fall back

Lately, the weather has been really beautiful. Fall is here in full force and, though there have been some cold, blustery days, most of them have been pretty mild, sunny and breezy, and the leaves on the trees have started changing but haven't completely fallen, meaning the trees don't yet look like skeleton arms which is awesome because skeleton arms are freaky.

Joe and I usually go out to breakfast on Saturday mornings, ever since we started eating better, because Saturday is our cheat day which means PANCAKES AND BACON AND BREEEAAAAAD. This past Saturday, after filling myself with crepes, I decided that the scary movie marathon I'd planned could wait and, instead, I drove to one of the area MetroParks. I'd never been to this one before, which is odd, because I have a habit of DRIVING to parks to walk or run. I know it makes no sense but, you know, you have to seek out serenity where you can and it's not often found in the suburbs. Therefore -- MetroParks.

I only meant to stay for 30 minutes or so, long enough to take a quick walk around, but I ended up hiking for about an hour and a half because it was JUST SO BEAUTIFUL. That and no one else was really around. Except for the guy I stumbled across who was peeing on the side of the trail but he scampered away pretty quickly. Sorry, guy. Keep it in your pants next time.

I saw lots of squirrels and birds but no deer, which is what I was really hoping for, and yeah, that's just greedy, really, because of all the deer that wander up and down our street and, pretty much any given evening, I can walk a few houses down and see at least three deer eating whatever deer eat (APPLES!) out of our neighbor's yard.

Before I'd left home, I'd considered taking my iPod with me but I'm so glad I didn't. I'm guilty of drowning out my own thoughts often enough, so it was nice to actually hear myself think. My mind wandered, and I realized that the Making Strides Breast Cancer Walk had been that morning, the same walk my family participated in two years ago, just a day after my grandma died. And I realized with a start that it'd been two years since Grandma died, two years last Monday, and it hadn't even crossed my mind. I know as well as anyone that it's a perfectly natural part of the grieving process to forget these things. Life goes on, I know. But I couldn't stop that pang of guilt (Lutheran upbringing strikes again!) and I thanked my lucky stars that no one was around to witness me turn my face to the sky as I walked, say, "sorry Grandma," and then trip over a root on the trail, barely catching myself before I face-planted.

oh, deer (YEAH I WENT THERE)

I'm sure it will surprise no one that Joe and I don't really know any of our neighbors. We've waved at some of them and I introduced myself to our neighbor on one side once but I've since forgotten her name. HOWEVER. I'm fairly certain that when she picks up sticks and twigs and junk from her yard, she throws them over our fence, into the overgrown bit of ivy that we will never ever be rid of, making it look even shittier than it normally does. I can't prove it because I've never seen her do it BUT I HAVE MY SUSPICIONS. Oh yes. And if you'd told me 15 years ago that this is something I would be angry about, I would have...I don't know, called you a liar? Cried? Both?

Anyway. We met a new neighbor the other night. Joe and I try to take a nightly walk after work, at least on nights we're both home right after, and lately there've been some deer roaming the neighborhood. The other night was no exception. There was a deer hanging out in our neighbor's front yard, but something BRAND NEW was happening. Another neighbor, a tall, lanky, middle-aged guy I'd seen a few times before, always wearing the same sweatshirt, workout pants, and baseball cap, was throwing something at the deer.

"What the hell? WHY IS HE DOING THAT?" I shouted.

"Cause he's a dick?" Joe answered.

We walked toward the scene as the guy hurled something else at the deer. As we got closer, the guy held out an apple and asked if we wanted one.

"Um, no, I'm not hungry," I said. The guy explained that deer love apples and I realized with relief that he had been FEEDING the deer, not trying to hurt it. Which was great because I'd briefly considered setting some dog poop on fire on his porch but didn't really want to put that much effort into my revenge plan (yeah, I realize that's not that much effort BUT IT'S STILL EFFORT, OK).

The guy, who introduced himself to us as Scotty, then proceeded to tell us about how deer love apples and he feeds them all the time and sometimes they follow him to Domino's NO NOT DOMINO'S SUBWAY THEY FOLLOW HIM TO SUBWAY and did we see the little path through the brush there because he put that there so the deer could come through that was his idea he did that for the deer so it was easier for them to get to his house that's his house right there, well, really it's his dad's house but the deed has his name on it and he used to be a professional golfer but now just rakes leaves all day can you believe how many leaves there are he just raked leaves yesterday and now he has to rake them again today but he saw the deer so he ran inside to get some apples and feed the deer because did you know deer like apples?

YOU GUYS SCOTTY JUST KEPT TALKING. Joe and I tried to walk away a few times, but he just wouldn't stop! Joe started to walk faster, whisper-shouting, "DON'T LOOK BACK DON'T LOOK BACK." AND YET HE KEPT TALKING. He's probably still there, talking to no one! Or the deer! OR THE GHOST OF NAPOLEON'S DEAD MISTRESS WHO KNOWS?!

"Why can't we ever have normal neighbors?" I asked, thinking of our old  neighbor, Poltergeist Lady. But Joe explained that, to our neighbors, we're probably just as weird, if not weirder, which I suppose is true. I mean, once I learned that deer eat apples, I told Joe about my plan to lure deer into our yard (something I'd been threatening to do since I learned there were deer in the neighborhood) which was to go into our backyard, gather some apples from our apple tree (which the deer can't get to because of our fence), and arrange them in a pleasing fashion in the front yard, because, you know, the deer won't eat them unless they're presented well. I must have had an absolutely maniacal look on my face because Joe spent the next five minutes asking if I was OK.

AND YES. Yes, I'm OK. Or I will be, just as soon as I lure the deer to our yard with a beautiful apple arrangements, ensuring they like me best. SUCK IT, SCOTTY.

what if...

...school buses were called school trucks instead, and kids didn't sit in individual seats, they were like picked up on those lever-y things and dumped into the back of the truck? I think kids would like that because kids are dumb.

...seeing deer three mornings in a row was a sign of something, good luck or bad, who knows, and not just that the deer population is so out of control that they wander down your suburban street, eating flowers out of your neighbor's yard BUT NEVER OUT OF OUR YARD WHAT'S WRONG WITH OUR YARD? 

...The Shins weren't called The Shins but, like, The Knees? Or The Elbows. OR THE CHINS.

...coffee was illegal? I'd either be in jail or running a bootleg coffeehouse out of my basement, windows boarded up, secret passwords, bribing cops, the whole nine yards.

...we all still wore old-timey clothes like top hats and corsets? I would go live in a cave.

...men wore makeup and high heels instead of women? OH WAIT THERE WOULD BE NO SUCH THING AS MAKEUP OR HIGH HEELS.

...carrots not only gave you better eyesight but also X-RAY VISION? I'd be able to see through your clothes right now, is what.

...when you look in the mirror, you're really looking at the alternate version of yourself, one who is just like you in almost every way but who sees things slightly differently on account of, you know, mirror universe, and his or her life was almost like yours but slightly better or slightly worse and you didn't know which was which because, you know, you have no perspective and neither does Mirror Universe You because HOW COULD EITHER OF YOU? Would you trade, not knowing?

...you're the mirror universe?

ask again later

I complain a lot (see: this blog). Not just that, though, I TALK about complaining a lot (see again: this blog). I complain about everything: being tired, being hungry, my feet hurting, any time I'm not at 100% comfort level, my job, cleaning, the laundry, the pets, the house, etcetera etcetera ETCETERA.

I complain too much, I know. I try to be aware of it but even that doesn't stop the negativity from spewing out of my mouth. And what do I really have to complain about? Nothing, really. I'm so lucky. So why can't I shut up?

I have this picture hanging above my desk at home that I think I should maybe hang up at work, too. It's a flowchart. It's...well, here, just take a look:

I try to think about it whenever I start complaining about not being happy about something, because most of the things I'm unhappy about? I could change, just by trying harder, getting up earlier, not plopping my ass on the couch for hours at a time. My main problem, really, is that I like to complain about things but not actually change anything because change is scary and what if I change something and still nothing good happens? Well, duh, that means change something else but WHAT IF THAT DOESN'T WORK EITHER? So instead I stay still, changing nothing, and wait for the world to change into something that will make me happier.

But guess what? The world doesn't give a shit if you're totally happy. The world just...is.

My OTHER problem is that I expect everything to be sunshine and roses, like, all the time, which is impossible, you know? And I KNOW THAT, logically. I know it's impossible. I mean, I'm not a 10-year-old, despite all evidence to the contrary (see AGAIN: this blog). But when something goes wrong, I just want to shut down until things are right again. And again, I'm not 10 years old anymore, so obviously shutting down is not an option. I just want everything to be perfect for everyone ALL THE TIME, is that too much to ask?

Um, yes. It is. But I have to believe that I have the ability to make it as close to perfect as I possibly can. Not all the time, not every day, but when I can. And not just for myself, but for Joe, my friends, my family. It wouldn't really take that much. Just getting off the couch.

I know that things can really get rough when you go it alone.

Do you ever have a stretch of days where things just seem harder than usual? You're going about your day to day business, doing your day to day things, but each day seems a little bit harder than the day before. Sometimes I feel like I'm living the real life version of Groundhog Day. Get up, take a shower, eat breakfast, go to work, wish for the day to go faster, go home, play with Max, eat dinner, watch some TV, go to bed, lather, rinse, repeat.

One of the benefits of our new diet is that Joe and I make breakfast every morning and eat together before we go to work. Usually this is a happy affair, because who doesn't love breakfast? But one day last week, I sat, dejected, and mindlessly shoveled eggs into my mouth around heavy sighs. Joe asked what was wrong but really...nothing was wrong. Not really. I was just tired. Tired of being a grown up. Tired of worrying about bills and working and the house and doctor's appointments and social engagements and whether or not Max took his flea medication or if Phoebe throwing up meant she just ate too fast or that there's something wrong with her or when I'm going to get my bridesmaid dress altered or if we'll have time to go to the grocery this weekend or GOD BRAIN JUST SHUT UP ALREADY.

Sometimes I wonder what my younger self would think about my current life. Would she just be excited that I have a dog and a fucking awesome book collection? Or would she be disappointed that I wasn't a marine biologist who, on the side, writes books about her pet penguins? I'm sure it'd be a mix of both. I know I have a great life and that wishing for more is, well, greedy but that's what we do, right? Wish for more? 

When I was younger, say, in junior high, maybe early high school, I used to get in trouble all the time for taking long showers. And not just on those frigid mornings when I couldn't bring myself to leave the cocoon of steam I'd created in the bathroom, door closed, shower curtain pasted to the edges of the tub, no cool air allowed. But pretty much every time I showered, there would be someone on the other side of the door, shouting for me to get out already.

But I was busy, really, because I was in the shower writing wishes in the warm condensation that formed on the tile walls. Like, literally writing things on the walls with my finger, things that would disappear almost immediately, but, like the total weirdo that I am, I'd stand there writing things until my fingers pruned. And not just normal (normal?) things like: Jennie + JTT 4EVA but actual wishes, things I wished for myself and my family and friends and the future. I don't remember if any of them ever come true. Honestly, I don't even remember what I used to wish for. That I'd make the honor roll, probably? Maybe a pet monkey? Unlimited book allowance?

This morning, it was fairly chilly in the bathroom since I'd forgotten to shut the window last night, and I took a longer shower than normal, lollygagging in the peaceful stream of water, tracing wishes on the tile wall, wishes that probably aren't all that different than those wishes made so many years ago. Which is fine. Maybe it's just not time for them to come true yet.

"A dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet learned how to ask."

This morning, I woke up before my alarm, which is not unusual. What is unusual, however, is that I was crying. Not, like, sobbing or anything, but my eyes were definitely teary and not because I was jabbing myself in the eye all night long (I don't think).

No, it was from a very vivid dream about my grandma, which is unfair because WHAT? I'm sure it's because our anniversary was earlier this week and I pretty much can't think about our wedding without wishing that Grandma could have been there (she was too sick) and without remembering that she died only a month later. Having such a happy event tied up with such a sad one is very mind-bendy and apparently my dream-mind couldn't handle that shit last night.

It was Christmastime in my dream, something that always reminds me of Grandma, though she wasn't there. Even in my dream, she was gone. But someone, an aunt, I think, had found gifts she'd gotten for all of us before she died, that, for dream-logic reasons, it had taken two years to uncover. And as I read the card that was attached to my gift, I started sobbing and apparently my brain couldn't handle all the feelings because it woke me up and RUINED MY MOOD FOR THE REST OF THE MORNING. I'm fine now. Just ridiculous.

Do you ever think about how genuinely fucked up it is that we dream? I just watched the season 4 finale of Buffy last night and, for those of you not in the Buffy-know, that one's about something infiltrating the dreams of four characters. And it's WEIRD and wonderful and just a really good example of how dreams are WEIRD and sometimes not so wonderful. For every flying-through-the-air-like-Superman dream, there's an equally disturbing dream about loved ones lost or falling off a cliff or, for me (again last night), being dragged down the elevator shaft at work by a terrifying ghost-like creature.

Did I tell you that where I work is haunted? The company I work for runs three arts facilities in Dayton and, though my office isn't in the haunted building, I'm over there often and I've heard all the stories. I'm not sure why my brain turned the work-ghost into an angry demony creature (she's supposedly very harmless) but that could just be a byproduct of watching Buffy right before bed. Oops.

But anyway, dreaming = fucked up, right? I mean, RIGHT? Like, even when it's awesome, it's fucked up, because...OK...dogs dream, which is adorable and all, but OMG WHAT MY DOG IS DREAMING. Which means he has hopes and fears, even if they're, like, "I hope I catch that squirrel," or "MUST PROTECT THE HUMAN FROM VACUUM."

MY DOG HAS AN AGENDA. Scary.

Don't get me wrong, I'd never want to stop dreaming. I might miss out on something good, like the time I FINALLY got accepted to Hogwarts. I can only assume that one was prophetic.

Stormtroopers are just blue-collar workers.

Joe and I got married two years ago today, which seems strange because it doesn't FEEL like two years have come and gone. More like two weeks, maybe? But, if you believe the calendar, which I suppose you have to, it's definitely been two years. I checked my math.

I think it's safe to say the honeymoon is over, as they say, because this morning, instead of gently waking my husband with a kiss and pleasant words like, oh, say "happy anniversary," I said, "hey, good morning, Max threw up. Twice."

And yeah, I already shared this on Facebook, meaning I'm stealing from myself for blog material, but I think, according to The World of Ethics or whatever, that that's OK. And even if it's not, it's my blog and I'll do what I want.

Like a total narcissist, I went back to read what I wrote about my wedding when it happened, and then I tried to read what I wrote about it last year and it turns out I didn't even write about it last year because apparently I don't really love my husband. Sorry, Joe.

I really wanted to take a trip for our anniversary but it wasn't in the cards this year. We celebrated quietly, with dinner at one of our favorite restaurants and a movie about time travel. Safety Not Guaranteed may seem like an odd movie to see on your anniversary, but it was strangely and unexpectedly appropriate. This movie was comprised almost entirely of quirk and heart and DID I MENTION TIME TRAVEL? I wish I could find the quote from the end of the movie, when one character asks the other why he'd want to travel with a partner, because the answer was basically the same as the answer to, "why would anyone want to get married?" and what better words to hear when you're celebrating your anniversary?

Today, I took a moment to think about that day, two years gone, and compare my happiness levels. Obviously, this isn't really fair, because, as I'm sure you'll agree, that day was TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME and today is, well, Tuesday. But if I examine the amount of happiness in my body (concentrated, like OJ!), you know, really delve into it, I'd say I'm happier today.

Don't get me wrong, our wedding day was amazing. It's just this blur in my mind of laughter and dancing and MUSTACHES AND HOGWARTS, but that kind of happiness isn't sustainable because you could straight up DIE from it. Today's happiness is quieter. Calmer. But it's there. It's what I feel when I go home at the end of the day, to the house we've made our own, to be greeted with excitement from Max and general disdain (hurtful, but comforting in its predictability) from Phoebe. And then Joe comes home from work and our happy little family is complete. I feel like I can safely say that Joe and I have only added to our weird little repertoire of inside jokes and I can't wait to see what the next year will bring. Probably poop jokes and fart noises. We're quite predictable that way.