My normally cheesy conservative devotional this morning caused me to do a double-take. It applauded Sheryl Crow's "If It Makes You Happy" as a song that goes against the self-centered focus that society and the media generally project, projecting instead an other-focused perspective.
I like that song, so began going over the lyrics in my head when I read that...and I laughed.
Maybe the author of today's section didn't get a copy of the complete song or maybe his secretary played a trick on him. Whatever happened, it made me smile.
28 April 2006
27 April 2006
Liz Style
I'm not going to keep this up, but I did laundry today and in true Liz style, I feel that I must confess something on laundry day.
I've been thoroughly enjoying listening to Music Box by Mariah Carey and Millenium by the Backstreet Boys this week.
I used to love them...or I still do???
I've been thoroughly enjoying listening to Music Box by Mariah Carey and Millenium by the Backstreet Boys this week.
I used to love them...or I still do???
Confession
I just spent almost $50 on two pairs of running shorts and a sports tanktop.
How is that possible?
I also hate that I'm susceptible to sales...I never used to have this problem. I'm in Payless, ready to purchase a pair of sandals and the gal behind the counter says, "It's buy one, get one half off." "Oh," I say, as I trudge back to the 9's to pick up the other pair of sandals I wanted, but wasn't going to buy when they were full price. Ridiculous.
I shouldn't be allowed to have money at my disposal.
How is that possible?
I also hate that I'm susceptible to sales...I never used to have this problem. I'm in Payless, ready to purchase a pair of sandals and the gal behind the counter says, "It's buy one, get one half off." "Oh," I say, as I trudge back to the 9's to pick up the other pair of sandals I wanted, but wasn't going to buy when they were full price. Ridiculous.
I shouldn't be allowed to have money at my disposal.
Now, I'm totally copying off of Jami
I created something and it's pretty cool. Or, at least I think so.
Visit this website http://ella.slis.indiana.edu/~ljgottsc/eandeediting/home.html
A couple of my friends (Elaine and Liz) have started a freelance editing company, which will take on any type of editing project: business, school, professional, personal...you name it, I think they'll do it.
But check out their website to get the details.
And yes, I coded it by hand...oh, my super techie skillz!
Visit this website http://ella.slis.indiana.edu/~ljgottsc/eandeediting/home.html
A couple of my friends (Elaine and Liz) have started a freelance editing company, which will take on any type of editing project: business, school, professional, personal...you name it, I think they'll do it.
But check out their website to get the details.
And yes, I coded it by hand...oh, my super techie skillz!
26 April 2006
Overwhelmed
Sometimes I get going so fast that I lose sight of reality, and currently, my life is not stressful. I'm not flying by the seat of my pants and I don't feel lost, which is my typical state of existence.
All of the sudden, this month, there is death and sickness everywhere, and I'm not really sure how I can handle it. The oddest part is that, as of this moment, the death hasn't touched my sphere, but it's all around. 2 people in two weeks, five at one time at this campus, five at another time at my previous campus...it's so close, geographically - they all have taken place in Indiana, in my territory of Indiana.
Several people my age are sick with sicknesses that no twenty-year old should have to suffer through.
Here I sit, healthy and whole, and vulnerable as I suddenly sense the vincibility of life. Accidents happen, as the 12 above mentioned students have found; fatal accidents. I am incapable of processing this all right now. I simply do not understand...
All of the sudden, this month, there is death and sickness everywhere, and I'm not really sure how I can handle it. The oddest part is that, as of this moment, the death hasn't touched my sphere, but it's all around. 2 people in two weeks, five at one time at this campus, five at another time at my previous campus...it's so close, geographically - they all have taken place in Indiana, in my territory of Indiana.
Several people my age are sick with sicknesses that no twenty-year old should have to suffer through.
Here I sit, healthy and whole, and vulnerable as I suddenly sense the vincibility of life. Accidents happen, as the 12 above mentioned students have found; fatal accidents. I am incapable of processing this all right now. I simply do not understand...
23 April 2006
Adding on...
Congratulations to my cousin Brian and Raendra (please tell me I spelled her name correctly) - newly engaged as of last night!!!
I couldn't be happier, and I'm sure you couldn't be, either.
Another Cummings wedding...we're like the neverending Brady Bunch.
I couldn't be happier, and I'm sure you couldn't be, either.
Another Cummings wedding...we're like the neverending Brady Bunch.
20 April 2006
19 April 2006
Brief medical history
Nine years ago, I ran track for the first and last time in my life. I loved it - loved running the 400 and the 4X400. I was decent, receiving red or blue ribbons most of the time. I usually limped around during the cool down, however, because of this strange arthritic pain in the balls of my feet. After many trips to the bone doctor in town, we discovered it was, in fact, bunions. I was a month away from surgery when I pulled the plug. It was so expensive and the chances of it returning were too high.
Eight years ago, I began to have trouble with my knees. My joints felt like all of the cartilage was dissolving with every volleyball practice and game. Visited the same bone doctor, had multiple x-rays. My left knee had an extremely painful, yet mostly numb-ish feeling spot. There was swelling and excruciating pain. Nothing ever came of those doctor's visits. I wouldn't give up my sport; I wouldn't "take it easy." The doctor obviously didn't know me or my coach.
Six years ago, I was forced to seek therapy for the muscle pain in my shoulders and back. I was wound tighter than brand new grandfather clock. There is no surgery to help that. It was my stress, my sports (I'd added tennis to the mix), my choices (piano, computers, weight lifting).
That same year, my right shoulder, elbow, and wrist/hand began to develop odd symptoms of numbness followed by severe bouts of acute pain, swelling, and weakness. The massage therapist suggested it could be the beginnings of bursitis, tendonitis, and carpal tunnel, but she swore she'd work hard (if I did as well) to hold off the full development.
I continued to see her through college, traveling home more often than the average student just to get relief from the fire, numbness, and daggers that plagued the right, and increasingly the left also, side of my body.
Two years ago, I broke my right ring finger during the first play of the first game of Spring flag football at school. I went to a new bone doctor to see about fixing it up, and decided to ask him about my hands, as the symptoms had rendered me nearly useless as far as having fun and at times doing normal things. When holding books to read for classes or for fun became too excruciating, I decided I needed help. I'd wake up at night moaning and crying at the throbbing of my wrists, which had spent every night bound in braces for four years at that point.
A year and four months ago, I underwent surgery on the nerve casings in my right hand. There was a 5-10% recurrence rate.
I tried to take care of my hands. I gave up piano. I quit lifting weights; I quit all sports but running and pilates and Tae Bo (sometimes even it was too much). But I'm a student, and a computer junkie on top of it. I want to be a librarian.
So here I am--a year and four months later, popping pills and praying to God for some relief--the fingers of my right hand are purplish-blue every day.
And I'm how old? 62, oh right.
Eight years ago, I began to have trouble with my knees. My joints felt like all of the cartilage was dissolving with every volleyball practice and game. Visited the same bone doctor, had multiple x-rays. My left knee had an extremely painful, yet mostly numb-ish feeling spot. There was swelling and excruciating pain. Nothing ever came of those doctor's visits. I wouldn't give up my sport; I wouldn't "take it easy." The doctor obviously didn't know me or my coach.
Six years ago, I was forced to seek therapy for the muscle pain in my shoulders and back. I was wound tighter than brand new grandfather clock. There is no surgery to help that. It was my stress, my sports (I'd added tennis to the mix), my choices (piano, computers, weight lifting).
That same year, my right shoulder, elbow, and wrist/hand began to develop odd symptoms of numbness followed by severe bouts of acute pain, swelling, and weakness. The massage therapist suggested it could be the beginnings of bursitis, tendonitis, and carpal tunnel, but she swore she'd work hard (if I did as well) to hold off the full development.
I continued to see her through college, traveling home more often than the average student just to get relief from the fire, numbness, and daggers that plagued the right, and increasingly the left also, side of my body.
Two years ago, I broke my right ring finger during the first play of the first game of Spring flag football at school. I went to a new bone doctor to see about fixing it up, and decided to ask him about my hands, as the symptoms had rendered me nearly useless as far as having fun and at times doing normal things. When holding books to read for classes or for fun became too excruciating, I decided I needed help. I'd wake up at night moaning and crying at the throbbing of my wrists, which had spent every night bound in braces for four years at that point.
A year and four months ago, I underwent surgery on the nerve casings in my right hand. There was a 5-10% recurrence rate.
I tried to take care of my hands. I gave up piano. I quit lifting weights; I quit all sports but running and pilates and Tae Bo (sometimes even it was too much). But I'm a student, and a computer junkie on top of it. I want to be a librarian.
So here I am--a year and four months later, popping pills and praying to God for some relief--the fingers of my right hand are purplish-blue every day.
And I'm how old? 62, oh right.
17 April 2006
Why my friends hate me
~ Last week I watched 7 movies.
~ I don't really have any school work to do, and haven't for about a week and a half.
~ I have no finals, and am leaving town during the entirety of finals week.
Why I believe my friends should not hate me:
* I'm taking four classes this summer, and therefore have no summer.
Okay, I have nothing else, except maybe I am nice person, I like my friends, and I (generally) remember their birthdays.
~ I don't really have any school work to do, and haven't for about a week and a half.
~ I have no finals, and am leaving town during the entirety of finals week.
Why I believe my friends should not hate me:
* I'm taking four classes this summer, and therefore have no summer.
Okay, I have nothing else, except maybe I am nice person, I like my friends, and I (generally) remember their birthdays.
15 April 2006
Worst Idea Ever...
Today brought a multitude of worst ideas ever. Here are the two most worth talking about:
#1) Find a new route home from school:
I chose to do this a) while wearing shoes that are not hike-friendly (especially if by hike I mean 2 1/2 miles); and b) in 84 degree weather, c) while carrying a backpack loaded with a binder, book, and unnecessary fleece, because I'm always over-prepared.
Not only did I get lost in suburbia, or what excuse B-town has for suburbia, which necessitated my walking nearly a mile out of the way, but I was sweaty starving wreck with throbbing feet when I got home. I've been hobbling around ever since. Lovely picture.
#2) Watch movies and eat pizza:
While the alternative was a night out with quasi-strangers (and a friend) and a male stripper (thanks for the invite), I chose to order a large pizza with cheese bread, drink rum and coke, and watch sad movies by myself. All the while, tornadoes continue to rage in this crazy state.
Had I known ahead of time that this city lies directly in the path of Tornado Alley, I may have chosen another university in which to pursue my degree. Like Arizona - somewhere Arizona - where the worst thing that happens is fire. At least you can know when it's coming!
#1) Find a new route home from school:
I chose to do this a) while wearing shoes that are not hike-friendly (especially if by hike I mean 2 1/2 miles); and b) in 84 degree weather, c) while carrying a backpack loaded with a binder, book, and unnecessary fleece, because I'm always over-prepared.
Not only did I get lost in suburbia, or what excuse B-town has for suburbia, which necessitated my walking nearly a mile out of the way, but I was sweaty starving wreck with throbbing feet when I got home. I've been hobbling around ever since. Lovely picture.
#2) Watch movies and eat pizza:
While the alternative was a night out with quasi-strangers (and a friend) and a male stripper (thanks for the invite), I chose to order a large pizza with cheese bread, drink rum and coke, and watch sad movies by myself. All the while, tornadoes continue to rage in this crazy state.
Had I known ahead of time that this city lies directly in the path of Tornado Alley, I may have chosen another university in which to pursue my degree. Like Arizona - somewhere Arizona - where the worst thing that happens is fire. At least you can know when it's coming!
13 April 2006
Pasty-Whites
Many, many years ago, I was not averse to wearing shorts. In fact, when I played volleyball year-round and took up running in the school off-season, I liked wearing shorts. There's something about quad muscles showing themselves even when you're simply standing still that's irresistable to me. Something about the muscle lines on the legs...I love them.
In line with my juvenile obsessions, I believed that along with the hot muscles, you had to have a hot tan, which is why I spent at least 5 summers during middle and high school laying out by my friend's pool like it was a full-time job, occupying most days from 9-5.
You could say that I was obsessed back then. Obsessed with being tan and having rock-hard visible muscles.
So what happened?
That is not for today's discussion.
When I donned running shorts a few days ago, I hadn't really seen my legs since September. And what I saw appalled me. What I saw were my dad's inhumanly, off-color, nearly-dead-looking white legs. This color belongs to something that has never seen the sun; it's worse than albino white.
And this time, they were my legs, not my dad's. (I swear, Dad, I will never mock you for your pasty-whites ever again.)
Because it is 82 degrees outside today, I determined to get some color on my legs. I sat outside in the shortest, ho-shorts that I own for an hour or so while reading some (riveting) management literature. There is no visible difference in my legs, and not that I'll be wearing shorts in public (besides the running bit, but my legs move so fast, no one can tell what color they are...riiight!), but mentally, I feel better. I see color, not something so devoid of color that it requires sunglasses or a welding helmet to look at.
In line with my juvenile obsessions, I believed that along with the hot muscles, you had to have a hot tan, which is why I spent at least 5 summers during middle and high school laying out by my friend's pool like it was a full-time job, occupying most days from 9-5.
You could say that I was obsessed back then. Obsessed with being tan and having rock-hard visible muscles.
So what happened?
That is not for today's discussion.
When I donned running shorts a few days ago, I hadn't really seen my legs since September. And what I saw appalled me. What I saw were my dad's inhumanly, off-color, nearly-dead-looking white legs. This color belongs to something that has never seen the sun; it's worse than albino white.
And this time, they were my legs, not my dad's. (I swear, Dad, I will never mock you for your pasty-whites ever again.)
Because it is 82 degrees outside today, I determined to get some color on my legs. I sat outside in the shortest, ho-shorts that I own for an hour or so while reading some (riveting) management literature. There is no visible difference in my legs, and not that I'll be wearing shorts in public (besides the running bit, but my legs move so fast, no one can tell what color they are...riiight!), but mentally, I feel better. I see color, not something so devoid of color that it requires sunglasses or a welding helmet to look at.
12 April 2006
Shout out
Time for another birthday wish...this time to PJ!
Happy Birthday, friend.
Good luck with the move and with starting over!
Happy Birthday, friend.
Good luck with the move and with starting over!
11 April 2006
Quote of the Day
"The greatest use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it."
~ William James
US Pragmatist, philosopher, and psychologist,
Author of "The Principles of Psychology" 1890
Found at: http://www.quotationspage.com
~ William James
US Pragmatist, philosopher, and psychologist,
Author of "The Principles of Psychology" 1890
Found at: http://www.quotationspage.com
Saturday Night Fever
Exclamation in our living room on Saturday night (and certainly not from me):
"My mother was a slut and my dad was a gigolo!"
Oh dear.
"My mother was a slut and my dad was a gigolo!"
Oh dear.
07 April 2006
Morning Smile
A girl on the bus smiled this morning, which is rare in and of itself, but it reminded me of the smile of a friend from long ago.
I remembered my friend's infectious smile and hilarious sense of humor, and smiled to myself.
Then it hit me, she's not alive anymore. She died this past year of unnatural causes.
And I was immediately stunned by the brevity and uncertainty of life.
I remembered my friend's infectious smile and hilarious sense of humor, and smiled to myself.
Then it hit me, she's not alive anymore. She died this past year of unnatural causes.
And I was immediately stunned by the brevity and uncertainty of life.
Secret Recipe
While I'd never claim to be a fabulous cook, since I rarely have enough food on hand to create anything worth eating, I believe I have some friends who know the art of cooking and love it.
Part of knowing how to cook is knowing what wines go with certain foods, as Emily and Franz will hopefully find out on their upcoming trip to Napa Valley.
Part of knowing the versatility of wines requires knowledge of wines, experimenting with spritzers, combos, etc.
For those of you who know the beauty of Blackberry Wine, try it with Fresca. It comes highly recommended.
Part of knowing how to cook is knowing what wines go with certain foods, as Emily and Franz will hopefully find out on their upcoming trip to Napa Valley.
Part of knowing the versatility of wines requires knowledge of wines, experimenting with spritzers, combos, etc.
For those of you who know the beauty of Blackberry Wine, try it with Fresca. It comes highly recommended.
06 April 2006
Bad Ass
Just before leaving for Ireland in August of 2003, my brother and a friend of ours handed over some great music including, but not limited to: Stroke 9, Third Eye Blind's first album, and every CD of Our Lady Peace. I'd been listening to these bands, with the exception of Stroke 9, but never really knew the depth of their appeal until the end of that summer.
In Ireland, Stroke 9 became an immediate favorite of mine, and of Elaine's, as we shared a room. We listented to "Latest Disaster" and "Kick Some Ass" often, I guess I was trying to remind myself that adding one more failed relationship to the growing list in my life wasn't really a big deal. And despite the anger I felt about it, I was confident that if push came to shove, I could kick some ass if I needed to.
My favorite song from the Rip It Off album, however, was "Vacuum Bag". Likening myself to something that retains all the filth from the surrounding environment made sense, as we've discovered this year--my eyes and ears are indeed vacuums. Granted, anyone reading this will realize I had some issues--I have some, since nothing can be resolved so quickly, even though living in Ireland provided the greatest life renewal I'll probably ever experience.
Here are a few of the lyrics from this fabulous song:
I was sitting by myself
And my thoughts started pouring out
Remember that time on our trip
You asked me where we were going
I said Barcelona
You said that's not what I meant
Maybe I'll never get it
I'm like a vacuum bag
That holds all that old dirt
Remember that time we said we'd be together forever?
'Cause it matters to me
Can you hear me?
Everyday I ask the same thing
Will you ever know what happened to me?
It happens everyday
And you wonder what went on
It's there and then it's gone
Maybe I'm sentimental
And I start to reminisce
And every time I do
I still want to tell you this
Don't hate me, don't regret me, don't ever forget me
Wherever you go, whatever you do, don't say I never loved you
In Ireland, Stroke 9 became an immediate favorite of mine, and of Elaine's, as we shared a room. We listented to "Latest Disaster" and "Kick Some Ass" often, I guess I was trying to remind myself that adding one more failed relationship to the growing list in my life wasn't really a big deal. And despite the anger I felt about it, I was confident that if push came to shove, I could kick some ass if I needed to.
My favorite song from the Rip It Off album, however, was "Vacuum Bag". Likening myself to something that retains all the filth from the surrounding environment made sense, as we've discovered this year--my eyes and ears are indeed vacuums. Granted, anyone reading this will realize I had some issues--I have some, since nothing can be resolved so quickly, even though living in Ireland provided the greatest life renewal I'll probably ever experience.
Here are a few of the lyrics from this fabulous song:
I was sitting by myself
And my thoughts started pouring out
Remember that time on our trip
You asked me where we were going
I said Barcelona
You said that's not what I meant
Maybe I'll never get it
I'm like a vacuum bag
That holds all that old dirt
Remember that time we said we'd be together forever?
'Cause it matters to me
Can you hear me?
Everyday I ask the same thing
Will you ever know what happened to me?
It happens everyday
And you wonder what went on
It's there and then it's gone
Maybe I'm sentimental
And I start to reminisce
And every time I do
I still want to tell you this
Don't hate me, don't regret me, don't ever forget me
Wherever you go, whatever you do, don't say I never loved you
05 April 2006
Not Ashamed
Because I am secure in myself, I'm posting my thoughts on tonight's American Idol results. This is somewhat for my sister, who liked the show, but is now hiking for six months, and will miss the rest of the season.
Mandisa left tonight.
She didn't perform well yesterday, but let's face it, the week was tough. The theme was Country music, with special guest, the newly botoxed and face-lifted (as well as body-shifted) Kenny Rogers. The only thing left about him that remotely resembled Kenny Rogers were his wee beedy eyes. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but the man looks his age (I just IMDB'd him and he's 68). His hair is sparkling white, like brand new, unadultered snow - obviously colored so. His eyebrows are so tight and so high off of his eyes that he looks perpetually surprised. He's so thin, too, well, thinner than I remember him, which reminds me of Grandpa Cummings, making my image of him even older, as Grandpa is pushing 85.
Kenny's performance tonight showed his age, too. He couldn't really carry a tune, and the act of singing looked painful for him; at times he held the mic in both hands, as if it was taking all of his strength to sing, like he could collapse at any moment.
Luckily, I was distracted by an excellent episode of Lost, so I didn't have to grind my teeth through the entire performance.
My thoughts on losing Mandisa are these: it's getting down to the point, now with only 8 remaining contestants, where it's hard to lose anyone. Everyone has their merits, as we've seen, and the burden remains on each individual to show up on Tuesday nights with a great song and a stunning performance. Otherwise, any of them is in jeopardy.
Personally, I think it should have been Bucky. He's not great. He was better than some at the beginning of the season, and now he's sitting low on the totem pole. However, with a Country theme this week, no good American in their right mind would send Bucky home. I predict next week as his last.
Paris better step it up, too. She's in my top 3, and yet, she was in the bottom three this week (which was just--her performance blew). Chris and Katherine remain outstanding, the other's working to catch up with their level of performance.
This is way too long. Sorry.
Mandisa left tonight.
She didn't perform well yesterday, but let's face it, the week was tough. The theme was Country music, with special guest, the newly botoxed and face-lifted (as well as body-shifted) Kenny Rogers. The only thing left about him that remotely resembled Kenny Rogers were his wee beedy eyes. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but the man looks his age (I just IMDB'd him and he's 68). His hair is sparkling white, like brand new, unadultered snow - obviously colored so. His eyebrows are so tight and so high off of his eyes that he looks perpetually surprised. He's so thin, too, well, thinner than I remember him, which reminds me of Grandpa Cummings, making my image of him even older, as Grandpa is pushing 85.
Kenny's performance tonight showed his age, too. He couldn't really carry a tune, and the act of singing looked painful for him; at times he held the mic in both hands, as if it was taking all of his strength to sing, like he could collapse at any moment.
Luckily, I was distracted by an excellent episode of Lost, so I didn't have to grind my teeth through the entire performance.
My thoughts on losing Mandisa are these: it's getting down to the point, now with only 8 remaining contestants, where it's hard to lose anyone. Everyone has their merits, as we've seen, and the burden remains on each individual to show up on Tuesday nights with a great song and a stunning performance. Otherwise, any of them is in jeopardy.
Personally, I think it should have been Bucky. He's not great. He was better than some at the beginning of the season, and now he's sitting low on the totem pole. However, with a Country theme this week, no good American in their right mind would send Bucky home. I predict next week as his last.
Paris better step it up, too. She's in my top 3, and yet, she was in the bottom three this week (which was just--her performance blew). Chris and Katherine remain outstanding, the other's working to catch up with their level of performance.
This is way too long. Sorry.
04 April 2006
03 April 2006
For just over a year now I have thoroughly enjoyed having a blog. I can express myself to the world without fearing embarrassment that I often feel in face-to-face conversations. Sometimes I'm honest, sometimes I withhold information, but it's my call. This is my space, and if you read this, you are entering my world - allowing me to step into your world, if you want.
I regret, therefore, to have to say that I'm changing something about my blog that may affect some of my rather small readership. The change comes due to a disturbing occurrence during the past week.
For those of you who are my friends and who would like to comment, but are not registered with blogger, you will no longer be able to post. I am sorry to have to do this, but my blog has become someone else's platform; a stranger, no less. And that's not why I created it.
While my blog is open for the reading, no one is forcing anyone to read it. If you don't like it, or it offends you (which I hope to never do, but no one's perfect), just don't read it.
Having a blog is cathartic, it helps me process life as I go. That is why I created it.
I regret, therefore, to have to say that I'm changing something about my blog that may affect some of my rather small readership. The change comes due to a disturbing occurrence during the past week.
For those of you who are my friends and who would like to comment, but are not registered with blogger, you will no longer be able to post. I am sorry to have to do this, but my blog has become someone else's platform; a stranger, no less. And that's not why I created it.
While my blog is open for the reading, no one is forcing anyone to read it. If you don't like it, or it offends you (which I hope to never do, but no one's perfect), just don't read it.
Having a blog is cathartic, it helps me process life as I go. That is why I created it.
It's Me, not you
Sometimes I wonder why it takes me a minimum of 3 years to get over someone.
After dating the same guy off and on for two years in high school, it took me 4 years to lay that nightmare to rest. Fighting with myself, my thoughts, wanting to know how he is and what's going on - I just couldn't let it go.
And again, here I am. It's been 3 years since the official breakdown of my last relationship, much less time since the last time we spoke, however, but still, I find myself wanting to call him up and see how he is.
But he's not part of my life anymore. And trying to maintain any semblance of friendship with him is pointless...not that he's not worth it, but we've proven over and over again that we can't just be friends. It's a losing battle. So I gave up and I've been trying to let go.
And I realized this weekend, when I was home, that it'll take years, like it did the first time around, for me to move on.
Why can't I be normal and meet someone else or just forget already.
I frustrate myself beyond explanation.
After dating the same guy off and on for two years in high school, it took me 4 years to lay that nightmare to rest. Fighting with myself, my thoughts, wanting to know how he is and what's going on - I just couldn't let it go.
And again, here I am. It's been 3 years since the official breakdown of my last relationship, much less time since the last time we spoke, however, but still, I find myself wanting to call him up and see how he is.
But he's not part of my life anymore. And trying to maintain any semblance of friendship with him is pointless...not that he's not worth it, but we've proven over and over again that we can't just be friends. It's a losing battle. So I gave up and I've been trying to let go.
And I realized this weekend, when I was home, that it'll take years, like it did the first time around, for me to move on.
Why can't I be normal and meet someone else or just forget already.
I frustrate myself beyond explanation.
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