Hi, it’s me. We’ve met once. You recently moved in, and you certainly seem nice. I just have some questions…
Why are you opening and closing doors all night long? How many times do you need to open and close your closet door at 2 a.m.? Why are you even awake at 2 a.m.? (For that matter, why am I awake at 2 a.m.?) Are you awake? Is this some sort of sleep-walking door opening/shutting thing you have?
Now, I realize that the one time we met, I told you that the walls are pretty thick, and we don’t hear much through them. The last person who lived in your unit was a nice, quiet old lady. The only time we heard a peep out of her was during Husker games. This is Nebraska, so no much surprise there. I don’t know if you took this all to mean that you could be super loud All. The. Time., or what. I’m just confused as to how so much noise can emanate from down there.
Anyway, I hope that one day you’ll find what you’re looking for in your closet.
Love,
Your super tired, and possibly passive-aggressive upstairs neighbor
–Oz: The Great and Powerful opened this weekend, and so far all reports I’ve heard from friends are in the positive. I am anxiously awaiting my turn to see it!
-I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what brings two people together and makes them consider marriage. I’ve known people who got married simply because they thought the other person had a cute butt (also, looking back, I think there may have been alcohol involved in their decision as well). What amazed me was that these people were confused as to why they didn’t have a great marriage. Then, there’s people who marry someone who seems like their perfect counterpart, and things either go brilliantly, or fall apart so terribly it makes others question whether marriage is really that great of an idea. After watching The Mirror Has Two Faces again (for the umpteenth time) last week, I have to agree with the idea of marrying your very best friend. I know this isn’t a new thought on planet Earth. That’s how it should be. You should marry someone who knows you better than anyone else. Someone who knows why you do the strange, quirky things you do, and finds it all endearing. Now, I have no magical idea that marriage is a happy-happy fun time wonderland. In fact, I know just from observation that it’s ridiculously hard. It’s tons of work. Why would you want to try to tackle that with someone who isn’t your best friend, and doesn’t really know you that well?
-Realizing that my weight truly is something I’m using as a defense, I’m making moves forward (somewhat drastic moves, for me at least) to deal with it. I find myself, sometimes several times a day, having to tell those memories of hurt, “You have no power over me!” It’s all very Labyrinth. It’s true, though. Just because something happened doesn’t mean that it has any right to control who I am or what I do. Yes, everything that happens serves to shape the person we become, but to live in fear and bondage and pain isn’t okay.
-Every time I watch Thor I come back with the same two questions. Spoiler-ish alert. 1. How is it that Thor manages to return to Earth in Avengers? The end of Thor kind of left him stuck at Asgard. Is Thor 2 going to solve this? 2. Why are people such big fans of Loki? Sure, he’s a great bad guy, but I’m a little weirded out by how girls seem so drawn to him. He’s malicious and greasy. Also, the way he toys with those around him is kind of emotionally abusive.
-Daylight Savings Time. Not really looking forward to it, but am awfully glad there’ll be an extra hour of daylight each evening.
-I solved the issue of fans being mad that–Spoiler Alert!–Matthew was left the way he was at the end of Downton‘s most recent season. At the beginning of next season, he should suddenly regenerate into David Tennant, and we find out that he’s actually The Doctor. Also, I would love to see the Maggie Smith character as a companion!
It’s that time of year again. “Weekend to Remember” time again.
Let me explain.
Every year, for approximately a month, my church will bring up “Weekend to Remember,” reminding all the married couples that this is something they should look into going to. Best as I understand it, it’s a weekend where a married couple gets together with other married couples to learn about being married, and to spend quality one on one time with each other remembering why they got married in the first place. With some couples, this seems like a good idea, but I’m thinking that there are probably some couples out there who’d much rather not remember why they got married, and if they do remember it’s going to cause more strife than lovey-dovey-ness. What do I know, though? I’m not married, so I can’t really offer any true judgement or expert opinion on these sorts of things.
This has gotten me to thinking. There really isn’t much available to Christian singles. Why is it that married couples have so many resources and weekends and classes available to them, but singles are pretty much left on their own? Are we considered less in need of help and support, simply because we have sole control over the remote?
On top of that, I decided to try Googling resources available to single Christians, and it’s amazing how many dating sites came up for me. When I tried looking for support, the pages I found mostly looked cheesy and archaic, and were filled with ads for dating sites. Plus, I’ve yet to encounter a book for single Christians that isn’t focused on dating/courting. Don’t misunderstand me, all these things are good and have a purpose, but where is the support system? I want guidance on how to exist as a single person in the day to day world. I want to be encouraged that I’m just as valuable a human being without a man as I would be with one.
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this train of thought (I know, I know, great thing to admit on something being published to be read by the general public), so maybe I just need time to process this.
Last week I was talking with a friend, and they mentioned an acquaintance who was struggling with something. My friend kept telling me that this other person had bad stuff in their past, as an explanation for why this person is the way they are. Of course, this got me to thinking. Don’t we all have bad stuff in our past? Sure, my bad stuff may seem like nothing to you and vice versa, but at the end of the day, we all have things that have happened to us that have turned us into the people we are. When I was growing up, my mom would always tell me that I could either get bitter or better based on things that happened. Out of everything my mom has taught me, this has probably been the thing that has stuck with me the most.
The thing is, I’m a processor. Whenever something happens to me, I need time to process the situation. Now, depending on the event, my processing time may be anywhere from a few hours, to a few days, to several years. I’ve been processing something that happened years ago, and the conversation with my friend last week, kickstarted my brain back into functioning mode. I’ve been debating all weekend whether or not to write about this. I finally came to the conclusion that the things that I have buried in my life are only going to harm me as long as I chose not to face them and keep them buried inside. There’s freedom in talking about things. Because I don’t want to get sued, I’m not going to write out all details (like names or dates). Suffice it to say, what I’m about to talk about happened several years ago, and I have more fingers on my hands than people who know about this.
When I was growing up as a pastor’s kid, every Sunday I almost always found myself standing at the back of the church with my parents after service. We would greet the congregation as they filed out heading for their cars and their lunches. Part of this ritual involved having my hand shaken, and getting hugs from nearly everyone who passed through. I never gave much thought to this practice, it was just what we did.
One Sunday, as people were passing through, one of the guys (he was probably in his late 20’s) gave me this hug, and for the first time in my life I got seriously creeped out by a guy. I brushed it off, and told myself it was nothing.
Except it wasn’t.
The next few weeks, every Sunday this guy would make a bee-line for me, and give me a hug that was just a bit over the line and intimate. One week, I tried hiding behind my parents, but not make it obvious I was. Unfortunately, that didn’t dissuade him.
Finally, after about a month of this, things came to a head. I came up with a plan to avoid this guy. As the service ended one Sunday, and we were walking to the back of the sanctuary, I asked my dad if I could have his keys so I could go to his office. He fished them out, and I quickly made my exit. My plan was to lock myself in his office and hide until everyone had left. I had just stuck the key in the door when I heard someone say my name, and by instinct I turned. There stood the guy. “I didn’t get my hug.” he said. He then proceeded to push me into the place where the door met door frame and give me this hug that to this day makes my skin crawl. Now, other, smarter, more savvy kids would’ve fought and gone running. I was in such shock I just stood there frozen with a brain that wouldn’t work, at all. Just then, this guy’s brother-in-law walked in, and I was released. Creepy guy took off, and I finished unlocking the office door, ran in and shut and locked myself in.
Not long after that creepy guy and his wife stopped being around so much, and I didn’t get any more awful hugs.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why my parents didn’t do something. Truthfully, they didn’t know until a few years ago, long after all this happened. I never said one word about what happened, and mostly blocked it from my memory. I was certain that I must have been a bad person to have something like that happen. I was certain it was all my fault. I no longer believe it was my fault. I’m not the naive innocent little thing now that I was then. I now realize that this guy had problems, and I just happened to be someone he set his sights on.
I really thought I had pretty much dealt with this. Then, this last week, I started thinking about the fact that even though nothing truly “bad” happened (although, I firmly believe if his brother-in-law hadn’t walked in something bad would’ve happened), this quick moment changed a lot in my life. I really shut down emotionally. I used to be this person who cared about other people and wanted to help and take care of them. I was definitely an extrovert. Following the hug, I slowly became more and more internalized, and now I’m a full-blown introvert. I struggle to force myself to be around people. The biggest change, though, is this:
No, I’ve not been turned into a llama. I do, however, have major issues with being touched. There are 10 people (this isn’t an exaggeration, I can count them all on my fingers, no toes needed) I know that I am willing to let touch me without wanting to physically push them away and then go and shower. What I find alarming is the fact that as much as I want a guy in my life, the idea of being touched terrifies me (and let’s face it, physical touch is part of relationships). I’ve also come to realize that much as I hate how heavy I am, I’ve not mentally been into losing the weight. Sure, I’ve given it a good go, but my mind has never been connected with the program. I think I’ve been using my fat as a defense. While there are guys who don’t mind fat girls, most guys avoid them. Being avoided because I’m fat means that I’m not going to get touched.
I’m sick of this. I’m horrified that I’ve let someone else’s issues have such an invasive effect on my life. He was a slimy sleazo, and yet his actions have had more influence over me than I thought possible. I refuse to let him win anymore. I’m tuned in now. I’m worth more than I’ve chosen to believe, and it’s past time for this weight to come off.
Tonight is just one of those nights. It’s been a super strange week, and now I find myself torn between wanting to just be left alone, and yet being so lonely I want to go be with my friends. It’s a vicious circle. Anyway, the week is just kind of ending on a meh note. Plus, I have all these thoughts in my head and no one to tell them to, so this is going to be my dumping ground, so my thoughts don’t eat me up… (the you I mention isn’t directed towards any particular person, just people in general)
-Don’t compare yourself to me. I’m not you and you aren’t me. We’re different people with our own separate issues. I’m not comforted when you jump in on every single thing I say to tell me how you have the exact same problem.
-I use self-depricating humor so that people will know that I know what’s wrong with me. If I mention it first, then it takes the club away. No one can beat me up about something I’ve chosen to mock about myself.
-If you can’t survive without being part of a couple, then you need to be single. I’m not saying this to be mean. You need to know who you are. You need to know how to do things for yourself.
-I have the right words, and likely I have the right answers. Putting them into practice, though, is so much harder. I wish I was better at it.
-Yes, I spend to much time on the internet. No, that’s probably not going to change anytime soon.
-Why is it that we always try to blame the bad stuff in our past on current ill behavior? I’m just as bad about this as everyone else. Truth is, we’ve all got bad stuff in our past, but we make the choice everyday as to how we’re going to handle life. Yes, our past does color our viewpoint, and have bearing on how we behave, but that’s still not an excuse.
-I was informed today that I needed to start planning my funeral if I’m not going to eat right and start exercising.
-Why is there so much obsession over vampires, werewolves, and zombies? I find Faeries to be much more interesting.
-Sometimes I worry that my mood is so dark, I’ll never see the light again.
Oh my, it’s been a bit of a time since I last updated. The main reason is that I’ve had very minimal internet access, and I was super sick. Combined, these things equaled no blogging. I think I’m back to regular updates now.
Apart from being ill, interesting things have happened since I last wrote. I went on a date! It’s true. I’m not making this up. Granted, it was mostly a blind date, but the main point is that I got asked out, and I actually went.
The date happened this past Sunday, and I had a great time. We met at the Durham Museum, and then went out for Mexican. Despite the fact that I was prepared for it to be super awkward (it’s a first date, could I expect different?), I felt like I had known this guy for a while. I even realized that I could easily like him as more than a friend. He seemed to have fun, and not to be totally uneasy in my presence, so I figured that all was well.
I can’t explain it, but come Monday morning, I started getting this real uneasy feeling. My spider-sense was tingling. Based on nothing, my brain came up with this thought, “He’s never going to want to see you again or have anything to do with you.” I tried to push this thought aside, but it kept bugging me. I got really down during work, but I just blamed it on my meds. What I take for my diabetes, makes emotions a little more severe. Happiness can turn into being ecstatic, and feeling a little down can turn into a black pit of despair.
Yesterday, Tuesday, morning, I awoke to an email from this guy. It was my first contact with him since Sunday evening when I texted him to thank him for taking me out. I won’t share the e-mail, but let me share the real “highlight” of it. He didn’t feel that “special spark” with me that he always promised himself he would feel with the person he is supposed to be with.
Really?
Really?
Special spark?
Hello! That’s tons of pressure to put on a first date. Especially one that was essentially blind. We’d only communicated a few weeks before that. So, all in all that was not even 10 emails, a few text messages, and a 2.5 hour date. What did he expect? That within minutes of meeting each other, we’d fall madly in love/bed with each other? This guy didn’t want to go on a date in real life. He wanted to go on a date in a movie! Also, it really irks me that he made this decision based on a date that took place the day after he went to Beerfest and got fairly inebriated. Yeah, in my experience, being hungover, even a little does not bode well for making solid choices.
Another thing, if you’re basing your choice for a life companion based on whether there’s a spark, that’s a really bad decision. When I was growing up we lived in a house with a fireplace. The thing I remember about sparks is that there are tons of them, they burn bright for a brief moment, and then are gone. Who wants that? Just because there’s an instant click, doesn’t mean that you should walk down the aisle together. Even the best romances from fiction and tv are the ones based in friendship. Elizabeth and Darcy hated each other to begin with, and yet they’re considered one of the most amazing love stories in literature.
All in all, the more I think about it, the more I realize what I disaster I got saved from. He spent tons of time talking about himself and his friends and his cats. It was all I could do to get a word in edgewise, and he certainly wasn’t interested in anything I had to say.
I guess the true positive is that I took a risk, something I’m not good at, and I gained some life experience.
Also, being the super-mature human being that I am, I may have spent a good portion of yesterday and today referring to this guy as a douche-nozzle. Not a very polite moniker, but much kinder than anything else I felt like referring to him as.
Shortly before I turned 5, my family moved from Denver to a little town in southern Illinois. We took a long two cats, Gracie and Marshmallow, some gerbils, and some fish. Not long after we settled in, the neighbor’s cat came around to visit with her kittens. She did this everyday for a couple of days. It was late fall, and the weather was turning cool. Mom couldn’t stand it, and she started leaving out food. Pretty soon, the mamma cat stopped coming, and only one little kitten remained. Somehow mom and I convinced my dad that we needed to take the kitten in. So, into our lives came a third cat, which in my 5 year old wisdom I named, Andrew George Mittens the Third. Andrew came about because at the time I was convinced that “Andrew” was simply the greatest boy name in the world. George was attached because our cat Gracie was named after Gracie Allen, so I thought it was appropriate to name the boy cat after George Burns. Mittens was because he had little white paws that emerged from his tabby coat. I didn’t quite comprehend the fact that “the Third” referred to line of descendants. I just thought it fit since he was the third cat we had at the time. Anyway, Andrew, George, and the Third rarely got mentioned, and he came to be known as Mittens.
Mittens quickly grew from being a tiny pathetic kitten, into a bit of a behemoth. He remained this for as long as he was in my life.
The first year I was in 4-H, I decided to spend the year preparing my cat to be judged at the county fair. Owning him was as close to owning livestock as I was gonna get. When I took him to the fair, I had to take him up to a panel of judges which included a veterinarian. Things didn’t exactly go smoothly. Mittens decided it was a good time to hiss and be generally unsociable. My mom ended up coming and holding him in place. The vet was terrified of him. I think the fact that I wasn’t scared of something she was, is what got me a blue ribbon.
We discovered, one day by chance, that Mittens could be called by the sound of hysterical crying. We were watching an episode of Little House on the Prairie, and Mittens was nowhere around. In the episode, Nellie Olson started fake hysterical crying. Out of nowhere, Mittens lumbered in desperate to check on mom and I. He was certain something was wrong. He never failed to come when I was crying.
When I turned 9, I had a really bad case of pneumonia. It actually hit a few weeks before my 9th birthday, and lasted until the middle of February. I missed the better part of 3.5 months of 3rd grade. The night I was at my worst, was the day we had gone to the doctor. The doctor prescribed me meds, and told my mom that if I got worse, I had to be admitted to the hospital. That night, mom sat on my bed and pleaded with God. To say we were poor would be an understatement, and there was no way we could’ve afforded a hospital trip. All that night mom prayed, and like he had from when I started getting sick, Mittens sat attentively on the foot of my bed. I did start to slowly get better after that night, and didn’t have to go to the hospital. Two weeks later when we went to the doctor for a check-up, he was in shock. He told my mom that he had thoroughly anticipated that I would be in the hospital the night of my last visit. He also told her that he had expected that I would die in the hospital.
Mittens lived with us, and saw me almost all the way through my teenage years. He was fat, and precious, and crabby, and wonderful.
When I was a freshman in college, I was living several hundred miles away from home, and things at home took a bad turn. My parents moved, and they couldn’t take Mittens with them. So, he went to live with a neighbor. He was really old at that point, and not in the greatest health. I never got to say good-bye, but I think (or at least I hope) that he somehow knew that we loved him and didn’t leave him willingly.
I’m sure he’s gone on to kitty heaven by now, but I hope he knows how marvelous and how precious and how important he was in my life.
I’m not dead, yet! It’s true. I’m not at 100% yet, but I’m feeling about 50% better than I did this time last night. I’m not sure what exactly I managed to come down with, but it’s been a real “treat” having it. I look forward to not blowing my nose anymore. On the flip side, I’m quite thankful that I have access to Kleenex and Nyquil. I just hope this week goes quickly so that I can have a fun filled weekend next weekend.
So, let’s see, what non-trying-to-die things have been going on in my mind lately…
-I really wanted to go to a movie this weekend. I haven’t been to one since I started working a month ago, and while that’s not really a long time, I just think it’d be fun to go now that I actually have a steady, reliable source of income.
-Speaking of, I still have a job! Granted, I missed a day and a half last week, but as far as I know they still like me and want me to continue working there! Oddly, the day I missed completely, I was so bored I found myself wishing I was at work. However, I was so sick, being at work would’ve been a bad thing.
-Finally watched the Doctor Who Christmas special. While it wasn’t bad, it just isn’t going to go down in history as one of my favorite Who episodes. However, I’m even more intrigued with the Clara Oswin Oswald character than I was before. I’m also hoping that she’s going to be a transition companion. While Matt Smith has grown on me (yikes, that makes him sound like some sort of medical condition), I just feel like it’s time to move on. He’s getting close to wearing out his welcome. Bring on Twelve I say!
-Going in the ditch in South Dakota has been on my mind, a lot, lately. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s the first time in my entire life that I truly felt utterly and completely helpless. Not 100% sure what to do with this, guess I’m still processing it.
-I’m finally getting around to writing the second draft of my NaNo story. The going is slow, especially since I’m pretty much only working on it during my break time at work. Guess it’s more a labor of love than anything else.
-Are there any good dating etiquette guides out there? I’m so confused and have no idea how one goes about dating. It was so much easier when you had gentlemen callers come call on you in the family parlor.
-Thinking I need to get my hands on season 2 of Downtonbecause I was utterly confused by the whole “Her Ladyship’s soap” bombshell that Thomas gave Bates. It has to be something from season 2, and since I missed most of season 2, if this is something from the show I would assume that’s where it’s from.
I admit it. I don’t handle pain, sickness, or anything else that’s vaguely unpleasant well at all. I am a pain wimp. I woke up about 4 am today with terrible pain radiating through my body. It did ease off eventually, and I was able to get more sleep. About mid-day, the awful pain returned, and it hasn’t left. It’s like the worst case of cramps I’ve ever had, except it’s hurting all over. If you’ve never had cramps, count yourself fortunate. The severe ones are not unlike having a tooth pulled without sedation. I wish I was exaggerating.
Anyway, the whole family is having bouts with the flu, and so my aches are just adding to the general fun of the house. However, since I was home today, I got to see the next episode of Downton Abbey. I missed last week’s episode, and since it was the only spoiler about the season I knew, I didn’t feel terrible about missing it. So, anyway, here are my predictions as to what the remainder of the season has in store. These are just predictions, so the only spoilers are regarding things that have already been shown. I’ve done a decent job of insulating myself against finding out what’s going to happen, which hasn’t been simple in light of the fact that most of the rest of the world has already seen the whole season.
1. I’m pretty sure Daisy is going to move to the farm. I think realizing that Sour-Puss has no interest in her was just the thing to push her in the farm direction. Overall, this would make me quite happy, because he does not deserve her, and she does deserve some happiness.
2. Speaking of Daisy, I’ll be surprised if Jimmy (or rather, James) doesn’t come calling. I think he’s sweet on her, and beneath his pretty boy shell, so far he seems to be a pretty decent guy. I certainly hope I’m not mistaken.
3. I believe that O’Brien is going to out Thomas. Much as I can’t stand her, this would be a positive use of her evilness. Maybe it’ll take her out of the picture too.
4. I’m expecting for Tom, in his grief, to decide that he absolutely can’t abide living without returning to Ireland. This will lead to Mary and Matthew taking baby Sybil. The only other scenario I see taking place is that Matthew will convince Tom to stay and help with the farms. Either way, I expect Mary to step in to a mother type role in Sybil’s life.
5. I am expecting an epic blow-out between Matthew and Lord Grantham. Not sure how it’s going to play out, but there’s so much tension, something is going to cause an explosion. I truly thought it was coming tonight, but I guess the girls got the fun of being the target of Lord Grantham’s ever-shortening fuse.
6. I really don’t think Bates is in the clear quite yet.
Now, I know it’s just wishful thinking, but I would really, really like to see Carson and Mrs. Hughes get together. I have a feeling that they are going to turn out just like Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson did in Remains of the Day, but since that movie scarred me for life, I’d really like to see this love story get a happy ending.
One final thought, not related to my obsession with British soap operas: If you are ill, and (like me) can’t miss work, make a point of covering your coughs. Put your mouth in your elbow. Don’t just aim towards the elbow, or raise the elbow, actually physically cover your mouth with your elbow. This business of people either barely making an effort, or making no effort at all is extremely frustrating. Cover up your mouth! This isn’t rocket science, people!
Tonight if aliens invade, or orcas attack, or I find myself suddenly at the mercy of a group of chipmunks who have somehow figured out how to invade my home and climb my loft bed, I have one plan and strategy alone. I’m just going to lay here in bed and not move. At all. I am that tired. I seriously thought earlier that if aliens did invade I’d be super excited because either they would A. be wise and kind and have medical advancement that would be able to deal with my exhaustion and I’d feel fresh and renewed, or B. they shoot and kill me and the disintegration would be quick and I’d be in Heaven, and there would be no more exhaustion. So, really, win/win. I’m so tired, I don’t even care that my grammar is lousy tonight.
I still absolutely adore my job, even though it was a bit frustrating tonight. I had three different people give me completely different sets of instructions about the same exact thing. I was more than a little confused. Plus, I felt my inner Sheldon trying so hard to scream, “You’re in my spot!” Even though spots aren’t assigned at work, we all kind of have certain areas that are more or less our space. My happens to have all sorts of helpful post-its hanging up with good reminders. When I came back from supper, one of my coworkers had completely taken over my space. Inside all I could think was, “You’re in my spot. You. Are. In. My. Spot.” Yeah, I’m thinking the counseling center might’ve been on to something by telling me that I have an adjustment disorder. Anyway, I resisted the urge to actually vocalize my feelings, but I was a bit disappointed when my co-worker left, and didn’t put anything back. That’s just not polite. So, not only did I get to clean up the area I was working in, but I also had to put my normal area back in order. Okay, yeah, I’m whiny and crabby. I’m thinking I may need sleep.
I’m also thinking that I need to get my chimichanga and white queso on my way to work tomorrow. I like having something special for lunch on Fridays.
Any Second Now... 