Future

We talk about or future more than we talk about the present. I guess its a way to over compensate for the fact that there are more questions than answers in our "present."

I guess I just worry that we'll miss something in the "right now" because we're filling our time and space with the future.

I've officially been here now over a year and a half. Time has flown by and I still love it here.

I hate that I can't afford to do more...and I also hate that I've spent so much of my time here looking for a job elsewhere. Those two points only slightly relate to each other.

A year ago, I was job hunting with a plan to relocate. I didn't find anything by the summer, so I renewed my lease. I'm job hunting again and as usual I'm concerned about the "What ifs?"

So we talk about the future. Because not having an answer to the "Do we sign up for another year of this long distance relationship, if a job offer doesn't come through" question sucks the life of every conversation.

So we talk about the future. What home repairs need to be done to facilitate the move. What type of home we'd like to work toward.

I just wonder what happens when we get to the future.

Awkward Moments

1. The co-worker that I absolutely adore asked me if I was set to have a "sparkly Christmas" then she winked. Considering that this is the same co-worker that asked me if LC had packed his birthday suit for my birthday weekend, I wasn't completely shocked. However, I'm glad that he and I have discussed an engagement and I wasn't sitting on the edge, because the implication alone might have pushed me over. Sidenote: a Christmas proposal would mean that anything on the Christmas wish list would have to roll-over to Vday or my Bday....that does not sound like "winning" to me.

2. I don't even know if my tights are control top...I could just have that much mid-section. Either way, I'm sitting at my desk and I realized that on my last potty trip, I did not apply myself properly and the top of my tights are far lower than they should be. I tried to adjust the top and lost my grip a bit. It was the snap heard around the world. If I had been in church everyone would have assumed a child got a pop with a belt (sigh).

3. I woke up this morning with my glasses beneath me. It wasn't until I looked in the mirror and turned my head to the side to adjust my view that I realized my head wasn't crooked it was my frames. I went to Lenscrafters today to get them fixed and when I placed them on the counter the nice woman glanced at them, then glanced back at me, and finally said "I'm going to need to apply a fair amount of pressure to fix these, this is just a disclaimer that anything can happen to them." This is the fourth time I've gotten my glasses adjusted, never had I gotten a disclaimer before now. Oh yea....and I'm pretty sure my back imprint was on one of the lenses. I shouldve cleaned it before taking them in.

4. I decided to munch on some Kashi during my meeting today. I accidently grabbed a cluster without looking and tried to bite down on it and failed. I refused to make eye contact with my boss who was facing me and saw my defeat. I just took a fireball approach to the Kashi cluster and gave up on chewing (sigh).

5. Following the Kashi debacle I found myself needing to sneeze and cough. What followed was almost a grumble or some sort of animalistic mating call.

6. While waiting for my coffee to brew I inhaled 48 fl oz of water...then had my coffee...then another 16 fl oz of water. I was Tom Hanks in the scene below...and the autoflush tried to Sandman me....

The Weight

I don't like admitting that I'm scared...about anything. For instance, I don't mess with the dark, but who wants to admit that after nearly three decades on this earth the absence of light is not casually alarming, but it is enough to yield a quickened heart rate and the need to go to a zen mind space.

The dark is not why, after nearly 30 days, I've popped back up to share some Dani-babble. The light is now becoming my problem. I've gotten a lot of "why aren't you blogging" questions and while my standard answer of "i've got nothing to say" isn't a lie, it certainly isn't the complete truth.

I've got nothing going on that I'm not too scared to talk about. Already, I hate this post.

Here we go...

I'm sitting on a bus halfway through my bi-monthly pilgrimage to DC and watching The West Wing.

The scene that I just paused involved an accomplished woman, who could not accomplish being a successful mate. She was arguing with the man in her life, who agreed that while she was horrible at relationships, he knew that with time and work they would be fine.

While I'm doing nothing to capture the emotion of the moment in this watered-down summation of the scene, I felt enough to pause it and start typing.

The weight of having a good thing and facing complete darkness about how to make it work is what occupies more time than I wish to admit. It's what scares me, its what has made sleeping a game of roulette and I'm starting to lose more times than win.

I've felt the "this could be it" moment in a relationship before. I've felt it, talked about, silently planned what the "it" meant. I knew ten years ago that I was in a special relationship, five years ago I knew I was altar bound, three years ago I thought I had a clear (albeit unexpected) picture of what love and dani meant.

The altar? I don't even have the phone number of both of those exes.

Being wrong and oversharing about the relationships that went to hell, has made the one in front of me something I'm more cautious about. But now the weight of what is going on is pushing me to the edge of a cliff.

We're at the point where just living on the same coast isn't going to work. We're at the point where I have designated hours in the week, just to apply for jobs, We're at the point where we both want more and we want it with each other.

I love LC and even that is a disgusting understatement. But truth be told, I love my city, job, apartment, and life. I don't want to lose myself. I'm terrified about being wrong. Again.

I'm a woman looking at a great thing and making a choice to go for it (and praying that in five years I don't look back and realize I once again mistook marriage for an altar call). I'm just struggling to admit how something that makes me so happy, can scare me so much. LC is constantly reassuring me that things will happen they way they are supposed to and I know he's right. I just want this to be right....I just want to be the accomplished woman and a successful mate.

Balance

I'm missing balance in my life. I'm spending more time wanting the next step than actually living in and enjoying what is going on right now.

I don't know how to balance things out.

Nothing to Something

My birthday weekend was wonderful! LC got in Thursday night and we went right from the train station to dinner, kicking off what was 3 days of "What do you want to do?" with the responses ranging from "Nothing" to "Lets walk over there and see what's happening."

It was a weekend that was short on plans but long on hilarity and laziness.

The only downside was watching him leave this morning. The goodbyes are getting infinitely harder.

Bday Eve

I'm exhausted...I feel like i'm alllllllwwwaaaayyyysss exhausted. The best thing about my bday tomorrow is that I'm not going to work.

Jesus be a pillow.

My Way

I don't consider myself a brat or even particularly spoiled. However, I am starting to realize that I do not like to be told "no" nor do I want to be corrected. So maybe I am a brat, spoiled, and self-righteous.





I can't even believe I typed that.





Seriously, in my mind, I'm usually right. I hate admitting that I am wrong and even when wrong, I will try my best to shade my wrongness as a misunderstanding that eventually leads back to me being right.





"See you clearly misinterpreted what I was saying. I was saying what you said but in my own way."





A mess.





I also hate being late on something.





"Did you know that such-and-such did the whatcha-ma-jig?"





My usual response: "Yes, but it really was a copy cat of the original such-and-such who mastered the whatcha-ma-jig in 1972."





Smug bastard I am. Does it make me more smug and intolerable to blog about my belief in my rightness? Perhaps.