tick tock

I'm like, really clever right now. One of those moods, you know? Where everything clicks and fantastic puns are born, witty jokes drip down like a refreshing rain, etc. But I'm sick and tired. Physically. So I'm going to bed. It's a real shame to waste this magical moment of humorous charm when so generously bestowed.

In an hour it will be two hours from now. Shifty.

Serendipitous Day

I'm most excited that my rose pink shirt and this pink rose that some random guy in the hall gave me are the exact same color.

(And thank goodness the Orem LDS institute committee knows proper grammar. I appreciate.)

Day by Day

From time to time

You and I

Cannot see

Eye to Eye

We swing and go

Head to head

And stubborn

Back to back

But step by step

Turn about

Lay open

Heart to heart

Then hip to hip

Arm in arm

Hand in hand

Cheek to cheek

We go forward

Side by side

Still when gone

Nine to five

You always come

Home sweet home

And greet me

Face to face

And mouth to mouth

Lip to lip

Round and round

We go

Sun up sun down

Day by day

Dressing love

Head to toe

Happy Vday. Here is a version of the story of Cupid and Psyche (the figures in the pic I took at the louvre museum) for a little fun reading.

"Love took her by the hand, and they were never parted any more"

five minus one is four

The other day (yep, that's how it's gonna start) a lady came to speak in my english class. After she had already been speaking a few minutes, my eyes were bothered by a nudge from my brain to pay closer attention to her hands: brainy was detecting something unusual and wanted confirmation. Nothing else to do, I indulged [transitively].

Next time her hands came into view my eyes immediately recognized what brainy had sensed: she had a missing finger, the right ring finger. My brain pumped its victory fists and started thinking of four-fingered characters, namely the ninja turtles. As to an irreverent child in a long church meeting I sent it a silencing look, but it was near impossible to reroute its focus of curiosity from the speaker's hands.

Issuing mental demerits, I required the brain to list other qualities about the woman that were just as, if not more, obvious: beautiful hair, eyes and smile; great and personable speaking skills; lovely skin; contagious enthusiasm and a delightful sense of humor.

But obviously the missing finger did stand out. Well, it's unusual.

But (again), the only reason I'm writing about this is because the next day, sitting in the mighty driver's seat (is it the driver or the seat that's mighty...?) in a mighty yellow bus at a red light, I looked to my right at the "don't walk" hand. It was missing the same finger!

I thought quickly: is the "don't walk" hand a left hand or a right hand? Always on the side of poetic coincidence my brain immediately voted for right. But I took a moment, visualized my own hand up in the "stop/don't walk" position and realized any person to see this gesture would be viewing my palm. therefore, the "don't walk" hand truly is a right hand.

My brain contentedly snuggled into the happy coincidence, musing about future blog post ideas. And here you see I indulged once again...(but at least I censured the idea of omitting every letter typed with the right ring finger).

(*not actual "don't walk" hand from street crossing spoken of; wrong finger. and wrong trees.)

Walking, Bleeding

I began this day with a determined prayer and thoughtful scripture reading. I gave it first priority..okay second. Toilet was first. But anyway, today produced randomly wondrous, albeit simple events that I feel I should document, and I don’t seem capable of doing anything productive until I release these anxious ideas into the world of written word.

Seriously, for two hours now I’ve been trying to convince myself to do homework, not feeling justified to just sit and write, but instead, I avoid both with Netflix (I’m addicted to Bones; I think I need help…) So I’ll get all this off my mind and maybe concentrate on homework. Or at least go to sleep without feeling completely useless.

After my sculpture class I have a break, from 10-11am. Usually I just use this time to slowly finish up whatever artsy thing I’m working on and mosey on down to my American Lit class sometime before it starts. Well, true to form, over the long weekend I didn’t do all the homework I should have and so I decided I would leave Sculpture and go find a place to quickly catch up on the reading for Lit.

Walking toward the construction detour I noticed three red helium-filled balloons taped to the floor. I had a very sudden urge to go over and whack them. I did not, and a little farther along I saw another red and white cluster, this time closer to my path, so I poked a couple with a finger as I walked by. Again, another pair of red balloons reached innocently to the sky and I gave one a good flick. This seemed to be the happiest walk down Campus Lane (or whatever) that I could recall.

Before reaching the exit, the true purpose of the red and white helium balloons was revealed to me: blood drive. I was drawn to donate, transfixed on transfusion, oozing with enthooziasm to get rid of some blood. I drive lots of things, why not blood, too?!

They had just started so there weren’t many people so they took me as appointmentless as I came. I told them I had an 11am class and asked if I would make it. They said I should. They were incorrect. But that’s okay. It worked out that since I had less blood, somehow I had less desire to participate in the thirty minutes left of class discussion (that is never really that stimulating anyway) about readings that I only caught a couple pages of while my life juice leaked from my veins.

The donation was successful and I walked speedily toward Lit. After that dull half hour of my life (I didn’t regret having been late for the cause of saving lives) I walked to Biology. I ate an apple as I walked, eyes ever scanning the cluttered halls for a devilishly handsome man, approximately 6’5”, green eyes…perfect in every way. Because I don’t want to see him, I look for him twice as hard. That way, if I do spot him I can make sure I’m not mid-apple-bite or looking helpless or hapless if he spots me back.

It’s ridiculous, I know. I told myself to relax, from day one, but I can’t help it. I don’t look for potential mates like most females would do, especially one with my height advantage above the crowd. No, I’m looking out for the prior mate. After two weeks I was beginning to feel comfortable that he might not have class on M, W, F. Phew.

At the beginning of each Biology class the professor asks if there are any questions. I had two: why do bubbles form on the inside of a glass half full of water left out all night? And, what happens to the DNA of a donor when transfused into the recipient? I asked neither because someone wanted to complain about how the online quiz system was set up. I ignored this and stared at a DNA strand model on the desk, wondering, with my left arm limp at my side.

Biology expired and I pushed through the clotted classroom door with the rest of the fleeing life forms. Mother Nature guided me toward the restroom; those post-donation liquids were doin their job. The glance in the mirror as I dried my clean hands showed me that I looked kinda cute. Then there was the inevitable “did you play basketball?” conversation at the bathroom sink with the well-meaning though complete stranger lady washing her hands.

That held me a few seconds longer in the restroom than I had anticipated. Normally from Biology I will just beat the crowds and walk outside on level two toward my next class. And even though it was a perfectly lovely day outside, the crowds had cleared a bit so I figured I’d just walk inside.

Walking past the food court I noticed how unsatisfying the Band-Aid on my pricked finger had become (the pricked finger is always the most painful, isn’t it), no longer sticking after the restroom hand washing. So I veered toward a trash can. A mere half-second delay.

As I merged into the flow of traffic again, my annoying hall-scanning eyes refocused on the oncoming pedestrians. It’s funny how much can happen in about two seconds. Really, any combination of infinite possibilities can be sparked in two seconds or less: the game-winning three-pointer; the bullet released from the barrel; the recognition of green eyes, sculpted body, height, hair, face...

Two seconds earlier and I would have gone down the hall to the right none the wiser.

Now, I’ll never be able to say for certain why, whether for 450mL of blood loss or not, but my heart burned. As soon as he recognized me too, I waved my unpricked hand and smiled. He smiled, in a way that seemed entirely pleasant to me. We kept walking away.

The first thought that was recognizable enough to be processed was: I’m glad the mirror said I looked cute. I walked two halls and four flights of stairs, mindlessly sliding one hand over the other before I acknowledged any other organ function. Heart kept burning, throat gears started cranking in tight, eyes fought back a siege of tears. No, no more tears for this one.

The two-second frame replayed over and over in my mind and I realized something. I actually wasn’t trying to analyze what his look could have meant or if I might have done anything different. I wouldn’t have. I just didn’t want the image to fade. At first I thought that was a healthy sign. But it’s so pathetic because that directly reflects the stubborn heart inside me that tries not to let him fade with each beat…

I’ve tried two strategies to beat him out. I’ve tried to love again, to love more even. Henry David Thoreau gave me this idea when he said, “There is no remedy for love but to love more.” Well that hasn’t happened, and so it’s like the deepest part of me that has known love still only knows him.

Then I’ve tried to reason to myself that I’ll find someone better for me; someone that is like him but that I can actually marry. But that always makes me think of the characteristics of eternity and I realize that there is no person in this world like him. I didn’t just love things about him, I loved him: his soul, his skeleton, his existence, his DNA, his stubbornness right along with his unbelievable patience and incredible heart. I held his hand as though there was nowhere else in the world to go.

Which is understandable, even expected, if you know him. He’s an amazing guy. But it wasn’t smart on my part…it was just setting myself up for hurt. But I don’t care anymore that I ever felt pain, I so regret how much I ever hurt him. If he’s like me (and we sure had a lot in common) then he doesn’t remember many unpleasant things from the past. I mostly remember good times and a cool relationship. But the more I think about it, the more and more and more I begin to discover how selfish I was.

We do this thing, women, humans in general probably. We want to be so accommodating to a partner whom we’re crazy about that we nearly lose our individual identity to the building of the relationship. As I did that with this man, and he never seemed to resist my attentions, it’s almost like I turned the relationship into a tool capable of bringing me whatever I wanted. To me, he appeared to be accepting and enjoying my willingness to be available whenever, to make time for him/us whenever, never a conflict when it came to being together.

But then, because I thought my actions were desired, I figured he wanted the relationship to go the same way I wanted it to, and so I pushed it along my way. I knew what was best, because I knew what I ('we') wanted… Is this even making sense? I bet it would to him. I think I drove him crazy. Either he is inhumanly patient or he just didn’t realize at the time exactly why I was driving him crazy so he couldn’t put it into words: but I just didn’t know I was being so selfish. I thought we wanted the same things. Now I realize with dread as I look back that I’m not sure if I ever truly listened to what he wanted between us. I just figured we had that in common, too.

Now, I’m not presuming I would deserve it, but if I had the chance to love him again, I wouldn’t ‘again’ anything. I'm not sure I would even know what to do, really. I would need to get to know him better. Fully. I would want to just sit and listen to him, maybe never say a word; just be still and listen, even if he didn’t say much. Obviously I wouldn’t want to try again if we still couldn’t proceed to marriage, and so why do I even conjecture about hopeful impossibilities.

Maybe it’s been easy for him to remove me from his heart and he hasn’t thought about me since I last spoke with him some time last year. But me, I have thought about him every day since I’ve known him. I think more recently I can’t escape the regret of how selfish I was. This regret keeps the blood from clotting and the heart from stopping. I really need to kill this old heart because she’s not going to get another chance. And she’s not on speaking terms with him so the ongoing sculpture of apology and regret, being painfully detailed over time, will never be seen by its sponsor…He unwittingly reminds me every day how useless it is to be selfish. I'm trying to change.

See, this is why I was on the lookout. So as to make sure we didn’t make eye contact, to make sure I passed by no livelier than a shadow. But the man saw me. And smiled.

I did some more walking and this walking led me to my last class and after that to a classmate’s car, wherein we drove to IHOP and conversed pleasantly over consumable provender. Basically I went on a lunch date. It was fun.

It’s always when I get my priorities kinda lined up and get out of my own way that curiously cool things happen, without me really even trying.

So, I walked into some great things today. I’m optimistic. I consider every experience a positive one, because I always make its end positive. It’s in my blood. (O+)

Thought Snack-MLK Jr

Everything that we see is a shadow cast by that which we do not see.

Random Nose Memory

As I was blowing my nose today, politely removed into the bathroom away from the general population, I experienced a moment of rememory. That is to say I remembered a memory...

In high school I had a geography class that was rather enjoyable. A fellow student (whose name was probably not Stanley, though it persistently comes to mind) would more-often-than-seemed-healthy slink to the front of the class and retrieve a stiff tissue from the provided box. Sometimes he would return to his seat and blow his nose, other times he would stay at the front, facing away from the rest of us. But always he chose to relieve his sinus chambers at full-human volume at a time when all was quiet. It wasn't outrageously loud, his way of nose blowing, but there was, in my opinion, no effort to disguise his process of snot elimination.

I always appreciated that. Why should blowing one's nose be awkward or embarrassing? It's normal, we all do it (or we should, considering the alternative) and we all sound different when we do. It's only when another might witness extending strings or loose drips of snot that it might make him or her uncomfortable, but that's his or her problem. He or she does not have to look, no matter how alarming the noise.

Though I seem to believe a restroom is a fantastic escape for nasal vacation, complete with hand-sanitizing capabilities, yet I would never deny a person the right to blow their nose however, wherever, or whatever decibel intensity they might desire. Just so long as they catch it all in the tissue...

Anyway, I always respected not-Stanley for his bold disregard for the rest of us. I'm pretty sure no one else except him ever blew their nose, but, it sort of gave me the courage to blow my nose more often, wherever I felt like it--though still discreetly. What can I say, I've got a shy nose. I guess.

I recall that I never really watched, only heard and inwardly applauded. I didn't personally know not-Stanley beyond the geography of the classroom, so I didn't want to know if he looked... You know what I mean. We all look. In case anything important came out. Like brain or something. That wouldn't be so much gross as it would be worrisome. I wouldn't want anyone to see if I blew my brains out, so that's probably why I usually blow my nose in private. But I'll always remember not-Stanley's defiance of social norms and how it nearly inspired me.

That's possibly all I remember from the class. Oh, and that it was really fun to color in all the map worksheets.

Black Friday

The world is probably one of my least favorite places the day after Thanksgiving. Perhaps there were some great deals that I missed, but I'm going on a mediterranean cruise in a few weeks. I don't need to spend money on anything else.

Instead of venturing into the Blackness of the day, I played mommy-daughter-day with Alexandra, a lovely, young neighbor friend. At my mom's house in Provo we had a bundle of neighbor kids stay the night. Alex woke me up because I told her to, before she'd have to go home so I could see her. She's a delightful twenty-year-old trapped in a ten-year-old's body. :) We quasi-snuggled for a few minutes as I fully awoke, then went upstairs to eat some breakfast.

At a point where I'd sat down to dink at the piano she came up to me with a suggestion. "You may not like this idea, but here's what it is: can I do your hair, and you can do mine?" Something like that. We set out to do our hair (and of course i knew she wanted to do make up, too, by the way she watched me put it on the day before) and it was the most simple and inexpensive and charming fun two girls can have. Make up went over pretty well. We only had to wipe away a little renegade mascara with a q-tip. Here's how stunningly we turned out:




After being beautified we went upstairs again and I made lunch for all the kiddos (fresh Mac & Cheese and Thanksgiving left overs. Glorious, I know). I asked Alex if she wanted to go see Tangled, the movie, and she said yes. We looked online for times but when we got to the theater seats were sold out. So we went to another theater, Movies 8, and looked for other movies and times. She wanted to see Easy A. I couldn't remember really what it was about, but she said she and her sister had wanted to go see it and I asked if she was sure her dad would let her (PG-13) and she said yes. Of course they always say yes.

The movie didn't start for another hour and twenty, so we had to find things to do. We got the tickets and drove over to the car wash, got the express spritz and rinse/no dry service to clean off the salt and what-looked-like-poo off my car...and then I dragged her (of course willingly she came) to KOHL's and we tried on cute clothes/business suit options for my limo driving job. I hate how hardly anything every fits my body quite right.... Anyway, we killed some time like a ma and daughter would at a store, then we steered ourselves over to Cold Stone for a sweet, melty treat to sneak into the movie with us. (Cold Stone has a dark chocolate peppermint flava...delish with almonds and coconut.)

The movie Easy A....yeah..not exactly what I hope to take ten-year-old ears and eyes to...But still, it was actually enjoyable. I'm glad the ultimate message could be summed up: avoid messing up your life with premarital/extramarital sex and telling lies...but the presentation was unsurprisingly irreverent. I talked to Alex afterward, expressing my feelings about the movie, these same ones I'm saying here, and she was mature about it, but also still so innocent, ya know. 10 years...she's learned a lot, but we only come to find that the more we live, the more there is to learn, right? Well, I felt kind of bad having taken her. I was sure to mention what I disapproved of and how the consequences of the portrayed actions were rather true to life, etc. She listened and agreed.

I thought how I wished my own little sister (17) would have come, as well as Alexandra's big sister (16); they hadn't been invited but, even if they had, and had come, interactions with them would have been so different during the day's activities. The life-growth in a day, let alone six or seven years, is immeasurable, really. And maybe what happens is that people they admire, like big sisters, expose them to sleazy stuff little by little over the years and they begin to think they know what they think and understand what they feel. They're discovering their place in the world, defining themselves, either by the world's standard or some other standard, but by mid-teen years, we've pretty much got it all figured out, right? Or at least we definitely know we don't need anyone's help to figure it out.

Sweet, tender Alex was happy to have spent the time with me. She expressed gratitude for the things I spent money on, but there was unmistakable, unexpressed gratitude that I could read on her face that she was so glad to have been "mothered" for a day. Alex lost her own mother nearly seven years ago, an uninvited illness placing a permanent resident of unknowable grief in the hearts of four young children and a brave, unshrinking father. I have no power to replace, but I can love. And I do.

Money can buy and time can spend, but one free afternoon sponsored the priceless building of memory. Eight hours of my twenty-six years given to do whatever I wanted, and I can't think of a single thing I could have wanted more. If I were her mother I would be so grateful....That sounds bizarrely egotistical in a way. I didn't know her mother at all, but if I left four children in mortality I would be eternally grateful for every kindness bestowed on my children. It was my humbling and cherished honor to play mommy today.

I feel I got the best Black Friday deal of the day.

Presumptuous

There is a sideways stream of snow flowing through the air outside . . . actually, it's more like unto a flash flood gushing between homes and down the streets. I am so glad to be inside my nice, warm home that is surrounded by small, immature and leafless trees, with no need to go anywhere (me nor the trees). It only took a minute for my car to frost over and blend into the white frenzy. He (my car) and I are expected in Salt Lake tomorrow morning. We'll see.

I want to write a few words on the subject of wedding receptions. Trampled topic? Uninteresting? Your chance to stop reading is now.

But if you continue (yay!):



To stand in line for at least half an hour. . . .

Why would I, a tender-footed and tired bride, subject myself to a receiving line for a few solid hours when what I truly desire is to take my husband home and . . . help him loosen his tie a little?

Well, call me selfish (as I'm already being presumptuous), but I propose that a wedding day should be organized to include exactly everything you would want for one day. You know, within reason.

I love people and will want to receive as many as possible at the time of my wedding, but I refuse to submit to the receiving line. I am stubbornly creating quite a dilemma for myself, but I'm going to try to make it happen.

How? Yes, I don't know quite yet. Somehow.

When you travel, it's impossible to see everything and to meet everyone; there's just not enough time. But as you've traveled through life, you've met thousands of people, hundreds of which will be considered important enough to invite to your wedding reception. And how can it be satisfactory to shake a hand, share a laugh and send away with a hug; so little for all these lovely people?

It's like Santa. How does he manage to touch every unnaughty life in so little time? (spoiler alert) Oh, right, he's not real. But if he were, what if he decided to invite all his favorites to the North Pole for Christmas instead, certainly he would dread the line that would form as everyone waited to sit on his lap. . . .

What if I reached out to "mes invités" (that's French for 'my guests'), with an interactive website of sorts, before they even came to the reception? That would be cool. They would then arrive at the reception, already informed about the party they formerly knew nothing about, they wouldn't have to meet parents unless they truly wanted to, and by then they'd know what everyone looked like, sounded like, etc. They would just need to come for the food, and to deliver a present if they so wished me well.

I'm just making this up. Seat of my pants.

But, that could be cool. Don't send a million fancypants invitations; instead send a shot of my smiling face next to his* on a card with a Web address and a reception date (you know, in case some are interwebbedly challenged so they can still know when to show up).

(*there currently is no 'his')

Then, on the day of the festivities, I would be in a nice dress with a fantastic apron, doting on my guests with delicious sweets and eats as they mingled. They could arrive, and first thing find a table, or purposefully be seated, much like at a restaurant, and my groom and I could visit each table, handing out favors and goodies, deciding for ourselves if we would like to linger at their table, or not.

Or,

There could be a blasted line, BUT I will not be standing. In the very least i will have a tall stool propped beneath me which would allow for graceful transition from sitting to standing, and back, with little notice of the shift of weight from my feet to my bottom. In my wildest dreams it would be a hammock behind me, high and taut, allowing for the same ease of movement, but adding to it a nice dangling sway for fun.

Along the receiving line there would be food samples. People come for the food and to wait in line; why not combine the two at once? So they'd sign their name, drop their gift, start snacking on various cheeses and popcorns and olives and smoothie shots and whatever else I'll be in the mood to have served. That way, by the time they get to me, they'd be happily surprised that they hadn't just been waiting awkward and anxiously, having involuntarily memorized the balding pattern on the head of the man in front of them.

And we all hate that moment where we've pulled up to the groom's ma and old man and mutter how we know the bride while baldy take two minutes-feels-like-hours with the best dressed couple, and we're stuck: no retreating, no way to avoid filling that empty, in-law gap until the couple is free. . . .

Then, all those who didn't see the website would have the opportunity to do so at the "movie corner" where the couple's history and cutesy kissy faces would stream, continuing all night on repeat. Even better, the images and sounds on repeat could be the wrap up to something "to be continued" from the website. Hook them, bring them in, make them want to pay attention to something more than food and couple. This also doubles as a great little kid amusement area.

And you're guaranfrickenteed there will be popcorn at my wedding, a perfect addition to a movie corner. Doing this.

And Bean bags. More hammocks. Hey, it's (it'll be) my reception.

Then there's all this traditional stuff, like cutting a cake and nibbling a bite from each other's fingers; throwing a bouquet at the next single lady to presumptuously post on her blog; slipping a garter from bride's leg and flicking it to the next single male to hang it from his rearview mirror. . . . I would go along with these traditions, for fun. For pictures and smiles.

Anything that brings smiles should greatly be considered.

But, I'm not much of a dancer. I would be okay to do the parent dance thing and the couple's first dance thing, but I hereby promise the songs will be very short, no more than two minutes. Two minute and eight second max. (because THIS, I'm pretty sure, will be my wedding dance song. Just imagine it's a girl singing to a boy and not a pig. This is another song that may show up somewhere that day.)

But, if my hubaroo wants to dance till his pants catch fire, he can do what he wants. It's his wedding day, too. (And actually, there are sincere and weighted considerations that the reception would even be the day/evening before the day of wedding so that the instant that I'm married I can go off to , , , reception only my husband for the rest of time and all eternity.) I can wiggle my hips and cheer him on from over by the cheese tray.

I like the sound of all this, more or less. One thing I've told myself before is that I'll never have my wedding reception inside a church cultural hall . . . but I don't care so much anymore. Churches are great places.

As for other details, like colors, decor, dress, flowers, etc. . . . We'll go with the flow. But I think it would be way sweet if the men wore brown suits. Something untraditional.

I'm pretty easy to please, I think. I postulate that my wedding day/reception day will be quite easy going and laid back. If so, it will be a perfect day. A great way to start off a bazillion more days of marriage. Awesome idea.

Good Night

I might not have much time left.

That is, I took a late, long nap today and I've cheated tonight with some "sleep aid" pills. I don't take them often so when I do, they work pretty well. They knock me out pretty decently. So I may not have much time to write.

But I just waaaaanna!

Not sure about what.

I've been exercising pretty consistently for a few weeks now and I feel great. Even if no one else notices, I feel great. I feel attractive, even though there's always room to push myself and improve. Bodies are cool. I've been blessed with a really healthy one and I'm ever so grateful for that.

Did you have a letter from the First Presidency of the church read to you in church recently? We had two. One was about not relying on self-help institutions. Lately, and especially since hearing that, I've been noticing how maaaany groups there are that promise to change a person, improve a person, make lasting alterations to a person. I see them and I recognize how the gospel of Jesus Christ will do all that and more, for free...well, for the price of sacrifice. Which is often a price these groups try to avoid. They want to make us comfortable in our inconsistencies, cradle us into accepting 'who we are' over who we should become. Of course many have great intentions, but what does it all boil down to? Will power. Choosing, deciding for one's self. If we use our faith to dig deep into ourselves and humility to allow our weaknesses to be revealed to us, then gospel living will bring the Spirit of God to sweep in and surround us, support us and truly change us.

The Spirit of God. He enters a physical, mortal sphere and is the only thing that can touch our spirits. Of course he has many means, but he always has a hand in it. Like positive and inspiring music, or nature. Oh how nature can melt my heart sometimes! Even when it's a landscaped covered in blasted snow. :) That momentary pause where our spirit recalls a majestic Creator...that's the Spirit's power in nature. I'm grateful for such a strategically designed world where everything physical can teach us something spiritual. That is a perfect design.

Another thing that's been on my mind is marriage. I'm not married and sometimes I think I'd like to be. I've been setting and committing myself to a bunch of goals and I'm glad to see my productivity and positivity increasing. We sure can do a lot when we set our minds to it. I was thinking in terms of kitchen appliances, as I can tend to, and I thought about how life is like a freezer.

We gather things from time to time to put in there and preserve them for longer. After a while there seems like there isn't more room for anything and then some one else moves in and puts their own food in the freezer (perhaps marked with their initials so it doesn't get eaten by the wrong mouth) and the old frozen goods are organized in such a way to make a lot more room for the other person's food.

Organization of the skills and talents we have can make room for more, and can make room for others, whether it's appreciation for their talents, collaboration with their skills, or making room for a marriage partner. A stretch? yes. But that's the way I think, nearly always, in terms of comparison and analogy.

Anyway...I don't think I'm doing anything wrong in my life that a great guy would avoid me for. I'm making improvements and steps to be ready for whenever and whatever. I learn from the guys that I do date. I learn a ton, actually. I'm glad for that. Most recently I've learned how I care too much on what matters too little. I really took that to heart and actually figured out a way to turn that into a positive energy. I care when it's time to care and don't emotionally project any plans onto anyone. I used to care and then hold on to that caring as though it mattered more than it meant to a guy. A single guy doesn't want to make plans until HE wants to, really. I'm also too accommodating, which I'm trying to repair into a strength...but can't figure it out yet. I'm too willing to see a guy I like, or be available whenever he is. For some guys perhaps that steals the thrill from being a hunter...in a way. If the bunny hops right into your arms while you're setting a trap.....I can see where that loses its charm.

What I HAVE been doing wrong lately is allow affection too early on. Sometimes I wish i lived in the time of "good ol days manners" where it was even alarming for a man and a woman to hold hands. My mind lives there for the most part. I sincerely can not hold a guy's hand as I walk next to him until I trust him and until he's made some sort of commitment to me. Hands signify creation and creativity, following and leading, security and trust, care and commitment, hard work and soft help. When I hold the hand of a man that is taking me somewhere, that to me displays togetherness and love. So HOW can I allow myself to kiss and be kissed before I can even hold his hand? I need to figure that one out. Need to think with my hands... :)

But that would be where I'd put my money on why I'm not in a relationship, one that is connected at the hands: I'm too affectionate when the relationship doesn't merit it. I've let kisses spoil the gradual ascent into friendship. And then the boy stops contacting me and I regret that I let my passions steer me instead of bridling them into a positive force of relationship building. I'm grateful for all I'm learning...from my failures...but I'm pretty tired of doing it my way. Sometimes I want to quit dating, but then I remind myself to quit doing it my way. I try. I just do my best to be me and hope that's the most attractive person that some guy, some day, will ever see.

But if not...I'll keep exercising for me, I'll keep reaching for goals for me and for those whom I can enrich, I'll set my heart and my affections on the creator of my strengths and healer of my frailties. Being single isn't a failure, it's a stage, a level. I am grateful for each day I live, no matter who comes and who goes. As long as I keep myself from going away from God, whom I love so eternally, then it won't matter all my losses or disappointments.

Because when we trust God to hold on to one of our hands, we'll still have two hands to use.

Well, time to dream. :)