Wednesday, March 30, 2011

in a rushed way

Remember when I was planning that great trip to Paris that then turned out to be a trip around Ireland that was five months away, which is forever?

Yeah, well, it's here, and we're leaving tomorrow, kissing the dog goodbye, locking the doors, and heading out for parts unknown (well, some of them are known to me, but not to Vor).

I am kind of in a hot panic about this--not just about things that need to be done, but the fact we are going. My mother in law (I really hate calling her that--she is another mom to me, in all the best ways) was diagnosed with breast cancer a few weeks ago, and we've been dealing with that, and I am truly worried about leaving while this is going on, but everyone keeps me waving me away, saying, "it'll be fine!" Have you ever seen the Italian Job? FINE = Freaked out, Insecure, Nervous, Emotional.

Then, my mother decided to land herself in the hospital, get diagnosed with something delightfully painful and chronic, but fortunately, easily manageable, but then land herself in the hospital again a few days later and come away with the bonus shady diagnosis of, "Hmm. There's a spot on your liver! What could that be? Meh. Who knows! Liver alone! heh." So, there are more follow up tests to come on that, with hopefully a more interested doctor.

There's been work drama, and a child on my caseload was brutally attacked, and Vor has been stressed out at work, and so have I.

And we're going to Ireland. I don't know if I should hide int he closet and miss the flight or run screaming towards customs, saying "Let me in! Where there is no cell phone reception! Where I can't get my email!"

I'm just going to turn on my Enya music on the airplane, and let the peace wash over me. That is what I need--peace.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

never the twain should meet

Two words that should never be put together:

breast cancer.

At least, not in my hearing. Prayers and helpful thoughts for my family, y'all.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Six Years

Six years ago, I went on a first date with a man I was friends with. Coincidentally, March 10 was a Thursday six years ago.

I didn't really realize it was a date until he picked me up. He usually wears glasses, but he wore contacts that night. He had on jeans and baby blue shirt, which made his blue eyes stand out.

We went to dinner, and he tried to buy me a drink--I said no thanks, and he laughed, suddenly remembering that I wasn't 21 yet. We went to a debate after dinner. He held my hand during the debate, and kissed me after it, on the campus of University of Buffalo.

Six years later, I rush home to make dinner, and I set the table with flowers and candles. I pet the dog, do the dishes, and straighten up the bedroom. In an hour, that same man will walk through the door, and the dog will beat me to him, but he will gently shove the dog off and kiss me first. We'll have dinner and talk, then walk the dog.

Six years ago, I didn't think this would be possible. I hoped, but I didn't think. Then, when I realized it was not just possible, it was probable, I worried about what it would be like, years later, when we had gotten used to each other. When we first started dating, it was all like a dream, and I was in a state of constant twitterpaption. I didn't want to lose that.

I haven't. It's just deeper, and steadier, and so, so much better.