"Why was George singing to your stomach?"
"I believe the sun should never set upon an argument... I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do... I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul. I believe that family is worth more than money or gold... I believe forgiveness is the key to your unhappiness. I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed... I believe in love surviving death into eternity."
I start school in less than a week. I'm excited, nervous, scared, exhilarated, anxious... blah blah blah... I want to do this, and I know I will be okay; it's just the unknown. I think the one big thing that has me a little edgy is the commute. It's long, and boring, and pretty rural. My car is reliable, but anything can happen, especially when the weather gets bad. I just keep telling myself it will all work out, and that in two years I will be looking back, grateful that I decided to suck it up.
I just can't wait to be a Psych Nurse. It's a burning in my veins, a throbbing in my chest. An urge to scream until my lungs collapse, the need to "be"... something, someone.
The days and weeks making up the months since Brandon left to work out of town in May have weighed heavily upon my shoulders. I find it impossible to sleep in our bed alone, so I retire to the couch and Nick at Nite. I hold deep conversations with our cats, imagining them to be reciprocal musings. It all leaves me feeling flat and empty. The phone calls do not satiate the need to be hugged.
I wake up groggy, with the thought, "I have cancer" raging through my head. Where does this come from? Why am I suddenly having these ridiculous streams roar inside of me?
"What does your foot say?"
Survivor.
"*huge laugh* Survivor?! Like the SHOW?! Who gets that tattooed on their foot?"
Um, no. Survivor, like I was raped.
I ended up being the one to feel like an ass at the end of that exchange. I've come to a happy medium most days on how I feel about the attack. Scratch that: I think I've become numb to it. Try saying the word "milk" repeatedly in rapid succession. Does it start to sound like a made-up word? Does it feel like a stranger on your tongue?
That's how I feel about the word "rape" in reference to my own life. Kind of like, "I have to stop for gas before I go to work... Yeah, I was raped." It has made my life become an afterthought. There was "before", and this is "after", and I can't live in both time periods, so I choose to live in the least painful: the past "before". Sometimes this choice seems automatic, subconscious.
I have too much time on my hands, even with all of the pre-Wedding activities flying around.
I could rant forever, but I guess I will take a break for now...
I start school in less than a week. I'm excited, nervous, scared, exhilarated, anxious... blah blah blah... I want to do this, and I know I will be okay; it's just the unknown. I think the one big thing that has me a little edgy is the commute. It's long, and boring, and pretty rural. My car is reliable, but anything can happen, especially when the weather gets bad. I just keep telling myself it will all work out, and that in two years I will be looking back, grateful that I decided to suck it up.
I just can't wait to be a Psych Nurse. It's a burning in my veins, a throbbing in my chest. An urge to scream until my lungs collapse, the need to "be"... something, someone.
The days and weeks making up the months since Brandon left to work out of town in May have weighed heavily upon my shoulders. I find it impossible to sleep in our bed alone, so I retire to the couch and Nick at Nite. I hold deep conversations with our cats, imagining them to be reciprocal musings. It all leaves me feeling flat and empty. The phone calls do not satiate the need to be hugged.
I wake up groggy, with the thought, "I have cancer" raging through my head. Where does this come from? Why am I suddenly having these ridiculous streams roar inside of me?
"What does your foot say?"
Survivor.
"*huge laugh* Survivor?! Like the SHOW?! Who gets that tattooed on their foot?"
Um, no. Survivor, like I was raped.
I ended up being the one to feel like an ass at the end of that exchange. I've come to a happy medium most days on how I feel about the attack. Scratch that: I think I've become numb to it. Try saying the word "milk" repeatedly in rapid succession. Does it start to sound like a made-up word? Does it feel like a stranger on your tongue?
That's how I feel about the word "rape" in reference to my own life. Kind of like, "I have to stop for gas before I go to work... Yeah, I was raped." It has made my life become an afterthought. There was "before", and this is "after", and I can't live in both time periods, so I choose to live in the least painful: the past "before". Sometimes this choice seems automatic, subconscious.
I have too much time on my hands, even with all of the pre-Wedding activities flying around.
I could rant forever, but I guess I will take a break for now...