Musings on another life event

I really should stop getting so personal on my wide-open public blog, but I feel the need to reflect on another happening in my twenty-something life.

First, some history.

It was the summer before I started kindergarten when we met for the first time. Like any five year old on a hot day, I was running around my yard in my bathing suit, leaping gleefully through my parents’ garden sprinkler.  The sun was getting dangerously low in the sky– the time of day when my parents’ announcement that it was time to go inside was imminent– when I saw her down the street.  She was too far away for me to see her face, but I could tell that she was about my age and that she was looking at me too. Wondering who I was.

Yay Royal Wedding

I love this. It’s like a real live fairytale wedding. The church bells even sound like the wedding in Cinderella! And like any woman, I have my thoughts about all the outfits and so on and so forth and I feel like writing about them.

Minding my inner child

I have always been one of those people who  delights in all things “inner child.”  I decorated my college dorm room with little plastic Care Bear figurines, got a Barbie VW Beetle complete (with the flower power stickers!) for my 20-somethingth birthday, and gave a friend an Easy-Bake Oven…my Christmas tree ornament is always decked out with happy mementos of Strawberry Shortcake, the Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, and yes, more Care Bears… and I am totally down for watching reruns of David the Gnome, My Little Pony, Captain Planet, Chip N Dale Rescue Rangers, Duck Tales (and pretty much whatever else you can think of)  at more or less any time.  You get the idea.

At the breast care center

So I’ve spent some time at the radiology place that specializes in, well, boobs. They do mammograms, ultrasounds, biopsies, you know, that kind of stuff. Even though it wasn’t especially “fun” to be there, the whole thing kind of felt hilariously cliché. There I was, sitting in a pink chair in the waiting room, next to a table with a fake boob with a lump in it, a bunch of women’s health magazines, and a poster about a Race for the Cure, watching P.S. I Love You while I waited for them to call me back to see the doctor.

Musings on breast care

So if you read Part 1 of my breast lump saga, you probably remember that Dr. Hot Shot and Dr. New Guy left me with two sheets of paper: one specifying that I needed to make a follow-up appointment for two weeks, and one saying  was allowed to schedule an ultrasound appointment in about three weeks.

So! I took those papers and went back to the scheduling desk, where they asked me which doctor I was told I should see in two weeks.

A trip to the doctor’s

About a month ago, I was changing into my jammies when my hand grazed my breast and a jolt of fear shot down my spine. WHAT is THAT? I reached back up, gave myself a friendly little grab, and confirmed it:  a lump. Wonderful. Just what I need.

Stuff White People Like makes my quarterlife crisis worse

It’s kind of funny how something as simple as stumbling upon “Stuff White People Like” can completely throw me for a loop.  The short of it is that, well, a lot of this stuff they talk about? I’m a late twenties (there! I said it!) white, middle-class Jersey girl transplanted in DC….and it so happens that I do, in fact, like a lot of this stuff. I do enjoy wine, traveling, farmer’s markets, organic food, eighties-themed events ,  non-profits, expensive sandwiches, tea, architecture,  Juno, and, yes, the Sunday New York Times.

Yeah, well… so what? We all do! Doesn’t everyone I know like that stuff too?

Oh.

Sigh

Do you ever find yourself sitting on your sofa at midnight on a Saturday morning, i.e. Friday night… your dishwasher running… your “significant other” gone to sleep after yet another round at an argument you’ve had several times before which ended with his announcing “I’m not talking to you” and your realizing, with a hint of…regret?…sadness?…resignation? that what you’re feeling is well… Relief?

I am lucky enough to have people in my life who support me and put up with me in spite of my constant wallowing, and I don’t know how they can stand it. I mean, you know, sometimes i’m ok… If I don’t think too hard… but at moments like these, I feel utterly lost. I’ll be ok… I’ll keep going…. but why…. why can I not seem to muster the strength to acknowledge that this isn’t working? That even if it’s my “fault”– even if Im too snippy and too sensitive– I’m also just not happy? Ok, I guess I’m acknowledging it, sort of. But why can’t I be? Why can’t this work? Why can’t this be right? And why can’t I just accept reality, cut my losses and start over?

Obviously, I’m scared. But I’m a fighter, dammit! Always have been. And so I hate myself for being so damn pathetic. For doing what I would kill my friends for doing, and knowing it all too well.

Sigh. Blah blah blah… I’ve said this all before…same thing dif day.

But God… If you’re out there… throw me a line, because I got lost somewhere out here, and I need help pulling myself out…

I LOVE this

Sadly, this photo was not taken in my beloved DC-metropolitan area; however, it made my day. I’m not trying to endorse vandalism or anything, but I think this particular vandal is a genius. A total genius.

Four seats

That’s it. I am going to start posting pictures of bad behavior. Yep, I’m feeling that cranky. Voila– Exhibit #1, entitled, “Four Seats”: