My Own Tragic Comedy:Life and Vulnerability

I often wait for parts of my life to be sparkling and pristine before I divulge to my readers what life looks like for me, but I'm finding that it just isn't realistic if I want to keep up a blog. Most importantly, I won't ever share any parts of my life if that's the case. More and more I feel like I'm leading a tragic comedy, with each painful instance pulsating and reverberating the void, perpetuating the idea that I'll always be falling in a ditch somewhere...alone, tripping up the stairs and spilling my neighbor's coffee on accident...alone, and after declaring my love, ending up alone.

I get these notions that certain events are going to occur, and they end up hilariously underwhelming. For instance, I somehow imagined that things were improving the realm of men and that I may have the odd chance of getting smooched. I did, but I was attacked by a old friend with down-syndrome who got the wrong idea about what a friendship really looks like. The week before this, I was asked to be someone's girlfriend five times in the space of twenty minutes. Unfortunately, he didn't quite get the hint and he wasn't exactly the type of man I'd like to be mine for eternity. I promised him a date with a girl that I knew and I'm praying that this magical girl will appear sometime VERY soon so I can avoid more unpleasant circumstances like this in the very near future.

Also, I'd been planning on having a very serious, emotional conversation with a friend Thursday night and was planning on using the next day to cry if things didn't go as planned. Life has a funny way of giving you things you plan for in unexpected ways. I did use all of Friday to cry, but it was for very different reasons. My incredible uncle Peter quietly slipped through the veil  Thursday night. I had worked for 12 hours and was headed over to hear my kid from New York open his mission call when I saw my mom's face light up on my phone. She told me that he died alone and my heart burst into a hundred pieces. Not Peter. I walked in and feigned overwhelming joy when Austin opened his call. I was so proud of him, and it was so good to see Kristina, but her eyes. Suzy's eyes. More pain.  I went over to my friend's house and cried holding my broken heart. I sat on his couch and stared up at him, finding it ironic that I'd imagined myself in the exact same place, but crying over him, not my uncle.

The next day I felt numb. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All the emotion I'd been carrying for so long collapsed, crushing me. I lay immobilized in my bed and didn't get up for hours. I've been running on fumes since then, emotions and thoughts everywhere and nowhere. More quiet blows of life hit since then. Today I lay in my bed for hours and skipped church and all other obligations and cooked-trying to create beauty from the mess inside my mind.

I made a lot of food.

My roommates did not complain.

After stifling and ignoring emotions again, I attempted to write, and then got sucked into the idea that everything had to be perfect, and then I got lost in the  thought of who I am writing for. One of those people was always Peter-a man who believed I could write anything and be anything. Now I'm not so sure.  I've been struggling with this idea of vulnerability-  what it really means, what it entails, what it looks like, and how to just let go.  I know that I can't get anywhere I want without it. It's just...so hard. This means being honest, running the risk of being a burden, allowing people to see all of me and gracefully allowing the consequences to happen. This means allowing myself the opportunity to be loved. (It's taking a lot of vulnerability to post this)

I can only continue to live the life I've been given now. Sometimes that means not being okay for a few days. For now, I will try to communicate the best I can, focus on the plan of salvation, try and keep up with school during all of this, pray for strength and to be open to these difficult life lessons, and breathe. It's all I can do. Until then, prayers would be appreciated. Most importantly, Keep my Aunt Kathy in your prayers. She is the most incredible woman I know and she could use the love and support at this time.


Facebook Post from Friday.

My beloved uncle Peter quietly passed beyond the veil last night. Thank you Peter for always making me laugh, for always loving me and believing in the beauty of my dreams when I may not have believed they were possible. Thank you for taking the time to see me and my inner brilliance when I felt small and overlooked. Thank you for your perseverance, your on point humor, and for unashamedly being you. You definitely are one of my heroes! I love you. Rest in peace. Your giant heart and spirit will be greatly missed

 — with Kathy Harnett and Peter Harnett.

I Should Have Just Stayed in Bed...

Sometimes it seems like Monday mornings are pre-destined to be tornadoes of terrible circumstance. 

You know what I mean- the mornings where all the little things that could possibly go wrong perpetuate into a hellish hurricane of lousy luck? Well readers, in a world where I honestly have no right to complain, I'd like to share the lamentations of a silly, single girl who had little rain cloud looming over her head this Monday morning, in hopes that you'll chuckle at my lunacy. 

After a long, emotional weekend dealing with enough emotional baggage to cripple a baby elephant, I crawled into my bed with weary limbs full of lead and an equally heavy heart. With barely enough energy to pull on pajamas, I pulled the covers over my head without a second thought. Thoughts that buzzed like a bustling beehive haunted my efforts to peacefully lull away to dreamland, so sleep was rough and the cat wasn't in the slightest amused. 

I awoke late the next morning, bleary-eyed, slack-jawed, hair on end, mascara remnants smeared down my pock-marked face like a zombie beauty pageant winner. Warmth encompassed my wary form beckoning me with angelic song "Stay. Your day will be better this way." 

After ten minutes of my shoulder deities ( I use this term VERY loosely) duke-ing it out, I decided it was better to suck it up, deal with what I've got, march forward, and take advantage of the day given to me. With few wardrobe changes and time quickly ticking on, I left the house with my hair a tangled mess, face barely covered up and eyes a bit more swollen than normal. I approached my clunker car with blind hope it survived the weekend. My front tire was almost deflated completely and I was already 10 minutes behind schedule to get to my class. I turned the engine over a couple times and finally got the thing to start and drove oh so slowly to a gas station a mile and a half away. Upon my arrival, I realized I didn't have ANY change. I went in, grabbed a soggy breakfast 'sandwich' that sat under a heat lamp a bit too long, and got some cash back so I could feed the Air pump machine. Grimy hands, dysfunctional hoses, silent Mormon curses, and a dollar in quarters later, I was on my way, albeit 15 minutes past class starting time. 

On my drive, I decided to test out my ninja skills. 

There is a reason why I am not a ninja. 

The sandwich- A "bacon, egg and cheese biscuit" sat sadly in plastic baggie on the passenger seat, looking soggy, bacon almost gray. The whole time I was filling up my tires I wished a hobo would have walked by so I could give him or her my expensive stomachache waiting to happen. Alas, none of my hobo friends emerged, and the sad, soggy sandwich sat and whispered in a smoky, trucker voice "Why not just take a bite, sweetheart? Who are you to turn your nose up at breakfast?"

The fat kid gave in. With one knee on the wheel, my hands ripped furiously at the tight plastic. I took a bite and gagged. The smoky trucker voice was laughing as I spat the congealed nastiness back to the plastic chasm from whence it came. I reached for a water bottle to wash away the taste of putrid breakfast from my palette and attempted to open the lid, while driving still with my knee. Water gushed through the seal, down to the natural point of flow... the crotch of my pants. I flew into a demented yoga-esque pose, nearly standing with my right foot on the pedal trying to avoid the waterfall cascading down my seat while keeping the speed limit and trying to forget the horrendous taste in my mouth, using one hand to steer, the other to wipe water away in vain like a lunatic. Five minutes later, I jumped out of my car to assess the damage, but my car was so dirty I couldn't see a reflection. I made a b-line for the nearest bathroom, up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway. I tried to frantically  use my bag to cover what moisture I could feel as I waddled toward the bathroom. I looked up to see an attractive, athletic  guy approaching me and I gave him a wan smile. He returned my smile with a shuddered grimace. I zoomed down the stretch of hall like a frazzled mess as I reached for the men's restroom door handle. I nearly screamed when I saw the blaring,unholy MEN'S sign as I started to open the door. Scarlet with embarrassment, I sprinted into the women's room to finally assess the damage. Luckily, you couldn't really tell where the water spilled because of the type of pants I was wearing, but I quickly found out why the gorgeous guy grimaced. I had leftover breakfast sandwich all over my face. 

I wouldn't smile back at me either.

I stood there, staring at myself in the mirror, not knowing what to do. 

So...I laughed. 

And laughed. and laughed. 

I picked up the little bits of dignity lying in pieces on the floor, wiped the CRAP off my face, slung my bag over my shoulder and behind, and marched to class with the hope its content would help me and my character, 20 minutes late.

 I sat at the back, pretending to be a shadow and blend into the gray walls. When class was over, I turned on the car and heard one of my brother's favorite songs and remembered it was Veteran's day and thought of my dear, sweet grandpa. I couldn't help but let the waves of memory wash over me like a rough stone by the sea as I sat solitary in the parking lot.   I drove home and missed my brother and grandfather so much I couldn't breathe. I sat and felt selfish for thinking these things, for feeling this way, for allowing myself to think of how crazy and awful my Monday had been in two hour's time, when I'm so blessed to live where I do, to have the freedoms to live and worship the way I do. 

I really am so blessed. 

But the urge to cry and assume the fetal position remained at the thought of more mania mounting on this Monday. So...I went home, and went back to my bed for a little bit to grant me more courage for more mishaps bound to happen later. ( And they did. I knocked over an entire bookshelf at JoAnn and a myriad of other objects while paroosing. I'm a hazard to bring to stores. Oh, and I cried looking at acne products and turned down time with a man to hang out with Mam after declaring earlier that I could marry him.)   

Maybe someday I'll find out why I needed this Monday. Perhaps it was just to entertain you, which may be reason enough. (If I did, I'm happy you have found a little joy in my hilarium.) Bless you for reading. 

But really...all of this could have easily been avoided

if I had only just stayed in bed. 

The Perils of the Dating Swamp

I'm sick of trudging through the dating swamp, picking up warty toad after toad in pursuit of a prince. I'm up to my eyeballs in muck and I am losing what little patience I have left. Am I destined to become the exception to the rule that everyone has another half, doomed to wander in this swamp forever? Even 'swamp people' have someone!  I'm just finished with the games, the drama, and with feeling like I'm not worthy enough to be pursued.
 Please. I'm not a super model, but I'm pretty fantastic.
Why can't any guy who is NORMAL see that?
Ugh.

Oh Valentine's Day

I honestly believe that my general feelings of animosity would not change even if i had a 'valentine' to share this day with. I don't wish to be cynical or anything, but hey. It's my nature, right? Every Valentine's feels like I waltzed into a free love parade. I hate that there has to be a day devoted to extravagance, heart shaped boxes, gooshy cards full of fluff, sex products and enough hideous stuffed animals to scare away any all the babies in Guatemala.
 Its sad that our country has to celebrate a NATIONAL holiday to remember to 'love' people. I hate that valentine's has turned into the 'cure all' day-That it doesn't matter if I'm a jerk all year, I can make it all up on Valentines. There is so much pressure on Valentines, to be significantly better than the year before, to put up more pomp, to give more romantic gifts.
Why does love have to be commercialized? I want a guy to bring me flowers because he saw them and thought of me, not because of a social pressure. Love (or its evil twin who often appears in incognito, Lust) shouldn't wait to be expressed one day of the year. We already have enough uh oh babies. (Not that I don't love them)  We've been blessed with a wonderfully short duration on this earth. If you love someone, don't wait until days like today to show someone that you do. I mean, by all means, if you were going to anyway and today just happens to be the day you express it, then good for you, but don't let today be the exception. I hope that your day is a good one, in remembrance of those that you do love. And for those without a special someone, Happy Independence day! Peace, Love and all that jazz.

Granny Conniptions

I have had the worst luck talking to old people today.  i just had a lady answer and say 'i have company. call me back in a week.' first of all, if you had company, what they crap did you answer the phone!?! I mean, seriously? And then i had an angry German lady tell me to not bother her and  call back in a couple months because she couldnt understand me, it was rude that I was interrupting her at that present moment and she had relatives to entertain. Ok lady, If you can't understand me now, what makes you think that you'll be able to in a couple months? Stop acting like someone was struck by lightning in your livingroom and treating me like I started a stampede during the funeral. C'mon! Take some Tums, Ex-lax and Geritol, people! So needless to say, I put the files away before I really snapped.

...Now that I've said that, I really hope I didn't interrupt a funeral.