Photo reblogged from Caroline is Love with 5 notes
this is the best picture i’ve ever taken.
ca, my love, this was the best decision we ever made.
Source: carolineislove
Post reblogged from Caroline is Love with 2 notes
i’m about 45 seconds away
from booking myself a vacation in april.
alone.
i don’t care.
i just need to get drunk on a beach for a week.
and by that you mean, at my house.
Source: carolineislove
alright, whatever, i’m back.
i’ve been chronicly avoiding any sort of blog or journal activity since i left north carolina. no particular reason why that i can think of, other than.. so much happening.
to recap: i finished fieldwork, i passed the boards, i found the perfect job, i moved to virginia beach and into a gorgeous apartment with my sons (animals, y’all), i went through some traumatic stuff to be left unsaid, and i rebounded.
since then: i’ve made really amazing friends, i’ve spent random days at the beach- just because i can, i’ve spent way too much money, i’ve washed my sheets on a weekly basis like a big kid, i’ve gone out dancing and drinking far more than ever before, and i’ve found happiness in ways i needed to rediscover.
i’m also single now, so there’s that. but.. well, that’s another story for another day.
basically: i’m back, whatever, yadda-yadda. so let’s do this.
Post reblogged from Caroline is Love with 3 notes
i wish i didn’t know what it felt like
to have you asleep on my stomach, at three in the afternoon.
because if i didn’t know, than every sunday wouldn’t be so god damn difficult to get through.
there’s this look he would give, and i always saw it from below as he swiped his hair out of his face with his rough, uncoordinated hand. and while it sometimes said “i’m sorry” or “i’m unsure”, i knew it was an “i love you” look- just before i played with his ever-growing, ever-dirty hair to return the feeling.
i’m just saying, i know what you mean.
Source: carolineislove
March 27, 2011: Post-Birthday, Pre-Moving.
I know I always say this, but: I should have come here on my birthday and I didn’t. However, that is okay, because I was busy spending quality time with a good friend I have made out here in North Carolina over $2 pints of cider in a dimly-lit, art-filled local joint called The Wine Dive. No complaints.
All in all, it was a pretty solid birthday—for what it could be, I mean. Successful, in that I did turn 24 (in that way that birthdays are always a success, so long as you reach them); and also, for the most part, enjoyable. I worked my typical 11-hour day and had some interesting exchanges with my kiddos about my age, or at least what age they thought I was. I love how children have absolutely no concept of time or years.
So, until about… eh, 10pm… it was great. Then 10pm hit. And it’s not that anything in particular happened around this time—aside from a phone call from my feller—it’s just that 10pm happened to be when the joy kind of fell away from what the day was, and I was sad to be so far from the people who love me on my birthday. That’s not to say that I haven’t built meaningful relationships in North Carolina, but… these relationships, these short-term and undoubtedly temporary relationships, are with people who kind of couldn’t care less that it is my birthday. That sounds a bit morose, I know, but it is true.
My birthday has always been a very big deal to me. It is, as it should be, one of the greatest holidays I can experience—much like those same holidays I enjoy for those I love, those whose life I really want to celebrate and say “hey, I am so glad you were born!”
But, anyway, obviously I survived. And I spent the weekend doing a number of things, including: not working as much as I should have, building a visual motor activity for my Supervisor, packing my trunk with the few boxes my life tangible life fits into right now, eating an entire box of Caramel Delite Girl Scout cookies (thanks, momma!), drinking wonderful local stout porter brews between conversations with the friends I have made here, babysitting a 3-year old I have come to adore, and purchasing 3 new belts with the money I was given for babysitting said 3-year old.
Happy birthday to me, and hello year 24! It has already promised to be a life-changing, soul-shaking, character-testing, knowledge-progressing year… and I look forward to rising to the occasion.
March 19, 2011: I Don’t Wear Polos, and I Don’t Take Handouts.
My birthday—my first stride into my mid-20s—is now 5 days away.
I started packing up my room in North Carolina this weekend… which, really, is almost senseless, as I moved here with only what fit in my car to begin with.
The Goodwill is Cornelius is so ridiculously amazing. It’s like shopping in Macy’s. Thank you, local rich people, for getting rid of clothes I could have never afforded otherwise, but that I will gladly purchase from the racks of Goodwill for $3.49 a pop… Consider me outfitted for Conference, and partially for my second fieldwork rotation.
I hate do not like polos. I don’t wear polos. And yet, the dress code at my next rotation site… polos only. Aw, reallyyy!?
Me: What about collared shirts?
Woman: Um, well, you could maybe get away with one from time to time, but… yeah, no. Polos.
Boooooo!
Oh, and my camera is officially up for sale. Following weeks of minimal mourning, I finally made it official (by posting it on Facebook, duh).
So many people have told me “Nooooo! Don’t do itttttt!” and I’m just kind of annoyed by that. This means a lot to me. It means a lot to me to be able to take care of myself. And, here I sit on $2G worth of camera equipment, so while I appreciate the many loan offers that have been extended to me: How dare I even consider asking for or accepting any help before I exhaust my own ability to manage!
Maybe that’s what’s wrong with our world. STUFF has just become so important. But, in reality, it’s just a camera… and I’d rather be able to eat and pay rent and see people I love with the ability to purchase gasoline. So, for now, I cannot afford to have such a camera; and when the day comes around that I can, okay, I will buy a new one. It’s really not that big of a deal. I never use the damn thing anyway unless someone is throwing money my way because I have other things to do. I have school and work, and lots of paint and colored pencils and pastels and other assorted art supplies I probably shouldn’t have spent so much on in the first place to keep me company.
I was raised to think this way about money and about “stuff”, and I am thankful for that. No material item will ever mean more to me than my own sense of self and personal responsibility. Ever. And if it does, then I need to get rid of it and to get my head right.
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