Toast to In-Between Times. August 28, 2008

I find myself neither here nor there these days. After a series of post-wedding events, we’ve officially decided to move back to Nashville. It’s a decision we made for us, not for my career. And I have resigned as associate editor of Outreach magazine, although I will continue to work until late September and freelance indefinitely. Neither Erik or I have jobs lined up in Nashville, and despite the voice in my brain that keeps screaming, “Insurance! Savings! Fool!” I am enjoying knowing that when this 8-5 is over, I might have a few weeks to catch my breath, to remember what the sun in the middle of the day feels like and to indulge in a nap or two and remember that even though I’ve been out of high school for 10 years, I’m not old. I plan on looking for a part-time job as soon as we arrive because our savings will be blown on the moving expenses. But right now, it is so sweet to know that a new chapter is ahead. I’m glad I didn’t commit to another job before ordering the other pieces of our lives and letting happiness play out. It’s indeed comforting to know that I won’t be doing the move by myself this time. I never want to sit alone in an empty apartment again, sleeping on an air mattress and not having a single person to call in a 100-mile radius. Also, it helps to know the layout of the city, where we want to live in Nashville, and how to get around. I won’t have to go through my unavoidable year of being lost in a new place. I am very happy to see old friends. I am looking forward to seasons. I want my husband to be happy again.

So, in between the joyous challenges of tomorrow and the long, hard lessons of the past three years, I am toasting right where I am. I am in no rush to leave, no rush to get where I’m going. I don’t even want to kill the suspense because I kind of like it.

Inspire Me. August 14, 2008

Lately I’m just feeling the need to be inspired. Looking back at the summer that’s almost over, although you wouldn’t realize it in California, I’m wondering what did I do? Summers are supposed to be memorable, whimsical and airy, with brighter colors and nostalgic smells. and I feel like mine has a mild case of the doldrums. It seems like the past few months have been stuck on repeat: work, go home, cook, go to bed, get up, go to work, go home, cook, go to bed, work, go home, work out, take a shower, cook, watch TV, go to bed. You get the picture.

So in my search for inspiration, something to lift me out of the dullness and dailyness, I read blogs and get sugar highs off other people’s lives. I stole these pictures off someone else’s blog, this is glamorous (which I love to read), because they made me feel alive–and isn’t that, my friends, what we are all dying to feel?

Mornings Are Not for Cowards. August 11, 2008

I am not good at braving the morning hours, and today was an unfortunate example. I woke up at 7:20, which was already a good hour after I should have awakened, and stationed myself on the couch with my Bible and journal. My feeble prayers kept getting tangled with the dream I had recently been having about losing a little boy I was babysitting wearing a red shirt, and the episode of Weeds I watched last night. I kept asking nonsensical questions of God like, “What is your will for my colon?” (I am doing a cleanse that isn’t really working). I fell asleep about five times before I totally gave up and crawled back into bed. I just didn’t have the will to remain conscious. I snuggled up to my husband and slept intermittently for another half hour, waking up feeling guilty and crashing again.

Finally I lugged my sorry self to the shower, did half my morning colon cleanse routine, ate the crumbs from the bottom of the shredded wheat bag, and landed my booty in the driver’s seat of my exceptionally clean station wagon. I headed off down the highway planning to begin applying my makeup in the rearview mirror when I saw flashing blue and red lights appear behind me. I panicked, looked at my speedometer and clearly was not speeding, but the cop kept hovering behind me to my left like an annoying insect, and ohhhh, what to do, what to do, what to do? if I just kept driving, things might get really awkward if he thought I was trying to lead him on a high-speed chase (although I was only going 45) so I abruptly slammed on the brakes and pulled over onto the shoulder. At the same time, a white, much older and more battered station wagon was pulling over right in front of me. I sat there appalled. The police car scooted in right behind me and as I stared at him uncomprehendingly in the rearview mirror,  he whipped out his loudspeaker and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing? I don’t want you!” What is more embarrassing, getting pulled over by a cop or thinking you’re getting pulled over but you’re really not? And then he yelled at me!

Well, I didn’t waste any time–I gunned my engine and left the unfortunate white car in my dust. Of course, the police car was just trying to get around me so he could pull over the other car, and he must have thought I was a total idiot. But who can blame me? Flashing lights are so unnerving that I automatically snap into guilty-criminal mode and surrender myself, thinking I must have done something to deserve punishment.

Just another reason why mornings are hazardous, and why I should not be allowed on the roads before noon. Can we all agree on this simple concept?

Adios, Bed. August 1, 2008

Erik and I have not been sleeping well. Our nights are restless and well, wretched. I have been waking up every night after exactly three hours of sleep, no matter when I went to bed, and laying there feeling excessively uncomfortable and hot and no matter how I flip and flop, I cannot find a comfortable position. Erik and I fight for the middle of our new bed because it seems like it’s somehow more comfortable than our respective sides. But last night I woke up again, three hours into my supposed REM cycle, and felt like the new bed was giving me a panic attack. Really, it was strange. The only way I could calm myself was to visualize myself as a black line on a white background in my mind. This morning I woke up just as tired as ever, and on the other side of the bed was a haggard-looking Erik. I said, “Did you sleep well?” and he said, “Nn. Did you?” and I said, “No.” Then he smacked the bed angrily and said, “We’re taking you back to your mother!” Which is the kind of thing you say when you haven’t gotten much sleep.

As much as it pains me to say it, our bed is going back to its mother. We are going to try to get something firmer, something that will help us feel rested when we wake up in the morning. So while I feel somewhat sad about this (why?) I know it’s all for the best. I keep thinking about who will end up with our bed, and if they will be able to make their own imprints in the memory foam. Only Mattress Discounters knows.