tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6839554410738383822024-03-05T19:02:14.700-07:00Keeping Informed With Clever EyesMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.comBlogger569125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-33800839860729177622014-01-26T15:07:00.001-07:002014-01-26T15:38:57.992-07:00Jan 26, 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuf34Jwr818dy3GRFPbJUurG0beT0o18evjTZmNEQq0xJl7UUXAS8-CZP-XHSh8z7ohiSonZGWSPPlJaKzBNH7zXIGH3Wo7NSR4VaB4ho0FzndRuwG-2nPV6Rzc0pSeLg2b1uixctXh8/s640/blogger-image--145720680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSuf34Jwr818dy3GRFPbJUurG0beT0o18evjTZmNEQq0xJl7UUXAS8-CZP-XHSh8z7ohiSonZGWSPPlJaKzBNH7zXIGH3Wo7NSR4VaB4ho0FzndRuwG-2nPV6Rzc0pSeLg2b1uixctXh8/s640/blogger-image--145720680.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5S6tV_5x1VUWqaNjpVlJXKSfgpPHxUcLqVhLh9bFvpNo-4y6tQIbsKkB3uHdkpAEmwnNk65K6fH5v8jfaqDMpuOg6o-b53QEKkgiYHpSLMyLyFVBM3vVxTiIu2LsWfnrjC6lkui1ulo/s640/blogger-image-1680856757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5S6tV_5x1VUWqaNjpVlJXKSfgpPHxUcLqVhLh9bFvpNo-4y6tQIbsKkB3uHdkpAEmwnNk65K6fH5v8jfaqDMpuOg6o-b53QEKkgiYHpSLMyLyFVBM3vVxTiIu2LsWfnrjC6lkui1ulo/s640/blogger-image-1680856757.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6lRd1rhfOzrYDHzvChUek9IQEgdMcKGaXFjXrGOmGUtV8uJnksrlgGIg6vbF7gS8v_cBx8FwomWPUS1ptFsfFDKGMxTyF-aGiuxjCUz3cyBDqG0UckjBTF4Y-2DrRWvTDVWBNp_ssrM/s640/blogger-image-474008873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6lRd1rhfOzrYDHzvChUek9IQEgdMcKGaXFjXrGOmGUtV8uJnksrlgGIg6vbF7gS8v_cBx8FwomWPUS1ptFsfFDKGMxTyF-aGiuxjCUz3cyBDqG0UckjBTF4Y-2DrRWvTDVWBNp_ssrM/s640/blogger-image-474008873.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkOOMyRbdZhN36r6oJFAIB1ijDOOo68pQRnrJ281nwvffX3GncgnC31555535VVGcgS8oK7_a3Kd6tleVWpmXxptDl2SQwsj1oPkPOS-OFpGFypIfeluEya9WlxY8J8MkCdfUCebHma8/s640/blogger-image-1610623458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXkOOMyRbdZhN36r6oJFAIB1ijDOOo68pQRnrJ281nwvffX3GncgnC31555535VVGcgS8oK7_a3Kd6tleVWpmXxptDl2SQwsj1oPkPOS-OFpGFypIfeluEya9WlxY8J8MkCdfUCebHma8/s640/blogger-image-1610623458.jpg"></a></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra4DhBeS5U6TgQkB6AfXB6JNdJ7pLfUBgZg-nhr4R8HAfBmKFKT-Cp2Hx7sJ4Wkt3a9gQrynZBhhHWEp46mPRXFQocNEL6z9BmZAOslpJPzFYYyriVi_KnD5w0aQ6N9IBd9HDQX0vrAw/s640/blogger-image-1537619326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra4DhBeS5U6TgQkB6AfXB6JNdJ7pLfUBgZg-nhr4R8HAfBmKFKT-Cp2Hx7sJ4Wkt3a9gQrynZBhhHWEp46mPRXFQocNEL6z9BmZAOslpJPzFYYyriVi_KnD5w0aQ6N9IBd9HDQX0vrAw/s640/blogger-image-1537619326.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSncHYjDGjLzDfFn2T4wzlyUaK4_LO71ZTwGp8IzJsXCeeaWYse3-TwM_kvsa3H9WzWgH4sZfn57lzv2fH2FhhKAJ0Xvnb4Z8jhP-QfSGyMEDL7knguqswJEkmwNwICxYQ2gTLbl1bzU/s640/blogger-image--381595346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSncHYjDGjLzDfFn2T4wzlyUaK4_LO71ZTwGp8IzJsXCeeaWYse3-TwM_kvsa3H9WzWgH4sZfn57lzv2fH2FhhKAJ0Xvnb4Z8jhP-QfSGyMEDL7knguqswJEkmwNwICxYQ2gTLbl1bzU/s640/blogger-image--381595346.jpg"></a></div></div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-60121221383430984152014-01-12T15:04:00.001-07:002014-01-12T15:06:56.639-07:00New YearThis last year was my undoing. Everything seemed to fall apart and all the things that I loved and found easy became difficult. I struggled; Daily, constantly. And nothing seemed to ease the tension and stress I felt. <div>I forgot myself and couldn't remember how I ever enjoyed things. Or what things made me happy. Because while I put up a good show of momentary happiness, nothing really touched below the surface. </div><div>I am imperfect. So flawed that sometimes I can't fathom how I have accomplished anything. And those flaws seemed to be the only things I could see. </div><div>My cousin Erika wrote a post recently about striving for perfection. And how when we try to reach perfection on our own, it has us feelings like we are nothing but our failings. I am tired of feeling like a failed human being. I'm tired of forgetting that I don't need to be perfect. And that I can let God and other people help to make up my shortcomings.</div><div>Last year may have been my undoing but I want this year to help me rebuild. </div><div>And along with that I want to work to remember what I love to do. I used to love to blog. But this last year, I think it felt too raw to document how things were going. So this is where I'm starting. Because I want to be able to see my life for what it is and document and learn from it. The good and the bad. And remember how to appreciate my life for what it is rather than what it isn't.</div><div>Mostly what I want from this year is to heal. And become a person that I love again. </div><div>So here's to the New Year. </div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-78937366223775952132013-12-06T00:58:00.001-07:002013-12-07T04:19:49.221-07:00September 9, 2013<div>Everyone tells me that you're playing me. That you have made every girl who comes near you feel as if you cared so deeply for them in this same way. That I am just one among many. And I want to believe you. That you mean the things you say. That you love me. That you wouldn't make me feel lonely. But you lie so well. How can I know which lies are the truths when you interchange them with such ease? Do you love me less when I say things you don't want to hear? Are you accepting of me? Even the things you dislike? Because I often feel that if I said all the things I'm too fearful to say that you wouldn't just not love me, but you wouldn't even like me. You'd ignore me and leave me be. I mean, isn't it with a sigh of burden that you deal with me when I try to ask what we are? And is it really so overbearing of me to want to know if we are exclusive and that I am not just convenient. Am I special? I can't say for sure that I am. And I wish I didn't doubt your sincerity. But I do. </div><div>Because maybe all you want is someone who hangs on your every word and kisses you. Because you don't want to date me. And how do I know that I am different from the Jenny's or the Kendras or the wake of other girls who all thought they were special to you but werent? That the reason you dont want to date is not self implosion but just a lack of commitment and a desire to have the perks of dating with none of the commitment of actual dating? You can't even tell me that you would hate if I decided to date someone else. And I'd only date someone else because I don't wanna be that pathetic girl who waits around for a guy who will never even date her. I would hate if you found someone else. Its not about possession. Its about valuing me enough to not want to lose me to someone else. I am a person not a possession but do you value the fact that I pick being with you? Can you tell me you value me? Did you see my face when I saw you? Because I know other people did. I beamed. At you. For you. </div><div>Are your feelings genuine? How can I possibly know? You say your family knows what it means for me to show up again in your life. But do I?</div><div>I'm trying so hard to be cool. But I've never been cool in my life. And feeling so unsettled kills me. </div><div>Do you really want to see me more? Or is that just something endearing to say because you know it's what I want to hear and you can't actually see me more so it's no risk for you?</div><div>I know you don't know what you want. But I wish you could recognise that telling me you want me, isn't making me a possession. It is letting me know that there is a legitimate other choice. </div><div>I am terrified to choose where to go because I worry that if I choose Calgary it will be because you will be there and if I don't it will be the opposite reaction of trying to not make a decision for you. There is no winning. Because I don't know how to make decisions without factoring you into them. </div><div>What's happening with you and the church? And why can't we talk about it? Do you really feel that my feelings for you would change based on what you would tell me? I didn't decide arbitrarily to feel for you as I do. And believe me when I say that I have no vain illusions to your perfection. You aren't perfect. In fact, I already know that despite how you frustrate me in certain ways, that I still care deeply, despite my occasional wishing that your worse qualities would change those feelings. It would be easier for me if I could stop caring for you. Because you are often careless with my feelings and I have cried an embarrassing amount for you. But I cannot stop feeling for you as I do. And when it comes down to it, I wouldn't want to even if I could. </div><div>I don't want to be with someone else. But I also don't want to be blindsided again, thinking I know your feelings and then having you tell me I misinterpreted it all. That I was in a dream and the reality is you don't care for me as I care for you. </div><div>Can you reassure me that my fears aren't valid? That you won't tire of kissing and telling me lovely things and toss me aside? That our not dating is only about you and has nothing to do with you not wanting to date me? To wanting the freedom to bail without even having to break up with me because we aren't together? And you can claim ignorance since we were never official. </div><div>I feel like we're together. Whether that was your intention or not, that is how it feels. But is it true? Are we? </div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-49076980142673566162013-10-27T17:52:00.001-06:002013-10-30T02:26:59.831-06:00Haunted<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_pJ-oPi721Lfy0YqLYeNIG1BQpbsv13W6q9Ao_bzuyO8-6Px_un-3zUUM_iozSgq9ged_VS_bzdFZt7zFCk7KEtmLbpU6H0IHxAR4kXsDoDZMUnKAofP8e9OHk-qjjjUxtE4MJt9Ixc/s640/blogger-image--1584632521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_pJ-oPi721Lfy0YqLYeNIG1BQpbsv13W6q9Ao_bzuyO8-6Px_un-3zUUM_iozSgq9ged_VS_bzdFZt7zFCk7KEtmLbpU6H0IHxAR4kXsDoDZMUnKAofP8e9OHk-qjjjUxtE4MJt9Ixc/s640/blogger-image--1584632521.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvccT3xxioiHGly3lLX26qNZET2JPESPJLbsscxzdJFF6ShiYKePmrFWgbCdspqUppWf71JAv_sJy12boVsoUVGf6nC-BoCPmonbhuhRK6kTAj91VK3g7P6dc-69usJAhPn9u3qbn9JA/s640/blogger-image-1280887180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUEYcV-3yeMkE0DddKJn1_e1c3zsHjv-WYs9n5ru-rcBN2lcixjiOXgkijdahZ6lwuZH8vOHYa1jKnQXrmDCgM7NTElz9FacoE7oJs0VHEU54QFrUKTVx8AMnRBTibcAcir5_Xf84Pa7Q/s640/blogger-image--1473629512.jpg"></a></div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-23973271525677024762013-09-08T02:19:00.000-06:002013-09-10T22:25:38.726-06:00Roaring 20s<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn4mJIZrvBP4KKRi1RaM-UbJiJUfjeKkoYwHB3GaRGY-B8joaI-fnxy8jPWt4p0gvow5NlhUDwAXL6724AjP1mI0pbYm8p2Nm8hlTTc-_Fxaw8USSrg4zmFCi1fC0T8IhoP0zQo2MDzY/s640/blogger-image-1414132281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn4mJIZrvBP4KKRi1RaM-UbJiJUfjeKkoYwHB3GaRGY-B8joaI-fnxy8jPWt4p0gvow5NlhUDwAXL6724AjP1mI0pbYm8p2Nm8hlTTc-_Fxaw8USSrg4zmFCi1fC0T8IhoP0zQo2MDzY/s640/blogger-image-1414132281.jpg" /></a></div>
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This night was perfection. </div>
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I won't lie, after a day spent celebrating love and rocking a dress, the thought of spending the night in the same dress got burdensome. I wicked wanted to bail on the party, so when Ness invited me to come get ready, I brought nothing and wore sweats, fully intending to keep them company and then go home. </div>
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But Erin, that sneaky friend, offered to do my hair and so I started to help her to do hers first.</div>
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I love doing hair and I love when an idea turns out so fully perfect. Erin has long, long hair but wanted to shorten it for the party into a 20s bob. I got so excited with how spectacular her hair turned out. It honestly is the best feeling to look at someone's hair that you've done and know that it turned out better than you anticipated. </div>
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And so with a little more enthusiasm but not a high level of hope for my own hair, I let Erin quickly whip something up with my hair. It's very rare that someone else does my hair. Usually I'm doing everyone else's hair. So it was beyond a treat to get my hair done by Erin. And by the time she finished I was in love with it. It turned out perfect. </div>
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I've always fully believed that if you're gonna dress up you have to go hardcore or else spend the night feeling stupid. One hundred percent commitment. And with my hair and makeup done, I knew I could do nothing but commit to this party. </div>
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We had sparklers, fantastic group photos, 20s themed music and I had a lovely surprise arrival from Dallin. </div>
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It was a beautiful moment that will make a great memory. And I'm so grateful for Erin for getting me excited about it because I had a great time, and wouldn't of without her encouragement. </div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-76656576739736668432013-08-28T14:26:00.001-06:002013-08-28T14:28:36.106-06:00Heartbreak and ChangeI had hoped that the heartbreak of it all would be counteracted by the rightness of the course. But slowly, as the weekend went on, that heartbreak wrapped itself around me like a security blanket. It is a feeling I am well acquainted with that I almost feel at home in its grasp. This heartbreak is such a reflex reaction but one I truly thought I could avoid this time around. Because, honestly, I felt so mature as I dealt with this latest scenario. I felt like an outside observer, cheering myself on and patting myself on the back for being so rational and so calm as I dealt with feelings that are anything but calm and rational. I guess its my own fault. My repeat heartache is because I seem to never learn my lesson. A glutton for punishment. And oh how I pay!<br />
Why must I ache for what cant be? I feel lost. It amazes me how quickly I can feel lost in my life with so little effort. I dont know where to go. I dont know what to do. I dont know what would make it better. Aimless.<br />
I feel stifled by my life. But unsure of what action to take to make it easier to breathe. And I am fearful of all vulnerability. I know why I havent been feeling invested in anyone lately. Its because I have been keeping myself at an arms length from everyone. Never personally investing myself. Never letting anyone else get that close. Everything kept to the surface. Because shallow relationships are the safest. I never thought I would be one to hold back in such a way. Because I am nothing but a risk taker when it comes to my feelings and my heart. Grand leaps of faith with my heart. A "here I am, please love me" sort of earnestness. But I am tired of the bruises and beating I take. I am tired of being hurt so deeply. And having to pretend that they are only shallow wounds because being wounded is passé in a culture that only values strength. Why cant there be a value for weakness? Does it not have its place in each of our lives? I know the value of vulnerability. Because it creates love and closeness like strength never could. But I am too fearful to be as open as once I was.<br />
And my mind knows that I should be continuing forward, pretending as though I have never been wounded before. That this latest is nothing more than something to be shrugged off. But my heart wants to run. Any closeness, whether physical or emotional, and I want to bail. Because the people who should love you best are always the ones who hurt you the most. I know I'm being illogical. Because in order to get what I want I need to risk. But I feel seventeen again in my fear. Wanting but only from afar. Because the reality is too real. And the ability to blow people off too easy.<br />
I wish I felt the joys as deeply as I feel the sorrow. I wish there was a clear path to take. I wish things could just be easy and fall into place, just this once.<br />
I talked to Josh recently and he told me he admires my ability to always continue through the struggles and difficulties. To somehow find the strength to move forward. I dont feel strong. And looking back I have no idea how I have managed. I moved forward because it was the only direction to go. And there are many moments when it is all I can do to not stay curled up in my bed and wither. And sometimes that is all I want. To wrap myself in my blanket of heartache and fade from existence.<br />
Would I be missed?<br />
I am angry from a lifetime of people who dont love me right and a life that never goes the way I want it to. But I guess I get what I deserve. And I am more than imperfect in my ability to love others. And not everyone gets what they want. But I feel like the hard knocks just keep on coming on all fronts. It amazes me that I am even managing to stay standing. And I just wish that I didnt have to make all these huge life changing decisions by myself. And deal with all the hurt alone.<br />
My office let me know that they are terminating my contract. I'm not busy enough. I don't have enough clients. And so they are setting me free. But you know what is impossible to find in Lethbridge? A dental job. Every office tells me they are just a solo operation and not looking for anyone. I have visited almost 20 different offices. And been told more than once what a pretty little thing I am and how I'll have no trouble finding a job and doing well with my charming face and smile but no, this particular office isnt looking for anyone. The likelihood of finding a job in Lethbridge is slim. Most likely I will have to move. The thought of leaving all my support system is horrifying. Because I love Dave and Nat most of all and my impromptu visits with wise married friends and having a friend who wakes up at 6 am six days a week to work out with me. I have the best here. And I more than likely have to leave. <br />
I havent missed a beat. I already have two interviews that are being set up. And have been in a near constant motion, but I feel ill at the prospective changes that are coming. Must everything be in turmoil? Nothing is solid. Except that big changes are coming. And I think if I wasnt terrified for the mountain of debt waiting to topple and crush me, I would be taking a moment to wallow. But instead I have sent my resume everywhere I can think. I updated my resume and began applying the same day they told me. I jumped straight on to changing my circumstances and searching for some security. I havent wrapped my brain around it. All I know is that my life really sucks right now. And I dont know what would be the best for me. Should I move somewhere far away? Should I take any scraps I can pull together in Lethbridge? Should I move to Calgary and hope that I don't hate it completely?<br />
I honestly dont know.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-54328845487853311652013-08-27T12:14:00.000-06:002013-08-27T12:14:07.981-06:00I'm having a hard life.<br />
Simply put. Fully meant.<br />
I feel lost. And aimless.<br />
I have no idea where I'm<br />
heading. And part of me<br />
doesnt know if it really<br />
matters... Cheshire cat<br />
and what not about it not<br />
mattering where you go if<br />
you dont know where you<br />
want to be.<br />
And I have no idea where<br />
I ought to be.<br />
I'm trying really hard to<br />
not feel discouraged. But<br />
I do.<br />
One foot in front of the<br />
other I suppose.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-10623832971977228622013-08-13T17:02:00.000-06:002013-08-14T15:56:48.307-06:00Choice: that was the thing.<br />
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Dear {Secret}<br />
Perhaps you already know this, but sometimes what you want most also becomes what hurts you most. Because sometimes kindness is a cruelty in its own way. I dont know how to explain how much dreams can hurt. I woke up this morning in physical pain having dreamt all night. Because hope cuts deeply on occasion. And sometimes we want things that we already know arent good for us.<br />
I tried to explain to someone younger than me the realization that not everyone gets everything they want in life. Sacrifices must be made. Some things just dont work out. Some dreams must be given up. Sometimes you have to accept the life you have and learn to be happy with it rather than continuously mourning the life you didnt get. How strange to be old enough to no longer see the world as always giving. Because even five years ago, I think I was of that rationale; That, whyofcoursethingswillworkoutandI'llgeteverydreamandthingswillbeohsoperfect. Life is much too messy for such simplicity of thought. And sometimes the world only takes.<br />
I know the smart course of action. And I know that because I am smart, it will be the course I take. But dont think that it isnt hard for me to do it. That it isnt a choice that I will question everyday. That my resolve wont wane at inopportune moments - one step forward, two steps back. That the hope, potential and what ifs of the opposite choice dont already keep me awake most nights. Because what if we were happy? Isnt the potential disaster, and pain worth the possibility of such great happiness?<br />
The choice you offered me was never much of a choice. It was more a declaration that either I jump on your time schedule and always be subservient to your career, your ambition and most of all what you want. What a choice! I would basically become my mother - which is by far one of my most terrifying thoughts. I would have her marriage and all of the insecurities she has with that marriage. Would I then become her? I have spent my whole life knowing that I would never let myself have that life. Too strong of will. Too many desires of my own. Too demanding of love and life. I wouldnt want to wonder if you loved your career, your ambitions, and yourself, more than me. And worse still is that I probably wouldnt wonder - I would know that you did. I have always wanted to be most important to the person I loved most. I have always wanted to build a life together with my love. To make life choices <i>together</i>. The give and take has always sounded so appealing, even for someone like me who likes to have her way. <i>To choose our path together</i>. It could be such an adventure!<br />
I am so very tempted to choose the life I swore I would never have. Because I want any excuse to pick you. Even though you have pretty much told me you also think itd be a bad choice for me. And because your time frame allows me time to weigh my options, to search for better but still contemplate you, I'll probably still think about it. Even though I think I know having you would be too great a personal sacrifice. I still kind of want to do it. And if I believed for sure that you would love me most, I know I would follow you anywhere; support any ambition you had, any life you wanted.<br />
I keep thinking about marrying the right person at the right time. I have wanted you to be the right person. Oh how I have desired that, much to the chagrin of everyone around me. And I always kind of believed that perhaps the timing was wrong. But you weren't wrong in the fact that I would never be happy being secondary to everything else you value in life. I would never be happy knowing you love ambition more than me. Particularly when I know that I could have loved you above everything and everyone else.<br />
You act like its me who will make a choice. But really, you chose first. Unapologetically you have chosen yourself. That, I think, is the hardest part. It is easy to comfort myself when things go amiss that the person breaking my heart didnt love me or didnt care about me. But I know you do care. Just not enough. Not enough to choose me over yourself. And it is understandable to me why you would make such a choice. I honestly do see where you're coming from. The cant and the wont of it. The things you want arent bad. But honestly, they're also not the most important. And I pity your choice to set yourself up for a life completely alone. <i>Because I could have been there with you all along</i>. You needn't be alone. And I still hope that perhaps, before true regret settles in, you will realize that, even if our moment has passed.<br />
Its not fair for me to be with you because I know I would spend a lifetime asking you to give me more. And always being disappointed you couldnt. I would always wish for you to care about me first and everything else second. And that isnt the life you have mapped out. In your life, I would always be an afterthought. And I am no afterthought.<br />
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You love me. Sure. In your own way I believe you do. But you do not choose me. And choice, that is the thing. </div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-73716151210353354212013-08-05T00:37:00.001-06:002013-08-06T07:37:31.055-06:00Dear [ ]I keep trying to make your latest declaration not a big deal to me. I tell myself it changes nothing. That without your willingness, which I doubt I will ever get, it doesn't matter what moments we have and what beautiful words you speak. <div>But the truth is, I am running a constant speech in my head to you. The words vary but the message stays the same. I don't know what to do. Because I believe in your freedom to live your life as you see fit. But your actions have affected me and continue to affect me. And I am tired of you getting to make unilateral decisions on my behalf - to "protect me" from future hurt. I don't want you to tell me you love me and always will and then push me away and keep me at a distance. You aren't protecting me. And even if you were, I don't need it. Life and love are a risk. One that I would willingly take every time. </div><div>You are one of the saddest parts of my life. I don't feel openly hurt anymore. But there is not a day where I don't have to remind myself not to contact you. You arent even a saved name in my phone because I cannot bear to see your name in my contacts. I want to check in. I want to talk over life plans. I want you to be intimately involved. I have so many little nothings I would share. The little details that seem insignificant but in reality bring such closeness between two people. And it brings sadness to my soul to constantly keep that desire in check. As always, I am holding back. Always forced to use every ounce of my self control to give you the space you practically scream for. And to try to give me space so your rejections don't feel like such a personal affront. That the fact that you never contact me is something personal against my being. Because I know it's not about me; it's always been about you.</div><div>I really do try so hard to see everything from your point of view. And I hope you do see that. I know I'm not perfect in my understanding. You're complicated so I think it's to be expected. But I just wish you would let me be there for you. And not shut me out. </div><div>I wish we could be light around each other. But there is so much heaviness that surrounds us that no wonder we are often so serious.</div><div>I don't know how to want less. And the person I want to cry and talk it over with is you. Because I think you would understand like no one else would. Irony that son of a b. I spend so much effort down playing my feelings about you. And I know I'm not fooling anyone. It is the lie I tell myself to make your existence not hurt. </div><div>And I know my inability to change my feelings makes me pathetic. But instead of being hurt, I pretend I don't care that much. That the passing mention of your name doesn't make my heart cry out. </div><div>Will, one day, you regret holding me away? That's the general consensus of the people closest to me. But I wouldn't wish that upon you. Do you even fathom how much I care? I would hope that would mean something to you. But there are no guarantees when it comes to other people's feelings. </div><div>Won't you tell me how to forget you? Or want less from you at least?</div><div>Could you not let me have some small part of you? Do I really ask for too much? </div><div>I now know I have your love, but I want you. All of you. The good, the bad, the ugly. Because while I know you have imperfections I just don't give a damn about them. I don't care if you're emotionally damaged or distant. I think of all people I would be understanding of anything you were going through. I think I could be the best for you. But I don't know how to make you believe that. Or see the value in having someone. What should I do? Move on and hope one day my feelings for you fade and change? Make yet another risky declaration of feeling, hoping that maybe this time you'll choose me back? Neither option is good. Neither makes me happy. </div><div>Can't you see how I would try so hard to love you right? And I can see in my mind how happy we would be. We'd be imperfect but for us that would be just right. You would tell me all the nerdy things you've researched and because you were telling me about it I would be honestly entertained. We would talk when words were necessary and sit together when they weren't. And at night we would whisper quietly as we were falling asleep. And I would always feel right with the world when your arms were around me. And I would give you my whole being and all the loyalty and love I have to offer. It would be a beautiful life. The best kind of life. </div><div>Can't we try for that? </div><div>I am terrified of pushing you beyond what you can give and losing you. But I don't want to live this separate life anymore. Or if I have to, I need it to be wholly separate, with no hope of reunion. </div><div>I think I would make your life better. Won't you let me try?</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-62787328696100973222013-07-24T18:46:00.003-06:002013-07-24T18:46:34.474-06:00Letters<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Dear Hair</div>
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I'm freaking crazy bored of you right now.</div>
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Perhaps I need to go really short again.</div>
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Or get my bangs re-done. I found some</div>
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pictures from when my bangs were</div>
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really banging... and I kinda miss them.</div>
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Dear Work Schedule</div>
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I like doing nothing as much as the next</div>
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person. But I fetching hate two hour gaps between</div>
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patients where I'm tied to the office waiting.</div>
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Its boring as. Please consolidate yourself.</div>
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Dear Ohio and LA</div>
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I wish I was visiting you for non-stressful</div>
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non-work related reasons. Kinda worried about</div>
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making it through my IV practicum. </div>
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Be kind.</div>
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Be gentle.</div>
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And please let me make it through.</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-84099342343080161362013-07-22T00:29:00.001-06:002013-07-22T00:31:10.952-06:00Quadding<br />
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-6456212935570523612013-07-07T23:55:00.001-06:002013-07-22T00:35:15.961-06:00That Cousin Photo ShootI suggested to Ness that it might be fun to do a photoshoot. She didn't necessarily want to be in the photos but she offered to do makeup for it.<br />
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And since photoshoots are more fun with some friends/cousins I asked Mysha and Teina to join. Ness got to do whatever makeup looks she wanted, and I did their hair and then <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Brittany </span>took our photos. </div>
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The photoshoot was slightly ridiculous, with multiple outfit and location changes but very fun. And I loved how Teina and Mysha's hair turned out.<br />
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I'm sure there will be plenty of ridiculous shots where we're trying to model and just butchering life. But even though it took four hours to get all our hair and makeup done and then we ran around taking photos for another almost two hours, I had a great time. </div>
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I love when I love how someone's hair turned out. I wish I could do some more diverse looks on myself, but I'll settle for the total feeling of accomplishment I get when I do a great hair do on someone else. </div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-49524213392286833352013-06-26T11:11:00.001-06:002013-06-26T11:11:24.263-06:00Acrylic SamplerWhen I was little I wanted so badly to be an artist. I was always drawing. And art class was my favorite. I loved the thought of painting. But while I love to be creative, not being amazing or even able to get into art classes in junior high and high school always made me feel like I would have to wait to truly enjoy such a creative outlet. My grandma used to paint these great scenic pictures of Old Chief Mountain and I would look at what she created and know that someday I'd want to create like that. <div>Well, it's been many years, and it was just a one night class, but I've finally taken my first art class since elementary/junior high. </div><div>I love what a peaceful feeling creating lends. I consciously reminded myself that I wasn't comparing my work to anyone else's but was just enjoying the moment. But I'm actually quite proud of what I made. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPtUUy4r1xbSsotN8h0DiGemlGmARvE9vV794H5uLWxR7H4Ra0ZXFWDzMLTd78Oo37yPUgnbAa1oeQpTNbB6648X_CsY2AKNnUA7qulcN3SUjqXCfEVPrGwNGC3SQEde7AsJHvgyu-1U/s640/blogger-image--1631938902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgPtUUy4r1xbSsotN8h0DiGemlGmARvE9vV794H5uLWxR7H4Ra0ZXFWDzMLTd78Oo37yPUgnbAa1oeQpTNbB6648X_CsY2AKNnUA7qulcN3SUjqXCfEVPrGwNGC3SQEde7AsJHvgyu-1U/s640/blogger-image--1631938902.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The perfectionist in me could pick out things I'd want to change. But I'm really trying to just enjoy things that I can create on my own. Because I need things in my life that make me happy for the simple reason that I like them. And I very much liked this. I left the class feeling buoyed up and light. I love that little bird. I love that I made it and it's beautiful. And there really is nothing better than looking at something and feeling pride well up in your chest because <b>you made that</b>. It's a little thing. But it made me very happy.</div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-43754940063677804672013-06-02T19:25:00.001-06:002013-07-22T00:35:38.016-06:00<br />
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-56035817672318603852013-05-27T17:04:00.000-06:002013-05-27T17:04:15.074-06:00A Reckless MonologueHow does one describe this feeling? It is as though my brain knows that what I feel is irrelevant. And irrational. Or as most would say, a choice. That I choose to feel this way. And I know it's true. But it is also untrue. Because how could this be something I have chosen. To feel as swallowed up and tossed about as I do. I would pick anything else. <br />
I live my life trying my best to pretend that I'm ok. That none of the disappointments, shortcomings, hurts, betrayals, and indifferences matter. To see them as setbacks and, while unfortunate, something I am perfectly capable of moving past. Rationally, I abide by that notion. But all the while I feel like I might lose it. I feel permanently broken by life. Hurt consistently enough, that I feel beaten and cowed. Constantly anxious that I am not enough, that I do everything wrong, that I cant handle all that I am asked to handle; That one of these days I might reach to muster the force of will to move forward only to discover nothing there. I'm pretending to live. White knuckling my way through. And I am good at pushing forward even though every step pains me and causes the rising panic to spread further into the recesses of my soul. It feels a waste. I am a waste. So much wasted potential on a girl who cant make herself happy or loved. I keep searching and hoping something, anything will help. And I try to tell people. But words fall flat. And silence grabs hold of my throat. I never go far enough to explain. They never go far enough to understand what I'm trying to tell them. How does one say words that surely must just be a selfish indulgence? How do you explain what you know people don't really care to hear since it doesn't affect their own lives? How do you tell other people when everyone has problems and this is no more important to anyone just because it is your problem? Or explain to those who cant understand, even if they sympathize because they have not felt it? How do you explain something that shows just how much you are failing and shows your weaknesses for what they truly are - character flaws? Especially since nothing is wrong with my life.<br />
On the surface there is nothing a matter. I'm educated. I have a loving family. I have friends. But I also feel completely and utterly alone with no one to share my true feelings with. I have so much good in my life though that admitting I feel so unhappy feels ungrateful. Selfish. I've tried occasionally to boldly express myself as plainly as I could muster. But to no avail. I keep hoping someone, anyone will notice I'm not ok. That they will care enough to see and hear past the exterior of being fine enough. To say more than cliched you'll be alrights, your time will come and keep pretending everythings great until it is. Or turn the conversation into a competition of who has it worse. Or try to helpfully fix me because my current state cannot be loved. That those who do notice will decide its not too much to support. That even if they believe I ought to be different, they'd love me as the flawed individual I am. But I expect too much. My life is a small blip on other people's lives. Insignificant. Irrelevant. Meaningless.<br />
People tell me they're there for me. And I know they try their best. But most of the time I feel like they arent hearing what I'm trying to tell them. That my life, my true feelings are nothing more than a burden. Something that is too much to ask for. Because they are busy with their own lives and problems and who has the time or energy to deal with more than that. And nothing is the matter. Unless you count my feelings. But people tell me, for my negative feelings, I shouldn't. Because what matters to most is feigning a stiff upper lip and firm resolve. And keeping all the messy rest to yourself so as to not wallow. <br />
The worst is that I don't blame them. Because really, feeling unhappy in my life only goes to show how self-indulgent to my own whims I can be. What do my feelings matter? Especially since I ought to be picking them. Being happy in the situation you find yourself in and other garbagey cliched sentiments.<br />
And yet I'm not. I'm lost. Lost in a life I have no reason not to enjoy and yet I don't enjoy. I can't even remember the last time I felt a true, lasting amount of joy. A joy not tainted by fear. Not during dental school. Not during undergrad. Not during high school or junior high or elementary school. Maybe I really just don't know how to even be joyful. Not the same way other people are. Maybe I am not built for the same capacity of emotions. <br />
People tell me that someday someone will love me for just who I am. But I doubt it. The people who love me now only love me when I am holding back. When they don't hear whats going on inside my head. People don't love broken people who don't function right. That only have brief moments of joy. No one would pick that struggle - to love someone who is so terrified that the constant feeling and thought that she is unlovable is true. I do this to myself. I try not to believe it. I try to trust but no effort is ever enough. Because I am not enough.<br />
My life has not been any harder than anyone else's. I, like everyone, have had hard things and good things happen. I'm unique, just like everyone else and therefore, like I once had explained, so ordinary in my personal uniqueness that it makes me no more special or important than anyone else. Because it happened to me doesn't make it any more relevant or devastating. Other people have it worse. The difference is me. My ability to cope. My ability to function. My own self importance in my own story. I should care less. Who cares how I feel? Who cares where I go or what I do? As long as I don't make a fuss or bother other people. As long as I keep the act of being fine going and maintain my responsibilities, it doesn't matter what I do or how I feel. <br />
Sometimes panic races through me and I feel as though I can't breath. My heart races and feels as though it will beat through my chest. I will fall short. I will let people down. Everyone will be mad at me. I hate having people mad at me. <br />
I can't stand knowing that its irrational to think that way and knowing that I am genuinely fearful that it is true. I know I'm not ok. But I honestly cannot help myself enough and I don't know how to ask for help. I don't even know who could help me. Because every time I try, my brain tells me I'm making a big deal out of nothing and some petty life unsatisfaction is normal and fine. That if I voice how I truly feel I will get yet another speech on making the best with what I have, trusting God more and how good I really have it and how my negativity is really just my personal selfishness showing through. That I am horribly self centered. Ungrateful. Pessimistic. That to be unhappy is to be selfish and ignore what duty and responsibility I must deal with first. <br />
People might try to assume that there is some deep seated unresolved issues; Some traumatic events from my past. And of course I have a list, though realistically probably no worse than anyone else. But more than any specific event, it is life in general that galls at my subconscious. It is me in the specific that is the problem. Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-38737463802061561442013-05-08T15:33:00.001-06:002013-05-09T23:56:48.541-06:00At the beginning<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;"><br></span></div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Noteworthy; font-size: 18px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 24px;">The soft wind pulls gently on my long curls, blowing strands sporadically across my face, that I try to keep tucked to the sides as we chat. My heart beats a little quicker at our proximity. At the slight shifts in your positioning that leave us grazing each other. You are standing and leaning slightly in towards me. Occasionally, your hand reaches out to touch my arm or side, to emphasise a point you are making. And while this initial attraction is flattering and welcomed, I realise I'm scared. This is a dangerous game. Because I dont know what will happen if I let you in. And I'm nervous to make a choice. </span><br>
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When we are just a promising possibility, I can safely enjoy your attention from my emotionally distant place. Knowing that if I dont pick you or you dont pick me, that I have not invested my heart. And giving you up and finding someone new will not wound me. But I know myself enough to know, that once you become a real possibility, I will not be able to maintain such separation of emotion and action. I will throw myself wholeheartedly into you. I am frightened for yet another rejection. Of picking someone who will not or cannot care for me as fiercely as I care for them. So I hesitate. I want to be wise in my considerations like I never have been before. And I coyly try to charm you into investing your feelings into me before I decide to do the same.<br>
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Another strand falls across my face and with slight hesitation, you sweep it back. And I can't help but smile inwardly at what is such a intimate motion. A darling gesture that promises affection.</div>
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Your gaze settles on my face and I feel myself start to fidget; I cannot hold the intensity in your eyes. I'm not ready to decide. So I shift slightly to put some distance between us. Smiling enough to entice but always pulling back so I can keep you at an arms length for now. </div>
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Eventually, I'll have to choose or my hesitation will have you choosing for me. This shy initial flirtation can only last a short while. And I want to decide for myself. But not yet. For now, I'll debate and picture myself with you, trying to imagine what your feelings could be. And for now, those speculated feelings are enough.</div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-70469135393157125902013-04-29T20:24:00.000-06:002013-04-30T01:23:30.670-06:00My favorite part about Belize<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Juni, is a 74 year old local of Caye Caulker. And by far facilitated the best part of my trip. He took us out to the reef on his sail boat to go snorkelling. He was cheaper than everywhere else that we checked and because there was only the four of us we got this really amazing tour of the ocean. If there is a man who is part fish, I believe it's Juni. Before we got in the water he gave us a big speech about being one with the fish and to not be surprised at the fish who recognize, know and follow him around. It's all about being one with the fish.<br />
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As soon as he got in the water he had a group of fish swimming at his side and sting rays nuzzling up to him. He would guide the sting rays to swim over top of us. Juni had pre-warned us and told us to keep our eyes wide open so we could take it in and be in the moment.<br />
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Generally he frowns upon water cameras because he feels it detracts from the whole attention of taking in the experience - living wholly in the moment because it is likely to be unlike any other moment. <br />
But lets be real. I was going no where without a camera. Unfortunately, right at the end of our snorkelling I discovered that the battery section to my camera had come open and completely ruined the camera. On the plus though, the memory card was totally saved and I didnt lose all my trip photos. FTW.<br />
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He was perfect. Snorkelling was perfect. Of course there were no words once we were in the water but Juni would grab your arm and start pushing you down to look at some fish or the other, guiding each of us here or there. More than once he lured out an eel or a reef shark with a fish he trapped in a shell so that we could get a good look at the water creatures. <br />
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We stopped at three different places to snorkel. The first we spent playing with sting rays. The second the ocean floor was covered in conch shells and just over that eagle rays. As well as three turtles that were being fed by Juni and a friend of his. Before we got in the water Juni warned us that one of the three turtles was a biter and to keep an eye out for the turtles around us to avoid being bitten.<br />
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The third spot he showed us an eel and barracuda and puffer fish and these pretty black with almost fluorescent luminous blue finned fish as well as the only sea creature he's named - a three limbed turtle he named "I Lean", who carries a special place in his heart because of her adaptive nature.<br />
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I love the water. And I loved this day.</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-82102167385758304182013-03-24T19:37:00.002-06:002013-03-24T19:37:48.738-06:00Hey, Did I Mention...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I'm going to Belize tomorrow morning.</div>
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I seem to leave for all big trips in a fury of emotion.</div>
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Its not ideal. Its not my favorite.</div>
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Unlike when I left for <a href="http://melissalowry.blogspot.ca/2012/01/goodbye-america.html">Guatemala</a>, I'm as packed as I'm going to be and it isn't even late in the night. And I was mostly packed yesterday. But as usual, the prospect of what's ahead leaves me wary.</div>
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While I had fun in Guatemala, what I remember the most vividly is how perfectly alone and heartbroken I felt in that small corner of the world - particularly at night time when I wasnt busy with the days activities and my friends. Made more poignant without the distractions of technology I usually have to numb the painful realities in my life. </div>
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And my heartbreak is all the more fresh this time. </div>
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I think I'm a terrible traveller. Grumpy and full of aches and pains.</div>
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But at least I'm packed well in advance. At least there's that.</div>
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I know I should just buck up. But I find that I am having a hard time pulling myself up. Each set back seems to drain my already dampened spirits of what little reserve I have left. </div>
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And there is so little left.</div>
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And I am so easily discouraged. </div>
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I know it'll be fun. And at least I wont have to work. I just wish I could convince myself to be more excited for it. Because it is such a fun out of the ordinary thing. But I feel like I am filling my life with out of the ordinary things because I cannot have what I want. And its a very empty sort of full life I have.</div>
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-86400050224371468742013-03-17T19:18:00.001-06:002013-03-17T20:04:50.586-06:00Dear [Love]<br />
<i>Its strange to know that the change from you being there and you being gone was instantaneous. Like none before you, you left no hope of return upon your exit. You looked at me, not with your previous tenderness, but with a resoluteness that chilled me to my core. As one who was so very firmly decided. And I know that your departure will be swift. There are no letters to reminisce over. No songs to torture. No wavering from your choice. Ours was a relationship that was only in person. It was only in each others presences. And just like that, it is gone. It amazes me how quickly there is nothing left where once there was so much.</i><br />
<i>You werent unfair in how you broke up with me. You weren't unduly cruel. Besides, of course, the breaking of my heart. But I gave it to you easily and freely. And I knew this was a possibility of such an act. I only wish you would have wanted it. That it wasnt so easy to discard. </i><br />
<i>I wanted you. I wanted us. But I am no stranger to disappointment. Each man chooses his own path. And love is never enough. And while my heart aches, I also know that I am one who was built to weather such storms, no matter the wear it leaves. I am no stranger to disappointment. And I have become well suited for it.</i><br />
<i>So there is that.</i><br />
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<i>All my best. All my love.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Its the frustration and sense of failure</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">and the nagging notion that I'll never</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">be enough that I find altogether less </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">than pleasurable - the math of too </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">much somehow adding up to not </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">enough. Too emotional, too honest, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">too demanding, too picky, too much </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">of too many things. Altogether, not</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">enough. Somehow, still not enough.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://or-so-i-feel.blogspot.ca/2013/02/on-heartache.html" style="background-color: black;">wild & wily brunette</a></span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-8579081054336720362013-03-12T16:48:00.003-06:002013-04-27T23:41:32.669-06:00Flying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Brian's Dad has recently gotten his pilots license.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He offered to take us for a ride. I know that a small plane would make a lot of people nervous, but honestly, I didnt even give it a second thought. I was more anxious about getting motion sick. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2QFuQkaIqphjEeUY9Pi9MHZlyh-bB5AUSGFcLfeKQFUqs2hZ0ddoHiIcg23YtNr8t0zEoMoREbhJzs86TtzeeamaU3b3uVJfyLYoliq44U_Rgvcn_p_ULqAypzH57wJZhNDgM46QUhm0/s1600/2013-03-11+18.54.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2QFuQkaIqphjEeUY9Pi9MHZlyh-bB5AUSGFcLfeKQFUqs2hZ0ddoHiIcg23YtNr8t0zEoMoREbhJzs86TtzeeamaU3b3uVJfyLYoliq44U_Rgvcn_p_ULqAypzH57wJZhNDgM46QUhm0/s640/2013-03-11+18.54.02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUG-PTkz6kXd_WM0KzbEqPJ7YGmC9ymCOaVqPdMyMyPaxpyPndrmOBEadgKpz5MG2GStnuv3jmLHiFeSPVYKiKdx_XoSK_eY-LuKHiFRVPS5XCsjrlk2uuaa4gTigEBVPPdxAdHnpRgs9/s1600/2013-03-11+18.54.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJUG-PTkz6kXd_WM0KzbEqPJ7YGmC9ymCOaVqPdMyMyPaxpyPndrmOBEadgKpz5MG2GStnuv3jmLHiFeSPVYKiKdx_XoSK_eY-LuKHiFRVPS5XCsjrlk2uuaa4gTigEBVPPdxAdHnpRgs9/s640/2013-03-11+18.54.56.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWOc20ymqSY6qcqx_sT031LoYupYukxc-muMAUaFVDiFnVtP66eptqxrrfnn_yr-A7aI1PEcqW8ca2DYeD6ZrPhnwGGppBl7eBAJmBuOnWJ-yMMyaue8dWYlAYJ3YqpZh6nrcTew2xdhX/s1600/2013-03-11+18.53.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWOc20ymqSY6qcqx_sT031LoYupYukxc-muMAUaFVDiFnVtP66eptqxrrfnn_yr-A7aI1PEcqW8ca2DYeD6ZrPhnwGGppBl7eBAJmBuOnWJ-yMMyaue8dWYlAYJ3YqpZh6nrcTew2xdhX/s400/2013-03-11+18.53.26.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdXMjfxbrFN-d8vmdOeDt-8_AdIfAJTY0zsJZcG5jgZJks53hh7c9FM5AnM4XjyIT8ctxDljmyh_K072liZNvoRrCEDFMXdRF2ztLGSCC6fosEhtFvdL0gfrHA6IrrPELNzJ7Gy2dnEtK/s1600/2013-03-11+19.13.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdXMjfxbrFN-d8vmdOeDt-8_AdIfAJTY0zsJZcG5jgZJks53hh7c9FM5AnM4XjyIT8ctxDljmyh_K072liZNvoRrCEDFMXdRF2ztLGSCC6fosEhtFvdL0gfrHA6IrrPELNzJ7Gy2dnEtK/s640/2013-03-11+19.13.53.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went up and flew to Lethbridge and back. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The whole ride took only have forty minutes. It was rad though.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I always love looking out at everything below. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfS83jGRSVyRozfyqPGn0Sw1r6nKjpxzLGZK7yokKpWuqvehgY5AMay5hWfyW_y5Q6eSYTz2MMvKrXKZwIm5FT6v2EMB2ZWDlP1-KgsL-kh7SHINGn38v7w5aUQD7k0wVVKLyNlBv-lno/s1600/2013-03-11+19.15.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfS83jGRSVyRozfyqPGn0Sw1r6nKjpxzLGZK7yokKpWuqvehgY5AMay5hWfyW_y5Q6eSYTz2MMvKrXKZwIm5FT6v2EMB2ZWDlP1-KgsL-kh7SHINGn38v7w5aUQD7k0wVVKLyNlBv-lno/s320/2013-03-11+19.15.47.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2HfqiP1riwxGdj77k3DW5bSExvFXOzm1bUtaoA7aMXrL78WQ2UXgj911B7bfn7pFHJ2L3iOI3soz5OMjviPRFbImotgyNc-ql1CRG71E7XgqlmPlU-3ZqfcYQXCAszXF0TwI4H6f-Flc/s1600/2013-03-11+19.18.28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2HfqiP1riwxGdj77k3DW5bSExvFXOzm1bUtaoA7aMXrL78WQ2UXgj911B7bfn7pFHJ2L3iOI3soz5OMjviPRFbImotgyNc-ql1CRG71E7XgqlmPlU-3ZqfcYQXCAszXF0TwI4H6f-Flc/s320/2013-03-11+19.18.28.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qsY-R-JpOlajqoYLjc-_mtPXecJb8jDjOunBU4Q_kD-wQm1D4HjEXOXq7vKDdQ6q5CtCqPtQeGhSy29RQTaE8N90LDLJ0VxW6ZcQcXk6CILaJ6xeI3coX3OT0fIFDCzfBHznhv9MZ2p/s1600/2013-03-11+19.18.45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4qsY-R-JpOlajqoYLjc-_mtPXecJb8jDjOunBU4Q_kD-wQm1D4HjEXOXq7vKDdQ6q5CtCqPtQeGhSy29RQTaE8N90LDLJ0VxW6ZcQcXk6CILaJ6xeI3coX3OT0fIFDCzfBHznhv9MZ2p/s320/2013-03-11+19.18.45.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0xrb-Ln71J3Zf7X3jXNNT09mbei_6_22yHo59Dx8j9H9dkrqOq_NmQVQHRgjxuC_KTa-7X25xdad-lZYyPb1GKKWUmC_UM9j2PLzkPMswbI37Mpso1WS8vdQpokdVCJ11KoEJAZM7840/s1600/2013-03-11+19.19.30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0xrb-Ln71J3Zf7X3jXNNT09mbei_6_22yHo59Dx8j9H9dkrqOq_NmQVQHRgjxuC_KTa-7X25xdad-lZYyPb1GKKWUmC_UM9j2PLzkPMswbI37Mpso1WS8vdQpokdVCJ11KoEJAZM7840/s320/2013-03-11+19.19.30.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRr-aS7MxyFrHiSBdl0MgJyDkxSfkUUdSuvrjLLED1imA9jgfK457l5JSGshVyw4YrOOHnxC7GugVlrXvlBAP0QG7yDkhoOeOxrGkny9GW5DsTiXb_CYdReBAiJ0jXw3Iu6h4N5mjhp5c/s1600/2013-03-11+19.28.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRr-aS7MxyFrHiSBdl0MgJyDkxSfkUUdSuvrjLLED1imA9jgfK457l5JSGshVyw4YrOOHnxC7GugVlrXvlBAP0QG7yDkhoOeOxrGkny9GW5DsTiXb_CYdReBAiJ0jXw3Iu6h4N5mjhp5c/s400/2013-03-11+19.28.52.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And Bri's Dad let him steer for a little bit. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQL6tXvZaRBXEObfLSXXaENLe5gBH1T1drSpYp2Hso-w3asYl6TJiPRA4THj9ILvdAa_TMIAMPHrJZ6nIyk1loIRAWzyXJzyFKiV7LhoWvjViKJEDG8XyWiOBTlVQDlbCAHST7DJMKG9IS/s1600/2013-03-11+19.44.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQL6tXvZaRBXEObfLSXXaENLe5gBH1T1drSpYp2Hso-w3asYl6TJiPRA4THj9ILvdAa_TMIAMPHrJZ6nIyk1loIRAWzyXJzyFKiV7LhoWvjViKJEDG8XyWiOBTlVQDlbCAHST7DJMKG9IS/s640/2013-03-11+19.44.08.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It definitely was a fun, out of the ordinary, thing to do. I'm not sure I'd want to fly long distances in such a small plane, but little jaunts around are kinda cool. </div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-52752876837181791762013-02-24T23:54:00.000-07:002013-02-24T23:54:09.476-07:00The Job<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMWgIQBfL7kW-d60UeQg0J3N0yvT7ntRThXaICnmXkZ7XH0h7UcN8N9CJEKpvLVZsxGxDIJD_yqmu8-hLPJsZFgOwK3OHingkLBRnS5kUVzQwxMWlRmrTheVYfLQyZRaWzNJXHDIFgusS/s640/blogger-image-669895706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqMWgIQBfL7kW-d60UeQg0J3N0yvT7ntRThXaICnmXkZ7XH0h7UcN8N9CJEKpvLVZsxGxDIJD_yqmu8-hLPJsZFgOwK3OHingkLBRnS5kUVzQwxMWlRmrTheVYfLQyZRaWzNJXHDIFgusS/s640/blogger-image-669895706.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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There was a time, not too long ago where I wasnt sure that I was going to enjoy working. Dental school had dentaled me out. People would approach me and want to talk about my future and my future career and it was all I could do to not scream at them. I'd try to hedge and turn the conversation somewhere else. Anywhere else. Because in the back of my mind I wasnt sure that I would even be able to stand having to do anything dental related. It felt like a chore. And I was terrified. Because whether I was ready to or not, whether I liked it or not, a job was very much in my future. A dental job at that.<br />
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But I pushed onward because that was the only place to go. As much as I love and greatly admire my father, his passion for his dental profession is intimidating and creates a job satisfaction insecurity. Because I know in my heart, that while doing dental work is fine and mostly enjoyable, I could walk away from it and never look back. I don't love it above all else. I dont love it like my dad does. It's a great job and provides some implicit benefits (hello never having to buy toothbrushes), it is still, at its core, a job for me. Not a hobby, not my only or even major interest. A job. And if I had to choose between it and living a life of comfortable leisure, I wouldn't hesitate to spend my days reading and lounging. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMo_N65SptOzXy2jKdZz9BHHtGeUNMZdDUT5lRvXb8KkHxgp6xrwDsUJU0mISg9Pp4bPyDv6L1dPAQINVTwTLfCYONqB7Xj5PgVxc_N6SabhlKzqYV5jrvn93TJ-SX13rGGDh0Lh9LXWe/s640/blogger-image-1292078490.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMo_N65SptOzXy2jKdZz9BHHtGeUNMZdDUT5lRvXb8KkHxgp6xrwDsUJU0mISg9Pp4bPyDv6L1dPAQINVTwTLfCYONqB7Xj5PgVxc_N6SabhlKzqYV5jrvn93TJ-SX13rGGDh0Lh9LXWe/s640/blogger-image-1292078490.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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That being said, I do really like my job. And feel incredibly grateful to have it. I have days where I wish I didnt have to work. And sometimes I want to backhand patients and staff alike. But most of the time I can see that the office I was hired at is exactly what I needed. It suits my personality. And is absolutely the perfect first job for me. The staff I work with, I generally adore. And overall, the work is good. I'm not so busy that I have dental school flashbacks (because yes, that was the most stressful and worst time ever). But it is challenging. If I finish early on a patient, I get to read my book. And I love finishing early. Its this wonderful mini reward slash confirmation that I'm doing well (despite that my receptionist keeps trying to book me tighter to eliminate such a reward). And I love that I have my Dad to call if I don't know something, or even to just check in with and make sure that he would do what I have decided. Because there are few people that I would ask for help from and it's very convenient that my dad is so knowledgeable. <br />
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People told me that I should enjoy my time in school because when I finished I would miss it. And I'm here to say that is a straight up lie. School sucks. I love leaving work and mostly never thinking another thought about it. And I love that my time is my own, to do with as I please. Without the burden of upcoming tests and assignments. Working is awesome. Having a set time that is dedicated to work is awesome. Even thinking about going back to school gives me a little PTSD. There really, besides my friends, is nothing that I miss about being a student. Even the added responsibility of money and banking and insurance is worth not having the hassle and stress of school. <br />
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There are downsides to working of course. For instance, the topic of money is a constant strain and stress of my mind. And I often feel out of my depth. People dont tend to sympathize with the fact that even when I am unsure about what to do, I have to pretend I know, because no one wants their licensed professional to be out of their depth. And sometimes people who aren't smart enough to take responsibility for their own mouths, yell at me. And I hate getting yelled at, or when people say mean things to me. It turns out I'm a rather sensitive soul and its hard when people who know very little about dentistry, treat me like I've done something wrong, when they're experiencing a consequence of their poor care of their own teeth, like I made them not brush, or choose to not see a dentist in the last decade or get their teeth extracted.<br />
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But I'm happy and content to be a working soul now. Which considering where I was at when I graduated is quite an accomplishment. Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-44954351584755165222013-02-17T02:08:00.000-07:002013-02-17T02:09:22.231-07:00I'm Damaged Bad at Best<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">"<span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">It's the frustration and sense of failure and the nagging notion that I'll never be enough that I find altogether less than pleasurable--the math of too much somehow adding up to not enough. Too emotional, too honest, too demanding, too picky, too much of too many things. Altogether, not enough. Somehow, still, not enough...</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">When what I'm really afraid of is that I am something that can only be loved in the dark--hidden and away. That to love me would be a shameful thing."</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Sorts Mill Goudy'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://or-so-i-feel.blogspot.ca/2013/02/on-heartache.html" style="background-color: black;">wild & wily brunette</a></span></div>
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<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-87572240684634002892013-02-14T09:30:00.000-07:002013-07-22T00:42:43.273-06:00I love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAK_tuW0j4aO_s_fHA2w354Xcu0DQPXiKCOjxdcECEE06JeP0kA1HEl2MkXceoHs5rL0B_8-MK_BNRg9P0tz_5c4DJeOJikKp7jDBK2SmnWgJlG_M9UQyAiZLaB9L-GMnklaZtG2a1mAg/s1600/Bri1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAK_tuW0j4aO_s_fHA2w354Xcu0DQPXiKCOjxdcECEE06JeP0kA1HEl2MkXceoHs5rL0B_8-MK_BNRg9P0tz_5c4DJeOJikKp7jDBK2SmnWgJlG_M9UQyAiZLaB9L-GMnklaZtG2a1mAg/s640/Bri1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I always figured it would take me a long time to fall in love, in love. I've perhaps been close here or there, but mostly I just felt like I never had enough of a chance with people. And that I was probably just difficult to love and generally distrustful of people's feelings for me. Mostly I know how to care about someone who doesnt care back. But dating Brian was just so easy in the beginning. We just fit together. It only took a couple of weeks for me to begin to think that maybe I loved this man. And then one day, I felt as if the words would suffocate me if I tried to choke them down any longer. So with some trepidation I stuttered out "I think I'm a little in love with you." </div>
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I believe that you could end up with many different people and make it work and be happy. Its all about the choices you make. And how much effort you're willing to put into a relationship.</div>
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Bri can drive me mental sometimes. </div>
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But he can be funny, and patient, and understanding, and kind too.</div>
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And I love many things about him...<br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;">I love:<br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>The way he suppresses a laugh when he finds something I say ridiculous - like he can't decide if its the cutest or silliest thing he's ever heard</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That he manages any errant emotions I show like a champ</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>The way he gets annoyed by how many photos I take, but still buys me a camera accessory because he knows how much I like photos</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That he can cook and gets braggy about how good he is at it</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>The way he'll anxiously tap my leg if its a close game he's watching</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That even when we disagree I never feel like I can't tell him how I really feel</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>The way he plays with the fingers on my hand</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That I can tell that he tries to make our relationship better</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That he likes and believes in working out</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>The way he cuddles my leg when we're watching TV</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That he's a guys guy and has won my brothers approvals</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That it feels like we've been dating for ages, even though its only been just under five months</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: x-small;"><i>That he is honestly exactly the kind of guy I always thought I would date.</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jcGFZk7uMA8NpUWuVcPcOOQsasAFgIu7pojr7TxlAKzWv_i8ualRwAC6odRIv8djSrCy9nxbUy6JkJdEi5N2m8rp9rpg8rs7_-DDyHmGfgG3yQi_KxVipsyuTfxetYch9IKfXv-f5A1z/s1600/Bri2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jcGFZk7uMA8NpUWuVcPcOOQsasAFgIu7pojr7TxlAKzWv_i8ualRwAC6odRIv8djSrCy9nxbUy6JkJdEi5N2m8rp9rpg8rs7_-DDyHmGfgG3yQi_KxVipsyuTfxetYch9IKfXv-f5A1z/s640/Bri2.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-69698429624821159472013-02-05T23:39:00.001-07:002013-02-07T20:01:37.619-07:00Project DayWhen I started working, I decided to only work four days a week. I love only working four days a week. My day off usually ends up being the busiest day of my week. Turns out running all my errands, appointments and making dinner results in me being very busy.<br />
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But I like it a lot.<br />
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And I have a lot of projects that my day off gives me the hope I'll one day be able to accomplish. I love having time to look up recipes and buy ingredients to try different meals. I love being able to work out whenever I want. And I really, really love being able to have time to try out projects. I want to be able to organize my life and do projects.<br />
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Just a few of my current projects:<br />
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I want to streamline my closet and only have pieces that I love.<br />
I want to make photo books and therefore sort through the 22 000 photos on my computer.<br />
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And a day off allows me to do that. I love my day off.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Today, I worked some more on my closet. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Since I moved, I have pretty exclusively ignored the boxes I moved with. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">But those boxes have been a nagging point in the back of my mind for months.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTtxxGE5A8FZIMiiY4T2sXFzCtkMMlcdbyTS_0jmdQaRKgEMJT51tMzR4EnfvE4KtKGamqc4BW2voKhBYh9jKgGv7moim7KK12TFHf7H326TEmXGoyr1LzkUXmCXg7csWiAmaZSy54wEC/s1600/2013-02-02+11.41.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTtxxGE5A8FZIMiiY4T2sXFzCtkMMlcdbyTS_0jmdQaRKgEMJT51tMzR4EnfvE4KtKGamqc4BW2voKhBYh9jKgGv7moim7KK12TFHf7H326TEmXGoyr1LzkUXmCXg7csWiAmaZSy54wEC/s320/2013-02-02+11.41.37.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoNcjkalUn-uhNJ28pNF0fEoEqjdzwzb2hqY_JjrlpIGwxbMaRanwVwkl6F0fkfRj_e3gG_nN2XuIrV3yYMsjynWXHqgK8CICT8AL5ftuWhnHH95XwJ8bdIm5g7Pxgo721OtLD9zFioA8/s1600/2013-02-05+14.47.15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAoNcjkalUn-uhNJ28pNF0fEoEqjdzwzb2hqY_JjrlpIGwxbMaRanwVwkl6F0fkfRj_e3gG_nN2XuIrV3yYMsjynWXHqgK8CICT8AL5ftuWhnHH95XwJ8bdIm5g7Pxgo721OtLD9zFioA8/s320/2013-02-05+14.47.15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I dream of a functional and streamlined closet. With only clothes that I love to wear in it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So thats the goal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've done an initial purge which at least got my boxes down from four to one, and today I managed to part with a couple more things. But its hard. Its hard keeping in mind how I want to look. And I have a completely ridiculous attachment to my grungy t-shirts, even though, that isnt at all the classic, put together look I'd like to achieve on a daily basis.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So its going to be a process. But I'm excited to at least have organized the clothes that are in my closet currently, even if I still need to cut back on whats there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02269086231944826887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-683955441073838382.post-56234337162517858212013-02-05T13:07:00.000-07:002013-02-05T13:07:52.143-07:00Happy #8 Ryd!<div style="text-align: center;">
I can hardly believe that Ryd is 8. </div>
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