Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans

Vain and Gratuitous Picture to update you on my appearance (edited in photoshop out of boredom)

But the problem with a blog when you have no life is that you have nothing to write about. Most of the time my life consists of playing in Photoshop, occasionally writing on novels that may never be finished, tons of reading, and cooking (lots and lots of cooking). Just a reminder, I talk about my culinary adventures at A Taste of Joy, and I promise to update that blog more often. In fact, my goal is to blog more from now on, and hopefully I can manage that.

Before I start with the updates on what little has transpired in the life of Nic, let me begin by saying that this blog will hopefully become a lot more interesting. I’m not going to be blogging about major political issues or anything like that, though I may talk about important issues that have been on my mind a lot, but I am going to hopefully talk more about life as I experience it. This includes blogging about the books I read, the movies I see, things I see, and things that happen in my life. Whether or not that will be interesting or worth reading is yet to be determined, but writing used to be a great outlet for me; I intend to let it be that again. So on with the blogging.

As I mentioned earlier, I have been doing a lot of reading, and you can find my Goodreads updates both on my sidebar and by visiting my account. I’m open to book recommendations and friends there. I plan to blog more about my literary adventures, including reviews of sorts of the books I’m reading.

Currently I am halfway through a re-read of George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones so that I can move on to reading A Clash of Kings, and it’s one of those books that is so dense and rich that reading it a second time gives you more to love. Let me take a moment to talk about this book in general, without giving away too much, and then when I’ve finished I will write an actual review.

Martin’s writing style is very heavy, and he tends to be very wordy; however, for me that is not a deterrent so long as the story continues to move forward at a decent pace, which for the most part he does. He has a sort of Joss Whedon wickedness about him, in that you will fall in love with characters only to have them viciously taken from you via death. But his characters are deliciously human, and even the villains are realistic. I absolutely love that there are characters to love, characters you’ll love to hate, and characters you find yourself cheering for despite misgiving. The story rotates through their various points of view, which can be very daunting, and some of his chosen narrators leave a lot to be desired (I’m looking at you Sansa Stark, you little simpering whiner); however, each narrator weaves a brilliant portion of the overall tapestry, bringing their subplots and motivations.

The world is richly developed, and while there are underlying elements of high fantasy (dragons, direwolves, magic, and the mysterious Others), the fantasy aspect is cleverly worked into the overall story without bombarding the reader. It is not a book for the squeamish or those uncomfortable with sex, violence, and death, but I highly recommend it for fantasy lovers who want something thick and detailed to feed a need for heroes and villains.
Other books I’m reading:

• Eona by Allison Goodman
• Brisingr by Christopher Paolini
• Kushiel’s Dart by Jacqueline Carey

The only update I have for now is that I have two mapped out but unfinished barely started novels. One is a futuristic dystopian work called NeverWonder and the other is a historical fantasy work that has yet to be named.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

I am back in the Shoebox, warming up and finishing the last of my homework for tomorrow. Like I mentioned last entry, I went on the church retreat in Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge with Jake and the young adult group from his church. Have you ever felt like your spirit, your heart, your mind, and (yes this sounds cheesy) your soul has been sort of recharged, revived, and renewed? Well coming back from that retreat that's sort of how I feel.

Friday night we arrived at the cabin, after a hilarious trip up to the mountains; we went through Maryville, which looked like a low rent version of Woodbury, TN, passed a really seedy looking place (it was obviously some sort of strip club) that looked to have a $1 an hour motel attached, and went through an area where we could swear we were hearing banjo music (Deliverance style). The parking situation wasn't pleasant, but we made do; of course we hadn't eaten, so we went to TGIFriday's for a late dinner with another couple. It was fun to go out and chat with another couple. We played a little air hockey and relaxed. Saturday morning we got up, had breakfast, and then the morning devotional. The topic was Today, as in living for Today; I found myself recalling the fact that I am really bad about regrets at times. I get hung up in the past, and I fail to live for Today. There is so much good happening right now, and I know that if I'm not paying attention I will miss it. I have a good life; I have a great family, a future, and the most wonderful man in my life. During the day, Jacob and I went with two other couples and a friend of his to Gatlinburg where we just sort of browsed for the day. It was nice to just wander around and have nothing to do. There were some people doing the Free Hug thing, which Jake was creeped out by, but other than that it was a nice relaxing trip.

That evening Jake and I snuggled on the couch, and I sort of half watched the Cardinals/Saints game, since it was on in the main sitting area. I really didn't care what was on the television at that point so long as Jacob ad I could stay where we were on the couch. Saturday night's devotional type thing was about Forgiveness, which brings me to the title of the entry. I tend to have trouble forgiving myself for my past mistakes; I will spend quite some time beating myself up over things that I can't change. This is also part of that whole living for today bit. I've also been holding on to a touch of bitterness from that old heartbreak from almost a year and a half ago, and I really shouldn't. Part of me sometimes wishes that the ex finds himself realizing that he's missed out; part of me wishes that he had just a little bit of regret for leaving me. But, as we sat watching House on TV and I absently played with Jake's hair, I got to thinking. I really don't have to keep being angry and bitter about the old wounds; they've mostly healed up, and I've got this fantastic man in my life who treats me better than I could ever ask and loves me. And if I just let go, I will be able to live, to really live. I can let it go and wish the ex well, because I can move on with my life. I've got a whole lot to look forward to now.

It was great weekend, something I really needed. It was great to spend some time just relaxing, and it was pretty cool to sort of live in the same house with Jake. The mountains were beautiful, the lessons were powerful, and it was just the sort of recharging, reviving, and renewing that I needed. There was something great about the singing this weekend, too. There is nothin' quite like listening to Jake sing, and I was sitting next to him; he's got a great voice, and it sort of reaches you at times. To sing with him is amazing. There was something about adding my voice to the other voices lifted to sing to and for God that was really powerful. Music has always spoken to me, and I guess it always will. C.S. Lewis wrote about the Deep Magic in his Chronicles of Narnia, which anyone who really knows their C.S. Lewis, and most people with any brains at all, knows is a series about Christianity and Jesus and faith. The Deep Magic is part of what connects Narnia's inhabitants to each other in the same way that faith and a common love and belief in God and Jesus connects Christians. I think that part of what rings for me is that when we were singing, you could feel that connection, that Deep Magic so to speak. I don't have a great voice, but I do love to sing; there was something amazing about singing those songs with Jake and the rest of the group.

This particular line we sang hit me. "Lord you know just where I've been so light the fire in my heart again". I was in desperate need of recharge, not only in mind and body, but in spirit. And this weekend helped with that. Sunday morning there was a time where we all sat in silence and if anyone had anything to say to the group, they could. I don't know how it happened, but I just suddenly felt the need to say how grateful I was to be there. And as sort of lame as it was, I cried. I couldn't help it; all of a sudden it was just there and I felt like I had to speak up in a way I hadn't before, at least in front of those people. There is something to be said about being completely recharged all over, body, mind, heart, and spirit. Sometimes things just happen, and I know they happen for a reason. I was meant to love and lose the ex because I was meant to hurt enough for my eyes to open. I was meant to find my way to where I am now. There is a reason that I'm not with the first boy I ever loved. I was supposed to meet Jake, I was supposed to love him, and I am suppose to be with him. I prayed a lot for God to show me the way, and then like a typical blind human being, I wasn't paying attention. I'm paying attention now.

I know that I will be too busy to blog tomorrow since I'm having a girl's day out with Mama during the day and then I'm going to be at MTSU judging mock trial tomorrow night. However, I really wanted to do this post because it is really important to me and I'm trying to make this blog worth what visits it gets. Tomorrow is To Write Love on Her Arms day, and if you don't know what that is click this link right here: TWLOHA. It's a movement about self love and the prevention of self injury and suicide; it's about fighting addiction and depression and  And it's personal for me for a reason I will get to in a moment. So tomorrow on the inside of my left wrist in small black letters you will find the word love; I'd do it a little bigger but there is a need for me to look at least semi-professional and presentable at the tournament.

I said that for me TWLOHA is personal. That's because when I was a sophomore in college, which seems so long ago, I lost a good friend to suicide; it's something that I will never really forget. That phone call from a friend who was like a brother, hearing his voice shake as he tried to tell me the news, the tears I could hear over the phone, they are as clear to me as that night I got the midnight message. I can still feel the shock, the pain, the confusion, and the loss like it happened yesterday. The scream in my head was that this was some sick joke, that it could never happen to one of us. We were invincible, all powerful, untouchable, blessed. Our diverse group had seen enough damage, emotional baggage, and hurt. But in the end that stuff just seemed so petty and minor. Who gave a damn about break ups, hang ups, and stupid fights? He was dead, and we couldn't bring him back. We'd broken the one thing we'd promised as people began graduating and moving. To always be there; to never let anything happen to us. I can still remember the funeral, the tears running down my cheeks, the sudden realization of my own mortality, the way the wind cut through my sweater as I stood beside my friends watching the casket lower into the ground, and the way we all tried not to fall to pieces. It was not the first time that I knew someone who had committed suicide, but it was the first time it was so close to me. I remember thinking: "God, why did You let this happen? Why take him from us? Why didn't You stop him? Why didn't You give us some kind of sign that he needed us?" And I remember blaming myself for not noticing, for letting our little group of friends fall apart just because we were no longer having lunch all together and meeting up as often, for being too wrapped up in the drama and insanity of my own life. I remember wondering most of all: Why he felt there was no other answer, why he thought that it was the only way, why he hadn't come to me or to any one of our group? Did he think we didn't care, that we wouldn't drop everything to save him, that we wouldn't listen, that we could not do anything? He was supposed to be the sane one, and he had been our rock when we needed him. He'd talked us through so many hard times. He'd kept us together. I remember feeling as though we'd failed him, though I knew that we hadn't really. We'd loved him, and we hadn't known he was in trouble. I still wonder what life would be like had we known something and been able to save him. Would our little group have stayed together instead of scattering to the winds? I don't know, but I do know that I will always miss him and always wish that something had saved him. I remember him because he was my friend, because he was my brother, and because I loved him like a brother.

So I write love on my arm for Nathan, who saw no other option, for the friends we've all lost, and the one's we will try to save. I write love on my arm and whisper a prayer for those who need help. I ask God to send an angel to those people who are lost and searching for an answer. I write love on my arm because my life matters and so does everyone else's. I write love on my arm because we are all in this together and because you never know when you will turn the corner and find someone in need. I write love on my arm in memory of those who have gone and those who are saved. I write love on my arm for everyone out there.