“You’re a lonely soul, because you won’t let go, of anything you hold.”

Life has suddenly taken off, like a rollercoaster spinning out of control and I’m just barley holding on because I somehow forgot to buckle my seatbelt. All of my plans, the course of action I had set forth months ago, all has been cast aside. Perhaps I spent too much time questioning. Questioning what? Everything. Navel gazing is a dangerous pastime; one I wouldn’t recommend. It creates more questions, which begets more doubt, which in turn begets more questions, and more doubt until you’re on a downward spiral, a vicious circle that you can’t stop because you don’t know how or when it started. I don’t mean to be vague, it’s just that for the first time in a long time, I’ve taken a moment to stop and ask myself “what the HELL am I doing?” The unfortunate part is, I don’t really have a good answer. I’ve been living, I suppose, but whose life? Is it mine? Or is it simply the life I’m expected to be living? Do I really have all that I want, or do I have what I think everyone else wants? See what I mean? Dangerous.

And just like my former angsty teenage self, whenever I’m in search for answers, I seek out music. So because I have nothing else, I’ll instead share my current favorite playlist of songs. Maybe you’ll like one.

Ingrid Michaelson – The Chain.

Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson – Winter Song

Mumford and Sons – Winter Winds

Brandon Flowers – Crossfire

One Republic – Secrets

One Republic – Say (All I Need)

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Princes and Pipe Dreams

I had to have been around 12 years old. Sixth grade, so whatever age that was. My best friend Steph and I would bring in the latest issue of BOP. (Remember that glossy book of angsty teenage hormones?) We’d talk about which celebrity heart-throb we would marry someday, years later when we were famous singers or actresses ourselves. Back when we thought you actually needed talent to be famous. Man we were so naive. If only we had known about reality TV and its endless possibilities of turning losers into quasi-celebrities. If only. Anyway, we would have these seemingly important life discussions about future husbands and it was then that I first thought beyond holding hands and stolen kisses with a famous boy, making me only a famous boy’s girlfriend (and eventually wife). I could be…dare I say it? I could be…a princess! But only if I chose the RIGHT boy. A prince. An adorable 13 year old boy named William. Ahem, PRINCE William. And faster than a two-dollar hooker, I was SOLD! It was decided. I was going to marry Prince William, spend my youth as a princess and one day become the next Queen Elizabeth. That was my plan. Done and done.

Then I turned the next glossy page, gazed into the gorgeous blue eyes of Elijah Wood, and next thing I know I’ve committed life-long devotion to a future hobbit. Now, I’ve seen Lord of the Rings and I’m pretty sure there are no hobbit princesses. Talk about disappointment.

All this to say, I’ve heard Prince William is finally engaged. And though I’ve been married for going on 5 years now, I’m a teeny-tiny bit saddened to know that I won’t be the next Queen Elizabeth.

Oh well. At least I still have The Shire. One of the few places my giant 8.5 foot looks delicate and miniature. I’ll take it.

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When one can’t sleep…

One writes.

I’ve been a little MIA lately. Life has been…chaotic, I suppose. About two weeks ago, the hubs and I decided to reevaluate our plans for moving, for selling our home, for big life changes, and last week I had our house taken off the market. Of course, the day after we decided to do that, a potential buyer – a cash buyer it turns out – wanted to look at our house, but we were out with friends that day and had left things like dishes in the sink and underwear on the floor. So that was a no go.

Part of me is disappointed. Disappointed that we couldn’t sell our house. Disappointed that we won’t be following through with our grand plans anytime soon. Disappointed over my husband’s disappointment. It’s a vicious circle, really. More frustrating than the disappointment are the questions I continually ask myself. Why did everything lead us so far down this path if it wasn’t meant to be? Why did we essentially just waste more than 3 months working toward something only to find out it was all done in vain? What now?

On the other hand, I’m relieved. Relieved that I no longer have to keep this place looking spotless (which is exhausting). Relieved that I know we’ll be in our own home for the holidays, especially Thanksgiving which we always host and I’ve grown to love that holiday because of it. Relieved that I know this routine. I’m comfortable here, and if we’re being completely honest, I wasn’t ready to leave anyway. My house may not be perfect, but I love it. We have great neighbors and I really like living in this part of town. Even silly things like my favorite gas station, I would miss it. I mean really, who has a favorite gas station? I do. So I try to look at the positives of the situation and hope that we don’t dwell too long on the “failure” of selling our house. Because life? Is still pretty fucking awesome right now. (But tomorrow is going to suck unless I can tame this insomnia.)

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