And So It Goes

I have no idea what time it is, only that it is late enough to be keeping my father, who is sleeping on the couch, awake and I am sure he isn't too happy about that. I have this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach which probably has to do with the fact that yet another person is getting in the car tomorrow and driving home to Indiana without ever asking for my phone number. I get this feeling every time another possiblitly mentions leaving town, and I am struck by this sort of desperation to spend as much time as possible making it very clear to that person how great I am. Does that make sense? Probably not, but I will continue anyway. I have spent the day trying very hard to move on from the impossibility of my Mr. Perfect (see 10.15.2001, 10.17.2001) and focus onto to somthing, or someone, a bit more within my reach. Under the pretense of free Busch Gardens tickets and providing a fun little outing for a rather bland vacation in Brandon, I had the day to test the waters of compatibility. Well, apparently "reach" is subjective and free tickets don't offer the appeal that I had previously thought. I'm not broken hearted, I have no reason to be, but I am disappointed at adding yet another tally mark to the count of those who find me perfectly resistable. Not that he and I would have made a good match, and long distance things never work, but still.... There is always church tomorrow, but I think I might have spent too much of my time already on this little endeavor and I refuse to hold my breath on this one for most certian death from lack of oxygen. Despite all, I did have a really good day. I mean who wouldn't given free passes to a theme park that in no way resembles the house I have spent the few days prior trapped in. I even had a breakthrough and put away long standing fears to discover the joys of rollercoasters that go upside down. Underneath that knot of disappointment sits a type of self-pride that refuses to be shown because of its extreme child-like nature.(Lets just say the last time I felt this way I had just learned to ride a two wheeler, sans the training wheels.) Maybe my mother is right and my curl-haired hero can be found in a random pub somewhere in the UK. Until I find him, I think I might be better off if I quit mistaking him for just about every other guy that I run into here and there-that routine is growing very tiresome-and, meanwhile, I should probably just stick to Jane Austen and find my present happy endings there.
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When I get married, I want to dance with my husband. I think my favorite dancing will be done in our house clothes to old jazz records. When I get married, my husband will serenade me with silly love songs that he wrote while he was in some boring business meeting or when he should have been working. When I get married, I will sneak short little love letters in my husband's briefcase so that he will have a fantastic surprise in the middle of the day. When I get married, I won't mind so much if my husband has to take business trips, but only because I will know how happy he will be to see me once he gets back. When I get married, my husband will be better than any character in a book I've read or a movie I've seen because he will be mine, made for me by God, and we will make our own happy endings.
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Well, months of anticipation have breezed by in a matter of seconds and Christmas has passed even quicker. Thank God for the invention of the video camera, otherwise Christmas might have seemed to disappear completely. I don't know what it is about holidays, but they never stick around as long as they ought.
Christmas Eve seem oddly out of place. I didn't even remember what day it was until my best friend called reminding me to be at the church in 30 minutes to help set up for that evening's service. I spent the rest of the day getting ready to impress everyone but the One I should and paid for it later as I stood on the lawn, feet aching and and the rest of me shivering so violently that the candle I was holding dripped hot wax all over my hands.
Christmas Day is blurry and from the scraps I have managed to salvage from memory, it had all the trimmings of a joy-filled day . I only got about 4 hours of sleep the night before and woke up with the worst sort of excitement and anticipation. I hadn't done that in forever, and the whole ordeal made me feel completely like a child. Christmas morning many of the same childish sentiments, unwrapping presents with the goofiest grin on my face (as the camera would later show) and getting so excited about receiving the presents I had been bugging my parents for since September. My mom did the best job shopping, and for the first year I have absolutely no intentions of returning any of her hard work. Later that day, as I sat in my grandparent's house with the rest of my family, I was so taken aback by the fact that I was actually enjoying myself. I tried to take as much from the evening as I could, knowing that there probably wont be many more holidays like this one in the years ahead.
The rest of my time has been spent on the couch, recovering from my run in with my father's sinus infection. He has germed up just about every inch of this house, and thank goodness all I have is a slight cold. Nevertheless, I hate being sick and have spent the last 48 hours holding every sneeze, cough and dripping nose against him.
I'm actually excited about the rest of my time here at home, well, except maybe Monday night. New Year's Eve is never like I imagine that it should be and never ever like it is in the movies. Dick Clark and I have spent many a Rockin' New Year together and I am sure we have a few more yet to see.
I still have a few days to salvage this year, though, and have every intention of making the next 4 days better than the past 361. How do you squeeze 8664 hours worth of moments into only 96? I have no idea, but I shall certianly try.
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As prosaic and sentimental as it might be, I went carolling with a group of people from my home church this evening and actually had an pleasant time. As pleasant as it can be singing to people confined to their homes due to age and unfortunate circumstances. Our first stop was the home of a few boys that I had attended high school with and their parents had joined our church sometime within the three years I have been away. The oldest son, Chris, is my age and would have spent fours years attending BHS with me and all of our friends had he not spent that doing time for robbing a bank. I admit that he and his life circumstance had always been a joke with me (I mean what moron robs a bank and expects to get away with it) until the moment I stepped into his house tonight and saw his mother lying on the couch as cancer toys with her frail body. It was by far the most upsetting thing I have seen in a while and had to stare at the songsheets to keep myself from crying. To think, here is this kid that I have spent so much of my time making fun of, and he's about to lose his mom to the longest fight of her life. At least she was home for Christmas.
My pastor has eleven children and four of them are on their way over right now. Matt, the second to oldest, went to school with and personally knows Rex Grosman. He's promised to "hook me up", whatever that means, but I would like to think that somewhere along the line it might mean field passes and free tickets to Gator home games, maybe VIP access to sky boxes or locker rooms.
My mother has locked herself in her room, feverishly trying to wrap the presents she has worked for weeks to acquire. I really hope that I like everything, because I don't want all her hard work and hard thought to have been for nothing. My mother is a beautiful woman and I hope that I can make her half as happy as she has strived to make me.
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It feels good to have been missed.
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I've been home just a few hours past twenty four, and already have had more to deal with than in the entire two weeks prior. I rode into town yesterday afternoon looking forward to two weeks of rest, relaxation and presents. Lots and lots of presents. I drove into town yesterday morning, dropped my bags off at the house and met my mother at the mall. Things started all right, I ran into Chris' mother and two sisters, I saw some old friends from high school, I caught my sister ditching out on the plans we had made a few weeks ago to go shopping when I came into town. Things were going just fine, that was until I reached into my purse to pay for the juicer I was gifting to myself only to find that my wallet was no longer in my purse. Thus sparked a statewide search operation reaching all the way from my house in Tampa to the gas station in Gainesville where I had paused to buy a Dr. Pepper before hitting the road. I had given the wallet and all of its contents up to gone forever and was slowly and very reluctantly resigning myself to undertake the task of replacing everything. That was until Fred McCullough from J.C. Penny's loss prevention office called me at ten till 11 p.m. to tell me he had found my wallet and I could come and pick it up whenever possible. I love Fred McCullough.
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" It's comin' on Christmas, they're cuttin' down trees, puttin' up reindeers, and singin' songs and peace. Oh, I wish I had a river I could away on. Oh, it don't snow here, it stays pretty green, I'm gonna make alot of money then I'm gonna quit this crazy scene. How I wish I had a river I could skate away on. I wish I had river, so long, I would teach my feet to fly. I wish I had a river I could skate away on. "
~Joni Mitchell
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If I get married, my husband will appreciate it when I shave my legs, though no one else will even bother to notice. If I get married, my husband won't mind at all if I choose to wear his undershirts or sweatshirts to bed rather than some sexy negligee that doesn't even fit the way it should. In fact, he might even prefer it. If I get married, my husband and I will have silly holiday traditions and will make the same theater trip that I made every year at Christmas when I was a child. If I get married, I will finally have someone to rub my head and someone to whom I can return the favor. If I get married, my husband will put his hand on my back as we sing hymns on Sunday, like I've watched my father do almost every week since I was five. If I get married, I'll finally have a reason to stay in bed on Saturday mornings. If I get married, I'll have someone who will eat what I cook with a smile, even if he can't stand the way it tastes. If I get married, my husband will think I am beautiful, and most importantly, he will tell me so.
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Much to the disappointment of myself, my mother, and countless friends, I am terrified. I have lived so much of my life alone, somewhat because I have chosen to do so, but I'm afraid mostly because I have driven everyone away. I drive around Gainesville alone, I walk around WalMart much the same way, I spend most nights with my cat, and have been unable to find anyone suitable to live with. I fear that my life will be like this forever. When I was seven, my class assignment was to make a list of our biggest fears. High atop death, throwing up, and birds sat being alone. All I've ever wanted was a simple life with a happy ending. A husband, children, a dog or two, and a cute stone cottage nestled in the wilds of the Smokey Mountians or on some rolling English plain. I sit next to Jamie and Lindy in church and become envious of his hand on her knee, not because I don't have that right now but because I am afraid I never will.
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Here's this, but only because it says more about myself at this second than a clever story:

Reflections
I dream I am in a boat
Filled with twelve
Waiting
For what, we do not know
I hear my name and look to see
Him,
His hand calling me.
My feet meet water, the waves
Lapping at my toes, yet
Holding them with unnatural strength.
Afraid, I look away,
My liquid floor giving way.
But he is there,
And we walk with our hands held together.

At the end of the day, my mind swirling
With blended thoughts,
I walk alone towards home.
The sky reflects my dismal temper,
Raindrops mix with tears,
Soaking my cotton shirt.
Head down, I open my eyes to watch
The asphalt under my feet.
Slick and wet, the street has transformed
Into a river, black and two cars wide.
My feet splash puddles,
Putting up appearances of walking on water.
Amazed, I look to the sky, moving on,
With my hands held together.

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Today was the annual Patton family Christmas gift exchange. My father's side of the family no more resembles a family than it does a small army. He has eight brothers and sisters, so add their spouses, children, children's spouses and children's children and you have the makings of a very "cozy" gathering. Everyone had plastered plastic smiles as they waged small wars over every inch of floor or cushion they had managed to acquire. I walked away with some very lovely crystal champagne glasses, but fully intend to return them for something a little more my style. It was actually fun, a rarity for this event, and I really wish my sister had been there. She sent along her own little gift, though, an autobiography she had made for class. Inside there was a letter to me, apologizing for everything she had or hadn't done in the past 18 years. I cried, of course, and could hardly read what she had written through the blurry mess of my tears. I've only ever wanted a better relationship with my sister, and now it finally seems attainable.
We ran into Clif and Zachary "Skippy" Wilcox at the Cracker Barrel at dinner. Skip and I chatted over browinies about Harry Potter and Skip's new "girlfriend" while Clif and my parents discussed my sanity. He told them he thought I was doing wonderfully, finally an ally. It's taken the longest time to convince that man that I am ok and I will walk on eggshells for as long as I have to in order to keep him believing that.
Church tomorrow, yeah, and then a few more days until I can go home. Ahhh, home.
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My mother is coming tomorrow. Under normal circumstances, this would be a happy moment and I would be sleeping. However, my mother is due to arrive at an unknown time tomorrow morning to inspect my house for cleanliness. She and her rather particular white glove will drop themselves at my door step and bless me with one of the most unhappy surprises yet. Therefore, I am cleaning. Down on my hands and knees scrubbing tubs. toilets, carpets, and linoleum floors, emptying trash cans, litter bins, laundry baskets and dish drains. Had I not sat around until 10, I might be somewhere in the neighborhood of finished right now. I've made progress though, I can see the floor of my study, a sight I haven't seen since mid-semester. I clean, reluctantly, mostly to appease my mother, but also somewhat because I have nothing else to do. (I honestly need to stop resenting certain people because they fail to call even though they know I am home until Thursday morning.) Jay Leno and the rest of the late night NBC crew, however, have generously agreed to keep me company for as long as it takes to remove every speck of filth from this house. Speaking of which, back to the grime.
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I"M DONE! Hoorah! I took my last test a few hours ago and sold back every rotten book. I got $73, a wonderful sort of add on bonus, but the best part is that I can officially put this whole semester behind me. There is no joy that compares with that feeling.
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Today I wrapped the few Christmas presents I have been able to buy. I needed something to get me into the Christmas spirit, and goodness knows the weather isn't doing it for me. (Random side note: One of my favorite Christmas movies when I was a kid was 'A Cabbage Patch Christmas' where the Cabbage Patch kids sneak out of the patch and past their dangerous foes-yes, they did have foes- to go to New York City to find the Christmas Spirit. I remember all they found was a girl who couldn't walk and it ended with the usual sentimental mush that the Christmas spirit is really inside of everyone. I wish I had that movie now, I would watch it.)
I got a "new" couch today. I'm happy about that because my apartment is finally beginning to look like a home and not a carpet showroom. I'm planning to make slipcovers for it, but I think I might let someone else like Target do all the work for me in the end.
I wonder what sort of pleasure comes from stringing guys along. I personally have never had the opportunity to, either because I am not desirable enough or not cruel enough to do it, but one would think that there must be immense rewards to merit treating guys like puppets. I, for one, find puppets a terrible bore.
David Copperfield was on Mobil Masterpiece Theater tonight, so I watched it. It was very good, but mostly because a younger Harry Potter was playing the part of David. I wonder if poor Harry Potter will ever be able to escape this role. I highly doubt it.
I wonder if money-making capabilities are in DNA. Why are some people designed for greatness and others mediocrity? There has to be an explanation, I think it might lie in the human genome.
My body is tired, but I drank about half a two liter of Dr. Pepper. I don't see sleep anywhere in the immediate forcast.
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I sit here on a lovely Sunday night, a bit at a loss for what to do with myself. A few times this weekend, a brief but overwhelmingly joyful thought would cross my mind and cause my stomach to jump in a way usually reserved for boys, tests, and unfinished assignments due the next day. My thought: I don't have lab tomorrow, I don't have to sit up for hours and hours trying to type out a story to please my teacher and no one else. There was a time in mid-semester when I honestly thought this day would never come. Now that it is here, all I have left to do is sit and hope my final story was enough to salvage a C from the impossible troll that crawled from its cave to rule over lab 2056 on Monday mornings. I've celebrated in my usual way, doing nothing but spend money.
The rest of my weekend thoughts have been almost consumed by dreams of packing up my stuff, stepping onto a plane, and flying across the Atlantic to step out onto the land I have wanted to visit for as long as I can remember. England. My romance with Great Britian began a long time ago and has continualy grown deeper as I have flirted with the Beatles and British actors. I would give anything to be there. Especially right now, as the break sets in and the familiar disappointment of sticking around town creeps back. We're well acquainted, that disappointment and I. He was a most unwelcome visitor over the summer and now, no matter how hard I brace myself against the door, he seems to have one foot in. His voice rolls around in my head telling me that no one here wants me and thus making England ever more desirable. I don't mean to dwell in what closely resembles self-pity. Despite all the crying on the phone to my mother, I am oddly at peace and could be defined as happy, but only in my own terms. I have just about all the things that honestly matter, the rest of what I want will fall into place later. Including wonderful stick-by-you friends, a husband, and beautiful children to giggle with and stay up late telling secrets or making forts. I have to believe that God has His plan, this is part of it, and all will be made beautiful in time. Until then, I count it all joy, so bring it on.
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I hate good-byes. They are quite possibly the worst part of college and yet the most inevitable. I'm completely incapabe of saying a good-bye devoid of any emotion. Tonight we said good-bye to Joe the Intern. It came about so unexpectedly, which made the entire thing even more painful. I never imagined he would leave less than a week after the day he told me. Knowing I have so many more good-byes just around the corner is not helping things any. How many more times will I have to say good-bye to someone I love before it's my turn to go?
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I like to pet people. I think there are worse crimes against humanity than that, unless you're talking to my sister who can't stand to be touched by anyone but her boyfriend. I guess that is what makes her my favorite victim. Sometimes I'll pet myself, on the arm or maybe the head. It's never quite the same though. I need someone to pet.
Today was my very last ever for the rest of my life JOU3101(Reporting in layman's terms) lab. Let's hope. I crossed every body part that could as I left, rushing to beat the meter maid to my car. I could go for all eternity and never want to take that class again. There are worse things than Reporting, I suppose, but the only thing I can think of is Micheal Jackson's nose. He really should sue someone.
Today I went to Freshens, seriously craving a banana smoothie. So, I ordered a #1, a Jamaica Jammer, with no strawberries, only to have the girl behind the counter tell me she could only make smoothies numbered 15-22. Don't ask me why, she certianly did not tell me. I settled for a rather gritty Oreo Coffee slush thing. I was disappointed and seriously wanted my $3.70 back.
I just got an email from my cousin telling me he has officially filed his candidacy for Gainesville City Commissioner. Thus begins my evil, vengeful plot to stop him from getting elected. He kicked me and my beautiful car out of his driveway, shouting that we may never park there again. So maybe he didn't shout, but he did kick me out. And not that my plan will work because none of my friends care enough to vote to begin with. But I'm certianly not going to vote for him. I'll show him.
I've got big plans for tonight. I'm making a meatloaf, if anyone cares to join me. Then maybe a little Harry Potter, then off to bed early to make up for the two hours of sleep I stole this morning. Please, don't be jealous. Not everyone can handle this much excitement. It takes a certian stamina, and maybe you just don't have it.
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At long last, it is my final late Sunday night spent typing furiously trying to finish my Reporting assignment.(Cross your fingers) I spent the day doing nothing. I lounged(I prefer lounged to sat on my butt. Lounge has a dignity that is absent in the latter) for hours and hours, catching up on some reading and the past season of the Real World. I needed the day to recooperate from last night's game, which was quite possibly the most intense to date, and to break from the people I spent way too much time with in the last 48 hours. It's been a difficult weekend, here are a few reasons why:
1) George Harrison died. Not a big deal to some, but for those who have the Beatles plastered on their walls at home like I do, his passing is a sad, sad event.
2) The Gators fell to the Tennessee Volunteers, and with them went the SEC Championship and a National title. I think a few of us jinxed the game at the start, though. We rattled our keys at kick-off. Should've known. Curse those terrorists.
3) I found out Joe the Intern is leaving. He made a point to pull me aside and tell me Friday night at the bonfire. I fought so hard against the tears but I'm glad it was dark so that he couldn't see me lose.
4) Courtney, Daniel, and their adorable baby Chance left to go home to Tennessee this evening. I didn't get to see them off, but that's ok, I would've cried then too. At least I saw them on Wednesday, right? They might not be family, but they come pretty darn close.
5) I'm adjusting to life on my own once again. It's never easy to live alone, but I much prefer the quiet to what it has replaced.
6) I dreamt people were trying to rob and kill me. That's never, ever pleasant.
and...
7) Sven has come and gone, and not so much as a word. That's okay, though, I wasn't looking forward to seeing him too much...

But hey, not all weekends can be winners.
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