life doesn't play fair -part 2

This is a continuation of yesterday's post, so you may want to go read it, or you will probably be lost.



Almost immediately Eric and my mother are taken into an ER exam room, which to be honest is kind of surprising for a college town ER on a weekend morning... considering the one Sunday morning in college I needed to go to the hospital for a foot x-ray resulted in a seven hour ordeal.


They sit in the exam room, my mother's lips pressed into a straight line, most likely rifling through her purse to keep her hands busy out of worry, as she glances frequently at my now almost gaunt 18 year old brother, the football player, the hard hitter, the one who has been puking his guts out and running into walls the past two weeks, while still completing grueling practices and adjusting to college, the one who can now barely get out of bed. They wait for the doctor and hope for the best.


"Oh my, I can smell it from the doorway. Come here and let me smell your breath." Sounds the initial greeting from the Doc. He just arrived and he already knows what's going on here.




After some tests to confirm, the case was cracked and a diagnosis was reached: Type 1 Diabetes.




When they brought Eric into the hospital, his blood sugar was above 550 and he was entering Renal failure.




I know nothing about blood sugar, but according to my compulsive research,  a reading of 90 is normal in the morning. I do know what Renal failure is, or at least enough to recognize that you don't want your major organs or those of anyone you love and care for shutting down for the hell of it. The way our body says "I'm done."

 Just absurd.

 Thank goodness for mothers and their tingly spidey-sense feelings when something is wrong with one of their children.



And Eric will be fine, a fact for which I am so, so grateful. He was kept in the hospital for a few days until they could get his sugar levels down and teach him how to measure and administer the correct amount of insulin for his body. I went and visited him on Monday and he seemed okay. As okay as someone whose life is shifting underneath them without warning. As okay as someone can be hooked up to machines and unsure of what's to come. I'm grateful that my brother has the resources available so that he may learn to resume a life as close to his now as possible, with time.




But I'm also so, so angry. It's the side of me that wants to let out my fiercest growl start shouting toward the sky. The side of me that is confused, and hurt, and pissed- because the shell of invincibility I had fully believed  was extended around myself and those closest to my heart, swaddling us like a blanket from anything terrible- well, let's just say it was a mirage of mind.

 And it could be much, much worse. And I'm truly grateful that it's not. But this is a serious chronic condition.




The lifelong kind, where you have to monitor your every move. So all the sudden, Eric might not get to play college football, the thing he hinged all his decisions on and worked for almost his whole life.
 How do you tell a healthy, smart, regimented 18 year old, who is reaching for the stars and just starting the part of his life that's actually HIS OWN that he can't work out with the rest of his friends because you don't yet know how certain insulin amounts will react with his blood when he's exercising? Or that if he hadn't been brought in RIGHT THEN he would likely have fallen into a coma he'd have never woken up from? I don't know.

I just don't know anything.


I mean, I supposed I know it could be SO SO SO much worse, but at the same time all the sudden my baby brother has this huge thing to carry with him for always, influencing almost every decision he makes for the rest of his life. No drinking or partying or last minute road trips or ice cream stops or maybe even football, for now. Isn't that what being 18 is all about? Can you imagine not being able to grab one of those suckers from the bank or share a soda with your significant other, or just snack for the sake of snacking? For Christ's sake, I SNACK ALL THE TIME.

It feels like maybe there's been some mistake.

Life is this wonderful, exciting, intoxicating ride that sends you on all sorts of adventures and puts good music in the speakers and gives you so much.

But it just doesn't play fair.

Or maybe it's just incredibly fragile.

Like I said, I don't know.
Xo Sare

life doesn't play fair- part 1

Sixteen days ago my parents moved my brother, Eric, into his dorm room- a healthy eighteen year old college freshman eager to hit the books and  hit the football field and hit the booze. 


I watched my brother grow up, he was born when I was almost seven. He's more like me in personality than either of my other two siblings. He's a sarcastic little bastard... as am I.  He's always excelled academically and despite bad Asthma as a kid, worked extra hard so he would excel at football.




And excel he did.




We've always been a big football family, and I mean tears are shed and entire autumns hinge upon the sport, but I swear I've spent the past several years rolling my eyes repeatedly during every family interaction because of the degree to which my parent's lives have obviously revolved around Eric's football aspirations. But who wouldn't want to have supportive parents willing to get involved and make sure you have everything you need to succeed?


Not only have my parents never missed a game, my dad flew and drove with Eric to schools around the country as he was deciding where he would go to college and ultimately, play football. He had lots of schools interested in him athletically and academically. And I get to brag about him because he's my brother.


He's good.


He's just really good at football.


So when he finally chose a school only 45 minutes away from home for college, it was no surprise that part of his decision fed into the fact that he wanted my parents and the rest of our family to continue to be able to come to every game. And he picked a smaller school because he planned to start. As a freshman.


Stubborn determination, always. We have that in common as well.


And then graduation and this summer flew right by,  a whirlwind of work-outs, getting ready for college, figuring out what classes a physical therapy major takes their first semester, and corrdinating who was bringing what with his roommate. In all the activity and heat and hard work, he lost thirty pounds. Granted, he was still like 220 lbs, but still, he was looking svelte and ready to hit the books football field. All the sudden BOOM he was gone at school and my life didn't change that much.


And then yesterday morning my mom got a funny mom-sense tingle that something wasn't quite right, because despite hard work-outs and a slight environmental change, there was no possible way her son should have lost what was now 40 pounds.


So she got up, drove to his college, and took his ass to the hospital.




And almost immediately, everything changed.




To be continued...


Xo Sare

GREETINGS FROM MY COUCH

HELLO BLOGOPHERE!


So, I think I can for real for real finally say that I'm up and running with the home internet connection. 






IT IS AWESOME. 






I MAY NEVER NEED SLEEP AGAIN. 




I have so much to do. 




But really, the internet viewed not from the scope of mostly restricted websites on internet explorer is basically a vast wonderland. 




And I'm about to fall deep into the rabbit hole with my unlimited access wireless connection. 




ZING. 




I even tried to have a photo shoot with Hally for your viewing pleasure. I fully realize photos of my dog will get old, but for now the novelty hasn't worn off, so enjoy! 

She almost doesn't look like a monster and I almost don't look like it's 11pm, two hours past my bedtime, and I'm basically cracked out on internet euphoria. 

she's obsessed with me. Jesus Hally, enough on the PDA. 

Happy Weekending, I know what I'll be doing. And come Monday, when I wake up with my skin glued to the leather couch from sweat and inactivity, riddled with bed sores and my eye balls have fallen out of my face, please be gentle. 




XO Sare

i guess i'm home.

When I moved back to Indianapolis, I knew in my heart it was totally temporary.

I never planned to stay. I didn't bother establishing a routine, try to make more friends than I already had scattered around the city, learn any new ways to get around,  find any cool spots to hang out, or get involved with anything bigger than my 9-5, getting drunk with my girlfriends, and hanging out with my family.

I was essentially one step away from vacation mode, a stranger, a passerby.


And that was fine, because I never had any intention of staying, I had no reason to establish more roots, create a network (professional or social) or get myself involved in ventures I'd just have to walk away from when I figured out where I was going, because I WAS going SOMEWHERE else, damn it.

Except that was my life for two years prior to that move to Indianapolis.

And I've been here a year and a half.

Now, this isn't a rant against being a tourist in your own town, exploring places you've never been, eating at new restaurants, or wandering some hidden suburb- those things are wonderful.

This is about just passing through a place every day without acknowledging and accepting that this pit stop is actually your home now- and that even scarier, that big move to somewhere more exciting could just not come anytime soon.

Over a year ago now, four months into my move to Indy, I wrote a very long, desperate, and heart felt letter to my best friend, essentially begging him to give us a shot. That I was finally really ready, after all those years of waiting and waiting and being patient with me and giving up, that it was basically the only thing that really made sense to me anymore. It was fucking draining and humbling to get down on paper. Then I sent it, got extremely drunk, and avoided checking my email for a few days.

What I didn't realize then was that was the moment that the tables also started to turn, I was just ignoring them and choosing to eat on the floor or in front of the tv, or throwing a blanket over some grass and calling it a picnic. Because, fuck tables.

He may have taken me with open arms, but it took months until I realized I was still living in tourist mode, but with a relationship, and it wasn't working too well.

I sat back and realized that now all those things I'd been avoiding? They were happening anyway, I just didn't realize it because I was wearing my "I'm getting the FUCK out of here ASAP" badge so proudly, and it was starting to hurt the people in the HERE and NOW.

So I forced myself to stop researching every other city that seems great in the US and abroad and started paying a little  more attention to my own, which is good because I feel less like my eyes are constantly darting every which way trying to figure out where I can flee to next. I started running, finding new places and paths to run that I'd never tried before. I chewed my lips and hemmed and hawed, but finally allowed myself to move all my belongings to one central location, a home, instead of thrown carelessly about here and there in various locations.  I got involved in local politics and I'm signing up for art classes at a studio near where I live.

And I'm mentoring girls for an organization I've fallen in love with. My first session is today and I'm excited and nervous and decidedly... content.


I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up or where I'll land when I figure it out, but I think maybe I was getting it wrong with my vagabond state of mind, maybe I need a bit of stability to help me figure out where I'm going. Maybe I need to be involved in a community, to really love it, to become the kind of person that another community wants to have.


So Indianapolis, I'm home, and you're stuck with me for now.


Maybe you need to be the one to tell me when my time here is up and not the other way around.



Touche.


Xo Sara 

i'm brimming with excitement

I've got some more BIG NEWS and it's actually kind of embarrassing, so yay.

As of tomorrow, the 25th day of August in the year of our Lord 2011, I WILL HAVE HOME INTERNET ONCE AGAIN.

That's right, for a myriad of reasons, I have not actually had internet access in my home environment since I gave birth to this little blog baby. This has added an intense degree of difficulty, such as only having 60 minutes during the day to compose, proofread, and publish a post each day, lest I want to pay $4 for a coffee drink at the Starbucks twenty minutes from my house, since one of my less charming exes (also my sister's ex!) works at the store two minutes from my house. GOOD TIMES! FAMILIES GOTTA SHARE!

Not really.


Anyway, I'm not really sure what unlimited access to all the interwebs will do to/for this little corner of the internet, but what can you expect?

GRATUITOUS PICTURES OF MY DOG!!!!!!

(hopefully) LESS GRAMMATICAL ERRORS! That expensive college degree will really show through, now!

(maybe) VIDEO BLOGGING AKA VLOGGING!

MORE CURSE WORDS? (probably not, I fucking curse enough)

I personally can't wait, the world is my oyster.

SEE YOU ALL SOON FROM THE COMFORT OF MY COUCH!

Xo Sara

another one about weddings. and big news. and booze.

Over the weekend Manfriend and I attended an out-of-town wedding. Three down one two to go on the year.


Yes, we've added some nuptials. MY BABY SISTER IS GETTING MARRIED. In November. God help us all, the next two months are going to be stressful. Granted, I've known for a few weeks and she already has her wedding dress hanging in a safe place. BUT STILL. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE DONE IN LIKE TEN WEEKS.

My head is spinning around and around practically.


She's trying to kill my mother and I, I swear.


Just kidding, but this is going to be whirlwind. The end result being the acquisition of a new brother for me and unlimited access to his ice-sculpting skillz. Maybe. Hopefully. And  my sister will gain a lifelong companion and endless source of love and foot rubs. WINNERS ALL AROUND.


This past weekend's wedding featured my uncle J and his new wife and both of their families coming together, and I must say, it was pretty perfect. The other two weddings we've attended this summer were members of Manfriend's family, and though beautiful and heartfelt, lacked one component I'm accustomed to when it comes to weddings.


The after party.


My family throws an after party after any event that allows more than fifteen of us to come together in one place for a night. Graduations, funerals, christenings, you name it, we're getting drunk after it. This one was long overdue, I haven't seen a lot of my extended family for almost two years. So although Manfriend had met much of my family already- he's known my grandparents for years and met many of my uncles and aunts numerous times- he was finally introduced to the mayhem involved in an extended family get-together for the first time on Saturday.


Which always involves shots of a little thing called Schlocks. Which is a secret family recipe, but involves a mix of straight liquor- One of them being Scotch. Nasty.




Copious amounts of shots. And a certain expectation to keep up when it comes to the men. My poor, poor Manfriend.

About thirty of us were crammed into my parent's suite at the Homewood and the booze was flowing freely. So, while one of my cousins and I snuck off to a quiet corner of the hotel to avoid more shots and to catch each other up on some gossip, I received a text message from my uncharacteristically tipsy plus one that said:

 'Sara I'm at a fucking Donato's."

 Which, for whatever reason I thought was the funniest thing in the world... when I got the message an hour later. Apparently he set off (On foot, thank G.) with another of the first time initiates to get a gas-station hot dog and ended up in a Toy's R Us parking lot, multiple hot dog-less gas stations, and finally a Donato's at 12:30 in the morning. Although drunk, Manfriend was wise enough to bring back a pizza to share with the family, a very, very wise move.

All in all, overwhelming success if I've ever known it. And we get to do it all again in a couple of months. But I'm not planning on drinking more than A solitary beer every once in a while until then, because yesterday?

Yesterday was rough.

Xo Sara

partly cloudy, really drowsy

Word up party people.


I know it's been a hot minute, but sometimes that's the way the cookie crumbles.


No, I haven't been getting shit-house drunk and picking fights with carnies or anything. Bummer, right? That material would be gold.


Nope, nothing that exciting.


Remember when I went to the allergist last month and I was all, "Shock my body into submission with a million drugs for my allergies and feeble lungs!"

Well, consider my body fully shocked, my allergies have never been better. BOOYA. But it's only kinda awesome because I've also become a zombie since then. As in, I'm totally and completely zonked out by 9:30 every night. You can guess that my boyfriend is just thrilled.

One of my friends has mentioned on numerous occasions that if we lived in a different time, I would have been weeded out early by natural selection for my inability to evolve. I say I'm scrappy and it wouldn't have made a difference.

Blah blah blah WELCOME CHRONIC FATIGUE, I haven't had a good buzz going in weeks. FUCK OFF.


XO Sare

a sucker.

I'm a sucker.


Not gullible, not common-sense challenged, not afraid in any way of confrontation.


A sucker.


I'm an advertiser's dream. Short of buying things off of the TV and texting 'match' to 4469 or whatever that gimmick text-messaging scam is, I'm not a hard sell. If I see Taylor Swift singing her heart out while wearing some Covergirl lipstick, I will google the shit out of it until I find the exact shade of lipstick. The color may look like shit on me, but by then it's too late because by then I've already let my imagination run rampant and seen myself up on stage, crooning to a jam-packed stadium of adoring fans, and BY GOD if I'm not there yet, that LIPSTICK will nudge me the rest of the way.

Right?

I know that I'm not Taylor Swift, and I really have no desire to be famous,  sing in front of thousands of people,  or even be blonde; I genuinely like being a brunette, for all intents and purposes. But the picture of it all, the entire scene laid out that way and the hint of a promise that I could have it all, it reaches out and snatches me from the doldrums of my significantly less glamour-filled life. Hey, at least I can wear the same lipstick though, that's something. So I'll go to five different stores just to find it, because I've obviously got nothing better to do, like the dishes, or exercise, or figureout what I actually DO have a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding at in the long-run.

Sucker.

When a Target commercial comes on, I will, I kid you not,  SHUSH the other people in the room. Even if I'm a guest in their home. They don't even say anything in Target commercials, I swear it's always just some cheerfully covered Beatles song or something. But Target sells me the idea of a squeaky-clean life, where everything exists in coordinating colors, and filth and rubbish and ugly carpet don't exist. Um, duh. OF COURSE I'm listening when they're talking. Target doesn't have bad hair days, they've got every product under the sun to make your hair look just like their models. Target doesn't have piles of clutter and old mail that no one bothered to organize, it has file folders and office organizers.

Etc, etc, every other GD store with a commercial in print, radio, or television.

I know it's not feasible, that nothing I can buy will give me exactly what I want- but they make it seem that easy, so WHY CAN'T IT JUST BE THAT SIMPLE? I just need this or that and everything will be peachy fucking keen.


Sucker.


And finally, when I get in front of the boob tube and there's a show on with meaningless petty drama, pretty dresses, and women who feel entitled to fame because they have too much money and wear too much makeup- I will stare glassy-eyed until the conclusion of the show. I don't know these people, nor do I want to ever meet them. But it's REALLY hard not to get sucked into what they think is crucially important for an hour. Because honestly, their stupid problems make me feel better, and they're supposed to be the ones who have it ALL.

Which is why I'm addicted to Big Rich Texas- where the biggest concern on any given day is who is breaking the rules at the country club and who's daughter has an inappropriate tattoo.

TIME WASTER

I will watch the show and then I will NEED to know more. I will find out when the show is on. I will record it. I will walk away when it's all said and done feeling worse about humanity and also about myself for getting so involved. I will vow to never do it again and the moment some similar shit show display of life lived on the shallow end pops up in front of me, I won't be able to look away.


Because I am a sucker.



And you know what, all of this is responsible in large part, for why I practically never turn on the TV by choice.

Xo Sare

lay off me, i've been nesting.

So I've finally managed to lay off the lazy sauce long enough to upload some picturess. And by lazy sauce I mean I've been nonstop reading every chance I get. It's summer, what else should I be doing?

 I BOUGHT THE COUCH. After three visits it was just getting pathetic, so I finally made my move. We couldn't be happier together. Talk about a harmonious relationship. I know I've been hyping it up like crazy, but eat your heart out.

This is where the couch lives now. In my bedroom. Someday I'll have an impressive domicile in which I'll display this impressive-ass couch in a way that will do it justice. Mark my words.

I'm going to go ahead and apologize now for taking all of these pictures on my phone and also for thinking I was cool enough to use the Hipstamatic app. Everything looks better with angles and weird lenses, right? Whatever. That's how it is and I can't help it.

Antique luxury meets college dorm crate style. I'd prefer to be called a visionary.

Still in the store. A diamond in the rough.

This is a close-up of the fabric. I'm really psyched on having a patterned couch and I feel like it's not too loud to go out of style. Basic pattern. classic. Plus it's like sitting on a cloud.

Not a blemish or loose string to speak of. Perfect upholstery job. This is the stuff that sets my pulse racing. I'm one of a kind.

The other day we were in the car and Manfriend jokingly asked, "So are you going to let people eat or drink on the couch?"


This is seriously not a laughing matter for me.


My reply was simple and dead serious "Clear liquids only."


And no sticky-ass fingers either.

Bitch, I'm crazy. I'll cut you. Spill/smear/stain ANYTHING on my couch and I will end your motherfucking life. That's a promise.



All of my shit needed to get off the kitchen table and into the walls, we'll see if I still like the placement in a few days. This stuff is currently hanging over The Couch.  


Anyway, now that I have a couch to decorate my entire life around, I'm really antsy to get on with it. Which is why being anything less than obscenely rich is really annoying. I'm not kidding I almost had a meltdown in the car last week over the fact that I can't afford everything I have ideas for.  Which is why I've been thrifting like crazy and painting the shit out of stuff. Most of the stuff hanging I already had, though.

Some more of the stuff hanging over my beloved couch.

Okay here's where I just start throwing up pictures of some of the other stuff around the house.

Half-assed attempt at the window treatment.

Please don't judge the bedding. I'm working on it.

I'll probably start hiding my valuables up there.

knicky knacky.



Kitchen poster and freshly painted mirrors. Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.



I'm kind of obsessed with birds.

Manfriend likes decorations too. Just not the same kind that I do.

THIS IS MANFRIEND'S CONTRIBUTION TO HOME DECORATING STYLE. He's into black frames with white mattes. This is something I can definitely work with. He's also into autographed pictures of sport's stars... which I guess I can deal with too, which is why he does have some prime real-estate wall space in the living room to display his man-art.  What can I say? The man plays into my soft-spot with nightly back-rubs and a Netflix account. Which can also partially account for why he won this battle:










I haven't named him yet, but trust me, I will.

 That's right. There's a carcass hanging from the wall of my own home. Wonders never cease. Remind me to tell you about my first hunting trip sometime. A gem among gems. 

I mean, it was his house first, after all. I just brought in all my crap and a really stubborn disposition and started bossing everyone around. Luckily, Manfriend lets me.  Plus when it comes down to it, I'm really no better at the whole home-decor  side of things than he is. I still end up occasionally with walls that look like this:

Not my most shining achievement.

A wall of total disarray that looks like a junk shop puked all over it.

And then I have to toss and turn in my sleep until I come up with some better idea that involves putting 2893748374 more holes in the wall. Trial and error. But in the end, having a place I feel comfortable living in and okay with showing off to my guests is the goal. Such as my smallest brother, below. Manfriend lets him play zombie killing games on the interactive media outlet, so he likes him the best, naturally.

They're killing zombies. Or something. Whatever, this picture is to illustrate the fact that we're AT HOME. You know, lounging in the lap of luxury and comfortable and stuff. WITH GUESTS EVEN.

Now you've had a jank-ass tour of my home, which is really more than I can say for the majority of my friends and family, so you're welcome. Portal to my soul and all that.  Oh yeah, I forgot one main thing. You may be wondering why my dream couch is being kept in the bedroom where it's unlikely to be used. Um, duh. Although comfortable, I'm trying to keep it BEAUTIFUL. Actual use by anyone other than me is basically unnecessary. Just kidding. Kind of. Seriously though, I'm trying to protect my lovely new (to me) piece of furniture from the jaws of death and destruction. AKA Hally. 140 pounds of raw destruction:

This is how she looks about 85%  of the time. The other time is spent looking guilty for chewing something up, slime-ing you for the sole reason that she can tell you don't have time to change clothes,  or looking sad because she can tell you're about to leave.

 Hally isn't allowed in Manfriend and my bedroom because it's the one place in our home that I'm safe from dog hair and whatever other airborne allergens she has to offer. I keep trying to tell her it's boring in there anyway, but she rarely buys it. Anyway, the couch is in there and safe and I can read on it without dying. Win-win.



For me and the couch, anyway.



And with that, I leave you with a charming picture of me getting heavy-handed with my cocktail:


I hope my weekend looks like a heavy-handed pour. It's been a bastard of a week.

Cheers to Saturday and Sunday!

 
XO Sare

stuck.

Sorry about the lack of posting and all.

 

I've just been tearing through every word Tana French has ever written (that I can feasibly get my hands on) and doing everything I possibly can to avoid tackling the ever-growing mountain of my clothes piling up on the bedroom floor since Manfriend and I kicked Hally out of the master bedroom and moved our stuff in.

 

Yeah, we were sleeping in the tiny second bedroom. It's a long story. The fact of the matter is that the closets aren't switched over yet, and hopefully I'll get a gust of energy this week that forces me to take care of it. I'm not a betting woman, either way.

 

In an effort to keep the restlessness bubbling up inside me from boiling over and scorching everything in sight, I've been a flurry of nesting and thrifting and antiquing. It's getting expensive, but I'll fill your head with another empty promise of pictures soon. Pictures, soon. I promise. I'm trying. It's just that we don't exactly have internet right now. Yes, we have satellite, but no internet. I have to go back to casa del parentals for that kind of luxury.

 

We DO have a washer and dryer now, though!!!!!!!! YAY DOMESTIC THINGS.

 

 

I don't cook.  

 

The meat and potatoes of it is that I feel weird. Yes, I always feel weird, but I guess I feel weirdly off.

 

 

Not long ago, I felt like I couldn't go one night a week without seeing one of my girlfriends for one reason or another. Impromptu cook-outs, a quick drink after work, a jog or a trip to the store- it seemed like there was always a posse around.

 

 

Not anymore.

 

 

Now, it's official.

 

 

Erin and I are the only two left in this city, including the greater outlying area, and to be honest I never imagined I'd be one of the last two standing.

 

I've got a gal pal in Korea, one in Kenya, two gone to the east coast and even more that have shipped out west. We're spreading, exactly what I always expected to happen with any group of friends I made. I've always been ready and willing to deploy the shards of my heart to all the corners of the world in the name of a grand adventure for the ones I love, and now it's happened in spades and I don't quite feel like myself.

 

I'm grateful to be able to surround myself (even at the distance) with women who aren't just unafraid to pack a bag and raise their face to the breeze and set off to wherever the destination may be, but who crave it. I wouldn't have it any other way. But for me this time, watching it all happen and knowing I'm staying here, for however long it turns out to be until it's my turn for another grand run of the adventure track, just seems however TOO long.

 

Sure I can plan trips wherever, a weekend in Chicago, a few days back in the old college town, even a week in a place I've never been, but for me there's nothing as scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs wonderful as the rush of adrenaline that comes with watching everything you built your life around fade into the scenery. Those terrifying moments where the line between 'Too late to turn back now' and 'I could totally pretend I never really planned on doing this in the first place if I wanted to' start blurring into each other and in the back of your mind you can just see yourself falling. It's the moment when you're far enough away that suddenly everything coming into focus holds the immeasurable potential to shape the whole next segment of your life. Could this be the destination for this new adventure?

 

I can just see myself at that stage. Gas-station sunglasses, friendly-fighting with Manfriend over who has to eat the orange and green gummy worms, daring him to eat all the sugar at the bottom of the bag. My hand reaches out for the volume knob and I give him a devilish grin as I crank it up much higher than he deems necessary. It doesn't matter where we're going, we're on our way. Happy.

 

I'm not sulking, really I'm not. I know my chance will come whether it takes another 200 fitful nights of sleep or 20.

 

But it doesn't change the fact that it's simply not today, and that I'm the one who's been left this time with the usual, the routine, the familiar- and they're the one's who are getting the opportunity to have their minds blown wide-open with new.

 

Be back sooner than later.

 

XO Sare