Visiting Chris

So the visit with Chris was pretty much uneventful. Going into a prison really isn't a big deal. You fill out a form that tells the prison who you are, who you're coming to see, and that you're not trying to sneak paraphenalia into said inmate.

Of course there's a metal detector, and they check your coat pockets and shoes, same as the airport. The only difference is that you're only allowed to enter with 1 key, and you leave your driver's license to the attending CO.

They stamp your hand, which when you're retrieved by the CO from the visitation room, you put under a black light. You walk across a small walkway to the visitation room where said inmate may, or may not be waiting for you.

Chris wasn't waiting for me this time, and honestly, I like it better that way. We always sit in the same seat-the ones he picked the 2nd time I went to see him. I decided to be spontaneous, and sit in a different area, but it just didn't feel right. So I got up, walked past the guard's desk and relocated myself, trying so desperately not to look shady.

What Chris didn't know at that point was that in the morning I had retrieved my plastic bag for my coins, (in prison you're only allowed to enter with $20 in change, in a plastic bag), and stopped at one of the gas stations to retrieve my money. I took the plastic bag in with me, filled out the form, signed in, and went to get change. Somehow in a space of 30 feet, I managed to lose my plastic bag. I kid you not. I frantically searched for it, finally resolving that I'd have to return my money to the car, where I hoped to find another plastic bag. No such luck. I had to enter the prison sans any money for food or drink. When I told Chris the story, he just laughed.

As luck would continue to have it, there was an "emergency fog count" that day and Chris was quite delayed in getting to me. Once I got into the waiting room, it was about 40 more minutes before I got to see Chris whom thought it would be great to sneak up behind me. I caught him in action though!

I was officially called a "kink in the system" by one of the CO's. I laughed, as it was a compliment to me. Chris remembered to ask the guards if we were able to have me meet with my cousin "B" for part of the time, then switch them out, so I got to spend both days with Chris. Their answer was simple: We don't know.

So Chris and I are sitting there, playing kissy kissy, smoochy smoochy, and my hand is laid upon his thigh. To an outsider, I was nowhere near the inside of his thigh, or his penis. Reality, is another story. So imagine my surprise, and undoubtedly guilty face when a CO walks up and stops beside Chris and just looks at me without saying a word. "Oh shit," I thought. "We're going to get into trouble." I removed by hand, and the CO continued to stare at me, not making a move.

"I have an answer for you," he finally said.

"Oh, really?" I asked sounding both relieved, and surprised.

We worked out the details to be that they would switch out after morning count, and that I would stay till the end of visit, which I usually do anyways. That, and thankfully the whole day Sunday, went off without a hitch.

The Great Icy Mix of '08

My trip this month went actually pretty well given all the extenuating circumstances that attempted to keep me from seeing Chris. Well ha to the elements. I prevail.

We start off with threats of a nice snow storm that plans to turn into a wintry mix by the morning commute. Shit. I have to work till 5:30.

I wake up in the morning on Friday full of excitement only to look outside and see a good few inches of snow. Not a big deal, I finish packing and plan to leave immediately from work to go to the airport.

On my lunch, I checked for delays, but since my flight wasn't till 10 p.m., there were no updates. My stepfather was out plowing, my mother was heading to bed as she needed to work at 2 a.m. the next day, and my brother had already bailed on taking me to the airport, citing the reason that, "he didn't want to drive in this crap."

Luckily for me the bad weather left us with 4 teachers and only 15 kids for 3 toddler rooms. I managed to leave work at 4:50, headed home to do a discussion board, and print itinerary and directions, and left for the airport.

In all my times of flying, I have always been dropped off and picked up at the airport. Parking near say Josh's house, and taking a taxi, I'm sure would have outweighed (in cost alone) the $27 Economy parking afforded me. And it was easy to find, you just follow the signs.

Parking however, was elusive. I had to park at the very last row of J26, and walk about 4 rows over through slow, slush and rain in my sneakers to the "J" shuttle bus stop. I then waited for 10 minutes easily for the shuttlebus before embarking on the long road to the airport.

I decided to fly US Airways this time, as I've flown them once before and had no complaints about the flight. The lady at the check in counter was rude, working an extra long shift. And the kiosk couldn't find me. Great. I checked into the airport around 7:00 p.m. for a 10:20 flight. The best part was I knew I either left my itinerary at home, or in my car, neither of which was helping me!

As I made my way through security, I found myself on the other side of things, I then had to take another shuttlebus to F terminal. Once there, I grabbed a slice of pizza at Sabarro's (they didn't have many options, and honestly, how good can airport Chinese be?) and settled into my departure gate section with a good book. By the time Chris called me, my flight was determined to be delayed an hour and 40 minutes. That meant I would have to sit in an airport in Raleigh--so close to my hotel till 4:30 a.m. when the rental car agency reopened. Life was grand.

Of course, once I get off the phone with Chris, my flight changes to "on time" then we were 20 minutes late, which the airline still considered to be "on time". Once my airplane landed, I immediately called the rental car place whom promised me that I could still obtain my car.

I checked into the Red Roof Inn at 1:00 a.m.

More about my trip later...

I spoke to my cousin, "B" about this entire thing, and he said that he had not spoken to my mother as of late, but when they did speak, Chris and myself were a hot topic of conversation. He also inquired as to where this could've come from...to that I still don't have an answer. His gut feeling is that she stole a letter from Chris. My gut feeling is whatever transpired, he was a part of.

Obviously when I wrote the last blog, I was a bit emotional. I've continued to experience a high rate of emotion, in such that I feel my hand is being forced. My cousin was not moved to Petersburg as the ass ended up in the hospital and will unfortunately be there for my visit. I can only hope that Chris's family visits Saturday and/or I can use the "bad weather" as an excuse to see Chris both days. In reality though, the part I struggle with the most is how to exactly stand up for what I believe in, and do so without burning necessary bridges. It's an unfortunate fact, but I finance my own college through loans. Loans that require me to know how much my mother made last year.

I spoke to my stepfather last night. He told me that supposedly this originated between my mother, and my brother. He told me that I could "do better" and "being his friend is fine, but committing myself to this person is flat out crazy." But he continued to say, "I know you're going to do what you want to do, so I'm okay to state my opinion and be done with it."

I don't struggle with the fact that they don't agree with my decision. While I expected adversary, I certainly didn't expect to lose my friends, and yet here I stand. In the same boat, I feel that there is a very fine line between standing up for what you believe in, and burning bridges. That is not something I want to do.

So I'm going to do the only things I can do. And they are:

1) Continue my relationship with Chris, assuming I still have one; I was so upset last night when he called me that he was able to pick up on it. He ended up just hanging up on me out of sheer frustration of not knowing what to say or do.

2) Appease the egos that be for the next 5 months. Once I move I won't need anyone else to back up my lies because I won't have anyone to answer to

3) Accept the things I cannot change which is consequently easier said than done, and may take longer than a few days.

4) Open a P.O. Box for letters. Just to be on the safe side.

The only thing I can think of is that both of my Valentines Day cards from Chris are displayed atop of my tv. And on my whiteboard I have lyrics of songs I heard in the car that I didn't want to forget. And when my allergies flared, and I needed my glasses....I called my mom. Taken out of context, I could see how she made the left-field accusations that she did. But rather than assume, come talk to me. Because if I find out that's what it is, I'm going to make her feel like the ass that she is.

I also have to say that I stand corrected: She said if I marry him while he's in jail, if he beats me, rapes me or murders me, she doesn't want to know about it. Because I won't have a mother. (And that would be a change from....?)

She told me that "I wouldn't know Chris if it weren't for Bill." True, but she gave me life. Does that mean I need to bow down and kiss her ass? No. Because if she wants the family to know something she'll tell them. Bill on the other hand...not so much. I still resent being their goddamn messenger boy.

"Kiss This" is a song by Aaron Tippin.

More after this weekend...

"I'll Be Strong, I'll Be Wrong"

I am generally of the “school of thought” that life is like a road. We, as people, are like cars on the road- given some direction, and somewhat taking on a life of our own, we can only follow the road we’re on until such a time that it leads to other road(s).
I also happen to believe that everything happens for a reason. On the “road of life”, that translates to the equivalent of a roller coaster track. You have to work up a whole lot of nerve to get on, but once you’re on the ride, you’re on it until such a time that you’re seatbelt comes loose, and you fall to your unfortunate death, or the ride ends. In my case, whenever I tried to “jump ship” early, I’d always end up returning to the same path months later, and resuming my journey. (I attribute this in part to stupidity, and in part to my need to be part of a whole “experience” in order to learn anything from it). When the ride ended, my hindsight may have been 20/20, but what was truly important was the knowledge I took with me to the next relationship.
Not on an entirely separate note, my mother has recently become a lush. And in her lushness, she has realized only two things: that the bar is expensive; and passing out, and falling asleep are essentially the same thing. Being that she’s 47 years old, and both her children are raised, it’s not of great concern to me until she decides to open Pandora’s Box, and tell me how she really feels.
When I accept people into my life, I generally ask two things of them: honesty, and loyalty. You don’t have to (and probably won’t) agree with every single thing I do. You have a right to an opinion, and a right to state that opinion. You DO NOT have the right to harass, and otherwise make the lives miserable for current and/or former boyfriends. When I came home for lunch today, my lush of a mother crossed that very delicate line.
Two nights ago, my cousin “B” called me asking if since he was now moving to Petersburg, if I had planned to make the near 2 hour drive up to there one day. I had been planning for the entire month, a way to see Chris both days, and avoid talking to my cousin. For one thing, after a visit especially, my cousin becomes very attached to me. He calls, writes, and otherwise communicates enough that it could be qualified as a stalker. So my motto is to, “Back away slowly, like you would from a wild animal,” which works better with some personalities than others. The second half of my reasoning is that my second job is supposed to start in March. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return to NC, and it may only be one day. How am I supposed to judge if this is someone I want to continue to be in a relationship with if we never get to spend any time together?
Luckily, the move is providing the perfect excuse to do what I’ve worked up the nerve all month to say. And “B” responds in a very hostile manner. All West Virginia jokes aside, it’s as if I was torn between two guys and I chose one over the other. Tensions are running high! Aside from the he’s my cousin, and this behavior is completely disturbing, he then begins to tell me that he will never be completely close to anyone, especially Chris. As he told me, “Chris has already proven that he will look out for number one if given the choice.” Stupidly, I played into his hand by asking if it were anything I needed to be on the lookout for. The short answer was no, but he also knows that information is planted in the back of my brain. And paranoia will do strange things to people. Little does he know, that you can tell me, and tell me, and tell me not to do something. I have to experience it for myself to form an opinion, especially about a person. So I’m relaying the story to my VERY drunk, lightweight mother, whom then chimes in her two cents which essentially amount to the following:

1. She doesn’t know “this Chris”
2. She doesn’t like “this Chris”
3. She thinks he’s using me
4. If I marry him while he’s incarcerated she will disown me. That is to say I will not be her daughter. And if he beats me, rapes me, or otherwise abuses me she won’t be there for me.
5. If I wait to get married until he’s released, she will support my decision
6. She wanted to write him a letter saying as much
7. He’s my whole life
8. I’m in love with him

Let me begin with the obvious. Am I in love with Chris? I’ve asked myself that question probably about 100 times. The simple answer is no. It’s been four months, and it’s progressing as I’ve read a relationship should. We’re in the second phase of things. I like him. I like spending time with him. I believe that emotion will come later, or we’ll break up. But fact of the matter is that I don’t want to wait five years to see what happens, I want to see what happens and still have some eggs left if things don’t work out.

The second most obvious thing is that he’s not my whole life. I have work, school and a social life (almost a double-life) outside of Chris. Yes, I visit monthly.

I think it’s unfair to judge someone you don’t know, but ultimately it’s my judgments that count. I can’t even consider the possibility that someone will beat/rape/abuse me. I know the warning signs, I will do my best to avoid that possibility at all costs, but given that his crimes aren’t crimes of violence, there’s no cause for concern at this point.

Regardless of whether Josh and I have spoken since the portion of my blog went to him (hey it’s why I post it on the internet), whether we’re friends or not, I don’t make promises I can’t keep. I can’t decide on a major, let alone if I want to marry someone 400 miles away. Seriously people I don’t let him know that I go to the bathroom. Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind.

Finally I say that I’m excited for this move. If this isn’t the road I’m supposed to be on, it’ll lead me to the one that is. As Taylor Swift says, “I’ll be strong, I’ll be wrong, but life goes on.” As for right now Chris is my present, and my future. If that changes, I’ll be sure to circulate a memo. If you can’t support me in this I understand. Say your peace if you have to, but “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” You can judge me, but until you walk in my shoes your opinion and half-assed support can kiss this.

"Getting Over Myself"

These days (as opposed to what, I’m not really sure) I don’t have much free time. I work full-time as a Toddler Teacher, which, sounds easier than it is; I am pursuing (and I’m about to graduate in May) a degree in Secondary Education; and I’m starting my own business. Is that just plain crazy? Perhaps it is.
Last night I picked up my Glamour magazine full of hope, and ready to work. Hoping that I could find the courage, and confidence to find what I was looking for—both inspiration and designs. As I paged through though, I realized there were some articles I had missed on my first page-through. One article entitled “I Put A Gun In My Mouth, And Pulled The Trigger,” caught my attention. I checked out the photograph on the front page- a fairly handsome dark haired man squatting (what a terrible word) in such a way that he actually looked comfortable. I had to read on.
What I found out was, that the person involved was Adam Goldstein aka DJ AM. I know of him from the tabloids and dating the likes of Nicole Ritchie. I had never imagined he had a story so powerfully moving and motivating! And I never could’ve guessed the type of story it would lay out.
The first line out of the story was “I was probably destined to be a drug addict.” A true paradox. No one seriously wakes up one day and says, “Okay I’m going to be a drug addict.” The fact of the matter is, falling into something like drugs isn’t planned like a party, it just happens. That being said, when we consider all the terrible shit that happens to a person in a single lifetime, can we honestly say that person was destined to experience those things?
Looking back on my past, a lot of it isn’t pretty. And I prefer not to bring it up, because it tends to make people look at you differently. As if somehow you’re less of a person because you didn’t grow up with Joan Cleaver as your mother. (Even if you were considered a perfectly acceptable human being prior to their having this knowledge). To that I say: I can be changed by what happens to me, I am not reduced by it. I can also say that I’ve acquired this knowledge because of my former fiancee, Dean, whom one day hit me with the bombshell that he was in therapy, and taking medication. It was completely unfair to him, but I haven’t, to this day, looked at him the same way since. He was weak, and in need of fixing, and quite possibly beyond repair. Reading Adam’s story I didn’t feel that way. Perhaps it was his presentation, his saying that “this is what happened to me. I don’t blame the world, but this is who I am, here’s why, and here’s the challenges I face every single day.” Now that, to me, is empowering.
Generally people are lucky to experience perhaps only one of the terrible situations Adam was placed into. And that’s no guarantee that they come out on the other side! Adam mentions verbal abuse right off the bat. Every time I turn around, there’s another case of child abuse- be it physical, verbal or sexual. And everytime I hear of something so radical, and so cruel, it becomes more and more apparent to me that it’s become an epidemic.
I grew up in a single parent household. My parents divorced when I was three years old, and my mother moved in with my grandparents until things were settled and the house next to them was ready. We literally lived 10 feet away, and they didn’t even know what was happening. My father left when I was 5 or 6, I believe. He would show up, occassionally, whisk us away to dinner at Ponderosa, a glorified buffet, and talk shit on my mom. My brother, at a mere 3 years old would become so upset, he’d tell my father to quit talking about our mom, or to take us home. Soon a letter was sent to him to choose us or his bitterness (in not so many words of course), and we didn’t hear from him for a long, long time.
My mom worked a stressful job at the Post Office with exhausting hours (2 a.m. one day, 8 a.m. the next, then 2 a.m. again- there was never any consistency to her schedule). She would often tell me that what got her through was “popping a little speed” and she could get through her grueling day. I also suspect it contributed largely to her mood swings, and the incessant pressure she felt at home.
By age 10, I was doing the laundry, Tim and I were responsible for doing the dishes (sorry no dishwasher here- you were the dishwasher), vaccuming and the like. We were also required to have a minimum of coffee on the table for her when we woke her up. Often times, sleeping in the same room, we’d be awaken by a blaring alarm and have to wake our sleepy, grouchy “giant” of a mother at 2 a.m. and still go to school the next day. The problems arose when things weren’t perfectly as she expected them.
My mother was notorious for dragging me around by the hair of my head, slamming me against walls, and just generally slapping me for whatever misdemeanor crime I had committed that day. The physical abuse wasn’t the worst part, it was the verbal. On the softer side we were called “fat, lazy bastards” all of the time. If you tell someone they’re a duck enough, they begin to believe it.
Similarly to Adam, I bought into the social idea that being heartbroken meant sitting around in your pajamas (not so much), and using food as a means of comfort. To this day, when I’m stressed--though I try my best not to—nothing alleviates it like food. I enjoyed eating. It made me feel happy, and helped me to deny what was truly going on inside my head. I had grown up being one of the guys and enjoyed ordering (and eating) things like steak, and anything else I wanted. But soon my weight spiraled out of control. “Well-meaning” family members would comment on my weight, and it only added to the problem, not alleviated it.

When I was 15, my mother decided to move-in with her now husband, Bruce. Thankfully, we (as in Tim and myself) were given a choice: move in with her and Bruce, or with our grandparents. It should have been a no-brainer, but I’ve always loved my mom, and I’m an incredibly loyal person. I begged Tim to consider moving in with her, but he wouldn’t. He even took the smaller bedroom.
I wish I could say that the saga ended there. But my mother was down constantly, paying money to my grandparents regretfully, and being mean as hell. I was constantly experiencing panic and anxiety attacks. It’s the worst feeling ever when you just can’t relax.
It seems retarded now, but I hurt so bad physically, and the logical, adult thing to do would’ve been to seek therapy to deal with the problem, but at 15, you’re unable to logicize that out. I ended up moving in with my mother. And that only further compounded the problem.
I lived with them for a few months, and began to do poorly on my report cards. I still didn’t see the vicious cycle, and how I was avoiding everything that I needed to heal by staying there. It finally clicked one day when my vocal coach told me that my voice (not to mention everything else) had gone to hell since I moved in with my mother, and she felt I needed to move back. I protested that I couldn’t, and she encouraged me to talk to my grandparents. I wanted so badly to become a professional vocalist that I did it. And I’ve lived with them ever since.
Moving out of my mother’s wasn’t easy. It was bitter, and feelings were hurt. Things were so bad that neither Tim nor me talked to my mother for a year and a half.At 16 I began to take steps to rectify the situation when I was treated for depression. But unfortunately there was a [family] stigma associated with going to therapy, and being on medication for neurological problems that I couldn’t conquer. I went off the medication, and felt I was doing “just fine”.
In reality, the panic attacks didn’t stop, neither did the anxiety attacks and consequent effects it had on my life. Simple things, like learning to drive, became impossible to do without becoming so anxiety-ridden it was unreal. My weight continued to balloon out of control, as well.
Soon, I was involved in the wrestling scene, and a “bet” (of a mere $20 I might add) had me eating nothing more than low, low fat (6 g or less per meal) and no sugar. I dropped 30 pounds in 3 months. It was a tough 3 months, but I was never one to back down from a bet. It helped that I had support from a friend whom was engaging in the same bet as me, and well, misery loves company. Ironically, it was all for a Florida trip in which “J” never bothered to show up for. On the trip we decided to treat ourselves and have a Whopper Jr. It tasted terrible. The best part is I have a picture of myself from the wrestling red carpet, and I look the best I’ve ever looked. I wish I could say I was happy then, but I always felt I could lose more weight. Soon my ego deflated and I was back to eating everything again. Anytime I felt “bad” about myself, I always had amazing friends that knew what to say to make me smile again. They were doing what friends do, but I was still avoiding the problem. And ironically enough, despite my size, I never had a problem getting dates/boyfriends.
I never realized how fat I had gotten- that is to say what people saw when they saw me—until I caught a glimpse of myself in a photo. I knew I had to do something. So I tried Weight Watchers, but I don’t do well with points. I do well with “this is the foods you can eat” and “these are the foods you can’t”. Ironically enough, numbers make me skitzy. Whether it be time –as in potentially being “late” for something, so I’m chronically early; or points. I’d want to save my points for later “in case I was still hungry” and I’d end up eating far under my points for the day. So I gave up Weight Watchers. But I did begin paying attention to their ideas, and portion sizes. And I’ve managed to lose 16 pounds so far. I’m far from perfect, but my bodily perception is improving, and it shows. Chris largely attributes to that; He loved me at my heaviest, and as I’m losing the weight he’s been incredibly supportive.
I didn’t consider going back to therapy until one night, by chance I walked into a “hole-in-the-wall” bar near my mom’s house and met this bartender, Karen. To say that she changes my life is literally an understatement. I wore a Victoria’s Secret, very low-cut top. It also happens to be very clingy, so I was undoubtedly feeling quite confident that evening. She saw through my façade anyways.
Karen confided in me that she had been an exercising anorexic, and a bulimic, and that she was now in recovery. I asked her “Why would anyone want to do that to themselves?” She simply shrugged. In her own way, Karen was preparing me for her greatest statement yet: that I was headed down the same path that she had traveled if I didn’t change my ways.
I never did anything to give Karen the impression that I had a problem with food. Nor did I ever do anything within that bar to give her the indication that I hate my body, and God only knows why. That food is a weapon, and one I use frequently to both reward and punish myself with.
I wish I could say that going to therapy and figuring out why I hate my body so much would end my battle. That I’d no longer be at risk for more serious eating disorders and other complications. But the fact of the matter is whether an addiction is to food, television, or drugs and alcohol, the battle is constantly uphill; and definitely never-ending. For the rest of my life I will struggle with an ability not to punish myself using food as Adam struggles not to take a drink. Acknowledging that you have a problem and seeking treatment is only half the battle. And rock bottom is always an inch away.
I don’t believe in Adam’s last statement that he’s reminded of who he is “a fat crackhead who’s lucky to be alive.” I believe that everyone has to hit rock bottom to figure out who they really are, and what they really want. We have to hit rock bottom to heal. I believe that we are changed by what happens to us, we are not reduced by it. Adam is no longer the “fat crackhead” he once defined himself as. He is however a person, and it’s those challenges that make him who he is, not define him.
Reading Adam’s article really brought two things into perspective for me:
The first is that I don’t think food should be a reward. Food is a necessity to life. And we need to break the cycle now for future generations. But we need to be proactive. And we need to change the way society defines beautiful. Because honestly, even with all the retouching and computer glitz that is magazines, there are no two bodies exactly the same on this planet.
The second is more personal. It’s changing the way I think about things, and my perceptions of things. Before “J” I never would’ve considered the possibility of dating someone who did drugs. Nor will I ever consider the possibility again. But I can appreciate where Chris comes from, and the personal battle he’ll face every single day. I don’t expect him to not slip-up, lord knows I’ve eaten enough sugar for today (a serious no-no), I expect him not to give up. And those two are worlds apart.

Homework

Before you read the next blog you have some homework. Go to www.myspace.com/imaginethat25014. Read the blog entitled "Getting Over Myself" about Adam Goldstein's recent article in Glamour Magazine.

Flu Shot

Why is it so true that no one can ever take care of you like your mother? And in reality, would you want them to?

When I was a kid, being sick was no picnic, but in the absence of school, and the presence of my mother, it was kind of like a vacation. A break from the realities of life, and to this day she remains the same.

This weekend I had plans to go to North Carolina. To spend some quality time (as much as bright flourescent lighting, commotion, and someone watching your every move can), and an early celebratory Valentines Day dinner with the best boyfriend ever. (Whom's Valentines Day card to me, upon closer evaluation, I realized I hadn't done justice in describing).

Much to my dismay Thursday night I awoke to find myself repeatedly wretching my guts out. I wish I could say the "fun" ended there, but unfortunately, it did not. I wretched a total of 18 times in a 24 hour period, and had 2 panic attacks, one rendering me in so much pain that had my phone been near, I would've dialed 911 myself.

A 5:30 a.m. phone call to my job yielded no results. They attempted to call me back twice, annoyed that I was unavailable for their phone call, as if somehow that would be a possibility.

A 10:15 doctor's appointment didn't do much to alleviate the situation. An inability to hold down food left me feeling weak, and unable to drive, much less stand. I was diagnosed with the flu, and told to "let it run it's course."

Determined to be better in time for my flight, I tried my best to pack. I even ate raw potato, a PROVEN aphrodisiac for nausea and vomiting in chemo patients, but even Sprite and raw potato could not conquer the flu!

I cried, and begged my brother to take me to the airport, determined to find a way. Truth be told, even if someone helped me through the airport, and onto the plane, and through Raleigh's airport, there would be no one in North Carolina for me to call in the event that something happened, or I was rendered incapable.

Being the moron that I can be when I'm sick, I was worried that Chris would be "mad" or disappointed in me, as if I somehow brought this on myself. When he called me that night, and I broke the news to him, he was understanding, and a huge weight lifted off my chest. I could get better.

Yesterday, thinking I was frickien Hercules or some shit, I was determined that I still had a flight home. A few calls to Hotwire (with whom I booked my trip), and American Airlines yielded that I had no return flight. Lesson learned: Book one-way flights as that way you can still buy a new flight out.

In a way I'm glad things turned out that way though. The virus has completely taken over my body! On average it last about 8 days (it will be 7 for me tomorrow). It's coming out my eye which is bruised, swollen, and tearing; I have stopped vomiting, but have still been rendered unable to hold down food without dire consequences (that need not be mentioned), and I'm getting a fever blister.

Not to be outdone, I've rescheduled my trip for two weeks from now before crashing out on the couch, against my will, for a few hours to gain enough strength to drive home.

So take THAT you nasty ass flu. Oh and I'm totally getting a flu shot when this is all over.

Manicurist

Today I am semi-voiceless, and definitively not talking. Why? Because I leave tomorrow night for North Carolina, and I need to be able to talk.

Apparently the various amounts of sick children sent home with fevers were the culprits of Mondays inability to function (and consequent sick day), with each day progressively getting better. Fact of the matter is though, it left me unable to eat normal amounts of food (understandable), which left me feeling weak with the kids. (Not a good thing).

Last night was an all-nighter: coughing spree that is. I managed to go to work, sans my voice. Thankfully it will more than likely be restored by Saturday due to some singer's tricks I keep in back pockets for emergencies.

I also went to Spa Le Jardin tonight for my manicure, which turned out to be surprisingly cheap! I got a giftcard for Christmas from one of my kids (whom has since moved to the next "level" of rooms), and made the appointment. My nails are a pretty gleaming red, just in time for Valentines Day!

I stopped at the bank to pull out tip money, and much to my surprise, my debit card was MIA. First it was my watch, which magically turned up in my coat pocket, then it was the gift card which I removed from my purse to put in a safe place, and magically turned up in the car, and now it's my debit card. I've checked my balance daily, and it either fell into the hands of some pretty stupid crooks, or it wasn't stolen.

Not to be outdone, I decided to write a check for the tip money, and head to the salon with that, looking for my debit card later. I'm completely out of checks. I'm getting the impression that someone is trying to tell me something...

I had to go to the salon without tip money, and drop it back off tomorrow, not to mention making a profuse apology to my manicurist!

"You're All I Need, My Love, My Valentine"

Today, I got a very special envelope in the mail with hearts above my name. Curious, I opened the envelope to find a very large cardboard version of a Valentines Day card complete with two puppies and some awesome caligraphy.

If Chris weren't in his current situation, I'd imagine that he purchased the large card--which would've been shock enough. As one girl put it, "If I get a card I'll be surprised."

On closer analysis I realized the time, and patience it must have taken to put this together. The card was thicker than regular paper, but not too thick. It has hearts (cut out on the front page to reveal the heart stickers of the inside) and Caligraphy that reads "Happy Valentines Day". There is a large heart in the middle of the page that shows two puppies, one with blue eyes, and one with hazel (he captured my eyes perfectly!) Their bodies are composed of some sort of rougher material I can't make out. Similar to cardboard but bumpy like a popcorn ceiling.

The attention to detail is positively amazing. I'm amazed he thought of me, let alone that he put so much thought into the card!

If I ever question being the luckiest woman in the world, then I'm going to refer back to this post.

I am so completely blown away!

Questions...

Today I went to lunch with Dan, a friend of Josh's I met in September? I'm not sure. He's the only person I know whom meets me at a time in my life where I'm in a relationship (with a psycho none the less), and KB and I are all but hooking up right there. (Good to know one of my former boyfriends possess values), and he still tells Josh he's infatuated with me.

It's now February, and I've finally been available when he is, and I agree to go to lunch. The lunch was fine, we met at a local bar, which I almost missed and headed home because I was looking for the wrong name!

It's been quite a bit of time since I've frequented Northeast Philly, and I'm not sure what exactly left me uneasy, but it certainly left me running for the comforts of "home" quickly. I experienced such an overwhelming amount of anxiety, I was more nervous than when I attempted to pay a Blockbuster bill around the corner from J's house. (Consequently for a DVD he failed to return).

What's weirder still is that I've talked to "J" since all the drama. Granted, it was online, but it's been a while. I've moved on, and so has he. So why all the anxiety? I'm hoping an up and coming visit will answer those questions...

Life's About Changing, Nothing Ever Stays the Same

I was sitting at home today, thinking about a blog I've been wanting to write, and willing myself to get out of the perfect chair, all the while flipping through the channels. It shouldn't surprise anyone, that I'm a huge Sex and the City fan. After all, it may be taboo, but so isn't anything to do with women. And if you're just cynical and think it's overrated, I don't care.

The blog I had planned to write was about babies. You know those squirmy, eating, sleeping and pooping machines that everyone spends their whole lives dreaming about. Well, at least the women do.

A lot of my friends from high school have recently, or in general have already had children. Working with Toddlers, I realized that at one point a one-year-old would have still been a baby to me. But my toddlers are far from babies. That part doesn't worry me as much as the change the parents undergo.

One of the great comedians of all time, Erma Bombeck, once described a friend whom had a child. She described them as looking as though they had entered the twilight zone. What's scarier is that she said when she had children they made their friends look like negligent parents.

When the girls on Sex and the City found themselves invited to a baby shower of a former party girl, I was once again reminded of what the dream of suburbia does to a person. Let's face it, once we cross into the world of parenthood there is no crossing back. There are no more late night partying, and someone in the world takes precedence.

Don't think so? Name one successful mother, who maintained her identity, and wasn't known JUST as so-and-so's mother.

On the other hand, children can be highly rewarding. I'm hoping the venture into motherhood (a long way out for me) will be much like the venture into adulthood: If we were given the choice, we never would've went. But having been pushed beyond our comfort zone, instincts kicked in, and we were able to fake it until we made it.