Nourish/Challenge: Week 40.

Last week, I lost 1 pound. Not much, but I didn't gain! I've doing single circuit walks around the apartment complex. My ankle and foot are tolerating it well enough. I may move up to two rounds.

Oliver's two ABA therapists came over on Tuesday, and oddly enough, I had a great time. I think I was talking too much--pressured speech with racing thoughts, probably, But I calmed down.

I've been using sheet masks. They are so fun and easy to use (though a bit slimy). My skin needs some serious help.

And it may actually be fall when we move from thinking to doing. We'll see. I'm excited about bringing out my sweaters and cardigans. Maybe I'll wear boots. I'll probably wear more jewelry. I'll work my way toward winter.

Nourish/Challenge: Week 37.

This past week, Oliver turned eight! That seems crazy. Sometimes, I feel stunned because he is so perfect. I never get sad about this challenges (and the resulting challenges for Josh and me) for long because Oliver is just so happy. He smiles, giggles, sings, and jumps.

The first time I held him, he looked at me as if to say, "Don't worry, Mama. I'm okay, and you'll be okay."

We've used my dad's old backpack as a diaper bag of sorts for years. It's been on many adventures...it just needed some staples. But Dad sent us another! The pockets were stuffed with cards and little gifts for Oliver's birthday. I wonder what this new backpack will see.

I got sick (flu? depression?) and slept through most of Thursday. Sometimes, I have to let sleep nourish me, seeing it as a necessary tool rather than something lazy and selfish.

We saw the surgeon. You can read about the all that here and here. But the overview is that we're done with the surgeon and the stretches. I'll keep doing scar massages when it makes sense for my family. No more pulling him out of class, waking him in the middle of the night, or rushing through a session in the parked car. So that was a gigantic challenge to overcome.

I got so excited about The Politician, a new Netflix show starring the wonderful Ben Platt. I've watched three episodes with Bruce and Corey; I can't wait for more.

And on Saturday, the new Broadway season began at our theatre with Aladdin! I loved the sparkling costumes, the choreography (Disney seems to like throwing in a little tap dancing), and several new songs. Bruce had already seen it--on Broadway!

My dearest friend is facing something terrible with her mother, who is also my mother's best friend. We're all tied up together in this, hurting for each other and hurting alone. Pour out your prayers and love--whenever good you've got.

Nourish/Challenge: Week 26.

I'm behind on my weekly posts, but I'll catch up.

This week, 26, was a difficult one. I struggled. Anxiety, sadness, confusion.

We had a four-day weekend, which I barely remember. But I remember going back to everyday life a little empty.

Mom and I have decided to start brightening up each other's mailboxes. She mailed a beautiful piece of embroidery: a girl with short black hair and white wings. She has wild violets at her feet and in her hair and a hydrangea in her hand. Two of my favorite flowers! I sent her a flower fairy postcard. I could certainly use more encouragement, and mail is just wonderful.

I went over to Bruce's one day. I was telling him and Corey that I'd really been wanting to watch Jurassic Park. It was so astounding when it was in theaters. And then Bruce and Corey said we could watch it right then! I think they're both kind of in-tune with me. And the movie? Better than I expected. Still pretty astounding.

Regarding Bruce.

I had been working at the college for about a year and a half when Bruce arrived. My hopes were that he would be competent and that he would stay. I tried to help and encourage him. Bruce and Josh started to E-mail about master's thesis topics. I talked to Bruce more than anyone else at work.

I remember Josh saying, "You need a friend. You need to invest in someone other than me." This sounded like a terrible idea, but I was liking Bruce more and more.

And then, 6 years yesterday, I messaged Bruce to ask if he wanted to carpool with me. I was about an hour drive. Normally, I hate driving, and driving with a passenger makes it quite unsettling. But, astonishingly, I wanted to talk to this guy for two hours a day.

I spilled my guts in E-mails, partly hoping I'd scare Bruce away but also just to be upfront. But he was kind and steadfast. I was often a mess--moody, hyper, hopeless, jealous, needy, combative, and worse.

Now, we can see that some (if not nearly all) of that was undiagnosed bipolar disorder and panic disorder. Bruce stuck with me and encouraged me in my attempts to treat my illness once I had the professionals in place. I'd say that time with Bruce became medically necessary.

We've seen dozens of shows and movies and we've read some 20+ books together. We motivate each other. He's on "the council" with Josh and my mom--I turn to them for guidance and insight. Josh has been fully supportive of the friendship.

Bruce is one of the kindest, most gentle, and most loving people I know. I feel wonderful knowing that I've kept his interest for 6 years.

A Tiny Bookclub.

When Oliver was a baby, I read Never Let Me Go, which became one of my favorite books. I lent Mom my copy. She loved it too, and talking to her about the book was awesome, even though we hadn't read it at the same time.

A book club doesn't have to have five+ members and a weekly tea-time discussion.

Bruce and I began our tiny book club (just the two of us!) five years ago, and we have finished 19 books together in that time. We chose the first, Every Day, from a catalog we were flipping through at work during our lunch time.

A tiny book club is nice because if I fall behind, I'm not letting down a whole group. We also sometimes decide to read more than we originally said; Bruce and I can be flexible. We also don't have to find a book that pleases a whole group. Bruce and I usually take turns choosing the next book. We've read a sci-fi trilogy, a huge collection of short stories (LeGuin), several non-fiction books on mental illness (we've learned so much!), young adult hits, smaller short story collections, and more.

It's been so fun, and it provides some structure to get me reading. And I think we get closer with each book we read together. It's a great way to strengthen a friendship.

The Princesses We Are.

Growing up, I loved forming connections between favorite characters and some of my favorite people. This blend of life and fiction must have helped me stay grounded in a way. I would often cast people in my mind to play characters in a play I would direct (mostly in my imagination but a few times in reality).

My favorite way to do this was to find matches in Cicely Mary Barker fairies. I always looked for myself in those pages, those child fairy faces. My favorites were the Fuchsia Fairy and the Willow Fairy, but I didn't really look like either of until I had black hair in my early twenties. I found others though. My mother was the queenly Wild Rose. My Keely was the gorgeous Harebell. Just recently, I discovered that Michelle, Dad's wife, is the Iris Fairy. Lately, I feel most like the Rosehip Fairy.

My friends and I also took roles in our play version of the Babysitter's Club. I think I was Mary Anne. I loved being the secretary.

And Little Women! Early on, I saw myself as Beth, quiet, shy, fragile. Keely and her sisters and I took these matters quite seriously. After a lot of growing up, I started to identify more with Jo--she loves literature, writing, and theatre. And I wanted to be as bold and unapologetic as she.

Surprisingly, I don't remember casting friends as Disney princesses or any fairy tale role. My favorite fairy tale in The Twelve Dancing Princesses, and my favorite Disney tale is Cinderella. Aside from being a dreamer, I don't have much in common with Cinderella. I'm no great housekeeper, and I would not long to go to a crowded party. I'm more like Belle in looks and personality--literature-obsessed, a bit fiery, and appreciative of tiny parties.

My mom had always loved Aurora best. Mom is kind and loving, a dancer, and unaware of how royal she is. She was born royal.

Which princess are you Can you find bits of loved ones in other princesses?

Restoration: Week 18.

This past week, I finished a book with my spring YA focus. I read poetry and scripture. Still, I didn't read as much as I'd hoped. That's a challenge to tackle this coming week, restoring my reading.

Bruce took me to see a movie that was inappropriate for most audiences but hilarious. Laughter and popcorn do a lot to restore our friendship.

We also went to see Waitress, our final show of the season. Despite some sad subject matter, it mostly felt bright and happy. Theatre has also restored and refreshed our relationship, as did all the singing in the car.

I only worked out once this week, so I need to restore that habit. My body needs some serious restoration.

I finished a journal! That makes me feel as if the title of writer is restored to me.

I don't think I've developed much as a wife and mother this past week, but I will work on that. Sunday, we three managed to spend a quiet afternoon and evening together. That was restorative.

Slumber Party.

If I had wishes to spare, I would wish for a sleepover with my best childhood friends.

We'd go to someone's house or to a hotel with a lot of space. We'd all have sleeping bags. And we would

• Eat sunflower seeds while telling secrets
• Play Murder in the Dark and the Killer card game
• Exchange photos and pose for new ones (one of our moms would be around)
• Watch Romeo and Juliet or a slightly scary movie
• Give each other back rubs
• Discuss color psychology and analyze each other's handwriting
• Each bring party favors...mine would be pens of course
• Whine about our bodies and complain to each other
• Write to each other in autograph books or journals
• Dig up our dreams and share them

What a wonder that would be!

Exceptional Friends.

I've not had a great many close friends in my life, but many of them have been amazing and still are.

The Tennessee girls (Keely, Kendall, Leah, Tracy) and I share so many precious and ridiculous memories. "Murder in the dark" and a winking card game come to mind. We have so many laugh-until-you-hurt slumber parties. We went to church camp together. They often embraced my obsessions and let me direct wild plays. We all cried the last night I saw them before moving out of state.

Harmony was older than us, but boy did she and I have fun. Riding a Wave Runner, jumping into the lake, crawling around in various forts in the attic, under the stairs, and under the house. We played hide and seek in the dark. She always made me feel loved.

Keely specifically was so clearly my best friend from birth that it seemed predestined. She was there, in person or on the phone, for most of my growing-up experiences. She (along with my mother) was my original definition of beauty.

Melissa and I met when we were 14. We became friends immediately. So many notes, letters, chicken sandwiches, shopping trips, and shared secrets. We have walked through such terrible things together. And we've shared so much laughter and outrageous gift giving. We often kept each other going.

And I'm so blessed now to have a relatively new friend who lives in the complex next door. Bruce and I met at work, and we carpooled for a long time. He has read books about my illness to help him understand and know what to do. We've read books together--a tiny book club. He has helped me sand down the edges of my most painful memories. We laugh so much that Josh says we'll get kicked out of stores. Bruce takes an interest in all I do. I know I could trust him with the worst.

I've been so lucky to have these precious friends.

Building and Maintaining an Adult Friendship.

Bruce and I are quite different in the ways we've experienced friendship. He makes friends easily and likes almost everyone with little effort. I had a pocket of close friends until my family and I moved when I was 12. My best friend was Keely. I couldn't make new friends until I was 14 and met Melissa. She and I got through a lot together during our teen and early adult years.

Bruce came to a new state to teach. I lived far from my friends. Bruce and I met, and we helped each other at work. I knew that an adult friendship, particularly one that included me, would be quite different. These are some of the steps I learned.

• Recognize the investment. Bruce was relaxed and happy about the whole deal while I was making myself crazy, believing myself incapable of managing another relationship. We both had to realize that it was going to be hard work (a least for a time).
• Decide on a level of risk. Investing that much is always a risk. I decided to go all in and see what happened. 
• Build up experiences. We went to movies and regional shows. Every little shared experience, like examining all the pens at Staples, strengthened our bond. 
• Get the secrets over with. I think Bruce knows every bad thing I've done. He's heard most of my stories. He claims to have no secrets. Hmm.
• Read together. For the first year or so, we read books together. I think we read 5 or 6 and discussed them as we went. It was our tiny book club. This brought up a lot of ideas we never would have discussed otherwise.
• Release your sense of humor. I think we've merged on what we find funny, and we can make each other laugh pretty easily. 
• Hug. Bruce a master hugger. I'm sure that made us closer more quickly. 
• Schedule. Bruce didn't like this at first, but with work and family, it was practical. For me, it was imperative know when we would see each other again. Bruce has embraced the scheduling! It makes me feel much more secure.

I'm glad I tried all this and learned from it. It has gotten a lot easier.

Sending Books.

Two years ago, I started sending my brother, James, a book on his January 1 birthday. I think the books will be important to him even if he doesn't read them. And in one case, Mom read the book first! I love that she couldn't resist it. I can think of it as the one book I want to contribute to his year. Ordering from Amazon Smile is so easy. I don't want to plan the books ahead--just go year to year.

I once sent a Francesca Lia Block book to my aunt. I wanted her to have the chance to like something that I loved so much.

When Josh was waiting for his medical discharge from the army, I was at a family reunion in Oregon. I went to a little bookstore and bought Billy Collins's Picnic, Lightning and sent it to him, hoping the words of his favorite poet would ease all he was facing.

I can't think of a package much more exciting than a book!

Packing a Ridiculous Amount of LIfe.

I took this from M. Moezzi.

My life feels full when I'm reading a lot, even more than one book at a time. So many thoughts, unique characters or great advice, new situations. If I want that, I have to push myself, even if I feel too tired or too sad to read.

But being with the people I love is even better, of course. Laughing, catching up on stories, working funny allusions into the conversation, going to a favorite place together. All the laughter makes me tired and delighted.

Traveling, theatre, and live music can fill life to the brim. Museums and such can do this too--anything that expands one's sense of the possible.

What People Need to Hear.

• I respect you
• I love you
• I understand you
• I like you
• I appreciate you
• It's okay

We need to hear "It's okay" often. I walk around tense with worry about tasks, situations, or mistakes. I need someone to reassure me. The situation doesn't have to be great or perfect, but it has to be okay.

Many people maybe not love us but may still be able to say truthfully, "I respect you" or "I appreciate you." This is important at work, where a favor or kind gesture may be more effective or appropriate than words.

"I like you" is important even from people who say, "I love you." "I like you" makes the listener feel interesting or fun.

"I understand you" is important when someone feels alone in his or her emotional or mental experience. But it's not "I understand your experience" or "Something similar happened to me." It means, "I get that thought or feeling you expressed" or "I get the way you think."

What I'm Looking Forward To.

• More daylight for walks
• Enough daylight to walk to Bruce's for our walks
• Falling asleep tonight
• The Beauty and the Beast movie--2017!
• Each day's mail--who knows?
• Cabaret on Saturday
• Two shows in May!
• Going to TGI Fridays with Bruce again
• Going to the Blue Moon Cafe again with Mom for more brie and honey creations
• Mom's next visit
• Writing another story
• Drinking Sprite
• Wearing a pretty dress to the theatre
• Having some alone time with Josh
• Listening to my iPod in the car
• The next hug from Oliver
• Hearing about Mom's cruise
• Oliver's feeling better
• Seeing my brother
• Getting the Oliver and Company T-shirt Dad ordered for me. We're definitely the & co.!
• Seeing my best girls eventually
• Holding my first babies in heaven

Expanding Strengths.

First of all, what are those strengths?

• Teaching in some way
• Appreciating theatre
• Intuiting what Oliver needs (sometimes)
• Being a reader
• Telling stories (so I've heard)
• Connecting with music
• Showing affection through gifts
• Writing practice

I would have loved to teach Theatre Appreciation. Maybe something like that will happen someday...continuing education classes? I've sort of been teaching Bruce, or it started out that way. He's a great pupil. I'm also strengthening my love of theatre by going to so many shows that are new to me. I let them surprise me.

I think my sense about Oliver will get better as I stay home with him. My mom says no one will understand him the way I do. I need to feel important that way. But I have a lot to learn; I need to read more about autism and highly sensitive children.

The best way for me to expand my reading is first to find blocks--an hour or so--to make progress but also to use tiny bouquets of minutes.

I get lots of story-telling practice when I go on walks twice a week with Bruce. He even lets me retell stories he's already heard!

I listen to showtunes while I get ready. This makes getting ready easier, and it has definitely strengthened my connection to music. I listen in the car and while I'm doing dishes. It adds a layer of richness to tasks and thoughts.

Gifts are my love language. I wish I had money to set aside just for giving gifts to people whenever I feel like it. One of the best feelings is really getting a gift right. The whole room changes for a moment.

I write at least two pages a day in my journal, and I also write in response to prompts. These are my writing practice right now. I intend to add product-based writing (poems, stories, essays), but right now, practice-based feels most important.

Favorites Now Part II.

Gold Dots: These have become quite popular, and I love them. I love them on black, white, pink...probably any color. Searching for "gold dots" on Pinterest brings up so many examples. I have a print from Paper Source that says "You Sparkle--You Shine" in gold script with gold dots. It catches the slightest light even when the room is dark. I'd love to have all the journals, wall art, file folders, pillows, and other objects that use gold dots. 

Milkshake Straws: I didn't know these existed. I find them at Food Lion. The are pastel and individually wrapped. I haven't tried them with actual milkshakes, but they are great when I'm drinking water, want a straw, and don't want to sip daintily.

Canada Dry Blackberry Ginger Ale: My soul companion, Bruce, got me into this. We walk together a few times a week, and one evening, he brought a 2-liter bottle with a little soda left. I swigged it like a pirate, not expecting to like it (I'm a picky and not-at-all-adventurous eater/drinker). But it was delicious, and I've been buying it ever since. It's limited edition, so I'll be bummed when it's gone. It tastes like ginger ale with grape soda but not so sweet.

Anthropologie Glasses: Can you tell that I'm taking medication that makes me extremely thirsty and therefore obsessed with all beverage topics? I bought these last year when Mom and I went to South Park, a fancy mall in Charlotte, for my birthday. I have the glasses in that striking green and bashful tanzanite. Josh washes them by hand for me. I love using them for juice and lemonade.

Cinderella Bag: I'm fairly obsessed with the live-action movie itself and quite disappointed that it won't be out on DVD until September. The costumes, the music, the greater focus on Cinderella's childhood, the mere sight of Kenneth Branagh's name in the credits...perfect. Mom and Shane gave me a bag based on the movie for my 30th last week. I never thought I would have a Le Sport Sac purse...I feel pretty fancy. The silver thread in the straps and the baby pink lining are gorgeous details. The bag can hold my journal and books along with the usual.

Image: https://www.lesportsac.com/Hailey_Tote?color=P669

The Hush.

4:40 a.m. I spoke to his back: “I need you to love me.”

I heard the exhalation that meant he was instantly awake and smiling. He turned onto his back and pulled me to his chest. 

“I’m down,” I said.

“Any reason?”

“I don’t know if there’s a reason.” Pause. “I can feel myself pulling away.”

“From your friendship?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mean it’s something you’re actively doing, not that he’s drifting away?”

“It’s me. But I’m pretty sure it’s not voluntary. I guess it’s some defense mechanism, and stupid things trip it.”

“That must feel kind of scary.”

I turned onto my back, looking up at the proportionally placed glowing planets on the ceiling. “Yeah. And it’s really sad.”

“It’s not surprising though. This is completely new for you. It’s way beyond anything you ever thought could be your comfort zone. Well, I don’t think he’s going to let you pull away. And I won’t let you either.” He gave me a Peter Cetera look. “I am a Joe who will fight for your friendship.”

I looked at him and hugged him hard around the shoulders. “You’re so nice.”

“I’m in love with you. And I want you to be happy. So, so happy. And I think this is good for you. I’ve felt hopeful.”

“Why?”

“You’ve seemed lighter, not so prone to darkness. Your friend can’t cure it, but I think he’s a good long-term treatment.”

He left the room and came back with his Diet Pepsi and Fruit Loops. “I’m going to eat breakfast and sit here with you, tickling you or whatever you want.”

The smile glowed into the muscles of my face. He read me a brilliant new poem. And I slipped back into sleep.

Friendship...for Crazy People.

Prepare for intense mixed metaphors.

I've determined that human interaction brings out the worst in me.

I feel as if I've been regressing and mutating into a grasping, internal-fit-pitching little brat. Imagining slights. Aching over my not having a special role, a new role. Tiny sparks of perplexing anger. Passive aggressive ticks that I keep fighting. And all those qualities that feel most like disease, like guilt: pettiness, jealousy, and craving.

And I think, What is happening to me? What am I letting happen? Well, I know what's changed, what I've been trying to do.

Since I constantly try to shove an understanding of logical fallacies into my students' brains, I automatically examine myself: causal oversimplification. It's not just this human interaction, this trying to make and keep a friend--no, not keep...let the friend keep me. Other factors: layers of events no one should experience, some of them my own fault; family illness; work stress; re-balancing hormones after I quit taking the birth control pill that made me forever mono-ish; medication changes; an evil flare of the back pain I've had since Oliver was born. Also, post hoc: the fact that I started turning into a gremlin after I tried to make a friend does not mean that the friend event caused the germlinity.

And all that shattering: confirmation of impermanence, of triviality, of gauzy connections, of the dissolvability (it's a word) of anything, everything. So all the chemicals were there for a twice- or thrice-daily existential meltdown. They just needed a catalyst.

Sizzle. Bang.

After the most recent of these confirmation-of-dissolvability (really, it's a word) events, I wrote a first draft of a poem...sitting alone in a Veteran's Day program at work. The last stanza had lines about pulling the string of a stent that had held my heart open. That appeared because my family has a horrible tendency to make kidney stones. One of said family members had such a ripping time passing a stone that the urologist inserted a stent (not just in the urethra but, I think, in the ureter) to keep the injured tract from swelling shut. And apparently, patients tend to get so irritated that they can't bear that string, and like a kid scratching chicken pox, against all reason, they just have to pull.

Anyway, right now, this makes me think of an equally gross and also urine-related situation. After Oliver was born, I had a catheter. It worked for everyone. I didn't have to untangle from cords and crawl to the bathroom, and the nurses were pleased that I drank gallons of water. When I was ready to leave ICU, the doctor told my nurse to remove the catheter. She, being a brave critical thinker, went to him and said, "I don't think you are aware of the extent of the injury and swelling. If I take the catheter out now, she'll have to have another. And putting in another would be horrible if not impossible" (Okay, I'm imagining an excessively eloquent version of this exchange). So the cath stayed.

So stent, cath, whatever--I didn't realize it completely, but I think I really did pull that stent out of my heart. The swelling had already been substantial. Everything was in various levels of shredded-ness. And something so small, inconspicuous as a plastic tube, came loose with the slightest tug, and all that injury grew over the last open space. Nothing comes in. Nothing goes out. Well, certainly nothing new.

Or almost.

Now, masks. I've had a work persona that I've refined over time and customized for various jobs. Cute, sweet, quick, competent, enthusiastic, a little sassy. I'm not saying those are aspects of me anyway, but these elements worked for me. People liked me and trusted me but didn't pay close attention...and didn't invite me out after I said no a few times. I could work without friction, get recognition without too much attention.If I know what I'm doing, if I've set up or stepped into a well-defined role and persona, I handle social situations pretty well. Some of my students and coworkers refuse to believe I'm shy or have ever been shy.

Now, eggs. I love egg salad sandwiches. This does not seem like something I'd like. Mayonnaise is disgusting, and Miracle Whip is vile. But any way, one of the first poems of mine that appeared in a real journal was about making egg salad. Well, it was really about a wife resenting a husband's sudden burst of chivalric social interest... but the literal part was making egg salad. Egg peeling requires a knock on the counter edge or a squeeze in the fist: those first cracks have to appear. And when the shell fragments let go, they tend to bring the clear but tough skin with them. And sometimes, the skin brings a little of the white flesh away too.

Let's see if I can untwist myself from this.

So there's the work persona. I was comfortable in that, and comfortable with this person as wry mentor, as colleague, as chatter and banter...er.  None of it was fake, but it was limited. Taking off a mask, even a partial mask, would leave me not knowing what to do with my face.

A couple of weeks ago, a barrier, a secret that blurred my view of this person, that made me uneasy, disintegrated. And my pleasant, whitewashed and polished concrete wall--my semi-natural social barrier--holy cabooses--wasn't there. And I, having already had that uncomfortable (for me) but also glimmering sense of soul siblinghood, looked at the person leaning against the filing cabinet and thought, "I am so screwed." Even so, I ventured. I acknowledged that secret hurt. And no social barrier appeared to send me tumbling back. And I said to Josh, "I think I'm going to try to make friends with him," as if it were an involuntary muscle movement and half hoping he would talk me out of it; but of course, he just laughed and said, "I won't say I told you so, but I did." And, knowing I was being a complete idiot, I ventured further. Goodreads message. It was my suggestion anyway. E-mail address. Phone number. What was I doing?

And then, I was staring at my saddest stories. I lay them out and tried to organize them. Which could I bear to bring out? Which would be least frightening for someone else? So I organized them, not expecting to get past the first one, two, or three.

Momentum. I realize now that I knew I was going to hit the panic point soon and start backpedaling hard. So I typed for hours. A mini memoir in installments. All of my saddest stories, all the spots that suddenly moan like Collin, shadow-wrapped in Misselthwaite Manor, when it rains. Yes, Secret Garden is coming too. For several reasons, it has to.

Every time, I thought, "This one. This is the one that will cause the shutdown, the nice-knowing-ya." But it didn't happen. And when the backpedaling frenzy came--
when the morning when even existing was equivalent to dragging myself through a tight tangle of poisoned thorns
and I said to Josh, "I think I'm going to have to do the break up. It can't be right; I can't be. And I'm not stable enough to deal with that,"
and I could hear Josh through his teeth-brushing, "Searching for the Perfect Solution?"
and I didn't lie but didn't talk either
and I saw, "I can handle this. So can you."
and I saw that perfect green through my hair
and that little seating arrangement upset was like an arm around me, a silent steadiness
and Josh said, "Yes, you can't [expletive] around, and you have to tell. You have to explain it."
and Josh said, "Yes, I think a friend is the right thing. Yes, I think this friend is the right friend."
and I said a jumble of worriedguiltyprotectivedoubtfulbewilderedexasperated freakfest
and I was almost trembling with the need to run--
I did hit a barrier, a wall. It was behind me, and its pressure was suddenly at my back, holding me up and holding me still. And a rough translation of the words on it is Not gonna happen.
I didn't count on a refusal that wasn't mine and wasn't the kind mine usually is. And I was...quiet. No hamster wheels, no red alert, no Vulcan-ness. And I believed that it was real and that I could do it.

Now, don't get too excited; it didn't last. And even today, I thought, "What is wrong with you?" My mom used to say that I had a hole in my love bucket, that I never felt assured. The bucket seems to have corroded further, or maybe I'm just finding holes that I didn't notice when I was so full of rocks. And I thought, "I haven't been this insecure since my early teens. Friendship is just a simple thing, right? It seems to be on that side. So why am I a complete lunatic? This is why I never make connections. It's not just because I don't want to. It's because I can't. I shouldn't."

But then I thought a bit more, and I remembered a twenty-year-old girl who had, in this case, really smashed up her life, like trying to escape through a glass shop, plenty of cuts for everyone around. And she was in love. And she was crazy. She said crazy stuff. She thought crazier stuff. She was never sure, could never ask, could only moanmumble incoherently. Her letters are strange and apologetic and pleading. She was a bat cave of hurt, terror, and mortification. And more than once, she thought, "Step back. Get back. Run like hell." 

But somehow, she stayed. And now, she is a girl (all right, a woman) who, on that poisoned-thorn-tangle morning, could look at her husband--that same poor boy who struggled through all that crazy with her while she fought all those instincts to bolt and while she clung to what said, "This is right. This is okay. Nothing's safe, but this is pretty close. This is your chance,"--and push out the words, "Can you just pay attention to me?"

And that boy, who knows all the crazy, who knows how to calm the crazy and how to simply sit next to the crazy, put down The Fur Queen book and his banana yogurt and pulled her over to him, not minding the slight involuntary resistance, and tickled her back, murmuring small, bolstering sentences like "You've made me happy for over seven years."

And she isn't used to this insecurity not because she hasn't experienced it but because she beat it by pushing it back daily, with her Love's help, saying, "No. We're doing this. It's happening." And now, that need to fight it is rare. She can say and do and be anything, and they can both get through each other's glass shop without breaking more than a champagne flute or two.Usually.

So it occurs to me that "the worst in me" is just that--that little seething snake pit in the core. And all this cracking (Dickon cuts the wood, sees the green, calls the rose wick) lets them crawl around. And maybe I can still tear away all this yellow wallpaper (so much of it my own making, to cover up so much else that I didn't make) before I start crawling around too.

And I have been trying, trying, trying to verbalize, but it's usually...well, another freakfest. I told Josh last night, "I was trying to be all chill and get what I needed with these laid-back questions, and then, I just started barfing crazy everywhere."
Josh, bless him, said, "You're adorable. I'm sure he just thinks you're adorable."

Usually, hydrogen peroxide doesn't hurt--it's just those tiny bubbles. But once, I let a bag of trash I was carrying hit the back of my leg. Glass inside the bag cut me. I stood in the bathtub while Josh poured the hydrogen peroxide, and feeling completely shocked and betrayed, I stifled a scream. That hydrogen peroxide hurt like hell. Because I needed it.

So it makes sense that trying to jam a stent back into a swollen, raw vital muscle would hurt and would lay bare a person's worst. And a lot of those refusal walls, a lot of pulling me back, will be necessary and more difficult than popping open a jammed pink stapler with pink-handled scissors. And yes, in a gritty reboot, Collin will probably have to search for the fit-pitching Mary and drag her out into the garden.

And here's the deal: even if he doesn't show up, it's worth trying. No falling back on Searching for the Perfect Solution or on the Impossible Certainty. I've done this before and with much higher stakes. And I do need a friend. And I do care so much. And I do just like the guy. And we're similar, and one topic always opens another. And the social barrier wasn't there (as I said, holy cabooses). And he doesn't seem to have any plans to let me bolt. We'll see. When I look at it that way (and at least for these few moments, I actually can), it does seem pretty simple.

And I may freak out tomorrow. And I may even run away a little. But then, I'll try to come back. Oh, and here's something else that makes me think this may not just unearth the worst in me. I haven't been writing in my journal for a few weeks. This is a pretty sure sign of soul death. Four days ago, I picked up my journal before I went to sleep. I've written in it every night since.

Also, he told me today that he's great at peeling eggs.