Schizo

Disclaimer: So, I’ve been going back and forth about whether or not to post the blog this week because I feel like I’m on a bit of a roller coaster. And I’m not sure I want to admit to that. And I’m not sure I want people knowing it’s been a roller coaster week. And since I’m pretty much over it all at this point, I don’t want my friends to feel compelled to call to ask how I’m doing or feel badly that they didn’t call to ask how I was doing. This isn’t about them. It’s about me. And sometimes I think this stuff needs to be private. That said, if the purpose of this blog is *truly* to get it all out of my head and onto paper in the attempt to rid my brain of the clutter, then I suppose I’m going to have to post the good with the bad- the amazing with the frustrating. All of it. And so here we go. You've been warned.

Now, as indicated before, I’m the first person to tell anyone who asks that I have the best friends in the world. And if everyone had these types of people around, I am certain that life would be exponentially better for the entire planet. Seriously. I am so completely blessed to have these people in my life. And I’m even more fortunate in knowing that many of them are reading along with me on this little blog adventure. *Thank you* I so appreciate the comments…and the followers…and the feedback. People are offering such comfort and support and so many kind words. It is heartwarming knowing that I have such loyal people I can call my friends.

But sometimes, (only sometimes) I wish I had a separate group of friends- friends that don’t know me so well. Friends that are (or can be) completely impartial and objective (does that automatically remove them from the category of “friend”? Hmmm…) Friends that only know my situation and not my self. Friends that maybe have a better understanding of what it’s like to deal firsthand with deployment (how greedy am I? I just said I have the best friends in the world, and now I’m saying I wish I had OTHER friends. Illustrative point #23987 of my current, unsettled nature.) I guess that recently, just recently, (like the weather in the Midwest, give me 20 minutes and I’m sure that will change again) I wish I had more Army spouse friends.

As I have mentioned before, J and I don’t live in the same place. Besides the annoyance of just living hours away from him, what it also means is that I’m not regularly exposed to Army life, other Army spouses, or Army routines (yeah, how’s that for irony…when we lived in the same city for three years we were just friends…it wasn’t until J moved away that we fell in love and have spent two years doing the long distance thing. Right. J says that irony follows him everywhere. I’m starting to agree.) Now, to be totally frank, most of the time, that lack-of-proximity-to-Army-Post thing doesn’t bother me (at all). I’ve never really been into routine and regimen. And I’m *really* bad at things which require protocol (Worst.Army.Wife.EVER). And the several official Army events that I have attended…yeah, I’m not sure I fit in so well. But sometimes, I do wish I had a bit of that community.

Let me be clear: This is not to say that I have no Army spouse friends I can talk to. I actually have a handful who have been wonderful to me, even in the brief time that I’ve known them (note: they are far more like me than the stereotypical, Lifetime Channel “Army Wives” married-to-the-military picture you have in your head.) They’re all amazing people. Truly. But we don’t get to spend a great deal of quality time chatting it up. They are what I would call the “irregular friends” (relax, I’m not calling them weirdoes, I’m just contrasting them to friends I see/ communicate with on a REGULAR basis.)

Now, what started me on this little crazy train (I’m running off the rails? Ozzy? Anyone?) was a conversation I was having with one of my very good friends about writing this blog. I was talking about how cathartic it was. After having read the blog, she said to me, “Yeah, it’s great. I love your blog. You’re really funny...and it’s good writing. But it’s kinda, um, schizophrenic. You’re happy and funny and then all of a sudden- BAM you’re sad and serious.”

Um… yes. Wait, is that a bad thing? Crap.

I think I knew that that’s how I was feeling, but didn’t realize that that was what was coming out in the writing. And furthermore, is this normal? Do other people feel like this? Clearly I’m insane. Outstanding.

So, now I’m convinced I might actually be a lunatic. I’m probably not. This probably happens to all Army spouses when their better half is deployed (Right? Someone? Anyone? Yes?) But I mean, how does one broach that subject with someone, even with one of my Army spouse friends? “Hi Jane. How ya’ doing? How’re the kids? Good. Good. Say, I know we don’t talk on the regular, but it’s possible I’m going crazy, so I just thought I’d check in. Do me a favor and tap those really horrible memories of going through that extraordinarily difficult and painful period in your marriage. Yeah… were you crazy too? Great, thanks.”

I feel like that might be an awkward conversation.

And the thing is. I don’t want to talk about my feelings. I don’t want to discuss what triggered said random crying in the middle of the day. I don’t need a shrink (I know what the problem is. I miss J and worry about his safety.) I just need reassurance. Someone to say- yup. Been there. Done that. You’re normal and you’re going to be fine.

I think the tendency is to feel like somehow needing reassurance equates to being weak. And no one wants to admit that. J is off doing the hard work. All I have to do is stay put and keep living. That shouldn’t be hard, right? I don’t know-- maybe picking up the phone is the answer- just admitting that sometimes I’m all over the map. (I am horrible at this, by the way- admitting “weakness”, asking for help, accepting help, all of the above.) Maybe it’s time to tuck away my pride and just reach out to those who have been in my shoes before. Maybe even try to do a better job explaining to my non-Army friends how I’m feeling (who know me so well, love me so much, and know that these kinds of crazy mood swings and emotions are so completely uncharacteristic of me).

And so, I certainly resolve to try. But I’m still learning. And until I learn better to do those things, dear reader, forgive me. I think this blog is gonna be a little schizo. No worries, though. It’s just me, getting it out of my brain, staring crazy in the face, and trying to laugh at it.

Rock Star Life

49 weeks left
2 pounds lost
45 pounds left
17(ish) months until the wedding

Ever have one of those weekends when everything just sorta goes right? I am happy to report that this was my weekend. I got to spend it with AMAZING friends, eat good food, experience great weather, see my Rock Star Boyfriend (don’t worry, though I contemplated it, I did not actually attempt running away with him…this time) and just generally had everything go according to plan. ( This, by the way, rarely happens to me.)

FIRST. I had an uber productive Friday. This was the necessary first step to the weekend. I got papers graded. Lesson plans written. Reading done. All things that I needed to cross off the list before I could truly enjoy myself for the rest of the weekend. I got a good workout in on Friday after work, and came home to an hour long phone catch up with one of my best friends (bridesmaid!) Then I retrieved my mail and found just about the sweetest care package EVER from my mom-in-law-to-be (I’m like one of 6 people on the planet that is legitimately excited about my in-laws. Such kind and wonderful people. I’m seriously blessed in this department.)

The next day one of my OTHER best friends came to town for a lunch date and to pick up her wedding dress from the small boutique where she purchased it (before breaking my heart and moving away from me last year). Footnote: we are reciprocal bridesmaids to one another. I’m standing up for her in June. She tells me J and I should just elope while we still like each other. Tempting…

At any rate, the trip to the bridal shop was productive. She looks *incredible* (true story, I got weepy when she came out all finished with veil and shoes and all of it. Me= total sap. But then, I think we’ve established this.) And then I tried on MY dress (yes, I’m fairly sure I’ve found my dress. I try the same one on every time I go into this shop, which is often, because I’m friends with the owner. But that’s a story for another time. A good story, but for later.)

When I put the dress on Saturday, it fit much better than it ever had before. My friend the owner was like “holy cow, in just the month since you were here last…look at you!” Really? Now, I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but patient is not one of them. I have been feeling like all this weight loss is moving at a GLACIAL pace- just a couple pounds a week. But since she hadn’t seen me in awhile, the 7 total pounds I’ve lost (whoo hoo!) actually made a difference in the way the dress fit. This was a great feeling.

Now, if care packages, best friends, losing weight and productivity wasn’t enough, directly after all this I met a girlfriend of mine with whom I work (though is also leaving me soon…grumble to living in a “transition city”) and we took a lovely little road trip to this beautiful old historic theater to see my favorite musician (ever-in-the-history-of-the-world) play a solo show. And oh, by the way, I had 10^th row seats.

Let me pause here to explain to you that my love for Ben Folds (that’s who this is by the way…Ben Folds) borders on problematic. So deep is my respect for his musicianship, my appreciation of his talent, the sheer happiness that seeing him live brings to me… (my ridiculous crush upon him) that whenever there is anything related to him going on (concert, song on the radio, bad musak version of his tune in the dentist’s elevator) I’m literally rendered speechless (I freeze, the world stops, and I am forced to go into a type of trance in which I start to sing along and ignore all others around me.) I mean…well, have you ever seen those old videos of girls at the airport as they greeted the Beatles to the U.S.? Yeeeeeeah. Kinda like that. (Don’t judge me…you know you have one of *those* artists you love unconditionally, too.)

At any rate, my friend and I had an incredible time. He played ALL my favorite songs (even the old obscure ones). And then, still in the afterglow of concert goodness, we went and had a fabulous dinner and then ended up back at the hotel, at which point we stayed up talking half the night like we were middle-schoolers at a slumber party (except that I did not freeze her bra at any point in the evening...nor was there crying of any sort.)

The next day found us in gorgeous weather, outlet mall shopping (by the way, I loathe shopping. I literally save my money up to go like three times a year. And I only go to outlet malls. Because I’m cheap.) We found great deals. We walked around in the sun, and had a safe and speedy trip home after a lovely lunch (do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that can REALLY make green beans just the way I like them?!)

J called as our day was winding down. He sounded good, but tired. He’d had a long hard day working. He loved hearing the stories of our trip and was encouraged that I had not in fact left him for Ben Folds (this is a constant threat of mine…which is fine since he’s leaving me just as soon as Natalie Portman calls him up…)

“It sounds like YOU have had kinda a rockstar weekend.” For just a moment I felt really guilty. (People had told me I would feel like this- guilty that I was here at home having fun and living my life while he was hard at work during a desert deployment. This was just the first time I had felt it.) My heart momentarily sunk. But before I could say anything else, J added, “I’m so happy to hear you had such a good time. You sound happy. This is good.”

That was exactly what I needed to hear him say (he does that pretty often). As I hung up the phone, I realized that he was right, not just about this weekend, but about life in general: All things considered, I do sort-of live a rockstar life…in my own, small, small, C-list celebrity kind of way. And that is a good thing.

Life at the Circus

This weekend I went with my dear friend, her husband and their four-year-old son to the Circus (Like, the real Barnum and Bailey variety circus- not some second rate imitation.) I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been to the circus before, to be honest. And it was an interesting afternoon.

Now, some parts of the circus sorta lose their luster on the adults in the crowd- clowns squirting water from big plastic flowers on their lapels combined with lots of falling down jokes…yeah, not really that funny. Magic tricks where people are sawed in half while simultaneously having daggers of fire plunged directly into their hearts…um, wow? (My friend actually turned to me at one point to ask “Has the circus always been this violent?” Having never been before I had no frame of reference for response…but I’m guessing yes? It was bad enough that the theme music played in the background the *entire* time was a Latin dance mix with the constantly repeating lyrics “Don’t try this at home.”)

Trapeze artists were good for sure (but then, I just got back from seeing a Cirque show in Vegas, so comparatively…eh?). And who doesn’t love the animal parade? (Actually, I’ll tell you who doesn’t love the animal parade: The animal cruelty protesters outside the circus. I’m all for freedom of expression…and the humane treatment of animals, but somewhere in my heart, I think these animals are probably living the dream. Safe place to sleep each night? Plenty of food? Treated like movie stars? I don’t know- maybe I’m just naïve or have seen Madagascar one too many times, but protesting seemed excessive.) At any rate, it’s always entertaining to see two-ton elephants standing on hind legs and white tigers only moments away from tearing their prey (the trainer) to pieces (Tactfully abstaining from Sigfried and Roy joke here…. ).

And of course, what modern day circus would be complete without plastic toy vendors and carny food peddlers joining forces to put a dent in your retirement fund in seemingly small yet summarily ghastly doses? Who DOESN’T need a plastic light up battery operated $8 sippy cup filled with snowcone? (Think about it people…it’s flavored ice and plastic.) I digress.

However, there was one part of the show that I was duly impressed by- that for a moment allowed me to capture the childish amazement of the circus. This was the two Russian twins (Zena and Tina or some such thing) that were fabled to be able to be shot out of a canon (a canon!), skim the roof of the big top, and land clear across the whole room onto the large inflatable mattresses at the far end of the arena. I sat there, not believing it would be possible- looking for the illusion, or the gag, or the body double. And as these two ladies willingly crawled into the barrels of these enormous pressure-filled human catapults, I tried to analyze it all.

“There’s no way they’re actually gonna do it.”

“The trajectory is all wrong. If it’s real, they aren’t gonna land on the mats. They’re gonna go straight through the roof.”

“No way this happens. It’s gotta be an illusion- where’s the body double?”

In a room full of screaming children, the entire big top hushed for just a moment. The women disappeared down into the long metal tubes; the countdown began.

Five…four…three…two…one….Boom.

I think every single person in the room stopped breathing for just that second.

Watching…waiting…anticipating…heart racing a little more than a jaded-skeptical-adult-jolted-by-nothing would care to admit. And then there they went. No strings. No body doubles. No illusions. Two woman shot straight out the end of the double barreled canons, gracefully spreading their arms as if flying, skimming the top of the big top as promised, and coming to a comfortable, soft, and predictable landing right in the middle of the air mattresses just as was advertised would happen. The crowd roared.

I couldn’t stop thinking that this is a bit of a metaphor for me right now. I have so many proverbial balls in the air currently (I was going to make a juggling joke…but I’m feeling restraint this evening) that I sort of feel like I’ve voluntarily placed myself in the barrel of a canon…waiting for the pressure behind me to explode and launch me unpredictably into the big top while everybody watches. And right now I’m really into analyzing all the ways that it just isn’t possible- can’t feasibly work- searching for the body double- hoping it’s all an illusion.

But I think what I learned from these ladies at the circus is that perhaps I need to shut off the brain for just a moment and have a little faith-- Faith that I’ll land just where I need to, that I really am on target, and that I really am going to be just fine. And so maybe, just maybe, I should embrace the circus that is my life right now- jump on in feet first, wait for the big bang and then close my eyes, spread my arms, enjoy the flight, and then (met with thunderous applause!) I’ll land where I belong . (Spandex, bedazzled, hot-pink body suit optional.)

Turn, turn, turn

50 weeks left
2 pounds lost
47 pounds left
17 (ish) months until the wedding

If you were a choir geek when you were young (like I was) there’s a good chance that you had to sing a *really* bad choral arrangement of the Byrd’s song “Turn, Turn, Turn.” The lyrics of the tune have been running through my head all day (well, they aren’t lyrics, it’s a Bible passage made popular in song. This is the way most people learn the Bible, I fear- through cheesy choral arrangements during those awkward middle-school choir years when your brain stores everything. In a related story, I can also sing you all 50 states and their capitals.)

To everything there is a season. How true this is. It is officially spring here. Finally, spring. If I was going to send J away for year, I’m so glad that he left in the springtime- A much more tolerable time to let one go, while at the same time life is all around returning to the world. I’m without a doubt a creature of the springtime (and summer). I love sunshine beyond what is reasonable. I’ve often said that I’m solar powered (if that was possible, I’d totally do it, by-the-way). If J had left in fall and I had had to head into a dreary, gray, sunless, indoors portion of the year, I fear I’d be generally inconsolable (rather than merely marginally melancholy.)

But that’s not the case. It’s spring here. And this weekend, I was in my favorite of all cities for springtime: Washington, DC. Now, let’s just first say that I have a fascination (mild obsession) with Washington DC any time of year. After living there for several years, I can resolutely say, that the people, the energy, the arts, the food, the power, the politics, the hard work of those who populate the city: I love it all. And yes, I know. I romanticize all things dealing with DC (illustrative footnote: I’ve memorized and can recite for you the first 4 seasons of “The West Wing” because I am wholly convinced that this is really how things work in the White House…or should.) Regardless of my Suzy-Sunshine view on our Capital City, spending the first real weekend of my favorite season in my most favorite city with some of my most favorite people in all the world was just the shot in the arm I have so needed in the last few weeks.

It got me thinking though, about turning, and seasons, and why some relationships have such staying power (season to season, life turn to life turn): How some changes can affect so deeply our relationships, and other changes serve merely as blips on a lifelong radar screen. My DC friends though, they are timeless friends.* I’ve known them 20 years…or some just a few years…lived closely to…or lived with…seen often…seen rarely…but always, always have been able to pick up with just where last we left it. (You know these friends… the ones that ask “how are you doing?” and you can shrug, turn up the corner of you lip in a questioning half-smile, and they know what that means, sometimes when even you don’t. These are friends I’m finding invaluable right now.)

*This isn’t to say that I don’t have timeless friends elsewhere. It’s just that there’s a fairly large contingency of them living in the greater DC area, and it happened to be those with whom I visited this weekend.

DC this weekend was Cherry Blossoms, and theater at the Kennedy Center (performed brilliantly by one of my former students who needed learn absolutely nothing from me whatsoever, but with whom I have developed a delightful friendship and whom I love as dearly as if she was my own.) It was dinner with friends, potlucks with families, days out with children, and sunshine.

J called me today and we got a rare, extended phone conversation (10ish minutes instead of 2). He sounded so good- healthy, content, and in great spirits. It was the first day since he left that he sounded like himself. We laughed, bantered, shared jokes, told stories (e.g. I accidentally ran into Doris Roberts backstage at the Kennedy Center this weekend.)

“You sound so good today, J. The first time you’ve been you since you left. What’s different?”

"I’m finally starting my job. Getting settled. Doing what I came to do. Getting into a routine and staying busy. I’ve turned the first corner.”

Turning. Turning. Turning. All of us.

I stood on the front porch of my friend’s home, sunshine full on my face, breeze blowing, birds chirping, laughing with J today like that he was just in the next room. As I traveled home late this evening, lost in thought, I came to the conclusion that not only is it the beginning of Spring (a new season), but I think it’s the beginning of a new season for us both during this deployment. Each of us, turning a corner into what will be our “normal” for the next few months. And I’ve decided, that at least for now, perhaps while J is gone, springtime can be my mistress.

Balance and Timing

Once upon a time there was an episode of “I Love Raymond” (or whatever it's called) in which Deborah wanted her husband Ray out of the house so that she could have a day alone. Once alone, Deborah put on some super sad music, and spent the afternoon crying. Nothing was wrong- she just thought it was cathartic. Ray, while spying on his wife saw all this, thought his wife was crazy, and that he was driving her to cry. She explained to him that sometimes, a girl just needs to cry. He did not understand this concept. Hilarity ensued.

I’m feeling a little like that these days (and by that, I mean both of the people in the above scenario simultaneously…interestingly enough). I got up feeling just fine this morning. But I was definitely very thoughtful and introspective. Not just J related, but generally- missing old friends, thinking about life, the future, the wedding, all that is in front of us. And as I looked forward to the changes that are to come, I thought about the changes that have led me to today: Relationships come and gone, intense friendships that have subsided- not due to interest or intent necessarily, but merely due to changing ideals, changing lifestyles, moves, and the steady passing of time. I missed Mom today, too.

When I got to work I decided it was definitely a music day. (Some days I don’t bother with music in the office, but on the days when I’m in my head and I need distracted…or uplifted…or transported, I definitely put on some tunes.) Here’s the kicker though. I have Pandora on my computer. I love Pandora. Pandora has saved my backside from boredom, sleepiness, and/or severe ADD on more occasions than I can count. With ALL those songs and stations to choose from (I have a Linkin Park station. I have a Latin Jazz station. I have a Big Band station. I have an 80’s Arena/ Hair Rock station- all of these are happy stations) why I chose instead to listen to a homemade CD entitled “Songs that Make me Think of You” is beyond me. But whadda ya know. That’s what I did.

First off, J has my permission to kick my butt when he gets home for making such a CD in the first place. In an attempt to save money and be “sweet” and “romantic” I made him a mix CD for Valentine’s Day (Wow…that’s even cheesier in writing then when I gave it to him for Valentine’s Day. Apparently, I’m in junior high…circa 1987. I don’t even need J to kick my butt. I’m gonna beat myself up.)

I put the CD into my player this morning and came to an interesting discovery: Evidently, the “Songs That Make me Think of Him” are all unbelievably sad and have to do with making things work across long distances and being soo*in love you don’t know what to do with yourself. Um. Really? Gah. Sometimes I surprise even myself with my sentimentality. (And by sentimentality, I mean CHEESE.)

* Don’t you think when you’re using the word “so” as a modifier describing the degree to which one thing is in relation to something else that it should be spelled with two o’s? Like you would say “So, anyway” and “that was soo silly”? Just like to v. too. This is one of many mysteries of the English Language I’m looking to crack. I’m on a bit of a personal crusade for the change of spelling to “soo”. I digress.

Suddenly, here I am, sitting at my desk, writing lesson plans, and blubbering like a baby through these stupid songs, tapping into an emotion I didn’t even know was there. I didn’t think I needed to cry. I didn’t think I was emotional. I’m fine! I’m strong! (right?) I’m not sure I completely understand what it was all about or where it came from.

But then, much to my amazement, I realized that since I said goodbye to J two weeks ago, I haven’t cried. I had my tears with J, pulled it together, came home, and suddenly became the stoic, focused, ever-strong Army spouse. I have actually taken great pride in this fact.

I’m figuring out that there’s probably a balance in all this…and some proper timing. It’s ok to cry on occasion, just not every time someone says J’s name. It’s important to be strong, but that doesn’t have to be every second of every day (though at work, in my office with the door shut, between student appointments, is likely not the time either). Sometimes, I’m gonna need to cry, and I can’t hold that as being weakness, but rather as being human.

And then, well, then I need to be done. And change the CD.

I’m off now to listen to Ben Folds, to jam out to music that always *always* makes me smile and think of good times, as I appreciate his genius, think fondly of J, and continue with the regular business of another normal day. Totally balanced.