it’s been a hellish fight to not think about you all the time. sitting around waiting for your call.

This morning I was okay.  I woke up, started my day cleaning and getting organized.  His desk in the den didn’t taunt me much.  I peeled the apples for the apple bars I had promised.  I washed the dog.  I started my 365 again.  I might as well, this is the first step.  I’ve documented the past (almost) year of first steps… Why not the most painful one?

I lost it around 1.  Whatever semblance of normalcy I had tried to uphold went out the window.  I ran to the store for the one thing I swore would make me feel better…and I came home with Giant Chewy Sweettarts.  Not exactly what I had in mind, but better than what I had gone for.  I promised not to smoke and I’m fighting to keep that promise. 

My phone rang about an hour ago.  It was a former Richmond student that I’ve kept in touch with.  I finished the apple bars, iced them (screwed up the icing, of course…too much salt), and I’m faced with grading papers for tomorrow.  Every fiber of my being is telling me to get out of this house.  I can’t sleep.  I don’t want to think about food.  And good Lord I don’t want to be here anymore.

The cycles are killing me.  I rock between angry/bitter and hurt/remorseful.  One moment I think “was it all so bad to deal with?  I can deal with it.  I can!” and I go back to “he deserves better.”

He supposed to call tonight.  We talked last night.  We talked a few minutes this afternoon before he went to the cookout.  I guess that doesn’t count as talking.  He listened and I bawled.  And I’m just waiting for his call.  I don’t know what to say.  What else can we say to each other that we haven’t said yet?  But I can’t get past having to talk to him.  I lost it at 1 because that is when he called me yesterday.  I don’t even know how I’m going to do at 4 tomorrow when we usually talk. 

I honestly think I’m losing it.

 

I hope that you’re ok…I hope you’re resting quietly…I just wanted to say…Goodnight Elizabeth

I’m writing you from the belly of an empty house.  My dog is despondently watching the door and whining.  He’s trying to tell me something’s wrong, that he should have been home by now.  He’s sniffing where furniture used to be and tracing his every step around the house.

I opened the door to the kitchen tonight and found it strangely the same.  It seems like the kitchen was the once place that didn’t change much.  The toaster oven was gone, but essentially everything was the same.  I allowed myself the false hope that maybe it was just some strange dream.  Every other room is so empty it breaks my heart.  Not necessarily that it is empty but that finality is there.  He’s not walking through that door with the feeling he’s home ever again.   

And Lucky is still whining.  He’s pacing around the kitchen, into the dining room, the living room, the bedroom, and coming back to me to give me a report.  He sits and looks at me like “what the hell did you do?”  And I cry for the millionth time. 

Why am I crying?  Why is this tearing my heart out?  He deserves so much better than me.  He’s smart, he’s kind, he’s giving… And I honestly wanted to be his One.  I’m not.  I’ve been along the wrong path too many times to be the One. 

I feel as empty as this God-forsaken house right now.

 

I’m gonna leave this world for a while… and i’m free… free fallin’….

About a year ago, I had found an article where a college campus was offering a class in happiness.  The concept seemed a bit odd to me–how do you teach happiness? 

I’ve attempted to teach a lot of things to deaf ears in the past year of my life.  Explaining “abstract nouns” to a group of 15-20 year olds who have “bigger problems” can be about as successful as shoving a basketball up a gutter spout.  Once you get it started into the hole, the biggest dump of random junk comes spewing out, including a frisbee you had almost been sure your 3 year old son had stuck up his nose two years ago at a Christmas party and the keys to a car you traded in four cars ago.

Happiness is always something I’ve struggled with.  I’m not exactly sure if its because I have a seething hatred nestled deep down in there somewhere or if its because I hadn’t found all the exact pieces to fit my Trival Pursuit pie pan that is life. 

Watching my students grow up before my eyes makes me think of all the things I had dreamed of and done when I was a teenager.  I came out of my shell senior year because of a very supportive and free-spirited friend.  She paved the way for me to be something other than what Bari Hobbs and the other beautiful girls of my high school class were.  I quit playing piano and started actually “getting out” into the world.  I was going to be so far from Moore County the day I graduated that I wouldn’t be more than an occasional glimmer in some people’s minds when they passed my name tag at our ten year reunion.

My ten year reunion is this year.  I got out of Moore County, alright.  I went to Cumberland.  I had dreamed that some day I would play piano the way I’ve always wanted to–in some piano bar in the middle of a culture rich town where I won’t get stared at and could run at my favorite time of day without getting pulled into some dark alley and raped.  I thought about possibly going somewhere that I could play in the snow again. 

As I got older, the dream morphed as life did.  I found my fuzzy little buddy and the place changed into some place that was dog-friendly with lots of parks and hiking.  My piano skills became rustier and rustier until now I’m unsure of the notes and more comfortable in front of a group of people than ever.  My grandparents continue to age and need more help than I will be able to give.  I had moved from someone who would have lived and loved the night life of a city to someone who aches for the hills.  I never thought I’d be happy in a 9 to 5 and dreamed of the day I could start teaching college.  I had no doubt that I’d get into grad school.  I just knew everything would go my way at some point.

Today is one of those days where I just sit and wonder where the next two years are going to take me.  Will I still sit here and write in my blog about how someday I hope to do all the things I’ve been dreaming of doing?  Or will I finally find whatever it is I’m looking for to finally do it?

 

Found Writing…

We’re cleaning for the open house, and I found this wonderful little tidbit.  I wanted to share:

My first inkling that I was growing up wasn’t the fact that i had a mortgage or an enormous amount of debt.  It wasn’t even my college degree hung proudly in my office at work.

I had gotten nauseas on a swing.

We had gone out to eat to discuss my recent break-up.  After dinner, we decided to do what any red-blooded American women in a small southern town would do–go to the park.  In the middle of a rousing competition of who could swing the highest, it hit me:  If i didn’t get off that swing, my burrito was going to have an encore appearance.

As people in our twenties, we strut a very odd line.  We can mingle with our married friends and talk responsibility and bills then meet our single friends for beers and lament over the lack of “good men” in our town.  We can hang in with the most serious board meetings at work but still come home and play Playstation until the wee hours of the morning.  In an essence, we are children trapped in adult bodies.

What a horribly beautiful and confusing time!  I love my double life of sorts.  I hold an incredible job and I am well on my way to a rewarding lifelong career, but I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.  I still have no shame in my impressive “teenybopper” movie collection.  I still sleep with my security blanket.  I still walk in and out of work every day and tell other people what to do, how to do it, and get my job done to the best of my abilities.

Some days, when everything is going wrong and no one seems to want to listen–the only thing I want to do is talk to my mom.  Unfortunately, I’m not so lucky to have her around.

…

And thus it ends.

 

I’m falling more in love with every single word I withhold…

A very dear friend of mine is making her way into blogging.  Her most recent post is about the one idea I have been struggling with for the past 7 years–quarter-life crisis.  Its is an extremely real occurrence that has left so many of us confused.  Almost like we’re teenagers again, trying to find our way.

Of course, this sends me on a tangent of some kind.  I remember being a very “wild” nineteen and twenty year old.  It took me joining the Army to give up the remnants of my 17 (yes… 17) facial piercings.  There is more than one piercing I miss that I have fought with myself continually about going to have re-done.  I have to stop and think… how many 30 year-olds do you know with a lip piercing?  How many 30 year-olds with a lip piercing would you trust the education of your teenage child with?  I understand my ears are gauged.  I know even that isn’t considered close to normal for my age range.  Where is the line?  When is it no longer socially acceptable?

I loved my little adventures.  I’d pick up and drive to Naples, FL because I was bored and didn’t want to study.  I’d go to Myrtle Beach for dinner.  I’d drive to Wilmington for a breath of fresh air and a little sand in my toes.  I picked up and followed Phish around Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Ohio selling grilled cheese sandwiches for gas money and picking up stranded hippies who were just looking for a ride to the next show.  If my Integra could make it there, there wasn’t a place I didn’t try to go at least once.  I had nowhere I was required to be and no one I had to answer to.  Surprisingly, I stayed out of major trouble. 

Continuing my education seems to be the biggest priority on my list right now.  I know with a Master’s degree I’ll be able to go anywhere.  I wonder what I’ll do when I have that open freedom?  Will I feel as tied down as I did when I was going to try to go to App State?  Will I dream and ponder endlessly about what could happen if I go and simply let it run between my fingers the way I did with Embry Riddle?  Even still, will I stay for all the wrong reasons like I did when I picked an already failed realtionship over the fresh start I knew I’d have in Arizona? 

Even more importantly, will I live with my decisions once I make them?  What if he doesn’t want to go?  What if we try to do it as a long distance relationship for the 2 years it will take me to finish?  What if I decide to go for a doctorate and it takes me 5 years.  Where will my grandparents be?  Will my brother step up to the plate if I need him to?  Will my brother even talk to me if I find a way to be closer to him or will it be a wasted trip to a desert I have no ties to?  Or can the same relationship be forged through visits and emails?  Will the two women who have stood by me endlessly throughout everything thus far stick by me through something that may take me a little as an hour and as much as an ocean away?  Or will the fade the the tapestry of my past like so many others?

Even still, with all of the uncertainties, I love to put in applications for jobs I know I’ll never get.  I’m sure it drives my significant other up a wall to hear me talk about it.  I’ve learned through years of experiences that if the ever call back, most of the time it is just to hear the voice of the person who thinks that they are qualified to run a corporation after only having worked for a small town retail store for two months.  But, hey… now I know! 

Time has ticked away from me… I need to go home and change!

 

There’s a lot that I don’t know…There’s a lot that I’m still learning…

The camping trip was simply amazing.  I never cease to marvel at my surroundings when I’m in the mountains.  Things seem to slow down in my head.  I can take more in stride.  Being that far into the mountain range reminded me so much of home.  I dreamed of Pennsylvania at night, of people I haven’t seen in over a decade.  I had it all:  the walks, the snow, that gorgeous smell right before the snow begins to fall, seeing nothing but the tops of beautiful (non-pine) trees everywhere you look.  It all goes to show–you can take the girl out of the mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of the girl.

In other news, this is my final week at Longleaf.  I’m heading back to the wonderful rigors of academia.  I’m excited and nervous all at the same time.  I had hoped to have more time to prepare myself, but somehow the summer had slipped away mostly unnoticed.  Probably slipped between the cracks of softball and house cleanings.  Nevertheless, it has almost entirely drained away and left me wondering how I’m going to get all this stuff done–AGAIN.

Andee the Liberty is still sick, chugging about as much oil as I could possibly empty into it.  Not exactly what I would have wished for at this point, but I guess I can handle it for now.  I had hoped that this would be the car that I could pay off and keep for a long time.  I had hoped that this would be just the clunker to get me through my first year of teaching, into a good school, and halfway through my Ph.D..  I feel slighted in my efforts.  Then again, I did pick a Liberty with 88k on it already to begin this quest.  Probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.

Jack’s Mannequin releases his second album on the 30th of September.  I’m awaiting this on pins and needles, jumping at every little marketing scheme that they throw my way about it.  (IE:  http://www.theglasspassenger.com)  I can’t awit to hear what he has done this time.  I miss the days of Something Corporate.  There’s just something about a tortured emo-guy at a piano that I simply can’t resist.

Well, as usual… it is softball time.  Someday soon I’ll be able to sit down and work on my syllabus and reading materials.  Someday….

 

If you’re gonna leave…well, you better get going…I ain’t wastin’ no more time…

Things happen whether we will them to or not.  Its a fact of life, albeit a hard fact to grasp hold of.  Sometimes its hard to see the larger picture for the fireworks show that is going on in front of our eyes.  The only thing I ever wanted out of life was happiness.  I had hoped and prayed when I was little that I’d learn to be happy someday.  20 years later and more damage than I care to recollect… I still have the same wish.  Some days I love being the imperfect one.  Some times it takes me to places with people I never dreamed I’d ever connect with.  Other days it takes me down roads that are too familiar.  I have to learn to understand that not everyone understands.  Some people can’t even begin to understand.  Some understand all too well.  I have to learn patience.  It makes it incredibly worth it when you find that one bright, burning flame that actually gets it.

 

But baby you don’t have to be…lonely all the time…

I got back in touch with a long-lost friend last night.  I don’t call her “long-lost” because she ever went anywhere.  Actually, she has lived in the same area I have lived in for the past year and a half.  I have even passed her unmistakeable sticker-covered car on the highway.  I have even met people who know her too and have talked openly about her.  I call her “long-lost” because she is the one person who has taught me that one lesson that no one else has had the patience or love to teach–forgiveness.  Every time I see her, think of her, and (on the rare occasion in late months) hear from her, I remember those instances when I thought that any best friend of mine should have thought about that.  She should have known.  She should have asked.  How could she not know me that well yet?  Why isn’t she helping me fix this?  I had allowed myself brim with so much hate and animosity that I could easily begin to hate anyone or anything that reminds me of her.

And still I love the girl to the ends of the earth.  Where I have harbored all this, I have also held steadfastly to the one person who has proven to me time and again that there isn’t a thing in this world that could keep her from me.  She never forgets to call.  When she does call, I see her taking her usual pacing steps around the apartment, going from kitchen to living room, to bedroom, back to kitchen.  She walks and speaks quickly, not really looking at anything.  Her hands speak most of the words for her, flopping quickly open at shoulder length with a Camel Light between her fingers.  When she gets frustrated that she can’t say what she’s thinking or can’t get the person to understand, she smooths her cigarette hand over her hair and begins the pacing again.  She’s the only one who has the same music listening routine that I have.  Listen through to your favorite spot, then move on.  Don’t spend too much time on a song unless there’s a section that intrigues you.

She is the only one who has ever said “its okay” and I’ve believed her.  She’s the only one who has ever said “I understand” and I know she does.  And yet I’ve always treated her like dirt.  It wasn’t until I received similar treatment from a few people that I held close to my heart that I realized just how unfair and hurtful I had been.  And where I’m not nearly as forgiving as she has been for me towards my personal transgressors, I’m eternally thankful that she is as loving and open as she has always been–ready and willing to open her arms to the same person who has hurt her for years.

 

Two peas from the same pod yes we are…Or have I read too much fiction?

The Praxis is looming on the horizon.  We’ve booked a (pimptastic) hotel room up in Raleigh so I won’t have to drive up there before the sparrow farts in the morning.  Its close enough that we can go out and have a good dinner and it has enough perks that we really don’t have to leave the room to do anything.  B will have a 42″ plasma screen to play World of Warcraft and I’ll have my own little nook to study in.  The bed is even partitioned off so that I can go to bed early and he can continue killing the evils of the world until eyes glaze over and his head explodes.

The first test is 2 hours long and is multiple choice (thank God) and the last part is essay based where I have to recall information about a novel.  I think I’ll be alright, but I’m still nervous about it.  I’ve never been one for standardized testing because I believe that we all have different kinds of knowledge that standardized testing doesn’t cover.  Plus, I honestly believe there are some people who simply do not test well.  I know a lot of information.  I’m often a wealth of useless knowledge.  Test me on it and I will fail every time.

B and I celebrated our first year together on Sunday.  He bought me the sewing machine I have been lusting after for years now.  I’m excited to FINALLY be able to make Lucky the bed I know he would love.  And make curtains.  And a table cloth.  And a kennel cover.  And fix some of my clothes so I can wear them again.  And make myself tanktops that actually fit.  And make that t-shirt quilt I’ve wanted to make for years.  And maybe some pillows to match it.  And that sundress I’ve been looking for everywhere and could only find for 200 dollars at a high-end shoph.  AND possibly start an Etsy shop doing all those things I’ve been looking for and haven’t been able to find.  Plus, its really fun to say “B got me a sewing machine for our anniversary” and watch people’s faces.

We have another softball game tonight at 7.  We’re playing nothing but the really good teams for the rest of the season.  It should be interesting to see if we can step up to the plate on these last few weeks of play time.  I honestly think we can do it, but we need to get team confidence up.  It would be so much easier if we all believed we could do it.

Well, it is time for me to change and get on the road to game.  Wish us luck! (We need it!)

 

Though I don’t remember it still makes me laugh…When I see us together in a photograph…

Life in the sphere has been interesting to say the least.  Last week I had to make a mad dash out to Candor to make sure that I didn’t have any underwear hanging from the ceiling fans.  Someone is actually interested in living in Candor, which is exciting.  Let’s just hope that they love and try to buy it.

B and I went to GameStop on Tuesday night and we picked up another copy of World of Warcraft.  We got it so that I could play too.  I actually signed up last night and started my character.  I picked a name that was less often used and a character I thought was really awesome.  I sat down and started exploring a little bit.  Next thing I know, its almost midnight (three hours after I sat down) and I’m a level 14 Druid running around putting protection spells on people in my town.  The jargon B was using all last weekend is now almost a second native tongue.  We are such nerds!

Last weeks’ games were exciting.  I play left field (WooT!) and made a play (WooT WooT!).  I really hope he lets me stay out there.  We have another game tonight and I really need to practice my fielding techniques.  I think I can do better.  I need some confidence in it though.  B isn’t really interested in going.  We haven’t had much of a break all week and he’s anxious to get the weekend started.  I never thought that the softball league would be this exciting/time-consuming.

B and I are celebrating our one year anniversary this coming Sunday.  He’ll be on call this week and won’t be able to celebrate over the weekend, so I took him out this past weekend.  I let him believe we were going out with the girls for pedicures and a movie up in Cary.  I took him out to Stir Crazy and dropped “the bomb” on him.  I had bought tickets to go see “Blues in the Night” presentation by the NC Symphony.  It was a BYOB event, so I packed his favorite beer and some cherries and tried to make the atmosphere as romantic as possible.  From what I can tell, it was my best present yet.

My beloved Lucky turned 5 this past weekend.  I haven’t done anything for him yet.  I plan on making a cake and stuff this weekend and splitting it with Jess.  Nothing like a homemade doggie cake to bring friends closer.  I had already given him his present (a stuffed squirrel that somehow he named Woody) earlier.  Between softball and Warcraft, I seem to have very little time left over.

I’m seriously contemplating getting a few days off to go hiking.  I don’t think I can start the school year without getting at least a few days off.  I had told Brian I didn’t need time…. but I’m beginning to think I really do.  I’m losing my mind.  I completely shut down when I get home.  I really don’t feel like doing anything.  I need to disconnect for a few days.  Go hiking.  Camp.  Cook on a campfire.  Just get mentally prepared for a whole year of teaching.  (Oh, Good Lord… this is going to be fun.)

Add in to it that I am *very* excited about a new book that B bought for me this weekend, Literary Trails of North Carolina.  They take you along the footsteps of major authors from North Carolina:  F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Bartram, O. Henry, Charles Frazier, etc.  I really want to do the F. Scott Fitzgerald section for my unit on  Great Gatsby. 

Well, I’m off.  I have work to do and Chris is making fun of me for typing so much.