How do you do it? How do you breathe again?

I read this book once, a long time ago, called "The Secret Life of Bees."  If you haven't read it yourself, I absolutely recommend it, but this certainly isn't a literary blog so I won't judge you if you never seek it out.

It's a book about three siblings; sisters, actually.  And of the whole fantastic story, one part has always stuck out to me: one of the sisters kills herself.  She's special, and throughout the the book her one downfall is that she feels too much.  She's cursed in that she seems to feel the hurt of the world 10 times over.  It finally becomes too much for her to bear and so she walks into a river, holding rocks to weigh her down, and drowns herself.

I've always felt a special connection to this particular character... That the world often feels too cruel, too unforgiving to go on one more minute, one more breath.  But you do.  That's the thing about hurt.  It doesn't kill you.

It should.  Certain things should absolutely kill you - the death of a parent, divorce, losing someone you once considered your best friend.  All of these things should kill you.  You shouldn't have to go on living, trying to find a way to make sense of that kind of loss.  But you do.  You somehow learn to breathe again.  And you realize that this type of hurt is, unfortunately, what life is all about.  No one gets a free pass.  We all have something that makes us stop, everyday, and draw a breath.

Of course it's not fair.  It never was.  But at least we're all together in that.

By the way, I'm back.  Hallelujah.

Guinevere

I cannot believe that my last post here was almost two years ago.  Where has the time gone?  So, so much has happened.

A week or so ago, I received a spam message to one of the first blog posts I wrote here.  Before I deleted it, I read through the post- and succumbed to a surprising amount of nostalgia afterwards.  I couldn't believe how much different that girl sounded from the one I like to think I am today.  She seemed so strong and together, while I struggle to make it through whole days without eating a giant helping of self-doubt.  Back then, the blog was my therapist, the place I could go where I could just write and vent and not have to worry about the backlash.  I haven't enjoyed that feeling in a long time.  More importantly, I started writing here because there were things that needed to be said, that needed to change.  And change they did.

So I'm back.  For how long, I'm not sure, but for now I know that I need this again.  I need to hold myself accountable for the things that have happened, for the person that I am.  Mistakes and all.

I think it's safe to say...

... that no one reads this anymore. And I kind of like that. Because now it's just me here, all alone, the way it should be.

I feel a bit like I'm drowning. Not in a I'm-in-danger-of-killing-myself way, but in a I-STILL-don't-know-what-to-do-with-my-life kind of way. I've read countless times that your twenties are for having fun, while your thirties offer up something more valuable: self-awareness. By your thirties you should know the kind of person you are, what makes you happy and what doesn't, and where you see yourself ending up. I know that I'm still five years away from this threshold, but I'd like some sort of guarantee, please. Because if I wake up on the day of my 30th birthday still feeling like this, I'm going to be PISSED.

But seriously, I've been doing a lot of self-reflection (which is what happens when you're only working one job and have tons of free time on your hands) lately and it just seems that the more I try to think things through in a rational way, the more confused I get. I liked Julia's suggestion: flip a coin. Can I really leave my possible future career, and therefore life, up to the fates? In all honesty, I've always sort of believed that things go the way they're supposed to go; there really isn't an element of control at all, people just can't deal with that idea of that, so they do things to convince themselves they're the ones making choices.

But then I think that the Fates can't possibly have this kind of life lined up for me. Aimless wanderer? Daughter of an alcoholic father and an emotional wreck of a mother? THIS. JUST. CAN'T. BE. IT.

I now know why people jump from relationship to relationship. I always thought it was just because they couldn't stand the idea of being alone, but really, it's back to the control thing again. When everything in your life is going nowhere, a relationship offers you a hand. It's the easiest thing in life to change. Jobs, moves, what you're going to do on Saturday night. All that takes some serious forethought. But a relationship you can end in 10 seconds and never look back. Control.

All this rambling actually does have a point. One of my good friends recently asked me, point blank, if I ever planned on dating again. Instantly, I said no. Psh. That's ridiculous. What's the point? And she just stared at me and said, "So... you just plan on never dating? Ever? Again?" And this is from a woman who only a week ago broke up with her boyfriend. My mother is another perfect example. After recently going through a terrible breakup with her boyfriend of five years, she keeps saying she needs a date. WHAT? How are people doing this? Doesn't everyone see that relationships are ridiculous? What's the point? You don't need them to reproduce, and, quite frankly, I'm fairly convinced the human race should cut back on that anyway. We already have a world filled with useless, stupid people. I think we can take a break from the procreation for a while. Just sayin'.

I always wonder how people get to be who they are. Why are some people so afraid and others seem to have no fear at all? Are some just better at hiding it, or do they really just never have anything bad happen to them? I know there are lucky bastards out there like that, but I think they're probably the minority.

To me, this is what makes sense: I had a terrible first relationship. He always made me feel second rate, like I could never measure up. I've never figured out if it was him making me feel that way, or if I made myself feel that way, but does it really matter? The person you love should make you feel worshiped, like you are the the only thing in the world that makes them feel better on a bad day. I never did that for him. Then there's the disaster that was my parent's divorce. That really renewed my faith in love, right there. And now, Mom and Vern. I have countless other examples of cheating, lying, and deception that have happened to family and friends. And let's not forget about the celebrities.

It's simple math. Or stupidity, however you want to look at it. If you get burned by putting your hand in a flame, you don't do it again. Or, if you do, you're an idiot. And that same theory applies here. If you have countless examples of relationships not working out, including your own, why would you ever do it again? Exactly. Idiot.

It's not a pity thing. Don't feel bad for the people who are broken so far beyond repair that they can't be fixed. 'Cause they have a one-up on you. They've learned. They know how to be alone, to enjoy the time they have here doing things that they want to do. You don't have to compromise for another, or explain where you've been or what you were doing. There are no fights to keep you up at night, no wondering whether or not it will be your last one, if he really won't come home this time. If you're alone, there's no disappointment. There's just you, swimming along, trying to stay afloat. Yes, sometimes the loneliness threatens to sink your little ship. It's heavy. It's palpable. But, there's no guarantee you won't feel that exact same way in your next relationship.

Right? Right.

Remember... you're gonna be alright.

Take it from me, I've stood there in your shoes.

I need to vent. Big time. There are a lot of things that I think about every day, and I just don't say them. But this is my safe space; I should be able to admit to all the things I'm too afraid to say out loud.

I have a happy place. I'm sure we all do. When you're stressed, or tired, or crying so hard you can't catch a breath, it's the place you think of that brings you some sort of comfort. Peace. Hope. Mine is imaginary in the sense that it hasn't happened this way yet, but I imagine that someday it will. When I think about my life and how I want it to go, a perfect day would be like this: I'd wake up early in my lake house in Ithaca. Ideally, I'd own it, but then again, I'm not very handy, and the idea of someone else being responsible for all the stuff I break is appealing. I'd make a cup of tea and wander out to the balcony; big enough to fit a hot tub (yes, I said hot tub, but not in the creepo 70's sense, in the very modern, hippie-chic sense), and a few chairs. Maybe a table with an umbrella so I could eat out there on sunny days. I'd enjoy the cold morning air, and then roll out my mat for some yoga (again, this is fantasy... and in my fantasy, I'm very bendy). No one else would be awake in the house, the roads would be quiet, and Ithaca and I could greet each other the way all the hippie's in the world intended: with peace. I'd take a hot shower, make breakfast and head off to a job I love. Something with animals or the environment. It would be tough sometimes, seeing all the unnecessary cruelty or stupidity in the world, but at least it would make me feel alive. It wouldn't pay much; just enough so that I wouldn't have to feel like I was going backwards at the end of every paycheck. I'd be able to save, pay my bills, and maybe buy myself something ever now and then. Or travel. When I'd get home, Sam or Jules or Andrea would be there, visiting or living, depending on where everyone is in their lives. We'd make an early dinner together, music playing, wine flowing. and eat out on the balcony. In the summer, we'd be able to hear the music from the festivals or the farmer's market. Then, we'd take the kayaks out for an hour or so and meet back at the house for margaritas. My boyfriend, the one who fixes everything about me that you broke, would come over after work and make us dessert. He'd love all of us because he'd know that we're a unit, that you don't get one without the rest; he'd treat them all like most of the men in their lives never did. The girls would go to bed, and we'd stay up late talking, or skinny dipping, or playing music (he, naturally, sings to me). Then we'd go to bed, and wake up and do it all again the next day. There are variations, of course. Whit and Les would come with their better halves and growing families to stay for the occasional weekend; too much wine would be had, and with that, reminiscing. And there isn't always a guy; sometimes, I do okay on my own, figuring out who I used to be and reconciling that with who I want to be. But you get the general idea.

Honestly, I don't think it's too much to ask for. I actually think that as far as dreams go, mine is pretty humble. I'm not asking for more money than I know what to do with, or a fantasy marriage with kids. I just want a job that I love and pays (most) bills, to be around family and friends who love me, in a place that isn't so suffocating. Perhaps the lake house is asking a bit much. I'll work on that.

But see, just writing it down and saying it out loud calms me. I'm not sleeping much, and I think I might actually be forced to do some sort of a sleep study. This thing with my eyes is directly related to my lack of sleep, yet these drops I have to take force me to get up every four hours. It's a terrible cycle. I have frequent headaches, from stress or exhaustion, I'm not sure. I feel more tired now than I did a year ago when I was working three jobs. And I think it's just because I'm sick to death of this place. Never mind that there is absolutely zero "culture" here, I'd just take more than three places to eat out. I'm sinking, at first slowly, but now faster than ever, and no one's going to pull me out but myself. I thought that I needed my family around to feel safe. Well, no, I know that I need them around to feel safe. I think the safe part is the part I'm sick of. I can't pay all of my bills with the money I make, so every month, something goes unpaid and the phone calls start coming in. I help out with groceries and Jules as much as I can, but c'mon. I make $1200 a month. That doesn't take anyone very far.

I love Jules, but she needs a job. And this is probably the most awful thing I've ever said, but I'm so jealous of the fact that she doesn't have one. Jealous and angry. She did superbly her first semester, and there's only one reason for that: she had the time. My first job was at 16. By 18, I was pretty much working full-time. And by 20, when my parents fell apart, I was skipping classes to pick up extra shifts at the Gap. Julia hasn't even had one. I feel that we're doing her an injustice by making excuses. We want her to stay focused on school, or her circumstances were different because of the divorce and where she was living. Both great reasons. But I feel like everyone has excuses made for each other except me. Jules gets to put school as her number one priority because it's too hard to work full time and make A's. Dad gets to be sad whenever he wants because his wife left him brutally and abruptly. And Mom gets them because her marriage was empty and suffocating.

And I get this: living with my father at the age of 25 because he's too drunk most nights to cook himself something to eat, or read the numbers in the phone book to order food. I work a job that's mediocre at best; it's a job, and I'm thankful that I have one, but it's the opposite of fulfilling. I don't date because Ben took everything good about me and made me question it, and because it's very hard to bring a guy home when your father's bedroom is half a foot away from your own. And when I come home I do one of two things: hide or clean. I will literally lay in bed all day watching movies and hating everyone, or go into a cleaning frenzy because the kitchen/laundry haven't been touched in days. When dinner time rolls around, and Julia isn't around to feed, Dad and I usually eat separate tv dinners, or order out. He goes to bed around 7:30, as he's been drinking straight vodka with a splash of soda since 4. I go back to my room, toss and turn for most of the night, and get up before he does to feed the dog and head out the door.

God, that sounds so disgusting. A pity party for Danielle. I'm not the only girl whose parents are divorced, or has an alcoholic father. And he's really not that bad; he goes to work, gets things done, and is never, ever mean. Julia refers to him as a high-functioning alcoholic. As in, if you met him out, during the day, you'd never know because he seems so together. He always drank, but it's become exponentially worse since the divorce. And I can't even take it away from him because I truly think he needs it. I'm not sure what he'd do if he had to face reality every night. It's his escape and I understand it completely. But he can't be left alone. Everyone knows it except him.

On the flip side, I think that part of him drinks because of what a failure I am. I say that lightly and with jest; I don't do drugs or have ten kids with ten different fathers. He could certainly do worse. But I think he's disappointed in what I've become. I can't imagine he's proud to talk about me to his colleagues and peers. I had such a bright future, blah, blah, blah. Well, my friend, shit happens. Things change, people go their separate ways, and most of the time things don't work out the way you think that will.

Anyway, now I'm just rambling. But I guess that's what I came here for. Stream of consciousness... all the things that tumble out when I feel like I'm drowning. It's time to face the day now. That's the bitch of it. You can dream all you want to, but at the end of it all, your reality is your reality. You can try and change it, and best of luck to you if you do, but the chances aren't good. Sometimes there is no inspiring last sentence, no afterthought. There's just... this.

I think about you all the time, but I don't need the same.

If it's lonely where you are, come back down, and I won't tell them your name.

Leap Year

Normally at this time of year, I become slightly depressed. I go into a bit of a cocoon stage, pull the covers over my head, and don't come out until after the last chorus of Auld Lang Syne is over. And maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself in thinking that that still won't happen. But I'm sitting here, reflective, of course, and I've had a bit of an epiphany.

I'll admit it. I still check your Facebook picture. And hers, for that matter. It's a strange compulsion. I'm not sure why I do it or what I'm expecting every time I look. I just know that there are moments when I need to do it. And after, I feel better. This happened to me last night, and to my surprise, yours had changed. It hadn't in awhile and so it did catch me off guard a bit. You and her are in front of some Christmas tree; it's big and you're outside, so I can only assume it's in some sort of square. She looks stunning and you look... different. I don't know how else to describe it. Older, maybe, or worn out. You're smiling but there's no real life behind it. I know the face. You're posing, already thinking about who will see this picture and if it will depict you in the way you want to be seen. Classic Ben. And it made me so sad. Because I realized that you're not really happy either. And I'm not sure it has anything to do with her. If it does, that doesn't mean it's her fault. It's just who you are. You always wanted something different, ever-changing, and once you got it, you realized it wasn't that great after all. You so desperately wanted this thrilling, city life with money and fame and women. And you got it... sort of. Though I'm sure it's not at all how you thought it was going to be.

But anyway. My epiphany. What I realized was this: I'm the lucky one in our situation. I've been thinking this whole time that I'm the victim. That you left me alone and scared and certainly not at all prepared to function on my own. But that's all wrong. You did this for me. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no illusions about how this all played out. You certainly did this with very, very selfish intentions. I'm just talking about the way things worked out in the end. I've always believed in karma, and putting out all the good that you can. The bad people will get theirs eventually. And this is a classic case.

If you hadn't left me in the way that you did, so terribly and without regret or remorse, I wouldn't have stayed here at home for so long. I needed to recover; to be surrounded by the safety and tremendous love that my family has to offer. They healed me. Well, that and a little bit of time. And, if I hadn't stayed at home for so long, I'd never have gotten restless and started to really think about what I want to accomplish with my life. Which is exactly where I am now. I'm whole again, and ready for... well, life, I suppose. Though to me, right now, life looks an awful lot like my next adventure. The stars are aligning, the universe is coming together, and I'm finally getting my karma paycheck. And just in time, I might add.

I know you won't read this. That's alright. It's out there in the world so I've done my part. I just wanted to say thanks. In the end, you gave me exactly what I needed: a push. But I've got it from here. I'll be making those leaps on my own from now on.

Is it really him or the loss of my innocence I've been missing so much?

In the true spirit of Wells College, I'm drinking coffee. At 8PM. The package may have changed, and I'm missing two very key people, but it's still like drinking liquid nostalgia. This place has changed so much, and yet everywhere I look, there's a memory. One of Julia's friends was in here last night, and he was telling me all about the Evenline festivities of this year. I told him about Whit being a coach, and he was very excited. He's friends with one of this year's coach's and so he ran down the hall to grab the song book AND Cleo. Meant to take a picture, ladies, but I forgot. Old age has, inevitably, set in.

Also in the true spirit of Wells, I received a parking ticket last night. I'm going to keep it as a memento... it reminds me of the days before my great (and also beneficial) friendship with C. Daloia. Now he's married to one of my greatest friends.

There's a "smoker's table" in the upper leach parking lot; every time we leave, there's a group of kids hanging out there. It's the only "legal" place to smoke on campus... besides the middle of the road. New York State, of course, owns that. I've quit smoking, and I'm glad I did, but I had some of my best times smoking with Whit outside the library in the dead of winter, or on the steps behind Weld. Between Mom and Dad splitting up, and the end of what you could very loosely call my relationship with Ben, there was a lot that happened to me outside of Wells. But this place was, and continues to be, magical. It has an amazing ability to make the outside world feel very far away. It's my best version of an escape, which I think is why I'm so much wanting to come back. I'm at a stalemate in my life; I've let go of Ben, finally, and I think all of that anger was what was getting me through. It made me determined, but it also made me vulnerable, and now that I've healed, I can't wait to take the next step. I'm not sure it will work out. There's a good chance that they won't give me enough money to come back and I'll have to think of something else. But just knowing that I've had the guts to put the ball in motion, assures me that everything will be okay.

So, ladies. I'm raising my coffee cup to you. In solidarity, sisterhood and caffeine, I miss you both so much. I think our next reunion should be under the Sycamore. I'll bring the Dunkin'.

Fresh Start

So. A few of you (you know who you are) have been nagging me to update this. I know, I know... it's been awhile. But I just haven't felt inspired. Day to day, my life is pretty much the same. 98% of the time this works in my favor. As a Taurus, I have a terrible aversion to change, and very much enjoy routine. However. Lately, I've been feeling so restless. I think when Sam and I visited Jules in Ithaca for Halloween something just clicked. I need to do something with my life. I need to try and make something of myself. Dad is working so hard to make his business successful, and Julia's doing really well in school. I think I can finally let go a little bit and do something positive for myself. I hate that it will mean leaving behind the the family, but it's only a few months, and I'm sure that if I don't do it now, I will lose my nerve. I've already been a bit overwhelmed thinking about what it means to be back at Wells. I'm going to be 25. 25! That's crazy. I remember what I thought of the older students back when I was attending and it was neither nice nor positive. I know that's what these "kids" will think of me. I've forgotten how to write a paper, or think intellectually, and I'm quite sure no one will think me wise for my age. I miss it being majority female; I'll be the only one left who remembers.

Hopefully everything works out. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself; I still haven't heard back from financial aid and I'm going to go stalk them tomorrow in an effort to get an answer. I'm worried about not being able to take the classes I need, and I categorically refuse to live with a roommate. But I'm ready to be more focused. I know that this is what I need. Everything that's happened has led to this, so I guess it's my time now. No use taking it for granted.

As long as we're together.

I wake up on the morning of my birthday; I don't remember which one right away. As the excitement and fears of another year wash over me, I make my way to the bathroom. I stub my toe on my dresser, and remind myself that it still needs to be moved an inch to the left. I hop/walk into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, and there's a card waiting for me on the island, my named splayed on the envelope in the hurried, but beautiful, handwriting of my mother. Inside, it says, "Happy Birthday, daughter!" with $17 worth of lottery tickets. That's right, I think. I'm seventeen today. When I head back down the hallway to finally take my turn at a shower, my mother says, "Did you notice anything?" No, actually, I didn't, except for my damn dresser being an inch too close to my doorway. "Go back and look a little harder." Okay. Once I'm back in my room, I notice the vase with a single white rose inside. Next to it is a cd, and even from a few feet away, I recognize his handwriting. The songs are a mixture of old rock and new, soft and slow mingled with the hard and fast. "Jack and Diane" is number 14 and it makes me cry it's so perfect. Later, when we head to his lacrosse game in Canada, I put it in and replay it over and over again. At the game, I talk to his best friend Dan about their plans for the future. College. Sports. Dreams. He tells me how much Ben wishes I had my license; not that he doesn't like driving me around or anything, because he does. I tell him it's okay, I know, before he hurts himself from backpeddling so fast. He catches a ride home with us and I offer him the front seat (as usual). He declines (as usual). This has become customary for us. Comfortable. He's my boyfriend's best friend, and therefore a staple in my life. I like the way he makes me feel safe, the way he tells me how much Ben loves me every time he gets drunk. The leather of Ben's jeep sticks to me in the heat; it's unseasonably warm for April, but I don't care. In this moment, I am so happy I almost can't stand it. Ben reaches for my hand across the center console and grabs my pinky, then thinks better of it and rests his hand on my thigh. His sunglasses are on, but he looks at me anyway, as he sings Dispatch's "Carry You". We're driving fast now, and the wind whips my hair so that he can't really see my face either. Dan laughs in the backseat, and adds an off-key tenor to the chorus. While we wait at the border, he's talking on his phone and Ben seizes the moment of privacy, leans in for a kiss. He puts his forehead to mine and asks me if I had a good birthday. It was perfect, I say, giving him an eskimo kiss. In the last fifteen minutes of our drive, after we've dropped Dan off at home and promised to make it to the "rager" this weekend, I steal glances at Ben. He's smiling, and singing along with the music, and for a moment, just a moment, I want to run away. I want us to be together forever. It seems easy. We could sneak back home, pack our bags, and be a thousand miles away before our parents realized we were gone. I tell him this, and he agrees. Tells me about our future home and kids; the rustic log cabin with a double fireplace and a tin roof so that on nights when it rains, we can fall asleep to the sound. I tell him how ridiculous a log cabin will look with a tin roof, and he tells me he doesn't care. That we will be deliriously happy as long as we're together. As long as we're together.

It's been six weeks since my last post. How shameful. The project sort of fell by the wayside, but I'm still keeping up with my goals. I'm smoking a lot less, eating better, and, up until two days ago, was running regularly. It was stressing my knee out though, and I had a bit of a scare with it on Monday, so I've let it rest for the last 48 hours. Today, it feels mostly back to normal, so I'm going to try a *gentle* run later on, and see how I fare. That's all I'm really going to write about my well-being. That's not why I've come back.

So much happened over the last month or so, and I didn't want to come here and write about it. There was just so much that didn't belong anywhere but inside, and I think I did well, for the first time EVER, with managing my emotions. I've had time to run through everything and process it all, and while I'm not sure I'll ever truly recover from Ben, I'm as close as I'm ever going to get. She wrote in a post not too long ago about how much you've jaded us. Well, of course you did. That's not love, dear. I'm not sure it ever was. I want to believe that before all of the bad, we had good, real things. And I'll admit that sometimes a memory of us is so vivid that I actually have to stop and catch my breath; it physically hurts. I hate that even after everything, you still have a very poignant effect on me. But I'm done with that now, done with us. I know there's very little chance you'll ever read this, and that's okay. I have to say it anyway.

You broke me. You're the reason I can't trust anyone to love me, the reason I make up excuse after excuse why I don't want to meet someone new. I should be above it; I should know well-enough that I have control over the situation and just talk myself out of it. But I can't. It's bigger than me, bigger than we ever were, and I actually think I'll be alone from this point on. You're poisonous, you stole everything I had to give, and threw it away. I'm not mad, anymore. I'm too tired to be anything. So. This horrible thing between us is over. They say there's a fine line between love and hate. You and I know that all too well.

Happiness Project: Day 1

I'm pretty tired so I'm not going to go into too much detail about how my day was. But I was getting ready for bed, and remembered that just yesterday I had vowed to update this as much as possible in an attempt to keep myself accountable; so, here I am.

Today was a great way to start off my project. I brushed my teeth (twice, to be exact), at tuna and a bit of chili for lunch rather than the giant cheeseburger I really wanted, then went to an hour-long kickboxing/muscle confusion class that I know I'll be feeling for the next three days. The only thing I failed at was the smoking. I had three cigarettes today, and while I'm trying not to let it get me down too much, I am a bit disappointed in myself that I couldn't cut it down more than that. But a goal is a goal for a reason, so I'm going to continue striving towards it, regardless of setbacks.

Now it's time to read for a bit and hit the hay. I've got a very long day tomorrow and I'd like to feel as rested then as I did today. Plus, it is another one of my goals for March. I'd call day 1 a major success.

I hate crying. I didn't always, it's something that's happened over the last few years. I remember vividly the transition from sadness to anger when my parents split up; I think it was around that time that I realized how much easier it was to get mad rather than to be sad. Since then, I've created a cocoon, a soft layer of protection that doesn't require any energy on my part in order to be sustained. It just is. If softens the blow when someone disappoints me or when things don't go quite the way I expected them to. The numbness, the lack of feeling, is what's left over when you refuse to be hurt anymore. The trade-off, of course, is that the numbness is impermeable to all feelings... including happiness and joy. So while I'm safe from the hurt, I'm missing out on the possibility of something good. And I know all of this. I'm very aware of the fact that while I'm gaining one thing, I'm losing another. I haven't yet decided if I'm better off with my bubble of protection, or if it's time to remove a layer and force myself to feel SOMETHING. Even if it hurts. Even if it's terrible.

Illusion is the first of all pleasures.

My eyes are hazel, but sometimes, when I'm angry or tired or sad, they're green. I hate brushing my teeth. I rarely move from one side of the bed to the other while I sleep. My life is exhausting. The shelf in my closet is buckling, not from the weight of my clothes, but from twelve enormous stacks of books. My shoe size is a 7.5, but my big toe makes up most of that. I don't like other people's feet. I love my name. I'm a taurus and I fit it's description perfectly. I can't cook anything more complicated than toast, and I live in real fear that I won't be able to find a man who can stand me for more than 20 minutes. I want kids some days, and others, I'm perfectly content to be the "aunt". I only talk to my mother once every two weeks or so, and it's usually to talk about money. I want to write but can't seem to find my inspiration; I love money. A good meal is truly the way to my heart. I hate that I smoke. I want to run a marathon. Ireland is the only place I've ever wanted to travel that I haven't been to. I miss being in love. I color code my planner because my life is so hectic. My family is my life line. My favorite color is purple, with turquoise coming in at a close second. I want to have a wedding without actually getting married. I believe in forgiveness, even if only in theory. I rarely wear shoes that are flat; I'm 5'3'' on a good day. I want to reinvent myself and forget the person I've somehow become. Not all of her, just the parts I don't like. I want to be different. I want a Great Dane named King. I want a room all to myself, a place where I can go and unwind, where the stress of life can't find me. I believe that I won't be able to write until I find the perfect desk. I'm 1/16th Abenaki Indian. I cry at commercials about animals; I have no sympathy for humans. I want another tattoo. I want to finish college. My biggest fear is my father dying. It gives me anxiety attacks. I don't know how I will ever live without him. I sometimes think that a broken heart really can kill you; other times, I think you can't ever be strong without sadness. I'm a giant contradiction. I don't often have control of my emotions, but I'm always honest. I think that the truth can be lied about and still be true. I don't often apologize and mean it. I forget names but remember faces forever. I make mistakes. I take myself too seriously sometimes, but the sun can always make me happy. I love to laugh.

"Illusion is the first of all pleasures." It's so easy and yet so true. Humans, on the whole, live their entire lives in search of a pleasure that lasts. And isn't it funny that illusion, oftentimes, is the only way to reach that goal? I've been there myself; I probably do it more than I care to recognize. I work three jobs just to make ends meet, in the belief that someday there will be something better. Doing things I thought I'd never do for the sake of love? Or, in my case, "love". Putting one foot in front of the other ever day, because there is nothing else except this. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. But without my illusions, I'd be miserable. I'd never have anything to look forward to, anything pushing me on, encouraging me not to give up and give in. I need them, they sustain me, and they sustain you, too. But behind all that are the little truths. The ones that make each and every one of us unique and special. I know who I am. I'm not in danger of losing myself. And that's enough for me. It'd be selfish to ask for anything more.

We're so over we need a new word for over.

So. I'm not quite sure how things got back to this. Almost exactly a year ago, the same stuff was going down. The difference is that back then I cared. This time I'm just angry. I was going to use this to vent, but I've decided that I'm above it. I'm above you both. The truth is that I don't need either of you, I never did, and to rehash everything is both immature and unnecessary. So we'll leave it at this: yet again, there's a fresh start on my horizon. I thank you both for being the motivation I needed. I want to be nothing like you.

This will be quick. There's been too much going on to explain it all now, so hopefully I'll keep regularly updating this. I'm up for a new job that will mean more money, benefits, and regular hours. I'm really looking forward to it and everything that it will bring. I recognize that part of it means I'll be staying here for the foreseeable future, but that's okay. I'm moving forward, and to me, that's all that matters right now.

Things with the family have been strained, for reasons I both can and can't post here. Matthew was arrested this past week for trying to steal a car in Potsdam. His bail was set at $10,000 which means no one's going there to get him out. Part of the family believes he needs to sit there and perhaps learn some lessons, whereas myself believes that all Matt needed all along was a little bit of love and understanding. It's hard to watch someone you love fail so miserably, but I suppose they're right. He's got to pay the consequences for his mistakes.

That's as much as I can do right now. I just took a brief moment to read through the text messages Ben's been sending me over the last ten days or so and I just had to laugh. He has no grasp on reality whatsoever. You can never tell when he's telling the truth because he wavers so much in his emotions; in one he says that he would always be there for me, even after all the things we've been through, and then in another about a week later, he tells me that the world would be a better place without me in it. He's so different now. Or, maybe he's the same as he always was. Either way I can't save him. He doesn't even want to save himself.

Yesterday was hard. Normally I wouldn't be so emotional about it, but I still can't wrap my head around how young he was. It keeps me up at night. Literally. I hopped on Facebook last night and noticed that his brother had also left him a message; quite simply it said, "Happy Birthday, Christian". It's weird when the world moves on from such a tragedy, even though I know it happens more often that it should. It also makes me remember the little things; to be kind to everyone, because you never know what they're going through inside and to tell the ones you love that you do every single day. Don't ever let them wonder. So, Christian, it's goodbye for now. Know that you changed my life and that I loved with you with my whole heart. I'm sure you will be in my thoughts each day.

I didn't sleep much again last night, but I've started to not be surprised by this. I can honestly say that this is the worst bout of insomnia I've ever had. Over the years, when Ben and I would go through tough times it would keep me up, but never to this extent. It's been two weeks and I've probably slept an average of four hours each night. I don't even let it worry me anymore because that just adds to the stress. I know at some point my body will have to relax and take over. It does have me wondering what the underlying problem is here. All I want is to wake up refreshed, instead of exhausted, so that my day doesn't always seem impossible.

Herb finally got down to the nitty gritty (we forced him) and finished the schedule for his vacation in two weeks and for ours the week after. Just seeing Vermont on the calendar gets me excited. 22 days and counting. I can't wait.

Alright, I need to get ready for work. I'm going to try and remember what day it is today (Tuesday? Wednesday!) and not fall asleep in my car, or at the counter, or in the shoe room. Wish me luck.

You're in the arms of your angel. May you find some comfort here.

I've been thinking about you a lot this week. I couldn't figure out why. I know it's almost been a year, but I wasn't prepared yet.

Today is your birthday. I'd almost forgotten, but I like to think that maybe these sleepless nights have been your way of reminding me. Happy 14th birthday, sweet boy. I'm sorry that I hadn't been around for the last few, or that I let you grow so much without noticing. I started this blog with an entry about you way back in January. I remembered the time you fought tooth and nail to have me let you jump off the balcony only to have me tell you no. You convinced me, instead, to let you two slide down your stairs and out the door into the snow on sleds made of pillows. You weren't afraid of anything.

Thinking about this reminds me of the time you two wanted me to play goalie in your street hockey game. I put on your too-small pads and let you take shots at me. I ended up bruised and slightly more alert, while you two literally fell on the ground laughing. This leads into the many times you two would trick me into "hanging out" with the dead deer hanging in your Dad's garage. Do you remember the cookie dough? I can't recall how many times we got sick from it, but it was too many. We could never figure out the perfect dough to milk ratio.

I remember you being so little that you were afraid to go under water in the river behind your house. I'd take you out every day, hold you in my arms, and we'd dunk together until you finally got used to it. By the end of that summer you were jumping off the end of the dock with nothing but your "swimmies" to keep you afloat.

I remember when you were just a baby and I tripped over a chair at Linda's and we fell. I ended up bruising my tailbone pretty badly as I twisted to make sure you didn't get hurt. You didn't cry. I almost did.

I spent so much time with you throughout the years that you were more like a little brother to me than some kid I babysat. I remember giving up several night with friends to come and watch you two. Not just for the money, but because you were my favorite. That part never changed.

There's a kid in Gavin's class named Christian and he looks just like you. The last time I was "parent" helper, he'd lost his two front teeth and so when he said his name it sounded like "Chrithchan" rather than "Christian". He's my favorite, too. And one of Gav's best friends. Sometimes it's hard to look at him, the resemblance is so obvious. But he reminds me of how awesome you were, and that, my little boy, is almost enough.

So. Happy birthday. I hope that wherever you are, you're playing video games, and knowing that everyone here misses you so much. And that cookie dough will never be the same without you.

Ramblings of an insomniac.

Okay. I'm tired. We all get that. I know that not everyone out there sleeps often or well. But let me just paint you a little picture: Sunday night I worked until 6:30, and because it was raining so hard Julia ended up staying the night. We watched "The Wizard of Oz" and "Goonies" until about midnight and then went to bed. I fell asleep somewhere around 4am, only to wake up to my alarm at eight and hit snooze. This, of course, meant that I overslept, as I did not actually get up until 10:10. And, I'm sure you all heard about last Friday and the conditioner incident. While I'm thankful for the extra sheen to my hair, I need rest. I'm cranky most of the time from simply working as much as I do. When I finally have a day off on 10/11, I will have worked for 21 days straight. I know, it could be worse, but it could be better also. I get excited when, like today, I only have to go in from 3-9.

I don't know what it is about this month and sleeping. We were getting along so well. My life has a lot of areas of stress that are constantly evolving, but I think I do a pretty good job of just turning it all off most of the time. I guess when I finally lay down, it all comes rushing in and that's why it takes me hours to unwind. Blech. Vicious circle.

Insomnia has pretty much consumed my life. Other than that, I've been working on saving money for Vermont (MAC counter, here I come!) and changing up my diet. Since I finally consider myself a non-smoker, my health has come into the spotlight a bit more. I've always been able to eat what I want and not exercise and be thin. Well, I'll never be thin, let's be honest. My ass has an area code of it's own. But comfortable. Since quitting, though, I've gained another seven or so pounds and I just can't be where I'm at. If I can't be comfortable with telling all of you, then I definitely can't be comfortable with waking up to it everyday. My new diet is not trendy or fancy, but simply includes eating a small piece of toast with peanut butter for breakfast (because I hate eating before 1pm), a healthy low-carb lunch with as much protein and veggies as possible, and a smaller dinner. Really, I just need to evaluate my daily choices. So I've started a food journal which I used to think was cheesy, but now I understand it's effectiveness. When you have your day's previous choices right in front of you, it's easier to figure out what you should have next. I still don't really have time to exercise, which is both an excuse and a truth: my days are already 9-13 hours long. If I were to get up any earlier, they would hover around the 17 hour mark and I just think one day I'd fall asleep in my car and drive off the road. So. The key to all of this is sleep. I love two of my three jobs, and I love keeping busy. 17 hour days would be cake if I could sleep for the other seven. If any of you have any tried-and-true sleep methods, you know where to find me.

Alright, now I'm tired about talking about being tired and I've got a million things to do before three because my alarm went off at eight and again, I ignored it and slept until eleven. FML.