Love

All posts tagged Love

So…It’s Been Awhile…

Published June 10, 2015 by ia84

I think this pretty much covers it.

Turns out, thinking about writing blog posts and ACTUALLY writing blog posts are two different things.  Over the last few months, I’ve frequently had ideas and thought, “That’d make a good post,” and then never followed through.  So, it’s time to play catch up…

April

As far as I can remember, the last updating I did took place in April.  Which, while not a long time ago, is well over a month past.  April ended interestingly.

When the boy and I got married, we were on pretty different work shifts.  He would leave for work before 7 a.m. and get home mid-afternoon.  I, on the other hand, would start work at 1:30 p.m., and not get home until well after 10 p.m. (just in time for the boy to head to bed, and me to be wide awake with post work adrenaline).  Going into our marriage, we both knew this was something we were going to have to deal with, and I honestly thought it’d be okay.  Which only goes to show that I’m an idiot.  In truth, it was misery.  It was depressing.  It was lonely.  So, at the end of April, when I saw a perfect job opening at a local hospital.  So, I submitted an application.  And then a week later I got a call from the hospital asking me to come in for an interview.  It was one of those interviews that when I left I honestly couldn’t tell if I was going to get a job offer, but they assured me they were going to call my current job to verify that I really did work there.  Which meant I had to tell my boss that I had gone on an interview.  To cut a very long, boring story short, my boss wasn’t exactly thrilled when I shared this tidbit with her, and I didn’t get offered the job at the hospital.  However, my work offered to let me change schedules, which meant that I didn’t have to start somewhere new, and no more long, lonely mornings home alone.

May & Early June

May will be remembered as the month of medical drama.  About a week after the wedding (back in March), I started having bad abdominal pain.  Because I’m super stubborn, and completely convinced that things will just get better, I put off going to the doctor until May.  Finally, I broke down and decided to go get checked.  The first two weeks of May found me going to the Ob-Gyn and the Endocrinologist.  Neither were fun visits, and neither gave me a decent answer for the abdominal pain.  All that really happened was that I ended up back on Metformin (for diabetes and the PCOS).  My Metformin dose was supposed to start slow, and every week go up.  The first week I had to up the dose, I started getting super sick.  Migraines, pain, dizzyness, nausea, and other fun things plagued me for three solid weeks.  I couldn’t eat, was having trouble sleeping, and was generally miserable.  I spent a decent amount of time playing phone tag with both the Ob-Gyn & Endocrinologist offices.  Both just kept blowing me off and telling me it was just my reaction to the Metformin and to take upping the dose slower.

By the start of the third week, I had the worst sore throat I’ve ever had.  The start of the third week was also my first week on my new shift at work and it was a horrendous week.  Fearing that I might have strep, I ended up at a quick sick clinic.

I didn’t have strep.

No, as of last Thursday, I learned that I have Mono.  Not only do I have mono, but this is actually the second time in my life I’ve had mono.

I wish it felt this cute.

Through it all, the boy truly has been my steady rock.  He has taken such good care of me.  Definitely has made me feel valuable even when I have felt super worthless.  He’s nursing me through this mess, and gone on more chocolate milk pick-up trips than has been fair to him (side note: whole chocolate milk is so thick and creamy it’s the perfect thing to drink if you can’t swallow anything else).

So, in case this has all been TL/DR (too long/didn’t read)…Started a new shift at work, got mono, my husband is amazing, and I am now going to try to update more faithfully.

The Whole Elephant

Published April 4, 2015 by ia84

Today, I boxed up the boy’s old dishes, and supply of plastic glassware, and unpacked my dishes & non-plastic glassware and put it away on the shelf.  I’m in the middle of making my second loaf of bread, with my super awesome new bread machine.  I cleaned the master bathroom.  I emptied the trash out of my car (it was such a mess, it went well beyond embarrassing).  I accomplished much, and yet I’m sitting here feeling like I accomplished nothing.

If I were Suzy Q. Homemaker, I’d have everything clean, the basement would be completely organized, the laundry would be going, the thank you notes would be written and delivered, and all of my belongings would be unpacked and put away and no longer living in boxes making the guest room look like a disaster area storage unit.  (And I wouldn’t be writing long run-on sentences.  Also, I wouldn’t be using terrible grammar because I’m too lazy to go back and fix obvious mistakes.)

As of today, we’ve been married for three weeks, and I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.  It’s hard to explain.  It’s been a crazy amount of change in a very short amount of time.  Before three weeks ago, I’d never kissed a guy, let alone lived with one.  Before three weeks ago, the most responsible thing I had to do everyday was just make sure I got myself to work.  The boy has been amazing.  He’s incredibly patient with me, and that’s truly what’s getting me through this.

I had lunch with my dad yesterday, and I was telling him about how frustrated I am with myself.  Basically, I want to be SuperWife, and falling  short of mark makes this perfectionist want to cry.  I told him that I wish I had taken more than a week and a half off from work.  I had no idea how overwhelming and stressful this all would be.  He was really sweet and kind, and asked me, “How do you eat an elephant?”  Now, the correct answer is, “One bite at a time,” but lately I’ve been approaching things, “The whole thing in one bite!”

So, I’m going to do my best to hang up the cape.  Let some other poor woman try to be SuperWife.  I think right now the best thing I can do for the boy and myself is just be Wife.

I swear I can cook!

Published March 26, 2015 by ia84

Hello, World, I’m married.  It happened almost two weeks ago, and yet I’m still sitting here in a daze.

Nerd points if you can figure out both of our rings!

Nerd points if you can figure out both of our rings!

I live with a boy now.  Before we were married, I was a little worried it would be a weird experience.  However, my fears were unfounded.  Sure, it’s different, but it’s a good, mostly non-weird different.

We spent the “honeymoon” week at home, and I think that’s about the best thing we could have done.  It gave us some quality alone time, and made this whole transition a little less scary and overwhelming.

This week I’ve started learning the fine art of being a wife.  The number one thing I’ve learned?  It’s a REALLY good thing the boy loves me so much!  I feel like this week I’ve done nothing but epically fail at all things “wife.”  I’m still not unpacked.  I still haven’t finished going through what we’re keeping and what we’re returning.  I think I’ve killed the plants I’ve been trying to get to grow.  And worst of all?  My talent for cooking has absolutely abandoned me.  Wednesday I created food that was just barely edible.  Thursday (today), I made something that should have been excellent, and I’m pretty sure I missed the mark again.  I know new brides are supposed to have cooking disasters, and I’m quite thankful that so far my disasters aren’t really disasters.

That’s all the news that is news for now.  I think it’s time to go snuggle up to the boy sleeping in the other room!

This Is The Stuff News Reports Are Made Of

Published June 22, 2014 by ia84

So, last night (Friday) we had a bit of a gully washer here in Omaha.  I was at work, and as my shift progressed, I noticed the sky getting darker and darker until it was pitch black.  That’s about when the torrential downpour began.  By time time my shift had ended, the rain hadn’t let up, and the basement at my work had flooded.  I didn’t think much about this because it’s prone to flooding, as is our parking lot.  Before I left work, I checked the weather warnings, and all I found was that there was a flash flood warning for a county in Iowa.  Thinking I was safe, I decided to head home.

Now, have you ever seen those new videos where they show people, stranded in their cars, while the roads swell with flood waters?   I’ve always watched those videos kind of judgmentally.  I’m usually wondering what kind of idiot would go out in that weather in the first place.  Now I know, because it turns out I’m that kind of idiot.

Honestly, things weren’t going well from the minute I left work.  Like I said, the parking lot at work was flooded, but I’m so used to that I didn’t think anything of it.  However, when I got out on the road, I noticed that the water seemed to be a little higher than was comforting.  Plus, I kept having water go up the tailpipe and the van would fill with gas fumes.  Which, is apparently a not so good thing, and probably should have been a big sign to me that I was probably in trouble.

And at this point you’re thinking, “You did the smart thing, pulled over, and waited it out.  Right?”

Didn’t I mention before that I’m an idiot?

I did almost pull off at Village Inn near my work.  My thought was that I could just wait out the storm there, but then I began wondering what I would do if the storm didn’t let up anytime soon.  So, I pushed on for home.  Such a huge mistake.

Most of L Street was under some water.  There were actually multiple times that I found that the appearance of a road had completely disappeared.  When I saw cars stranded I went from worried to really scared.  I just began praying, “Jesus, just get me home.  Please just get me home.”  I didn’t make deal any deals with God, or anything like that.  I just asked to get home safely.  As soon as I could, I got off of L, and headed for Q Street, thinking that would be a better option.

Headed down hill on Q Street towards the intersection with 96th Street, I saw something I wasn’t at all prepared for.  The entire intersection was completely underwater.  Cars were stalled, and the rushing water was coming up to the hoods of large pickup trucks.  Fortunately, there was a parking lot on the hill that I could pull in to.  Sitting there, I felt trapped.  I knew I couldn’t go back to L Street, and clearly I couldn’t get through the intersection at the bottom of the hill.  It was late and dark and I was terrified and I was alone.  Because I’m a drama queen, I had a brief moment where my mind seriously darted to the thought of, “What if this is it?  What if I die here?”  I briefly considered contacting those people in my life that are most important and telling them how important they are to me, and how much I love and appreciate them.  Fortunately for them, no one received a phone call from a unnerved, terrified me, because as I sat there I decided to head back and try going a more roundabout way to get home, one that was likely to be less flooded.

Long, long story shorter, I did make it home.  It took me an hour, compared to the normal 15 minutes.  I did not make any embarrassing phone calls, or send any embarrassing texts.  Not that telling people you love them is embarrassing.  However I do believe you shouldn’t have to be wondering if you’re going to die in order to be prompted to let people know you truly care about them.

Also, I’m thankful that my stupidity didn’t actually end up on the news.

Random Saturday Musings

Published January 27, 2013 by ia84

Jane Eyre has been on my mind quite a bit lately.  She has always been my favorite female character from literature.  The book is a fabulous tragic love story.  I don’t know why I’m drawn to the tragic.

Spoiler alert for anyone who doesn’t know the story…

About halfway through the book, Jane realizes that she isn’t just Mr. Rochester’s friend, but she’s also in love with him.  This is fine and dandy, except for the fact that he’s engaged.  One night they end up in an intense discussion regarding the fact that Jane needs to go to Ireland, since Mr. Rochester will have no more need of her being governess to his ward.  Jane ends up making a pretty impressive, impassioned speech.  No matter how many times I read it, I tear up.  And, because it’s just such a great chapter, I’m just going to post it here:

A splendid Midsummer shone over England: skies so pure, suns so radiant as were then seen in long succession, seldom favour even singly, our wave-girt land. It was as if a band of Italian days had come from the South, like a flock of glorious passenger birds, and lighted to rest them on the cliffs of Albion. The hay was all got in; the fields round Thornfield were green and shorn; the roads white and baked; the trees were in their dark prime; hedge and wood, full-leaved and deeply tinted, contrasted well with the sunny hue of the cleared meadows between. 

On Midsummer-eve, Adele, weary with gathering wild strawberries in Hay Lane half the day, had gone to bed with the sun. I watched her drop asleep, and when I left her, I sought the garden. 

It was now the sweetest hour of the twenty-four:- “Day its fervid fires had wasted,” and dew fell cool on panting plain and scorched summit. Where the sun had gone down in simple state–pure of the pomp of clouds–spread a solemn purple, burning with the light of red jewel and furnace flame at one point, on one hill-peak, and extending high and wide, soft and still softer, over half heaven. The east had its own charm or fine deep blue, and its own modest gem, a casino and solitary star: soon it would boast the moon; but she was yet beneath the horizon. 

I walked a while on the pavement; but a subtle, well-known scent– that of a cigar–stole from some window; I saw the library casement open a handbreadth; I knew I might be watched thence; so I went apart into the orchard. No nook in the grounds more sheltered and more Eden-like; it was full of trees, it bloomed with flowers: a very high wall shut it out from the court, on one side; on the other, a beech avenue screened it from the lawn. At the bottom was a sunk fence; its sole separation from lonely fields: a winding walk, bordered with laurels and terminating in a giant horse- chestnut, circled at the base by a seat, led down to the fence. Here one could wander unseen. While such honey-dew fell, such silence reigned, such gloaming gathered, I felt as if I could haunt such shade for ever; but in threading the flower and fruit parterres at the upper part of the enclosure, enticed there by the light the now rising moon cast on this more open quarter, my step is stayed– not by sound, not by sight, but once more by a warning fragrance. 

Sweet-briar and southernwood, jasmine, pink, and rose have long been yielding their evening sacrifice of incense: this new scent is neither of shrub nor flower; it is–I know it well–it is Mr. Rochester’s cigar. I look round and I listen. I see trees laden with ripening fruit. I hear a nightingale warbling in a wood half a mile off; no moving form is visible, no coming step audible; but that perfume increases: I must flee. I make for the wicket leading to the shrubbery, and I see Mr. Rochester entering. I step aside into the ivy recess; he will not stay long: he will soon return whence he came, and if I sit still he will never see me. 

But no–eventide is as pleasant to him as to me, and this antique garden as attractive; and he strolls on, now lifting the gooseberry- tree branches to look at the fruit, large as plums, with which they are laden; now taking a ripe cherry from the wall; now stooping towards a knot of flowers, either to inhale their fragrance or to admire the dew-beads on their petals. A great moth goes humming by me; it alights on a plant at Mr. Rochester’s foot: he sees it, and bends to examine it. 

“Now, he has his back towards me,” thought I, “and he is occupied too; perhaps, if I walk softly, I can slip away unnoticed.” 

I trode on an edging of turf that the crackle of the pebbly gravel might not betray me: he was standing among the beds at a yard or two distant from where I had to pass; the moth apparently engaged him. “I shall get by very well,” I meditated. As I crossed his shadow, thrown long over the garden by the moon, not yet risen high, he said quietly, without turning – 

“Jane, come and look at this fellow.” 

I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind–could his shadow feel? I started at first, and then I approached him. 

“Look at his wings,” said he, “he reminds me rather of a West Indian insect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in England; there! he is flown.” 

The moth roamed away. I was sheepishly retreating also; but Mr. Rochester followed me, and when we reached the wicket, he said – 

“Turn back: on so lovely a night it is a shame to sit in the house; and surely no one can wish to go to bed while sunset is thus at meeting with moonrise.” 

It is one of my faults, that though my tongue is sometimes prompt enough at an answer, there are times when it sadly fails me in framing an excuse; and always the lapse occurs at some crisis, when a facile word or plausible pretext is specially wanted to get me out of painful embarrassment. I did not like to walk at this hour alone with Mr. Rochester in the shadowy orchard; but I could not find a reason to allege for leaving him. I followed with lagging step, and thoughts busily bent on discovering a means of extrication; but he himself looked so composed and so grave also, I became ashamed of feeling any confusion: the evil–if evil existent or prospective there was–seemed to lie with me only; his mind was unconscious and quiet. 

“Jane,” he recommenced, as we entered the laurel walk, and slowly strayed down in the direction of the sunk fence and the horse- chestnut, “Thornfield is a pleasant place in summer, is it not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You must have become in some degree attached to the house,–you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of Adhesiveness?” 

“I am attached to it, indeed.” 

“And though I don’t comprehend how it is, I perceive you have acquired a degree of regard for that foolish little child Adele, too; and even for simple dame Fairfax?” 

“Yes, sir; in different ways, I have an affection for both.” 

“And would be sorry to part with them?” 

“Yes.” 

“Pity!” he said, and sighed and paused. “It is always the way of events in this life,” he continued presently: “no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting-place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is expired.” 

“Must I move on, sir?” I asked. “Must I leave Thornfield?” 

“I believe you must, Jane. I am sorry, Janet, but I believe indeed you must.” 

This was a blow: but I did not let it prostrate me. 

“Well, sir, I shall be ready when the order to march comes.” 

“It is come now–I must give it to-night.” 

“Then you ARE going to be married, sir?” 

“Ex-act-ly–pre-cise-ly: with your usual acuteness, you have hit the nail straight on the head.” 

“Soon, sir?” 

“Very soon, my–that is, Miss Eyre: and you’ll remember, Jane, the first time I, or Rumour, plainly intimated to you that it was my intention to put my old bachelor’s neck into the sacred noose, to enter into the holy estate of matrimony–to take Miss Ingram to my bosom, in short (she’s an extensive armful: but that’s not to the point–one can’t have too much of such a very excellent thing as my beautiful Blanche): well, as I was saying–listen to me, Jane! You’re not turning your head to look after more moths, are you? That was only a lady-clock, child, ‘flying away home.’ I wish to remind you that it was you who first said to me, with that discretion I respect in you–with that foresight, prudence, and humility which befit your responsible and dependent position–that in case I married Miss Ingram, both you and little Adele had better trot forthwith. I pass over the sort of slur conveyed in this suggestion on the character of my beloved; indeed, when you are far away, Janet, I’ll try to forget it: I shall notice only its wisdom; which is such that I have made it my law of action. Adele must go to school; and you, Miss Eyre, must get a new situation.” 

“Yes, sir, I will advertise immediately: and meantime, I suppose–” I was going to say, “I suppose I may stay here, till I find another shelter to betake myself to:” but I stopped, feeling it would not do to risk a long sentence, for my voice was not quite under command. 

“In about a month I hope to be a bridegroom,” continued Mr. Rochester; “and in the interim, I shall myself look out for employment and an asylum for you.” 

“Thank you, sir; I am sorry to give–” 

“Oh, no need to apologise! I consider that when a dependent does her duty as well as you have done yours, she has a sort of claim upon her employer for any little assistance he can conveniently render her; indeed I have already, through my future mother-in-law, heard of a place that I think will suit: it is to undertake the education of the five daughters of Mrs. Dionysius O’Gall of Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland. You’ll like Ireland, I think: they’re such warm-hearted people there, they say.” 

“It is a long way off, sir.” 

“No matter–a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance.” 

“Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier–” 

“From what, Jane?” 

“From England and from Thornfield: and–” 

“Well?” 

“From YOU, sir.” 

I said this almost involuntarily, and, with as little sanction of free will, my tears gushed out. I did not cry so as to be heard, however; I avoided sobbing. The thought of Mrs. O’Gall and Bitternutt Lodge struck cold to my heart; and colder the thought of all the brine and foam, destined, as it seemed, to rush between me and the master at whose side I now walked, and coldest the remembrance of the wider ocean–wealth, caste, custom intervened between me and what I naturally and inevitably loved. 

“It is a long way,” I again said. 

“It is, to be sure; and when you get to Bitternutt Lodge, Connaught, Ireland, I shall never see you again, Jane: that’s morally certain. I never go over to Ireland, not having myself much of a fancy for the country. We have been good friends, Jane; have we not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And when friends are on the eve of separation, they like to spend the little time that remains to them close to each other. Come! we’ll talk over the voyage and the parting quietly half-an-hour or so, while the stars enter into their shining life up in heaven yonder: here is the chestnut tree: here is the bench at its old roots. Come, we will sit there in peace to-night, though we should never more be destined to sit there together.” He seated me and himself. 

“It is a long way to Ireland, Janet, and I am sorry to send my little friend on such weary travels: but if I can’t do better, how is it to be helped? Are you anything akin to me, do you think, Jane?” 

I could risk no sort of answer by this time: my heart was still. 

“Because,” he said, “I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you–especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you,–you’d forget me.” 

“That I NEVER should, sir: you know–” Impossible to proceed. 

“Jane, do you hear that nightingale singing in the wood? Listen!” 

In listening, I sobbed convulsively; for I could repress what I endured no longer; I was obliged to yield, and I was shaken from head to foot with acute distress. When I did speak, it was only to express an impetuous wish that I had never been born, or never come to Thornfield. 

“Because you are sorry to leave it?” 

The vehemence of emotion, stirred by grief and love within me, was claiming mastery, and struggling for full sway, and asserting a right to predominate, to overcome, to live, rise, and reign at last: yes,–and to speak. 

“I grieve to leave Thornfield: I love Thornfield:- I love it, because I have lived in it a full and delightful life,–momentarily at least. I have not been trampled on. I have not been petrified. I have not been buried with inferior minds, and excluded from every glimpse of communion with what is bright and energetic and high. I have talked, face to face, with what I reverence, with what I delight in,–with an original, a vigorous, an expanded mind. I have known you, Mr. Rochester; and it strikes me with terror and anguish to feel I absolutely must be torn from you for ever. I see the necessity of departure; and it is like looking on the necessity of death.” 

“Where do you see the necessity?” he asked suddenly. 

“Where? You, sir, have placed it before me.” 

“In what shape?” 

“In the shape of Miss Ingram; a noble and beautiful woman,–your bride.” 

“My bride! What bride? I have no bride!” 

“But you will have.” 

“Yes;–I will!–I will!” He set his teeth. 

“Then I must go:- you have said it yourself.” 

“No: you must stay! I swear it–and the oath shall be kept.” 

“I tell you I must go!” I retorted, roused to something like passion. “Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton?–a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!–I have as much soul as you,–and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;–it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,–as we are!” 

“As we are!” repeated Mr. Rochester–“so,” he added, enclosing me in his arms. Gathering me to his breast, pressing his lips on my lips: “so, Jane!” 

“Yes, so, sir,” I rejoined: “and yet not so; for you are a married man–or as good as a married man, and wed to one inferior to you–to one with whom you have no sympathy–whom I do not believe you truly love; for I have seen and heard you sneer at her. I would scorn such a union: therefore I am better than you–let me go!” 

“Where, Jane? To Ireland?” 

“Yes–to Ireland. I have spoken my mind, and can go anywhere now.” 

“Jane, be still; don’t struggle so, like a wild frantic bird that is rending its own plumage in its desperation.” 

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.” 

Another effort set me at liberty, and I stood erect before him. 

“And your will shall decide your destiny,” he said: “I offer you my hand, my heart, and a share of all my possessions.” 

“You play a farce, which I merely laugh at.” 

“I ask you to pass through life at my side–to be my second self, and best earthly companion.” 

“For that fate you have already made your choice, and must abide by it.” 

“Jane, be still a few moments: you are over-excited: I will be still too.” 

A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away–away–to an indefinite distance–it died. The nightingale’s song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept. Mr. Rochester sat quiet, looking at me gently and seriously. Some time passed before he spoke; he at last said – 

“Come to my side, Jane, and let us explain and understand one another.” 

“I will never again come to your side: I am torn away now, and cannot return.” 

“But, Jane, I summon you as my wife: it is you only I intend to marry.” 

I was silent: I thought he mocked me. 

“Come, Jane–come hither.” 

“Your bride stands between us.” 

He rose, and with a stride reached me. 

“My bride is here,” he said, again drawing me to him, “because my equal is here, and my likeness. Jane, will you marry me?” 

Still I did not answer, and still I writhed myself from his grasp: for I was still incredulous. 

“Do you doubt me, Jane?” 

“Entirely.” 

“You have no faith in me?” 

“Not a whit.” 

“Am I a liar in your eyes?” he asked passionately. “Little sceptic, you SHALL be convinced. What love have I for Miss Ingram? None: and that you know. What love has she for me? None: as I have taken pains to prove: I caused a rumour to reach her that my fortune was not a third of what was supposed, and after that I presented myself to see the result; it was coldness both from her and her mother. I would not–I could not–marry Miss Ingram. You– you strange, you almost unearthly thing!–I love as my own flesh. You–poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are–I entreat to accept me as a husband.” 

“What, me!” I ejaculated, beginning in his earnestness–and especially in his incivility–to credit his sincerity: “me who have not a friend in the world but you- if you are my friend: not a shilling but what you have given me?” 

“You, Jane, I must have you for my own–entirely my own. Will you be mine? Say yes, quickly.” 

“Mr. Rochester, let me look at your face: turn to the moonlight.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I want to read your countenance–turn!” 

“There! you will find it scarcely more legible than a crumpled, scratched page. Read on: only make haste, for I suffer.” 

His face was very much agitated and very much flushed, and there were strong workings in the features, and strange gleams in the eyes 

“Oh, Jane, you torture me!” he exclaimed. “With that searching and yet faithful and generous look, you torture me!” 

“How can I do that? If you are true, and your offer real, my only feelings to you must be gratitude and devotion–they cannot torture.” 

“Gratitude!” he ejaculated; and added wildly–“Jane accept me quickly. Say, Edward–give me my name–Edward–I will marry you.” 

“Are you in earnest? Do you truly love me? Do you sincerely wish me to be your wife?” 

“I do; and if an oath is necessary to satisfy you, I swear it.” 

“Then, sir, I will marry you.” 

“Edward–my little wife!” 

“Dear Edward!” 

“Come to me–come to me entirely now,” said he; and added, in his deepest tone, speaking in my ear as his cheek was laid on mine, “Make my happiness–I will make yours.” 

“God pardon me!” he subjoined ere long; “and man meddle not with me: I have her, and will hold her.” 

“There is no one to meddle, sir. I have no kindred to interfere.” 

“No–that is the best of it,” he said. And if I had loved him less I should have thought his accent and look of exultation savage; but, sitting by him, roused from the nightmare of parting–called to the paradise of union–I thought only of the bliss given me to drink in so abundant a flow. Again and again he said, “Are you happy, Jane?” And again and again I answered, “Yes.” After which he murmured, “It will atone–it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless? Will I not guard, and cherish, and solace her? Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at God’s tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world’s judgment–I wash my hands thereof. For man’s opinion–I defy it.” 

But what had befallen the night? The moon was not yet set, and we were all in shadow: I could scarcely see my master’s face, near as I was. And what ailed the chestnut tree? it writhed and groaned; while wind roared in the laurel walk, and came sweeping over us. 

“We must go in,” said Mr. Rochester: “the weather changes. I could have sat with thee till morning, Jane.” 

“And so,” thought I, “could I with you.” I should have said so, perhaps, but a livid, vivid spark leapt out of a cloud at which I was looking, and there was a crack, a crash, and a close rattling peal; and I thought only of hiding my dazzled eyes against Mr. Rochester’s shoulder. 

The rain rushed down. He hurried me up the walk, through the grounds, and into the house; but we were quite wet before we could pass the threshold. He was taking off my shawl in the hall, and shaking the water out of my loosened hair, when Mrs. Fairfax emerged from her room. I did not observe her at first, nor did Mr. Rochester. The lamp was lit. The clock was on the stroke of twelve. 

“Hasten to take off your wet things,” said he; “and before you go, good-night–good-night, my darling!” 

He kissed me repeatedly. When I looked up, on leaving his arms, there stood the widow, pale, grave, and amazed. I only smiled at her, and ran upstairs. “Explanation will do for another time,” thought I. Still, when I reached my chamber, I felt a pang at the idea she should even temporarily misconstrue what she had seen. But joy soon effaced every other feeling; and loud as the wind blew, near and deep as the thunder crashed, fierce and frequent as the lightning gleamed, cataract-like as the rain fell during a storm of two hours’ duration, I experienced no fear and little awe. Mr. Rochester came thrice to my door in the course of it, to ask if I was safe and tranquil: and that was comfort, that was strength for anything. 

Before I left my bed in the morning, little Adele came running in to tell me that the great horse-chestnut at the bottom of the orchard had been struck by lightning in the night, and half of it split away.

Jane Eyre Chapter 23 Charlotte Bronte

http://www.readprint.com/chapter-685/Jane-Eyre-Charlotte-Bronte

The story just gets more fantastic from there-on.

Pillow Talk

Published January 24, 2013 by ia84

My bed is cold.  Every.  Single.  Night.  My bed is lonely.  Every.  Single.  Night.  I’m surrounded by pillows, but you know what the problem with pillows is?  Pillows never ask you how your day was.  Pillows just lay there in various forms of flatness, and are silent.  In fact, if my pillows start talking, I’m pretty sure I have bigger problems than just having a cold, lonely bed.  My point is, on some levels being in my late 20’s and single truly has it’s downsides.

Now, don’t misunderstand me, I greatly enjoy some parts of being single.  I love that if I want to go hang with friends, I have no worries about if I have plans already, or if my friends will accept my boyfriend into our group.  I love that I can be pretty selfish when it comes to my money.  If I want to buy a book or movie or video game (although, I’m pretty sure most guys don’t care if their girls buy video games) and I have the money, it’s no big deal.

Overall, though, as the years pass and I remain single it tends to get more wearing.  I just want someone to share in this adventure of life with.

To this end I was having a conversation with two really close friends a few weeks ago, and one friend asked me if I had a list of what I was looking for.  I had a mental list, but afterwards, I realized that I’ve never written down that list before.  Then earlier this week, as I was praying that God would bring that special someone into a friend’s life, I realized that I’ve never actually prayed that God would bring someone into my life.  So, I immediately texted one of my 3 very bestest friends and asked her if she would pray with me about this.  I really don’t believe I was created to be alone.  I believe that I am alone right now, because there are lessons I am in the process of learning.  However, the desire to be married has yet to be removed (and crazy as it sounds, I’ve prayed it would be), so I’m changing up how I pray.  I rarely ask for help from anyone (even God), which is pretty wrong.  It’s not that I’m too proud, I’m kind of backwards. I don’t want to bug people or God with my needs or wants, because I feel they’re so paltry compared to people with real needs.

Anyway, since I’m not desiring my pillows to develop voices, and I’m not wanting to be known to my “niece” as the crazy cat lady, here’s my list of what I’m looking for:

1.  Not just a fan, but completely on fire for Jesus.

2.  Loves pets; sans bugs, snakes, and spiders.

3.  I don’t care if he’s a sports fan, but he needs to be okay with the fact that I am not, nor will I probably ever be a sports fan.  Also, if I do watch sports, I rarely cheer wildly.  However, I totally love the Olympics, and he will have no problem getting me to sit and watch those games.

4.  Enjoys musicals.

5.  Loves movies.  Going to the movies is something I really love doing, and I would hope that I’d be able to be with someone who not only enjoys the whole going to the theater experience, but is willing to make entertaining comments throughout.

6.  Loves British t.v. shows, especially all things “Who.”  I have always had a soft spot for things produced by the BBC.  Generally, they’re quite a bit better than most things on American television.

7.  Loves books.  Hmmm…maybe this should be a bit higher on my list.  Yeah, it probably belongs up there as number 3.

8.  Family relationships should be important.  I’m pretty much it when it comes to parent care on my side of the family, so he’s going to have to be okay with this, and willing to help me.  Also, it’s super important to me, despite my age, that he ask for my father’s permission to date/court/marry me.

9.  Wants to travel, visit museums, go to the zoo, see the world, and take pictures of all of it.  I admit I’m not a great photographer, but I really love to take pictures.  I want to be with someone who enjoys travel and photography as much as I do.

10.  Be okay with the kid thing.

Let me explain number 10.  (And yes, I’ve kind of talked about this before, and yes, it may be slightly graphic and uncomfortable to read.)

Last fall, when everything went really south, health-wise, I found myself sitting, facing a doctor who was trying to figure out how to deliver unpleasant news.  She had to tell me that it was highly unlikely that I would ever be able to have children.  To this day, I don’t envy doctors who have to tell women this.  Fortunately, for her, I didn’t go into hysterics or any of that sort of reaction.  In fact, I pretty much had already guessed.  I’d known for a long time that certain parts didn’t work right.  Parts that are required to carry a baby through a pregnancy.  Her telling me, just confirmed what I already suspected.  Now, I’ve never been wild about having kids, but I certainly thought having one might not be too bad.  I’m okay (mostly, but believe me there have been some intense discussions with mom and with God regarding the fact that there are 15 year old’s who sleep with everything and get knocked up, and yet I try to be a good kid, and not only do I have this whole nightmare weight situation, but I also have a body that doesn’t understand the basics of how to work right) with all of this, but recently I’ve found myself wondering if this will be a huge check-mark against me for guys.  It seems that a lot of guys, even good guys, are obsessed with the idea of producing babies.  I guess they need to know that their sperm can swim in order to feel like a “real” man.  I figure that if I there’s someone out there who can love me, knowing that I can’t have babies (unless a miracle takes place), then they truly love me, and don’t just view me as breeding stock.

11. Doesn’t take himself too seriously, or say mean-spirited things, thinking he’s being funny.

12.   Loves, respects, and treats me as a partner, not just someone who’s supposed to clean and cook.  In return, I guarantee that I will love, respect, honor, and be loyal.  I’m looking for a best friend.

And there you have it.  I know that we can’t always have what we want, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to be specific.