Recount

Midnight // NYE 2012/2013 // The Avett Brothers

Ah, it's that time of year again when all us bloggers recount whether or not we stuck to our guns and actually completed our resolutions. As you know, this is a blog about getting things done........ so here's hoping I haven't royally screwed up and completed, say, ZERO of my resolutions.

At the beginning of 2013, I resolved to do only slightly more than a handful of things. Here's the entry, but if you're not one to muck about in archives, here's a quick recap of the list:

1. Be a better adult.

2. Stay a better friend.

3. Have more patience and understanding.

4. Overcome MORE fears.

5. Be even more efficient.

6. Accomplish all my little goals in between without resolving to do them.

7. Just be.

Wow. Lofty goals, January 1st Rachel. Talk about setting high expectations for myself. Never one afraid to fail, I normally push further than I should. Let's see how I fared, shall we?

1. Be a better adult.

I am by no means a model adult. I may not even be a mediocre adult, but I have damn sure come a long way this year. I've learned so much about reliability, and even more, how to BE reliable. I've learned to keep running, even when I'm knee-deep in heavy Carolina clay, knowing I have to reach the other side. I've taken jobs I didn't want, left jobs I wanted to continue, and doubled-down on school and work, putting my social life lower on the list than in years past. While I've mentioned I'll always be a "family/friends first" kinda gal, I finally figured out how to maintain that moral of mine while accomplishing great things and being responsible. I even have some money! .......... for now.

2. Stay a better friend.

I am a yo-yo better friend. There are periods of time in which I have a LOT of free time to spare; others where I barely have enough time to eat and sleep, let alone make some phone calls. I could do a better job, but I think I haven't slipped TOO far back into yesteryear when I was always not such a great friend. Better to maintain than fall behind, even if I wish I could've hit this one out of the park. There's always next year when I get out of my Master's program!

3. Have more patience and understanding.

Oh, lord help all of you. Whereas I have gained so much of this in the career arena in my life, I admittedly have lost a lot of it in the personal domain. I'm sorry if I've been snippy or bitchy, perhaps spacey or annoyed, but I have poured all of my patience and understanding into over 100 kids. They need it most right now, and I am going to work very hard to squeeze some of that patience over to my loved ones in the coming year. Now that I know HOW to be patient, I have to learn how to BALANCE that patience. I have to understand others in the ways I always hope they understand me! But hey, I hope my students can at least attest to the fact that I almost never lose my temper. And when I do, they know weird things like town hall meetings will occur.

4. Overcome MORE fears.

Thanks to my newest project, 26 Gonnas for 26, I have definitely been visiting this resolution time and time again in 2013. I've sung publicly at karaoke bars; I've gotten back into modeling and ENJOYED IT; I've publicly and privately let go of toxic relationships. There have been a lot of fears I've conquered that aren't even on the 26 for 26, which brings me to...

6. Accomplish all my little goals in between without resolving to do them.

Yeah, I know. I skipped 5, but we'll get to that'n. Six and four pair well together like a good cheese and a fine wine, ya heard? There were so many moments this year that I found left me feeling so bold, so brave, and so utterly proud of myself. Overcoming fears, some of which I didn't even know I had, was a lot easier in 2013 than in the past. Maybe it's because I was so successful at resolution number one, but pushing forward into the unknown was just not as horrifying in '13. I'm not saying it wasn't sweat inducing to call my favorite co-workers ever to tell them I was offered a new job, and I'm not saying it wasn't horrifying to meet, learn, and teach over 100 strangers in the middle of the school year... but I am saying that it was exponentially less disastrous than it would have been a year ago. And you know what? I found out I'm a lot BETTER at most of the things I'm scared of than some of the things I feel "safe" doing. What's more is I didn't feel the urge to tell anyone about these things (well, until now). I didn't feel like I had to make a list, at least not publicly. I didn't feel like I needed to have support to overcome my fear, something that is altogether new for me. While there are still some giant hurdles like flying and singing in public without a cheesy backup machine that WILL require a little hand-holding, learning to go solo into fear this year is what got me over the need to publicly resolve to accomplish every tiny morsel my brain cooked up.

5. Be even more efficient.

Welcome back, five! You tie into resolution one pretty well, sir. While I believe there's always room for improvement when talking efficiency, I truly figured out and utilized it this year. If you remember, I started to see some vague progress in this field when I resolved to be efficient in 2012. This year, though, I really FOUND efficiency like it was the god damn Lost island I'd been screaming about returning to. (Lost reference anyone? Anyone?) I am much more organized than I was a year ago. I even have plans for further organization, some I utilized earlier this very week. I used to shy away from changing my methods for better ones for fear they'd be worse; now I trust my instinct and know the HUGE list I have for improvements will all work out, and they will all be better, 100 fold.

7. Just be.
Herein lies the crux: how can I just be if I always see so many things I must resolve to make better? Is it possible? Or must the two forever be at odds? I like to think I've just been a little more than I was in 2012. That's not to say it has been a meditative, peaceful-as-fuck kind of year. Actually, it was pretty hectic... but there are some things this year I have let go of that I wouldn't have DREAMED of getting past 365 days ago. It's hard, being forever anxious (medically), finding out how to just be. And even though I didn't complete this goal, I'm happy to say that over the past three weeks, things have been falling out of the sky and into my lap in regards to what I need to finally, truly just be. I've been finding answers to questions I've had for a long time, and I've been finding inspiration, reinforcement, and even new standards for myself I will not budge on... ever. And that, ladies and gents, is what I believe the first step to just being is: being yourself.

I'll be back after the first of the year, hopefully with amazing tales of New Year's festivities, a list of resolutions, and... drumroll... big news about the blog and its future.

Have a magical transition from 2013 to 2014! I'll see you on the other side ;)

Positiveville

Taking a cue from the lovely Kacey, I'd like to take a break from my regularly scheduled blogs filled with (oft-negative) venting and life-coaching (from myself?) just to write a nice, thankful, happy entry. I suppose it would have made more sense to ensure this coincided with Thanksgiving, but to hell with it all! Everyone tried to skip right over one of the most scrumptious holidays this year anyway...

AH, negativity abounds already! Stopping, turning around, and heading back toward Positiveville.

Yay! Happiness is fun!

I really enjoy having positive arenas on the Internet to run to as a safe haven on bad days. I don't particularly know or care if that sounds strange because I have met some of the best people via (mostly) positive places like Tumblr and Blogger. It's nice to have a community full of people who love the same things you love, write about the same things you do, and support and love you without even meeting you. They see the raw nerves you bumble out onto some digital paper and still want to get to know you. How cool is that? I wish more people would embrace the positive community that DOES exist on these endless pages of web.

Speaking of, one of my old co-workers is doing it up successfully and creatively in the Big Apple. She writes a blog all about love, her addiction to it, her journey to overcome that addiction, and her relationship with the city. She recently featured me, along with many others, on her blog (another example of the Supportive Internets), allowing us to vent to a person from our past or present romantic life. Here's that entry; I'm the fifth one in the list!

Building off of that entry (so you should probs read it), I just can't further explain how thankful I am for my partner. I've written about that gratitude often, though not too often, as I like to keep most of our life private. But without him having my back, even on my shittiest of days, I don't know how I'd get through such a trying time in my life. Without him coaching me from the sidelines, yelling "Get back up, sports fan! You're not done yet," I would be weaker, less brave, and apt to quit. Even when I don't want to tell him he's right because of my bulldog-level stubbornness, I know he's the one person who has the same intensity to help me succeed in my self-proclaimed need for evolution. At the end of the day, he's the man I dream up ridiculous Vines with. That's that shit I DO like.

While some aspects of my job are... less than stellar... I so enjoy my students. They are hilarious, smart, and much more intriguing than half of the adults I've met over the course of my life. Even if we have a bad day, they are so astute; unlike most of us "grown-ups," they are ready and willing to apologize, move on, and still have a professional relationship. I hope they all keep that openness in their hearts as they go out into the world because it will get them so far in life. I can't wait to watch them grow up; I hope I can be a mentor to them for as long as they need me!

It's really pleasing to finally see a career path (or rather, paths) I can maintain and find happiness in. For a long time, I thought a lot of me is what needed to change. It's only recently I realized that while I do have to work on aspects of myself like my impatience and hot-headedness, a lot of what I saw as a schism in myself was just the void from never knowing what I really want to do for a living. For a long time, I had shut out my dreams and desires because everyone, from complete strangers to my friends and family, had dictated what "success" looked like. But now that I've stopped focusing on them and prioritized myself, now that I've gone through the career-wringer, finding out what fits me and what doesn't, what my strengths are and what I could use some help with... I see myself a little more clearly. Weird how we define ourselves through external things, only to realize that if we pay a little internal attention, we can find a wealth of clarification.

There's a lot more I'm happy about, like being able to spend copious time with my family over winter break, being able to afford heat in such a cold winter, and my new gym opening at the time of the year where I can use it the most. I could sit here all day and wax poetic about the positives in my life, but I have to return to the stressful, strenuous life of an always-tired, always-working, full-time student AND teacher........

LAWD HAVE MERCY ON MY SOUL! And please, try to remind me not to be such a Negative Nitwit Nancy.

Number 21

Open Letter to the Toxic Ones

Dear You,

I don't know how to begin this. By writing instead of telling, am I engaging in the coldness of passive-aggressiveness I hate so much? Perhaps. I really just can't contain what's been on my mind so much over the last 2... 3.... er, 5?... wait, maybe longer........... years.

This has been a long time coming. Maybe I'm too sensitive for my own good, but after a long, somewhat-objective look at the state of things, I think I might be a little justified and that's enough; I don't need the totality of 100 percentness.

I am a giver. I always have been. Of course I take, but I really do find a joy in giving. I have told many of you over the years I wish I'd fall into a lot of money somehow so I could spoil you rotten. I have given even when my body has fought me. I have given when you have betrayed me. I have given when you have given nothing back. And until now, that's all been mostly okay because we were young. But here we are, on the door of adulthood, and the scale of give and take is still uneven. I'm still drowning in a sea of sadness, created with the waters of unfulfillment.

I thought time would solve things. I thought I would never have to point out the lacking pieces of our relationships because surely, with just enough time, wisdom, and experience, things would even out. I would feel less and less like my soul was being sucked from me, and start to feel like pieces of it were starting to be poured back in, even if it were as slow as molasses. But time didn't do the job I thought it would, so now I'm faced with doing it myself. I should have dealt with the task from the start, and now that I have to, I'm not sure how to do it at all.

It's not everyone. It's not all the time. Even those of you who are guilty don't do it on schedule... but it does happen. (Hell, I've written about it before. More than once.) It's not a delusion, as much as I wish it were every day. This has happened as long as I can remember, and it continues to happen, despite my internal wish for things to change. But I guess you can't bring forth change without saying or doing something, so this is some kind of bumbling, probably awful start.

I know I'm not perfect. I've done things wrong, I've shut people out, and I've been inconsistent with contact. And while I take personal responsibility for my faults and my own selfishness, a lot of my behavior over the years has been a reaction to yours. That doesn't mean I don't need to work on things, but I would love it more than life if you worked on your things, too.

First things first: I confess my sins.

1. I have made grave mistakes in friendships over the years. Most of them I made when I was younger, but I made a handful of horrid ones in my older life, too. However, the mistakes I've made have made me the grown-up I am today, trying my damnedest never to do them again and wishing, wishing, wishing you all would stop making them as well.

2. I DO shut people out, namely you, because when I consistently have expectations shattered or unreciprocated, it's easier just to bow out and guard my heart. I sit back and find people that do seem to want to give as much as me, who want to meet those expectations, and wait for the rest of the group to catch up. The only problem is, these people never do. And every time I give them a chance, give them the opportunity to live up to my expectations, they break my heart all over again. It's too much to cry every night about another forgotten call or text, another birthday missed. It's for my sanity that I pull away long enough to regroup and heal.

3. Mostly my inconsistent contact has to do with outside factors. I move a lot; I work very hard during the school year; I have graduate school to finish; I have to save my money. But you all also need to remember something I have ne'er argued and always confessed: I hate the phone. It brings me some anxiety, and it's just an annoying form of contact. But there is a small part of me that thinks some of that anxiety, which didn't begin until later in my life, comes from the inconsistency I've learned to expect in return.

Second things second: I explain.

1. You are not reliable. I know that sounds awful, and I'm truly sorry, but you aren't. You can be good people. You have been there in bad times and good, but not really on a constant basis. If we make plans, you often are late or cancel last minute. It would be okay if it were for something important or understandable, but when you just decide to bow out because you've found something more fun or are just too lazy, that's rude and insulting.

2. You don't care. I say that in the most general sense. You don't care about my life if it doesn't involve petty, pretty, easy things, but more bothersome is that you don't care about your own life. You don't care if you succeed, if you will have enough money for bills, if you find a job you love, if you find your own happiness, if you won't be too hungover to make the appointment we set a week ago. You don't care about finding yourself or finding the whole version of that self. You don't care about anything except initial satisfaction, often found in booze, drugs, gossip, or shallow bullshit. But I care. I care about everything, and I need my friends to care, too.

3. You turn it around on me. On the occasions I HAVE said something, my past has been thrown in my face. That's to be expected, I suppose, but those who have known me long enough can see the evolution I have made. And you know what? It's old. It's not effective. I know where I am well enough that the argument is invalid. We're talking about the people we are now, and the better people we should become. We're not talking about some dumb ass girl from two or ten years ago.

4. You don't understand. You don't understand the time constraints and responsibilities of adulthood, let alone the effect the intricacies of an individual has on both of them. For example, I have a problem with the fact you call bullshit on my health when I have cried and tried and worked and fallen and gotten back up about it over so many years. You haven't sat with me during a tachycardia attack, walked in on me crying on my floor in visceral pain, listened to me on the phone as I breathe for dear life, or felt the heavy weight of the fatigue I carry every day, yet still push through. I also have a problem with the fact that you don't respect my calendar, as if I'm an asshole for wanting to and making plans well, well in advance. If you make plans for something a week in advance, even then may be too late. I hate I can't be there for you, but if something is important enough that you would like me to be there, make sure you send me a reminder as soon as you think of it. You need to understand my health. You need to understand my calendar. You need to understand everything, and how everything changes when we're adults. With that understanding will come a respect that just isn't there with us right now. What the hell is friendship without respect?

Third things third: I'm sure I have done every single one of these things to you in my past, and for that, I am truly sorry. But I have been on a journey to wholeness for a very long time, and I cannot be whole by perpetuating this bad behavior myself. It has mostly ended for me, but I will say right now: it ends for me all the way today. However, that also means I can't surround myself with people who will not end the cycle themselves. I need to feel whole instead of drained, happy instead of constantly heartbroken. I need to be able to be the full me, and I can't do that unless you do the same.

As I mentioned when I wrote about this before, I've been mourning over this whole change for a really long time. Now I see the only way I can truly move on from my grief, and hopefully see a few of you there on the other side, is to set the truth free. I still love you, Toxic Ones.

Hoping you'll join me for the ride,

(it's gonna be a real honest, but fulfilling one),

Rachel

Hi... Meet Me!

You think you know me after reading this blog for years, and you're probably right. There's a lot more about myself you might see in my words than I can in the mirror... but lately I've been having to learn that as often as people tell you not to defend who you are, it will take them less than a second to turn around and make you do just that.

Luckily, I've been on a new path of self-discovery. Over three years ago, I figured out who I was. Now, I'm figuring out not only how to deepen that person, but how to live as that person in a world that doesn't really want individuality, no matter how many times it says it does.

I've talked about being unapologetically you, but I forgot that constantly saying sorry isn't the only way you do yourself a disservice. Always being angry and offended because you have to defend who you are every day is another way to quickly squash your self-esteem and progress.

Since I'm trying with all my tiny might to stop letting people give me shit for being who I am, let me remind you of exactly what people are telling me to hide from the world.

I am observant. This is often confused with being "ultra sensitive," but I suppose that's the price I have to pay for always noticing the small things. I can sense people's moods, hear changes in their voices, know what they really mean and try to play off as a joke, and see the glances they exchange. For a long time, I thought I was being an asshole and just projecting my wild imagination on people. However, I recently realized that people simply don't like to get caught. They like to be able to get away with shifty behavior. Most people live their lives by being secret assholes; some are even 007-level bastards... so when I call them out on their behavior, they turn the tables on me for diversion. It's okay. I get it now!

I have high expectations. There's some bullshit, pink, curly-cued meme floating around the Internet about "not being high maintenance, just having high expectations..." but the two are not interchangeable in any way, so it's when the latter occurs that I have to defend my expectations. But hey, these things should honestly be common practice – I'm just not afraid to continually say so: I expect people to treat other people kindly; I expect people not be racist/sexist/etc. assholes because it's the incorrect reaction to other humans; I expect people to understand one another as being mere mortals with many flaws; I expect other people to put in as much as I do, and to ease up when one of us can't. I expect a lot, but I also believe in the ability of everyone to meet those expectations.

I am vulnerable. I have always chosen my vulnerability, though I've often had to defend that choice. I believe in being open, in saying sorry, in crying, in letting people in. I choose all of that because it makes me stronger than everyone else. I have walls upon walls of steel-like strength from all those times people took advantage of my vulnerability, but if I'm crying, I often have to defend those tears like they are some sign of weakness. I wish people knew the courage it takes to be an open nerve, but it's yet another thing unworthy of defense funds.

I am different. I have invisible disabilities. I care so, so much about everything and everyone because I have a heart full of compassion. I am able to do a lot of stuff other people cannot, but also limited in many other "everyday" ways. I love things most people deem unimportant. I need time, love, and a home, but not a house. I need loyalty in a way that can drive most people away... and even if it's all weird or out of place to others, it's what lies within me. All of the big and little things that piece together my odd little puzzle should never be put up for negotiation, so I'm tired of finding myself in the midst of a battle for whether there is a "rightness" in being me.

There it is, dudes and dudettes. I know the project of "myself" will always be an evolving, living, breathing thing, but even on the days when my features become inconvenient, I couldn't and wouldn't have it any other way. And just like I said I would stop saying sorry so much, I'm going to stop defending just being Rachel as well. I will change as we all do with time, but it will never be at the suggestion from an outsider that who I am inside just isn't good enough.

Hoping everyone finds the courage to let go of the anger and give into the joy of just being yourself. I know it'll take some time for me, but I also know I can do it.

P.S. If you've been missing me, I blog (anonymously) on the regular about my new job. Email imgonnadothatgirl@gmail.com if you want the link!

Forgiveness is More Than Saying Sorry

Aside from being an obviously sublime piece of music, forgiveness really is more than saying sorry. You have to show it. You have to mean it. You have to want it. But lately, I've realized the most important thing about forgiveness is that you have to be able to forgive yourself for NOT forgiving everyone and everything.

I know, I know. We're taught to rise above. We're encouraged to follow all those pretty little quotes floating around the Internet, reminding us that holding onto anger or whatever the hell it is we're hugging close, hurts the collective us more than the collective them. And mostly, that is true. It wouldn't be a cliche if it weren't. But there are some people, some things, you just don't have to forgive. It's not law. And you know what? It's also not wrong. It doesn't mean you're holding on to hate or violently cursing the accused's name every night. It just means you have decided to let go without giving said offender the gift of absolution. You're not required to, and you never were.

I've been thinking about the people who have wronged me over the years. Some of them definitely deserve my pardon, while others deserve to suffer some kind of moral penance. On the flip side, I know there are people who will probably never grant me clemency for some of my crimes on them, while others deserve and would most likely accept an apology.

So no, I don't forgive you for alienating me before moving out on me and leaving me thousands in debt. I don't forgive your behavior, and I don't think you should be allowed to forget how many people you hurt in the wake of your departure. You are not forgiven.

And yes, I am sorry for what he did to both of us and how it made me treat you. If I had known, I wouldn't have been a participant. I hope you get out one day. One day...

So no, I do not accept your half-ass warning/apology about bringing me into your psychotic public breakdown, invading my rights to privacy. I don't think you deserve to be forgiven by anyone for what you did. You are not a good person; I do not give you a reprieve.

And yes, I am sorry for whatever drove us apart. Some of it was me, and some of it was you, as it always is in those kind of fizzle-out-friendships. I hope you're as happy as I am now, and maybe we can sit together over junk food and talk about it all again one day. One day...

So no, I do not forgive any of you for making me believe I deserved less than I did. I do not forgive any of you for taking advantage of every part of me. I do not forgive you for trying to hold me down, hold me back, hold me away from the light. I will never release you from your deeds.

And yes, I do forgive myself for all the times I thought I had to forgive these people, all the people, for the things they'd done to me. I forgive myself for holding on too long and for letting go too fast. I forgive myself for not standing up when I should have and not sitting down when I could have. I forgive myself for not knowing how to forgive, when to forgive, if I should forgive. Of greatest importance, I forgive myself for not always trusting myself, for not believing I knew what was best for me, even when the world told me to hold on or let go.

I forgive myself most of all because without the forgiveness (or lack thereof) I gave, I would not be who I am or where I am today. And today, well... I don't have a reason to apologize or forgive. Today, I've learned to live unapologetically and unforgivingly as... me.

Tired of Tired

I'm tired.

I'm tired of not appreciating enough the only job that will have me. I'm tired of not having money. I'm tired of working too hard to make the career I DO want for myself. I'm tired of being told "sometimes you have to do things in life you don't want to do," just to turn around and alternatively be told "life's too short, so do what you love." I'm tired of asking for help and not getting any. I'm tired of being told to ask for help after I've already asked. I'm tired of busting my ass to make an occupation I love and getting door after door slammed in my face. I'm tired of people telling me "you must not be working hard enough, then."

I'm tired.

I'm tired of feeling anxious and worried all the time. I'm tired of explaining those things stem from illness. I'm tired of explaining that yes, mental illness is real. I'm tired of feeling sick all the time. I'm tired of doctors telling me I'm okay when I feel so distinctly un-okay. I'm tired of feeling fatigue on 3 or 8 or 10 hours of sleep. I'm tired of internally hating my sicknesses when I love my self and my body so much. I'm tired of being told to walk it off, work through it, get over it. I'm tired of searching for a solution and finding the same old lines fed to me by professionals who haven't ever had their mind and body fighting against them. I'm tired of not getting to enjoy life because I'm bound by invisible chains of pain.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of being the last one. I'm tired of being a best friend, but not THE best friend. I'm tired of being alone and lonely, one or the other or both. I'm tired of waiting in the wings. I'm tired of putting myself out there too often, too far. I'm tired of having to go back into hiding. I'm tired of always caring, but never being cared for. I'm tired of missing people, even when some of those people are still right in front of me. I'm tired of calling, texting, emailing, chatting. I'm tired of letting all of it slide, letting everyone think it's okay to put me last. I'm tired of being unsupported.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of knowing where I should be, yet not having the means to get there. I'm tired of knowing who and what makes me happy, yet unimportant realities get priority, get in the way when they shouldn't. I'm tired of apologizing. I'm tired of trying to fit my round personality into a boring square hole. I'm tired of screaming. I'm tired of not fulfilling my potential in life for reasons I don't understand, but reasons that nonetheless weigh so heavily on my shoulders every day.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of knowing I'm good enough and falling on my face every. single. time. I'm tired of being told to grow up, to stop caring, to get over it, to let go of my dreams. I'm tired of a lack of faith, of hope, of connection, of love. I'm tired of pleasing others who say they know what's best for me. I'm tired of being told I'm not capable of knowing what is best for myself. I'm tired of standing up for myself. I'm tired of being anyone other than myself.

I'm tired of being tired.

My Definition of Fun

... is not the same as yours. I don't mind that notion one bit. I like liking what I like, not what someone prescribes me to like. I like being myself and even more so, feeling free to be myself. What I don't like is being told I'm not fun based on a fabricated charade of fun most people follow. That's not my idea of fun.

My idea of fun is getting up early and walking on a lake shore or up a mountain trail. My idea of fun is working hard on something I am passionate about. My idea of fun is marathoning good television and film, sometimes all day. My idea of fun is making a home and spending a lot of time there. My idea of fun is a game where no one cares about winning, only being clumsy and having a good time. My idea of fun is writing, reading, acting, singing, dancing even when I'm bad at it. My idea of fun is creating new things, relaxing with my pets, and holding the hand of the person I love while doing it all.

You see, my idea of fun is incredibly internal. It has everything to do with me because at my core, I only need myself to have a good time... well, except for when I want my partner there to just smile and be there as I have that fun. So when someone tells me I'm not fun, not only are they insulting my right to define for myself what is fun, but what makes up the 99% of that definition: me.

My idea of fun is not drinking as much as I can as often as I can. I enjoy a drink from time to time, but I more enjoy being able to wake up the next morning and work out or do something else I love. My idea of fun does not require many people. I do enjoy hanging out with pals, but I don't like having to justify that I'm simply ready to be alone or I'm feeling overwhelmed when I don't want to hang out every single time someone asks. My idea of fun is not having to go out. I do like to adventure to new places, but I don't require it to feel alive, to feel some desperate sense of newness; I already hold that awe and wonder inside me every day. I hold it in mind when I'm doing my fun things, and I hold it in my heart.

My idea of fun is being able to have my own version of fun without being chastised. My idea of fun is finding people who understand the same kind of fun I do, or at the very least, understand we don't have to have the same ideas to both be fun in our own ways. My idea of fun is one day being understood. My idea of fun is my own, and though its definition may change over the years, I will always be the same. I will always be me.

And me? I am fun.

A Tale of Woe

I wish I had the comedic efforts of Allie Brosh to aid in this tale, but alas, I am not in a place of creativeness; if I were, could I even begin to write/illustrate something as magnificent, yet touching, as these entries? I hope so, but know the answer is "LOL, probably not, girl."

On with the tale...

It all started sometime last year, when I started feeling something of a quarter-life crisis. I was happy with the good parts of my life, but couldn't shake the funk of the bad parts. In fact, I often let the stuff bothering me eclipse the stuff that made me smile. It left me in a series of funks, but every time I found my way out, so I figured it was just self-pity or a part of growing up.

Not so long ago, I felt better for a lengthier period of time than I had for as long as I can remember. My life started to go on an upswing: I figured out some of what I wanted to do and who I wanted to do it with. I felt mostly okay, but there would always be something...

That something was and is normally me overthinking any and everything. It's how I've always been, and on occasion, it can be helpful. But there are the other times, most times, when I overthink something that has little importance in reality, or overanalyze someone's actions for stupid reasons. Times when I can't stop the thoughts, as irrational as they sound even to myself. Times when I can't find happiness or any other emotion, even when I want to.

via Hyperbole and a Half

I alternate between non-stop movement and sloth-like slowness, physically and mentally speaking, both accompanied with this astounding fatigue that feels like it has been here since I was born. I am never quite manic, but I'm never quite depressed either. Must mean the irritability, the paranoia, the anxiety, the sadness, the nothingness, the tiredness, and all the ups and downs and in-betweens must be normal, right? It's totally normal to feel nothing about a new job. It's totally normal to slouch in non-productiveness all day because you feel like an ocean is sitting on top of you. It's totally normal because it's not noticeably or dangerously abnormal. Right? RIGHT?!

I'll take wrong for $500, Alex.

After a series of events and lots of chats with my truth-sayer, I realized the reactions I have, while somewhat a part of who I am, are still not necessarily normal. It's like I have a five-course Brinner in front of me all the time and I just think, "Huh, I really could care less about the delicious and copious ways in which crispy bacon has been utilized in this meal." But then sometimes I think "THERE IS NO WAY THIS IS MINE. SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING HIDDEN UNDER THIS TABLE! THE CHEFS ARE PROBZ POISONING ME! GOOD BRINNER JUST DOESN'T FALL INTO MY LAP!" And other times I'm like "Oh, man, I really hope all the animals that died to make this didn't have large families, and golly, I really hope these carbs don't clog my arteries and give me a heart attack, and SHIT, I should probably make sure that everyone else at Brinner has their meals taken care of first, and OMG! I can't believe the chef hasn't come out of the kitchen to check on us yet. Do you think he's okay? He's probably burning alive."

It's exhausting to read. It's exhausting to write. It's exhausting to live. I mean really, who can't just sit back and enjoy the bacon, no matter the circumstances? You should be able to... but I can't. Why?

In good faith, I headed to my always-trusty Internet to start investigating the process of fixin'-uppin'. After a few duds, I found a somewhat decent and free online test to take to begin to narrow down what my mind's ailment could be. I knew I couldn't be bi-polar, but everything seemed somewhat similar; a distant cousin of the disorder perhaps. And while I did score high on said disorder, I also scored high on something called Cyclothymia.

To be crass, cyclothymia is like bi-polar lite. If bi-polar were the Catholic church, I'd be Episcopalian. Of course, I have to be diagnosed. I have an appointment to chat with my trusty psych later this month to hopefully do that, but I honestly don't know what the course will be. I do know that it's a step.

That step is a crucial one, but it's not where this journey starts, and most certainly not where it ends. I also have to start making decisions that make me happy, and more importantly, decisions simply to be happy -- a hard fight, but one I think I can win. And this happiness must be based on my own notions, not some pre-described ones my friends, or my family, or even society as a whole may try to force upon me. I need to find my happy to find my way back to myself.

So goes my tale of woe. I know it's not the worst there's ever been, nor the worst there will ever be. But I do think it's an important tale to tell because as someone who has lived it for a long time, it can be really hard to admit to yourself something is wrong. It can also be even harder to notice something is wrong to begin with. Luckily, I have a person to kick my ass in gear, but if you don't... well, here I am:

Get your ass in gear! Take a test. Call a number. Make an appointment. Mental health is still health. E'rrybody got time fo' dat.

This Day Is Stupid

This day has been hard for me since I was 17. It was the day I first permanently lost something I thought I'd have forever and experienced the accompanying long heartbreak with that kinda thing.

But I knew I'd be okay because what I'd had, for the time I had it, was 100% different and special from anything else on the planet. I lost my best friend, but knew that in the time I'd had with him, we'd made it the best it could have ever been. I knew I'd find the same kind of knock-you-off-your-feet love again, and I'm so lucky to say I have.

Then this day got harder when, four years ago, my cuddly bear of an uncle passed away. This day – the 20th – the day of his birth, became a hard reminder that he wasn't ticking off another year on the calendar like the rest of us.

But I knew I'd be okay. I knew the whole family would be okay because we had each other, we had our humor, and we had dimes of hope sent to us every time we needed one. We'd always have the gash, but it would sting less and less over time as we held each other together, even if only with Scotch tape.

Oh, but this day wasn't done with me. I thought the double-whammy would be enough, but the 20th said, "Hey, let's have another go, shall we!?" So as I was on my way up north this morning to see my ailing Pop-Pop, my grandma called to say he was already gone. My sweet, hilarious Pop-Pop, who was always there to tell me how gorgeous he thought I was when I was feeling down and how much he loved me, no matter how I was feeling.

I guess this is where I should write "But I know I'll be okay, and I know my family will be okay..." but I'm not at the place right now. I'm not sure how I feel about the triple threat of grief this day brings. I am sure even while having this great support group of folks I do, April 20th will always be marred with a gray blob on my calendar. Most of all, I am sure that I will always miss three of the most important men in my life.

RIP JTW, JLG, & LAG

Like MacLaren's

Lady-friend-for-life W and I were marathoning How I Met Your Mother after a particularly taxing couple of weeks. There's solid comfort in the laughs the gang doles out episode after episode, but we realized there's something else that truly makes us feel comforted in the arms of HIMYM.

All of us want a MacLaren's. We want a place where "everybody knows our names," but we know we can't really claim Sam and Diane. Instead, we have Ted and Robin and Barney. We have their dynamic to strive for, their bar to covet. We want the friends who come with MacLaren's, the ones who become family. Most of all, what we really want and what MacLaren's really represents is stability, that something to count on.

MacLaren's gives us those stable things we want. We want a place to call home. We want people who can give us consistent love and constant laughs, who will be there for us through the bigger things in life that are more frequent now than they were 5 years ago: marriage, death, break-ups, promotions, lay-offs, babies, infertility, and the changes changes changes so fast that we've learned to take them as we go, even when we're not ready for them.

In fact, the fact we want stability is one of those changes we have to take in stride. We have to realize we're not losing anything by being stable, and we're not losing ourselves by hoping for it. Even the freest birds like having a place to land.

The best part about the idea of a MacLaren's is that it gives us a place to remember to let loose, even though we're settling down. The two might seem impossible roommates, but if we can come to terms with the fact that fun when we're 25 is different than when we were 21, the two can live together harmoniously. And you know what? It's okay that fun is different... better even! It has to be; otherwise, we'd be horny, inconsiderate, blacked-out assholes for the rest of our lives. And that's okay for a while, but when we reach a certain age, trying to hold on to the ideals of the past, grasping to this lifestyle of younger (wo)men, we miss all the new kinds of fun of mid-20-something-ness.

Most of all, if we don't let go of then, we miss out on the stability of now. We miss out on the people around us who are starting to crave routine. We miss out getting to meet our people every night after work for beer and life chatter. We miss out on Ted, and Marshall, and Legen... wait for it... dary! Barney Stintson. We miss out on MacLaren's. And look at them:

Don't you just know you'd regret it forever if you missed out on MacLaren's?

My Journey to Life Goddessness

It's really nice to have a job at all, especially a job I like, get paid well to do, and make a difference while doing (all on a super flexible schedule that actually encourages me to show up), but damn... I miss other things.

I feel like an animal emerging from its cave after a winter of hibernation. I've been in a black spiral of Lohan-level exhaustion for weeks, only strong enough to watch Lost with J in our blacked-out living room after finally escaping a building the temperature of Antarctica I've just worked in for 8+ hours. As much as I love Desmond Hume, his face just isn't enough. There's more out there, even if it's not as pretty and has a distinct lack of Scottish accent.

I guess I've always wanted to be one of those annoying women who "does it all," but I'm just now realizing how hard it is to be that way. Want a career, relationship, dogs, friends, craft time, TV time, family time, lazy time, writing time, shopping time, alone time, together time, nature time, cleaning time?!?!?! NO PROBLEM! You just have to defy sleep, hunger, thirst, gravity, and logic first.

I find myself being able to balance about three of these things tops before I pass out. Maybe it's 'cause I can't have stimulants or else my heart will explode, or maybe it's just because no one person should ever be doing so much. Whatever it is, what the hell, bro? Why are you ruining my lifelong dream of being Martha Stewart Fucking Sunshine?!

"It's a balancing act" is the most absurd description of perfect time management I've ever heard. "It's a clusterfuck of semi-efficiency and manic struggle" is more like it, or so I've come to find. Sure, I'm many steps behind my evil, name-stealing twin RR, but I'm getting there. Here's what I've learned so far:

 

• I will probably never feel rested again.

• I HAVE to train my heart to like caffeine. I'm reintroducing it to my system re: green tea because stuffing my face with sugar is not really giving me the energy boost I think it is.

• I will never be ready in 10 minutes again because I have to water the plants, and give the dog his medicine, and DAMMIT IT, COOP, GET OUT OF THE WAY!, and pack my lunch, and find my other shoe, and HEY! I would look pretty with some make-up on for once, and while we're at it, let's just play dress up, and...

• Clean hair is overrated.

• So is being on time.

• There are a lot more hours in the day after you leave work if you stop watching TV.

• But TV is so good and requires no effort after a day full of it.

• Whatever, bitch, get off your ass and go make a gift for your friend because she's better than TV, even Lost.

• NOTHING IS BETTER THAN LOST!

• Lots of things in real life are WAY better than Lost even though I will never admit it, not even now. Wait...

• I'm glad I live with J or else I would never have the chance to force him to snuggle me for the entirety of the 4 hours we're both still conscious after work.

• I will have to be an early to bed, early to rise person forever, so let's just get our asses in bed already. Ugh.

• Hey, Tumblr, I like really miss you. Maybe I should spend an hour on your iPhone app before I pass out.

• I will always pass out before I get to look at Tumblr, or this blog, or anything other than the back of my eyelids.

• THERE'S ALWAYS THE WEEKEND!!!!!

 

Happy Friday, everyone. I'm going to the land of Days-Where-All-the-Shit-I-Just-Listed-Doesn't-Apply. See you on the other side, brotha. 

What do y'all do to become domestic/life goddesses?

Ode to Childhood Crushes

I was talking with my gal pals W and S recently about an entry I'd found in an old notebook of mine. It was a daily journal from either fourth or fifth grade that I'd write in every morning and turn in to my teacher to grade. The specific entry we were chatting about was one I'd made during the year of Titanic's first release. Though I had long maintained a hatred for the greasy scoundrel cast as the lead, my tune changed as soon as I saw the movie.

"I can never let anyone know about my love for Leo, especially W and M. They will make fun of me and try to steal him from me!"

Aside from realizing I most likely scared the shit out of my teacher with mass delusions of grandeur, it was priceless re-reading. W and I recalled more of our fangirl insanity, and with the help of an earlier chat with my mom, I realized that despite the craziness of ridiculous celeb crushes, they are definitive moments in our girlhoods. Looking back, these stupid, little infatuations were and are way more than that.

Yes, I think these crushes make all wee gals certifiably mental, and yes, I think we and the generations before us had much better crush material to squeeze on, and yes, even though I think these things are true doesn't make it less of a right of passage for these new chicks. It does make it more hilarious, but isn't that the whole point? To laugh at yourself? To look back and say "God damn, what was I thinking?!"

My first crush was Han Solo, swiftly followed by David Bowie in his turn as Jareth the Goblin King. My mom's first crushes were Jesus and Honest Abe. As different as they are in nature, it all came full circle when my mom discovered the reason I had dubbed the church where I attended pre-school the "Han Solo Church" was because of a cement Jesus partially coming out of the brick building, akin to Han's stint in carbonite.

Though my first crushes were a little odd but admittedly amazing to recall, I soon hopped on the fresh-faced boy bandwagon. My girlfriends and I all loved the same boys, but with equal fervor and passion. Maybe too much fervor and passion.

W was heartbroken when her up-the-street neighbor stole and destroyed her prized Taylor Hanson photo. I had a full diary dedicated to him and a plethora of his BOP pull-out posters on my wall. We sang along with his brotherly band's CDs until the day of a yard sale a couple years later when I pawned every one of them.

We worshipped her top-scale poster of JTT as if it were some god before we even knew what idolatry was. I saw The Lion King in the movie theatre as many times as I could muster and dreaded the moment Simba hit puberty and lost my crush as his voice over. I coveted my Simba doll because I believed somehow that he was an extension of JTT. I couldn't bare to be away from it, an observation my mom used to her advantage when I was a little asshole.

My older cousin aided my unending, multiple year, maybe-still-hanging-around love affair with Justin Timberlake. She made me a book full of hard-to-find photos of Mr. Smooth himself, a nickname I probably shouldn't have known he possessed. I was one of the millions of girls that made their sophomore album break the record for best-selling in the first week. Words can't describe my devastation when the live show I was set to see got rescheduled to a time that made it impossible for me to attend. It was like I was sure if I could just get him to see me, JT would sweep me off of my feet and love me for who I was for all eternity.

Healthy, right?

Over the years, many other crushes came and went for me, but one day I dropped the tweens for Ewan McGregor, and that was a big metaphor for what was around the corner: boy to man, fantasy to reality, immature to (mostly) mature. Simply put, I evolved. Now I can simultaneously admit how outlandish celeb crushes are and how much better my real-life man is, even if John Mayer did look me in the eyes that one time.

Part of them will always be alive in me because they shaped me, even if I can't quite figure out how. Part of me will always love them.

Back in college, I downloaded two of the Hanson CDs I'd chucked in childhood. I still swoon when Solo says "I know." Oh, and I'm most definitely going to see Titanic in 3D, even if I hate the latter so much I want to scream.

P.S. I love you, Simon Pegg.