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.  

 

 

my hand is a wimp.

looks completely normal. hurts like a mother. yes, i have freckles on my palm.

So here's something awesome slash really embarrassing:  I think I need to have my hand x-rayed.

Now, I've always been super accident prone in general and incredibly idiotic when drunk, so I've had my fair share of injuries. Usually bumps and bruises, occasionally something that needs ice thrown on it, every once in a blue moon something that needs inspection by a medical professional.

It all just kind of comes with the territory. Give me a simple flight of stairs one step and I will easily find a way to fall up/down it, no matter my mental state.

So naturally the knowledge for this tendency to accidentally hurt myself is usually enough to prevent me from further putting my person into harm's way or, god forbid, seeking out injury/tempting fate.

With a few exceptions.

About two months ago I was driving along, throwing a fit in my car like the two year old I am at heart. I decided it would definitely help me calm down if I took my aggression out on something physically. Because that's so far really helped me the past 25 years. Right.

So, being the typically non-militant gal that I am, I wasn't really sure how to actually accomplish this, plus I am severely impatient, so I just closed my fist and took and jab at my radio display without really thinking.

Yeah, nothing.

But you know what? I'm not a quitter. So I decided to give it another shot.

This time, I was stopped at a light so I really wound up and punched the thing, for good measure.

Holy shit you guys.

Have you ever punched something harder than your hand with all your might or even half of your might? It's fucking dumb, first of all. Second of all, I broke my radio display, so that was stupid. Third of all, I'm the asshole punching shit in my car which doesn't bode well for my mental stability. And I mean, this was purely out of curiosity anyway, kind of an experiment to see if I would feel anything.

And I did. I felt like an idiot.

Plus I hurt my hand.

You see, at first it just felt kind of bruised. Like a good little hand, it never got swollen or REALLY hurt. So, I thought we were in business and everything would be fine except that I'm apparently unstable and do idiotic things.

But no. I mean, it's been two months now and we're still not swollen or unbearable, but making a fist really hurts and holding a pen really hurts and basically touching anything with my pinky sends shooting pains up my wrist. I'm guessing that's not a sign of healing.

Here's the other thing. If you're going to do stupid, impulsive things, there is usually a price to pay for it. Since I'm moving across the country in less than three months, and I am literally saving pennies and cannot afford to pay this price. Granted, I have insurance so it should be mostly covered, but insurance isn't magic money, I will still have to pay up to my deductible.




YAY!

I totally didn't need to eat until my move!

So anyway, I'm thinking of trying to rig up a splint on my pinky finger for a week or three to see if that does any good since the pain isn't killing me now, what harm will a few more weeks do? Believe me, I know how idiotic that sounds. I know. Too bad. I'm stubborn and poor.

Let this be a cautionary tale, the radio display in your motor vehicle will  likely win a fight against you.  

nothing appears to have gone awry. yet the entire right side of my hand hurts.

don't try to fight the radio. it never works out. the reason i look so miserable in this picture is because i was actually in pain. super lame.

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.

the long and short of it.

Let me start this post off by saying sorry that I'm about to be waaaaaay more self indulgent than usual.

Sorry.

Because this happened, minus actually getting rid of any of my clothes. But believe you me, a mass clothes purging will occur before I leave for Montana on August 1st. Yup. The date is set, giddythefuckup.

But we're not talking about big plans and 'eff yeahs!' right now.

We're talking about how ridiculous cutting off all of your hair to make yourself feel better actually is.

Let's take a few steps down memory lane. Hy hair's memory lane

Just playing a little table golf and throwing back some shots whilst having and AWESOME pony tail day.



No idea when this was taken, but HOT DAMN. I must have been really bored at work. I'm actually kind of embarrassed that I even have a picture like this on my phone, but LOOK AT MY HAIR, how can I possibly NOT post this? It almost makes up for the fact that I'd obviously blown off makeup that day.



Debatng a center part. Documenting my outfit. Contemplating bangs. No big. Just a usual day.



In December, at a friends wedding. MY HAIR LOVED TO PARTY. RIP party hair.  



This is what happens when I make decisions wihle semi-manic.



I have to take emo angle pics for it to not look terrible.

And my pony tail now looks like a baby turd or something. It's teeny. And it's got to be a low pony because other wise shit falls apart. So. This will be the last time I complain about it, but just know, I don't count this as one of my wiser decisions.

help i'm alive.

It's a work night.

I need to be dressed and combed and sitting up straight in my cubicle at eight tomorrow morning. It's not that far away, but right now it's never going to come. I change my clothes while I'm driving away from work. It's not coming, I just left. I'm shaking with anxiety. I'm riddled with energy. I'm doing this. I'm doing this. It's fine.

It's not tomorrow. It's tonight and now five us are are crammed into Katherine's little red car and we're racing east toward the state line. We'll scream with glee as we streak under the arch and keep catapulting forward, onward onward.

We're drinking sweet cheap wine out of water bottles like it's our life blood. There's an entire box, maybe more between us. We're on a mission.  Daring each other to be the one to take a breather. Passing the bottle as fast as we can. And we're screaming the words to the songs wailing out of the speakers as Jessica steers the careening vessel and plays DJ, our hair whipping unpredictably in the wind, aloof and free.

We're racing the clock faster faster, we're holding in our bladders and willing the gas gauge not to drop. We don't have a second to spare. We've got to hurry, the show will start without us there to cheer and dance and sing. The show must go on.

I'd been feeling so old lately, commuting and counting pennies and ironing my pants. My eyes feel older from staring at spreadsheets instead of horizon lines and rear view mirrors. I feel lodged into something immovable and unforgiving, not held or embraced, but rather, trapped. Embedded into a surface that makes me feel like a shard of who I want to be. Splintered off from the whole. I used to move so fast. Now I'm sleeping through my waking hours. But tonight I feel awake. Tonight I'm doing something irresponsible and I feel like myself again.

The purple rims of my heart shaped sunglasses keep staining the edges of everything I see, Framing the flat landscape into something pleasurable. It's been so long since I felt like I was in the right place at exactly the right time. And this right place is a speeding bullet, filled with the people who furnish the home I hold in my heart.

We're laughing so hard I wish I could remember the joke. We'll beat the sun to our point on the horizon.

I'll never feel hungry again so long as this feeling is filling me up. I'm holding it in my mouth, I'm biting down on its sustenance. I feel so full.

I spill red wine down my chin and we go into a laughing fit. I can hardly hear what they're saying, these people I love, but I can read their minds. I know what you mean. That look tells me everything I'll ever need to know. I remember the corners of my mouth, wine streaming down my chin on both sides and I swipe at my wet skin with the back of my hands. Stains on my face like Dracula, stains on my hands like a murderer. Tattoos from this night. I wish they'd never fade. Stay sticky forever.

We make it and we're running and stumbling and talking so loud down the street toward the show, the cement old and weathered, pocked with imperfections. We can't relate. It's a dance we're doing together, moving down the sidewalk, slick salty limbs. Sunglasses in the dark. We're fine. We're fine. We're going an infinite distance in every direction just because we can. No one understands us the way we understand each other.

 It's dark and cool and there are so many bodies. We lose each other, but not really.

More! More! More!

What time will we home tonight? Three? Four? It's never mattered. The instant I got into the car tonight I knew it didn't matter. I remind myself.

We're singing and dancing and slugging back bourbon. But none of this crowd could ever be so loud, so bright as our race against the sun to get there. Three hours of soaking in each other.

"We're so close, to something better left unknown."

Goddamn right. I swing myself around. Goddamn right...

I sit in my cube at 7:59. Bleary eyed. Sit up straight, Sara. My body feels like everything it's doing is on an echo. Twice, three times I feel myself sit down in my chair, each time the sensation fades a little more. I'm perfectly still. I will my hands to type in my passwords. I'm running on sensory memory.

In the dark, on our way back, we pulled over in the side of the highway. I'm retching. It's hot. It's cold. Erin flounces out of the car and suddenly she's running backwards to catch her balance, but she can't get behind her legs fast enough and she falls. Legs in the air. Without missing a beat, there are arms reaching out to her.  Always long enough.

A swell of laughter and then we're all packed in again, moving. Homeward. My head across a lap. We're somehow already there.

i cannot talk to the people downstairs.

Okay let's talk about social skills for a minute.

My social skills. Or lack of.

See, I'm basically a pretty intelligent human being. I read oodles of books and keep updated on current events and I'm empathetic. So you know, you'd think I'd have the ability to make basic conversation with pretty much everyone with whom I come into contact.

And usually that's the case. Especially after I knock back a couple of beers and start chatting up randos for the hell of it.


Because I'm social too, see?


I'm social and I'm at least minimally smart and booze gives me courage, so I'm all kinds of fun to be around. I make friends faster than people grow alarmed and reactionary over global pandemics. I'm not actually sure about the last part.


I'm contagious. I'm a pandemic. PEOPLE LIKE ME. You're getting this?


Cool, because now I'm about to fuck up everything you think you know.


I AM SO AWKWARD IT HURTS ME. Sometimes. Like I said, not always. But you know, enough that it's a thing.


This isn't like an omg I need to be medicated because I'm crippled with anxiety or omgz I'm standing in the corner at a middle school dance waiting for someone to talk to me because I'm the new kid.

This is like. Ugh. Let me describe a scenario. And before I do I just want to say that maybe this is all just the biproduct of a little too much inner dialogue, a little too much sobriety introversoin.

So I work at this job right. I'm part of the upstairs people. There are five of us. We handle paper shitstorms and tap on our computer keys and basically wreck our vision and insure ourselves carpel tunnel later in life for approximately eight hours per day. Also we're not really encouraged to make any noise of any kind. Ever. I've got pictures of my loved ones hanging in my cubicle and a space heater under my desk, I'm a sweater over the back of my desk chair 'just in case' away from frumpy at this point. Oh my god, I almost forgot. We also give ourselves papercuts a lot. Actually, that might just be me. Really not vital to the story.

Anyway.

Then there are downstairs people. These people are not chained to their cubicles for eight hours a day and they're allowed to talk to each other. They wear actual business clothes and make an effort with their hair. IN FACT, many of them don't even have cubicles, but rather, OFFICES, WITH DOORS. Doors that can be closed. Who knows what they do. I don't, because they have the power to close their doors and shut out the world. Also, they often have 'meetings' at other buildings so they get to get into their cars and drive away and be elsewhere for a lot of the time. They converse with people in ways that aren't limited to passive-aggressive emails. They sell things. Or something.

It's all very confusing. Probably because of all the closed doors.

I feel a great deal of resentment toward these people, naturally, because they are allowed to talk and they have offices with doors and they get to drive away and they make more money than I do despite the fact that as far as I can tell they are basically bottom feeders with superiority complexes and not as smart as I am.

I'm not for sure on the intelligence level, just a prediction. But I mean, I'm almost always right. Take that as you will. Plus they aren't really that nice to us upstairs people and kind of all all-important. Like we're their minions and we have to drop everything and help them anyway, so why should they bother learning how to use the color copier? When I'm over here thinking "Oh my god, seriously?" And a lot of other pretty bad stuff.

Oky, here's where my awkwardness comes in.

I think I've lost the ability to converse with these people. It just slipped through my fingers one day and now it's gone. I can't/won't look them in the eyes when they address me. I'm actually really jumpy when they talk to me at all. I don't address then first. Ever. One of them said good morning to me this morning in the kitchen while my back was turned and I was pouring my coffee and shit went everywhere because I was so startled. Well, coffee went everywhre, but you get the idea.

It's gotten to the point where I walk downstairs to get more coffee and take routes back upstairs that don't have me passing anyone. I actually avoid coming into contact with these people.

I'm sure they don't set out every morning to leave me feeling inadequate every time we speak to each other, but really, that's what I get out of it. I've lost the ability to interact.

I walked past two ladies about my age downstairs on my second trip to the coffee machine this morning and I just smiled into space as I walked past them. I mean, I don't want to scowl like a bitch, but I don't want to talk to them either. So I guess looking like a maniac is the obvious solution for that.

WHAT IS GOING ON WITH ME?

I used to be this crazed, confident, devour the world person and now I cannot even look the people that work downstairs straight in the face?

This place is bad for me.

Thank G I'm only here three more months.

And I've already started to fantasize about what I'd like to say on my way out, but I would never probably actually say because it's riddled with curse words and really not prudent.

But you know, that's a post for another day.

how to piss yourself off.

 Ponder the compartmentalization of your emotions in the shower. Wonder if you actually feel anything for anyone. Lament the fact that no one you've ever been super close to has died tragically. Feel instant guilt.

 

Compartmentalize it.

 

Remember yesterday in your cubicle. The married dude with the new baby walked by your desk. Remember the instant you realized this had spurred you to fix and fuss over your hair. You don't even like that guy. And he didn't even look over at you.  He probably listens to Dave Matthews.  And remember that time he showed up in front of you with an ultrasound picture like a year ago and thrust it at you without saying anything?

 

Awkward.

 

He never makes a fresh pot of coffee when he pours himself the rest. Rude. Annoying.

 

You don't want to be the type of woman who primps because people are looking at her. Or even at the prospect of someone looking at you.

 

No one is looking at you.

 

Wonder if catching yourself in the act makes you more or less self aware than the people around you. Arrive at the conclusion of more.

 

Feel a little pleasure at this conclusion.

 

Realize you've just wasted your time thinking about this, when you should have been thinking about any of the 2383897 more pressing issues in your life.

 

Worry instead about the wrinkles you contributed to by squinting the way you always do when thinking about yourself unfavorably.

 

Arrive at yet another conclusion, you're vain.

 

And you annoy yourself.

 

Happy Thursday.

 

 

i think i've mastered self indulgent rants.

When someone asks me "What do you want?" my reaction is usually an (un)healthy mix of anxiety and nonsensical rambling.

 

Which internally computes as anxiety and guilt.

 

Unless it's something easy, like "Bacon or sausage?" (bacon, always, always bacon.)

 

I guess in a broad sense, it's not so hard to pick out a few of my heart's desires. Just as long as it's not me specifically, as long as we're talking about stuff everyone wants- like a funky little house in the woods, more vacations, a fulfilling career, more dollars in my bank account, smaller pores, etc... If it's that stuff then I guess we're still on the right track and I'll gladly participate. But when I really truly get put on the spot about what I want, it tends to set me into panic sweats. 

 

The kicker? I have no fucking clue as to why that is! 

 

Let's talk about my childhood and my parents for a minute, really dig into the stuff where people tend to harbor their issues. At the root of in all, we're talking supportive, loving, providing people. Both in time and in resources. I lived a childhood that can be honestly described as abundant for christsakes, do you have any idea how few people come out of childhood referring to that time as ABUNDANT?? Me neither. But I can't see how it could be very many.

 

All in all, my parents were a good team, socially adept, encouraged me to play outside and read books, weren't afraid of screaming matches where the entire family got to participate, made me do chores/eat my vegetables/write thank you notes, and told me that when I grew up, I could do anything I dreamed of. Except become a Democrat... which I did anyway.

 

Sorry Mom and Dad!!

 

 

(Not really.)

 

 

Sure, everyone in my family is basically a borderline alcoholic, sure my mother is overbearing and makes herself the victim in almost every situation, sure my parents raised each of their four children completely differently so there was no consistency in discipline or rules, sure my dad was largely absent because he traveled for work all of the time, and sure I feel like I'm constantly disappointing them by not winning a Nobel prize, who doesn't? Still, the good stuff needed to create a healthy, assured, adult was all totally there, and for the most part, that's what I am. Besides all the rest of the stuff I just mentioned only adds to my character, and my character is one of my favorite parts about me!

 

So basically, I'm cool with my childhood. I don't feel like I was deprived of anything too drastic. (Anymore, because doesn't every teenager feel like they're being deprived of something crucial for living? I know I did. That's another way I was totally undeprived of a normal upbringing, I totally felt deprived at times!)  One could even argue that my parents went above and beyond their duties by fully paying for my college education, out of state no less. Whats that you ask? Student loans? Nope! I'm totally free of those shackles! Color me spoiled and hurl insults at will!

 

 

But, I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm not in college. I'm twenty-five years old. I graduated from college almost four years ago! I drive a Jeep! I have health insurance! I have a job that requires biz-cas attire! I pay my own bills! My boyfriend loves me and willingly cooks me dinner every night! My metabolism isn't completely shot yet!

 

 

I've made it, right?

 

 

So why the fuck do I feel like the walls of my life are crumbling all around me? I'm totally discontent, to the point where I can't even engage in a conversation about what I want without freaking out.

 

 

 

Ok, here's a problem that will probably become obvious: I have absolutely no idea what I want to do when I grow up, if that's even really a thing, growing up. Also, sometimes I have no idea who I am.

 

 

How is that possible? How can I have lived on this earth for this long and have no inkling of these basic personal facts?

 

 

I feel not only pitiful, but whiny and fucking ridiculous. I lead a pretty good life, there is no reason I'm so miserable. But why is it that after reminding myself of that fact, I still feel miserable? I've been in a funk for OVER two years now, and I have no idea how to pull myself out of it or get on a new path.

 

And I think one of the main reasons for this is that I have no idea what I want.

 

It's kind of ironic to say that about myself, because I'm pretty self aware, I also go to great lengths to attain things that I set my sights on- and I rarely fail. When I hone in, my efforts are of almost super-human strength.

 

But I don't know what I want. I'm not honed in. I'm sitting listlessly in my cubicle, commuting through a city I don't want to be living in, smiling fakely for the people in my life, filling my time with whatever can hold my meager efforts and attention span, like entire television series. And waiting.

 

Have a mentioned waiting? Instead of putting in the effort to figure out what it is that I actually want in life and going out to fucking kick ass, take names, and go get it, I've taken to waiting for it to appear. At least now I'm starting to become alert to how flawed THAT logic is.

 

I'm aware that I sound like a lazy little bitch that can't handle life's blows in my direction.

 

Trust me, if I'm not annoying you, you probably need to check your pulse. I annoy the piss out of myself.

 

I just don't know how to find it. That, IT. You know? That thing that I will do and do and do and pour myself into for the rest of my days. I don't know what I want.

 

I don't know how to find it.

 

I don't even know where to start.

 

And it's driving me fucking crazy.

 

Whew. Done.

my poor boyfriend

The Superbowl is happening in the city I live in. I four short days. So, my little corner of the world is riddled with more celebs than have probably been here before or will ever be here again. This fact does not interest me in the least until the following conversation transpires:

He's an enabler, really.

Also, in case you didn't catch Kristen Bell's HILARIOUS interview on Ellen, I gotcha covered. You can thank me later.

Double also, I'm making my third attempt at braving the world of twitter. Sage advice appreciated. @SaraInIndy.

irrational hatred!

If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you've probably been able to surmise that my life is basically a constant struggle of finding a way to accept how fucking weird it is to be human while simultaneously taking everyone for what they have to offer with that idea in mind.... with a positive attitude. Basically, I'm shooting to be an accepting type.

 

 

Work in progress. 

 

 

Key word : PROGRESS. 

 

 

But that in no way means that I'm not a total asshole (um, duh) and so today I'm going to embrace that fact by sharing five things that I have an irrational hatred toward. Don't get me wrong, I hate lots and lots more things, but I'm going for irrational things, so basically stuff most people aren't bothered by or actually like.... sorry if I offend. But if you're offended, you're also wrong in my eyes, so there's that.  

 

 

 

1. Lenny Kravitz.

 

 

When I originally decided to write this post, it was because "American Woman" came on the radio on my drive home last night and I punched the power button as fast as I could, but I was already seething. That's how quickly Lenny Kravitz can ravage a decent mood.  Why? Because I hate the fuck out of Lenny Kravitz. For no reason, which only makes my loathing even stronger. Irrational hatred doesn't need a tether like 'cause' because it is self sustaining and viral.

 

 

2.  Emoticons

 

 

I'm an emotional person who believes in displays of sentiment. Yet, my hatred for emoticons knows no bounds. There is no logical explanation for me visibly shuddering every time I get a winky face via text/email/facebook, yet there is no escaping it. I mind this transgression most at work where it's totally unprofessional and unnecessary and least when it's by one of my friends doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me. But generally, I feel a low-grade revulsion toward it at all times.

 

 

3. Raisins

 

 

I have not eaten a raisin in 15 years, a fact of which I am perversely proud. Around age ten, I started spreading the word that I was 'allergic' to raisins among my friend's parents every time I was offered them as a snack. Being a generally unfussy child in the eyes of most of my friend's parents, this claim was never questioned or disputed and I still have no idea why. Who the hell is allergic to raisins?! In reality, I simply hate them.  I refuse to eat anything that wrinkly and shriveled and that's probably the basis for my hatred for raisins.

 

 

4. Running into people I know, even most of my friends, in public.

 

 

There are probably five people I could run into in public without warning that I'd be genuinely happy to see. Mostly, I fucking hate it. It's not that I don't love my friends, but because honestly, I'm really, really awkward and anxiety-laden in the public setting. Like, if I'm at Target, I know what every person in a twenty foot radius is looking at and I'm hyper-aware if they so much as glance at me. It's kind of pathetic. So when I run into someone I know,  I go through this internal battle of whether or not to say hi, then if we should hug or shake hands or awkwardly side-wave- and then if we actually engage, how long we should talk, what if they're in a hurry? Am I in a hurry? What if one of us is buying something embarrassing? Why are we not here together? Is this the place I want to catch up? No.  If I'm not included in this plan, seeing them and engaging feels like some sort of intrusion for us both, even if I was going to tell them about it later. I don't know what's wrong with me. I swear I'm charming in social settings. But chance encounters with people I know? I hate them.

 

 

 

5.  The "What do you want for dinner?" conversation

 

 

Holy hell do I hate this question, and it happens almost five days a week between 5:03 and 5:15. As soon as I hear it come out of Matt's mouth, the entire tone of the conversation changes in my mind. Because honestly, I don't give a rat's ass what's for dinner as long as I'm not the one making it. This conversation has been known to cause prolonged silences and ruin entire evenings. I get it, to most people it's a really considerate question, but to me it has become a call to battle that becomes a stand-off with neither one of us willing to make a concrete suggestion or decision. I just don't want to pick. I will eat literally everything (except raisins, teehee) and Matt is the pickiest eater known to man, so why would this decision ever, EVER fall on me? Yes, I realize it's totally irrational and bitchy for me to get this upset about a polite question, but it's SO MUCH MORE than just a question to me, and also, this is a list of irrational hatred, obviously. If it was up to me, I'd throw together a salad or eat toast and eggs or a fucking hot pocket every night. That's right, a hot pocket. There, I said it.

 

 

 

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!

growing up is nearly impossible...for me

Sometimes if I go like two whole weeks without showing up to work even moderately hungover, even one time.... I classify myself as an adult.

It's like getting a mushroom and doubling your size in Mario Brothers. I'M BIG!

Yeah, I know. That statement doesn't really speak much for my maturity or responsibility levels.

But I think that may have something to do with the fact that I never really feel like an adult.

Sure, I've mostly paid my bills on time for the past six or so years, I usually don't forget to take out my contacts before I fall asleep at night, and I'm basically 1/2 responsible for a giant dog monster who makes messes that I HAVE TO CLEAN UP and sometimes ruins my things and then I HAVE TO FORGIVE HER. So yeah, I've come a long way.

Still, I feel like I've got some kind of Peter Pan complex or something at times. Or I wonder if certain things about me are just me not being grown up yet and I'll mature my way right out of them when the magical day comes, or if this is it, this is just my personality and I'm going to be this way forever.

This is sort of vague, but that's because it's sort of general. It's never one specific thing, but sometimes it manifests itself as me spending all of my remaining 'wiggle room' money for the next two weeks on dinner and a movie for two. Or sometimes it rears its head as 'forgetting' to brush my teeth one night because my toothbrush is all the way out in my car and zzzzzzzomg it's cold outside and I'm already in bed and sooo comfy and warm and I don't have pants on so obviously I'll just brush them in the morning. And don't even mention flossing. Shit.

I swear I'm done disgusting you with my oral hygiene now.

It's just that there's no guide. I am a reader. I average five books and week and you can verify that with my disgruntled boyfriend because that's not even an exaggeration. I read. All. the. time. There are guides to help you grow up. To help you get healthy. To help you get happy. To help you land an interview. To help you land a job. There are guides for navigating your health insurance and benefits and guides to help you cope with the blows life will inevitably hurl at you from point blank while you're totally unaware, living your life, trying to find the corresponding guide for whatever situation you're in. As someone who often feels totally inept at living, I have read these guides.

And they're useful.

But none of them teach you how not to lose your shit in your car on that asshole that just pulled out in front of you because they, in fact, may be the person interviewing you for that dream job for which you thought you were a shoe-in. They don't tell you that flossing five times in the 24 hours before you go to the dentist after totally neglecting to do so since your last visit isn't going to fool that fucking doctor. (Sorry, I guess I'm really fixated on teeth today.) Or that even though you can totally wake up on time and drag yourself to work hungover, you are not fooling anyone and will basically serving as a walking billboard for AA for the rest of the day.

Nope, those are lessons you have to learn on your own. Lessons I have learned. Along with many more. Humiliation is a good teacher.

And every time I think I've mastered one and dodged the embarrassment of that "Oh Christ, who is this immature clown in our midst?" moment, about four more surround and ambush me.

So maybe I don't rely on my bar receipts to tell me the story of if I have enough money left in my account to fill up my car with gas anymore, but I wish I could say those days were further back in the rear view then they actually are.

I guess, at my age, I am an adult. I'm certainly not a teenager anymore. But it's about time since I'm closer to 30 than my teen years. I want to be treated like an adult by society. I want to reap the benefits that come with being able to handle the responsibilties of being a contributing member of society... if there are any. I want to look at my bank account and not instantly think "Okay, I get paid in ___ days, Marie Calendar $1 meals, welcome to my kitchen. I want to someday muster the courage and funds to purchase a home.

I'm clawing and crawling my way slooooowly in that general direction. I'm trying to be an adult. I've even mastered business casual, even though I sometimes try to push the casual as far as it will go. Like today.
I rarely ever go buy new underwear to avoid doing laundry anymore.

But note that was 'rarely' and not 'never,' so while I may be an adult, no, I'm not grown up.

family tradition.

My family has many very weird and borderline awkward traditions that, at this point, are absolutely crucial to life running smoothly. Like, some people having very specific coffee cups. And our parents always deliver really bad news in sketchy McDonald's. It's like "Count your blessings, at least your life isn't as bad as most of the other patrons here." Tactical strategy. Although now the golden arches kind of set me into panic sweats. Except when the fries are really hot, because DAMN, are they delicious.

In my opinion these family quirks are really the most pronounced during this, the most wonderful time of the year. Honestly, I wouldn't trade our weird and zany for caroling, trips to Steamboat or all the peppermint ice cream in the world.

Okay, maybe the ski trip, but since none are being offered that's not a decision I'll be forced to make. Unfortunately. Thankfully.

Whatever. So last Saturday we partook in my FAVORITE family Christmas tradition, the procuring of The Tree. This year Matt and Angelo, my sister's new husband, joined us for the first time. My dad gets all Clark Griswald up in the tree farm's biz, my mom makes copious amount of cocoa, and my brothers strive to every year choose a larger, more challenging tree to cart home. Heartwarming.

That's right, we rolled in a three vehicle caravan to murder us some Christmas trees.

Ok, murder probably isn't the right word. It's honest to god a pretty heartwarming tradition that I get schoolgirl gleeful about, but I do sort of have a guilt complex about chopping down trees for sport, only to discard them like three weeks later like garbage.

Que sera sera.


yes. a trailer is required. this is about to get REAL.



Just know I feel guilty about what you're about to see.

But not guilty enough to stop doing it once a year. For the duration.

Okay cool.

Also, nothing is in order. I tried, and then I got frustrated and gave up. Sue me.

the brothers decided on this tree early, but we still walked around the entire farm three times.



matt murdering preparing our tree to ride home with us.




this is just sad. that tree was probably older than I am.



matt and I dragging our tree to the car. a true bonding experience.

yep. that's in my parent's home now.



victory was ours.



wandering through fields of pine and chopping down trees can be exhausting.



i promse we didn't let him ride all the way home in the trailer. although my parents have grown a little lax when it comes to safety, in my opinon.



hot cocoa from the kitchen of mama drake.



newlyweds. they must still be in honeymoon phase because they didn't argue about which tree they wanted NEARLY as much as matt and me.



he's probably trying to see the top of the tree my dad and brothers are about to chop down. it was that tall.

 


my mom assisting on the carry on account of my sister being in the family way and all.

 

we found one that we thought was prickly enough to deter our dog monster.



we love each other sometimes.



yeah mom and dad, this 16 footer is totally the one.



moms and pops debating about whether or not this tree will actually fit in the foyer.



guys doing manly things.




the ten year old gets some saw action.



sis and brother in law christening their first tree.



errrrrrrbody getting in on this one.

nice clean cut matt, no one would know you've had fake trees your whole life.



the bounty has been secured. my dad looks a bit smug about it if you ask me.



too bad there's no shots of my climbing on top of my car to secure our tree. it stayed on... pretty well.

 



being the artist I was born to be.

  

hally already chewed the outlet plug-in off of the light cord. Merry Christmas.

weeeeeeee december!

Today is December 1st and despite what the calendar hanging on the wall says, I've always seen this day as the marker for the start of Winter.

Last year around this time, I decided to put my knowledge and advice for the winter months out into the universe here. Minus the canoodling with strangers in hot tubs, it was really more of a reminder for myself to stay positive.

I always get a really bad attitude this time of year. And by that I mean, I become cripplingly depressive until I can comfortably roll around town with my windows down and the wind whipping my face and hair in a non-abrasive way once again.

The driving to work in darkness and getting home to darkness is really hard on me. The past two winters have been especially trying since I don't have to freedom in my current job to set my own hours and enjoy the daylight, save a one-hour span where I generally wolf down my lunch and spend the rest of the time tearing through whichever book is currently monopolizing my interest. Whatever problems I have going into Winter usually become magnified to the point where I can't focus on literally anything else.

However. This time around, I'm in markedly higher spirits than usual. I don't feel as heavy.

I'm staying up past 9pm. I'm actually blow-drying my hair in the morning. I haven't punched the seek button when a Christmas song comes on. I haven't even gained my annual winter weight. Times, let's hope they are a changin'.

I don't know the cause of this lovely lull from the winter doldrums, but I'll take it.

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.)