Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans

So as per usual, we carved pumpkins tonight, though instead of my father doing them, it was my brother and I. Here is a picture post detailing the carving.

 

 

  

 

The pumpkin that looks like it wants to eat you is my brother’s work, the slightly tipsy wobbly creation is mine. I decided to give him a bad eye.

Blogging is hard; sometimes as badly as you’d like to write, you have nothing to say. And rambling about how your day sucked just doesn’t cut it. I honestly have had trouble coming up with things to write about lately. I hate to blab on and on about nothing, which is pretty much what is happening right now. I mean, I suppose I can give a brief update, but that’s about all I’ve got.

Halloween is Tomorrow: I’ve got two pumpkins and a ton of candy. I will carve the pumpkins some time tomorrow and hope that we get a few trick or treaters. There will probably be maybe ten I will have lots of leftover candy. Hopefully I’ll have pictures of the pumpkins.

NaNoWriMo Starts Monday: National Novel Writing Month! I am participating this year, and fingers are crossed that I actually pull this one off; I’m going to be working on Redemption.

I have a cooking blog: Check out my cooking adventures at The Sassy Southerner’s Kitchen.

In the land of Nic there has been much unrest. Mostly due to the fact that the job market is for crap. I have resigned myself to looking at retail and temp work since I will not be working in law school. I got some well meaning but bad advice from people, and never got a job during school. "Focus on academics" they said. Well I did, and while my grades were very good, I have zero work experience; this adds to my difficulties in a fairly large way. The main problem around here is that no one is hiring, not even for part time. The temp agency show only jobs looking for two to three years of specific experience for the job. I guess I will just have to keep hunting.

The great sink hunt has come to an end, as has the hunt for a faucet; we ordered the sink this morning and it should be here soon. Operation remodel is about to commence and its going to be massive. Paint colors have been selected, as has the flooring and backsplashes. Everything has been picked out and slowly but surely we are collecting the supplies. It will not be long before the project actually begins. With the racing season coming to a close for my father, except for a reruning of the BG Combo early next month, there will be lots of tearing down and repair and making of messes.

Fall has arrived, with weird hot and cold weather habits, and I am sitting here in my hoodie and jeans, sipping water, nibbling a nutrigrain bar, and listening to music. I realize that it has been well over two months since I last sat down at the laptop to write something for a post in this blog. I am ashamed. But I just haven't had much to write about really. Life has been boring and uneventful; all I've really done is some cleaning and work on applications for law school again. So here's watch you missed for the last two months:

The job market for law clerks and legal secretaries, which is pretty much the only reasonable paying job that a woman with a political science degree focused on pre-law and a year of law school under her belt is qualified for, is for crap. I know that is not an eloquent way to put it, but its the truth. I've called friends, family members, my doctor who has a whole family of lawyers, friends of my parents, and no one can afford to hire me. I've got a great resume (minus the lack of work experience), but I keep hearing the same thing over and over. My academics (minus last year) and extracurricular activities and skills make me marketable, but the economy makes me expensive apparently. Stupid economy, stupid job market, stupid times, my friends. So I am still jobless, despite all my attempts.

I am learning to code, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be. A lot of it is memorizing tags and where they belong, then common sense and trial and error to move and place things. Why am I doing this? Well, I got volunteered to build a website for my uncle's business, and, because it's family and there was a promise of a little fundage, I spent some of my amazon gift card money on two books on html and css. Becoming a code monkey, that's what I'm doing. I also got photoshop and illustrator, and I am attempting to learn to use them to make graphics. If anything I have managed to make something useful out of my free time.

I do believe that I have lost an inch or two in my hips because my size 13 jeans are just a bit droopy folks. My calves, oh my calves are a beautiful thing. They are tight and tones and strong. However, my midsection is still stubbornly refusing to shrink. (Well maybe it is and I just don't notice because I am angry with it for being so ridiculously chubby and slow to shape up) But I'm trying to be patient. As you know, patience in not and has never been one of my strong points. I am practicing portion control, and that's not easy. It is getting better because when I don't over eat I feel better and I'm getting to the point where I don't have to eat as much to be full. I am walking as often as possible, and jogging when I can. Lately the weather has been uncooperative and I've been kind of sick (weather change + Nic's allergies= no fun) But I am trying to get back on track.

After discovering the ridiculous amount of clutter stifling me in my little bedroom at Casa de 'Rents, I went on a cleaning spree. You see, we are finally going to begin the much anticipated remodel of the house, and its going to dominate my time. Walls are being repaired and painted, new wood flooring (no more carpet), new flooring in the bathrooms, new appliances and cabinets in the kitchen, and we are finally going to get the washer and dryer out of the kitchen area. That is all going to begin very soon, in fact, it will begin as soon as the small loan is processed, and that knowledge got me to thinking about my room, which was still full of boxes from my move back from L-Ville. I cleaned the room and started putting books away again, which is when I discovered that it was clear that my granddaddy had not anticipated the fact that I would be such a massive bibliophile when he built my bookshelf once upon a time. I had to actually redo the entire thing and store some books I never read, just to make room.

The only problem is that I will have to pack it all up again once I move out next year (Good Lord willing, I get into law school again). Which brings me to my final point. I am applying to only schools in TN, and hopefully I will get into the one in Nash-vegas so that I can either get into an apartment in the Boro or Nash-vegas instead of moving to Knox-vegas or Memphis; if this happens where ever I move will more than likely become a permanent residence for awhile, allowing me to stop being a nomad and settle into my own place. When this happens, I will get awesome cooking supplies, and I plan to start a cooking blog. I will still keep this one for personal blogging, but I will also run a blog devoted to my cooking adventures. Speaking of cooking, I think I am going to go have some fabulous tomato soup, now, out of a can of course.

Note from Nic: This blog is getting a fresh new look ASAP. It may stay black and white, but a new background and banner should be coming soon.

I am not the kind of woman who can just say "I'm going to lose this weight and lose these inches", and it just happen for me like magic. I don't have the metabolism and what not for that to be possible. I also get frustrated and discouraged about my body too easily. (I know, I know, but Nic you are always so fiercely defensive about being strong and confident.) So instead I have to work at it, a lot. I have to make myself exercise everyday; I don't have the luxury of saying "I don't feel like running today or going for a walk or lifting weights" and then picking it up the next day like I didn't cop out. I also have to motivate myself, especially because I am so impatient and easily discouraged. I have to set goals and really work to achieve them.

On a side note, among the things that do not motivate me: Bali Fitness commercials and the idea of going to the gym. Here's the deal, I honestly have a problem with body image. Not an extreme problem that causes me serious issues, but a problem. I do not like to go work out in public because every time I've gone to a gym or even a public work out area on a campus, I wind up surrounded by these trim, skinny women, and well, I get all uncomfortable. The idea that I am this huge fat pig sweating next to all these healthy, trim women, makes me feel disgusting, and I feel like I'm being stared at. I know that it's not the case, and I know that these other women probably have to work out and eat right just as much as I do to look like that. But the fact remains, I feel awkward and unpleasant. Bali Fitness Center commercials remind me of this problem, and thus, they also fail to motivate me. It's a flaw, and I'm working on it.

Back on track, I am working to motivate myself, and I do it mostly by setting goals and tracking my progress. I bought these little foil stars a long time ago for some stupid project, and I've still got a ton of them. The stars come in five colors: red, silver, blue, green and gold. I've got a calendar that hangs on my wall by my bed. These two things add up to part of my tracking system. I put a green star on days when I when I get out and either go for a run in the neighborhood or walk the neighborhood. I put a blue star on days when I also lift weights. There are silver stars when I increase my workout in some way, like walking or running a bit farther than usual. Gold stars are for days when I meet a goal.

So here are my current goals:

• Lose fifteen to twenty pounds total by my birthday. That should equate to losing at least a pants/dress size.
• Lose thirty to thirty-five pounds total by October. That should get me down at least two or three pants/dress sizes
• Lose the forty to fifty pounds total that I need to lose to be down to a healthy weight for my height and bone structure by the end of the year.

Well ladies and gentlemen of my readership, what few you are, today is the day I stop procrastinating and start getting healthy. I know I've said it a thousand times, but this time I mean it. This time it's become a neccessity, and it's going to be a priority. I know that this seems melodramatic, but my dear readers, I have had it with hating my reflection. Once upon a time I was merely out of shape, now I am down right fat. I am angry and disappointed in myself for ever letting it get this far. The time had come to stop letting my hips, waist, butt, and thighs expand. I am 22 almost 23 years old for heaven’s sake. There is no excuse for me looking like this. None at all. So I'm going to set some rules, just some basic things for me to remember.

Rule One: No more excuses for not working out or doing some sort of exercise. No more of this it's too hot outside to go for a run or a walk. Even if I'm cramping so badly that I want to cry, I will do some sort of exercise.

Rule Two: No more of this nuerotic obsession with certain parts of my body. I'm going to think of this not as "Holy mother, I need to shrink my huge thighs and chubby stomach", but instead I will think of this as I need to trim down all over and get healthy. I know that I need to lose wait, but instead of focusing on OMG FATNESS, I'm going to focus on getting into shape.

Rule Three: No more being a snack/treat nazi to myself. Instead of swearing off all sweets and all snacks (which only makes me run out and binge when I get the chance), I'm going to think of it as a reward. I worked out and got something done today, so I can have a piece of cake or a cookie or a candy. As for snacks, I will have a snack between dinner and supper, but only then, instead of saying no snacks ever.

Rule Four: I will only measure my waist, hips, and chest once every two weeks. I will not focus simply pounds lost, but rather on inches lost. This is not just about losing fat; it's about rebuilding muscle. I will measure success by dropping pants, dress, and shirt sizes, and not just on dropping 30 plus pounds.

WARNING: This post will be image heavy

It's been awhile, but I figured I would show off my awesome baking adventure. This morning I made All-Bran Muffins. (Yes, that's All-Bran like the cereal) These fabulous muffins are something my grandmother makes, and for awhile I thought they were some secret R family recipe. But nope, they are actually from a recipe my Grandmother found on the box one time and she adds raisins and nuts to the mix. These muffins are fantastic because they are very healthy and very filling.

So I present to you All-Bran muffins:

Lesson learned from today's baking adventure: disposable foil muffin tins are not a good idea for these because the muffins are heavy. Also, these muffins will explode when they hit the floor hot because they are soft.

I am such a terrible blogger; I haven't updated sufficiently in ages because that Peter Pan post totally does not count. Lagging to no internet connection and nothing interesting to write about leaves me little in the way of content. Anyway, I am sitting here now, with the internet working much better, feeling my shoulders tighten slightly. Yesterday Erica and I took her daughter, Kaylyn, to the lake to go swimming. Have I mentioned just how much I love that little girl? Technically I'd be considered a second cousin, but because she really doesn't have an aunt, I am Aunt Nic (well, Aunt Laura because that's my first name). There are no pictures because its impossible to take pictures when you are up to your neck in lake water and getting splashed by a one year-old. She loves the water, and we spent about an hour pushing her float around and letting her play. I didn't get much tanning in, just burned my shoulders a bit. By this weekend, my shoulders will be all brown though. Nothing else to report except that I now sell Mark. Cosmetics.

“The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly” “Yes, you did.” “The dear old days when I could fly!” “Why can’t you fly now, mother?” “Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.” “Why do they forget the way?” “Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.” ~Peter Pan, pg 222

In case you didn’t catch it the title and opening quotes are in reference to Peter Pan and the location of Neverland. It’s sad but Peter Pan made me realize how jaded and cynical I’ve become. We read it for my children’s lit class, Children’s Fantasy Fiction, back in undergrad, and I bawled at the end when Wendy had forgotten how to fly because she grew up. I’ve grown up too… I don’t remember how to fly anymore. And when Peter said he’d teach her how again, but she told him not to waste his fairy dust on her, I almost died. I won’t ever fly again. I’ve grown up and forgotten and can’t be retaught. I’ll never remember; I’ll have but fond memories of the days when I could. I want to fly away to Neverland and fight pirates with Peter… that sounds good right now. I want to remember how to get there and how to fly. Long ago I used to fight pirates with Peter. I used to go to Neverland and play with the Lost Boys. I want to go back there. “Second to the right, and straight on till morning” That’s where I’ll go.

But the point of this entry is that I know that many people have forgotten how to fly. They’ve stopped believing, and that’s very sad. I clapped loudest when I watched the play; I clapped for Tinker Bell, who I believed in with all my heart. But lately I’ve come to realize that my clapping has grown softer, my innocence has faded away. People all around me have stopped clapping; they’ve stopped believing, and that is a tragedy. They’ve forgotten Neverland and Peter, and Neverland is childhood and hope. Whether you believe it or not, J.M. Barrie was right. We all know Neverland and Peter; we all flew away with him and fought pirates and redskins and played with the Lost Boys, and eventually we all flew home and grew up. “On these magical shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.” The main problem is that we will never land on the shores of that dreadful paradise again, where adventure would sweep us away, and we would be free and innocent. Neverland is not a safe place all the time, and our companion Peter Pan is careless and cruel at times, but it is a paradise to be certain.

Maybe it is that we grow up too fast now, achieving adulthood and abandoning Neverland before we should. Forgetting our old adventures as we discover the troubles and difficulties of adult responsibilities, which are much more difficult to battle than the pirates of our youth. Once upon a time we fought pirates and redskins, we defeated Captian Hook and watched as he fell to the crocodile. But we don’t remember that; we don’t remember Tiger Lily or the Neverbird. We’ve forgotten. And I cry for us, for our past. I do not wish to be Peter, who is still a little boy, but I do wish I could remember how to fly, just once, and head back to Neverland for another adventure.

Deep within us, there is a sprinkle of fairy dust and a happy thought, and that will let us fly. In the shadows there is a boy in a garment of green playing the pipes or brandishing a dagger. He’s crying as he tries to stick his shadow back on with soap or perhaps he’s crowing with glee and delight. Some night while you are sitting in your room, you’ll hear a crow and the window will blow open and a boy will drop in on the floor. He will be the same as ever, and he will have all his first teeth. Now he might forget you from time to time, but you mustn’t forget him, for he will come back eventually. He is a careless little boy. Peter doesn’t change, we do. But if you listen closely you can hear him whispering to you.

So this is a difficult post, but I promised myself that I would write about everything. So here goes. Sometimes in life we make choices that we think are right but in the end turn out to be wrong. Sometimes what we think is the smart move turns out to be a mistake. I am experiencing that now. I got a letter, in June of last year, telling me that I had been accepted to law school in L-ville; after much deliberation I decided to go, even though it was not where I really wanted to attend. At the time most people were encouraging me, and there was always an opportunity to transfer later. So I packed up my life and made the long drive up north; I left my family, my friends, and Jake. I thought I could do it, that even if the situation was difficult and unpleasant, I could power through three years. I was wrong. It was a mistake. I started feeling out of place almost immediately. The minute I started talking and folks sort of stared because I had a funny accent and used strange colloquialisms. I didn't belong there, but I took a deep breath and held my head high, pretended that I didn't need to feel comfortable. I was wrong. I knew something wasn't right, but I tried desperately to power through it. That was a mistake. Leaving was a mistake. I was so unbelievably wrong. Do I regret it? No. I firmly believe that regret does nothing for you. No regrets, just lessons learned. So what now? I guess this is a year of no school for me, which means hunting a job and paying my loans. Hopefully, things will settle again, and I will figure all this out.

I made a huge mistake, and it had so not so pleasant consequences; it feels like right now God is giving me a reset, taking me back to before this happened. Not a rewind or restart, but a fresh start. I need that. I know, short entry is short, but I don't really feel like writing in length about this subject.

I am sitting here looking around at the boxes that hold my life. That's sounds funny, but its true. Exams are over, and I am packing up the apartment to move back to the Boro for the summer. My lease is up on the eighth, and I'm moving out either Wednesday or Thursday. Mama is drivin' up to help, which is awesome, especially since there is no way that all my junk is going to fit into one Blazer. I was going to move this afternoon, but the flooding happening everywhere makes that impossible. I'm not going to write about packing though. Instead I'm just going to do a stream of thought entry about all the things that have been on my mind, and maybe I'll throw in a brief note on my plans for the summer.

I am not the woman I was several months ago when I came to Louisville, and that is both a good and bad thing. Back in August when I arrived in L-ville I was wide-eyed, ambitious, and excited. Law school was an adventure I'd been looking forward to for a very long time. It became complicated the second day of orientation when I soon discovered that my accent was a great deal stonger than most of the people there, and I was definitely a little fish in a great big pond. I got the feeling I was out of place. And it was a brand new experience. I was two hundred miles away from everything thing I loved and everyone. It was frightening and exhilerating all at once. As an undergraduate I could handle most of my classes in my sleep, and I balanced everything relatively easily. I was a mock trial captain and a college senior facing three years of more work than I could imagine, but I could handle it. Law school isn't easy, not at all; I have to work three times as hard as I used to, and I was on my own. Living on my own is not the difficult part; its the being absolutely alone, isolated from everyone and everything I am close to, that made life unpleasant. Even Jake and I felt the strain, and at that point, our relationship was still going strong. In December, my grades were not great, and, I knew I was here for the next two years. Things weren't weren't smooth anymore. And then I thought they were getting better, and I was wrong. I don't have Jake anymore, and that breaks my heart; I threw myself into working, outlines, case briefs, and learning the law, anything to keep my mind off what I'd lost. It hasn't really worked, and now the semester is over. I am leaving my first year of law school, and I am not really going back to the Boro the same woman. I feel like I've lost some of my strength, some of my spark. I'm all jaded and even more cynical than I was when I came here. I've lost some of my confidence, some of what made me, Nic. This summer I hope I can get some of that back.

This summer I am also going to lose this weight. I looked in the mirror after my shower the other day, and my reflection made me want to cry. I'm fat, and its disgusting. This is not a "I hate the way I look cause I can't wear skinny jeans"; this is a "I've gotten so big that it's unhealthy and disgusting, and I have to do something about it" thing. I'm not saying that the break up caused the weight gain, but I really started to gain all this weight after it happened. I guess its because I had nothing to do but work; its not an excuse at all though. I shouldn't have let this happen to me. I should've kept in shape; I should've taken better care of myself. I was pretty much wallowing, and it does not suit me well. I'm angry at myself, and I'm disappointed in what I have done to myself. I have to fix this; I look terrible and feel just as bad. I can't stand it any more.

The idea for this summer is to catch up on my reading, do some writing, get a job for the summer in the Boro, work on jewelry, and practice with my camera. It's not exactly the summer I was so looking forward to when the semester started, but I will make the best of it.

The weather was beautiful yesterday, mild and clear and sunny, and its pretty much the same today. It really feels like Spring outside, and if it weren't for all the studying I have to do, I would definitely spend my time outside, taking pictures, and soaking in the beauty of it all. I hate to admit it, but this Yankee city (and this Yankee campus) is really nice right now. I know that L-ville is not exactly NYC-northern, but its definitely not the South. I had to explain what yonder means to someone today at lunch. Back on topic. I love Spring (I know I also said I love Fall and I do); it's a great season, minus all the rain and allergies. I think for me Spring represents something wonderful, and that's why I love it so much. Spring is rebirth, renewal, a ressurection; everything seems to come back to life. Flowers are in bloom, trees are beginning to green up, and the world seems to waking up from a long sleep. I think that it makes sense that Easter is at the beginning of Spring; the Resurrection of Jesus coincides with the rebirth of nature. I am trying to let this season renew me. I am trying to let it give me hope. I believe in miracles, and I believe that somethings are just meant to be. I believe that life and love can be like nature. Sometimes it takes a winter to bring about a spring. This is a really short entry, and I apologize. But there is an almost finished CivPro outline demanding to be finished.

After reading an entry from one of my favorite blogs, Nat the Fat Rat, I feel rather inspired. Nat is inspiring because of her faith, her wit, her honesty, and her unending and true love for her husband; she is reading the Old Testament, and her latest entry about the women of Genesis got me to thinking. She found a connection with Rachel and so have I, but we have different reasons. So dear readers, here is another more personal entry at Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans. The concept of "Let go and just let God" is not foreign to me, and its not a difficult concept to understand. However, it is a difficult thing for me to execute. The ideas that everything happens for a reason, what's meant to be always finds a way, and God has a plan are also not difficult for me. This brings me to the thoughts bouncing around in my head right now. I have always believed that I am the kind of woman who will not get things handed to me; I know that I may always have to fight for what I want. I can handle that. But sometimes life and the universe throw me curves, and I feel like I swing and miss. Lately I've felt like that a lot more than usual. So I've taken a step back, and I'm looking at all of this with fresh eyes. I take hope that God will remember me, and He will eventually put things together as they should be. Maybe it won't be with Jake, but I hope it will.

You see, I had a realization, one Sunday as I sat with Jake in the front pews of his church; he stood up to go lead the next song, and as we all I stood, I realized that God had picked him out for me to be with. And so I prayed that God would help me do what it took to stay with him, and to make me the kind of woman Jake deserves. I pray now that He will help to save my relationship, though it is in shambles, and it that is what is meant to be, I know that it will eventually happen. That realization was not the first, but it was one of many. None of those are blogged about here in C & W because they happened before I started this blog. The first occured the first Wednesday I went to church with him; there I was sitting in the Bible Study, and they were talking about how sometimes we set our minds to some sort of desire and fail to realize that God has other plans for us or refuse to accept it. My hands rested on my wornout pink Bible, and I glanced over at Jake. I realized then that I was doing just that, stubbornly clinging to a path that wasn't leading to where I should be. At that point I wasn't sure where my path was supposed to lead or what my path was supposed to be; I just knew my path was wrong. Then I had another realization, one more powerful. I was riding to church with him, and I was struck by how perfect it felt to be headed there with him. I knew in my heart that I belonged with him and that I was supposed to be on a path toward him, but it didn't sink in well I guess. Then came that Sunday morning, sitting in the front pews with him because he was leading singing that day, his arm around my shoulder, my eyes following along in the text, then watching as he stood up to lead another song. Everything seemed so right; I heard this voice telling me that I had to be strong, that I had to hold on, that I should not lose him. And so I tried my hardest to do just that. Then in January I had this realization, and I knew right then, where I was meant to be. All that time I had spent being a fool felt so wasted.

The story of Jacob and Rachel had special significance for us. Jake kept reminding me of that story, over and over, as we struggled to even be able to see each other. I grew to resent that story a little bit, perhaps because it did not give me the kind of hope I wanted or perhaps because I was just so frustrated and missing him so much. But looking at it now, I see it differently.The basic story goes like this. Rachel is the daughter of a proud and sneaky man, who tells Jacob he can marry her after seven years hard labor, and then pulls a sneaky trick by slipping Leah in at the wedding instead. Rachel is who Jacob loves most, and for Rachel he continues to work for his father-in-law. Genesis 29:20 “And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” It was always Jake’s constant reminder that we were so in love that even the longest time apart would seem short in the end. The story continues with Rachel’s struggle to have children, while her sister can easily have them. She prays and prays and begs God for help. Genesis 30:22 "And God remembered Rachel." She kept praying and talking to God and trying. And eventually God answered. That is what I take from the story now. God had a plan for her, and, when it was time, he Brought that plan to fruition. Her prays were answered, and she was blessed. I believe that God has a plan and that, whatever that plan is, He will work with you and bring it about.

Every time Jake and I would have some sort of trouble, be it a set back like my grades or the difficulty we had during Winter Break, I would pray that things would work out. I'd pray for us, pray that I would be a better girlfriend, more patient and less stubborn. Every time I did, I got the same answer "Be strong, have faith, it will all work out. Don't give up." It went something like this:

I had to move to L-Ville and prayed that we could handle the distance: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Getting into the same law school was going to be difficult and I prayed that even if we didn't we could handle it: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
There was absolutely no way we'd get into the same law school and I prayed for strength and patience: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Jake and I were not on the same page mostly because I was an impatient fool and I prayed for help to become a better friend, partner, and girlfriend: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Jake called, deciding we were over and I prayed that we would be able to fix this: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."

Now I find myself on my knees praying that we can save us, that all is not lost. I pray that somehow, some way, the story is not over for us. I pray that we aren't broken forever. I still feel like I'm supposed to be with him. I still feel like that is the plan because I am still getting the same answer. "Be strong, have faith, it will all work out. Don't give up." Maybe the plan has changed, but I just don't think so. We'd come so far, and we were so close. We were so in love and so happy. I know that sometimes things happen and couples fall apart, but I just can't shake the feeling that things aren't right because we are apart. It doesn't make sense (but don't get me started on things that don't make sense). So I'm going to remember the story of Jacob and Rachel, and how God remembered Rachel and answered her prayers and brought His plan for her into fruition. And I'm going to keep praying even if the answer remains the same refrain. "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up." I'm going to what I need to do, and I will survive, no matter what the plan.

Last weekend, the last weekend of freedom I will have until after May 8th or so, was spent getting three inches of my hair chopped off and celebrating Kaylyn's first birthday. Not much to blog about really so here I will just post some pictures.

So I don't have much to write about tonight, but I did cook a real meal. I rarely do so because living alone means having no one to cook for and cooking a big meal for one person is a hassle and a mess that isn't always worth it. Allow me to present tonight's meal, oven roasted pork with potatoes, gravy, rolls, and great northern beans. The meat was a touch too done, but still delicious. Tonight’s meal is rated 8.5 out of 10 for over cooking the meat and not being able to grill or really sear the meat. This is proof I need people to cook for from time to time.

So yesterday was the day of first year oral arguments at the Hall of Justice, and I put on my suit and heels and argued my case. It was like getting back in the saddle again, really. It's been months since I was in the courtroom, and I missed it more than I thought. I felt awesome to put on my pearls, be certain that my hair and make-up looked good, put on a nice suit, and slip into my killer shoes. To stand in front of a judge and start off with "May it please the court...", to address the court and argue with conviction, even though the case was weak, it was thrilling. This may seem lame to my readers, but I live for those moments. All went well, except for the lost car situation (not discussed here because I don't feel like talking about my stupidity beyond saying I completely forgot where I parked because I don't belong in L-ville and don't belong in the big city). So lets us do a recap of being back in the saddle again, or oral arguments.

I arrived with plenty of time to swap my flats (which I drove in because my heels are high) for the killer heels pictured above, adjust my suit and take a deep breath to collect myself. Entering the Hall of Justice brought back memories of mock trial. I did my first regional as witness in those courtrooms, and I also did my first regional as both a captain and attorney there. I felt this surge of power and faith as I watched my things go through the metal detector and stepped through myself. Then I walked into the courtroom, placed my portfolio on the table, and I was alive. Yes, dear reader, I love the courtroom. I love being able to stand there and stand for something. Even if right now, the cases I argue, the people I represent, the job I perform isn't real yet. I love the idea that I can use my passion, my fire, my strength, my brains, to solve problems, to be able to, in some small way, affect the world, make it better. That is why I want to be an attorney so badly.

The argument went well. I wasn't nervous, but I was, as usual, concerned about my accent. It's gotten much stronger, and while I love it, the glorious, lyrical, and attractive Southern drawl can be a hindrance up here in the Northern city. When I worry about my accent it causes me to get tongue tied, but other than that issue I think I did just fine. I hope the judges' written comments were as good as the verbal comments I received. I got compliments on how passionate my argument was, how I argued with conviction even though I had the most difficult side of the case and probably didn't believe in it. Apparently was the only one who answered the question "Without the eyewitness testimony, were you a jury in this case, would you convict?" with a yes. I also got compliments on how well I handled difficult questions, answering them and deflecting them to make them seem much less damaging, and how I was able to use bad facts to my advantage, even though they were potentially extremely damaging to my side. Apparently, several people think that I will make an excellent advocate and a great attorney. So, dear readers, I was back in the saddle yesterday, and it was incredible.

I apologize for my lack of frequent updates and interesting things to read here at Chipped and Wornout; although  it feels odd to apologize for my lack of updates to just three followers. Maybe there are lurkers, I don't know. If you lurk and don't comment, how do I know that you are there? And if you lurk and don't follow me, how do I know you exist? Anyway, apologies for the lack of content.

When I was a teenager (oh man, how old did that phrase just make me feel) I had this pair of worn out jeans that I loved more than any article of clothing in my entire wardrobe. That demonstrates just how much of a tomboy I really was back then because while all the other teen girls around me were obsessed with wearing the cutest clothes, I was in love with a pair of jeans that had somehow managed to last three years and hundreds of washes, had particularly wide flared bottoms, were faded in all the right places, and had holes in a couple of places. These jeans were so shaped to my body that they fit perfectly and were extremely comfortable; it killed me with they finally became too short for my suddenly long legs and too tight for my hips. I immediately began searching for a pair of jeans that were like those that I loved so much, and I finally settled on a pair of light wash Arizona flares, snug at the hip, flared widely at the bottom. I bought two pairs of the style, and I wore them as often as possibe. They fit perfectly, and they were the essence of my personality in denim form, which may sound silly to most people. I always felt my best when I could strut (yes, I did strut in those jeans, with that lovely Southern belle swing in my hips) around wearing that perfect pair of jeans. I was even wearing them well worn as they were, the day I agreed to be Jake's girlfriend in October of 2008. Actually that day was one of the last days I got to wear those jeans because they developed a hole in a place that rendered them unwearable, and I could never find another pair in that style. I was terribly saddened by the loss of my favorite jeans. Well last Friday while shopping with Mama (Spring Break found me at the 'rent's house in the Boro) I found a substitute, that, while not equal to my glorious jeans, is adequate for my needs. I've never liked the idea of buying jeans that are pre-distressed, but I really liked the way the fabric felt and they were the only decent flares in the whole section. (What happened to jeans that flatter women with wider hips? Seriously, skinny jeans make your hips look bigger, while flares balance you out.)

I know, I know, you're thinking, what the heck Nic, why obsess over pants? Also you are probably wondering how a pair of jeans can be the essence of a person. Just like me, those jeans are worn and faded, but still strong enough to handle just about anything. They are full of spunk and fire. They aren't plain, average, or ordinary. They are different, and they make a statement. Well lets put it this way, it was very appropriate that I was wearing those jeans the day I agreed to be Jake's girlfriend. I was coming off a bad relationship and in my typical way I was on fighting back. I was scared to death, but hell bent on recovering, and I really liked him. In fact, as we stood by my blazer in the parking lot, I was thinking "Hell, boy, asking me out already. I know you like me, and I've been flirting shamelessly as obviously as possible so you should know I like you too. If you don't I'm going to have to do it." (Please hear this statement with a Southern drawl) That is typical Nic behavior, and there were a couple of moments that afternoon when I almost grabbed him and kissed him since it seemed that he wasn't getting the idea; that would surely have gotten the point across. I couldn't just stand there and let this not happen. So I sort of drew on their power.

Yes dear readers, behold the power of wornout jeans. I'm sorry this entry is so dull and pointless. Maybe next time I will come up with something interesting.

One of my favorite lines from Sweet Home Alabama (aside from Jake's "Honey, just cause I talk slow don't mean I'm stupid.") is the line in the cemetary where he tells her "Who says you can't have both? You can have roots and wings, Mel." The ex-boyfriend, affectionately called The Coward by my friends, who came before Jake once told me that I wasn't what he called a "nester". He said I wasn't the kind of woman who needed to settle down with a white picket fence and nice little family with lots of kids. He told me that I was the kind of woman who simply needed a home to come back to after my latest adventure was over; I wasn't the kind of woman who was meant to be a happy housewife. I needed a companion for my adventures, someone to go with me on the wild ride that was the life I wanted. He said that I didn't need a man in my life, I simply allowed one into my life because I desired a companion, and because sometimes I required a reminder that I need to eat and sleep and take care of myself when I get all wrapped up in taking care of everything and everyone else. I laughed at the time; I was twenty years old, and I had no idea what kind of woman I really was or what I was meant to be. Funny, now that I think about it, perhaps in a way he was right. I want both; I want to have roots and wings.

I want to have a home that is my own to come back to, a place that is my own sanctuary, but I really don't want the perfect little house in a subdivision with a little backyard and a white picket fence. Somewhere tucked away with the rest of my old sketchbooks and notebooks is a design for that house in my dreams. It's all laid out in detail, carefully drawn on graph paper. (I was in maybe the seventh or eighth grade when I drew it, and I was sitting in the huge living room of my Nanny's house as my Pa drew a layout for a project that never happened.) It was perfect, designed to suit both my personality and my career choice, and I have dreamed of that house for a long time. It's changed over the years, just a bit; for instance extra things were added when the person I wanted to share my home with made suggestions. That house, sitting on five or more acres of the best land I could buy, is where my roots would be. The life I want to lead isn't exactly simple. I want to do something big. I want to save the world. I want to be able help children in need and stop the evils of abuse and child trafficking; I want to make a difference in this world. I want to fight crime, put the bad guy behind bars, and change the world. I want to spread my wings, and I want to fly.The path I want to follow is not one that lends itself to settling down, and even if I wanted to settle down, now is definitely not the time. I predict long hours ahead of me, and sleepless nights. I can see the difficulties that my life will bring. I can see a little shoebox apartment, just a bit bigger than the current Shoebox I live in, one bedroom, and maybe a little dog. Nothing fancy, just place to rest my head.

I didn't want to marry Jake and settle down. The reason I wanted to marry him was because I love him, and I wanted to share my life with him. He was partner, my best friend, and the best thing to ever happened to me. It wasn't that I wanted to settle down; there is still too much life to live and too much to be done. I wanted to share my adventures with him, to have him by my side. It was never about settling down; it was about the fact that no one matched me the way he did. I'm hard to handle, mostly because I'm stubborn, willful, sarcastic, hard headed, full of fire and sparks and insanity, sometimes moody, almost always snarky, goofy, and all around a mess. This means that if you are going to be my partner, you have to be prepared to deal with that. There are very few men that I have met in my life who have been able to handle me. I was surprised that Jake could, but he did. Being with Jake and possibly marrying him wasn't ever about being settled down. It was about having a companion to have adventures with, someone who knew me, someone I love. I don't need a man in my life, but I chose to allow Jake in because I care about him and love him. Now he walked out, decided I wasn't the woman he wanted, and I can get by alone. I just don't want to live without him. If I must, I will go on, but I'd like to have the chance to get back what I lost. I have roots and wings, but I have no companion.

The weather is beautiful, which means that if this gorram Yankee city wasn't so barren and dead looking I could take some really great pictures. But alas, nothing nice to photograph. I'm sure that if I really felt inspired I could come up with some artistic shots of this place. I just am not inspired by Yankee-ville, sorry to say, and I haven't got the time to go be all creative. This saddens me because I love photography, and I would love to spend some time with just my camera and my iPod. Hopefully there will be at least a little time next week during Spring Break, between the massive amount of outlining that needs to be done. I am behind on that sort of thing because of the outline, which is apparently normal according to several 2L and 3L students. Hopefully if I can just sit down and do it the outlining will not take 40 hours of my break so that I have no time to relax and breathe. I also want to do some writing and some drawing. I really want to do some creative work. I haven't got the chance to do much in the way of creativity lately because of my busy schedule.

Last week, around Wednesday night, I finally broke my glasses. I couldn't even tape them to get through the week Harry Potter style. They snapped right in half at the nose piece. That meant that, while I had intended to stay at the Shoebox and work, I had to go home to the Boro for an eye exam to get new glasses and new contacts. I really love eye exams (haha, yeah right), especially the glaucoma test where they puff air at your eyeball. It always, I mean always, takes three or four times per eye to get it right. I spent Friday working on my brief (foul creature though it is) and watching curling. Saturday morning I went for my eye exam and then had a heart attack when I saw just how much it cost me to handle my eye issues. $75 for the exam, $50 for my contacts, $52 for my frames, and $110 for my lenses. That is outrageous, not going to lie. Our insurance doesn't cover contacts and glasses, just the exam, and I forgot to mention the insurance when I did the appointment, but it's really just a big hassle anyway. That afternoon though I got to see my cousin Erica's baby, and she is such a little doll. I didn't think I was ever going to see her (family issues suck), so I was very excited to see her. She looks like her mama, right down to the big blue eyes and chubby cheeks. I failed to take pictures, mainly because she was still dealing with a slight cough and runny nose after her bought with pnuemonia and the lighting was really bad. I promise that the next time I see her I will take lots and lots of pictures.

When I got home last night I didn't intend to go grocery shopping because I was really tired, but after seeing the ridiculous parking situation going on and realizing how much I would have to do tonight, I decided to go ahead and do my shopping. Of course that means going across the river to Indiana, but its not so bad when there is no traffic. I am one of "those people" when it comes to shopping. I don't just grab the first item I see. I am that woman you see studying a cut of meat to determine whether I like the amount of fat or looking through the apples to select shiny ones that are firm and nicely colored. I am a food snob, and I think you should be conscious of what you are putting in your body. Good ingredients make good dishes, and so when I'm picking out veggies to make a tomato sauce (which I can't do in the Shoebox because I have no blender and no room) I pick out the freshest tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions, for example.  On that note, I am making a diluted version of my father's "Savage's Dear God Lasagna", which is a version of my Aunt Bessie Petrillo's delicious recipe, and so I was picking out decent pasta, cheese, ground beef, and pasta sauce (I hate sauce from the jar, but can't make my own at the moment). I hate that I cannot afford several of the needed ingredients and thus cannot make a truly good lasagna, but I will survive. It will provide me with plenty of leftovers for lunches and dinners, which is always a plus.

I am not pleased with the current weather. It was very pretty this weekend, but not its gloomy and wet and unpleasant. Boo weather, you fail. This is not really worthy of a paragraph all to it's self, but its not related to anything else either.

I am well aware of how pathetic my last posts have been. Losing someone you love makes you feel pathetic though. I think that part of my problem is that I've let the pressure of law school, the unpleasantness of being fairly isolated, and the distance (and now the loss) cause me to become something I'm not. I know that I am strong; I've always been a strong person both mentally and emotionally. I'm stubborn, willful, determined, and I never give up. I hold my own even when I'm carrying the weight of the world. I take on everything, and I don't let things knock me down. I am independant. I can get by on my own. I have always said that I can live alone and get by without having someone, but I choose not to do it. I don't want to go through life alone, but if I have to, I can. But lately I've been crumbling. I let it make me soft, pathetic, and weak, and it started long before the recent insanity. Those are not attractive qualities, and this pathetic woman I seem to be right now is not the woman that Jake fell in love with. Perhaps that was part of what caused this to happen. I am working on it though. Yes, I hope that some miracle will happen, and things will go back to the way they were, when everything was good and happy and wonderful. But I'm not going to obsess over it, not going let it destroy me. Will I just forget it? No. Will I give up completely on saving something that means so much to me? No. But I am going to "woman up". I am going dig into my well of strength and independence and manage to get through things. I am a strong independant woman, and its time for me to be that woman again. I know I can do it, and I will.

Well, I have a lot to do and need to get started before I cook dinner. I will now leave you with a fun veiw of my to-do list for the week:

Late Monday night it started to snow, so much so that Tuesday's classes were canceled and we had a delay Wednesday. It's finally stopped, but we have six or so inches on the ground. Wednesday morning when I went out to go to class it took me forever to knock the snow off the blazer and then inch my way over the huge pile of snow where they plowed our parking lot. I love snow, but I don't enjoy the way it affects my usual routine. I'm a fan of snow, but not really winter or cold. On a positive note, until they scraped the sidewalks and the cars drove on it, L-ville was a pretty sight all covered in white.

Ok, so tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and, regardless of whatever relationship insanity I am currently experiencing, I will be spending it exactly as I had planned minus a phone call. I planned to use this weekend to work on my Brief (oh how I hate that Brief) and my outlines; I had also planned on calling Jake and telling him just how much I loved him, talking since we have been apart so long, and perhaps even plotting some sort of adventure to make up for the lack of V-Day fun that we would be experiencing. Now, I will just spend the weekend working on the Brief and outlining and writing a letter. Last Valentine's Day I got all girled up and sparkly, and I baked these killer cookies shaped like lips with red sugar sprinkles. They were brilliant and I was so proud of how they came out. Jake and I went out to Longhorn (My parents were there, only we somehow managed to not cross paths with them; what luck) and then to see The Pink Panther 2 because we had already seen Bride Wars (the only real date movie playing) two weeks prior. It was fantastic, and I still have the card that he gave me. I remember how he spent fifteen minutes or more writing in it while we waited to be seated. I miss those kinds of memories. This Valentine's Day I will spend the day in the Shoebox, surrounded by textbooks and case law. I will make bold, if fruitless, efforts not to cry like a little girl, and I will try to remain hopeful that some sort of miracle will take place.

I love my friends, my married friends, my engaged friends, my when the heck are you going to just give her a ring friends, my dating and happy to with their partner friends, and my single friends. I have friends who are married and not expecting children anytime in the near future; I have friends who are married and expecting their first baby, and I have newly wed friends. I also have friends who have been engaged and are rapidly approaching their wedding days, and I have friends who are newly engaged. I have friends who are dating wonderful people, and I have friends who should stop with the mushy facebook love and just get hitched already. I'm happy for all these friends, and happy for the single ones who are happy with being single. I think of all these friends with a smile and wish them the very best, but then I think of my current situation, which has brought me to tears, brought me to my knees, broken my heart, made me question lots of things, caused me to lose lots of sleep, messed with my appetite, and in general messed me up. I cannot count the number of times that I have reached for the phone, trying to get up the courage to even talk to him. Every time I think that I can manage to just say hi, I panic, drop the phone, and bite back tears. The number never gets dialed, and the text is never even started. There are so many things I want to say to him, but I feel like he is avoiding me, like he will keep avoiding me until I give up on us. But I can't give up, I just can't. He seems to be operating just fine without me, but I'm falling apart inside. I love him. Is that wrong? Am I supposed to just kill those feelings? Because I can't do that. If I could just move on, if I didn't feel like this is all wrong, if I didn't have this feeling that I'm not supposed to give up on us, I would.

I still don't understand why it happened. I'm afraid people think that I hurt him, that I did something horrible. Isn't that funny? A part of me wants it known that he chose to break it off, not me. A part of me wants it understood that I didn't leave him and I didn't walk away. I guess the evil and sarcastic Nic would rather not have the idea that she hurt the man she loves, that she walked away from it, that she gave up on the best thing that ever happened to her, floating around out there. Maybe I'm not so strong and mean and nasty after all. I'm so afraid that I screwed up our relationship; in fact, I'm almost positive that something I did ruined it all. You see, once upon a time there was this woman and this man, and they met at just the right moment in a classroom. They were both a little bit lost, and they found each other. It was good, and it was wonderful, and it was everything love is supposed to be. But she was all damaged, and she let her fear and stupidity get in the way. She thought they could get passed it, and she thought they would be OK despite it all. But it wasn't, and she lost him. I'm so afraid that I did hurt him, that I did do something wrong. It hurts so much. I am so lonely, and I miss my other half. The thing is, I need him in my life, which may say sound insane, but I do.

I promise that I will come up with an entry before this weekend is over, but country music sort of says exactly what I want I am feeling and what I want to say. I don't really like posting just the lyrics to songs and what not because that is not what my blog is about, but this just needed to be done. It's been echoing in my ears for a while. So at this time the best way to convey my emotions is Clay Walker's "This Woman and This Man".

So much is on my heart right now that I can't just let it build up; I guess I just need to blog it out for now. I don't keep a journal, so this is what I do. Maybe I shouldn't blog about this particular issue, but I promised myself that I would use this blog to chronicle my life through law school and beyond, and this is big part of my life. (Besides, I'm pretty sure I don't have a huge number of readers.)

Make-up miracles are in store in the life of Nic for a while, I think. Black eyeliner and mascara, strategically done in combination with the right amount of concealer and light eyeshadow, manages to cover the puffiness of my sleep-deprived, red teary eyes. Nothing will suck the pretty out of your face like the look of loss, hurt, and heartbreak; the one exception is that when I cry, the gold amid the green in my hazel eyes suddenly pops, and they look all bright and shiney. Funny fact: my eyes are pretty when I cry, the rest of me is not. That is what I've been doing off and on since Thursday night, crying my eyes out. I've also been doing a lot of praying and a lot of dragging myself  through my work at a snail's pace. I know that it sounds pathetic, but nothing seems right anymore. Who am I going to save the world with now? I would gladly let him go into politics and pass the laws that save the world and I will prosecute the offenders. He was my partner, my best friend, my better half. I need my partner back, the man who makes me grin like a fool for no apparent reason, who believed in me when no one else did, who brought me back to life so to speak. I would gladly give up everything I have just to have him back. I'm trying so hard to give him time, hoping that time will bring him around and we will be able to be together again. It feels so strange not to have text message conversations that last all day about nothing what-so-ever. I miss the way hearing my phone ring or feeling it vibrate and seeing that he was calling or that there was a text message from him. I wonder if he misses that too. I wonder if he misses the random, "I love you" texts, the random "I miss you" messages. I wonder if he misses the way we shared our inner hopes, thoughts, and dreams. I wonder if it feels as strange to him as it does to me not to be swapping texts about the little things that make us smile or laugh. I wonder if this hurts him as much as it hurts me. I'm afraid that he's gotten over me, over us, that he finds it so much easier to just move on and forget us. I'm afraid I've lost him forever.

Like I said in the last entry, I'm afraid this all comes from something I've done, and to be quite honest, I'm willing to change whatever that was. I will change my ways, my stupidity, my insanity. I will do anything I can. I will give up my vices, learn to watch my mouth. I will never talk about the future unless he brings it up. I will be nothing but supportive no matter what that means. I could care less about settling down and building the log house and all that. It doesn't matter anymore, and I don't think that it ever did. Everything is in better perspective now; none of those things mattered to begin with because the only thing that really mattered was being together, being there for each other, having each other to lean on, and loving each other. What mattered and what still matters is that we knew each other, we shared with each other, we were close, and we were just us and it was good. I had this happily ever after all thought out, but none of that matters without him. None of it does at all. I'm not sure that he will ever come back to read this thing (I know he used to read it because he would tell me what he thought), but if you are reading this Jake: I'm sorry if I ever made it seem like what mattered most to me was settling down and the future and all that other BS. None of that ever mattered so much as what was good about being together. None of it matters at all in comparison. I'm sorry if I allowed our spark to grow dim, darlin; I should've been paying closer attention. I'd give absolutely anything to fix that. I'm sorry if I did something to make you stop believing in us. I still believe; I really do believe in us. I'm sorry if I didn't show you just how much I appreciated what we had, and I'm sorry if I didn't show you just how much I love you and believe in you. I'm currently writing a letter, one that I don't know that I will have the courage to give to you, one that I'm not sure you will read, one I'm not sure really will matter much at all or do any good because if you have given up on us (a fact that I can barely stand to think about) then it won't really matter whether you know why I think this should be saved, that explains all of this so much better. It may seem sort of crazy  to say this here instead of directly to him, but sometimes I can write or type what I want to say better than I can every say it in person.

Some of my friends, well our friends, are already wondering what went wrong, and I don't know what to say to them. I love my friend Tiff because she is such a sweetheart; she was so concerned and so willing to help. "But you two were so perfect together... it was so obvious that you were good together. When you two were together you lit up the room. It was so clear you adored each other." She immediately wondered what was up with the sudden change and even offered to talk to him for me. I told her not to, that I didn't think that it was a great idea to interrogate him. (The idea that such an action would both make me seem pathetic and would push Jake farther away if there is a chance that I might be able to fix it). If I thought it would help, if I thought maybe it would do something to fix things and get us back together, I would let her ask, let her talk to him about it. But somehow doubt that it would do much good to have that happen. I guess that my best hope is prayer and patience (which I lack) and faith and the strength of heart and determination (which is something I've always had). So right now, I'm wandering about the world right now, pretending that I'm not falling apart, sitting in my classes, staring straight ahead, biting my lip really hard every time Jake's face flashes across my mind, fighting back the tears every time my heart starts aching because I think of something that I want to tell him or want to show him, and in general just taking a deep breath and grinding it out.

Pretty much I'm living this song by the Carter Twins: