I’m Not Whinging

I promise. I’m really not.

Tonight, I was creeping through facebook, as I tend to do occasionally (because how else will I keep up with the people I don’t talk to) and I noticed that a friend’s little sister is engaged.

This is not to say that it’s not awesome for her, and I’m so happy that she’s happy; it’s just…

So I have these two girlfriends who have been my friends since probably before kindergarten. Somehow, twenty years later, we’re still best friends.

Growing up, our younger siblings were also friends. We each have a younger brother and those brothers are within a year of each other. One of us also has a younger sister, just slightly younger than her younger brother. She’s the one who just got engaged.

The other’s younger brother is engaged. My brother is quite seriously dating someone (who I actually love).

It’s just a matter of time before all the younger siblings are married………………………………………………………before I am. Ah God, I really, truly attempted to resist.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. People find happiness and love at all walks of life and it shouldn’t be discounted nor compared.

It just hit me, I guess, as things tend to do: I’m kind of, like, alone.

And have been. For quite some time. Or at least two years. Over two years.

And it seemsseems, seems, like everyone else…. isn’t.

Alone, that is.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

I just don’t always think about it or notice it and then suddenly, everyone and their mother (literally, everyone and my mother) are engaged. Or married. Or pregnant. Or at least fucking someone.

Ahem.

Not whinging.

*makes hand gesture as if to say, ‘that’s final’ and kind of means it*

I’m always kind of on the fence, you know? Like, sometimes I’m desperate to be with someone and then other times I’m looking around at my apartment going, thank Christ I’m not with someone.

There’s a hell of a lot of mental and physical freedom that comes with being alone. Shall we say ‘independent’ from here on?

I mean, I can sleep til noon and stay up late and eat whenever I want and – wait, that’s the freedom that comes with being unemployed.

Um, so I mean, being single: I can sleep til noon and stay up late and I can spend two hours at the gym and only buy groceries for one and go to Starbucks without asking anyone’s order and – you know, this still sounds like unemployment.

I guess it’s just nice to do my own thing. Most of the time.

Then I see everyone around me dating/getting engaged/getting married/getting pregnant/buying houses/getting dogs and I think about how much I desire those things. I don’t need plural house(s), but everything else, yeah.

When I moved into my new apartment, I decided to get a king-sized bed and put my queen in the second bedroom. When I told dad I was getting a king bed, he was like, “expecting company?”
I was like,

But then I was like,

Sometimes I just wonder how the fuck I’ll ever meet someone if I don’t have a job or whatever; but maybe because I don’t have a job yet, I’m not meant to meet anyone…. yet?

I don’t know. Everything happens for a reason and everything happens when it’s meant, but man alive, I’m not getting any younger.

What I am getting is more fit. Did you know it’ll have been a month, Friday, that I’ve been working out and eating healthily? That’s somewhat of a milestone, I reckon.

Truth be told, I would like to be in some semblance of fitness before I meet ‘the one’ – it’d be ideal, anyway. So maybe once I’ve got that checked off the list…

I’m still ridiculously, if not stupidly, optimistic about my future. I have literally zero prospects (in the dating pool, anyway; jobwise might be another story), and yet I still find myself looking like that heart-eyed emoji. If I could bottle it, I’d sell it.

This whole post even ended up more positive than I had planned. ‘The fuck.

No Time Passes In Seven Years

Jesus, it’s been seven years since freshman year of college? That’s disgusting.
I went to the University of Evansville my freshman year – I couldn’t even tell you why. Honestly, though, it might be because campus looked old and had character. Little did I know.
Move-in day was 10000000° and my dorm had no air con. I lived on the third floor with no elevators. Feel sorry for me yet?
I had no roommate because my roommate decided to bail – I think she knew something I didn’t. I was looking forward to living alone, though; I didn’t know anyone anyway.
In the little first-day-frenzy, this gal came to my door and said something in a southern accent. I was drenched in sweat and close to tears – super frustrated with the lack of air con, having to carry a ton of shit up the stairs, and probably a bit of fright over being far from home. Instantly, I’m like, fuck, she’s hyper and sociable and is going to wear me out even further.
We ended up sticking close to each other as she didn’t know anyone either. Our dads got to chatting, as they do, and we ended up signing up for all the same classes since we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.
Her roommate was a bimbo and ended up dropping out at semester. I think by then, Steph had essentially started moving into my room. We both hated UE and the people there (especially the snobby, obnoxious theatre kids who ran the dorm). By the end of the year, we were packing up for good and we’d applied for transfers to our respective home universities.
In 2010, Steph came up to Nebraska to visit and just last weekend, after far too long, I drove down to Nashville for the Color Run.
Oh, the drive. Would have made it in eleven hours, but got held up in stop and go traffic for long periods of time. Thank God for Bolero. Seriously, next time you’re stuck in traffic, put that shit on. Makes it a bit more bearable. I got there late Friday night and the run was the next morning.
After about five hours of sleep, I was up and putting on my tutu for the run. It was cold and rainy, but was supposed to let up. It didn’t. As soon as we got there, we bought hoodies. Even with the inclement weather, there were about 20,000 people there. We all got soaked before the run – well, except those who wore ponchos, which I truly didn’t understand.
It was my first color run and it did not disappoint. I loved the color powder, even though it tasted like chalk, and it was nice to walk/jog through downtown Nashville. And over the Cumberland River.
Afterward, we went to Panera in all our colored glory. As soon as I walked in, this little girl gave me a double-take and then tried to surreptitiously get her mom’s attention, all the while maintaining eye contact with me. I smiled at her and I don’t think she knew what to do. I mean, was there something wrong with my face? >

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The rest of the days are kind of a blur – we didn’t have much of an agenda, so we just hung out and took it easy. She’s been busy getting her second degree and I’ve been busy doing nothing, so it was nice to do more nothing. We saw her folks – biological and adopted – and I saw where she works now. It was good.
On Monday, we drove to Evansville. I never thought I’d see that campus again. Why would I? But, since It was only a three hour drive…
It was weird. It looked mostly the same (new student union), but it felt completely different. The students seemed nicer, the atmosphere was bright and light; I mean, if we’d have gone to school there now, I think we would have been fine. That being said, I’m glad I’m past all of that.
The most amazing thing about seeing Steph again was just how it seemed like not a day had gone by. I might as well have always been there. We’re not the best at texting or writing, but it was crazy how natural it all was. I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked, it’s the same way with my best friends from elementary school. One lives here, one lives there, we can go weeks without texting, and then when we get together, it’s like we’d just seen each other the day before. I think it’s a testament to true friendship, being able to do that. There’s something to be said about the longevity and depth of it all.
Of course, there have been friends that have fallen away as I have fallen away to others, but I think that’s also becoming an adult. These busy lives we all lead – things take priority and precedence and it ends up taking effort to retain and maintain friendships. So.. to be able to have those friends you know you’ll be able to rely on and turn to, no matter how long it’s been, it’s a real blessing.

This post started out with a point, so I hope I’ve made it. I’ve been trying to get myself to sit down and write for a week and the urge took me while I’m sitting in my car, waiting for my friend.
Speaking of – my friend, Shaun, who is in the navy, got orders to England and he leaves today! I’m simultaneously insanely excited and insanely jealous that he’ll be over with the love of my life. In this case, one must learn to share.
And his ears must have been burning, because he just texted me.
Until later.
(Maybe, if I can get myself to do anything).
(Jesus, I haven’t even talked about Oz much. That shit is coming up on the 9th!)
panicking>

I’m a Bear

I just realized, with great glee, that I’ve essentially been hibernating for the past six months. If only I’d been feeding off of my body’s fat stores instead of continuously (and overly) replenishing them.

It’s getting to be about that time where I regret being a slug, but then, there’s really no point in that. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since getting my first job ten years ago.

I do have quite the motivation to lose about eight pounds this month, however: ComiCon in Sydney, Australia. I’ll be cosplaying a Midwesterner.

What I’m really excited about, though, is seeing my Aussie twins. It’s funny – I think it was even before this con came up, I was thinking about saying goodbye to the both of them at Paddington Station and just wishing the tube train was empty so I could cry afterward with minimal-to-no stares. Interesting how quickly and naturally we became friends – both in a country that was not our own, both there for different reasons, but both there for essentially the same duration. No coincidence that we met on my first night at the same ‘event.’

Actually, that’s what I’d like to tell Mr Cumberbatch, if ever the opportunity arises: Thank you for allowing complete strangers and mostly complete amateurs to be involved in a project that meant so much to you. If you hadn’t, I never would have met Jen, which means I never would have met Janine, which means I never would have met Geny or Shannon or any of the other gals. My London trip as a whole would have been a totally different experience and not one I’d care to think about, to be honest.

*shudder* Ugh. Yeah. Wow, I never even dared to go there until just now. What would it have been like had I not done Little Favour that first night. Or maybe I did, but wasn’t in the wrong right area, causing Jen to ask me, “are you here for Little Favour?” There’s just so much I never would have done or wouldn’t have gotten to do. I didn’t plan on knowing anyone over there, but as per, my plan is not the one in play.

So, I am ready to begin the waking process. Something Jen said, while we were discussing my potential trip across the Pacific, really stuck with me: something like, ‘I think it’ll cheer you up more than you know.’ Until she said that, I didn’t think I needed cheering up. I didn’t really think I was down. I knew I was apprehensive about air travel, I was discouraged about not finding a job, I found a great house and couldn’t buy it because I don’t have a job, I’m sick of my neighbors, blah blah blah blah. But, when she said that to me, it all seemed to click.

Traveling to Oz will help me get over my fear of being turned away at the border, unless I’m turned away at the border, it’ll get me out of Nebraska for a bit, which means it’ll get my mind out of Nebraska for a bit, I’ll get to see Jen and Janine, we’ll get to do some Sherlock stuff, I’ll see the beach, and hello, I’ll see a country I’ve never seen but one I’ve always wanted to visit.

She’s right. It will cheer me up more than I know. It’ll cheer me up even though I didn’t know I needed cheering up. I’ve been in my cozy, little cave for six months and it’s time for some fresh air.

When Shit Goes to Hell In a Handbasket But Just Fucking Survives Anyhow

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That is absolutely accurate.

I think I left off last time with Jo’s flight being delayed until who knows when. Or 620pm. I then proceeded to have too much Moscato on an empty stomach and just stay up late. I figured I’d wake up at 2pm, I’d have an hour to get ready and get a Starbucks and hit the road. Awesome.

Then I woke up. I grabbed my phone and the first thing I did was pull up the United Airlines app to check Jo’s flight. Before I could do anything, mom was calling. I answered and in a very strange voice, she told me that something happened and it was going to upset me. Or could. I can’t remember. It did. But whatever.

Dad had been arrested at 630am. So, probably, shortly after I actually went to sleep. All I really said was, ‘WHAT?’ and then listened to how my mom’s day had gone from about 830am until then. Apparently, there was a warrant out for his arrest because he left the country a year ago and wasn’t supposed to. Awesome. What, did the warrant fall behind the new guy’s desk or something? A year ago? Jesus.

She said that we would be doing court at 9am the next morning and Conor was going to get money for bail today while I drive to Kansas City to pick up Jo. I honestly don’t remember the rest of the conversation, but I do remember mom telling me that she needed a hug before I went. I got up, got ready, went to Starbucks for both of us, and also brought her some Advil before I took off.

Once in the car, and once before I’d left, actually, I had a mini-breakdown. Or in any case, a what-the-actual-fuck-is-going-on-and-I’m-really-goddamn-sick-of-2014-already-if-I’m-entirely-honest moment. Well, two moments.

I turned my music up and did as Paul McCartney told me to do: ‘step on the gas and wipe that tear away.’

The drive was uneventful. Got to KC unscathed and I will say that MCI is a super easy airport to get to, as well as maneuver parking-wise. I parked right across from the door and as I walked in, I saw a Canadian-English-looking gal with a pink bag and called out to the Canuck. Of course, it was like no time had passed since London/Bristol.

She had had a hell of a day already, too – been up since midnight CST and at the airport sitting around for hours and hours while her canceled/cancelled (ahem) flight turned into one now flying into Cleveland and then finally into KC. Thank God for beer and Starbucks and all that good stuff.

I lightheartedly told Jo that we’d have to spend a bit of her first night running to Conor’s to get the bail money (and dad’s clothes, since they didn’t let him change out of his pajamas or grab a coat.. um, it’s fucking winter) and then to mom’s to introduce Jo and work out a plan for morning. Oh yeah, then we’d have to spend her first morning here with her sleeping in and putzing around my apartment while mom and I went to court, posted bail, and waited for dad to be released.

I was pissed. I mean, the timing seemed obnoxious and totally against me/us. It would have been very easy to say that this trip never should have happened due to all the hangups, but very quickly, we realized that Jo was totally meant to be here through all of this because, well, A: I would need a Brit around to make sure my upper lip remained stiff and B: I’d just need a distraction.

Luckily, Jo was totally knackered, so she passed out and I got into bed with my laptop. I really couldn’t sleep. I really didn’t want to sleep. I just couldn’t believe this shit was sort of happening… again. I mean, sure, it’s been over ten years. It was literally laughable that we could say, ‘well, at least we know what we’re doing this time.’

You know, I’ve always been a bit afraid of it. Talking about it. Being asked about it (which never happens, but I’m para). So what? I have a convicted felon in the family. Yep. And he’s my dad and I love him. End of.

Well, not really; I’m nowhere near done with this bitch.

Anyway. Thankfully, my buddy Nicole was online and has similar sleeping habits. Since I didn’t want to go to sleep (I had to be up early and I’m always nervous I’ll sleep through my alarm when there’s important shit to do), we watched the last couple Sherlock episodes that we’d left off a while back. But mainly, and most helpfully, I was offered another distraction. (Thank you, Nicole).

After some Sherlock, a tub of hummus, and some baby carrots, I figured I should try to get at least a couple hours of sleep. It was past 5am at this point and I had to be up at 7am so that we could get to the correctional facility downtown which I had no idea even existed by 830am. I think I fell asleep singing the guitar solo from ‘Let It Be’ in my head because nothing says ‘it’ll be alright’ like George Harrison’s masterful licks in ‘Let It Be.’

I wish I could say I woke up to the sound of music, but actually, I woke up hot and sweaty, what seemed like, every twenty minutes. And then to my three or four alarms that I’d set. (Told you, para).

I took a bit longer than planned trying to get ready. What does one wear to her dad’s bond announcement, amIrite?

Was supposed to meet mom at her apartment so we could follow each other downtown. Of course, there was a disabled vehicle in the middle goddamn lane of Dodge Street about right where I needed to make a move to get Starbucks. I texted mom and asked if she could just put some coffee in a thermos for me before I FTFO. She said, yes.

Of course, due to the car in the middle of the road, traffic had slowed to about 10mph. Finally, after everyone behind me got to move into another lane (what the hell is with that, by the way? That is not courteous), I was able to take the 144th Street exit and head toward mom’s. Then that traffic was shitty. So I took Blondo. Mom said, and I will swear in court that she said, meet me at the HyVee on 132nd and Blondo.

There is no HyVee on 132nd and Blondo.

I thought, well, maybe it’s like, just past the intersection. Nope. 120th and Blondo? Nope. Shit. I pulled into some random business parking lot on 117th and Blondo before I got any further and called mom. She told me to go back to 132nd and DODGE where the HYVEE is. FFS. At this point, I had just about lost it.

FINALLY, we met up at the HyVee. On 132nd and Dodge. And I got a coffee and a protein bar. We figured Dodge Expressway to I-80 was the way to go, and we slowly made it onto Dodge. Miraculously, traffic had totally opened up because I think at this point it was just past 8am. I-80 was also totally fine and we stumbled upon the correctional facility with ten minutes to spare.

Somehow.

We even had parking spots right across from the door.

Somehow.

We get inside and this woman is kind of waiting in the vestibule where some lockers are. She said that we’d need to put all of our stuff in the lockers, except for our IDs. She was there to visit an inmate and she was very helpful. We checked in and a very nice officer told us that she’d take us up about five minutes to 9am.

We each nervously used the restroom – not nervously, as in, we were nervous to use it.. but.. you know, nerves – and then it was time to go. There were only a few of us that were led back. We passed a few banks of computer screens hooked up to telephones. Apparently, when you visit an inmate, you don’t sit with glass between you – you essentially Skype while he or she remains on some other floor entirely. Super strange, but surprisingly high-tech, I think; and film/tv needs to get with the times. Nebraska has. 

(Speaking of Nebraska – WHAT A FILM).

We’re led to this room that has three rows of seats facing a wall with plexiglass windows. The windows look into the court room. The courtroom was normal-looking, but had bulky-ass plastic benches for the inmates. The judge looked jovial, so I took that as a good sign.

They switched on a speaker so that we could hear what was going on in the room, and much to our surprise, dad was called up first. Mom grabbed my hand.

I was leaning forward in the seat, like I was waiting for Jeremy Clarkson to tell me my lap time. I was trying so hard not to be nervous, and it was strangely easy in the end, because I didn’t even feel like I was watching reality happening in front of my eyes. It was almost like cognitive dissonance. I shouldn’t be here. What am I doing here? This isn’t where I’d spend my morning. Shouldn’t I be watching Law and Order to see a courtroom?

Oh, we were told not to wave at the inmates. Like, how inappropriate would that have been.

I think dad was up in front of the judge for sixty seconds or fewer. It reminded me of when I went to small-claims and had to plead guilty to speeding and get a lecture from the State of Nebraska representative. Yeah, yeah, okay, cool, just tell me what to pay and where to pay and let me get the hell out of this weirdness.

The judge said his bond was $25-sharp intake of breath-hundred, which meant his bail was $250. I actually had to stifle a laugh. Chump change, fool. (I’ll just say, we were incredibly over-prepared).

The very nice officer told us that we could go back to the lobby and meet with dad’s attorney. We were shocked that it was over already, not that we really cared to stick around, and ran down the hall back to the lobby. The attorney said that there’s a hearing in a few weeks and it’ll hopefully just get the kibosh. So incredibly stupid, the whole thing. Even the acting prosecutor fumbled around with what to do with the whole thing.

The other nice cop at the desk told us that we could pay the bond in about an hour, so we set off for Starbucks. (Holy shit, I think I really need to take stock in this company). I impressed some guy by doing the Omaha World Herald crossword in about three minutes. Maybe shorter than that, who knows. ‘Omaha’ was one of the answers. Also, mom’s and my horoscopes were creepily fitting.

Dad called mom while we were there. I got to talk to him and asked him if he was trying to show me up after my stint as an international fugitive. He said he was and that he was even going to start a blog about it. I was like, are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to show me up by blogging, too? He said he’d probably write his book before me, too. But I could be his ghostwriter. Sigh. Yeah, whatever.

We went back and found the cashier desk. Super nice dude working it. Mom asked him very politely if he had any idea about when we could expect to pick dad up after we’d paid. He said, anywhere from two to four hours usually. He left the desk to make a copy and then upon returning, he said, ‘you know, it’s lunch time, I wouldn’t be surprised if they came back and just took care of it and he was out by 1230pm.’ It was about 1015am at the time and I thought that was pretty damn good.

Mom had to go back to work, so I decided to stick around the downtown area, or at least eastern half of Omaha. I met Conor and got dad’s house key (I wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take anything, so I didn’t know if he had a key to get back into his place after Conor made sure it was secure the day before), I stopped by QT and got dad some Lipton peach tea, a Snickers, and two Salted Nut Rolls (his fav). I figured the food was similar to what I had in the detention center in London: not bad; not good, though.

I needed to stop by the bank for Conor and there happened to be one on 35th and Farnam, which would keep me in the general vicinity just in case. As soon as I parked, mom called and said dad was being processed and would be out soon. I quickly did my banking, or Conor’s rather, and headed back for the correctional facility.

I found a parking spot right across from the door, grabbed dad’s coat, and headed inside. I sat down on the bench in the vestibule, and soon a couple women came in. They started to walk into the main lobby and I said, ladies, you’ll actually have to put everything in these lockers, but keep your IDs out. They asked me if I worked there and I said, no, just had to deal with this shit once already, so I figured I’d save them the trouble of going back and forth or setting off the metal detector. Once they were sorted, dad appeared in the lobby.

As he came through the doors, one of the ladies said, well, thanks for the help, otherwise I’d have totally screwed this up. Dad said, hey, now, don’t say that – you are a smart person and you will do great. Again, trying to show me up. For God’s sake, already.

I felt like I was just picking him up from school or something. We just immediately started talking about what had gone on and the people he met and how nice everyone was (besides the asshole half of the good-cop-bad-cop routine he got the morning before), and then I gave him his goody bag and we set off for his house.

He seriously had written down about two pages worth of thoughts. He was totes serious about writing a blog. Actually, wait, I think he was more talking about journaling because then when I said, well, I could set you up a WordPress, he was like, ‘oh I think I’ll just use Word.’ What? That’s not online, dad. But I think he might actually post it. I’ll link it, if he does.

The funniest bit was that I did exactly the same thing while I was holed up in London. It was comforting to write. It was also something to do. Scarily alike, we two.

I would hope that this is wickedly obvious, but I had to introduce a note of levity. This whole situation was completely unexpected, totally jarring, wildly frustrating, and hilariously simple to handle. God wasn’t just on our side, He seemed to be hovering and bumping into us. I can’t really explain the calm I felt after a while. Sure, I might have slipped into a bit of bargaining with the big guy at one point, but it just had to be alright. That was it. It just had to be.

Without further ado: the emotions.

I recently wrote about a quote that I repeat constantly or that holds a lot of meaning to me, and I wrote about ‘everything happens for a reason.’ There were so many reasons for the past two days’ events, I couldn’t even begin to list them. The lessons I learned, we learned; the faith, the trust, the total surrender of the whole thing. It was completely out of our control, like everything else, and we knew that. Jo was here to help me and distract me; hell, I think to help mom and dad, too. She’s been a total babe about everything. Welcome to Nebraska.

Another thing that demands discussion is the love between my divorced-and-happily-engaged/married-to-other-people parents. And no, I don’t mean the in-love kind.

It took extreme courage and trust for my dad to call my mom at a time like this. He didn’t want to call either of us and burden us, and although he’ll say he could have probably called his mentor, there really wasn’t anyone else he could have called. She dealt with it before and she had no responsibility or obligation to deal with it now, but dad knew that he could ask her and that she would handle everything. She could have easily hung up and said, sorry, I can’t; just like she could have walked away over ten years ago and said the same thing. That wouldn’t have been the easy way out either time, because that’s not the person she is. She stands up and fights for what she believes and she will take care of us and protect us until the end. She’ll even do the same for her ex-husband. Which speaks really fucking loudly about her character.

And dad, even in a confusing and likely very frightening time, was able to turn to his ex-wife. She and dad had a good marriage for 25 years. Sure, there was shit, and sure, it ended in a civil, mutually-decided divorce. But there is an understanding and love between the two of them that completely floors me. It has been such a lesson for me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been more touched by an expression of compassion.

I’m unequivocally proud to be their daughter.

It’s odd, it’s still on the day (to me, anyway), and it feels like none of it really happened. I was struggling last night and tonight I’m not. Things really upset in the blink of an eye, but I tell you what, that feeling of serenity isn’t gone. It was with me from the moment we stepped into the correctional facility this morning. I pray that it stays with me. Because, I really can’t be bothered right now. And it’s wonderful.

11 Jan to 13 Jan

Last night, I swear I almost had an orgasm in front of the beer coolers at Brix. Sophie and I got our Pancheros and then headed over to Brix for wine. Inundated with choices, I found a pinot called Double Decker and Sophie found a rosé called Sofie. She suggested we take a look at the beer then. And beer there is. I couldn’t believe all of craft options and imports. I figured, well, I’m sure they’ll have Hobgoblin, so I could just get that.

And then I saw it. I swept my eyes upward and was met with the blood-red label of London Pride. I said, oh my God, and might have drawn some attention to myself while I hugged the chilly sixpack and moaned – actually moaned – in pleasure. I could literally feel the waves of elation wash through my body.

That, my friends, will be the moment in my memoirs when my alcoholism began. Well, alright, I know better than that. Perhaps the beginning of my beer belly.

The bottle of Double Decker and three (I think) London Prides later, for Sophie – the bottle of Sofie and three (I think) Sam Adams later, and we were passed out on my couch with Sherlock on the telly.

I woke up this morning with a Facebook notification – an old flame (on a candle in the wind) had accepted my friend request. Um. Thanks, Sophie. I sent him a message telling him that was done drunkenly, from which he could deduce all sorts of shit, if he wants. He’s married now, it’s whatever. The best part though is that, try as I might, I can’t be arsed to be embarrassed by it. Normally, I think I would be. I’m not a drunk-texter, really; I tend to make a fool of myself in person. I mean, yeah, Soph and I were talking about the young men in our past lives and of course my mentioning him resulted in Facebook creeping, as all good ‘I dated this guy’ stories do.

But I don’t know. Maybe it’s my age or that I’m increasingly comfortable in my own skin. I just can’t seem to worry about it, and that is simply a revelation.

Still nothing about my car. I did get to keep the rental until Monday. I sure as hell wouldn’t take it to Canada – it never feels connected to the road, and is too top-heavy for a ‘hot hatch.’ I want to get rid of it. Could have just driven up to Wisconsin myself, turned it in there, and drove the MINI home. Should have.

Right. More of the retroactive daily prompts, then.

January 11th – This is your life:
If you could read a book containing all that has happened and will ever happen in your life, would you? If you choose to read it, you must read it cover to cover.
Well. If I wanted to read a book containing all that has happened, I need only read my journals (again). Some of those things are hard enough to revisit. Reading all that will ever happen in my life, though… I don’t think I could. I mean, if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen whether I know about it or not, which means I can’t do much, if anything, to change it. So, what’s the point, really? It would make me a more nervous person. I’d be dreading things, I’d be impatient for other things. I get so much joy out of the surprises in life, that it would totally detract from my experience.

January 12th – Take two:
Run outside. Take a picture of the first thing you see. Run inside. Take a picture of the second thing you see. Write about the connection of these two random objects, people or scenes.
No. It’s cold and dark. However, I know for a fact that the first thing I’d see outside would be the stupid rental car. Every time I walk outside, I look straight to my car. I also know that as soon as I walked in my apartment, I would see my boots laying by the front door. I think the connection there would be that I’m ready to give the goddamn rental car the boot. I can imagine what it would be like if I had my MINI and saw my boots, then. I would think of adventures. I would think of the times I’d worn those boots in my MINI – going to the shops or going to my brother’s apartment. In any combination, I would say the connection is clearly travel – either by foot or by car – which is very important to me and the first idea upon entering or exiting my apartment.

January 13th – Clean slate:
Explore the room you’re in as if you’re seeing it for the first time. Pretend you know nothing. What do you see? Who is the person who lives there?
Alright, Sherlock, I’ll do my best. First thought is, Jesus, whoever lives here really needs to clean up. She seems to love the UK, and London in particular, which is made obvious by the three Union Flag pillows on the couch, the ton of British trinkets all over the place. Oh God, she seems to love Sherlock just a bit – look at these set photos, the blu rays are out on her entertainment center. She must like to write because she’s got a journal on the ottoman and a typewriter on the table. An Apple products lover – iMac, Macbook, iPhone, AppleTV, etc. Some Harry Potter things like a quote on the wall or photos from Warner Bros in England. Bit of a drinker – there are beer bottle caps on the chaise part of her couch and a bottle opener next to them. Her Christmas tree is still up, so she’s lazy as fuck, and it’s nestled among a shitload of papers and office stuff around her desk, so she’s a bit disorganized. She’s got a bookcase just for psychology books and then a bookcase for leisure books. Lots of candles. I’d almost think she’s from the UK because she’s got so much of it everywhere – there’s a Doctor Who mug, a teacup and mug with a map of the UK on each, and a shelf on one bookcase dedicated to The Beatles. She seems fine with a bit of clutter, because there really is stuff everywhere. I get the feeling the space is too small for all of her stuff. She’s older than 21, but I would say younger than 30. The diplomas on the wall help with that. That also lets me know that she’s well-educated. I’ll go with mad genius, due to the textbooks, degrees, and mess. Don’t even get me started on the psychology aspect.

 

Got too distracted trying to do January 14th, so I’ll leave that for next time. Hopefully I get my damn car tomorrow.

Survival of the Singlest

I’ve never been a huge celebrator of Valentine’s Day – it’s just another day. I wouldn’t be pissed if my boyfriend didn’t get me anything.

That is, if I had a boyfriend.

What I do have is an awesome friend, Shaun.

I got flowers at work yesterday for the first time ever. Saying that it made my day would be an understatement – this week has been more stressful than most. And it doesn’t help that I’m single on this damn holiday.

But then I read the card:

Image

I definitely jumped up and down and squealed.

If I haven’t mentioned already, I’m a huge Sherlock fan.

Also, the fact that someone at the flower company had to write that out is hilarious.

I got Shaun flowers, too. He is also boyfriendless at this time. And as fate would have it, I included a Sherlock quote with his flowers.

THIS is how I got through Valentine’s Day – my first single Valentine’s Day in six years. Not that it’s a big deal, but hey, it’s always nice to get flowers and love.

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