Spring

MayEvery year I am surprised when the sun begins to rise a little earlier and my morning commute isn’t quite as dark as it was the day before. I’m surprised when, at the end of February, the it’s 6 o clock and I can still see the sun setting.

Spring is my favorite season. The anticipation of spring is my second favorite. I love 4th quarter with my students, wearing dresses, pulling out flip flops, and cracking windows to let the breeze in. I love the sound of the rain and waiting for the first flowers to come up and the leaves to on the trees to grow big enough to rustle in in the wind.

I don’t know how spring manages to come back every year, but I am so glad it does. It makes me feel alive.

Spring

The Summer Of Not Doing Much– But In Reality, Accomplishing A Lot

An update on The Summer Of Not Doing Much– But In Reality, Accomplishing A Lot

This Summer: It’s been great. I’ve watched a lot of movies. I’ve spent lots of time cuddling and playing with the Beans. I’ve exercised just about 6 days a week. I’ve tried out lots of healthy new recipes that we both really enjoy. And! I’ve lost somewhere in the range of 15-20 lbs since late March.

Left -- in March. Right--- Last Week. A new haircut, too!

Left — in March. Right— Last Week. A new haircut, too!

 Yesterday I had my yearly health assessment for my insurance. I’ve lost 6.5 inches around my waist, although it’s probably more since I was doing a great imitation of a roller coaster with my poundage. I still have a little ways to go, but not much. For the first time in a three years ALL my clothes fit. Actually, many of them are bordering on too big now and I’d like to thank strength training and lean muscle for that one. I feel good. I want to eat healthy food. I don’t even want pizza. I know. Somebody slap me back to my senses! No, don’t, because I’d like to relish in this moment for a bit. This is pretty much the first time in my life where eating and exercising are a balanced part of my life.

When I was a kid/teenager, I never routinely exercised.  When I was 16ish, my family changed our eating habits and I lost 40+ lbs in the course of a year. It was great, but it all came back on with college stress and life changes. By the time I was a sophomore, I knew I had to do something. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror. During a nutrition and health class required by my major, I realized the thing I had to change was the plod/sedentary pudge I had become. I started working out at the university’s high tech gym. Back then it took me 45 minutes to run 3 miles. And that was after working up to three miles. But I haven’t stopped working out since. Now, I have pretty awesome endurance. I love, love, love the mindlessness of cardio and regularly do an hour to an hour and a half of it. But even with all the exercise, when life got stressful about 3 years ago, a lot of the weight came back. Not all, thanks to massive amounts of cardio, but enough that I’ve been slowly yo-yoing back down for three years.

This year sucked. And all the weight I lost last year came back. I see now that I was on auto-pilot. I knew what I needed to do to lose and then maintain a healthy weight, but it was hard, and I didn’t care, and when I cared too much I became discouraged and if you’ve ever been discouraged you know that feeling tastes a lot like a box of cheeze-its. Which is where my hand would find itself on particularly bad days/weeks.

Me in a dress that I bought and never fit into. UNTIL NOW.

Me in a dress that I bought and never fit into. UNTIL NOW.

This summer I told myself we would do better. We owed it to ourselves. I really owed it to me (ok, pinterest quote, settle down). I wanted to actually reap the benefits of all the work I put into my workout. I also want to live for a long time but not as a sedentary cheeze-it pudge. So I stuck to my commitment and I’m glad I didn’t give up.

These are some of the things that really helped/ are helping to keep me going:

  • The Lose It! App – you can log everything you eat. Need to scan a bar code? No problem. Do most of your own cooking? Cool, you can input recipes and see how much you’re actually eating.
  • The South Beach Diet (but the vegetarian recipes, because animals)- This is the lifestyle change my family made when I was in high school. The hubs and I choose the best sounding/ my favorite old recipes. It’s simple, delicious, and healthy food.
  • Limiting carbs-  I love carbs. If I could hug every potato in the world, I totally would.  If you told me I could never have bread again, I’d punch you right in the mouth. But I hold these carbs so dear that I can actually eat a whole loaf of healthy bread by myself. And still have room for potatoes and pizza. So, I’ve tried to limit those favorite carbs. And it’s been pretty ok!
  • Vegan recipes- In the name of limiting carbs I had to find alternatives to those things that I love, those starchy, starchy things. I stumbled on vegan recipes like this one, and this one, and this one. While not all of those are a replacement for the love of my life, starch (Just kidding, Chris! I love you the most! Especially if you are cradling a potato!), it doesn’t matter because the food is so. damn. delicious.
  • Moderation- I can still have beer. I can still eat bread. I just can’t do these things every day. BUT THIS IS AMERICA! I SHOULD HAVE ALL THE BEER AND POTATO CHIPS I WANT. Yes, but, you turn into a catatonic salt and vinegar dipped in beer infused version of yourself, Nancy, and you don’t like that aftermath. I allow myself a “cheat day” or an occasional not as healthy treat during the week. It can’t be every day, but if we are at a friend’s house and they have pie? I am probably going to still have a small slice. And so help me if I ever have to give up beer. I can’t! But if I limit myself to 1-2 beers once a week, it’s a treat and not a part of my unbalanced diet.
  • Exercise- I already worked out a lot. I just wasn’t getting any benefit because I wasn’t paying attention to my diet because apathetic Nancy was apathetic. Even on the days that I don’t run for 8 hours, I can see/feel the difference it makes because I’ve finally balanced eating and exercise in a way that works for me.
  • Chris-  He signed on to eat better. He encourages me when I feel like a pudge (and makes sure to tell me I am emphatically not a pudge). He started exercising too. He lets me try all sorts of crazy/new vegan and vegetarian recipes. The hubs is pretty much the best person ever and this would have been many cheeze-it boxes harder if he wasn’t so helpful.

So that’s all really. It’s been a summer of loss and Netflix. I’d call that a success. I hope if you’re trying to push through your own healthy hurdle that you are seeing positive changes, too. If not, keep going. Avoid the cheeze-it aisle. You can do it (ok, motivational kitten poster, nobody takes you seriously)… (but really, you can do it.)

I Only Roast Chickpeas In This Oven

ImageI don’t know what to write about this evening. I told myself that I would write a thing a day for the next 7 days but I feel neither creative nor humorous. So I’m going to write about assumptions in this post that I have just titled Assumptions: Or, How I am Definitely, Really Not Pregnant Or I Only Roast Chickpeas In This Oven and That Oven Is In The Kitchen So Stop Alluding Already.

We got married last month in the courthouse, no muss, no fuss. It was awesome and exactly what we wanted. We told everyone we were going to do it and 26 days later we did. I guess this is still incredibly incriminating evidence of pregnancy in this day and age. Honestly, I didn’t even think about how the quick turn around might set tongue’s wagging, because, well, we just got married our way.

But damn if people didn’t start asking all sorts of questions about whether or not the reproductive plumbing was cooking a small version of us. And I mean, everyone. Teacher friends at school, pretty sure some people in the extended family, the grocery bagger at the store.

Yeah. The bagger. At the checkout. At the grocery store.

“So you guys going to have some kids now?” he asked as he expertly packed the rice and cereal.

Good gravy, man, I just got married! And what stake do you have in this anyway!? I wanted to yell, but instead said, I teach. I have 32 kids an hour. That’s plenty. Alsoareyoudonebaggingthosepotatoesbecausethisisreallyawkward.

The best, and kindest way I’ve heard this whole third degree baby thing put is this: people are excited for us, and they want to welcome us to the club: the married and usually jonesing for children club.

I just don’t know quite how to handle that exclusive offer sometimes.

Like today, when someone asked how my weekend was and it suddenly turned into IS THERE A BABY INSIDE YOU. It went like this:

How was your weekend? she asked. Simple. Not a trap. There is no way this can somehow turn to my uterus.

I said, pretty good considering I was sick with a head and chest infection.

And then, “You’re not pregnant are you!?

Oh crap! 9 out of 10 chest infections turn into babies! No, nope, that’s not right. Ok, I’m good. We’re good! No worries! Still baby free!

I’m not sure if I’ll ever quite be at peace with the unsolicited advice, interest, and questions about possible buns in ovens.

Chris assures me that people will stop asking either when we’re forty… or dead.

Big Dreams Are What You Make

Hello, self? Are you out there?

I’m going to try to write one meaningful thing on here a day for the next 7 days. So here’s the first one: I used to have a big dream, or what I thought was a big dream, and it went something like this:

Move away from Kansas, Graduate, Move Overseas, Find THE adventure and thus, find my true self.

I wanted to move to Japan. Or someplace equally foreign and exotic and not in the continental United States. I didn’t know what was out there, but I was sure there was something large and important waiting for me. I thought that I had to leave to find whatever that thing was. I thought that adventure would somehow define and shape me, into The Best Version of Nancy.

That was my plan for years and years and years. It’s funny though, how that scheme always seemed so hazy and intangible despite how it cycled through my brain from the ages of 10 to 22. When I would try to think ahead and drop myself on a busy street corner in Tokyo, or along a riverbank in Europe, it felt like I was watching someone else’s movie. To me, that hazy feeling equated doubt. It meant that I doubted myself, I doubted that I could make it happen, I doubted that I could last alone out there in the big world. I’d tell myself, nope! You are small, but you are mighty! It’s just a plane ride! And an entire upheaval of your life structure as you know it, some far away part of me would chime in all sing-songy and innocently.

Shut up, you! I would think at myself and quickly stop thinking about large adventures and plane rides and knowing no one anywhere because that was actually kind of scary, yes, and now that I think about it, it is a giant upheaval of my life and–

So, I graduated college and went right back into graduate school, partially because I had to and partially because I wasn’t ready to pack my bags and say goodbye to everything that I knew. The plan then became, finish school, try for a job, work a few years, and then leave for THE big adventure to find The Best Version of Nancy.

In hindsight, I think it was less of a great wide adventure plan than it was a parachute plan, a this-is-what-I’ll-do-when-I-give-up-plan. If real life rejected me, if I couldn’t find that job, maintain the sturdy structure that years and years of school had instilled in me, then I’d bolt across the ocean and try a new and different life.

I know that there are experiences out there that you can’t get from wherever you call home. There’s too much to see and do and experience out there to think otherwise. I know that there are people and uncomfortable situations in corners of the world that will push you into becoming a new version of yourself. I know that there are whole groups of people who insist when you are young you have to go out and either A) make mistakes or B) Travel some part of the world and possibly combine A and B together. But you see, I don’t think that living that large is for everyone. Experiences that make you grow are for everyone, absolutely, but that  huge adventure that I had planned for all those many years? That is for very few.

I think sometimes people trick themselves into thinking that they are inconsequential if they aren’t doing something just a little bit bigger– I’m not living up to my full potential if I never try to write that book. I’m not making meaning out of my life unless I experience all the art in Europe. I’m going to live a small and unsatisfying life if I don’t make it out of the country before I turn 30. I won’t be free unless I try something new, lower my inhibitions, sail around the world, jump out of an airplane, ride an elephant, throw a spear, play hopscotch with the Dali Lama, stick a flag in a mountain— And so on. I think all those things are great, but I don’t think you have to do them in order to find out who you are, and that’s what I’m really getting at here.

Because what I found out about that hazy feeling when I thought about climbing mountains or living in Tokyo, that creeping thing that I thought was doubt in myself, wasn’t that at all. It was the know-it-all part of me that knew me the best, sitting back and slowly, knowingly shaking her head. What I wanted wasn’t as big as all that. I found out that all I wanted was a place to call my own, the opportunity to teach and live comfortably, a dog, and maybe someone to share those things with. That might seem very small and insignificant to some people, but once I figured out that those were the only things that mattered, life became a whole lot easier and somehow started to fall into place.

I got hired at a school, I paid off a bunch of my loans, I met a converse wearing musician and  we liked and loved each other a whole mess of a lot and got married. And someday soonish, we’ll have a dog, and then a house, and then we’ll be able to travel the world a little bit here and there. Over summer vacations we can stop on the corner in busy Tokyo or stroll down the cobblestone streets in Europe and then come back home, and put our feet up, and pet our dog and go to work and do it all again a little ways down the road. Someday we’ll be  have an adventure or two and then come home, unpack, and reminisce through pictures on a wall.

Do I still want the big adventure, then? Yes and no. We don’t have to exist in an extended meaningful adventure for our lives to have meaning. And we don’t necessarily have to go out and find ourselves in the great wide abyss of the world. Sometimes, we’re already right here, the Best Versions of Ourselves.

I think Big Dreams are what you make of them, and you don’t always need a jet plane to get there.

Part 3: My Brain is a Sniper Rifle

Image

Half of my other half.

When I first met him, I knew in a moment I would have to spend the next few days re-arranging my mind so there’d be room for him to stay. – Brian Andreas

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When I was thirteen I suddenly realized that there were no absolutes in life. I remember the distinct feeling of, wow, I’ve had some sort of real, live adult revelation here and okay, this could potentially suck. At 13, I already knew that the majority of people expected to get married and have families someday. But what happens, I wondered, if you never meet anyone? Or you meet people, but they aren’t at all what you want? What happens then?

I don’t know what happened to other people, but what happened to me was this: I decided that I would find ways to be happy and content without the expectation that someone else could and would make me happy. Because, realistically,  I might never meet that smart musician who could make me laugh like nobody else and understood that I personified my own personality in my head. Maybe it was because I decided this that I was never really interested in anyone who came my way. I might as well, I thought, fully buy into that revelation I’d had at 13. But life is funny and has a way of working out not at all like you plan. In fact, I’ve found, that if you make a desk declaration that you will remain single and devote your life to other things that make you happy like friends and family and teaching, or maybe creating a corgi farm where all the great fatties can frolick (it’s a lifelong dream, ok?), life will, in 7 seconds flat, render that declaration null and void. Just because it can.

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Which brings me back to Other Guitarist and an innocuous October evening. There was never anyone, until right then, that exact moment when Other Guitarist walked in and brain said ‘yep‘. That loud and suddenly distinct part of my brain, sitting in a wingback chair, already had it all figured out.

IF my brain were an inanimate object it would be a sniper rifle with who else but Smoking Jacket Nancy at the trigger. The best way I can describe the sudden shift in my life was this way: Smoking Jacket Nancy (who is an incredibly good shot due to the years she spent in Africa hunting Poachers. That sounds like a C list movie. I should immediately abandon all plans of doing laundry and write that script.) trained her sights on Other Guitarist and those crosshairs were never going to come untrained from that mark.

I’m going to date him, I thought, in very assured way, as if it had a sneak peek into the future and already knew what were to happen. Damn, Smoking Jacket Nancy is good. I’m going to flirt with him all night and I’m going to date him. 

But first, I had to ask him his name again, because it was definitely not Matt, but that’s what my brain heard in the smash up of a moment of our first (real) meet. His name was actually Chris (Chris, Matt. Preeeetty close, brain) and about three seconds after he tried my infamous guacamole and gave me the Fonzi thumbs for a job well done,  Bushwhacking, gun toting, Smoking Jacket Nancy raised her glass in triumph. 

Part 4: Jazz and Broken Glasses

Part 2

Part 1

About a Smoking Jacket. And love.

Part 1: Desk Declarations

Smoking Jacket Nancy’s Perch

 It happened like this:

I had seen him once three months earlier. Best Dude Friend was playing a set at Small Coffee Shop and he was there with a guitar and backup vocals. I remember thinking, Other Guitarist is cute, and because of happenstance and maybe, because the cosmos thinks it makes a better story, I left early after the Best Dude Friend’s concert, which I never had in the history of any of his shows. I left and went to a bar and Best Dude Friend and Other Guitarist went to another bar equal distance from Small Coffee Shop. I thought nothing more of that night until 3 months later on an  unobtrusive Saturday evening in October when Other Guitarist walked through the door again.

I don’t remember his walk down the hallway or even Best Dude Friend introducing us. But I do remember the handshake, accidentally calling him ‘Matt’, and one elevator look (in which brain was giddily checking off the following things: brown hair! hipster glasses! handsome! your pants fit! and converse! I always say, Bless a man in good footwear, fall for one in converse. No, I never say that, but converse!).

And suddenly, loud and distinct, over all the other rapid fire senses invading my head, brain said, Yep.

You see, I have this sliding scale of neurosis and calm in my head. Calm, together Nancy, or Smoking Jacket Nancy, as I like to call her, is a BAMF. She drinks brandy out of a heavy crystal glass, sits in a fancy red leather wingtip chair in silk, striped pajamas and a majestic purple and gold embroidered smoking jacket and she knows everything before it happens. She gives good advice and I’ve never seen anyone rock fancy house shoes like she does. She’s the part of me that always keeps her calm and shakes her head slowly and knowingly when the other side of me takes over.

That other part of me, Neurosis Nancy, doesn’t come out often. She freaks out about money unnecessarily and scares me into not buying paper towels because what if my heating bill is 8,000 dollars  this month and if only I hadn’t bought paper products I wouldn’t have overdrawn the checking account! And she yells things in my head while I’m driving like, “OH GOD! Remember when you were in that accident! That car over there is is going to smash into- Oh, no false alarm. You’re fine. Drive already.” I would like to clarify that Neurosis Nancy never rules my head, but sometimes she grabs the microphone  and yells incoherently for 30 second to 5 minutes before Smoking Jacket Nancy can sick her highly trained pack of dobermans on her. Typically, I exist much more toward Smoking Jacket Nancy on the spectrum.

So, in my head on that day, Smoking Jacket Nancy was raising her brandy glass and wiggling her eyebrows knowingly as I accidentally called Other Guitarist the wrong name and I could hear her voice saying, Yep, this is something. And it was, because nothing like that had ever happened, ever, in 24 years.

Part 3: My Brain is a Sniper Rifle

Part 1: Desk Declarations

Pressure Kid

Me, but smaller.

I heard that name from a Kevin Drew song called “Farewell to the Pressurekids”. When I was 17 I was introduced to the band Broken Social Scene and, as dramatic as it might sound, yes, the following is true: their music changed my life.

Ok, it changed parts of my life. Like the kinds of music I listened to and how much music really mattered to me, which is to say, a lot.

Besides the fact that the musicians who comprise Broken Social Scene are just absolutely fantastic, I think I fell in love with their sounds because at 17, the world felt so huge and I was filled with hope and a little bit of anger and a little bit (or a lot) of fear about how I couldn’t stay with my friends forever and soon everyone was going leave and I’d have to start figuring the whole life thing out. BSS was a good soundtrack to being 17.

And I remember listening to Kevin Drew’s solo album thinking, we’re pressurekids. I think, anyway. I feel like that’s what I am. I’m going to say that I am.

Even at 17, I was already nostalgic for the years of 5-7. The climbing trees, skinning knees, cutting my hair so I looked like a boy, running through summer, cannonball into the pool years. I was scared about the future and I wanted to run away from Kansas (which I did eventually, actually, and then I was the only one of my gang of ne’er do wells who came back and stayed, but that’s another story). So I was afraid and unafraid and man, was that a weird time in life.

It felt like while the whole world was before us, everything was rushing, scrambling, time was ticking down and our existence was going to wink out. I found out later that was true, in a way. You can’t go back to that mix of naiveté and fearlessness and for me that ended up being a good thing. Each year I’ve lived (25, so not many) is better than the one before, except of course for that fantastic nosedive of a 7 months that was the last part of 2010 and first part of 2011. That sucked. But 2011 was also the start of the best years of my life. 

Anyway. I still use pressurekid as my moniker here and there and everywhere because I think that song and its meaning apply now more than ever. I’m not that indie-kid-who-didn’t-quite-know-what-she-wanted-and-was-just-going-to-hurtle-in-a-direction-that-felt-pretty-safe-but-wasn’t-quite-what-should-happen anymore, but I was once and I spent a lot of time in my own head trying to figure life out, pressuring myself to get through the ages of 17-23.5 and do it all right. But now, those years seems so far away that they’re like a dream.

So I guess it’s just like Kevin Drew sings:

Farewell to the pressurekids.

Part 1: Desk Declarations

It happened like this:

Sitting at my desk on a plan period, grading papers and looking around the room thinking, how could anyone possible have the time or energy for another person? How could anyone have enough leftover to give to someone else?

For the first time in my life when I thought, I want to be alone, I don’t want to date or think about dating or worry about meeting someone, I meant it. Before, there had always been a 1% part that cared about being single or alone or insert some societal expectation about dating. Not this time though. I really and truly didn’t care and couldn’t fathom actually dating or caring about dating. I was busy being a first year teacher. I’d lucked into a full year of subbing after my dream job at my dream school fell through. I was crawling out of a year of depression and worry and I was feeling pretty good about the future. ‘Tie a cape around your neck and stand in super-hero pose’ good. I was content, even edging toward happy.

My best dude friend and I were on parallel paths in the 2010-2011 year. We had become friends, oddly, on our last day as college students. We were in caps and gowns making jokes about middle names and somewhere between dubbing one another ‘cash money’ and ‘bling bling’we became friends. We became close through the stresses of our first year of graduate school, student teaching, and life in general.

Once, we spent a forty-five minute car ride listing nothing but the things that made us happy.

Once, when winter still clung to spring and the trees had yet to bud, we cataloged his comic books under an open window and didn’t speak a word for an hour.

Once, a waiter spilled beer on him the night before his big interview for his first teaching job and I laughed so hard I almost thought I was a bad friend, but no, I’m not, he’d have done the same and after he came back from mopping himself up with cheap brown paper towels we talked about loneliness and dissatisfaction and he said one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.

He said, you deserve to be doted on, and I almost cried into my unspilled beer because I didn’t always believe those words even though I had said them in one hundred other ways to the young woman who starred back at me in mirrors and glass.

Well, it happened that two days after my ‘I can’t believe busy people my age date and I don’t ever want to date anyone ever’ desk declaration that this friend, more like a brother now after the year and a half we had, called and said, get-together and grilling and beer and conversation and today and I said, ok.

There are evenings that live in infamy in your memory because they are proof of a life well lived. I remember evenings with summer still clinging to the setting sun, long shadows, and open windows, conversation, and laughter in this way. Those moments are the makings of happiness. Those are the moments that if you were the director of your own movie life, you would record and edit into the perfect indie film about 20-somethings, honesty, and truth, and the magical capabilities of being young, and free, and hopeful. Those are the nights you can’t manufacture. They’re just good. It was one of those nights. The backdoor was open and the sun still refused to set too early. I was still in a summer dress and sandals despite the creep of a colder October.

Best Dude Friend and I hung out in the early afternoon before the rest of the mutual friends arrived. We grocery and liquor shopped and I made my infamous guacamole. And some ten minutes before the real shindig was supposed to begin, there was a knock at the door and an early arriver walked in and shifted everything in my brain and life around so easily it was as if it were always meant to happen.

Part 2

(I wrote this last year, March 2012, but read it today and liked it a lot and decided to tell this story over the next bit.)

Writing and Forgetting

I forgot, again, that I have this thing. And it’s been so long that WordPress and I have hung out that I had trouble finding the most simple of things. (How in the hell do I change that 6 year old picture, I muttered to the empty living room.)

Every now and again I get that itch to write. I’m a teacher now and sometimes I think, oh, man, these kids are hilarious and I have a decent sense of humor! I should actively try to tell these stories! But I never get past posting little snippets on facebook. I wish I could just DO IT, but I don’t think I have the energy or the desire to keep up any of my numerous websites. I have no less than 4 separate tumblr pages (personas?). Indie kid (oops, too old for kid. So, Former Indie Kid, then), half-assed funny teacher tumblr, and music tumblr, and then one that I never decided to do anything with because MY GOD, WOMAN, THREE IS PLENTY.

I used to post sad indie kid things here, but, you know, I’m like, all grown up and not sad about, uh, anything anymore. Life is good. Really good. So, as usual, I’m in the mood to write but I have no clear purpose or reason to write anything. No audience, no schtick.

I kind of miss those days when I had an internet persona. I used to write elsewhere and I had a pretty big following. Well, it’s the internet so that’s a lie. It felt like a pretty big following to me, but in reality it was nothing. I also used to run a cooking blog and I like to say I got locally famous for a week on that. That was pretty fun but, uhg, cooking and filming, and editing, and then posting it just takes forever and no thank you I have to go grade 60 6th grade essays.

But I miss the process of writing a lot. I’ve been reading more this year and it’s created this very dull longing to write again and since I don’t really have a clear purposeful outlet, I end up writing on here once or twice a year about how I keep forgetting that I still have this thing. Ah, well, at least I got to type a bit of my brain all logically out today. That will have to do for now.

Now, can someone remind me how to change the header picture? Great. Thanks.

The Flu and Going Crazy

I forgot I had this blog, but today, in a fit of dear-sweet-baby-jesus-if-I-spend-one-more-second-in-bed-with-this-bubonic-flu-I-will-literally-rip-the-world-in-two kind of manic search for something to do… I remembered that I once blogged and no one read it. Which is nice. There is great comfort in organizing one’s thoughts and using a blog is a nice perk for someone like me who refuses to admit that she has problems with disorganization.  (“I don’t have a problem! I don’t!” she said as one of her many stacks of papers toppled over.)

Today I wanted to write. Well, honestly, this week I wanted to paint, but unfortunately the flu took my spring break and swung it around by its ankles and laughed manically as I tried to right it and recover. 5 days later the fever has finally broken, just in time to have a whole weekend to do everything that I wanted to do over 5 days! Fantastic! But Today I was vibrating with stir crazy and that’s never when I want to paint and all the thoughts in my head needed a direction and that’s how I found you, dear blog.

I’m about to look through my old posts and laugh, because I know I’m going to sound like a sad, hipster indie kid, which, in many ways, I was and still down buried underneath, I have the tendency. But after I read, I am going to tell a story about change, because it is the best kind of happening that has happened to me so far in 24 years and I want to write it, if only this once.