Ode to Nicotine

My Marlboro Lights and I just celebrated our two year anniversary on Valentine's Day. Has it really only been two years? It feels as though my cigarettes have been with me my entire life, there to make it all better when everything just sucks. I spent years convincing myself that I shouldn't smoke. I know that I don't have the willpower to quit. However, I have no desire to quit. At all, whatsoever. I love that first smoke when I wake up, the one that I light as soon as I get into my car after a hectic day at work. I love my 3rd good night cigarette, because one is just never enough. I love inhaling each and every puff, watching the smoke swirl around my head. I love pissing off all the people who don't smoke and made it illegal to smoke in any public place in Illinois. Those bastards...

Most of all, I love that when I get stressed out, when everything is just too much to handle, all I need to do is take a smoke break and then I'm calmer.

Sure, it's a $5 a day habit. It stinks. It requires me to go outside in below zero weather just to get that fix. But ya know? I still love each and every puff. It's hell on my body, but that was the point.

You see, I started smoking to shave a few years off. It was at a time when everything sucked and I just wanted it all to stop. But when I started to freak out because I had no future, no money, almost nothing that meant anything to me, I had my cigarettes. They were there for me. They're a crutch, I know. At least, they were. Now, they're like an old friend. Only more dependable.

I can see myself as one of those old people taking a puff from a cigarette and then a breath from an oxygen tank someday. I'll still enjoy every puff.

We all have to die someday. I might as well enjoy it.

My new favorite thing EVER!

It's hard for me to admit this. It's like suddenly declaring that George W. Bush was the greatest president ever after my 8 years of hating him and pretty much every decision he ever made. It's like deciding that instead of loving alternative music, I have a newfound addiction to rap.

Ok, it's not as bad as the last one.

There's a new show that I like. I mean, really, really like. As in I DVR it every week and actually watch it the same night.

The show is on MTV.

Therein lies the problem.

The last show I followed on MTV was The Real World: New Orleans. I'm still in love with Matt, by the way. But that's neither here nor there.

After 10 years (I'm so fucking old) of hating MTV and everything it stands for, not to mention the lies within its name, I find myself addicted to one show.

Are you ready for this? This huge announcement that, although nothing to be ashamed of, still makes me quiver at the thought of letting it be known to the world that I LOVE this show?

I've fallen deeply, head-over-heels, no getting over it, in love with My Life as Liz.

She's the underdog, the nerd, the loser. She's the opposite of all the fake bitches she goes to school with. And can I tell you how much I want to punch that Cori Cooper bitch in the face? I hope she gets addicted to coke and ends up whoring herself out someday... soon.

Shut up, it's not like I wished for the trampy, stuck up little 17 year old to die or anything.

Seriously though. Watching this show makes me feel like I'm back in high school again. Not that I want to relive that time, it was fucking horrible, but still. It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one who's life was so unfabulous, for lack of a better non-existent word.

Like tonight? When Liz was talking to Bryson and his girlfriend walked up to them? I've been through that moment before, when everything seems to be going soooooooooo well, and then it all falls apart. The only difference between her life and mine is that I wouldn't have had a huge group of friends waiting to carry me out of the school in celebration of her accomplishment.

I can't wait to see how the rest of Liz's senior year plays out. I want to know what will happen with Bryson, which one of her guy friends is in love with her, whether Taylor will totally quit being so far up Cori's ass, what college Liz will go to, whether or not the show will follow her to college (which would be awesome), all of it. For me, it's like going through high school all over again. Only this time, I understand it all the way Liz does. It's not as hard as I made it out to be, and it's not as hard as she makes it out to be. After watching Liz, I wish I could go back and do it again. This time, I wouldn't waste time trying to be someone I wasn't. I'd be myself, and I'd be proud of it.

It would have been nice to have Liz's strength and sense of self at 17...

If you've lost respect for me due to my enjoyment of an MTV show, so be it. I understand completely. But it you haven't watched My Life as Liz yet, get on it. It's on Monday nights at 9:30 pm central time. You're missing out!!!

And also... I think "effectivity" makes more sense as a word than "effectiveness." Random, I know. Did you expect anything else?

Changing.

It's official. I'm a grownup. As much as I don't want to be, the change has finally taken place.

Sure, I still have the urge to color (which I fulfill occasionally). Yes, I'm still waiting to get my Barbie Dream Townhouse that I'll play with every day. And I can't resist the call of a swingset. But I'm still an adult, unfortunately.

I think the transformation started 2 years ago. I lost a good job, and there wasn't another one like it around the corner. I spent the better part of a year with absolutely no money, living in an extra bedroom at my grandma's house because my electricity got shut off and I had no means to get it turned on again. I had to scrape together every cent I could just to keep my (rental) house and not get my car repossessed. Then I got my current job, and I slowly caught up. 2009 was a much better year financially. I didn't realize until I was fully caught up on my bills and able to do things I really wanted to that my financial problems had been one of the biggest causes of my bouts with depression.

That phrase is so fucking cliche.

I met the boyfriend in October, just before my birthday. I had resigned myself to staying single until I got to NC, and then he came along. Now, he's looking into getting a job there and I'm worrying about saving money as quickly as possibly so we can there before we have to live through another Illinois winter.

See? Goals.

Then there's the one thing that I never thought would happen. Later today, we're going to look at rings. Yes, those rings. I want this, and I want him. I'm even letting myself get excited about everything. I lost count of all the people who have let me down over the years, and he hasn't. He won't. He's the kind of guy I started looking for when I realized that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't fix every hopelessly heartbroken guy in the world.

Last night, we were sitting on the couch watching TV when I texted a guy friend. He's the boyfriend of a girl I'm no longer friends with, but he's still cool people. We also work together, and my mom works there too. I had to let him know not to mention any of the things we talked about at work to my mom. We sent a few texts back and forth, and the bf asked what was being said. I told him, and I didn't get upset that he was asking me.

See, the bf has been married twice. Both wives cheated on him. He trusts me, and he told me that being able to trust me so easily bothers him. I'm not sure how to explain that one... I understand what he meant, I just can't put it into words.

He apologized for being so suspicious. Really, who cares? I have nothing to hide from him. Yes, this guy friend and I joke around about sex when we talk. Neither of us are serious, or willing to cheat on our significant others. I'd rather explain to the bf who I'm talking to, what our relationship is like, and all that other jazz than have him wonder what I might be up to. He knows that I'm not like the other women he's been with, but they made him suspicious. I can deal with a little curiosity knowing that deep down, he realizes that I only want him.

In 6 weeks, we're going to Las Vegas. More than likely, we'll come back married. My belief has always been that marriage is forever. My parents are married to each other, and they taught me that wedding vows are permanent. Even after a close call last year, they still love each other. I want that. The bf has said that he'll get married one more time, and if it doesn't work out, he's done.

Divorce isn't in my vocabulary. Neither is the l-word, but I'll get to that in another post.

Ya know? This whole adulthood thing isn't so bad.

He's Stealing My Dream

He came along when I least expected him.

That's how it always works, isn't it?

I had decided that it was best for me to stay single until I got to NC. I didn't want someone else holding me back, and I didn't want to have a reason to even consider staying here. As a matter of fact, just a few days before I met him, I had decided that I needed a dependable fuckbuddy.

But that all went out the window when I met the guy who is everything I've always wanted.

He said he'll go to NC with me.

That's great, I suppose.

Now, he talks about NC more than I do. He already put in an application for a job there even though we've only been together 2 months and we don't have enough money to move. This was my dream, and now it's become his. He chose the town, he's choosing when to go, and I feel like I'm just being dragged along against my will. He's taken my goal and made it his.

I was going to save up money for awhile. I was gonna take a vacation to NC for a week and just drive around until I found a town that felt like home. I was going to pack up all my stuff into a U-Haul trailer and just go. I was going to make it on my own.

He's taking my independence. It's not a bad thing. I can depend on him, and he'll do anything for me. He wants to help me achieve my goal.

But it was mine, and mine alone. I didn't want to share it.

Left Behind

I am one of the chosen ones, the ones who have been left behind.

This is my nightmare. I counted the days until he returned, until the phone rang.

It was Friday night. He usually called me on Sundays. I knew something was wrong. I didn't want to answer it.

But I did.

Knowing that he would be home soon kept me going.

Knowing that he would come home in a coffin stopped me completely.

I collapsed to my knees, dropping the phone on the cold hardwood floor. He was still holding on then, but I already knew. I already knew that he wasn't going to make it. They amputated his arm, his leg. The right side of his face was destroyed. He was on life support, there was still activity in his brain. But I felt him slipping away from me, slowly. Painfully. He was trying to hold on for me, but he just couldn't do it. I couldn't make him do it.

I thought first of what he would be like if he did survive. If he came home as a broken man, physically and emotionally. The other three men who had been in the vehicle with him died instantly. He was the driver, and the IUD had impacted the passenger side of the backseat. He would feel so guilty if he survived, allowed to live when the brothers who had entrusted him with their lives were dead. He would never be able to play with his son, or coach his t-ball team. He would be so unhappy. I would still love him, but that wouldn't be enough.

He took his final breath early that Saturday morning as soon as the machines were shut off. I didn't get to kiss him goodbye. I laid in our bed awake all night, waiting for the phone next to me to ring. When it finally did, I felt the tiny glimmer of hope I still held onto fall away. I felt his soul slip away from me. We had been together for 6 years, through 2 deployments and 1 child. Our son, still in my womb, would never know his father. My due date was only 5 weeks away, just days after he was supposed to come home. My greatest fear when I kissed him goodbye for the last time was that he would miss his son's birth; the thought that he would never return had slipped from my mind.

I am one of the unlucky ones, the ones who have to say goodbye forever.

I am a widow, a single mother.

He joined the military because it was expected of him. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, his uncles, his grandfathers. He wanted to fight for his country. I admired and hated his selflessness all at once, knowing that I would have to face months, even years, without him. But the time we did have together made it worthwhile. We learned how strong our love was during his first deployment, and we were married as soon as he returned. 2 years passed, and then he was called to duty again. He had come back before, I was sure that he would come back this time. After 6 months he came home for 2 weeks, and our son was conceived. I remember telling him that we were having a boy, the happiness in his voice as he shouted to his comrades that he was going to have a son. I sent him photos of myself every week so he could watch our son grow. We discussed names and goals and what kind of parents we wanted to be whenever we talked. On the bad days, when his work was especially harrowing or his comrades were feeling low, he told me how much he hated being away from me while I was pregnant. He promised that he wouldn't leave my side for the next pregnancy. He said he would be there to get me chili cheese fries at 2 in the morning and to write on my back when I couldn't sleep. He wished that he could sing to the baby as he grew inside me, teaching him all the good Aerosmith songs.

And now?

I took out his favorite sweatshirt, the gray one that he had owned since before we met. There were holes in the sleeves where his thumbs poked through. I pulled it over my head and over my belly, trying to feel his warmth around me. But it wasn't the same. I took out his bottle of cologne and sprayed it on the shirt, but I still couldn't feel him with me. I cried for hours, knowing that nothing would ever come close to replacing him. Not his clothes, not his scent, not even his son.

I am alone.

I went to the funeral alone, holding my head down so I wouldn't have to see the others. I wasn't the only one who had lost him. I knew that once I started to cry again, I wouldn't be able to stop. I recognized a few of the soldiers there from the pictures he sent. The faces that had been so jovial on their days off were now somber and grim, filled with the guilt of surviving and the pain of their loss. They were burying their brother today, and each of them knew that it could just as easily be their body in that coffin underneath the American flag.

I barely heard the words that were spoken as I sat there in the front row, staring at my husband's final resting place. I stood as the soldiers gathered in front of me, holding the flag they had folded so precisely. I took it from them because it was my duty as a soldier's wife, not because I wanted it. It reminded me that he hadn't died for this country, but for another. Our freedom was never in jeopardy. He fought because those were the orders he was given, not because it was a cause he believed in. I became angry, unspeakably angry. I approached the coffin as his loved ones watched me, shocked in their mourning by my sudden loss of control. I began yelling, screaming, sobbing.

"You fucking bastard! Why did you make this happen?"

I wasn't angry at him.

I was angry at the president who started this war, the president who gave the orders to send in more troops.

"My son doesn't have a father!"

"You took my husband away from me! I hate you!" I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders, but I pushed them away.

"Don't touch me!" I was being pulled away, but I wouldn't let go.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

The hands fell away, but the soldier still stood behind me. I screamed one last time, as loud as I could. My voice echoed throughout the cemetary.

I looked at the soldier who was behind me. I saw in his eyes the same anger I felt, the same sense of betrayal. His death wasn't necessary, and we both knew it. I fell into him and we cried together, knowing that this loss wasn't worth the gain. While I cried for my husband, for my fatherless child, this man cried for the 4 brothers he had lost.

This is the price of war.

This is the chance you take when you love a soldier.

The NC Diaries. 10-8-09

I have two years and eleven days to get there.

It seems so far away.

But maybe, just maybe, I can get there sooner.

Knowing that I'll get to NC one way or another keeps me sane. When I want to hit people at work, when I sit at home because I'd rather be alone than with most of the people around here, I think of NC. I think about how amazing it will be to load all my stuff into a U-Haul trailer and drive there, stopping at motels along the way. I'll find a cute little place to live and unpack all my things, recreating home once again. Only this time, it will be different. There won't be anyone there to comfort me, to form an opinion of me based solely upon what they've "heard." I'll be starting anew, and I can rewrite my life story. If I want to, that is.

I can't wait.

I need $5000 in my savings account before I can leave. The car needs to be in perfect health, and I'll probably need a GPS. I'll have a cooler full of food to save some money, and a carton of smokes to get me through the long drive. I'll have an iPod by then to keep myself entertained on the road, and I'll listen to all those runaway songs I love as I'm heading out of town. I don't know yet if I'm going to have a goodbye party-- I probably won't. I'll get phone numbers and e-mail addresses, but that's all. Sure, I'll miss my family. But this is what I need to do, and I'm going to do it. One way or another.

"What's in North Carolina?"

"I'll find out when I get there."

Is this crazy? Without a doubt, yes. Leaving alone, starting over in a new place where I don't know anyone, most likely leaving before I have a job there. That's what the savings will be for-- so I can get a place to live and survive for a few months if I don't find a job right away.

I don't even know which town I'll end up in. And that's all part of the allure.

I plan on taking a trip to NC next year, probably late in the summer or early fall. I just want to go there and explore, and make a few connections if possible. It would be nice to have people I can call when I get there to help me unload my stuff. Even to help me find a job before I go. But even if I don't make those connections, I'll go. I need to get out of Illinois, and I need to start over. Too many things have gone wrong along the way, and staying here won't fix them.

I'll be 25 in 11 days. In 2 years and 11 days, I'll be a resident in NC.

People I want to punch.

Just so you know, you might want to grab a sandwich before you start reading this... it might be a long one.


So yeah. I've had that urge to randomly punch people a lot lately. Fortunately, there's a guy at work that I beat up on a regular basis, so I can take most of that aggression out on him. Don't worry, I tell him I love him the next day. It evens out. Seriously though? I want to start randomly punching all the people who randomly need to be punched.

1. The idiots. Like the guy who asked me the other day which day [of the week] Thanksgiving was on. And then got defensive when I pointed out that it's on Thursday. Like it is every other year.

2. The people who think they know everything. No one knows everything, and the sooner the know-it-alls realize that, the sooner people will stop randomly getting punched in the face.

3. The fake bitches. The ones who come off as the nicest people in the whole entire world and then like to give dirty looks and say bitchy things for no reason when NO ONE was talking to them.

4. Pretty much every religious person I've ever met. I'm an atheist, and nothing you say will change my mind. As a matter of fact, the more you try to convince me otherwise, the more resolved I'm going to be that there is no God.

5. Needy guys. Okay, they're not necessarily needy, but they just want to talk to me too much. I don't want to text all day, or talk on the phone constantly. How bout asking me out in the first conversation and going from there? Oh, and I've also decided that I could use a reliable fuckbuddy. Just sayin.

6. Stupid girls. Only one category of them, though. The ones who get knocked up on purpose to keep a guy with them. Maybe stupid was the wrong word to use-- selfish is more accurate. Not only are you forever altering the guy's life, you're also bringing an innocent child into the picture. A child who will more than likely witness his parents fighting constantly for the first year or two of his life, who will wonder why mommy and daddy don't love each other as he's growing up. Try explaining to the kid that daddy never loved mommy, but mommy wanted him to. That daddy can never love mommy because she broke his trust by saying that she was on the pill when she suuuuuuuuuure wasn't. It's one thing if the condom breaks, or if you're that random .1% who gets knocked up on the pill. But if you say you're on birth control when you're not? Go kill yourself before you forever change someone else's life, and not necessarily for the better.

7. On the flip side, idiotic guys. The ones who don't bring their own condom because everyone knows that FEMALES LIE. Or, from personal experience, the ones who decide to take the condom off in the middle. Yes, I am on the pill. It doesn't protect me from anything the last whore you fucked was carrying around in her vagina.



I think that's enough for now. Mostly because I need a cigarette after that. Who do you want to punch?