It’s funny; you would’ve thought with all my therapy and introspection and noisy, unrelenting psychoblather about myself in these last years, I would’ve picked up on this before now. But nope. Finally hit me tonight.

It doesn’t matter how many people love me and give me so much of their time and patience and attention and unconditional (perhaps delusional) encouragement and how many people have done so over the course of my life that have outnumbered those who haven’t, if I am rejected by someone I thought was a friend without any closing discourse or response to my humble attempts at communication, I go into Ultimate HolyCrap Meltdown Mode. It doesn’t matter if this person/these people (it’s plural at the moment) are people that I’ve known for my whole life or less than a year, or if they’re people I’d keep on my Top 10 List of Friends, being rejected and dismissed without the consideration/respect for an explanation (even when I’m practically begging for it), I just straight-up lose my shit, reminiscent of the aching nights of self-loathing agony I endured in high school.

Without any adherence to the Four Agreements I tend to strongly believe in and desire to live within, I immediately/automatically turn inward and start tearing things apart. I begin to question my entire self-worth, what I’m doing with my life, what kind of person I am, why people bother with me in the first place. There is the old, almost-forgotten impulse to drive sharp objects into my forearms and thighs, the desire to randomly contact every person who ever rejected me in the last 20 years and demand answers, a barrage of memories to reiterate that feeling of impact when the realization of rejection first hits, the compulsion to contact any person I feel I might have wronged in the slightest and beg forgiveness for being such a shitty, horrible person in general and thank them for taking time out of their significant lives to pay attention to me, and that great, ever-present urge to drink or medicate myself until I can’t feel the powerlessness anymore.

Whoa.

Aaahhhm, I’ve still got some shit to deal with, apparently. Luckily, this all comes right after my physiological problems have been beaten back for a while and I’m actually in a level-headed spot for the most part. So this eruption of emotions comes at a time when my mental state is relatively stable, thus alerting me to the fact that it must be some sort of trigger. And, while it sucks a good deal, it’s definitely beneficial to be able to recognize these things, although, again, I can’t believe it’s taken me so long. Maybe I just needed all the exterior bullshit stripped away before I could deal with this one major quirk as it is singled out.

No, I know I have a shitload of people who care about me (and who bother to read me as I continue to ramble about being a neurotic nutjob) and I know I have a solid base of at least 10 friends whom I could call at any moment, after any length of time without speaking and say, “I NEED you,” and that person would be right there with me - no questions asked. I know that I have people I’ve tricked into believing that I am intelligent and capable and one of them even thought I was pretty enough to sign some papers saying he’d live with me and give me kisses every day for the rest of our lives. I know I’ve been blessed with scores of people who believe in me and don’t give up on me just because I’m a bit “off” and tend to screw up from time to time. (In fact, I just reunited with an old friend with whom I’ve had an on-and-off/kind of roller-coaster-y friendship with - due to our varied insanities/personal lives - who still finds me “amazing and intelligent” after having not spoken in two years and is okay with me just diving right back in where I left off.) I’m surrounded by so many wonderful people that it’s baffling, actually, but, should I lose one or two, my entire sense of self and my belief that I’m capable of maintaining a decent friendship are both shaken to the core and I am left with nothing short of the inherent knowledge that I am worthless and unlovable.

Instead of, you know, considering that their reactions might not have anything to do with me at all (like a sane person.)

I mean, mourning the loss of a friendship is one thing, but being immediately driven to attempting self-destruction because of someone else’s inability to rationally discuss a relationship-ending problem with a friend like an adult? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? I should probably have that looked at…

So, yeah, right now I’m hurting a lot. And I’m confused and vulnerable and fighting the temptation to just shut up and hermit myself away forever, in fear that everyone else in my life will eventually figure out what these recent rejectors must’ve and leave, too. And I’m scared that, because I don’t understand why I was rejected and why I wasn’t respected enough to be given an answer, I’m doing something wrong in my relationships that’s going to continue. And I’m probably crying too much.

But I also learned something about myself that’s apparently pretty fucking huge and may explain a great deal of my actions in the last 15 years. So I’m gonna be one of those obnoxious ever-self-discovering-types and thank the Universe for this learning experience, just like those doe-eyed optimists I always want to punch in the face. I’m grateful for the opportunity to realize that I have an unnatural reaction to human conflict/dynamic and now I have the ability to fix it… even though it’s probably going to suck, ’cause most therapy does.

Wooooo. Lemons to lemonade and stuff.

But, for now, I’m going to sit here and be confused and try to distract myself with funny videos of cats and fight the urge to send my first boyfriend yet another email about why he broke up with me in 1997. At least there’s no Ben & Jerry’s in the house; I’d hate to be an all-encompassing cliche.

Oh, heeeey, Crazy Mind!

Y’know, I was using all that sudden, unexpected mania you’ve been hurling at me recently to fire off an angry missive to you about it late last night until I realized you might actually be really impressed with how innovatively I’ve upcycled your spiteful curveballs. So I thought I’d share, ’cause I’m actually quite proud of my results and you know how I like to talk it out with you when we’ve been at odds. Have a seat.

See, originally, I was admittedly pretty pissed at you for throwing in such an underhanded game-changer this far into our relationship. I thought we had a decent arrangement going; after years of torment, you let me settle into a “normal” life and only drag your crippling depression out once a year just to, I dunno, prove you still can or something. And, sure, I’d acquired enough tools in my belt to handle your inevitable arrivals and just kind of wait them out without getting all self-loath-y and self-destructive, which may have pissed you off a little, but you brought out some new tricks of your own to up your efficiency (like this year when you introduced your new “drooling on myself unconsciously while staring into the middle distance and, thus, taking my self-confidence down a peg or two” app. Quite effective at rattling my sense of sanity. Good work on your part.) so I just thought we’d continue like that for forever. I’d accepted that as a highly probable life path and was cool with working around it so that we could interact without it turning into a downward spiral again. But I guess my implementing active recovery on you these last few years and not bothering to toy with the idea of self-harm ever again must’ve pissed you off something fierce.

And, I gotta hand it to you, springing an abrupt series of mania on me was a damned genius plan on your part. Seriously, not only is it the polar opposite of what I’m well-adjusted to and prepared for but it completely manipulated my strengths and my penchant for ongoing recovery so that my manic episodes were spent obsessing about how to right past wrongs and address old, unanswered questions and other “Step 9″ motives we all know I worry about too much when I’m leveled off. So, not only did I have this crazy super-energy keeping me up all night and this unusual sense of overblown confidence (which, apparently, is a symptom of mania I was not aware of) but I also had you using my good intentions and deeply-rooted beliefs in daily recovery practices as fuel AND justification for my resulting actions. Well played, indeed!

Unfortunately, however, your plan kind of backfired on you, ultimately. Oh, sure, I spent a handful of sleepless nights hammering out massive emails to people in my past to whom I felt deserved an apology (but who, in reality, probably never needed or wanted one or even remembered the original problem) and, with my good intentions squarely before me, I made sure to really delve into the topics at hand on all emotional, personal, psychological and philosophical levels for what I thought would be the benefit of the reader. After these emails came an exchange with an old friend with whom I’d had a brief… fling? (we never really defined it) that ended abruptly and from whom I’d kind of always wanted to know what happened, during which I continued my oversharing, babbling rhetoric. And even after that, there was the completely irrational overreaction to a friend’s response on a debate in freaking Facebook that caused me to panic and send her 7 text messages apologizing for any inadvertent insult I may have delivered while expressing disagreement. Naturally, after each of these instances, I would step back and think, “WHOAWHATTHEFUCKAMIDOING!??!” and feel genuine fear at my inability to stop these impulses that seemed so necessary and imperative while I was implementing them. And then there was the terror of trying to control myself at night by just lying down and trying to breathe while my brain whirred with worry and the desire to get up and remedy things (friendships, messy dishes, touch-up paint jobs… didn’t matter) and my body wouldn’t lie still and I had this constant urge to just start screaming. Oh yeah, your plan was fucking effective; it scared the shit out of me with the idea that there was a new type of Crazy going on and you were somehow evolving along with my recovery, it destroyed my moods during the days when I was delirious from insomnia, it made me mortified when I revisited the crazed messages I’d been sending out, it made me stop trusting myself… you did well.

But, again, it didn’t work. I’d lie and say that I hate to crush your hopes because I know you worked really hard on all this and had a lot of hopes for it but, really, I do like to gloat about crushing your intentions.

See, unfortunately, the people to whom I sent my blathering volumes of hopeful reconciliation turned out to be genuinely chill and understanding and responded with casual appreciation for me having broached the subject. (And NONE of them sounded terrified by my overzealous rambling.) So that part turned out to be nothing but beneficial and did, incidentally, help in my overall recovery. Thanks!

Also, my deteriorating demeanor finally pushed my husband to be honest with me about how my depression has been affecting him and our marriage negatively (a big deal for him) and we sat down and made a game plan for how I could better manage his generosity and kindness without sapping him of energy or neglecting his needs. And that lead to us having one of those big happy talks about why we love each other and what we appreciate in each other as people and how genuinely happy we are to be together. And then we had a freaking amazing two-person bedroom party (seriously, it was in the Top 2 or 3 ever.) And now I’m all motivated to shift my focus and work harder on managing myself in terms of my role as a family member as opposed to just someone with depression. So thanks for that, too!

Oh yeah! And then! When I posted something publicly to vent about how your little week-o-fuckery was making me a walking social disaster, my friends came out of the woodwork to tell me that that’s actually something THEY LIKE in my character (in moderation, of course.) And, during all this, when I went to whine on my blog (to God, specifically) with self-centered pity about how rough I’ve been having it in the spiritual/emotional department (which, by the way, disgusts myself and is kind of painfully redundant when you look at everything I’ve written here over the years) people still came out to send good vibes and wish me well. I know! Craziness, right!?

Ohohoh! And I lost that ten pounds (and change) I’ve been freaking out about since January because I’ve been weirdly not hungry but have been loaded with energy. THANKS A BUNCH!

So, I guess what I’m really, ultimately trying to say here, Crazy Mind of Mine, is FUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCK YOOOOOOOOOOOU.

Gleefully still alive in every possible sense,

L P-S

When I first learned about my upcoming high school reunion a few months ago, I promptly threw up from anxiety.

The worst part is that, until today, I had no idea why. In the months since, this same terror and apprehension has plagued me every time I bring up the “To go or not to go?” debate in my head and I’ve stayed up for many nights wondering what the hell it is exactly that I’m so scared of; there weren’t any bullies that I’m still intimidated by (those were all in jr. high) and it’s not like I was a total loner. In fact, high school was, for the most part, pretty good to me (ESPECIALLY when compared to the more-cruel-than-most-kids-have-it middle school years I’d just endured in another state.) I was friends with genuinely wonderful people,* I had a supportive family (even though, like all adolescents, I got to wade through the my-parents-are-human-with-flaws-so-now-I’m-mad-about-it phase), I was involved with student activities and was social and had handfuls of good memories… All in all, it wasn’t awful. So what it that was keeping me doubled over with abdominal pain every time the idea of reuniting with this group of people sprung to mind?

Only after a few months of contemplation did I finally realize what it is that I’m legitimately, wholeheartedly, fucking terrified of. There’s one person I very desperately never want to reunite with in any circumstance and whom I feel will be unavoidable at a high school reunion: Me.

Look, I know that sounds melodramatic and disgustingly self-centered but here’s the thing: I’ve spent the last decade fighting off and then ditching the person I was back in the late-90’s/early-00’s (In fact, on one occasion, I literally tried to kill her and had to be hospitalized for a littletinybit to learn how to get along with her… but that’s another story that I’ve talked about entirely too much.) I’ve spent years going to therapy to learn to not be anything like her and I’ve given dozens of heartfelt apologies for the awful things she used to say and do to people and how she used to make people feel. (Some have been accepted while others have not. This, also, is something I’ve learned to accept and put behind me.) I’ve obsessively tackled [almost] every fault I can so I’m increasingly less like the person that everyone I was around in high school will remember. (She and I still share a penchant for overindulgence, but I figure that’s not as pressing a personal issue as, say, pathological lying or spewing hatred for no reason or other soul-sucking yuckness.) I’ve worked really, really hard to make myself into someone I like being around (a first for me) and to have as little in common with my former self as I possibly can (on a behavioral level, anyway.) I’ve moved myself far, far away from her nasty mentalities, her cowardly cynicism, her need to tear down those she envied and her unbelievably repellent self-loathing. And the idea that I’d have to spend a weekend revisiting the time I spent with her is enough to make me sick with the guilt and regret I’ve only just managed to get over.

Don’t get me wrong; there are many people from these high school years with whom I have some very happy memories and who have shown me that they don’t remember me as some horrible monster. But, even when I revisit old pictures and remember how my mind/actions were completely fueled by fear and insecurity, it’s too black and embarrassing to deal with. The self-induced chaos in which I conducted my entire adolescent being is just too heavy, too overwhelming for me now. I feel myself being tugged down with the weight of it [in tandem with residual shame] and I’m not sure if being around people who only know/remember that part of me is going to be beneficial at all.

It would be different if I was still struggling out of all of that mental muck, but the truth is that I’ve just gotten to the point where I’m no longer constantly, exhaustively burdened by my past; I’d like to enjoy that peace for just a little longer without having to “test it out.” I don’t hate who I was in those years; I’m just over her and all her bullshit, in essence. She’s taken enough from me and I don’t feel like she deserves any more time or energy. The risk of running into someone who can’t get past the gossipy, superficial a-hole I was to most people and having to try to convince them of a change of character just seems like too much work for me, especially when there are only a handful of people there whom I’d go out of my way to reunite with in the first place. (And those people know who I am now anyway.)

So, I honestly may be staying away from any class reunions in order to avoid running into myself… which is arguably the craziest-sounding thing I’ve ever uttered AS WELL AS the most rational introspection I’ve done in a while.

Thanks a freaking lot, therapy.

*As aforementioned, my one major romantic entanglement from my adolescent years will no longer be discussed - neither on this blog nor in real life - so all of the above assertions are to be read with the general understanding that this relationship is excluded.

It probably wasn’t noticeable from the exterior, but 2009 was perhaps the most monumental year I’ve had in a little more than a decade as far as my mentality and resulting general life course goes. I know that sounds terrible considering I had a child in 2007 and got married in 2008 but honestly, 2009 is when everything about who I was and what my life was about during the last 10-14-ish years drew to a close.

See, around the time my mind started messing with me in a clinical sense, some people that I deemed “Important” began to make me believe these negative things about myself that weren’t true. As the story goes, these beliefs lead to more profound false beliefs which fueled actions to back up the initial beliefs and then allowed me to believe more lies about my identity handed to me by predatory self-loathing idiots and it all just spiraled out of hand and turned into this huge mess in which I had successfully morphed myself into this godawful person I never actually should’ve believed I was in the first place. Since 2003-ish when I first started realizing what a mess I’d gotten myself into, I’ve been steadily trying to pick up the pieces, refigure everything out and clean up the catastrophic messes I made. (I’m not saying I’ve been successful the whole time since then, by the way. In fact, I spent the first couple years after that continuing to inadvertently botch things out of sheer habit and blurred vision.) And, in the last couple years or so, I’ve finally gotten to a place where I’m consistently happy and [relatively] stable enough that I can really look back on all of it and go “Okay, since this is the most sane I’ve ever been, let’s see if we can figure out exactly what the hell actually happened with a [relatively] clear perspective…”

Okay, looking back on things and overanalyzing them is nothing new for me. In fact, it’s been pretty damned exhausting hauling that neurosis around with me for over half my life. However, this time when I took a second (or a week) for retrospection, I actually felt this incredible sense of closure and profound relief.

No, it’s true! In the last year I’ve finally gotten over some people and events that not only don’t exist and/or don’t matter anymore but really never did matter to begin with. (Yes, I’m still a bit embarrassed that I built such a huge framework for my life out of complete bullshit, but I’m certainly not about to waste any more time feeling sorry about it or worrying about what I could’ve done differently.) A few months ago I even performed a little one-person ritual in which I identified all the lies and false authorities on which I’d built my self-worth and discarded them formally. (There was a lot of candle-lighting, stone-charging, body-cleansing and meditation involved.) And then I sat down and identified all the truths about myself and my life that I’ve always known and that people who love me have always been willing to support. And honestly, it felt like a complete mental molting of sorts.

But wait! That’s not all that happened this year! This year I finally (FINALLY) was able to make all the amends to people I’d hurt that I’d been needing to for many many years. I honestly never really wanted any sort of response or forgiveness from these few leftover people (although forgiveness is always welcome) but I just needed to know that I did all I could to at least deliver the genuine apology that was deserved, no matter how past-due. Somehow, not only did I get this knowledge of successfully delivered messages, but I was honestly listened to and respected by the recipients, my apologies heard and taken seriously. I was even granted forgiveness, which was the icing on the cake and the ice cream on the side. The feeling that I don’t owe anyone else an apology for anything is an incredible novelty to me and makes me value and choose my actions with impeccable care. (This is not to say I’m not going to offend people or step on toes ever again - I do it at least monthly. I just don’t make offending others an objective anymore.)

And, in addition to being liberated from this completely invisible fear-based “prison” of false beliefs I’d crafted around myself based on the opinions and actions of people who are worthless AND finding closure from my unbelievable cruelty in the past, I also was able to finally get away from Myrtle Beach/South Carolina, (which really turned out to be more of a symbolic liberation than a physical one as I’d finally gotten to a place where I adore(d) the people I’d chosen to surround myself with there.)

With all of these genuinely life-and-mind-altering events combined I was finally able to look at my life objectively and see - without guilt or denial or refusal - all the truths and blessings that are lying in my lap, this great existence that kind of just happened upon me and the realization that, if I don’t go and screw it all up (again) I have the potential to do whatever it is that I may want to do. (Figuring that out is another issue altogether.) And I have more loving friends than any human deserves cheering me on, so I kind of owe it to everyone who bothers to have faith in me as a human (including myself) to point myself in a direction and quit making whiny, self-loathing, fear-based excuses as to why “I can’t”. And now that I’m not wasting all my time hurting over the past and the idiots I let dominate it/me or trying to therapanize (new word alert!) my brain into normal, everyday functionality, I don’t really have any excuse not to.

So it seems like my reevaluation and life-participation in 2010 is a bit more important than usual. This being said, none of these completely-invisible-but-totally-important changes I’ve made in 2009 were on my Resolutions list, so I’m not going to base the rest of my existence on some list I scribble down in the next few weeks. However, with all the shit I’ve been able to throw out of my daily life in the last year and where that’s put me right now, I know I’ve got a lot more momentum going forward than I have in a really really long time. It excites me to dream about what that will allow me to do between now and 2012 when the world/existence comes to a screeching halt.* I’d better get started.

* No, I don’t believe that crap.

The thing about being one of those people who doesn’t believe in mere coincidence is that it makes it impossible to ever ignore my current circumstances. This Thanksgiving, to my terror, I took a second or seven to zoom out and get a screengrab of The Big Picture to find that it was painfully obvious that I’m exactly where I am because I’m destined for something effing massive.

Whoa, hang on. Don’t think I’m getting all egomaniacal here because this actually applies to you, too. However, being that I can’t speak on anyone’s [mental] behalf other than myself, I’m limited to a self-reflective angle from which to pontificate. Surprise surprise.

Let’s look at the bare facts:
Literal millions of people have worked for thousands of years to give me the life I have right now. Suffragettes were beaten and imprisoned so I can vote. Architects spent years smoothing out designs to give me affordable housing. Agriculturalists of every type have spent decades providing me with access to fresh, top-quality food of every variety from around the globe that is delivered within moments of my house. Thousands of hands have worked to create pretty things for me to hang in my closet. A bunch of crazy radicals who’d just had enough of their oppressive theocratic home country climbed aboard a tiny boat and moved to North America and begat a whole other group of crazy radicals who waged a grassroots war and started a whole new country so I can have the right to choose my own religion and say whatever the hell it is I want to say. Scientists and their research assistants spent decades perfecting treatments for potentially deadly diseases so I could be treated for various ailments and make it to the age of 26 without any major scares. Some dude sent his intern out in a thunderstorm with a key tied to a kite so he could learn about electricity so I can have refrigerated food and pay my bills online and can stay warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Hell, another guy tried 3000 times to make a light bulb so I can see what I’m doing at night. Someone else built a bed for me, someone else (the guy with the key and the kite) decided to give everyone in my country a free education, someone else invented an automobile that would take me across 2,000 miles in just a couple days, someone else researched the inner workings of the human mind and developed a way to talk it into functionality, someone else invented a system of symbols that would allow me to communicate with other people on a sheet of paper, someone else figured out how to boil wood and turn it into paper… The list goes way way on. And it’s pretty damned staggering, actually.

If I stop and look at all these incredible luxuries that have been provided for me to exist from day to day, it’s kind of overwhelming to think about how many people spent thousands of years slowly molding the world around me to be exactly right for my life at this exact moment, all wrought with comfort and access and privilege.

And then there are the more specific, “luck”-based facts of my life. I live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world where even the homeless can find a meal and even panhandlers can make $50,000 a year in small cities. I live in a time where communication with the globe is second nature and a wealth of information literally sits in the palm of our hands every day. I live in an era where women are taken seriously in the workplace and as intelligent beings (except to idiots, but who gives a shit?) and people of all races live among each other. How convenient.

When I step back and think about the odds of my having arrived right here, right now, as this person, with this particular life, I can’t help but note how incredibly small my chances would be of rolling the same die again.

But I really started realizing something was definitely up when I zoomed in a little closer and looked at my Specifics. I was born into a middle-class, Southern family with two college-educated parents who are not bigoted in any regard and were - for the most part - able to teach me morals, manners and compassion. I have three siblings whose intelligence has been tested in the “Above Average” zone since kindergarten and who have always remained healthy. I have survived numerous insanely dangerous situations, including a botched suicide attempt and a handful of evenings where I drove or attended shady parties/events by myself while in a days-long drunken blackout. I accidentally became pregnant while in the only healthy, sane, happy relationship I’d ever been in. I was approached and “adopted” by my AA sponsor when I was 20 years old, thus giving me the tools to combat my penchant for constant overembibing at an early enough age so that I didn’t ruin my entire existence. And frankly, I never had a traumatic childhood. I mean, yeah, there’s dysfunction I’ve seen that I can speak candidly about but there was no dark familial abuse, no alcoholism or addiction in my immediate family… in fact, I never once rode the school bus to or from school and my mom was still packing me a lunch in the 12th grade. Suffice to say, things were alright for me on a fundamental level. (We’re leaving out all the mental fuckery and how I used to habitually screw up all sorts of good things because of my self-sabotaging needs for now, enkay?)

I seem to have a good deal of luck on my side.

With all of this genuinely incredible evidence sitting in front of me it slowly started to sink in that maybe the Universe had “conspired to shower me with all these blessings” (as repeated repeatedly in Rob Breszny’s Pronoia) for more than just show. I mean, seriously, what are the odds?

And no matter how I might sit around and doubt myself and get all whiny about my abilities (which I still believe may be severely lacking outside my knowledge) and my pathetic floundering with self-worth, the evidence that the Universe isn’t paying attention to my petty excuses and has already clearly decided I’m worthy of Importance and a Big Purpose is unavoidable. And for someone like me who focuses so much on the “Attitude of Gratitude” (ugh… AA cliches) it would seem incredibly hypocritical not to recognize these gifts for what they are and maybe not squander them.

This is not to say I know exactly what this Great Purpose actually is at the moment but I really should trust that if the Universe helped me out so much up to this point, it obviously will let me know what The Plan is when I need to. And I’d be a real shithead if I said, “Yeah, thanks for all the awesomeness you’ve worked for thousands of years to surround me with, but I’m really just not up for whatever it is you have in mind as a way for me to return the favor. Thanks, though.”

So this year at Thanksgiving, the list of Things I’m Thankful For really became more of a “List of Reasons Why I Should Push Myself Toward Excellence with the Reckless Abandon of Someone About to Die.” I even sat down and wrote a massive list of things I’m genuinely grateful for that are even more reason why I shouldn’t settle for mediocrity and why my life is honest-to-God Important in a big way (heaps of these reasons coincide with others’ but, again, I can’t talk for err’body.)

Sickeningly, like a crazy postmodern gag-gift from God, the rush of warmth, comfort and incredible motivation I found from this List of Gifts was the thing I’m most grateful for this year.

Oh, the aftertaste of saccharin and sentiment.

Last year, one of my friends told me: “All your fears are lies.” This is something I’ve believed for a while now but I’d never really thought of it in such a stripped-down, obvious concept: Yes! Those restraints holding me back in the form of tangible fear are fortress walls that simply do not exist. Not only do they not exist to anyone else, but they don’t exist to me, either. This is one of those things I repeat to myself daily.

However, there was a second level to the principle that my self-provided lies held me captive, that I recently discovered has been an even bigger contributor to/foundation of my general mentality and motivations for a couple decades now. And I don’t know if it necessarily applies to everyone, so I can’t make a grandeur universal statement about it like the one my friend brought to me. So instead I’ll just try to explain.

For no discernable reason whatsoever, I’ve always had this inexplicable habit of subconsciously assigning everyone I meet with a level of “Importance.” This doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re good people, it doesn’t mean that they’re intelligent people, hell, it doesn’t even mean that I like them. But, for whatever reason, in my mind, every person I come across gets placed on a scale of “Importance” and, from then on, I keep this status of them in my mind from then until forever, allowing them the appropriate level of respect or clout.

Okay, let me stop right now and explain profusely that I honestly don’t know where in hell this came from, why in the hell I do it, when exactly I started doing it, and what in the hell it all means. It could be a product of that inevitable/imperative time in adolescence when some alpha-dog bully wrangled power away from me and controlled my emotions, it could be based in some bizarre biological recognition of societal survivalism principles, or it could just mean that I’m a hypercognitive wackadoo. But, whatever the case, I’ve aaalways been one of those people who allotted a hierarchy to everyone in my immediate surroundings and adhered to these completely fabricated rulings as if everyone I knew was aware of and participating in this specific political structure as well.

[Though, to be observational for a second, I believe a lot of this exists/begins in superficial social situations like high school or Hollywood. For example, a bunch of people think So-And-So is pretty so everyone else goes along with that inherent belief even if they don't necessarily agree and she ends up winning Homecoming Queen every year or being invited to parties by people who don't even really enjoy her company, etc. (This isn't something I'm proud to say I relate to by any means, but I think it's about as close of a parallel as I can draw to what I'm talking about.)

But, outside of the aforementioned superficially-based environs, the best example of people having assigned others around them to a personal level of "Importance" to which they adhere is found in abusive relationships. Any man or woman who would abuse their partner is disgusting to begin with but there are so many times where a victim tolerates the abuse of someone who is nothing short of repulsive (in intelligence, appearance, competence, motivation, etc.) because they believe that person is "Important" or, at least, moreso than themselves. (I'm speaking in generalities here, although I have had enough friends prostrate themselves and take entirely too much abuse from hideous, uneducated, self-centered morons who would be attractive to nobody with objective taste for me to believe that this is more than a coincedence. But then, attractive, well-educated, self-aware men/women don't hate themselves enough to be abusive, so it's all cyclical, I guess... ANYWAY.)]

In hopes to find a remedy, I sat down a while ago and made a list of all the people who I’d subconsciously deemed as “Important” at any time in my life and noted how that invisible caste system had effected how I reacted to events in my relationships with them, how I thought about myself, how I made my decisions, etc. And once I’d gotten the obvious people out of the way, I started assessing every single person that I’d ever been in some personal relationship with (friends, family members, co-workers, professors, etc.) and was shocked when I realized just how screwed up my mentality had been for forever, it seemed. There were people who had the ability to make me feel unimportant or full of self-doubt who contained every single horrible trait that I loathed, and yet, they had remained on my subconscious “Important” list and I’d never stopped to think that maybe they didn’t belong there. Meanwhile, there were people who have never been anything but amazing to me and who go out of their way to love me and never say otherwise whose combined gestures of kindness couldn’t cancel out one gesture of one of the crappy people on the “Important” list in my fucked-up mindset. What the hell?!

Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. Especially because none of this was really news to me but, because I’d never looked at all of it objectively and admitted “I give people I don’t even like more sway on my emotions than people who actually respect me.”, I was willing to dive into drama with people I genuinely thought were gross wastes of time instead of doing anything else - including being with people who were awesome to be around… or just doing nothing by myself… again. Anything. Anything else. - just because I’d at some point deemed these people “Important”. For no valid reason. I was willing to shrug off my morals and dignity and time on people who just didn’t matter at all. And I’m not even talking about the Big false-”Important” people, but also about the more minor players of that category, like distant family members who made me feel insecure for the half hour I saw them annually or asshole former acquaintences who were mutual friends with one of my Facebook friends and would attempt to pick fights with me via “Status” commentary. The whole thing was just so stunted and backward, I felt like a naive 3rd grader who just realized that all adults don’t know everything.

So, in order to rewire my brain and reverse the current, I started over by making two new Lists. I know. I know it seems ridiculous and even more juvenile than the first subconscious “assignment system” but I figured I had to undo the procedure in an equally effective method. I literally spent a few hours going through every person I’d been in some form of contact with in the last 10-ish years and put them on a list of “Important to Me” and “Not Important to Me”. (The “to Me” part was included because I’m sure everyone is important to someone else. Just not to me. I can’t be a judge of their overall importance, you know?) I was pleased to find that the “Important to Me” list far outweighed the “Not Important to Me” list, but the few of those who were in the grey area received the benefit of the doubt and were put on the former of the lists. (Everyone’s “Important” until they prove otherwise to me. Everyone.)

I started to wonder if this categorization method, too, was unhealthy but then I realized that everyone has people who are more important to them than others. This doesn’t mean that everyone walks around and judges everyone else’s Importance (and it definitely doesn’t mean that everyone has a list sitting around of who’s “In” and who’s “Out”), just that everyone values each other differently. And I needed to work out my own personal economics for once without getting involved in everyone else’s exchange rates…

The funny thing is that when I sat and looked at the “Not Important to Me” list, I was shocked at how many of these people had not one appealing trait. Most of the people on the list sucked very very badly, but had at least one or two decent qualities to make me doubt their “Not Importance” from time to time. However, the handful of those who didn’t were just another glaring reiteration of the power of my personal agreements, especially evidenced in the way my mind automatically flipped completely over to “Yuck!” mode once I physically moved those names onto a “Not Important” list. Seriously, it was kind of bizarre. I’ve had this thing for a while that, when I find someone both annoying, intolerable and physically unappealing, I cannot make eye contact with them anymore. (I know. That is just an awful thing to say out loud. When I get to hell, I’ll get Kathy Griffin’s autograph for you.) I’ve done this my whole life, actually and it’s just something I can’t fix [or don't want to yet.] I can watch any sort of sick video you can whip out (I literally just watched a video of a girl having sex with a giant teddy bear before murdering it with a knife. Not kidding. -Thanks, Brody!) but put me in a room with someone I think thoroughly sucks and I’ll involuntarily cringe and look away the whole time. So, within a matter of a few hours, people I’d always deemed to be somehow worthy of persuasive powers and general attention became mentally unbearable once looked at objectionably. So it actually worked.

God, this whole thing reads as kind of nuts, but personally I wouldn’t have done it any other way as it’s seemed to work. And in the many months following this, I’ve made assessing the value of the people I choose to keep around me a regular practice, as I’ve chosen not to waste any more of my time on people who aren’t important to me. (Obviously, this doesn’t mean I’m not ever going to make any friends or give to charity ever again; again, I think everyone is “Important” until they prove otherwise. Isn’t that kind of a given, though?) And I am pleasantly surprised at how much better I feel in my daily life and in my relationships… although I’m still pretty embarrassed it took me this long to get to this step.

When am I going to start “getting” things when everyone else does? Why are common realizations so easy for other people but it takes me months of overzealous deliberation to understand the most basic social concepts or implement the most obvious habits? Is every Great Life Realization going to take this kind of mental defragging procedure for the rest of my life…

::shrug::

Schmeh. Better late than never.

Once upon a time, many years ago, there was a Boy who loved me very very much. In fact, this particular Boy loved me more passionately, with more unabashed zeal, attentiveness and dedication than any other man in my life ever did, right up until three years ago. This superior love far outweighed anything I’d ever experienced, including that of The Other Guy I was currently in a long-term relationship with.

It all started out very harmlessly, as these things always do. We went to tiny local concerts together and made mix tapes and wrote postcards for each other when we were apart during the summer and there was nothing romantic about it or evident of any sort of ulterior motive. We both had significant others that we loved and we talked about them regularly, although more often than not his shared anecdotes were more pleasant than mine as I was prone to crying on his shoulder, sobbing about how The Other Guy had lied to me again or had been overheard talking badly about me or was just not giving me what I wanted in general. Over time, however, his words of encouragement and reassurance became more intimate than friendly and I found that mine were following suit. Suddenly, we realized we were in the throes of very deep, very unexpected emotions.

Soon, we were spending even more time together and flirting with the idea of “where this could go” and really becoming overwhelmed with emotion and excitement of new love. And then he pulled out the stops and broke it off with his girlfriend to offer himself to me exclusively. On my birthday that year, he lined all 10 miles of the major highway route to our school with signs that said “Happy Birthday, Elle!” and planted a banner in the front with the same message. He stuffed 20 empty glass bottles with varied hand-written loveletters and gave them to me for Valentine’s Day. He adored my family, he came around whenever he could, he always kept up with how I was feeling, what I needed, what I would need… he was everything I had ever wanted and I was enamored with him.

And there wasn’t much not to like, really. He was one of those kids who came from a rough upbringing and somehow beat the snot out of the status quo. He was more determined and driven than any single person I’ve ever met to this day but, even more importantly, he kept about him this constant attitude of optimism and joy. He was a spiritual guy who always kept that at the top of his list, even though there was no parental figure holding a gun to his head to do so (This was a new concept to me.) and he was proud of that aspect of himself. He even took me to my first and only Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. He was open-minded, healthy, successful, friendly, joyful, spiritual, ambitious, creative, resilient… the list could go on.

The problem, of course, was that I was an emotional wreck of biblical, Jericho-like proportions. Usually, these stories have that pathetic theme: “Girls only want bad guys and nice guys finish last.” but this time it doesn’t apply at all, surprisingly. The truth was that I’d always wanted to be with someone like him; who doesn’t? And, specifically, I wanted him. But I - being submerged and brainwashed with self-loathing and general desperate insecurity - was positive that I was not deserving of this sort of happiness, that somehow I was going to screw it all up and only be reminded of how undeserving I was in the aftermath.

And me, never being one to pass up the opportunity to fulfill a personal prophecy, went ahead and did just that.

(WARNING: This is where the Crazy kicks in. Also, the Pathetic. I sound like a complete, psycho-ex-girlfriend-stalker-type loon from here on out. Just be forewarned.)

So, in unbelievably predictable fashion, I cowardly sprinted back to The Other Guy in the “safe” dysfunctional relationship I was familiar and “comfortable” within. (For those of you who haven’t spent years in therapy and/or 12-step meetings, this is textbook codependent/addict behavior. The more you knooow.) My heart ached as the Boy kept coaxing me to come with him and let him make me happy after I’d told him my decision, but once I’d finally settled on my choice, I transformed into something very very sinister and hideous.

From where I sit now I can only come up with one theory as to how my mind possibly justified my behavior immediately after this, but that doesn’t make it any less excusable or blatantly insane. I guess because I was genuinely ruled by the staunch belief that I was worthless, unimportant and undesirable, my mind concluded that anyone who would bother to try to romance me was a moron. I’ve discussed it before, but for years I had a very Eeyore vernacular, always thanking people for paying attention to me or thinking of me and always wondering why in hell I was included in any sort of social engagements at all. When I started dating The Other Guy in my earlier high school years I was just amazed that any male would find me desirable at all, so I settled for that and assumed that I was lucky to have even obtained that much. So, when I see the Boy continuing to go out of his way to make me feel wonderful and show me his affection and shower me with adulation, I start to think there must be something wrong with him.

Soon, I’m treating the Boy like a pathetic, lost puppy who is intent on over-romanticizing everything and must be desperate to still be pursuing me. I start mocking him and emasculating him, both to our mutual friends and to his face. I ignore his calls, laugh at his attempts to talk to me like a concerned friend, and try desperately to swat away any remaining emotions I may be experiencing.

Jesus Christ, it just seems so arrogant and ridiculous from where I am now… anyway.

When we got to college a number of months later, I found myself feeling remorseful and missing his company but, still tumbling down a slope of self-destruction, my attempts at apologies were always overshadowed by my desperate loneliness and my hopes that maybe he’d come back and try to rescue me again. Any formal apologies I initiated always turned into a weepy, clingy drama fest in which I would be torn between desire and guilt while he would just be trying to figure out what the hell he could do to escape without causing me to implode. Naturally, his resistence in these conversations translated through my insecurity as blatant rejection and sent me into even more despair. (Like I said: I. Was. In. Sane.)

Honestly, I just thank God he had the integrity and self-assuredness to get the hell away from me instead of letting me drag him into a quagmire of Crazy. It’s one of those things that’s rather admirable about him.

Anyway, I left that college after I hit Rock Bottom: Episode I in 2003. We kept in touch here and there but it was always kind of strange and stilted. Frankly, I was so amazed that he’d waste any more time talking to me at all that I didn’t care what our meetings were like, but I always felt that he saw me as some sort of charity effort and I fought not to loathe myself for that.

Presently, we’re both married to people we’re insane about. All he ever wanted was to find someone to love, get married, and start a family and, like with everything else in his life, he did exactly that right after he graduated college. We speak when we can, although conversations are always in that cordial, scripted, “Hi, how are you, I’m doing well, it’s good to hear from you.” kind of language you use on loose acquaintences and your parents’ friends. While I know there will never be any more singing or giggling or sharing absurdities, I am quietly heartbroken at the knowledge that there will never be any reminiscience - happy or otherwise - between us and the realization that this is entirely my fault.

I found myself thinking about all of this after I recently came across a friendly “Hi, how are you…” message from him in my inbox from many months ago. And I realized that, even after all these years of real, intense apologies that I’ve had to issue to pretty much everyone I’d ever spoken to before I got sober, I never bothered to give him one. Yeah, there were a half-dozen of those drunken, blubbering apology sessions I previously mentioned but I’m positive those couldn’t have been taken seriously.

So, after 8 years I sat down and wrote him a letter in which I sincerely apologize as a sober, [mostly] sane, self-realized adult. Truthfully, I really hate doing that sort of thing after all this time because it kind of makes me look like some obsessive freak who can’t let things go and needs to rehash shit that other people have obviously laid to rest and gotten over. Most of the time I feel like I’d be better off just leaving it alone. And heaven forbid if this somehow gets misconstrued as me trying to instigate trouble or something else.

But, as per my Twelve Step practice, I know it’s something I’m responsible for and, even if I never hear from him ever again, he deserves to hear at least one sober, sincere apology from me. And frankly, if I went to my grave knowing that I didn’t grow a pair and give that to him, I’d never rest peacefully.

However, THIS? THIS is what we should be talking about in those government-funded D.A.R.E. programs. “Hey kids, you shouldn’t drink because one day you’re going to have to look at all the carnage in your rearview, pull a U-ey and clean it all up.”

NOTE: As previously mentioned earlier this year, I promise not to turn this into one of “those blogs” where I constantly talk about my eating habits or weight loss. Not only is it pathetic, but it’s also boring.

In the spirit of my New Life and New Changes campaign, I decided it was high time to get myself back on Weight Watchers. I’m not gonna lie here; this summer I went cah-razygoNUTS. It all started in early July when I said, “I think I’m going to celebrate summer by having a week of ice cream!” It sounded like one of those things you dream about doing as a kid and put on that List of Things to Do When I Grow Up and Can Do Whatever I Want to execute when there’s not a parent around to monitor your every move. (Although that usually changes to stuff like beer for breakfast by the time one finds his/her first freedoms.) And I figured it wouldn’t really do any harm as long as I kept it in moderation…

… Unfortunately, I completely forgot about my inability to do anything with moderation, which is weird because I base all my daily habits around that idea and how it’s previously ruined my life… I guess I thought that because ice cream never landed anyone in rehab, I’d be okay with a little overindulgence. Anyway, two scoops of ice cream a day turned into a giant cup, which then turned into a daily Reese’s Sonicblast. So, when I realized I needed to curb that a little, I decided to, instead, treat myself to a large Cherry Sprite every Friday (it’s like Happy Hour for sober people! And between 2 and 4 p.m. it’s only a dollar! Whee!) And again, this slowly morphed into a cherry Sprite every Monday (on my way to meditation) AND Friday and then an ice cream on Wednesday and sometimes Saturday and even a fully-loaded Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger a quarter of the time. (Although I never once ordered fries. That has to count for something, right?) And before I knew it, I had a straight up sugar-and-gross-fats addiction for a solid 6 weeks.

Now, admittedly, I did this with the full knowledge and acceptance of what I was doing and how it was going to negatively affect me. One of the things I loathe is how people (especially Americans) put on weight because they eat like sumo wrestlers and then start acting like victims of some imaginary system that’s shoving crap down their throats. So I decided not to be like that and own up to any weight gain or breakouts that would inevitably occur because of my deliberate decisions. Somehow that made the whole thing seem a little bit more sane and self-controlled… Although it might just be more mindgames I’m playing on myself. Ah well.

Anyway, somehow, despite 6 WEEKS of pretty-much-daily overindulgence, I only managed to put on about 6 lbs. Don’t ask me how it happened; I’m just grateful. In the stress of the move, we just went overboard on the eating-crap-constantly because we didn’t have time to make anything and we didn’t want to shop for anything perishable if we were just going to lose it in boxes for a week. (When my friend came over to help us pack the house, I repaid her by giving her 85% of the contents in her fridge/freezer. She left with two boxes of stuff.)

Now that we’re settled in, however, it seems like a perfect time to start some habits like making a real, balanced, dinner every night (something I’ve postponed long enough and want Chloe to grow up with and count on every day like I did. I think my parents may have ordered a pizza once annually until I was 13, but I don’t remember any of those times. We went to Taco Bell or Wendy’s a couple times a month, but usually for lunch or after dance practice when we’d had time to work it off.) and keeping fresh fruit in the house (which means making weekly trips to the grocery store. Something else I’ve been avoiding… usually I can go 10-14 days before the bananas, bread, and milk run out.) And Weight Watchers is just one of those ways that I can keep myself in check without wanting to abandon within days. This is due not only to the leniency and mentality of “trying to change your lifestyle vs. dieting” aspect of the WW plan but also because I’m not apt to bail on something I’ve paid good money for. And frankly, I’m amazed with how much I can eat when I’m making good decisions, which sounds so cheesy and cliche but is totally true. If I wanted to, I could eat something like 35 large peaches a day (no, literally) on the specific plan I’m on… not that that sounds balanced or interesting but it could be done! Same with strawberries, blueberries, carrots, apples… Suffice to say that grazing all day on fresh fruit and veggies hardly seems like a miserable “Celery and Cabbage Soup ONLY!” diet most people seem to resort to, although I guess this has a lot to do with my considering fresh produce one of the luxury of being Southern in the summertime. (If nothing else, it certainly makes putting up with the heat and humidity seem worthwhile.) This time on WW, I’m totally milking it and have printed out every recipe that looks remotely interesting and even started separate WW recipe binders marked “Easy” “Moderate” and “Hard” that I’ve individually divided by course and meal contents… Because I’m a dork. I recognize this. But basically, I’m getting their overpriced cookbooks for the price of ink and that works for me. Aside from getting ideas for healthy eating (I’m clueless to anything past salads), I’m also learning how to cook in general, which is sad considering that I have a mother who cooks extensively daily, I’m 26 fer Chrissakes, and I do love to eat. But still. I’m happy about it and it seems like a perfect time to start new habits. I’ve reset my goal weight and hope to achieve it by Thanksgiving-ish but it’s not my top priority, believe it or not.

(Again, I promise not to talk about it much since I don’t want to be one of “those bloggers” who chronicles her weight loss like she’s making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It doesn’t take courage to lose weight. I’m sorry; it just doesn’t. Sure, changing your habits and your life is something to be proud of for sure, but it’s not a huge accomplishment to treat your body the way it’s supposed to be treated. Running a marathon or being able to run 5 miles in 30 minutes deserves praise, sure. But doing stuff that normal people do every day like getting basic activity or not eating Cheetos and soda constantly doesn’t garner any respect from me. At all.)

And I’m feeling pretty good about everything until yesterday when I decided to try making Chicken Breast with Honey-Balsamic Glaze. I swear I can’t go a week without some sort of ridiculous, intolerable ache or pain. As I was pouring this still-boiling glaze over the chicken with a filtered ladle and moving it over to the sink, a tiny drip hit the pad of my index finger and gave me the single worst burn I’ve ever had in my life. I hate to whine because it’s only the size of a dime but Jesus Christ it effing hurt. I have a whole new level of respect for burn victims now. I felt a few layers of skin peel away immediately and bubble into a yummy oozing blister and for the next three hours, my hand hurt to the bone. I’m not exaggerating. The generalized ache spread over to my middle finger and thumb and I was in that constant state of “OH GOD!” for at least the first hour. (I was proud of myself for limiting my coarse language to “OH GOD!”s and “OOWWWW!”s. I’m working hard on cleaning up my language around Chloe as I’m flippantly foul-mouthed even by adult standards - which is increasingly trashier the older I get - so I think this was a notable occasion.) After I figured out that a handful of ibuprofen, reapplying aloe cream frequently and changing the physical position of my arm every few minutes was helpful, it got better but again, OWwwwww-ah!

I really don’t mean to whine about it like it’s something major. Again, I’m now in awe of those people who survived house or car fires, explosions, chemical burns or even motorcycle muffler burns. I had a tiny second degree burn on a relatively tough part of my skin and was in agony for hours, so I don’t even want to try to wrap my mind around the idea something bigger than that. Makes me want to start donating skin for grafting or something.

And honestly, I’m fine. It’s a little achy today and I have a massive bandage on it that’s caused me to spend at least twice the time typing this than it usually would’ve taken. But I’m perfectly okay. No ER visit, no fear of going into shock, nothing more than an hour of elevated heart-rate, sweating, and pain. Just like labor, but smaller and more concentrated.

Um, despite my ever-present search for a lesson or sign in this I just don’t think there is one. Except for the obvious “Be careful”… unless this is a sign that I should stick to pasta and canned chicken, which I’m not willing to settle for.

But I am a little leery to jump back on board, especially considering I got this recipe from my “Easy” folder. Maybe I’m better off with tomato sandwiches and yogurt smoothies for a while.

On New Years Day, I sat down and did a New Year reading with my Tarot deck. I made sure to write down what card I received for each month on my calendar and have been paying attention to my happenings to see if they’re synching up. So far, they’ve been synchronized only in loose interpretations and retrospect.

It’s no secret that I’ve been over the moon in these last few weeks. Aside from being on a high from us finally moving forward and finally getting away from a town I loathe and finally feeling rewarded for our efforts to change our situation, I’m just in love with my new home. Aside from Sanford being a genuinely wonderful little town, I’m back in North Carolina again, which has always been where I call home, even though I was away for half of my life. (I don’t think I could ever be in South Carolina long enough to consider “Carolina” USC or automatically think that the State Fair is in Columbia. Even after being gone a decade, I still told people, “Well I live in Myrtle Beach now, but I’m from North Carolina.” Kinda pathetic, I guess.) And, although I knew all this time that there were things I missed about North Carolina that South Carolina and/or Myrtle Beach simply doesn’t have, I’m finding that there are dozens of traits about the NC that I’d completely forgotten about altogether. A part of me feels like a kid again, running around in my acre-sized backyard with my brother and sisters… it’s incredible.

Chloe and I drive out of town while Greg’s at work, riding over rolling hills on country roads and gazing out over beautiful farms that all seem hand-selected from a decorator who said, “Okay, the theme here is classic, rural Americana. But I want extra charm!” There are old farm houses pushed back away from the highway, nestled under sprawling oaks with oversized ponds and self-sustaining gardens in the backyard. After years of driving through dusty, flat, dilapidated countryside, I’d forgotten how much I missed that. (Plus, I do love the knowledge that these little farm towns are literally 15 miles away from the state’s biggest, most prestigious cities. It brings it all back down to earth, really.)

We also go on walks around our little neighborhood where Chloe waves to every person we pass and yaps back at every dog. We sometimes walk down to the waterfront of the large pond that sits at our subdevelopment’s entrance and skip stones or point at ducks. (These are days I wish I had my own kayak, even if it’s just to take her out on the water for 10 minutes.)

In the evenings I feed Chloe dinner, give her a bath, and then sit with her on our couch while she watches a Disney Sing-Along-Songs DVD my mom converted from the original tape she bought us in 1986. As she sits, mesmerized and enrapt, I enjoy the way the setting sun shines through the thick leaves off our back deck, breathe deeply in complete relaxation and always, without fail, fight the urge to sob with gratitude and bliss.

I’ve not been bashful about admitting that this is easily one of the best moments of my life. I know, it’s all painfully overdramatic and pretty gross in my gloating of how awesome I feel and how things are going wonderfully for me. I’m even kind of getting repulsed and bored with myself and my own Mary Tyler Moore cheerfulness to an extent, so I’ll be literally amazed if anyone - frequent reader or not - has made it this far. And I also know it can’t last in the ebb and flow of life’s cycles, so I’m absorbing and milking every moment while I can. Although I’m on the edge of my seat with excitement about having a real autumn for the first time in 12 years (not counting my semester in Melbourne, AUS) I know better than to waste my days looking forward to the next thing coming.

But right now, for this one moment, everything is exactly what I’ve dreamed of for us.

Anyway, as I was unpacking more boxes, I came across the calendar that had my 2009 Tarot predictions on each page. When I went to hang it on the wall of my office I flipped to August and abruptly gasped with amused surprise and recognition, feeling my heart swell with even more blubbering, gushing gratitude.

At the beginning of this year, I drew the upright XXI Major Arcana card - better known as “The World”

Of course.

————————
In case you’re not into Tarot meanings here are some good definitions in addition to the one hyperlinked above:

A Brief Description

A Longer But Less Action-and-Foreward-Movement-Based description

And the Wiki Description

Because I have so much to cover in a very very short amount of time (We still don’t have the Internet at our place so, again, I’m doing all this from the Lee County Public Library where they limit my compy usage to 1.5 hours daily. That’s just inhumane…) I’m going to give you a bulleted list of topics and you can scroll down to the one that interests you the most. See? I keep my readers in mind. Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you.

Also, I’ve been having blog-and-Internet withdrawal so please excuse me if this is rather rambly and self-indulgent. 

1) The Move
a) Elated
b) Nervous
c) Confused
d) Kinda Wistful
2) Meeting People
3) The New Projects

1) The Move
Oh man, it’s like I’ve said before: I’m positive there has never been a single human being more excited about moving to a small town in North Carolina than I have in the last couple weeks. I’m sure the novelty of it all will wear off but, Holy Crap, I feel like I’ve wandered into Pleasantville. I ventured out last Saturday, got myself a little cup of coffee, and checked out the local farmers’ market which was really more of a Stuff Old People Grow in Their Backyards Market, which is actually even better in my book. Anyway, while I was wandering around downtown buying a local paper and taking pics of the town for this here blog, I was delighted to find that every single person who passed me bothered to engage in mini conversations. Not just “Hi, how ya doin’?” but “Good morning! What on earth are you taking pictures of?” type conversations. I’m one of those people who thrives on getting to know local, grassroots culture so this was particularly exciting to me.

Sanford is a pretty cool little town, to be honest. It’s not one of those places that dried up once a Wal-Mart came to town and has one of those downtowns where people actually patronize and enjoy. There are tons of cool old houses where people throw block parties for anyone who wants to swing by. There are two local theatres, including one that I’m auditioning for in the next week but I’ll get to that later. Plus, the whole city is only 45 minutes from the Research Triangle area (Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Durham) and the Triad (Greensboro, Winston-Salem, High Point) so we’re close enough to the awesome forward-motion of city life without having to deal with the traffic and higher rate of crime, etc. (I was jazzed when I realized that we get the free weekly Independent Arts newspaper all the way down here! Culture! Life! Things happening! Whee!)

Also, in talking with some of the local people, this is one of those rare towns where kids are still kids. In Myrtle Beach it wasn’t uncommon for 11 year olds to be talking about giving blow jobs and where to get drugs, but here the kids still believe in Santa Claus until they’re 10 and don’t have cellphones until they start driving. Obviously, they grow more aware of the world as they get older (there’s drugs and sex everywhere) but it’s at a more traditional pace, which I’m a big fan of.

Again, I’m sure the novelty of small town life will wear off eventually but at the moment I’m loving the relief of not having to deal with godawful tourist traffic, not having to look at rundown outlet malls and shady strip clubs everywhere I go, not having to be blinded by neon signs and hideous billboards en route to EVERYWHERE. Getting to be around people who take pride in where they live and strive for better educations than a GED. It feels like I’m back where I started from originally and strangely, that’s exactly what I want right now.

So we’re in the process of unpacking everything in this cute little 2-story, 3 bedroom house in a quiet little neighborhood and are feeling unbelievably optimistic about the whole thing. I like it.

2) Meeting People
It occurred to me that, while living with a small child who isn’t in school, I have the potential to spend the next year in almost complete seclusion. Knowing my history with depression, this sounded like a good way to sink into a state of lonely hopelessness, which is something I prefer to avoid at all costs.

SO! I’ve taken it upon myself to push aside all my weird social anxieties, actually reach out, and meet some people. First, I emailed a local blogger who writes a lot about living a green lifestyle while being a mom. I just wanted to pick her brain about what Sanford life is like, if there were any places she could recommend in the way of preschools, family physicians, etc. Knowing that it’s totally weird to send a probing email to a stranger, i wasn’t really expecting much in the way of a thorough response. However, a few days later I received a 4 page email detailing everything from her preferred childcare centers to where not to get my hair done (apparently they employ drunk stylists). I was doubly impressed that she withheld any discussion of religion or spirituality because she didn’t like to push that sort of thing on people but if I wanted to know more about her church or what sort of spiritual gatherings are in the area, I was more than welcome to ask her about it. Even more impressive was the fact that she picked up on my mention that I wrote in my blog about depression and alcoholism and she casually recommended a psychiatric facility that members of her family had found success with. I was touched and refreshed with the knowledge that there are people here who don’t mind going out of their way to help complete strangers.

Additionally, one of my good friends takes an acting class once a week in Charlotte with a gal from Sanford and sent me her number. Once again, I pushed all my weird insecurities out of the way (By the way, it’s come to my attention just how unbelievably awkward I am, but I’m planning that as a post later on.) and just called her. She and her husband had me and mine over for cards and drinks last night and I was really relieved at how good of a time I had. We all seemed to get along, seemed to be like-minded, seemed to have a lot in common (although her kids are significantly older than mine) and, even though I don’t think we’ll be connected at the hip or anything, it’s so so nice to know someone else in town.

Although this merges into my next bulleted segment, I’ve also made it a point to join a couple Meetup groups and will be attending a tribal bellydance party in a couple weeks. I haven’t been part of a bellydance community in about 2 years but I miss it a lot and would love to meet other people who are into it and may be interested in traveling to events, etc. I’m thinking once I get settled I may attempt a book club in the area but that’s a few months off. Anyway, the point is that I’m trying, dammit.

3)The New Projects
At the moment, I’m having so much momentum from the move and the possibilities of new opportunity that I’m not sure where to put my immediate interest. The thing is, I’ve been wanting to get my writing career back on track and pay attention to working on a byline and getting a portfolio under my belt. (I just picked up an old Playboy from my collection a few days ago and realized that Sloane Crosley has been getting published WAY longer than I’d originally thought. Since she’s around my age, I kind of strangely consider her a peer and a bit of a pace-setter, although this usually leads to unnecessary comparisons between her career and mine and then the ensuing frustration that I’m not anywhere close to where I’d like to be.)

And then I just decided to do my first theatre audition in like, 3 years, so I’m preparing a monologue and short song for that. I’ve really wanted to get back into theatre but was really hesitant with the knowledge that it will eat a LOT of time and evenings with Greg. After talking about it and getting his encouragement and blessing, I’m going ahead with it and I guess we’ll navigate through our schedules if I’m actually presented with an opportunity for a role.

After taking the GRE, I’ve been looking at psychology degree programs and/or counseling certification programs. I’m ELATED to be in North Carolina as the university educations accessible from my location are incredible and seem ideal for what I want to do. This is something I probably won’t have the freedom or funding to get into for another year or so but I know I need to start working on applications and financial aid sooner than later so I’m not crunched for time.

And then there are countless extraneous things I’ve just been putting off for various reasons like working on scrapbooking these hundreds of photos from the last year and getting this website up and running and following up on my applications for grants for this book I’m writing. I don’t know how I plan to actually do all of this but I know I want them all to fit into my 5 Year Plan (such a ridiculous stereotypical idea…) and I know that means I actually need to do them. It just feels like everything’s been on hold since we’ve been waiting around to see if we’d be moving, so I hope that I can actually get back to living once we get settled in.

And THEN I noticed that there’s this old movie theatre for sale in downtown Sanford that flickered back to life that crazy dream I have of opening a mini multiplex that would consistently feature 1 indie/foreign flick, 1 children’s flick, 1 old film and 1 recent film and lend itself to a plethora of audiences. (I’ve written about it before but can’t seem to find the entry about it at the moment.) I’d love to do stuff like have a “Wizard of Oz” week where we play the movie all week and then have a big “Wizard of Oz” party on the last night. Same with “Rocky Horror” or “Tommy” or “Grease” or “Sound of Music” or any array of cool cult-y classics. Anyway, I’m going to call the realtor in charge to ask what the going price is…
… A girl can dream, right?

So that’s life in brief. Again, I’m using a compy that’s not my own so I don’t feel right posting pics at the moment. It’ll happen soon but I’m sure isn’t pertinent or urgent to anyone’s well-being so I’m not terribly worried about it at the moment.

In brief though: We’re happy. We’re optimistic. We’re relieved. We’re grateful.

These are all incredibly refreshing feelings.