Somehow, I am carrying on.   I don't know that I'm really living life to the fullest, but I am surviving.   Spending time with my family.  Doing things that make me smile and bring me joy.   There was a time when I thought this would be impossible.

There are still some movies I cannot watch.  Songs I cannot listen to.   Things are so tied up with a specific event or memory, I want to keep those where they are for now.   To watch a film alone would be that one more reminder of doing that alone.   One more reminder of the absence of those who knew me best.   I'm not ready for that yet.

But the good thing about that is, that it's okay.   

I do my best to remember, tell stories and celebrate.  To laugh, though I'm crying when I do.  

It's the new normal.  I'm not the same as I was.   I never will be.

and that is okay. 

Lipstick

Yes, I love makeup.   I love talking about it, looking at it, shopping for it, reading about it, watching videos where other people talk about it and apply it.    Some may say I have a problem.   It rarely interferes with me living my life, so let's just put that part aside, shall we?

All the time I was with my dear sweet RDB, he never liked me to wear lipstick.  At the time, I wasn't really into it anyway, so it was not a major issue.   His reasoning was that he might want to kiss me at any moment, and he didn't want to come away with any of that on his lips, thank you very much.    I thought that was the sweetest thing I'd ever heard, so I happy complied.

But I've discovered something these past few months.

I LIKE lipstick.   I like the way it finishes off my face.   Completes the look.   I opt for the liquid lipstick that dries matte and doesn't migrate off my lips.   I even, on occasion, wear RED lipstick.

At first I felt like I was doing something wrong.   Going against something he asked me not to do.   I almost felt guilty.   Like I'd get caught.

But as I kept on wearing it and buying it, I realized it was all right.   I look nice.   It's something I'm not doing to be rebellious or to say "screw you", but something just for me.   Because I like it.

And that would make him happy.    I'm sure it does.

It's really not about the lipstick.   It's about me finding myself.  My way.   Continuing to live my life, find the joy and seek it out.  Seize it.   

Just don't buy all the lipstick.

Loss

Loss is part of life.  To love and to lose.   I have all these profound thoughts of loving someone and losing them unexpectedly. 

Mostly I'm mad.    He died today.   I was there yesterday.   I didn't know it was going to go down like that.    We had plans.  Things to be done, places to be visited.   He was smart and wise and funny and caring and so amazing.  Sensitive.   Thoughtful.  Pushy when he had to be.   When I needed it.   He brought out the best in me.  Away from the fear and anxiety.  From the anger and depression. 

I don't know what I shall do.   I don't have to make any decisions right now.   But to look forward without him is to feel that pain deep inside.   I don't want to do anything right now.  

I know tomorrow isn't promised.   But I feel like I've got the message now, do I need to keep being reminded?

I'm fortunate to have loved and been loved in return.   But I'm still mad.   I wanted more.   More time, more kisses and hugs, and hand-holding.   And all that smooshy stuff.   And talking.  And cards to send.   Gifts to buy.   All of it.   doing dishes and having him put them away in the wrong places.   Having him fix things that break around here.  Picking up his clothes off the floor.  All of it.  I want it back.  

Grief

I've read there are stages of grief.    My darling sister died a year ago.   I'm angry, mostly.   It's not fair.    It was fast.   We weren't ready.   None of us. 

A part of my heart, childhood, memory, pain, laughter and all we did and had and went through together is gone.  

Plans we made, trips to take, places to live and share and grow old together, but not too close together; they are all dashed.   Forever on the drawing board.   I don't know that we would have lived in halves of a duplex, but the point is, we COULD HAVE.   And now we can't.   Ever.   

I have to continue.   To go on.  

But I'm still angry.    Not at her.    Though we fought sometimes.   Scratching, kicking, full out hair pulling fights.    And we didn't always see eye to eye.   But when it came down to the tough times, the bad days at work, the frustrating family gatherings... we were always there for one another.

I miss her.  I miss the feeling that I should be calling her more.   I miss her stories about her friends.   I miss her postcards from business trips. 

I'm working on these things.   I'm trying to feel like doing more than existing.   I'm trying to have more energy than it takes to just get through the day.  

I love you Karen.    I miss you.    I know it's selfish.  I know you are happy and at peace.   You have no more questions.  No more airport security, itchy tags, wet bathroom floors, pain, upset stomach, vegetables you don't like and people who piss you off.  

We have no more truth, no more force to push us through.   No more moral compass, no more laughing and late night snacks.  

You have entered a line of strong, kind women who went before.  Who taught us the right way to fold fitted sheets and iron shirts.   To bake cakes and cookies, bandage scrapes and make people feel welcome and loved.   You still lead us with your spirit.  

One foot in front of the other.  

Out with the old..

aah, Spring.  wait, it's not spring yet!   This happens to me every year.   I'm tired of boots and coats and gloves and scraping off my car.   I want to wear my sandals.   

I've been taking myself to "classic" films showing at a local movie theater on Saturdays.   I like it.  I've seen most of them already, some of them I own.   This costs $4.   It may seem silly, but rather than languish at home, coming up with perfectly good reasons NOT to go out on the weekend, I get myself out, if only for a short while.   I like that too.

Plus I'm not really into retail therapy.  I tried it, I used to do it and I thought it felt great.  I now have so many things I don't really need I find myself cleaning dressers and drawers and cupboards out.   More than I'd like to.   So I'm not buying things I don't need anymore.  I'm not shopping, I'm getting.   Getting food, getting a new coffee maker because mine isn't working properly.   I like that too.   And coffee.

Coming up with a new start for spring.  I'm not going to lie, I'd love some new clothes.   I've been losing weight, so I'm going to wait a while.  

So I'll hunker down here, cleaning out, sloughing off the old.   Often finding the new, lighter version awaiting underneath.   I like that.

ah, I'm back to a new "lifestyle" change.  er..diet.  err..weight loss program.  This time it involves nutrition, behavior therapy and exercise assistance.   So far I like it, and it feels different to me.  I'm always optimistic when I start these things.    How can I make sure this time is different?

That is the burning question.  If I had The Answer, I'd have it down by now.   I shall keep on trying.  

 I think part of the trick is keeping myself busy.   Not easy when sometimes I'd rather just be alone.   and mopey.    I have to do this.   I'm too important.   (positive self talk)

Okay, enough of that.  I have things to do.   And they don't involve sitting at this desk in the dark, staring at a screen.  

Right?  Right!

Recently, I went away on vacation. I didn't do anything spectacular, but I had a nice time. I relaxed. I ate, I slept, I read. I watched TV, went places with my beau. It was awesome. We've traveled together before, he's come here and we've gone on day trips, but this was nice just to be. To be together.

As I boarded the bus to take me away from him to the airport, it felt like all that heat that builds up on the picnic table all day, once the sun goes down, dissipating from the painted wood beneath me.

I love him and I miss being with him. I don't like this long distance thing we do. But we have to right now.

And so, with the end of daylight savings, I go back to work, and come home in the dark.

Sometimes, I love living alone. Other times, it freaks me out. I'm pretty sure what just happened was something like an acid reflux episode but while it was happening, I felt like I was going to die. Home. Alone.

It's like that scene in "Frankie and Johnny" when Michelle Pfeiffer nearly chokes on a spoonful of peanut butter. She's all alone, feels that panic, relief, and then still alone, sadness.

I sure hope this isn't something that sticks around. I hope this is it, like the one migraine I had, and then it goes on it's merry way.

All I can say without going into too much detail, is that I hate being or feeling sick. That was horrible, and it felt like I was suffocating. It scared me! But now, I'm feeling much more calm. I'm just not sure if I'll be able to eat any more of that great batch of stuff I made earlier today.

Oh stop your whining. At least I'm queen of the remote control, right?

How do I know when it's time to end things? How do I know that this won't give me any more than it already has? Do I stay until the bitter end?

It's going to be hot today. I was lazy yesterday. I don't want to have to go out, but I will. And then I'll come right back home.

I know going to the gym is good for me. I feel better when I've done my workout. But I'm still waiting for the part where I like working out.

I only had a small bit of syrup on my waffles. And now I feel all sticky. What is with that?

It's been such a long time. I used to fancy myself a writer of some sort. I don't know that that is true. Putting thoughts down in writing has always been a good thing for me, though.

It's been a crazy year. Not so much for things happening to me, but things happening to those around me. Accidents, surgeries, too much visiting of hospitals in a year for my taste.

Lately, work has been the bane of my existence. I don't like making changes, but I am re-working the resume. I need to find another place. Where work is appreciated. Where effort is at least acknowledged. Where expectations are realistic. Where overtime is not required.

And that's enough about that.

I feel the need for some more creativity in my life. Perhaps now that the weather has cooled a bit. I have something on deck for Halloween. Will see how that goes, but for the graveyard of knitting and crocheting materials I have, I hope I shall return to you darlings.

I long for simplicity. I crave peace and quiet. I feel guilty when I spend a Saturday doing nothing. Why is that? What a strange contradiction.

And soon, I can get out my goblins and ghosts to decorate for the holidays. I adore that. I long not for the cold, wet leaves, but the time when magic abounds. Spells are cast. Cider is drunk. and the veil between this world and the next seems a bit thin.

I miss those lovely women in my life that have gone on. I feel them supporting and encouraging me, though. I sometimes wish they'd give me that kick I can't seem to give myself.

Sometimes I feel strong and invincible; but at other times I feel weak and vulnerable. My boyfriend tells me I am strong, beautiful and brave. He tells me this as I tell him how much I feel this way when we are together. I suppose, like Dorothy in her ruby slippers, I always have the powers that I don't always feel I do.

Does love make me stronger? I believe that by giving and receiving love I have become stronger. I have more room in my heart for more love. I just don't always have time for all of those people that I love to spend time with.

That doesn't make me a bad person or a bad friend. I tell myself this in writing so that I believe it.

I seem to be tired more lately. I am working lots more overtime than I have been. I chalk it up to getting older. As I tell my beau, I know it's a fact, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

I will bask in spring and summer as much as I can. I have tickets to a concert by my favorite band. I will spend time with my sisters and celebrate graduations. I pledge to be more a part of life than just getting through it. I pledge to be able to say at the end of the summer that I'm glad I spent as much time outside as I did.

I'm blessed with strength and courage. I just forget where I put it sometimes.

I attended a wedding of one of my cousins last weekend. It made me think about how I feel about going to weddings. I love weddings. I enjoy attending as a guest. I do not enjoy being part of the wedding party nor all the hoopla that accompanies weddings.

Being a girl, I am often invited to wedding showers. I find this problematic and unfair. Not only do I need to buy a wedding gift, but I also need to buy a shower gift for the bride-to-be. Being that most of my cousins on this side of the family are male, I find myself at a loss to know which item off the list the bride may really want. Is it the hand mixer, cookie sheets and pie plates? Or would she really rather have the camping tent and binoculars? I often feel like these gifts aren't really for the couple. But they are intended for their new life together. So then in that case, I get things that I have that I like and use. Isn't that what gift receipts are for, anyway?

At any rate, this particular wedding was a wonderful joyous occasion. I found myself both missing my grandparents who have both passed away, and rejoicing in the fact that my cousins are so handsome and awesome. They are funny and smart, they are building lives of their own and some have wonderful families already. I'm thinking my grandparents are really proud. I'm sad that we don't spend as much time with one another as we used to when we were all younger, but also realizing it's the way of life.

And then that reminds me to say yes when I'm invited, and be present in the moment when I am there.

Sharing our joys is such a blessing, we don't forget the sorrows, but it's part of what knits us together. And I wouldn't miss a chance for that.

I am trying to calculate the ratio of time spent indisposed or away from my apartment, and the ratio to time spent IN the apartment before I decide I have to vacuum/pick stuff up/clean.

My tolerance for clutter is higher than it used to be. Perhaps I pick my battles. Perhaps I'm getting old and lazy. A clean bathroom and kitchen are essential, as is laundry. But somehow the rest of it just sits there. Sometimes it multiplies.

I used to clean my dorm room to avoid doing homework. Now I avoid cleaning by spending time online or doing some other random activity, like knitting, crochet, watching TV or reading. I find it interesting, not really disturbing, okay, somewhat disturbing at this apparent shift in tidiness.

The best thing to do, I suspect, is to stop thinking about/analyzing it and just go deal with it.

I just can't help but think about it though. That's what I do.

I don't like being sick. I don't really get sick very often, but I discovered I had a UTI on Friday after a trip to the doctor's office. Shortly before that discovery the nurse scared the life out of me by asking if it was possible that I was pregnant. Honestly, that thought had never crossed my mind. She left me in the exam room then, just me and my thoughts. Me and my racing crazy thoughts. It was the longest 15 minutes of my life!

I haven't taken antibiotics in a very long time. I'm taking something that cannot be taken if a woman is pregnant, so I know the results of that test. This medicine makes me feel funny. It makes my skin itch all over. It's annoying. I know it's working, but I have to take it for 4 more days. Maybe I'm just a lightweight with regards to medicine like this.

I read too many websites with side effects and sometimes I freak myself out. Is it an ache or a throb? Is it chest pain or tightness? I think being by myself makes these thoughts worse, because sometimes I have trouble distracting myself.

I haven't been doing well at just lying on the couch watching TV, either. I get up, putter in the kitchen, move some things, check my e-mail, open or close the window, and sit back down. I do any combination of this stuff a lot.

Here's to modern medicine and NOT reading too many prescription medication websites.

I'm amused. On my radio next to my desk there is an acapella version of the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah. On my television in the living room is Kill Bill Volume 1.

I wonder if that will create some sort of clash of weather fronts in my kitchen.

I'm having an issue with that back to school clothing TV commercial that thinks it's like The Breakfast Club.

First of all, nothing is like The Breakfast Club. It was the first time I realized a movie could show the way things ought to be. The way they could be if we were all brave enough and wanted to change the world we were a part of. Everyone could relate to a part of one or more of those characters. Everyone knew someone like nearly everyone in that movie.

Everyone tried too hard to earn their parents' trust and approval. Some of us tried too hard to get good grades and do the right thing all the time. Others tried too hard to be bad.

I hear that cheap knock off of the theme song by Tears for Fears. I see young students mimicking different scenes in the movie in that same school set. I realize teenagers today have a whole new set of things to contend with that I did not.

It's still not right. Find your own theme song, dammit.

My birthday comes around and I seem to get thoughtful, pensive. Not too analytical, but just thinking about stuff. I tend to think a lot, and it's not always productive.

So, I'm working on knitting a goofy looking case for my iPod. It's bright and stripey but not protective, other than from scratching. If I were to drop it, it wouldn't protect much. It's the kind of thing that involves thin, fine yarn and small needles. It's the kind of thing I have to pay attention to and can't really zone out to the television while I do it. I'm not entirely sure I'm pleased with it, but I may make another one for a friend when I've got the "bugs" worked out. Then I'll have to embark on a new project. My boyfriend's mom gave me her yarn stash, and I can figure out something, I am sure. I am captivated by the pattern for knitted bowls, made by knitting them out of wool and felting them. They seem so oddly decorative. They can't be used as a regular bowl would, but they would just look nice, a soft, fuzzy bowl.

After that, I have a couple of weekends of activities planned with people I love. Unfortunately it means I can't do some other things that I would like to, but that is the way life is. I can't do everything anymore, even if I want to. And that makes me sad, and feel old. Which brings me back to the whole birthday thing.

I have love, life, health, joy, enthusiasm, a body that works and gets around pretty well, and people. I have talents and things I enjoy being a part of. I have so much that can't be measured on a balance sheet.

I'm still going to buy myself something wonderful. I just don't know what that is yet.

As I drove to my sister's new apartment, I passed the Dairy Queen. The letters on the sign spelled out "open Friday". It was this past Friday, and it was open. A sure sign that spring is not far behind.

I can remember many years ago, after I first moved into town and was attending college, going to that very Dairy Queen. I didn't have a car at the time. If a friend had a car and wanted to go someplace, I always happily accepted a ride. It didn't matter where, I would go.

She wanted to go to that very same Dairy Queen. This has to be about 19 years ago now. She wanted what was called a Mister Misty. I had no idea what that was, and I probably didn't have any money, but I didn't care. We rolled the windows down, she had a pick up truck. I never knew a girl who drove a pick up truck. She lived in a house that was near an apple orchard. She painted these huge landscape paintings. I'm sure the truck came in handy at the time, or it was one of her older siblings' vehicles that had been passed down. I can recall that her parents were closer in age to my grandparents, and she was the baby, still living at home and going to college. I'm sure coming to campus was an escape for her, just as riding away from it was an escape for me.

I was really disgusted when I found out what a Mr. Misty was. Imagine soft serve ice cream doused in a Slurpee. A principle in my life was then and still is that water and dairy do not mix. No ice cubes in milk. No milk and Pepsi a la Laverne DiFazzio. Just wrong. So very wrong.

But it didn't really matter. It didn't make me think Kris was any less fascinating. Or worldly, or interesting and funny and creative. I first heard my favorite music on the radio in her truck, the Indigo Girls. My world burst open in rides in that truck. Closer to Fine became the first song I heard where I felt someone had crawled inside my head and took notes on my thoughts.

I was away from my home, and away from my small world of experiences. The people I'd known and the subjects I'd studied now seemed so much smaller. I was outgrowing where I had come from. It was intense and uncomfortable at times, but for the majority of that time, it was full of friendship, acceptance, understanding, support, encouragement and discovery.

And those were among the things I learned outside of my classes in college. Riding around with strangers.

I'm appalled at what we've done to Valentine's Day. When did it become a way for us to make the men in our lives suffer? Why do they feel like nothing they buy or choose for us will do? Why do they feel anxiety at the flower shop, or feel propelled into the jewelry store? It's partially our fault, ladies. And I'm holding the advertising industry responsible as well.

How can we expect them to read our minds? How can they know we'd prefer that tasteful one stone diamond over the flashy smaller stones set in the shape of a heart? We can't, and we shouldn't.

I think we need to first, do away with any expectations of the day. I choose to look at it as a chance for me to share my feelings (which I do a lot of all year round) with those I love. My sisters, my friends, those people in my life that may not feel a lot of love every day, those girlfriends from college who got me through those long nights of talking. I think there is so little love in the world, it can't hurt to just send it out there, with no demands, no expectations.

I find more joy in that which I do than that which I wait to happen to me.

My boyfriend lives in another city. I went through my teen and college years, and then nearly twenty more years before I could actually use the words "my boyfriend". We agreed not to buy gifts for each other this year. Then a basket of expensive chocolates appeared at work for me. From him. My first response was "that stinker!" But he wanted to surprise me. He wanted to do it with no expectations of return. He did surprise me. I took a moment to step back and revel in that feeling. Women say flowers die. They say "oh, I shouldn't eat that candy, it will only make me fat." Nearly every woman I work with accepted a piece of that chocolate when I offered it. Another co-worker told me regretably that she told her husband once not to waste money on flowers. She never got them again.

Men do listen. They remember. We just have to speak plainly.

I just said..."oh, they are wonderful, I love them, and I love YOU".

I saw a young girl with her mother last weekend at the Y. They were walking on treadmills next to one another. She was maybe, eight years old, with a blond bob of hair, and a pink t-shirt. She walked with determined purpose, smoothly and not too fast. My first thought was, what an awesome mom to spend productive, healthy time with her daughter that way, and to teach her good health habits. I love to see parents spending time with their kids, and not just running them through the drive through or taking them to the movies. I love things that create interaction, attention, discussion and thought.

Then the next thought that went through my mind was "I hope that girl doesn't think she's fat!" You see, one does not very often see children on the cardio equipment at the Y. Unless they really are overweight, and even then I think it's only been a handful of times I've seen it in the past four years that I have been attending.

I was ashamed of myself for thinking that, yet proud that I'd had the positive thought first. I miss my own mother, and from the time she died until even now I feel unfinished. I never had anyone show me how to take care of myself, to exercise and eat right, to shave my legs and wear high heels. I am saddened to think there are scores of girls her age that already feel fat. They feel like they are on the outside of the "in crowd" and don't fit in. They are ashamed of changing their clothes in the locker room. They can't find cute clothes in their size, so they give up.

I have come a long way from being that girl, but she still feels a strong jolt every time she recognizes a kindred spirit. I hope she was wrong, though. I hope I saw what my heart told me I saw the first time.