Sponsored by Starbucks

So my Mom signed me up to be a Starbucks Gold member for Christmas, which was great and obviously generous, etc, but really, it just makes me feel like I'm playing right into Starbucks' giant, monopolistic hand. I feel guilty that my mom paid $25 to get me this card that gives me 10% off all my Starbucks purchases, so I go to Starbucks more often now to make sure she gets her money's worth...you see how this is working out?

Anyway, for my birthday, Starbucks sent me a postcard that was worth 1 free drink during my birth-month. Today is March 31st, so I had to get my butt over to Starbucks today to make sure I got my birth-drink (I'm going to just keep putting birth at the beginning of words). So a few things happened.

1) I went for a Venti rather than a Grande (hell, it was free) and will now probably be shaking/hopped up all day.


2) As I exited Starbucks, a nice man held the door open for me and it was just so benevolent. It felt so nice. I dunno, kind of one of those "The world isn't an entirely corrupt and evil place" moments.


3) There were groundskeepers working on the landscaping in front of the library as I drove away, and I was delighted for a second as I was convinced that they were dressed up as bears. But no, they were just wearing brown sweatsuits with their hoods over their heads. But seriously, if they had just added a couple of flaps for ears and a little tail on the back, they would have been dead ringers for bears. Which is funny/delightful. Although, I guess they would have resembled ewoks more closely considering that they were wearing little vests over their sweatsuits.

4) I found this quote on the side of my Starbucks cup and liked it:

The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in
love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the
fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation.
To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

-Anne Morriss

Everyone knows that Starbucks is way more about the experience than it is about the coffee (or, in my case, soy chai latte) and this morning, they delivered.

T9word fails at life

Ok so I was typing a text to one of my friends about homework yesterday (it's a long story, no, i'm not in school anymore) and I typed in the letters to make up "homework" and the phone suggested two things:
1) homework
2) gomezorl

Yes, phone, gomezorl. That's what I was looking for. How did you know.

Fail.

F you, Grey's Anatomy.

Ok, Grey's, seriously?

The epsiode tonight should have come with a WARNING LABEL. Sitting alone in my apartment on my couch SOBBING is NOT OK. Warning label: Get a freaking GLASS OF WINE before you WATCH THIS.

The quotes that did me in:

"If there's a crisis, you don't freeze. You move forward. You get the rest of us to move forward. Because you've seen worse, you've survived worse, and you know we'll survive too. You say you're all dark and twisty. It's not a flaw. It's a strength. It makes you who you are."
(derek to meredith in the elevator)

"It doesn't matter how tough we are. Trauma always leaves a scar. It follows us home. It changes our lives. Trauma messes everybody up. But, maybe that's the point. All the pain and the fear and the crap - maybe going through all of that is what keeps us moving forward. It's what pushes us. Maybe we have to get a little messed up before we can step up."
(carrev at the end of the episode)

Is it bad to make fun of people in your dreams?

So I haven't really been remembering my dreams lately, but somehow I remembered a snippet from one last night quite distinctly.

I dreamt that I was back at home in McLean and my Dad had just bought a new car. It was the biggest Lexus sedan I had ever seen - this thing was a tank. Anyway, I looked in the front seat and there was a seat in the middle just like there was back in the day in Oldsmobiles and Caddys - you know what I'm talking about? The little tiny jumpseat in the middle of the front row where you always got stuck between your grandparents? Anyway, I remember in my dream, I made fun of my dad for buying an "Old person car." He said we were going to go for a ride and I insisted that I needed to sit in the jumpseat. I don't think I've ever recalled so clearly a time when I've mocked someone in one of my dreams....at least not in such a harmless manner. It was kind of strange. And I clearly remember thinking in my dream about how funny I was. Even dream Bridget has a high opinion of herself.

Another thing I noticed recently - isn't it strange how each person has such a clear personal dictionary? Like, I'm sure there are words that I use frequently that other people rarely use. They're not necessarily rare words, but they might just not pop into someone else's head the same way they pop into mind. It was recently brought to my attention that I use the word "aggressive" often - completely true. I don't deny it at all. But I was in a class the other day and the person I was teaching with used the word "smattering" 3 times within an hour. I counted. I don't think I had heard the word "smattering" 3 times within the past YEAR before that class. And then I heard it 3 times in one hour. Just because it was part of that person's dictionary.

Just makes you think. Or it just makes me think. I dunno. I guess I have too much time on my hands.

But seriously, smattering?

Banana eye contact. Banned.

My friend is eating a banana right now at our table and I happened to look up as she took a bite. She made eye contact with me as she bit it, and I was struck with the realization that there are very few other foods you can eat that will look as aggressive/violent as a banana.

So I IMed her and said:

Bridget ... never again
Bridget ... make eye contact with me
Bridget ... while eating a banana

and then, since she was earlier pretending that her banana was a phone and saying "Beep beep boop" (see below post, although she wasn't the crazy person I was talking about, she was the one I was talking about it with):

Bridget ... boop boop beep
Bridget ... what if you got a phone call right now while you were eating your banana?!
Brittany ... that would be sweet

Beep beep boop boop

So I'm back at work in that same giant conference room. I'm here every Monday and then Tues-Thurs I'm out in the wild teaching training classes. I'm not quite sure why but for some reason lately I've been using the phrase "out in the wild" quite a bit. Like, on breaks I tell my classes to go run wild, or I tell them that we're going to release them into the wild so they can try to use their new skills. Really not quite sure what that's about.

Anyway, the conference room. I'm at a table right now with 3 other people. One of those people has a cell phone that is making noise when she dials. Like, normal beeping noises. The thing is, this person is kind of crazy in general. So I was talking to one of the other girls at the table and I was like "So, what if she was sitting over there with a plastic playskool phone just making those noises herself? Like, saying 'beep beep boop' as she dials because she's insane and is really talking to no one?" So I keep imagining her with a plastic phone that has a cord dragging behind it...connected to nothing.

Just thought I'd share.

The Best is Yet to Come

One of my best friends signed my birthday card this year with the words "The best is yet to come." I was moved by the thought - the belief on her part, the hope implicit in that statement. The best is yet to come. Her confidence gave me the courage to believe the same myself, and I can happily say that I am filled with a calm assurance that she is right.

What does it take to get to this belief? Naivete? Intensity of desire? I would say that many people reach that conclusion when, behind them, they've left a past that could only lead to a better future - but how could that possibly apply to me? I've led a wholly blessed life - I have no complaints. So who am I to believe that it will get even better?

A smile just broke across my face - I really do think the best is yet to come. And that feeling is so wonderful.

So I've got to think...

"The best is yet to come, and babe won't it be fine,

You think you've seen the sun, but you ain't seen it shine"

A new dawn, a new beginning. Good morning, life.

What would your soundtrack be?

So I am constantly imagining my life as a movie, and thinking about what music would be most appropriate to be playing at each point in time.

Am I the only one who does that?

Like, last night I got up at 3 am to turn the fan on in my room, and when I was walking back to back, I cracked open my blinds to look into the parking lot and in my head I imagined the "DUN DUN DUNNNNN!" of horror movies to play in the background as I realized there was someone standing on my balcony MERE FEET FROM WHERE I WAS SLEEPING!!!

Ok so obviously that part didn't happen (the whole robber on my balcony thing) but I did imagine the scary music. Because I'm crazy. I also think about sharks in the shower when I have my eyes closed, because apparently I am masochistic.

Ok byeeeee.

And those of you who are wonderful and have been e-mailing me lately (I'm talking to you, Molly H and Molly V) - I promise I will write back soon! Not ignoring you :-) xoxo

I know the storm is coming, my pockets keep tellin' me it's gonna shower

A few things:

1. I would say there are daily occurrences of me spilling water or some other beverage down my front. I may have graduated from a top university (jigga what? http://www.virginia.edu/uvatoday/newsRelease.php?id=7870) but I apparently did not learn the simple mechanics of cup + mouth = drinking.
2. I sit in a room with a corrugated metal roof. I just typed that and then spellchecked and silently congratulated myself when I spelled corrugated correctly. When it rains, it sounds like gunfire. It is not raining now, but there is still noise, so I imagine squirrels on the roof, having parties in anticipation of my upcoming birthday.
3. Some of my favorite foods, constantly in contention to be included in the Top 5: mac & cheese, cupcakes (any flavor), the rye chips from Chex Mix, chow mein noodles (the kind you get at salad bars, i frequently consider taking a box full of chow mein noodles), frozen burritos (specifically amy's or whole foods brands), diet coke (this isn't technically a food, but i am compelled to include diet coke on any list of favorites. favorite people: diet coke. favorite baby: diet coke. favorite city: diet coke. you get the idea), anything from Sticks, TIA, or Arch's in Charlottesville...yeah I'll stop now, but I hope your quality of life has improved based on reading that list.
4. UPDATE: I was walking towards the wall in our cafeteria today that houses all the drinks, and I saw a girl take the last can of Diet Coke. As I walked towards the drink wall to get a drink for myself, I seriously considered launching my body at her legs to steal the Diet Coke from her. Lucky for me, there was another pushed way to the back of the shelf. Disaster avoided.
5. I just learned something new that was extremely humbling. I was IMing with a friend and she said "For all intents and purposes" and I was like "What?" and then I realized - the phrase is INTENTS AND PURPOSES. Not INTENSIVE PURPOSES, which I have been saying for like, I don't know, almost 25 years?! I mean, I always thought it was kind of strange - but I figured it made some sense, the idea that it was really only for all the INTENSIVE purposes. The really important ones. But no. I'm just an idiot. The advent of e-mail and Instant Messaging have outed two groups of people: bad spellers and idiots like me who say things that SOUND right but completely are not. Completely.

Quotes from The Man of My Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld

I'm on a Sittenfeld kick lately. I'll get into that more on the book blog...but here are some quotes that encourage my current addiction to her work:

"Do people really live so peacefully and treat each other so kindly? It's impressive, and yet their lives must lack direction and purpose. At home, she knows her purpose. Whenever her father is in the house -- in the morning before he goes to the office, after work, on the weekends -- his mood dictates what they can talk about, or if they can talk at all, or which rooms they can enter. To live with a person who might at any moment spin out of control makes everything so clear: Your goal is to not instigate, and if you are successful, avoidance is its own reward. The things other people want, what they chase after and think they're entitled to -- possessions, or entertainment or say, fairness - who cares? These are extraneous. All you are trying to do is prolong the periods between outbursts or, if this proves impossible, to conceal these outbursts from the rest of the world," p24

"Far in the future, Hannah will have a boyfriend named Mike with whom she'll talk about her father. She'll say she isn't sorry about her upbringing before the divorce, that she thinks in a lot of ways it was useful. Being raised in an unstable household makes you understand that the world doesn't exist to accommodate you, which, in Hannah's observation, is something a lot of people struggle to understand well into adulthood. It makes you realize how quickly a situation can shift, how danger really is everywhere. But crises, when they occur, do not catch you off guard; you have never believed you live under the shelter of some essential benevolence. And an unstable childhood makes you appreciate calmness and not crave excitement. To spend a Saturday afternoon mopping your kitchen floor while listening to opera on the radio, and to go that night to an Indian restaurant with a friend and be home by nine o'clock - these are enough. They are gifts," p35

"He is talking more slowly when he says, 'I know I only met you once before today, but you seem like you have your act together. You don't seem like you need rescuing,'
Is the depressing part that he's only half right - it's not that she doesn't need rescuing but that nobody else will be able to do it? She has always somehow known that she is the one who will have to rescue herself. Or maybe what's depressing is that this knowledge seems like it should make life easier, and instead it makes it harder," p84

"In their lives together, he'd recognize her as a member of his tribe: He wouldn't mistake her quietness for niceness, her sense of responsibility for humorlessness; he wouldn't even mistake her prudishness for real prudishness. He'd be boisterous and obnoxious, and he wouldn't think (Mike had thought this) that talking about other people was slightly immoral. She wouldn't feel the loneliness of being the only one who had opinions," p193

"But maybe this is what Hannah has always wanted: a man who will deny her. A man of her own who isn't hers. Isn't it the real reason she broke up with Mike - not because he moved to North Carolina for law school...but because he adored her? If she asked him to get out of bed and bring her a glass of water, he did. If she was in a bad mood, he tried to soothe her. It didn't bother him if she cried, or if she didn't wash her hair or shave her legs or have anything interesting to say. He forgave it all, he always thought she was beautiful, he always wanted to be around her. It became so boring! She'd been raised, after all, not to be accommodated but to accommodate, and if she was his world, then his world was small, he was easily satisfied...She wanted to feel like she was striding cleanly forward, walking into a bracing wind and learning from her mistakes...with Oliver, there is always contrast to shape their days, tension to keep them on their toes: You are far from me, you are close to me. We are fighting, we are getting along," p212

Pavlovian dogs, pun intended

There are two dogs who live and work on campus here at my company. They are employed as security dogs. They are also obscenely cute.

Sometimes the dogs come into the buildings on campus and walk around and play with people at their desks. If this happens, it's pretty much the highlight of my week.

The floor that I used to sit on housed merchants and designers. Every. Single. Day - I would hear the jingling of chains and look up eagerly, hoping desperately that one of the two dogs was visiting my floor.

Nope. Just a designer. Wearing a wallet chain. Who lived to defy me.

Sigh.

Into the ether

I suppose that my main purpose in writing this blog is the hope that someone will stumble across something I've written that will speak to them - whether it's something that makes them laugh, or something that lets them know that they're not the only one who has felt a certain way before.

This post is more along the lines of the latter. It's a message with a specific recipient, but that specific recipient is someone who I'm pretty sure will never read this message. At this point, though, I really just want to send these words out into the ether and get them out of my head.

I still think of you every single time I drop my keys (which, unfortunately, as you know, is daily). I start to smile, thinking of that joke we had, and then I'm punched by the sadness of knowing that you're not around to share it with.

I'm waiting for the time that I will not think of you every single day. It doesn't hurt when I think of you, but I am tired of being reminded that you have become a part of the default settings of my mind.

Today I thought of the time that I asked you when you knew for sure that you loved me, and then we got distracted and started talking about something else. A while later - 20 minutes, half an hour, I don't know, out of nowhere, you said "When you went to Chicago a few months after we started dating, and I missed you so much. That's when I knew for sure that I loved you."

I think that moment is when I knew for sure that I loved you.

Ironing has a funny side too

A friend's comment on the last post (about ironing) reminded me of this story which I had to share to show that while ironing suddenly has this profound, serious side, it also has a funny side.

My 4th year of college I lived in the sorority house on the 3rd floor in a room that was called the Attic Double until we moved in, at which time it immediately became the Princess Room. I'm not completely sure as to whether or not the girls in the house today still call it the Princess Room, but if they do not, I will be sorely disappointed. Anyway, there were two single beds in the room, and both were on risers, so it became quite a challenge to see what was going on on the opposite side of the bed across from you. My desk faced a wall and...I really can't describe this well enough, so I provide you with Exhibit A......which I now realize you cannot read because it is too small. Maybe if you click on it. I don't know. Anyway, the brown circle is me (aerial view, I have brown hair), the two smaller rectangles are our desks, and the two larger rectangles are our beds. The arrow pointing to the second bed represents Austin, who was under the bed at the time this story took place.

So, I had recently murdered Austin and hidden her body underneath the bed...

jk.

But did I have you going? Probably not.

So I'm sitting at my desk, studying very very hard (aka stalking people on facebook while wearing absurdly large clown sunglasses and/or cat ears), when I hear a noise coming from behind me. I'm pretty sure that I had thought I was alone in the room up until this point. So I hear this noise, and I turn and look over my shoulder, convinced that Elizabeth was finally right, and the Phantom has in fact come into the sorority house to murder me, and I see no one behind me in the room. The noise happens again, and finally I say:

"...Austin?"

and this muffled reply issues from across the room,

"...yes?"

"...ummm...where ARE you?"

"...under my bed," she replied...as if this were completely normal.

"Annnnnd, what are you doing under your bed?"

this answer, and the way it was delivered, will always stay with me:

"Ironing."

Classic.

Smoothing out the wrinkles

I've been thinking a lot about ironing recently. I had this great urge to iron the other night, so I pulled out my iron, attempted to put the water in the right place (I have not ironed since college), and plugged it in. Eventually the steam began to billow out of the bottom of the iron, and I pulled together a few oxfords (I went to UVA, yes, I have multiple oxfords) and began pressing them.

I finished 3 shirts before I realized why I wanted to iron in the first place. Dirty laundry? Nope. Sudden obsession with neatness? Unlikely.

I started with a product that was wrinkled and messy. I knew the steps that I had to take to smooth it out. All it took was a little pressure and a little heat, and magically the little wrinkles gave way.

Don't you ever wish you could take an iron to your life?

Cirque du Snuggie

I was at this new piano bar that is the new Columbus cult obsession on Saturday night...and every time I am there they play Country Roads, and I belt out loud the lyrics that we had in XO ("Country Roads...take me home...to the place...where I belong...Chi Omega...Lambda Gamma...take me home...country roads"). I've gotten some rather strange looks from nearby strangers, but that's not really an aberration so I keep doing it.

Anyway, I texted my friend Annie (also known as Noodle or Banoo) to tell her that they were playing that song (Although I'm pretty sure the text went like this: "Country Roads...Chi Omega...YAY!"). I meant to text the rest of my sisters as well, but I got too excited after I typed in Annie's name, and all those vodka sodas weren't having such a great effect on my follow-through. Anyway, she calls me and I answer the phone in this ear-drum-blastingly-loud bar and go "Noodle! AhhhhhAHAHAHHH! Nooooooodleeee! They were playing the SONG!!!....Can you hear me?? I can't hear you....AHHHHHHHHAHAHAHHAHA.....ok bye!" and then I hung up on her. She later texted to say she had seen Cirque du Soleil that night in Atlanta and I texted back and said "Cirque du Snuggie."

And I think that was the most profound thing I have said in a long time.

In other news, this is part of an IM conversation going on with my work friend and I:

Bridget... what if i went to my desk right now and walked back in wearing a snuggie?

(at this point i started laughing uncontrollably at my desk)
Brittany... which color?
Bridget... mint green
Bridget... it's the most tasteful snuggie
Brittany... what about blood red?
Bridget... no, that's too flashy
Bridget... no one wants a flashy snuggie

and now for some original artwork from me:

And now, from www.urbandictionary.com:

"a snuggie is someone who exhibits snugness and lives in Snuggieopolis on Snuggieoopiter in the Snuggie Way
'your so snuggie!' 'snuggie snug snug' "

I am shaking right now because I am trying REALLY HARD not to laugh. It's just making it worse.

snuggie snug snug!

The Heart of the Matter

I went to Mass again this week, and - once again - I was left feeling deeply satisfied and inspired when I left. Why can't visits to bars always turn out the same way? Eh, yeah, might have something to do with the addition of binge drinking and the subtraction of the son of Christ, but I'll leave the pondering of that thought for another place and time.

Before settling into the deeper matters I want to discuss tonight, I need to share a few quotes from last night that make me laugh:

"I'm pretty sure I'm wearing a shirt as a dress right now" (that was me...I have developed a new, rather disturbing affinity for wearing shirts over leggings and seeing if I can get away with it. I try really hard not to go crotch-out, but sometimes you can't help it)

"That girl has cameltoe, and she's wearing overalls. Short. Overalls." (Addie- I even took multiple pictures of said unfortunate girl but now feel as if it would be extremely un-Christian of me to post them online)

"I am afraid there may be a fanny-pack involved" (me referring to an equally unfortunate girl involved in a bachelorette party last night)

Anyway, moving on to the heart of the matter (which happens to be the name of a wonderful india.arie cover featured on the SATC soundtrack).The Gospel at Mass today was from Mark - a story about Jesus healing a paralyzed man. At the end of the Gospel, Jesus says to the once-paralyzed man "rise, pick up your mat, and go home." And as I sat in that church today, I found myself wondering if there was such a huge difference between myself and the paralyzed man. We both felt - literally or figuratively - that we were at an impasse and could no longer move forward. And we both turned to God, albeit in severely different circumstances, to hopefully discover the next step. Clearly, when Jesus spoke, he assumed that the miracle had already taken place - he had healed a paralyzed man. But what if the real miracle is finding a place to call home?

The Gospel today left me with a profound feeling of hope. Jesus had healed the man's physical paralysis, and hopefully in time He will help with what I consider to be my current emotional/general life paralysis. Right now, I'm not so sure I can say that I know where home is. Again, I face a question concerning the difference between a literal and figurative definition. Which is more important, when you are looking for home?

I know where my literal home is, but I secretly feel guilty whenever I refer to Columbus as home in front of my mother. Columbus is not fully my home...I cannot behave like a petulant child here with the assurance that everyone will still love me when my hissy fit has passed. I am ashamed to say that I frequently lose my cool in McLean and behave more 4 years old than 24. But what is better than being assured of unconditional love? So...is that the definition of home? The place where you're assured of unconditional love? In that case, I do have a home. So why do I feel a little bit like a lost child, stumbling through the fog towards...God knows what?

This question is one that has plagued humans since the time of Jesus and continues to worry us today, as evidenced by a song (by my boyfriend TI) that has enjoyed recent popularity - the lyrics of which say "Oh, I've been traveling on this road too long (too long), just trying to find my way back home (back home), the old me's dead and gone, dead and gone."

When I hear this song, and when I heard the Gospel today, I can't help but feel nostalgia for a place I'm not quite sure I've come to yet (if you've read the quotes on this site you'll recognize that concept). At this point, I haven't yet decided if this feeling is painful longing or pleasant hope. Maybe both. I embrace this longing now, because it implies that at some point, I will find relief. I will find the true North towards which I have been unknowingly oriented my entire life.

I felt at home today in that church. I felt the unconditional love. Maybe Jesus was so assured that the formerly paralyzed man would find his way home because, in healing him, he had shown him the unconditional love that home was made of.

And isn't that a wonderful thought? The idea that at some point, I will - we all will - arrive at the place in our lives when we will recognize that we can finally exhale and say "There you are. Here I am."

And thank God for that.

I'm Christopher Columbus, y'all just the pilgrims.

top of the morning to ya!



a few thoughts this morning:

1) I'm pretty sure the #1 question I have been asking - and continue to ask - in my life is this:

Exactly how long am I going to be able to get away with this?



2) "I'm Christopher Columbus, y'all just the pilgrims" -- this is why T.I. is my boyfriend. We had a little trouble with the whole possession charge, but that's behind this. You know why? Because I can have whatever I like.



3) I currently sit in a mid-sized conference room with roughly 20 other people, jabbing away at our computers 12 hours a day. Weekends too, it's really great. Oh, don't worry, I make boatloads of money so I don't feel bad about selling my soul (this is untrue. i don't make boatloads, and i do feel bad about selling my soul). Anyway, we all sit in this tiny room, secretly plotting ways to simultaneously end the lives of the other 19 people so that we can go to Mexico on vacation full time (wait, is that just me? Oh). The room has 5 tables arranged as such:


I sit at the middle table, as is the natural order of things (I am the center. People naturally gravitate towards me, and sometimes form circles and then revolve around me). So this morning, there was one box of Timbits on the table in front of me and one on the table behind me. And we decided that it was like the war of the Timbits. East side vs. West side. Bloods vs. Crips. As people came into the room and took Timbits from either box, we noted their loyalties. It's about to escalate to an all out brawl.

A girl just walked into the room wearing - I kid you not - what must be a 10 foot long scarf.

Annnnd on that note, I'm out.

A blessing and a curse

I just raced back to this site so that I could click "New Post" and start this on February 19th - instead of February 20th - so that I could say that I really have 1 month left in my first quarter century. And as I sit here, waiting for my iPod to upload all of the music I have just downloaded (iTunes is like my crack. It's dangerous. I can never stop at just a little bit of music. It's sick when you realize that you have over 1,000 songs on your iPod and you wonder where all your money went), I wonder...what exactly have I learned in the last 25 years, and what do I expect to learn in the next.

I have learned a lot, I can say that with a pretty good degree of assurance, but why then do I feel more and more like a toddler as time goes on? More and more...please excuse my use of this phrase...but more and more functionally retarded? I'm not trying to be funny, I'm using the words for their literal definitions. Arrested development. Functional retardation. I'm sorry, I might almost be 25, but I still can't help but laugh at the use of that phrase. See? Functional retardation. Evidence.

Anyway, I could probably type about this for hours, but I'll just give you the idea of the thought weighing on my mind and leave it at that for now.

This is what I'm struggling with - I am blessed. There's no getting around that. Yes, I'm cynical, I'm sarcastic, I'm a public pessimist but a private optimist. I just can't help but feel that I was meant to do more with the gifts that I was given. Is this the point in all of our lives when we stop for a moment to do an inventory check and catch ourselves wondering out loud, "Is this it?"

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I only worry, sometimes, that the hand I was dealt was a blessing and a curse. I am lucky enough to know how lucky I am. Where does that leave me? What does our generation do now, after having been taught all our lives to push harder, reach higher, go further? Do we suddenly pull on the reins and say - No, that's enough, I think I'll settle down here and be comfortable? Who taught us that comfort, that satisfaction, was such a shameful concept? With great power comes great responsibility - what if you're sure you have the power, but not yet sure you can handle the responsibility?

The fact that I'm even thinking about this confirms something for me: I am thinking too hard. And I just reread that last paragraph and thought to myself, you're a whiny baby. I bet if I reread that in 25 years I will still think I was a whiny baby. So, to borrow some brilliance from Winston Churchill - maybe this isn't the beginning of the end. Maybe it's only the end of the beginning. At what point does it become unacceptable to consider yourself a child? I'm pretty sure I'm still getting away with it for now (right?), but at a certain point even I realize that ignorance is no longer bliss, and that it was never a defense against the law. How long can I get away with adolescence?

What if talent, intelligence, etc, are like gift cards, and if at a certain point you still haven't cashed them in, the powers that be assume you aren't going to, and their inherent value expires?

Yep, I need to put myself to bed.

I'll leave it on this note for tonight:

"I believe in the Kingdom Come

That all the colors will

Bleed into one, bleed into one

Well, yes I'm still running

You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains

Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame

You know I believe it,

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for"

(u2)

Is that enough Peace?

So last night - Valentine's Day 2009 - I became a caricature of a 24 year old woman.

I was eating a lovely dinner with my lovely single friends when one of them turned to me and asked if I was ok - he had seen on Facebook (aka the devil's workshop) that the most serious of my recent exes was back "In a Relationship" with his ex - the one who sent him e-mails and texts throughout our relationship, telling him she still loved him and asking what I had that she didn't (my sanity?) - oh, and let's not forget about the time that she called me a psycho when we met at a wedding. Brilliant.

Anyway, I've gotta be real here - it affected me more than I thought it would. To be honest, it's really not the fact that he's with someone else, or that he's shouting it from the proverbial mountaintop that is Facebook, it's that he's with her. The girl who made me feel so awful that I went back to our hotel room at that wedding and cried because I had upset her at her friend's wedding. I cried because I felt bad for her. You know, after she tried to steal my boyfriend and then publicly questioned my sanity. I had been the girl - the ex - who wanted her love back. I knew how it felt to look at the "next girl" and wonder - what is it about her?

In hindsight, maybe she was right all along. Maybe I was a psycho to shed tears for such an unbelievable reason. I guess I was just always taught that what goes around comes around - and maybe, eventually, it will. But right now, an outside observer would learn this: Behave like a maniac, try to steal your ex boyfriend back from another woman, and eventually you will succeed. Granted, I broke up with this ex over a year ago because I felt that if we were honest with ourselves, we both knew there was no future in the cards for us - but she still, eventually, got what she wanted. And that bothers me.

Regardless, I e-mailed him earlier and said that I hope she makes him very happy. Anyone who knows me well enough will notice the distinct diction I used in that sentence - I hope she makes him very happy. I also hope she gets what's coming to her.

So anyway, this morning I got up and went to Mass. It was a nice experience for multiple reasons - 1) I dressed like a big girl which I normally do about 5 times a year since I work for a casual clothing company and 2) I got to hang out with Jesus for a while. I had never been to this particular parish before, and the ultra-conservative views espoused during the Homily (regarding sex before marriage, sex with birth control within marriage, and IVF) made me uncomfortable. I am not quite sure that I will go back - especially if those messages persist. Is it awful that I find those opinions to be backwards and ignorant? Ok, I'll give them the sex before marriage part, but the other two just seem so...antiquated. And with the Catholic Church's tendency to redefine itself every few decades, it leaves me wondering why they have turned a blind eye to the benefits bestowed upon the world with the invention of both birth control and IVF. Jesus, are you mad at me for saying these things? I hope not, because it was nice to see You today.

I have always dreaded a certain part of Catholic Mass. The part where I say I am not worthy, you wonder? Or the part where I admit to being a horrible sinner? No. The peace giving part. Peace be with you and all that jazz. It has always scared me. As a person who was raised (I use that term loosely) within the most antisocial of churches, I have always wondered why Catholics feel the need to insert the Happy Hour introductions into the middle of their services. Can't we all just worship separately and go in peace? Can't we just make eye contact and flash a peace sign (this is very popular among members of my immediate family)? Why the handshakes? Why strike fear into the hearts of socially awkward and anxious members of your congregation (aka me)?

So, anyway, today, the peace be with you-ness eventually came along, as it always does, at the same time as it always does, and I managed to participate in a manner that I convinced myself was both successful and socially acceptable. I shook the hands of and bestowed peace upon 5 or 6 people in my immediate vicinity and then turned back to face front like a good Catholic....but I was left wondering - was that enough peace? Should I have been more aggressive with my peace, reaching out to members who stood further away? Should I have made eye contact with people across the pew and mouthed the words at them with a vague gesture of my hand? What is it about this, one of the parts of Mass that is meant to draw the congregation together and fulfill the requirements of weekly Community Worship, that makes me feel the most singled out of all? Anyway, I tried to do my best. Hopefully it's the thought that counts.

I did a few things after Mass including eating alone at Panera (I am a veritable social superstar) as well as going to the library and reading alone (seriously, I can't even tell you how popular I am). Once I returned to my apartment, I started up my computer, and I wrote my ex that e-mail that I mentioned previously. The words were different, but the message was the same - Peace be with you.

So, is that enough peace?

I certainly hope so.

And some more from books I've read recently

"Everything in my life seemed to be exploding like fireworks in a night sky, spectacular but also a bit frightening because one of those brilliant sparks could fall onto your upturned face and scorch you" tuscan holiday by holly chamberlin

"Okay, smarty, perhaps you already know better than to drink pink wine from a box. But you picked up this book for a reason, so I'll bet that my post-college preoccupations aren't totally dissimilar to your own as you navigate this strange, semi-autonomous period, when you're technically on your own but in no way feel like you qualify as an adult; when you discover that what you thought would make you happy doesn't, and what you thought you wanted isn't what you want at all. When you're afraid that every wrong decision you make now is setting you up for decades of regret. When you not only don't know who you are anymore but wonder if you ever did." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin

"I just wish I had a syllabus to follow for my life." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin

"On one level, I didn't expect to fall in love. I saw this other future version of myself, a merciless, lonesome writer, banged up, brooding, bullying her way through life. But honestly, I also felt like this was the person I'd been waiting for. There was a feeling of relief - a feeling of Oh, here you are, finally. And this is what you look like. And this is what your voice sounds like. And this is the set of your childhood memories. I thought I'd been looking, but really, I was just waiting for him without knowing that I was waiting, without knowing that I missed him. I thought the ache was a restless lonesomeness, but it was more like homesickness for a place you haven't yet come to. That's how the story begins. I was twenty-two and my mother said "Don't fall in love with a poet," and I did and we've been together ever since." it's a wonderful lie by emily franklin