Life (or something like that)

I get up this morning at about 6:40, which is a bit later than I usually start my day. I have my coffee and get ready to go to work. I leave for work at about 7:50 and today the 10 minute drive takes me 20 minutes for some reason. I get to work and realize I am the first one in the kitchen this morning. That is unusual—usually there are at least a couple other people working by the time I arrive. So I turn on the lights and ovens and start cutting up chicken and vegetables. Other than the humming of the oven's hood fan thing, it's super quiet in the kitchen. I both really like the quiet and feel a little spooked to be alone in there all by myself. But I put myself in the zone and focus on what I am cooking. I realize while cutting the chicken that I am not really thinking about anything, and I wonder if I should be thinking about life or something. Then I decide that I like having the ability to not think about anything and just work. So I just work. Hours go by and I get things cooked, portioned, labeled, and put in the walk in cooler. Cleaning up the kitchen takes a solid hour to an hour and a half. I label and put away the leftover food, wash loads of dishes, and take the trash out to the dumpster. I think about the week when I was trying to lift a heavy bag of trash into the dumpster and the bag broke at the bottom and trash fell all over me. It was gross. Anyways, I go back inside to sweep and mop the floor. It's a lot of work. But I feel proud of it.

After leaving the kitchen I drive across the street to drop food off at a client's house. I often drop food off there before heading home. The client is a sweet elderly gentleman who is quite spunky and spry. He definitely has a young soul. I want to be like him when I am older. He always kisses me on the cheek and talks talks to me for a while. Today it is raining when I go to drop his food off, so he tells me to pull up to the garage. I should have known where this was going…he has been wanting to show me his red corvette for weeks...and today is apparently the day! Haha. So he takes the cover off of his bright red, brand-spanking-new, corvette. I can tell he is really excited to show it off. It's adorable. He has me sit inside the car on the passenger side and as soon as he opens the door I am immediately bombarded with new car/new leather smell. He then climbs in the drivers seat and pushes the start engine button and proceeds to rev the engine a few times. Then for the next 10 minutes he shows me all the neat little features the car has. I find it fairly impressive, and that is coming from someone who isn't really into cars. At all. Although, I did learn a lot about cars and wheelies and "burnout" when I nannied for Nicky, because he was all into that kind of stuff. Anyway, the gentleman asks me what kind of cars I like, and I say, "the reliable kind. The kind that you know will start in the morning." He laughs and asks me about my sweet ride—which I proudly say is a  2001 Honda CRV that hasn't had working AC since March of this year. He is amazed that I would drive a car without air-conditioning, and I tell him I built a lot of character over the summer.

After a bit, we climb out of the car and he pops the hood of the car to show me the engine. At least I think that is what we were looking at. I'm not really sure…all I know is that everything under that hood is so clean you could eat off of it. He tells me some facts about the car and I nod and smile. He then asks how much of the information I am going to remember, and I say, probably about 25% but that it is still interesting. We finally say goodbye, and he tells me that he enjoys my weekly visits.

I drive home and I feel light. Light as in, happiness mixed with contentment. Sure, my hands are covered with burns and dry as heck because I wash them in scalding water 500 times a day. And my nails have never been such a tattered mess...i'm actually kind of concerned about how much of a beating they're taking. I was also worried last week that I was on the verge of straining my wrist because of how much scrubbing of pot and pans, lifting of massive industrial sized mixing bowls, pots filled with sugar syrup, and cleaning I do now. I have always had weak wrists, and it had been aching for a few days. My body is not used to this much physical work every day. Apparently nannying is more sedentary than I realized. When I get home, I realize that I have enough energy to go running. This is literally the first day since I started either of my jobs in the past three months, that I have had the energy to exercise after getting off of work. So I run. It's a good run, too. Then I shower, because I am covered in grease and food particles, and now a layer of sweat—it's real cute.

Then I leave for Target. Obviously. Because…Target. But as I am driving down the road in my neighborhood, I see a man hunched over in the grass next to the sidewalk. He has his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands over his ears. He is rocking back and forth slightly and there are what appear to be empty cans of beer scattered around him.

My heart stops for a minute. Then it hurts a lot—my heart, that is. I feel frustrated for being a woman, because I can't stop my car and do anything. That would be really unsafe. But I hate just driving past him. It feels so cold. I wonder if he has a more severe mental illness. I wonder if drinking helps him. I wonder what kind of emotional, mental, and physical pain he lives in every day. I pray for him. I really pray for him. Because if that was me on the side of the road, I would hope someone would really pray for me—and for more than five seconds.

I think about the brokenness of life. And I ask God to be with that man. To hold him, to love him, to comfort him. Seeing things like that bothers me on many levels. It bothers me because it is a human in suffering. It bothers me because that is a human being in pain. It bother me because I understand on some level, some amount of addiction and mental illness and how you can't always control it and how it can mess with you. It bothers me because I am afraid of that being me. It grieves me, because I know I used to ignore people like that. I used to think of them as half humans because I didn't know how to even begin to process seeing something like a man rocking back and forth on the side of the road with their hands over their ears surrounded by beer cans. It was similar to how I would dehumanize the homeless people standing in the street medians. I didn't view them as real humans,  as even worth eye contact, because if I acknowledged that they were fully human and had souls precious to God, then I had to acknowledge that there was a level of brokenness in the world that I didn't know how to handle. I wasn't taught how to handle that kind of thing. So the only way I could not be bothered by those situations, and specifically by situations involving those who are mentally ill, was to pretend like I didn't see it…like they weren't really there, or that they weren't really humans…because, I couldn't handle knowing a human being was in a situation like that. So I would ignore it. Because I couldn't handle it.

I'm not saying I can handle it now. But now…I am trying to acknowledge that it is there. The broken, the suffering, the mentally ill. And now I know…I know that those people are human being with souls. Souls that deserve to be acknowledged and given dignity and respect.

So as my heart was heavy for the man I saw, as it hurt and broke for him, I had to remind myself that Jesus is not sitting up in heaven, distant and unaffected by that man's pain. He cares more for him than I possibly ever could. He is nearer to him than I possibly could ever be. And I can trust the broken, hurting, and suffering souls to God. If only I could actually do that. But it is hard to do when I don't see these people being comforted.

Well, I went to Target, got the things I needed (and obviously all the things I didn't need) and came home, ate dinner, and in-between writing this all I am watching the new Muppets TV show, because today ended on a heavy note and I now need to come back up.

I know, this post is very…unlike me. It's not what or how I typically write on here. It isn't polished or funny or witty. It won't attract anyone. Heck, it doesn't even attract me really. But it was my day and I wanted to write about it for some reason. And as someone once said, "Better to write for self and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." Or something like that.

So, I tonight I write for self. You're welcome, America.

The Trials And Triumphs Of Online Dating

(More Like Just Trials) 

1. When you see your "Most Compatible Matches" for the day and it makes you lose all faith in humanity. 

                                        And love. And facial hair ever being attractive. Your pick: Stalker Lover or Serial Killer? Choices choices…

2. The heartfelt answers

                                                                                               Just makes those panties drop.

                                                                                            Then there are the short and…sweet?

I mean…I could get on board with this last one, I suppose?

3. The Classic Profile Cover Photo With a Guy Holding a Large Bass. 

You men know who you are and all the ladies know what I am talking about. I think guys forget that they are trying to attract women, not prove their hunting/fishing prowess to other men. Exhibit A: a man standing next to a truck full of dead furry animals. Yes, that is indeed a truck filled with dead. furry. animals. I am genuinely puzzled…do men think that ladies are over here being like, "Oh baby. Let me get me get a piece of that action!"

Dear men, when a lady is looking through your pictures, she subconsciously trying to see if she can see herself in the life you are showing her. So when we see a picture of you standing proudly in some sort of garage with dead animals…our instincts are telling us what they told those poor animals: run.

4. When you keep getting matched with all the cute boys. Maybe? 

                                                                                                         Who knows.

                                                                                             It's all just so mysterious….

5. When They Tell You What You Already Knew

   Yes, sad human being. You will indeed be alone forever.

                                                                                 

Snowball Effect

As I turned on my computer today I realized that it had been a while since I had been on Pinterest. (Because Pinterest is totally lame these days.)

So I logged on to Pinterest and the first thing I saw was a picture of a hamburger that someone recently pinned.

I clicked on picture of said burger because, well, it's a picture of a delicious hamburger. Of course I am going to click on it.

But do you know who eats hamburgers? People do, that's who.

Consequently, clicking on the picture of a hamburger then led to pictures of people eating hamburgers.

But since eating a hamburger is the quintessential family gathering food of choice, I was then led to pictures of families eating hamburgers together.

Then it happened. I innocently enough clicked on a picture of a dad putting ketchup on his child's hamburger.

Then boom.

My screen is filled with pictures of fathers playing with their children and holding their babies. Oh my god the babies.

So. Many. Babies.

So many dads holding their babies. Picture after picture of fathers playing with their kids and spending time with their daughters and fishing with their sons.

So many sweet moments.

And then my ovaries exploded.

Seriously. I don't know what it is. Maybe it is part of being a girl. Maybe it is my age. Maybe it is just me. (It's not just me. It's not just me, right??) But I can scroll through picture after picture of babies for a solid 40 minutes. That's a really long time. But they're just so damn adorable. It's more than that, though. It's the fact that I now find joy in shopping for tupperware. Like, all things dishes and tupperware related just excites the hell out of me. I don't know if it's normal to find joy in buying plastic containers. But I do.

As I was thinking about this today, I realized that maybe it's about what the tupperware represents.

Because you see, when I look at tupperware, I don't see square plastic containers. I see organization and order. I visualize where these containers would be stored in the kitchen of my adorable future house. Then I think about what I would be putting in the containers. And obviously that would be the food I would be buying and cooking for my family. Oh, did you say family? Well let me just take that thought and run an emotional marathon with it. Family…ok, so that would be my husband and two kids. The kids would be about six and three years old at this point. Boy and girl, obviously. And I would put their lunches for school in the smaller square tupperware…. Wait, kids going to school? Packing lunches? Doing mom-ish type things? Having my life feel like it has some sort of purpose and rhythm and order and…oh…order.

That is what I am longing for.

Order is what I am longing for during this season of life where everything seems to be up in the air. When nothing is set in stone. When it is still just me trying to figure out what the heck I am doing or supposed to be doing and when I'm not sure what my role in life is right now. When I don't know if I am being productive enough in my day-to-day life or living with enough purpose. When I can't visualize what the next ten years (heck, the next ten days) might look like because when I look into the future and it is all…just very blank.

Tupperware represents the idea of a future that I am hoping for. It represents having something known, something concrete and solid. It represents having someone that you're navigating the unknowns of life with. It represents the hope of having little kids with sticky fingers and lunch boxes that have to be bleached for the 20th time because it has a funny smell (again) because the tupperware container leaked or just because there has never been a lunch box that didn't have a funky smell.

So when I see tupperware, I see life. I see a future. And I think that maybe if I buy that container…maybe I'll get that life too.

They Make It Sound So Easy

Have you tried to open a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner recently? You know, the ones with those awful ridged caps that you are supposed to push down on (with the strength of Goliath, I might add) while simultaneously turning to the left, in order to open? Yeah, those suckers are impossible to open--almost as difficult as those new uber-flimsy water bottles with that plastic cap that is 1/16 of a centimeter tall that you are somehow expected to be able to grab onto to twist open….gosh I hate those stupid water bottles. Well anyways, a few months ago I found myself contemplating ending things with an incredibly sweet guy I was dating. I was frustrated with myself because I was wondering for the thousandth time if I might have unrealistic expectations of what I want in a guy. I was wondering if I push too hard. Wondering if I don't know what I really want and really need and wondering if I am just making mistake after mistake after mistake.

So there I was, cleaning my bathroom before this guy arrived at my house (because obviously I clean my house from top to bottom before I have company over and then apologize profusely for how "messy" it is so that people walk away thinking, "Wow, that is what she calls messy? It's so clean!") Anyways. As I was attempting to open a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner, I was thinking about the situation with the man I was currently going out with, as well as the handful of guys I have made attempts at dating in the past. I was frustrated with myself for always putting so much pressure on them to be this person that I want to be in a relationship with and frustrated that I push people to be someone that they are maybe not made to be. I was frustrated that people disappoint me, frustrated that I am so easily disappoint-able when I am so flawed myself, and frustrated for not being able to open the damn toilet bowl cleaner bottle already! Because for goodness sakes how difficult it is to open a bottle of cleaner?! Ugh. After several more attempts at perfecting the "push and screw" technique (and still failing to open the bottle) I gave it up for a moment. And through my tears of frustration, I looked down to see that my hands were now torn, blistered, and bleeding. Ok, not really. But they were pretty red. And I really was on the verge of tears. It was at this point that it hit me…. Oh. My. Gosh. I am doing the same thing in my relationships with guys as I am doing with this toilet bowl cleaner bottle. I am trying push and push and turn and apply as much pressure as humanly possible… and it is not working. Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe I need to stop applying so much damn pressure. Maybe lack of pressure isn't the issue. Maybe the problem is that I am pushing too hard.

I know.
Mind. Blown.

So, after this epiphany, I changed my approach. I gently cradled the toilet bowl cleaner bottle in my arms. I spoke lovingly to it as I gently pushed down on the bright blue "push and screw to the left" cap. And low and behold…it did not open. I was just like, Whatever. Screw this. But then, in a final act of desperation, I leveraged my entire body weight onto the bottle and pushed down really really really hard as I turned the cap. And it opened.

So, apparently the lesson is not that I am applying too much pressure…but in fact that I need to to apply more?

I'm kidding. I don't really think there was a lesson. I think it was just a really difficult bottle of toilet bowl cleaner to open. That being said, I do think that I could be applying too much pressure on certain people in potential relationships. Or, I might also be trying to date people who just aren't right for me and who I am not right for. I don't really know. But I guess the only way to find out is to try applying some pressure. And if that doesn't work, maybe I'll try a different approach and be a bit more gentle. If that still doesn't work, then I will probably take a moment to say a few choice words and then try something else. Eventually, if I'm really committed to having whatever it is I'm trying to have…be it a clean toilet or a relationship…I'll figure it out. Hopefully.

The real moral of this story is just that I have no idea about anything and I am just going to keep trying different things because like I said…I have no idea if I am doing this all the right way or wrong way or if there even is a right and wrong way. But one thing I do know is that I probably should not apply the "push and screw" concept to a potential relationship.

Rewiring

As I am writing this, there is a near to empty bowl of oatmeal sitting next to me. It is 12:24pm. Not technically morning anymore, but to a mind and body that once ate as little as possible until as late in the day as possible (and sometimes that meant not eating a meal until between 6:00pm-8:00pm) noon is pretty early to be sitting down to eat a "whole" of anything.

There are two main reasons why, just a few years ago, I would attempt to eat as little as possible for as long as possible during the day.

1.) There was a 90 percent chance that I had binged the night before (fairly soon before going to bed) so I really wasn't that hungry until about 3pm the next day.

2.) My eating disorder was an addiction. So in a sense, I was addicted to food. Rather, I was addicted to the feeling that I got when I binged with food. Consequently, if I started eating, I couldn't stop eating until I noticed that my stomach was starting to ache. So I would put off the seemingly inevitable food-binge that would begin whenever I started eating, until late in the day when there was nothing else I needed to do. It was then that I would "clock out" (check out and numb out) of life for the day by...eating.

(As a side note: I think it is interesting that people with an eating disorder have to learn how to manage their addiction by engaging in it in moderation. Like, can you imagine telling an alcoholic that they have to learn to drink in moderation? Former alcoholics don't try to drink in moderation. They completely abstain from drinking altogether. But obviously one can not completely abstain from eating. Food, and eating, is necessary. So those with an eating disorder--bingeing specifically--have to exercise some pretty intense self control by learning how to eat…and then stop. It was fairly easy for me to not eat. I could go all day not eating. The hard part was stopping once I had started.)

But the reason I used the word "whole" is because a large part of my eating disorder was mental. Here is what I mean by that. If I ate half a cracker, half a cheese stick, a bite or two of a sandwich...and threw away the other part of whatever I was eating...I was good. Binge and/or negative body image feelings avoided. My mind interpreted that as, "you haven't ruined today yet, you have eaten hardly anything, so you're good and you look fine." But if I ate a whole of anything… a whole apple, a whole sandwich, a whole bowl of soup, a mini bag of chips, a entire candy bar…forget it. On a physical+self control level, it would be extraordinarily difficult for me to eat only a moderate/normal amount of food and then call it quits. On a mental+emotional level, even when I was able to eat a normal portion of food and be done…I would typically be emotionally shut down for the day.

Part of my motivation for wanting to be free from this cycle of bingeing was that I realized how my bingeing (or not eating) was affecting my relationships. For example, I wouldn't pick up the phone in the evening if a friend was calling to talk, because I didn't talk to friends during or immediately following a binge. I didn't want anyone coming into that mess…it was my hidden mess. And like I mentioned before, I would shut down emotionally after bingeing. I didn't have the emotional energy to interact with friends. I wouldn't want to talk to anyone and I wouldn't want anyone to talk to me. I would want to be alone so that I could eat and then I would want to be left alone after I binged because I felt gross and ashamed of myself. I mean, think about how you feel after a Thanksgiving meal--completely stuffed. Slightly sick. Sleepy. Relaxed. You want to go take a nap. Well, that is how I would feel after bingeing. Except, a holiday meal is something that usually happens in the context of a community and family. Bingeing is something I did in isolation. I did it when I was alone, I wanted to be left alone so that I could continue to do it, and doing it kept me alone. But it was comforting. It had a payoff. All of our sins and addictions have some kind of payoff…otherwise we wouldn't keeping going back to them. Unfortunately, for me the payoff of bingeing was deeper than staving off the loneliness I felt. As I became more free from this all, I came to realize that beneath my struggles with food there was (there still is) a deeper struggle with depression, anxiety, and a desire for a sense of control. Bingeing with food was a coping mechanism I had developed over the years (and utilized almost daily) to help me handle life…and to help me handle myself.

But I digress. Back to the mental and emotional part of this all.

For years I had associated "meal" with "binge". It was normal for me to binge after a meal. And since my goal of every single day was to eat as little as possible, if at some point during the day I ate an amount of food that my mind told me was "too much" I had this, "what the hell--might as well eat the whole world now" mentality. (Yeah, God might have the whole world in His hands...but I managed to stuff the whole world in my stomach.) So even as my eating patterns changed externally, internally my mind was still telling me that it was time to binge or time to shut down emotionally for the day. I still struggle to not shut down emotionally or to feel like I can't do anything worthwhile with the remaining hours of daylight... (because I tend to feel like I have already ruined the only thing truly worthwhile for that day--not eating so that I can look thinner.)

Slowly I taught myself to eat dinner in the evening…and to still be emotionally available to my roommate (who also happens to be my best friend). Then I learned to eat an afternoon lunch…and move on with my day. Now…"breakfast". This is like the last great frontier for me. By eating in the morning I am starting my day with the thing that I used to end my day with. It is difficult because when I eat a meal, my mind automatically begins to turn off emotional switches. I start to feel like the rest of the day is a waste. And that is extremely frustrating to me because I desire to be emotionally present for my whole entire day.

But over the past year and a half my brain has done a lot of rewiring. Rewiring from depression and rewiring from years of an eating disorder. I have had to teach myself to associate fullness after a meal with meaning that I now have the energy to meet the physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental requirements of the day. So now…that is what my brain is (subconsciously) starting to tell me when I eat meal. Instead of me feeling compelled to continue eating or forced to shut down emotionally, I do feel satisfied and ready to move on with my day with more energy, focus, and the ability to be present in the moment. Whereas before, I would be dreaming about later at night when I would finally be able to check out of life and eat a days worth of calories in a two hour span. This changed mindset is still so new. When I sit down to eat a meal (especially in the morning or early afternoon--yes, time of day matters) my brain still first starts to associate eating with bingeing and bingeing with shutting down. And I have to remind myself that that is not me anymore. Rather, I realize with amazement that that is not me anymore. I eat…and I don't shut down. I'm still in the game. The switches don't get turned off. It's not an extremely conscious thing I am doing anymore--my brain is rewiring. It is now attaching different meanings and feelings with certain activities. It's so weird and awesome.

I almost don't want to say this because I am afraid it will ruin my credibility…but I binged last night. Yep. Even with all of this that I have learned and all the ways I have changed, it is still a struggle and night is the most difficult time. I want to be honest about last night because I don't want to pretend to be at a place with this that I am not. That doesn't help anyone. I am still in the process of figuring this all out. I am still in the process of surrendering my dependancies and trusting God to meet my needs…in the way he wants to meet them. And some nights I don't feel like rewiring my brain. Some nights I just want to eat a damn candy bar. Or ten. And then other nights I feel God tell me that I was made for so much more than suppressing my deepest emotions and hiding my struggles by medicating myself with food or any other substance.

Timeline…Meh, That Will Be A Post For Another Time

For the past nine months or so, I have been going to this thing called Regroup. Basically, it is like group counseling. After what I went through with my depression and anxiety a year ago, I knew that I needed to go to counseling. And I did go to two different counselors for about 4-5 months…but it was just too expensive to continue. (Wow, I just used all three different to/too/twos in one sentence. Is there some award for that?) Anyways. Regroup has been an awesome (and free) alternative. (I still hope to do one-on-one counseling at some point in the near-ish future...once I come upon a large sum of money.)

The Regroup process has three different phases: Phase 1) Recognize. Phase 2) Return. Phase 3) Restore. In the first phase (Recognize) you have three different "deliverables" to complete before moving on to the second phase. First, you have to do what they call, "name it and claim it" which is basically identifying what it is in your life that has become unmanageable--or, if you are like 99.9 percent of the women in the group, you pick the one thing in your life that is most unmanageable. Usually that will be the thing (behavior) that brought a person to Regroup. So, that could be anything from drug usage to drinking to co-dependancy to eating disorders or isolation. Or, it could be a life situation that brought you there, like death, depression, divorce, or whatever other word begins with the letter "d". (I'm obviously kidding. I really didn't try to pick three "d" words.) The second thing you have to do after figuring out what your "name it and claim it" is to have 30 days of consecutive sobriety from that thing. (That is a little bit more tricky to figure what to give up for 30 days if what brought you to regroup was more of a life situation and not an "addiction" per se.) Then, the third and final step in the first phase, is to write a letter of forgiveness from yourself (and/or from God) to yourself. And then you read the letter to everyone in the group. 

I spent about 7-8 months in the first phase. Just for reference, it is supposed to take you about 8-12 weeks. I pretty much knew from the first week what the thing was that I needed to have 30 days of sobriety from (bingeing--in regards to food.) But, my eating disorder was not what brought me to Regroup, and honestly, it was not the thing that was unmanageable in my life at that point. So, my "name it and claim it" (the thing that was unmanageable and brought me to Regroup) was anxiety and depression. But, my go-to coping mechanism for anxiety and depression was bingeing with food. It took me a few months and a few restarts of trying to do my 30 days (and failing) before getting my 30 days done. Honestly, it wasn't a perfect 30 days. I still tried to use food in different ways during that time. But it was worlds different than anything I dreamed I would ever be able to do, even just two years ago. I mean, two years ago, I was not physically capable of going 30 days without bingeing--the idea would have been laughable. Anyways. After the 30 days I wrote my "forgiveness letter" and read it to the group. I am pretty sure that every person that I have heard read their forgiveness letter throughout my months at Regroup, has cried while reading their letter. Conversely, my letter reading time was pretty emotionless. I was just like, "Yay for having a dead heart! And lack of emotions! Feeling nothing is so awesome! Sarcasm!" It has actually been extremely frustrating for me to not be able to cry during this process. Like, I joke about it…but it kind of makes me  feel a little dead inside to not be able to cry when I'm hurting. Crying can be incredibly healing. 

So, none of this is what I was going to write about. I was going to write about how in this second phase of Regroup (Return) I have to write out this whole timeline of my life and major life events. But I guess I will write about that later. Because this post is already long (and depressing) enough. But, I am actually going to add my letter of forgiveness that I wrote. Now, I just want to say why I am talking about this all and sharing this letter. I get that it is personal. Really personal. Maybe I shouldn't talk about it online where it can never be removed for all of eternity. Maybe I'll delete this in a week if I decide I feel like it is too personal. But I just don't want to keep all of this inside of me. Because…what would be the point of that? These struggles and victories are meant to be shared. I know that I am healed and encouraged and challenged by hearing about other people's stories. I am always so thankful that other people aren't mourning their losses and celebrating their victories alone, but allowing others into their story. So, that is where I am with it all at this point. But, knowing me, my feelings about it will change in a few days :) 

(Below is the letter of forgiveness. The first part is me writing to myself. The second part is what I think God would say to me.) 

Lauren,

I know that you haven’t wanted to write much over the past year. It was just so overwhelming for you to sit down and try to sort through all of your thoughts and feelings. You had spent months of writing journal entries where you tried to figure out what was going on with you and why you were so filled with dread and sadness every day...and there were never any answers to be found. As the months went on, these feelings worsened and the dread and sadness became a deep depression filled with anxiety and panic. You didn’t know what was happening or how to stop it or fix it. You felt unable to surrender this “thing” to God, because you didn’t even have a name for what was going on inside of you. 

Eventually you got to the point where you couldn’t think clearly about anything anymore. You didn’t know how you got to this place and when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t really believe there was a way out. You felt too far gone. The only thing you knew is that following God and obeying him by letting go of your dependance on food to comfort you, calm you, and protect you, was part of the reason of how you got here. You just hoped that if following God had led you to this place, that continuing to follow him would eventually lead you out of the darkness and constant panic. 

But you felt gypped by God. You felt like God had misled you on what “the other side” of being free from being in bondage (for almost a decade) to an eating disorder, would look like. You were like an Israelite-- you wanted to run back to Egypt and slavery because at least it was a pain you understood. It was a familiar pain and a struggle that you were, in some sense, self-inflicting and in control over. But you knew that there was no going back at this point. So you kept going forward. But the weight of months of depression and anxiety took it’s toll on you--mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. After months of feeling every emotion entirely too deeply, you lost the ability to feel anything at all. 

Lauren, I know you still struggle with wondering if the things you felt and thought during those weeks and months disqualified you from being a child of God. I know you’re frustrated as you write this, because you can’t find the words. You’re overwhelmed as you write this, because all of what you’re writing about is still so recent and you’re still scared. I know you aren’t sure if you can forgive yourself for 1.) something you are still dealing with--namely, depression and anxiety and 2.) something that isn't "sin" per se. But Lauren, I know that the forgiveness you long for and need to hear verbalized, is from God first and foremost. 

***

Lauren, 

I love you in the middle of your struggle with depression. 
I know your mom does not understand it. Lauren, I loved you during those weeks when you couldn’t even say my name because you weren’t sure if I was there. I loved you that day when you couldn’t take my silence any longer, and even though you wanted to hold on to me, you didn’t have the strength to. You told me that you were done with me and walked away from where you had been sitting and praying and talking to me. And I loved you so much when, in total frustration and pissed-off ness, you turned around, walked back to where you had been praying, and told me that you didn’t mean it, but you just didn’t know how to hold on to me any longer. You didn’t want to live any longer. And that was when you decided to take the anti-depressants. I know you have been ashamed and disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t overcome depression by just “trusting in me” more. I know how frustrated you are that you had to start taking anti-depressants and that they have been part of my way to help the healing process. I know it is not how you wanted me to do it. 

Lauren, you are forgiven for every time over the years that you used food to ease your loneliness. And it is not your fault that you didn’t realize it was more than loneliness that you were trying to ignore, suppress, or hide. You used food to give you a sense of predictability and control over your life, emotions, and thoughts. It is not your fault for not realizing that you were using food and bingeing to keep your world, your thoughts and feelings, your life, and even me, your God...small, safe, and predictable. I do not hold your depression against you. You are accepted and love by me, even when you still struggle with depression, anxiety, and panic. I accept you as you are, because I already paid the price. 

Lauren, I knew all about this long before you were born. I knew what was under the surface of your struggles all along.

When you accepted me into your life and began to have a relationship with me over 15 years ago, you didn’t know the depth of your sin. Even just a few years ago, you thought I was pretty damn lucky to have you as part of my team. But I knew, Lauren. Before I gave you a glimpse of your own heart, I knew all of these things about you. It was you who was surprised at the sinfulness and depravity inside of your heart. I already knew. I already knew you completely, daughter. And I knew that there was no good in you apart from me. I knew the depth of your struggles and need. I knew what all of it meant. I knew every thought you were going to have and every emotion you were going to feel and every time you would tell me that you were done with me. I knew about this season that you were going to walk through. I knew, Lauren. I know it all. I know everything you are going to say and do and think and feel in the future. And I still chose you. It is already paid for. I am not the one who is surprised by what is inside of you, Lauren. I know it all, and I love you. And I forgive you. 

Culinary School/Baking & Pastry Class...kitchen...food...stuff

First of all, what if I changed my blog name from, "The Soap Box" to "The Donut Box"? The tag-line could be, "You might not get exactly what you want, but whatever you end up with will still be pretty damn good." ...because it is a donut. And even if it is a cherry filled jelly donut (puke) it is still good...because it is still a freaking donut. 

I'm sorry that the quality of these pictures is so awful-- I used my phone to take them. Also, please take note of the sweet hats (and general awkward getup) that the girls (on the fourth picture down) are wearing. Yes, I too get to look that awesome during class! I know, we're pretty much the coolest kids around town. Or not. Let's just say that there are very few fashion statements being made at culinary school. But everyone looks equally ridiculous, so it is (kind of) OK. 

I don't know about you, but donuts speak to me. Mostly they just say, "Eat me right this second, Lauren." But there is so much more to these delectable treats than fluffy deep fried goodness covered in sweet buttery icing.

 If a donut could talk, what do you think it would say? You don't know, do you? That is because you never listen to your fried treats. Shame on you. Well, if a donut could talk, I think it would say, "There's a God shaped hole in all of us..." And then it would follow up that comment by saying, "Just kidding--there is a donut-hole shaped hole in all of us...suckaaa!" And of course they would make a silly joke like that--because donuts are funny. That is what they want to tell you--that they are funny. That is why they make you so damn happy. We really should listen to them more.

I know, I'm sorry--that was a lot of pictures of donuts. You should see me during class...I am always taking 500 million pictures of my food. (But hey, I'm not posting them to Instagram. So I'm not that person. Yet.)

I always try to rearrange the food in a semi-appetizing way before I take 20 pictures of it, because at the end of the semester we have to make a portfolio of everything we have baked and include pictures of it all. That is why I try to take good pictures--so that my portfolio doesn't look like crap. And since my phone takes pretty awful pictures, I already have that working against me. Consequently, I have to take quite a few pictures before I get one semi-decent photo.
 Well, my classmates started noticing and commenting on how many pictures I was taking. So a few weeks ago I started joking that I did it because I was OCD and I needed everything to be absolutely perfect or whatever. Well...apparently the joke really caught on. Because now everyone in my class thinks that I am actually legitimately OCD. And they make comments about it fairly often. This past week when we were making donuts, one girl commented on how perfect one of my donuts looked. And then another girl said, "Oh, it's just because Lauren is OCD. You probably rolled that dough out 20 times just to get a perfect shape, didn't you, Lauren?" I laughed and was like, "Yeah, totally." I just played along because I don't really care if they think I'm OCD. But inside I'm just like ...guys, I'm not actually OCD. I was just kidding. Everyone always jokes about being OCD?

    I don't know though, maybe I am. At least a little. But aren't we all a little OCD? 

    Anywho. Moving right along.

   Baguettes are not as funny as donuts. You don't have to talk to them to find that out.
You can tell just by looking at them. 

    Well, and they're French. So they wouldn't talk to you anyways. 

Oh look! There I am with my little baguette baby. So, I kind of think baguette could be an adorable term of endearment for a kid.
 Like, "Oh, come here mon petit baguette..." My poor kids--they're totally going to hate me.

FREEEEE

The power that whipped cream once held over me is gone.
That's right people. 

Let it be known throughout the world that the power of the whipped cream has been broken. 

You hold no power over me any longer, you Readi-whip whipped cream. 

For too long your creamy white bottle and red cap tempted me with promises of silky morning coffee drinks.

 As I passed you in the aisle of the grocery store on my way to the half-n-half, you would would mock me incessantly as you told me that my life 

(or, my morning coffee) would be tasteless--nay, meaningless--without you. 

And Like the young and impressionable shopper I was, I believed your lies.

I bought (quite literally) into the lie that cream and sugar in my coffee was not enough. 

But no more. 

I know. I am as surprised as you are, dear friend. I wasn't expecting this either. 

In fact, it has thrown me quite off guard.

I didn't know it was possible to feel this way...or not feel this way...about it.

But there was no denying the fact that, when I put it on my coffee this morning, the only emotion I could muster up was a lackluster/halfhearted "eh".

If I am being honest (and when am I not the epitome of honesty?) I was completely shocked by my own lack of emotion towards to the fluffy goodness.

My first thought was actually, Whoa--hold up. Is this how it feels when your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend calls you, or you pass them on the street, and you realize that they no longer evoke some deep sense of attachment or emotional connection in you...and when you think about your history and the memories and moments that were you shared...surprisingly enough, all you feel is a vague sense of "meh" which is quickly followed by this amazing sense of empowerment that makes want to scream "screw you, you little *** ***! I don't give a *** about your sorry--but quite adorable--little *** anymore!"

(Yes, I thought all of that. I know, my mind is kind of amazing.)

My second thought was, dang. I really need to get my language under control.

I mean, I am only imagining what that might feel like. 

Seeing as how I've not actually been in a relationship, it is all mere speculation.

However, given my history with whipped cream, I'm pretty sure it could be said that I was in a relationship with that stuff.

Actually, it isn't that beautiful. But thanks!

So I've heard this song played on the (Christian) radio station a few times in the past week or two. The first time I heard it, it made me laugh. The second time it I heard it play, it just pissed me off. But that was mostly because I was just in a shitty bad mood.

The first mistake this band made was naming their group,"We As Human".  It just sounds so dumb and like they're trying way too hard to have a clever name. They should have called themselves, "We're Cliche But Know How To Rhyme Like Nobody's Business". 

So, this is the part of the song that most annoyed me (the most)

But isn't it beautiful
The way we fall apart
It's magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts

So unpredictable
We're comfortably miserable
We think we're invincible
Completely unbreakable
Maybe we are
Isn't it beautiful
The way we all fall apart 

First of all, when I first heard the guy sing this song, I swore he was saying "tragical" and not "tragic all". So in all fairness, he gets two points for not actually rhyming magical and tragical. 

But dear Lord almighty...besides the complete unoriginality of this song, I have an issue with what it is saying, as well. I mean, it's not super deep or anything, but I'm just like, um...no...actually, it isn't beautiful when I fall apart. And there sure as heck isn't anything "magical" about it. When I fall apart, there are tears, boogers, excessive consumption of chocolate in all forms, and breakdowns that leave me exhausted and frustrated with God/myself and feeling confused.  Falling apart is not fun. It isn't pretty. I don't find it magical or beautiful when I'm in it. God can and does absolutely bring redemption from the most heartbreaking situations...but I just hate when Christians slap cheesy phrases on the the most difficult things we can experience in life. Like, "comfortably miserable"? I'm sorry, but what the hell. Honestly, I don't even know what that means.

I'm sure that whatever message this band was trying to convey is great. But the way they went about expressing it was anything but magical. In fact, it was quite tragic all the ways this song broke my heart. It was just so dang predictable and left me feeling pretty miserable. Truly, only God could take this broken song and make it something beautiful.

Something...New. And Kind Of Boring.

I need to write, and I need to stop stopping myself from expressing what I am thinking about and feeling. Most things I write won't be funny or especially deep...but I need to write--I want to write--for me. So the tone of this blog might be slightly different for a while. It might be a little bit more of me just...talking about my days and/or my week.

-----

It's been a long week. It's been a week full of changes and unknowns and long days, late nights, and not enough sleep. I've single-handedly financially supported the chocolate industry this week (the chocolate-covered raisin industry, to be precise.) I've consumed both too much and too little caffeine, not spent enough time with God, and said too many goodbyes and not enough hellos. I procrastinated too much about important things and used so much bleach yesterday that I lost all sense of smell and taste for 3 hours (I scrubbed my floor and tub and tile within an inch of its life.) Oh, and I've eaten a lot of gummy lifesavers. Can I just say...who the hell decided it was a good idea to add 39857 cherry flavored lifesavers and only 5 orange flavored lifesavers, to each bag? It's like when you buy a can of mixed nuts, and you get 3 pistachios, 13 almonds, 8 mystery nuts, and 5000 peanuts. No one one the damned peanuts!!!

so, earlier today, I went to a park near my house to sit and think and try to talk to God. I've been putting off talking to God. It's just like every time I sit down to talk to him....I just don't know what to say. But it is because there is so much to say. I just don't know where to begin. But I'll probably expand on that later.

In other random news... I accidentally sent a text message to the dad of the kid I nanny for (instead of my friend who had just texted me saying she had dyed her hair) which said, "Send me a picture!!!" This was my first week working for this family...so talk about awkward. I quickly realized what I had done, and tried to correct my mistake by saying, "Oops! I sent that to the wrong friend. Unless you just died your hair?" Ha ha ha...so smooth, Lauren. So smooth. Or not...because I had to send another text to correct myself yet again when I realized I had said "died" and not "dyed". Face in my hands

Manna

OK. So I don't really know what the heck this is. Sometimes it rhymes...other times...it doesn't. If I were a poet, I would call this a poem. If I were a musician, I'd make this into a song. But I'm me. So this is just a thing.

 

  Manna 

When I can't see 

How you're going to provide for me

What you've given me for today
I always try to save
To ease the pain of a different day

I think that perhaps I should wait
Hide the manna away
To be prepared and ready
for the hunger of a future day

                           But it doesn't work like that                             

          Because what you've given me for this specific moment        

               Is not what my soul will need          

                           To be sustained tomorrow                            

The bread doesn't last

The grace for yesterday's pain 
When saved, rather than engaged
Won't help ease tomorrow's troubles

Yet I starve myself in the moment

In order to have a sense of control 

For a more secure tomorrow

Because I'd rather have the assurance 

Of a stale crust stuffed into my pocket

Than trust that you'll provide

Fresh grace to my soul every morning 

Because it's hard to trust

When I'm hungry in my soul so much

That you'll continually provide what I need 

So instead I keep asking to see 

Exactly how you plan to provide for me

While I'm still swallowing my lunch

So I try to save it

Or refuse to partake in it

Afraid you didn't mean it 

When you said not to save it

The Israelite

In my life

Is me 

Well That's Awkward

Here's a little story for you.

Valentines Day 2013.

It was rainy and overcast the whole day--which reflected beautifully the state of my cold, dead, heart.
Per usual, I spent the day dressed in black and writing hateful notes to the general male population.

Just kidding (Hopefully obviously)

Around 8pm, I was home alone. I was sitting on the kitchen counter, looking out the window, and talking to Jesus. I leaned against the side of the refrigerator and thought,  "Aw, this is almost like leaning against a person and/or Jesus. Except that this is a refrigerator. And it is cold, hard, and shiny. Whoa...is this how Bella felt when she hugged Edward?!" (Okay, so I didn't actually think that last part.)

As I was contemplating the differences between leaning on Jesus and leaning against a refrigerator, I heard a knock on the door. I hopped down from the counter, told Jesus I'd brb, and walked to the door. But before I could I get there, I heard a car door close and someone drive away. When I opened the door, there were flowers sitting on my doorstep. I knew they were for me. How did I know, you ask? Well, let's be real...I'm pretty awesome--of course they were going to be for me.

They were pretty amazing flowers. Along with the flowers was a note.

Lauren, 

"You are beautiful my darling, you are beautiful. Your eyes are like doves" (Song of Solomon 1:15)

There was some scribble of a name at the bottom. But I was pretty sure I already knew who they were from.

I mean, there is a pretty short list of people who A.) recognize/appreciate my awesomeness B.) know where I live, and C.) would give me flowers. But, I couldn't quite read the signature. I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to be able to read the name or not...but again, I was pretty sure I knew who they were from, anyways. I wanted to say thank you, but what if they weren't from this person? Then I would look so stupid for thinking they were. But what if they were from this person? Then I would look like such a jerk for not saying thank you.

Risk looking stupid...or risk looking like a jerk?

A few hours of intense contemplation passed.

Would I rather look stupid or look like a jerk? Which is worse--to be perceived as a jerk for not saying thank you, or exceedingly vain for presuming to think they are from this person? What if it's not that person? What if it is someone just being super creepy? That IS a borderline creeper verse. How are eyes like doves, anyways? What if someone is about to kill me? Have I come across any strange people the past few weeks? I mean, I have had some weird encounters with people...

I decided I'd rather risk looking stupid than looking like a jerk. So, I sent the person I thought the flowers might be from a text message saying, "Thank you?"

During this time, I sent a text message to my younger sister and a few friends that she was hanging out with and to my best friend, telling them that someone had left flowers on my doorstep. I also explained who I thought they might be from. Now, I had a note from this (unnamed) person who had given me flowers two other years on Valentines Day. I was determined to figure out who the flowers were from, so I found the note from the previous set of flowers from this person, so that I could compare the handwriting.

Now, before you think I'm super weird from saving a note from two or three years ago, you should know that I sometimes just save random stuff. I have a corsage that I saved from my sister's prom that her boyfriend gave her. I mean, she was going to throw it away, but I thought it was pretty, and I guess that's what you do when you don't have a (love) life of your own? That's not that weird, right? (Total transparency--I still have the corsage in some random box at my parent's house.) Okay, I don't know if that particular story really helped my case against me being weird, but the point is, I save things. So, I as I compared the notes, I noticed that the handwriting was pretty different on each one. But, there was a few years between each note--and I figured that handwriting can change. Right?

But, I knew it had to be from the person I thought it might be from. I mean, the note that I was reading from a few years ago from this person said, "I may note be able to get you flowers ever year, but every year that I can, I will."

A little bit later I receive a text from a random number asking if I liked the flowers.

I was a little creeped out, but I decided to roll with it.

Me: Ew, who likes flowers?
Creeper: Well usually pretty girls do.
Me: Aw, creepiness--just the way to a girl's heart.
Creeper: Well, compliments didn't seem to work

I then proceeded to ask who it was. But they didn't answer. I went to sleep. I had a good laugh the next morning when it finally dawned on me that my sister and her friends were hanging out together the night before...and know where I live. So, I asked them. Sure enough, it was them.

Well, I guess I don't really have eyes like doves. Dang it.

Oh, and dear person who didn't give me flowers...you've missed two years now. I'm keeping count.

Not For Kids

The other day at work, I was reading a book about dinosaurs to Nicky, who is five years old. Each chapter of the book focused on a different dinosaur and the specific trial that the dinosaur was facing and how they survived (or not) the ordeal.

Yesterday we were reading through chapter three. A severe drought had recently devastated the land where a herd of Brontosauruses had once enjoyed bountiful vegetation and the dinosaurs were now searching for a more fertile land. The story really began to pick up as the narrator described how an aging Brontosaurus, unable to keep up with the younger and more agile dinosaurs in the herd, had begun to lag behind.

This is the story and my thoughts as I read to Nick...

"Slowly the older animals in the heard began to lag behind. With so little food, they were too tired to walk."

This guy had better watch his back--in the last chapter when an aging Allosaurus began to lag behind, a younger Allosaurus ate the older one for dinner. Harsh.

"A young male Brontosaurus also lagged behind..."

Uh oh. Hm. I wonder...

"...but not because he was weak."

I'm sure it's just the child of the old Brontosaurus, going to spend a few last moments with mommy/daddy Brontosaurus. Wisdom will be shared, memories made, tears shed.

 "One of the females in the heard was ready to..."

Whoa whoa whoa. Wait, what is happening?! This is a children's book, sure they aren't going to...

"...mate."

What? What kind of dinosaurs are these?! How can they even think about mating at a time like this? Don't they know what just happened? Someones mother/father just died! Where is the grieving time?! You make me sick, Brontosaurus. Sick.

The book went on to describe how the young Brontosaurus couple spent the whole evening together in their little love bubble--including dinner later that night (I kid you not)-- then joined back up with the herd in the morning. Well, the herd minus the old Brontosaurus who died of starvation the night before while the thoughtless dinosaur couple was mating and eating the vegetation they had apparently been able to find (and kept to themselves.) I mean, couldn't they have at least offered a small tree branch to the dying Brontosaurus?

Seriously, not the most considerate dinosaurs on the planet. I felt no compassion for the young Brontosauruses later in the story as they faced a raging fire in the forest. I thought, "Yeah, remember that Brontosaurus you left to die alone? Well, he faced the hot flames of loneliness that burned at his soul. Not feeling so strong now, are you?" They deserved to die off. 

I actually really debated about the last sentence I wrote...because it's not actually how I felt. Damn it, I still felt bad for the dinosaurs. No dinosaur, not even a thoughtless, self-centered, careless Brontosaurus deserves to die in a fire.

What Am I Doing Wrong?

Monday morning comes early for me. 5:30AM early. And all for a Sanitation class that is three hours long. 

Well, this morning when I walked into class, I saw that it had finally happened. I knew it was only a matter of time. It's the circle of life. Or maybe a gravitational pull in which resistance is futile. All I know is that it happens every single semester. It is the day when the one good looking and yet surprisingly non-duchey guy who actually arrives on time to class, makes his move to sit next to the one exceptionally beautiful girl.

First of all, almost every semester I encounter a certain type of girl--they're all strangely similar...and usually resemble Vanessa Hudgens--tan skin, dark hair, sparkly personalities, and they somehow always look fabulous at 8:00AM. Well, the Vanessa Hudgens of my Sanitation class explained (quite cheerfully) on the first day that she had started her own company a few years ago and was taking this class simply to help her be more knowledgeable in her business. Blah blah blah.

But I digress.

So this morning as I walked into my class (and sat down in my usual seat) I noticed that the boy and girl were seated next to one another and engaged in a lively conversation. A conversation which I, naturally, began to listen to from two rows back. They laughed and talked amicably together for a full twenty minutes before class began. They were entirely too happy for 7:40AM. But of course they were happy--the two most beautiful people in the whole class had found each other at last. Good for freaking them.

After class was over, I saw them walking down the hallway a few feet ahead of me. I heard the guy say, "So, am I going to get your number yet?" And I watched as they exchanged numbers. 

Puke.

I mean, sure, I've had my fare share of people at Valencia ask for my number. Okay, so maybe it was just two. And maybe they were total creepers. (Why is it always the weird people that talk to me?)

Creeper number 1.) I was seventeen years old, a senior in highschool, and duel-enrolling at Valencia. There was this guy who would always try to talk to me after class...and retrospect, there was really no reason to freak out. I just didn't understand why he was asking me questions. But apparently that's what people do when they're trying to get to know you. (Crazy, I know.) Well, he eventually asked for my number at the end of class one day--in front of everyone who was still in the room. I felt too bad to say no to him in front of them, so I gave him my number and said, "...but you shouldn't ever call me. Because I hate talking on the phone. So if you call, I won't pick up."

Smooth one, Lauren. Real smooth.

Creeper number 2.) This guy was a real gem. I felt bad for him (at least in the beginning) because pretty much everyone in class completely ignored him when he talked. Yes, he was more than a little strange...and totally weirded me out, but still. So I tried to be nice. You know where this is going. After a few weeks, he began to ask if we could hang out. I tried so hard to let him down gently, (because at this point I was still thinking I might hurt his feelings or something) but it wasn't working. So I ended up being like, "Listen dude, I don't know you and I don't feel comfortable hanging out with you." Except I would never say, "listen dude" and was probably more like, "Aw, that is so nice of you to ask to hang out, but I don't really know you very well or feel completely comfortable hanging out with just you." He didn't get the message and continued to ask my for my number.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I guess one week I caved and gave it to him. I didn't even know his name until he sent me a text that said, "Hey this is Zach from class, I just wanted to give you my number because you forgot to ask for it." (Oh...but... I didn't forget.) I then proceeded to write a text message to my mom saying, "Well, I found out the name of the guy in my class--his name is Zach, so we know that's not going anywhere good!" (My older sister had an ex-boyfriend named Zach.) And then I pushed "send". And glanced down at my phone to see the text message was sending. To Zach. I pushed that "cancel" button on my phone so hard and fast that it would have made Mario swim on a Game Boy.

It sent.

I threw my phone in the bushes and walked away.

The proceeding conversation with Zach went something like this:

Zach: Um...did you mean to send that me?
Me: Hahaha, of course! It was was joke! :)
Zach: Yeah...I knew that. I think.

Not my finest moment. I don't think he talked to me much ofter that. I guess he finally got the message?

Meet And Greet? More Like Meet And Weap.

Confession: I dread the meet and greet time at church. Pathetic, I know. But seriously, what's the deal with acknowledging the body of Christ around us at church? What, like we go to church to be encouraged by the community of believers around us or something? (That was a joke.) However, I'm pretty sure that hell is a place where these supposedly uplifting "meet and greet" situations are constantly on repeat, and as soon as you think it's over, you're told to stand up and greet those around you. Again. And again. And again. Also on repeat in hell: "I am a friend of God." Oh the irony. (Because…well…apparently you weren’t. Weren’t a friend of God, that is.)

There are a few different handshakes that occasionally occur during these types of situations. For example, we've all experienced the "Jilted Lover" handshake. This is, of course, when you reach out to shake someone's hand, but they shake the hand of the person next to you first...and your hand is left dangling outstretched in the air. In that moment, you have a choice to make -- simply put you hand down and acknowledge the awkwardness of what transpired, or fake nonchalance and pretend that you always leave outstretched appendages suspended in mid-air. 

There is also the lesser known "Over Eager" handshake attempt. This is when, in your panic to be shaking someone's hand, you enthusiastically extend your hand/arm to a person seated five rows in front of you...only to come to the halting (and for some reason surprising?) realization that your arm is not, in fact, ten feet long and able to traverse such a great distance. Unfortunately in this case, once your arm is outstretched and you've made eye contact with the other individual, there is really no way to redeem the situation. Your best bet is to just laugh it off. Or shake your head while looking bewilderedly at your arm and mutter something like, "Weird...it was so much longer yesterday..."

But the most awkward church handshake experience of my life (by far) happened today. In fact, I'm pretty sure I created a whole new category in the awkward handshake department. Somehow, my friend and I ended up shaking someone's hand at the same time. Like, both of our hands in one of their hands. I honestly don't know how it happened. All I know is that something felt strange, and I looked down in horror to see that I had just inserted my hand into an already happening handshake. Time began to slow as I gazed down at our three hands entwined together and all I could think was, "Noooo...what--how...?! I don't even understand what is happening right now..." The poor man's reaction was simply, "Well this is new." Yeah...for you and me both, my friend...for you and me both.

Hyperbole

Last week I went to the movie theater to see a live broadcasting of the radio program This American Life, which was being performed in New York. Per usual (I've always wanted to say that) the show was great. It was filled with comical moments, weird moments, and moments that were quite moving. But I won't talk about the things that actually impacted me in a meaningful way. Because then I would get serious. And I've tried my best to keep this blog free from anything containing real emotions on my part and requiring serious contemplation/reflection on yours. You're welcome.

For about the past...oh I don't know...8 months or so, I've been listening to This American Life podcasts somewhat obsessively. And when I say obsessively, I mean that I have listened to 70 percent of the weekly episodes from the past 17 years. However, I usually listen to them as I go to sleep at night--so more often than not, I only actually hear 70 percent of the episode before I fall asleep. Consequently, I've really only listened to 70 percent of 70 percent of the episodes.

But back to the movie theater. I somehow ended up nestled awkwardly between two strangers for the entire course of the show. (How are some people not aware of the always leave at least one empty chair in between your body and mine rule?) But despite this initial breech of social norms, we chuckled amicably at the inside jokes made by the show's host, Ira Glass. And I felt...I felt part of something. Part of something snooty and exclusive. And it felt good. It felt good to shake my head (internally...for the most part) as I walked past all the other people who were standing in line to see The Avengers or whatever other silly action movie was playing. Like, Oh...such children. Such a young and bumptious generation they are...but one day they will learn. One day they too will be cultured and join the ranks of us informed and reflective intellectuals who listen to "Fresh Air" and "All Things Considered" in our spare time and of our own volition.

(I don't really know what the point of this post was.)

Another Post About Relationships! Kidding

Note: This post has absolutely no redeeming quality. So if you're looking for redemption, I suggest you go speak with Jesus.

People were not on my good side as I was driving to work this morning. The problem is, when people are on my bad side, it doesn't really mean anything other than that if you start tailgating me, I will drive five below the speed limit just to make you mad. (I know, super mature.) But tailgation (yes, tailgation) was not the issue this morning. Merging, however, was the issue.

In the beginning, I was trying to do the right thing by graciously allowing a person driving a huge SUV, whose lane was ending and needed to merge, (and who did not have a turn signal on) into my lane. But can I just say--those darn people who are so oblivious, so above stress or worry when sitting in their enormous vehicles with their nonchalant attitude, who just expect people to let them merge at the very last second like they're entitled to it...it all just aggravates me. I know. I have issues.

So this is me in my car this morning:

"Oh hey Jesus...bla bla bla bla..."--insert thought-- okay big ugly SUV without a turn signal on, I will let you into my lane even though you waited until the last second to even attempt to merge and my natural tendency is to want to make you suffer in your predicament and teach you a lesson. But go ahead, enter into my lane and live-- end thought-- (SUV begins to merge into my lane)

"So Jesus, as I was saying...Wait, seriously, you big pretentious SUV?! No wave of appreciation for me letting you into my lane when you waited until the very last moment to merge?! Screw you!"

Yes. Mid prayer, I yelled "screw you" out loud. As soon as the words came out of my mouth I was immediately like, Wow. Seriously Lauren? Did you really just say that? You need to give people just a tad bit more grace. And calm the heck down. 


What if Jesus was like me? "Wait, seriously Lauren? You waited until the very last second (again) to ask for my help when you knew all along you were eventually going to need it? Well, this time I'm going to make you suffer in your situation because that will teach you a lesson. I'm God...I deserve more respect than this! Furthermore, the last time I did help you, you barely gave me a nod of appreciation. Screw you, Lauren!" I am so glad Jesus is not like me.

In other car related news...the water pump in my car is broken. Consequently, I am now carrying around a gallon of water in my trunk. Yes. I am that person. The pathetic person you see on the side of the road pouring bottles of water into their radiator. The person that a small part of your heart feels bad for as you drive past--but if you're honest, you're mostly just glad isn't you.

Now, if only I could set up a system where the water that streams into my car when it rains could instead be funneled right into my radiator...

Someday I will have a car that is normal. Perhaps even a car that has carpet...?! I know, I'm getting a little crazy here. A girl can dream.