Hopeless

I've always been so hopeless with love.

When I was in 8th grade I wrote my first love letter to a boy named Kevin. I did not give it to him; I never really had any intention to give it to him. My grandmother actually found it (and read it). I don't even think I was that embarrassed about it, and she didn't really press the issue - she even admitted to have read it purely out of curiosity while knowing maybe she shouldn't. It surely made it's way to the nearest trash can soon after the fact because I have never come across it again. I had written it in a Lisa Frank kitten notebook and I believe it spelled out the reasons why I thought he was the greatest boy in the world - my mom was never quite sure I was his type. To be honest, I still think he was pretty cool; whether or not he liked girls.

In high school when I thought a guy was cute, I'd make him a card. And I mean make - I would form their names into my best bubble letters, pick out the perfect combination of colors with which to outline and color them in, and sometimes there might have been glitter involved. I made this boy Lucas a really big card my Junior year. At least this one was for his birthday (from what I remember). Now that I think of it - I'm pretty sure he likely had a girlfriend at the time. (I promise I was being very innocent.) Fast forward to college and I actually went out on a few dates with him. Turns out maybe we weren't meant to live happily ever after - but boy did I ever think he was dreamy in high school.

I didn't just work with cards, I made a boy a friendship bracelet once (what was I thinking!?). In no way could I ever explain where these ideas came from or why I thought they were good. The best part is, the guys I set my sights on in high school were always very good natured about it.

I wrote my second love letter Freshman year of high school. This time, I did give it to him. Chris. I don't know for sure if he ever read it; but one day after school I had to ask if he read it - he said no. So I then had to awkwardly tell him what it said. He smiled at me and clapped. Let me repeat: Clapped. The poor teenage boy had no idea how to react to this awkward girl he barely knew confessing her "crush." Sometimes I wish I had records of these dumb notes, but mostly I'm glad I will never truly remember everything I wrote in that letter, or any other things I may have written.

My last high school crush was my first boyfriend, Bryan. We worked together and I took every chance I could to flirt with him. My flirting consisted of stuttering, of course. I wrote him a few notes (for which his friends made fun of him, I was later told). Finally he agreed to go out with me, and not too soon after I was his girlfriend. I used to do silly things while we were dating, like only eat half my meal at restaurants so I could give him the rest later. Or make dinner and bring it to him at work so he could have a homemade meal at break time. We would talk on the phone at night, and for a while we would take turns leaving each other voicemails for the morning. Young love? If this is what I had to compare the rest of my life in love to, was I ruined?

In college, I can be honest and say that my relationships with guys took a more physical form. I can't remember ever putting glitter on a homemade name card for any guys I liked, or thought I might like. I just tended to put trust in places where trust didn't belong. A part of me was missing, and I failed to clearly realize this fact. I tried to fill that missing part with other people - specifically shallow relationships. Sometimes these shallow relationships put something that could have been more real in the shadows. I always believed I could see the best in people, when what I should have seen was the best in me - enough to see that I deserved better.

The next love letter I wrote wasn't until Junior year in college. I wouldn't really so much call it a love letter, as a love lost letter. I detailed, in writing, to a boy named David all the reasons why I thought he was a great guy (including some things I'm sure I'd be embarrassed to remember fully) and to make sure he knew I'd always be there if he ever changed his mind. There's obviously a lot more to the story than just that letter, but that is not what this post is about.

The fact is, I've just never really known how much of myself to give to someone. I also don't think I've ever been fantastic at expressing myself verbally to another person; a card, or some other trinket, was the best I could do. I'm still trying to learn a balance. I'm trying to learn who and when to trust, and how much of myself to invest in any circumstance. Getting to know myself has certainly helped. Growing up and into my skin has helped relieve some of the awkwardness, but I do still struggle. I still do small, silly things to show a guy that I like him. I still say silly and awkward things; I smile too big and giggle.

Trusting another human being and treating them with the respect I'd like in return comes easily to me. In my recent post-college adult life I once drove a young man named Jeff around the great state of Connecticut because he had lost his car keys the night before. I wasn't expecting a fantastic love affair - I was hoping we were friends and that me doing him this pretty big favor was a result of this friendship. I was wrong. The thing is - I'm too often wrong. I can't change. I don't think I want to change. I think it's more important to try these friendships and say yes to someone in need; I couldn't sleep peacefully at night any other way.

So, the reason I wrote this post was because of the term "hopeless romantic." I think this is me. I started wondering why the term is hopeless romantic, when what this term generally means is a person with too much hope in love? Not a lack of hope.

Here's the Merriam-Webster definition of 'hopeless:'

1  a: having no expectation of good or success : despairing

    b: not susceptible to remedy or cure 

    c: incapable of redemption or improvement

2  a: giving no ground for hope : desperate 

    b: incapable of solution, management,
        or accomplishment : impossible

 

It seems the best definition of hopeless that fits with this term is "not susceptible to remedy or cure." Someone who is a hopeless romantic believes in the power of love and there's nothing that can change them. There's nothing that can shake their belief of fairy tales and a happily ever after; no "remedy or cure" for their notions on love. If you knew me, you'd know that I could easily be someone who doesn't believe in a true, full, overpowering and lasting love - but, oh, I really do.

 

I believe in a look; I believe in a feeling; I believe in forever and a day. Could there be any other way?

 

 

 

*The names have not been changed because I do not believe love to be innocent. It's sometimes dirty, but always worth it.*

All Those Lovely Love Songs - Depressing

When I get into one of my 'depressed' moods, I draw parallels to my life from all the sad love songs I hear.


"All I Ever Wanted"
Train





You were my ticket outta here
And I was your dream come true
You gave me everything I ever wanted
Except for you

I convinced myself that over don't mean over
And I convinced myself that I could fix it all
Two dreams collided maybe we got too excited for our own good

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding each other while the words all break it
Move on you know we'll be stronger in the end

Now I convinced myself that nothing could ever tear me away
And I convinced myself that we'd look back and laugh at this one day
Two lives collidin' baby
We got too excited for our own good

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding our breath while the truth all breaks it
Move on ya know we'll be stronger in the end

Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the whole thing went wrong
Hey wait hey don't you wanna hear what I have to say
Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the strong go on

And all I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was you

No more - hold on we can make it
No more holding each other while the world tries to break us
Move on ya know we'll be stronger in the end

Hey wait hey don't you know that this is where the whole thing went wrong
Hey wait hey don't you wanna hear what I have to say
Hey wait hey don't you know this is where the strong will go on

And all I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
All I ever wanted
Was you

RIP Tigger

When I was five, my parents brought home a tiny little tiger kitten; I named him Tigger (yes, Tigger the Tiger). He was so small, he could fit into a wool hat. And he didn't meow right away, he made a small "eap" type noise. Tig would walk around the apartment "eaping" his little heart out.

When my mother first married Ron, we lived in his "bachelor pad." A second floor, two bedroom apartment with a deck. One day, Tigger and I went out on the deck and found a rather large ant. After a few investigative sniffs, the small kitten ate the ant. I don't think he liked it much, but like a champ he kept it down - protein, you know. At that young age, it appeared he was destined to be a great adventurer.

When we moved to Clifton Street, we used to go on walks through the woods in the backyard, and out to the Manchester Reservoir. Tigger would trot along behind us to the water. More often, Ron would go out to the water with his dog, Shelby, and Tigger would trot out behind them. Tigger was an outdoor cat, so I'm sure he found adventures out on his own as well.

He was also my partner-in-crime. One night, before I was old enough to drive, I got angry at my mom. I left the house and walked out to the woods. Right at the edge, there was a small tree that's trunk branched out perfectly for me to sit on. I grabbed Tigger and we sat up in that tree as the sky continued to grow darker. My mom took Gretel, her Shih Tzu, for a 'walk' around the yard; Tigger and I sat in the tree and watched her. Next, Ron came outside with Gretel and walked around the backyard. Tigger and I still sat in the tree and watched. After a while, Tig and I grew tired of sitting in the tree and went in the house.

Well, everyone experiences the ultimate end to their childhood at some point, for me, it was last night when my mother confirmed that Tigger had been put down on Wednesday. At 20-years-old, he was an old man. A very old man, and he had the rickety bones of age. When cats get old, sometimes they start to even get crusty; Tig had been growing crusty for a while now, and after a long, happy, and very much loved life, it had been closing in on his time to go. I expected it, not that it makes it any less sad.

Tigger was an important part of my childhood. A pet that brought me from a young age, through into adulthood. I now live away from home, my old bedroom in my parents' house no longer feels like escape, and nothing of mine remains there (except one box of kid books my mom hopes I forget are there). I know I've been gone for a while, but Tigger still felt like my childhood, my little man. He trusted me more than he trusted anyone else - there had to be a reason for that. And it was this feeling of comfort knowing he was still there.

When the subject was first broached, I yelled into the phone at my mother, "What are you telling me? Is he dead?" moments after she had just told me he was fine. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I could barely control my sudden burst of fearful rage. For an intense moment, I was convinced I was being lied to. This was maybe a few weeks ago. She had simply wanted to know if I wished to be told when the day was to come so I could come home to say good-bye to him. At first I told her I'd rather just cry after. Then I realized that I wanted to be able to say good-bye before he went. I wanted to make sure he knew that I loved him, one final time.

On that last visit, Tigger and I sat outside in the sun and hung out. In the grass, I petted his soft head and he pushed his weakening body into mine for comfort. I do miss him; he was a fantastic cat. He was strong, handsome, and playful 'til the very end.

I love you, Tig. RIP.

Running for Charity

Finished a race for charity: Red Dress Run.

Check out my running blog for details: Dodging Cars



Updated 101 in 1001: My List!

Weight

I weighed myself a few weeks ago and what I saw appear by my toes in the little window mortified me. My weight has been up and down a lot in the past year and a half, but that day it was up. I'm done with that and I obviously need some change. I joined Weight Watchers again.

I've weighed in twice so far, not counting my first weigh in, and in those two weeks I've lost 4.4lbs. Not bad. :) I'll be excited when I cross the threshold down below the 10s I'm currently in.

KANSAS

Oh Dear! I nearly forgot to update, but I went to Kasas to see Amie in January. Our friend Catherine came as well.

This was also my very first solo flight - I did very well, of course, and did not get lost for even a moment.

I got on the plane at 11AM Friday (the 15th I believe) and was in Kansas around 5:30PM. Very long day - but very worth it. Amie and her mother came to pick up Catherine and me from the airport. The mother part I was a little surprised at, but come to find out she'd been there for the few weeks prior as well. That night, Amie's boyfriend, now fiance, made us all dinner; it was delishious.

The next day us girls got our nails done and then we all, meaning Amie, myself, Catherine, Amie's mother, Garret (Amie's fiance) and Garret's two girls, went out to dinner. After dinner, we hung out for a while and met Amie's brother out at a bar. Amie's mom watched the girls. The bar was fun, very much like any other bar I've been to. It took a while for the place to fill up and then a little longer for people to actually start dancing. I definately hit a wall - hard - before everyone else and just wanted to go to bed. Such a downer! Haha.

We spent Sunday night in a hotel. Amie got us a room with one King size bed so "no one would have to sleep alone." While Catherine and I appreciate Amie's concern for making someone sleep alone - we both do that on a regular basis and are completely okay with that situation. We made Amie sleep in the middle.

Monday, we trekked back to the airport. Catherine had an earlier flight then I did so we dropped her off and Amie showed me around the city a little bit.

Well, now I got to see where my best friend has been living for almost two years. It was a lot of fun and hopefully I can save up to do it again.