because here and now

I sat in my room last night, the small rectangle I call mine, waiting for my roommate to get out of the bathroom and wishing for the day that I didn't have to wait anymore.

I began to wonder if on that day I would be happy and then worried that even then it wouldn't be enough.

Suddenly I realized that maybe I should be careful what I wish for, because one day I will be there and the person I can walk in on and won't have to wait for may be messy.

And he may leave toothpaste all over the sink and cupboards open, and he may hang up his shirts in the wrong direction.

And some days, even though I may love him and the little beasties we created together, there might be days where I don't like him and I will get angry.

There will be days that I am bossy and mean, and other days where I might cry over spilled milk and cereal, and there will be days that we don't do anything and I will feel like a failure. And days where the kids tell me I'm the worst.

There will be the day that finally comes where my life won't be my own anymore.

And my body won't be my own.

And maybe it really is about enjoying what we do have

Here

And now.

And maybe I should be ok if God continues to answer my prayers in ways I don't expect or necessarily want.

because tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it

I told myself I couldn't go to sleep until I had written something

This week has seen many late nights full of homework and reading, seeming to never end. Always one more thing to do. And by the time morning comes there is just another load.

On top of the homework and studying the to-do lists have still been full to brimming. Little things that don't seem like that big of a deal until midnight hits and I've realized I have gotten nothing done.

I've not been productive at all. My time seems to have been wasted on a hundred other things that came up, or just a lack of self-discipline.

As I finished up the third paper I had to write tonight, I checked Facebook for the umpteenth time tonight and saw this video Chloe had posted:

I recognize that my life is nowhere close to a mother's and that I had not done anything today for anyone except for myself.

But this video made me realize the importance of service and that fact that some days, I won't get everything done on my list because other things (like life) were more important.

It also reminded me that those little things that aren't on my to-do lists, but are forever in the back of my mind are truly the most important ones.

because of spilled milk

I think I set hell in motion at work yesterday.

I spilled my breakfast in my lap and spent the first couple of hours wet and smelling like milk.

I wanted to explode.

I'm tired. I had to run 6 miles last night and 12 more on Saturday. My ankle is in pain and I'm near positive that I'm iron deficient. I spent most of work yesterday researching injury prevention and how to fix my form for running.

Marathon training is getting harder. My runs are longer and I have to really be good about setting aside time to go when it's not baking outside. On top of that - water. I think I've always spent my life in a borderline state of dehydration. I've never been good at staying hydrated, and now when I need it the most I still just can't quite give up the soda. I can pound a good 32 oz water bottle into me by noon, but after that I spend my afternoons tired and bloated and sick of the stuff.

Before I fell asleep the night before, I was informed via social media that someone I really care about had lied to me. Over a petty thing. But I fell asleep crying with a sick feeling inside.

So yesterday morning I wanted to cry - over spilled milk.

After running home to change I came back to work, feeling a bit better after the walk. Grateful that I live close to my job to allow for that, and that my boss was kind enough to let me leave. Upon getting back she and I sat chatting. I needed it. I told her about the roommate drama and she gave me the validation I needed.

Then a kid threw up. All over the playground. I sat reading books to him until a teacher brought down another child who was sobbing with a big scratch across her face. We dealt with the neosporin, and my boss brought the culprit of the scratch in to sit with me. Mom picked up the sick kid, and I sat with a new student: a 4-year-old who thought it was ok to scratch the entire side of an older child's face because she bumped into him. Then from down the hall came the frustrated cries of another child being pulled from class for punching another student.

So there my boss and I sat. The two of us with these kids wondering which of us was the cause for the chaos.

We got through it though. Laughed and joked, rolled our eyes and found some little things to be grateful for. Whether it was another child in the afternoon class showing his new invention, or the fact that I had a fun night with friends to look forward to.

Something my boss mentioned made me really think though. As I told her I had jokingly wanted to cry over spilled milk she said it was a symptom. And I got to thinking about what my disease must have been and I discovered it was just self-pity.

And just being able to recognize that helped me yank myself out of that gutter and get over it.

I've never been a fan of self-pity and when I find myself brooding in it, the fear of being there gets me running out of the muck like a madman.

I don't let myself wallow. Wallowing is destructive. It can tear you apart from the inside out leaving you half empty and darkly hollow.

So I didn't cry over spilled milk. I didn't curl up in a ball and let the pity surround me in the dark. I pulled out a book and I read about Ophelia. I listened to Isaac Russell and let his music sooth my soul. I grabbed a soda and said damned if I have to go run 6 miles still tonight, I'm doing whatever I want right now.

And you know what? The sun kept shining through it all.

because of Caleb and tiny boxes

About this time last year I was suppose to be on a honeymoon with Caleb.

I think he and his wife are expecting their first baby in a week or two.

You do the math.

There is a tiny place in my heart that sometimes twists and kinks when I think about him and how he handled everything. How he hurt me. Sometimes the kink sticks around for a day or so creating a painful ache and sadness that seems as if it will never leave.

But it always does. 

Those moments come less often and are less painful now.

Often on those hard days I have to remind myself of what I learned from him, from that relationship, that journey.

Through him I met Jacob.

And through Jacob I met Sol.

And through it all I found a part of me.

Even though everything didn't work out, I still have to be grateful because each of those relationships molded me into a better person. Each of them taught me something about myself and love as a whole.

Some people close to me haven't been as forgiving toward Caleb as I have been, and I wonder if I should have been angrier. I don't think I ever got angry. I cried, a lot. I spent nights on end at my brother's place filling that hole in my chest with unconditional love from family.

I don't believe Caleb ever meant to hurt me. I believe he was unsure, and I greatly believe that he was also overwhelmed by panic and anxiety. But in truth (when it all came down to it) in the end he had a choice. We both did.

And he chose no.

The last time I saw him was when we stood in his driveway - my brother in the car for moral support, Caleb there in his pajamas, and me holding a small box that I hoped as it left my hands would remove any resentment that might grow. A small box that had held something so beautiful and precious. A small box that held a future, a past, memories, and forgotten love. A small box that still held a part of my broken heart.

In that moment all I could think was "You took my heart, you took my hands, you took my whole body, my whole soul, all my love, and now you are asking for this one last thing and I don't think I can give any more."

That tiny box was the end.

I don't pray about it anymore. I don't wish on stars for a second chance anymore (not really possible anyway). Instead I just give thanks.

I give thanks for the lessons he taught me and the respect he gave me. I give thanks for meeting someone who showed me I can be loved and that I can be with someone who would go down on one knee, someone who would ask my father's permission.

I give thanks for the hope he gave me in a tiny box.

being grateful

Sometimes the best cure for selfishness (and moments where I find myself too wrapped up in my own mind) is gratitude.

So today I am thankful for:

• a good pair of Levi's that make me look damn sexy
• good friends
• sticky notes (I go through them like candy)
• Sharpies
• Office supplies just in general
• summer sandals
• music
• the color green
• Thai leftovers for lunch
• an amazing family

And band-aids. Because paper cuts sting like the dickens.