I really do enjoy smelling good. This past winter, from advice from a friend I stopped wearing any kind of lotion with a scent to it. My skin had become so itchy that I was going a little crazy. This still baffles me since I grew up in Southern California which is basically a desert. Dry is what I know. To help fight my battle with dry itchy skin, I went on a lotion hunt all the while finding out that lotions with scents in it could set off the skin to itch. I banded all my scented lotions to the back of my bathroom shelf until now. I was getting out of my first-aid tubberwear and found the forbidden lotions. I thought that since its summer and I haven’t felt real dry, (which by the way makes no scene to me since in California only time I was dry was in the summer) Id see if my skin was up to smelling good. I’ve never been a girl who had a scent so it feels a little weird when I do. But the past two days of smelling good has been so lovely. I will smell this pretty green fresh smell and think “What is that wonderful smell?” only to realize that it is me! Better use all the lotion I can while summer still sticks around.

Anyone else in the mood for some fruit? I sure am. That has turn into my dessert of choice. When I grabbed some dinner last week, I got a couple of plums for dessert. Last night I had some strawberry shortcake and it was fine, but afterwards I wished I had a bowl full of strawberries instead. I don’t know what this change in my taste buds are, but Im glad for it being that fruit is much better for me. Only problem with this craving is currently have is that its hard to instantly give into it. And its good for me! Why is it hard? Becasue when I go to the super market later, Im gonna pick out some yummy looking fruit. I will bring it home and wash it and put in a paper towel to eat and take a good bite to only find out its not ripe yet! I spend a lot of time gently testing fruit to find an already ripe one, but I rarely can find one. I have to wait a day or two before getting the sweet nectar that I long for. Maybe I should just get some juice to hold me over.

There are a handful of half written blog posts saved on my computer. I’ll start to write them my creativity just fizzes out. I blame it to lack of photo taking. Its just been so hot out that I don’t really want something up against my face in the heat. My main creative outlet is currently dry and it seems the other outlets are suffering becasue of it. Im currently uploading and printing photos to catch my photo album. Realizing I miss film so very much. Jason and I are going to friends of his concert tonight. This band is going to be in Japan for about two months playing shows, so its a big hoopla tonight since they will be gone for a while. Jason is gonna use Owen and I will bring my Cannon film. I’ve taken film concert photos at this venue before, so I hope it as good to me as it was last time. Before I get to do that, I get to close at my store. Closing is sorta draining me as well, and there a small light at the end of the tunnel for them to end. Cant wait for that light to show up really. But tonight I get to close with a friend so it should be fun none the less. Then I get the whole weekend off to help Jason pack and get ready for his move soon into a house. Really happy for him to have a house instead of living in an apartment. Though it will take a lot to get me out of my current place since I suffered through a summer of restorations and well the rent is such a steal. I shall try not to anger the weather by saying this, but Im really ready for fall. Some of the trees have started to change colors, which is such a tease in this heat. I have an idea of somehow getting some good Alabama football tickets and going with my pastor down to Tuscaloosa for a weekend to watch. Him and I are both fans, though I know his love runs deeper than mine for the Crimson Tide. Cute sweaters. Scarves. Football. Summer has been nice, but crisp evening on the porch watching the leaves fall just sounds too lovely right now.

Heres the deal, I feel silly posting this, but at the same time I feel sad. My mom just called me and you know a conversation is never good when it starts “not to alarm you but…”. Oreo, my kitty, is in the hospital right now. He’s been moping around the house for a week or so my mom told me last we talked. Cats do that though, it wasn’t anything to really think twice about, you know? Apparently he moped enough to alarm my parents to take Oreo to the doctor. They have done blood work, urine test and x-rays. They think something effect his liver or kidney, my mom didn’t remember all the facts (she must be upset too). She wanted to know how big of a wedding I want someday since the budget has a little bit of a dent in it. Apparently Oreo is dehydrated so they are giving him lots of fluids and think he’ll recover. Still, this makes me sad and worried for the little guy. All I want to do is hug my kitty and hear his little meow (that is always more of a conversation than simple word). Please pray for Oreo, he’s only 8 years old and its sad to hear he’s sick.

Beneath my shying away from the cold wet rain, I wish I could stand in the middle of street with my arms stretched wide open. The practical side of who I am takes over, not wanting to deal with the consequences of wet clothing or hair. Instead I dash from shelter to shelter avoiding the rain that I love. At what point in life do we stop being that girl who wants to dance around in the rain, without a care in the world to the women who seems to always have an umbrella in the car? Sure it’s not an overnight thing, more so a gradual process of trading those childlike things for adulthood.

I’ve been thinking about growing up a lot lately. The sermon on Sunday was geared towards parents. Sitting in my seat wondering if Id remember this Sunday someday when I have kids of my own. Wondering if I really could simply just tell my parents how I thought they could make better parents. This past week, no reason in particular I’ve been missing my family greatly (so much in fact that a country song about a father and daughter made me cry). Anyone knows that their parents are humans so they will screw up in parenting. That is something else I realized I traded when becoming an adult. I no longer solely saw my parents as these two people who would never let me down. Children should have that idea and comfort in their parents. But the older I’ve become it would almost be too great of an expectation to place on my parents expecting them to be same as they were to me as a child. They will not say the right things or do the right things every single time. Even so, I will still turn to them for advice on life because of the trust they have built in my relationship with them.

Officially, we are adults at age 18. Do our parents (or to many of my friends, as parents) have only that short of time to help form who we will be when we are no longer under their care? That really is a very short amount of time, I never really thought about how short of time that is. Just thinking back on how the early 90s don’t seem that long ago to me, but it was almost twenty years ago. I believe parenting doesn’t ever really stop, but the most dominate time of influence you have your childs life is those first 18 years or so. 18 they start to go off to college or find themselves as an adult (I was the ladder). The role of the parents doesn’t lessen, rather, changes roles. My parents are still my parents, but I turn to them for different things than I did even a year ago. Those small windows of time have different seasons of your child being a small baby to toddler to a 5 year old going on 30 to a teenager and so on. All of those times seem to pass by in a blink of an eye (so Ive been told) and during those times of savoring this blessing you are to train up your child in hopes you can give them all you want to offer them.

To all the parents out there, kudos to you. To those of you trying to start a family, you are so brave. To parents of grown children, we still carry a part of the small little one you still think of us as, even if our mask looks like an adult. To my parents, thanks for the love and support I know I have to still grown up in.

The other afternoon Jason asked if I wanted to get some dinner before Jr High group at 5. I thought it would be nice to see him before small group so I agreed. Not long after that I got a text message from him saying “Can you be there at 430? You don’t want to miss this.” Now that’s very different from “We are getting dinner at 5pm” now isn’t it? I begin to wonder what is going on because clearly something is up. “You don’t want to miss this” part was what is making my wheels turn. I hurry to finish my lesson plan and grab directions to the restaurant. On my drive over I calmed myself down (I was really worked up) that it has to be someone I know is in town that Id be really excited to see. I look over the parking lot for out of state license plates and I see one but cant recall to what state its for (the state name was covered by the frame). I walk into the restaurant not knowing what I should be expecting. I was happily relived that our friends Graham and Nicole where passing through town.

The whole ride to the restaurant I was stressed out in what Jason had up his sleeve. This is when I realized I don’t like surprised that I know are coming. Maybe it was because it was so last minute I had no real time to prepare myself for this surprise. I am also one of the most jump people you’ll ever met. You don’t have to sneak up behind me to make me jump. I don’t remember being that jumpy as a kid. This isn’t to say that I don’t like surprises. I do. Mostly, because its seems to be rather easy for me to figure them out, which is half the fun of a surprise. Until the other day, I didn’t think of myself as someone who doesn’t like surprises. I’ve had surprised birthday parties in the past which I remember enjoying. Has the fun that a surprise brings something I grew out of over my years of becoming an adult? Even sometimes when getting gifts (I can see this getting me in trouble) and we have done this… we open a gift in fear we are going to hurt the gift givers feelings with our reaction. So as you tear the paper you are thinking how to express your reaction no matter what you really think of the gift. Now this is sounding shallow and I don’t mean it like that at all. Its not I don’t appreciate the gift, I do. Its more I’m afraid of hurting the person who gave me the gifts feeling. I’m most always thankful for a the thought of gift.

I just wonder if its all connected, that deep down I’m scared of hurting someone’s feelings. And in that, I an really scared of what someone else thinks of me which really isn’t what its about at all. The other night Jason just wanted to surprise me, in the simple joy that it was. But instead of thinking that, I was in fear I wouldn’t react the right way or let someone down. I guess its more learning how to push self away and focus on really what’s important. Who knew a surprise could stir such thoughts?

The past few days have been somewhat of a blur but very long at the same time. I started to not feel well on Monday but didn’t think too much about it because I don’t get sick that often. But knowing myself well enough I could tell I was fighting something. I even went to work because I just really cant bring myself to call in sick unless I’m really really sick. Yesterday though things seemed to take a turn for the worse instead of the better so I went to the doctor, which was a ordeal in and of itself. Apparently very few doctors in my area are accepting new patients. This ether means that there are too many sick people in Greensboro or there are not enough doctors to go around. Neither one of these comforts me at all. I went to the doctors, which I shall spare yall on the details but it was better experience than I expected. Like I said, but I’m thinking of stopping saying but I think it jinxes me somehow, I don’t get sick very often, so I don’t go to the doctors very often. Lets just say, I have had insurance with Starbucks for almost two years now and this is the very first time I have used it. It wasn’t till after a very long wait for the my door of my little room to open up again, I laid down and smelled that hospital smell that is the main reason I hate going to the doctors. The smell of being overly serialized is not a comforting smell to me, even though it probably should be. It makes me nervous and think things are worse than they actually are for some reason. Maybe because that smell reminds me of the handful of times I had surgery on my birthmark when I was little and that smell is associated with that. But this whole waiting in the little room thing, Id like to talk about that for a second. I saw three people yesterday, including the doctor. Three people who whisked in and out of that room every few minutes and a long period of time between each other to see me. Its one of the strangest things in the medical field I think. You sit (or in my case lie down, I was very tired) on this table with a thin sheet over it waiting for folks in scrubs to come in and talk to you, take your pulse (and tell you how small your arms are. I actually appreciated that comment because when your sick you don’t feel pretty at all. So that thought process to me, sitting there with bed head ponytail and no make up was “I’m not frumpy!”) or get your medical history. I saw the back of that door more often than I really wished to, and couple of times to protest the back of the door’s poster of “Please do not use your cell phone” I reached for my cell phone. I didn’t use it, but I was tempted to that’s all. At one point I took a magazine from the limited offering hanging on the wall next to said closed door. Of course when I’m trying to read People’s take about Brittany being a mom is when the nurse decided to come in. People magazine is still just one of those magazines you don’t want to be caught reading, but my options where very limited. I should of just taken the high road and stayed lied down on the table. All and all, first doctors visit in a long time, wasn’t half bad. Today I’m eating crackers okay and wanting to drink more. When your sick those are like the last two things in the world you want in your mouth. I actually didn’t want anything, drank way less that I should of but when you just cant bring yourself to do it and your only cheerleader is Biscoe giving you a cute look of support most of the day, then no drinking is gonna happen. A good nights sleep did me some good I think, but we’ll see how the day goes.

I’ve spent most of morning putting together some photos I took from the wedding this past weekend into a photo album. I stole the idea from Christiana who did the same for Sarah and Brandon last year. Adding a little personal touch of song lyrics that speak of love or relationships. Those songs piled onto a mix cd to share with these friends of Jace and mine. In a note I told the couple my feelings wouldn’t be hurt if they ending up using the photo album for a completely different reason. And I really do mean that, my hope is that they enjoy the gift as much has I enjoyed putting together. (My only hope that they enjoy at least one of the photos I took for them.)

On another side of all this, when I get a gift that was made for me (like a photo album or mix cd) I feel like I’m getting to know the person more. The wedding was a close friend of Jason, so there is still room for me to grow in a friendship with the newly weds. What I do know of them makes me want to share this friendship Jason has with them. In sharing a part of me, my favorite lyrics and photos I took, is my way of sharing myself. Extending myself in form of something I hope they gain enjoyment from. We do this with most people in our lives one way or another. Share or not share, we chose who we give part of our lives to. We all have our own ways of sharing ourselves with others. Whether is through a gift or spending time with them, its an expression of who we are to them. Now its finding the balance of knowing how they express themselves to you. I know I have trouble reading people, so that something I can grow in my relationships with people close in my life.

I bought two balls of yarn on Sunday. I cant believe I bought two balls of yarn. Two more things I have to move right? But what really is two balls of yarn? I can put them in an air tight bag and they really are nothing. Plus they are so pretty, pink and brown. I’ll just be mad if I find them in Yarns, Etc in Greensboro.

My little brother is currently in the process of moving out for the first time. I have extended my help by sharing all the boxes I have brought home from work for myself. He doesn’t seem to have the same order of packing as I do. As in, he hasn’t put a single thing in a box to move yet. Sadly, in this decision to move out and sign a lease with a friend, he cant go travel with his band. He needs to keep his job, so he cant go on the road, so he had to quit the band and be a grown up. Lots of change at once going on for him. I hope he at least says good-bye before I leave the state.

One of my cats who is particular fond of me, Rizzo, has been having this problem of spraying areas of the house (yeah, ew). My mom says its because I’m moving and he’s upset. I reminder her that he does not know I am leaving, only that “his room” is full of boxes. In which my mom replies, same thing, his world is being turned upside down. I’m going to miss Oreo and Rizzo very much, despite the waking me up way too early or things of that nature.

I’m having to miss my 8th graders get promoted into high school. I will be somewhere in Texas during that time. I asked Hayley to call me so I can be on speaker phone when I hear my girls names called. They have been a very fun but challenging class over the past two years. At first, shy 7th graders who turned into loud, I don’t care what you think 8th graders. But I love them and their sweet hearts and amazing women I know they are starting to be.

Alright, before I get too emotional I’m just going to remind yall of my moving blog (which some can argue this entry should be on) since it seems many of you don’t know of it. www.ventiadventures.blogspot.com I got it mainly for when Carla and I are on the road, they have a cool audio blog option. So while I’m on the road that will be the best way to keep in the know of my life.

I remembering sitting in Red Lobster with my parents. I don’t believe we got lobster or why that was the restaurant I had chosen, but I remember what we talked about. My parents where giving me what has been known in the Christian circle as a “purity ring”. It was a small silver ring my mom and I had picked out at the Christian bookstore a few weeks back for this night. My mom had typed out on pretty paper a commitment to go along with the ring. The understand of what purity means in God’s eyes, what the symbol of this ring was to me and how it can be a helpful reminder to me. I was thirteen and three years away from the legal age (according to my parents) that I was allowed to entertain young men as boyfriends. Safer to get before me those silly week long or summer camp romantics turned into something real I suppose.

Getting a purity ring seemed to be the thing to do in my youth group. I remember being one or the first in my circle of friends. We had the same ring and it was a topic in the youth group. Our small group leader would ask us how we are sticking to our commitments, which for most of us was rather easy since we weren’t allowed to date. After the hype of it fell, I remember wanting a new ring. Not because I didn’t like the one I had or had changed my mind on this whole purity thing. With so many of my friends “into it” and having the same ring, some of what made it special was gone to me. I don’t remember when exactly, but I bought myself a new ring (my parents were only willing to pay for one that they thought was the first was still just as good) and sealed the deal again with a Frappuncino (I was like 14, the right age for drinking a Frappuncino). Somewhere over the years, I lost that ring I had bough, probably because it was a 6 and way too big for my finger but was that was the only size they had. So, in high school I searched again for the right size and a fitting ring for me. My original purity ring sat (and still sits) in my small jewelry box too small for my finger. It wasn’t till I was near the end of high school or out of it I found a circle of hearts I wanted as my third purity ring (sounds so wrong). It was again a little big, so it stayed on my middle finger to help not lose it. And I still to this day have it, but a couple of days ago it had to be taken off my finger.

This past week when I was at work in the afternoon I was doing a very common afternoon cleaning of the cold beverage station. Part of that is moving the blender, cleaning behind and under and the actual blender. Well, when I was putting the blender down from moving it, slammed down on my finger. I saw it happened but I didn’t feel anything but then my finger started to feel tighter. I realized my ring had caught the blow instead of my finger. But being not the most expensive ring, it smashed into a flat shape cutting off the flow to my finger. I started to pull it off and reshape it so it wouldn’t hurt, but it wouldn’t move. It started to hurt and turn my finger colors and panic started to come over me. I tell my manager what is happening and she says “just put butter on it and it will slide right off”. I put butter all over it, which didn’t make it budge at all. My finger,now covered in butter, has now turned to a dark shade of red/purple color. I ask my manger for something, anything to get this off my finger. She finally finds a pair of pliers and squished back into a circle shape and off my finger it came. One of my coworkers, totally oblivious to my panic asked why my finger was all red. His reply? “I hope it wasn’t a ring you really liked” I told him “Well, I did like the ring, but I like my finger more.”

So here I am once again without a purity ring. Wonder if workman’s comp covers such things?

Today is one of those days I wish I lead another life. I guess not extreme as that, but more in how I make my living. Usually when I feel that way I’m melancholy over cute babies and wanting to be married. Today, that is not the feeling. I wish I didn’t have to go to work in a couple hours, instead stay here next to my window and good music and write. Secretly I want to be a writer and tell different stories in so many different ways. Even I laugh at that dream because of my reputation for poor spelling and not ever proof reading anything. But that isn’t to say I don’t want to spend hours typing away all these different pieces of stories inside me. The idea of me having a book on a shelf somewhere, seems really far fetched. Lauren Winner said she would spend hours in bookstores and think “I could write a book.” although I think she has a much more interesting story to tell than I. Not that the stories I have to share are my own, but fiction ones. Which I personally think is a lot more fun to write, this coming from a girl who reads a lot of bios or memoirs. I read many writer’s blogs, have acquaintances in the business and its not easy. So as romantic I like to make being a writer, which I don’t consider myself at all, it sounds fun. Still, I find it a crazy dream of mine to craft a story that would actually relate to other people. I truely only think it could happen with lots of time, patience, and encouragement. Those things coming from others who know what they are talking about and myself. I think that’s the first step, actually thinking this is something I could do and follow through with it. I think it goes back to a universal struggle, failure. Who really wants to fail at something they pour their energy into? No one. To me, I just don’t see a better time in my life to jump of this cliff.

Stolen from Kristin

Seven Things to Do Before I Die (Lord willing):
1. Go to London and New York
2. Go on a hot air balloon ride
3. Read all the books I own
4. Write a book
5. Travel to all 50 states
6. Own a house with a wrap around porch
7. Get married and have some kids

Seven Things I Cannot Do:
1. Cartwheel
2. Spell
3. Sing
4. Be taller than 5’2 and 3/4
5. Speak another language
6. Public speaking
7. Math

Seven Things that Attract Me to My Spouse [romantic interest, best friend, whomever](not necessarily in this order!):
1. His thoughtfulness
2. His freckles
3. His intelligence.
4. His sense of humor
5. His heart for youth
6. Way he puts with “my” things (Gilmore Girls, chick stuff, etc)
7. His patience

Seven Things I Say (or write!) Most Often:
1. I know!
2. yall
3. would you like room for cream?
4. yay!
5. by any means
6. humph
7. oh yeah

Seven Books (or series) I Love:
1. Muddhouse Sabbath by Lauren Winner
2. Blue Like Jazz by Don Miller
3. Let Me Be a Women by Elisabeth Elliot
4. Ashley Stockingdale books by Kristin Billerbeck
5. The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs
6. Ruth: A Portrait (biography of Ruth Graham Bell) By Patricia Cornwell
7. Christy Miller Series by Robin Jones Gunn

Seven Movies I Would Watch Over and Over Again:
1. You’ve Got Mail
2. Bridget Jones (ether one)
3. About a Boy
4. Any Jane Austin Movie
5. Return to Me
6. Sweet Home Alabama
7. Garden State

Seven People I Want to Join in:
1. Kari
2. Carla
3. Susan
4. Brian
5. Laura
6. Mike
7. Jason (only reason you are last cause I want you do to it but doubt you will. Go ahead, prove me wrong.)

I am the biggest pack rat in the world. Well, that might be a bit of a stretch, I know others (mainly, Laura) who are worse than me. But my gosh, I saved every note, card, ticket sub, picture known to man! Or so it seems like it. Yes, in the mist of those things where letters from past boys. And no I will not post them. Notes from girlfriends where in there. Pen pals. Camp photos. It was sad to let everything but few (still a box full) special pieces to have. For the reason, if nothing else to have a box to go through and go “oh look at this!” “aw, I remember this.” To remember sweet times of my childhood and youth. I just hope to whom I share a house with someday wont mind my pack-ratness ways.

This song by BNL was on the first Friends soundtrack, way back when Friends first came out. A girlfriend (Laura actucally) had it and we listened to it and this song grabbed me. I think it was becasue in Jr Hugh I had a couple of shoesboxes full of notes. I didnt know even till now that the chorus went “shoe box of lies” (unsure what I thought it said). My shoeboxes where not full of lies, but I like the song anyhow. Brings back memories and fits well with going through boxes full of memories in form of paper.

Shoebox by BNL

You’re so nineteen-ninety
And it’s nineteen-ninety-four
Leave this world behind me
‘Cause you don’t want me anymore

Its days like these when I’m around people who, how shall I say… I get annoyed by rather easy. I don’t know what it is. I try, I really do try to not get annoyed but it always happens. I am a nice person at work well, at least I like to think so. On my last review I was told I have great customer service and get along well with others, which goes with being friendly right? My goal is to be Christ like in every aspect of my life, work, church, family, friends, etc. If I were to be honest, more than Id like to be, most of the time at work I check Jesus at the door. So I’m going off my own steam a lot of times in trying to be nice to people which as we all know is never good. I don’t consciously leave Jesus at the door. I want to please Him, that my reason for being a joyful person not because my job wants me to be. But when it boils down to it, a lot of the times I’m being that way I’m not having the mind-set of pleasing Him. I have been trying to have constant conversation going with Jesus at all times, especially during the more frustrating times. What’s been helpful in this area of my faith that I struggle with is playing a cd that I finally broke down and bought. Its Justin McRobert’s ep cd that I borrowed for many moons from Carla when we lived together. Its a simple 9 song worship set, just him and the geetar. Its wonderful to get into the worship mindset when walking into a place I find very hard to be in a worshipful mind set. So, along with me sharing a struggle I’m actually uncomfortable sharing (the things you say when hiding behind a keyboard and screen) I’m telling you to go check out this cd.

Currently I have two pieces of my neighbor’s furinture living in my little room. Its a matching dresser/desk set that are quite nice, especially to be on loan. With my parents getting themselves a new dresser and me in not in real use of a desk much these days, its time for them to go. I will get my parents old dresser (which I’m excited about because its bigger than my current one) and a little end table/dresser to make up a mini desk for Marla (my laptop) to call home. It will free up some space in my 10×10 room which I’m looking forward to having. In order for all of this space and change to happen, I’ve had to clean out the desk full of stuff. After deciding to do this I found a few piles of photos I never dealt with when moving back. I just stuck them in a draw, now they need to find a permit home which leads to a bigger project I have put off for years.

A few weeks ago I embarked on a different project which was printing photos from my year in Alabama. When I lived there I was really poor, didn’t have the extra cash for a lot of photos (and did we ever take a lot). I never mind living (well maybe a handful of times but I don’t remember it affecting me greatly) poorly, but I am now paying (literally) big time to catch up in the ever going process that is my photo album collection. I have about finished the Carla and Alisa adventures (as was most of my pictures from my year in Alabama) and now storing them away. In storing them away, yet another project is brought to my attention, my older photo albums. I’ve caption my life on film since Jr High on my own and those albums needed to be reduced. I tired to stay in the mid set of 13 year old Alisa as I reorganized them into more practical photo albums. Old memories where stirred in me which were sweet. Lately I have been playing catch up with very long emails to an old friend in my home town. We haven’t talked in almost four years so there’s much to over. We reminisce some of the old times, and now I have found the photos to match the memories.

Some of the photos as I grow older in the photos are bitter sweet. Friendships that were not so long ago the world to me are gone now. I once was told I should remove old photos of my high school sweetheart to spare is now wife’s feelings. I understand the meaning behind it, but to remove those from my personal collection would be like removing a big chunk of my life. I’m not going to basically lie to all those who want to see my high school life through photos. We departed ways as friends, we hold no regrets towards one another even now. My kids some day will ask about my first boyfriend and I will be fine in sharing it with them. And I’m excited to have all of these memories physically avaiable to share with my future kids along with having them as a tool for myself. Looking at photos always makes me happy. Sometimes it makes me sad, but mostly happy. Bittersweet is the constant feeling as of late in my photo projects. Watching myself grow up along side the people who shaped me who I am now. Wondering where these people are today and what’s going on with them. This is been a long on me emotionally and time wise but I am hopeful for its end result.

I dont know if I ever worked at a place where everyone didnt tell each other everything. And honestly, I didnt think people would talk about me. I dont think that interesting to bring enough drama to be talked about. Well, apparently I was wrong! I was minding my own business while reading “Bird by Bird” the other day on my break when my coworker came into the back as she wrapped up her day. She said to me that she had heard I was a writer. I have never claimed this about myself to anyone so I was confused at first by the statement. I realize that I was reading a book about writing, but I dont think that was it. I ask her who had told her that, then before she could answer I said another coworkers name whom I remember telling about me meeting with one my favorite authors who encouraged me that I had a voice. She told me it wasnt him. I pressed (as always). She said she wasnt going to tell me because I was too interested. I dont see how thats fair, but fine. I asked how that came about in conversation and said that this person and her were talking about what everyone should do to get out of the Starbucks hole (shes not so much of a fan of the corptet coffee shop but it pays the bills) and it was suggest I quite and write lots and lots of book. I laughed at the thought and remembered in “Blue Like Jazz”, Don Miller talks about now writers only earn a dollar. I told her that and said Starbucks would actually be a good job to have and write. She seemed to have thought that she had caught in admitting I was a writer. Again, I do not claim to be one at all. We talked about writing and what I like to write about, and somehow I explained the concept of a blog. So now she has the address (hi Meghan) and told me she enjoyed my writing. Not that my blog is my best work, most of the time I dont proof read anything I write and yall know I spell wrong all the time. She also encouraged me to write some things for a local magazine called “The Reader” that takes stories about things around San Diego. I had never thought to do such a thing, when I do write, its really just for fun. Deeper still, could I take all that involves putting my writing out there like that? Along with the good, of course, comes the bad. So I dont know if I will do it or not but its been really sweet to hear such encouraging words about something I never really thought I was good at.

Well, that was a delightful trip. I thought with the fullness that was my weekend Id be tired and more than ready to return home. I was even entertaining the idea of staying a couple more days as to watch the season finale of Gilmore Girls with Kari and friends.

I wish I knew how to capture well all the events that took place in my life this weekend. Sadly, quick run downs is all I’m usually able to spit out from the tiredness that a trip brings about. Despite the Sara Groves title, this post should be read with James Taylor’s “Carolina In My Mind”, its just to perfect of a song not to.

When visiting Greensboro I am always torn between wanting to spend time with Jason and seeing friends I call my own in a city that I do not. Spending time with Jason is so important because unlike a typical relationship, we don’t get to see each other often enough. Unlike I was told “You are always seeing him!” before I left. Both of us agreed this trip was a very nice balance of spending time with others and alone time. We havnt had the clearest communication recently so it was great to be in each others company and thoroughly enjoy it.

It was wonderful to spend time with Kari, again alone and with others. She helps make the idea of maybe moving to NC someday a comforting one. Not that I expect to see her a lot, being in different towns and busy lives we lead and all. But to know I have someone already here is very comforting. Meeting some of her family and a friend was again comforting because I liked them and felt like I went over well with them (maybe I didn’t, but Im hoping so). I maybe forming myself a little community without even knowing it. Plus, I have to beat Mike in the Diet Coke drinking challenge. I just have to. And moving there would give me that chance much more often.

I was able to met some special people to Jason that I had heard tons about. A couple who has the cutest baby with the sweetest blue eyes you’ll ever see at his show on Sunday. And also his Grandparents in a little town called Burlington. That probably was the sweetest times for me, talking with his Grandparents. They made me feel welcome despite the uncomfortableness of me being horrible at small talk and not knowing enough of a common thread to keep a conversation going with them. But then we found a passion for missions that had us talking and not wanting to leave. Jason also drove me by the house where he lived as a small boy. I wanted him to get out and let me take his picture in front of it but he wouldn’t have any of that. When he was living here, out in the country (Burlington is pretty country to me) and I was living in a beach town in a condo 2 blocks from the beach. What different lives we lead.

The rest of the weekend was a blur. Important but still a blur. With GravyCon (a meeting of GravyBoaders at Chili’s) and spending too little time with other side of the table. Late night Krispy Kreme run and sticky bubbles with Kate. A Songs of Water show in the sticky weather that threaten rain. Visiting Westover beyond the youth room doors. Having lunch on high stools with Stuart and listening to cussing music. Enjoying a cute movie at a new theater with Jace on a real date. I didn’t take nearly enough photographs, and it didn’t last.

So Im on a water kick, to help myself eat better. I read somewhere everytime you crave a snack to drink water to help for a little bit of the hungry. Even if you still want the snack after drinking the water, you’ll eat less because your tummy if full. Good idea. Today, first day, I drink about 70 ounces of water. Ive been told that’s very good, a little too much for my body but good. Drinking the first 10 ounce before leaving for worked was a chore. But once I got my straw at work, it wasn’t a problem. I don’t feel any different, other than having to pee a lot more. But hopefully in keeping up with the natural amount my body wants and needs, something will come of it. Until then, I might have to unpack a few “kitchen” boxes in my garage to find my Niangua bottle for my trip.

“Two selves in the garage is all you get.” Is what my mom said to me when I moved out of the house, leaving some things behind. Not just some things but boxes that contain memories through notes, yearbooks, ticket subs, and all sorts of mixture of things. I firmly believe such things stay at your parent’s house, it’s just how it is. You go back home to reminisce about years past, not to a storage place in your current home. Now, years later I have moved back home filling to the brim of those two selves things I have collected as an apartment dweller. Things that don’t fit have found home in our make shift rafters on the garage ceiling. Is it bad I take some delight in the fact I have outgrown my two selves and gotten away with it?

A long over due job of actually going through those boxes is in order. My parents cleaned out the garage (which I don’t think it entails them going through the garage and seeing what is really needed. I think it’s more of a get the dirt and dust out cleaning) while I was in Alabama. The threat of cleaning my two selves was said. Fearing for my precious things (half of I couldn’t recall I had put there years ago) I promised I would make time when I came back to go through them. Ready with my iPod, that time was this evening after work.

I pulled everything off the selves, opening a box full of beanie babies. I shut it right when I unveiled the context. Yes, I used to collect them when that was the thing to do. I’ll even own up to my mom, grandma and myself scouting out McDonald’s for the mini ones. It was that bad. I no longer have those minis’s (no idea where they went to actually) but I do have ones that I just can’t part with. In my mind, they were a child thing which I could not bring with me to my adult apartment. But even now, after years of not even thinking of them, I can’t part with them. Well, not with all of them, some hold special memories for me, so it’s hard to let go.

Another box I found is one that holds travel books, my yearbooks and old school notebooks. I came across some papers I have saved (really I am not a pack rat) that I sat on the garage floor and read. One I wrote for an English class I had my freshmen year of college. The assignment was to write about someone close to you with certain guild lines within that. I close to write about my closest friend at the time to me. I reread this paper which reminds me of things I had forgotten about this person. I quoted a letter she had written to me with words that were heartfelt and meaningful. Well, back then at least, since that friendship is currently non-existent. I sat there fighting every urge to fold it up and mail it to her as a reminder of what we once were. But then I wondered why I do that, for the benefit of ether one of us? Maybe all this time I felt such pain for this friendship is because it’s now I planned it to be.

Strange things we forget we have, things and feelings. Ive said about this relationship: I’m done; my heart is closed to the idea. Reading those words she wrote as my friend four years ago, could they possibly still be good? Or am I really someday, somehow going to have to swallow the tears and truly believe that every common ground has fallen down as if it was never there. As for now, I neatly put away these thoughts. I fold them into a box and put them on a shelve. My heart doesn’t know what to do with these lost forgotten things, so they rest until it does.

I like comfortable relationships. Scratch that. I absolutely adore them. I have two of them in my life that I take for granted far too often.

Before my trip to Alabama last week Carla and I discussed what we wanted to do with the time. At one point she said “Some time at Starbucks reading and writing as a break from one another would be good.” I wasn’t offended at all by this comment. I could see some friends thinking: but we could never get sick of one another! We don’t see each other often enough! As true as that may be, space is good. I appreciated Carla ever more so when she mentioned this, because she was doing the right thing for our friendship. That’s being comfortable in a big way. Its saying, I love you and want to keep loving you so we need to have some personal time. We used to do it all the time as room mates, go down to Crimson Cafe and sit at the same table, every once and a while talk, but for the most part keep to ourselves. Our relationship is to a degree that we can disagree on something and not have anything weird lingering afterwards. She’s one of the few who can call me on something and I’ll actually listen, despite my stubborn pride sometimes.

Ive come to a point where I feel pretty comfortable around Jason. I know, 10 months into this relationship, lets sure the heck hope so. But give me some credit, the flow of a long distance a relationship moves a little different than a “normal” one. When we first started dating Id get completely and totally uncomfortable during silences, especially during meals. As a good Christian girl Id remember that the guy should be the one to brake such silences (where I read or hear that I cant recall now. I just kept thinking that). I tired, really I did, but I had to say something, even if just for my own comfort. I now can sit through a silence and wonder less if something is wrong (sure at times I still do it, but rarely). I refused to sing in front of him at the start of our relationship. For very good reasons of he can sing and I can not. If he didn’t know how to sing Id probably be more incline to sing off key with the radio. When I did sing along one day when we were driving, it made his day. Then I asked if I could sing back up with him. He shuffled his words to avoid an answer. Ive only had this comfortableness once before in a romantic relationship and always wished to find it again. Now I have and its wonderful.

Comfortable relationships are few for a handful of reasons, I’m simply glad for the ones I have been blessed with. Not to say I don’t have others, I do, just these have been constant on my heart of the comfortableness I didn’t realize I had till spending time with them both recently. Strange, usually its you realize what you miss once its gone. Where as with this, it isn’t till I’m in the mist of feeling the best feelings in the world do I soak it up. I don’t have to try to win them in any way. I know I can screw up and they will still love me despite of it all. My heart is comforted by that very thought.