From Her Cowboy Boots to Her Down Home Roots

I could make a list a mile long of the differences between North Carolina and Maine, from the scenery, to the weather, to the attitude. I could compare the land elevation and the gas prices. I could compare the humidity and the population. But the one difference that really matters to me is that one of them is home, and one of them is just simply not. One gives me the feeling of comfort and welcome, and one doesn't. It's that feeling both in the pit of my stomach, and the center of my heart that realy matters. It's old back roads that I know like the back of my hand. It's fields and trails that have watched me grow up. It's memories that stir up when I turn the bend in the road, or walk into an old gas station that still has the same cashier for as long as I can remember. I sometimes wonder if the trees could talk, what they would have to say about us. I imagine all that they have seen over the years. Friendships, break-ups, make-ups, fights, and laughter so hard and long that tears pour down. They've seen the progress I've made along with all the times I was knocked hard back on my ass. There's an old bridge down towards the end of Bean Street. That little pond saw my old step-dad take me fishing down there with my first tweety-bird pole. About fifteen minutes up the road from that pond is a private beach that has seen the tears I cried when he walked out, 10 years later. That very same beach has seen me sneak off to meet an old boyfriend, who stole my heart when I was sixteen. There's an empty field, that witnessed the giddy screams and laughter I had with my old bestfriend who introduced me to that boy racing through on her fourwheeler.  There's an old apartment that had the pleasure of seeing the first sip of beer I ever had. There were a lot of firsts in the heart of that town. My first steps to my first kiss to my first heart-break. And when I go back to that town, and those places, even the air smells different. It's familiar, and comforting. It has a sweetness that sparks back to these memories, and that innocence. And I miss it.

Can You Dream Without Sleeping?

Why does it seem like the best time for me to write is in the middle of the night, when I know that I should be sleeping instead? But for some inexplicable reason, I run right past exhaustion and stumble what feels like head first straight into insomnia. Again. I lay down, and close my eyes, listening to my boyfriends snores and the cheesey background music of One Tree Hill, but yet a million ideas and thoughts run rapidly through my head. And of course, they are the kinds of ideas that need to be written down, before I forget them when the early hours stroll through and my alarm clock blares in the air. It seems like my big dreams, and goals, and plans flutter through my head only after midnight. It's now that I feel the need to find the perfect pair of sneakers (because I'm not sure spider monkey feet are very me, sorry darlin) online. It's now that I find the time to search through my student loan options in order to satisfy my UMaine bill, to get my transcript for UMF. And of course I know that people say that there is "no better time than now to start", but I think I could find a good number of better times. See there is a small part of my brain telling me that there is no better time than now to end the day and get some rest. But I figure the best way to get myself to relax enough to sleep is to accept what my mind is telling me. To make progress on these dreams and goals and plans, so that I don't have them doing cartwheels through my head to that space right behind my eyelids but before my eyes. So I scan through ebay and footlocker, I get some writing done, and I download a P90X onto my computer for a rough and tough yoga session before work tomorrow. Because I can do all of this. I can get the whole college thing figured out and completed. I can lose the weight that has taken over my pride for so long and I can turn myself into someone that I would want my daughter to be like, and my mother to be proud of. And I can get the sleep required so that I am strong enough to not only do it all, but prove everyone else wrong in the process. I mean, after all....

Spider Monkey Meets Frog Legs

Alright, so maybe this is going to require a little more determination and effort than I thought. I swear the pasta almost jumps into my hand as I reach into the fridge for a yogurt. Not to mention I've been talked out of buying sneakers in store because I could get a better pair offline. To bad they have yet to be ordered. But I've set a goal, so I guess thats progress right? My goal is to lose at least fifteen pounds by the time I move back home in October. Twenty would be fantastic, but fifteen would be realistic. And let me explain that the shoes will be ordered soon, and they are even picked out! I just need to make sure I know what size to get because they aren't necessarily regular sneakers. They are those shoes that look like toe-socks meet crocs. Yikes, wow, am I admitting to buying something that could even resemble either of those two things? Well, in the little defense that I have, they are sappose to be the best shoes for running and working out, which is what I need right? I think? So I've been told? Damn do I hope so. I mean, they make whoever is wearing them look like a spider monkey meets frog legs. But if it's going to get me where I want to be, I guess I can take the risk because.....

For Better Or Worse

Every mother always says that nothing good happens after midnight. Well I can gaurentee that nothing good happens after midnight, or before 9 o'clock in the morning. Too bad I stayed up way past midnight and woke to a knock on my door at 8:30. I guess when my boyfriend explained that his friends would be here to drop off their 7 month old daughter by 9, I should have actually taken note of it and set an alarm. And tried that whole self discipline thing earlier in the evening. But life is a learning experience, so instead I chose to learn from my mistakes and stagger to open the door with a very peppy, very fake, game face. But anyway, that is just how the day started. I planned to get right in the shower after they picked up their daughter at 1, but instead I chose to make some lunch to quiet the growl coming from my stomach. I also planned to go into town to pick up a pair of sneakers with the money I earned babysitting a few times before, but instead I listened to the text message from my boyfriend saying he was going to go with me to get sneakers tomorrow, and then take me running. Here's the deal--I don't run, especially not outside. And I sure as hell don't run along side of a fit, tough, determined marine. And as much as I try to explain this to him, the harder he pushes for me to let him "help". Damn do I hate that word. Help. It has always intimidated me. Every time I had accepted "help" in the past, I ended up picking up the pieces not long afterward. I've come to find that it's easier to just do it yourself. That way if it falls apart you are only disappointing yourself and depending on yourself. There's no one else to blame. But I guess this whole "help" thing comes as part of the big "relationship" package. Another thing I am adjusting to. See he likes to use the word "us" alot, and while I love hearing it--it's taking some time to get my mouth to form the word so easily. Don't think any of this means I don't want to be a part of the "us"--it's just I'm not so used to being invited in to fully. But just because it's taking time, doesn't mean it's not going to happen. Love can do anything right? I mean, after all......

Where it all starts

It's 3:20 am on Thursday morning. And sleep is no where within my grasp, in fact it's so far gone it's not even in sight. So instead I fix my gaze on Practical Magic and some inspirational pictures on facebook.  Well somewhere between the bad 90's clothing, and the loud snoring of my boyfriend next to me on the couches we've pushed together as a bed--I realize something has really got to change. I've tried a handful of things in the past few months. My first thought was maybe it was my job I rushed into down here after the move to North Carolina, but once I found an alternative I realized that I really didn't hate hostessing all that much. I mean, it supplied me with a good amount of hours, had me busy and out of the house, and gave me contact with other girls who were in pretty much the same position as me. Then I thought maybe it was the lack of a bed to sleep on. I mean pushing the two couches (which may I say at this time are destroyed after months of sleeping on them every night) gets old pretty damn fast. Sounds to me like a good reason to be miserable, but for some reason I don't think that was it either. I could of course put the blame on my boyfriend, who asked me to move out of the state I love and all the people in it who have kept me sane--but I know I made the decision, and although the move sucks, it's only temporary and any woman of strength should be able to strive through. So that pretty much left one option for me. Me. Something had to change there, and I had to be the one to do it. It's no hidden secret the one thing I would love to change about myself is my weight. In highschool I was a skinny little thing, with confidence and pride. Those two are a great recipe for strength and courage too. All things that sounded pretty damn good to have right about now. So as the clock ticks well past 3:30, I realize that maybe it's time for some self discipline. Maybe it's time to fight back against all the little people running around in my head with the long list of "things to do", and actually get some sleep. Because tomorrow will require an early start, because it sure as hell will be a big start ;) After all.......