Carefully Caring

Here's a confession about myself:

I care a lot.

I've known this for a long time now, and it continues to get me into trouble, but I just haven't figured out how to give into apathy (unless it involves annoying 18-year-old roommates). Whether it's those silly plants in my front room or a friend that I rarely see, I think my heart might hold too much too dear, and it shows. Most of the time, I feel like my caring might come off a little heavy-handed, and I leave people feeling overwhelmed by an overload of affection. I don't mean to do it, and I definitely don't expect reciprocation, but I also hope not to scare people off by my levels of adoration. There are times when, instead of making me a better friend (like I want it to), my care leads me to be a worse friend than some people deserve. No one wants to feel smothered, and I'm learning that I need to let go in order to let people be my friend, too.

Just know this, if you consider me a friend, I take that title as an honor and privilege, and I will do just about anything necessary to show you that I care about you.

But please, tell me if it gets to be too much.

Tidbit

For the past two weeks, I've had so many ideas floating around in my head and absolutely no clue how to tie any of them into some fantastic balloon-animal of thought. Thus, the night beckons me, and I'm here to spill something on the screen of this blog. Hopefully it's worth reading.

Summer started a little over a week ago, and I'm getting into the swing of things as I adjust my social life to fit this town when it's vacated of its resident students. There is much less traffic, shorter lines at Cafe Rio, and a general emptiness that leaves me a little sad at times and very grateful at others. I've reestablished a lot of great friendships that I let fall by the wayside during the semester, and I'm glad that these people are willing to overlook my social neglect in order to listen to my nightly rants, sing Broadway with me, or just drive around looking for mischief.

Tonight, I did all of the above.

While I knit my way into a dizzy stupor, Tyler and I drove down to Ogden so that he could purchase a new CD at FYE. Actually, he had a coupon to get the CD for free, and we figured that the cost of gas wouldn't affect the end price too much. Plus, how often do you get to sit in the car with one of your best friends, just talking and laughing about all sorts of stupid stuff? My ghetto impersonation is a lot better after taking lessons from Glozell... I mean Tyler. Also, my love of Magnums has returned with their arrival in the good ol' U.S. of A. I'm planning to eat my weight in gourmet ice cream this summer. I'll just have to make sure to do lots of hiking so that it doesn't show.

And with that, I encourage you all to buy your own box of Magnums (no, not the condom), and have a great day!

Major Weeper

I think it is assumed that all girls cry a lot. I don't generally fit the stereotype, although I have been known to shed some tears at awkward/unusual times. I used to sob every week when I watched Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. There were those Disney fireworks, and also that one time when I told my mom about Of Thee I Sing. I acknowledge that my emotions can sometimes get the best of me, but I don't (usually) burst out in tears when overcome by emotion. I'd like to think of myself as more of a screamer than a crier.

Maybe I was wrong.

Today, I got choked up not once, but twice. The first time was at school as I read Love You Forever to one of my students. The second was as I arrived at my second job and sat down to check my email. Maybe I'm pregnant. Maybe I have too many raw onions floating around my life. Maybe I need to get a grip. Whatever the cause of my silly emotional outbursts, I know that it felt so good to let those tears stream down my face as I said a silent prayer this afternoon. I'm sure that I'll go back to my normal, screamy self within a couple of days. For now, though, I'm going to embrace the tears.

Out of Control

Thank you hormones for acting out last week so that I may enjoy the high-on-life feelings that I'm having this week so much more.

Seriously. Last week was so bad. I know when I'm going crazy, and I hate every minute of it, yet there's absolutely nothing I can do besides ride it out and hope that I don't sabotage too much in the midst of my hysteria. I can't even tell you how many times I nearly had a mental breakdown, and my journal entries will go to prove to a saner me just what a whack job I really am. Fortunately enough, the late-night phone calls, the hours of girl talk, and the pint of Haagen Dazs in my freezer helped me pull through quite nicely, and I'm back to normal this week.

It's the last week of school, and the last week of whatever has been happening for the past two months of my life. He moves back to Alaska next Tuesday, and I'm not entirely sure what will become of us as we continue our lives 3,000 miles away from one another. We've avoided talking too much about what comes next, and I'm left to soak up every minute we have over the next seven days. I want to make sure that I'm the only girl he thinks about when he's up in the cold white north. (I don't actually think it's all that cold or white right now, but I thought I'd say it anyway.) I know that I'll be doing a lot more things by myself, and I'm prepping myself for that twinge of loneliness every time I need a little him in my life. It'll all be fine, though, and I'll tell myself that a million times over the next sixteen weeks.

Thus concludes my ode to normal hormones. I can handle one week of crazy as long as the rest of the time is like this.