wake me when the hour arrives


This song has seen me through some tough times.

I keep hearing keys rattling, cars pulling in. I always think it’s him; even though I know it isn’t because he is someplace else. 

I thought he would be home by now, and it splits me apart that he isn’t. I cannot lie. I miss his lips. I miss his everything.




adventures in cohabitation: the first two weeks

Moving in with the man of my dreams is pretty much something I’ve been waiting for over the last 7 years, all whilst I was holed up in a VERY small and dingy “one bedroom” (try broom closet) on my own. It was the only thing I could afford, and moving in with family/roommates wasn’t an option, so I slummed it for a LONG ass time. I had no space for my stuff and the landlord was HORRIBLE. I wasn’t going to move in with “just anyone” so I’m glad I waited for my Prince Charming to come along. He’s never lived on his own – just with his parents. I had concerns about this, of course (and still kind of do). Living alone, while challenging in many ways, is a life experience I think I’m better for. (However, once you’re no longer living alone, you’re presented with a whole new set of challenges and adjustments.) After much deliberation, discussion and apartment hunting (oh joy!) we found the perfect pad for us and actually made the move. Here are some observations, realities and lessons from the last two weeks.

#1. Moving SUCKS.

No matter how much we hear how stressful moving is, the concept is always a bit abstract until you actually DO it. When K and I first started discussing our move, I began weeding through my stuff. I would recommend this to anyone, whether you move or not. Make it a habit to comb through your closet/drawers at least once a year—the rule of anything not worn in a year goes is a great rule. I thought I had done well in my paring down process and I still feel like I’m drowning in STUFF. I especially felt that way on the day before and day of my move, packing and carrying heavy boxes in 95 degree heat (thank you, New England heat wave)!

#2. It takes longer than you think to settle in.

Almost 2 weeks later and we still have some boxes kicking around and pictures that haven’t been hung, and we’re not quite sure what we want to do with our combined MASSIVE DVD/blu-ray collection. It’s getting there though. Over the past week I’m still locating missing items that were tucked away during the packing process.

#3. We mesh, as I predicted we would.

We generally like the same styles of furniture/artwork and have a similar threshold of neatness/cleanliness. I’m definitely the slob in  this partnership, but neither of us is OCD clean/neat or atrociously sloppy. I’ve heard horror stories of chores not being done, and had some issues with that on my first go-around at playing house when I was 18, but this time around we’re doing fine at household tasks, at least I think so. I am very lucky to have a boyfriend who will scoop the cat box (my cats!) without being asked.

#4. There are some pitfalls/adjustments…also as predicted.

The first night I came home to K, I freaked out. There was loud music blasting and he was cooking dinner somewhat incorrectly. Something about the loud music and cooking technique jarred me and made me spaz out on poor bf. (Or I can blame PMS…) I called my BFF and she talked me down. Our little “differences” we’ve all been able to talk through. Bf will KILL me for putting this on the internet, but he isn’t exactly skilled in the kitchen (yet). Specific instructions must be given, or disaster ensues. (Maybe not disaster, but at least little discord; it’s always been this way, and I knew what I was getting into.)  I’m told by all the older ladies in my life – it’s a man thing. Sexist as it sounds, nothing can be done. And bf tries, and does a lot. He’s learning how to cook and task in a house, what products are used when. He’s also an expert at assembling furniture, which I know I would be rubbish at if I tried! (Honey if you read this, I love you!)

#5. It’s not all fun and games.

Of course I knew this, but it’s true. We both work, and I attend evening classes. There’s plenty of work to be done when you first move—unpacking, organizing, etc. The cats have developed some odd behaviors with the move and I feel bad that K has to do some feline cleanup—but we both knew that was coming. Even though we see each other every day, we kiss goodbye at 6:30/7 am when he leaves for work and often don’t see each other again until 7:30-11:30 pm, depending on our schedules. And in a weird way, I miss our nightly phone calls to each other, even though we get to “touch feet” every night these days, I will always treasure our pre-cohabitation days. Pining for each other was romantic.

Overall though…so worth it.

I love our apartment. It’s huge compared to my old place, in the cutest little town. We have a deck that overlooks trees/rocks and a Little League field, which we have set up with patio furniture. Almost every night we eat our dinner out there together and get to unwind. We can shoot zombies together on Xbox and watch our favorite movies and shows. Our relationship hasn’t really changed that much. We still laugh and play a ton, and we get to have sex whenever we want (which is ALL the time, lucky us!).

I find it hard to believe that there’s still much of a debate about couples living together before marriage. In my opinion, it’s foolish not to. Yes, it’s a big risk if it doesn’t work out, but it’s important to see what it’s like before getting contractual. Not everyone who shacks up may have marriage as their end-game, but we certainly do. It’s important to talk about that before moving in. I’ve read other blogs where women have moved in with their men and haven’t talked about marriage/kids prior. If you’re sharing a space, that should be on the docket for discussion. K and I have always been very vocal about what we want—and yes, we do want to get married, someday. It’s nice to know where things are (hopefully) going…and even nicer to come home to him. ❤

you are my alligator

Sunday night & I’m crawling through my sadness alongside a cup of yogi tea and finding reasons to make myself cry because I miss him and I need to. I should be used to this now. Safety in his arms and then back to myself; I’m unmoored.

So there’s this, favorite part of one of my favorite movies, and such a lovely and simple song.

It’s a fear, it is near.
the shape becomes ever clear.
It bares teeth, extra sharp, that’ll cut you in the heart.
It attacks really quick, try and fight it with a stick.
It’s no use, give it up, this is life and this is love.

You are my alligator
You are my alligator

I don’t know if I want children.

I’ve never been a baby person. I do like little kids, especially little girls (pink, princesses, Barbies!), but babies never interested me. I didn’t go to college right after high school, so when I got my first real job at the age of 18, I noticed the celebration of mother and baby was like nothing I’d ever seen. Having a baby, it seemed, was the ultimate achievement in a woman’s life. I married far too young and divorced quickly, and when I went out into the world on my own at the age of 20, I was relieved to not have the burden of children. I spent most of my twenties partying, working way too hard just to (barely) scrape by, and dating around. I was heavily influenced by the “Carried Bradshaw” lifestyle, which centered around men, going out, shopping, and living on my own doing whatever I damn well pleased. I had a couple of meaningful relationships but none of them brought up the subject of a real future together, someone I wanted to be with until the end. Until last August, when I met the love of my life.


I’m 27 now (28 in August). I just began taking college classes about a month ago, and am working full time at a job I don’t really like. The company is decent, the setting relaxed, and the pay is decent for what it is, although I still struggle to get by. My boyfriend and I are poised to move in together within the next few weeks or months, and with that come a lot of change-driven issues (about which I could write a whole other post), one being to have children, or not to have children. On my first date with my boyfriend, I texted my best friend from the bathroom “he’s so amazing. I want to have 1,000 of his babies.” And I really thought I did. (Not right away, of course!) We fell in love pretty quickly, and like all the cliches would tell you, when you meet the right person, you “just know.” I couldn’t imagine ever loving a human being more. He’s my best friend, my partner, my lover, my teacher. It isn’t perfect and lord knows I’m not, but I know he’s the best one I’ll ever hope to find. If there was ever a person to share a life and start a family with, it would be him. Without a shadow of a doubt.

But I’m having doubts. Serious doubts. We discussed this, and it started in jest – I tend to poke fun at other people our age and younger who have children. They don’t have the level of freedom that we do, financial or otherwise. It’s so fucking typical. Can’t they contribute something more meaningful to the world than carbon copies of themselves? They have to deal with diapers and daycare, soccer practice and PTA meetings, or making sure their babies/children don’t somehow hurt themselves. This may seem odd to some, but I really haven’t the faintest clue what being a parent would be like. I only know what I see on TV and secondhand from coworkers; as I’m an only child with no hands-on experience with kids. Ever. I don’t really have the biological “itch” to reproduce. I guess every now and then I’ll see some episode of a show or a movie that is touching, but I don’t know if it’s me being compelled to reproduce, or me just reacting to what I’m seeing at face-value.

While I know it’s not at all fair or kind to ridicule someone else’s choice to have a family, I think it may stem from my own fear of reproducing. I am literally TERRIFIED of having children for a host of reasons. I was born into dysfunctional family. My mother was pregnant at age 35; my father was 39. Neither of them planned on being parents. When I got old enough, my mom told me she and my father had never discussed having children. My father was abusive towards my mother, and very controlling. (I believe I’ve inherited my father’s anger and control issues. Thanks, Dad.) For most of my childhood, my life was my mother. She was a stay-at-home mom, and she doted on me like you wouldn’t believe. My parents split when I was seven, and things got really weird then. Shuffling between parents, getting caught in their divorce – needless to say, it was bad. I’ve been estranged from my father since age 20. My mother and I remain close to this day.

Add to this the fact that I just began college at age 27, ten years after most people do. I’m so happy I’m finally on my way to getting my education, but the time investment makes me wonder. I’m going to be working on school and career goals at the time when my biological clock begins ticking the loudest. I think the “best time” for me to have children will be around 31-33. (When I was younger, I thought if i had kids, I would have had them by now…but I digress. Life happened.) Does having children mean I’ll forfeit my professional goals and my pursuit of a higher self? All of this also creates some resentment towards my boyfriend, who chose the so-called “right path” and did college right out of high school, got his teaching certification and is pursuing his career as an English teacher. Something I always saw myself doing (maybe), only I dicked off for too long to make that a reality.

I don’t know why I don’t think I want to have kids. It isn’t just one reason. I’m terrified of the damage it will do to my career, my home, my body (weight/stretch marks/c section scars, tearing/pregnancy pain/labor pain), my relationship, my sex life. I also don’t know if I even believe in reproduction just for reproduction’s sake. How could I ever, even for a fleeting second, consider bringing a sentient being into the world if I didn’t want it with all of my heart and soul? There are so many children in this world that aren’t wanted, or treated right, or even given a fighting chance. It’s such a huge ethical dilemma. Most people don’t consider the overpopulation of the planet and its dwindling resources when considering their family. I’m sure those John and Kate Plus 8 people didn’t. But I do. On many levels, I feel that having natural-born children is narcissistic and selfish, especially in today’s environmental and economic climate. However, I understand the biological urge to do so: To have something to call your own, to create something larger than yourself, a piece of yourself that will last longer than you do. (Narcissism again? Maybe…)

So my boyfriend, the absolute love of my life – he wants children someday. Not even in the next few years, but someday. And while he sees the benefits of not having children, he has that deep, innate, biological desire to be a father. I love him so much. I wish I hungered for it the same way he did. We’ve discussed this at heartbreaking length and have yet to draw any concrete conclusions. I can’t promise him a child, but I can’t necessarily rule it out. Maybe, as so many people have told me over the years, I will change my mind. But maybe I won’t. Sometimes I’ll read or see something that pulls at my heart. I try to compartmentalize. “Do I want this? Or do I just think it’s sweet?” The image that compels me most of all is almost always the same. It’s me with my love in a big soft bed, with a baby in between us. Sunlight is pouring in through the window. No one is talking. Everything is still and perfect.

And that’s what keeps me from saying “no, never.”

I love New Year’s.


It’s one of the most hyped-up holidays – everyone’s trying to attend the coolest party and have the perfect midnight kiss. I have always loved New Year’s, especially in the last few years. It’s an excuse to get dressed up, wear TONS of sequins and glitter, drink champagne, kiss someone special, and ring in the next year with a theoretical clean slate. There’s something magical about New Year’s Eve. I’m hosting a party this year with my two best friends, and will get to kiss the love of my life at midnight. I’m not sure I could ask for anything more than that.


The beauty of this year is that things I waited for, hoped for, ached for – finally happened to me. I took a real vacation where I actually flew somewhere. I got not one, but three tattoos. I made two new friends who are not just friends, but BEST friends, people who I cannot imagine my life without. And I fell in love. I get to spend New Year’s Eve with people who really matter to me. I cannot tell you how much joy that brings me, or how hopeful and happy it makes me about the coming year. I have all the hope in the world that it will be just as wonderful as 2012 has been.



Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
On Old long syne.

(from the original poem by Robert Burns)

wait, for now.

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

by Galway Kinnell.

I read somewhere once that this poem was inspired by one of Kinnell’s students who was contemplating suicide. There are certain poems and words that I always go back to, that I have imprinted in my mind. This poem does so much for me.

“The need for new love is faithfulness to the old.” Beautiful. It makes me think of losing a long time love – a spouse, a partner of many years – and having the courage to love again. Nothing that I can personally relate to, but I think of my lovely 87 year-old grandmother, whose first husband passed away when I was only 6 years old. She began dating in her sixties (can you imagine!) and met a wonderful man she’s been with for at least fifteen years now. While we know it’s never the same, it’s comforting to see that love is always possible, no matter what.

“Trust the hours.” Together, three favorite words.

in my head, there’s a greyhound station

Where do you intend to go with your dirty dress?
Lead my skeptic sight to the table and the light.

The cities grow
The rivers flow
Where you are, I’ll never know
But I’m still here
If you were right and I was wrong
Why are you the one who’s gone
And I’m still here

Maybe tonight
It’s gonna be alright
I will get better
Maybe today
It’s gonna be okay
I will remember

I held the pieces of my soul
I was shattered and I wanted you to come and make me whole
Then I saw you yesterday
But you didn’t notice
And you just walked away
Cause everything you wanted me to hide
Is everything that makes me feel alive

Skipping beats
Blushing cheeks
I am struggling
Bed scenes in the corner cafe
And then I’m left in bits recovering tectonic, tremblings
You get me every time

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here

And I cannot guess what we’ll discover
When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hands can wash one another’s
And not one speck will remain

We smiled so bright the sun went down
Rose above the maddening crowd
We lit the streets with the sweetest glow
We held the globe and made it turn
Wandered through the universe
The men of science observed through telescopes

1. jimmy eat world (table for glasses), 2. vertical horizon (i’m still here), 3. imogen heap (goodnight and go), 4. death cab for cutie (soul meets body), 5. a fine frenzy (lifesize)