A house, and a home.

Have you ever realized how much more personal a home is versus a house? You 'house hunt', but it becomes your 'home sweet home'.  How is it that some freestanding structure becomes such a part of who we are as a person?

It's one of the oddest things, to tell someone you're contemplating selling your house. It's as if you're telling someone you're considering voluntarily becoming a paraplegic. There is so much shock and confusion.

Don't get me wrong, I love my home more than anything. I absolutely adore these four walls, the stair cases, the backyard, the little white fence. I love the paint colors I chose, the paint colors I painted over, the floors I stained, the things I furnished it will, the plants I planted. This house was my own. I hunted and hunted and fell in love and signed the papers five and a half years ago.

But to me, she's still just four walls. She made up the grounds for a lot of great memories, but she isn't the memories themselves. Everything filling this foundation are just additives to my life, they aren't my life itself.

Maybe it's because I am voluntarily selling my house. Maybe that is why it's so foreign.

All of this babbling is the long way of saying that Tate & I have started house-hunting. Yea, gasp, big step. It started as a hair-brained idea, as we were chatting longingly about exposed brick walls over a couple Moscow mules during one of our regular date nights. Our list of wishes and wants gracefully unfolded into a few peeks at local listings, a pre approval letter, and a call to our realtor.

I had forgotten how much I loved the house-hunting process. Stepping through front door after front door, never knowing what quirks you will find. Every house tells such a story itself, but it also provides such blank page and I can't help but start to fill those pages in my head with how our life together would unfold in each room.

Some have been total bunks from the get go, and some have sparked our interest. We already had our first minor heartbreak when we learned that a dream-inducing condo FULL of exposed-brick had received 3 offers just days after we looked at it.

All of this means that eventually it will be time to put my home on the market, to make that jump, and become an official downtown Indianapolis urbanite instead of just a suburban pretending to be hip. It's exciting, and also slightly terrifying. But mostly, it just feels right.

Here's to hoping this transition from home to house to home is everything we could have hoped for!

When the ice melts.

I hate writing about current events. It's just like begging to stir up a shitstorm. I deleted this post twice before actually publishing it. But after scoffing at this all week, I felt a need to truly voice my side of it.

My beef with this ice bucket challenge?

What sort of society do we live in that we have to dare our friends to dump icy, cold water on themselves to get them to care about a cause? 

Is that really what we've become?

Believe me, the marketing/grass roots/word of mouth aspect of all of this is awe-inspiring from an advertising/PR point of view. I could sing the praises of whoever started all of this (despite mixed reviews of how it actually originated) I have never once bashed the organization or the fact that they are receiving donations. It's awesome that they have witnessed such a boost in awareness.

What I'm disappointed in is that so many people are only doing it because its "cool".  Do you know what isn't nearly as buzzworthy? Sitting at a nursing home for a few hours keeping the residents company. Taking time out of your holiday season to go slop turkey and noodles on a Styrofoam plate for the line of homeless folks standing before you. Throwing your spare change in the red bucket at Christmas. Do you know what makes you feel just as good inside?

My beef isn't with the cause, it's with the motive of the participants. Do you, as a human, as an American, really need guaranteed pats on the back to do good onto others? That mindset is disgusting, you guys.

I have always made a point to donate my time or money to a handful of selected charities every year. Guess what? No one in particular asked me to, and no one sings my praise when I do. I could be lead astray, but I am fairly certain that doesn't decrease the value in what I do. I do it because I feel personally vetted to the individual causes. In one way or another, I have been drawn to each of the respective organizations, and I want to pledge to them. Not because someone dares me to.

I hope that by dumping ice water on your head you do truly realize the meaning behind it, and you do truly want to help cure this disease. I hope that this opens the eyes of many to what a little fun and a little donation of time can lead to. I hope that ALS research advances leaps and bounds by this, but I also hope that people use it as a jumping point to find other things they are passionate about, and find ways to help.

If you pledged anything this year, ice or not. I thank you. Thanks for putting good juju into the world. We need more of that. I genuinely hope that we aren't approaching a time where they only way you can get someone to care about a cause is to turn it into a media circus.

What happened to love?

 

Do you ever find yourself in conversation with an older gentleman, probably someone's grandpa, and he gets on the topic of his late wife. Do you notice the glimmer he gets in his eye? The smirk when he mentions those quirks shes had, the love they shared, the longing ever since she passed?

Fast-forward to modern day men, and that glimmer is gone. I can't tell you the last time a guy brought up a relationship and he actually seemed happy to be in it. When he didn't call her "crazy" within the first 10 minutes, or complain about the things she does, the things she says.

What happened? Where did the love go? When did we, as a generation, lose that sense of pride and commitment to a relationship, to our 'partner'?

It's refreshing to hear a guy bragging on his girl, instead of complaining about her. It's adorable to watch a fellas eyes light up when his girl walks into a room, as opposed to hearing him groan and make some one-off comment. It's admirable when it's clear a man can't get enough of her, and has eyes for no one else, instead of trying to flirt with any other woman around.

This isn't some feminist rant about holding doors or paying for the tab. It's just a mind dump where I confess that it makes me sad. It makes me sad that all these guys date these great girls and act like they could care less if they were even around.

Maybe that's part of the reason I continue to chose to be single. I don't want to juts be in a relationship because it's expected. I want to be in one because I can't get enough of someone, and they can't get enough of me. I want to be in one where we make each other awesome, and happy, and elated and maybe this is just me dreaming un-achievable dreams, but I find that hard to believe when I've met so many grandpa's and grandma's who still have that glimmer in their eye.

I need your help!

Watching my now four year old niece battle cancer for over half of her life has been one of the hardest, yet most inspiring things I've ever gone through. Oftentimes the biggest struggle was feeling absolutely helpless as I watched her fight for her life.

This past spring, after completing her second (and hopefully final, EVER) bout of chemotherapy and radiation,  Give Kids the World and Make A Wish foundation helped make my niece Olivia's "wish" come true. She was granted a trip to Disneyworld, and had the most amazing time of her life. I have never seen Olivia smile as much as she had when she was telling me about the week she spent in Florida, and the resort they stayed at, and all the characters she met. While this is a gift I could never repay, I want to make sure every kids wish is granted the way Olivia's was.

I'm not one to ask for help/donations unless it's something I am truly passionate about.  This coming Sunday I will be participating in a 'coaster-thon' with Liv, any donations I receive will go towards granting the 'wishes' of other kids battling life-threatening diseases as well. 

Please help me spread some smiles. This organization is truly one of a kind, and what they offer to the kids & their families is worth any dollar you can spare, I guarantee it. 
http://support.gktw.org/site/TR/CoastingForKids/General?px=1228361&pg=personal&fr_id=1236

Even if you can't donate, I encourage you to read up on their foundation and the great things they do. We might not be able to ensure these kids beat cancer, or whatever they are up against.... but we can make sure they get to smile and have fun, the way kids are supposed to do.

Love Languages.

I remember hearing about the 5 Languages of Love book a while back, and kind of laughed at the idea. But the more I thought about it the more I agreed, and while I haven't read the whole book I do agree with the excerpts I've read.

Just as everyone learns differently, everyone loves differently.

With Valentine's Day looming around the corner, I found myself in a conversation this morning regarding how I felt most 'loved' and immediately googled to find the quiz and learn my "love language".

If I'm being completely honest - when my results popped up, I felt like an asshole. A materialistic jerk.

But the more I thought about what they said, the more I realized it was true. And the more I realized that's how I naturally 'show' my love for others.

I absolutely adore surprises. When someone takes the time to plan something, or pick something up for me 'just because' I get SO happy.

And I find myself doing it a lot for others, when I'm in a relationship. I LOVE giving gifts, especially ones that are completely at random and just scream the other persons name. Every birthday and Christmas I struggle because I am SO wrapped up in finding the PERFECT gift.

Second place for my 'love languages' was tied between Words of Affirmation and Quality Time, which I can fully agree with. This was really interesting to me, because it pointed out some things that I had realized before. And also reminded me that maybe not everyone feels loved because I surprise them with a gift the way I do (ha!)

(PS I have no affiliation, with this site, the author, the book, etc. I just found it interesting. The quiz can be found here - I'd love to hear what your love language is, and if you agree!)

 

Thankful.

What am I thankful for?
The wanderlust that my grandparents and parents instilled in me, the job that affords me to do so, and the people who accompany me along the way. I've been sang happy birthday to by a Virgin Islander taxi driver, snorkeled the great barrier reef, rode horses along the beaches of the Dominican, snowboarded in Park City, cliff dove in Jamaica, swam with the dolphins in Mexico, snuggled a koala in Australia, shared bubble gum with an ape in Cancun, para-sailed a handful of the prettiest coastlines across the Caribbean, and met some of the most awesome people, hands down.

I can’t wait to see what adventures my passport and I stumble upon next!

 

Snoots.

These days, I hit up Starbucks on one of two occasions:
1) if someone has given me a gift card, or 2) if someone else is buying.

Being that my 21st* birthday was Sunday, of course I'm armed with gift cards. (*how long can I keep this 21st birthday facade going? I wish I blogged on a graphic calculator, so I could literally type 21^5... actually I don't even think that's the proper mathology, but then again I did drop out of calculus as soon as I got my acceptance letter to art school. And I'm rambling.)

Tangent.

I swung into Starbucks yesterday after leaving work, I had somewhere to be and by some miracle of God I was running slightly early. After scoffing at the pumpkin spice littered menu, I struggled to decide what I want.

I'm probably the cheese standing alone when I say this... but 'bucks just makes their flavored coffees too damn sweet for me. And I'm not about to be THAT girl with 37 cliff notes to my order because I'm not a fan of drinking spit-in coffee, and we all know that's what 'only one-third of a lump of sugar, 135degrees, steamed soy milk" leads to.

I finally settled with a good ol' large iced green tea.

To which I was corrected that I wanted a "VENTI".

Out of habit I rolled my eyes, and this ensued:
"Dude... did you know what I meant when I said large?"
"Well, of course but it is referred to as a venti here"
"But you knew when I said large which cup size I was referencing?"
"....yes ma'am"
"...then don't be an asshole."


I pulled around to the window, handed him my gift card as he delicately Bieber-flipped his blond locks, and handed me my LARGE iced green tea.

And I drove on down the road enjoying my spit-filled tea. I don't even know how you "regulars" deal with this daily
 

My shiz is far from together: A post on money.

Us twenty-somethings catch a lot of slack for doing things wrong, out of order, bass-ackwards. And they try to make us feel guilty for it.

When I bought a home at the age of 23 I garnered all sorts of praise for "having my shit together".

I'll let you in on a little secret. My shit couldn't be farther apart. Seriously. It's scattered aimlessly.

I think I put maybe a couple thousand down on my house. Did I put 20% down like everyone says you're supposed to save up and do? Hell to the no.

Did I meticulously create an Excel budget with what my monthly income versus expenditures would be? Meh.

I've never made a budget in my life, save for that one assignment in Econ class senior year of high school in which I pretty much lied and said I ate WAY less food than I really do just to compensate for the "extra" category I planned on spending on clothes.

I've always lived by the "you can't take it with you when you go" philosophy. So I lead a lifestyle that makes me happy.

I bought the 'car of my dreams' my first year out of college, when I was about $500 away from paying off the existing car I owned. Hello 30k in debt. Guess what? I'm now less than a year from paying her off.

They teach you to never rely on plastic. Guess what? I've got two credit cards. For stores. (gasp) Do you know why? Because Target offers you 5% off with every purchase, and because TJ Maxx gives you coupons (and lord knows my entire wardrobe basically hails from that store).

Guess what else. I put a LOT of daily expenses - ie gas, food, other shopping - on that TJ Maxx card, just so I can get those points. And guess what else.... I pay both of those credit cards off every month, they've never held a balance and I've never once paid a penny of interest on them.

I have had a savings account since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I am always putting money into it. I take money out too. When I have to buy $400 license plates, or a $1000 vacation. Does it have the "recommended six month cushion to live" nope. No it does not. And I'm ok with that.

I've had a 401k since I started my 'big girl job' nearly 6 years ago. I've had multiple CD's throughout my life as well. Believe me, I can save just as well as I can spend!

So maybe my views on money truly are bass-ackwards, but they work for me. And why does any one else need to tell us how we "should be" handling our money?!

Oh, and I once heard you weren't supposed to discuss money. So forget you read any of this, and just take away the fact that you shouldn't ever let any one make you feel guilty for what you do with your paycheck. That's all. 

[rearview mirror] second week of august.

One of the best parts of having a blog is easily looking back on what you were doing this same time in years past.

Apparently August likes to bring a lot of drama with it. Also, I'm apparently never single in August

Three years ago I put an offer in on a house. That was a first. (Hint: I didn't get that house, and was heartbroken. It all worked out perfectly in the end though)

Two years ago I was positive I was exactly where I was supposed to be (Hint: two weeks later I was freshly heartbroken, and a week after that brought the plot twist of a lifetime.  It all worked out perfectly in the end though)

Last year I was chasing the racer, experiencing what I thought would become the new norm. (Hint: that ended less than a year later. Hey - it will probably all work out perfectly in the end though. Of course!)

Pop Goes My Lung: Into the Operating Room

[ Pop Goes My Lung Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // current post // Part 5 // Part 6 ] 

I think the first time I really cried was in that tiny, 8x10 room.
Seven days.
It took seven days for it all to sink in. I was about to undergo a pretty major surgery. Someone was going to be inside my rib cage, messing around with the very thing that keeps me alive, that allows me breath. That's pretty terrifying once you let it sink in.

And I cried and cried. The whole time. I think my mom even cried with me. And then my dad showed up and did the typical dad thing and was all "ohmyyoucrazywomen. I'm going to go get a milkshake" Which made me cry even more, because I was on an NPO (nothing to eat or drink). They both just kept reminding me that this was the hard part, and after this I would get better. This was the clicking as we climbed to the top of the rollercoaster.

We waited and waited. Somewhere around 7:30 that evening the phone in my room rang, it was my surgeon, she briefly explained the surgery and said she would be on her way to the hospital soon and they would take me down as soon as she got there. I shot LT a simple text saying I was heading to surgery soon, then stared at the blank walls trying to calm my mind.

One of the resident doctors came in with a sharpie and began detailing surgery spots on my rib cage and back. He wrapped up his sketching session, and smoothed my gown back into place. Luis was his name. He had an accent, and somehow his quirky demeanor momentarily helped me feel at ease.

The clock closed in on 8:30 as the nurse walked into my holding cell and told me it was time to go.

It's funny the things I remember. Being stopped in the hallway to sign a handful of forms. The head anesthesiologist being very upset that I had not been given a pregnancy test the entire time, and having to sign paperwork saying I was aware of that and would not sue the hospital. The girl going over the entire surgery with me step by step, detailing that I would be put under full anesthesia, a breathing tube inserted down my throat, an art-line placed in my wrists for monitoring my heart, two incisions on my right ribs - one under the breast for tools, one a bit further down for a camera. The tools would act as sand paper, tediously used to scar up my lung.  The bottom incision would then encase my new chest tube, a bigger chest tube, a more painful chest tube. They warned me of the pain multiple times that evening but it wasn't until I was laying there just a few yards from the operating room doors that it hit me.

I was so nervous the muscles in my left leg were twitching to the point it looked like I was tapping my leg. I gave a half-hearted "brr!" but I know no one believed it.

Reliving this now as I write it actually has me in tears. I remember my mom and dad kissing my forehead as they headed into the waiting room, with a simple "See you in a little bit kiddo. Love you" And like that I was on my own. Wasting no time, I was wheeled into in the operating room, lifted onto the operating table, the nurses piled warm blankets on me to control my shivers but they had no effect. They were nervous shivers, not cold shivers.

I remember a lot of people in the room. At least 6 or 7. I remember being so, so cold, and wondering why operating rooms were so sterile and white, couldn't they just add some cheerful paint. I remember commenting on everyone's bright, colorful hats. I remember one girl slipping a pale blue hair net on me, gently tucking the stray strands of hair behind my ears. I remember the anesthesiologist began messing with my left arm, inserting the art-line with a quick but painful prick in my wrist, and another girl rushed up and took my right hand, holding it and squeezing it. She kept telling me softly that I would be alright, she would be here the whole time.

I remember being so.freaking.scared.

I never even saw my surgeon. The nurse to my right was talking with me, just fulfilling her job description I'm sure, calming the patient and ensuring their comfort. I began blinking more, and longer. The anesthesia was running through my veins now. The blinks became lazier and my mind began to blank. I let my eyes stay closed as my grip on her hand loosened. I remember her thumb gently stroking my hand as I faded away from the reality of that cold, white room.

Pop Goes My Lung: The ER

Growing up I remember my grandma always telling me to wear clean undies, I never knew when I'd get in a car accident... or something like that. No one ever told me to wear matching socks because I never knew when I'd land in the ER though.

(A continuation of the Pop Goes My Lung story)

I was about 5 minutes out from my parents house when I answered my doctor's phone call. For some reason it didn't really sink in that I had been functioning all day with a hole in my lung, and it still didn't. I calmly pulled up into their driveway and waved at mom as I got out of the car. I chuckled and said "well, I need to go to the ER, I figured you would want to take me?"

It was about that point she started crying, and I started to get cold sweats and light-headed. Once I recovered from nearly fainting, she hurried me into her Trailblazer and off we went. Nearly passing out once more at the reception desk of the ER left quite the impression, and I was promptly put in a wheelchair and taken back and graced with a hospital gown and a whole slew of wires for an EKG.

 That whole night was a blur. Test after test, three attempts to insert an IV, my brother, dad and LT all coming to the ER, and finally... after many hours but yet so suddenly, it was time for surgery. A few pumps of loopy medicine later I had a new adornment, a chest tube and a water seal. A steady hum came as the machine gently sucked the air out of the cavity surrounding my lung, allowing it room to reinflate on it's own.

Somehow I went from spending the day driving myself around, working, swinging by McDonalds for french fries upon leaving the doctors office.... to not being able to move enough to even feed myself. Bring on the pain meds. 

(Let's all take a moment to pause and appreciate the hilarity of LT feeding me like a baby)

Sadly, I wasn't out of the clear. We spent the rest of the evening waiting for the orders to be written up and me to get moved to floor 2. Room 2120 would become my temporary home for the next week. The story continues here!

Pop Goes My Lung.

I cracked ONE joke about needing a LifeAlert button and karma came and knocked me on my ass.

Friday, March 15th. 

I woke up at LT's house that morning, feeling far too nauseous for the few beers I had at dinner the night before. On top of the nausea I had this horrible stabbing-with-a-knife pain in my right shoulder blade.  I remember getting dressed, tossing back a few Advil and rolling my eyes at my weird ailments.

I drove the 45minutes from his house to mine, hopped in the shower hoping the hot water beating on my back would ease up the pain, took another Advil for good measure, and headed on into work.

I spent most of the day whining to Whit and LT about how bad my back was hurting. I realized I could only breath about half as deep as normal, but associated it with the back pain. Pulled muscle was my self-diagnosis.

When I started coughing around lunchtime, I decided to wave the white flag, and called up my doctors office hoping to get in to get some antibiotics for this weird cough/cold. I had a fun weekend ahead planned, LT's birthday, St Patrick's Day, I didn't want to be sick! The nurse told me there were no openings left that afternoon, she would pass my symptoms along to my doctor and see if he wanted to call in a prescription. A few minutes later they called back saying he wanted me to come in.

I left work and went to his office. He listened to my breathing, did the regular tests, listened to my symptoms, and said he was stumped. He predicted a pulled muscle, but ordered a chest x-ray just in case. He said to go ahead and head home and rest after the x-ray, that he would call me if they noticed anything.

I didn't even make it halfway home before Bob Marley started wailing on my phone (how ironic). "Well, I hope you don't have a hot date tonight... I just took a look at your x-ray... I need you to go to the ER. I already sent over your paperwork and informed them you would be on your way. Chelsea, your right lung is collapsed."



[ Pop Goes My Lung : This is Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7] 



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Lingering Past

And at one point he looked at me and goes "you know what Chels, it's bullshit that you are letting them control your life still"

And I cried, out of anger. Big fat ugly cry.  He had no idea what I had been through, what they had done and said and how many ways they had broken my heart. But as the tears were falling I realized something. The key word is HAD. He was right. I was running from a future relationship because of what HAD happened. I really was letting these undeserving exes of mine control my future.

That fight was back in early moments of last summer, we were fresh into our relationship. LT and I had gotten into it over some silly thing I'm sure, probably about a friend of his who was a girl or something. We duked it out, then talked it out, then moved on. But to say I got over it quickly was a lie. It's hard. It's flat out HARD to trust after being cheated on in past relationships.

Sadly, I can distinguish when I'm being overly critical on him because of something someone had done to me in the past, but I haven't gotten to the stage where I just simply DON'T do it. That's the worst part, to realize I am punishing him for mistakes my ex's made, stuff that has nothing to do with him or how he treats me.

As we round the corner to that one year mark a lot of clarity is coming with it. I'm so so very fortunate to be dating someone who understands, and is helping me work through this. It's funny. I hit strong points where I write things like this post, shouting my appreciation for having been cheated on. And while it's true, being cheated on more than once has still left some deep, ugly wounds. Things you don't notice until you're stuck in some situation, at a fork in the road, where you start remembering the past and someone else's actions and panic.

Maybe this is a little random, or a little deeper than I've ventured on the blog lately, but it's straight from the heart. It's something I, we, battle every step of the way. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I am not the only one.

As much as it scares me to admit it though, I notice those walls I put up falling down a bit more and more every day. Do I know LT will never hurt me? Nah, no one KNOWS that for sure. Do I believe deep down in my heart he never would, yea. Yea I do. And that's a really good feeling.

You think you have time.

Did something slightly sporadic yesterday, booked a plane ticket to Australia with one of my best friends whom I've known since childhood.

It's something we've talked about for years. Tossed around the idea. Said we'd go "some day".

If there's one thing my niece has taught me, and then my own scare, it's mirrored in that Buddha quote above.

We always think we'll have time.

Was it a huge chunk of money? Yep. Should I have spent that much on one airplane ticket? Probably not. But you know what... I can promise you right here and now, I'll never get the chance again. So I did it. We did it.

And I know it will be SO worth it in the end.

The things we don't talk about.

This is how I spent a good chunk of my day yesterday.

I have spent a lot of time contemplating writing about this post, but the truth is I felt really alone dealing with it. Not that I didn't have people I confided in, amazing people who were over-the-moon-awesome and positive and supportive, but other than that I felt like I was supposed to hide this. So maybe by writing it, someone out there reading it is dealing with the same thing and they'll realize they aren't so alone.

There's such a void when it comes to being female and having problems down there. Heck, if you're a guy they have commercials for every problem you ever experience every 7 1/2 minutes on nationwide television, but us ladies, we aren't quite so open.

So a few years ago when my doctor informed me that my yearly exam had come back showing abnormal cells, it was scary. Really scary. Because you know "abnormal cells" is like the code word for cancer.

It's scary to be a girl, of child-bearing age (although I do NOT need one of those any time soon) and know that it's not quite right down there. You spend a lot of time wondering if, when the day comes that you do want a little bambino, if it will even be possible.

We've been "keeping an eye" on those cells.  I swear see my lady doctor more regularly than I see some of my friends. I've had more pap smears (oh my god, I know, I just said that on my blog, gasp, get over it we all have them) and colposcopys than I'd like to mention.  I'm fairly certain I'm know at my doctors office as the over-dramatic chick, since I manage to pass out and vomit after nearly every colpo.

A few weeks ago I received a follow-up call from my doctor letting me know that the bad cells had progressed. They most recent tests were showing moderate to severe abnormal cells. Albeit, they believed they were precancerous, but still wanted to remove them as soon as possible.

I spent yesterday having a LEEP procedure done. Where they take this electrocharged looped tool and scrape out the areas of bad cells on your cervix.(If you read that without cringing, you are one hell of a woman) Thankfully, I was under anesthesia and felt nothing. Although I pulled my signature move and fainted when they first gave me the IV. (Hey, I like to keep those nurses on their toes!) 

My doctor said the procedure went well, I survived my first time being anesthetized (is that a word?) and now I'm dealing with the very crampy recovery stages. And keeping every finger, toe, and eye crossed for this to come back showing good results and maybe, just maybe, I can be done with this.

It's funny to me, the few people I have told end up knowing someone who has directly dealt with this. So why is it so faux pas to bring up? So I guess the point of this whole post is to let you know that yea, it is scary, but you aren't alone, and if I can get through it... I promise you that you can!

 

Five year journal.

How does a month fly by in the blink of an eye?

I figured if the world ended tomorrow I may as well get one last blog post up. You know... go out with a bang, right?

It's gotten to the point where friends and family are even pointing out that I haven't blogged since late November.

I was sitting next to an older fella on my flight home from Baltimore a few days ago (yes, I was able to go visit the boy again!) and he was writing in this "Five Year Journal". Each page was a date, with 5 sections, one for each year. And I thought to myself, what a cool idea... I need one of those!

And then I laughed and shook my head, realizing this blog is my five year journal. I'm quickly approaching the 4 year mark.  Four years worth of posts. Musings. Rants. Stories. Happiness. Heartbreak.

I promise to not be such a stranger, if not for my readers, for myself. Because nobody wants to look back on a blank five year journal!

Thankful for...

(Two posts in one day - crazy I know. I saw this and HAD to share it though. I realize I need to take this perspective on life)

Source: beautybroadcast.net via Tiffany on Pinterest

Learn to chase it.

Source: tumblr.com via Chelsea on Pinterest

The Truth

I got into a Rainbows and Butterflies, Kittens and Unicorns conversation with my sweet girl Al earlier today. I don't think we all necessarily try to paint the prettiest picture, but maybe you all are like me and just don't like to ruminate on the ugly side of life. You come to it, you conquer it, you move on.


The truth is, owning a home alone is hard. Not just financially, but physically and mentally. Every bill that comes in, any thing that breaks or needs fixed, all the projects I leave half-finished because I lack time, money, or just plain don't have the skills. It's been a huge adjustment going from living at home to being alone. Mowing grass, laundry, dishes, cooking, grocery shopping, everything. It's tough when there is no one else there to help you out.


The truth is, I don't like to rely on others. I hate that feeling. I don't like having to ask for help. I'm way too stubborn, and a lot of the time it just makes things even harder on myself. 


The truth is, I get burnt out on my job. Sure the industry is a blast, but I work my ass off all the time and it's still not enough. And a lot of time I still don't feel like I quite 'fit in'. 


The truth is, part of the reason I never mentioned LT before on here was because I didn't think he'd be around for long.  And when I started to realize he might, I panicked, and tried my hardest to push him away. Because I've still got it in my head that falling for someone just leads to heartbreak.


The truth is, sometimes it's a little daunting to look around and realize a lot of people your age are either climbing a corporate ladder or establishing families.


The truth is, friends are constantly coming and going from my life. Friendship is hard to maintain, it's not like high school where you saw each other 1st, 3rd and 5th period and at lunch in the Commons.  We're all going our own paths and struggling to figure out how to make schedules mesh up or find halfway points.


The truth is, I spend money I shouldn't on vacations because they are my vice. My peace of mind. Sure my 40year old air conditioner is ready to die any minute now but I figure in 20 years I'll have better memories of that week in the Caribbean than that time I sweated my butt off with no A/C.



The truth is though, I'm tough. I grew up watching strong-as-hell parents who never let anything set them back. They started with little and built the life they wanted, and that's where I'm headed too. No matter how many truths I struggle with, I guess the only one that matters is knowing I can handle it.
 

la la life

Source: looklingerlove.blogspot.com via Chelsea on Pinterest

The best part about having a blog is being able to snoop on what you were doing around this time last year without having to consult the dreaded Facebook Timeline.

For some reason, every year around race time I always start reflecting on the year. Maybe because the 500 is the one constant in Indy year after year so it just makes sense to use it as a mile marker.

So if you ignore the part about falling hard for a guy who turned out to be a tool, my early summer last year was nothing shy of amazing. This year is competing to steal that title though.

You may have noticed, I very rarely complain about life. In my opinion life is exactly what you want it to be - so even if I'm having a rotten day, if someone asks I simply reply its fan'freakin-tastic. And by the time they get done laughing I've cracked a smile and my 'fake it til you make it' stance has worked.

Truth is, things ARE good. I've got a rat pack of a posse that causes hilarious amounts of trouble with me, a cute boy who's whittling his way into my heart,  a house that I can't ever seem to keep clean, a dog that's a rotten brat, a family who never ceases to amaze me and a job that is nothing shy of a party most of the time.

I like life. It's pretty good to me!