Love You Wouldn't Understand

This is the last thing on EARTH I should be doing right now. Really. If there were ever a compiled list in the universe of things I should be doing at this very moment, writing a blog, especially this blog, would be at the end of it.

But here I am. Defying lists of destiny. And here you are reading it. I think that's pretty significant. Glorious really.

So... to start.... I have to remind the 80's kids out there of this poster/shirt/picture/wherever else we saw it:

*

*Overwhelmed....in case you wondered.

Anyway, I was editing a thousand pictures on Don's desktop today... most of the time in utter intense creative silence... and the thought popped into my head that I wanted to listen to music. I opened iTunes looking for a good playlist, Don always compiles great playlists, that would exactly contradict the overwhelmed mood I was in. The playlist that was highlighted was a new one. It was entitled "Soundtrack of Don". I couldn't help but smile a lot when I read that. Of course I HAD to listen to it.

The first song on the list was by Owl City. A band I recently introduced him to. The song title was "Fuzzy Blue Lights". (It's the song in the upper right corner if you want to hear it. His whole playlist is!) It's actually what prompted this impromptu "should never have been written" post. Actually, it was *smug *hopeful and *lovestruck that did it. (Thanks guys)

My boyfriend's adorable!

The song started playing, it fits him perfectly, our entire 4 year life together did a flash in my mind, and I had one of those "don't know how it's possible but now I love you more" moments.

I wish *choked up and *caught off guard graced the picture above... cuz that's how my jam session ended. The last song on his list was "Everything's Right" by Matt Wertz. If you haven't ever heard it... do. (upper right hand corner) Hearing it in those circumstances shook me from my little complacent corner and slid a knowing smile on my face. I love Don, I love my life, I love my life with Don in it, and everything couldn't be... more right.

Point your fingers.
Scoff.
Laugh at me.

Whatever.
:)

And THEN, just when you thought it was over.... I caught glimpse of the playlist just below "Soundtrack of Don" to see.... "Soundtrack of Mallie".

There was only one song in it.
"Inevitable" by Anberlin

*happy

Change........

... it's all we have left.

The REAL Reason I'm Not Married Yet

I'm a self-diagnosed OCD person who has denial about being OCD. Yeah.

You may have already guessed, but that presents quite a few problems for me on a daily basis.

I was watching "Friends" the other day, and realized that I have a new imaginary best friend, and her name is Monica Geller.


Yesterday, I tried to put my movies in order alphabetically. Alright... mildly OCD right? Wrong. I couldn't stand them in alphabetical order because none of the colors matched. So I went back through and re-organized them by color. I seriously considered making new cases for them so they could be organized by letter AND color....

I organize my shoes by height, then by purpose, then by color. If they aren't perfectly straight when I look over, I go and budge them a centimeter or two until they are.

Everything on my desk at home is perpendicular and evenly spaced.

I hate odd numbers. No really though. It doesn't feel right when I'm turning up the volume on the TV and it stops at 21. It HAS to be 22.

However.... my favorite number is 11. Why? When I was little I held a lot of animosity towards odd numbers because, well, if there were odd numbers, some one would be left out. I adopted 11 as my favorite because it represents two people. Two happy little stick people, glad to have a buddy. Why not 22?, because in my OCD brain 1 is the most clean and precise of the numbers. To me, 11 is EVEN because there are two of them. However 33 is not.

If I misspell a word or write the wrong thing when I'm typing, I can't just let it go. Even if I don't notice it until three paragraphs later, I will ERASE everything I just wrote and re-write it. And those little squiggly red and green lines that Word puts under words it thinks are wrong.... even if I know it's right, I'll right click and hit "ignore" or "add to dictionary". Before I save anything, there mustn't be ANY red or green lines. I do all this with other people too. Don won't let me watch him type anymore.

In fact, we used to chat on IM when we first started dating, and every time he sent me a message with a misspelled word or a grammatically incorrect sentence, I'd close the window and start another fresh one because it wasn't "perfect" anymore.

When texting, I always use correct grammar and punctuation. It usually takes me ten years. But if I don't do it that way, I will go in and delete it from my archives.

Everything has to be rhythmic and aesthetic. Especially when it comes to the way I write, speak, or walk.

If I'm in bed and scared, my feet CANNOT be sticking out of my blanket or I will FREAK.

I'm a BIG people watcher. I like to sit down in crowded places and watch people walk and interact with each other. I rate people's moods and personalities and make judgments about what kind of person they are.

I hold my breath when I walk past someone who doesn't LOOK clean.

If I'm ever in a room that's really messy or cluttered, I get really sweaty and nervous, and my stomach starts to hurt. (Probably the ulcer I don't know I have yet. Or the heart attack I'll experience when I'm 24.) No. Big. Deal.

When eating, I will gag if my soft food, like mashed potatoes, yogurt, or salad, isn't also accompanied with something crunchy like a roll, granola, or croutons.

I count my steps. I NEVER step on cracks. AND, I have to alternate feet when walking up stairs...even if it throws off my rhythm.

And if none of that is enough to frighten you, I just recently started doing this.......
to my toilet paper.

The Pale White Wings of a Friggin' Bird

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the danger of love is Hell.

Thank you C.S. Lewis.

To give you a concrete example of what I think vulnerability in love happens to entail, I'll tell the following "love" story.

Once upon a time I had a boyfriend named Don. I also had a favorite song named "Hurricane Song". I loved them both equally. (Caveat: I originally loved "Hurricane Song" more, but it was never meant to last. You'll find this song in the upper right hand corner.) Anyway, one day, I was driving in the car with Don when the song came on. And I started to sing along,

"I caught the sound of a distant word
On the pale white wings of a friggin' bird."

Sadly, I didn't get any further than that. I was interrupted with, "Did you just say 'friggin' bird?" followed by spouts of laughter. My thoughts were as follows, "Laugh it up sweetheart, you are SO sleeping on the figurative couch tonight!" but what I really said was, "Yeah." To which he replied, "It's frigate bird! Not friggin' Bird!" Followed by more evil laughter.

Turns out they really do say frigate bird.

Thank you Virginia Coalition.

But frigate birds don't have pale white wings. Do they. No.*
*(I hope you're following my outbursts of raging sarcasm into the cracks of my little broken heart, because indeed, that is from which they stem.)

So what do frigate birds have to do with love? Well..the reason (however silly) I fell in love with "Hurricane Song", was because of the friggin' bird. When it suddenly became frigate bird, I was upset. Even a little brokenhearted. Oh yes. I still sing it my way. I always will. But will it ever give me as much happiness as it used to? I submit that it will not.

Thank you Don.

So...even though we had to wade through the sarcasm to get here, this is what I know of love:

Unless we're open to opportunities for growth inherent in not only love, but every association in life, we unconsciously allow our hearts to remain dormant. Closed. Unable to experience joy. We miss out on the moments that shape us into who we're intended to become.

On the other hand, when we get to a point where we see the value in opening up our hearts, and sing at the top of our lungs, we might just find that we've come to a place outside the fear of tragedy. A place where our circumstances do not determine our choices, and our past no longer dictates our future. Love can only disappear when we let our fear and uncertainty overtake it.

Sure, it might happen that one minute you're singing your heart out, and the next you're having to pick up its pieces. But isn't it beautiful? When its all said and done we come away with different colored shards of experience that, when viewed through the right lens, give us a kaleidoscope of possibilities.