Beginning and End

After seeing this title, I bet you are wondering what I'll write about today. It’s probably not what you think. I am the head of the billing department at my work. I am, indeed, the dreaded person that sends bills. Believe me, I don't enjoy it any more than you. I have been through many calls with screaming customers, having profanity flung like dung in my ear. (The mental image of that was priceless) And so, this time of the month is NOT my favorite.

In keeping with the blogathon, I'm still writing and this blog will be short. Like me! (Cheesy...like me, too) Anyway, this is what my plans are for the evening. It takes me all of 5 or 6 hours to complete the process. So, if you need to talk, I'll be up until about one or two in the morning. In all honesty, it is the most tedious job. It's VERY boring and I would gladly accept the company of those who actually know who I am. I think most of my friends are busy with homework and other such nonsense. Alas, I shall suffer alone. But if you see me tomorrow with bags under my eyes (the size of shopping bags) maybe you'll understand. If you ever need to call someone in charge of the billing department...don't yell at them. They're people too! Unless they're mindless zombies who have lost all emotion, even then...they're dead people. So people they remain.

I must say, I do enjoy the feeling of helping customers decrease the amount they owe. Small things that I can do to make their burden lighter...it feels nice! And so, I'll think about that as I stuff envelopes and stamp "past due" on statements. You know, if people paid their bills, the world would be happier. And so would I!

Hope and Fear

Many things cause me to hope. A gesture. A word. A smile. Each can induce a feeling of optimism. After writing my blog last night, I had a conversation with a friend that caused my hope to diminish ever so slightly. She, being one of my trustworthy friends, will always give me a straight answer. I shared with her my attraction (if you read my second blog, you know what I'm talking about), told her of some events that I've found encouraging, and how I felt that the carefully constructed shell I'd built around my heart was finally cracking. She said that her optimistic side is shouting "YIPPEE!" but her pessimistic side doesn't want me to get hurt. I am grateful that she cares for my happiness and doesn't want to lead me into a false utopia. In all honesty, I had been floating on cloud nine all day, until I heard her feelings. I felt my euphoria crumble. My mind was then flooded with unhappy memories that occurred almost two years ago. A time when I allowed my heart to fly free just to be shot down. What cruel irony.

I met a young man who I found extremely attractive. He seemed somewhat shy, or is that arrogant? That's beside the point. Well, I started getting to know him at early morning meetings. At the time, I was the secretary of the choir and therefore wrote the agenda/minutes. I enjoyed adding nonsensical phrases or funny quotes to the otherwise boring material. One afternoon, he dared me to somehow tie "red hats" into the agenda. The next week, he was surprised to find that I had accomplished the task above and beyond his expectations. This sparked a weekly challenge. Since I was interested in him, it didn't take much to accept each one with glee. The hour after the meeting became one of my favorite parts of the week. We would sit and talk; it was so comfortable to talk to him. This is when he started another game of question and answer. We asked random questions, learning more and more about each other. I loved these games. Eventually, the questions became more and more personal. I shared more about myself with him than any guy I've ever known. I developed an emotional attachment. How can you not, when you're sharing so much of yourself? We went on a few dates that were very enjoyable. I felt myself falling...hard. When I love, I love deeply. I believed that everything would work. He was so perfect.

As I dealt with this emotional relationship, I discovered he was dating someone else: One of my good friends. Being a true friend (I hope my friends view me that way. I never want people to think I'm not genuine), I will NEVER go for a guy if I know one of my friends likes him. Believe me, not all girls are like that. I had a few friends that once they found out I liked a guy, they went for him...and usually snatched him. Learning this heart wrenching news, I confronted him. Yes, I actually let him have it. But I didn't do it for myself. I wanted to stick up for my friend. He said that he never meant to lead me to believe we were anything but friends. Everything he did, the way he acted, the way he treated me with such respect, told me that he liked me. I was wrong. I felt my heart shatter. What had I done wrong? Was it something about me? I'd shared SO much of myself only to be rejected. These are questions I repeatedly asked myself during the following months; dare I say years?

Yesterday, I spoke to another friend who was frustrated about how people have a hard time getting "over" relationships. I explained what I'd learned from the heartbreak. When a relationship ends (emotional, physical, etc), it doesn't matter how amicable the split, it is the same as losing someone...a mourning process if you will. I went through the grief. I experienced every emotion imaginable. I was angry with him, felt sorry for him, cried for him, loved him, hated him, and now...I'm over him. But during this period of bereavement, I built a wall around the shards of my heart. I would not allow myself to be deceived again.

Today, even now, I fight with myself: mind vs. heart. My family and friends caution me, wanting to allow my hope to soar, but within walls carefully constructed. Is that truly the way to fly? How can a bird learn to take flight if it's always in a cage? And yet, how can I allow the exposure of my most vital organ? The door of the cage is standing open, but the bird is pressed firmly against the bars. I don't WANT to feel this way. I want my heart to be able to expand to its full capacity. And so I stand, scared and hopeful. I have one foot in the door and one foot out.

Familial Eccentricities

We all understand that many things determine who we are. Our upbringing is important in creating our personalities. I want to start by saying that I have two wonderful parents. They are loving, kind, generous individuals who are always there when needed. And as I reflect, I see the vast amount of knowledge they laid at my feet. They instilled in me a love of learning, a love of family, and most important...a love of God. My parents had a firm, but caring way of discipline which turned me into the woman I am today. I owe so much to them. I also have a sister and brother who mean the world to me. Each of them has begun a new journey in life, the journey of marriage. We are a close familial unit. I want to share with you, however, the eccentricities they possess. Each member has influenced my personality for, I believe, the better. But...you decide.

Being the youngest of the clan, you can imagine the teasing and torture I endured. My brother and sister (don't kill me, guys. I have to share the hilarity of our younger years) always wanted to find faster, easier ways to accomplish things. Things such as...going down the stairs. What would allow for the swiftest ride and reduce the chance of receiving bodily harm? Neither my brother nor my sister would take the plunge. Who, you may ask, was the crash-test dummy? Why it was none other than the author herself. I would do ANYTHING for my brother and sister, my heroes. I'd hear, "ANNIE. Come here. How would you like to slide down the stairs in a laundry basket?" Oh, be still my beating heart. What a thrill awaited me. Climbing aboard the cloth-toting vehicle, they pushed the basket, and myself, to our doom. I glided down two steps, flew out of the basket, and became a human bouncy ball. A dozen stairs later, I laid motionless as my siblings watched in mock horror. The tears came swiftly as did my mom. I settled down after the two culprits received their just punishments. Nevertheless, not twenty minutes later, I heard, "ANNIE. Come here. How would you like to go down the stairs in this garbage bag?" My reply, "Ok!" It was the same tragic ending as the time before. I look back now and think, "So, that's my problem. I probably have brain damage." It sure makes for some great stories, though.

This morning I was traveling down a crowded road not far from my house. On this highway, there are two railroad tracks that pass overhead. As I drove under the second, I noticed a train passing by. Instinctively, I ducked my head. I know. The train was a good thirty feet above, why would anyone in their right mind duck? And here is another oddity, this one brought to you by the letter M. Mom. In my youth, we would travel down this road to go see our grandparents. Since we've already established my gullibility, this should not come as much of a shock. We were singing songs, having a marvelous ride, when my mom spotted a train on said tracks. "Oh no," she gasped. "You kids had better duck down or the train will cut off your heads." With the speed of a locomotive (no pun intended), my head was in my lap. I lay there trembling until I heard snickering...from my parents. The snickering turned to roaring laughter. How could they take decapitation so lightly? My mom explained that her father used to say the same thing to her. And so, it became a tradition. Every excursion that brought us under a moving train, my dad would holler, "Hurry kids, DUCK!" Immediately the three obedient children would stoop their heads in a fit of giggles.

There are many childhood memories that helped shape the person I am. But, to me, one of the funniest happened around the age of seven, nearly eight (that is to say it's hilarious to me now). I love spinning in circles. Always have. Always will. It's exhilarating, feeling the momentum throw off your center of gravity. Knowing that at any moment you may fall. In this part of my life, I don't revolve in circles frequently, but I love rolling down hills, which produces the same giddiness. As a child, I took every opportunity to twirl, especially in my frilly church dresses. One day after church, I ran in the living room and began this favorite pastime. My dad, seeing that I was in danger of crashing into the piano, said, "Annie, why don't you stop twirling now. You're going to get hurt." "Uh-uh, Daddy, I'm good at this and I can twirl for a long time. Watch me!" Repeatedly, he implored me to cease the spin that was undoubtedly causing him frustration. "You're going to get hurt. Please stop right now." "I'm not going to get hurt. I promise." Finally, on the brink of exasperation, he admonished, "If you don't stop spinning, you're giving Satan the chance to enter your body. Do you want to be possessed by the Devil?" "No." "Then STOP twirling." Collapsing on the floor and in tears, I prayed that I would be saved from this transgression. How could I unknowingly have been so stupid? How was I going to be baptized now that I had given Satan the opportunity to steal my very soul? I lay sobbing at my grievous sin until my dad reentered the room. "Honey, I'm sorry I told you that. It's not true. Satan can't take control over you when you're spinning. But you need to learn to listen when Daddy tells you not to do something. Can you do that?" Meekly, I acquiesced. After a big hug, he left only to meet my mom. "You told her what? I can't believe you'd say that to a seven-year old." "Well...it got her to stop!"

I look back now and smile at moments such as these. As a family, we discuss these memories with laughter. And yet, I can imagine the looks on some of your faces. Your parents said what to you? In their defense, my dad is an engineer and my mom is married to one. Doesn't that explain a lot?

I accept!

I decided to accept Major Bubble’s blogathon challenge and, like my yellow friend, decided to share a poem from the past. Is that copying? It was a great idea and I've always had a soft spot for this particular piece of writing. It holds similar truths today as it did in high school.

Always There

Remember when I held you,
With pigtails still in my hair.
We’d play a round of Hide n’ Seek.
You always hid under the covers.
Every night I hugged you,
Before I went to sleep.
Then I dreamed about you all night.

I left your soft embrace,
When I entered Junior High.
I met some new friends.
But you were always in the back of my mind.
I came home from school,
To meet your pleasant glow.
I spilled every secret to you.
You never hesitated to listen.

Along with happy times come sad.
The sharp tongue of a friend,
Stabbed my heart.
But you were waiting to offer solace to me.
I sobbed on your shoulder,
Wiped my tears on your shirt.
And yet you stayed true.

Through frustrations came anger.
I yelled at you;
You stayed my friend.
I screamed in your face;
You extended a soft reply.
You allowed me to hit you once,
When I was too mad to control the anger.
But you loved me even then,
Just as I loved you.

Through the years we’ve both worn thin.
But our friendship remains strong.
In the storms of life we stayed together,
Instead of pulling apart.
And, dear pillow of mine,
I will love you forever;
Because you were always there.

White-Knuckle Driving

*Sigh* I made it home without loss of limb or vehicle. Driving in winter is anything BUT calming. Case in point, it took me around 30 minutes to recover from nearly sliding into a fellow driver today (who was, to my horror, on a cell phone. Talking on a cell phone while driving should be cause for arrest, in my opinion). I, admittedly, allowed the anxiety and anger to course through my veins. And so, in my humble abode, I type to calm my nerves. Sadly, my knuckles have maintained their pallid appearance in spite of the moist, warm air I exhale upon them. I'm cold. This is sounding like the complaint of an austere ice sculpture. That's not about to ease my tension. Instead, I wish to share with you my awe of the wet, white wonder that is snow (awesome alliteration...hey, I did it again!).

Coming home late one night, I tiptoed across the ice to the porch. Turning, respiration ceased, having caught in my throat. Before my eye was a scene I'll never forget. It began with radiance: the beams from the streetlight, the glare from the porch bulb, the subtle glow from the neighbor’s window. The rays of luminous energy cascaded upon the newly fallen snow. Due to refracted light, the frozen crystals assumed the appearance of diamonds. A sea of crystallized carbon dazzled my eyes leading me to believe I'd entered a winter wonderland. I wanted to capture this vision of purity, to never let the stain of mud tarnish its reflective glory. In my mind it stays, forever a reminder of the beauty Heavenly Father created.

Another favorite part of winter is the tranquility. In the late evening, stepping onto my frequented porch, I listen. Just listen. The silence, almost deafening, fills me with a gentle peace. I long to share the moment with a special someone. At my feet, soft stirring interrupts my reverie. The neighbor's cat, entwining around my legs, comes to rest upon my lower extremities. Not necessarily the company I desire, but I take what I can get. Closing my eyes, I listen to nothing, allowing my thoughts to stray. These are cherished times when heaven seems just within reach. Inevitably, something interrupts the serenity forcing me to return to the world. I leave the steps hoping to someday share this glimpse of perfection with someone, someone who appreciates silence in all its repose.

Questions

Have you ever battled with your mind in the wee hours of the morning? Has your mind taken over, not allowing your body to drift into that bliss we call slumber? This happened to me last night. My body was ready to shift to park but my mind switched to overdrive. And so the battle between mind and body commenced. Questions (which have been crowding in my brain) began to rush at me from every direction. Try as I might, there was no stopping them. So, I write again, displaying the internal questions which have plagued me.

We'll start with a question that doesn't carry as much depth. Why do the "Deodorant People" (I'm referring to the makers of deodorant, not those that commit to the application of said product) insist on putting Aluminum Zirconium in women's antiperspirant/deodorant? Do they not realize that there are individuals, including myself, who are allergic to the demon ingredient? There are aluminum free deodorants for men, why not women? Is this some bizarre form of discrimination? I have discovered that aluminum is strictly in antiperspirant. So why, pray tell, do they not make deodorant for women? I dare you to enter any store and find 2 sticks of women's deodorant that lacks aluminum. Then, please inform me and I will be indebted to you forever. Now, I'm not talking about the "natural" deodorants. Have you ever held one in the vicinity of your nostrils? I warn you now...don't. I will not apply anything that already smells disgusting.

Now for the dreaded topic that hovered around my head most of the night: dating. I enjoy dating...really, I do. However, we're supposed to be "finding" someone at this stage of life. How are you supposed to narrow the field if you only go on 3 dates in a 4 month time frame? And that's doing well for me. My mom always tells me that people probably think I date a lot. If this is the case, they are gravely mistaken. I would LOVE to date more! I guess my problem lies in the fact that I am a complete moron when it comes to showing interest. I pride myself in a keen perspicacity, but when it comes to guys I find attractive...it's out the window. Is he looking at me? I better look the other way, because I don't want him to think I'm one of "those" girls. You know, the ones who just won't go away. Who stare and practically stalk their unsuspecting (or suspecting) prey. Does he care if I'm a little older than he? Is he going to view me as one who may be asked advice, an "older sister", if you will. And, being older (23, SO old...sarcasm at it's finest), is he thinking "she's just not an option?" I'm lamenting about age because I'm currently in a group where most of the guys are young. Some, about to depart on missions. Others, just home. I admit that I am unabashedly attracted to a younger man (we'll call him "Dude"). Dude's not THAT much younger, but is that a problem for him? Does he even know I'm older? Maybe not. Is he interested in me? This is something I will never know. I am not a clairvoyant person. At times I wonder if he does and then I second guess myself. I can quickly recognize when a guy finds one of my friends appealing, but I'm not as keen when deciphering for myself. Be that as it may, I'm sure it's not that unusual.

How do I get out of this cautious stage? Others girls throw themselves at guys, literally. Definitely not me. Truthfully, I run away. Women have this way of batting their eyes and giving that "come hither" look. Humor is my chosen "flirt" vessel. If the guy laughs, I feel pleased. With this humor comes a facade. Do I cover my interest with witty remarks? How can I relinquish this act of covering the heart which lives on my proverbial sleeve? My gut screams that I am viewed as just a "buddy." Never as a desirable young woman. How do I (this sounds funny to me) become desirable? Never have I had a boyfriend, which certifies the assumption that I've never been kissed. I've only held hands twice (and the second one didn't count, because he was playing with my rings). I also have an aversion to asking guys on dates. In the past 6 years, every date I've been on (where I asked) my date has found his "one-and-only" within one to six months. Come to think of it, maybe I should start a dating service. "Go on one date with me and you'll find true love with another."

Next question: Why doesn't everyone have a lawn gnome? Why don't I have a lawn gnome? Perhaps there is one outside, and due to this blogging addiction I've been too busy to notice. In all honesty, I have not yet become addicted, though I can see how easy it would be. I simply needed to allow some of the questions to escape their confinement. If you have any suggestion that may help this damsel in distress, please share. Pause and rewind. Distressed isn't an adequate description. I am a damsel, but I'm not disquieted, just confused. I just need to determine whether the confusion is due to an overactive imagination or if these questions require further analysis.

Wasn't that confusing?

And so it begins...

Who would have thought that I would join the ranks of the ubiquitous bloggers? I shrunk at the thought. It is one thing to read blogs, but it is entirely different to bare your soul to the world. And yet, here I am, baring my deepest self. The one known only to me, myself...and probably my mom.

Does everyone have this much trouble embarking on their first official blog? I'm sitting here contemplating the entirety of what I'm creating. Every word is under my command. Every thought is from the far reaches of The Outer Limits...I mean, my brain (which, for all we know, could BE the outer limits of human cognition). Will anyone read this? Will this word feast prove only the satiate my hunger for writing, or will it provide entertainment, even enlightenment, for those who eat...or read, as the case may be. But I say to you now, if you are eating your computer, STOP! The drive will be very hard on your digestive system. Get it? Drive? Hard? Hard-drive? I know. It was a feeble attempt at best.

However, this introduces you to the real me. Humor, laughter, genuine happiness is what pulls me through the best and worst times. I love to be cheerful, to share my joy with others. Even when I don't feel like smiling, I do it for the betterment of mankind. Well, when I smile at men, they usually run away. AHA! I think I found a story for another blog.

I must confess, I enjoy writing about the interminable procession of thought that threatens to breach my sanity. And I like using big words! Also, if you know me well, you know that I deeply appreciate the ability to spell correctly! Therefore, if I fail, I ask you to throw me in a pit somewhere with a dictionary. Then, come back in a week or so with a Slurpee. Doubtlessly, I'll be needing wet, cold, refreshing goodness! I will have thoroughly repented of the atrocity. Then, and only then, may you allow me to continue with this sacred blog. Can you rightly call a blog sacred? I guess my writing is, in truth...sacrilicious. As is the afore mentioned Slurpee.