an update of sorts.

Wow, it's been a while. I guess a lot has happened lately. The short version:

- The 21-year-old son of a close friend committed suicide last week. There's been speculation and, of course, rumor, but no one knows what really happened - and I guess, never will.

- School's not going well. I'm tired. This is the last full week before winter break, though, and I'm hoping that after a month off, I'll be feeling refreshed and ready for Part 2.

- My best friend, the one who moved to Dallas - I miss her. A lot. My other "best friend" is on this boy-hating kick and hanging out with other boy-hating friends, ones with whom I don't particulary care to associate. And to be honest, she and I are so different from one another that it's nearly impossible to have a meaningful conversation. She's fun, but at times like these, I'm alone and feeling it.

- Last weekend was a good one. I went out with some new friends. [Apparently, the power of the beard is taking over, and I just didn't know it.] I met Joe-With-a-Last-Name-That-Is-Nearly-Impossible-To-Pronounce. Joe is Polish, and if guys like Joe are what Poland has to offer, then I've apparently been missing out. Highlight of my evening: "I know you're probably here with one of these guys, but I just have to tell you that I think you're beautiful." It's too bad, really, that Joe lives an hour away. Eh.

- I, too, have joined Team Edward. Yay for Twilight. Yes, I'm just that lame.

I've got a test tomorrow on both the circulatory and lymphatic systems... and like usual, I'm so unprepared. This should be fun.

I hope I'm doing this for Me.

Each day, I'm a little more and a little more ready to leave this place behind.
I've been here far too long, and it no longer feels like home.

Four weeks left of this semester.
Then winter break.
And come January, I'll be in the last lap.

Time is flying.
But not nearly quickly enough.

"We all want to be somebody. Right now, we're just looking for the exit."

Wow. It's been a while. And a lot's happened, I guess.

We're getting a new President. "A Muslim African American in the White House." Really, though? Ha. The south is reeling, man. It's all a little ridiculous, if you ask me. Politics is politics. It's about the lesser of evils. We all have differing opinions of just how the nation should be run, and I'm not about to get on any soap box. [Racism is ignorance. I'll just put that out there.] And I hope that sooner, rather than later, the people of this country can accept reality, find a way to deal with it, and bridge this gap we've created.

Whew.

So. Last week, I had two finals and finished both Geriatric and Maternal Nursing. AND I just completed my last day of Clinicals I --- in the nursing homes. I've got a final in Pharmacology I tomorrow, then we'll pick up Adult and Mental Health for the next few weeks. Plus, we're diving head-first into Clinicals II, and my first couple days will be in surgery. I'm... definitely nervous. But excited. I've got six months left until graduation --- if I can make it. Keep your fingers crossed?

By the way, I'm doing better. I'd be lying if I said I never think of him. I just finally realized that I couldn't keep holding so tightly to a mere possibility. I've been spending time with old friends and making new ones. And yeah, I'm doing better. Thanks.

Figured I had time for an update. Now I'm off to study --- as usual. Oh, and if you're in South Arkansas on Friday, I'll be working the drive-thru flu drive ALL day. Ha. With the expected turn-out of a couple thousand, I think it's safe to say I'll get a lot of practice. YIKES.

Closure will come.

I can only wonder how long it will take you to notice.
This is done.

-

I'm not quite sure what made today the day. Perhaps it was the photo I stumbled across, you dressed as a pirate for Halloween, a smile on your face, surrounded by friends. Or maybe it was the realization that my best friend is soon leaving, and for the past few months, I've wasted precious time with her, with conversation about you. The reasons no longer matter, as today was the day.

I've been spending every day since June, wishing and waiting and wondering, unable to feel anything for anyone else. It's sickening, really. You, though? You've been piecing back together your life, as though I were never a part of it, and politely lying your way through each awkward moment. Perhaps I could stand to learn a thing or two.

I'm done giving you the benefit of a doubt. I'm done making excuses for you. I'm done building you up, only to watch my image of you crumble again.

As of today, I'm moving on.

Let's pretend this isn't happening.

I hate change.
I hate growing up, and I hate watching others grow up.
I hate knowing that life,
as I know it in this moment,
will never again be the same.

My best friend. I knew she had plans to leave town, just didn't know it would be this soon. (In all honesty, I think I felt like she shouldn't be able to leave until I was able to leave, too. Selfish.) Her modeling is really taking-off, and she's leaving for Dallas. She's moving into her new apartment, nearly four hours away, in less than two weeks. Four hours, I know, doesn't sound so bad, right? Four hours might as well mean two billion miles.

In the last five years, she's the one person I've come to rely on. When my world is crashing down, she listens. The therapeutic late-night drives, with caffeine and cigarettes. ... No. I won't let this bring me down. I refuse to let this destroy me.

The near future... might prove to be a little difficult.

"Oh, look now, there you go with hope again."

I needed a break. I needed to clear my head. So I went to Dallas for the weekend and stayed with a couple friends. I love the city, but visiting serves as just another reminder of how ready I am to move there. Each time, the drive home seems a little longer and my heart sinks a little lower---I'm pathetic, really. Eh, seven months... but who's counting?


It was an interesting weekend:

-I learned that, apparently, it isn't safe to text while in four lanes of rush hour traffic. You might find yourself barricaded in a center lane, dodging bumpers, and ramping the median for a last-minute exit... Or so I've heard.

-I discovered the heavenlyness that is Cuban cuisine. We went out with a few friends Saturday night to La Cubanita, uptown on McKinney Avenue. The weather was amazing, and we scored a table out on the patio---my favorite. I had two Mojitos and several glasses of Mango Sangria, ordered the Gulf Red Snapper---and fell in love. If you're ever in the Dallas area, I recommend 'em... especially the drinks. But go easy on the drinks. Trust me.

-I learned to play was schooled in my first game of disc golf. Until a few months ago, I didn't know such existed, but apparently, it's a pretty serious sport, man. Aside from the disc golf course we found, there are, at least, eight other courses around Dallas, alone. And there's even a Professional Disc Golf Association? (I've obviously been hiding beneath a rock.) Yeah, it's addicting. I recommend it, too.

-And, as I was leaving town, I realized that I should pay more attention. I walk around, so completely consumed with playing the victim that I'm fucking oblivious to the rest of the world. In a few months, I haven't been able to feel anything for anyone else---anything, at all. And if I were a decent person, I'd have made things clearer and spared his feelings. But I didn't. :/


It's back to reality (and rural life). I had a ten-hour clinical today, and I've got an exam in maternal nursing tomorrow. Someone, shoot me.

I tell my love to wreck it all,
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.
// Skinny Love; Bon Iver

[ismy]

Forget To Breathe; Renee Cassar

This means nothing, and I do, too.

Me: We never talk anymore. We used to talk.
Him: That was when I was trying to have a relationship with you. -smile-

Wow.

I couldn't have imagined that such very few words, after all this time, could slice all the way through to my core. Then again, I guess I'd asked for it.

I wanted to die.

Instead, I smiled back.

a compliment, gladly taken.

"When is the last time someone told you that you were kick-ass beautiful?
Because you are."

This. made my day.

Wrong. Just wrong.

Sometimes, I think, maybe fear is okay.

So today was the first day of clinicals, Orientation. And I'm, perhaps, more terrified after the visit than I was before. I met my patient, an elderly woman suffering from dementia. She's precious, and I think she hates me.

Yeah, today was only the orientation. We toured the facility, a nursing home nearby, and got the run-down on what we can expect for the next few weeks. For now, we've been assigned one patient each, and our sole purpose is to care for that patient from 6:30AM until 4:30PM, every Monday. [Later, we'll have clinical rotations on Mondays and Fridays.] This means vital signs checks, bedbaths, and anything with which she might need assistance [including---but not limited to---toileting, dressing, mouth care, and feeding]. And I'm okay with that, right? I mean, I think I'm okay with it. But this program advances at the speed of freaking light, and in what will seem [and may actually be] days, we'll be administering wound care and giving enteral feedings and starting IV medications. And therein lies the potential for unintentional harm, but harm, nevertheless. What you may not remember from lecture, that one thing, could cost a life. And, yeah, I'm not so okay with that. Seriously, if you take nothing else from my ramblings, realize that nursing is so unbelievably underrated. I have.

Amidst the fear, though, I'm excited. For the first time, I've found something that excites me. And I want to be great. I want to be a nurse who exemplifies every meaning of the word. I want to be a nurse of whom my instructors can be proud. I want to be a nurse in whom my patients will seek comfort and security. I want to be a nurse who works through both skill and heart. I want to be a nurse who still remembers, in the most trying of times, that each assigned patient is also a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a lover, a child, a friend...

An instructor of mine presented to us this poem, reportedly written by a geriatric patient in Europe and found after her death. It brought tears to my eyes and determination to my heart. [Perhaps it's times like those when you can be sure, you're exactly where you belong.] It's something I hope to keep in mind over the next few weeks, and forever after.
_____

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you look at me --
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice -- "I do wish you'd try."

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe,
Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.

Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse, you're looking at ME...
I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still;
As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet;
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty-five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn;
At fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known;
I'm an old woman now and nature is cruel --
'Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where once I had a heart,
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again,
I think of the years, all too few -- gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last --
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman, look closer, nurses -- see ME!

Who coined the word gargle, anyway?

Nursing school, thus far, is Hell. Last week sucked, but after examining next week's schedule, I was thrown into an all-out panic. Clinical rotations begin on Monday, gasp! I've got unit exams each day---scheduled around the seven-hour lectures, of course. And a rough draft for the research paper we were assigned only days ago? Due on Friday.

I was eager for this weekend. A time to catch up on sleep, chill out with a Margarita, and allow my mind a break from Pharmacology I. (So, yeah, maybe I should use my weekends to study and catch up on assignments, too. But c'mon, let's be realistic.)

Whatever. My body had other plans.

I'm nearly positive I have a throat infection. And I can say this, I can self-diagnosis because I've had approximately 12,842,687,012 cases in my twenty-four years. No, really, I have. And I refuse to make a doctor's appointment. For one thing, they'd have to "work me in" midday, so I'd be forced to miss class---and seriously, missing class is something you just don't do. If you've suffered a massive heart attack, let's say, you'd better hope it happens early enough that you're still able to make it to class by 8AM. It's hardcore, yo. Oh, and yeah, the other reason I won't see my doctor. I already know what he'll say: "You already know what I'm going to say: We need to remove your tonsils." No, thanks. There will be no slicing or dicing.

Instead, I'm doping on Benadryl (which reminds me, it's high time for another dose). I'm popping ibuprofen left-and-right to lessen the pain just enough that I can manage a few bites of mashed potatoes without their feeling something like shards of glass. And, yeah, the salt water concoctions I dreaded as a kid. (I'll never be able to forget my mom's incessant "Gargle your throat. Have you gargled your throat?") Yuck. I'd almost sooner keep the infection than risk ingesting that warm, salty water. And, even worse, tilting your head too far back mid-gargle, can cause salt-water-in-the-nose, and that shit burns. Still, I'm trying it, the gargles. Every few hours, I'm gargling. I'm all about this self-medication thing, determined to be well by Monday.

This is how I chose to spend my Saturday night.

Crap.

I texted Him.

I went against my better judgement, and I texted him. I'd been doing so well---thinking of him day in and day out, yet not giving him the satisfaction (or dissastisfaction, perhaps?) of knowing it. Until tonight. When I texted him.

Me: Miss you. Hope you're doing well.
Him: :) Thanks. Miss you, too. We'll be there in a few weeks.
Me: Wow. Cool. Maybe we can hang out. :)
Him: Yep, that would be awesome.

He lives five hundred miles away, if I haven't already mentioned it. He plays bass in a band with roots near here, and though they moved those five hundred miles a few months back, they're still good at scheduling local shows fairly often. (Note: I knew the band before they moved, and I'm not one of those ridiculous groupies.) I haven't seen Him since we ended things, near the beginning of June.

To the untrained eye, this textual exchange might seem positive. We're talking. I miss him, he misses me. He alluded to a possible meeting, right? But then, you'd have to know Him. You'd have to know that he's that guy. He's a nice guy who says nice things to nice girls whose feelings he'd rather not hurt. You simply can't read too much into anything. But I do. And I will. For the next... who knows how long. These brief messages are enough to send me spiraling back into that same slump. Once again, I'll be crossing my fingers when my phone rings, wishing with all my might that it's his name that shows on the Caller ID.

But it won't be.

See, a few weeks after we broke up and I didn't hear from him, I texted him. (I told you I was a text whore. I am. And in certain situations, like this one, it's much less risky to send a text. Actually hearing rejection is something I'd rather not.) I told him that, though I'd never before cared to maintain friendship with an ex-boyfriend, I wanted to try with him. Considering he'd once told me that he always preferred to remain friends with exes, I figured he'd be all for the idea. And he was, or so he said. Except, any time we've talked since, it's been by my initiation.

And for a while now, I've tried to rationalize it. He mentioned once that it was hard seeing me, talking to me since the break-up. But isn't it that way with every break-up? How could he find a way to be friends with past exes, and not with me? Why am I any different? And after some time, I've wondered, has it been long enough that he's over the initial heartache and realized that he doesn't need me in his life, that he can do without, that he hadn't cared as much as he'd once thought, enough for a reason to now attempt a platonic relationship? Is he over me, in all respects? Has he moved on, hoping that I'll do the same? Should I?

This. Sucks.

And I now wish I hadn't texted him.

[untitled]

"He was my escape. And sometimes, that can feel a whole lot like love."
-Unknown

a blogthing.

At some point, everyone does it. The 100 Things. Here's mine:

1. My middle name is Nicole. I go by my middle name. Always have.
2. I see the world in Crayola colors. Robin's egg blue is my favorite.
3. I make a mean chicken quesadilla.
4. Aside from quesadillas, I can't cook. Unless it came from a box and with detailed instructions.
5. I've never broken a bone, or gotten stitches. *knockonwood*
6. I'm slightly, just slightly, superstitious.
7. I'm a glutton for punishment. I watch sad movies and listen to sad music, by choice.
8. I bite my nails.
9. After four years of college, I was merely a semester from graduating with a degree in elementary education when I decided I'd chosen the wrong career field.
10. Meredith Grey is my hero.
11. I once had a pet hermit crab. I accidently killed it.
12. I hate mathematics.
13. I hate Arkansas, too.
14. I could go vegan. Easily.
15. I'm ridiculously addicted to MySpace.
16. I want to visit Paris. At night.
17. I go nowhere without my little pink iPod.
18. I've never had a good dream, ever.
19. I am. not. a morning person.
20. I miss 80s television. Who's the Boss, ALF, the Wonder Years? Man, yeah.
21. I tried sushi, and loved it. Except for the raw fish thing.
22. I can't manage money for shit.
23. I had a lip piercing. I lost "friends" after getting a lip piercing. Apparently, it wasn't yet the cool thing to do.
24. I drink tequila, and I hate the taste of it.
25. Generally, I drink to get drunk.
26. I oversleep.
27. I'm a cat person.
28. I have a crush on Edward Scissorhands.
29. I'm extremely unphotogenic.
30. I don't like Dunkin' Donuts.
31. Or David Hasselhoff.
32. My Mammaw's chicken and dumplings are boss.
33. I play piano. I began lessons at the age of five-ish.
34. I still prefer old-school Nintendo over any other game system. Mario kicks ass.
35. I'm anemic.
36. In college, my friends jokingly referred to American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak" as my theme song. I dated a lot. :/
37. I'm late. Always. No matter what. It annoys even me.
38. I've never seen a Harry Potter movie. I've no desire.
39. I used to dance. I quit for a jealous boyfriend.
40. I love roadtrips.
41. I have three half-siblings, but I count only one.
42. I love Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Especially Everything But The..., Phish Food, and Half-Baked. And all the others.
43. I worked for Wal-Mart. For three completely miserable months.
44. I express myself through music lyrics.
45. And quotes. Obviously.
46. I was in a sorority. And was booted for partying too hard.
47. I like bananas, but only if they're mainly still green. No brown spots, none.
48. I drove fourteen hours, round-trip, to see The Used. Bert McCracken is sick and twisted and wonderful.
49. I'll all-but-pass-out when on the receiving end of a needle.
50. Except with piercings or tattoos, strangely enough. I like piercings and tattoos.
51. I have five piercings, two tattoo.
52. My heart. Never healed.
53. I've never been on a diet.
54. I don't do socks.
55. I don't mind the Summer Olympics. The Ryan Lochte part of it.
56. I'd rather go barefoot.
57. But I have a ridiculous shoe collection.
58. I have the wittiest comebacks. But only after the moment's long passed.
59. As a child, I thought I'd become a writer. Until I realized I can't write.
60. Converse go with anything. You'll never convince me otherwise.
61. I'm a sucker for anything acoustic.
62. Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper from Sonic. Makes me happy.
63. I've driven the same car for 10 years.
64. I refuse to wear orange.
65. My very first concert was Lynyrd Skynyrd.
66. I'm afraid of clowns, as cliche as it might be.
67. I'm addicted to crossword puzzles and rounds of Tetris.
68. I'd love to believe that Seattle Grace exists, and that I'll one day work there. No one crush my dream.
69. I rarely match.
70. I text. A lot.
71. I still think emo is cute.
72. I've seen Juno so many times, I could quote it. And oftentimes, do.
73. I have an addiction to Coca-Cola.
74. I love animals more than I like most people.
75. I call everyone "kid." Age doesn't matter.
76. I'm a night owl.
77. I've never cheated on a boyfriend.
78. I believe in God only because it's surely impossible to be angry with Someone in whom you don't believe.
79. I'm a Leo. Passionate, lively, and a little egocentric.
80. I won the sixth grade spelling bee.
81. I don't wear a lot of makeup. But I can't go without eyeliner.
82. I'm the spitting image of my mother. I also inherited her temper.
83. I don't understand the fascination with the Jonas Brothers. Aren't they Hanson, made-over?
84. At the age of thirteen, I had a rather unhealthy obsession with Hanson.
85. Jack Black annoys me.
86. Animal rights.
87. I'm a procrastinator in the worst way.
88. I hold grudges.
89. I can't play guitar. I've tried. And tried.
90. I have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I'd swear it made sense at the time.
91. I was born in Arkansas, but I'm destined for the city.
92. I'm usually a ripped jeans-and-hoodie kind of girl.
93. I have The Hills, seasons one and two, on DVD.
94. I'm a terrible driver.
95. I'm even worse at telling stories.
96. I've been to Disney World.
97. I started smoking at the age of 19, confident that I could quit at any time. And it wasn't until this year that I realized---I'm addicted.
98. I still care, and I'll never tell him.
99. I don't exercise. I wish I did. But I won't.
100. I'm a people-watcher. It's what I do.

Give me chills.

I saw a re-run for So You Think You Can Dance, featuring this piece from Chelsie and Mark. It's easily one of my most favorite routines, ever. Beautifully awkward choreography from Mia Michaels. It's perfect.

And it makes me miss dancing.

what it means to break a heart, again.

I'm 24. Officially.

Monday was my birthday, and it was quite possibly one of the strangest birthdays I've had yet. I came home late, only to find a mountain of atrociously wrapped gifts piled near the garage door. From the ex-boyfriend I left behind nearly six months ago. Each gift had its very own card with an explanation of its significance. I'll admit, it was a nice thought, but it's all so very... awkward.

When I ended things back in February, he gave me the "I'm-not-giving-up-this-easily" line, a line I attributed to sheer dramatics. I cut all ties and hadn't heard from him since. And six months later, this grandsweeping gesture? From the same guy who forgot Christmas?

The things he wrote in those cards were exactly the things I'd wanted to hear...

But not now.
And not from him.

bitemarks on my tongue.

I still care. But eventually, I won't. Eventually, I'll hear your name and not feel a flutter in the pit of my stomach. Eventually, I'll be able to listen to The Used again. Eventually, I'll order sushi on my own. Eventually, every tall, thin, mop-headed kid won't remind me of you. Eventually, I won't be bothered with the incessant what-ifs and what-might've-beens. Eventually, none of this will matter, and I won't care.

'Til then, I'll fake it, and you'll never know any differently.

xX

120/80.

I was pretty lame this weekend. I had plans, but not so unlike me, I cancelled. Instead, I stayed in town, caught up on some much-needed sleep, and studied for my vital signs skills test tomorrow. Funny how things change: Two years ago, my weekends meant non-stop partying, tequila binges, and countless rounds of beer pong. And, for the most part, the idea now sounds rather unappealing. I guess this is growing up. [Note: I did say "for the most part" because, believe me, I still have those days when I'd kill for a margarita, extra shots.]

My family and friends may hate me before I've ever finished nursing school. For my test tomorrow, I'll have to demonstrate my competency with checking radial pulse, respiratory rate, and blood pressure. So for the past week or so, I've been cutting off circulation practicing on everyone around me. I've decided, I hate checking blood pressure. And I hate stethoscopes. And I think, even moreso, I'm going to hate having to perform in front of an audience of teachers [aka nurses] and forty peers. It will be worth it. This new catch-phrase of mine, I think, is the one thing that will get me through May 2009. Maybe I should consider having it tattooed.

-----

And all these lines fall short of what I had in mind,
A failed attempt to capsulize a feeling.
So I just try. Fail and try and try again.
Someday, I swear I'm going to get it
'Cause I'm convinced that giving in is the worst thing there is.

"Mistakes We Knew We Were Making" - Straylight Run

I'll do better.

Evidently, I suck at this whole blogging thing.

Nursing school's going well, though. Really well. I'm halfway through the summer term already, and I have an A-average. But I'm exhausted. In high school, I never studied. In college, the first go-around, I never studied. Now, in nursing school, I study. I study my ass off. We're talkin' four- and five-hour study sessions, up 'til three in the morning, two-and-a-half-hour naps before class. I'm driven, I'm focused, and I'm determined to make it. I'm going to make it.

Oh. And Austin. We didn't work. I'll always believe that the problem had very little to do with the two of us, and everything to do with the five-hundred miles between us. Of course, this only makes it all the much harder to swallow. If I had a good enough reason to walk away, I could. If I had a reason, at all. But that's life, I guess. You get over it, and you keep breathing. Everything happens for a reason.

I've been stressed about money lately. Now that I'm doing the school thing full-time, I wasn't able to keep my job. So I've been flippin' out over just how I'm going to pay for school. And, well, you've heard that saying, Ask and you shall receive? And the stories of answered prayers, answered in the worst possible way? Consider me a prime freaking example. My ninety-year-old grandmother, one of the most important people in my life, is dying. And I learned today that she's willed to me a portion of her life savings, enough for this year and three more, enough to get me all the way through to a BSN, enough to complete my education. I should feel relieved. No more worry, right? Instead, I'm angry with myself, so ashamed at even considering it. Have you ever tried bargaining with a deity? "Dear God, no. Screw the money. Just don't take her away." Yeah, bargaining. At the least, it has to be a nice change from the everyday hurling of insults into the sky.

If my life were anything else, it would be the Mr. Freeze ride at Six Flags. Up, down, upside down, stop, then repeat... backwards. But I'm not so sure I like rollercoasters.

update.

So. Eight months later.

A lot has changed. I was recently accepted into the nursing program. Which means that, after eleven more months of classes and clinical hours, I should have my degree and my license to practice as an LPN. Then I'm out of Arkansas. That's the plan, anyway. I'm stoked, regardless. There are still a few obstacles here and there, but for once, I'm actually beginning to believe in myself.

And. There's this guy. He brightens my days, and I think I like him a little more than I'd planned. He's seven hours away. But it's worked, somehow.

I'm pretty content. I still have my moments of weakness. Everyone does, right? But I'm doing better. I'm making plans and setting goals and actually doing something. There may be hope for me, yet. [Now if only my family believed it.]