Heartbreak & Sacrifice

Right now I’m blindly working through it all. I met this great guy. He was surprisingly perfect* - at least at first. I met him because I talked to him with empathy and advised him about getting out of a bad relationship – just like the psychic [Edit 6/13/12: this one] had said. But it turns out, I was just helping him more than anything.

***

Yesterday, I wrote: My heart is piercing – with each breath I expel, I wonder when it gets easier.

Somewhere in the middle of feeling like if was meant to be, he would have just fought for me, and understanding we’re all just still trying to find our way – and I guess sometimes you have to do that alone.

***

I met him and we quickly started dating with an unflinching ferocity. He expressed a “connection” that I questioned was maybe just that fact that he just broke up with his (live-in) girlfriend of 2.5 years – which he declined, expressing he had already considered that and decided “no”. So I told him of the psychic that said I would meet my next great love because I would help them out of a bad relationship – something I normally would keep to myself, but I thought “well hell, he started it”. So I ignored my own advice to him that maybe he needed some time to himself after her, because the psychic!, I thought. It went fast. Too fast. Warp speed for me. But I deserved it, finally, all my friends told me. And I agreed – so I let him pursue me and I invited him into my life.
 

The first couple of months were great; fast, but wonderful. Somewhere into January, I started to panic. Something was off. I started to try to fix it. I got scared. I talked to my mom; she told me to not be afraid. So, in an attempt to learn from past relationships/mistakes/non-relationships, I expressed to him what I needed, thinking still – he’s just a guy, he doesn’t know. But the distance grew and I came to realize all the things I was trying to fix; all the things I thought I was doing wrong; all the panic and mind consumption that had begun when the new year had started, wasn’t me --- it was him*.

I figured it out. It was too fast for me, but I could slow down. I thought I could do it alone, but his distance just grew. The pursuit was gone. The everything that changed consumed my mind and made me not myself. (Something I remembered I wasn't willing to do.) There was something going on with him - the reservations grew. And the energy I felt from that affected us both. And I couldn't ignore it. 

On a Tuesday, I saw him and leaving asked, “Do you think we should see less of each other?” He asked if it would be a conversation, so to escape the cold, we got in my car and talked for four hours. At first, he said he needed to go find himself; he didn't think we'd be able to just back up a little with how fast things had gone before. Then we talked more and decided we’d just slow it down: We both agreed it had gone quite fast.

My mind was consumed for days. I began to worry about if that was the right decision. I started to seek advice. Learning from my past, I talked through it with friends. People told me just to give it time, but after hours of talking and thinking, I came to find myself writing a note on my phone at the gym on Thursday night – somewhere between selflessness and self-preservation. Three days pass to Sunday. The universe speaks to me as things begin to all go wrong again – something I’ve come to pay much attention to: When chaos and mistakes begin to manifest in multitudes, something in my life needs to change. I knew what it was.

I asked him to meet with me on Sunday. I thought the passing hours would ensure my decision was the right one. They didn’t. When he came over, I learned of something that bold-typed the point that his past was still haunting him – and affecting me: I guess that was the world’s nod of approval. I mentioned something to the effect of his going back to "finding himself" instead of "taking it slow", and he said it had only been five days - we hadn't even seen how it would go yet. But I knew it; as much as I didn't want to lose him - or the bond we'd built or the falling that had begun - I knew he needed the time I'd suggested from the start, to get his heart back together again -- alone. I've been there.

I handed him what I had written at the gym. A note to say, in very short: If it is time he needs, here it is. Maybe I’ll be waiting. Maybe I’ll move on. I’m not giving up; I’m starting over. I need to live my life and he needs to find whatever it is he’s looking for. Ending: I have no hope for us. I can’t or I couldn’t let go. He finished reading as asked me if that’s still how I felt. NO! I wanted to scream. PLEASE FIGHT FOR ME! This is right! I know you can’t see it; I know your past is haunting you, but no! Losing you is the last thing I want!

Instead, I said “I don’t know”. I couldn’t say anything else. And I couldn’t say what the note said without writing it because I wouldn’t have been able to get the words out. My heart would have choked them into my chest. He waited for a while and said, “I think you’re right.” And then my heart immediately fell out of my butt and I asked him to leave because that was embarrassing.

Just kidding. I cried. Everyone cried.

I didn’t understand why he was so upset if it was what he wanted. Why am I doing something that’s making everyone so sad? With that confusion, we talked for hours and I asked so many “why’s” that he got frustrated and said “THIS IS WHAT I NEED!”, to which I slapped the bed to stop his stupid notion and remind him that I was the one that told him to go – how fucking dumb would I be to tell him to do one thing, then sit there and try to talk him out of it!? No, sir. I know this is what you need. I’m aware. It rips my heart out and I just need some answers so I know how to process it. Just because I’m losing what I want to give you what you need, doesn’t mean it makes it any god-damned easier, does it?!

That’s rhetorical; but in case you weren’t sure, it doesn’t.

Eventually, it was time for him to leave. We hugged forever. It felt like forever. Or maybe I wish it felt like forever. He put on his coat and I grabbed him to hug him again – into his chest my sad little heart admitted: “I can only let go because I have hope you’ll come back to me”.

“I like that,” he lightly spoke.

He walked to the door and opened it. I left my position from where I’d just held his embrace, walked to the door and closed it, then kissed him. He kissed me back. And again. “Please come back to me,” I whispered, utterly heartfelt and heartbroken, as kissed him as hard as my emotions felt. When I pulled back from him, an enormous tear fell from his left cheek and I instinctively wiped it with my thumb as he stepped out the door.

Confused. I’m left heartbroken. I’m left with hope in the air and wondering what to do with it.

I went upstairs after I locked the door behind him, turned back on the tv and the first noise to come out of the television were the words: “It’s not over yet”.

That seems like a mean joke, Universe. That or I can't decide if it's speaking to me (and my lingering hope). Like the number three: All I could think of, the times he said "this is what I need" was the number three.. The following day, a friend responded to a status I had: I let go...and it hurts like hell, saying it sounded like we were in the same place and it turns out they are completely paralleling events - only he was the guy who needed space and it took him months to realize the girl was who he wanted, once he'd recovered from his 2.5 year relationship -- and now she's unsure, and taken. "How many months did it take you," I asked.

 "Three."

Confusing universe aside, at moments, I’m okay; others I've felt I'm falling apart; it feels a lot like mourning. Its hard to not exist to someone who meant so much to you in such a short time. I just hope he realizes this isn’t want I wanted; just the sacrifice he needed. (The most adult decision I feel I've ever made.) Someday, my love will come [back?]. For now, I’m trying to pull myself back together; to be ready when ready is ready (for whomever and whenever that means) - though I don't know how much more my heart can take. To focus on me again, as I was the happiest (alone) I had ever been before him. But first, while holding back my tears and trying figure out how to process it all, I'm in the current state of deciding what to do with my hope. Because hope is a powerful thing.

Bookmark.

This is suppose to be about running...

.

...is it?

(Pinterest has finally sucked me in.) 

Blog

When this blog first started, the whole intent was that it was going to be totally anonymous. Little by little I had a quip or a moment that I didn't want to type again. I sent a link.

And then I posted a link. And then it made it to my facebook profile and then my twitter homepage. And then I added a profile picture: A face to the nameless name. And then photos. My blog is no longer anonymous; it is a problem and it's not.

On the one hand, I'm very open and I don't have a problem sharing what's happening to me. Or with me. Or what's going on in my head. I over-think a lot and have always had a fond love or writing - I find it to be very cathartic: Organized thoughts in a mind of chaos. Only I find often that what I think in my head, comes out far different in type (or words. Or even actions.). On the other, what one might infer wasn't actually what I was expressing. And for whatever reason, no one ever really wants to admit they read my blog - or the ones that do, make me realize that what I'm writing is often misunderstood. This doesn't surprise me much - as I often find myself misunderstood - but it's annoying and maybe even concerning.

This was suppose to be a fun place. And a therapeutic place. And I think the link fell into the wrong hands at times and made people worry that shouldn't worry. And people who think they know me, assume something about me they shouldn't. And others over-analyze the rapid thoughts of a free thinker, who sometimes just writes what she feels - whether it stands in truth for just a moment as a fleeting nymph, or stands the test of time as a solid mass of thought; unbreakable. When the truth is, much like how I paint, the meaning is often deeply immersed and rarely understood - unless I explain it.

So I turn to me and wonder if I'm shooting myself in my own foot by developing these thoughts into words. And sometimes just poetic tongue. Or if I, myself, am simply over-thinking the whole scenario into something more than it is. Do I keep this going or just revert back to the days of 14 when I had a diary that my mom could break into easier than I could remember my own combination code?

I'm not sure. But I guess everything is a little confusing at the moment. Saturn in Libra is officially getting old. ::shrugs:: I guess we'll just see. In the meantime, folks - I warn you I may go private (and you're all welcome) temporarily or maybe people shouldn't think the way they analyze a person is always what's really going through their mind. Because, chances are, you're we're all wrong.

Back it Up

Beep, beep, mother fucker(s).

That all went way too fast. Way too fast. Zoom.

I feel like I (we) rushed past all the really, really good stuff and now I'm left lying in the dust, wondering where it all went and how it was so quick and whirlwind and did I miss it. I want it back. I want to back-up and move forward. Who knows if that's actually possible, but I find myself in a position alone. Missing, wanting. Cold.

Alone when I don't want to be alone anymore, when I was perfectly happy by myself before. So it feels like a crossroads. On the one hand this perfect thing that sits before me, (the other) perhaps riddled with undisclosed imperfections and --- distance, but not the normal distance in miles. Distance in time and individual preferences for the speed of life. Confused.

I liked it when I didn't have to think. When there was not want - no need for another. The absence of touch was replaced with my own plans. I'm not sure I know how to adjust. And I feel as though it is very one thing or another and I just don't know where to go from here or how to balance myself again with this new entity. And if I can't figure that out, I have to go back to what I know - and replace it all with my own plans.

I need to feel like I exist. Exuberant. Special. Important. Like when I walk into a bar or restaurant or generic public place and all those heads turn. That happens. And I'm not going to lie, I like it. I need to feel like that, but more. And without the time to sit and think that when a new week starts I'm simply forgotten. Because then it feels like walking into a bar, heads turn and look at the person behind me. And at a certain point, it's not just up to me anymore. Unless I replace it all with my own plans. I can do that; I've been happy like that.

I guess I'll try to back it up. It's against my nature. But as much as I need affirmation, reassurance and admiration, I need balance. In the 5/40 scheme of things, I have nothing. And that's not okay. Reverse.

Anxiety

Some days I feel like all I do is fuck up. And all I want to do is fix it...but I'm helpless. I hate those days.

This day can't end soon enough. My heart is heavy; my mind, rattled. 

The minutes can't tick by fast enough. The hours can't pass quick enough. I just want everything to feel okay again.

The weight of the world feels as though it's taken residency on my chest; it races. It's hard to breathe; impossible to focus. If night could fall, if our eyes could close; if it could be day again...

Maybe everything would feel okay again.

I hate days like this.






[i'm thinking too much today. please fill the silence in the air. and put a stop to the panic in my 'voice'.]

The One Where I Lost, Found My iPhone (and the Three-Day First Date)

Remember when I mentioned that guy that woke up in my bed on Halloween? The one I met because I was empathizing with his situation about living with someone when you knew the relationship was over. And the best advice I could offer was: Get out as soon as possible. (To avoid putting holes in walls with half-thawed frozen pizzas.) I don’t remember the conversation at all (thanks to vodka and jello shots), but he recounted it later and told me I was very nice and simply offering my veteran advice. He also told me how he ended up at my house: He lives one metro past me, so we shared a cab and when I got out he said “Can I come too?” and, dressed as a fucked up ballerina, I pulled him out of the cab.

We woke up the next morning - I didn't know his name - he called me out on it, but didn't give away that he was right. Leaving, I told him to call me when he broke up with his girlfriend, expecting to never hear from him again and chalked it up as another amusing story. A few days later, I noticed his hat balanced delicately on my shelf and – because I didn’t recall his name – looked for him on Facebook via a mutual friend. I messaged him that I had his hat (which was enormous on my head; so I definitely couldn’t keep it; or throw it away because that’s bad karma) and did he want it back – his profile picture still adorned with his girlfriend’s face.

He replied (and changed his picture to just him). And then I replied. And there was a short back and forth of a week or two. In week two, he told me that he had broken up with his girlfriend the week after Halloween. I was impressed; he did something it took me two years to work up the courage to do. And on top of that, she was moving out – something the ex and I could never agree on.

Later the conversations turned to Gchat. Doesn’t everything? Have we met? Hint: It does.

Over chat he asked me out. Why over chat and not on the phone? Because I told him I hate phone calls. And then I realized I need to stop saying that because it sounds way better to say “he called and asked me out”. I have since rectified this – at the urging of a girlfriend – and will henceforth stop telling people to text me because I hate talking on phones.

The weekend before Thanksgiving break, we had made plans to go to dinner that Saturday. But remember in that last blog how I said I went on a “few dates” – or rather “one date that lasted three days”? Well, there’s a story, which is fitting since in our chat conversations the week prior I told him my life is filled with stories. I’m “that friend”: I have come to terms with this.

So the guy from Halloween (hereby know as HG, or Halloween guy) and I had a first date set for Saturday, but Friday I got drunk. Having chatted a little online the week before, on Friday, when I ended up in the lobby of some guy’s apartment in NoVa and well aware I didn’t want to be there, I sent a text to him to save me that read like this: “Please come save me am from save me from whereby I am wher am am”. Seriously:

Oops?

 I mean why WOULDN’T you help this person you hardly know who was CLEARLY not drunk out of their mind and totally able to type things you can understand. Right, you wouldn’t. Only he did. He got in a cab from DC, took it to where I was (finding me only by talking to whomever it was I was with, who was clearly just waiting for me to give up and sleep in his apartment), picked me up and took me back up to my house where I promptly left my phone in the cab. Apparently this was just after I said “I think I should check the cab”, but instead shut the door only to realize my phone was in it seconds later and tried to fruitlessly and drunkenly chase after it. Note: It didn’t work.

So, at 5am, drunk, and after he just saved my ass, I yelled at HG that it was his fault my phone was gone. He walked away. I cried on the sidewalk. He came back shortly after, realizing I was completely and utterly didn’t-eat-then-went-to-an-open-bar-and-played-flipcup-drunk off my rocker. He convinced me to walk back to my house and there I looked up on my computer to see if I could track my phone (since, after it was stolen in the summer – I set up MobileMe on it so I could track and remote wipe it).

We decided to go to sleep and check in the morning to see of the phone remained where it was marked, then passed out. I woke up the next morning strangely calm and OH-SO hungover. So much so that when I tried to get up and get pancakes for us - since my roommate was having a brunch and (hey! free pancakes!) - that I had to immediately lie down on my hardwood floor because it was cold and I appeared to be something like dying. So then we ate pancakes in bed – which seemed to help nullify all the crazy I had put him through the night before: His smirk was priceless.  (Easy enough. ::slaps hands together::) We then took a nap. (If you know anything about me, it is not at all normal that I didn’t want to IMMEDIATELY run to wherever it said my phone was still hanging out via MobileMe, and instead chose sleep first.) After our nap – and at about 2pm – we finally got up to find my phone. Using his phone, tether, and my netbook, I drove to where he told me to go (based on where it told him to go) and ended up in Northern Virginia.

On the way down he asked me if I actually thought we were going to find it. Logically, I shouldn’t have: But I had a good feeling about it and said “Yes, I think we are”. He didn’t. When we  pulled up to nearing the blue dot on the GPS, we both looked over to a housing complex and said “No shit”. Of the entire development (we were dreading having to scour), in the driveway of the first row of townhouses (viewable from the main road) was a cab. Our cab. Baffled and utterly speechless, we stopped in front of the house where a toddler was standing in front of the storm door – staring at us. Begging him to go knock, he refused and while we discussed who would go to the door, a woman came up behind the girl, so I had to get out. The woman was wary, but opened the door to me. I told her the story of how I thought my phone was in the cab, we tracked it to here, etc. She stared at me for a moment before she said “No English”. Perfect. So I did the international hand symbol for phone and pointed to the cab. She nodded and went to get her husband.

While this transpired, HG had since exited my car and inspected the cab. He saw this:

We laughed. Then the cab driver came out, at first, confused. As I began to explain, he remembered us. He laughed. And asked how on earth we found him. I explained and he went to get his keys so that we could get my phone out. He apologized for not bringing it back to me or calling someone on it, as we were the last fare and he didn’t notice it. Of course that was unnecessary; he unlocked the doors and I grabbed my phone back. We made sweet, passionate technology reunited love for a moment before the driver invited us (HG and I, not my phone and I) in for a drink (of water or tea, I presume). We declined, had a laugh again and left – but not before the driver invited us in again. The photo above is what HG took and the text that came with it read only: Unbelievable.

believe it.

While chatting earlier in the week, I had tried to tell him I have stories. I guess sometimes you have to be part of one of mine to really get it. We laughed the whole way home and I was just pleased as punch to have my phone back. I asked HG if the whole crazy, drunk girl the night before was worth it now. “Absolutely,” he replied. Good, I thought: If ever there was a test, that was it … and he passed. Now we could go on that date.

So I dropped him off at home. And we both changed and whatnot, then reconvened at our original set date time, hours later. We went to get sushi. He slept over again and we spent Sunday together as well. All of it very PG-13; all of it very comfortable: Just a couple of stories, a three-day long first date and my lost and found iPhone.

Goodbye 2011, You Well-Traveled Soul

Reno: See: September.

I realized recently that I’ve written many, many too many blogs about matters of the heart. And, while important, there has been much else going on in my life. This past year has been very difficult – as the stars had planned – and I really truly did learn immeasurable lessons – as the stars had planned – so I suppose I blogged to, cope…or maybe just remember not to forget. So for that, I am thankful as well. But also, I don’t want to forget the many wonderful moments this year has held for me and all those spectacular little dances. So let's review:

January. The only travel that happened going home for a funeral. Let us move along. (RIP)

February. I went back home again to see my sister off to Australia. Then, in the middle of a Super Bowl party I came down with the worst flu ever and it knocked me out for about 4 days with a 104 fever. Sweet. Even better because I’d just started my training for the half marathon (a bleed-over ‘yes’ from 2010) and had to stop for two weeks.

March. If memory serves, I simply spent most of it running many miles on weekends to train for the Nashville half marathon.

April and May. I ran the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler, April 3. 

Later in the month, I fit 9 days and 3+ states into a carry on. It was a process.

Four of us road-tripped down to Nashville. Then we ran. And then a bag and a pillow of my expert packing was sent back with the rest of the DC crew, while I was left with what I could carry to fly out to CA for work…and then PA for my sister’s baby shower. The few days I spent in Nashville, I spent eating, running 13.1 miles (the best 2.5 hours of my year, perhaps) and spending time with close friends, while making new ones.

From Nashville, I flew out to CA for work, where my boss insisted I take my first Irish Car Bomb, which I was convinced was going to be awful, but ended up quite delicious (there is a charming montage somewhere: http://yfrog.com/h4qt0wxj). We spent the last night in San Francisco, eating dancing drinking and general tom foolery. From there - with a raging hangover and a lost pair of shoes - I flew to PA for my sister’s baby shower for the twins. And after a couple of days there, I flew back to DC and by this time it was nearly mid-May.  In lue of a climbing trip this year, I ran the Warrior Dash again. It was muddy. Muddy and amusing.

June. (Wine fest.) June was our beach trip. Driving only. It was a good time and Delaware has no tax. So there’s that. Most giggling drunk and best beer pong I can recall. If I was that giddily perfect drunk all the time, I would never be sober.

July. In July we took a day trip to Dewey and happened to set up next to my most favorite gay couple in the entire world. Out of the whole coast of Delaware, we set up four feet from friends we didn’t know would be there. It was a great day. Really it was. More spontenaity is good. 

Later in the month we went tubing in West Virgina with a friend who was home from working in Afghanastan. That was another drunkenly good time – only I lost my only remaning diamond stud that day in the river (or so I thought*). My parallel-lived sister-from-another-mister friend and I ended out the month in Miami. The water was crystal clear, the weather was about 80 and perfect – cooler than it was in DC. The fucking maid stole my favorite new summer dress, but I have since tried to pull the pieces of my life together and move on. (Sarcasm, but I really was pissed about that. Moral of the story: Lock yo’ shit when in Miami, as they ignore “Do Not Disturb” signs to shop in your room.)

Clear, perfect water...                                                 ...stolen dress. Evens out. 

Oh, also: remember this.

August. (Earthquake. Hurricane Irene.) In late July my 2^nd eldest sister gave birth to beautiful twin girls. In mid-August – after my mother left, I flew out to Indianapolis to help her out for a very extended weekend. It showed me why love is such a powerful emotion – it has to be stronger than your desire to sleep over changing diapers and heating up bottles. While there, I finally finished both of the afgans though. Kudos to me?

September. Earlier in August, over a Gchat conversation with my friend, she said she was going to visit her parents in Reno over Labor Day weekend. I jokingly said “I’ll come” and within ten minutes this snowballed into her having purchased (with airline points) two tickets to Reno. This was perhaps the best trip of the year. And her parents were kind enough to go through the rigamarol of getting their boat inspected (they’re trying like mad to protect Lake Tahoe from sea urchins or something) and taking us out for the day. My friend got her dad in the glacial water, which is crisp, clear and frigid, which got her mom in there which made me go: WELL HELL. Best WELL HELL since Hurricane Irene made me do a training run in the rain.  And perhaps, ever.

Def: adj \ri-ˈlakst\  Relaxed.

Later in the month, a few friends used some groupons we had purchased in February to go “urban rafting” in Richmond. It was cold. And it was fun as hell. The lack of rapids – like the ones we did while white water rafting last year in West Virginia – were almost entirely made up for with the comradery…and food.

October. In October – the weekend before my birthday – I went to Savannah. My parents always go and invite us. I wanted to go, but didn’t have the money. My mom offered her United points to fly me down for an extended weekend. Typically reluctant to agree, I had prayed for help all year with money and the like and after picking up dollar, after dollar on the floor of the bar and leaving them as tips, I received another surprise of money in late July that finally made me go: I have to accept what people offer. Sometimes we just can’t do things on our own. Someday, I will pay it all back. When I can. Savannah was amazing (again). And subsequently this (the mobile bar tour, not readin' the paper with Johnny Mercer) is added to my Bucket List:

And the best part was my training run for the 10 miler that I did on the beach…at sunset. Through the tide. I never wanted to stop running. And then the sun set and it was dark. 

My training course...

See...

The next day I left. And five days later I ran the Army 10 miler (slowly) after a successful (but not too successful) birthday celebration for myself.

The weekend following that, I went to PA again for my grandpap’s 80^th birthday. Over his cake, he gave a speech. To all, I highly suggest that when older people make speeches over cake that one: You listen. Two: You take notes. And Three: If at all possible, record it. The gist of it: Life flies by when you’re happy. Enjoy every second of it. Even the bad stuff; it never stays bad. Be thankful for life. Be thankful for love. Love your family, they’re everything you have. That’s what I took from it anyway.

 The following weekend I took my first train ride and went up to NYC. I met my friend that was the reason I was going up to visit – who had recently moved back to PA – so in a happy turn of events we got to stay with another mutual best friend from high school and her girlfriend in Queens. The plan: No plan. It was great: Sex Museum, Highland Park, psychics**, shopping, 22oz ciders, Times Square, Occupy Wall Street, Chelsea Market, getting lost in Brooklyn…spiked coffee. Educated tourists: A very cheap and fantastic trip. 

Beat that accidental photo bomb!!

The weekend following it was Halloween – to which I have something to add about that psychic thing**…if you recall. In lieu of going to Vegas, I stayed in DC and had an oddly great Halloween. I think - I mean could I remember. The entire weekend.  It definitely seemed to be a defining pivot point of the year, internally and externally.  

November. November didn’t offer much in the way of travel: The first weekend was a trip back to Pitt for a tailgate with friends. It was like good old times, but with new friends. (Lots of friends in DC I went to school with at Pitt, but we didn't know each other until we moved here. Weird? Or fate of some sort?)

So no flying, but I went on a date. Well, a few.**  Then there was Thanksgiving home in PA, wherein everyone talked about my one date that lasted for three days**…and my mom gave me a Christmas present earlier for gabbing about the date and bringing on an army of female relatives' questions. (Hi, Mom. <3)

December. For December I had wanted to get to Nashville for my forever friend’s birthday. (She and her brother are like extended siblings to mine – our mom’s used to be best friends and we all grew up together.) I couldn’t afford it. It happens. I knew she would understand, but I was sad to miss it. The Friday prior to the surprise party a lovely lady I had  befriended when I was in Nashville for the half-marathon in April (and she was there from Chicago for my extended brother’s best friend’s birthday) texted me asked when I was going to arrive. I told her I wasn’t; I couldn’t afford it. She quickly offered to front me the money until 2013. I politely declined at first because I forgot I told myself to stop doing that. She quickly came back with a flight itinaryar and asked if she could purchase. After checking for a super-early ride to the airport, I said yes. She and I and the birthday girl and all of us, we had the best time. So exhausting, but so amazing. I am so happy I went. And came back the the singular though and singing heart that I am truly lucky to be so loved. 

Next I went home for Christmas and spend time with my sisters (one home from Australia!), brother in law(s), parents, grandparents, and all three of my amazing little nieces. (The twins on Christmas morning. A twin and b-i-l and eldest niece at grandparents dinner just before I had to leave them all. The first time I almost cried leaving family. I am lucky to love and be so loved.)

*After I came back from PA, on one of the remaining days of the year, I found that diamond stud earring I thought I’d lost in a river in July. I took it as an omen of good things to come.   

At long last, I kissed off the old and rang in the new... 

Goodbye 2011. I will remember you as an influential nuisance who provided me with oh-so-many stories ... and love. Enough love to get through the bad stuff. 

**Forthcoming blogs to pull it all together…

0103120300

I lay there, on his chest, sick and wheezing – somewhere between sleep and dreaming. And I pondered how it was possible to feel so ill, so congested and sore, but yet still so content.How waking up in the middle of the night – jarred by some medicine-induced schizoid-dream – to find a body there, in slumber, with his arm still around me. And I wondered if my racing heart remained from the un-calming of my dream, or the sudden realization that I’m falling fast into something I realize I might be happy to get used to again. And better, it seems. The flutter of my heart wasn’t a nightmare’s affect – in this limbo – no, it was him. And everything that meant to me in that moment - for my wishes, he was there. In my bed, in his arms – my head on his chest with the beating of his heart, mine fluttered. And the nightmares never existed. It was really quite perfect - you know, even with all the soreness and congestion. I realized what it meant somewhere near 0103120300. And I smiled and fell back into dreaming; his heart still singing softly in my ear.