I GOT A GRANDLITTLE!
So, I don’t know how much I’ve mentioned about my sorority. I love it, and it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, and one of the first big decisions I’ve made on my own. Yeah, I consulted my dad, and yeah I told people about it, but this was the first real big thing I did for myself. Ex didn’t like it. I said fuck you, it’s my life and you’re a judgmental asshole. And I joined. We may not be large, and we may not be what you think of when you hear the word “sorority,” we don’t all look like those picture perfect cookie cutter blondes they use in the movies, but I know each and every one of my sisters personally, and I have never felt like I belonged somewhere quite so strongly. And being a military kid, that’s a big deal. During my pledge semester, I received a Big, a “big sister” of sorts to keep me on track to join the sisterhood. From what I understand, this is standard Greek practice, and my Big is one of my closest friends now. I talk to her more than just about anyone else in the world and she calls me at least once a week to update me on her life. When we lived near each other, she would frequently ask me if I was doing anything, and if I said no, she would come whisk me away to someplace or another, a little coffee shop, a fantastic lunch place, the mall, a funky little bookshop on the north end of town, her house for a sleepover. She orchestrated my twenty first birthday. I also have a Little. I’m a bit sad that my relationship with my Little is not the same kind of relationship I have with my Big, but everyone functions differently, and she’s a bit shyer than either myself or her Grandbig. And she texted me this evening, along with my Big, to let me know that she was going to be given a Little! And we had a conversation of several hours about what might be done for this new little family member based on her own likes and preferences. And I’m so excited for this new girl to join us, and I hope she’ll be a fabulous addition to our little family. Eep! I’m gonna be a GrandBig!
I think it’s time I stopped being scared.
So much has happened since last I came here. I am six months in to the new-old relationship I’ve mentioned to you before, two months from completing my English degree from my beloved university, two and a half months from my twenty second birthday. Where to start…
I have neglected you, dear readers, this journal of sorts I’ve kept up for what will now be four years. And I hate that I’ve done it, but I know I have. Since we last spoke… The rest of my school year was a blur of lasts, of senior sendoffs and final meetings and quite a few trips home. (I hate that there was a time when I didn’t do that. I know I needed it. But I hate that I felt forced into it.) There was a ball, which I took my lovely gentleman to, and he spruces up rather nicely. As the school year ended, I took several tests to make sure the classes I needed to pass would be passed and accounted for. And I signed up for four summer courses, online, in the hopes that I could finish up my degree. (No such luck, one was Latin. I have since decided Latin is not for me, and switched to Spanish.)
The summer was a series of long evenings spent curled on the couch and days in the sun, of walking beaches and baseball games, movie dates and sitting shotgun in his truck. One evening, it was Friday the Thirteenth and the fullest moon we’d seen in ages, we arranged a beautiful day of movies (How to Train Your Dragon 1 & 2) and dinner and a moonlit stroll along the water’s edge, and it’s a night I’ll not soon forget. How to Train Your Dragon was our first ever date, and before we were even back together, the moment I found out there would be a sequel, I happened to be with him and some friends, and I turned to him and said “We’re going to go see that.” And he smiled and nodded in agreement. It just so happened that we were together on the advent of both film releases. I took up a summer job of watching two young boys, one a perfect angel, a younger brother who was quite the opposite. (The younger one is now seeing someone for behavioral issues.) They loved to play Minecraft, and every day, as long as weather permitted, they were out in the pool for several hours in the afternoon. My gentleman won tickets to a mega-concert, four well known country stars (some more well known than others) all gathered together in one stadium (which warranted a new outfit of course, and I found the most perfect pair of cowboy boots in a secondhand store.) and we had the most splendid time. My Big came to town for a weekend with her family, she got to meet my gent (and most of my sister’s work friends) and we all went to a ball game together and I spent a night at her condo on the water and oh, the view was breathtaking. My family (with a slightly gleeful amount of help from my gent and his family) have roped me into the television show Big Brother, and I am, in a way, glad they did. Now it gives me an opportunity to visit my “inlaws” even though he is away at school. Every Thursday evening, we have an early dinner so his sister can get to class on time, and then around nine, we settle in to see who goes home this week. It’s a fun and convenient excuse to see them (at one point, I was rather afraid his mother didn’t much care for me, but it seems she does now, so it’s hardly a worry any longer.) and perhaps “Thursday night dinners” will continue long after the finale of the season. I love his family. I love his dogs. I love him.
As terrifyingly scary and sickeningly soon and shockingly cliche it is to say, or, lets be honest, to do, I’ve started rough-planning a wedding. Big details, like the where, the when, the dress. His grandparents house, spring, trumpet-silhouette with lots of lace, potentially my aunts and revamped. This is the sort of thing I was doing last time too, except in much broader detail, not the wedding, but the marriage; the things like coming home from work to dinner and curling up to watch the kids play on the floor. A curly haired little boy and a tow-headed little girl on a backyard swingset. I don’t have many of those visions anymore, these are more immediate. I could potentially be engaged within the next five years. That would put me at twenty six. That works for me.
I stopped writing because I didn’t want to be found. And I hate that I was scared away from doing something I so love because of what happened. But in these last few months, I’ve found a quote that really resonates with me, right down to my soul.
"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." ~Anne Lamott
I own everything that has happened to me. And I’m going to tell my stories.
This week has been and will continue to be my spring break. This past weekend, he decided to come home (because I’d be there) Saturday morning, he came over for breakfast, french toast and the works, and My Cousin Vinny, curled up in an oversized armchair. Sunday, the ninth, he came over for breakfast again, pancakes this time, and we spent the day together. Watched a movie again after breakfast, “We’re the Millers” and played Minecraft with my little brother for a while. Then I got dressed, polka dotted skirt and a nice polo with my cork sandals, and we went grocery shopping with his parents and picked up the ingredients to make Chinese food, sesame chicken, lo mein, some chicken egg rolls and egg drop soup. Also picked up some fortune cookies. We both, along with his mum, busied ourselves around the kitchen island combining ingredients for this that or the other recipe, and when it was all done we sat around the living room while Catching Fire played. He had his hand around my hips and I leaned on his shoulder. On the way home, he hands me a fortune cookie. The fortune inside: “Would you like to be my girlfriend?” He had painstakingly removed the original fortune, stuffed the new one inside, and RESEALED the package. Of course, I told him yes, I would love to be. He’s taken to kissing the back of the hand he holds while driving. When we arrived at my place, before too long my back was against his truck and my legs around his waist and I told him I loved him (nothing new.). After a while it occurred to me he still had a long drive, so I gently and reluctantly disattached him from me, and smiled the rest of the night.
In less than twelve hours, I will be home again, and in the same town as that boy I’ve grown ever-increasingly fond of over the past two months. We’re making plans, short and long term, we talk every night, I wake up to his face on Skype every morning unless there is some internet hiccup and we get disconnected. He’ll be there for the weekends bookending my break, and one of them will maybe be spent camping together, somewhere, depending on how things go. He gets the biggest grin on his face when he recalls just how soon it will be until I’m in his arms again. I love his grin, so much. He really has such a great smile. On the one hand, I’m giddy as anything about that. On the other hand, I recall that this is what happened the first time, that at first there was this exuberance, this almost puppy-dogging, and then it faded. But things are so very different now, we have a much more open dialogue between us, and I hope this works out. I hope this works out.
So as a result of involvement in my sorority, there has been considerably less involvement in other extracurricular activities that I tend to involve myself in. This evening, a gentleman whom I would consider an acquaintance and is also involved in one of my extracurriculars happened to be at the same establishment as myself. He called my name and we chatted for a few minutes, he asked if I’d be at this week’s meeting, because I haven’t been around much lately. And it really… It felt nice, felt good to know I’d been missed. That my absence had been noted and that someone wanted me back. I don’t tend to think that people really take too much note of my presence. Like a rug or a piece of artwork, it’s nice when I’m around in an abstract sort of way, but I don’t necessarily make much of a difference whether I’m there or not. It’s nice to feel missed, especially by someone I wouldn’t say I know all that well, it shows that I have some impact, however small it may be, to most if not all who come across me. It’s nice to feel that way.
I see this summer. I see a trip to New York, hand in hand in Times Square, but the lights don’t shine as brightly as his smile when he looks at me. I see hanging out by the pool, strolling the beach hand in hand, swimsuit-clad and laughing. I see us, the general definition of societal beauty, the envy of the shore. I see late night movies and snuggling and general merriment, cookouts in my backyard, driving around in his truck, sunset walks by the waterfront and falling in love all over again, but we already are. I see the kind of summer you read about in a cheesy teen romance novel. A picture perfect look at what being young and in love is. Not young love, no, but the best of both worlds. Young and in love. Because we’ve got the rest of our lives.
I think we’re entirely through.
The other day, via our liaison, I received a bag containing what should be the last of my things. And a letter. In it, he basically apologized once more and said he fully expected to never hear from me again. Contained with this letter was a flash drive containing things that made me sick to look at. The contents have since been deleted. Shredded, in fact, I found that my computer antivirus can do that. There were six hundred and sixty six files, a number I found particularly fitting, considering what I went through with the gentleman who gave them to me and on their account. I have no way of knowing if they were the only copies, but I can hope. I won’t hold my breath on that though.
Alright, so riddle me this.
You’re allowed to ask me to be someone who isn’t me, and then when I can’t be anyone BUT me, you know, that girl you fell in love with, YOU get to get pissed at me, tell me how “utterly disappointing” my attempt was, and not talk to me for an hour or so. Which may turn into the whole night. But I know, God forbid I get pissed at you for being pissed at me for being unable to be anyone other than myself. All I have to say is you better not have gone to find that bitch who’ll blow you at your beck and call.
So my boyfriend’s roommate and my new roommate have been really snuggly with eachother lately
And I’ve been wanting them to be together and now they’re all snuggly and kissing and cutesy and I’m just full of all the smiles now.
She stomped into my head and demanded I take her dictation. I had no choice
Love, if you ask me (and no one ever does) is nothing more than a silly, ridiculous, fantasy. I’ve been bitten one too many times by things I thought were love, only to find that the men who claimed such ridiculous things were nothing more than boys, playing dress-up in their fathers clothing. Boys interested in nothing more than foolish flings and illicit encounters I have little interest in. Yes, love is a ploy, a crock, a full-blown fraud, and this is the story of how I fell neck-deep into it.