sneaking in

We fought. Argued. So often. We'd bicker, and I hated it. Especially before bed. You didn't want to talk about the fight the next morning. I did. I wanted answers. Why did we keep doing this? Mustn't this be a sign? You said that all couples fought. And I refused to believe that. You said I overreacted, calling me selfish for wanting to talk about it because you said you were done with the conversation. And "how could I" not accept that. I told you I wasn't being selfish. That I just wanted a plan. To work on, or towards. To make this get better. Not knowing for sure if it really ever could, get better.

I was sad. Upset. And discouraged. Thinking, wondering, is this as good as it gets? This? This is what it's like? And I began to think maybe I was overreacting. I began to cherish the good, lived for the good of it all, of us. Those few and far between good times, amidst all of the turmoil. I would apologize, over and over, for making you upset. Actually believing that it was my fault.

You said you never felt this strongly for someone before. Couldn't picture life without me. You, we, we pictured a family together. Marriage and a house and children and a puppy.

We would have our happy times. Takeout on the floor over candlelight. Ice skating hand in hand on a cold winter day. Then, inevitably, it would go back. Back to bad. To yelling and drinking and tears in the bathroom, or over chai tea at a Starbucks with a girlfriend down the road on a bad night.

Using all of the emotional strength I could muster up, I tried. Over and over to make it all work. Make it better. Make us better. Tried, with all I could, to make us the happy couple that I hoped we could be. I wanted so badly for us to just be happy together. I thought I could do that could be us.

It didn't work. After a while, it all ended up being much, much more actual work, to make us work, than it was worth. I loved you with everything I had, and pulled the hardest move I've ever had to make when I told you I couldn't do it anymore. When I said goodbye.

It's been a long time since all of that. I don't think about you as often as I once did. But I still do sometimes. And it's sneaky. It sneaks up on a warm sunny Sunday afternoon in the summertime. When I'm not doing anything we ever did together, I'll think of you then. And it will throw me for a loop. We never had a summer. I'll be on a bike ride, or eating homemade salsa at a friend's house, and you'll be there. Not physically, but you're there. And it will hit me like a ton of freaking bricks. It creeps in. You, creep in. You end up in my thoughts, just like that, and sometimes in my dreams. Into my mind at a random moment.

And maybe there are some triggers, who knows. Seeing your friend, who is dating my friend. Me, meeting a new guy. Hearing a song on the radio that reminds me of you, of us. But sometimes, there you are, again, all of a sudden. With no rhyme or reason to it all, you're back. And I don't even see it coming. The bag and box of you and your things, your reminders, the notes and cards, our pictures and your boxers, they're all stowed away. Gone are the physical reminders of you.

But those emotional reminders, those damn emotional reminders, that have a way of getting in, unexpectedly, they go, and they stick right to my heart. And then I feel it, and I feel you, like a little twinge from time to time. A reminder maybe. Of a time when. What once was. What is so different now, today. Of where I've been and where I've come.

You're still there. Here. Sometimes more than others. Often it's nothing. Sometimes it's really intense, pulling, abruptly at my heart.


I miss you sometimes, and I don't really want to anymore.

"Caution, the moving walkway is empty."

I'm sitting in an airport bar, in Chicago. Do you think it counts as visiting Chicago if I'm just in an airport bar? In that case, I could say I've been to Vegas, Atlanta, and a few other places only by airport association. Hmm. I'm drinking Bud Light drafts. I just started a tab. Why not? I have three hours until my flight. I just checked- it's on time. Snow delays are around me, sucks. People seeming irked that their flight is delayed. I'm starting to get a buzz. Hell, I only had some scraps of a nutrigrain bar hours ago. I'm at Miller's Pub. In front of me is the menu, which after more beer actually looks appealing. Chicken fingers. For $8.50? That's a lot, right? For me it is. Four travelers to my right, mother in law is coming in for the weekend, I curled my hair to fly for the day, group of delayed flight passengers are chatting, loud. About American Idol. They think the judges should have some sort of veto over who is voted off. In Sanjaya's case especially, they say. Who curls their hair to fly for the day? Really? I specifically plan comfy. Hair up, glasses, comfy shoes. Maybe she has a shorter flight. When I fly to NY I dress it up a little more. But still, curl my hair? Shit. The two next to me, they're a couple, are comfy. In clothes and in their way. He just leaned over to her, and wrestle hugged her. Cute. And I'm writing about them. Write now.

It doesn't feel like 11:35am. Shit. I woke up at 5:10 today. To my body, my Massachusetts body, it's 12:35pm. It doesn't feel like that either. It feels like it should be dark. Night. I'm several beers in, and this is what happens when you drink during the day. I remember college Saturdays, or Fridays after class getting out, starting drinking. A beer waiting for me by one of my roommates. Our neighbors already being half bombed. That seems so long ago now.

I want to call people. But all of my contact list are working. I just texted the new guy friend of mine. Yeah, I texted, and we all know my thoughts on that. But, I think what I sent, "I'm drinking a beer right now, sucks you're working," was text appropriate.

Oh wow. A really cute old man just ordered a Bloody Mary and a Gin and Tonic. His wife is over in the corner and she's adorable. I need to look away. This will induce tears.

Oh, oh no. The bartender's boyfriend broke his jaw playing hockey. She just said "snaggle tooth." He can't make out. It's been five weeks. I just saw a picture of his zoomed in grill on her Motorola camera phone. Oh, now she wants me to see a video. Wow.

I guess I should wrap this up. Order some app, or something.

And another beer.

how come?

I hate these reminders of you. There's so many freaking reminders. You know, for the longest time, I felt good that I was in a new place. A new apartment, somewhere you'd never been in, we'd never been us in. There was never an us here. No shared moments in the kitchen, cooking a meal together. Nothing shared on the couch in this place, my head in your lap as we watched a movie together. We shared my bed, but not in this new place. No shared bed memories here.

And so for a while, the no shared moments, together, here, that was all good. With the newness, there was no you, no us. I didn't have to worry about looking outside at my driveway and remembering us kissing there. Didn't have to see the upstairs shower and remember what we did there.

So the newness, it was all pretty good. Because it didn't evoke memories of you. But then, the newness, the fucking newness, reminded that it was lacking you. Devoid of you. Never once was there a memory here of us together.

And sometimes it's everywhere. Sometimes you are still everywhere. You are in the way that my body falls asleep at night. The way I still bring a glass of water to bed. It's in the way that I leave the door ajar in the bathroom while brushing my teeth. It's in the way I put my hand on the passenger seat of the car.

I used to do all of these things, in the anticipation of you being there. The bed. The water for you. Expecting you to join me to brush our teeth together. Me putting my hand on your leg when I drove us somewhere.

The thing is, you're not here. You never were. Which makes it so weird, for me to still be doing these things, as if you were. As if it's going to ever be this way again. Why still, all these memories? Why still, can I feel your presence here, when you were never here to begin with? How can you miss something that you never had?

Why must you keep turning up all over the place? In places you don't belong. That you weren't ever before?

Go away. Please?

speechless, at the right time

I remember when you first told me you loved me. We were in your car, we had just gotten back to your house and we both had our seats back. Some song was playing, I can't remember what. We were holding hands. As I leaned over to kiss you, hug you, touch your face, I remember us laughing that the damn e brake got in the way. It was quiet for a minute, and that's when it happened. You had me in your arms and you said it. That you were in love with me.

How long is too long, to sit with the silence, before it seems awkward that one hasn't responded to a first "I love you?" Ten seconds? Thirty? It wasn't as if I didn't hear you. I did, you knew that as I looked up at you and kissed you, squeezed you tighter, breathed you into me more.

I did feel it then, but too many seconds had passed and I felt like the moment had gone. Too late to say it. It slipped into the heater vents as I deeply exhaled it out. But no words came. I could have said it. At any time, really. When we went back inside and cozied up on the couch with each other and a movie; I could have said it then, I just didn't. Not because I didn't feel it. I did. I let the moment pass me by. That moment, when I should have said it, was gone.

But then? As I'm writing this now, I feel like that was a cop out. I must have not said it fora good reason. I also think, when you love someone, you should tell them, right then, right there, in the moment. Given the moment is appropriate and all. No amount of seconds or minutes or hours that pass should equal the time frame of a missed chance. I felt it, but I just didn't say it. I don't know if what I'm feeling is described as regret.

I remember though, feeling it, earlier that weekend. We were at the mall and I had dragged you into girly accessory stores, and you didn't complain, not a bit. At least not that I remember now. You were adorable the way you were, with me, that day. I just wanted to eat you up. I remember it was crowded and after a while, we both just needed out of the place. We couldn't find we where parked, looked on every floor, not remembering where we had been just a couple hours earlier. This made us laugh. We said "screw it" and decided to go get something to eat and have some beers and figure it all out after. And we did, and I remember our way of walking to the car, finally finding it, me giggling, tipsy and warmer from the alcohol. It was cold that day and you took my hand and we headed for no direction really, to look for your car, somewhere. I remember, then, at that moment, was when I started to feel it. It was at that moment. It came over me in a huge wave and I remember thinking, God, I am in love this guy. I hadn't felt that, well, ever. Not like that, so sure of it. Not before you.

When we finally found the car, there was traffic, tons of it, getting out of the garage. And I was flustered and hot. And some song, I don't remember what now, was on the radio. I remember us turning it up, and we blasted that sucker. You opened the windows, all of them including the sunroof, and we blared that rap shit, and I wore your hat. We were both laughing, hysterically really. It was at that moment, that I wanted to say it. Scream it. Over the music I wanted to scream out, "I love you!!" And I didn't. Although the timing seemed so right, something held me back.

And something held me back that night in the car. In one instance the timing didn't feel totally right, the other couldn't have been more perfect. In neither situation did I have the nerve to say it.

All along though, I felt it. Maybe I should have said it, in those times. For the first time, then, that night back to you, or the next day to you, first. I didn't.

And I don't really know what all this means. I know what I feel; I just couldn't seem to get it out.

questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart

there were times when i clearly remember thinking that i would never ever be the same without you. and that scared me. i didnt want to be me, without you. there were days that i would walk around in a bit of a fog, because of nights spent kept awake reaching for your body that was no longer there, searching for your lingering smell on my pillow that was now gone. weekends we once spent together, were now filled with coffee shops, girlfriends, cocktails, and many tears. the journal that i started when i first felt the pangs of uncertainty about us, was being scribbled in on a daily basis now. to read it now would show a script of a very tumultuous time.

months went by and things did seem to get a little better. then a slip up. a picture would fall from the pile on my nightstand. looking through email archives id find the lyrics to love songs you used to send me. and for the next several days, it was rough. tears again, and fears. fear that, shit, no way, really? again? im going backwards? and i thought i was doing so good. ive been here before but it was months ago. why am i back here? this pattern would happen. things would be okay, then another damn slip up. and then the tears. and fears. and questioning.

then more time would go by. and weeks turned into months with no real missing you pangs. well not that brought full on tears anymore at least. i still missed you. id be kidding you if i said it was a quick and easy thing, to get over you. over us. it wasnt. it still isnt.

i dont think about you too much anymore. and when i do, at first its your smell and your arms that i miss, or your hands. then its your yelling and anger that i dont miss, and your meanness.

and i realize how far i have come.

i used to not be able to imagine me, without you. i used to not want to be me, without you. now, almost a year later, i cant imagine me with you. i cant imagine someone like me, who i have become, who i have changed into, being with someone like you.

and that's progress.

I got lost in the sounds I hear in my mind

It's been almost a year since you and him broke up. Since the last straw, the final end. You made that end decision quickly, at least that's what it seemed like. You came home that day, walked in and sat on the couch, with tears coming down your face. You didn't need to say the words, I just knew. You told me that you couldn't do it anymore. You were crying, and I put my arms around you, and you put your head on my shoulder. I didn't know what to say. I knew, with my whole heart that you had made the right decision, but I could see the pain that you felt. I could feel it on you, on me while I held you. I just wanted to take all of that pain away, make it be all over. I couldn't do it.

You tried to smile and said that you thought you had made the right decision. You talked about how hard it was, to tell him that it was over. You had been through so much in just these past several months. You said it felt like a lifetime.

A few months later, you would tell me how you still thought of him. How it was the hardest decision you ever had to make, to leave him. That you left him, still in love. You would tell me how you still thought of him, all of the time. Still felt him there with you in the middle of the night. Craved his touch, his smell. How things didn't seem to be getting any better. Not at all. You asked me if I thought you would ever be able to fully get over him. I told you that it would take some time, that I was always there for you. You apologized for feeling like a downer. For still talking about him, over beers and soft lighting, months later. You said you were embarrassed because you should be over him by now. But that you didn't know how to do it.

I remember that afternoon, in Barnes and Noble, when you told me you thought the guy drinking his coffee in the corner was attractive. And I felt so happy for you. You said it was the first time you felt something, for someone else. You actually got excited about this guy. When he asked for your number, you looked so pretty, graciously giving it to him, sweeping your long hair behind you ear.

At times like these, it began to seem like you were doing better. I told you this, how much happier you seemed now. After several martinis one night, we were in the kitchen, making scrambled eggs. Your eyes filled up. You confessed that you were trying with all of your heart to put up the strength that we all saw. You said how much you still missed him, how hard it still continued to be. You said your heart still ached.

I wanted so badly to make everything all better for you. I could feel your pain again, that night, and I remember how frustrated I was with myself because I didn't know how to make it all better for you. You hurting, it was so awful for me to see you go through. You didn't deserve it.

And here we are; it's been several months since the eggs and tears. It's been almost a year since the end and the couch that afternoon you came home and told me. You haven't dated much since then. You seem happier now. I check in now and then with you, to see how you're doing, about him. You say you don't think of him much anymore. But that you are getting nervous for the upcoming holiday, and the one after that. Most of us hope that part of your life is way in the past by now, that it doesn't cross your mind anymore. Because you seem interested in other people, other things. You don't mention anymore how that song reminds you of him, how your bed seems so big, how you miss his presence, and his hands. You always told me how you missed his hands.

What you went through was really shitty. But you have grown so much. You are a stronger person from what you went through. I know that you don't always see it. You brush it off. It's what you do. But I know you. And I know how much he meant to you. And it's okay to still think about him. It's okay to dream about him, and wonder. It's normal, and it's okay. He was your first true love.

It doesn't go away that easily.

walking on walking on broken glass

Just the week before, my best friend Drew had gone up on there to hang the weekly events calendar. And Drew wasn't scrawny. He was built; he had a swimmer's body, in very good shape, muscular. He was on the taller side, definitely an athletic build. And no one thought twice about him getting up on the glass display case. I guess it was actually viewed more as a table, for the love of God, I don't know why, but it was. And it was a weekly occurrence. Whoever was on desk duty the day it needed to be changed, would hop up on the glass case, and change the weekly calendar. It was never questioned. Never thought it might not be a good idea.

Until it wasn't. A good idea. Writing this right now, is giving me the feeling. My heart is pounding faster, I'm that girl who chomps her gum neurotically that I hate, and my palms are sweating. Aaron, you owe me one, big time.

It wasn't a big deal. I finished coloring in the smiling, sunglassed sun, scribbled in "open swim" for Friday afternoon, and proceeded to the case to hang up the events calendar. The case, was about waist high, maybe three or four feet long, and housed random swimming paraphernalia- goggles, bathing caps, water bottles, etc. I took off my flip flops, and quickly hopped up on the case. I'm on top of the glass case, kneeling. I had placed the poster sized calendar on the counter next to me, so I had to reach over for it. I shifted my weight, from both knees, to more on my left. I think I just had my left hand on top of the glass, supporting my left side at this point. And all of a sudden, it shattered. I crashed. Through the whole display case.

Glass.Everywhere.
And blood. All over.

Holy shit. You can imagine the noise this must have made. I honestly don't remember much of this after the falling part. I remember people rushing into the outdoor-like lobby. You can see the pool from the desk in the lobby, and the display case is/was in the corner. So people heard it, and they rushed in. It didn't even hurt. The cut was so deep, (stop reading now if you're skeeved out about blood and things of the like- I don't even know how I'm writing this) you could see the bone. Eww, the bone. At least that's what I've been told. I don't even remember what it looked like at the time. I just remember glass, and blood, everywhere.

I guess I thought it wasn't as bad as it was, because I started to get up, thinking it was just a minor cut. I was wrong. The ambulance showed up, and I remember that one person could ride in the back with me. I was 17 at the time, I think, and I had a good friend who was 16, also a lifeguard there. I wanted her to come with me, but my boss ended up insisting upon it. The boss that was always the biggest bitch and the last person there that day that I wanted in the back with me. And Drew wasn't even there. I wanted him there to hold my hand and tell me it would be okay.

I barely remember the ride there, but I remember getting to the hospital, and waiting. My mother was in a meeting and was unreachable, in Boston for the day. My father was at work, but luckily they got a hold of him. He called my mom, who was taken out of this big conference she was at, and they both came to the hospital. The rest is a little foggy. I had to get reconstructive surgery, because the cut was that bad. It was my muscle and everything- and it wasn't just stitchable. It needed full on surgery to reconstruct... my leg. Eww. To this day, glass really freaks me out. Glass and blood.
And poor Drew. He came into work later in the day for his shift, to find the swim club closed for business. And it was him who had to clean up the the glass, the bloody mess, my blood, that was now in the spot that once was the display cases home.

Wicked sucks. Gross. I have a big scar on my knee, and a small one on my left pinky. I guess it's a "cool" story, but not one I like to talk about too much, mainly because it just skeeves me out. But it is random, and kind of a "no way!" type of thing to bust out if the conversation is dull at a dinner party. Maybe I should have told Mr. Dinner Date that one.

Lesson learned: DO NOT kneel on glass display cases. Not safe.

I need to stop this

I'm an idiot. I do this every time. I can't complain, because I do it to myself. I put my damn self into this situation, and then I whine about it. I whine, and I cry, because I don't know what to do with myself after it happens. I could prevent it though. Why don't I? Why not avoid the calls, the freaking looking for you here, or there? Why do would I do that?? Why do I do this? I am such a stupid shit for this, and have no right to whine about it because it's preventable. It's something I have control over. I have been told, before, that in life, there are some things that you just have no control over. I have control over this. Worry about things which you have control over. I have control over me whining about feeling like THIS.

Alone. Lonely. Without YOU. And it's not even the YOU that I'm missing it's the THING that we had. The relationship and the GOOD of it. None of the bad. And when this happens? I think of the good, not the bad. Why is it just the good I think of? How is that fair? Why would my mind do that to me, filter out the bad? As a defense mechanism type thing? F that. I need the bad. I NEED the bad. To remind me. To remember. To confirm. To assure me that I did make the decision based on the bad. The bad outweighed the good. The bad outweighed the good. (repition will make me believe)...

At times like these, shit, the good is all over the place. Why? Why can't the bad the here, all of the time? Must the good be in my face all the time? It doesn't help. It doesn't help for us to talk, for me to initiate, to call, to send this or that and pretend. It's pretending. That's what it is. I think I'm ready for it; I over and over convince myself that now, I am ready. That you've moved on so I should be too. And I have. In so many ways. But here it is, one year later and so much has changed...
Yet....
God.

Jury Duty

Jury Duty. Some people dread it. Me, I've only had to go one other time before the today and I actually look forward to it. I wish it was every year, let alone having to wait three. I guess I'm just fascinated by it. Or the men in uniform. Any chance to get a paid day out of work, and oogle men in uniform (with handcuffs) to boot, I'm down. There's something about a courthouse that intrigues me.... maybe it's how "offical" it appears. How strict it all is in there, and how you know you won't get away with anything even if you tried. (Being told several times that we could "not go in the no access/employee only rooms"- no shit, right? - got a little annoying)

Maybe to some, going for jury duty is intimidating or something. Going through a security check point every time you enter and re-enter the building. Hey, I have nothing to hide. The only things in my bag today include: two pens, a notebook, my cell phone (which is turned on silent now- thank you very much Mr. Uniformed Officer), a half eaten granola bar, my wallet with $3 dollars (when is pay day?), a chick lit book that I keep having to re-read because I've been so ADD lately, my ipod, and three lipglosses (yes, I'm an addict). Nothing in here I'd be embarassed to be sifted through. I'm in no way embarassed of the fact that I'm reading a book called "The Grrl Genius Guide to Great Sex."

So I bust my butt to get here early today (7:40am) to get a parking spot for my 8:00 scheduled report-in-or-else time. Now I'm outside on a random bench, admiring the huge, "intimidating" structure that is the courthouse, because Mr. Uniformed Officer with Handcuffs said "you can have a break, we shoot for 8:30." Oh really? Because if I knew they shot for that time I could have hit snooze another three times.

***Sidenote about the snooze button- I seldom use it. I'm one of those people who believe that it's better to get a longer, uninterrupted sleep than waking up early, and pressing snooze continuously... over... and over. Today was different because even though I thought I'd be able to get up right on the first blast of music to my alarm, my body said otherwise and I in fact had to succoumb to the snooze button. Just this once.***

Anyway, I downed my iced coffee in a matter of 10 minutes (mind you, I'm one of those people who keeps these things going until lunch time) because "refreshments aren't allowed in the courtroom." I get in there, make myself comfortable, early mind you- all of that, only to be sent outide to do some more waiting, at the beginning of a norotious waiting-around-kind-of-day.
Oh well... and so it is- jury duty.
And that's all fine and so very much worth it, because I'm learning about Great Sex.

ex boyfriend shirts and drummers

I guess it's been a bit since I've written. I guess I'm not really a consistent blogger. It's not like my blog is a Grrl Genius, Greek Tragedy, Ari Goes Down, or This Fish- blogs that I, clearly among a ton of other people, actually read on a regular basis. So I'm thinkin that if I don't blog for a day or two, or a few weeks as the case may be, it's not going to be a let down for most people.

And for now, that's okay. I've only recently picked up on the blogging thing, and I do it because I like to write and thought this would be a good way to kinda... get it out there or something. But it's not like people even really know about my blog enough to come to it regularly to spruce up their days, get a laugh, or whatever... so really, in the grande scheme of things, the fact that I'm not a consistent blogger doesn't realllly matter. The fact that I wicked enjoy it, when I actually do it, maybe matters. I like that I can write, and post what I write, in pink no less. I like that I can get a comment or two and then meet other cool people that way. I'm kinda liking that right now, not many people really know that I'm into this. It's my thing, something for me, that I do for myself, because I enjoy it.

Anyway, so I figured since I post on other people's blogs, and link to my own, it might make sense to actually write in mine, otherwise what's the point or doing the link thing? It's just that lately, I haven't had too much to say. Or the energy to really put all that's been going on into words. It's not like there's been nothing going on... rather, there's been somuchgoingon, that I just wasn't feeling up to the task of getting home at night and writing about it. So I've decided I'm going to try and do this more consistently- more for me, without any attachments to outcomes of even caring who will read this, and who never will.

There's this blue shirt I have. 3/4 length, it fits me well, I've been told the color is good on me, and it's one of those shirts you feel good in. I bought it about a month ago, and wore it to a party where I knew I may be having a run in with my ex boyfriend. I chose the shirt because I love the color and after trying several other options, this was the one thing that I actually felt... confident in. So I busted it out, wore it that night, saw my ex, felt confident, had a little meltdown thereafter but moved on, and hadn't worn the shirt again. Until this past Saturday. Again, I was looking for something that I knew I'd feel good in, so out came the blue 3/4 length, and out we went. The concert was sweet, and afterwards we even got to hangout with the Barenaked Ladies. The drummer was the coolest- down to earth and completely hysterical. So that was pretty cool, and at least I was still feeling good in and about the shirt . Until we were standing at the bar, and in walks my roommates ex. They didn't have a run in or anything, we talked to some of his friends, but no contact was made by them. Still though, at the end of the night, I couldn't help but think, maybe this shirt isn't as great as I'm making it out to be? For myself, and my friends.

The only two times I've worn it, yes- I've felt good about the idea beforehand, but both times, ex boyfriends have been in the mix. Not ex boyfriends where things just fizzled out, or where you just decide you're "better off as friends." Exes where you get the feeling when you're around them. The needing to switch to a stiff drink instead of beer kind of feeling about the way things ended. You don't hate each other, you don't want to never see them again, in fact- it's the one you will always have a special place in your heart for....BUT, none the less, both of you still end up having that weird, uncomfortable, Jack and Coke necessary, type of feeling thinking about a future encounter.*

I think as girls, we have the capability that boggles our guy friends and boyfriends, to be able to remember outfits. What we were wearing when we first met you. What shoes you were wearing when you walked in to pick us up. How we wore our hair on our first date. Our favorite shirt we like to see you in. The outfit we wore when we first met your parents. Your favorite underwear of ours. Our favorite boxers. Your favorite shirt you'd wear in the fall. The dress we wore to your friend's wedding. The shirt we wore when we saw you for the first time after we'd broken up.

That blue, damn, 3/4 length, favorite shirt of mine. I don't want this to be associated with exes anymore. So I'll wear it to work someday. Or to a girls night out. Or when I go visit my grandparents. To my mom's house. Places where I wouldn't run into anyone questionable, and neither will my friends. And maybe that will help. Because I love this shirt, and I don't want to say goodbye to it yet. I don't like goodbye.

*I used to love Jack and Diet Coke. It was like, my drink of choice. Until it wasn't. And the drink, the smell, the look of it all, made me physically ill. So I took a break from them. It was always a drink I knew was a good choice- it would inevitably give me a good buzz, and I could count on it. But the aftermath wasn't worth it, so I took a break with it. Until recently, when I eased back into it, having Coke instead, thinking that might help. And it did. It does. And I always know that Jack will be a good standby if the situation calls for it.