Best Compliment Ever

“Don't take this the wrong way…….” he said.

“......but intelligence can just be plain sexy sometimes.”


This was said in the middle of an everyday conversation after I explained the definition of something slightly obscure, inadvertently revealing my very nerdy self.

The best part: he’s very, very single and we have a lot in common, including our roots.

Pieces II

The Hero: Well I am married but not really and not for much longer, I just kinda live here. You've never asked me about it.

Jane Canuck: Not really?

JC: What's that?

TH: But I also am a realist and I know I'm just a distraction and a safe one.

TH: My life at home.

JC: I don't know how "safe" you are...but whatever.

JC: And why is it "not really" married?

TH: Well I don't have a relationship like that with my wife. It’s a long story but she suffers from depression and is an alcoholic. [ Now where have I heard that before?]

JC: Is she getting any help?

TH: After my daughter was born she started acting really weird when her dad would come around and then I finally pushed about it. She had never told anyone her father raped her from when she was 7- 13.

TH: We had a great sex life before that and a good relationship but then she kinda never got through it. She’s been to many counselors.

TH: She is finally in a new session right now for victims.

JC: And?

TH: Well, we'll see but I don't think we can salvage our relationship but I do love her and hope she can at least find some peace and happiness in her life.

JC: How long have you been married?

TH: I mean our sex life is non-existent. She turned all sexual attention into a bad thing and started treating me like a pervert for wanting to have sex with her.

TH: 15 years, not married common law.

JC: But the ring?

TH: Yes.

JC: How long have you been screwing around on her?

TH: The last six or seven years but not very often, I really don’t have much time cause I end up doing most of everything around here.

JC: If it’s so bad, why not just get out?

TH: I like my kids and I couldn’t really leave them with her and I didn’t want to be a weekend dad and I’m a coward. I know that’s what you will say, but I just want things to be okay for them. She has lots of problems but they love her.

JC: Of course they do, she’s their mom…they don’t know all this side stuff.

TH: I did throw her out about 2 months ago. That’s why she’s back in therapy now.


This is like a case of bad Déjà vu. Do they all carry around the same cheat-sheet to make sure they get the story straight? Is this the one that garners the most sympathy and has been known to get the best results? Ugh…

Pieces

A Snippet from MSN:

Lunch Date: My ex wife came to me last week, and asked if she could move back in because I’m the only one that can help her.

Jane Canuck: Oh boy... [read: Oh crap…didn't see this coming]

JC: How'd that work out??

LD: Well I drew up a 30 page contract, she signed it, she’s been here about 5 days now, but she hasn’t had a drop of alcohol yet.

JC: Oh wow! So things are going good then?

LD: We’ll see, right now they are.

JC: I'm glad to hear that. [Yeah, right! Ugh…I think I feel sick.]

LD: I didn’t expect her to last this long.

LD: She’s in counseling and on anti-depressants.

JC: That's huge. [But what are *you* doing to improve the situation?]

LD: lol

JC: She's actually *doing* something, instead of just saying things.

LD: So far.

LD: My contract doesn’t allow much leeway, lol.

I have to wonder though, why you’re talking to me if you’re supposedly trying to reconcile with your wife. Why do I let myself get jerked around like this?

Saying Goodbye, Again

About a year ago I made the agonizing decision to leave my six-year relationship with Mr. Intellectual. It was something I had mulled over off and on for about four months prior to actually making it final. I still loved the man; I just couldn’t continue to work on a relationship that he felt needed no work despite our obvious problems. To this day, I still love him, however it’s more residual than a burning passion. He will always hold a special place in my heart because of all the firsts we shared, and all the good times we had together.

After the breakup we remained friends and continued to see each other on a regular basis since we worked on the same project together for a professor at my University- I job I had found for him that summer, since he was entering Grad School here in fall. After the fall semester began contact was less frequent since the job ended, but we shared a class or two together and he would occasionally pick me up on his way to campus. We have common friends and we’d all go out for dinner, or a movie or just to chill after class. Other times it would just be Mr. Intellectual and I.

It felt like pseudo-dating at times since we could enjoy each other’s company again without all the baggage of a six year monogamous relationship. He didn’t have to deal with my depression since I shut him out of that for the most part and put on the “Happy Jane” persona when I was with him, and anytime he started to fall into old behaviours that bothered me I could call it a night without feeling guilty. The relationship was making a relatively smooth, if at times akward transition from lovers and partners to friends with a deep past. I’ll admit, at first it was completely bizarre and had I not already been a relatively patient and easy-going person it wouldn’t have worked.

This summer he met a girl at a friends BBQ and eventually began a new relationship. I was happy for him, excited that he felt comfortable sharing with me, and wondering how this would again subtly change the rules of this still new “friends only” deal we were negotiating. Well, it’s not working. The way I am being treated now is not how a friend you love and respect would expect to be treated. It’s also brought to the surface some issues I had repressed and thought I had made peace with.

It is with a heavy heart that I realize for my own sanity I need to finally make a clean break. The relationship no longer brings anything positive to my life and after every interaction with him I end up either in tears or feeling worse about myself. He seems to have the uncanny ability to plunge me quite quickly into depression, even when I’m having a great day and feeling like I just might have a reason for being here. After knowing me for over 7 years he knows just what to say to hurt me most- the turn of a phrase or the tone of his comment can cut me to the core and leave me reeling.

I’m just wondering now how I can let him know in a way that leaves me with some dignity and feeling good about how I handled the situation. I’m thinking maybe an email? The only problem I have is that he’s still holding some of my stuff hostage, even though it’s been over a year since we’ve broken up and I’ve asked him numerous times about the things I’d appreciate he returned to me. I’ve pretty much given up on everything except for two childhood pictures of myself that I really would like back. They mean a lot to me and I don’t want him to have them anymore, especially knowing the way he feels about me now…

What Happened?

So two weeks ago I met this really intriguing and incredibly nice guy- he’s smart, funny in that sarcastic quirky way I love so much, and attractive. It has been almost two years since a man has made me feel this way. The best part is that he’s into me for who I am beyond my outward appearance. He’s also honest, a quality I’m finding difficult to come by these days.

The problem is that I met him at a very difficult time in his life right now, and I guess it just isn’t going to happen. At least not for a very long time. In a sense I knew this was going to be the eventual outcome, despite the very strong connection we felt together. He recently left his wife whom he found to be cheating on him with his best friend. They’ve been married less than a year. That’s a lot to deal with, without me on the side. He’s in a whole other world of pain and trying to make some sense of a situation that obviously makes no sense. It’s just unfortunate since I’ve become quite smitten with him.

I made the error of letting my heart get away from me on this one and I’m paying for it now. There is so much we share in common, including the heartbreak. It has been almost exactly a year since I moved on from Mr. Intellectual and it still brings me incredible pain. I’ve had to give up on the dream I held for my shared future with him. The constant contact I have with him only brings fresh pain and sleepless nights. I’m still angry and raw with the pain at times, especially when I never seem to get anything positive from our interactions.

Hearing about his new and seemingly ‘perfect’ girl makes it that much harder- especially when I hear little tidbits of information from him about things he’s doing for her that he never did for me. I’m devastated that he made the changes for her that he could never make for me, despite all the sacrifices I made and hard work I put into the relationship to make it work. I wonder why I failed? What was it about me that didn’t seem worth it? Was it some passive-aggressive crap that he pulled to keep in control of the situation? I’m still struggling to define the relationship and wonder if it wasn’t just a tad emotionally abusive- that he’d tear me down and keep me insecure and depressed to make himself feel better, more important, more needed. When I was doing great I think my independence scared him. I’m tired of screaming in the dark over this. I’m tired of feeling less than. If I only had to courage to sever all ties I’m sure I’d be a much happier person, or at least the healing could really begin.

I keep holding out, thinking we can be real friends. I’m just not ready to say good-bye for good yet. He’s the key to so much in my past that I can’t remember because I was so depressed that I’d block out that time from my memory in order to cope. He’s also still holding ransom some of my possessions that I just want back, things that are semi-irreplaceable and I just don’t want him holding onto for the rest of his life. In a sense I’m still not 100% ready to give up on us, as much as I’d like to move on. I still love him and I’m having a hard time letting that go. For many years he was the only good thing in my life.

I Like

I like that you work with your hands

I like that you’re a little bit preppy

I like that you dig what I want to do for a living

I like that you know about antiques

I like that you drive a truck

I like that you took time out of work on a Monday to take me to lunch

I like that you have manners

I like that you really listen to what I say and ask questions

I like that you’re a little shy

I like that you share my love of The Tick

I like that you’re interested in me for more than my looks

I like that you stand up for yourself

New People

I went out tonight with some people to a Stag and Doe. I met someone new and interesting. He's not an academic but he knows an astounding amount about a few historical topics that are near and dear to my heart and my thesis. He's also an amateur collector of WWI & WWII artifacts. From what we discussed he has quite the collection that I'm very intrigued about. He also appears to be smitten with me...although that could just be the influence of the liquor we consumed. Both he and I drink very infrequently so I'm a bit under the influence as I type this.

I went from one of the lowest lows this week, to a relatively calm and serene place at the moment. I actually physically broke down at work a couple of days ago, something that has only happened to me once before and I was a young teen caught between a rock and hard place last time. This time I just couldn't stop the tears and for the remaining 6 hours of my shift I had a rough time from keeping the tears from falling. At one point I was pretty desperate and was looking around at possible places to hang myself at work- which there were none. It was scary. Eerily familiar. Like I had a mental and emotional breakdown. The last time it was like that I was supposed to be hospitalized and refused to be admitted. When this all happened at work on Thursday I was ready to go to a walk in clinic the next morning to get a script for some anti-depressants. Unfortunately I was stranded at home without a car until my next shift at work- so that never happened.

I decided instead to try and re-engage in life and the things that I love and help me understand who I am. My job and the place it puts me in is not healthy. Everyday I feel like I am selling my soul for money and I came close to losing myself completely because of my job. I find it hard to get out of bed, let alone do anything productive and remotely enjoyable. I kind of surprised myself by agreeing to going out in a social situation that normally causes me to withdrawn into myself and creates a fairly high degree of social anxiety, but I knew if I didn't go I'd only retreat further into my mental breakdown. I think I'm learning some degree of coping. I'm glad I went...as long as he actually calls tomorrow to arrange for me to see his collection. Otherwise it's a missed opportunity academically, since he has quite a few good connections in the field I'm breaking into.

The Promise

I made a promise. A promise I can’t break. A promise that haunts me, especially on my darkest days. On days like that it becomes a promise that makes me loath him for even getting it out of me. A promise I can’t break, because all I have anymore is my word, my bond. If I can’t keep a promise- what is left of me? That’s one part of my crumbling faith that I cling to. We don’t make oaths or swear on bibles, our word should be good enough. We are an honest and truthful people. Honesty is a virtue I now cherish, especially as I find it hard and harder to come by.

I made that promise one hot summer night, sitting on his back steps. I was all of 17. I lay bowed in his arms, defeated and beat down by the depression. I begged him to let me go, to let me stop the hurt. Through our shared tears he made me promise that I’d never leave him. He extracted that promise that I’d never do anything silly. That I’d never do anything deliberate. He never used the word suicide; it was too scary to say out loud, even in a whisper. What do you know at 17? He didn't know the toll that promise would take on both of us in the future. I wonder if he had been gifted with the power of foresight, would he have still made me promise?

Now at 24, that promise lays on me, like a smooth little pebble in my shoe. It laughs at me now that he’s gone. Why did I ever make such a promise? It’s so much harder to keep alone. And yet, there’s my niece…and now a nephew. Her birth kept me out of an institution. Is their life enough for me to make a new promise? A new reason to look away from the precipice and stick around? A new reason to just be.

I Wonder

I wonder if he writes her poetry…

I wonder if he’ll drive 100 miles to see her on the weekend…

I wonder if he stops when she say’s no…

I wonder if he loves her or just likes her company…

I wonder if he really wanted out, but couldn’t tell me…

I wonder if he likes her more than he loved me, because she’s not damaged goods…

I wonder if we can still be friends, or if I’m past my use to him…

I wonder if he still thinks about me, late at night in the dark, just before he falls asleep…

I wonder what she looks like and how she acts around him…

I wonder if he’ll miss me if I quietly bow out of his life…

I wonder why it bothers me…

Touch

I have a fairly strong desire and need to be touched, hugged and generally loved and yet I generally don’t enjoy being touched in any way by just anyone and particularly not by strangers. I guess I just love the touch of those that I love and adore- like the hugs and kisses from my 2 year old niece or a bear-hug from a brother. As a kid I was constantly hugging my parents or climbing into their lap to be held.

One of the things that I miss from my former long-term relationship is the simple touch. A gentle hand on my back, a hand brushing the hair out of my face, falling asleep on the couch in the crook of his arm listening to his heartbeat…I miss being touched by a man without it being sexual.

I hate that he’s found some one new, someone who seems really sweet and genuine. I hate that they have pet names together already, that he sleeps over, that he flirts with her like I wished he had with me in the final months of our relationship. I hate that he makes an effort with her where he couldn’t be bothered with us. I hate that he’s found something normal and I’m left with the abnormal, with the unwanted attentions of a very married man, a boy who’s severely on the rebound after recently moving out of the house he shared with his now ex-fiance, and a middle-aged divorcee who scares the hell out of me and whom I’m afraid to be caught alone by at work in any situation.

I painfully crave a healthy, normal relationship with someone who respects me and can see beyond the exterior. Someone who loves me, not just lusts after me. I can’t even begin to describe how turned off I am right now at any man who looks at me as a tight piece of young ass. Every man who makes inappropriate comments, touches me in unacceptable ways or treats me as less just because I’m blonde draws me further and further into my shell. I become more sarcastic and think less of myself- in my eyes I become devalued and I hate what I am.

Hearing about Mr. Intellectual’s new and happy relationship has pierced my closely guarded heart. Emotions I had repressed and tried to forget about have welled up and welled over, leaving me vulnerable and fragile. When I’m extremely depressed all I want is for someone to hold me and tell me that it’s okay, that I can get through this. That the numbness will pass, the hollow feeling in my heart will go away and I’ll start to feel again. Instead I have a married man at work who grabs at me and makes inappropriate advances. I’m such a wreck that I don’t believe I’m worth more, or worth the effort to get him to leave me alone.

The Thunder Rolls

Have you ever seen a summer storm brewing on the horizon? Big black clouds that billow in and swallow up the sun. If you look in front of you it’s blue and cloudless with a blazing sun and behind you is that fast approaching storm, complete with the telltale lighting and menacing thunder telling you it’s going to be trouble. That is what my depression is like at times. If I stop and face the clouds head on, it envelope’s me and surrounds me in a thick inky darkness that chokes. Right now if I stop to think it comes rolling in, but a body can’t stay busy at every given moment. It’s inevitable that I’m going down. There are just too many forces at play for me to stay buoyant.

I received an email yesterday that my thesis advisor has breast cancer or worse. This past winter I was in a class she was teaching and I know she wasn’t feeling well. She also had a biopsy of a suspected cancerous mass on her face back in February or March. I thought it might have been a suspect mole or maybe skin cancer. I’m thankful she had the courtesy to let me know first hand that she will be undergoing treatment for breast cancer instead of leaving me to hear it third or fourth hand through the vicious rumour mill within the department. This just throw’s all my work into limbo as I try to figure out who will be supervising me when I get back in fall and if it jeopardizes my thesis in any way. The last thing I want it to spend an extra year doing my Master’s when all I want is to get to the real work of my Ph.D.

The second blow is this wedding nightmare that’s happening on June 18th. I really wish we had know this woman’s true character before my brother became engaged and decided to plan for his wedding in our hometown. Really it’s not his wedding, it’s her party, as she’ll unabashedly tell you. I never in a million years could have guessed that she’d become such a tyrannical bridezilla. I can’t even repeat what a few of my other brother’s have candidly said about her. I just pray that he has a happy marriage and it doesn’t end in a bitter divorce because he doesn’t deserve that.

The final straw is something that happened last night and I’m still trying to comprehend what the hell happened. I compromised my morals and myself by my actions and now I’m at a loss on how to not only extricate myself but prevent me from becoming part of the nasty gossip at work. The last thing I wanted right now is to get involved with anyone. Especially someone who only sees my value as a sexual, beautiful object and probably couldn’t give two fucks about me as a person. After I stopped seeing the ex I thought I had promised not to waste my time with someone who couldn’t see beyond the exterior- I guess I’m more messed up than I thought.

Right now I could so easily be swept away by the familiar surroundings of my depression. I can’t even express how easily I shift into a suicidal frame of mind. Obviously I don’t handle stress well. Right now I can close my eyes, take a deep breath and feel the pressure of a prickly twisted rope around my neck, cutting off my breath and squeezing the life out of me. For some reason that brings a little relief…the planning and walk through of ending my life somehow makes the coming day a little easier to bear. The fragile hope that if it becomes too much I can just step out on life is sometimes all that can sustain me through a day of faking being happy and carefree.

I really should have gotten a ‘just-in-case’ prescription of anti-depressants from my Doctor before I left school.

Censored?

I’ve been an absentee blogger, my apologies- but to whom? I don’t have a fan base, and whom am I writing for anyways? There are a few things blocking me from posting regularly, the biggest being the level of self-imposed censoring I feel I need to take. Which in itself is strange, since this is an anonymous blog and I’ve only told one person about it and I doubt he’s checked back here since the first night I gave him the address. So what’s bothering me about posting openly and honestly how I feel and what’s going on in my life?

I think I’m afraid of the eventuality of people, specifically family, finding the site and seeing the real and un-censored me. There’s also that one person I told about the blog: the boyfriend of six years who I ended up leaving. While we are good friends in real life still, there are things about the relationship that I want to write about to get off my chest, but I’m afraid of hurting his feelings and the possibility that what I would write about could end the friendship we still share.

There’s also the natural tendency I harbor to hide away and not share the depth and extent of my depression and suicidal ideations. I cringe at even writing the word suicide. It’s a dirty little word that holds such horror and misunderstanding. In previous entries when I really wanted to write about it, I had edited out that section- just as I would edit out those feelings or thoughts from ‘everyday’ life and conversations. I can guarantee that no one in my life, including the ex- to whom I disclosed a lot of thing that no one else so far has been privy to- would think I’m constantly suicidal and deeply depressed. In fact, if you asked my co-workers, friends or family they’d probably say I’m a pretty happy, even-tempered person, although serious at times, especially about my school. Things couldn’t be further from the truth.

I suppose the purpose of writing this is that I need to cast off those fears and inhibitions to writing an honest and truthful account of who I am and what I’m going through. It’s hard not to put a positive spin on everything and truthfully admit that it’s not all sunshine and roses. I get suicidal. I isolate myself from family, friends and anyone I feel I’m getting too close to when I’m going through a period of major depression. Even now when I’m doing surprisingly well, I’m keeping people at arms-length, particularly men. That’s a topic for another entry though- the men at work do keep it interesting.

I think I'm in Love

I've been spending a lazy Sunday afternoon reading and surfing the net, when I should really be spring cleaning. I think I'm in love with this and it's match . My mother always say's I have expensive tastes. One of my favourite sayings of her brother's is, "champagne tastes on a beer budget."

A girl can dream right?

Family Conclave

I was planning on writing about what happened that brought me to the point where I sought medical help for my problems. However, this weekend had other plans. A family meeting was called after much discusion amongst all the siblings and with my parents in regards to the upcoming wedding of one of my brothers. We've decided after much discussion, that we need to have a heartfelt discussion with the groom as soon as humanly possible to discuss his marriage and the upcoming wedding. The wedding is in a month and we're having some serious concerns about his bride-to-be, her intentions and feelings.

I hope that my brother will be alright, regardless of what he chooses. I also hope that he can listen with an open heart to what we have to say. I love my brother's fiercely and all I want for them is nothing but the best. Either way, what ever happens will be a difficult road to walk down- whether it's the marriage or a seperation. I just wish it didn't have to be this way.

Down Time

Work has been kicking my ass all week. Between the early mornings and shifting over from student life to a highly regimented work schedule I come home so tired in the evenings I can't stay awake through dinner, let alone long enough to produce any sort of quality writing. I was going to write tonight about how I came to be in the doctor's office in this post. However, it's still difficult for me to talk about, and I'm too tired right now to do it justice.

I just remembered that I had written a short essay about my initial experience a few days after I was diagnosed. It was posted on a message board I frequent, but I don't really want to give out where that is. Instead I'll repost my story here:

Tears stung at my eyes as the words formed and tumbled out of my reluctant mouth. I was wading through the overwhelming depths of sticky blackness in my mind, searching for the words to describe what was happening to me. I sat there, pouring out my troubles to a stranger; eyes riveted to the wall, trying to avoid his gaze. The sound of a pen scratching paper interspersed the poignant silences in our hushed conversation. My voice trembled as I ran out of words and came to the end of a very one-sided conversation.

Then it was my turn to sit silently, stunned, while this man proceeded to rip through the fragile threads of my well-constructed denial. Confusion quickly followed, and a whirlwind of explanations and administrations followed. Before I knew it, I was sitting in another sterile white office, again recounting my little dark secret to another stranger- but there was something different in this person. She was smiling, forgiving, and compassionate. The mischievous twinkle in her eye told me that this too would pass. She slipped a little package of tiny bright pink pills and a stiff white note into my hand and made me promise to return in a few days.

I slowly walked out through the glass doors and stepped into the bright sunlight. As the sharp breeze played on my face I mused over the past 24 hours. It hardly seemed like it was the same world I had walked out into that morning. I scowled at the brown, dried and curled leaves that swirled around my angry feet. How could this be possible? How could my life have turned so upside down in the blink of an eye?

That evening I reluctantly swallowed down the little pink pill and hoped for the best. I gazed into the bottom of my empty glass and resolved to understand my situation and embrace the people that would help me find a way out. As I lay in bed feeling drowsy and emotionally exhausted I fell asleep with the thought that tomorrow would bring a new day, with a new start.

In the Drive-thru

I began my summer job this past Monday. Due to a myriad of confidentiality agreements I signed I can't write about it at all. Which is unfortunate since it's a rather unusal work place and almost everyday, particularily in the summer, there's some sort of action going on that would be blog worthy. Alas, the restrictions.

There is a mandatory four day training session every spring for returning students, regardless of how many summer's you've been there. This is partially due to union stipulations, partially for legal reason's and partially since legislation can change dramatically from year to year and we need to be up on it all, since everything we do is mandated by various pieces of legislation. The training days can be long, boring and mentally exhausting to say the least. This morning I managed to leave myself enough time before the 8 am start to pop into the Tim Horton's drive through and grab myself a coffee. As usual, the drive through was busy and I had to que up with the rest of the early morning commuters.

I noticed the guy in line behind me almost immediately. There was some weird hand actions going on, but because of the slight curve in the drive through I couldn't really see what was going down, but it attracted my attention immediately. I kind of figured the guy was picking his nose, because as every commuter knows- in the safety of the car, you can do anything undetected, regardless of the tinting. Just as I came to this conclusion, the line moved forward a bit and I could get a clear view of what this man was up to. He was vigorously flossing his teeth! It was a performance that went on for several minutes while we all waited for our coffee. He would joyfully alternate between a brisk floss and sucking off the food particles from his dental floss while examining his pearly whites in the rear view mirror. I just wish I had my digital camera to get photographic evidence of the performance. I couldn't help but laugh, since he clearly had no idea we could all see what he was up to. Not to mention the fact that perhaps he might have thought of flossing after his morning coffee, instead of before?

In other news, I turn 24 today. I'm not a huge fan of birthday's and celebrations, not because they represent aging but rather because I like to fly under the radar and keep a low profile. That's kind of hard when you're the reason people are gathering.

Emotional Lockdown

About two and half years ago I went into emotional lockdown, in what I assume was a bid to protect my fragile mental and emotional state. A doctor on campus desperately wanted to send me away to a very nice facility in the area that deals with mental health and addiction issues, and has been doing so for the past 118 years. I on the other hand had other ideas. The birth of my oldest brother's first child, my only niece, was a month away and I had an education to attend to. I used some fancy word magic and somehow she let me out of her office with only a prescription for a few medications and a promise not to do anything untoward to myself over the weekend. I also had to report to her office again on Monday to see how things were going. Thus began a long journey into mental illness and bi-weekly doctor's visits.

It was a traumatic time for me. I had difficulty formally admitting I had serious clinical depression with a touch of situational anxiety and the occasional panic attack. Even now it’s not something I’ve really told anyone about. I can be an intensely private individual and I’m afraid of the repercussions that such a disclosure could have. I think I fear the stigmatization that comes with it- or perhaps the loss of privacy, as my immediate family would become vigilante to my every move and mood. It’s not something I want to deal with in the near future.

Somewhere in this whole process I became numb and started to shut down emotionally for fear of losing control of myself. I have no idea how to snap out of it now, even though I desperately want to. In this whole process I left the six-year relationship with the love of my life, became “that girl” that I never wanted to become, you know the girl with all the baggage, and lost all desire for any kind of a physical relationship. I can’t remember the last time I have wanted to have sex with anyone, let alone someone in particular. That fact alone is depressing. So here I am, emotionally detached from a large section of my life and not knowing how to let myself feel again, without wondering if I'll end up in a doctor's office or worse this time.

Why a Blog?

Why did I start a blog? Well for a number of reasons. I was introduced to blogs through my brother J2, who had several friends with blogs, and started his own for a six month trip through out Europe. I slowly started reading some really great blogs and over the last few months I felt compelled to join the masses. My desire to blog started slowly. I was looking for other women bloggers that I could identify with. Perhaps I'm not looking in the right places, but I still haven't found a group of twenty-something, single women either in grad school, or starting out in the working world. What I did find were a lot of Mom's and Dad's, newly-married twenty-somethings, a Merry Widow at 26, and girl who's Bitter with Baggage at 30-something.

While I love reading these blogs and a few others several times a week, or even daily, I still didn't find anyone I closely identified with and could relate to on a regular basis. So here I am. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most witty writer, or even the most interesting anecdotal writer, but what I am is honest. I needed a place where I could finally be completely honest with myself all the time. There's been a lot of upheaval and change in my life in the past year and I'm still sorting through it. It's my hope that through writing I can make some sense of it all, and find out what it is I really want out of this life.

Blogger Issues

I thought I had posted an entry earlier this evening, but apparently blogger did not register it. I'm having issues- and blogger is the least of it tonight.

I'm Home

I made it back to my parents place late last Sunday night, completely exhausted. At times it seemed like the weekend that would never end, especially on the drive home when we were a tad lost in the back country. I think I've seen enough cows, corn fields and rocks for one lifetime.

I ate great food, drank very good wine and spent way too much money on things for myself here . It wasn't nearly as horrible as I thought it would be.

I had to run back up to school early Tuesday morning to show around my long-lost best friend from highschool who's shopping around on campus for a graduate advisor in horticulture. I stuck around a few extra days to take care of some administrative details surrounding my thesis work and a side project and arrived back at my parents house just in time to help out in the orchard. Not a monumental task, but my father and uncle were cutting down two rows of dwarf cherry trees and needed a quick hand to move brush and pull out some buried irrigation- an experiment that didn't work out for my Dad.