Processing the Ease of a Home Run, the Joy in a Roller Coaster, and the Decision I Don't Remember Making

How in the world did this happen? This is so strange. It's hitting me right now. That happens sometimes. It hits me and I want to throw this ring across the room. Not because I don't want the ring. I DO ACTUALLY WANT IT (badly enough to put it in caps). But I want to throw the ring because I want to look at it with distance between, just like I've looked at it all my life.

Disclaimer: I am in love. And I'm in love with the right person and I'm going to marry him in the right place.

But that's just it. THAT'S THE CRAZY PART! I'm going to MARRY him. I'm not an adult. I'm not smart enough to have made that decision, but I made it. I said yes and he put a ring on my left hand. I'm definitely not smart enough for that. In fact, maybe I'm just naive enough to have made the decision without understanding its weight.

I decided never be single again. To be completely and 100% taken to the highest degree of takenness. I decided to be with the same person forever and ever and ever. That's HUGE. But I don't fully grasp the weight in making that decision, the weight in having made that decision.

I didn't see the pitcher's hand signals to the catcher. I didn't notice the wind-up or even the pitch. I just stood unprepared at home plate and happened to swing because it was a perfect pitch-- how could I not swing? It was just so easy. And I hit a home run without even getting ready to play the game.

I'm not prepared to make the "most important decision of my life." But the decision is made. Decision made. But, I don't even notice I made it. THAT'S HOW NATURAL IT WAS. I made THE MOST IMPORTANT DECISION. That's all. I just made it and I didn't even realize it. And it was easy. Easy-cheezy.

I made it so naturally because he's THAT GREAT.

I spent my whole life looking toward this decision. I watched Disney princess movies. I watched chick flicks and imagined my perfect guy (who actually wouldn't be perfect because perfect is so entirely imperfect). I imagined what he'd be like, what we'd be and do together, where we'd live. I listened to couples talk about how they met, their story, and the proposal that was the pinnacle moment of their life.

It's as if there is a roller coaster. A roller coaster that everyone talks about and can't wait to go on. It's wild, exciting, thrilling, transcendent, and completely overwhelming-- and you get to ride it one time. That's it.

It's as if I waited in line for the ride, buckled in for the ride, went on the ride (loops and all), and finished the ride while being completely distracted and wrapped up in a natural, pleasant conversation. SO pleasant, and SO natural that I didn't even notice that we got in line for the ride and rode the ride. And then long after I'd gotten off the roller coaster, it's as if I noticed the ride and said, "Hey, let's go on that ride, that looks incredible." But someone had to tell me-- you actually ALREADY WENT ON THE RIDE. Tough luck, sorry you missed it, but it was great.

I found him, fell in love with him, decided to marry him. And that's that. The most important rite of passage just happened without me even processing it. It just happened. I decided to marry him. The ring says so. And I'm sad that the decision is all over. The build-up, the thrill of the unknown is over. It's known now. And I didn't feel the full depth of the discovery until it was long gone.

I think it's a good thing the decision is made. It's the right thing and I wouldn't choose differently if I had been fully aware. Because, truth is, I'm in love with the person I'm going to marry.

Actually, I know this is a good thing.

Truth

I'm trying to decide whether or not to apologize for the loving-love-ness of this post or for posting twice in one day.

I'm not going to. Because, for me and him, he and I, for us-- this picture speaks truth. That justifies loving-love-ness and two posts.

It's been declared.

I'm declaring this February-- the one that I'm currently living in-- great. As in, this is a great February-- meaning better than most Februaries. Presumptuous of me, I know, seeing as it's not even over yet. I just like it. That's all.

{Don't miss your cue. This is your cue to roll your eyes and think-- ugh, those engaged people are so... they're so... just so happy all the time. Gag.}

There are lots of reasons I shouldn't be happy: It's winter and cold. I have a blister on my foot. Oh, and a corn on my foot. See this description of my ugly feet. I don't get enough sleep or enough breakfasts each week. We had a misunderstanding and I overreacted. I often overreact. I am trying not to overreact and I fail which means I feel like a failure. My room is infested with ants, but I still want to keep my open chocolate bar in my room for late-night snacking. Did I mention that it's still winter? I'm trying to plan a wedding but I lack focus and lack desire for a big, official wedding reception. I keep switching what I want. And I have little time to execute what I want because I'm doing school and work.

But it's a still great February. The greatest of Februaries-- and it's not what you think. It's not that I'm engaged, although being in love might have something to do with it-- actually, a lot to do with it. And the Olympics are so awesome. Delicious food is too. Places I've eaten this month: here, here, here, here. Food is my weakness; my poor bank account. Pun intended. New shoes for Valentine's Day are happy (despite the blister). I have a wedding dress-- hint: J.Crew silk tricotine Cecelia. I love to try it on and listen to it swish. I'm planning an overdue Scrabble club meeting. I haven't gotten a parking ticket this month. I started playing the piano again. I have plans to paint more often. And, um, I have a permanent best friend. And actually, it's been a rather mild winter this February.

Moving On

This is going to be one of those posts where something simple is related to something deep. Be aware.

I'm moving on from the blank red notebook catastrophe. Tonight, I'm starting a new one. It's also red and blank. I'll write the date on the second empty page. I'll leave the first page blank. I always do.

In life, I have to move on. I'm not very good at it, but I'm learning. In order to live, I have to move on after tragedy or disrupted plans.

I'm moving on from that blasted notebook.

But actually, isn't that just life? I'm making this concept sound monumental purely by writing it, but really isn't moving on just what we do everyday? The simple act of living is moving. It's almost a life requirement, if you're living, you must be moving on. What's the alternative?

We go forward despite yesterday's setbacks. We get up out of bed, even if we completely missed our alarm's blaring and we woke up much later than planned. We get out of bed, even if we missed the most important meeting of the decade. (Are there such things?)

We open a new notebook. Because really, there's no other choice. It's just life.

Paralyzed

I am so sad. So, so sad.

It all started with a blank red notebook. I know-- this story has endless possibilities. A blank red notebook-- ahhh, what a beautiful way to start a story, eh?

It is beautiful no more. The endless possibilities are about to end. Because that notebook-- the blank red notebook that I fill with every aspect of my life detailed in a calendar, lists, daily schedules, names and numbers, drawings, lists, dreams, due dates, journal entries, and more lists-- is lost.

I don't know where it is. My life. Is over. I can't think. I can't focus. My mind is distracted. I'm sitting in class and I'm torturing my brain for a clearer memories of where I last saw my lifeline, my once-blank red notebook.

My friend told me that after she cut her bangs, she realized it was a mistake. It was a mistake that she couldn't get out of her mind. And still can't. She says she sits in class with her teeth clenched in frustration that her bangs are short. It dominates her thoughts and is nearly paralyzing. She tries to forget about it, but can't. And that fact, that she can't forget it, is the most stressful part of her life.

I too am paralyzed.

Text Conversation of Two Minutes Ago:
He: Dinner at 6:15?
Me: I don't know if I can. The red book is lost.
He: Oh no.

He knows. This is serious. Very serious.

I've called every "lost and found." I've called my work office. I've searched the car. I've looked everywhere in my house. I've visited everywhere that I've traveled in the last 24 hours looking for my notebook. BUT I HAVE DONE NOTHING ELSE. I haven't done homework, because I don't know what homework is due. I almost missed class, because my blessed red notebook didn't remind me that I had class-- heck, I didn't even know where class was without this book of mine.

Any information on the blank red book's whereabouts should be directed to me. ASAP.

Until I find it, I'm useless.