Drummers make the best friends

I may not have many close friends but the ones I do have are wonderful. The Drummers, for example (not their real name, obviously), and I are really good at sharing friendly love. I seem to be able to understand their sometimes guarded personalities really well and they act protective over me. Mrs. Drummer this week, while drunk at Mr. Drummer’s birthday party, started grilling Mr. Wonderful about his intentions while I was off retrieving Mr. Drummer’s mostly perfect present. Of course, he passed her test because he doesn’t turn away when challenged and he’s not afraid to say he loves me and wants to be with me. Of course, he’s Mr. Wonderful for a reason; he has an aura that just invites people in and makes them trust and like him so I would be hard-pressed to find someone to declare that I was wrong to give him my heart. In fact, other than becoming a nurse, falling in love with Mr. Wonderful is the best, most right thing I’ve ever done. I know I’ve only been with him for a short time but all the cliches are right; when you know, you know.

Before we started dating, we worked together. We had a patient who assumed we were married because of our energy around each other. I thought it was so ridiculous because I wasn’t even consciously crushing on him (though apparently he was crushing hard on me by his own admission). Now, I can’t wait for that patient’s premonition to be true. 

Hope balances fear… maybe

I’ve never been good at staying focused. It’s been a month and I still feel easily distracted with a lack of drive. I’m back to procrastinating and not keeping my promises to myself. The only time I feel truly happy is when Mr. Wonderful is present, which is good and bad because while he is wonderful, i’m becoming obsessed. Obsession leads to overattachment, which leads to extreme amounts of pain when the honeymoon is over. I can only hope that look of adoration is eternal.

“Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had and what you lost…”

Today is a good day. I woke up next to Mr. Wonderful (who smiles in his sleep… how barf-worthy is that?), had a good conversation with my brother at lunch and now I’m being lazy with my fur babies before heading into a weekend of work tomorrow. Muscles are sore because Mr. Wonderful and I are starting to workout together and he tore me up yesterday, in a good, non-perverted way.

The development of a workout routine is so important I think for two reasons. #1: It will help me do something with the sad energy that I guess will haunt me for the rest of time. #2: It will make me healthier so that when Mr. Wonderful and I are ready to try again, our chromosomes will work better together and make a healthy baby. That’s the dream anyway.

People I talk to about the lost baby tell me lots of things but mostly that I need to process it in my own way, whatever that means. I focus on the fur babies, Mr. Wonderful and I talk out our emotions, we pick a tattoo to both get in memorial, we work out, we make plans for the future but I still feel bipolar – going from feeling it fully and getting emotional to feeling completely detached. Apparently time will make it better, as it always does eventually, but feeling so much for something that was so small and obviously not meant to be is still so hard to comprehend. What’s even harder to comprehend is why any higher being would allow me to feel so much joy and then snatch a big part of it away while allowing Maury guests to be seemingly endlessly fertile. Maybe comprehension about this isn’t meant to happen, maybe it all just is, but that doesn’t keep me from wondering. 

It’s monsoon season and the transient clouds make me hopeful for rain to wash me clean, then maybe I’ll know.

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

The last time I wrote on this blog, I had just turned 30 and felt depressed about life feeling stagnant due to having to wait for my NCLEX and my license before I could truly start my career. Now, I’m 31 and achieved my goal of becoming an ICU nurse in a hospital that wants to develop me into a true badass. I have a wonderful, kind, and gentle man who loves me for me (despite, or maybe because of, my many flaws) and we have plans to move in together within the next couple months into a house that we can make a home for us and our fur babies.

I should be over-the-moon happy about this all. Of course, in my true fashion, I can’t be.

Life feels tainted by the fact that 2 weeks ago, I was 10 weeks pregnant with Mr. Wonderful’s baby and was informed that it died inside me. It’s a grey cloud that has been hanging over me ever since and even though I can have happy moments, the depression sits underneath the surface all the time, keeping me from truly being able to live life like I had been.

Depression isn’t new for me. It’s chronic and has been since I was thirteen, with some occasional remissions that always end after some sort of emotional trauma. I’m told that the miscarriage means I can get pregnant and will eventually get to have a baby but right now, I feel all I can do is grieve the future I lost. I’m not alone in this feeling because Mr. Wonderful and I talk openly and honest about these things (all things really), which means our young relationship can survive this. I just wish it had felt emotionally over when it was actually physically over. The idea of carrying this loss around with me forever seems like torture.

I have cried more over an embryo I never met than I did about the death of my grandmother last year. How fucked up is that?


I’ve been 30 for a week.

The only true realization that I’ve come to is that the one band I’ve truly grown up with is Jimmy Eat World. The new album speaks to me as much as Clarity did when I was 16 (and still does… because I am still every age I’ve ever been).

That’s it. Everything else is in so much limbo that it doesn’t warrant thought processing at the moment because all the anxiety about the uncertainty will be over in a couple of months. My brain is one ridiculously long run-on sentence all the time, which would totally disappoint my grammar-crazy 9th grade English teacher Mrs. Mancini. When I really consider it, Kerouac obviously had similar issues, given his writing style, so maybe I’m not in the worst company.

I need to keep reminding myself that I am in the process of making my life what I want it to be. The problem is that I keep forgetting.

Allegedly, according to the Talmud, 30 is when humans reach the prime of our energy. Well, Yahweh, I’m feeling primed… just waiting for the light on the path.


My resolution is to be the change I want to see in myself and I’ve already failed. Plain and simple, I let a boy bug me. A boy that doesn’t deserve to bug me because he’s already done enough bugging. All he ever proves is that he’s not worth being bugged about. But, of course, it bugs me.

Is it my nature to be bugged often or is it a behavioral response that I can unlearn? Like reversing a Pavlovian dog’s nature to drool at the ring of a bell?

Things about school bug me but they are things I can do little about. Every day, I seek that place where I can truly say I let things go but I’m honestly not there yet. I took as much of a chance on this program as it took on me and I don’t want to be disappointed with my experience. I get that it can be perceived as selfish to want what I want but I guess I’ll just have to admit that I’m selfish.

I am selfish. I’m a 29 year old single chick who lives alone. I don’t really have a reason to not be selfish about my wants because my life is entirely my own. I don’t judge others for having responsibilities and I do hope to one day experience the joys of obligations (that is not said in sarcasm) but today is not that day. Today is about me.

So what do I want for 2013 or most of 5773? I want to survive the next semester well and remain mostly sane. I want to get a job at a level 1 trauma center somewhere nice and close to if not in snow. I want to be able to get a small house with a yard so I can have a dog because dogs make life better. I want to start making dents in my student loans. I want to use my passport to travel at least once. I want to switch phone networks. I want to finish more books. I want to blog more… Or maybe convert to vlogging… But it would all be for my ego anyways. I want to go paleo but with quinoa. I want to get decent at one of the snow sports. I want to play more tennis and softball. I want to get a camera and take more pictures because the world is crazy and beautiful. I want to get another tattoo. I want to be healthy in all the ways you can be.

So those are my goals. I guess my resolution should be to do something every day to work towards those goals. Which means I’m going to be busy this year. Probably going to be selfish too. This is my warning to the world at large.

I will probably fail every day. That’s ok, I’m human. Most likely, I’ll get to wake up the next day and try again.