Or anywhere around me, because I may randomly punch you and start swearing at the heavens like an ancient Greek with Taurette's (meaning I'd swear in Latin).
Anyway, I have a great respect for that play, but I hate reading it. I wish I could just go see the show, just to get the full creepiness out of it.
I am so completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with my David. And he's officially joining the Marines. And I am SO NERVOUS. But, I think I may have partially convinced him into having a ceremony, which I look forward to. Of course I have no idea how we'll afford it (not getting any financial support), but I think we can manage something nice. All of this thought about the military is terribly exciting, but there's constantly something lingering in the back of my mind, echoing after every hope, telling me that somehow he'll die and I'll be left all alone. I guess it's the fact that I'm used to everything beautiful in my life falling out from under me the moment I start expecting it to last. Family, friends, guys, my personal stability among others...the moment I get comfortable with any of it, all of it falls apart.
But, thinking back, D showed up in this town when things were getting really bad, and he loved me then, and he's never let me fall, even when it wasn't expected of his and wasn't his job. David's never abandoned me, and I believe he never will...but his willingness to be with me and protect me can't deflect a bullet, and neither can all my worries and highest hopes. I could pray until I passed out, but if it's supposed to happen it will happen...and though my belief in fate should make me more comfortable, it doesn't.
I'm the happiest I've ever been when I'm making him happy, and I can't see myself without him, ever. I've lost family and friends to many things, including death, but to this day I cannot comprehend how people cope with the lose of their mate. The very thought of it makes me cry.
So. Analysis.
10 Things I Don't Love About Myself:
1.) I eat too much
2.) I'm often indecisive
3.) I worry too much
4.) I should let my guard down more often
5.) I let people walk all over me
6.) I ignore my own needs in order to tend to others'
7.) I'm a bit too comfortable with the idea of my own death
8.) I tend to take lots of time to accept changes about myself
9.) I remember too much
10.) I forget too much
10 Things I Love About Myself:
1.) I'm tall
2.) Someone loves me for exactly who I am
3.) I find humor in negative situations
4.) I don't take myself too seriously
5.) I'm aware of how I sound, but also of what I mean
6.) I can be quite eloquent, with a little effort
7.) I have a small group of amazing friends
8.) I comfort people
9.) I know who I am
10.) I understand what I am
I always feel better about life after I analyze myself. I'm not entirely sure why.
So it's December 5th, and getting ever-closer to Christmas. As I get older I hate winter more and like the holidays a fraction more, but I can't say that it's the family-oriented part of the holiday that I like. Most of my family hates the rest of it, and in some cases just me, so I avoid conflict and contact like the plague. The coziness of Christmas is nice, but my favorite part is gift-giving. Just buying and making gifts for other people. It makes me feel awesome, and the acts of shopping and creating are relaxing to me.
All my stories are coming along nicely. I sustain my high hopes for them.
I heard a great joke the other day.
A burglar breaks into a house and starts looking around for valuables. After a few minutes he hears a voice that says, "Jesus knows you're here and he knows what you're doing."
The burglar snaps his flashlight on and looks around, but doesn't see anyone, so he moves on to another room and continues looking for valuables. After a few more minutes, the thief hears the voice again, closer this time, "Jesus sees you and he doesn't like what you're doing."
The thief turns his flashlight on again and sweeps the room, and this time the beam passes over a parrot. The burglar laughs and says,
"Was that you, little guy?"
"Yes, it was." The parrot answered.
"What's your name?"
"Moses." Says the parrot.
"Ha!" The burglar laughed, "Who would name a parrot Moses?"
The parrot squawked and replied, "The same person who would name a rottweiler Jesus."
~W.V.~
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