some truth.

he'd just eaten seven hotdogs on dollar dog night. i, however, have no excuse. we are the most photogenic couple to grace the earth, obviously.

There are things I take for granted now that in less than three months may cause tantrums and tears in their absence. This is more than just having an Apple store within a 25 mile radius of my person for inevitable technology-related meltdowns, although I've already gritted my teeth in anticipation of such events.

 

 

This is something more along the lines of struggling to feed myself, lacking back-rubs and soothing words, and the absence of a warm body I've grown so accustomed to waking up next to.

 

 

What I'm trying to say is that Matt isn't coming to Montana with me.

 

 

At least not at first.

 

 

Let me say up front that I am the reason for this. I have asked him to hang back. I've insisted in my own stubborn way that this is a path I need to forge on my own. Because honestly, I feel it like electricity moving through my veins, my need to set off on my own. To me, it's a fact as solid as my eyes being green and my perpetual appetite for bacon. It defies any logical explanation for me, it just is. I need to go alone, to start this pursuit on my own, to go forth without company.

 

 

In true Matt form he's taken this request as he always does with my self-over analyzed bombs of news that aren't what he wanted to hear. First he was silent, then he fought me, and then he accepted it, because he loves me and knows that my way is just as ingrained in me as all the other qualities he loves. The good with the bad. The easy with the difficult.

 

 

To say he understands my need to leave alone probably misses the mark. In truth, I can't even fully wrap my mind around this compulsion, let alone give a cohesive and coherent argument to present my case. But he accepts this as my choice and my decision, and for that I am flooded with gratitude and overtaken by affection for him.

 

 

It took me a long time to reason with myself about this decision, and a lot of grappling with feelings of guilt and selfishness at pushing a distance nearly a country-width between us, especially when Matt is vehemently against us being apart. He planned to move with me wherever I went to grad school from the start, no matter how far or at what cost. He's supportive and amazing and I don't deserve it.

 

 

But he's not coming now, and it's my doing.

 

 

I know the day I leave is one we're both dreading in our own way. But I'm heading toward something I am drawn to with wonder and he's being left behind, so what follows the moment we part will be an utterly different experience for us both. Now that the room has stopped spinning a bit at the reality of the events unfolding and I've had time to calm down and consider things, clarity is coming a bit more easily. But only a bit.

 

 

As I've pondered and poked at the reasons for my decision, I realized a few things about the nature of my choice.

 

 

1. I genuinely don't want to be with anyone else in this world. Just Matt. In my heart, I don't look at my leaving as me leaving him, just a necessary step in the process until we're reunited.

 

 

2. I have total faith in the strength of our relationship. Total faith. Which is kind of eerie, to be honest. I know it will be hard at times, as I've done a long distance relationship before, but I'm going into it with total confidence this time. We will be fine. We will learn a lot. We will emerge stronger and intact.

 

 

3. Going back to school is fucking hard and grad school is very time consuming. I've been out of school for four years. I'm nervous about this. Actually, I'm scared shitless. It's enough of an adjustment and commitment without dragging a stubborn and antisocial man who doesn't want to move to Montana and 160 pound beast-dog across the country with me. I need focus and peace and alone time to process. I fear with Matt there I would not be able to find a good balance for my time. I will have no time to speak of anyway. I cannot afford distraction and resentment because of hard adjustments. I adjust to change almost instantly, Matt is a little slower to come around. It's just a fact, not a fault. Still, it is something I've had to consider.

 

 

4. Matt does not want to move to Montana. It's one of my biggest dreams. I will not have my dream hampered from the start by someone who doesn't want to be there, however unintentional, however much I love that person with all of my heart. However much he may have tried to hide it. I would have known. Things would have gotten weird. Bad weird.

 

 

5. This may be my last chance to live alone. Ever. I can't for the life of me let that go easily. I want one last cozy nook of the world that is mine and mine alone.  

 

 

6. Matt and I have very different ideas about what makes a fulfilling leisure time activity. I want to be outside playing and or reading and or at the bar with my friends and he wants to be at home on the couch watching sports and playing xbox. It's leisure time and there's no wrong way to do it, but in any precious time I have to spend in leisure while I have such an impressive display of the great outdoors at my disposal, I'm not interested in holing up inside. At all. I brought no television to this relationship and I don't intend to carry one with me out west. That's not be being a pretentious hipster, that is me voicing my needs honestly, part of the reason I'm moving out west is the breathtaking landscape. I need to be out in it.

 

 

7. I am infuriatingly selfish.

 

 

8. My guts. My head. My heart. My soul. They're all working together on this one and the message is clear. Do this thing for yourself. This is you, pursuing your dreams. It gets harder to chase them every single day that you wait. Run. Hunt them. Catch them. This is something you have to do to feel purpose and contentment with life, no matter how great your partner. You have to be okay with yourself, love yourself first. This is a journey you must take alone. You can do it. Trust yourself.

 

 

 

And so I am. I'm doing it by myself.

 

 

The plan is for Matt and I to start talking about him moving west after Christmas when he's had time to save some money, look for a job, and buy a car- Another good reason for him to wait.

 

 

 We've talked and fought and hugged and sat in silence over this. And now it's done and we move forward with the plan in place. Not all of our arguments and misunderstandings have such amicable and positive endings, but I'm comforted to see that the big ones do. The ones that truly matter in the grand scheme, those we can work through and tease out and iron of wrinkles.

 

 

I'm not really afraid of spiders, so I can't say I'll be missing my protector from icky things, but there are millions of other ways Matt saves me every single day, and I can't wait to fully appreciate every single one of them in his absence, and then thank him repeatedly when we are reunited. But for now:

 

I love you, Matt. Thank you for saving me hundreds of times every single day in every way I need it.  

 

 

an ode to my early twenties.

 

There was a period of my life when I felt light, carefree. Light as a feather. I'd swing and twist and nearly lift my toes right off the ground to fly. I knew there were consequences, but when they came, I dealt with them casually, flippantly, did the minimal amount to make them go away so I could go back to feeling infinitely small and able to be blown every which way by the universe.

 

This lightness, it wasn't always a good thing. It's doesn't inspire much hope for digging your heels into the ground and holding steady.

 

Steady. Steady, now.

 

In my early twenties, geez, nothing felt steady. Not my living situation, my bank account, my relationships, especially my means of expressing my emotions. No, I was light. Too light for steady. A constant state of flux means lots of wonderful, beautiful change. But it also means nothing is certain, stable.

 

There was nothing sturdy about my existence.

 

Light is good, though, for a number of reasons. It allows for curiosity, adventure, learning to compromise and improvise. It's recklessness and pushing the boundaries and finding out how it feels when you say nothing when every fiber of your being screams 'Take a stand!"

 

I have this vision of myself, my early twenties self. I'm expelling and consuming so much energy, I'm feeling like I could be blown miles by one mouthful of breath sent in my direction as a gust. I'm so light that the smallest thing, a smell, a chord, one word can send me reeling to further boundaries in my emotional spectrum than I ever previously knew possible. I'm learning at every turn so much. I'm gobbling it all up so willingly. Why wouldn't I?

 

But I mean, there's the other side of that too.

 

I'm spending my last 200 dollars on that pair of jeans that make my butt look the best it's ever looked, because what could possibly be more important than a pair of jeans that fit perfectly? I'll pay my phone bill next month, I swear. And then I'll swear off jeans completely in the next sentence, but it doesn't matter. I'm too light to be reached and dragged down. I'll just float away from it all.

 

It was a time to abuse my body and my mind, really put it through the test of everything it can take.

 

There's something to be said about being willing to completely let go of everything around you. Relinquish control. I'm not so good at that now, things weigh down on me, hold me in place,  prevent me from throwing back those five extra shots. Or maybe it's the feeling the next day etched into my memory from being repeated one too many times.

 

Either way, I'm heavier now, in a sense. And that's fine. Really, it is. I mean, it's just one of those things I think that happens with time. You brush up against things and the friction leaves their residue and pretty soon you're covered in parts and pieces of everything you've ever run into, and the build up makes you heavier. Or something like that.

 

Isn't it hilarious how people never change? Isn't it heartbreaking to realize that we have to anyway?

 

When you're young, when you're light, there's still hope that one day you'll collide into one another full speed again. They'll catch up, or you will, or you'll find a way back to each other through darkened alleys and fields of wildflowers. It's easier. It helps you to stay light to think this way. You're never as naive as when you tell yourself that you're going to be forever friends with the person that just drove away from you.

 

I mean, you've just given them part of your heart. You feel lighter just from it's lack of mass in your chest cavity.

 

  

Dearest self. You did light like a champion. It's possible that you did the very best you could have done with what you had. Maybe no one could have done it better in this body, hooked up to this mind. Certainly no one could have done it the exact same way. No one could have possibly ended up in the exact same places and time that you did.

 

I came out whole.

 

That time is over.

 

I may be heavier, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. I feel whole, sturdy, up to the challenge. And sometimes, every now and then, I still feel slivers of light hitting me at the right angle. And I dance and float in them.

sorry i'm not sorry.

This morning I was typing a response email to one of my best friends when I realized it was becoming a bit of a rant. Now let me be clear, I am the queen of the rant. Give me a subject and I will find a way to go on and on about it forever. So,  that part was not alarming or unusual- But as I skimmed back over my response I realized this was a rant centered at the wrong person and somewhat misplaced.

 

And I think one of the reasons why I'm so incredibly frustrated right now finally hit me.

 

Guilt.

 

I feel it acutely, about everything. Almost constantly.

 

Let me also point out that I am also one of the most empathetic, considerate, understanding people I know. I am accommodating. Yes, I will listen to your side of the story even if I'm running late. Sure, let's take care of your to-do list first. I can make mine up later. NO, don't worry about it, I don't want to inconvenience you.

 

It wasn't until after I typed these couple of paragraphs that I realized this may be a problem. or I may be onto something:

 

 

I'm looking forward to moving to Montana and being my own boss without guilt. Without guilt from my parents, from my siblings, my friends, from Matt, from random people I know that I see around randomly, etc. FUCK everyone. I feel guilty every second of every day for things I do and things I don't do, and for just BEING. For wanting what I want. For needing what I need.

I need to get away from whatever is causing me to feel this way, and right now, it's everyone.

Yesterday I almost didn't put an Obama sticker that I got for free on my car because I got to thinking and I didn't want to offend anyone at work or my parents or Matt. Why do I feel any guilt whatsoever for what I believe is right? I'm not being abrasive about it. It's a stupid sticker! I support this person! Why can't I express that? They sure as fuck don't feel any guilt about cutting my ideas down. I have worked for that man tirelessly the past TWO ELECTIONS and I'm educated and informed and I give a fuck. Why should I ever, EVER feel guilty? Still. I do. For being different. For not being able to see what they see. For caring and getting upset when they tell me I'm wrong.

Sorry, I'm getting kind of emotional.

But honestly, one of the top three emotions I feel daily is guilt. And I'm so tired. It exhausts me.

So you know, Montana won't solve all my problems. But I think it will let me mend myself. I think it will let me DO THINGS and think things and live without being totally overwhelmed around every corner by guilt. I hope so much that it will teach me that I am okay. I am fine. I am not wrong for being the way that I am. I need to learn how to pursue my own interests again for the sake of enjoyment. I need to learn that my own enjoyment isn't something that should make me feel guilt.


Somehow, even when I'm not religious I'm still so goddamn Catholic.

 

Sure, sometimes I make decisions are are stupid and I deserve to feel guilty about them. As compassionate as I am capable of being, I am equally able to be selfish and bitchy when the mood strikes.

 

But I feel like I have to squelch who I am and apologize for that person almost constantly.

 

In truth, I like the person that I am.

 

I like myself. I said it. I'm not sorry.

 

That said, as much as I hate admitting I'm wrong, I know when I do something inconsiderate. At those times, feeling guilty is a mechanism that helps bring me back to myself, it's a meter of how far I've strayed from the person I strive to be. It's uncomfortable, but it's a feeling that reminds me that I care, that I'm human, that I made the wrong decision. In those times, I'm grateful for my ability to feel guilt. For the way I can reel myself back.

 

 

But right now, the meter is broken. Constant guilt is making me question the person that I am and doubt the person that I've always tried to be. And in turn, I feel guilty for doubting myself. So what we have is one overflowing, steamy, disgusting pile of guilt.

 

And I don't know what to do about it.

 

things i'd like on facebook if liking things on facebook wasn't so damn uncool

-The line 'you are the smell before rain, you are the blood in my veins' from that one Brand New song that reminds me of early college. Like, before I even had an ipod, which isn't really saying much because I jumped on that train a little late, I think.


-The way Rachel Ries' voice make me want to cry and laugh and howl at the moon all at the same time when she's singing Valentine, NE.


-Really good gchat conversations that go down when my boss is basically looking over my shoulder but I'm too fast and superior at minimizing my shit for him to catch on. Oh, I'm typing fast? Must be responding to a pressing work issue.


-Driving without talking on the phone.


-Actually, not knowing where my phone is for extended periods of time. Not in the way that it's lost because I'm careless or negligent and I've dropped it or left it somewhere, but in the way that I don't need to be connected to anyone that way right now. And that's totally fine.


-Seeing my parents hold hands.


-Sliding my feet into flip flops for the drive home from work. Better yet, taking off my shoes completely and walking on grass that's still a little cooler than the air temperature because it hasn't been warmed by the sun yet. Even better yet, not wearing shoes. Period.


-The knowledge that summer is so much closer ahead of us than further behind us.


-The way it feels when I'm holding my niece and talking to her about all the stuff I'm going to teach her and all the things we're going to do and she stops crying and opens her eyes a little bit and just looks at me. Like, "Okay, tell me more."


-Planning long car rides and concert trips and canoeing adventures over glasses of bourbon.


-The excitement of realizing you have enough coins on DrawSomething to buy more colors. I swear sometimes I think the only reason I'm still playing it is the draw to get more colors.


-Mashed potatoes.


-The moment when you could easily let yourself fall down the endless hole of worry and despair about something and everything being uncertain and not having a time line about All The Important Life Events and why at 25 you're still more worried about scheduling a hair cut than going to the dentist and then you suddenly merge onto the highway and put on your sunglasses and look around and don't let yourself go there today. Because in all reality, there's not a whole lot you'd do differently. And fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.


-Noticing when I get home that my plants have grown so much since the last time I saw them. And feeling so proud.



-The routine that goes along with spending my evening reading at the park. The acquisition of a drink before I leave. The spreading of the blanket. The leaning against a tree to get into just the right position. The finding of my page. The settling in. The getting lost. The realizing it's almost dark and packing up.


-Preparing play lists for each new season.


-The building anticipation at work all day, every Friday.

because I want to.

I'm getting swept up in a vast storm of negativity today lately. So I lieu of my currently non-existent "about me" section, and to distract myself, I'm going to spout off five or so random facts about moi,  probably unbeknownst to you up until this point. Maybe not.

1. Shit. This is harder than I thought it would be.


1.  I ran cross country and track in high school. It was basically one big happy cult family. Other than running ridiculously long distances in extreme heat and cold, not much else happened. We didn't drink. We didn't do drugs. There were a lot of carrot sticks and co-ed sleepovers. There was also a lot of driving around aimlessly on country roads and loud music. We did occasionally egg people's houses. It wasn't that terrible, really. For some reason, I always feel seventeen in the town I grew up in. It's like it's too small to take on everything else I've become since then.


2  I was really reluctant to give in to the whole skinny jeans thing. Like, really reluctant. Enough that even though that phase of my life is basically a blur of college, I remember fighting skinny jeans tooth and nail. Hello, my name is Sara and I have a huge ass. Strangers grab it on occasion, to the point where I swear it's like moths to light. I've now been safely converted, despite my ass's persistence in all things protruding, to the joys of tight pants. Skinny jeans.... I love you. I promise.


3.  I realllllly dislike wearing glasses in public. Have a mentioned that? I'm not sure. I just don't like it. I feel so vulnerable, as if at any moment they're likely to fall off my face on the ground to get trampled by oncoming traffic. Then I'll be blind and have no way to get home. I freak out a lot. The funny thing is, I get hit on about 7:1 more times when I'm wearing glasses. A little weird if you ask me. Good thing I already snagged a total babe because if I had to resort to wearing glasses to rope in eligible men, I'd have a panic attack a minute about my vision being limited to the constraints of the lenses. I freak out a lot, I told you.


4.  I don't listen to her music that much, but that stupid "You and Me" song by Lady Gaga makes me tear up every single time I hear it. What the hell? I don't even know anyone from Nebraska.


5.  On Saturday it was so unfairly beautiful outside that I left the library and drove to the park. I read a novel while I laid in the grass and let the sun warm me instead of finishing my grad school applications. It's January. In the Midwest. As far as I'm concerned, that's the closest I've ever been to divine intervention. As for my grad schools apps- still looming large.  Everything in due time, right?


So now you now all about me and my aversion to glasses and conversion to skinny jeans and everything else.

Hello!

you're all the pretty music that i need.

We were driving home from a wedding and it was December, but unseasonably warm. I was hungover, with that shaky, tired, blah feeling. It has started to sink into the entire day following a night punctuated with any amount of drinking. Old at 25.

He sat behind the wheel of my Jeep and maneuvered us through the cities' grid and leisurely steered our way toward the highway. Toward home. Two hundred miles to go.

We'd had an explosive fight the evening before, midway through the reception.  The drinking had been fuel for the fire. Threats had been made, but without the umph behind them that carry enough weight to bring out tears and desperation. Still, it was ugly. And then, just like that, minutes or maybe a half an hour later the storm passed. We were drinking beers again, rolling our eyes to each other in secret alliance. He bought me a hot dog from a vendor on the way back to the hotel. We curled up and tucked in and slept in a cloud of fluffy white, then cuddled as sun steeped in through the floor to ceiling window overlooking an Orthodox synagogue below.

I was feeling a bit silly, as I often do when cooped in a car for long, or let's be honest, short periods of time.  I slouched down in my seat and banged my feet against the dash to the rhythm of the music. I threw my voice all over the range it would stretch to, and boogied in my seat.

Suddenly he grabbed one of my feet. The left one, closer to his place in the drivers' seat. He started singing into it for a couple of lines, until he flung it back to the dash and took both hands to the wheel, smiling, but otherwise acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. 

No one has ever made my foot into a microphone before.

I wondered, in that instant, and still: Is this what love is? Those fleeting moments that you remember when you're screaming at each other across the room, that keep you from hurling those certain words and phrases that would surely tear the whole thing down?

A microphone foot. Love. It must look different for everyone.

2012 Resolutions...fresh and early PART 2

Here's a continuation of all my hopes and dreams and wishes and schemes for 2012, started yesterday. Okay, not all of them. Not even close. But these, at least, can be lumped together as resolutions.  And so here they are:



9. Send more snail mail.

I used to be so good at sending hand written letters and cards. What happened to me? This year I'm going to be more on the ball with that. Graciously, all my friends have moved away,  so I've got a lot of opportunities to send love across the miles.

10. Start writing down what moves me in the books I read.

Okay so this one is kind of a cheat. I've already started a little project for this, last month. but I want to keep doing it. Start giving more of myself to it. I come away with so much after I read a book and too often all the wisdom and lessons get swept away in the shuffling of life and new books. I'm starting a catalogue of sorts.

11. Sing more.

This is perhaps a bit silly, but I LOVE to sing. I'm by no means on track to make a living from my stellar vocal abilities or try out for x factor, but singing out loud, really belting out a song, gives me so much joy. It's such a release for me. So, in 2012, I will sing more. I'll sing every chance I get. I'll sing in the shower, in the car, entire conversations with people, while I'm getting ready for my day. Could potentially be very embarrassing. Will be very joyful.

12. Focus my energy.

I'm all over the place. This is probably because I'm curious like a cat and interested in EVERYTHING. I by no means want to lose that, but I think it's time to spend my time more focused so that I'm more efficient with what I'm learning. I've always got a million projects going, books started, chapters half-written. Time to focus it a little. Try to finish some things, maybe pursue some interests further. Focus some of that mad, mad energy.

13. Be more unabashed about being a bitch- aka feel less guilty for being who I am.


At the end of the day, I have a pretty good relationship with myself. I'm not a pushover, I'm not out to hurt people, and I strive to make people laugh above all else. I like myself, I feel I'm a decent person, and a good friend. So why is it that so often, I feel like I have to contain parts of myself for some people and other parts for others? Keeping track of it all is making me miserable and dizzy. If folks aren't willing to take what I have to give them on any given day, I'll find new folks that will. I'm not fighting with myself over it anymore. I am at peace and everyone gets one Sara. I can only be the best me possible if it's the real me all the time. I'm done trying to be a shape shifter to fit into boxes and jump through hoops. 

Whew.


 

14. Quit my job.

I suppose this goes in conjunction with #6. I've only stayed this long out of fear, really. Fear of the leap, of the fall, of the crash and burn. Of not having that steady paycheck. But I realized recently that the crash and burn is here and now, I am crashed and almost burned to bits. I've got to walk away from the fire or burn alive. This time next year, if I'm not in grad school, I'll at least be earning my livelihood somewhere else. That's a promise, self.

15. Spend every second I can outside.

It makes me happy, more than almost anything else, to be outside. This year, I'll know that and make sure I'm mindful of that when I decide what to do with my precious free time. I hate, hate, hate sitting around, waiting, feeling like I"m wasting my time. I'm going to take back my time in 2012, and I'm going to spend it out of doors.

16. Pay my parents $3000. Like, 4 months ago.



Earlier this year, my parents were able to bail me completely out of credit card debt in one fell swoop, which is lucky because I'm pretty sure the constant worry and anxiety was giving me an ulcer.  I can't even begin to express how much this helped my attitude toward life and how fortunate I am that they were able to do that.  If only paying them back was just as swift. Not only am I bad with my money, but this year has been full of unexpected expenses and necessary purchases. I have not been able to pay them back in full yet, and it feels like tiny ants eating me from the inside out every time I think about it. Their phone calls are much nicer than the credit card company's, and I'm not paying 30% interest anymore, but still, it weights heavily on my conscience. I know if I buckle down I can have them paid back in a few months. By 2013, hopefully I'll have that amount in my savings account again.

17. If it takes less than a minute, do it now.

I read this in The Happiness Project and it's a genius little piece of advice. Less than a minute? Do it NOW. For instance, it makes me so so so fucking mad when no one changes the toilet paper roll or refills the hand soap when those things run out. In the past I'd make myself miserable, testing to see how long it would take someone to do it, since I had done it the last time. I'd be furious every time I sat to pee or went to wash my hands. WHY? Why? I don't need that negative energy. It takes less than 30 seconds to do both, so now, I'm just going to do it. I'm so glad it's done that my frustration doesn't even last that long. This goes for other tasks too, like taking off my pants when I get home to put on sweats. I just throw them on the ground in my haste and then at the end of the week I'm tripping over a pile of pant legs and frowning at the mess. Why not just hang them up right now, avoid the fuss? Less than a minute? Do it now.

So there you go. My 2012 resolutions.

I hope you all have a safe and magical New Years Eve... really I'll take any excuse to get all dressed up, drink copious amounts of champagne, and pull my dress over my head at the end of the night.

Maybe not the last part.

Then again, gotta bring the new year in right.

Be safe, be well.

my shady past...with dating. part 3.

If you've read the two posts from last week about my unfortunate past with dating, then you know about the pitiful lack of experience I had with boys by the time I turned 18, you've seen me do some annoying number crunching that went nowhere, and you've also maybe read about the fact that in college and beyond I rocked at finding men to date. I mean, they were the wrong men. But still, they were there, dating me.

At 18 I dove headfirst into the waters of the college dating feeding frenzy instead of considering what I was comfortable with, what I was looking for in a guy, and what I expected a good relationship to be.  I went ahead and just let whoever was giving me attention sort out all that stuff. * After all, they probably knew more about it than I did. Right?

Settling into a pattern like that is easy-peasy and also totally unhealthy because it's a hard cycle to break and sometimes it hits you one day that you're 24 years old, a shitty partner, and you have no idea what you actually want.

Thankfully, I did 'wake up' so to speak. And once I was up, there were reminders of my passive journey through Relationshipland everywhere.

For instance, one morning I had just set off on an all-day drive. I popped in the first cd I found whilst digging around in the center console without looking and Social Distortion started rocking through the speakers. I could have slid on my sunglasses and sung along but instead I fixated for hours on the fact that I had no idea if I actually liked this band or if I just knew all of the words because a former flame loved this band and I thought I could make him love me by liking the music he liked.

What the hell? I've always been a strong, self-confident, outspoken female in nearly every other facet of my life, but when it came to men I was reduced to some malleable substance vaguely resembling play dough- That is, so long as they didn't try to label what we had as a 'serious relationship.'

Granted, I do think we pick up a lot of things from the people we date. After all, we (usually) like them, we spend a lot of time with them, and we ideally learn a lot about them when we're together. I still run my toothbrush under the sink before and after I put toothpaste on it due to a former beaux. It's just a habit I picked up that I ended up liking. I don't often think of him, but he's the source of said habit and oh well, I like a wet toothbrush.

But I think a large part of my problem was that I spent a lot of energy trying to become the perfect girl for every guy I was dating rather than considering if they had any potential to be my perfect guy. Or even a guy I was compatible with.

I know it seems strange that I say I never intentionally entered into a relationship or really wanted one- and then I go on to talk about how much I lost myself in the guys I was seeing. It doesn't really make all that much sense to me either, and it didn't happen overnight, but rather gradually, which is probably why I didn't notice it at the time. Basically, I think I lied to myself.

Because of the guy I am dating, I've been full-on country western, punk rock, a total hipster, and extremely preppy. You should see my closet, it STILL looks like an overflowing costume trunk. Slowly, like a chameleon, I did what I thought I had do to, and then time and again I was surprised when I found myself totally unhappy, unfulfilled, and trapped in a situation that I couldn't stay in. The lesson? Forcing myself to fit better with whoever I was dating didn't help me fit any better in my own skin. It didn't make our relationship any more likely to succeed or make me want to consider it in a serious light.

It was exhausting.

And I did it to myself.

By the time I realized what I'd been doing, I'd been single for a year. After a particularly volatile end, I built a wall and reinforced it with rage. And realizing I'd been losing myself to the guys I was dating only increased my resolve. But then, something good happened. I started healing. I started  to learn about myself again, to take the time to consider why I liked or didn't like something. I started to actually like myself again.

Which takes us quite neatly to tomorrow's post about my current relationship, and how it started.

See you then.

Sara

*(Except sex. I hung onto that V-card like a sacred flower waaay longer than most of the girls I knew.)

my shady past... with dating. part 2. time machine addition.

Yesterday I talked a little about my shady history with the wide world of dating.

And now I'm going to talk about it a little more.

I'm sure you're overwhelmed with joy.

Now where did we leave off? Somewhere around me bragging like an asshole over how easy it was for me to find men to date. Right.

The only problem while I was dating all these wonderful eligible men that wanted to take me home to Mom and carve our initials into the old Oak in the back yard of their childhood home?

I was totally unprepared to be dating at all.

Let's travel back in time and crunch some numbers and facts for a second.

I graduated high school at 17. During those 4 years in high school, I spent 80% of my time worrying about running track and cross country and hanging out with my team and 20% worrying about school. That's 0% time spent thinking about boys.

Okay, maybe only 78% on things running related and 2% on boys aka Freddie Prinze Jr.

Still.

I had exactly 2 'boyfriends' in high school. They were both my senior year and lasted 4 and 3.5 months, respectively.

Between the 2, I estimate 3 make out sessions, 4 real dates, 1 prom, 1 break up due to me being tired of always having to drive to his house to hang out and then having to pay and 1 break up because I wasn't willing to have sex.

That's essentially 0% preparedness to attend a frat party.

OH my GOD do I hate math.

And then I turned 18 and was magically a mature adult (HA!) and moved to another state and attended the largest university in the nation (that year) and proceeded to start dating the first guy that walked me home from the first kegger I attended, the second night I was there.

We dated for three months until I met The First Serious One, who we'll come back to, eventually.

So here's the deal. That's when the cycle started.

I like to call this little cycle The Child or the Cheerleader routine.

Because that's what I became every. single. time. Since I didn't have a clear understanding or knowledge of what I wanted in a relationship, I just dated any 'good guy' I found, and then I forced myself to fit into a box that met their vision of how our relationship should go. Hence, becoming someone they felt they had to take care of, the child. Or someone that was constantly telling them how great they were and encouraging them to reach for their dreams, hence the cheerleader.

I can be both of those things, when the time is right, but those qualities do no define me as a person. Except, that they did. For a very, very  long time.

Which we'll talk a big more about tomorrow.

XO Sara

an exersize in happiness

This morning on his way to work Matt got into a car crash at 60 mph while we were on the phone and it was fucking terrifying and I'm still shaken up about it and I wasn't even in the car.

I tried to write about it earlier, but I can't yet so maybe tomorrow.

He's going to be fine.

So I'm going to write about something else.

On the whole, I'm not particularly good at measuring my own happiness. I've gotten better at looking around and nodding acknowledgment to those moments when I'm drunk with joy in the last year or so, with making sure I'm present and aware at the happiness I'm feeling, but in general I feel pretty ho-hum about life.

It hasn't always been this way and I don't know how I got here.

Sometimes I wonder what is really important to me.

It seems like there are so many unknowns right now as I claw and climb my way to steadier footing. So I decided to jot down in about two minutes some things that are important to me, it seems like whatever comes out quick may be things I need to acknowledge and reach for foremost. 

So here we go, here is what I know:

Let's take an ultimate goal, we'll call it happiness. What are the things that will be able to get me there?

 

I know that I love the outdoors.

I know that I need time alone.

I know that I need to cut loose every once in the while.

I know I hate to cook.

I know that I don't want a ton of money, but more a comfortable life among a beautiful landscape.

I know I don't want to be surrounded with commercialism or material, plastic people.

I know I want to be in love.

I need adventures and cannot stand tedium and routine.

I am a good listener

I love to read

I love to do hands-on activities

I love music

I know I need to be closer to Nan. She's having a rough time.

I like to be autonomous

I know I don't like rules

I know I want to live on the water

I know I need to live an active and healthy lifestyle that doesn't include watching TV all day or even every day and I can't make that an option- sitting around only depressed and un-motivates me

I know I get sucked into laziness when I'm unhappy

I know I need intelligent intellectual conversations

I know I love to learn

I know I stand up for myself and for that's true and right in my own mind, even when odds are against me

I know I hate injustice

I know I like to write

I know it takes a lot for me to get close to people

I know I need exploration and adventure

I know I get overwhelmed in crowds unless I'm in the right mindset

I know I can be incredibly charming, social, and charismatic when I'm in the right mental state

I know I'll always want to go to the party

I know I have a tendency to just do things. Sometimes without thinking them logically through.

 

 

So there's what the top layer of my mind knows.

 

 

I could really stand to organize things up there.

 

Sara

 

 

 

i'm about to f*ck you up with some truth.

I haven't been feeling the blog lately.

It's not you, it's me.

But really, it's me. And I'm about to explain why, or try to.

I've still been writing I guess. Weird little stories and emails that could fill entire encyclopedia volumes. Words are still spewing out of me, but not here.

Which has been caused me to pause and consider,  why not? I started this thing so I'd have an outlet, a place to just let it all flow out. It was a project to bring me up from the depths of feelings of total helplessness over having a job I hated, feeling defeated professionally and locationally, and not knowing where to go from here. And also to get me through Winter. In many ways, writing here has done me a great service, given me something to get excited about.

I started this blog to help me get through a particularly tumultuous time in my life and to help me find some direction. To help my be honest with myself. To force me to think about my life in terms of what would be next, and maybe that would have happened if I'd had to sense to keep it anonymous. But I didn't. I told my friends and I told my boyfriend because I was proud and excited and because I don't know, I guess I needed some sort of validation from the people who I care about.

I didn't think it would be a big deal, my people knowing that I was posting random shit about my life for everyone to see. I didn't and still don't anticipate my blog becoming a space to vent out my feelings about them in a fit of frustration or anger. Except apparently sometimes about Manfriend. Which is sort of passive aggressive of me, I suppose. Sorry about that, M. Anyway, I don't really bitch about my friends, I internalize that kind of stuff.

So if that's not what I'm afraid of, what is it?

Why is being honest to myself, and strangers, and my closest friends proving so damn difficult?

This whole post is a kind of a snoozefest.

I guess my point is this. I'm frustrated. I know I'm a decent writer and I know I can tell a story. But I've been at this almost a year and it still feels unnatural.

I still feel like I haven't settled in and found my voice.

And I'm still no closer to figuring out what that even means.

So here's what I'm saying. I'm not going to write about stuff like bad hair cuts and what makeup products I recommend anymore because I don't really give a shit about that kind of stuff. I don't care about celebrities or reality TV or really even fantasy football all that much either. It was only ever filler and forced material. And if you do like those things, I think that's awesome because I believe everyone is different and that's why I almost never get bored. If you write about it in a funny way or are still a genuine person, I will still love you to death and I'll still read it.

But it feels wrong for me to write about stuff I don't give a shit about.

The truth is I like being outdoors, and reading more than anything else, and this weekend I was in a cabin in the woods at a bachelorette celebration and I'm the only one who didn't bathe the entire time, and I don't even feel remotely weird about it. I've showered twice since and my hair STILL fucking smells like an campfire. I eat fast food more than I should, I feel so passionate about politics that it sometimes makes me cry AKA every time the president gives a speech I cry tears of hope. I'm bad with money, and I mentor little kids because they're interesting and funny and have so much to give if we'd pay attention.  I think my job is giving me an anxiety disorder and at this point I'm ready to resign myself to the lifetime of waitressing that my liberal arts degrees guaranteed me. I can be charming, and also super bitchy, and also a really good listener. Usually not at the same time.

I try. I'm doing my best all the time at being a decent person to share the Earth with, but sometimes I'm just not that good at it. And a lot of the time it makes me feel pretty hopeless, but I'm not going to stop trying.

So that's me. I'm only going to write about stuff I feel something about now. I used to be the kind of person that literally never cried and just rolled my eyes at sad movies and stood like a stone pillar at funerals. Now I'm much more in touch with my feelings, which I honestly like better, except when I'm driving home from work and Adele comes on and I start getting hysterical and before I know it, I'm glaring into the rear view mirror at myself crying and mouthing "I hate you" to myself. Then being in touch with my emotions kind of blows.

I can't promise this will be funny, not that it ever was. But now, it will at least be an honest account of a real life train wreck trying to get back on track. Sometimes that's hard to look away from, right?  I can't promise that I'll post regularly or frequently, but I do promise that everything from this point on will at least be honest.

And that's not nothing, right?

I hope you keep reading, if not, happy trails to you.

XO Sara

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 

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

lack of sleep = EMOTIONS.

Well, it's all over now.




That's right, Harry Potter has left the building folks.


And if this post seems a bit more disjointed and choppy than usual, it's because I'm an emotional wreck just really tired. This girl slugged down a couple 'o birthday Beams, enjoyed the company of friends and family over deliciously (and dangerously) high amounts of sodium-ridden foods (I had bacon with every meal yesterday), watched an episode of Dexter with Manfriend, and then moseyed my happy ass back over to my parent's to meet up with my brother and catch the final installment of your favorite mystical series and mine, Harry Potter, wizard extraordinaire, at Midnight. Which, the midnight movie thing I've never done before, and can't really anticipate myself ever doing again. Plus I did it full well knowing that Friday morning was going to be markedly less cheerful than usual due to the necessity of showing up at the office. Shit though, I need more than three solid hours of sleep.


But I love HP to the extreme and I felt perhaps yesterday would be the time to show my true devotion. At midnight. Just like everyone else. Minus the costume, because I'm 25 now and that ship has probably sailed, or at least should have. I'm not trying to be the old lady in the corner yelling "Expecto Patronus!" All by myself if you know what I mean. People talk.

I need not have worried.


Right, but for real, imagine the spread of people that attend midnight showings of movies like Harry Potter. I saw MORE than one adult female dressed as a Golden Snitch. Gold glitter head to toe. Gold child's fairy wings. GOLD SPRAY PAINTED HAIR.  There were the punk guys, together in droves, wearing hand-sharpied shirts with philosophical banter like "Ron Weasley ROX!" Couples holding-hands- dressed in full wizard robes. Hogwarts scarves. Kids with wands. Lots of lightning bolts on foreheads.


Total freak show.


Me, smack-dab somewhere in the middle of the line, loving the shit out of it because these are my people.


And don't even let me get into the hours-long lines, overwhelming waves of teenage sexual tension, and just total lack of any sort of order or use of societal convention surrounding the entire concession area. Waiting in line for a small popcorn and two drinks that come to $15 should really never take 45 minutes. At one point a new line opened up, so I swooped over and mentally high-fived myself for my good reflexes, obvi I was about to save myself like 20 minutes of teenage-angst-filled-line-time. So I waited. and waited. and stood there. For 15 minutes. And you know what happened?


REFILLS ONLY!


That's what happened.


Back of the line again.


I don't handle that sort of thing with grace. But I was by myself while my brother held our seats and it was opening night of the very final milking of the Harry Fucking Potter cash cow teat, so I swallowed my pride and internally raged it out. Minimal scowling even.


But it all worked out. By the time the previews started, even the grown-ass men were giddy with excitement. Honest-to-god cheering and clapping after some of the previews. Like I said, freakshow.


And then it started. And it flew by in mere moments. And then it was over. I'll spare details in case anyone isn't as big of a devotee as I am and didn't drag themselves to the midnight showing of Harry and then trek into work at eight the next morning. I'm hardcore, just saying.

PLUS OMG NEVILLE IS A BABE NOW. WORTH IT.  

It was good. Really, really good.  Just the high note Harry deserves to go out on.


I remember tearing through the books each year or so, the morning they came out and my mother took me to get them at the store. I'd stay up all night reading after my siblings went to bed, because we shared one copy between the three of us and I couldn't stand not knowing what happened next. I always finished in one or two days, three tops. Reading the last book was like saying good bye to an old friend. And then there were movies, new installments to look forward to. The magic lived on.


Yeah, I'm a nerd. But come on, it's Harry. He let me stay a kid,  believe in my imagination, so much longer than I ever could have without him. He was a realistic hero,  struggled to be a good guy at times, fought villains both beyond my reality and uncannily in line with it. I felt like he could have been my friend, and maybe in some ways, he really was.


People state the obvious about movies and how they're never as good as the books they're based on as if it's the first time anyone has ever been genius enough to make that observation and well, it fucking chafes my ass.  OF COURSE they can never live up to the web a good author can weave, the images they let you conjure up on your own. Entire worlds can rise and fall within our hearts and heads-without anyone on the outside ever knowing and I'll always have an incredible amount of gratitude and respect for JK Rowling for doing that with Harry. For me. And for millions of kids and presumably millions more to come.

But seriously, people that want to dog on the movies need to lock that shit up around me. Because, good for the person that even dared to try to accomplish the impossible feat of bringing Harry to life. For bringing him to people that probably never would have otherwise cheered for the boy with the lightning bolt scar. For giving Harry a face and making him a hero for millions more. Do I feel more legitimate for being a reader first? Hell to the yes. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the fact that the movies are there.


So seriously, I know haters gonna hate, but don't make me get into a fist fight with you about the portrayal of Hogsmeade not living up to expectations in the middle of a crowded bar. Not that that would ever happen.

Just STFU, walk away,  and get over yourself, asshat.


Harry's been with me through a lot. Half of my life. Crazy. I read him at camp as a camper AND as a counselor. On the hammock of my now-sold childhood lake house, home. He got me through long car-rides and took my mind off of painful breakups. He gave me a conversation piece at college parties and really almost anywhere I go, really. He's sturdy, enough to hang a new friendship on at the beginning.  Plus, I can open any of the books and just start to read, knowing it will conjure memories of where I was in my own life when this new twist unfolded in Harry's. It's sensory. He's part of the time line of my life.


Maybe Harry's not my stand-by read or my favorite life-changing piece of literature. But we sort of grew up together, and now I've got to keep going and he'll always stay the same. I suppose I'm grateful for the constant. He'll always have a place on my bookshelves.

But, it is rather devastating sad to see the end.




At this point it's painfully obvious that I've been over here in my cubicle sniffling away and letting the occasional tear leak out of my eyes. Kind of pathetic.

I need more coffee. And a Midol.

So, bye.


XO Sare