Ring of Fire

Even though my left cheek was smashed against my left hand, it was my left eye which hurt and I hadn’t even opened it yet.

I awoke, lumbered to the bathroom, sluggishly approached the sink to wash my hands, and gazed into the mirror.

My left eye was a fiery red and I immediately was confused. I leaned across the counter pulling apart my lids to get a better look at the plethora of spidery flames engulfing my eye.

I pulled on my clothes and conceded to glasses instead of contacts. I traveled to work thinking about my sore eye. I didn’t think it was pink eye. I had not woken with it pasted closed.

So after the urging from a coworker to at least clean out my eye with a flushing kit from any grocery store, I journeyed out in search of the magic liquid solution which would rinse the Houdini particle scratching my cornea out of my eye.

Five dollars later and rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat…

The smoldering ember blazed into a raging inferno of hot and after the cold wash I became instantaneously aware of how much pain I was feeling.

It was downhill from there. I immediately became weepy from the constant throbbing in my eye. I didn’t know what to do. Should I wait to see if the wash would relieve the source of this madness? Did I have to bring a professional into the picture?

Again at the urging from a coworker, I jumped into my car headed for the optometrist. After all, a Friday doctor’s office co-pay is a lot cheaper than a weekend ER visit.

After a co-pay, $100 prescription antibiotic eye drops, two follow up visits, and nearly two weeks of glasses later, I’m happy to report I have a cold.

Emerge

And when I’m stressed, I disappear.

I could blame it on anything but the truth is it’s to be blamed on many things many of us are juggling.

Work. Love. Life.

So leaving behind the stresses of the moment to enjoy THIS moment, I continue with my love for experiences of late.

I love painting my nails. I have been dedicated to the practice at least once every three days for the past year plus. I enjoy the clean finished look. I enjoy the feminine touch it adds to an outfit or my own personal confidence. I am an OPI freak and can tell you the names of every single color I own. I can delineate between the collections. I love painting my nails.

I love eating cupcakes and talking in a still car in the middle of a parking lot as night falls upon us. I love sharing in the human condition with one another even and especially when it involves shedding a tear or two. I love trying to start the car and discovering the battery is dead and you’re stuck in the moment. Life’s message revealed: Enjoy the moment!

I love a good song. Nothing can be so powerful as a great song to raise spirits, rally the mind, and physically liven your body. I use music more now than I ever have in my life. There is no better escape than one song, three and a half minutes, one inspiring lyric, and a kick butt musical thread. I love a good song.

I hate being sick. I hate having to get out and trudge through work sick or worse, being confined to my bed. I hate missing out on all the fun I know is going on in the outside world without me. I hate the sleep you need but lose because you’re coughing or can’t inhale. I hate sore throats from draining sinuses and open mouth breathing. But I LOVE getting better. I love the moments when good health rests upon you once more.

I love my journal. Though I have left the digital world, I remain diligent in journal writing. Lately I have taken to re-reading my entries and I can see growth over an arc of chaotic, freak-out entries. Please keep a stinking journal, if only to amuse yourself later. I love my journal.

Life is extremely, incredibly, awfully, exceptionally, exceedingly, especially, dreadfully, enormously, vastly and fantastically hard. But I do love it.

Ephemeral

Four years ago I drove my car across the large expanse of our country which divides the east coast from the mountain west. Many have heard me say if I ever do it again, it will be too soon.

Well fancy this. There is no place I'd rather be than in my car eastward bound finishing up Nebraska with the star sprinkled night sky over my head singing to Deliliah picks right now.

Crash Into Me

I just got hit by a car... for the second time in my life. WTF?

Follow up for Mindee: Not my vehicle. ME. I just got hit by a car!

There Were Never Such Devoted...

I love her to death.

She’s a pain in my side if I tell her this. Actually, she’s a pain in my side when I disclose most anything of a personal nature to her.

She’ll act like she doesn’t care. And half the time she doesn’t. However, the other half of the time I know she’s hanging onto my every word, waiting to condemn me for the drama but secretly happy I’ve given her something to gnaw on.

She’s the first person I want to phone when I find out a girl at church will be on the next season of the Bachelor. She’s the first person I call when someone makes a gigantic fool of themselves because I know she’ll laugh as hard at the story as I did in real life.

She's the girl I’ll late night email back and forth with crazy pictures. She’s the girl I’ll email the Mamma Mia soundtrack at two songs an email until the 18 track disc has completely been shared. She’s the girl I forward THE email to from my phone the moment I get it. And we'll laugh as we dissect it over and over again.

I teach her the things she needs to know because that’s what I’m supposed to do. When the ridiculous Garmin has taken us into New Jersey, I tell her to stay in the car at the gas station. They pump it for you.

I'm the lifeline she uses when she needs pop culture trivia and I believe to date I've only failed her once. (I can't possibly know the names of people in commercials.) But sometimes I wonder if I’m not doing my job because she teaches me more.

I've seen her change into mini skirts in the passenger seat of a plymouth voyager and I have admired her for it. Because she dares to do what she wants. If a girl were to hypothetically get picked up for shoplifting, she's the person I'd want right beside me, openly mocking the officer.

If there were a play where there was a prince and a princess, she might be the only person I could relinquish the princess part to with no hard feelings. I would be her queen. I would be her supporting role anytime.

I love to french braid her hair. I love to climb into bed with her on my lunch break and take a nap. I love to watch TV with her namely reality television because really how funny is two people hooking up in the dark if it were any other person telling you about it? I love to rejoice in her skinny arms.

I love her family. Her husband. Her children. I love to watch her parent. She's not perfect. But she's pretty amazing in action. I love her.

I love her to death.

Happy Birthday!

No Bluffing

This has no throw back to love.

Have you ever had someone look you so deeply in the eyes, the gaze became uncomfortable enough you felt the need to break it immediately?

A stare sharp though not possessing malice rather intensity penetrating into depths you, yourself, have slightly probed?

To which I question, have you ever looked at your face in the mirror? Not to gaze upon blemishes or assess your features rather to examine yourself as others look upon you? To look yourself in the eyes and to discover what’s behind them?

I once had a conversation with a friend about a theory I have regarding people internally reflecting and evaluating themselves. My metaphor seems simple enough to me.

I picture most people in a square room 15 x 15 feet. It is white and empty, except for one thing. A full body sized mirror in one of the corners mounted on the wall.

I don’t care how people get into the room nor am I particular about age and appearance as I believe the metaphor has everything to do with an emotional and mental maturity.

We spend whatever amount of time in this room sitting in a corner, doing nothing, seeing nothing, being nothing, and most certainly noticing nothing… until we do. We notice it. The mirror.

And once we notice it, we can’t seem to figure out how we never noticed it before. Am I allowed to get up and walk over to it? Am I supposed to look in it? Will I be able to confront what I might find in it?

In this moment, the masses become easily divided by groups who dare not look and groups who dare to look.

Upon catching our reflection, many of us turn immediately from the mirror, not wanting to see anything more, uncertain of what we have already seen, mostly possessed by some sort of fear of what we might see.

And so we turn back to any other corner to hide out once more. That is, until curiosity gets the best of us.

Sure there are a rare few who will never return again to the mirror. They have their reasons and though I don’t understand, it is not a right or wrong situation.

Still many of us will want to investigate another time. What hopefully follows is an increased frequency and intensity with which we return to the mirror to gaze.

The allegory is simple. It’s quite literally self-reflection while more metaphorically finding self acceptance. Changing what you dislike and admiring what you do like. But that’s the easy part.

The hard part is jumping back up from the corner to visit the mirror regularly. To not be afraid of what you see. To not be discouraged by the task at hand. Most importantly, to not be dishonest in the undertaking.

If you abide by those rules, you’ll come out a better person every time.

On a personal level, I’ve noticed recently I’ve taken to a habit I’ve long since performed. I have caught myself on many occasions studying the faces, even the eyes, of those whom I associate. I’ve been similar to a baby fixated upon the face of its guardian in my exchanges with others.

I’ve examined the smile wrinkles, a furrowed brow, the strokes of eye liner, the dilation of pupils, and the teeth involved in a grin.

It makes any conversation, any relationship much more intimate. And I treasure it.

Why have I lacked the inclination to do so previously? Then I realize to stare into another’s eyes is to know they can stare into yours. And the vulnerability is acute. A vulnerability not for the weak hearted.

When I arise and walk myself over to the mirror, when I find the confidence to shift my scrutinizing from my outward and move inward, I’m easily scared off. I suppose to have any sense of self awareness means you’ll find yourself in the position to avoid the deep searching peek.

How can I allow another access into a sphere I rarely travel myself? Easy, I can’t.

Nevertheless, I think I’ve uncovered an excellent measuring stick for where you personally stand with yourself. How well can you look into the eyes of others?

For the first time in a long time, I’m taking the chance. I won’t look away.

The Old Man Is Snoring

As my mind was coming out of the daze which is sleep this morning, I glanced at the clock. 8:25am which meant it was… hmmm… 9:25am in Texas. I hadn’t even been home for 12 hours yet.

This was impressive for two reasons. I hadn’t slept past 6am for the past few days in either UT or TX. It was an extra 2 hours of sleep-in banked no matter how you looked at it.

Secondly, my bedroom sits on the east side of the house. My body is usually awakened, if only briefly, around 6:30 when the sun, despite my blinds, is blazing through my windows interrupting any restful slumber I intend to secure in the morning hours.

Why?

With both windows opened as far as they go, I felt a chill in the air. Was this because Utah was chilly this morning or because Utah was chillier than Texas’ 90 degree weather this morning?

As groggy minds usually are, I sluggishly searched for some explanations to my disoriented questions and then I heard an answer. Was that rain outside?

I lifted myself up just high enough to get a good look outside. It was beautiful. I fell back into bed and did the undisciplined. I decided to ditch church and fall back asleep. My bed owned me for another hour.

When I awoke this time, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I had been doing nothing but eating the past few days and my body was feeling it.

I pulled on some running clothes and out into the rain I jogged.

For a little more than two miles, I enjoyed an empty nearby park to myself. There were no people, dogs, or frisbees. There was nothing but a cloudy, drizzly, open space for me. It took me awhile to get my stride going but after awhile my feet were keeping time to my iPod and little else mattered.

My toes were soggy, my socks were soaked, and my sneakers were drenched. Puddles were inevitable. As I ran, my ponytail fell out and my hair tumbled around my face. The smell of hotel shampoo filled my nose and my damp hair soon became dripping.

Mostly, I appreciated the mental time off. If you ask a boy what he is thinking, chances are he’ll say nothing and he’ll more than likely be telling the truth. Me, I’m always thinking.

If you ask me what I’m thinking, I’ll tell you about work, about friends, about places I’ve been and places I want to go. I’ll tell you about my family. I’ll tell you about my hometown. I’m thinking about things which are stressing me and I’m thinking about boys. I’m thinking about changing my nail polish, my lease being up in two months, and a thank you card I’ve been needing to write for over a week.

But not when I’m running. I’m thinking about breathing and maybe a phrase or two from the playing song. So I appreciated the mental time off. A psychological vacation.

I returned home a little after 10 and I can’t think of a better morning in the past couple of months for me than this one.

I'm a gLeek!

Last time I wrote in small font. This time it deserves at least a typical sized font for an atypical little message.

I am hard pressed to strongly recommend any specific piece of pop culture. I am easily entertained, easily suspend my disbelief, and easily satisfied.

I hereby declare myself the world's worst pop culture critic. (Okay, definitely not the worst as my sheer knowledge base alone establishes me as one of the elite few. WHAT?!? Yeah , I said that.)

Friends, family, and meandering strangers... please take the time at some point this summer to watch the pilot to the new show "gLee".

To all of you living room American Idol crooners, to the shower singers and the road rockers, to any high school choir has been, please, you'll at least get a kick out of it.

I may not have mentioned anymore on the subject from a previous post until I noticed the final performance number by the glee club of an already beloved Journey song sitting number nine on iTunes top 10 this week. (That's most downloaded meaning I'm not the only one.)

Shocked? Yes. Deserved? Yes.

Guys will inevitably rather go to the dentist than watch it. Girls will rank it among their indulgent closet secret loves (cough "Twilight") where the rest of our true souls reside.

I'm plugging for this little show. You heard it here.

Worth A Thousand Words

If you’ve ever seen a Utah license plate, chances are you’ve seen a picture of our world renowned Delicate Arch.

This morning after camping out in sleeping bags under the clear desert sky which is southern Utah, my friends and I hit up Arches National Park so we could hike up to said arch.

Upon reaching the summit, we found ourselves in the mix of quite a few people wanting to get under the arch and snap off a picture. There is a sort of finesse required in getting this task accomplished.

We lingered as we watched some professional photographers get what they desired. The rest of us patiently waited after which we all considerately passed time until our turns to capture our pictures.

Since no one wanted to wait for you to take a picture with some of the group, switch off the camera, photograph another mix of the group, and so forth, groups made friends with someone in front or behind them and took each others’ pictures.

While my group of friends was in the arch, the couple behind us kept trying to take our picture. However, somewhere some parents were unaware of their rogue kid with a red baseball cap who kept dangerously running in and out of our picture.

The couple tried their best to snap a good picture yet I was growing ever frustrated at this menace who was rapidly killing my buzz from the hike. Neighboring onlookers were aggravated as well at the scenario.

After they had shot our picture and we had shot theirs, we were all standing around talking and the dumbest joke via pun I ever made came out.

E: Hey you guys, thanks so much for taking our pictures. We really appreciate it.
Couple: Hey no problem. Anytime.
E: No seriously, you were good trail buddies. Not like that kid who was our nemesis.
C: (Laughing) Yeah seriously, what was that?
E: I know. I’m serious. He was our nemesis. (Then it hit me like a brick.) OUR ARCH
NEMESIS.

Everyone in listening distance was standing around laughing. If I hadn’t gotten a good laugh out of it, I could have pushed that kid over the cliff.

Quick Nothings

Have literally two minutes for catch up:

• Got the loan.
• Am looking for a car.
• Love the New Moon pictures.
• Am heading to Moab, right now.

Waiting For The Stars To Fall

My keys jingled against my fingers as I lumbered sluggishly to my car after work.

With my sunglasses on, I threw my head back to take a deep breath and in so doing noticed the moon directly above me imitating the midday sun as a younger sibling mimics his elder.

The white orb was barely detectable against the bright late afternoon sky. Yet she was there and as foolish as it sounds, I smiled an acknowledgment to her.

Exhausted, I navigated myself home surrounded by the after work traffic weaving through the crowded streets journeying towards any reprieve.

Unlocking the door and tossing my belongings onto the kitchen table, up the stairs I plodded into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. I collapsed onto my bed in overwhelming fatigue.

My eyes fluttered shut and there I lay for the next hour.

I stirred awake and was immediately gripped with the guilt of a child having broken any household rule. Why did I feel this way?

The evening, lackluster in events, ended with a much needed drive. In an effort to just get out for a moment and breathe deeply this incredible nightfall, I leapt into my car and drove.

This time the moon was brilliantly shining and I felt a kinship to the cosmos once more.

Few things in this world can calm a stormy soul the way a night sky can.

The sound of a nearby creek. Gazing into a fire. Smelling a fresh baked dessert. Holding another’s hand.

Sign Of The Times??

Eight years ago, I bought the very first car I ever owned in my life. I was as fresh as a college graduate could be and had nearly $4300 to my name. I had a roommate at the time with a brother who was an auto dealer. I was prepared to look for a car in the $6000 range and commenced a search for something which fit my skeletal requirements.

As a last final acquiescence to my roommate, we went to check out her brother’s Lexus lot. And there She was.

A five year old Toyota Camry with 58,000 miles on her. She was a sleek, sexy black and very well maintained. As I was test driving her, the dealer so typically explained how she was an afternoon trade-in the day before and the older gentlemen loved Her but was treating himself to a new Lexus instead.

It went down velvety smooth. I knew She was to be mine.

We negotiated out $8500 (which I naively did not know meant $9500 out the door), and I was to be on my way shortly. After the finances were all in place, of course.

I knew nothing about securing a loan. I trusted the dealership to do their part to help me get into this car, which they do so well, and they did for me. The man assisting me came out after running a credit check on me and I’ll never forget what he told me next.

“Your credit score is so amazing, I would let you drive away with any car on this lot for no money down.” I was proud because my parents had been incredibly instrumental in teaching me how to be a good steward over my money.

(Ironically, my interest rate was astronomically high. I took care of that one week later under the tutelage of a more financially knowledgeable man. Don’t finance through a dealership if you can help it. I know you already know this.)

Four years ago, I bought the second car I ever owned in my life. The story, though containing interesting elements to me, is unimportant.

Except the time has come for me to buy the third car I will ever own in my life. I have loved my baby but She is no longer as reliable as I need. (And I’m feeling a long distance road trip in my very near future.)

So once more I traipsed to my local bank branch whom I bank with and applied for another auto loan. I applied for a liberal loan on behalf of generality’s sake in an effort to have my finances in order for when I located Her yet again.

This morning my loan officer called me with the outcome of my application and what follows is the craziest experience I’ve ever had. Truly a fiscal sign of the economic times.

Loan Officer: Elizabeth, we ran that paperwork, do you have a minute?
Elizabeth: Absolutely! What are we looking at?
LO: Well as is, we’re more than happy to loan this amount to you but we’re going to require a strong co-signer.
E: (Actually surprised quite a bit.) Wow this economy has really affected you guys, huh?
LO: (Silence.)
E: (Joke is not well received. Noted.) Umm… well then you’re not really going to loan ME that amount, are you? How much can I get without a co-signer?
LO: Well we’re not willing to loan to you without a strong co-signer?
E: (Frustrated now.) Can I ask what my credit score came up as?
LO: Mid 700s.*
E: That doesn’t sound right to me. It should be higher I believe.
LO: Well there is this $130 charge off….
E: (**OH MY GOSH, I EFFING HATE M&T BANK!!! This is a mistake I’ve been working on for FOUR years now.) You can’t get me a decent loan when my credit score is sitting in the mid 700s and I’ve got SIGNIFICANTLY more than my loan amount sitting in my savings account right now? (This fact felt relevant to me as I know you can take out a loan against your own savings, at the very least.)
LO: You do?
E: (Still can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.) What kind of loan officer are you? You work at my bank, processed my application, and haven’t taken a look at my current account balance?
LO: (Confused and fumbling for words.) Well, let me see here, uh, well this does change things, ummm, I can run the numbers again which should make a difference, uh…. Can I get back to you?
E: Please do.

I hung up the phone and called one of my best friends in the world (Holla!) and couldn’t help but talk to him, a financial consultant, about my experience. We laughed and although he wanted to help me complete a 15 year plan (stop doing that), the talk was all I needed.

I guess I’m still waiting to hear how this will go down. Strangely, I feel confident the numbers will come back reasonably, and without the need for a “strong co-signer.”

*I know Mary and Mom both have phenomenal credit scores. You win. I’m over it.
** My apologies for the strong language but I have a searing hatred for that bank.

Wish I Could Keep You Much Longer

On a lighter note, a week ago, my roommate went out of town leaving me the house all to myself. I was entirely excited in anticipation of this week. It has been everything I hoped it could be. It has been enjoyable.

On my first night alone, I came home from work, trudged up the stairs where my bathroom and bedroom are, took a good look around and opened every blind and window. I secured my laptop, plugged it into my stereo, pulled up my iTunes, clicked on an absolutely random album, and pressed play.

I’d been dying to try a new remedy which I heard could clean any tub. When you rent, any tenant knows toilets and tubs, though clean, may always appear as though you could pick up a jungle disease from using them.

A co-worker had told me a week earlier auto carburetor cleaner could scour down any tub. So with the warning to run the exhaust fan and make sure I had a proper air supply, I buckled down to the task at hand while the Immaculate Collection played. (Great album. Second half especially. I swear I hadn’t listened to it in over 10 years.) I took time to sing at the top of my lungs.

It was enjoyable.

The following night I decided I would cook for myself instead of the shameful yet honest social dining out I do almost every night. I desired a night in and a little solitude. Taking time to prepare a meal has become a daily practice since. I had forgotten I had this in me but I truly enjoy cooking.

My phone rang and although I heard it upstairs, I was caught up in the kitchen. When I finished cleaning up the last pan, I fetched my phone and saw I had a missed call and subsequent text from one of my best friends in Provo. The text: I need out of the house tonight. What are you doing?

I called her and was elated to offer my place knowing we could do nearly whatever we wanted. So we did. Oreos & milk and one movie later the laughter continued. She returned to her life and although I had planned on reading a particular book on my list of things to do this week, I was happy for the diversion.

It was enjoyable.

I arrived home the subsequent evening and intently stared at my bedroom floor. It was a battlefield and I’ve mentioned before I use the cleanliness of my room as a gauge to the busyness of my life.

I cast off my work garb and quickly rolled up my sleeves to dive into the piles. (After all, you have to maintain organized piles. Clean piles and dirty piles and piles of clothing worn just once.)

Most everything had been restored to its home and I stood sweating in my room with a huge department store bag in my hand. “What had I purchased which required a bag of this size?” Many times when the need to downsize had seized my being, I wished for a bag of this size.

Capturing the moment, I approached my closet and prayed for the strength to part with my things. My old things. My unemployed, unused, idle, and aged belongings. First the clothing. Next the shoes. The boxes which had yet to be opened since my move. Ditching anything from a computer printer or television cables to dated fashions, unutilized blankets and luggage, I filled my car trunk.

I immediately headed to the thrift store. Sitting on any item would have created unnecessary vehicle clutter and a desire to re-rumage through what charity had rightly earned.

It was enjoyable.

I spent the weekend following suit to the first few days. Laundry, culinary experiments, guitar playing, sleeping. Oh the sleep. And some holiday time off to do my soul good.

I bunkered down and read the Louis L’Amour book a guy friend had recommended in an attempt to see what guys who read, read. It was an action book for any individual wishing to escape to another time and place. Surprise, it was enjoyable.

This past week has been so pleasant. I’m excited for my roommate to get home tonight. But I cannot lie. I’ll miss the time off from my usual routine which I daresay simulates a vacation of sorts.

Mostly because it was enjoyable.

PS. Speaking of things enjoyable, I'm looking forward to the new fall series "gLee". Totally dug the pilot this week.

Caught Up In Circles...

It’s back. The fidgety feeling I sporadically experience is back.

It’s been coming on for awhile but has evolved into a full force tidal wave emotion. I’d like to say I’m sitting on day 2 of homesickness (Marysickness?). It’s realistically more like month 8.

Oh the plight of a single girl. It’s amusing really.

In the corporate world, it’s rumored how preferential treatment is bestowed upon the married and the settled. My mind tries to convince me surely this must be a fallacy. Yet in this moment, I’d gamble on said type in a heartbeat over someone like me if I were management.

I feel the spirit of Sam Cooke has rested upon me in the mantra of “a change is gonna come.”

And why shouldn’t it? In a conversation once with a married adult (versus me, what? A single non-adult?), I was made to feel foolish, immature almost for the lifestyle I’ve been living since college graduation.

I’ve seen my share of moves and job changes. I’ve grown easily impatient at any given time of my present circumstance enough to impulsively alter it. So when said adult commented on the obviousness of my lifestyle and alluded to the fact it may be time for me to grow up and settle down, I felt embarrassed and inadequate. Childish even, as though I were being reprimanded for doing something wrong.

With another five years under my belt since that occasion, I’m now smart enough to retort, “I’m not you. I know nothing of the life you refer to. And perhaps my greatest advantage FOR ME is that I am not tied down… to any person, job, or city.”

Telling an enormously unsettled person to settle down is antiquated.

Tonight I comfortably positioned myself in the living room of a split level home of a dear friend. I nestled into a restful chair reading the latest People magazine while my friend snuggled into the couch opposite me. The window behind my shoulder as well as the door to the back deck were opened creating a cross breeze through the house.

The left over smell of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs wafted from the kitchen. I was calm with a tumbler full of milk and a stack of Oreos sitting on the window sill beside me. Below in the family room, a group congregated around the television playing Rock Band and their strains drifted up the stairs.

I paused in the middle of reading about Bristol's teen pregnancy to think about the book I had completed earlier in the day. A book which took me to a different place in a different world. I pondered upon the job I’ll return to first thing tomorrow morning, yet again. I reflected upon my current relationships and my mind lingered on one in particular. I gazed out the window and the sky blushed the first hue of pink.

Then it was back.

I should have felt content and satisfied. Instead I felt the opposite. Restless, edgy, and impetuous. I'm begging it passes.

I’m just saying... I’ve been HERE before, time after time.

Remove the Veil

Few times in my life can compare to the frustration with this wicked case of writer’s block I’ve been experiencing of late.

I’m a record keeper. I’ve been a consistent writer in many forums ranging from notepads of thoughts, theories, & essays to journals and the more public blogosphere.

Is it because I have nothing to write about? Absolutely not.

Is it because I’ve become busy and am now overwhelmed with the sheer volume of things I want to write about? Absolutely.

Is it because my lack of consistent writing has made me rusty and thereby insecure? Absolutely.

Is it because I’ve taken to other creative outlets (to remain unnamed at this time)? Absolutely.

Then what happens?

It’s a lazy Sunday evening and as I sit by the opened window anticipating my holiday tomorrow, the drumming rain upon these side streets creates the most soothing ambiance and a gal finds herself with a robust case of homesickness.

And where there is a charged emotion, there is a girl wanting to write… saddened at the fact she’s so overwhelmed she can’t.

A Message

This morning, I was driving behind a car with a bumper sticker which read, "Trees Are the Answer."

Laying all philosophizing aside, I applied the scientific experiment to the statement.

• Question: My last two days have sucked real REAL bad. Why?
• Answer: Trees

Nope. Doesn't work. Stupid. Stupid.

Then I parked my car in my work parking lot, jumped out of the vehicle, while my phone fell out of my pocket and crashed to the cement. My two month old Blackberry's screen is now busted for the next two years.

Day three and counting. WTF?

Like It. Like It Not.

Lately I’ve been exceedingly conscious of my emotions. Yeah, I know. ME, more alert to my emotions. I assure you it can be a full time job.

Rewind.

I have another daunting birthday approaching this year. Not too quickly but sooner than I’d like.

Without launching into an Oprah tirade about being more and more comfortable in your body (which really does happen), I assert one definitely becomes more aware of one’s self. Your being. Your likes and dislikes. Your emotions.

I haven’t always, but I appreciate the opportunity to have had time to get good and acquainted with myself. Time to make a friend of myself.

Along with this come these opportunities to laugh at yourself and also to embarrass yourself. Yet at the end of the day, I’m left with only me.

Skip to present again.

I’ve been especially aware of my feelings. I have been able to see a situation generating around me and able to call my reaction seconds before it happens as though I were an outsider watching.

I guess THIS is growing up. Becoming alert to your potential self, evaluating its necessity or appropriateness, and then altering your potential self to truly reflect how you would prefer others to receive you.

Following is a very organic recording of some of my emotions in the past week. I guess with good friends and family, you can just out yourself. I’ve written in the ever simple and ever raw outline of likes and dislikes.

· Midday personal contact: If you deal with me at all, you know I work hard and I work long hours. Because of this, I appreciate my personal moments throughout any day, especially midday. I love Mindee’s BB texts, Mary’s updating phone calls, and even listening to Ashley’s screaming children. But Mary really gets me going in the middle of the day. I love midday shout outs.

· Fresh Laundry: I love linens. I have a love affair with sheets and towels. I love fresh laundry. It always feels good to pull fresh sheets and towels out of the dryer. I love washing your white sheets in the hottest temperature your washer will provide, with a cup of bleach, knowing you are killing at least half of the flu off of them. Aww. Clean sheets.

· Emotions: One in particular. Anticipation. Whether it’s good or bad, but particularly when it’s good. Wait. Wait. Wait. Now you can. YES!

· Barnes & Noble: This is my secular church. My sister(s/in-law) go to libraries. I go to B&N. Some days when I feel like I can’t talk to another person, I’ll turn my phone off and go to B&N right after work and not leave until they close. I’m a late blooming book worm and I like it.

· The Sun: I love it.

· The Snow: Go away. I dislike it on April 25th.

· A text for text and a call for call: Even if your response is 24 hours later, I am a true believer in returning what you have received. I dislike when there is a breakdown.

· Know your place: Don’t tell me you love a song more than anyone around you. Especially when I am around you. Especially when you don’t know the words to the song. Especially when you just heard it for the first time a day ago. I heard it last year, when I watched the movie, the night before I downloaded it. I love this song too. Enough to know when it was released. Trite? Yes. Fact? Yes.

· Holidays: Ever since all of my family moved away, I’ve grown to dislike holidays. I hate thinking about where I’m going to go or if I’m going to celebrate them.

· Vehicle Problems: My car is old and always breaking. It VEXES me greatly.

A Forced Surrendering

I sat in the doctor’s office with tears in my eyes. It was one of the few times in my life I was really scared. I had no idea what to think because I just couldn’t come up with any explanation which made sense except I had AIDS.

I didn’t honestly think I had AIDS. I just knew I had something which left me without an immune system. THAT scared me.

A week ago Saturday I noticed it was a little difficult waking up in the morning but didn’t think anything of it because I had no pressing engagement to show me just how exhausted my body had been.

Things turned super strange when I went to Salt Lake to do some shopping with a friend. I almost fell asleep on the 40 minute ride up as though we were doing a cross country road trip, 800 miles into it.

Even then, I chalked it up to having eaten nothing and being on empty. After all, I am the queen of doing this as I frequently pull many long hour days without stopping to eat. (I don’t need a lecture. I’ve been told many times how bad this is for anyone’s body.)

So after three to four hours of walking around perusing Nordstrom’s Rack (hella hot pair of black trousers) and DWS (loved all the shoes so much, I bought none of them), I begged to be taken somewhere to eat. I was going to literally lay down and fall asleep anywhere.

We stopped and I consumed a sandwich. I felt immediately better, I thought. But as we traversed back home, it took literally 10 minutes before I thought I would pass out in the vehicle again.

I was dropped off at home, went upstairs, climbed into bed without removing one stitch and fell asleep.

I awoke confused but felt better. A friend texted me to go to a movie within minutes. I cleaned myself up and headed out. Two and a half hours later, I was home in bed completely fatigued.

Here’s the crazy part. I still wasn’t flagged to the situation… at all.

The indicator came the next morning, Easter morning. My alarm went off to get ready for my 8:30 AM church service.

And THAT’S when I thought someone with a bat had had their way with me while I slept.

I lay there contemplating skipping church due to illness, which was more than justified. Still I knew 90% of the non-regularly attending Christian world would be worshipping today.

It broke my heart to think of not going on Easter. So quite frankly some competitive side of my piety (the irony is not lost on me) ripped my being out of my bed and dressed herself.

I stumbled into church and was asleep within thirty minutes. I assure you I must have been a sight for sore eyes. I slouched passed out in comatose form apparently proving my discipleship to no one but myself.

I left after an hour and went home to, you guessed it, sleep. This is when I first realized I might have mono.

The rest of the symptoms came quickly and in blurred memory.

Monday morning was hell trying to wake for work. I had added strep throat to my illness and some sort of respiratory disease. Tuesday was the same only WORSE. I left work after a measly four hours.

Wednesday I was dead to the world. Every symptom was a trophied win as if a micro-biological Genghis Khan was conquering through me.

After Thursday’s swabbing, I was told I had the flu. THE FLU. And anyone who was following my facebook (the only thing I did while laying in bed sweating and only because I could use my Blackberry) knew I was finding out the hard way why millions of people died from such an epidemic.

I am not a baby when it comes to my sicknesses.

It is more than a week later. I’m draining. I’m healing. I’m running at 60% and I consider it a huge success. It’s been awhile since I’ve remembered how valuable good health is.

Could It Be??

I awoke Monday morning with hives all over my upper torso, my chest, but especially plaguing my neck. The splotchiest, itchiest, cherry rash on my neck. I spent all day trying to eliminate it.

I evaluated a constant mental checklist of what I might have changed to cause this allergic reaction. My constant self barrage proved futile. There was nothing I had done or used differently. I went to bed hoping it would go away by the time I awoke.

Tuesday morning I woke up with the same splotchy, itchy, cherry rash on my neck. This time the cherry was even cherrier and the itchy was even itchier. Visibly obvious, this inflammation was taking center stage in my every personal interaction with anyone.

“Have you used this salve?” “Have you tried that balm?” Ironically, I work at a skin care company and the suggestions poured in steadily. I finally conceded to my boss’s proposal of immediately taking Benadryl.

I was hesitant knowing it was about 2 pm in the middle of a work day and I would get drowsy. Additionally, I knew my work day went from 8 in the morning to at least midnight.

The medicine did nothing to alleviate the rash or the itch. It did, however, administer its lethargic effects upon my being.

There I was, miserable at 5 pm on a snowy Tuesday early evening, head on my desk, and inbox still with 50 emails needing to be reviewed by midnight for end of month.

I walked over to Benefits to submit my final cafeteria plan form for 2008. I had waited until the final day to do so. Upon entrance, my neck became the source of conversation.

“Yeah yeah,” I garbled entirely unamused. I head nodded in agreement while paying little attention to the exchange.

Lost in angst, I blanked until I realized I was being asked a question. My face immediately communicated my disoriented state so she repeated yet again, “are you stressed?”

Allow me a few words to answer this question. Yes. Immensely. Always… yet in an oxymoronically nonchalant way.

While sparing everyone the hum drum, daily living, social history of my stressors, know that Harry and Nancy each gifted to their children an inherent disposition to worry, fret, agonize, and lose sleep over the natural anxieties of life.

While trying to make an insurance claim before deadline, in the middle of our month end chaos, feeling the pressure of occupation, the fog of drugs, and sprinkling in some matters of the heart or heartache, I identified some of my stress.

So when the medication did absolutely nothing for me, I was even more flabbergasted to learn what I had been experiencing with this outbreak had less to do with a physiological reaction and more to do with a psychosomatic manifestation.

As a product of my family, this was unfeasible. We don’t get sick. We sure don’t get sick from our minds. I had spent two days trying to rid myself of the ailment which had been the source of uncanny constant discomfort.

Then this morning, I woke up. As abruptly as it appeared did it suddenly disappear. I was left with a souvenir of dry flakey in skin in an area I had spent trying not to scratch the past couple of days.

Hmmm…

Walking Left

Since I graduated from college, I’ve been eagerly waiting for my life to start.

I had this supposed inauguration marked by certain indicators. I would secure a great job. I would save loads of money and purchase loads of great things. I would help people. I would do great things.

I would also travel the world, a desire so strong anyone associating closely with me knew I was almost solely judging my success off of this fulfillment... or the lack thereof.

Finally in the month of January, I believe I spent a total of 6 nights in my apartment in the state where I reside. At one point around the middle of the month, our plane touched down for a layover and already having had five cities under my belt, I genuinely looked to the man beside me and queried, “what city are we in right now?”

A week later, I awoke in London.

One evening my travel companion and I were waiting for our play to start in southwest London. We stood in front of the Apollo Victoria Theater trying to decide where to kill time before the show.

Knowing Buckingham Palace was about a mile away, I suggested the quick journey up the road. We walked it and upon cresting the hill, I was immediately seized with the sight before me.

The night was purple black. The palace was illuminated with bright white flood lights highlighting its majesty. The London Eye was glowing indigo on the horizon off the Thames. I loved it.

I was so much reminded how I love looking at the DC monuments much better at night, when the tourists have left and the buildings are immaculately regal.

On that semi-foggy evening in front of Buckingham Palace, a question crept into my mind. “Elizabeth, what do you believe to be your Personal Legend?” A humid wakeup call smacking me in the face.

I once read a story of a shepherd boy living a common life who had a dream leading him on a journey to fulfill his Personal Legend.

Crucial to the novel was this idea of a Personal Legend. The boy learned of one's Personal Legend from a King who clarified to him "It's what you have always wanted to accomplish. Everyone, when they are young, knows what their Personal Legend is.” (The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho)

Spoiler. One of the enlightening beauties of the story exists in the irony of the shepherd boy finding his treasure in the place he commenced his journey.

By the end of London, I was ready to go home. My Personal Legend had less to do with “the where” as I had originally believed and a whole lot more to do with “the what.”

My plane left Heathrow and upon stepping foot in the Atlanta airport, I was heard to exclaim quite dramatically “God Bless America” as the surrounding passengers chuckled.

I spent all of January gone and have spent all of February making up for it… in a state I have long since had little desire to be in.

I feel once more a robust drive I have felt many times in the past. A drive which has many times directed me to stuffing my vehicle and moving. Each era guided me to trivial fulfillment.

I look forward to more travel. Traveling is enlightening. Inevitably, messing with the Where will help you to decipher the What.

However, it’s not the Where I’m trying to seize. Even now, it is the What.

Life Lag

It was freezing. 7 degrees Fahrenheit freezing. But the view was remarkable. 7 degrees Fahrenheit remarkable.

The house was positioned on the base of the mountain where the views of the valley were astonishing. All the city glittered in the night while left over Christmas lights twinkled sporadically here and there. The city glow ceased abruptly where the lake was responsible for the black out in the middle of the scene. The dark abyss was beautiful in its own sense and commanded respect for the grandness of the void.

When things get stressful, it’s always good to take a deep breath. When things get really stressful, it’s always good to take a deep breath of fresh air. Last night was the epitome of this.

I will spend the next 19 days straight working. I have a business trip to Anaheim at the end of this week returning on Sunday only to work on Monday; immediately followed by a business trip to Orlando at the end of next week returning on Sunday only to work on Monday through that business week.

Stressful. I rely heavily on my weekends. I love my friends and I certainly enjoy playing with my friends on the weekends. It’s a time to be renewed.

One of my dear friends started a new semester today. With half her classes registered for and the other half relying on a professor’s signature to add the courses, she too was anxious for today.

So last night while commiserating at her house, we wrapped ourselves up in blankets and sat out on her balcony porch enjoying the view… for over an hour… in coldness I would next to never be caught in. We breathed. We pontificated. We breathed some more.

Our problems did not disappear with our increased blueness. Just a deep breath. But on the up side, jet lag aside*, I’ll be in much warmer weather.

*UT to PA to UT to CA to UT to FL to ENGLAND to UT within three weeks. Literally coast to coast.

To Help Me Cope With Anything

When I was younger, I would wear my bathing suit day and night throughout the entire summer. I lived in it.

Each morning, I'd wake up wearing nothing but my suit. I would stagger down to the kitchen in my bathing suit and a pair of shorts I had pulled on.

I knew weeding our half acre garden was always the large chore of the day. So I'd pour myself a big bowl of grape nuts to put off the inevitable as long as I could manage.

It was hot. It was humid. It was Pennsylvania.

Still, if we worked hard enough, we were taken swimming nearly everyday by one in the afternoon. So after the garden, I'd grab my towel and actually use my swimming suit.

My siblings and I would come home tuckered out and I'd lie down on the couch and fall asleep. When I woke, it was usually time to set the table, eat dinner, do the dishes, and I even have a few good memories of our family messing around and playing summer games outside.

All was done in my suit.

We'd come in after the sky would darken and watch television. We'd go back out again and watch the lightening bugs.

I'd sleepily stagger back up to bed in my suit and fall asleep.

The next morning was exactly the same, only tasks of snapping green beans, pitting cherries, skinning onions, canning in general, hanging sheets on the line, burning papers (which means absolutely nothing to you unless you're part of my family), and the likes can be substituted for the gardening.

Most often though, all of it was followed by swimming, napping, eating, playing, and bedtime.

I know this seems unorthodox at best if not down right disgusting to most. I lived in my suit and had I not had church every Sunday, I would have spent the entirety of my summer in it. As is, the days I spent out of my suit would have been less that two actual weeks worth.

I'm missing the beach. What I would give to be in Hawaii right now, with no fewer than two weeks of vacation ahead of me, a pair of shoes, a skirt, and a swimming suit.

Lay Thee Down Now and Rest, May Thy Slumber Be Blessed

It's after midnight. But it's snowing. And I loathe the snow. But it's so beautiful. And it's the perfect backdrop for a restless night. So restless indeed, that I'm looking up quotes about my insomnia.

"It's at night, when perhaps we should be dreaming, that the mind is most clear, that we are most able to hold all our life in the palm of our skull. I don't know if anyone has ever pointed out that great attraction of insomnia before, but it is so; the night seems to release a little more of our vast backward inheritance of instincts and feelings; as with the dawn, a little honey is allowed to ooze between the lips of the sandwich, a little of the stuff of dreams to drip into the waking mind. Three score years and ten is such a stingy ration of time, when there is so much time around. Perhaps that's why some of us are insomniacs; night is so precious that it would be pusillanimous to sleep all through it! A "bad night" is not always a bad thing." ~Brian W. Aldiss

A Popcorn and Cranberry String of...

I could barely feel my finger tips in my black fleece gloves.

The black fleece hat kept inching off my head and was getting lost in the hood of my sweatshirt which barely moved with my body because it was clinging to the mint green fleece under it. The white tee shirt was twisting under the green fleece and all of it had separated from my jeans.

My bare lower back was itching from the pink striped wool blanket between me and the ground. The blanket on top of me was doing little more than annoy rather than warm. I shoved my hands in between my legs hoping there was warmth to spare for my extremities.

Despite all of this, I gazed up at the black night sky sprinkled full of white stars.

It was cold, yes. Yet it was a beautiful sight… and my two giggling friends were making it all the better. What can I say? When a person just needs to breathe some fresh air, she counts herself lucky to have friends willing to do it with her even on a frosty night.

We were all taking turns asking the questions. When I wasn’t staring at the heavens, I was focusing on the ice flakes which had formed on our blankets and any other exposed clothing.

“Is there anything you regret in your life that if you could go back and do it again, you would change?”

I laughed at the question. I still laugh at the question. I never know what I’m going to hear with something like this. Mostly in this day and age, a day where we’re taught to take little responsibility, an age where we’re told we don’t owe anything to anyone, in this day and age of moral decay, I frequently hear people comment on having no regrets. They’d do it all the same.

This has fascinated me. I understand the concept of thinking you’re on a good path now, of thinking there really is no going back anyway so why really think about changing any of it, of thinking you are a good person in a good place and to change anything about the journey may change those two facts.

The truth is I have a string of regrets. I have a series of events and behaviors I would undo or even summon the bravery to do.

I met a new friend or rather became more acquainted with a new friend who inspires me. A person who is fundamentally good to the core. A person who encourages, uplifts, and fortifies me in our every dealing. A person I can’t seem to get enough of because goodness in this form rarely, if ever, comes your way.

Every encounter leaves me wanting more and not of this person’s company but of myself.

I am reminded of my many mistakes. I see how this other has come across my same temptations and prevailed. I have many instances I bemoan.

I am thankfully aware of some of my own successes as I’m glad I don’t have to report wrong doing on my part. Not that I owe or would give any sort of accounting before this individual but because being in this individual’s presence makes me acutely aware of my being and I immediately find myself reporting to me.

I regret not being more, not giving more, not helping more. But regrets are fruitless and that’s the truth. Here’s to a holiday season which too is acting upon me as this new friend. To a season where most of us give more, help more, and generally are more.

And here’s to the friend as well.

... And You Lose Some

I rarely try to disclose any specific incident in my life unless it applies to my greater and more formulated themed essay. But I woke up this morning and was giggling literally within 30 seconds of being coherent. And I promise, I do NOT laugh in the morning.

What follows is an account as accurately as I can portray it. I have not embellished which makes it even better.

Each night, I sleep with the window open. I have done this for years. No matter the season. No matter the temperature. The window has to be open for me to sleep.

On a more personal note, I sleep in my skivvies only. I have also been doing this for years. I do not wear socks. I do not wear clothes.

However, when the weather turns cooler, I’ll pull on a t-shirt and bottoms and lately my ugg boots. I don’t know when and I can’t imagine it takes long, but I always seem to wake up back in my undies only.

Last night I pulled on a tee, some pants, and my uggs. After some television watching and a little socializing, I eventually sauntered up to bed completely exhausted. I must have been wholly worn out because this morning when I woke, I was lying on my stomach and my feet felt stiff.

I literally blinked open my eyes and was wearing nothing but my undies… AND my boots. Additionally I have no recollection of how the clothes came off and not the boots.