My Boyfriend: Bomb Diggity

(NOTE: This was written back in May 2012)

So far on this blog, my posts have consisted of rants, venting and complaints about my privileged life. Today, however, if the day that I post something positive.

I am enamored with my boyfriend.
He is so good to me. Though he's extremely laid back, he always gives me just the right amount of attention that I need.

The long distance makes quality time together even more precious, and I'm continually amazed at how our ability to carry a solid phone/Skype conversation for over an hour at a time.

He says good morning and goodnight to me every day, sprinkling his greetings with compliments and utter sweetness. He tells me I'm beautiful at least once every day (I mean, who's counting?).

He like math, and I like English. He likes Star Wars and I like art. He likes swimming and I like yoga. We're opposites in a lot of ways, but those things even out, and our personalities seem to effortlessly fit.

He makes me smile, a lot.

This might all be due to starry-eyed-new-relationship-wonder, and I may or may not be slightly twitter pated, but right now I don't care. I think this stage is healthy when there is actual substance to a relationship.

I think he's great, he thinks I'm great too.

I Like Your Hair: How I Decided My Name Wasn't Julius

People surprise you.

And when I say "you," I mean me. I not even going to pretend to speak metaphorically. Sometimes I think that I have people all figured out. That each one of them belongs in a designated box or folder in my mind, filed by a variety of characteristics; gender, religion, hair color, background, etc. And sometimes I believe that I am able to understand how people will function based upon past reactions or one of the previous characteristics. In some ways I build myself up to be God; believing in my abilities to predict the future and understanding the past with ease. I convince myself that I, one that has little experience in this world, and amongst people have the ability to know how they will react. I generate scenarios in my mind where people are thrown into situations, like gladiators in the Colosseum  and I, the great and powerful Caesar, will be able to know which player will win, or what beast they might overcome.

However, I am not Julius Cesar. And I do not understand people.

I work in an office as the front desk receptionist, eight hours a day, five days a week. If I'm not talking on the phone, I am usually helping and/or directing people to where they need to go and telling them who they need to talk to. Everyone that comes into the office has to pass by my desk. Its probably the best job for an extrovert.

Yesterday, one of the guys from Information Services came into the office to assist my boss with her computer. Printer problems, I suppose. Anyway, I had joked around with him before, teasing him about having a "first world problem," or something of that likeness before, and since then, we had developed a somewhat lighthearted relationship usually peppered with sarcasm or jokes. When I saw him walk in the front door and plop his elbows on my counter, I prepared myself to react to his expected sarcastic greeting. So, you can imagine my surprise when, instead of reprimanding me for the condition of the counter, he said, "Hey, you have nice hair today."

I was completely speechless. I couldn't even mutter "thank you," but only sat there, with my hands politely folded and my jaw, loose on it's hinges. He then smiled and walked over to another worker's desk, completely unaware of what he had just done.

Now, granted, I don't know this kid hardly at all. But I did believe (up until yesterday) that I had him figured out; that from here on, his behaviors would all be equal in demeanor and content of conversation. Oh, but how I was wrong. Once again, I believed I possessed the power to tell the future based upon what I knew to be reality. However, my reality is not necessarily always the true one. I believe you can never completely figure out a person. There will always be something, some aspect of their life that you will never know or understand. At times this can be frustrating, but also exciting. I suppose if everyone acted the way that I would continually guessed them to act, I wouldn't be fascinated by people anymore.

People will surprise you. But this is a good thing. 

Mourning Light

I do not think that I am a good writer.

That being said, I know that improvement is needed. Thus, I am writing on this blog, not necessarily for the enjoyment of others, but for my own personal gain. You might think this to be selfish, but I think of it as an outlet for self-improvement.

Today is the six year anniversary of the day my uncle committed suicide. Since then, every August 8^th has been a day of mourning in my family. Since he was my mom’s little brother, she, her sister and mother grieve the most.

I loved my uncle. As a talented musician, he was my earliest inspiration to play the guitar. When I was four, I begged my parents for a guitar. Unfortunately, my parents didn't have the money to buy a guitar for a four-year-old at the time. I was devastated. At least, as devastated as a small, barefooted blonde could be.

Then, on my thirteenth birthday, a large package came in the mail addressed to me. Once all the tape and packing peanuts where ripped off and all over the floor, the box revealed a brand new, deep red acoustic guitar. It was a thing of beauty. The ruby red finish gleamed in the florescent light of our living room. It smell of manufactured, plastic bliss. I ran my fingers over the taught strings. The sound that exuded melted my core. I was speechless. My parents, of course, knew that my uncle had saved up in order to spark my dream of becoming the next Joan Jett. They smiled, and my mom cried.

The guitar was faulty, however. The neck bowed, leaving it unplayable. When my uncle heard this, he apologized up and down, swearing he would buy me a new one.

That never happened.

It wasn’t too long after that, we received a phone call while on vacation in Arkansas. It was a beautiful morning. The sun beams shone through the blinds and you could hear the distant mourning doves nesting in the pines. But these things are not what woke me. Suddenly, I heard a scream from the downstairs. At first, I thought there was something wrong with my baby cousin, who was born with extreme disfigurements and harsh medical issues. Instead, I recognized my mother’s voice, wailing with extreme fear and agony.

She had received a call saying my Uncle Lance had committed suicide.

I remember it all very vividly. My mother, crawling into bed with me and sobbing. I was fifteen and here I was holding my own mother like she held me when I was a child.

Many people debate on what motivated my uncle to do what he did.  At first, my theory was that he was framed. Someone must have murdered him for his business and made it appeared as if he had taken his own life.

The truth of the matter is that Lance didn’t see any other way out. He had exhausted not only his options, but his heart and soul as well. I believe he felt that people would be better off without him, whether dead or alive.

However, the devil deceived him. He was loved by many and is now missed by many more. He was a good person by all means; caring, loving and considerate of other. I’ll never forget my curly haired uncle, who quietly loved him like his own.