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.