Selling Your House

I did not imagine it would be this hard.
After every thing else this month.
It has been a headache and at times a body ache.
It has been stressful and work.
And a money suck.
But I am in the process of selling the rental.

It was always the plan to sell it.
Sooner than later actually.
It was actually not the plan to rent it.
But the market crashed and we had no choice.
And now the market is on its way back up.
Your neighborhood is hot right now.
People want to live there.

The sell process has been going to so smooth.
Thanks so much to our friend's help.
It will all be done in almost a month timespan.
It is going to a young couple.
Who I know will love the house as you did.

But alas I am a bit emotional at it not being mine.
Maybe its normal to be a bit sad at selling a house.
Maybe it's not just a grief thing.

I keep thinking of the first time I was in the house.
Getting stuck at the gate.
The way I wouldn't let you hold my hand closest to you.
There was a scab on my hand so I made you hold my other hand.

I think about the time you gave me a key to your house.
I was waking up from a nap and instead of leaving I had a key to leave when I wanted.

The silly fights I started because I was scared of getting close to you.

I remember when I proposed.
Watching you from the patio move from room to room.
Flipping on all the lights.
And then your face when you saw me on the patio.

I think about our parties.
Halloween.
July 4th.

Watching TV together.
Your big pile of clothes in the guest room.
Our bright yellow, thankfully temporary, bedroom wall.
Your attempt to match the color of the front door.
Putting up the new light fixture in the dining room six times till you got it right.
So many memories.

I hope to find some time in the next few weeks to just be there.
Maybe you'll join me.
For one last time.

Living Through Hell

One of my former roommates from when I lived in New York City is going through her own sort of hell. She asked me to guest blog on her blog. Check out her blog and show her some support as many of you did me. It was an interesting experience to look back at those first months/needs.

Here is a link to my post.
Advice of What to Say/Do

Sigh...

Sleep has been escaping me the last few days.

And this year it is not due to the first days of school.

So I am grumpy.

And tired. 

A few nights ago, I had a somewhat disturbing dream.

Part of the dream I have about every other month.

I will describe that part of the dream first.

When I first moved out of my parents' house, I moved in with my boyfriend of the time.

One time, and only one time, when we broke up, I moved back home.

For about forty-eight hours. 

It was not a terrible experience.

But some reason, I am terrified the possibility of this occurring again.

T.E.R.R.I.F.I.E.D.

So I dream of it.

At least every other month and, in the dream, for a weird variety of reasons.

I wake up immediately and I am relieved that I am actually at my own place.

And I do not need to move back home.

Or pack.

Or find a new place to live.

Well, a few nights ago, I dreamt I had to move home again.

But this time it was because Roger and I were getting divorced.

I was so upset because it was my second marriage. 

I have no idea who I married the first time.

My sister was living at home too. 

We were back to sharing a room.

She was helping me pack. 

Also, I can never find all my stuff during this reoccurring dream. 

Which is frustrating as hell.

In this particular dream, another ex-boyfriend of mine was helping me find a new place.

It was very strange but Roger was alive.

And he looked good but he would not talk to me.

I woke up in a panic.

Then last night I could not help but think of the shirt Roger wore August 21, 2008.

I still have it.

It hangs in my closet.

I have never worn it.

Although it has been washed once.

After he died. Boo on me.

I remember him coming home from the rental house.

It had been pouring from Tropical Storm Fay.

I had just straightened my hair chemically for the first time.

I remember where I was sitting on the sofa.

I remember Roger just standing there. After driving in pouring rain.

He was frustrated with driving.

I smiled at him. Trying to get him to notice my new hair.

Less than ten hours later.

My heartache begin.

And prayers went unanswered.

#585

You were a dork.
I was hesitant.
I was scared.
I fought back against falling for you.
You were my best friend.
You were patient.
And kind.
Slowly I got close to you.
You kept pulling me closer.
I let you in.
My walls came down.
I loved you.
You loved me.
I believed in marriage.
I was happy.
I was settled.
My soul felt content.
And complete.

And slowly you died.
Six long, long days.
Then gone.
You left.
My heart split wide open.
Exposed.
I love you still.

Twenty One

In my class, I have been teaching about mechanical interactions.
Things like friction and drag.
And the perfect example of drag is, of course, skydiving.

When I was fifteen or so, I made a promise to myself and my high school best friend that we would go bungee jumping before sixteen and skydiving before twenty-one.
We went bungee jumping in Gatlinburg, Tennessee the summer before I turned sixteen.
Five years later, my twenty-first birthday was creeping up.
So I decided since my twenty-first birthday was on a boring ol' Monday, I would go skydiving the weekend before.
I found some friends who said they would go.
We went to the place, signed the paper work, watched the safety video, but weather was a no go.

My actual birthday, I went to class like a good girl and on my way home noticed the weather looked like perfect skydiving weather.
And in a time before cell phones were flooding our pockets, I drove home to call Skydive Deland.
I got home and the light was blinking.
They had left a message on my answering machine.
I called my friend but she was too busy spending time with her boyfriend.

So I rushed over, alone.
My adrenaline was pumping.
My eyes were big.
I could not quit smiling.
Life was good.
Twenty-one was good.

Of course, I bought the VHS tape of my jump but I have not watched it in years due to the fact it is VHS.
My homeroom (reading) class, who is also in my science classes, were amazed I had been skydiving and asked to watch the video.
And since Fridays are generally more relaxed and my classroom has a tape player, I brought in the video.

Wow.
Twenty-one year old me.  I have not seen you in so long.
You did not even know that your next birthday would be spent living in New York City.
You had not even fell in love yet. Even though you had a long term boyfriend before this time.
That would happen for the first time later that month.
You had not even traveled to far off places and did not even have a passport.
You had no idea what life would hold for you.
You were mature but yet life was full of surprises still.
Your friend Tom will still be your friend.
You will be a teacher in about ten years.

And you will lose so much.
You will hurt and bleed. And you will scar.
You will be in a serious accident where the unbelievable comes true.
You will be your happiest and your lowest all in six months time.
And you will jump again.

The Road

For so many years, I saw people almost do the exact same mistake the other driver made in our accident.
In the wrong lane for the direction they wanted to go.
So they would violently get into the correct lane.
Cutting off other drivers.
Running off the road.
I wondered who designed such a terrible highway fork.
On a southbound road, to go east, drivers had to be in the left lane.
And vice versa.

I remember when the state posted your "Drive Safely" sign.
I remember how upset when I saw the location.
It was so far away from the road.
The other driver would never see it.
Other people would never see it.
And logic said, "Perhaps they are going to do some construction soon."

Then a year or so ago, they started.
And for a while now, Roger's sign has been hidden.
I keep waiting.
I keep hoping to see it again.

And while I wait, they did it.
They fixed the road.
It finally makes sense.
No longer can people make the same mistake.
And for that I am relieved.

A Different Kind of Grief

I always think holidays are going to get better.
And in ways they do.
Of course, thoughts of Roger increase this time of year.
Missing him increases.
Especially with a new year approaching. A different year number.
It is quite a concrete reminder of exactly how far away Roger's physical existence is in my life.

And this year I have some new types of grief.
Like the loss of friends.

And I keep thinking about the loss of this particular "best friend".
Like always, hindsight is 20/20.
I keep slapping myself for being so naive.
So gullible. So believing. So stupid.
I should have seen it coming.
I should have seen the red flags over the last year.

We were supposed to be pregnant together.
And as your "best friend" you did not tell me when you changed your mind.
As someone who spent afternoons at your house sharing my life and trying to be the best friend I could be, you waited to tell me in a group of people that you were more than three months along.
And although I was very excited and happy for you, after a little digestion of the new information I kept thinking of how it should have been me.
If Roger had not died.
I did not know I would have this reaction.
I did not even see it coming till it was sitting on my lap in a group of eight people and I swallowed my grief for you.
But you said you knew my reaction would happen.
A best friend would have told me alone.
On one of the countless afternoons at your house.
But you didn't.

You were the one who gave me the title of best friend.
Yet not a single picture of you and me in your house.
Red f-ing flag.

The next red flag was at my graduation party.
My emotions were running high.  I needed you.
I graduated.
In the same room as Roger.
Because Roger died.
Because I could afford to go to school full time.
Because Roger was not there.
You offered your help.
I accepted. Stupid me.
Then you came five minutes before other guests.
Without helping at all.
You barely even spoke with me.
But again I forgave you.
I was the fool once more.

Giving you all I could for your baby shower.
The cake you wanted.
Driving four hours to be with you.
To celebrate you.
And trying to shower you with gifts to show how much I cared.
Stupid, stupid me.

Red flag again when picking out dresses for my wedding.
You could not leave me fast enough.
And when I mentioned coming to help you in your nursery.
I sensed the hostility.
But I ignored it.
Ignored the red flag flying in my face.
I ignored the sirens going off in my head.

Then to find out you did not want me at the hospital when your baby was born.
Or when complications arose.
To find out in a mass email message when others knew the day before.
What a shock to the system.

Then the email came.
All the hurtful things that were said to me.
To know that I was not loved.

What a fool I am.
What a stupid fool I am.
No more. No more.
But I still grieve.

"Family"

This Christmas was going to be the first.

The first time I (and Mr. X) went to Miami for Christmas since Roger's death.

The first time we were going to spend this holiday with Roger's family.

I was excited.

I was nervous.

I was looking forward to it.

I remember the Tuesday when the doctor wanted to speak to me in person.

The day when he told me all bets were off.

Roger was done.

"This is as good as it will get."

A million thoughts were running through my head.

And one big thought: I was going to lose Roger's family.

First, they would hate me.

Because of course this was all my fault. 

Second, they would leave me.

This wonderful gift of family that Roger had given to me was going to disappear.

But I was reassured.

I was told that would never happen.

"You will always be my prima."

"My niece, Star."

And I believed it.

Those who loved me before would love me still.

I believed it with my entire being.

In some ways, it is true.

Some of the family is still my family.

Like I feel so connected to Grace.

She is truly a big sister to me.

I can talk to her about anything.

I cannot imagine my life without her in it.

And sometimes, for a tiny, minuscule split second, I forget how we are connected.

How we both miss him.

How things would have been.

And in other ways, I feel the pulling.

Especially now that I am getting married again.

With June fast approaching.

Family that barely says anything to me when I am in the room.

Family that visits Orlando without even a peep. 

Family who will not even consider coming to my wedding to Mr. X.

So Gizmo's health this holiday season dictated that we would not go to Miami for Christmas.

We fear the stress of leaving her may hurt her kidneys more.

And I can almost feel the relief of some.

To know the Gringa will not be there.

Do they think I do not think of Roger daily?

That I have forgotten?

That because I am getting married I am over it all?

That I did not love him?

That I do not love him still?

That I cannot talk of Roger?

That they cannot talk of Roger?

Sigh... 

What would Roger think of you all now?   

Grief Monster Winter 2011

I do not even know where to start.

I do not want to even go into everything.

So I won't.

But as I posted on facebook this morning, the grief monster has been back.

Now, this time he did not come alone.

He brought big scary accomplices like Paranoia.

During my life, I have said goodbye many times.

When in elementary school, pretty much the moment I considered someone my best friend, they'd move.

It happened over and over again. 

It almost felt like a guarantee.  

While consulting, it was pretty much a way of life.

I would spend six to eight months living in a city Monday through Thursday.

Only to be moved to a completely new location with new team, new clients, and new city.

It was fun to say the least but it was always sad to leave and say the dreaded goodbye.

Yes, people would say, "We'll keep in touch."

But for most, it was just another required statement with no backing.

So I learned to live in the moment.

I learned to almost keep myself at a distance.

I learned to say goodbye easily.

In 2005, I decided I was done with that non-static lifestyle.

I wanted real relationships.

I wanted a semi-normal routine.

I wanted a home and community.

So I moved back to Orlando.

One of my favorite cities to be in.

Three weeks ago grief and his friends made me scared and stressed.

Two weeks ago he made me paranoid about people I called friends shaking some of the very foundations of me.

And then last week made me nauseous with the loss of friendships.

A different sort of grief but similar feelings nonetheless.

Grief tried to make me doubt myself.

It dug deep into old wounds to reach fresh blood.  

In the last week or so, I have had trumpeters telling me all the positive things I am.

I am thankful for those who believe in me.

Thankful for those new and old friendships who have and are trying to defeat the voices of grief, paranoia, and non-truths.  

I will prevail.

I will be better for it all.
I will say goodbye.

And when the dust settles I will know the truth.

How to be Happy

At my old job, I worked with this lady that would have me in stitches.
She has a good ol' Southern Tennessee twang.
She would tell it as it is.
And she would be funny about it.

Way before I met her though.
Probably 10-15 years before I met her.
She lost her son.
A small child.
To cancer.

And I remember watching her.
Feeling so sorry for her.
How can she be happy?
How can she crack jokes?
How can she smile at other children?
Just how?

But now I get it.
You never forget.
And I am sure there are days.
And moments.
And maybe even months.
But the loss scars over eventually.

For some reason, September has been harder than I imagined.
But there are days were the loss is just a scar.
And I can smile, crack jokes, and be happy.

"Always With You"

Like most people, Mr. X likes Harry Potter.

Both the books and the movie.

I, unlike most people, have never read the books.

Years ago, I watched the first and second movies but fell asleep during the second movie.

I have gone to Harry Potter land here in Orlando but mostly for Mr. X.

A friend of ours was hosting a Harry Potter night last weekend.

He was showing part I of the last movie at his home and then we were going to go see part II at a theatre.  

Now, I was mostly doing this for Mr. X.

And to have social time since I do not see this friend too often.

I was a bit nervous.

Would I be completely lost seeing the end of the series and not the middle?

However, the movie was done well enough that I could keep up relatively well.

Not to mention, I have heard many people talk about it enough times that I know a general idea of what has happened.

I did not expect for grief to come into play.

Yes, I had an idea that Harry died or something.

Yes, lots of other people had died too.

But lots people die in lots of movies.

That is not what got me.

What got me was his mother.

I used to tease Roger when we were not together for whatever reason.

As we were talking online or on the phone, I would say something like: 

"How do you know? You aren't here."

He had the same reply every time.

"I am always with you."

Sometimes he would follow up, "I just have to close my eyes and there you are."

Harry Potter's mother said something similar to him near the end after he died.

Something like:

"I will always be with you.  I have always been."

I started to cry.

Thank God for dark theatres.

It makes me tear up even now.

I am not sure if I truly believe Roger is always with me now.

It is hard for me to digest since I cannot always feel him.

And sometimes I wonder if I am making it up in my head when I do.  

But sometimes it does make me feel better.

The Dress

Last time, I had my wedding dress within the first thirty days of being engaged.

And that was way early.

Roger and I were engaged for a total of sixteen months. 

Mr. X and I have been engaged for two and a half months.

I have walked into one bridal shop for about fifteen minutes.  

But I have not tried one dress on.

Why?

First, because I am scared of it.

I know I will feel like a bride for sure then.

It will truly sink in.

A bride.  Widow-ness in the shadows. 

Right now I feel like I am planning a party mostly.

And a tiny bit like a bride. 

Secondly, because I am not happy with my body.

I remember looking at my wedding photos to Roger on my first anniversary.

I was huge.

I did not feel huge then.

But once I went on the dead-husband diet, I was so skinny.

And I looked pretty hot and sexy. 

I was hot when Mr. X met me.

And although I am working on it with diet and exercise, I know I will not be where I want to be.

I do not feel hot.

I do not feel sexy.

I feel huge.

And I will be a huge bride again.

Which makes me sad.

So part of me wants to wait.

Wait on my body.

Wait on my spirit.

But then the planner part of me wants to check it off the list.

Even the online checklist is yelling at me to start shopping.

I partly want to go alone.

But I know I will regret that decision within about five minutes.

In my very brief walk into that one bridal store, I was trembling.

And I wanted my friend who was waiting with her daughter (no children were allowed) to be by my side.  

Sigh... 

I know I have until September/October to do this.

But I also know my life will get super busy very, very soon.

I wish I could lift my confidence.

I think that would help me.

Confidence, please go up.  

Please!!

"We've Got Time"

I just watched "Moonlight Mile" for probably the third or fourth time.
The first time I watched it was way before Roger died.
And I have seen it since.
But I did not cry last time I watched it.
This time, I did.
A lot.
But I think I needed a good cry.

And for whatever reason it reminded me of when Roger and I first started dating.
I had just stopped my consulting job about a week before we met.
During consulting, I traveled Monday through Thursday every week.
So I had a life in whatever city I happened to be working in and a life at home.
Two very separate worlds in which I lived.
And it was hard to have friends.
To date.
To go to the dentist.
And to do many of the day-to-day activities.
So I would cram as much as I could into my weeekends.

When Roger and I first started dating, we saw each other at least one night of the weekend and about two nights during the week.
And I tried to cram as much into the time we were together as possible.
Roger kept saying, "We've got time. Just relax."
I was trying.

When he would go away for a weekend to visit his family in Miami or to a martial art event, I was sad.
More time away.
And yes, absence makes the heart grow fonder but I wanted to see him.
Spend time with him.
I was almost frantic to see him.
And Roger's response was always the same.
"We've got time. We have years."

But we didn't.
We didn't have much time at all.
We only had less than three years.
Just like the characters in the movie.
Two years and eleven months.

Perfection

I referred to Two Kisses for Maddy book yesterday.
As I continue to read, I continue to remember.

Yesterday while I was reading, Matt refers to how in those 27 hours between his daughter's birth and his wife's death his life was perfect.
He felt so incredibly happy.

I know that feeling.
I know that exact feeling.
The morning of our accident.
I was finishing up the packing.
Roger was still showering.
He got out of the shower and proclaimed how he must love me.
"I must love you. I just shaved against the grain at 4 something in the morning."
I smiled.  We were on the way to my ten year high school reunion.
Life was perfect.

We had our house with the perfect layout.
Four bedrooms and a big room over the garage.
Three car garage with one of the bays in front of the other.
Nice neighborhood with good schools.

I had an amazing husband.
He was kind and funny.
Had a wonderful family.
Married life was going well.

We had good friends.
I was happy.
I was loved.
I was in love.

But then the most important piece of the puzzle was gone.
In an instant.
Because of something so stupid.
And life was not perfect anymore.

Part of me is afraid to feel this again.
To be completely happy, again.
To be completely in love, again.
I do not want to be crushed, again.

Floods of Memories

I am currently reading "Two Kisses for Maddy".
I have been waiting for this book.
I started reading the blog a while ago.
And even though I do not have a kid.
Even though Roger and I were not together for years and years.
And even though Matt and I are not very similar.
Some of the things he writes about on his blog and now in his book, really shake loose some memories that I have been passively avoiding.

I started reading this book a few nights ago and the first night I could not sleep.
As he described the initial moments of his loss, I could vividly remember my own.

That initial pain of loss.
The complete devastation.
Seeing the face of "I am so glad that is not me" and "I so glad to have my husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend safe and sound next to me" while I felt so alone.

I remember one dear friend who just in tears and tears as she looked at me.
Yes, she was probably sad that it was Roger.
Maybe because it was me.
Maybe because we had met a few months after she met her to be husband.
But she was in the middle of wedding planning.
She was just about to send the wedding invitations.
And although some of those tears were for Roger and me, I know some may have been because she was glad it was not her.
Scared what it would be like if it were her.
I will never forget the look on her face.
But it was not her.
It was me.

I am not sure if I should be reading this book but I cannot help it.
Part of it really makes me feel like I am not alone in this journey.
That there are others like me.
With similar feelings like me.

I do recommend this book to my family and friends.
Matt does put into words things I could not.
Perhaps to see inside my head and my heart at those moments, read this book.

Trading Up

I adore MINI.
I got my first one in July 2005.  I had just moved back to Orlando and needed a car.
I had fallen in love with MINI back in 2000 when a friend and I snuck a peek at them after hours.
So in 2005, I drove off the lot in my first brand new car.
The sales team was awesome.
And in the last almost six years, I have had only a few problems here and there.
Nothing too bad.
Nothing like I see other car owners dealing with.
I highly recommend any MINI to anyone.
I always talk about them with a smile.

The only thing I did not like about my MINI Cooper S was the fact it only had two doors.
And then in September.
My oh my.
MINI heard my wishes and created a four door car.
I was excited.
Finally I could keep my MINI and have four doors.

I talked to my financial advisor back in December.

He gave me the green light.

But then I was scared.
In January, I was introduced to MINI Countryman.
And I fell in love.
But thought I better wait.

Then last night I dreamt about buying a new car.
This morning as I walked into the garage my car would not start.
I was honestly stunned.
I have never had any issues of my car not starting.
It has been such a dependable car.
I was not even sure what to do.
Where is the battery anyway?
Oh, in the luggage compartment by the way.
My battery lasted double the amount of time they normally do.

Mr. X followed me to the dealership since it is a specialized battery that only the dealership sells.
I trotted over to look at the new cars.
Mr. X laughed at me.
And after thinking about it, I decided to go ahead and buy a new car.
I worked the deal.
And then needed to come home to get the title of the Cooper S and a check.

On the way back to the dealership, I started to cry.
This small piece of my life has been constant for almost six years.
Before Roger.
Before being a bride.
Before being a homeowner.
Before being a wife.
Before being a widow.
And of course after all that.

Yes, it is a car.
Metal and plastic.
But it was there for me.
Without fail.
On my first meeting with Roger.
On our first date.
On our road trip to Virginia.
On our wedding day.
Even when I brought Roger home with me from the funeral home.
I loved that car.
I still love that car.
And I hope someone else loves her too.
She's awesome and she is dependable.
She will take them places they never dreamed.
And keep them safe.
And help them heal.

PSA: Drugs Are Not Bad

My family has some history of addiction.
And I know there is some evidence that having the ability to be addicted to substances is genetic.
So... when Roger first died, I made a pledge not to drink until I felt more stable.
My first drink post Roger was at my first wedding.  Three months after Roger's death.
Again, it was just a few drinks and not to the point of drunkenness.
I still kept a close look at my drinking for a long while post-death.

I was also on anti-anxiety medication and I knew the drug interactions for that.
I saw them first hand back in 1999.
Seizures and death.
I watched my ex-boyfriend's mother die two days before Christmas as he had to decide to take her off life support.
Valium + alcohol = death.

About ten years ago, I met a lady who was recently divorced.
She had lived the perfect life, or so she thought.
Six years after her wedding, her husband confessed to cheating most of their marriage.
I later found out she was on Paxil.
I was shocked.
She was smart. She seemed so well put together.  She was a pharmacist so she knew the risks.
But she also knew she was in a situation and needed help.
I had never known someone who was on medications for depression.

The week Roger was dying, I only took the medication for my arm infection and some Benadryl to help me sleep.
But I believed I did not need drugs.
I was strong. I was tough.  I was offended by the thought of having to take drugs.

When I visited my own physician after Roger's death, he insisted on anti-anxiety medications.
I was not sleeping.  I could barely finish a thought.  I was extremely paranoid.
I needed help.
I stayed on them for a few months along with my counseling.

Drugs are not bad!  Again for emphasis, drugs are not bad nor the enemy.
Most of my friends and family have not experienced the pain and situation I have been through at my age.
Those people who think a widow or widower should go without drugs, especially during the first year or so need to keep their damn mouth shut.  It does not mean the person is less of a human for needing help.
Those who think a divorcee should go without drugs, especially during the first year, should go to hell.
Sometimes, people need help.
Asking for help makes us strong.

Drugs are there to help.
Yes, they have side effects.
Every single drug has side effects but they are worth the risk when someone is struggling to get through.
So I say lay off to those who feel they can judge.
Those who need the drugs, feel free.  Be responsible and take care of yourself.
Drugs are not bad.

My Holiday Check-in

You can't see it but there is a superman underneath the white shirt.

I almost feel like I owe a posting about how I am doing this season.
"All widows & widowers report your status please."
So here it goes...

Putting up the Christmas tree was hard this year.
About half my Christmas ornaments are from Roger.
So the process of decorating the tree was pinged with a bit of sadness.
Scoobie Doo. Coke bears. The Hulk. Clark Kent outfit.
I tried hard to be happy for Mr. X as he adores Christmas.
But Christmas has never been a great holiday for me.
I think my growing up beat it out of me.
My mother was hardcore about decorating.
Starting immediately after Thanksgiving.
Christmas threw up everywhere on everything.

Then I was in choir from the fourth grade through the twelve.
We sang Christmas carols and inspired music from August till January.
Needless to say, I had enough Christmas for almost a lifetime.
Then throw the dead husband thing on top and I could almost not have Christmas and be okay.

But after that small emotional incident with the tree, I have not felt overly sad.
A few good happy memories have found their place in my head.
Not necessarily Christmas oriented but it has been nice to smile instead of cry.

But I have also been busy.
The semester ended last week and getting there was a challenge.
I took a required state exam yesterday which meant I was studying a lot.
[I passed by the way.]
Not to mention Lil Paperia photo shoots and shopping for gifts.

I do wonder how the actual day will be.
And New Year's Eve.
It is always hard for me to enter into a new year.
Further and further away from 2008.

So far so good really for me.
I am in shock I feel this "good" in ways.
Parts of me thought I would never be able to enjoy the holidays again.
Alas I am.  Alas.

Surreal

Last week as I was standing in my internship classroom, I had this almost woozy feeling.
I looked around and almost had to pinch myself.
This intense feeling of surreal-ness came over me.
It was palatable.
I almost felt faint.

I could not believe for about two minutes that this is my life.
Me? Standing in a classroom?
Becoming a teacher?
How did this happen?
Is this real?
Is this the dream?

Simply three years ago I was just about to get married.
My invites were just sent and I was anxiously awaiting RSVPs.
I was working in computer software design.
Going to all day meetings about project statuses and software implementations.
If I go back a little further, ten years ago I was working as a pharmacy technician.
Working in a hospital filling IV orders and learning how to make chemotherapy.
And here I am now. Becoming a science teacher.
And now I am doing photography.

So many things have changed.
My life is no where I thought I would be.
It is a weird feeling not to be in the spot you think should be.
For life to change so quickly in so little time.

I know I am not alone in this feeling but sometimes I look at some of my friends who have been in the same job for years.
Or married to the same person for long periods of time.
Do they reflect back?
Did they think their lives would be dramatically different yet they are not changing?
Do they feel this surreal-ness?

Then I flash forward.
Where will I be in three more years?
Where will I be in ten?
I almost hope it is predictable and something like married with kids and teaching with photography on the side.
I just hope I can stop feeling like a revolving door of life.
Just a little predictability would be nice.
Just a little.

Five Years Ago

Five years ago you forced me into our first meeting.
You said the movie is playing at this particular time and you would meet me at the front of the theatre.
I did not even have your cell phone number to tell you no.
I was not sure if you checked your email as obsessively as me.
Since I am a nice person, I went.
I did not put much effort into how I looked.
I did not think I would even really like you.
You however looked so well put together.
Black jeans that were too big for you.
Boots.
Burgundy button down shirt.
Your walk was so excited.
You had a big goofy looking smile.
We saw Corpse Bride.
You had already seen it but saw it again with me anyway.
Afterwards we went to Bahama Breeze.
You did not even have a beer.
You made me blush.
I emailed after the meeting that I wanted to "just be friends."
You became my friend.

Five years later I am your widow.
We were great friends.
I fell so hard for you.
I love you so much.
And I miss you so so much.

Five years.
So short.
So long.
So different than I ever imagined, wanted, or dreamed.

Thank you for forcing me into that first meeting.