Some loose ends, and a reintroduction.

I don't know if you have missed me, but I have missed me. I was re-reading some OLD posts and I thought about the fact that if you wanted to read my blog from start to finish (which I am in no way endorsing- they are not all gems, trust me) you might want a recap. A small, pocket dictionary sized set of condensed lessons about who I am, who the key players have been, what their lives are like now, and what's next for me. If I miss anyone, let me know.

Mr. Geri: One of the very first Mr.'s, and one with an interesting story, Mr. Geri was a young man who I was infatuated with. I think- yes, I think I was 16 when we met, going on 17 and he was....24? I had the biggest crush on him and he used a lot of my youth and vulnerability to his advantage. Not that others after him didn't do the same, mind you, he was just the first. I found out years later that during the time I idolized him, he was screwing with another woman's affections, a girl who I became very close friends with and whom at the time, I had no idea had any relation to him what so ever. She is now happily married and a step mom. He is married to, though who knows how happily. Other than Facebook, I really don't know much about him.

Mr. Navy: I really liked Mr. Navy, and had I known myself better, I would have treated him better. I have no idea what he's been up to since 2006, but he wasn't the last nice guy I overlooked.

Dave: One of the few whom I ever gave a real name, and one with the shortest story. He was a friend of a coworker who I was set up with. A super nice guy who I steam rolled. Dave, if you ever read this, I am sorry. I know how I treated you was foolish and hurtful. I hope your wife now never makes you feel small.

Mr. Heartbreaker: Oh, Mr. Heartbreaker. I was so in love with you for so long, I'm not sure where to start. Mr. Heartbreaker is perhaps better represented in his own terms rather than mine. He is more than what he was ever to me. Mr. Heartbreaker is now unfailingly homosexual and living out the gay life to the fullest. He has a great job and is on the way to getting a great education under his belt. Good luck, and who would have known when we were kids how this crazy world would change us? A side note: His mother did admit to me at one point that if she would have let us alone when we were kids, maybe he wouldn't be gay. No, sorry, that's not how it works, though I can't say the thought never crossed my mind.

Mr. Hamster: Who the heck knows where to start here. I can't say much from a first hand account about him, what he does, or who he has grown up to be. I know I still have things I would like to ask him, things I would like to resolve with him. Mr.Hamster played a big roll to me in that I was attracted to him, but he controlled all of the strings. He broke my heart without regard more than once and, to my knowledge, Karma still owes him. But who am I to demand it, and would I feel any better knowing he has ever had his heart broken? No. I would feel better if I could a.) forget that whole thing ever happened, b.) repair the damage my five year obsession with him did to my friendships from that time, or c.) could hear from him what he thinks happened between us. But I am just left with a gaping hole in my personal story and I guess that just has to be ok.

Mr. Paramour: Yes, his fiance did know about us and yes, she was mad. She had made an attempt to befriend me though on facebook about 2 years ago, but I think it was just a spying situation, which is fine. I don't think she ever did get married, but I know he is with someone now and has 2 beautiful daughters and a great job. So good for him. He never did join the military though. I am sorry that we were ever friends though, because in the end it did more harm than good for both of us.

Mr. L: A loaded die, for sure. Mr. L was my first "grown up" relationship. Not that I was a grown up while in it. He was, having 31 years to my 19. But he was the first person I (foolishly) had sex with. Looking back, it was more than having sex with him that changed who I was. It was having sex with him that caused me to be open to a sexual relationship that then entangled me in the worst position I have ever been in my life. It was filling my empty, numb heart with the wrong medicine and then watching it die. It's not the sex that matters, it is how you value virginity, what it means to lose it, and who is in the frame when you re focus that matters.

Mr. Awesomness: Mr. Awesomeness and I married in May of 2006. Our divorce was finalized in October of 2010, but we separated in July of 2007. There are so many things wrong with him, what he did to me, how he treated me, and what his family put me through that I am not even sure where to begin. The things I know for sure blur into such obscurity with the things he tried to make me believe that I am not totally sure what's what. I know that he used a lot of my insecurities to try and trap me. I know that he was a predator, not a regular man in love. I know that everything he put me through could be linked to his own mental disorders and the environment in which he grew up. I know that I will avoid every situation in which I think he might show up for the rest of my life. I wish his newest S.O. a better life. I hope for his sake and hers that he turns himself around. Who knows, right?

His Whole Family: There are redeeming people in his family and I can only hope that they succeed in distancing themselves from the root of all of their dysfunction, their father. I hate to pin point on person, because in any relationship there are at least two people and they should be equally to blame, but that is just not the case here. His father is pure evil, he used his power as the father figure to demean everyone in the family, he used God and the influence of religion to squelch all semblances of riots, and I don't think he is capable of change. From Facebook spying I have seen positive things happening, but all around it is a bad situation and I am glad to be rid of it.

Miss. Loquacious: She is married and rather boring. Actually, despite her being in my upcoming wedding and her professions of loving our friendship, I rarely ever hear from her. I don't know if she doesn't like Maryland, but I rarely ever see her either. I am willing however to admit that friendship is a two way street and I haven't been to enthused in going her way either out of sheer laziness.

Miss. Salisbury: Having been an incredible roommate in her post college days, Miss. Salisbury recently moved out to live with her beau (Not Hott Stuff, though my blog is not the place really for their past.) She also will be in my wedding and she has continued to be my most sane and continuous friend all these years.

Miss. WooWoo: Her and Mr. Future Millionaire did not get married. They fizzled out before they ever got going and a laughed heartily at that. She came in to church one day crying about how he was now courting her best friend and trying to pawn off her despair on how hard it is to find "the one." No, you crazy, you were sad because Mr. Future Millionaire did to you what he did to me: he saw greener grass with your best friend and went for it. I can't help laughing about that is some deeply dark and sick place. She is, for all I know, struggling to get another degree because (no surprise) horse trading isn't all its cracked up to be. Again, not much of this is first hand. I am and have been so disappointed with her that i can't even pretend to care to talk to her. As far as I can tell, She is still a "horse-faced frumpy mister"

Mr. Future Millionaire: We did not end up together, despite the protestations of my 14-19 year old heart. And he is the only lost love that I have grown up and relinquished. I have no remaining questions for him, no accusations, no demands to make. I wish him the best with his new future bride (Miss. WooWoo does not, but she might in time,) and I still have faith that he will be a millionaire one day. He is now living mostly in Ohio, much to his mother's dismay.

Young John, Benny, and DR: Some people have asked, while others have guessed and I am finally ready to tell you about Young John. Young John started out as an outlet for expressing things that I had repressed. He was a retelling of old tales of hurt, and outlet for cruelty I had seen, and a therapy. They are fictional characters, telling some real and some fabricated stories, but always expressing what I could not. Maybe I really felt what they felt, maybe I saw someone else feeling it and wanted it or wanted to hide from it. They are a tool, a useful, vibrant, well loved tool for helping me cope with any number of things. I hop that in showing them to you, you have seen more of me.

The Boy: The Boy has worked his way into every corner of my heart, eradicating fear and doubt, rescuing me from myself, and reviving and reliving all of my dreams one by one. He is my team leader, my cheerleader, my companion, my lover, my partner in crime, and my friend. We are getting married in November and it is not just a final step for us, it is the beginning and end of who we will become. I can't wait to learn more and more about him, to fall even more in love with him, and to build a family with him. And our dogs. Who could forget the dogs?

I think that should catch you up to life now, without you having to do the grunt work. I hope it has been worth the journey for those of you who stuck in there with me, and for those of you brave enough to enter, welcome. Welcome.

"My what a long strange it's been" indeed.

Writing for Writing's Sake

Sake? What does Japanese rice wine have to do with it all?

This is literally an entry to tell you that I should write more often. Or to tell me that I should write more often. I am not really sure. Here is a quick view of how I feel, and if I am so inclined I will expand later. More likely than not though, I will forget about you again until I feel compelled by some inner weighty guilt to give you another quick debriefing with more empty promises.

The Boy's Sister was recently married. Actually, recently engaged and recently married. I actually will not be getting to in-depth here about this because I generally like Her and the nice young man she married, but it was all around an interesting marriage. I have the following feelings: She is so young and she knows him so little and I don't want her to make the same mistakes I did and there is ever so small a jealous beast beneath my serene exterior, et. al. Expressing any/ all of these makes me feel

• That I sound like my mother


• Like a jealous beast. Not a small one, a real, life-sized one.


• Like I am meddling. Which I have never had a real problem with before, but whatever.

School is... trying? No, I am trying, school is winning. I am exhausted, grumpy, and have a flat affect towards everything not school related. I am a solely goal oriented troglodyte, not hunting berries or boar, but hunting a C average and interested only in facts, numbers, and medical terms.

That isn't totally true. I have found time this semester to finish a book I knew I was going to love before I even started: Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. It was an inspiring novel about the differences among the class systems in 1860 England. It gave a very clear view of the Northern rural England and the Industrial South through the eyes of our heroine, Margaret Hale, who goes through such a transformation as is not warranted in modern literature. Gaskell created a credible and endearing heroine while choosing carefully to not promote the North or the South, but rather allowing the reader to choose for himself.

Home ownership is not for the weary. There is a reason they cost so much: To convince you not to buy one because they cost so much time, resources and sanity. I love our home, I just wish this were pioneer days and we could have built our own little log cabin and had gas lamps. Fooey on modern innovations. Who asked for you any how, running water and light fixtures? Who indeed.

Wedding planning is in the same vein. I won't repeat it, I will write a whole separate article about it later. But beware. I will whine. That is all I have the energy for. I think.

More later, if I remember. I really do want to try to please you and to keep you coming back, ye few.

Something New...

I wrote this over a year ago, and except for the fact that I am now a new, unpronounceable zodiac sign, it is actually perfect. We are perfect. In case you were wondering.

"But Boy are you sure?"


There are a million and one things to think about when saying yes to someone. For one, What are they really asking you to do? Is a simple lunch date to you really the best chance this person has to collect some of your hair for their alter to you?


By saying yes when someone asks you to babysit are you really signing your life away to an ungrateful mom who will call you every Friday night?

By telling someone you love them, does that mean that life is over? That you have made a choice between that person and every other passionate dream you may have ever had?

When I asked the guy that set The Boy and I up for an account of The Boy, I had no idea his answer would be "He's tall." But that was the perfect answer for the beginning of the most calming, delightful, and comfortable relationship I have ever been involved in.

Last night I was trying to figure out why we work so well together. Turns out, it is written in the stars. Taurus and Scorpio are destined to be a loyal, formidable, fantastically passionate couple. He is a strong, constant earth sign with a determined nature. His love of possession and my love of power make us a pair to be reckoned with in the job market. I will teach him to never settle and to always wonder at life and he will teach me that sometimes life is just a four letter word. In short, we have always been intended. If you believe all that mumbo-jumbo.

The question is, what does it mean to say yes to this boy? To say "Yes, I love you?" To say "Yes I will love you?"

To say "yes" to The Boy is to whisper his name onto every doorstep. To wear his heart on my sleeve. To have people see his light on my face.

To say "yes" is to take this man in front of me and see him for what he is- stripped of florid poetry, devoid of sparkling entreaties, silent and waiting for one word.

To say yes is to hold him in my heart, to let him walk beside me, to be unafraid to show him all of my faults, to share with him every thought he begs and some he could never imagine.

To trust.
To want.
To share.
To see.
To say "yes" is to turn to him and admit that I am unsure of what it means but I am willing to find the definition together.

By the way, The Boy and I are engaged. In case any of you out there are not friends with me on any other social media outlet.

It's true. He loves me and I have a ring to prove it. :)

I should have typed this before I read that.

I just made the mistake of checking my final grade in Big Girl School and I really should have written this entry before having done so.But, c'est la vie, we cannot unlive, oui?

I was going to write some sort of year end list including all of the exciting, sad, mysterious or otherwise interesting things that happened this year, but I just forgot it all in the emotional tumult.

This semester I took one course. A fundamentals course. With a lab. I passed, but just barely.

Since when am I a C student?

Dear Brain, determination, interest, and self-preservation:
Please return. I have a whole world to conquer and so little time to do it.
Sincerely, Success or failure, I am still me.

They don't print your GPA on your certification, right?

That is all.

I haven’t written in quite a while and I know you are upset.

Actually I don’t know that. In order to continue writing at all, I have to pretend “You” are still reading and continue this one sided conversation in every long- awaited blog experience. All I really know is what I have or have not done and how that makes me feel. Congested. I feel congested with thoughts, feelings, preponderances, concerns and needs.

I would like to make a list, but I am feeling you are a little tired of lists. Actually, I am tired of lists. And I keep forgetting that you are me.

The Boy’s Grandmother passed away. As the Boss Lady says “Grandparents are special people.” So are Aunts, and Cousins, and friends who believed in you. All of whom have run out of this life much in the same way they came in, quietly, and without pretense or expectation.

It is the quiet that makes me heartsick. The patient waiting for death to come, the quiet resonance of the emptying heart too tired to beat. I am heartsick until it hurts over the people I love, the people I barely know, and the people I see everyday. I know their end is coming. I know my end is coming. I don’t know what comes next. I know what I have been promised, and what others have refuted, debated, believed and wished. But I do not know what is for sure. I am less and less confident that this isn’t just a one way ticket. That the end isn’t just a quietly drawn curtain, closing the show and kicking the guests out of the auditorium, so they may have their own numbers called.

But who cares? Who cares about the long, dark, permanence of our own ends when there is so much to fill these minutes and make them a contrast from the anti-time we experience. The endless papers to write, people to please, tests to pass, food to cook and eat, house to clean, dogs to walk, children who look up to you, money to make, music to hear, creations to create, facebook status updates to laugh at, books to read, snow to shovel, cars to drive, bills to pay, flowers to smell… Who has time to die when we are so busy living, right? Right. Right…

I finally achieved my life long goal of becoming a divorcee. Yay…. My life is complete. That is about all I have to say on that subject. Not very enlightening, and steeped in sarcasm, but it is about all I have left- for anything.

I suppose I have unloaded enough for you. Perhaps, but the next time I find a moment for myself, or you, it might be more cheery. Perhaps not, but you and I both know- well, we both know all of the same everything, so who really cares.

The Stress is Killing Me.

I am just a girl. A girl who goes to school, works two jobs, walks her dog, and loves her Scott. And frankly, everything I love is killing me. The stress of just keeping up has buried me and I am starting to show the wear and tear of weary days and long nights.

I am starting to do what I used to do to myself. When I was a crazy kid, bogged down by all of the expectations of teacher, parents, and friends, the stress of upholding my goody-two-shoes, smarty-pants reputations, and the daily rhythm. I am starting to doubt myself. I hate this. I hate this feeling like life is running by me and everyone is seeing something at a speed which I simply do not function; a frequency I was simply not born for.

I am not a action movie, I am a slow foreign film with subterfuge, abstruse theories and long, organic scenes involving the protagonist and their private miseries becoming public.

I am writing this blog, for instance, for myself. To catalog time and group instances of greatness in my life. But it is no greatness. It is a body of writing that will melt away when I am gone, or be used as a general stamp of our times and era. People may find it, years to come, as a useful morsel of the "Internet Age" and make it an example that people would write or say anything in this open format, pretending to be more important than they were.

And That is what I am doing. I am pretending that all of this life is important. Pretending that I feel like continuing on, doing what I have always done, achieving what I have always achieved, growing the way I have always grown. I write this blog, I paint this picture, I pass this test, I log time in an office, I serve this food. I do this life. I do it and I do it and I do it until I see no meaning in the sum of what I have done.

Will you remember that I painted that in your old age, when the paint has faded and the colors seem less rich?

Will you read this, or re read this in search of something applicable to your life, to make you feel like someone existed on the same vibrations as you?

Will you know my accomplishments and be proud of them?

Or am I playing out this long, lonely story on an empty stage to an empty auditorium, while others have a full audience and roses at their final curtain call?

Life is not for the Grown.

It is for the growing.

I tend to have this idea that I am grown up and done learning. And then the first day of school comes and it is followed by more days, and notes, and exams, and modules, and books, and study groups, and powerpoints, and class times, and orientations, and web forums. Then there is homework and meetings, and clinicals, and the juggling act.

And then I realize this is all there will ever be.

This rushing around to meet deadlines. This asking a hundred questions just to keep in tune with the flow of the conversation. This feeling like I am just floating on the surface, just keeping myself up, pedaling just enough to keep with the pack.

And it feels like life. It feels like vibrance and shifting motion. It feels like the race.