It's not that...

...life has been bad, that's not it at all. It's just that life has been life. It has been complicated, and exhausting, and frustrating, and full of surprises. It has been life.

The past week of my life has been the proverbial roller coaster. My mom and my brother both left on a vacation that makes me queasy to my stomach to think about. School has been putting the pedal to the medal. I have been poked, prodded and practically interrogated about my feelings. And even more emotionally draining, my grandma was admitted to the hospital, had surgery and has lived the past 4 days with a breathing tube down her throat while stuck in a bed watching life happen around her. And that kills me. I've only gone to see her twice, and the first time I didn't even get to see her as she had just finished up with surgery. Which frankly, I was kind of okay with not being able to see her. It wouldn't have been her anyway...just some drugged up, out of sorts body double, and I didn't want that image in my head. The second time, however, I got to see her. I walked into her ICU room with the 5 other family members that have been amazingly available this past week and I broke down. No one else could see it. It was one of those silent, internal breaking downs where the only give away is the lump in your throat and the slight wavering of your voice. Luckily the room wasn't lit very well, and with all the "beeping" and "whooshing" and "buzzing" going on with my grandma's assortment of high tech gadgetry, my break down went unnoticed. The only moment that made that all worth it that evening was the twinkle in my grandma's eyes when she looked up at me from across the room and put her arms up. That moment...well, that's what life is about, no?

As I left my grandma and all the beeping, whooshing and buzzing of her room and the chatting of my family the lump in my throat grew. I called my mom. She didn't answer. There was no one else I wanted to hear me cry, so I cried alone. In my car. As I drove home. I yelled at drivers and turned the radio up because for some reason I thought that it would make me feel better. I made it home and talked to my dad and then the lump got too big to hide...

I cried and I scolded my family. I scolded them for only being around when they have to...when things get so bad that someone is in the hospital. I scolded them for being so selfish that they don't realize that having 5 or 6 or more of them in her room at one time is overwhelming for someone in her position. I scolded them for talking about her to everyone in the room and not looking her in the eyes and telling her something besides, "You're going to be okay." Is she? Do you really think that those 5 words are going to somehow change the fact that she's lying in an uncomfortable hospital bed, in a robe made for someone twice her size, with a plastic tube taking up residence in her throat, with constant buzzing and beeping going on, in a place she does everything in her power to avoid? Do you somehow think that those words coming from your mouth is really going to make her feel any better? Get over yourself. We all know that she's going to be okay...and if you don't and you're saying it to make you feel better, get out of her hospital room, she doesn't need that. I'm angry at them. So angry. It's the typical family style bull shit. It's a bull shit in a completely different class, one that really sticks to you. Everyone is so busy with their lives...working, building homes, going on vacation, doing the things that they want to do and then sometimes fitting my grandparents into the mix in 20-30 minute installments once or twice every other week. And now, now that she's lying in a hospital bed, the fact that you've taken time out of your life to come and see her and overwhelm her, now you're A+ family member? Now you deserve some sort of pat on the back because, "Look mom, I am here for you when you need me to be." What about the times she just wants you to be around? What about visiting her not because you just happened to be down the street and hell, you might as well swing by for a few minutes? What about being a family ALL the time? Not just because one of us is lying in a hospital bed.

I scolded them for that too.

And now I feel like I shouldn't go to the hospital as much as I want to because they're already there...and have been there since the sun rose and will be there until the sun sets. Why should I feel like I can't go see my grandma, so I can talk TO her, see HER and not some body double in a hospital bed because all of them are so proudly wearing their "FAMILY" button while sitting on top of their white horses in dire need of a bath? Why?

I may have scolded them for that, too.

I don't know. I've slept more in the past few days than I normally do, and I'm still tired. And with all of this I'm dealing with the rest of life. And really, I'm not bitching about life. I'm just frustrated and this is just another hurdle to make it past with new thoughts and ideas and lessons and memories. That's all. But right now...it just feels so...

Heart breaking.

Inner Dialogue.

Dating. It's funny, because every other time I've written about dating it has been incredibly cynical and negative. I may have turned a new leaf. In my life I have gone on a handful of dates...literally. None of them developing into anything more than a few hours of good company, and I suppose if I had really wanted any of them to develop into "something more," I would've tried a little harder. I suppose. And if we're keeping things honest here, which I try to do from time to time, 3 of those "handful of dates" have occurred within the last 3 months. I'm a bit of a late bloomer, what can I say? Anyway. Last night I went on a date. A very nice date. I revelled in that fresh, awkward excitement. Those electric (and cheap) thrills of fleeting physical contact (elbows...feet...shoulders). The try-to-play-it-off tense good-bye (You're thinking a million different things...half-hoping for, half-dreading whatever it is about to come: a hug, a kiss, a handshake.). The "get to know you" questions that you can only ask during the deliciously awkward first hours of hanging out. Oh...I loved it. Why haven't I done more of this?

I had a thought the other day, about the character of a person. Any person. You. Me. Your mom (haha, cheap joke.). I had this thought, whose originality could be up for debate as I have no idea if I thought it first or it was something I heard a million years ago, but I had it nonetheless. The thought: I believe that a person's character is reflected in the way they treat a complete stranger. Do you say thank you to the driver of a car who stops to let you walk across the parking lot? Do you hold the door open for the man 7 steps behind you? Do you smile at the woman whose eyes met yours? Granted we all have our off days...but in general, how do you treat some randomly seeming person whose path, however briefly, crossed yours?

I don't know. It was just a thought.

I don't think I adequately expressed how amazing of a time I had in Chicago and Indiana. Though I suppose if I were to adequately describe the experience the truth is, the location was merely a technicality. It was the company that made it amazing. Not to say I wouldn't love to go back and get even more aquainted with Chicago or the cornfields in Indiana, but it definitely was the company that made it. I wish I could tell you...but at this time I am unaware of any words to do him justice. All I can say for sure is that the memories make my heart smile.

Anyway, I've got homework I don't want to do, z's I wish I could catch and 2 sleeping babies that make my heart flutter.

Pregnancy scares and the word "possibility."

Walk with me through this memory, because as I'm told by one person in particular, it is more than blogworthy, which in and of itself is quite blogworthy considering it happened mostly alone and in the time frame of about 45 seconds.

A couple of weeks ago I was yet again burdened with the responsibility of waking up at a relatively decent hour (10ish) so that I could attack the day with a slow-starting and mild voracity (haha). As some of you have witnessed first hand, I am not at all the kind of person you wish to deal with upon my waking up...physically and mentally I am a mess, it's just that simple. So clad in my usual sleep get-up, shirt and chonies, I stumble (almost quite literally) to the bathroom for my morning piddle, my massive amount of hair whirled about and wrapped around my neck with bangs stuck to my forehead. As I gently seat myself upon the toilet I look around the bathroom trying to help my eyes adjust to consciousness once again. My view goes from the bath tub ("Is that a spider?! No...just hair.") to the clothes on the floor ("Blegh.") to the tiny trash can that lives directly to the left of the toilet (When you're sitting, which I was.). I take a quick glance down into it with no real intention of paying attention to any of the treasures thrown there, and look away - "Did I really just see that?!" and in a nano of a nanosecond I pulled the quickest double take possible by someone in my semi-conscious condition. "I DID!" Horror struck all senses and I was awake, and just like when you're terrified for your life, my surroundings started palpitating with my increasing heart beat and my vision was crystal clear. A pregnancy test box, placed ever-so gently atop the overflowing pile of mangled tissues and Q-Tips. And worse (As if at this point I could articulate anything worse), there is no actual pregnancy test stick to validate either scenarios a) of sheer horror or b) peace once again. "Whose could this be?!" Jesus'?...don't be silly. Grandma's?...certainly not. Mine?...most definitely not (I'm suffering from a 24 year dry spell afterall.). My mom's?...My mom's!? And before I forget, not only is the room still grooving to the beat of my heart, but now the pregnancy test box is like a Ford Excursion sitting on top of my trash can. So I finish piddling (Or for all I know, it had ceased itself and sucked itself back up into my body in my growing panick, I don't know.) and all that it entails, pull up my drawers and rush out into the hallway to the cutout at the end that overlooks my Grandparent's bedroom extension that most people call the "living room." "Grandma!" I say, trying to sound calm but really sounding like I just found a pregnancy test box in my bathroom that could only belong to my mother, which I am truly panicked about and have just rushed out of a bathroom to inquire about her whereabouts, but I don't think she caught on. "Uh, Grandma...where's mom? My mom?" Because there are so many people running around out there whom I call mom. "Oh, she's at a doctor's appointment." I'm pretty sure at this point my heart stopped, or at least my brain stopped, but I manage to say, "Oh." But really mean, "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" I just don't have the time, so I run to my room to my cell phone. Speed Dial 3, send. It rings 58273598273 times. Voicemail, hang up. Repeat. Repeat. I'm thinking, "Pregnancy test, doctor's appointment, my mom's lack of answering my phone call." "fJKFJN:BY**W(&*WHQHIDSHFHBSF(&SFHS" is the clearest thing running through my mind and so I throw my phone down and fly down the hallway to my parents' bedroom and crash land in the doorway of their bathroom. And this is where tiiimmmeee ssssslllllloooooowwwwwwssss ddddoooooowwwwwnnnnn. I look across the bathroom and see it, the pregnancy test stick just lying there in the most obvious spot, and its presence is like the Holy Grail, heavy and powerful. Only I'm not all that thrilled about it. The walk across the bathroom takes approximately 3.7 hours and I close my eyes as I stand above it thinking through all the possible scenarios either answer (Pregnant or Not Pregnant) could render. And as I talk myself through them I suddenly open my eyes, as if to surprise myself so that I wouldn't have time to change my mind and run out of the room, and see the answer.

Side note...I never realized how strong a grip a cheap white plastic pregnancy test that isn't even mine could have on my sanity. Crazy.

Anyway, the results are rather anti-climactic as it turns out she isn't pregnany...never really even thought she was pregnant but had to take the test before she could have an MRI done because of an interesting miscommunication of the word, "possibility"...and planned this whole dirty scheme.

I love that woman.

Thought pool.

For the past few months, my life has been glowing. I have been glowing. I have had so much to be astonished by, excited and grateful for, and inlove with. And honestly, there has been so little to complain about. Life has been…I can't even think of a half-adequate adjective to quite describe how inlove with life and things and people I've been. And as my usual routine of things predicts, I have done an incredible amount of thinking. In my head…always. On the growing list of things that take up my thinking-time…

School. I'm finally so close to being done with Sierra. I realize I've said that about a million times, but surely my friends, I actually mean it this time. This coming semester brings to a close my chapter on Higher Learning General Education. And this, brings me an immense amount of joy. A little laugh gets caught in my throat when I talk about school…even when I'm mentioning my 6 year run at Sierra, lol. I have an appointment with the CSUS Transfer Counselor in August! I know I'll spend at least a year at CSUS…and I'm excited about it, funny enough. I'd like to look around at other universities and possibly transfer, but for the immediate future I'm more than content calling CSUS my first university experience. It most certainly won't be my last.

Career. I won't kid around and say that I've finally figured it out, because I'm still far from it. I will say, however, that I'm finally in a place where I realize that I can do ANYTHING. I can be a teacher or a professor…for as long or as little as I want. I can write. I can change things…my mind, my life, the world. I'm still very intrigued by the Sociology world and thus plan on declaring that my major. Finally, lol. And I'm still incredibly impassioned by Women's Studies and thus will declare that either my second major or my minor. I get a little giddy about it.

Marriage. Not that I'm getting married, or even in a relationship, lol, but I've finally reached a state of mind where I can say almost (The "almost" comes in because I genuinely feel that if the man I want to spend the rest of my life alongside really wants a wedding, I'd be more than happy to give that to him.) certainly that I will never marry. I'm most certainly not insulting the act of marriage, or anyone who chooses to marry, I honestly think it's one of the most beautiful acts two people can partake in. But there really is no draw for me. The idea of an elaborate dress, and vows, and toasts, and an aisle, and whatever else, just isn't for me. I mention this as something I'm excited about because for awhile I felt a familiar combination of embarrassment and discomfort with a pinch of shame when talking about it. But I don't anymore. And it feels great.

The Versa. I'm so inlove with my nerdy little car, it's ridiculous. I was petrified at the thought of car payments (Especially for a contract of 5 years.) but the joy of actually owning this car (Or paying for it, technically speaking, lol.) sent the fear elsewhere. So next time you see a little blue Versa with some woman dancing around and singing while tootling down the street, wave, it's me! But if it's not, she still deserves a wave, haha.

Me. The last year of my life has been a HUGE transition. I've lost about 80 lbs., a physical change I thought I'd never realize but have. I have no reservations about saying how proud I am of myself and how great an accomplishment it is. But the change that my mind has gone through can't be weighed on a scale or formed into words (These particular words haven't been thought of yet.). I see the entire world so differently that the person I was just a year ago seems like an old best friend whose path has taken a turn mine won't. I love her and cherish her and while my heart will never let her go, she becomes more and more a stranger. I'm quite nostalgic about it all, like that was a different lifetime or something, but it was just a year ago. Sometimes I think I'm a completely different person, but then I realize that nearly the only thing that has changed is that now I really am myself. It's just now I don't have the same walls and inhibitions and fears and insecurities that dressed me a person everyone thought was Carolina. I rule! ;)

My relationships. Some are deeper than ever, and some are just blooming…others are changing. It's all leading to a place of growing happiness. It's getting beautiful in here.

My future. Some of the pieces of my puzzle are right where they should be, others haven't found their correct spot and need be moved. Some are loose about while others seem to not even have made it out of the box yet. Known and unknown, past mistakes and future ones, accomplishments and successes…it's all welcome. I'm nervous and excited, in just the perfect combination, which is a feeling I relish in.

I'd hate to come across cheesy or soap-boxy or self-absorbed…because there's no intent of any of that. I'm just happy.

It's quite lovely.

On Fireworks.

I attended yet another Rocklin Jubilee this year...and as always was more than pleasantly surprised.

Sitting underneath the night sky with hundreds of people, family, friends and strangers, with eyes wide and chins up. It was perfect.

They make my insides flutter. They make my skin tingle. My breath gets caught, and it almost feels like it's getting sucked into the pit of my stomach. And I watch, eyes as wide as they can open, smile broad as can be, my face lit up in gold and silver and a rainbow of other colors. And with every explosion of light I get lost in the moment completely.

It's amazing to me how seemingly random combinations of compressed chemicals can create the kind of spectacular beauty that are fireworks.

And the only thing better than simply being lucky enough to watch the fireworks?

Having Ray Charles sing, "America the Beautiful" in the background. That my friends is one of life's few perfect moments, and it literally brings a tear to my eye.

On Dating.

Dating has been on my mind lately (As it has been for, oh, the past 20 years. [This is a rough estimate surrounding my memories of my first crush: A late-twenty-something year old Liquor Store clerk down the street from my family's apartment, whom I used to pick flowers for. Oh youth!]) and it has become abundantly clear that I have major issues with it.

First issue: I'm afraid of it. I have this conversation repeatedly with the same 3 people (Sorry guys.) because I just can't wrap my head around it. I consider one main fact that I believe exacerbates my fear, which is that I've only been on one "real" date. It was a nice experience...I did the asking, he was as nice as he always was, there was the awkward hug at my door...the usual. And I fancy the memory. Still, I must not fancy it enough as I haven't done anymore asking. But...I haven't really been asked either (And by "really" I mean, I have been asked but it has been mostly by particularly creepy men whom I wouldn't want to hold a door open for me, let alone spend time with in a one-on-one situation.). And still, this fear is not enough for me to completely avoid dating.

Issue numero dos: I don't put on a false face or play mind games…which sounds like the greatest thing possible, but in my experience thus far (Granted, a little lacking, but experience nonetheless.) guys have a tendency to go after the women who do put up false faces and play some sort of game. They go after the drama-queens, the high-maintenance ladies, and the bossy girls (The problem here is due to something being lost in translation. Example: Drama-Queens are somehow perceived as "passionate" at first. Likewise, those that are High-Maintenance are presumed to just "care about themselves" while the Bossy types are considered "beautifully independent." Get a dictionary boys.). Gluttons for punishment? (And in all fairness I'd like to note that I am fully aware that females are guilty of equally heinous dating crimes…it's just that I'm not interested in dating them.)

Issue³: I don't need or want to be saved. Again, something I kind of thought was a good thing. Those "Knights" (As I painfully refer to them as) are different from the guys who go after the "passionate" ones, but just as confusing. These are the guys the go after the most unstable women thinking that he can somehow be the bridge that gives her safe passage over the Raging River of Emotional Instability (Not that we all don't have our own issues…but follow me here.). But you know the saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." Yeah. I never thought having things slightly together would work against me.

D) Issue: I don't have any clue about how to a) meet new people or b) move from being an acquaintance to being more (Friendship or otherwise.). I don't say this to sound completely stupid, even though I realize that it does, it's just something that I haven't yet gotten an understanding of. All of the friendships that I have, have pretty much been facilitated by the other. This kills me to admit because it requires that I fly my "Socially Stunted" flag but well, that's just the (lame, ridiculous, cold, stupid) reality of the situation.

Dating (Or as is my case, just thinking about it) exhausts me.

That's all I can bare to admit to at the moment.

"In my dreams...

...your bare ass gleams.

And you're the checker,

of my..."

My grandpa totally snuck that out today over breakfast. ROCK ON.

I love dirty sailor ditties.

Mind spill.

I've just been piddling around on myspace, as per my usual routine of things, and I'm feeling rather restless. I'm at my neighbor's babysitting and little face is asleep so I'm left to my own devices...which includes, as always, over thinking.

I've had a lot on my mind lately. One thing that keeps popping up for me is my inability to talk about what I'm feeling, thinking, wondering. I constantly question whether or not the people I'm surrounded by want to hear what I have to say, and while I know rationally that they care about me, and therefore what I'm feeling, I just can't convince myself to actually say it. The words get as far as my throat and then retreat back into my head, never maturing into actual, spoken words. I'm not entirely sure what stops me...fear? I'm sure. But fear of what exactly? Being vulnerable...being disrespected...being ignored? Sounding stupid...sounding self-absorbed...sounding ridiculous? I can't place it, but I know that it is something that bothers me immensely. I have a reputation for being the one that listens and advises and comforts, and have always been so insistent on people not locking up their emotions, yet I am the first one to do so.

Hmm.

Another thing that keeps popping up is money. I love what I'm doing right now...watching children. It pays my bills, I have a little to play with, and the experience is great. Sure I have to deal with poop and whining and the infrequent brat, but really, I have an amazing time doing what I'm doing. My problem is that I want more. I want more experience. I want to meet more people. And as shallow as it seems, I want more money. I have a goal to move out this year. And no offense to my family, I wouldn't have lived at home so long if I didn't love it, but I just feel like it's time to spread my wings. Unfortunately I'm not even close to being in the position to do so, with my money flow being what it is. But I feel a sense of obligation to Torrance's parents. Not that I think I'm the only one they could find and trust with their child, but I've spent a year watching her grow up, and being a main part of that...and now they're about to welcome a second child into the mix. As strange as it sounds, I feel like a part of the family, in the sense that I just can't walk away from them. The handful of other children I watch are amazing too, but I watch them so infrequently that I could easily just say, "Hey, I won't be as available as before, but don't lose my number."

...I think I just had an epiphany. When I'm looking out for myself I feel deeply selfish. I feel like I should be sacrificing at least something all the time, and when I make it about me and what I want or need, I feel horrible.

How do you stop putting yourself second (Or third, or fourth, or...) when it's so deeply engrained in who you are? How do you stop that cycle? When will I be able to make myself a priority without feeling guilty about it?

I kind of feel sick to my stomach now.