We are not defined by the thoughts that haunt us in the middle of the night. It is not who we are. I cannot find the words to say what I want. I cannot find the motivation or energy to express what's on my mind. It's not as if they're bad thoughts; the flow just isn't there. I feel so incredibly stagnant. I think I know why, but I don't see how to fix it. I'm just hoping the words come back to me soon. I haven't been myself in awhile. Something's missing.
Still, I do know this: I am not defined by this feeling any more than I am the thoughts that go bump in the night.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Blogger's Folly
I think I have writer's block.
Although, I don't know that I'd ever really call myself a "writer", so I'm not sure if that's the appropriate term.
I guess I have blogger's block.
Is that a thing? I'm gonna make it a thing.
Though, I'm probably not the first person to ever use the term, so maybe it's already a thing.
Still...I've never heard of it.
Maybe people have used it before but failed to make it "a thing." In which case, I could make it a thing.
If I'm even qualified to do so.
What if it is a thing, but I'm just really behind the times?
I'm fairly new to blogging and to be honest, I'm never exactly on top of new trends. It's not in my nature to hop on bandwagons, so I've still got some room to learn.
Well, you know? Half of that was a lie. I'm not exactly new to blogging. I used to blog a long time ago. I had a shared blog with some friends. When we were like 12. Oh my goodness, that was over ten years ago. Sheesh.
Does my "fairly" work as a qualifier for that situation? If it does, I didn't really have to explain. If someone ever called me out on it, that "fairly" could be my safety net.
Though, the chances of my being called out are slim considering only 3 other people know about that blog, and none of them read this blog.
I worry too much. Those girls wouldn't even call me out on it if they read this.
...You know what else? I am kind of on top of new trends. I'm often aware of them, but I need some prodding to take part in them.
Huh.
Has any one ever called it "Blogger's folly"? I like the way that sounds.
Okay, I just googled it. No one has ever used that term. At least not on the first results page.
I'm okay with using that term. It works for me.
So then, dear imaginary blog readers, I have blogger's folly.
This means I have thoughts and feelings and ideas and emotions and all the things that make up a blog, but I can't find the right words to express them.
And since I can't find my own words, I am left with two options:
1. Borrow words from others.
2. Post silly pictures.
Today, I choose option number two.
That worked. I only needed a few. Hopefully that will hold you over until I start to make better with the words and stuff.
...yeah.
P.S. Please feel free to contact me for an address if you care to send flowers or cards while I try to recover from my blogger's folly.
Although, I don't know that I'd ever really call myself a "writer", so I'm not sure if that's the appropriate term.
I guess I have blogger's block.
Is that a thing? I'm gonna make it a thing.
Though, I'm probably not the first person to ever use the term, so maybe it's already a thing.
Still...I've never heard of it.
Maybe people have used it before but failed to make it "a thing." In which case, I could make it a thing.
If I'm even qualified to do so.
What if it is a thing, but I'm just really behind the times?
I'm fairly new to blogging and to be honest, I'm never exactly on top of new trends. It's not in my nature to hop on bandwagons, so I've still got some room to learn.
Well, you know? Half of that was a lie. I'm not exactly new to blogging. I used to blog a long time ago. I had a shared blog with some friends. When we were like 12. Oh my goodness, that was over ten years ago. Sheesh.
Does my "fairly" work as a qualifier for that situation? If it does, I didn't really have to explain. If someone ever called me out on it, that "fairly" could be my safety net.
Though, the chances of my being called out are slim considering only 3 other people know about that blog, and none of them read this blog.
I worry too much. Those girls wouldn't even call me out on it if they read this.
...You know what else? I am kind of on top of new trends. I'm often aware of them, but I need some prodding to take part in them.
Huh.
Has any one ever called it "Blogger's folly"? I like the way that sounds.
Okay, I just googled it. No one has ever used that term. At least not on the first results page.
I'm okay with using that term. It works for me.
So then, dear imaginary blog readers, I have blogger's folly.
This means I have thoughts and feelings and ideas and emotions and all the things that make up a blog, but I can't find the right words to express them.
And since I can't find my own words, I am left with two options:
1. Borrow words from others.
2. Post silly pictures.
Today, I choose option number two.
That worked. I only needed a few. Hopefully that will hold you over until I start to make better with the words and stuff.
...yeah.
P.S. Please feel free to contact me for an address if you care to send flowers or cards while I try to recover from my blogger's folly.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Sometimes you gotta say what pops into your head
I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener,
That is what I truly wish to be,
Cause if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener,
Everyone would be in love with me.
I don't really want to be an Oscar Meyer wiener. And I don't need everyone to be in love with me. But I would very much like to have someone new in my life. I feel like I've done a good amount of subtracting lately without having done any adding, and some days it just makes me feel so off-balanced. I get lonely sometimes, and I want back some of what I'm missing. I have a lot of great people in my life, but for the most part they're all hours away. I need someone who can be here now. That's what I really want. That's what I really wish. If I only get one, we can forget I ever said anything about being an Oscar Meyer wiener.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
When did I get old enough to have 20-year-old keepsakes?
Last week my mother and I spent some time looking through a tote filled with 20-year-old pictures and papers. My older sister has been wanting to get a lot of her stuff together into scrapbooks, so we were separating some of her elementary school memorabilia from mine. It actually wasn't too hard, seeing as the majority of the things we found belonged to her.
My memories from that particular tote consisted mainly of priceless artwork. This included the finest collection of traced-hand art this side of the Mississippi, a bear covered in coffee (texture is an important artistic element), a tissue-paper bluebonnet or two, and a lovely laminated silhouette of my 4-year-old self on yellow construction paper that I've tacked above the fireplace and have refused to let my parents remove. (As if they would even want to!)
My sister's collection had artwork, but also a bit more variety. The tote contained some of my pre-k papers, but seemed to have things of hers from about first through second grade. This meant progress reports, some certificates, typing ventures, and stories. One piece of paper stuck out to me in particular. It was a poorly spelled Christmas letter to Santa from my six-year-old sister.
We've already put it away, and I don't exactly remember it verbatim, but I do remember some highlights. My sister asserted that she had been good that year and wanted some little things like barrettes and a doll. And then she asked for another doll, for me. She said could she please have a doll for her sister, Tabitha, who was two. And could he please make it a plastic one so that her sister would not rip out the arms and legs. (I guess I was a fairly destructive two-year-old.) She went on to ask for a GoGo My Walking Pup, but the twin ones so that her sister, Tabitha, could have one two.
It was the kind of thing that made me laugh, but also kind of made my heart jump up into my throat a little bit. I looked at that letter and thought about someone who has been selflessly loving me and thinking of me my whole life. Someone has been loving me before I was probably really even old enough to understand the concept. Maybe my sister's age was the best time to understand love. And I'm really lucky and really blessed that that love has only grown. There really just isn't a love comparable to a sister's love.
I don't think I have a traditional "close" relationship with my sister. Or at least what I've picked up or interpreted from others. We never dished about boys or complained about our parents, and I don't ever really confide in her. Although, honestly, I don't really confide in a lot of people. I keep to myself a lot. Or have traditionally. But I know that my sister is always there when I need her. And I know that she is one of the few people who understands most of the crazy things that come out of my mouth. She is someone who can interpret the smallest movement or single word as a movie reference. She remembers with me. She believes in me. She brags about me. She loves me in spite of all my flaws, but never seems to recognize that I have them. I may not have a lot of experience with older sisters, but I'll venture to say she understands the job better than most. I know she's better at it than I am to our younger sister. It's probably a good thing that she can pick up my slack in that department.
Everyone should be so lucky as to have a sister. I was probably thinking about this tonight because I saw a sidebar ad for a GoGo My Walking pup, and it is becoming clear to me that I have to buy one for her. Maybe it's coming 21 years late, but I figure if your sister loves you enough to ask grab Santa's ear on your behalf when you have less than stellar communication skills, she pretty much deserves to get what she asks for.
I showed a picture of this to my dad and he told me that he didn't understand the appeal. I promptly reminded him that when my sister wanted it, she was six. I still don't think he got it. Of course, he was never a six-year-old girl.
My memories from that particular tote consisted mainly of priceless artwork. This included the finest collection of traced-hand art this side of the Mississippi, a bear covered in coffee (texture is an important artistic element), a tissue-paper bluebonnet or two, and a lovely laminated silhouette of my 4-year-old self on yellow construction paper that I've tacked above the fireplace and have refused to let my parents remove. (As if they would even want to!)
My sister's collection had artwork, but also a bit more variety. The tote contained some of my pre-k papers, but seemed to have things of hers from about first through second grade. This meant progress reports, some certificates, typing ventures, and stories. One piece of paper stuck out to me in particular. It was a poorly spelled Christmas letter to Santa from my six-year-old sister.
We've already put it away, and I don't exactly remember it verbatim, but I do remember some highlights. My sister asserted that she had been good that year and wanted some little things like barrettes and a doll. And then she asked for another doll, for me. She said could she please have a doll for her sister, Tabitha, who was two. And could he please make it a plastic one so that her sister would not rip out the arms and legs. (I guess I was a fairly destructive two-year-old.) She went on to ask for a GoGo My Walking Pup, but the twin ones so that her sister, Tabitha, could have one two.
It was the kind of thing that made me laugh, but also kind of made my heart jump up into my throat a little bit. I looked at that letter and thought about someone who has been selflessly loving me and thinking of me my whole life. Someone has been loving me before I was probably really even old enough to understand the concept. Maybe my sister's age was the best time to understand love. And I'm really lucky and really blessed that that love has only grown. There really just isn't a love comparable to a sister's love.
I don't think I have a traditional "close" relationship with my sister. Or at least what I've picked up or interpreted from others. We never dished about boys or complained about our parents, and I don't ever really confide in her. Although, honestly, I don't really confide in a lot of people. I keep to myself a lot. Or have traditionally. But I know that my sister is always there when I need her. And I know that she is one of the few people who understands most of the crazy things that come out of my mouth. She is someone who can interpret the smallest movement or single word as a movie reference. She remembers with me. She believes in me. She brags about me. She loves me in spite of all my flaws, but never seems to recognize that I have them. I may not have a lot of experience with older sisters, but I'll venture to say she understands the job better than most. I know she's better at it than I am to our younger sister. It's probably a good thing that she can pick up my slack in that department.
Everyone should be so lucky as to have a sister. I was probably thinking about this tonight because I saw a sidebar ad for a GoGo My Walking pup, and it is becoming clear to me that I have to buy one for her. Maybe it's coming 21 years late, but I figure if your sister loves you enough to ask grab Santa's ear on your behalf when you have less than stellar communication skills, she pretty much deserves to get what she asks for.
I showed a picture of this to my dad and he told me that he didn't understand the appeal. I promptly reminded him that when my sister wanted it, she was six. I still don't think he got it. Of course, he was never a six-year-old girl.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
You Don't Have To Go Home, But You Can't Stay Here
I throw pretty good parties. It sounds like something to be proud of because the ability to throw a good party is something to be desired.
Of course, if we're laying all our cards on the table and being honest, the type of party I'm really good at throwing is a pity party. And the ability to throw a good pity party doesn't quite fit under that umbrella of desire.
I was just sitting here watching the Golden Globes when I recognized that an emotion I hate and very much dislike admitting to had reared its ugly head. It was sitting right next to me poking and prodding to try and get my attention. I hated it. Cue the music. Get out the streamers and the balloons. It's about to go down.
I think that it's okay to be sad about some things sometimes, but I always manage to connect those allowable things to other things that I am not letting myself be sad about. This is what makes me such a great pity party planner. I can feel all kinds of bad feelings at once. I don't forget to book every conceivable emotion as entertainment and all painful memories are welcome.
There are some things I've promised myself I would not cry over anymore. So in remembering those promises, I began scolding myself and trying to get my emotions in check. And I think I did. I'm pretty sure I shut that party down and I'm good now.
These parties are few and far between, but I don't enjoy throwing them when I do. I guess my one saving grace is also my flaw when it comes to throwing pity parties: I'm terrible with the invitations.
I don't ever really invite people to share in my misery. Not when it's something I know better than to be delving into. And because I consider pity parties to be shallow and unnecessary, this is even more true. There is a difference between true grief and suffering and a pity party. I'll occasionally let people share in my grief, but I will not bog them down with pettiness.
I've been avoiding some things for the sake of my sanity. I considered whether or not this was going against my resolution to be brave. I thought I should be able to just take everything back and face everything all at once and be done with it, but I realized that it's not that easy. As long as it happens, it's fine. I don't have to have myself together overnight.
I'm ready for memories to just be good. I'm ready to just look at some things and smile. I'm ready to listen to songs I love and watch movies I enjoy without feeling a wave of negative emotion. But I'm not going to be discouraged and I'm not going to worry about it if it doesn't happen right away. Poco a poco. Little by little and day by day.
Hopefully sometime soon I'll no longer feel the occasional need to throw pity parties and learn to only partake in Amy Adams/Miss Piggy-Muppet-Movie-empowered-woman type parties if I feel oh so inclined to throw a one-woman emotional celebration. Those are so much better than the alternative.
Of course, if we're laying all our cards on the table and being honest, the type of party I'm really good at throwing is a pity party. And the ability to throw a good pity party doesn't quite fit under that umbrella of desire.
I was just sitting here watching the Golden Globes when I recognized that an emotion I hate and very much dislike admitting to had reared its ugly head. It was sitting right next to me poking and prodding to try and get my attention. I hated it. Cue the music. Get out the streamers and the balloons. It's about to go down.
I think that it's okay to be sad about some things sometimes, but I always manage to connect those allowable things to other things that I am not letting myself be sad about. This is what makes me such a great pity party planner. I can feel all kinds of bad feelings at once. I don't forget to book every conceivable emotion as entertainment and all painful memories are welcome.
There are some things I've promised myself I would not cry over anymore. So in remembering those promises, I began scolding myself and trying to get my emotions in check. And I think I did. I'm pretty sure I shut that party down and I'm good now.
These parties are few and far between, but I don't enjoy throwing them when I do. I guess my one saving grace is also my flaw when it comes to throwing pity parties: I'm terrible with the invitations.
I don't ever really invite people to share in my misery. Not when it's something I know better than to be delving into. And because I consider pity parties to be shallow and unnecessary, this is even more true. There is a difference between true grief and suffering and a pity party. I'll occasionally let people share in my grief, but I will not bog them down with pettiness.
I've been avoiding some things for the sake of my sanity. I considered whether or not this was going against my resolution to be brave. I thought I should be able to just take everything back and face everything all at once and be done with it, but I realized that it's not that easy. As long as it happens, it's fine. I don't have to have myself together overnight.
I'm ready for memories to just be good. I'm ready to just look at some things and smile. I'm ready to listen to songs I love and watch movies I enjoy without feeling a wave of negative emotion. But I'm not going to be discouraged and I'm not going to worry about it if it doesn't happen right away. Poco a poco. Little by little and day by day.
Hopefully sometime soon I'll no longer feel the occasional need to throw pity parties and learn to only partake in Amy Adams/Miss Piggy-Muppet-Movie-empowered-woman type parties if I feel oh so inclined to throw a one-woman emotional celebration. Those are so much better than the alternative.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
01-09-11
Today is the two year anniversary of the first time my heart ever really broke. And I want to be hopeful and I want to be patient and I want to be okay because I know I will see him again and I know that he is always with me, but I miss him. I miss the him that is tangible and physical. Who gave me hugs and told me he loved me every day after class. Who sang with me. Who quoted movies with me. Who sought me out in a crowd to say hello. Who loved me with a look.
And I know better, but I don't know better. I know better than to be sad because he would never want that for me, but I don't know how to not be sad. I don't know how to feel. Or maybe I think I know how I should feel I just don't know how to get there.
I am just so stuck.
I know there is a reason, and that alone should be a comfort. And I know that we loved each other and that is a comfort. But it still hurts.
That day started an avalanche of hurt. And I know there is so much more than that and I know that there was so much good, and that he would have gladly accepted that he was to sacrifice his life had he known it was coming - for the good. He would have for the good. But my heart just hurts.
And I will maybe go about the rest of the day feeling normal, but I don't really know what that is. Maybe some kind of normal that I am learning to carve out for myself for this day. Maybe the normal that I have lived with for the past two years.
This day will never stop coming. I wonder if I'll always just pretend to be well adjusted about it. Or maybe some day I will be. But I will never know for sure.
We open ourselves up to so much when we love. And I love that I had him to love, but I hate how much more it hurts to miss him because of how much I love him. Or loved him. But I still love him.
I know it was worth it. I know it is worth it. Somewhere deep down I know it's worth it. On days when I can think of him and smile and laugh, I know it is worth it. Love is so much stronger than the pain. On another day I will know that better. I will have more clarity.
But damn this memory of mine that still remembers all the hard and painful things. The phone call that broke me. The disbelief. That sick feeling of my heart dropping down into my stomach. The phone calls I had to make. The strength I had to find or pretend to have. Trying to deal with something I knew nothing about. Feeling confused. Being angry because the world didn't stop. When the world should have stopped and how dare it not stop?! Because there was no conceivable way for it to keep going. Being alone. Feeling more alone than ever.
This heart that allows me to love so deeply also feels absence so strongly.
I know he is in Heaven. I know he is not really gone. And I think about what Shelby promised me. That when he goes, he will find Taylor up in Heaven. And they will find a bench somewhere and sit and talk and when Taylor is ready to leave, he will tell him no, that they are waiting for me. And they will. And I'll be with him again, and I'll be with Shelby. And we will be happy and love each other and be the people we used to be when we were here together.
So I will wait for that, and I will try not to hurt but on days like today I can make no promises. On this day I can make no promises.
And I am so sorry because I promised to be more brave this year, and I know that this is a time when I should be brave and he would want me to be brave. I will try to focus on the love and the good and the happy memories and play the right songs and say the right things and be the right person. But I can make no promises. I really wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could.
And I know better, but I don't know better. I know better than to be sad because he would never want that for me, but I don't know how to not be sad. I don't know how to feel. Or maybe I think I know how I should feel I just don't know how to get there.
I am just so stuck.
I know there is a reason, and that alone should be a comfort. And I know that we loved each other and that is a comfort. But it still hurts.
That day started an avalanche of hurt. And I know there is so much more than that and I know that there was so much good, and that he would have gladly accepted that he was to sacrifice his life had he known it was coming - for the good. He would have for the good. But my heart just hurts.
And I will maybe go about the rest of the day feeling normal, but I don't really know what that is. Maybe some kind of normal that I am learning to carve out for myself for this day. Maybe the normal that I have lived with for the past two years.
This day will never stop coming. I wonder if I'll always just pretend to be well adjusted about it. Or maybe some day I will be. But I will never know for sure.
We open ourselves up to so much when we love. And I love that I had him to love, but I hate how much more it hurts to miss him because of how much I love him. Or loved him. But I still love him.
I know it was worth it. I know it is worth it. Somewhere deep down I know it's worth it. On days when I can think of him and smile and laugh, I know it is worth it. Love is so much stronger than the pain. On another day I will know that better. I will have more clarity.
But damn this memory of mine that still remembers all the hard and painful things. The phone call that broke me. The disbelief. That sick feeling of my heart dropping down into my stomach. The phone calls I had to make. The strength I had to find or pretend to have. Trying to deal with something I knew nothing about. Feeling confused. Being angry because the world didn't stop. When the world should have stopped and how dare it not stop?! Because there was no conceivable way for it to keep going. Being alone. Feeling more alone than ever.
This heart that allows me to love so deeply also feels absence so strongly.
I know he is in Heaven. I know he is not really gone. And I think about what Shelby promised me. That when he goes, he will find Taylor up in Heaven. And they will find a bench somewhere and sit and talk and when Taylor is ready to leave, he will tell him no, that they are waiting for me. And they will. And I'll be with him again, and I'll be with Shelby. And we will be happy and love each other and be the people we used to be when we were here together.
So I will wait for that, and I will try not to hurt but on days like today I can make no promises. On this day I can make no promises.
And I am so sorry because I promised to be more brave this year, and I know that this is a time when I should be brave and he would want me to be brave. I will try to focus on the love and the good and the happy memories and play the right songs and say the right things and be the right person. But I can make no promises. I really wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Sing Together
"Sing Together"
If I go before I say to everyone in my ballet
Let me take this chance to thank you for the dance
If I run out of songs to sing to take your mind off everything
Just smile, sit a while with the
Sun on your face and remember the place we met
Take a breath and soon I bet you'll see
Without you I would never be me
You are the leaves of my family tree
Sing together
If you knew me from the very start,
Or we met last week at the grocery mart
Just sing together
It's the least that I can do
My final gift to you
When I'm past the pearly gate, I will find some real estate
Where we can settle down and watch the world go round
We'll send down all the love we got and let them know we got a spot
For them to be and it's all free,
The sun on your face and remember the place we met
Take a breath and soon I bet you'll see
Without you I would never be me
You are the leaves of my family tree
Sing together
If you knew me from the very start,
Or not at all you're still a part, just
Sing together
It's the least that I can do
My final gift to you
If I go before I say to everyone in my ballet
Let me take this chance to thank you for the dance
If I run out of songs to sing to take your mind off everything
Just smile, sit a while with the
Sun on your face and remember the place we met
Take a breath and soon I bet you'll see
Without you I would never be me
You are the leaves of my family tree
Sing together
If you knew me from the very start,
Or we met last week at the grocery mart
Just sing together
It's the least that I can do
My final gift to you
When I'm past the pearly gate, I will find some real estate
Where we can settle down and watch the world go round
We'll send down all the love we got and let them know we got a spot
For them to be and it's all free,
The sun on your face and remember the place we met
Take a breath and soon I bet you'll see
Without you I would never be me
You are the leaves of my family tree
Sing together
If you knew me from the very start,
Or not at all you're still a part, just
Sing together
It's the least that I can do
My final gift to you
I fell in love with this song the first time I ever heard it. I have a lot of thoughts that rush through my head when hearing it, but this I know for sure: I want it played at my funeral. Which, God willing, is a really long time away.
Pat Monahan was tuned into my heart when he wrote it. If I never get the chance to tell everyone I love that I love them, to tell them how much they have contributed to my life, to say that even what they may consider to be the tiniest role in my existence made a bigger impact on my life than they ever imagined, I hope this song would let them know it.
I try to do my best to let people know I love them, but sometimes it's hard to because people don't always understand how I love and how much I love. Chances are that some people wouldn't think that I love them, but I do and I have. I'd want people to know how much I would want them to be happy, and to know that they mean so much more than they ever could have thought, and I would want them to sing together.
"If you knew me from the very start, or we met last week at the grocery mart."
"...or not all all you're still a part."
"Without you I would never be me. You are the leaves of my family tree."
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