean things, try to get him angry with me, provoke him until finally, he would get angry, and then, when I realized I hurt him, I would shatter. I'd cry, and I'd revert back to the tiny child I had once been. I would crawl into the smallest, darkest corner of the room and isolate myself to get myself under control. He, knowing that small corners are my safe-spaces, would get concerned - <i>Had he hurt me that badly?</i> - and he'd crawl into the closet or under the desk alongside me, and rock me, and let me know he wasn't going anywhere. He'd tell me he loved me, apologize for his part in the argument, apologize for upsetting me. <br />
<br />
We argued a while back, a couple weeks ago, I can't remember over what, but I remember trying to think of something to say to make him angry, and I remember realizing, all of a sudden, what I was doing. I hadn't been doing it on purpose, and suddenly I was aware. The whole argument is a blur now, besides that one tiny moment, but I ended up opening up a whole lot that day to Jeffrey. There were a lot of tears and I crawled up under my desk twice, but both times I crawled out on my own, and I made a decision. I know it's February, a little late for New Year's Resolutions, but I'm making one anyways.<br />
<br />
I am going to spend this year getting myself back. I'm not going to push people out. I'm not going to be mean to the people I love most, and I'm going to get back to taking care of myself, and my mental health.<br />
<br />
When I was in high school, I did my nails every day. I shaped them, I buffed and polished them, and I painted them. Every day, I did my nails. I didn't do it because I like having nice nails (although I do like that too). I did it because I found going through those motions to be very theraputic. But for over a year after I moved out (the second time) I didn't even own a single one of my nail supplies. No buffer, no nail file, no nail polish. I mentioned that to a friend a few days ago, when I was just getting back to painting my nails, and she said "Wow. I don't even know what your hands would look like if they weren't done. I can't picture it."<br />
<br />
So this is me, turning over my new leaf. I'm going to get back to being the person I like being, rather than someone I hate. I'm going to be me again.<br />
E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-41389366033886721252011-08-27T13:04:00.000-04:002011-08-27T13:04:19.000-04:00Pinterest, Sewing and Other Fun ThingsWhen I was a kid, I loved sewing by hand, but eventually I stopped. When I was older, we got a sewing machine and I loved that too, before my mom decided it needed to live in the basement, out of the way. A few weeks ago, maybe a month, I decided I wanted to get back into sewing.<br />
<br />
A couple weeks later, my best friend sent me a link to a "pin" on Pinterest. She, along with the rest of my friends, loves coming up with ideas for my wedding. It's the little girl in us all coming out again. Every little girl plans her wedding. The first girl to get engaged in any group of friends gets a lot of help planning her wedding. So she sent me a link to some wedding invitations. I explored Pinterest and fell in love. I started by looking at wedding ideas, photos and DIY tutorials for weddings and parties. Then I realized that people were posting home ideas. Everyone knows that I'm really big into things like that. I'm a furniture junkie with a love of buildings, and a love of colors. A few days after I started pinning like a mad fiend, I discovered a lot of people were posting..... wait for it...... SEWING THINGS! Patterns, tips, ideas, product reviews on sewing machines. places to buy cheap fabric.<br />
<br />
<br />
I really need a sewing machine, but in the mean time, Jeffrey's grandma is letting me use hers whenever I want. I've already got a few simple projects I want to try, and some complex ones that I want to try but that need to wait until my skill level increases.<br />
<br />
And I've got a new favorite website that provides me with a never-ending supply of ideas for sewing projects, and home ideas. And wedding ideas. And a lot of other things (recipies! <3 ). I'm happy.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-14213598757440845232011-08-25T00:14:00.000-04:002011-08-25T00:14:51.882-04:00CAR CAR C-A-RI grew up in a neighborhood with a bunch of other kids. When we were playing in the road and a car came my friend Morgan, my age, would shout-sing "Car, Car! C-A-R!" She tried it once with truck and it didn't have the same sing-songiness. I can't type the word "car" without thinking of that little song. Somehow, it became a part of me.<br />
<br />
<br />
This past week I took (and passed!) my driving test, bought a car, and figured out insurance. Jeffrey helped me inspect the cars (I dont know what to look for, so far as potential problems go) but other than that, I did it all on my own. I'm really proud of myself. Yes of course, because I got my license, because I saved up and bought my first car and paid in full. Yes, because I figured out all the insurance stuff on my own.<br />
<br />
But also because of the little things that most people wouldn't think to ask me about, or wouldn't think are big deals. I'm proud of myself because for the first time ever, I feel like I'm totally in control of my anxiety disorder. Things that are triggers for my horrible attacks? Talking to strangers, being in the spotlight, talking on the phone. All three things which I have done in the past week. Not only was I able to handle all of these things without having an attack, but I was able to handle all of them RIGHT ON TOP OF EACH OTHER.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling quite proud of myself. Like I've finally done something right. Also, this means school is possible. I always feared, in the back of my mind, that I wouldn't be able to get to my classes because I wouldn't get a car/my license, and Jeffrey wouldn't be able to drive me. Those fears are now at ease, and I have one week before classes start. I think things will settle down a bit then.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-73270797267311281682011-08-01T14:06:00.000-04:002011-08-01T14:06:47.063-04:00Pure Bliss (FloydFest X)This weekend was amazing. I heard music and danced in the dark until long after midnight. I played in the rain. I sweated like a pig in weather hotter than it should have been. I left my purse, wallet and all, completely unsupervised under a canopy in a crowd of 20,000 people, and didn't worry for a moment. My cell phone's only function for four days was a clock, and we only used the computer for a few moments each morning, to check the weather. Complete strangers offered me several types of drugs, and even though I turned them all down, I still felt completely high. It was a freeing experience, unlike anything I'd ever felt. It was blissful. It felt like childhood, only as an adult. No responsibility, no long-term thoughts. I was completely in-the-moment for the whole weekend.<br />
<br />
I don't think I could live like that permanently, or in any long-term sort of situation. It's a relief to be back home. But I understand now. I understand why people make stupid mistakes. Because at the time, they aren't thinking about what'll happen next week. I've always "known" that, in my head, but now, I understand it. I've felt what it is to not be aware of future consequences. Until this past weekend, I can't remember a time where I've ever been so completely in the moment. It's a little scary.<br />
<br />
When people offered me drugs, I didn't say "no" because I remembered all the addicts that I knew, or because I remembered what they taught me in school. It wasn't because I feared being arrested, or failing a drug test at work. I said no because the music and the dancing and the darkness already made me feel high. I didn't need the drugs to get the feeling, so I just laughed and said "Thanks, but no thanks." It's scary to look back on. I was totally in the moment and consequences and futures didn't exist for me then. If I had been in another mindset, I could have said yes. I could have ruined everything I ever worked for. But then I remind myself that, if I had been in another mindset, consequences would have existed and I would have said "no" anyways.<br />
<br />
There isn't any action that I took this weekend that is different from what it would have been, if I had thought things through. I keep reminding myself of that, telling myself "You didn't do anything wrong. Just enjoy the memory of that pure bliss you felt," and yet, I fear and I worry.<br />
<br />
If I lived in that mindset constantly, I could turn into my mother.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-51554610644454992012011-07-21T14:19:00.000-04:002011-07-21T14:19:43.031-04:00So Close, but so far away!I got a message this morning on facebook from my sister, saying my mom had relapsed and she was scared. It was timestamped 2am. I messaged her back, and have been calling and texting, but I haven't gotten any response from her since then. My other sister seemed normal and unaware when I talked to her this morning, and I didn't have the heart to break the news to her. For a little while I was in denial. Maybe Lauren had misunderstood. A miscommunication. Maybe Lauren had a bad dream, and, half asleep at 2am had thought it to be reality.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling really numb. I'm not really surprised, and I'm not heartbroken. I'm surprisingly okay. It frightens me, to know that I have become so numb to this. I would have expected to feel angry, like I always used to be. Hurt, offended. Worried, scared and heartbroken. Really, I just worry what this means for my sisters, how it will effect them, and I worry for my mothers internal organs. But as for me, personally, I'm only minimally effected.<br />
<br />
I hate not knowing what's going on, but I haven't the guts to call anyone who might know. I keep calling my sisters, and I'll offer my support to them. They always will have me. But eh. I can't say I didn't expect this to happen at some point. Even the best of people, the most determined fall off the wagon a few times before they reach a safe, stable place. She was doing everything right, but sometimes it just takes time, and I could hear in her voice how impatient she was.<br />
<br />
Its one of the reasons I didn't want her to visit me. I couldn't handle that sort of..... seeing her and watching her fall. I can almost bet that if I was home, I would be feeling something unpleasant right now. From Virginia, I worry. In Massachusetts, I'd surely be in a frenzy right now.<br />
<br />
I feel unbelievably numb. I don't feel like a whole lot of anything. It's sucked the enjoyment and happy out of my day, but that hasn't been replaced by sad and anger. I feel somewhat empty. All I really feel right now is a desire to hear back from my sisters, to have them tell me that they're okay.<br />
<br />
I was going to call my aunt today, just to chat and catch up, but it's been so long since I called her. I dont want it to seem like I only call her when something goes wrong. I had planned on calling her.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-61375221618810869642011-07-13T12:12:00.000-04:002011-07-13T12:12:15.551-04:00End of an EraThe summer between third and fourth grade I discovered something amazing. I was taken to this brand new world, and when school started back up, I made new friends in that world. That world was Harry Potter, and the friends I made were with characters in the books, but also with people who I met in real life, who I might not ever have talked to otherwise. It was Harry Potter that introduced me to the two people who are the closest things to soul mates that exist. My best friend Chelsea, and my fiance Jeffrey. I've probably told this story a hundred times. I'm such a sap.<br />
<br />
I met Chelsea in September when school started. Over the summer she had moved to my town. For my 10th birthday, in November, she gave me a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. How did she know me so well, so soon? My sister spilled a cup of fruit punch on the table, turning the last 30 pages pink on the edges, and I was so angry. She spoiled my most important book. I got over it, and somehow, over the years, I lost that book. I still hate that I lost that book. I treasured it, and then it was gone. At some point, years ago, I managed to steal Chelsea's copy of it, and only recently mailed it back to her.<br />
<br />
The first movie came out the day before my 11th birthday, and a trip to the movie theatre and for pizza afterwards was my party that year. Chelsea then spent the night at my house after. The second movie came out around my 12th birthday, and again I had a Harry Potter Movie birthday. Before the third movie came out, Chelsea and I were at her house, and decided to watch the trailer for the movie, which neither of us had seen. She had dial up and it took forever to load. We would watch a few seconds, and then when a few more had loaded, start back at the beginning and watch it again. It took a good hour, maybe more, but it was amazing. Chelsea and I wrote fan-fiction together and separately, and read our stories to each other over the phone. We also posted them online, but we always were reading ahead in each others stories. We went to the midnight releases of the 5th, 6th together at Barnes and Noble. For the 7th book, I managed to talk another friend into rescheduling her sweet sixteen, because I had already made plans with Chelsea to go to the midnight release. When the 7th movie (part one) came out, Chelsea and I were 800 miles apart, but that didn't prevent midnight phone calls, discussing mutual tears. The three of us, Chelsea, Harry and I, have been a unit for most of my life. The 8th movie, or the 7th part 2, comes out as soon as it turns into Friday.<br />
<br />
Chelsea will be in Ireland, I will be in the US. We don't have the money for international phone calls, and our midnights are at different times. Everything is all backwards and messed up and I miss my best friend. I'm sad. And yet, I can't be sad. She's going on an amazing trip - I'm supposed to be happy for her. And I am. But I can't help but wish this trip was at any other time. A part of me would rather have her here for this than even have her at my wedding. How stupid is that? She's my best friend. But this is the close, the end of an era, and while I know this really wont change anything between us, it is going to change everything.<br />
<br />
I keep telling myself that it isn't the end - there is still Pottermore which hasn't even opened yet. And I try to tell myself that this is te same way that I felt when the final book was released. But when the 7th book was released I was with Chelsea. We started this journey together, and I wanted us to finish it together.<br />
<br />
I think back to a time, in 6th grade, when Chelsea and I planned an impossible road trip, when a mutual friend said that we wouldn't be friends by the time we finished 8th grade, nevermind when we were old enough to drive. And I look back - it's been 6 years since we finished 8th grade and she's still my best friend. And we still can't drive.<br />
<br />
And now I'm just babbling, but I feel better now. Still sad, still missing Chelsea, still upset that we wont be pottering together tomorrow night and in the wee hours of Friday, but its okay. We'll be okay. And Harry Potter will live on in my heart forever.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-34704026886456761032011-07-02T12:50:00.000-04:002011-07-02T12:50:51.997-04:00BudgetThis morning I decided to re-vamp our budget. I made a nice pretty one back when we were living with Grandma, sometime around Decemeber, but at the time, it was all hypothetical. We weren't paying our own bills for much of anything. And then the program that I used crashed (wtf quattro pro? why are you broken? and why am I the only person on the internet to ever have this problem? I can't find it documented anywhere!) and so that budget rotted away.<br />
<br />
But I'm an anxious one, and I've watched debt ruin both of my parents at different points of my life, so I really needed to figure things out. I opened up excel, which I have very limited experience with, and taught myself how to use it. I did add in a couple hypotheticals - car insurance for me - but I used a high estimate that I'd gotten - and after I did all the adding and subtracting we are making about $120 a month. I was very excited, until I came to a horrible realization.<br />
<br />
We have three bills that we don't pay. My father pays my cell phone bill, and his parents pay for his car insurance and his health insurance. Once I added numbers for those in, we end up losing money. But actually, we could probably afford to pay our parents to pay our bills. Their bills are cheaper to pay than ours would be. My father pays an extra $10 a month for my cell phone, but if I had my own plan it would be at least $50/month. Same thing with Jeffrey's health and car insurances. We're borderline able to afford it all, through other people.<br />
<br />
But for one moment in time, I was so proud of us. Not a lot of young couples in college get to say that they are doing it all on their own and saving money. For a brief moment I thought we were. Now, I'm determined to make it happen. I was already planning on getting a second job, but then I thought "eh, we're doing alright with me only working one." Now, I'm definitely going to (try at least to) get a second job for the rest of the summer.<br />
<br />
<br />
Right now, even though we have student loans, we have enough money in savings to pay them back, and not totally drain our accounts. The only reason we haven't done it yet is because we may need that money to pay for me to go to school this upcoming year. My uncle still says he'll take care of it, but that didn't happen last semester (thus, the loans being taken out in the first place). Right now, if I don't pay back my loans immediately, I WILL still be able to afford to go back to school. And because of the type of loan they are, I don't acquire any interest on them while I'm in school. I'd still really like to pay them back, before they start acquiring interest, but right now, no rush.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-10314126726587436572011-06-26T23:47:00.000-04:002011-06-26T23:47:17.532-04:00BlessedBack in January and February a homeless man used to come into Wendy's every day, and stay for hours reading his bible, or chatting with us and the other customers. He was a great man. Always laughing, making jokes, telling people he would pray for them. He never begged, even though he was quite open about his homelessness. Often, he refused people's offers to buy him something, explaining that if they did, would they please leave contact information so that he could pay them back someday.<br />
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One day, he came in, and headed straight for his table, where he sat, reading his bible. After an hour or two, he hadn't bought anything, which was unusual for him, but not unheard of. But that night, he looked sad, downtrodden. He didn't talk to me when I went by cleaning the tables, or when I went on break.<br />
<br />
While on my break, I tried to talk to him, but he didn't seem to want to talk. After a while, I asked if he was hungry. His response was "you don't have to buy me anything." <br />
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"That wasn't the question." I rolled my eyes for effect. "Are you hungry?"<br />
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A little, but don't worry about it. <br />
<br />
"I do worry," I explained. "No one should be hungry if they don't have to be." I got up, and went to buy him something.<br />
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"Just one doublestack," he said. It was our cheapest sandwich. Ninety nine cents. One-eleven after tax.<br />
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Sometime in early march he stopped being around. I often wondered what happened to him. About two weeks ago he reappeared. He didn't say a word to me or any of my co-workers. He didn't chat with any of the customers, and he didn't hang around and read his bible. He just came, ordered, ate, and left. At first I thought it was just someone who looked like him. A couple days later, he did the same<br />
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And then two days ago, he again came in, ordered, sat and ate. He didn't pull out his bible. I went on break and sat down, eating my own food. And by that point I had decided it wasn't him after all. That we now had a new regular who just reminded me of that old one. I mostly ignored him, since he didn't seems as social as he used to. I was texting my sister, and thinking about how I hadn't done dishes before work, when he came over and leaned over my table.<br />
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"Remember me?" he asked.<br />
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What? It was him after all. "Of course," I said. "Where've you been?"<br />
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"I got a job, working as a janitor at a church. I work most evenings so I don't come in anymore. I just wanted to give you this." he held his hand out. In it was one dollar, one dime, and one penny. $1.11. One double stack. "Here. And thank you for that burger."<br />
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I told him to keep his money, and reminded him of what I said that night in February. No one should go hungry. I explain to him that when I buy someone food, I don't expect to get that money back, but I thanked him, anyways. The fact that he remembered and tried to pay me back meant a lot to me. I couldn't explain it to him then, and I can't now. It's a powerful gesture. I wanted to cry, or laugh or thank him more. But he just told me to have a blessed night, and then he left before I really figured out how to react.<br />
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I hope you have a wonderful, blessed life. You've certainly touched mine.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-86723741580483699932011-06-10T14:45:00.000-04:002011-06-10T14:45:51.185-04:00I Spoke Too SoonI posted too early this morning. Maybe an hour after I posted that blog, my dad called. We talked about the normal stuff - his upcoming surgery (nothing major, just a revision for something that went wrong on his first knee surgery! No worries!) his job, my job, the weather, a sink I repaired last weekend (I was proud!), and my dad's siblings' various projects. All good stuff. My uncle Mark is building a porch, my aunt Lisa is opening a new gym (gymnastics) Ed's starting up some new company, and the rest of the family is doing all sorts of other things as well. Those were the highlights.<br />
<br />
Then he says "So what's going on with your mom?"<br />
<br />
Now, to you, that might not seem like much, but to me it meant everything. "What's going on" doesn't mean "how is she? What's see been up to lately, I haven't seen her in a while." No. That's not what he meant at all. If that's what he had meant, that's what he would have said. That's usually what he said.<br />
<br />
"What's going on" means that something notable is going on, but he's not clear on the details. I explain to him that last weekend my mom was having heart palpitations (which, incidentally, might be due to a heritable disease. That's good news. I've been having serious and painful heart palpitations for years and no one knew what was wrong with me. Now, I might have the start of an answer. but that's beside the point!) My mom had gone to the hospital, they gave her some medication that was supposed to help her heart, and told her that they weren't sure what the aftereffects would be, and not to drive. I thought my father was talking about why my mom hadn't seen Amanda and Lauren last weekend.<br />
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And then he goes "What about the house?" House? What house? What about the house?<br />
<br />
My father had been at my moms house the other day (my father's work trailer is still in her yard, and her garage is still my dad's storage unit) and the landlord had shown up. They got to chatting, and the landlord told my father that my mom is being evicted. She's supposed to be out on the 17th. The 17th. THE FREAKING SEVENTEENTH OF THIS MONTH! Today is the 10th (although apparently this conversation happened about 3 days ago, and the landlords had set the eviction ball rolling over a month ago). My mom has 10 days left to vacate the house. She hasn't said a word to me.<br />
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Now, my dad wasn't sure the landlord was telling the truth. He said "There's also a good change he just said that so I would get my stuff out of the yard" and then mentioned that he had some bead-board and other loose supplies and tools. Okay. Maybe the landlord was just trying to scare my dad. I can tolerate that. I can't tolerate my mother lying to me. Two weeks ago she was talking about re-decorating the kitchen. Now she might be moving? What?<br />
<br />
While we were on the phone, my dad decided to poke around the house. He didnt have his key with him, and my mom wasn't home, so he just looked through the windows. Apparently, her couches are not in the living room. Where they were, I don't know, and she had stuff all over the back porch. However, the bedrooms, all of them, were still set up. Okay. Weird.<br />
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I don't know what's going on. Maybe I'll find out later, since I have to call my mom today anyways, and make sure she has a camera to video tape my sister's act in her school talent show. I cried when I found out she was in it and I couldn't be there. I really really have to make sure someone gets it on video for me. I need it.<br />
<br />
And I need to know what the deal is with my mom, too.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-63169602581523826372011-06-10T12:05:00.000-04:002011-06-10T12:05:44.661-04:00Dreams, and School, and other thoughts.I know, I know, I've posted this before. It stopped, and then the problem came back twice as bad.<br />
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My dreams. They're crazy! In the past week I've gone on a road trip, given birth, been attacked by birds, been abandoned, gone back to high school, and a whole host of other things.<br />
<br />
I used to love my dreams, loved remembering them when I woke up. This past week, I haven't slept a full night. They aren't just dreams, and then I wake up and remember them. That would be just fine. None of these dreams were horrifying. Some were scary, but none were absolutely terrifying. But each of them has been so vivid that I've woken up. This doesn't seem like a huge problem - I wake up once or twice throughout any night anyways - but when it's a dream that woke me up, rather than a chill because I lost the blanket, or an elbow to the face (thanks Jeffrey <3 ) it's different. I can't just roll over, get comfy and go back to sleep. It just doesn't work. I can get as comfy and cozy as I want, and my mind just keeps on running at 1000 miles an hour.<br />
<br />
I don't think it's a sleep thing. I don't think that the problem is "I'm having trouble sleeping." I think the problem is something else. I think the problem is my brain's current state. I haven't been in a good place, mentally, lately. During the day, I've been scattered, tired, overwhelmed, and hating myself. And then I stop being overwhelmed because I get everything done, and when I stop being overwhelmed, I stop hating myself. But clearly being overwhelmed shouldn't make me hate myself the way it does. I need to clear my head. Even when I"m not overwhelmed, I'm not clear. I don't know how it get clear. My brain has too much stuff in it, and I think that is the cause of my lack-of-sleep. I just have too much in my head.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to get all this crap out of my head. I just know I want it gone. And the thing about it is, it's not stressful stuff. My parents are both stable. My financial aid for the next semester came in and it's lovely, and I do get to go back to school after all, for at least one more semester. If my parents and uncle can't help me (they have promised to, but I don't know how far I trust their promises) I will be okay for the fall. Fall semester is only going to cost me a little over $6000 out of pocket. Right now, I have that money. It was supposed to be money for me to get my license and a car, but school is more important. My apartment is close enough that I can walk to school if I need to. It'll take me probably about an hour to walk there, but my classes for next semester aren't early in the morning. It's doable, and I still have an ounce of hope that my parents or uncle will help out at least partially.<br />
<br />
But that's good new. A week ago I didn't think I'd be going to school at all. My sisters are both doing fine. My health has taken a turn for the better (except for the lack of sleep. that's putting me down a bit) and Jeffrey's doing great. My boss has finished his firing spree and work has been great lately. I've been writing and writing and writing. I don't know why I can't clear my mind. I wish I could.<br />
<br />
I wish I could sleep.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-28234646937857822082011-05-23T11:00:00.000-04:002011-05-23T11:00:49.833-04:00My PlannerI've probably mentioned it before, but I made myself a planner a few months ago. And then yesterday, I spent THREE HOURS sprucing it up. I pasted a green sheet of paper to the ugly brown cardboard of the cover, then sealed it off in plastic so that it wouldn't get stained when I inevitably spill something on it. I manually poked holes in about 60 pages (I didn't want holes as big as a regular hole punch). Since I don't have any fancy binding equipment, I was binding the original version with ribbon - Maroon ribbon that didn't even remotely match the colors I had put on my new covers. So I went to the store and bought black ribbon (I figure back is neutral enough that I can find other uses for it. a 10 yard spool for only 33 cents. I didn't realize ribbon was that cheap!) and then I had to sit a while and think about another way of threading the ribbon so that it wasn't as ugly as my old version. The binding on v1 was pretty ugly, stuck up in weird lumps and got tangled and all sorts of stuff. This is what I ended up with. Isn't it lovely? I'm super proud of it. Which is silly because it's just a simple craft project, but whatever. It's great. YAY!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCXncg4ood2U6KTZgkrTh7ve2tIpHOonEAdQk30Eoj6Wdvfv7Z7Ka0gOuQYb7Rs7eDXQ99Ab7PYU6nKPbprA8HSwwWxZ_StdLBwKJsWVBEDXuxj7XRyhyphenhyphenN09ftGIuAhVNOj6NK781wRZs/s1600/planner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCXncg4ood2U6KTZgkrTh7ve2tIpHOonEAdQk30Eoj6Wdvfv7Z7Ka0gOuQYb7Rs7eDXQ99Ab7PYU6nKPbprA8HSwwWxZ_StdLBwKJsWVBEDXuxj7XRyhyphenhyphenN09ftGIuAhVNOj6NK781wRZs/s200/planner.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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PS: I promise to stop being a neglectful blogger. The end of semester (which I'm still not ready to talk about) was a bit of a disaster, but I made it out okay, and I think my grades did too. Regardless, It was miserable and I didn't want to talk about it, and.... that's it really.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-52028139557717705062011-04-19T11:57:00.000-04:002011-04-19T11:57:30.052-04:00M is for MummaI've been back in touch with my mother for the past..... little while. I dunno how long. Not very, but weirdly, it feels like a long time. I guess because she's my mother, and I've known her my whole life.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's awkward talking about her. A part of me can't forgive her. After all that time, and all that stuff that I have forgiven her for, I guess I'm just worn out. I'm not really still angry, so much as afraid to build a relationship with her.<br />
<br />
But she's my mom. I want to. I love her. I miss her. Secret Life of the American Teenager (yes, I watch that show. No, you aren't allowed to laugh at me. I watch a lot of TV that I don't usually admit to watching) said something on it's last episode about how abused children still want to love their parents. I relate. I love my mother, and I want a relationship with her. But I'm so scared. And I'm still so hurt. Not angry, but offended. I guess I'm taking it personally.<br />
<br />
No one else wants to hear about her, or about how I'm trying to fix things. Everyone else I talk to is either like "she's bad news" or else "so what? it's your mom. of course you talk. it's not worth mentioning that you talked to your mother today."<br />
<br />
I guess no one gets it. I expected Jeffrey to, because he and his dad had an issue too at one point. But he doesn't. He doesn't forgive my mother, want to hear about her, want anything to do with her. Fine. But I do. He doesn't understand. I expected Chelsea to understant too, but I think she's too busy. I don't even know if I've tried to talk to her about it. She's go-go-go-go-go maybe even more than I am. I guess I don't want to bother her with my lukewarm ness.<br />
<br />
I don't know what I want to do. I'm really digging this phone-relationship that we have. We talk once in a while, and that's that. No pressure because that's all there is: phone calls. and they aren't scheduled. She can't let me down. But as much as I really like the lack-of-pressure of this arrangement, as part of me really wants a mom-hug. And phones just don't allow it.<br />
<br />
She comes home this weekend. She's out of rehab right now, and in a sober house, which I guess is some sort of halfway-house for sobriety. Then this weekend, she moves home. I'm excited for her. I'm scared. I miss her. I don't forgive her. <br />
<br />
I don't even know what I feel right now. I'm glad she's coming home, but I don't trust her to take care of herself at home, and I'd really rather her take care of herself than try and do something she's not ready for. But maybe she is ready. I can't see her. I don't know. I'm so confused. I definitely want her in my life, but I don't know what role I want her in. I don't think I'll ever be able to respect her as a parent again. But I do love her and want her in my life. I just..... don't know.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-72674607854129205882011-04-19T11:40:00.000-04:002011-04-19T11:40:27.439-04:00L is for Long Time AgoAlmost two years ago I wrote a letter to my sister that I just couldn't send. I was doing a lot of that at the time. Writing and filing away letters. It was before my blog, before anything, and it was my coping method. It worked to calm me down, I guess, but it didn't really do much more. It didn't help me do anything BUT calm down. This blog has done a lot more for me, getting comments, and also responses privately, that have given me great advice.<br />
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I have a lot of those old letters sitting around. Not long after I wrote those, I discovered Accentuate Writers Forum ( <3 ) and through that, Unsent Letters. You'll see the link to it sitting over in my blogroll. I don't know if you've checked it out, but you should. It's a whole collection of exactly what my coping method was. Letters that weren't sent.<br />
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I submitted a letter that I had written to Amanda, but I changed the names. I never heard back about my submission, and assumed it was rejected. I know Unsent Letters as a whole, had been put on the back burner for a while, because the woman who runs it had bitten off more than she could chew with it. She also runs the writers forum, and Twin Trinity Media which was putting out a few other books, and a few blogs of her own, and has a family and has numerous health issues, and I think I'm forgetting a few hundred other things she does. How she manages to do even half of that, I don't know. So Unsent Letters got put on the back of the pile, and I knew that, but I thought my story had been read before that.<br />
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I just received an email a few days ago from them saying what amounted to "do you still want us to consider this letter, after it's been so long?" and I didn't know what to say. In the past, I think I actually casually mentioned that I didn't want my letter read, if it hadn't been already. I had said that because I couldn't remember what I had written. I knew vaguely what it was about, but I have at least 6 letters to Amanda written in that same approximate time frame, all holding different details. Which was the one that I had sent in? Was it one that someone outside the family, who didn't know any of it would understand? Was it one someone could relate to?<br />
<br />
So when I got that email, it was like little gift. Apparently my "please disregard" was forgotten and I had a new shot at reading it. I opened it, scared. And I read it. And I started crying, because even thought I remember writing it (or ones like it), I had forgotten how much I felt at the time.<br />
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I told her that I would love to have my letter considered still. It's exactly what it needs to be. If it's not accepted, I'm alright with that. But I'm also really glad I wrote it, that the letter was saved and set aside. It's a very important letter to me, reminding me of where I was two years ago.<br />
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I regret changing the names to fake ones. I used "Amy" and "Laura" instead of "Amanda" and "Lauren". The names are close, but they just.... I dunno. I want the letter to have our names on it. I didn't even sign my name. I just signed it "E."<br />
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The letter sis more than just remind me of what I felt, but it made me more aware of who and where I am now, and how little has changed, even though it feels like so much has. My worries haven't changed much. My feelings about the situations even less. But then, some things have changed. I'm not so spineless and I'm a lot more independant. I think I've grown up a lot since I wrote that letter (which is funny, because at the time, I felt like I was more-or-less done growing up. I didn't realize I was so naive until I read that letter. And I'm sure two years from now I'll have this realization again, and yet I still feel so much LESS naive than some of the people I see walking around. It's strange to me, how I have always felt so much more aware of things than other people, and yet never aware enough.)<br />
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Write. Every day. and save it. Because someday, a few years from now, it'll really make a point to you. And I think this will happen to me for the rest of my life.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-68931055832083632052011-04-16T15:05:00.000-04:002011-04-16T15:05:26.701-04:00K is for KrayzeeWhat? You think I spelled it wrong? Nope. That's exactly how it's spelled, or at least, I find that people are so nuts that even spelling "crazy" seems too normal for them.<br />
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I got to work two minutes late at 4:02. I get my drawer counted and set up, and I'm taking my first order. We're about halfway through when a blond woman walks past the line, and SHOVES my customer aside. She throws an open burger at me, but I try to catch it, miss, and it lands on the counter. "I just came through drive-thru and every fucking time I come in here its like this. Why the hell can't you get my order right, bitch?" she doesn't stop talking but I inturrupt her. "I'm sorry, what's wrong with it, and I'll make you a new one."<br />
"Onions! You didn't put enough damn onions on it. I asked for extra onions, and you're ripping me off. I paid for extra onions."<br />
<br />
Now, first of all, extra onions are free, so you didn't pay for extras. Second of all, small sandwiches come with two rings of onion. I'm looking at at least 6. I didn't say that though. Instead I said "alright, extra onions. What sort of sandwich was it?"<br />
"A fucking cheeseburger. I'll have you shut down if you don't make me a new one right now."<br />
"A single or a double cheeseburger?"<br />
"Just a cheeseburger! You know what? I want my money back."<br />
"Alright let me get my manager."<br />
"What are you calling me a liar? I work in law enforcement. I'm a cop. I can get you shut down like THAT!"<br />
"I can't open my drawer without my managers key. If you want your money back, I need to get him."<br />
"Well then tell one of these other idiots to make me my fucking sandwich."<br />
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I get my manager, and wait while this is sorted out. Once she finally leaves (oddly enough, without her money OR her sandwich.) I finish taking the order I had stated already. "Sorry about that." I said. and he said "What are you sorry for? You weren't the one who shoved me. Crazy people."<br />
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The whole night went on like that. She was not the only person to threaten to shut us down. I also had one customer threaten to have me fired because it took too long (about a minute) to get her drinks done (4 sprites and a shake) and I had one threaten to hit me because I wouldn't give her free food/pay for it myself.<br />
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The whole night was ridiculous, or rather Krayzee.<br />
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Note: there were some good things. One of my regular customers (who I had previously just thought was overweight because I couldn't really see her figure in her clothes. Turns out she was pregnant) came in with her new baby girl. So tiny and beautifulE Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-29488068300917003102011-04-15T13:58:00.001-04:002011-04-15T14:04:01.675-04:00J is for Jumping AheadMy engagement to Jeffrey is a long one. We knew that from the start. Our tentative-wedding-date keeps getting pushed back further and further. We simply cannot afford a wedding right now.<br />
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But lately, with my stress levels off the charts, I've been really needing to focus on the happiest things in my life. One of the thing in my life that is absolutely fantastic is my relationship with Jeffrey. Since we're both busy, we aren't spending as much time together as we want to. Since I can't focus on actually BEING with him, I've, instead, been focusing on our wedding.<br />
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Some of it I find boring (seriously, who gets chair-covers?) some of it I can't even justify vaguely fantasizing about without talking to him (location, food, music?) but some of it, I can totally justify looking at.<br />
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<i>Stop. Pause, Step back. I've been planning my wedding since I was 12, or maybe earlier. Why is it that now that I'm engaged, I feel the need to justify looking at wedding things? Whatever.</i><br />
<br />
Back to the topic at hand.<br />
<br />
Why the HELL are weddings so expensive? Who can justify spending several thousand dollars on a DRESS? I fell in love, the other day, with a dress. I will not be getting this glorious dress because it costs $1000. I can't do it. Even if I had the money, I wouldn't do it. Surely it doesn't cost that much to make the dress. The materials aren't that pricey, and how much time really goes into making the dress?<br />
<br />
I've discovered something though. Prom dresses are a lot cheaper than wedding dresses. EVEN when they are the same style, by the same designer, with the same fabrics. I don't have the links anymore but I did find a case where that happened. They even used the exact same picture on the website. The prom dress was somewhere in the $200-300 range, and the wedding dress was about $1000. It was hilarious (but also saddening) So now I'm looking for white prom dresses. Besides, I don't want a train on my dress, and that's easier to find in prom dresses than bridal gowns.<br />
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Weirdness about me? I won't wear a second-hand wedding-dress unless I know who else has worn it. I would wear a dress if it was passed down from someone in my family, if one were to exist (I don't think anyone has their dress anymore but whatever). But wedding dresses are..... memories. Keep sakes. I guess I'm a little superstitious. I don't want to wear someone else's memories. It seems in poor taste.<br />
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I also fell in love with flowers, but those aren't as dramatically expensive.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-29418122703008469532011-04-12T15:12:00.000-04:002011-04-12T15:12:34.024-04:00I is for Internal DialogueThis post is hard for me to write. It means admitting things about myself that I'd rather just sweep under the rug. But I started this blog as a place for me to just get some things off my chest. A place to cry to when I needed to cry. So this is... that. And because this is so personal, there will be a rather liberal use of swears.<br />
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Lately, I've really been hating myself, and I don't want to say it, because then what? Is everyone supposed to tell me "oh you're so great"? Will that help? No, not really. Not even a little. People say that crap to me all the time. That's not it.<br />
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It's hard to explain, really. I hate myself because I've never DONE anything. Nothing worth being proud of, or at least, nothing I'm supposed to be proud of. Nothing anyone else is proud of. Everyone reminds me how I'm "overcoming" my situation. No. Stop it. That's TOTAL CRAP. Everyone has shit to deal with. I don't want to be "better than expected, given the life I had" I want to be actually, real "good." Good at something, compared to anyone, everyone. Does that make sense?<br />
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Children of alcoholics are more likely to become alcoholics themselves. Fine, whatever. BUT I DON'T WANT people to praise me for NOT BEING AN ALCOHOLIC. Lots of people aren't drinkers. I want people to compliment me for doing a good job, rather than for not doing a bad job. And I don't want people to compliment me for doing a mediocre job either. That's shit. If I do average when you expect me to do badly, well yeah, it's good I didn't do badly, but it's not worth complimenting me on either. You're either really good, in which case you deserve a compliment, or else you aren't. There are no "you're maybe sorta good."<br />
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So, I tried to be a super hero. I want so badly to be a super hero, for someone. Turns out, I am just average. I'm not cut out for super-herodom. I wanted to be that girl who was a full-time straight-A college student, working 40 hours a week, running her own household, paying her own way through school and keeping up with her own bills, and I wanted all that while still having time to spend with my fiance.<br />
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I tried it. I gave it my best.<br />
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And I failed. Right now, I'm the girl whose only working 30 hours a week instead fo 40, and still can't get straight As. I'm looking like a B+ student right now. My bills are paid, but I needed help paying for college. I haven't spent quality time with Jeffrey in FOREVER, and if it weren't for him, it would be a mess too. I haven't done the dishes or the laundry in ages.<br />
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I hate myself for it. I can look at it logically, and see that, while I'm not being amazing, I'm still doing pretty good, still doing alright, not failing, but it feels like failure. I'm not doing what I want. I'm not doing anything worth being proud of. LOTS of people go to college. Lots of people work and get decent grades. A degree doesn't even mean anything anymore. It doesn't mean you're smart; I've met a lot of dumb people with degrees. It doesn't mean you're hard-working; if all you do is school, it's not hard at all. It doesn't even mean you're going to get a good job.<br />
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I'm so damn tired of being not good enough. What the hell. I've given up on doing the things that mean the most to me (time with Jeffrey and writing my book) so that I could have this. So that I could go to school and have my job and be something special that everyone can look at. And now, I have nothing.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-72417440067279395842011-04-11T12:35:00.000-04:002011-04-11T12:35:51.046-04:00H is for Home (or lack there of)When I moved into my apartment last month, I was so excited. Glad to finally have my own space again, my own home. Somewhere that I simply loved, was proud of. The apartment is everything I wanted in on. Counter space in a kitchen (not even a kitchenette, but an actual kitchen), a good sized bedroom, and a bigger living room. The bathroom is pretty big, so far as bathrooms go. I have 4 closets.<br />
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But after living there for a month, unpacking, settling, it still doesn't feel like "home" to me. My apartment in Radford last year felt like home. I don't know what I'm doing differently. Is it because we aren't totally settled yet? Because our pictures aren't up on the walls? Is it because I haven't spent enough time there to really let it grow on me? Is it because when I am there, Jeffrey and I never sit down and do stuff together, it's always one of us or the other doing stuff? Is it because my upstairs neighbor is super-loud so I hear everything going on in their life, and it doesn't feel private, like my own corner?<br />
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I don't know what it is. I don't know why my home isn't... homey. I want it. I want to sit on my couch and feel totally at home there. Totally comfortable. I just don't. I wonder why, I think about how to fix it. We planned on living in this apartment for two years. It's the perfect location. 5 different school DISTRICTS within a one hour commute, for when Jeffrey gets his teachers certification, it's near-enough the highway that we can get on it easily, but far enough that we aren't listening to it. It's right near my college. Right near the mall. Right near several grocery stores. Everything is right there. It's perfect.... but it's not. And I don't know why. and it bothers me.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-46987664253874597212011-04-09T15:31:00.000-04:002011-04-09T15:31:05.947-04:00G is for Grade levelIn the district I grew up in, you had to be 5 years old before September 1st to start kindergarten. My sister was born in early September. We have a cousin, born exactly a month before, meaning, despite being the same age, they were always in different grades. This caused a fair few arguments between them.<br />
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But that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem is the kindergarten curriculum. ABCs, how to count to 100, and her colors. My sister was 6 years old. She was reading at a 3rd grade level, and doing double-digit addition and subtraction, and bring home coloring sheets with the directions "Color the A green."<br />
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We tried to get her bumped up a grade. Socially, she was advanced as well from a couple years in pre-school, as well as having several other kids in the neighborhood her own age. The school said no. They no longer allow students to be bumped up grades, not matter how advanced they were. (When I was in kindergarten, they tried to bump me up, however I was not socially ready for it.)<br />
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Since then, she has consistently been a grade or two above her classmates in school.<br />
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In September, she started 7th grade. A few months ago, she was switched to a home-schooling program. Last week, she was about to start regular school, but because she was in a home school program, they had to test her grade level.<br />
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Thursday, my sister finally started 8th grade. The same grade my cousin is in. I’m glad she’s finally not SO far ahead.<br />
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I’m also nervous. That means she starts highschool next September. Oh. My. God. I’m not ready for that.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-38621424410413609242011-04-08T12:51:00.000-04:002011-04-08T12:51:32.265-04:00F is for FoodI was going to write about Friends. But so far I've seen three A-Z Challenge posts about friends. I can never ever thank my friends enough for just existing, but I also feel ridiculous writing another post that has been written so much already. And I really don't have much to say on the family-front. What other F-words do I have in my life right now?<br />
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Food. I love cooking. I love eating. I miss both. If I had my way, I'd cook a meal or two every day, and baked goods whenever we ran out.<br />
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Unfortunately, I don't have enough time to do that. I can cook here and there at random, based on how much time I have, and how much energy. I made french toast last night, when I got home at 10PM. Quick, easy, delicious, and relatively healthy.<br />
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Does anyone have any recipe suggestions for foods I can make that take less than 15 minutes? If I could make a meal in only 15 minutes, I might be able to do it more often, which would be good for my mental health (I love cooking) good for my budget (I'm living off a lot of expensive microwave food) and good for my health (see: microwave food).<br />
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Recipes?E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-41730597541919416562011-04-07T15:26:00.000-04:002011-04-07T15:26:35.497-04:00E is for EurovisionIt turns out that when I find something I like, I get a bit fanatical. A few years ago I started getting into Eurovision. For those who don't know, it's a song contest. European countries who want to participate choose a song, and in May they all get together, and perform live, and... it's a contest so there are winners and greatness all around.<br />
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The countries have all chosen their songs now, and released their official music videos. I'm really disappointed that most of the music videos are the singers performing on stage. I mean, I LOVE seeing them perform live, but that's what the contest is for. This pre-contest build up is about.... pre-contest build up. I was looking forward to the videos. Oh well I guess.<br />
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Last year, I was certain from the moment I saw it, that Lena was going to win it for Germany. The song was catchy, cute, and any girl who had ever had a crush on a boy could relate. And the singer, well she was just adorable.There was no question in my mind that it was the winner. It wasn't my favorite song, but it was the obvious choice. (For the record, I was supporting Moldova, and am still not over how low they ranked in the final.)<br />
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This year,<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zoRPuk756qU"> Germany has my favorite entry,</a> with the same singer who won last year, but the song isn't a winner. It just wont make it.<br />
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This year, I'm fairly sure Ireland's Jedward will win, with a song called<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=75ux9AvDPfI"> Lipstick.</a> I'm not as certain about it as I was last year about Satellite being the winning song, but I'm still pretty certain. Let me make it abundantly clear that I CANNOT STAND THIS SONG, and that I think the singer (and their hair!) look ridiculous. Just... no thanks.<br />
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A part of me wants to bet on it. Last year, I regretted not betting on Lena when I was completely certain she would win (really, I could have made a small fortune!). Another part of me thinks betting on it isn't a good idea. I'm not as certain of the outcome, and, the real issue, if I bet on Jedward, than I would be hoping for them to win, even with a crappy song. I don't want them to win, and I don't even want to lend them my sideways "well if you win I can make some money" sort of support.E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3569360406105733275.post-67864847927389539692011-04-06T12:13:00.000-04:002011-04-06T12:13:50.530-04:00D is for "Day late." It's also for dreamsD is a day late, because I didn't have anything to write about. But now I do. And E will be on time today as well.<br />
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D is for Dreams. You know, the kind you have at night when you're sleeping. Not the hopes for the future (though those are good too!)<br />
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I have been having the wackiest dreams since we moved into our new apartment. I mean, yeah, dreams are weird and strange things happen in them, but the characters in my dreams are always physically accurate. People in my dreams don't fly and cat's don't bark. Magical powers? Rarely, and always appear as special magical abilities, rather than the norm in what world I dream in.<br />
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But since we moved into our new apartment, all sorts of weird, unrealistic stuff has been cropping up in my dreams. Last night was the first time I can ever remember having a flying dream. I've heard they're common, but I can't remember having one before. But last night I was flying all over the place, rescuing kittens. A few nights ago, turtles were speaking English like it was no big deal. These things don't happen in my dreams. My dreams are more like I'm seeing through the eyes of some normal person, but the person isn't me (usually). I am inside the body of a 5 year old with two older brothers, and the dream is just a segment of that child's life. Certainly that isn't my life, and that 5 year old isn't me, even though she is. It's like that. That's what my dreams have always been.<br />
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Sometimes, after I've just read a book, or written something, I'll put myself in that world, and if in that world, flying people are normal, THEN I might have flying people in my dream. But that's rare. And I haven't had the time lately to read or write.<br />
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I'm wondering if it's something in the air, or just my body reacting weird to sleeping in a new place. I dunno. But the dreams confuse me so much that it wakes me up. "Melody, why are you flying people don't fly?" and I wake up. Maybe I'm just not sleeping deeply enough.<br />
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Ah well. This was a crap post. Sorry guys!E Boathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03867736430145351692noreply@blogger.com3