If you are dead or still alive/I don't care
So it's been six weeks, or so, since I last posted. Things have been hard, and easy, and good, and awful. I had to go back to therapy for a short while to recover from the client's death (see last post) because every time I closed my eyes I saw his already-cold and stiffening body and his eyes, his horrible horrible eyes, open and blank and staring right at me, saying, "why didn't you save me?" For the most part I'm better now, but once in a while I still see him and start to hyperventilate.
I got engaged, which is absolutely wonderful. At some point I'm going to post a picture of the ring, etc, but I haven't actually gotten round to it yet although we've been engaged for like 3 weeks. For those of you who read this who I haven't contacted directly for addresses and minor notifications, I'm really sorry but that means you're most likely not invited because we're having an absolutely tiny wedding because of a myriad reasons not the least of which being my problem with crowds in general, a dislike of most of the people we'd have to invite because our coworkers are creepy, and cost. It doesn't mean we don't like you or anything, it's just that we have to keep it down to an absolute minimum of people.
As for the story of how it happened, we had made plans to go to this street dance thing (though it's more a stand-around-in-the-street thing) for a few hours before I headed into work for my weekend on shift, so I dressed up a little bit. He had talked to my dad earlier in the day, which I knew about, but I figured the question itself wouldn't pop up until the next weekend because I was working this weekend. Anyway, he took me to the one and only nice restaurant in town, saying basically "what the hell, we're dressed nice anyway, might as well do this right." I wanted to know how things went with Dad, but he told me that he wasn't really up for talking about it until after we finished eating. I was, of course, very worried because it sounded like Dad had said no. We finish eating, I go to the bathroom, and get back to the table and he says, "before you sit down, this is how it went with your dad." He had a ring in his hand and got down on one knee and I started just bawling while he's talking, and I'm so overwhelmed that I'm not actually paying attention to the details of what he was saying (but he doesn't know that yet) and then.
A little old lady walks up and starts talking at us, "oh, isn't that sweet, oh it's so pretty" etc etc etc and ANDREW WASN'T EVEN DONE ASKING YET!! I did, of course, say yes and it was terribly exciting and I fulfilled my promise to Michelle to call her first. I'm excited.
And now I'm in Chicago with him, for a group reunion of sorts, with a lot of the people I hung out with in college the first couple of years, and I haven't seen any of them in at least two years and I did some nasty things before we started hanging out and so I was very nervous that it would go badly but it's been going quite well thus far except for when they all called my ex boyfriend and wanted to talk to him and I felt terribly terribly awkward.
And I'm sure there's more to talk about, like how my brother is back home for the summer because he couldn't find a teaching job down in Texas and the job in Korea fell through because of the whole scary maybe-war thing. And how I hate my job more and more and more every day but I really don't want to get into detail because I'm very sure you don't want to hear about my alcoholic slutty coworkers or the antics of my clients or the more disgusting aspects of my job that primarily involve body fluids. My elementary-school sense of humor (you know, the one where you laugh when someone says Winnie the Pooh because, OMG, they said "poo") has come back into play because being able to laugh at the whole body-fluids thing is the only way to get through it. So I find poo funny again. And how old am I?
I'll try to get back to actually writing in this thing, as it's fun and cathartic and it keeps my typing semi up to par. Kind of. And it's a lot easier than having to repeat my story over and over again to various people when it's much easier to just write it down once. Granted only two or three people are even interested in my stories, but you get the point. I think. Maybe.
I got engaged, which is absolutely wonderful. At some point I'm going to post a picture of the ring, etc, but I haven't actually gotten round to it yet although we've been engaged for like 3 weeks. For those of you who read this who I haven't contacted directly for addresses and minor notifications, I'm really sorry but that means you're most likely not invited because we're having an absolutely tiny wedding because of a myriad reasons not the least of which being my problem with crowds in general, a dislike of most of the people we'd have to invite because our coworkers are creepy, and cost. It doesn't mean we don't like you or anything, it's just that we have to keep it down to an absolute minimum of people.
As for the story of how it happened, we had made plans to go to this street dance thing (though it's more a stand-around-in-the-street thing) for a few hours before I headed into work for my weekend on shift, so I dressed up a little bit. He had talked to my dad earlier in the day, which I knew about, but I figured the question itself wouldn't pop up until the next weekend because I was working this weekend. Anyway, he took me to the one and only nice restaurant in town, saying basically "what the hell, we're dressed nice anyway, might as well do this right." I wanted to know how things went with Dad, but he told me that he wasn't really up for talking about it until after we finished eating. I was, of course, very worried because it sounded like Dad had said no. We finish eating, I go to the bathroom, and get back to the table and he says, "before you sit down, this is how it went with your dad." He had a ring in his hand and got down on one knee and I started just bawling while he's talking, and I'm so overwhelmed that I'm not actually paying attention to the details of what he was saying (but he doesn't know that yet) and then.
A little old lady walks up and starts talking at us, "oh, isn't that sweet, oh it's so pretty" etc etc etc and ANDREW WASN'T EVEN DONE ASKING YET!! I did, of course, say yes and it was terribly exciting and I fulfilled my promise to Michelle to call her first. I'm excited.
And now I'm in Chicago with him, for a group reunion of sorts, with a lot of the people I hung out with in college the first couple of years, and I haven't seen any of them in at least two years and I did some nasty things before we started hanging out and so I was very nervous that it would go badly but it's been going quite well thus far except for when they all called my ex boyfriend and wanted to talk to him and I felt terribly terribly awkward.
And I'm sure there's more to talk about, like how my brother is back home for the summer because he couldn't find a teaching job down in Texas and the job in Korea fell through because of the whole scary maybe-war thing. And how I hate my job more and more and more every day but I really don't want to get into detail because I'm very sure you don't want to hear about my alcoholic slutty coworkers or the antics of my clients or the more disgusting aspects of my job that primarily involve body fluids. My elementary-school sense of humor (you know, the one where you laugh when someone says Winnie the Pooh because, OMG, they said "poo") has come back into play because being able to laugh at the whole body-fluids thing is the only way to get through it. So I find poo funny again. And how old am I?
I'll try to get back to actually writing in this thing, as it's fun and cathartic and it keeps my typing semi up to par. Kind of. And it's a lot easier than having to repeat my story over and over again to various people when it's much easier to just write it down once. Granted only two or three people are even interested in my stories, but you get the point. I think. Maybe.