this blog is going to go deep. bear with me. if you're not feelin' like some soul searching garble, i suggest you go finish your laundry. ( or something. )

do we get dancing lessons?
what favors should we give to the guests?
how many guests?
is it okay for there to be no chicken?
Germany or Japan for a honeymoon?
long or short dress?
where should the reception be?
what colors? (cause i was thinking red and white)
should he wear his uniform?
where do we register?
should the recepion be themed?
should we write our own vows?
what should my, "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue" be?
if he sings to me (which he probably will) what should i do special for him?
where should we live?
DJ or live band?

that's all i can think of for now.

scene: my bedroom. me sitting on the bed, books strewn about haphazardly as is typical of my studying style. the clock says 10:30. i take a study break to call Will.

Will: you know that thing i've been waiting to say to you until i see you next?
ellie: yes.
Will: well, i can't wait that long. and i have everyone here, or mostly everyone, but really i can't wait anymore.
ellie: ??
Will: i had it written down in German, but i forgot the card i wrote it on, so i have do to it in English.
ellie: ???
Will: you know how when you came into my life, everything got better. and how whenever i look at you, my heart skips a beat.
ellie: yes...
[in the background, Erin is laughing nervously, and the band is yelling]
Will: i'm sorry to do this over the phone. but i just couldn't wait and i'll just say it right out.
ellie: [suddenly catches a clue] oh...
Will: will you marry me?
ellie: [crying] yes!
Will: WOoooOOOOOooooooOooOOoOoO!

~*~

and that is how it happened. today, he's asking again, in front of all the band. today, i get to put his ring on my finger. in two years, i will have his last name. i...couldn't be more sure. couldn't be happier. for better or for worse, i'm his. there is no one else i want. when you know, it hits you like a ton of bricks and knocks you to the floor with a smile.

i'm beyond joyful.

the high school reunion was on Saturday. my biggest fear was confirmed: the high school sweetheart, whom i had dated until my senior year of college (or five years), and whom i had sworn to never speak to again, was there. i will be goddamned if i wasn't nice, and pleasant, and good. and he was too, for the most part. there were times when he seemed inherently better than when i had left him--a better person on a whole, as in just having this aura of balance. and then the same snarky comments came out, and i smiled and saw the man i knew.

"there you are," i thought. "you could never hide from me."

i was trash. was never smart enough, good enough, or just enough for him. and he was not what i needed. i closed the door, and walked away.

after conveying the story to my friend tonight, she asked me a very interesting question: is what you wanted then better or worse than what you have now?

i thought about it. the answer i came to, was that what i have now is better. my reasoning is, that what i once wanted was for things to fit into this magical ideal that i knew could happen, and if i just wished/gave/loved hard enough i could do it. what i want now, is what i have. i have...a big love. a crazy love. a love that scares the bejeezus out of me because i stick my hand in it to test the depths and end up falling in. i'm afraid to explore it because i'm afraid of what will happen if i do. but it's so good--it's good that i have something that makes me this happy. i *am* happy.

he gave me his email address, but i threw it away today. i opened the door again, wondering what i would find. everything was in order. everything was as it should be. i closed the door once more. everything is as it should be. forgive me if i'm a little shaken, but i'm definitely unstirred.

( it's really good to see you once again. )

i grew lonely for my poetry, and began looking through the literary journals of yore from high school and college. rather than poems these days, prose is what springs into my head. this afternoon, i was writing a passage about my daughter, and how i almost spoke of her to a stranger. now i'm in the mood to write about chameleons. ( words are slippery to me these days. )

Ongoing fight between myself and a friend
why is he "my son" only when he misbehaves?

Office mystery
who drinks all my coffee?

newest nickname
Scooterboard

Newest endeavor
teaching the guinea pig to fold laundry

Observations
my wall calendar is not stiff enough to keep from flopping over.

hi, uncertainty.

when you make food with the intention of there being leftovers, you don't want leftovers the next day.


Facts
no matter how much people complain about our job and threaten to leave, they never do.

there's a rubber bat taped to my computer monitor at work

i have six bruises and one abrasion

Most recently learned knowledge
Eddie Murphy was on Saturday Night Live at age 19.

Most recently learned dance move
The Get The Hell Outta The Way

Quote
me: i almost went to Washington College. turned it down because it didn't have enough trees.
girl at work: this is you, "i have a $40,000 scholarship and honors English residency, but you need to provide shade for my pale self before i'll hang out with you."

Picture Description
girl sitting in a wheat field, back towards the viewer, prominent left foreground. she's looking at an old farm house and matching barn a little ways off in the distance. Andrew Wyeth is a genius.

thanks, Pattu.

everyone has a first time.

many people remember their first times with nostalgia, or even a sort of contentment. me? gut wrenching fear that nearly buckled my knees out from under me and had me wretching.

it didn't matter how hard i held onto him. his only goal was to throw me around. there was going to be no "calm" or "gentle" about the whole process. from beginning to end, i will remember the tears, the screams, the sweat, and the continuous blows. i got kicked in the head twice for my efforts. i will never look at him the same way again.

today, i met the first kid that i am truly frightened of.

after seeing him pitch a grown man across the room like he was throwing a towel, i began to second-guess my involvement in the whole restraining procedure. my instinct was to back off. but in doing that, i would be removing one of the many needed supports in the ordeal--granted, i was not holding any limbs which is a crucial standpoint. however, i had all of my weight on shoulders and ankles, or did my best to hold his head still and keep him from biting people when they had to go in and fish his arms out from under his chest. i was shaking when it was all done. it didn't matter that later in the day i was bitten and scratched continually by another kid; i felt nothing. that first kick to the head scared me so bad...and then watching him *still* be able to buck and squirm around with FIVE able bodied and experienced men holding him down... it should be illegal for children to be that big and strong.

today was my first time being afraid of what i do for a living.

Happy Birthday, Live Journal!

long ago (2001-2002ish) i started my first livejournal. however, the guy i was dating at the time gave me such a hard time about it that i deleted it in the interest of keeping the peace in a relationship that i hoped would last forever. he's gone. the internet is still here. hum.

i never thought there was room or need in my life for two journals, seeing as i write so infrequently in the journal i keep by my bed anyway. but this has had a big part of my life, whether i intended it to or not. and, like always, i'm using it to mirror lucysnowe01

i have compiled some noteworthy moments and attempted to reflect on what has been said in the last year. enjoy.

( one year down, who knows how many to go. )

His Coy Mistress to Mr. Marvell
Since you have world enough and time
Sir, to admonish me in rhyme,
Pray Mr Marvell, can it be
You think to have persuaded me?
Then let me say: you want the art
To woo, much less to win my heart.
The verse was splendid, all admit,
And, sir, you have a pretty wit.
All that indeed your poem lacked
Was logic, modesty, and tact,
Slight faults and ones to which I own,
Your sex is generally prone;
But though you lose your labour, I
Shall not refuse you a reply:

First, for the language you employ:
A term I deprecate is "coy";
The ill-bred miss, the bird-brained Jill,
May simper and be coy at will;
A lady, sir, as you will find,
Keeps counsel, or she speaks her mind,
Means what she says and scorns to fence
And palter with feigned innocence.

The ambiguous "mistress" next you set
Beside this graceless epithet.
"Coy mistress", sir? Who gave you leave
To wear my heart upon your sleeve?
Or to imply, as sure you do,
I had no other choice than you
And must remain upon the shelf
Unless I should bestir myself?
Shall I be moved to love you, pray,
By hints that I must soon decay?
No woman's won by being told
How quickly she is growing old;
Nor will such ploys, when all is said,
Serve to stampede us into bed.

When from pure blackmail, next you move
To bribe or lure me into love,
No less inept, my rhyming friend,
Snared by the means, you miss your end.
"Times winged chariot", and the rest
As poetry may pass the test;
Readers will quote those lines, I trust,
Till you and I and they are dust;
But I, your destined prey, must look
Less at the bait than at the hook,
Nor, when I do, can fail to see
Just what it is you offer me:
Love on the run, a rough embrace
Snatched in the fury of the chase,
The grave before us and the wheels
Of Time's grim chariot at our heels,
While we, like "am'rous birds of prey",
Tear at each other by the way.

To say the least, the scene you paint
Is, what you call my honour, quaint!
And on this point what prompted you
So crudely, and in public too,
To canvass and , indeed, make free
With my entire anatomy?
Poets have licence, I confess,
To speak of ladies in undress;
Thighs, hearts, brows, breasts are well enough,
In verses this is common stuff;
But -- well I ask: to draw attention
To worms in -- what I blush to mention,
And prate of dust upon it too!
Sir, was this any way to woo?

Now therefore, while male self-regard
Sits on your cheek, my hopeful bard,
May I suggest, before we part,
The best way to a woman's heart
Is to be modest, candid, true;
Tell her you love and show you do;
Neither cajole nor condescend
And base the lover on the friend;
Don't bustle her or fuss or snatch:
A suitor looking at his watch
Is not a posture that persuades
Willing, much less reluctant maids.

Remember that she will be stirred
More by the spirit than the word;
For truth and tenderness do more
Than coruscating metaphor.
Had you addressed me in such terms
And prattled less of graves and worms,
I might, who knows, have warmed to you;
But, as things stand, must bid adieu
(Though I am grateful for the rhyme)
And wish you better luck next time.

-- A. D. Hope

i have fingerprint bruises on my hip, and they're not from my kids.

it's happening again.

the water is getting deeper. i'm choking, and my legs are fatigued from treading.