Fear

 

I've seen and heard this quote hundreds of times and never really thought about its meaning. Until now.

Granted, my fears are pretty meek compared to actual fears. Who actually gets scared about throwing up? This girl does.

But honestly, it's the anxiety of something happening that is truly scary - usually scarier than the thing that actually happens.

Take for instance my throwing up example. Anyone who knows me knows I wash my hands constantly, carry hand sanitizer religiously and avoid holding any friend's hair back during a drunken regurgitation. When people say they are/were/feel like they're sick, I inevitably follow it up with, "What kind of sick?!?" and pray they're fighting the common cold.

Well, all of these years of worry came to a head this past winter when I contracted a stomach virus and keeled over the toilet in dry heaves. It wasn't a picnic, that's for sure, but it was honestly not as bad as I thought it would be. Do I want to avoid it in the future? Sure. But do I need to be paralyzed every time someone tells me their stomach hurts? No way. The anticipation of it was worse than the 24 hours of feeling icky.

In that same vein, I spent months worried that an ex of mine wasn't in love with me. I used to dissect everything he said and did, hoping it would calm my fears and prove he was secretly in love with me but scared to say it. When I finally got the guts to confront him and ask how he felt (months and months later), I literally had a panic attack trying to spit the words out. And you know what? He told me he wasn't in love with me and didn't see a future with us.

After some crying, I later felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. The one thing I feared had happened - now I didn't need to fear it anymore!

So here I sit, still fearing all kinds of trivial shit that is out of my control - namely, relationship stuff. Dating gets me so worked up. I am terrible at it. I'm impatient and curious, and all I want is to know ASAP if what I'm doing is worth it and not a waste of time. But that's not how it works. You have to ride the wave in order to see where it goes.

A lot of my impatience has to do with my fears - my fear of not being able to trust my gut, "see" things for what they are or end up disappointed after getting my hopes up. I don't want any of that to happen.

But thanks to FDR, all I need to remember is being scared of something that hasn't happened yet is pointless. Worst case scenario, my fears come true. And then where will I be? I will be right where I'm at and perfectly fine.

Now, time to breathe. 

Re-Direction

I was maid of honor in a wedding a couple weeks ago, and near the end of the evening, I broke down crying.

Was I getting choked up over the my friend getting married? Nope. Was I drunk? Potentially. OK, yes.

The drinking didn't help, but what I was really feeling was sorry for myself. I'd made some feeble attempts to flirt with a groomsman, and then I also attempted to dance with another. Both of them ditched me in favor of flirting with another bridesmaid, one who has a boyfriend (and a better rack than me, admittedly, although that's not very difficult to accomplish).

Surprisingly, this stirred up some old feelings I hadn't felt in awhile. For 2 years, I dated someone who made me feel completely loved. I never questioned his affection for me, and I grew used to that comfort of always feeling wanted by someone.

So it's been since before I met the ex that I experienced several rounds of rejection from a variety of fellows. It hurt me a lot back then - I remember shedding a couple tears after a guy wasn't into me after one date (one date!). I took it hard, and I took it personal every single time. All of those single years of getting rejected by one after another, hopes running high and then swept out from under me. Sure, I rejected my share as well. But there was nothing quite like the desperation of my early 20s. And that wedding night a couple weeks back made me think of every single tool out there whom I couldn't charm.

Stereotypical drunk bridesmaid-never-a-bride crying aside, I think I'm somewhat getting the hang of this rejection deal. Rejection isn't even the right word. It's more like re-direction - just moving with the ebbs and flows of meeting people, and changing my focus once one doesn't reciprocate.

Granted, I'm not all that happy about this "re-direction" business every time. It's really getting old at this point. Like recently - I went on a couple dates with a potential, and he really impressed me. We had great conversation and chemistry, and things seemed to be heading in a mutual direction.

Then radio silence.

The fool hasn't talked to me since! It did bum me out at first, and sure it stings a little today when I start to get in those feeling-sorry-for-myself moods. But it sure hasn't made me cry like that loser that dropped me after one date (if I recall, he cancelled our plans on a Saturday and said he'd be "busy with work" for awhile. And by awhile, he meant forever). It's more perplexing as to why someone shows interest up front, and then pulls a disappearing act. And for the record, no there was no "getting the milk for free" scenario here. I know better than that.

Before I met my ex, I was such a happy-go-lucky, independent girl. I loved my alone time, and I thrived knowing I was a free bird. I know I'll get back to that, but for now, I'm still re-building that single self. It's not as difficult to be alone as it used to be. It's boring, sure, but I know how to occupy my time. And thankfully work is keeping me plenty busy.

Regardless of it all, I'm still as hopeful as ever. I guess it's that quasi-pessimistic optimist in me that thinks there's a disappointment quota we all have to meet, and I'm slowly reaching mine. The balance of the universe is sure to come my way after all of this nonsense. Right?

Growing Up

Maybe I assumed once I got my first job after college, paid bills, started a 401k and ceased to have a curfew that I was considered a real adult.

But that assumption was proven wrong today when I got into a foul mood while talking with my sister about holidays.

My family is number one, and traditions are crucial to me. My sister is family-oriented too, but she also has a serious live-in boyfriend. So they have to juggle whose family they visit for holidays.

As we started talking about her missing another Christmas so she could be with his family, it dawned on me that this is what it means to be an adult - you find a life partner, and that becomes your new family. You can no longer just skip over to your grandma's house, open gifts with your cousins and watch "A Christmas Story." You have to do things as a unit, and this new partner basically becomes your No. 1.

Problem is - I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that. My family is my blood. I didn't get to choose them, but I got pretty damn lucky. I have so many wonderful childhood memories of our holidays, so it's hard for me to imagine disrupting tradition. Things are changing - people are getting older, starting families of their own, moving away. And I hate it.

Call me Peter Pan, but I want things to keep going as they have been for the last 27 years of my life. I don't want to grow up and miss out on one ounce of family time. That's idealistic of me, I know, but sometimes change it hard.

My sister might be moving across the country, and she plans to spend pretty much every Christmas with her boyfriend's family (the trade off is he will spend Thanksgiving with ours). They are probably going to get married one of these days, which is so exciting, but a selfish part of me just wishes we could go back to being the little girls in our playhouse, making home videos and playing "Mall Madness."

I don't know. Maybe this is all a result of me being alone. It's hard for me to picture sacrificing seeing my family for some future, remains-to-be-seen guy. But I know I'll have to grow up eventually and start new family traditions of my own. And I'm sure those will be exciting times and a special new phase in my life.

But until then, I'm still nostalgic for the "good ol' days." And it's true when they say that it really sucks to get older.

A Weekend of Illness, a Flat Tire and Tap Dancing

Warning: I'm pretty sure I have a fever, so apologies in advance for any loopiness you detect in this post.

Shitty.

That's the only way to describe this weekend. And it's not even over.

Calling it shitty might be a bit dramatic considering that everything is fine, and there are naturally more serious things. But it's just been a weekend with a string of bad luck.

On Thursday I started feeling sick with a cold - my third one since starting my new job 5 months ago. I guess that's what happens when you work with thousands of people and touch all the same handles and buttons. Eww.

Friday it got worse, and I had to drive all the way to Loomis for a dress rehearsal for dance. It was a struggle but I made it through.

Then yesterday was just awful. I was sicker and had zero energy. I had my dance recital in the afternoon, and I figured I'd muster up enough strength to drive to Loomis again and dance one number full out. But first, I had to run a couple errands.

Sure, running errands when you're sick is stupid. But in my delirium, I figured running to a couple places around the corner wouldn't hurt anyone.

As I pulled into the post office, my tire pressure light turned on. I heard the hissing sound as soon as I approached my back tire. Shit. After going inside and coming back out, the tire was slowly leaking, and I knew it would be flat soon. All at a time when I had an hour to get my show makeup on and drive to my dance show.

Thankfully, my Grams lives close by, and she said I could borrow her car. So I trudged my way up to my dance show, feeling like I could faint at any minute from my cold. I danced and immediately left, heading home and basically passing out on the couch at 7. I was in and out of sleep for awhile, feeling so loopy.

Then there was a big wake-up call at about 9:15. I observed outside from my balcony three cop cars with flashing lights and a circling helicopter calling out with a megaphone. Well that can't be a good sign.

The cops finally went away after about 15 minutes, so I passed out and slept for a good 10 more hours.

Today, I called AAA to come fix my tire, and those bastards said they wouldn't come out until tomorrow because I'd only renewed my roadside assistance membership yesterday, and they have a 48-hour waiting period. WTF. So I cancelled my membership, and I'm seriously considering changing insurance as well since they wouldn't work with me. Bitches!

I headed to my Grams' today, and my aunt and I tried to start the tire changing process - me with my cold/cough, and her in sandles. This was going to turn out well.

We made an effort, but we couldn't get the bolts loosened. So we called my uncle, who came and changed it to my spare, all the while rain starts coming down (in June!). I'll get it fixed tomorrow before I head out of town to Denver for work.

Oh, and did I mention I think I found out why my cat throws up all the time? I've given her the same food for years, and apparently she's experiencing an allergy, which is why it's recommended you switch your cat's food every few months. I'm a terrible owner!

So yes, this has been my weekend thus far. I feel like crap, my car is effed up, and I live in the ghetto. It could be worse, of course. And I'm a firm believer that when a bunch of bad luck comes your way, the good inevitably follows. So here's to a week of (hopefully) good luck!

The Bright Side of Ghetto Living

The fantasy of living alone is that you live in this fabulous downtown abode, outfitted with pristine hardwood floors, and you come home to a big glass of expensive wine and go to sleep in a huge canopy bed fit for a princess.

The reality?

You live in a 1970s shitty apartment in the hood, sandwiched between an abandoned elementary school that's been tagged by the Crips and a halfway house for people just getting out of the looney bin. Oh, and there's the questionable "massage parlor" down the street that has "Client List" written all over it. Your carpet is stained with cat vomit, you drink tap water and go to bed on one that sits atop a metal frame from Costco that has wheels on it.

Admittedly, I moved to this apartment to be closer to the now ex-boyfriend. It made sense for other reasons too, of course, like it's 5 minutes from my Grams, 10 minutes to downtown and an easy 20 minutes to both work and my dance class.

But there are times I really wonder why the hell I live here. Exhibit A:

No, this is not a full moon. This is a glimpse of my neighbor that apparently doesn't believe in belts or thinks it's 1995 when sagging was cool.

Exhibit B: My landlord called the other day to tell me Henry the maintenance man would be removing some rotted wood from my balcony. I come home to this:

As in - the entire balcony was gone, and Henry left this ridiculous sign.

Despite all of these quirks, I have to admit that these last couple months of singledom have allowed me to appreciate my ghetto apartment. Some highlights:

• I have been belting out songs to my cat. Crazy cat lady status.
• I'm officially obsessed with "Damages" on NetFlix. So sitting on my ass watching it is all the companionship I need.
• My bed may be janky, but it's all mine. Oh, and Cammie's too.
• The old-lady-chain-smoking-neighbor smell can easily be remedied with a couple Bath & Body Works candles and a Scentsy.
• My bedroom walls aren't shared with anyone, so neighbor sex noises are not an issue.
• Guest parking is a cinch - you'd be hard pressed to stupidly park your friend's car in the wrong place only to have it towed to Rio Linda (I may know something or two about that).
• With my neighbors, there's never a dull moment. Ever.

Bitches Get Stitches

You know your week is going to blow when it begins with a trip to the ER.

That was the scene that played out a couple Mondays ago. I was hastily slicing an avocado for my lunch when I went to stab the pit to take it out. Things didn't go quite as planned because the knife slipped and made a lovely laceration on my hand and wouldn't stop gushing blood.

Eff.

I slightly freaked out because I wasn't sure if this was worth a $250 ER visit. I quickly decided it was after observing the gaping hole and noticing I could see through it to the other side of my hand (practically).

I headed to the ER, which was thankfully pretty abandoned. Heaven forbid my pathetic wound would supersede someone with an actual life-threatening emergency.

The doc patched me up with some liquid stitches and sent me on my way. "But wait," I said, "Don't I need a bandage on it or something?" He told me it wasn't necessary, but if I wanted one, he'd put one on. "Umm, yes sir. I need this to look like a legit wound when I go back to work." I'm pretty sure when I recounted my story of cutting an avocado incorrectly, people would not at all take this wound seriously anyway.

And thus was the beginning of my week.

The rest of the week continued to shit on me, but mostly in little ways that just compounded. The highlight of the week was when I made the ridiculous decision to join an online dating site at the encouragement of a couple co-workers.

For the record, I did online dating a few years ago, and it sucked. It only lasted a couple weeks, but in that time I met a boring guy and then a mean guy, and I experienced a whole new kind of rejection - the virtual kind that comes in a higher volume than real life and is strictly a result of people only seeing your best 5 photos. It's brutal out there.

So, I decided to lower my expectations even more and make a profile so I could potentially meet some people to hang with. I've got a lot of free Friday nights in my horizon.

Within a few hours of me creating my profile, I received 3 messages. The least creepy of the bunch seemed harmless, so I responded with your run-of-the-mill small talk - what are you up to tonight, what do you do for work, etc.

This character, Grey (who, BT-dubs, was nothing like Christian Grey) got a little over-excited when I said I did PR and that I have a cat. I should have had better sense, but I was at my girlfriend's house drinking wine, so I accepted his offer to move from messaging to texting.

Big mistake.

Grey proceeded to send photo after photo after photo of himself (PG stuff, thankfully), but it's like, did I request 12 pictures of your creepy mug? No. His final photo was of his chest (and moobs). Aaaaand, I'm out.

When I didn't respond, he asked if I still wanted to talk. I tried to nicely tell him no, but I guess I didn't get my point across. He said he'd like to talk tomorrow but if I didn't want to, just tell him so I don't "waste his time." OK, fine by me. I flat out said I didn't want to talk anymore.

And here was the response I got, a whole 22 minutes into our first conversation:

First of all, how dare he not use proper punctuation when cussing me out?

Second, I'd rather re-live my avocado stabbing fiasco 17 times before ever talking to this fine gent again. Bummer. Looks like I really missed out on a gem. Ahhh, single life. How I've missed you!

My online dating profile has since been deleted after being live less than 24 hours.

 

It's Just Emotions, Taking Me Over

For the record: I am fully aware that being single doesn't mean I have to find someone. I'm fine by myself, but call me crazy, I daydream about love. A lot. I blame Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan movies.

I whipped out my old journals a couple weeks ago and did a little reading.

Guess what I discovered?

1) I dated some douche bags in my day, and 2) I have learned very little in the last few years when it comes to controlling my emotions.

Here I was, thinking my two-year relationship taught me all kinds of lessons and that I would come out of it older and wiser. Nothing could phase me. I was a new and improved Trace - no need to chase boys and get all hot and bothered when I like one. Just focus on me and call it good.

Nope.

I'm still that same hopeless romantic that gets excited over the littlest of possibilities. I can't "play it cool" (whatever that means) and just let things happen. I think I just need to accept that I'm the kind of girl who is a grown woman yet I still get butterflies and feel 15 again.

This is the problem with dating. Being single leaves this unknown where, theoretically, the next person that you talk to could be your future mate. I know it's ridiculous to think like that, and trust me, it was an awesome feeling to quiet that "partner hunt" part of my brain these last two years. It's a secure feeling to not have to "look" for someone - you're all set, and you don't have to worry about having someone call you, like you, date you, take you out, etc.

With that security gone, I'm thrown back into being 23 again. Oh, and wasn't that a joy the first time around! I hated feeling so vulnerable then - where I felt like any guy that showed an iota of interest in me could single-handedly unravel me. (I know, not very feminist of me. But I couldn't help it!).

Thankfully, I don't give guys that much control over me these days, and I'm pretty sure my douche bag radar is top notch. But there is still that discomfort in being vulnerable again. I want so badly to be calm, cool, collected. Not care. Not let things phase me. But alas - I am a sensitive girl, and following my emotions is how I roll.

Maybe it's not about controlling this part of me, but learning to just roll with it. One of my best girlfriends has always been so supportive of me through the years when I've cried over guys. Instead of telling me to "be strong" and "not let it get to me," she encouraged me to cry it out and feel all of those feelings. It's important to let yourself feel, as uncomfortable as it can be. I guess it just makes me, well, me.

So here I am, trying my best to roll with it. Sure, it consumes so much of my thoughts - to the point where I'm having recurring dreams. And yeah, I've started listening to ridiculous music like "Dream Lover" by Mariah Carey. But hey, that's just me. And one day someone will love the me that I love.

The Trifecta

A couple weeks ago, the boyfriend and I called it quits.

Friends and family have been so sweet, asking if I'm OK and checking in on me periodically. You'd think after ending a two-year relationship, I'd be in pretty bad shape.

Maybe it's because I've done this before or because I knew it was the right thing to do, but I'm surprisingly handling it very well. It was hard right after, but I was following my gut, and you can't go wrong with that.

So many times when things have ended for me, I go into a downward spiral where I'm equal parts sad/angry/bitter/jaded. But no matter how many failed relationships/dating experiences I've had, I'm more hopeful and optimistic than ever. I know everything will work out, whether I'm alone or with someone. All of my experiences have led me to this - a place where I know now, more than ever, what I want.

I want a love where I follow my heart, my head and my gut. The trifecta.

The guy I dated a few years ago was a time when I really followed my heart. I felt like I was going to burst at the seams whenever I was around him - I was giddy and hopelessly into him. As pathetic as it sounds, I used to whisper "I love you" to him in the middle of the night when he slept, just so I could get it out and say it. We never exchanged those words, but I desperately wanted to. So naturally, I told him when he was unconscious.

Trouble there was that I didn't follow my gut with this one. My gut told me time and time again he didn't reciprocate my feelings, but I thought over time that would magically change. It didn't.

With my most recent relationship, I opted to follow my head. It made sense for us to be together - we have mutual family/friend connections, grew up in the same area, and he definitely thought I was the bee's knees. He felt about me exactly how I wanted the last guy to feel. So it made sense to be with someone who treated me right and who I could be myself around.

Of course I loved him and feel like we had a good relationship - only thing missing was my heart. My heart was not into it 100%, and that is not fair. He wasn't completely happy, and neither was I. On paper, it made sense for us to be together. But that's not ever a reason to be with someone. So we mutually ended it, which I know was the right thing to do.

I haven't lost hope that the right person is around the corner. I want those butterflies, I want him to feel the same about me, I want us to want the same things, I want us to just "get" each other and feel happy together. And most of all, I want to feel it in my heart, head and gut.

From Scared to Lost

It's been just over a month now at the new job, and I've got a confession: this change was a lot harder than I expected.

I went from a small firm of 7 to a medium office of 20 to a large corporation of 2,000+ people. On top of that, I'm learning all about the corporate structure - something that is so complex that I don't even know what the entire Marketing department does. And I work in the Marketing department.

Overwhelming doesn't even begin to describe it.

But in the spirit of optimism, there is a plus side. For once, I'm not scared. I notice a confidence in myself that I haven't always had. I think it might have always been there, but my last job was a place that stifled a lot my self-confidence. Always second guessing myself, I used to stress over every interaction with co-workers, the wording of every email, every harmless joke I tried to make. I never felt good enough, and worst of all - I never felt like myself.

At my new job, I'm completely me - quirky, ideosyncratic, dorky me. And I'm more comfortable in a month at the new place than I was in a year and a half at the old place. It's refreshing and a big sigh of relief.

Nothing is ever black and white, though. Although I'm not scared, I'm feeling as lost as ever. Confused most days and utterly overwhelmed. I know learning is all part of growing professionally, but I'm incredibly impatient. I want to feel comfortable already! Oh, the waiting game.

One other thing to get used to at corporate life: corporate germs! I'm currently on my second cold since starting. Not exactly digging my phlegmy voice and snotting all over my co-workers, but I haven't accrued sick time unfortunately. Thankfully, an icky cold means I'm off the hook for going to the gym! And I don't have to feel guilty about it. Instead, I'm relaxing in my pajamas with a bowl of cereal, curled up next to my kitty watching "Pretty Little Liars" on NetFlix because I'm 13. Not too shabby for a Tuesday night!

Embracing the Honeymoon

Ahh, being new.

Starting a new job is like the first day of middle school all over again - you have the perfect outfit picked out, you look around shyly, not quite sure of what to do or where things are, and you feel self conscious carrying your lunch tray across the cafeteria, frightened that you'll trip on the heels that go with said perfect outfit.

This held true for my first day at the new job yesterday - I really did get to carry a tray (my work has two on-site cafes....ummm, yeah, it's pretty freakin' sweet). I met tons of new folks, heard all kinds of new acronyms that I couldn't keep straight and had one heck of time learning how to do simple things like printing and finding the bathroom. My new work is huge, so it is going to take a lot of time for me to get used to it. I went from working at a 6-person agency to working for a 16-person agency to now being on a campus that houses thousands of employees. Intimidating? Yes. Exciting? Absolutely. There's nothing like a new chapter.

While newness is exciting - new co-workers, fresh start on projects, new office supplies, a change in routine - I find myself anxious to get through these next 6-12 months. I'd love to skip over all of the awkwardness, mistakes, blanking on names and cluelessness that comes with being new. I can't wait until I'm an expert, when I know the business and have a clear vision of what I'm doing.

This is similar to how I viewed my budding relationship with Ty. See, most people are all about the honeymoon phase. It's that time when everything is seemingly perfect, and you're so thrilled to keep learning new things about the other person. Don't get me wrong, the new part of my relationship with Ty was wonderful, but I remember thinking, "I can't wait until we've been together 1, 2, 5 years." Because that's where the realness is - you're relaxed, you've (hopefully) worked out most of the kinks and you don't feel so vulnerable like everything will go away at the drop of a hat. It's stability. It's comfortable.

So in that same way, I can't wait to be at ease at the new job. I like feeling like I know what I'm doing, rather than this strange floating-around-the-universe-aimlessly feeling I have when I begin something new. Thankfully, I'm working for a company that supports that gradual process - that first year of growing pains before you truly start working.

So until that mark when I finally feel comfortable, I guess I'll have to basque in the newness and honeymoon phase of the job. On the bright side - being a newbie means you get to screw up and not feel (as) guilty!

On a side note: the usual first-week-on-the-job awkwardness got kicked up a notch today when I was part of a meeting with - guess who? - my old co-workers. There's no feeling quite like the one when you introduce yourself with something like, "I'm Tracy. This is my second day. Previously I was with you guys. One week ago." Particularly when this past employer is feeling a bit bruised about your recent jumping ship. Oy.

Two days down. 178 to go.

Mind Full vs. Mindful

I'm back!

It's been forever since I've last written, and I've really missed it.

Frankly, I've had so much to say but couldn't get it from pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, rather). I know we all use the excuse "I've been so busy" pretty frequently, but how long does it really take for me to write a blog post? I'm hoping to be more back in action given some new developments.

Here's a recap of the latest:

The Career Front
In a little more than a week, I will be starting a new job! This is a pretty significant change in anyone's life, but surprisingly I've been feeling quite calm about it. I'm leaving the PR agency world and headed to the corporate life (also known as "in house" to us PR folk). I'll be joining a global eyecare company's amazing PR team, where I'll have the chance to manage projects of my own, media train C-level executives and assist in the company's philanthropic efforts. This shift from food to healthcare is an exciting one, as well as the change from having multiple clients to just working on "one" client (my company). Of course food and nutrition is fun, but I feel like this new job will allow to me to work on things with a bit more substance. Not to mention, my new employer is regularly voted one of the top places to work - it's truly an employee-centric place, so I'm excited to see how it all pans out! I have yet to mentally prepare for the job (since I'm currently still wrapping up my old one), but I took office supply preparation into my own hands yesterday. I bought some new pens and a work planner notebook - and yes, I'm aware the new job will probably have this kind of stuff on hand. But I'm a pen snob, and I geek out in Staples.

While this new move is exciting, there are always drawbacks. I'm sad to leave co-workers and place the burden of extra work on them. That's the by-product of this that I hate the most. I've also faced some awkwardness at work since I've given my notice. Some co-workers have expressed (not to me directly) that they think I'm just leaving because I wasn't promoted last fall. The bulk of my office was fairly shocked when I gave my notice, most likely due to the fact that I'm pretty cheery and haven't overtly expressed any issues with the agency (to their faces, at least). Oh, and not to mention I won the freakin' Team Player of the Year Award last month (don't even ask how my Catholic guilt is managing that one). Well, if that's the sentiment of some, then that's pretty short sighted. I would not uproot my career all because of some petty title change. Trust me, it goes way deeper.

I'm making the change because I want to do more than just survive at work. I'm always just trying to keep my head above water and hustle through the day. It leaves very little time for mindful, strategic thought. It's just one big to-do list. So I'm hoping this new adventure allows me to be more mindful, rather than just having a mind full of tasks to get done that day.

Oh, and it doesn't hurt I'm getting a fat raise too!

The Love Front
Ty and I are doing incredibly well. It's been just over a year and a half that we've been together, and I feel like it just keeps getting better. It's pretty smooth sailing all the time, minus little annoyances here and there (and not just me - I know how to bug too!). We're in a really good place right now where we are comfortable together and we've worked out a lot of the kinks. Sure, there are some things on the horizon that we'll have to figure out (like how will we live together one day when he hates rent, is allergic to my cat and I want to live somewhere with just us two). The future is not written yet, but I have a feeling it has a good ending! He still completely appreciates and cherishes me (and vice versa), and that is priceless to me. All in all, I'm one happy lady.

The Health Front
I'm sure I've written before how I have this irrational fear of throwing up (it's called emetophobia - Google it). Well, last week I came face to face with it when I found myself stuck with a stomach bug. Ty got really sick right before Christmas, and it freaked me out (yes, I realize how selfish it is for me to worry about myself and not my own boyfriend in his time of need, but like I said, it's called an irrational fear for a reason). Last week, Ty took me out to a show as part of my Christmas present. We saw a Chinese dance show at the convention center downtown, and three-quarters of the way through, I just didn't feel right. I felt it was an imminent certainty that I would vomit all over the sweet old man next to me. Thankfully, I held it in. Once we got back from the show, I ran to the bathroom. I won't go into all the details, but let's just say I didn't end up throwing up - just the dry heaves (ewwwww). But it was awful, to say the least. And in a way I wish it had just been the real deal so I could get over my fear. On the plus side, I feel I've conquered it at least partly. But don't think I'm giving up my hand sanitizer.

I'm hoping I'll make more time to blog once I start the new job. I have absolutely no clue what to expect, but for some reason, I'm not too worried about it. I know that everything will work itself out. I've worked hard to get this far, so it's only fair that luck will follow.