Everyone knows that people who blog have no social skills.
Last year on my birthday I wrote a reflective entry about the previous year. I let him read it once during a snowy January night when we were far enough apart I wouldn’t have to see the change in his eyes as he discovered a different side of me for the first time. He asked if it was something I did every year. It isn’t. But as another year passes, I suppose I might just be starting a tradition. Tonight someone suggested that the main reason we have personal relationships is solely so we can have a witness to our lives. Certainly no writer can deny the truth behind that. There is so much I wish I’d told you. But with Alan and Megan being this year’s constants, I lost the desire to turn memories into blog entries. They have been my witnesses. The narrators to my story. I should just have you ask them. But I guess I’d consider that cheating. So here it is, mere hours from my 25th birthday and I’m not even sure I have the confidence to do this anymore. A pre-quarter century crisis perhaps? Do I start with my past or do I move toward the future? Do I categorize the year in bullet points? Do write in metaphors or stick in applicable song lyrics? How do I define 2008?
Close your eyes. Can you hear your life changing?
As clumsy as I am, I did not fall easily. Rather I tried to grab on to any and every object I could find on the way down. I doubt he’d believe that, but it’s true. In typical Lauren fashion, I questioned and doubted and over analyzed every single component that accompanied this gesture for prolonged happiness. But I’ll admit, it didn’t take long for me to hit the ground. Hard. I could not do my heart justice if I tried to explain to you how much he’s changed me, challenged me, cared for me, laughed with me, accepted every part of me, or how I am indisputably 101% in love with him. I really REALLY wish that I could. I can tell you that what started as an irresistible (trust me we tried) attraction has turned into a warmth that calms my entire body when he hugs me. I can tell you a slight smile still teases at my mouth whenever he calls me his “girlfriend”. And that he knows I can’t sleep without him even though he’d sleep way better if I could. I can tell you that my breath still catches when unprompted he whispers; “I love you, Lauren”. I can tell you that he absolutely abhors when I steal his socks but all he does is shake his head softly while saying “yoooouu” and smiling after he notices. I can tell you he makes me think of white dresses and mini clones and things I otherwise never believed in actually obtaining myself. And that sometimes I am embarrassed by just how much I feel for him. If you were to hold my purse you would notice its significant weight. For Christmas this year (last year?), he bought me a leather bound journal with this “Thank you for giving me the best year of my life, and my first taste of true love. Merry Christmas. Love Alan” written inside and that even though I haven’t written in it yet, I will continue to carry it around, likely forever.
Blink and you’re back to reality.
First it was my grandmother. Then Kara. Then Jenny. Each death with their own connections and broken ties. The first time I saw a dead body was at Tim Parker’s funeral. I tried to avert my eyes. The second time was more difficult with her mother gripping tightly to my arm and sobbing slightly. “That’s Jenny” she said. “No” I wanted to say “That’s just a grotesque version of someone I haven’t seen in 5 years.” I tried to take a step back but she pushed me forward; just 4 feet from the body of my pervious best friend. Bloated and discolored and covered in pancake makeup. I was alone. Now in the middle of an otherwise calm thanksgiving with friends I'm shouting "NO don't eat it like that, it could KILL YOU!" in a tone not unlike the father from that old PSA "ESTCASY KILLED MY DAUGHTER! IT KILLED HER!" That horrible day did not change me the way the loss of Kara has changed my sister (Though I’ll admit the image of her mangled car still haunts me). She was alone too. The end of my grandmother was different. Not surprising, yet still visually traumatizing. For months we watched her soul deteriorate and then not long after she passed we watched the remaining familial relationships of my father do the same thing.
This is living.
You’re stepping outside in the bitter cold temperatures without a coat just to feel something. You’re running in the freezing temperatures just so that you can finally say you stopped using your running shoes for metaphorical purposes. And you’re smiling because there are people out there crazier then you. The turkey hats are dead giveaways. I finished a marathon. A short one, but one nevertheless. And it felt painful and AWESOME. One day, somehow, I will finish another one at a time I’m actually proud of. I also voted (for the first time) and graduated college and moved in with him and lost two jobs because they could no longer afford to pay me and became a girl I hardly recognize. I still can’t believe how different everything is from three months ago, 6 months ago, hell five days ago. Or how drastically different they’re about to become.
This is dying.
Nothing is as it used to be, except (I fear) for the worst parts of me. Please ignore the rhyme. Being selfish can hurt, but I’ve never been very good at regret. And living near the ocean and tackling another adventure and falling further in love are everything I want right now. I leave for California in roughly 25 days. I have three weeks to pack, trash, store, and relocate my life. Three weeks to say goodbye to MI resembling any type of home for me again. And I am scared shitless. Ok. That’s a lie. I’m not scared. I’m nervous. I’m cautious. I’m slightly terrified. I have no doubts in him. In us. I know that if we want to, we will live out the wedding ring and the babies and the growing old. But the weight of this decision is crushing me. This is not like New York. I have no desires to return, no unfinished business to attend to, I’ve obtained everything I wanted from here. I just don’t know if I want to survive without the constant physical reminders of friends and family. I will miss Megan and my family terribly. I know full well I cannot expect to see anyone on more then a yearly basis now. I know I will miss out on the little details and ridiculous stories that fill the Bywater estate. I know I will not make it to all the weddings or to the births of babies. I know I will not write, nor receive letters the way I used to…
Knowing all that though, doesn’t make it any easier; it just makes it heavy.
(2008) This year I have been lucky though. Very lucky. I have said “I love you” and truly meant it for the first time. I have danced and dined with friends and family that I’d otherwise have to cross continents to see. I put a pool in the kitchen of my apartment. I got to hear Henry say he missed me! I saw babies born and the dynamics of friendships shift. I’ve had ups and (many comical) downs. I’ve seen the inside of my camera and the inside of Alan’s chin. I’ve worked hard and played hard and let nothing but those initial feelings move me. I was (and am) incredibly happy. But as cliché as it is, I’m ready to close this chapter and proceed with the next. So until then…
(Happy 25th Birthday Lauren)
P.S. (I’d also like to note that you came home just now to a clean bathroom (!!) and the boys playing Gears of War with headsets on…(hahaha))
Close your eyes. Can you hear your life changing?
As clumsy as I am, I did not fall easily. Rather I tried to grab on to any and every object I could find on the way down. I doubt he’d believe that, but it’s true. In typical Lauren fashion, I questioned and doubted and over analyzed every single component that accompanied this gesture for prolonged happiness. But I’ll admit, it didn’t take long for me to hit the ground. Hard. I could not do my heart justice if I tried to explain to you how much he’s changed me, challenged me, cared for me, laughed with me, accepted every part of me, or how I am indisputably 101% in love with him. I really REALLY wish that I could. I can tell you that what started as an irresistible (trust me we tried) attraction has turned into a warmth that calms my entire body when he hugs me. I can tell you a slight smile still teases at my mouth whenever he calls me his “girlfriend”. And that he knows I can’t sleep without him even though he’d sleep way better if I could. I can tell you that my breath still catches when unprompted he whispers; “I love you, Lauren”. I can tell you that he absolutely abhors when I steal his socks but all he does is shake his head softly while saying “yoooouu” and smiling after he notices. I can tell you he makes me think of white dresses and mini clones and things I otherwise never believed in actually obtaining myself. And that sometimes I am embarrassed by just how much I feel for him. If you were to hold my purse you would notice its significant weight. For Christmas this year (last year?), he bought me a leather bound journal with this “Thank you for giving me the best year of my life, and my first taste of true love. Merry Christmas. Love Alan” written inside and that even though I haven’t written in it yet, I will continue to carry it around, likely forever.
Blink and you’re back to reality.
First it was my grandmother. Then Kara. Then Jenny. Each death with their own connections and broken ties. The first time I saw a dead body was at Tim Parker’s funeral. I tried to avert my eyes. The second time was more difficult with her mother gripping tightly to my arm and sobbing slightly. “That’s Jenny” she said. “No” I wanted to say “That’s just a grotesque version of someone I haven’t seen in 5 years.” I tried to take a step back but she pushed me forward; just 4 feet from the body of my pervious best friend. Bloated and discolored and covered in pancake makeup. I was alone. Now in the middle of an otherwise calm thanksgiving with friends I'm shouting "NO don't eat it like that, it could KILL YOU!" in a tone not unlike the father from that old PSA "ESTCASY KILLED MY DAUGHTER! IT KILLED HER!" That horrible day did not change me the way the loss of Kara has changed my sister (Though I’ll admit the image of her mangled car still haunts me). She was alone too. The end of my grandmother was different. Not surprising, yet still visually traumatizing. For months we watched her soul deteriorate and then not long after she passed we watched the remaining familial relationships of my father do the same thing.
This is living.
You’re stepping outside in the bitter cold temperatures without a coat just to feel something. You’re running in the freezing temperatures just so that you can finally say you stopped using your running shoes for metaphorical purposes. And you’re smiling because there are people out there crazier then you. The turkey hats are dead giveaways. I finished a marathon. A short one, but one nevertheless. And it felt painful and AWESOME. One day, somehow, I will finish another one at a time I’m actually proud of. I also voted (for the first time) and graduated college and moved in with him and lost two jobs because they could no longer afford to pay me and became a girl I hardly recognize. I still can’t believe how different everything is from three months ago, 6 months ago, hell five days ago. Or how drastically different they’re about to become.
This is dying.
Nothing is as it used to be, except (I fear) for the worst parts of me. Please ignore the rhyme. Being selfish can hurt, but I’ve never been very good at regret. And living near the ocean and tackling another adventure and falling further in love are everything I want right now. I leave for California in roughly 25 days. I have three weeks to pack, trash, store, and relocate my life. Three weeks to say goodbye to MI resembling any type of home for me again. And I am scared shitless. Ok. That’s a lie. I’m not scared. I’m nervous. I’m cautious. I’m slightly terrified. I have no doubts in him. In us. I know that if we want to, we will live out the wedding ring and the babies and the growing old. But the weight of this decision is crushing me. This is not like New York. I have no desires to return, no unfinished business to attend to, I’ve obtained everything I wanted from here. I just don’t know if I want to survive without the constant physical reminders of friends and family. I will miss Megan and my family terribly. I know full well I cannot expect to see anyone on more then a yearly basis now. I know I will miss out on the little details and ridiculous stories that fill the Bywater estate. I know I will not make it to all the weddings or to the births of babies. I know I will not write, nor receive letters the way I used to…
Knowing all that though, doesn’t make it any easier; it just makes it heavy.
(2008) This year I have been lucky though. Very lucky. I have said “I love you” and truly meant it for the first time. I have danced and dined with friends and family that I’d otherwise have to cross continents to see. I put a pool in the kitchen of my apartment. I got to hear Henry say he missed me! I saw babies born and the dynamics of friendships shift. I’ve had ups and (many comical) downs. I’ve seen the inside of my camera and the inside of Alan’s chin. I’ve worked hard and played hard and let nothing but those initial feelings move me. I was (and am) incredibly happy. But as cliché as it is, I’m ready to close this chapter and proceed with the next. So until then…
(Happy 25th Birthday Lauren)
P.S. (I’d also like to note that you came home just now to a clean bathroom (!!) and the boys playing Gears of War with headsets on…(hahaha))