taco bell & life being weird.

life is weird. i was thinking about that the other day. 

it's weird how the goofy boy who wrote me a love letter in elementary school (to which i never responded because "like, ewwww...") is now successful and good looking, and the popular boy that i had a weird crush on in high school is now kind of a... someone i wouldn't have a crush on. it's weird how time gives you perspective.

it's weird that i met gid the way that i did, and that we became friends and then better friends and then best best best friends. it's weird that the boy who was so dear to me as a friend, the boy who i'd go on double dates with (me with my date, and him with his), is now the boy that i love like i've never loved anyone else in the whole wide world. (move over then nerdy now handsome elementary boy- you could never hold a candle to my sweet gid.)

i found this picture in my phone from a lunch we had in dublin (when we were super jet lagged and worn out) and i love it so much. i want to blow it up poster sized, put it on my wall and kiss it goodnight.

i don't have to do that though, because i get to go to sleep with the real thing. sigh. so lucky.

it's weird how we're having a tiny baby. soon. it's weird how i feel him all the time inside of me; how he's literally a piece of who i am. it's weird how we're going to meet him soon.
ps- teddy is totally grounded when he gets out- he's bruising me from the inside out.

it's weird, the people i met in college that changed my life. it's weird that i started taking dance seriously in college and that wound me up in an MFA program in salt lake city.

it's weird how scary making choices were at the time; which undergrad/grad school to go to, who to date, who to marry, where to move, what position to take. because it all worked out so well. it's weird that the jobs i've had throughout my life have been exactly perfect for that season of my life. how did i get so lucky? how could everything have possibly worked out so well for me? not that it was perfect every moment of the way. goodness knows some days are better than others. still though.

so the fact that we have so many changes coming in the next few weeks shouldn't freak me out, right? having a baby coming is stressful enough, but there's more changes coming than a new member of our family. most days i'm okay, but sometimes i'm really just not.

today is my last day of work until further notice. i worked up into week 39, but it feels like i'm leaving much too early. i'm totally bummed about it, but i also think i'm just scared of what leaving my job represents.

i've been compensating nerves and stress with snow cones and taco bell. poor teddy. his first word is going to be "cha-lu-pa".

that's who i am this week. that's what i've resorted to: fast food, and sugar. 

and i really really shouldn't. because it's all going to be okay. just like it's always been. in hindsight i'll look back and chuckle at how scared i was; how many crunchwrap supremes i consumed at the end of my first pregnancy.

it's all going to be okay. just like it's always been.

it's all going to be okay.
it's all going to be okay.
it's all going to be okay.

on curtains being closed.

I stared at my ceiling with tired eyes and resolved to commit five solid minutes to hashing out this problem in my brain. "Problem" seems to severe of a word. Issue? Question? Problem?

Problem seems to be the most appropriate word to me.

I've been feeling a little down lately. I'd love to blame it on pregnancy blues, but it'd be a lie. I've been feeling this way on and off for over a year.

Sometimes I find myself getting sucked into this weird hole of anti-social introversion. I first noticed it when I was working on my thesis. I stayed inside all day with the curtains drawn, writing and rewriting my paper draft after draft after draft. I avoided socializing, because the thought of having fun or going out when I still had another draft due was too much to handle. The only person I wanted to talk to was gid. And maybe the take-out food guy on the phone.

My thesis is done. I've defended. I've published. But I still kind of avoid people.

This is going to sound silly (because it is) but it's like my belly button. I was born with a suupper outie belly button. When I was a kid my family would joke when I'd wear swimsuits or leotards; it would stick out stubbornly, even with the spandex trying to flatten it. Around the time I got into middle school it started making it's way in, and by the time I was in college it was as much of an innie as it used to be an outie. Sorry I talked so much about my belly button- that was a weird comparison.

I don't want to go outside if I see people I know hanging out in the courtyard. I keep my curtains drawn, even when the weather is nice. I dread things that used to be super fun like lunch dates with a friend (even if the person really really is a friend). When I go on campus to visit gid for lunch, I strategically avoid the building I took classes in. I've gotten pretty bad at answering text messages. I've started exchanging small talk for silence. Silence used to make me a little uncomfortable.

I'm worried that  I'm starting to not like people very much. Not all people!! I probably like you, whoever is reading. (No guarantees, of course.)

It's a bad sign if I'm starting to feel closer to people over a digital platform than I do in real life, right? That's something I've always thought other people would have a hard time with. Not me.

Last night a girl from church texted me, asking if I could cover her shift in nursery. I responded yes, and then, realizing it was friday, and sunday was only two days away, started feeling really uncomfortable. Church gives me major anxiety lately. I have to pump myself up before and sleep afterward. I don't look forward to it. Once I stepped out of class because I started having a hard time breathing. That could've been because the baby was in my lung space, to be honest...

Has this ever happened to any of you? I've never felt like I don't belong so much, particularly in a place that insists that everyone belongs.

I used to really love sundays. Sunday was the day to recuperate, the day to invite friends over for a nice relaxing dinner. Maybe even play games. I used to love church.

And as I type, I'm cringing with closed eyes, because I know this is probably too much honesty. (Who do I think you are, my therapist?) I was reading an article the other day about being aware of the image you create for yourself on the web and one of the top warnings was to be cautious of how honest/frank you are in your writing. "It has the potential to turn readers off or offend," the article said. (My baby just started kicking really hard-- I wonder if he's trying to send me a warning to not publish this post on pain of losing readers.)

I don't care about readers nearly as much as I care about being authentic. Sorry little baby...

To be fair, I do better in small groups, and especially well with long time friends. I even talked with a girl who I've never had conversation with for over 15 minutes today. She said I was "funny" and "outgoing". I paused, smiling at her and actually took a second to check if she was being sarcastic. She wasn't; I don't think. I think I come across a lot more comfortable in social situations than I really feel.

I don't have a problem with introverts. Most of my closest friends hate social situations. The thing is, I want to be more social, so I should just keep trying, right? Fake it till you make it, right?! The only problem is I'm not sure how much longer I can keep that up. It's exhausting. I'd rather just not.

So I stare at the ceiling. It's a creamy, almost buttery color and right now all I want to do is to paint it a muted gray. 

I think my five minutes of hashing is up.

ps- my belly button is starting to become an outie again because of my growing belly. maybe the belly button example is an appropriate comparison after all. maybe pregnancy/having a baby will force me to be social again.

back again.

Goodness it feels like its been a while. 

Because it has been a while, a good long while since I've sat down and really written about what's going on or what I've been thinking about. For any of you out there who have noticed and missed it, I'm sorry. 

For those of you who didn't notice or care, that's ok too. 

Before I begin my summer studies I've decided to fill my warm afternoons with literature, organization, and daydreaming. Maybe a blog post here or there while I'm at it. Remember when I used to be good at blogging, friends? Remember when I had time to write a few times a week? Those were the days. Now I don't even know how to begin a post without being coerced by some giveaway or "prize" that requires you to basically fill out a survey of questions.

But here we are. Me, trying awkwardly to write a post that basically says "hey guys, I'm going to start writing a little more than usual since its summer," and you- reading (probably with equal awkwardness) my post about my return to blogging. Winter blues seem to be fairly common for people, but I've found Summer blues like to sneak up on you as well, regardless on whether the sun is out or not. I feel like in a small way blogging helps. Anyone agree? Disagree? Anyone out there? (It's ok if you aren't.) I'll probably delete this post once I get back into writing again. In the mean time, consider this post just a warm up for summer writing.

Wishing you all a lovely day.

winter blues.

*As I write this I'm wearing four layers on my top half, three layers on my legs, two pairs of socks, and am wrapped in a blanket like a friggin eskimo.

__________________________________________

In college I had a roommate who would get incredibly depressed during the winter. She would go to tanning beds, eat lots of fruity treats, and even would watch movies that took place in the summertime to combat her sad feelings. This will sound terribly insensitive (because it is):  I thought it was super annoying. And that she just wanted attention. And that she was kind of really really dramatic.

I grew up in Texas, where weather below 90 degrees is welcomed graciously. I hated the long hot summers. I hated feeling chronically sweaty. I hated the hot wind, the dust and the sun in general. In fact, summer time texas weather made me grouchy in general. Especially when I had to be outside in it (which, in my family-- you were always outside).

I don't know why it never occurred to me that if long hot summers made me grouchy, long snowy and dark winters could make my roommate depressed. When I was in college the winters (even the long snowy idaho ones) were annoying at times, but certainly not a good reason to get weepy or sad.

Moving to today.

It's so cold. It's been cold for the past several weeks. There's a good foot or so of snow from last month that has turned into a block of ice where the usual grassy area in our front yard is. There are three days forecasted for more snow within the next week. I hate it. My feelings for this winter have transformed from an irritation to a full on loathing for the cold.
And I love winter accessories.

 A few days ago I found myself feeling blue, weepy, and totally unmotivated for the load I have ahead of me this semester. Unsure of where these feelings were coming from, I went to the closet to grab a(n extra) pair of socks, and a(n extra) blanket to bundle up in. I felt like watching something cheerful, cheesy and pathetic, so I looked for the bachelor on hulu.

And it hit me.

I was my roommate.

And immediately I felt a(nother) wave of regret for my insensitive attitude towards her seasonal depression. You know how when you judge people it always comes back to bite you? I hate that.


Wishing you all a warmer evening than my own,

babyhungry.

My friends will sometimes tease me about quirky little qualities that I possess. For instance: I eat fruit snacks. Alot. I go out of my way to step on crunchy leaves. I like fancy pajamas and foreign films. And sometimes (all the time) I buy cute outfits for my future babies. Then my friends call me baby hungry. Sigh.

Somedays I can't wait for a baby. Most days Gid really can't wait- he's significantly more baby hungry that I am... Maybe that's what this post is really about- thinking about what an incredible dad my husband will be makes it super hard to not constantly have babies.

But other days, like when I hear a two year old tantruming in the candy isle in the grocery store, I remind myself that we've got pllleennty of time. And Gid and I are lucky- in the sense that we've never felt pressure from family or friends to start our family. That is until recently. I've held off writing this post, because a) it's difficult to write exactly how I've been feeling, and b) I'm not sure if I'll keep feeling this way, or if its just going to be a phase.

I've had friends have babies before. When my sweet friend Courtney had her little guy, I was absolutely thrilled for her and begged for more pictures on facebook. When my cousin had her first (and then second) little girl, I was ecstatic for her, but still felt no pressure. I've had several of my dance/college friends have children, but have never regretted my decision to pursue my graduate school (though I am still of course excited for them). And when my sister had Mimi, though I truly fell in love with her baby lips and chubby thighs, there was still no burning within me to have a baby.

Then my best friend called me with unbelievably exciting news: she was pregnant. And as excited as I was for her, and I mean genuinely excited (to the point of running around the room screaming), something pinched.

Brittany and I were roommates during the majority of our college years and had often had late night discussions of our dreams for the future. She'd often muse about having a canadian house full of well fed children impeccably dressed. I'd dreamily talk about a career in dance, living independently, and finding myself in paris. When we got married (two weeks apart from each other), I wondered how long it would be before our kids were best friends just like us.

As Brit's pregnancy developed, and she started to look like she actually had a baby growing in her, the strange feeling I'd had when she first told me the news was replaced by even more excitement than I'd felt before, which- to be honest- relieved me. I was a little nervous that the pinch I'd felt earlier was jealousy, and the last thing that I wanted was to be jealous of my best friend's blessing. I'd gush with Brit over nursery details, and baby names, until finally, she had her sweet little Autumn.

A few days after returning from the hospital, I had a webchat with Brit and her baby, and the pinch gently returned. It was at that point that it hit me- for the first time in my adult married life I'd felt like I had been left behind. And it sort of made my heart ache. Brittany had been with me through so many important times of my life- she helped me study for tests, get ready for dates (she picked out the outfit I wore on Gid and my first date), heck- she even helped me make the decision to end (one, two, three) weird relationships. Brit helped me get ready on my wedding day. And I helped her get ready on hers. I don't know why, but I just assumed we'd help each other through pregnancy as well. I guess it just didn't happen the way I imagined it would. And here I am- thinking about my thesis topic while I write on my blog. Brit is probably changing a diaper that smells like marshmallows (her baby is so sweet, I can't imagine it smelling otherwise). And I'm not jealous. (Brit- I swear!)

I'm just, for the first time, a little hungry.

Which makes my dieting for the next few years a little rough.

...I think I'll go eat some ice cream.

Hape this wasn't too weird of a post today, friends.

26.

Every year it comes: July. And it always brings the same sun kissed days: sweet Canada day. Independence day, with its glorious fireworks. July 24th, with its pioneer quaintness.  Did you know July is national blueberry month? Did you know it is also national hot dog month? It is. Supposedly. According to the internet. July also had friday the 13th this year. I suppose it would be spookier if it wasn't so beautiful outside. This July brings a special gift: the beginning of the summer olympics. Can't wait. Only comes every four years. But every July-- every single one brings the 14th. Directly following the 13th. It's my birthday. The 14th, I mean.

I have a lot of friends who have graduated from the "excited about my birthday" phase and have moved on to the "I'm old and unaccomplished" phase. I never used to get it. I mean- we're 80s babies. We're not "old" for at least another few decades, right?! It drove me nuts. This year, though- I started to kind of get it. Its not that I don't feel accomplished; I do. And its not that I feel old; I don't. People tell me all the time that I look young for my age, and when I rented a car to go to Texas, the guy spent about 30 seconds squinting back and forth from my drivers license to me making sure that I was truly 25 or older.

I don't feel old. I just am starting to get why people my age do.

One of my friends wrote a post on her blog recently about the frustration of time going by and finding yourself in the same place you were when you started. I ached for her for a split second, because I can relate. Sometimes I feel like I've been stuck -emotionally, mentally or physically- and I just can't get out of the rut, whatever it is.

And so when July came around this year, I was antsy. Its been a weird summer anyway, and I found myself wondering how I would celebrate. Count the hairs on my head that fade from deep brown to auburn to blondish and finally to a silvery white? Thats a little pathetic. Go shopping? A little better. Watch episodes of boy meets world? That seemed pretty legit. My mom surprised me for a week long visit which was THE best present I could have asked for. My birthday consisted of fun errands, shopping at bookstores, trying to stay dry from a last minute rainstorm (oh sweet rain), and staying warm drinking soup at a local cafe. We finished the night off by going to a dance production in the conference center theatre showcasing some of our choreography. Simple day. Simple and lovely.

 It was sort of awesome. Low key. And awesome.

And as I blew out the candle on the slice of marzipan cake that gid bought me, I decided to just be grateful. Its been kind of an amazing 26 years. And by kind of, I mean totally.

Thanks for the sweet birthday wishes, friends.