The Girls.

There is a girl.

A girl who reads tiny canvas-bound novellas with the same sense of 

satisfaction you'd get from 

smoking the thinnest of Capri cigarettes in the sun. 

A girl who once whiled her time away on patios, surrounded by friends and wine and sunsets and brunches.
She'd spend her last twelve dollars til payday on a glass of wine plus tip.
Overdressed, she kissed boys, wore in her hair intricate braids, often with a flower tucked behind her ear.
These were the things, she felt, that defined her.
She knew most of those who walked past her on the patio, but paid little attention.
She knew coffee shop owners and restaurant chefs, she often felt as though she knew everyone.
She used to wonder what the person she would eventually fall in love with was doing at that exact same moment as she was sitting on a wicker chair on the sunny side of a patio.
She wanted love so badly, but knew not where to look for it.
Though, she felt like she knew exactly what she was looking for.

There were other girls; girls all dancing on the tips of the same waveless ocean, all living within a skipping distance of one another, all doing the same to some degree or another.
Wanting love, finding love, fighting love.
With carefully applied mascara, and high high heels, they all lived out their terrarium lives as satellites to one another, summer after summer.
Summer girls.
Patio girls.
Girls with Flowers in Their Hair Girls. 
Walking the same streets, knowing the same people, drinking the same wines.

The Girl, the First Girl, when she finally left the patios, when she finally found the love she was looking for, she found herself in a new world, a very different world.
No more skipping distance, no more ocean.
Though, her world was always a world of Flowers and of Books, it now included of Loved and of Home too.
No longer did it include tinny songs playing out of a tiny radio, or half hungover days off two dollar wine.
No more No Bathtub. No more No Couch. No more, I've Got To Get Out Of Here while fearing she never would.

No more, What is he doing though I don't know him yets.
Now there are far fewer patios, & none that well worn or particularly familiar. Her closet is still filled with beautiful dresses, though now she has far fewer places to wear them. Overdressed is a rarity now, but occasions to do so are usually filled with more meaning than just 'Saturday'.
A new world where she was still at the center, but with far fewer satellites.

The other girls left that Tiny Town too; some physically moved away, some just simply moved on.
One got married. One moved to the mountains. Two moved to another beach town up the way, to an ocean with waves. One dove headfirst into a job that took her off the patios and off to Chicago on a whim.

So, no longer did they all dance with their toes dipped into the same foam of their waveless ocean, no longer did they orbit the Girl; all pulled together by the gravity of a small town with one sunny main street.

Because you see, all the girls, they all grew up.

Rule No. 1.

Forever in Pacific Standard Time.

I've been thinking a lot about the idea of 'Forever'.
Like... Forever.
Not 'a couple years from now', not 'after the summer'.
Of until-you-or-I-die-Forever.

And how long that seems, for something that is not, in fact guaranteed to be any length of time at all.
My brain has trouble even conceiving what Forever is; like when I look out onto a sky, so blue, and just imagine infinite space.
Space going on out to forever.

Forever - Good, Bad, Always. 

I have a lot of fears about change, while maintaining an openness to the fluidity of life - Its weird, I know things change, good things and bad things, and usually I adapt as they come, but still, I fear change.
I fear fear Fear a day where Jim and I no longer see eye to eye, or things we used to finding endearing - like my singing voice - are just shrill irritants.

I have no model for Forever, I don't have a personal grasp of what that looks like.
The only maps I have is what falling Out of Love looks like.
Memories of my parents fighting outside the car window, of the realization that they no longer Love each other. Memories of two parallel lives being lived between the Ex and I, like a brother and sister who roll their eyes at one another and love each other only because they don't see any other alternative, until one day they just can't even do that anymore.
Of couples breaking up and hating each other afterward, of 'What was I thinkings!?'

I fear forever, because I have no idea what to expect from forever; and I can't even say with certainty that I believe it exists.
I can't imagine not being with Jim forever. 

And not just the days of 'We're both wearing Prada while hitting up the Farmer's Market and drinking locally sourced beer and eating artisinal waffles' of this new-ish partnership. While I like the 'How Perfect on The Outside' everything is right now, what I want is the Forever of him sleeping next to me while I read, of him waking me up before he goes to work, of just loving being next to one another; of the moments in between the aforementioned Prada Parade*, when we are at home or in the car and we simply just Like one another.

Oh my God, that's it: I want us to Like each other Forever.

I said that to him last night, at dinner. We were capping off a really nice do-nothing but do-quite-a-bit weekend - of nice lunches and crossiants and lazy afternoons and wandering through bookstores, and we were at dinner at this kind of bougie gastropub, and I said exactly that to him, 'I like you.' And he responded with, 'I love you, too'.* .

'That's not what I said. I said, I Like you. I like being with you. Just being.'

To which he agreed, and he understood.

*How many more times can I insert We Were Both In Prada? 

I know, I know. 

Though, honestly, there are shirts at Target that 

cost more than what I paid for my Praaaada, but still. 

We Were Both In Prada.

Forever is a long time, and the commitment of Loving someone, through good and bad and everything else that can possibly span that spectrum, I think I can scavenge up some have maps for that.
I've known what the commitment of loving someone no matter what, no matter how many eye rolls I hold in (or don't hold in) looks like.
But I want to Like one another as well. 
And you know, sometimes I have a hard enough time liking myself enough, that I guess what I'm afraid of is not being Forever Likable. Of my singing voice turning irksome, of my disdain for cleaning the kitty litter (as in: I do not do it) becoming 'An Issue.' Of the same happening to him in my eyes.

All I know is that I want Like, Happily Ever After.

And the Owl Said, 'Who?'

Time is a funny thing. Enemy or friend, time passing never ceases to shock  me.
I cam across an old picture of myself, and it saddened me.
Its only about four years old, but still, the girl in it - she's not Me.
She has a whole other set of Hopes and a different view of Happiness.
She sees things in her future that I now do not. For better or for worse, she had no idea what was coming. It was taken a year to the day that my relationship with the Ex ended, on the Fourth of July in 2009 and I don't even recognize her.
That Dori hasn't existed  for many many years. And for many reasons, and in some ways it makes me sad.
Not because I miss him, but sometimes I miss the naivete of that life.

In that moment I was so happy.

Update: I hopped in the shower right after I wrote this, and remembered something very important. Yes, in.that.moment I was so happy, but that girl - that girl right there - had her own set of doubts and unhappiness too. It was just a different set. A lot of it having to do with being unsure about her choice in partner (though, never his family) and a general feeling of stagnation in her own right. So, no, I may not look like her anymore, or celebrate the same ways, or stress about the same things, and yes, I do envy her naivete; and yes, time is a funny thing, but it is time passing that is an even funnier shaped cloud.

I imagine Kate Moss thinks the same when she sees such photographs. 
Though hers are much more glamorous.

Retrospect Ain't Just 20/20.

A new year. Twenty Thirteen.

Jeez.

Going into a new year feels good, to be leaving Twenty Twelve. 

Now that was a year of change. I remember last New Years, after having a shit night with the F, and not looking forward to closing the doors on that little shop by overlooking the ocean. Moving rapidly towards a a time of uncertainty, stagnation and unhappiness. 

In Twenty Twelve, for the better part of the beginning of the year, I was sad. Oh so sad.

Unhappy in my home, with friends who didn't quite understand, and who were already distant as a result.

Making decisions that didn't help the situation..

In Twenty Twelve, I got that kind of job I'd been wanting for a long time; the one with room to grow, with paid time off (which I still have yet to use, but whatever). In Twenty Twelve, I stopped being Token Single Girl, a title which fit neatly into my little beachside package of a life. I stopped being my Ex's crazy Ex. I stopped being a permanent fixture on patio's and porches in that Tiny Town I loved so much, but knew I had outgrown.

In Twenty Twelve, I lost friends. I still mourn the loss of those girls I love so much from my life, but change begets more change I guess, and when you no longer fit the title your friends think you deserve, whether it be 'Drinking Buddy' or 'Best Friend' or 'Charity Case', friendships are bound to be effected by it. I miss those friends, every day, and have them hidden from my newsfeed for the most part, so I don't look and feel left out, or figure out when they've lied about being 'out of town' even though we both knew that lying about being 'out of town' was what both of us wanted.

So, that's been a big change. A sad change.

But this year has also forced me to take a good look at what friends I have kept, no matter how far away or how close they live.
The ones who truly celebrate the victories and are support in the defeats. Whose pace of life allows for fluidity and change. 

And, in Twenty Twelve, I met Jim. 

Enough said.

Well, these were a hit.

In Twenty Twelve, I felt more connected to my family than I have in many many years.
My family as a whole. I feel less like the Forgotten Oldest Sister and more a part of the unit as a whole.
And, perhaps that comes from a better all around sense of 'wholeness' in myself. 

And so to end Twenty Twelve , we - Jim & I - had our party; and it was lovely. And, those who trekked all the way out to the inland suburbs of Orange County, those are my friends. Our friends. Come to the end of Twenty Twelve.

Bijou, who rarely has time to escape the back & forth from her house to her PR House, was one of the first ones through to door, with her sandy haired boyfriend in tow. In her perfect cornflower blue knee length coat, and bright red lips, she toured my new house. She, who was the first in the door way back when I moved into my Tiny Room with a Kitchen Attached in Twenty Ten, was touring my couch and my bathtub and my life with the boy, and I was happy. 
And I expect that she and I will be friends well past Twenty Twenty.

She also had the coolest handbag, of course.
A true Carpenter's Bag, structured and perfect. 

And I had all the fixings for our fete; because I decided long ago that when throwing a party, or doing anything really, if I'm going to stress, it's going to be the things I can control: the table's spread, the handmade swizzle sticks. I can control the cupcakes but I cannot make people eat them. I can try to give people something talk about a la kicky conversation cards by Chuck Klosterman laying casually on the coffee table, or holographic glasses strewn about the house courtesy of Kate Spade, or by even labeling the cheeses with their name and what type of cheese it is - Moo! Baaa! - but I cannot control whether or not people actually converse. You can bring a horse to water and all that jazz.

So that's what I focused on - on food, music, ambiance, conversation starters. 

And I think it was a success. I had fun.

So much change fit into one year. But I guess that's been every year since the big break up of Twenty Ten. 

After five years of complacency, it was bound to be a couple of years of ups and of downs.

At the start of Twenty Twelve, I had no where to go but up.

Now, come Twenty Thirteen, I'm on top of the world.

I'm going to turn Thirty One in Twenty Thirteen. Coincidence? 

I think not. Just math. 

But still. 

And I'm glad Jim's turning 31 a little before me, it'll make it easier when my birthday rolls around.

Happy New Year, everyone. 
Happy Twenty Thirteen.

Real. Sweet. Reads.

He made me a notebook for Christmas.
Like, mademade me a book, by hand.
A handbound leather notebook.
Because he is supportive of me writing.

Of course, I burst into tears.
Oh yeah, and shoes.

Yesterday.

Said Wednesday.

Wake up next to Jim.
It's a perfect sunny December day. 
Watch Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Tidy up.
Walk to Crossroad's.
Find a white fisherman's sweater for $10. Actually, $9.50.
I have been looking for a good fisherman's sweater.

Buy a bouquet of yellow roses and a bottle of champagne.
Catch up a bit with my Malibu Bad Ass by way of Denver.
Take my hair out of the nasty little bun it was in, spray some dry shampoo in it, blow dry it, and viola, I all of the sudden have the hairstyle I've been wanting - the curls from the day before are still there, but messy and full and perfect. 

Check mail. So many Christmas cards.
Sit on the porch like a fidgety child, waiting for my Best Friend from San Francisco to arrive.
She arrives. 
Sit and talk and laugh and cry and trade clothes and get a lunch of ahi tuna poke, tater tots & spinach dip.
She meets Jim. She approves.
Jim gets me a delicious burrito.
Jim is happy that I am happy.
My Malibu Bad Ass writes a wonderful little post about our friendship.
Bijou finally caves and starts her own blog.
Watch Scrooged while cuddled up on the couch in a knit blanket fort of sorts.
Fall asleep, next to Jim.

Yesterday was the Best Day Ever. 
I kid you not.
I am so in love with everything.

Three, Letter, Words.

Bijou Bijou.    <--that there's a link, y'all.

Bijou finally made her writings public. 

Just one more thing to make my Best Day Ever even Better.

ALL CAPS CAPITAL BEST DAY EVER.

Sweet Reads.

I'm always so proud when one of my friends does something truly extraordinary; like saying, after a lifetime spent in LA,

'Fuck it! I'm moving Denver to see about a boy.'

And then, having the courage and the words to write about it. 

So, my Malibu Bad Ass is more of a Denver Debutante these days,
and she's getting Creative. 
Capital C.

Check out the start of her new blog here: Class Optimism Luck. 

I also think it's funny how different each one of our beloved friends can be, while still being our friends. 
Opposites attract and all that jazz and stuff.
Bijou's personal motto has been, 'cynicism, nihilism, sarcasm, orgasm' for years, while my Bad Ass names her blog 'class, optimism, luck'. 
My 'style & saturn return (aka essentially re-building what it means to be a successful grown up)' is pretty apropos too, I guess.

Blanket Fort Musings.

Good morning! 

In the movie of our lives, she would be played by
Miss Williams while I would be played by
Claire Danes. We decided.

My house is a little messy today, but its only 8:35am and I'm already running the dishwasher so thats a step in the right direction, I suppose. I have Bon Iver playing full blast and its chilly and sunny outside. I've sent all my Christmas Cards out like a real grown up, & I didn't even have to ask anyone for their addresses, because for the most part, I already got 'em. Tomorrow I may see my Best Friend from San Francisco, as she has made her yearly pilgrimage to Southern California. I haven't seen her in two years, since our 10 year high school reunion and before that when we bought very expensive tickets to huge concert in LA (much to my Ex's surprise) to see Florence + the Machine and Brandon Flowers.
I just got a call from Jim telling me to not look at anything that UPS might bring today, and the teenage boy with the curly mad mop of hair just walked by, like he does everyday, on his way to school. 

Wrapping is my holiday Zen.

These holidays, however stressful as they are because of work, are going well. They are going well, though I have to say - I maaaay have gone a little crazy with gifts for the Boy, after agreeing upon only three, I somehow collected over twenty.

Shopping last Sunday for servingware & centerpieces for our Holiday Housewarming Party, after hitting up the big spots, like Bev Mo, HomeGoods & Michaels right as we were leaving, & I was walking back to the car, Jim had just finished up loading the trunk. He turned, hopped back on the shopping cart, feet on the bottom bar, and full speed ahead, rode it back to the front of the store. 

Hair blowing, smile on his face, he zipped past me on my left like a boy left to his own devices, flying. 

I love him so, I thought at that moment.
I love him so, I think now.

So we are set for our housewarming, after quite an investment in cake platters and serving trays, and Belgium-brewed beer & Dad's rootbeer in vintage pop bottles. Our centerpieces for the table are finalized, with berry branches in galvanized milk jugs, and a simple menu has been put together. 
We are happy.
I am happy.

Though, truth be told, we did have our first argument a few nights ago.
What about, you ask?
The tenets of time travel.


Yep, we are perfect for each other. 
And no, we don't agree upon how time travel would work if time travel were real.




But who cares, because neither of us would go back in time and change a thing.



I did something. 
I have that oft mentioned lace caftan, right? 
Well, honestly, I'm never going to wear it again though I only wore it a handful of times. 
I've outgrown it.
But I love it so. 
So I made into something that will live on for a while.

Happy Holidays. Yes, these are happy holidays.

Reality.

I miss you.

Thanks.

Do you ever stop, look around, take it all in & realize how lucky you are? 
Welp, you should.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

(the perks of being a wallflower.)

The Victor v. The Phantom.

Ya know, I haven't been writing as much these past several months. I haven't had much to say, nor have I have too much inspiration. Torment is a beautiful muse, you see, and happiness only begets more happiness. Meaning, I sure as hell have a lot to say and pick apart and remind myself to be grateful for when I'm dealing with loneliness or a general undercurrent of sadness; but when I'm happy - that's it.
I have few words for it other than 'happy!', 'love!' "partaaaaaay!'
Sure, things aren't Perfect, but they're as closed to it as I have had in recent memory.
In memory.
And when I really think about the last six months, who I was when I turned thirty, God so much has changed. 


I am thriving.
I have a couch, a bathtub and a Boy. (And, a grown up career path to boot.)
I made my demands of the World, and after a scuffle with World, I came out The Victor.



And sometimes, okay all the time, I look at that Boy, and at my World, and I cannot believe it's all mine.
Finally, I see what I want and I know I deserve to have it.
I see his profile catch the light and he looks beautiful and we are happy.
We wake up laughing and fall asleep contented. We are well aware that things are not always so perfect, and we game plan on how to deal with curl balls thrown.
But, when we wake up fall asleep and all the time in between, we are at a loss for a better word than 'Love'.
We times'd it by pi, then realized that's not very large, so we added an infinity, and then some.

It scares me to think that the Ex of 5 Years and I fell out of Love and we didn't even notice. I think about it a lot actually; I try and pin point exactly when it happened, when did we fall out of love? I don't know. It was well before we broke up, obviously. But when, exactly, I cannot recall. Though, truth be told, I can hardly believe we were together for five years. I can't remember what we talked about for five years. I mean... What did we say to one another for 1,825 days? I remember the backhanded, the fights. I remember the really wonderful, especially from when we first met.
But the in-between? That's a blur.

Babe, tell me again, the origin story of 'Motley Crue'? 
(No joke, when the Ex and I ran out of things to talk about, I'd ask that exact Q.
It'd keep him going for at least an hour.)

It scares me immensely to to think of falling out of love with Jim.
To sink into a relationship that is becomes something other than Lovely.
I am afraid of taking his love for granted, and vice versa. And to not notice until it is too late.
Or, conversely, to notice but not to care.

I learned so much from my relationship of five years, and the subsequent period of crazy dating that followed; but what I am determined to take away from my Ex is to have chosen a partner that will not fall out of love with me, and I not him. When I reflect back on my past relationship, what I feel most is a sense of being disliked. My Ex did not like me very much. Especially not there at the end. He didn't have a ton of respect for me; and when I repeat some of the stuff he said to me back to myself, my feelings still get hurt, years and years later.
My feelings are oft hurt by a Phantom Ex Boyfriend.
Jim thinks I'm smart and hilarious and wonderful and I think the same of him. And I have vague memories of Liam thinking similar of me when we first met, but he changed his mind.
And that still stings.
And that still scares me.

Its scares me immensely to think of Jim falling out of love with me.
I have to remind myself that he is not him and they are not the same.
I have to remind myself that what has passed does not have to be the rule.

This is good stuff.

But you know what the real difference is between the two?
I told Jim about these fears, and he did not disregard them.
He did not tell me I was being crazy.
He just reassured me he wouldn't.
And then, from another room, I heard him making up new words to a We Wish You a Merry Christmas,
(I kid you not.)

...I love you more today than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow...

Though, truth be told, I'm not sure if he was singing to me or to Kat Moss.

Fete.

Put your party shoes on.

I did it; I decided to throw a party.
A White Elephant Holiday Housewarming. 
With the tagline, 'Wrap your crap' 'cuz I'm cheeky like that.

Status: Approved

'I have to tell you, your Dad was nearly in tears last night. He said he hasn't seen you look so happy or healthy in years. And... Jim's soooo cute.'

This is an authentic representation of what he wore.

My stepmom whispered all this in my ear upon mine and Jim's arrival to my cousin's wedding over the weekend in Los Angeles, the day after Thanksgiving.
My dad then hugged me, and told me so himself. He told me I looked beautiful, which I don't remember him ever saying, but I'm sure he has.








Jim met (99% of) my family this past weekend.
You can guess how that went.

Smartest. Family. Ever.

White Elephant.

Kat Moss is totally invited.

I'm in the mood to throw a party.

A fete of sorts, ifyouwill.

Cozy, easy, post-Christmas yet pre New Years.

Every time I get the urge to throw a something-small I inevitably end up going back and forth back and forth about whether or not to actually throw it, because I get afraid that even if I did throw a party, no one would show up.

I imagine me, alone on the couch, metallic party hat on, curtains drawn, a single sad balloon hovering halfway between the ceiling and the floor. 

No one's coming to your sweet sixteen party, Louise.
Pathetic Party Kazooooooooooooooooo.

It's silly, really.

Then I go back and forth, trying to figure out who exactly I would invite, and I get overwhelmed at editing an invitee list (I always end up inviting some rando at the last minute anyway for fear that no one'll show) and then I end up deciding not to throw a party because it's too much of a headache (egoache), but the urge doesn't go away.

I'm in the mood to throw a party.
The internal fête battle rages on. 

I Just Google'd How to Spell 'Bored'. 'Happy' I Know By Heart.

They opened a Crossroads Exchange across from mine and Jim's house.
My life is complete now.
No, but seriously. I feel that way.

Also, is it just me, or if the dude in a picture (or life, or whatever) is too good looking, the whole thing comes off as contrived?

Your chiseled good looks are ruining the shot, man. 
Also, maybe this is why I love Jim's crooked bottom teeth.

I'm addicted to eBay.
I'm the highest bidder on a Galliano fan (as in, 'the vapors!') at the moment. 

I'm happy & bored & having a dinner guest tonight.
Which reminds me, Jim's parents saw the place for the first time last weekend, and it was so nice to see them so happy for their son. There was such a sense of pride in the way they looked at the place, and it was fun to watch them walk through and seeing it through their eyes. It also, and  this is weird to say, but I feel it, it made me feel like they knew that I am 'taking good care of their son'. Like somehow the outside reflects the inside; the happiness, the love, the care. I know the above is a bit of an antiquated concept, 'I'm taking good care of him, over here!' but it still made me feel good to sense that it was coming across. That and his parents think I have very good taste, so that was pretty awesome too.

Speaking of taste, what am I going to make for dinner?

Just a Friendly Reminder.

Never skip mascara.
Seriously. 

Say thank you.
Mean it.

Remember that other people's shoes will never be as comfortable as your own.
Which makes walking a mile in them really hard.
Try to imagine doing it anyway.

Learn how to politely decline.

Learn how to apologize when appropriate.

Learn how to not apologize when you don't need to.

Remember that we are all human; we're all doing the best we can.
Not one of us is always going to be perfect, or perfectly understanding; but, that doesn't take away from the fact that we're all trying our Goddamn best not to fuck up.
We're all trying to keep the yarns moving smoothly through the loom. 
Repetitiously.
And no matter how much you practice, you're never going to get it right one hundred percent of the time. There are going to be imperfections; there will be mistakes.

You can't take them back, but you can most certainly learn from them, and move forward with less of a chance of making the same mistakes again.

Learn how to forgive.
Yourself, most importantly.

But don't ever skip mascara.
Even if it might run.
Seriously.

Sunrise, Sunset.

Here I am, like I am most mornings - prework, or day off - I've made a point to wake up around the time that Jim leaves and enjoy my morning (or whole day, but not today) in Our Space.
Yesterday, I went to the market and bought what I usually buy - flowers and house knick knacks - nail polish, hand soap, a vintage looking edition of Pride & Prejudice that will inevitably never be read, but will look pretty on my dresser.
I arranged the flowers in my many many vases & blast Bon Iver on Pandora all day (or morning, as I am now.)
Then I peruse --- eBay, Pinterest, Facebook, you name it, I am in engrossed in it.
Yesterday, in particular I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at a photo story entitled, 'Rihanna's Sexiest Tweets' until I stopped, and thought, 'What the fuck am I looking at?'

And I feel whole.
I love finding a Rebecca Taylor dress for $15 as a surprise for my sister on eBay, helping my Malibu Bad Ass find a Minute Clinic in Denver, making plans for next Sunday with two of my old shop cohorts, responding 'Yes' to evites and generally just feeling helpful and happy, all while being surrounded by fresh flowers and feisty cats in a House with a Green Door.
On the couch or in the bath.
On our patio, with the furniture I picked.
I like my mornings.

But, I still have problems falling asleep.
I hate those moments of pre-sleep where my subconscious sneaks up on me, and I start thinking nonstop about the 
'What if's...'
Of memories I've willed myself not to remember.
Of things I could have done differently.
What if Jim dies... What will happen to me... How long would I be able to stay here in this house... It's not mine... Could I afford the mortgage... Could I get out of bed...
The moments in the interim of sleep and wake have been an Enemy of mine for a long time and I tend to stay awake as long as possible, doing anything possible to avoid the interim, until exhaustion hits - like a child with barely one eye open - and I just pass out without the actual falling part...
And the only moments of discord that Jim and I ever really have are when he's threatening to close his eyes before me, leaving me alone with my sleepy scary thoughts.
I get huffy, like a tired child up past her bedtime.
It's frustrating. For both of us, I imagine. Left alone, usually I wrestle with my fears for awhile and fall asleep, only to wake in the morning with only a vague memory of their existence  They're there, but only in those in-between moments, those moments I have trained myself to avoid with terrifying accuracy.

Last night was no different & and even though I had made the decision not to try & stay awake until the night just faded to nothing, I still lay there thinking the aforementioned what ifs -- and like many nights, I curled up in a panic to Jim, waking him from his new sleep, in tears. What if... How long...?
He's so sweet; when I am able to articulate the fears that have amassed cancerously in my tired brain,
he doesn't brush them off, he just holds me.
He asks if I want him to call his lawyer.

No, I just don't want you to die. 

He squeezes me and assures me that he doesn't want to either. He tells me of something he read about  in his own daily perusal of the interwebs, of a girl and her boyfriend falling asleep, where the girls tells the boyfriend she hates falling asleep because she gets so fixated on her next days' to-do list, and the boyfriend is confused because when he falls asleep, he thinks about things like rocket ships made of french fries. 

I envy that boy. 

Its so odd, being alone with my thoughts all morning, I am happy and whole and looking around at a warm space of my own creation, complete and happy.
But alone with my thoughts, on or around 10:30pm most weeknights, I am greeted by an old enemy - I am tired, and scared and sad.
The dichotomy of it - the two parts of Me - the day and the night, the happy and the sad - they are what make me my Whole-est, I guess. 
That I do not run, or attempt some other form of running away, that is a miracle in it of itself.
That I go to bed, or at least agree to try, on a regular basis, is new to me.
That I wake up as happy as I do is new as well.

It's an even trade, I guess.
Fears are fears, we're all going to have them.
Lucky for me, I get to wake up to a comfortable & blessed existence come the sunrise.

I'm always going to be afraid of what I cannot control. I'm always going to have memories that I wish were never made.
I'm always going to wrestle with my own propensity towards sadness and fight for my happiness.
I am always going to be working for a balance.
I am finding a balance.

I Like This Girl.

Eat The Damn Cake.  (Thats a link. Click it in a sec.)

I just fell into her Love Story.
I've read her work before, and she's articulate & she's deprecating & self aware. Its refreshing, and makes me feel like I have a friend in someone's words. (Imagine that.) I especially recommend following the hyperlinks to her first date with her now-husband.
I like her style.

Balloon.

I feel like... 

I finally have what I've always wanted; and have been asking the universe for - demanding from it, really... 

A couch, a bathtub & a Boy. 

A love that grows for that Boy; that has a ever expanding charge - like the universe is ever expanding. 

Sometimes, I feel as though maybe it's hit its stride; I have a moment of 'This is it. This is a Whole Love.' 

And then it grows more. 

And then, again. 

It matures. 

We've hit points of melancholy, or fits of giggles, and It grows yet again.

I wake up and tell him I love him, and I mean it more than I did yesterday.

Even though, yesterday I did not think I could love him more.

Leave/Change.

Leaves are changing. I finally noticed when Jim and I took a trip up to the Getty Villa, and outside of the preplanned Southern California tracked homes with their evergreen palm trees.

Or perhaps, it was the first time I'd had the time to notice.

After what feels like a long time coming.

And like the leaves, life changes. Life is fluid.

Though, I've been aching for 'the old days' a bit lately. Not sans Jim, but for the days where I had my little shop overlooking the ocean, for me to tear apart and put back together, for my boss and I to sit in the sun and talk shop on the bench by the door. For a time when my conversations with friends were not for about fifteen minutes before my workday, but instead spread out like melting butter over the course of a day or week or months.
I miss that little life by the beach; the one which had a place so perfect for me within it. 
Summers in the sand, boys falling at our feet, with flowers in our hair; we dressed, we danced, we sang, and though we were not entirely happy, we were - or, I was - contented with that.
It's a bit hard, feeling so disconnected from that old life. From that shop that defined me, from my friends who carried me. My life has changed in insurmountable ways in the past six months, from job to boy to many many things - and, within that life, I feel more contained, more centered and safe and loved. I feel Whole - and defined - for the first time in as long as I can remember.
Still, I can't help but feel a pang of hurt, of sadness, when I see pictures and think, 'I should have been there.'
I can't help but feel like a shunned third grader who wasn't invited to a birthday party when I realize that I wasn't even really asked somewhere where one hundred and eighty days ago it wouldn't have even have been a question.
And that's when I yearn for the days without question; the days of  fluid, half giggled conversations - the days of ocean views and misty PCH mornings.

I guess I have poor balance, I guess I can't - in light of all these changes - I haven't been unable to hold onto any semblance of my old life while creating a new one.
I feel like I've failed a little. Hell, I feel like I have failed a lot. 
But even then, when I think about failing my old life and feeling dismissed by it now, I can't help but remind myself that here - working a busy schedule and with a boy who loves me (in my wholeness, every bit of me, and not just in parts) - here, I am happy and here I am safe and here I am.

Here I am. 

My little life in Orange County; one which has a place so perfect for me within it.

I am here.
I am Home.