A - Muse - Ings

I haven't blogged in a long time, again. It's not that I don't want to, I just don't have much to say. Here's a snippet view (to quote my most hated feature of Google Books) of my most recent thoughts.

I've been working at my new job three weeks now, and it's definitely different than I expected.

This weekend was spent at Green Lake with 15 incredible people. I needed that so much.

I got a ridiculously nice easel and paint set for my birthday from a ridiculously awesome man. I'm dying to spend a whole week doing nothing but using it.

I ate an ice cream bar for dessert.

Okay, and I'm officially done with the shortened versions. Lately I've stopped listening to the radio for a few reasons: (1) I hate getting a song stuck in my head that isn't doing anything for me (I had a huge issue with "Touch My Body" a few years ago, and this time it's "Let's Play." So bad, but they're too catchy to get rid of); or, (2) I don't want my thoughts and emotions being influenced by songs that revolve around cheating, breaking up, or salacious sexual references. That being said, the last few days I've just been station hopping until I find something reasonable, and today I came upon this song. It was like my heart stopped and said, "Yes! Finally. Something I can identify with in a positive way." Don't read into it too much.

Tomorrow is the start of another busy week, but I'm looking forward to it. Busy means less time for too much thinking means less time for wrong conclusions that come out of an empty mind. A busy mind, in my case, is a healthy mind.

Woah! This Sex Is on Fire

I am more than 22.5 years old. Whew. Know what that makes me? Old.

Yes, old. Practically ancient. This is not another rant on how much I should have accomplished by 22. At least, not wholly. Sort of. This is an account of what my life should look like and does not. No fear, though! I promise to end on a positive note.

According to me at __, I should be:

7 - old and making money as a successful swimming lesson instructor.

9 - married to Matt Harvey and an elementary school teacher.

12 - graduated with a BA in something important that will get me somewhere big.

14 - anywhere but here.

15 - someone thrilling and crazy, doing body shots off of underwear models in Tahiti before returning to Canada to be famous.

16 - married with a kid and rich.

17 - famous and not alone.

18 - married to a pastor, famous of course, and planting churches.

19 - just not alone.

20 - graduated and a youth pastor.

21 - better...healthy...back to normal.

22 - anywhere but here.

A lot happened between 14 and 22, but apparently not much has changed.

But. Not to be all negative all over everything good in my life, there are actually good things going on. (In case you haven't noticed, I love lists lately.)

1. I'm alone! Woot!
2. I am taking myself on a cruise sometime in the next year. Sweet bliss. Not to Tahiti or with famous people, but just to be anywhere but here...and be well-fed doing it.
3. I survived this semester and next will be 1000x easier.
4. It is almost Christmas.
5. I am not alone.

And that's about it for now.

Oh. And Ewan McGregor is sexy.

The end.

He Sees Everything Black and White

Two days ago - the day, that is - somehow, miraculously passed without incident. It was like it did not exist. I was vaguely aware the day before but did not let myself get caught up, and then a few minutes past midnight yesterday in the wee hours I realized.

Five years to the day.

I have alluded to this day of the month in the past, but never this day of the year specifically. As with most of my pain, I am realizing, I never dealt with this day. I cried once, then shoved it away for good; any tears that came after were private, shocking, and only caused me to shove the feelings deeper. October 29, 2005...where do I even begin?

I guess I could start at a random conversation over blood in a hot tub summer '03...or a rainy night February 2004...or the last weeks of grade 11...or August 31, 2005. The last was the day things went from bad to horribly, horribly wrong. I was in love with my first love, and he loved me too. He "loved" me enough to pretend I wasn't a mistake. He "loved" me enough to lie to me when it was convenient. He continued to "love" me through the convenient right into the despicable. He "loved" me enough to sleep with a fourteen year old freshman. He "loved" me enough to allow his answer to evolve from an immediate "I'd marry you" to an "I think I would" to an "I just don't know anymore." He "loved" me enough to try to have break-up sex with me. He "loved" me enough to celebrate our break-up with a girl named Brooklyn in her hot tub. And he "loved" me enough to use me one last time when I was at my most vulnerable.

So I look at this day that still cuts like a knife, look at my life up to that point and the decisions I made, and wonder why it still hurts. I can guarantee with absolute certainty that at this moment, he's not thinking about me. He probably hasn't thought about me in months...years if I haven't popped up on his Facebook News Feed. The last thought was most likely regarding the next awful thing to say about me to his favourite group: another ex-boyfriend who used to be mortal enemies (just ask, one still has a battle wound), his friend who was always trying to convince me to be with him instead, and his friend who tried to rape me.

Breathe.

That picture was taken right before we started dating (the last time). I was genuinely beyond happy. It has been rare that I have been that happy since.

October 29, 2005, I went over to his house with candles in my backpack, a half-formed prayer tacked onto a fleeting thought (to Whom? I think even then I knew He was real), and a nagging feeling that this would be the day my life changed. Five hours later I had called just the right people to get a party together, and I sat on a couch in a perma-pot-stenched basement wearing a jacket from one boy and the arm of another, and I did not smile once. If I had to guess the next time I wore a real smile? Eight months later when I dedicated my life to God and was baptized.

I do not know how to let go. I do not know how to convince my heart to open so that I can heal it. This is the closest I have gotten...ever. I want it whole so someone else can finally come in and treat it the way I've always needed. I am so not there yet.

The Month of Extremely Long Blog Titles Is not even Half-way Done Yet

There was this one time, in grade two, when I was on the teeter-totter with my best friend, Miranda. We used to try to bounce each other off the seat as hard as possible when we hit the bottom and the other reached the top. When we got our rhythm right, it was possible that both of us could be bounced at the top several times in succession. We were pretty darn good.

So this one day, we're doing our thing on the teeter-totter, and we've both been bounced at least a few times, when we realize that if we half let go of the handle and push ourselves with it, we can achieve higher liftoff. Which I did...right over the handles and into a smooth, face-plant landing on the central teeter bar. My tooth went through my chin and I still have a pretty sick scar.

Soon after, the totters were all taken away, never to be replaced.

Moral of the story: when you're sloppy with the things you have, they're taken away...whether you meant to break them in the process or not. And you usually break yourself, too.

I watched a lot of stuff today. I watched a movie about a devastatingly sad and heartbreaking, failing marriage. I watched more Grey's than I should have, and there was way too much goo. I watched my dreams and all the unrealisticness they had to offer.

And it put all these silly, fanciful thoughts in my head. Silly, but real. Fanciful, but what my heart actually wants deep down.

I want to be pursued, believe it or not. I want to be romantically swept off my feet. I want people to not approve and to whisper and to say we're too young and moving too fast. I want to get married while we still have no money and nowhere to live and I'm still in school and you're still doing whatever it is that you're doing which you hope won't last forever but might. I want people to think we won't make it so that when we do, the victory tastes even sweeter. I want to do crazy things, like bungee jumping naked because it's free, and move across the country on a whim because we'd rather obey God than social norms, and not strain for money as if that's what life's all about even though everyone we know will tell us that money is what life's all about, and spend Christmas with as much family as possible, and do jell-o shots together when we're 35 and old and we're way too mature. I want to have as many freaking kids as we feel like, and not care if people say we're not being sensible or not thinking about money again. I want to still have dirty sex when we're 40 and our kids are happier thinking we don't, and still do inappropriate things on ski lifts and in movie theatres and behind dumpsters at the baseball stadium and in moving vehicles when we're 70 and our grandkids would rather think that their parents were conceived by in-vitro fertilization. I want to fall madly in love with that someone who sweeps me off my feet, and to stick around even when I hate him and he doesn't deserve my love and I'd be better off without him.

I don't want perfect. I don't expect him to never screw up or to love all my flaws or to put up with all my crap. I don't want or expect or need perfect. I just need someone who's okay with all the crazy (see above if in doubt).

I don't want to be sloppy with the things I have. I don't want to break me or break anyone else. But, I do want to take crazy chances and try to boost myself and my love as high in the sky as possible...even at the risk that someone might get broken.

Oh, and I want my kids to learn horribly indecent things on the banjo.

...tink tonk tink tink tank tink

Drowning in My Own Reflection

Today I got front row tickets to someone else's heart-wrenching pain. She took me through hours of monologue; memories of the last month that she can't shake were suddenly more important than anything else. She is 17 and has just learned that guys will lie about love to get what they want.

She lasted longer than I did. I got my first boyfriend at 15 and, four days into our "relationship," he professed his love to me at the public swimming pool. Despite my incredulous laughter, he said that with love in mind we should have sex. Then I really laughed. We broke up later that day. Shocker. The lesson I learned that I'd always figured but never had solid proof of: men lie about love.

This happens for one of two reasons:

1. They're lying to themselves, deranged enough to think they love me despite not knowing all my pleasant niceties or pitiful faults, which are both essential before such a declaration. You either love all of me or none of me at all; therefore, if you do not know all of me, you cannot love me.
2. They're lying to me and they know it because they think it will get them what they want. Ugh.

She's 17 and hurting because she thinks she broke this guy's heart. A week later he already had a different girlfriend. And she's broken and I understand and there's nothing I can do to help, despite my huge amount of experience. It makes all my heartache feel useless.

She is a slightly more sane, less messy reflection of me. I wish I had something better to say. I wish I could help her before she turns into me.

29

The twenty-ninth of the month is always the most difficult for me.

I was watching Grey's Anatomy some day in the last week (it shouldn't be surprising that I don't remember which day; I watch Grey's every day) and one episode had a woman who came in because she had a heart attack. With testing and a little background search, they found out that she had come into the hospital with the same symptoms on the same day every year for seven years.

The why? The neighbour Ted had died that day seven years before, and she had been having an affair with him. They had been in love for over twenty years. Now, on the anniversary of his death, she literally came in with a broken heart against her will.

The twenty-ninth of the month is the same for me. It's not even that I hurt on the yearly anniversary; I am broken again once a month and don't even realize why until I check the date.

It's been almost five years. That's fifty-four months. Fifty-four "episodes." I want it to stop but I don't know how. Especially when people insist on using this day to break me on their own terms.

End rant.

Twenty-five

I haven't posted in an extremely long time. For reasons unknown, my computer is broken and the internet is nada working. I haven't wanted to blog on another computer, but now I'm just having to suck it up.

I was looking at old FB notes, and I came across one entitled "25" that is basically twenty-five random things about me. I didn't read it, but instead decided I will do another one on here and see how close they end up being; the last one was probably about a year ago.

1. Right now, my greatest desire is for waist-length blond hair.

2. I drink Jones Soda like the continuing existence of the universe depends on my doing so.

3. I still have over two years (at least) of schooling left, and I secretly have no desire to finish or do well.

4. None of my grandparents have died yet, and when I remember this it always scares me how much it doesn't scare me. They've always been there and I cannot imagine a time without them; I know it has to happen sometime but it is beyond my comprehension. As a result, I fear I'll be devastated by the shock.

5. I have a secret that I am keeping from every single person I know. It is a different secret for each one, but a significant secret nonetheless. For each person, it is the one thing that I think would destroy our friendship if they knew, even if it is ridiculous to think so.

6. I wanted to be married by 20. In three months I will be 22. I have my wedding dress picked out, know the church I want it to be in, and have already begun to make a mental list of the things I will register for at IKEA. I have been single for nearly a year and there are no promising prospects.

7. I am getting better at saying good-bye and knowing that there is a good chance that the next time I will see them will probably be in Heaven. And I think I'm finally okay with that.

8. The most recent happiest moment of my life was tonight, filling up my gas tank for $45 Canadian down in the States. Normally, here, it would cost over $60. Life is so good.

9. About 90% of the people I would have considered my closest friends this time last year have changed.

10. I would trade my own life's happiness for my brother to be happy without a second of hesitation.

11. My favourite McFlurry is caramel Oreo.

12. I remember the moment when it was first announced that the 2010 Olympic Winter Games would be held here. I was 15 and at my best friend's house. It feels like yesterday, and now six years later they're already over.

13. I love the movie Day Zero. I bought it 4 for $10 at Superstore a few weeks ago even though I'd never seen it, and it turned out to be the perfect pick. It's not a typical "OMG I just looooooove it" movie, but I can't help myself. I don't even know why.

14. I would rather be pretty much anywhere but here right now doing anything but this. I'm glad God's been so clear and horribly disappointed all at the same time.

15. I have two cats, Chloe and Pepsi. They're usually better company than most people I know.

16. When I own my own house, the first thing I am going to do is create my sanctuary. I want an entire wall that is all bookshelves, and a cabinet with a thousand drawers for all of my art supplies, and a desk that surrounds me on three sides that has enough room for anything and everything, and walls that I can keep in a constant state of painting and decorating according to my daily mood, and real plants all over the place, and a window that the sun hits perfectly...and a life-size poster of James McAvoy just to keep me motivated.

17. If it were possible, I would live strictly on McDonald's fries, salt and vinegar Pringles, and chocolate soya milk.

18. In grade ten I drank a can of Coke in eight seconds.

19. When I tell people I want to be a nun, I mean it. They laugh and I laugh but I am dead serious.

20. If I win $10,000 on Roll Up The Rim, which I am highly anticipating, I have a masterful plan. I will: work only half the summer, pay off my student loan, buy a newer car, buy a new wardrobe, and spend the rest of my summer in Europe. So far I'm 0 for 7 on winning anything, even donuts.

21. My next boyfriend will prefer Pepsi to Coke, not be able to fit into my jeans, know how to make a killer breakfast sandwich, cheer for the right hockey team, want to do Bible studies with me in bed (sounds 1000x worse than what I mean), know how to plan a wicked awesome date, and wear sexy shoes. This is all that I require.

22. My therapist's name is Scott. He makes me breathe easier, doesn't judge me when I mess up (oooor purposely go off the deep end), and he didn't laugh when I told him that my spirit animal is a whale.

23. It took me about seven months to figure out what "FTW" means.

24. This week, between free McDonald's coffees, Roll Up The Rim Tim Horton's coffees, Starbucks, and our awesome at-home Starbucks coffee, I have probably had about 17 coffees.

25. If I could do one thing with the rest of my life if there were no consequences and no requirements for life other than to live it, I would live somewhere beautiful and spend all of my days drawing, writing, having sex, eating wonderful food, and listening to music. I wonder if at the end of it all I will regret not just doing it.

Slow Is Good...but Fast Is Better

We live in a world that pushes us forward, begging us to take the plunge and dive into whatever we most desire and to do whatever it takes to get it...sex, money, alcohol, drugs, power, fame, "happiness." And then we get hit with the double standard: when we, especially as women, give our all to get what we want, we're seen as conniving, pathetic, egotistical or slutty. We're taught in one breath to move as fast as possible for the ever-shifting finish line, and at the same time be prepared to hit the pause button at any moment and to somehow know when that should be. We're new at this, for crying out loud! I'm twenty-one years old, and I do not have this whole living thing figured out yet. I make a lot of mistakes, regularly, and at some point I need to stop apologizing for things. Some of the time, I'm really not sorry. And some of the time I'm even proud of myself. But for the rest of the times...I just need to change. Slowly. If I try to rush this part of the process, I'll really mess things up. I'm in way over my head, in ways no one even understands, but I think that if I go slow enough I'll be able to surface slowly and not burst my lungs from the pressure.

I have been bombarded all my life with conflicting messages, and they get harder to decipher every day. Relationships are the hardest. Always have been, probably always will be. It's at the top of the list for what I most desire, what I am most willing to sacrifice for, and therefore have the most power to hurt me. Go slow they tell me, as they throw images and story lines at me that tell me it's not possible to. Fast is the new slow. But fast love hurts just as bad as slow love, the potential for pain just comes more swiftly.

In the words of Brooke Davis, "Slow is good, but fast is better," but it begs the question "for whom?"

Re: "....One Last Disguise"

Response, not imitation, is the highest form of flattery. This one's for you.

I have never understood it, not from the time I was a child and it first emerged, nor even last night when it forced me down on my knees to cry for the thousandth time; the need to be loved by someone who doesn't have to is great indeed.

The first boy who ever said he loved me proclaimed it in the middle of Sungod swimming pool after dating only two days and knowing each other not much longer. I remember laughing in his face, and barely being surprised when I found the reason behind his heartfelt declaration: he wanted to have sex. That day. I was 15 and already so jaded. I have no idea where that attitude came from or why I carried it so close to my heart, but it has been a permanent fixture in my life since it surfaced six years ago.

From that moment on, I was never alone. If I didn't have a boyfriend, I had a "someone." I learned quickly from the first boy I ever "loved" (I use quotations because manipulated heartstrings aren't tuned to love someone, but at that time I definitely believed it would never get better) that I was not worthy of being a man's sole (or soul) desire. To hold one down, to have him completely enraptured in me was too much to ask because I was not the kind of person who deserved it. Our dating pattern went something like this: get together, fall in love, he cheats, I end it; get back together, have always been in love, he cheats, he ends it; still in love, get back together, he falls out of love and cheats, he ends it. Etc. And every time, I was the one who got the crappy, crappier, crappiest end of the stick. I let it happen because I was terrified that if it wasn't him, no one else would ever want me.

The summer after grade 12, I had a classic summer romance. Poetic, right? I had no expectations on his character or anything else because by then I knew what men were and what they were incapable of being. They were dishonest, cheating, controlling and unfeeling. They were completely incapable of showing love without strings attached, or of expressing any emotion that might actually hint to who they were under the facade. So to me, this "summer fling" was exactly what the phrase intones: a no-feelings, no strings, flighty and fun escapade to waste away my summer days. And when he told me he loved me, I said this: "You don't have to lie to me. I've known boys like you my whole life. Let's just leave this at what it really is and not try to pretend it's something it's not." He nodded his head in agreement and that was that. In essence, I had become exactly like the men I hated: hard-hearted and dead to real love.

That was when I took some time off. For over two years, I stayed away from anything even resembling serious friendship with a guy because I knew that having them in my life had ruined me. I didn't know who I was or who God wanted me to be; I was lost in a sea of being something for someone. God changed my heart, opened up my eyes and began teaching me that I am worth something in His eyes, and immeasurably beyond worthy to be loved. Occasionally I would slip back into the old patterns of The Need, especially when the date passed that I had always wanted to get married on, but God redeemed.

And then He showed me what genuine love looks like. I'm not going to go into details, but the best I can do is to say that I had never before experienced an equal, giving, no power-struggle relationship, and it was beautiful. And through it, God was finally able to break through my stone-cold heart and show me His love. Incredible.

So here I am, alone again, and reading a blog by a friend. He is asking about this need we have to be with somebody. This is my response (probably lengthier than necessary). I don't know why I have this need, why it's so strong, or where it comes from. All I know is that for a very long time I found my worth in what boys thought of me, and occasionally I still get dragged down to that place only marked by pain and destroyed self-esteem. God is the only antidote, the only one who can look me in the heart and tell me that I am complete and beautiful in His sight, even without a man's love.

And this I know (because it's been written on my heart since the day I was born), when the day comes and I am finally ready, He will bring someone into my life who will compliment my soul perfectly, and that man will mean it when he says he loves me.

She'd Be California

I started listening to music again. I have missed being able to listen to simple lyrics without immediately attributing them to every possible aspect of my life. Lately I have found that I can just sing without thought and enjoy the play of words over my tongue rather than their hidden meaning in the grand scheme of things.

I had a birthday. I didn't die. Hallelujah. Seemingly humorous, but not really. I've had bad luck with birthdays since I was about seven. There was never a year without drama or hurt or too much to drink. Last year was on the road to recovery, this year had some difficulties but is probably the best one since I was six. And the good times haven't stopped yet; I still have a few celebrations left to go.

Yesterday I was getting my legs waxed and a song came on the speakers while we were talking about my birthday. It's called 'birthday sex' or something equally as stupid. Lyrics that didn't touch me all over again, and that touched me.

Maybe I'm not making a lot of sense, but I'm growing accustomed to living within my own world and ignoring whether or not others can keep up. That probably isn't the best scenario to be blogging within, as I'm sure those who read would much rather understand than not, but this is the turnings of my mind. I find fault in everything except myself because, whenever I get the chance to realize it, I am my own definition of fault.

Santa Barbara in summer, yeah, she feels like that.

Oh Baby, If Only You Knew

Today is a very special occasion. This is my, correction, thirty-seventh blog, and I'm not quite sure how to celebrate. How about with an exclamation of how amazing it is to be alive.

This has been such a learning process, and skimming over some previous entries has brought me to one conclusion: I am irreversibly screwed up. Every time I turn around, I've changed my mind, my mood, my heart. Just two blogs ago I swore off stability and flew at spontaneity, and now I sit safe on a Bible college couch awaiting nothing more exhilerating than curfew.

I found a new hobby. I adoringly call it "Wedding Stalking." Basically, I creep around Facebook until I find someone with a wedding album and go from there. I'm putting together a collection of my favourite ideas. The truth is, I'm planning crazy. Just the other day I picked out my rings. HOLD UP! Before you judge me and see the rest of this blog through jaded glasses, hear me out. I am very open to whatever my man wants to get me. And if his taste completely differs from mine but it's what he really wants for me, I'm so okay with that. ...BUT, if I'm going to be completely honest, I know what I want. And they're beautiful. It's not that I'm uber picky, I just love originality.

Speaking of being original, I cannot wait to have a job that pays tons of money so I can save up for stuff, and then re-design my wardrobe. The more I look around, the more I see the typical style of today. Yes, some people attempt to be original, but it's still within the same box. I want to be so beyond the box that things like "pants," panties," and "ponchos" don't even enter my vocabulary. I want to be like "BAM!" and people would be all like "WOAH!" and whip their heads around so fast they'd fly off and their hair would wrap around telephone poles and swing into oncoming traffic.

Regarding my latest mood swing: I am cured, I think. I know how depressing I've been, and it's only made me feel worse to write about it. Yet even as I'm typing this, I know that isn't the entire truth. It is such a release to just be honest and put my entire self OUT THERE, vulnerable, pouring out my soul. The more I pour, the more room there is to be adding grape juice back in. The more lemonade I replace, the more outwardly beautiful I become. Don't confuse this with physical beauty, I'm talking about the type that shines straight from my heart and out my eyes. My mom used to say that she could always tell my mood just by looking in my eyes, because they're so expressive of my deepest thoughts. I've learned that as much as I can smile it away for those who don't know me as well, the ones who honestly know my heart will never be fooled.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day Eve, my second favourite day of the year. What will I do with myself? Not a clue. What will I not do with myself? Stay in my room feeling sorry for myself. Or happy for myself. I refuse to be anything beyond accepting of my singleness. I can be happy despite it, but not with it. And I'm sick of hearing how that's not okay. I'm okay with it, so all should be supportive. Like when someone's on a horrible downward spiral, caught up in drugs, sex and alcohol. Come on people, get it together.

So here I am. The latest and greatest of my thoughts. Am I confused as ever? Yes. Do I have any clue where I will be two months from now? Not the slightest clue. (These self-reflecting questions are my favourite, in case you haven't caught on by now.) Do I know how to interpret my crazy dreams lately? AHAHAHA as if! All they make me want to do is have babies more than ever.

I am irreversibly screwed up.

Dear Boys, I Have an Announcement...

The original draft for this blog was nothing more than a bitter diatribe that did little to get across my real feelings. It was definitely not something I'd be proud to have my name attached to, thus the re-write.

So in the last several days I have been informed by several people from several points of view of the same thing: it is impossible for me to have guys that are just friends. Apparently the fact that I caught the somewhat-pretty gene means that I am doomed to a life of either only female friends or guys who I think are my friends but actually just want more.

I'm trying to see it from their POV, but I'm having trouble coming to terms with the idea that EVERY guy I talk to only does so because he's thinking that someday it might be something more. I try to give most guys a little more credit than that.

Once again, the world is in my face telling me that it's only beauty that matters. If I weren't pretty, no guy would even bother trying to get to know me.

So, a basic summary of what I'm hearing:
- my personality, sense of humour or conversational skills don't count toward my friendability when it comes to the opposite sex.
- what comes out of my lips is useless; only having them perfectly glossed will grab a boy's attention.
- even if I think we're only friends and we have discussed it and agree that is where we stand, chances are pretty good that he still only wants to get in my pants.

Thank you, World, for defining my worth. Once again, you have made it so clear.

I have also been told that since I've found one guy who 100% is not interested in me and vice versa, I should cut my losses now and accept that I will probably never find another one. Hooray.

Well, I'm going to look on the bright side (and hopefully turn around this otherwise-gloomy blog), and try to see the good in this whole "experience". Obviously these people have a valid point: I can't be naive. However, I need to trust my own instincts and not walk around acting like I believe I am God's gift to men (which I assure you, I am NOT). So I will take this all with a grain of salt and go on pretty much the way I have been: being myself and not stressing the small stuff.

Detox

Remember that big binder of my random writings that I mentioned a few blogs ago? So I was reading through it just now and got some inspiration.

About six months ago, I started reading this book called "Sex Detox." Before you run away with yourself, it's not what you think. The book is broken into two parts, one for people in relationships (and then it is what it sounds like) and one part for single people. The whole point of the book is to take a month out of your life to evaluate what is important to you, your values, and the things you'd like to change. I'm going to focus on the single aspect of the book, because that's the part that applies to me and the section that I was working through. Each day had questions to answer in a journal, and even though I only did it for the first three days (I'm such a slacker), I definitely learned a ton about myself.

Here is a small summary of what I learned about myself, without the too-much-information information. I found it so interesting just to see how I used to think, and how much of it is still the same.

Day 1: I had to answer 26 multiple choice questions relating to past relationships, my hopes for the future, my current (and at the time non-existent) relationship situation, and how I viewed my parents' relationship. (Sidenote: this is, once again, me being vulnerable. I share, but it's from my heart. Don't tear me up please).
From the quiz, I learned:
- I am very future-focused.
- I avoid dating to, in turn, avoid the rollercoaster of emotions that I always put myself through.
- I am beyond concerned with how others view me.

Day 2: This exercise was definitely less controlled. I had seven vague statements that I had to link together in any way I wanted, and explain.
Example: mushrooms, love, friend, coffee. coffee is connected to mushrooms because my first date was at a restaurant that only served mushrooms and after that we went for coffee. mushrooms are connected to friends because...and friends are connected to love because...and it continues.
So in the connections I was making (which I won't list, but I assure you were much deeper than mushrooms and coffee), I learned:
- I used to believe that, indirectly, sex = love. The part that I missed was that sex with the wrong person = heartbreak.
- I am breakable. I like to imagine that I'm solid, a wall, but the truth is that I am easily shattered.
- I used to have a serious addiction to compliments. Thankfully, I'm now in a place where I can allow God to speak to me to the point where His affirmation is the most important.
- As important as it is to find someone who fits my idea of the right guy for me, it's nothing if that same guy doesn't see the traits he needs in me.
- Because of what I saw as a child (or lack thereof), I was convinced that once I hit marriage, life would suddenly make sense and be perfect. And because it had been ingrained in my head that sex only comes after marriage, I somehow drew the conclusion that sex must make everything perfect as well.

Day 3: I had to make a pro and con list of different events that I experienced in the past. All of the situations had good lessons for me to learn, but in the process were also damaging in some way.
I learned:
- I tend to have ideals that can NEVER be matched up to. I cannot put those expectations on anyone and expect them to be perfection for me.
- I grew up thinking my worth was based on beauty.
- My previous relationships actually had a purpose. I learned what I need, and what I cannot, under any circumstances, put up with. My expectations are now more realistic as a result.

And that was where I stopped. I can't really remember why. The reason I'm sharing this? It's self-awareness, as well as a snapshot of who I was at that time. I can look back on it, see how far I've come, and see the way that God is moulding and shaping my thinking to be more like His.

None of this was meant to be too revealing or uncomfortable to read, so if it was I apologize and please let me know.

The more I write, the more I'm coming to understand what this blog is for me. It's my way of communicating to myself and the world who I really am, behind my walls.