Selfish

My stomach feels like an aching void (of course, if it was a void, I'd be a lot skinnier). Tonight I've been reading about fictitious people and wishing, not for the first time, that I could be part of the story. 

The acheis easy to explain. It's just loneliness coupled with fear of rejection plus missing things that use to prop up the constructs of my world.

I miss a couple guys who crushed me. I shouldn't, but I do on night's like this. Everyone I love are adults (or babies who you can't have a discussion about accountability with) who are married and/or have kids and/or jobs to wake up for, so it becomes hard to justify waking then up (or slowing them down) by posing theological queries or asking what kind of cake they'd want to be or if they've listened to Beau James' Ten Shots yet. 

It's selfish. I know it is. Plus it's whiny of me to miss it. I'm exceedingly blessed to have so many loving friends (who hopefully won't read this & think I'm ungrateful or trying to say they're anything less than awesome), but nights like this make me wish I had one person that was just mine. 

Someday. 

But for now, back to listening to my iPod flip berween old songs while reading an old book. Life's not too bad even if I'm aching sometimes. 

Poorly Plotted Discussion of Insanity

I cannot pretend to know the context of Spike's quote here because I am not far enough into Buffy, but I can say this, I understand those words. 

I have been looking at my heart lately and trying to see a future. I look at my heart, and I worry. I am not the woman I was a year ago, and I still haven't decided if that's something I can be happy about. 

A year ago I was scared because I knew I needed to find a new place, and I realized the little family I'd created, though completely fantastic, didn't need me like I needed them. This is not a bad thing. They were a unit, and they needed to be, but in the end that meant I needed to move. So I let myself get talked into moving even further from my family because I was told I'd have a home and a paying job. All I wanted was a job I could support myself with, and a home. 

I still am struggling to believe that I made a good decision. I'm struggling to believe that any of this is actually what God intended for me and that I didn't just screw it up. All I want is to know where I land is home, and to walk my path faithfully.

I know my heart. I know my desperately longings. I know the darkness I stave off and the darkness I am tired of fighting. There are days, too many days, where I wonder if I'm still human. I think it's the depression that tries to convince me that I'm a monster and that things won't turn around, but it's hard to say. 

I just want someone to hold up their end of a story or promise or idea. I'm sick of being the last one paid, the last one picked, and the one people use as a source and not the story. 

Either treat me like an adult and the "wonderful" person/friend/employee/lovable creature I am or tell me the truth: that I'm a jerk or a monster or not worth your time or whatever. At least then I will know what's worth giving up. 

In an attempt to start healing myself up (or to give myself a little time to do just that) I've decided not to text or contact the men in my life first. There are a few exceptions to these rules, but in an effort to stop pretending I'm important to at least one of these guys, I think it's wise to cut myself off. 

In an attempt to start clearing away the bitterness and "what if's" in another section of my life, I got the materials to make a gift for the new baby of an old flame/former best friend. I am hoping that if I can channel the residual good and love from our relationship into something for he and his wife's first kid...maybe I can finish walking away without tripping over a pit of my own bitterness, longing and loneliness. Maybe I'll actually heal a little. 

This may just be insanity or stupidity, but I hope these two ideas help. It would be nice to be in control of at least s little of my crazy. 

Favorite things of this very moment (1:27 am cst):

• The breeze coming through my window

• The sound of crickets

• Sleeping in my jean capris because I forgot to do laundry

• Having some good plans to look forward to this week

• Summer night sounds

• Vicks Puffs tissues

Imploding

My brain is on fire and even though there's a strong wind tonight it's only causing the fire to spread. 

I am in my own bed in my childhood home and tonight I'm trying to decide if I'm stuck in a cycle or if it's just the tired and the lonely eating away at my brain. 

The other night Calle and I decided to give up the addiction/unhealthy relationships we have with a guy in our life. Both of us need to either find new guy best friends or we need to get use to having only close girl friend's because what we've been putting up with is not alright. So in detoxing from a long standing on-again off-again emotional/psychological addiction to a man who shifts more than desert sands because I'm 28 and I'm done with this. 

My dear friend Jay, who my kind readers may fondly remember as "the tall one" from ages back, is getting married to my friend Kim on Saturday. They belong together, and I'm glad they've fond each other. Annoyingly this wedding has put me in a weird mood, and I am having vivid, hungry dreams. Especially when the dreams have decided to become specific, detailed, and leave me aching with longing I can do nothing about. My brain is a cruel creature these days. 

This is a night where John Mayer's "Edge of Desire" best speaks my lonely heart "I'm just about to set fire to everything I see / There I just said it / I'm scared you'll forget about me." 

Yep. 

Here I am, the forgotten, the lonely, the sleep-deprived contemplating investing heavily in romantic novels, cutting off my ties to the Internet, trying to convince myself that I do need to return to SC eventually, and wondering if the newly forming scar on my hand will be permanent. 

Too much. Always too much. 

Dreams of the Week

I've had the strangest dreams this week. 

One had the world's most forced and awkward kiss in it. A close friend and I decided we should kiss to see how it would feel. Reminded me of TJ & Spanelli on Recess trying kissing for the first time. One of those things where you wonder if it had to be like that or if it was just weird because you weren't sure how invested to be. 

I had one about this man:

Because apparently my brain thought it would be hilarious to remind me that I find him ridiculously attractive. In the dream we had somehow become tentative friends and were trying to get to know each other. We were ridiculously compatible because of our weirdly matching interests and passion for helping children. 

And then another dream about the same close friend. This time though it was like we'd finally figured this kissing thing out. We'd realized what we wanted and were going for it with everything we had. 

With dreams like these, who needs sanity, celebacy, and singleness? Eeeee. 

(73) Too Close to be Alright

Way too close

Way too comfortable

& the strange hope

that keeps trying to inflate

my weary heart

Is a terrible thing

There's too much

to talk me out of it

& who wants

a reluctant lover

I miss knowing

every moment

that I wanted to

dive into someone's love

& arms & dreams

to consume them

& be their everything

You should never feel

awkward & shamed 

by who you pursue

if that's the case, 

think of the spared

hearts & egos

I may not know

what I truly want

but I know this confusion

isn't where I belong

 

(44) Never Meant to be Alone

The truth of it,

the crux of the matter,

is that I'm reaching out 

my hand in the dark

& I'm praying 

you're reaching out too

We're not meant to be 

alone

We should never feel 

alone in a room full of people

or lost amongst people we love

Don't assume I don't feel joy

over new marriages, jobs, houses, babies

or that I'm not glad

your life is going well

My happiness doesn't change my joy for you

it just tints the view of my accomplishments & dreams

Depression isn't a foreign concept

I was just hoping

I'd shored myself up this time

that I was strong enough

to fight this alone

but I'm not

No, I'm not drowning

& I can still see the stars,

but I need new focus

new hope

Renew my spirit, LORD

Show me the hand to hold

the safe places & harbors

you've blessed me with

& a light so I'm never

alone 

My Heart Speaks in Whisper

Another smiling face

a lovey-dovey status

One more picture 

engagement rings,

wedding plans

I'm not the only lonely

heart tonight

but this aching heart

& empty house

make it feel that way

The safe bets & sure things

prove themselves untrue

& I wonder if anything stable

is really sure

or will those rules change too

Don't let me rain on your parade

or lessen your joy

or tear you down

My gloom will pass

I'll get away

And really, each new love

sparked & shining out

in this dark space

guides me toward hope

& a fire of my own

The Time Is Wrong

Bah.

The past two days have been super weird.  Nothing unusual happening in life itself, but I feel horribly off.  Maybe it is the grey skies or rain or just the fact that I feel cut off from everything.  It finally hit me that I was here.

I am here.

I am not at home in Atlanta, living with girls that might as well be my sisters, going to a school I love (no matter how screwy the people running it can be at times), babysitting my cousins, and loving my life.

Nope.  Instead I am at home in IL.

I am trying to make the most of this.  Honestly, I adore my family and the people here.  I love being here, buuut...it's the smaller bit of me now.  Unfortunately the bigger part of me is wishing like crazy that I was in Atlanta.

I hate feeling like this.  I hate feeling ungrateful and sad.  I hate that I am feeling an ache and avoid yawning inside me.  It is killing me.

So I work hard to find ways to make other people happy.  I have always found that if I work hard to make other people have better days...my days go better.

Today I made pies.  I made one for my family (blueberry, cranberry, pear, and cherry) and one for my church's AOP booth (just cherry).  I wanted to write some letters, but considering how frumpy and whiny I am, I didn't think anyone would want to read the letters I felt like writing.

Why am I letting myself be this way?

Again...bah.

But...to end on a cheerful note: a list.

Favorite things of this very moment (9:54 pm CST):

• Pie.  Delicious pie.  
• The younger cat always showing up when I put together my sandwich for tomorrow's lunch (she will someday sit on command)
• Clean clothes fresh out of the dryer
• "The Tick" cartoon show...ah the joys of my youth
• You.

I Need You.

(The above photo: Explorations 1 by Cole Rise)

For my Marriage and Family Counseling class, I have been reading John Gray, Ph. D.'s book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. The fourth chapter is on motivating the opposite sex. Everything he has said about women so far is dead on. The worst part is that as I'm reading this I'm realizing how bitter, angry, and distrustful I've become of men in the past 10 years.

I was reading through this today questioning if it was possible to find a guy who really does want to take care of a girl. I turned to Amber and Regina and asked where these guys are hiding. Where are these men that want to actually take care of the woman in their lives? Have I missed them entirely?

It makes me frustrated because I know I sound so terrible and bitter for saying that, but I'm feeling the aching in my chest, staring at the scars that cover my heart and hope, and I am reliving the rejections I've dealt with all through growing up. I've had a couple boyfriends, and I'm not saying they were bad guys, but they weren't mature enough to take care of me. One of them is a cause of more wounds and brokenness than I can explain and the rejections of that relationship and the hollowed out spaces in my heart that he left...I've never figured out how to fully heal those.

God made men and women differently, and I'm glad. We're different physically, emotionally, and mentally in ways. These are good things. They enhance our friendships and relationships. We're interlocking puzzle pieces that fit together to make something even greater.

My problem would be the walls. After facing the pain of so many rejections, I have developed a facade which seems like such a joke most of the time, but I wonder how many people are willing to believe in my silence. Do people really believe I'm this strong? Or brave? Or kind? Or any of the things that I try to put across...

Truthfully, I am tired, worn, scared, scarred, aching, lonely, and desperately holding onto the flicker of hope that says that there's someone out there that will want to spend the rest of a lifetime with me. Someone I can count on. Someone who will laugh with me, but be willing to hold me when I feel like I'm falling apart.

Someone who will hold me when I feel all the wounds reopening so that I don't fall apart.

I'm praying it happens soon because I don't know how much longer I can hold out. My hope may flicker out.

The thing of it is, I'm beating my head against the wall of your heart. How do you not notice? Not hear? Because I am bruised.

The days weeks months years of our friendship seem to have done nothing to open your eyes and heart.

My soul quiet poet essence doesn't seem to touch anything invisible in you. My hand may be on your chest, but it will never touch your heart.

Old, Tired, Ache

Favorite things of this very moment (4:20 pm CST):

• Tiramisu Truffle (Thank you Traci)
• Free glasses of ice water
• Long, unraveling, wandering emails to my best friend (Nikky, you are the only thing that saves my poor brain)
• Typing
• Brightly colored post-it notes
• Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (she lives color)
• The new pen I picked up from Midland Bank here in town (I love free pens, even if I don't have any intention of using the company who gives them, at least they have good pens)

Today I feel old. Perhaps it's the ache of the bruise that's taken over the inside of my right arm and followed my veins. Perhaps it's locating an old email and realizing there was something available to me for awhile that I'll never find again...and worse, that I didn't take advantage of because I was feeling broken and knowing that chance is gone. Perhaps it's the fear that there's something deeper wrong with me or my mother or a dear friend who is sick. Perhaps it's the lighting in this office that seems to wash things out instead of inviting them closer. Perhaps it's the dust of the 20 or so computers here in the office trying to run and be cleaned and working all over again.

Whatever it is, I feel old. Something tired is permeating my soul today, and I don't like it. It will be a relief to go outside in a half hour and drive home with the windows down in my car listening to Gavin DeGraw sing that "I don't have to be anything other than what I've been trying to be lately" as loudly as he can while singing as loudly as I can right along with him. I need that. I need fresh air and the chocolate on the desk that I keep smiling at because it has a little swirly design on top and it's almost too pretty to eat and the glass of ice water that the nice boy who works at the coffee shop gave me with LOTS of ice just like I asked (he's becoming one of my favorites) and being able to write an email to my best friend that starts off with minor curses and frustrations about my repression and weaknesses. These things I love. These things I cherish.

Despite the old and the ache and the tired...I think tonight will morph into something beautiful. There are juicebags to look forward to and sunshine on my front porch and the possibility of seeing some good friends. I hold tight to these things and I will let go of all the rest.

It will be good and life will feel pure and magic. I hope yours is too.

Searchers

"You seem like a person use to consequences."
- Princess Ithaca, "Princess"

I find it amazing how often situations go wrong because we don't tell the truth.

If we were honest with ourselves and each other, so many complications could be avoided. It's the many secrets and masks we wear that cause problems. that's what breaks hearts and tangles us in webs.

If we were honest with each other, life would be easier. We would not be broken by false hope. Life would still be just as romantic.

I realize that the pain we feel often allows us to feel joy more deeply, but...I do believe that we should be more honest about ourselves. Why do we not ask questions or give true answers?

We're scared and we're searching. But if we're all scared and we're all searching...shouldn't that be all the more reason to be honest? To be searchers together?

After all, what is any good story without a search? Every life contains a quest. A search for meaning. A search for love. If a person is smart, it seems that they realize those two searches are actually intertwined.

Small

Favorite things of this very moment (6:16 pm):

• My covenant ring
• That I don't have to go back to Sauk until next Tuesday
• That I'm only 4 classes away from the end of 1st semester
• That I am signed up for classes for next semester
• Orbit Spearmint gum
• The fact that the library is across the street from my house (and that Mom works there)
• Fake fireplaces that look give a spectacular ambiance
• Facebook's Interview application

Mist has officially descended onto the Village and surrounding towns. It makes me think of all those previews for that movie which I believe was uniquely titled "The Mist." Excessively original, but none the less, creepy. This fogginess has got me a little frustrated. It makes travel excessively slow and has severely messed with my otherwise productive plans for the evening. On top of which, it's helped push my mood into this obnoxiously sullen mode. Not very pleasant.

Seeing Shane at school today somehow made me feel a little less small. He wears a t-shirt inside out at least once a week. I don't know if I've ever mentioned that before. I'm not really sure why he does this, and I never can figure out how to properly ask. I don't want to be intrusive, but it's a curious thing to do, especially for a 22 year old young man. It's kind of endearing in a way too simply because it's a little quirky.

I've felt pretty small the past couple days. When you have kept yourself going by thinking, "well, he's in love, or at least thinks he is," only to find out that he's already jumped to the next girl... You realize that you don't really fit in anywhere in the grand scheme of his life or his heart outside of this weird position you've gotten yourself into where you are someone he can have listen to him on the bad days.

But what about the good days? Or when he needs someone to just spend time with, who does he call then? Not you. Nope, those are the days he wants to spend with the new girl.

Which is more confusing because you start wondering if he's been leading a sort of double life for awhile. Here you've thought that he's been alone for so long, but what if he's just been going from girl to girl, just never really been serious about one. What then?

That's when you say to yourself...is he a fraud? Maybe he's really not as mature as you've thought he was and maybe he has no clue what love or anything close to it really is, and if that's the case, maybe you don't really want anything to do with him at all. And so you become a little disgusted. With him and with yourself for believing in him, but at the same time...

At the same time, you realize just how little you really know about him, and you realize you have a hundred million questions that you'd like to ask him. But you don't know how. Do you call him and tell him that the two of you need to go out for coffee sometime soon or do you just email him your questions, because maybe he'll think you're crazy or maybe he won't be honest, and you know that in the end, your opinion will be the only thing you no for certain is real because you don't have any close friends in common so no one can tell you what's true and what's not.

But you've always believed in him.

And now you're perceptions of him are totally skewed and you're stuck wondering and feeling small in the face of the new girlfriend who graduated from college early and teaches elementary school and wants to go back to get her PhD in Genetics of all brilliant things. Maybe she could win the Nobel Peace Prize and drive a Ferrari while she's at it because the fact that she's caught his attention is apparently already something more than what you can actually do.

At least for now.

And so it is...you feel small. And you feel tired. And you begin to wonder if that toast between yourself and your mother last new year's really stirred the winds of change because although no one died, you're really not sure if this has been a better year and all your affirmations seem to be stretching thin.

*shakes head* Enough of that.

Oh Let Me Tell You a Story

“But I know about art and love, if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being.”
- Toulouse-Lautrec, Moulin Rouge

Some nights all I can do is wonder. A lot of it comes from the simple fact that I am tired, but also is partially because I can feel the loneliness trying to knock me down again.
Solitude seems to be something I slink back into far too often lately. I’ll spend half my evening with my family only to retreat to the sanctuary of my bedroom to play songs that only make the situation more obvious.

“She’s hiding.”
“No, she said she was writing something. You know, working on one of those projects of her’s.”
“I still think she’s hiding. Something is wrong.”
“Oh, you worry too much. She needs the quiet to think.”

My bedroom door is right off the living room and it does nothing to dispel the noise coming from the TV. This is why music can often be heard blaring from my room at any one point in the day. It’s all I can do to keep myself sane and finish a thought.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with my family watching TV and hanging out in the living room. On the contrary, it’s comforting to hear them out there. It means that I’m not alone…

I am tired. All I can do is think of him. I’m so tired of thinking only about him. Sometimes the music subdues the thoughts, but usually, as it’s doing tonight, it just elevates the issue.
He’s a musician. In each song, I can hear him singing, and in each song, I am singing to him. I can make anything become a song from me to him.
We sang together once. At a camp. He had been asked to lead the songs during the nightly campfire, and I knew the songs all by heart. Our voices blend so beautifully. He has a gorgeous tenor voice that is smooth as silk, but can drop down low to make each word stick in your mind. It makes me want to melt. I know if it ever is directed at me, I won’t be able to resist it.
Did I mention he plays guitar? That he writes his own music? He does. Right now he’s waiting for the mastered cd to be completely finished. All the artwork, the copies, everything…I get one of the first copies of the cd. He seemed surprised that I would want one, and I was surprised he didn’t know that I would want one.
I hang on his every word. Tell him how much I enjoy his music, his voice, everything. What more do I need to say?

Nights like this tend to break my heart. One more night without a phone call.
I asked him if he wanted to hang out with me sometime this weekend. Alright, so I sent this invitation via email, but still…
But if he called…what would I do?
I would instantly agree to any plan he would want to make. A movie? Great. Walk around town? Wonderful. Midnight trip to Walmart? My favorite. Tap dancing on BBQ’s? Splendid, I couldn’t love anything more.
And then the panic would start.

I’ve never had much experience in the arena of dating. To me, it seems a lot like being thrown to the lions, and if, by the grace of God, you are lucky enough to find an angel…you are the lucky one.
How does it all work? How am I supposed to keep up a conversation for the entirety of a date? Do you hold hands? As the woman, am I supposed to allow him to initiate any form of affection? Or do I reach for his hand during the movie?
And how do you know if it’s a date anyway? Any more, he could just want some company because he’s bored. Do I need to have him flat-out tell me that we’re on a date? Or is it simply implied because I personally need a flat-out explanation.

I’m ashamed to do it, but I have to quote Dr. Meredith Grey of Grey’s Anatomy because I find this quote to pretty much exactly sum it up:
Intimacy is a four syllable word for, "Here's my heart and soul, please grind them into hamburger, and enjoy." It's both desired, and feared. Difficult to live with, and impossible to live without.

I can’t decide what I am more scared of: him wanting me or him rejecting me.

I want him to want me. I need him to need me. I’d love him to love me…err. Sorry, it’s just that Cheaptrick really perfect sometimes. Those words totally apply right now. I do want him. And more than almost anything else, I want him to want me too.
Like I said before, I’m scared of him too. Let me try to better explain: he’s fricking perfect. Alright, that’s not true, but he does fascinate me and I’m just afraid that he’s going to realize, I’m really not. I’m just a girl who loves bright colors, but only wants to wear black. Who constantly fights with her weight, but never seems to win. A girl who loves to read books, but has yet to successfully finish any of her writing projects. Who aspires to be something great, but still hasn’t decided what avenue is necessary to attain greatness. I am still discovering me. Could I actually create a curiosity in him?

On the other hand, rejection is what I am expecting. I realize a defeatist attitude is not a healthy one to carry in life, but my luck in love has been slim. I am nothing like the girls he has dated before. They’ve all been beautiful, petite, skinny women. I am not them.
The last girl he liked, well, she is my best friend. Another gorgeous, skinny girl with a spectacular sense of humor, strong beliefs, and an incredibly generous nature. He started calling her every night just to talk. He is incredibly shy. We knew he liked her. He never had a chance to actually ask her out, she was already seeing someone else. He just hadn’t found out yet.
He doesn’t call me.
Okay, so he does call me. But only when he’s not going to make it to something. Then I am like his version of a sick note or an excuse slip. I guess I can’t complain, he calls me first, but I could really use a phone call of another sort.
With this lack of any real evidence towards the contrary, I believe there is a good chance I am headed straight for heartbreak yet again.

I don’t care anymore.
That may not exactly be the right way to characterize it. I guess what I’m really trying to say is that, well, if heartbreak is on the way, so be it. He’s amazing. I enjoy spending time with him, and as long as I have that opportunity, I’m going to take it. Who knows, maybe attitudes will change.
Besides, every time I pray about it, God sends me word: WAIT. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I know that I’m to wait. Which is fine. I’ve got time. I need to be praying for God to keep me strong and patient. These lonely nights are the hard part because I’m still not sure what I’m waiting for.
But hey, it can only get better. Right?

Coversations

She said she didn'tcare. She was trying to fool herself. Why should she care? He wasn’t going to. Or at least it sure didn’t seem like he would. Maybe she should ask, but no, no she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to be an inconvenience to him.
Maybe it wasn’t even that. Maybe she was just afraid. She didn’t really want to know. Somehow, maybe it was better this way. This not knowing had its advantages. After all, if she didn’t know he disliked her, she could always hope. On top of which, wasn’t it his job to make the first move? He was the guy after all. Maybe it was time he stepped up to the plate and took a swing. She felt like she’d been doing all of it. She made mix cds, she left him notes, she made him laugh, she checked on him when he was sick, she encouraged him. He seemed grateful for her friendship. Seemed to enjoy her company…but nothing was ever said.
Sure he’d made her a mix cd and came to hang out with her when she asked, but it only seemed to be in groups. Was he scared of her? If only the songs on the mix had really meant something. If only they hadn’t just been songs by bands he loved. She wondered if he had realized that her mix cds were like letters. Each song chosen carefully and only for him.
Maybe it was just as well. Maybe he was meant to have someone better. Someone prettier, more musical, talented, perfect. That’s what he deserved anyway…perfection.
She sighed to herself. She went through the familiar list: believes in God, good with kids, was an amazing singer, played and wrote his own music, funny, handsome in a casual wonderful way, brilliant, accomplished…yes…he was perfection. She found herself sighing yet again praying God would provide her with some obvious direction. All she wanted was to know if she was crazy for sticking around so long.


He said he didn’t care. He was trying to fool himself. Why should he care? She surely wasn’t going to. She was just treating him like all her other friends. Right? The emails, checking up on him, always noticing when something was different, telling him she liked his new songs. Wasn’t that something she would do for anyone?
And what about the mix cd he’d made her…Hadn’t she realized he wouldn’t do that for just anyone. That she was special. He’d spent several months working on that mix. Each song specifically about her. Each of them secretly whispered his longing, his love.
Didn’t she see the look in his eyes? That he meant each and every word he said to her. That in each and every sentence he was trying to tell her.
He loved the way she laughed. It was so free and so frequent when he was around. His friends believed she cared, but he couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t she have told me how she felt? Written me a note or something. She’s was such a brave girl…
He sighed and stared at the dark ceiling of his room. Just praying God would give him an answer before he went crazy. What was he going to do?


She looked at the clock. It was flashing 1:37 AM in the most blindingly obnoxious fashion. Thank goodness it was a Saturday. She could sleep in…well if she got any sleep at all she could sleep in, but she wasn’t holding out much hope anymore.
She got out of bed and grabbed her laptop. Sitting in her overstuffed chair staring at a blank screen would have to help at least a little bit. Maybe an answer would come while she was typing. She’d find the perfect words, or at least words that would help express her feelings.
Let’s be realistic, she thought. There’s no way I’m going to come up with the perfect words. She opened iTunes and starred at it. Another mix was going to have to happen. It was really the only way to say anything anyway…always through the words of others. I’m such a coward, she thought and started finding songs.


He was pacing again. He had been laying in bed for over an hour and had finally given up any hope of going to sleep. He replayed the evening over in his head again.
They went out bowling with some friends. He always made sure he would be there if they went out in a group. He wished he had the nerve to hang out just with her, but he was really sure he would say something stupid or embarrassing. He couldn't bear the thought of her deciding she didn't want to be around him anymore. Why take the chance? But she had spent most of the evening by his side. Always realizing when it was his turn before he did. She even tucked his tag in. How did she always notice these things? Such insignificant details, but she always did. He loved this about her.
Another friend of there’s had tried to teach her how to bowl. He could tell this embarrassed her, so he hadn’t said anything. Just remembering to comment when she did a good job. Tried to make her laugh. Thanked her when she reminded him it was his turn, when she picked the lint off his shirt, and talked to her whenever he could.
He was getting pretty good at keeping their conversations going. She never seemed thrown when his topics didn’t flow. And she would actually answer his questions with honest sounding answers. She was amazing.
He thought she was wonderful. Everything about her. She was perfect.
He picked up a notebook and his guitar. At least all the angst is good for something, he thought.


There, she thought. It’s done. She stared at the list on her screen:

In This Diary mix:
Faith – George Michael
If Only She Knew – O.A.R.
In This Diary – The Ataris
You Really Got Me – Van Halen
That Thing You Do – The Wonders
Stay With Me – Finch
Waiting – Jimmie’s Chicken Shack
Your Winter – Sister Hazel
Quitter’s Never Win – Jonny Lang
On Call – Kings of Leon
Reckless – Better Than Ezra
Kiss On – Tyler Hilton
Southern Girl – Incubus
Brass Bed –Josh Gracin
Waiting in Vain – Bob Marley
Don’t Move – Butch Walker
Questions – Jack Johnson
Sparks – Coldplay

You can’t be much more obvious than that. She hit the burn button and made two copies. She knew she would need to be reminded of this bit of recklessness on a regular basis for awhile. If he didn’t catch on, at least she would have been able to get some of those feelings out of her head. But what if he does catch on? The thought paralyzed her. No, no looking back. This needs to be said. Even if this is the only way I can do it…

Real

To be honest, Nikky, if (which I'm sure you will eventually) you are reading this, (what a poorly constructed sentence) you will find later on that all of this is said in my letters to you. I plan on still giving you these letters even though you'll probably read it all here first simply because I believe written copies are more coveted and honest and real and personal than anything I can possibly type here. I'm putting the following here so that if someone does stumble across this, they can consider it to. It's completely honest, so *shrugs* make of it what you will:

I'm reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller, and it's really making me think. A lot. Maybe more than I want to just because it seems like Don is talking about me as much as he's talking about his own experiences. His feelings are my feelings, his words (though much more beautiful and brilliant than my own) are my words.

I'm about halfway through Blue Like Jazz. The line, "You are not above the charity of God," has haunted me all weekend. Like God's trying to convince me. I know it's true, but, like I've said before, pride is really an issue I have. It goes with growing up without much money. I've put on this tough kid facade. I was always picked on for being unfashionable, for having to eat hot lunch at school that the state paid for, for being different, for being a tomboy. It gave me an excuse to be tough about a lot of things. To not show emotion. Too proud to accept charity or help when I needed it mostly because I was never willing to show that I needed it. It just added to everything else. I never wanted to tell people I was struggling because I didn't want their pity, but the reality was, God was trying to provide for me. I just let pride get in the way. Why do we do these things? Or, more appropriately, why do I let myself do these thing?

In the chapter called Romance, I'm amazed to see so many of my own seemingly irrational fears in print. I'm terrified that I'll fall in love, get married and then my husband will realize he's made a mistake, or I'll realize I've made a mistake. I'm terrified of telling people how I feel about them, but mostly, I'm afraid once a guy sees me for all that I am...I'm afraid he'll run. I'm not perfect. I have a very dark, very unpleasant side which, I will admit, has had it's up's and down's in size and existence over the years, but still...it's very much alive and there.

And even worse, what if someone gets to know me and realizes I'm very fake. That sometimes I agree to ideas and functions without legitimate reasons or without fully understanding or hearing it out. What if he sees me for the spaz that I am, and realizes he can't deal with the fact that I rarely have the strength or stamina to see things through, and that I' not nearly as charming or witty or funny as he's believed. That sometimes I'm a liar in the fullest sense of the word. What then?

Then there was the chapter titled Alone. It's very real to me. The following paragraph makes more sense to me, and is more real, than almost anything I've read recently:

"I know about that feeling, that feeling of walking out into the darkness. When I lived alone it was very hard for me to be around people. I would leave parties early. I would leave church before worship was over so I didn't have to stand around and talk. The presence of people would agitate me. I was so used to being able to daydream and keep myself company that other people were an intrusion. It was terribly unhealthy."

When I went to Sauk initially, I lost touch. When I came home from ABC, I lost touch. Now, I'm working on maintaining contact! I've been the person Don is talking about in this paragraph. That was me. I had lost touch, but now I'm trying to grow out of that. I'm trying to be who God wants me to be because He never created me to lock myself away and be alone.

There is a quote by Marianne Williamson that I feel says it all as far as what God created us to be:

"Our deepest fear is not that we're inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond all measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world."

I love this quote. I have it in several different locations and in several different profiles on line because I want people to see it. I want to remember it, and I want others to realize its profound truth. We shouldn't play small. I shouldn't play small. I should live for others, not just me. I should be living for the community, the group, the people God places in my life. They are relevant and wonderful and real. And so am I.