In Celebration...

...of our two-month marriage anniversary, here are some pictures from the big day! I'm kind of obsessed with them.

I hate the smell of flowers, so all our flowers were hand made of paper by one of my bridesmaids :)

Maid of Honor, my sister Sarah!

Cassidy, my best friend who made all the flowers!

College roomie, Harley :)

Childhood best friend and fire fairy, Jesse :)

Now sister-in-law, Abigail!

Another childhood best friend and fire fairy, Ellie!

 

You can't tell, but the cake topper bride is pinching the cake topper groom's butt. That cake topper was the first wedding thing I picked out.

Best day of my life--so far :)

2016: The Best Year of My Life

More will come. Right now I'm still in shock. I've been shaking and beaming uncontrollably for the past...sixteen hours.

There was mud. And an argument. And literal fireworks.

And then my best friend, the man of my dreams, my rock, my partner, my love...

Got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

After gasping, asking if he was serious, and feeling tears of joy, I managed to say "Yes." It was the happiest and surest word I'd ever spoken.

Guys. Gem and I are engaged. I could not be any more joyful.

~Stephanie

A Small Breakdown

I had a small breakdown today.

My roommate and I went to see the play "Anne of Green Gables" this afternoon. I LOVED those movies as a kid. We have the entire movie series on VHS and I think I can probably still quote whole sections even though I haven't seen them in years.

Actually, before the play, I hadn't even THOUGHT about the story lately: the story of a little orphan girl with an unparalleled imagination, a big mouth, and dreams of authorship. I forgot how much Anne felt like childhood, felt like a legitimate part of MY identity, felt like home. Anne found a home in Green Gables, and I found my home today in her.

Suddenly I remembered how inspired I would get when I watched movies set in "olden days." I would start getting up at 7am and making my bed and eating an "old-fashioned" breakfasts and doing my chores right away and trying to wear dresses. I would make vows like ones Anne would make, about being a more conscientious person. I would try to be Polite and Well-Mannered and Hospitable.

Then my stomach started to sink with the startling realization that I am sort of grown up. There will not ever be another time when I can wake up and reinvent myself while my mom actually keeps my real life spinning. I actually DO have to get up at 7am and do my chores, because no one else is going to do them for me. I can't just lose myself in whatever pretend game I want anymore. I have to live my own, actual, real life.

And then--at the time it somehow seemed directly related to the above--I got really homesick. Lately I've been plagued by a gnawing feeling of homelessness. The couch and chair in my apartment living room are SINFULLY uncomfortable (the arms are bony, the leather seats stick to your skin, and the cushions come out the moment your ass touches them). My room is always messy because 1) it's small and 2) I never have the time or energy to keep it neat. Our kitchen sink is too shallow to wash dishes in and we don't have enough counter space to cook real food comfortably. My apartment does not feel like home.

But Gem's dorm is even worse. He's in your typical freshman dorm:  roommate, cinder block walls, loud AC unit, muggy as hell (the dehumidifier they just bought collects TWO GALLONS of water a day), and his bed is all the way lofted. You cannot sit up in bed at all. You're like 18 inches from the ceiling. It is like living in a prison cell. A humid, humid prison cell.

So, naturally, Home--my parents' house--is where my mind wistfully wandered.

Except that "Home" doesn't feel right anymore either. It has actually just started to feel like "my parents' house." Sure, it's familiar and the couch is comfy and the sink is deep and the counter space is fantastic and Mom's cooking is delicious and my room is clean (mostly because I don't live there anymore) and I can sit up in my bed, but...I don't know. It doesn't feel like a place where my soul is relaxed and snuggled up in a blanket anymore. It feels a little bit empty.

Although I'd give anything to be there now, of course. I really miss my family. I miss Mom's cooking and our inside jokes and her just "GETTING" me. I miss hearing Daddy's newest philosophical and political insights and going to the antique store with him and letting him show me his latest woodworking project. I haven't seen my sister in...a really long time. I don't even know when I saw her last. She pretty much just stays at college. She doesn't even respond to my texts, much less text me on her own.

But anyway. "Anne of Green Gables" made my heart and my throat ache with homesickness. And then my brain engaged and snorted at me:  Homesick? For where? Where is your home? And I didn't even know what to say.

My parents' house isn't Home anymore, and yet, I can't imagine feeling at home without my parents. This whole semester I've been excited to graduate and make my own "home": an apartment with all my books and my clothes and kitchen utensils where I cook food and watch TV and sleep and live real life. I've been so ready and so excited to make my own home.

But now I'm afraid that nowhere will ever feel like home, that I am incapable of creating "Home" by myself. I don't know how to do that. I'm afraid I'll always be a little homesick.

And I just started crying, right there in the play, right there in the dark theater house.

I'm not crying anymore, but I do feel lost and confused. What does Home really mean, anyway? Where Gem is? Where my books are? Where the damn couch cushions don't scoot out?

If I ever figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.

~Stephanie

From What I Broke Free

Eminem and Rihanna came out with "The Monster" on October 29, 2013, about two weeks before I completely lost my integrity for a time.

You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath.

And you think I'm crazy? Well, that's not fair.

I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is brilliant.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.

You know how I used to write in Purple and Green? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.

I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters:  "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.

They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.

Because life was bad.

It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).

I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.

But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest:  dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.

I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up:  to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.

He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.

First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life together, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian first. That could come later.)

Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)

Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).

Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.

I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.

"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."

That line always made me think of Purple and Green.

"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."

My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.

"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."

That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was crazy.

But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and convincing me that I was crazy?

Well. That wouldn't be fair.

What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?

That's. Not. Fair.

"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:

"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."

How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.

And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am

It's funny:  ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.

~Stephanie

What Started As a Fragment, Has Ended in Roommate Sap

It's been a long time since I just talked here, since I didn't wait for a coherent idea or a fun question to wrestle with or a bunch of sappiness about Gem. I don't have any complete thoughts to share with you, just a lot of...well, fragments. At least I think they are fragments. You know how I get when I write: one thought will sometimes keep unfolding before my fingers until it's a real post. Right?

~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.

{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}

But now? Now I am Happy.

My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.

I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.

Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.

Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.
Mary is always cold.
Harley loves Captain America.
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.
Mary loves Baby Groot.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that things get better. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.

If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.

Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.

Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.

~Stephanie

 Freshman

 Sophomore

 Junior

 A few weeks ago XD

In My Arms Reprise

WARNING:  This post may get sappy. It will definitely praise God.
 ~~~~~~~~~
A little over a year ago, I posted THESE lyrics.

To date, I think "In My Arms" by Dead By April is the most influential song in my life. A year ago, God broke my heart, with a lot of help from myself and someone else.

 {I know it's hard to let go all that defines you. You feel like you'll never be whole again.}
 
When I heard "In My Arms" one day in April of 2013, I KNEW God was speaking to me. I let my walls come down and I just surrendered it all to Him. I demanded of myself to trust God and brokenly believe that the words of "In My Arms" would someday be true for me.

I. HAD. NO. IDEA.

{Don't give in. Don't let your memories break you.}

I spent a year trying not to let my memories of PC break me. I tried not to look back. For the first five or six months, I failed miserably. I deserted all my promises to God. I turned back to my own twisted logic. I began to depend on my own perversions of the future. It was unhealthy and shameful and I lost a lot more than just valuable time.

The words of "In My Arms" remained a faint but persistent promise in the back of my mind.

{All you've lost will come again; just stay here with me.}

I couldn't imagine gaining back a fraction of what I'd had in PC. He was my best friend. He represented everything I'd ever wanted in a companion, plus some. He understood me. He challenged me. He made me happy.

All I'd lost would come again? WAS GOD CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF RIDICULOUS BULLSHIT WAS HE TRYING TO FEED ME?

I finally got a grip around the middle of this past December. I don't know why, but a straw broke my back and I in turn broke free from my broken lifestyle and broken relationship.

It hurt intensely for about a week. And then?

I haven't looked back. I haven't let my memories break me. Honestly, they're starting to fade, and rather than panic and relive them in my head, I'm just letting them. I'll never forget PC, and I'll always love him, but I don't feel compelled to deal with the painful close clarity of the memories. It's unnecessary. It's unhelpful.

He defined me entirely too much. Looking back, that fact has filled me with an indignant resentment. But lately, the resentment is distant; it's shadowy, easily put out by the light of my life now.

Because in just one short year, God has shown me that He is not a liar. In fact, he has shown me his divine ability to remain faithful even when we are faithless.

I've spent the past year living 90% for myself. I've made selfish, immoral, dangerous, short-sighted, tragic decisions. I haven't prayed enough. I haven't read the Bible enough. I haven't been a good representation of a Christian at all.

But for some reason, God has decided to show me what He and His promises are made of.

All I've lost will come again?

Thankfully, that is not quite the case. Instead, God has given me immeasurably more than anything I've ever had before.

I've JUST started dating Gem, so it's way too early to be feeling or knowing much, but guuuuuuuuys. This boy. Life is so not all about boys or dating, and God certainly isn't, and normally I'm not either, so it's very unexpected and unprecedented that God has decided to reveal His "all you've lost will come again" promise with such a direct, parallel shift:  when I finally relinquished PC, I could see Gem.

I don't know why Gem waited for me for three years. I cannot wrap my mind around why he wants to date me now. He is so out of my league.

I don't know what God has planned for me and Gem. Maybe we'll date over the whole summer; maybe we'll decide being friends is better for us; maybe we'll last for a long time. All I know is that when I finally stopped fighting God tooth and nail for MY plan with PC, God opened up floodgates of amazing, amazing things.

There is more joy in the world than I thought possible. And right now it feels like God is trying to hand every last bit of it to me :)

That song! "In My Arms" came true! When I posted it, I didn't know how it could be true, I just knew that God was calling me to trust it blindly. Eventually, I submitted to God's plan, and oh my gosh, a year later, I sit here and wonder how I was so blind for so long.

How could I have doubted God? I really hope I get better at not doing that XD

~Stephanie

This Weekend

Friday

The bouncers always draw random stuff on my hands. I'm gonna miss that when I turn twenty-one.

Friday night, I went out for the first time in a while. I expected it to be awful, because I was going with my friend Gerard, who is occasionally so insecure and thirsty that he can barely have a decent conversation with me {even though he has a girlfriend}.

However, we had an amazing time. I always forget that when dancing is involved, nothing is that bad.

I got in free, and got Gerard in at all XD Apparently he didn't fit the dress code, so I had to walk back to him and attempt a "He's with me ;)" at the security guy. To my great amusement, it actually worked. *crosses that off bucket list*

So Gerard finally got to see me dance {*rolls eyes*}, which had been on his bucket list ever since I had my legendary moment at a party last semester, and I had a lot of fun with this punk/skater guy. I liked him right away for his style, and then I noticed that he could legitimately dance. Bonus points. Our eyes met across the room and there was a mutual, mischievous agreement. Soon we were the best dance partners in the place {if I do say so myself}.

I become the funnest and most confident version of myself when I'm dancing. It's like slipping into another skin. It's like becoming Ember.

Also, THIS song. I love so much XD

On the way home, Gerard and I were practically euphoric. The music and dancing had peeled back our hard exteriors and we rejoiced in each other's company. We looked at the stars and got smoothies and drove through nice neighborhoods and talked.

It was an amazing night.
~~~~~~~~~~
Saturday

Seeing as I didn't get to bed til about 4am, I slept until 12:40.

I took my antibiotic pill with zero trouble. Holla! Good start to the day.

I was not very productive school-wise, but I didn't even care.

I had a delicious salad for dinner, and got ready to go to "The Magician's Nephew" play here at school. One of my friends from Milton class, Jacob, was Uncle Andrew. He did a wonderful job :) I stuck around to talk to him after the play, and he actually asked me out. I'm pretty sure I'm not interested in him that way, but my friend James has inspired me to say yes to first dates.

"You never know," he says. "I think it's the rudest thing for people to say no to first dates. There's no real commitment; saying no is just refusing to get to know someone."

So, I'm going to have coffee with Jacob sometime next week :)

After that, I decided to go for a walk. The night was beautiful, with air was sharp and clear as diamonds. I decided I would walk on all the paths on campus that I've never been on.

I took a notebook and spent one of the happiest hours of my life just wandering around, shocked by all the beauty I'd been missing all around me. There were ghostly teal Lothlorien pine trees, and funny little mops of green grass, and faint burgundy clouds against the charcoal sky.

I wandered down every path and into every brick stairwell and looked in every dark window. Basically I went around doing all the sorts of things that get you killed in horror movies. It was great.

Also, I successfully made a hard-boiled egg in the microwave. Yeah, you heard me. No explosion this time. Take THAT, Sarah/Cassidy/James/Mom/Daniel/Gerard/Everyone With Realistic Expectations of Life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday

Today, Bekah came to move her stuff out, seeing as she had a surprise baby and all. She brought Baby Natalie and her current boyfriend, Gabe. I liked both of them a lot :) Gabe is pretty much definitely a keeper. He's actually intelligent and engaging in conversation and really good with Baby Natalie.

The room feels much emptier than I was prepared for. I don't really like it. However, I can certainly use the extra bookshelf space.

I went to Walmart and saved $2 with coupons. Small victories for the college kid XD

Only five days til I leave for spring break! So ready to see the people I love :)

~Stephanie

Santa

My little sister and I never believed in Santa as kids.  Mom did when she was little, and she loved it. However, Daddy felt extremely lied to when the truth came out, so he was determined not to put us through the same thing. Instead, Sarah and I were told that "the spirit of Santa," meaning giving joyfully, was very much real, but the guy at the North Pole with jacked up reindeer was just a story.

When I was little, I really wanted to believe in Santa. I felt kind of deprived of the magical wonder I saw in the eyes of my peers. Plus, it was hard being the only disillusioned one in a group of kids discussing what Santa would bring them. It could be exhausting to handle the infamous question "DO YOU BELIEVE IN SANTA??" Mostly I considered it an early exercise in creative truth-telling and redirection.

"Well, I always seem to get what I ask for."
"How else would the presents get there?"
"I'm sure my parents tell me the truth."
"I've read a lot about him."

Maybe it's why I'm so good at bullshitting now. Who knows.

I did slip up once. My cousin Kathleen, who's two years older than I am, grilled me about Santa Claus one year. I must've been five or six. She became frustrated with my creative non-answers and literally cornered me, demanding to know HOW ELSE WOULD THE PRESENTS GET THERE?! By that point I was pretty frustrated by her ignorance anyway, so I just out and told her.

"Look, Santa is not real. Your parents put the presents under the tree after you're asleep."

That knowledge really took a toll on her, and Aunt Celeste/her mom was not pleased with me. She took the matter up with my dad, who--I imagine--handled it with a brilliant blend of subtle sarcasm and a dry apology.

Still, I felt kinda bad and never slipped up again. {If only refraining from everything were that simple.}

Honestly, there were lots of times when I regretted not believing in Santa. I always wanted magic to be real, and sometimes tried to convince myself that Santa really did exist, that THAT was the lie my parents were telling me. When I was like fifteen I heard something on the roof on Christmas Eve and got really excited.

But, honesty again:  If my parents had told me that Santa was real, I would have had the same reaction as my dad. I would have felt tricked and betrayed and lied to. I would never {seriously, like, to-this-day-and-beyond kind of never} have trusted my parents again.

An extreme reaction? Definitely. But for better or for worse, that's the way my mind works. My parents definitely made a good call in the long run.

Eventually, I'm going to have to decide what to tell my own kids. I'm really torn as of now. For some kids, the belief in Santa can be fun and magical without a backlash of fury when the truth comes out. It's just that you have to make the call before you know what kind of kid it's going to be.

{I wonder if you could experiment on your kids. Tell one the truth but not the other and see what happens. Of course, the enlightened one would more than likely disillusion the other.}

With my luck, I'll probably have a kid just like me, so Santa will not be the way to go. But I guess my husband will get some say in the matter.

Haha, that's a good one...

~Stephanie

My Autumn

I never know what it is, but it happens every autumn.

It starts in my toes and rises up through my body, tickling and pulling and poking:  a profound restlessness that makes me feel young. Not the wild, powerful kind of "young," but the nostalgic, vaguely uncomfortable sensation of being a child trapped in a nineteen-year-old's body.

Every year.

It's the air, crisp and charged with promise. Great, obscure secrets ride the cool breeze. All the edges are sharper; all the lights are clearer; all the impressions are warmer. The sky is bluer than it's ever been.

There's a creative urgency. Beauty so thick that inspiration can't quite break through. Ideas pulse beneath the surface of the world, giving the air its own heartbeat.

Everything whispers.

Childhood whispers. Remember leaf piles? Remember running? Remember dark woods? Remember notebooks? Remember heart friends? Remember tears? Remember stories?

It feels like chilly fingers and smoke-scented sweatshirts. It feels like hiding. It feels like spying. It feels like being chased.

It's a lens through which the present seems abrupt and irrelevant. The urgency drains from school and flows to old thoughts and old fears and old worries.

Remember learning Gaelic? Remember researching drugs? Remember refusing to get your ears pierced?

Remember needing Him in your soul? Remember Sunny? Remember staying at Gr'anne's house?

Remember losing your imagination? Remember outgrowing your fire fairy costume? Remember exceeding your texting limit?

Things that have nothing to do with autumn drift across my mind. Summer memories and spring pains. Christmas woes and birthday adventures. Something in the air brings them back.

Every year.

And then, like smoke, the feeling tints and twists and dissipates into the air.

That's my autumn, every year.

~Stephanie

What Hurts the Most

You know what I miss the most?


The bad days.


Days when I would seethe in my room, clenching back angry tears and roaring for the day I could leave.


I miss getting into the green Honda, slamming the door and jerking too quickly on the seat belt. I miss him looking expectantly at me, that hint of amusement in his teal eyes, and me saying,


"It's just been one of those days. Let's go."


And he'd turn on P.O.D.'s "Kaliforn-Eye-A." The guitar riff came to mean driving off, fast. It meant my day was about to improve drastically. The riff meant we could do whatever we wanted. We were driving away together, and for at least a few hours, I would smile and love my life.


"Kaliforn-Eye-A" is what I miss the most, and what it meant. What hurts the most is knowing that I won't ever have nights like that again, when I come out of my house angry and just get into his car.


That makes me cry. That thought, that tiny collection of memories, is what absolutely undoes me.


~Stephanie

Alicia

I can't remember if I've ever talked about my friend Alicia, like maybe when I posted journal entries from the Europe trip. If I didn't, or if you weren't reading back then, I'll tell you about her now.

She's from Oregon and we met the first night in Spain. We were roommates.

My first thought: "She looks weird and she's probably going to hate me because I'm feeling cranky and homesick and will not be a lot of fun. Oh well. At least this is just for one night."

Only then I got paired with her for our homestay, and ended up being with her for three days straight in a tiny Spanish apartment with a family that spoke no English. And guess what?

We became best friends.

The whole rest of the trip, it was "Stephanie and Alicia." We sat together, ate together walked together, shopped together. We told each other secrets and used each others' hotel rooms if one of us got paired with a weird roommate. She saw me laugh, cry, cuss, panic, learn, go off on people, make amends, try new foods, and do scary things.

I became closer to her in three weeks than I'd become with anyone {besides Cass} in my whole life. It's amazing what tense situations can do for bonding. They accelerate it 150%.

Having the luck I do with relationships, I didn't become best friends with anyone from my state. Of course not. That would be too easy. No, I had to become best friends with a girl who lives 2,810 miles away. That's 47 hours.

Of course.

We parted ways the last day of the trip. Neither of us cried. We'd known it was coming. It sucked, but we had to walk away. I neatly retracted my heart and told her 'bye. We said we'd see each other again, but I didn't really believe that. People make promises like that all the time; they mean them in the moment, but eventually someone doesn't care anymore and the promise dissolves.

But guess what?

That didn't happen O_O

And now she's coming here, to my state, to my town, to my very own house, and she's gonna live with us for a week.

I don't even think it's sunk in yet. I've known for about a month that yes, it is actually happening, but...I still feel sort of numb to the whole thing :) My head is excited though :D

So, don't expect to see me around much until this time next week. I have posts scheduled for every day, but I won't be commenting :)

Send a virtual wave and greeting to Alicia!

~Stephanie

I Miss Europe.

I miss Spain.

I miss living with a Spanish family.

I miss Llucia.

I miss Consuela.

I miss Lica {the tiny dog}.

I miss the heat.

I miss not being allowed to put my hair in a ponytail when wet.

I miss not being allowed to go barefoot.

I miss eating Spanish pizza.

I miss siesta.

I miss Olexiy, the French boy who lived with us.

I miss not having a towel.

I miss sleeping on top of the covers.

I miss hearing Spanish everywhere.

I miss being able to speak English without anyone else understanding.

I miss Spanish thunderstorms.

I miss Spanish malls.

I miss Llucia's wonderful mother, Rosa.

I miss going to the park.

I miss vendors with their stuff on a sheet so they could take it and run in a moment.

I miss streets without lines.

I miss people who drive too fast and turn too quickly.

I miss weird intersections.

~~~~~~~~~~

I miss the other People to People people.

I miss Alicia putting up with me and making me feel like myself.

I miss hating John.

I miss Nalin looking beautiful all the time.

I miss Briar trying to beat people up for me.

I miss avoiding Michael.

I miss being disgusted by Matt and Tori.

I miss holding back Jackie's temper.

I miss Haley keeping me grounded.

I miss making fun of "the Barbies."

I miss Geno making me laugh.

I miss Emily being emo and cynical.

I miss Geno making Larry Boy faces.

I miss Torin cussing up a storm and our weird, close-distant relationship.

I miss Geno wanting to hold my Polly doll.

I miss Pedro's gelled hair and constant eating.

I miss Geno asking me to please wear my lion shirt.

I miss Kyle and Alexsis being adorable together.

I miss Adam's shoulder massages.

I miss David being a MASSIVE teddy bear.

I miss Leron's hilariousness and singing southern gospel on the bus.

I miss Alyssa being annoying.

I miss hating how Kelly talks out of the corner of her mouth.

I miss catching phrases from peoples' guidebooks.

I miss Drew being disorganized.

I miss Cindy being reliable.

I miss hating the way John pronounced "nutella" as "new-tella."

I miss Emma walking around being homesick.

I miss Sabine saying, "now, when we get back to dah HOE-tell..."

I miss Sabine's massive green eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

I miss France.

I miss pointy noses.

I miss being corrected when I speak.

I miss crystal and fancy smells.

I miss putting my bread on the table.

I miss nasty seltzer water.

I miss walking.

I miss climbing mountains.

I miss not knowing what to wear.

I miss the random weather.

I miss trying new food.

I miss feeling stressed over purchases.

I miss venders with delicious accents.

I miss trees growing from rocks.

I miss Via de Amore.

I miss blue, blue water.

I miss cheap expensive clothes.

I miss blue and white stripes.

~~~~~~~~~~

I miss Italy.

I miss green.

I miss exploring.

I miss music coming from tunnels.

I miss real pizza.

I miss foreign guys that scare me and intrigue me at the same time.

I miss tan, huge-eyed toddlers.

I miss Brother Alesandro.

I miss Assisi.

I miss the tiny cathedral inside a cathedral.

I miss Brother Alesandro's beautiful explanation of prayer.

I miss castles.

I miss parks and playgrounds.

I miss that tiny little phone booth.

I miss the leaning tower.

I miss the colosseum.

I miss gelato.

I miss Pedro stopping to get a panini at every restaurant.

I miss closing our curtains because boys were staring in.

I miss laughing from our balcony at boys calling "Baywatch!"

I miss people playing soccer in the street.

I miss pasta.

I miss Italian cola.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I miss the trip.

I miss getting ready and packing in 45 minutes exactly.

I miss eating breakfast with 39 other people.

I miss never being alone.

I miss hearing someone else breathing as I go to sleep.

I miss using each others' bathrooms when Alicia or I had a bathroom-hog roommate.

I miss Haley doing Alicia's hair in cornrows.

And dreadlocks.

And French braids in Italy.

I miss putting all our luggage in the elevators and sending it up alone.

I miss taking the stairs when the Barbies' luggage took too long.

I miss never wearing makeup.

I miss riding on the bus for hours.

I miss Momma's little notes.

I miss journaling until my hand seizes up.

I miss looking for presents.

I miss Haley calming me down.

I miss Alicia laughing whenever I was in a pissy mood.

I miss Jackie being my homesick buddy.

I miss Geno making me laugh, but never laughing at himself.

I miss Briar being fun, then obnoxious and me telling him so.

I miss falling asleep to the sounds of chaos down the hall.

I miss military time.

~~~~~~~~

I haven't been sick for Europe at all until just last night when all this came crashing down on me. Gosh, I miss it. I had an amazing time and I don't regret anything and I know I really seized every day.

But gosh, I miss it.

~Stephanie

Revelation

Thanks for following, Alana, Ginger and Amanda! {Ginger and Amanda are guest bloggers for Miss Unlimited also.}

You know those memory-snatches we all have? Something that happened when you were little, or a book you read years ago, or a tune that you can't place. Those little bits of sensory input that you can't trace back to...well, anything. Those pieces that lurk in the back of your mind, unidentified.

I have a lot of those. And they bug me. I hate to forget things, and for my brain to latch onto something without proper documentation seems cruel.

For instance.

*clears throat*

BACKSTORY

From the time I was born, I had a babysitter named Yvonne. I could not pronounce that, and christened her "Bon."

Bon took me seriously and knew everything most people know, plus some. She had twin boys who were fifteen years older than me. They had about a million bouncy balls and would dump them out in the hall and we'd play with them. We would smack them at each other as they rebounded off the walls. I thought they were great.

By the time I was three, Bon was still my babysitter, but the boys had gone off to college, so Bon and I were left to our own devices. That wasn't a problem. We would go to the Chinese restaurant or work in the garden or try to hear the cat purr or go to the library.

But for whatever reason, one day at her house I wasn't doing any of those things. I was sitting on Bon's couch, watching TV.

It was a cartoon.

It was dark and had capes in it.

There were orphan children.

There was the name "Frog."

There was a part where a nice man was trying to get a boy to take a bath and the boy grabbed the doorframe to keep from going.

And those are the only pieces of that experience that stayed with me. Odd little fragments for a three-year-old mind to latch on to. I remember not being scared of the show, and understanding what was going on. But I had no idea what the show was called.

Those pieces of cartoon have distantly haunted my mind for about fifteen years now. I really wished I knew what it was from, because it was just bugging me. For a while I wondered if it was some show called "The Magician." I think I sort of assumed it was and never pursued it. I mean, what would YOU do with those fragments I mentioned? It's not even enough to Google on.

{I just tried Googling "cartoon orphans boy name frog capes." I got Meet the Robinsons, Pete's Dragon, and Toy Story. No, nope, and nah. I was right. Un-Googleable.}

But I really wanted to see how the story came out. I couldn't remember. What happened to the orphans? Who is "Frog"? Did the boy get a bath?

Today I was watching Batman: The Animated Series {Christmas present :DDDD} with Sarah and my friend Brianna. The episode started out good; I liked it right away because it had kids who were thieves.

When the plot turned to a whole bunch of kids, working in a sewer, my mind did this weird turning thing. It felt sort of like what your stomach does on a roller coaster, but in my head. I was starting to get this vague impression of familiarity. Even fainter than deje vu, but persistent.

The feeling grew when I saw this evil guy in a cape. He was enslaving the kids in the sewer and I could have sworn I'd seen him somewhere before. But I still didn't say anything.

Then a little boy got taken back to Wayne Manor for his safety. The boy's name was Frog and he wouldn't talk. That struck another very odd chord with me.

Then Alfred started trying to persuade the boy to bathe. The recognition strengthened and stirred under the murky water of childhood impressions.

When the boy refused, Alfred carefully picked the boy up and tried to carry him into the bathroom.

The boy braced himself against the doorframe to keep from going.

Suddenly the familiarity pulled itself into a great mental monster and rose from the murky memories. I gasped.

"I've seen this before!" I cried, pointing at the TV. "I know I have now!" I was shocked. "When I was three years old...I've always wondered what it was and now I know!" I shook my head, eyes wide. "It was BATMAN."

It was such a revelation to me! Like a burden lifted! It was Batman! That collection of memories could finally be put to rest! It was like a ghost finally being able to cross over. The memory had a name now, a pocket it could sit in comfortably. My mind actually felt freer.

No one I told of this was properly impressed, relieved, excited, etc. I guess this is a really strange thing to get excited about, but then again, I'm a really strange person. *shrugs happily*

Also makes me wonder if that's why I love Batman so much XD He was woven into my subconscious at a very young age. Maybe that's why I love orphans too.

I've also always wanted to do that door thing. But no one has ever had to force me to take a bath, so I guess I'll have to settle for watching Frog do it.

~Stephanie