I Bet You're Dying to Hear the Rest of the Story...

When I sat down to write a post today I didn't know what exactly I wanted to say. I just knew I was sick of this blogging hiatus and it had to end. 

And then suddenly, I was writing a very corny break-up note via internet. 

At the beginning of writing that note I had every intention of explaining why, exactly, I was posting my break-up online. But about 2 lines before the end, you know, right before I said sincerely Alec, I decided writing an explanation would be BORING. 

Leave it to me to keep the mystery alive. I'm nothing if not exciting and mysterious.

Okay, I'm nothing if not trying (generally unsuccessfully) to be exciting and mysterious.  

See, now my blog is practically a Nancy Drew novel! 

And, really, who doesn't love Nancy Drew?

That being said, I realize that for those of you who know I don't have a boyfriend that note must have been a bit confusing. And for those of you who don't know I don't have a boyfriend, that note may have been a little uncomfortable. 

Let's face it. I'm nothing if not a bit confusing and a little uncomfortable. 

But the mystery is almost over. 

...

...

...

I'M BREAKING UP WITH APATHY.

See, over the last few days our relationship has gotten serious. A little too serious actually. 

Our relationship reached its climax last Wednesday. 

I was meeting with my professor when he asked me how I was doing. 

Fine thanks, I said. 

Are you sure? he asked. It didn't seem like it when you were falling asleep in my class.

Normally that accusation would have sent chills through my spine. Normally, I would have froze. Normally a conversation like that would have ended in a crying phone call to my mother. 

But instead I said something like: Ya, I don't know why I've been so tired lately.

And then he said something like: Can I give you some advice from a concerned professor? It looked like you were up too late last night partying.

And then I think I giggled: I never party, I said. You can ask anyone. I think I have narcolepsy. I can fall asleep anywhere. In particular, I think it's the powerpoint presentations that put me to sleep, though. 

See what I mean about apathy wiping away the tears? I'm going to miss that part. 

But then today, TODAY, apathy and I had a serious fight. Because he wanted me to just sit in my house, sleep in until 9, not do my homework,  not write any articles, eat thousands of cookie calories, and go to the park wearing a sun dress so I could pretend like I was in the Bahamas or something. 

There is going to be some serious wallowing I'm afraid once the repercussions of our relationship catch up with me. 

AKA, we might be back together come Monday. 

But for now, I'm going to do some homework, and plan a church lesson, and maybe even clean out the kitchen sink. 

So (in case you're still confused) I'm not really breaking up with anyone. 

I'm just trying to flush apathy, temporarily, down the toilet.

(Can you temporarily flush something down the toilet?)

I should also mention that I don't think it's entirely apathy's fault. It also has a lot to do with spring fever... Especially the sun dress, pretending I live in the bahamas, part. 

I just don't know how I'm supposed to sit inside and write papers when it is SO wonderful outside. 

Now excuse me, I'm going to go daydream...

I mean, write papers. I'm going to go write papers.

We're Breaking Up

 This just isn't working out anymore. I don't even know if we can be friends. I know you've helped me through some hard times, and I'll always remember you for that. But seriously, I ate 7 cookies today. Seven. And I can't keep just waking up at 9 in the morning. Half the day is practically gone by then. 

Not to mention, you're keeping me away from my homework. How do you think that makes me feel? It makes me feel like a loser, that's how. 

I know I'm going to miss you some days. Mostly I'll miss you when I'm crying. I'll miss the way you wiped the tears away. 

But we're done. This is over. No looking back. 

You know who you are, 

Sincerely, 

Alec.

More about that Hate Mail I Always Talk About

I was having a bad dream. But everything about it was real. I was stressing out at the start of the week before spring break, my house was full of people being loud without me, and (here's the part that convinced me it wasn't just a dream) I was about to cry. 

That's when my dad called. 

Condensed version:

"Hello?" I said, still wondering if it was Saturday or Monday. 

"Hey, you have weeds in your front yard. To the left and right side of the driveway."

"Well what other side is there????" I replied. 

Then I went outside to check if I had more sides than I knew about surrounding my driveway. 

I didn't. 

Note to homeowners association: next time, to save me a trip outside, please just say, 'you have weeds-- ALL OVER-- your front yard.' That will suffice.

Then I think I yelled something like, "I HATE YOU PEOPLE!" to the world.

I don't know. The memory is a little fuzzy. But if I did yell it, than it was loud, and possibly a bit unnecessary.

The next thing I knew, I was kneeling down in jeans that happen to have a huge hole in one knee, laughing maniacally, planning to replant each and every one of my weeds in different colorful pots and plop them down by the front door of the homeowner's association. 

After entertaining that thought for a while, I decided, to save on time, just throw my pulled weeds out of the yard, out of the left and right side of the driveway, and into the road. Which, in case you are wondering, I did very dramatically. Like over-the-head, with a smile on my face, dramatically. 

Overreaction? Perhaps. 

It was in the middle of this little escapade that my next-door neighbor, who I have talked to a grand total of 3 times since moving here, came over and said (condensed version), "I already sprayed those weeds. I can see in your eyes that you don't want to be doing this. Hire my son to spray your weeds for you. By the way, are you a freshman?"

First of all, I've lived next door three years. If I'm still a freshman, we have a serious problem.

Second of all, let's not lie to ourselves. There is nothing about my eyes that's saying, "I'd prefer not to pick weeds right now" in a calm British accent. You just heard me yelling on the phone about my unadulterated dislike of the homeowner's blue-colored hate mail. I know you heard me, because after I was done yelling, I glanced over and noticed you finishing a garage sale transaction. You, and your customer, were outside for the whole thing. By the way, I hope you enjoyed the show. 

Third of all, spraying these weeds does nothing to help my current problem. They will not be dead by the next time the homeowner's association makes its rounds. I know this because I have tried spraying these invincible weeds. And if I could bottle up their determination and undying capabilities, I would never have to water my strawberries again. 

Now, a final note, to myself this time. 

Do not fall asleep mid-afternoon. Because it's really better not to act like the orphan child of Mr. Hyde. An orphan child who does not like pulling weeds. 

A Short OCD Moment

Dude, 

I need to change the font of the title of my blog like NOW. 

Can I do that?

When Narcolepsy Goes Wrong

I first exhibited Narcoleptic tendencies in 8th grade. That was the year I fell asleep in class for the first time. 8th grade math-- the algebra that ruined me.

I think that's the same year I started disliking math. There may or may not be a connection there. 

Anyway, it got progressively worse in high school. 

By junior year, I could fall asleep anytime, anywhere. 

On my bedroom floor after class, sitting straight up in my 5th hour history class, and during 3:00 swim practices (practically). 

By junior year, my alleged narcolepsy had become like an art, a gift of sorts. 

In class, I would rest my head on my hand, let my hair fall over my face, and get the 3o minute nap that would get me through the day.

See, being able to fall asleep on hard surfaces, no matter how loud the background noise: that's talent right there. 

Anyway, my self-diagnosed narcolepsy has gotten me through some hard times. 

But lately it's become a bit of a nuisance. 

Like when I fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon while reading my computer screen. And when I can't make it all the way through a movie without crashing. And when I miss my favorite TV show (ie the Office) because I can't stay awake past 7:00. 

Then it's a problem. 

Narcolepsy, I may have to re-diagnose myself. And if you're going to keep trying to interrupt my quality time with the television, then you are so out. 

Just something you might want to think about. 

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Every time I go home, I come back to Tucson with a gift. 

Sometimes it's a t-shirt, sometimes it's a flowerpot, other times it Thanksgiving leftovers, and some really lucky times it's six new pairs of socks. (What can I say? I LoVe new socks.)

This time it was a pair of jeans. 

And you should know, I'm wearing this pair of jeans right now. 

So here's the based-on-a-true-story version of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants...

It was Sunday night. The 82 degree air had a chance to slip in through the doorway each time I took a load of luggage to my car waiting outside. I didn't want to drive back--not really--but these things have to be done. 

I was just two loads away from my two hour trip through the familiar desert. I walked slowly to gather my stuff, for no other reason than I happen to be a slow walker--a slow walker in denial. 

My mom ruined my plans to 'accidentally' flush my car keys down the toilet when she showed up in the hallway carrying a large pile of clean clothes for me to take home. She followed me outside where we shoved the clothes into an empty spot in the trunk, right next to the other things that I found it necessary to haul home--things like ginger ale and dog shampoo. 

That was it. I couldn't avoid the SO-RIDICULOUSLY-BORING drive any longer. I'd count rest stops and San Diego exists to keep myself entertained. 

But before I left, my Mom came out with a pair of jeans.  "Are these yours?" she asked. 

"Nope," I said. Never seen them before in my life. 

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure." 

Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had never seen them before in my life. My sister's didn't claim them either. 

My littlest sister tried the jeans on. But they were too short. Way too short. So short that she won't be able to wear them until the day high waters are back in. 

Then I tried them on.

"They must be yours," my mom said. "They fit like a glove."

"DUDE, I'VE NEVER SEEN THEM BEFORE IN MY LIFE."

"Well maybe your sisters just outgrew them."

And that is how it happened. 

 I remember the days when I used to pass down my clothes to my sisters because I outgrew them. Well, actually, I didn't pass them down. I kept them hidden in my closet so no one could wear my favorite, 3 sizes too small, pair of pants. Point is though, there was a time in my life when I outgrew things first. Now I totally get what all those people meant when they talked about the good ol' days. It's all about outgrowing clothes first.

Anyway, that is how I came home with a pair of mystery jeans as my gift. 

I think they're sort of like Cinderella's glass slippers, because they only fit me.

And they're like the sisterhood pants, since they've apparently been passed down through all of my sisters, and now they've also traveled.

Probably they're magic. 

Because It's March

The thing about deleting your blog is, you also delete your archives. And there's no way to get them back. They just all dive into the internet trash can, never to be seen again. 

So I've been feeling all this pressure.  It's like diving to the bottom of the deep end. The water is pushing against me; the pressure is shouting until my ears hurt. "YOU HAVE NO ARCHIVES. IF YOU WRITE SOMETHING STUPID THE INTERNET IS TOTALLY GOING TO JUDGE YOU. NA NA NA NA NA NA!"

So I sit at the bottom of the pool, staring at a blank screen, until I can't hold my breath anymore. 

And then I slam my computer shut, turn off the lights, and go to sleep. 

(Blogging and sleeping, I've found, are the best ways to avoid important things like homework.)

But because it's March, I am not longer giving into the Na Na Na Nas. 

See, in February, there's simply no way around the Na Na Na Nas. 

February's all: You have no one to buy 200 dollars worth of chocolate and flowers for. NA NA!

  The groundhog said there's going to be 6 more weeks of winter. NA NA NA NA!

  We're going to take a Monday off to celebrate the presidents, but your school doesn't believe in celebrating presidents. NA NA NA NA NA NA!

I mean, it's just not a nice month. I'm pretty sure that's why it only gets to have 29 days every four years. It actually has nothing to do with making the calendar year match up with the solar year. 

Anyway, February is over. 

And because it March... even though it plays the same old songs, I love the songs on the radio.

Even though the temperature is the same, it feels warmer outside. 

Even though I still have to do the same stupid homework...well actually, that still stinks. 

But the point is, it's March!

Spring fever is setting in. *Sigh* And it's making all the difference. 

As for the pressure at the bottom of the pool, I'm just glad to be swimming again.