Sometimes...

Sometimes -

I get tired of being me. I get tired of being sensitive and emotional. Sometimes I want that freedom I associate with not caring.

I wish that when I speak, I did not slow down to think of the words or hesitate between them. I speak like I write. It's easier that way. I'm sure it frustrates people when I'm talking, when I slow down after a word and frantically search for the one(s) to follow.

Words escape me. My vocabulary is slowly turning into a sludge of words that are combinations of Italian, English, and gibberish. This must contribute to the previous "Sometimes."

Jealousy permeates my being. This next part is somewhat sick in the head, but when it rises up within me, I acknowledge it but then take great joy in smacking it around and kicking it out. Maybe that's not doing much.

Being me is much more hard than it is to be someone else. I struggle with clinging to what is "me" and discarding what is not "me." That politeness which I was raised with still overrides how I would normally react. This is good in many cases but in the moments when I should be absolutely vulnerable, there is an internal duel to decide how "me" will appear. This is an innate part of me then, sometimes it is best just to realize that this is how I work and I must take the internal duel as part of how I work. Just thought of that. Interesting...

I wish this wedding monster would get off my back. Driving to work today I realized that part of the aforementioned "me" is tucked away until its time to come out arrives. That time to arrive will likely not come until after life settles down post-wedding. I have a vision of lying in bed in the early morning and not moving. Of not thinking about anything but the body next to me and what I want to do that day. Of taking my rudimentary painting skills to the next level. Of reading a book that I really want to read. Like a Vince Flynn CIA novel. I envision settling down in front of the tv or next to a window and crocheting until my fingers get tired or I have lost interest or my stitches stupefy even me. Whichever comes first. Sometimes I allow myself to dream that my creative side will rise up. That even though I'm a terribly painter (no really, it's pathetic), a mediocre ceramic thrower, and a so-so cook/baker, I will take off and bloom once my life blends and settles down. My home will be filled with my fun paintings and I won't care what people will think of them. We will use dinnerware that I created and decorate with my own vases. Our home will smell divine and Michael will be the prime example of my cooking abilities.

When I start speaking, I should just shut up. I'm much too eager to contribute to the conversation. It's this deep desire to let the other person know they are not alone or that we have this thin thread to share. While that's nice on paper (or screen) it's unlikely I convey myself that way.

It is only after the person has ended the conversation that I realize I finally understood what they were trying to say. Typically that's a couple hours later. Usually it's when someone approaches me for conversation and I'm engrossed in something else or have my mind occupied with many other thoughts and while I should focus on the person in front of me, my mind runs rampant and only eons later do I realize they needed something or wanted to share something. I still stand by my firm belief that it is never too late. This is why many times I will bring up the other person's conversation topic days later. *Chuckle. Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, NEVAH, Give up!

I want to be enveloped by a song. This is why I love to dance. I don't like "fast" dancing or whatever it is they do to pop songs, but I love waltzing and sashaying, and twirling. I love being involved in the song. I never know what to do with my hands though. This is probably a great contributor to why I dance only when I have a partner. Speaking of which, would you believe but Michael likes to dance with me? Well... I don't know so much that he likes it but that he tolerates it. I think he sees how much I love it and for that he will dance with me.

This is quite private, this next bit, but maybe it's because I worked with Option Line, or maybe I just like being free with information, but I am now on birth control. They said it would be best if I started before our wedding night so if I needed to change the type we had plenty of time. Plainly put, this is a big deal for me. All my adolescent and young adult life I have carried the abstinence banner proudly. I realize that some girls are on bc because their body needs regulation. But for me, for this young girl, I never need birth control. I listened to my parents, I heeded their instructions. I love the Lord and cherish my wedding night. Starting birth control is giving up that innocence. I'm one step closer to shedding this young girl that I've always been. It might seem silly to everyone else, but to me, to me I am in mourning. I am burying a piece of my identity.


When I start writing, "me" reappears to reassure me that "I'm" still around.