Hallelujah

I admit that I've loved the song "Hallelujah" for a damn long time. But I'm listening to it right now, at this exact moment, and I'm realizing again just how much it has gotten me through. I can't say it's the singer, the cords, the lyrics. I can't even say it's the word "hallelujah." What I can say, though, is that there is something genuine about that song. It's something that transcends situations. It can be something sexy... like that very sexy sex scene in Watchmen. It can be a religious uplift. It can be something depressing and melodramatic. It just fits in so many different places.

It's the perpetual cookie cutter of songs. And when I get to the core of it all, I can only say that... really... that's probably why I love it so damned much. It makes me happy, sad, suicidal, sexy and a Jesus-cruiser in just three minutes.

And no, I wasn't trying to be blasphemous on Easter eve. Just sounds it. Whatev.

I've decided to try something out, for a while at least. I want to try something new, every chance I get. I want to start a garden, something that I've never tried before (with any success anyways). I want to try and cook something unique and different. I want to download more and more indie music (I already download enough of it to cover my husband and myself.... but I want to be a bigger part in the indie phase). I want to see a new movie and try to appreciate something more than just "passing the time." I want to draw - and not shitty.

Who knows how long this kick will last? I just know that right now, this very moment, I'm in a mood to see and watch how I grow and mature. I'm ready to be more than I am. I feel like I'm in an "Ashley-rut" - a place where I am static. I'm not evolving or moving past certain things.

This has nothing to do with where I am, who I am married to or any of that sort. This is just a thing I need to do for me.

I think it has to do with the fact that, more and more (at least it feels like it), my mother keeps making me feel ten-years-old. She won't go away, get some balls, and try to live her life without me. I'm tired of her mind games. I'm tired of her family. I'm tired of constantly trying to make a person who doesn't know, or appreciate happiness, happy. I'm just tired.

I want a break from my mom. And I want to cheat on her. And then I want to try and get back together, only to be Ross and Rachel. Except without the constant, "are they or aren't they?"

They weren't on the show. And we won't be in real life.

I think I'm getting ready to grow up. Fuck. Is this part of turning 25? This is, isn't it? FUCK.

As a side note: Yes, I'm turn a quarter of a century old. I'm slightly freaking out about it. I want to do something special... just not with the same people I know. I want to be spontaneous and run off. I want to disappear. I want to NOT do Las Vegas. I want to NOT be in Phx. I want to do something new to kick off the next 25.

I'm constantly thinking of things, but they are all lame and they are all things people could easily take away from me. I am holding it as close to the chest as I can. The closer, the better.

The closer - the more MINE it is. I am going a bit Larfleeze, but that's okay. I want to be greedy, to be just a bit selfish, to be just a bit of a kid that say's "fuck it."

I have absolutely no point, nothing of interest, nothing real to say. I just needed to rant. To rave. To be pointless. To have no drive. To be lost. To stare blankly. To remind myself that I'm still here. To know that even if I feel lost, I'll find myself.

With that said, ciao. I'm ready to stop SAYING I'm going to do it. I'm ready to plunge on in, burn myself by rushing in, and to say that I actually DID something.

As it never seems to fail, I am one to sit and ponder my life at the most random of times. Seriously - I can sit there and think about the most profound life-shattering philosophical things and it will always be at the most random, often inappropriate times.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. It's a day that I am notoriously a bitch, for several reasons: a) the over-consumerism of that day makes me so sick, b) people who are single make me want to slit my wrists FOR THEM, and c) it has a lot of memories that are tinged with blood, anger, violence, death, and whatever other bad thing you can think of. There's always going to be a place for me inside in which I hate my life that day, a place that when the calendar comes to be February 14, I want to see the end of the world come at an alarmingly fast pace.

Alarmingly fast - you'd never believe it, but that could happen. I'd gladly accept the apocolypse on that date... something Watchmen-style.

This year was no exception, and in true Valentine's fashion I woke up ready to die. But this year was different. Very different. My husband made a difference. He refused to leave me alone (which usually sparks a fight, and us not speaking for several minutes due to my alone-time being violated and raped in eight different ways), but this time he did it in such a way that finally made me laugh. Finally made me shed my anger. Finally made me accept that it's just another day of the year. And to him I say: good for you. That's a fucking challenge.

So really, what I want to say is: thank you. You've taken eighteen years of bad memories, my grandfather's death, my fight with my uncle, every other consequential thought and memory that has happened on THAT day, and turned it into something tolerable. It still stings, and I'll still probably be a bitch and hate that day until the day I die.... but you made at least one where I didn't want to die. Didn't want to kill. Didn't want the death of humanity.

You win.

Life in the Fast Lane

It's fast. Very fast. Really obnoxiously fast.

So since my last update... in May of last year (I told you then, my word means SHIT anymore)... I have completed a multitude of things. Many of these things were done with much success and love, others with the scorn of hellfire and brimstone. Go figure. I only seem to know extremes.

PS - They are in no order. Judge me not.

1) Got hitched. Successfully. I looked awesome, so did my husband. I did not trip, slur my words, or otherwise make an ass out of myself.
2) Went on the honeymoon from hell. I had ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN HIVES all over my body. Add that with being in Orlando... and you had one angry, bitter, hurt, bastard-like me. I fucking hated that place. I hate humidity. I hate touristy places. I have even thought about going into politics, running for office (if Obama can do it... so can I!), winning the Presidential election in eleven years, AND FUCKING BLOWING ORLANDO OFF OF AMERICA.
3) Started by second year of teaching. Still kick ass. Hate the majority of my kids this year. Their personalities are awesome, but their apathetic desire to learn or accomplish more than simply spelling their name right (I wish that was a joke) is slowly making me hate my job. When we have a nest-egg, I might go into nursing. Or something in which involves needles, blood and pain. I'm good with all three.
4) Gotten along with my bastardy brother for longer than three days. I still need my breaks. But I've learned he CAN exist in the same world/universe as me. And that's with all his limbs, and his head still attached.
5) I like living with my husband. He makes me laugh, gives me space, cramps my style, lets me paint every room in the house a different color (my house is known as: "Welcome to the House that Skittles Built"), and let's me attempt whatever I want in the kitchen. This new found freedom is thrilling and exhausting. I nap constantly. I am becoming more and more like my father. I only fear the back hair that comes with that.
6) Read the Twilight series. I sold out. I read them. I liked them too. Liked them so much that I was obsessed with them. I'm a fucking poser. But whatever, at least now when my kids do book reports on them I can say if they did it or not.
7) Had the best Christmas ever. No one yelled, screamed, stormed off, or anything. AND I had a moment where religion actually meant something more. I've hated religion my whole life. It has made me feel ostracized in school, with friends, and sometimes with family. It has condemned my soul (ironically enough, a pastor has damned me to hell for NOT attending church.... I feel it is his soul that he should worry about). It has made me feel uncomfortable and unwanted. And for the first time ever: I got it. I blame the preacher and the events that happened before it. But, I almost cried. I got why people go, and what faith can possibly offer us. It was surreal. And then it got blasted less than 24 hours later... which is probably why I've been avoiding the topic of church again. (PS- Tom: do NOT think it's a bad thing what your mom did on Christmas. She didn't do it intentionally. Let's just make sure she never sees the calling of leading people in religious settings.)
8) Finally met a girl who is awesome and I can deal with. My cupcake at work is the only female I can stand longer than five days. Jessie can't even do that. Thankfully, Kelly has a personality and a bit of a streak to make me laugh. She's bitter and disenchanted too, which makes her the perfect candidate to be a female-Tom.

I actually can't think of anything else. But as you can see, my list has shown a wide variety of survival. I don't know if I really have much to show for it, but I'm okay with that. For once, I'm actually happy. I haven't relapsed into my manic-depressive state. And if I have, it's been a mere few hours. I'm able to control it a lot easier than before. Maybe it was my family, maybe it was an age thing... maybe it's just me. But life and living are becoming something familiar. It's a cool feeling to actually say that, and really believe it.

If this is life in the fast lane, I think I can keep up.

Iron Man, Plus Some

I'm going to get better at this damnit. Though, I have said this everytime and have proved that my word means shit. Eh, we all have to learn something new I suppose.

First order of business: GO SEE IRON MAN. Fucking amazing. Granted, I am biased. I think that an alcoholic bastard deserves a shining light in the realm of superheroes. They all have issues: Clark with his big neck, Bruce with his moodiness, Jamie having homework... whatev, you get the point. I want a REAL person, someone that has demons that are more realistic. Not the "I have a secret identity and it kills me to hide it from the world" type, but the kind of "I can't stop drinking or fornicating or buying stupid shit."

It's admirable, in a way. I know, that's weird. But naturally: that's what I do best. :P

Next: Wedding almost done. I sign next FRIDAY! THANK THE LORD THAT IT IS ALMOST DONE AND IN THE BOOKS. For all females who have been proposed to: it blows, deal. Hopefully, it will still turn out the way you want. Just remember: cry and yell at someone who cares, and stand your ground. You can always NOT answer the phone after the wedding gifts are delivered.

Finally: See IRON MAN. I'm obsessed.

60 days...

I keep trying to get back here, restart this blog.... but the reality is that:
1) I am NOT lazy, I just oddly prioritize my life according to: sleep, diet, work, family, bullshit, blog... by the end of the day, blog just DOES NOT matter.
2) I am planning a wedding. Let me be the first female (you know, aside from the lesbians or trailer park women) that claims that planning a wedding blows donkey shit. There are traditions, rules, people, more people and more bullshit all involved than an entire Broadway production.
3) I am 20-some-odd days away from completing my first year of teaching. I have successfully NOT fucked up. It took me awhile to get here, as I go from thinking I rock to believing I am ruining the world, but I really do think that I have not destroyed the lives of 160+ kids. I am the top newbie at my school, was nominated for a prestigious award and have been told that I am "returning next year." Which is good.... give me that contract yo! I want to see your face in a year when I bail on your asses.
4) There's nothing more to add to this list. So I digress.... a common thing NO MATTER what way you look at it.

The big reason I am here is because I am finding that I need a place to come, a place in which I feel open to discussing what is in my head and what I can say without judgment or reaction. My real life does not suck, not at all. I just need to start my creativity again. I need to be me. And I'm slowly realizing that a huge part of who I am, aside from cleavage baring shirts, a charming smile and an award-winning personality that drops the word "fuck" way too much, is my creativity.

And let's face it: the biggest creativity part of who I am rests in words. Written ones. Not speeches, not acts.... though, really, that's the #1 quality of a good teacher. I really am a jack of all trades, aren't I?

So what is there for me to say? One: I am BEYOND excited for a few things. Maroon 5 is touring again. I am starting to wonder if they are trying to make me broke... but NO MATTER! I WILL GLADLY LOSE MY ADORABLE HOUSE FOR THEM. Well... no, I would lose it. Adam Levine is my only celebrity crush.... and maybe Robert Downey. But his drug relapses suck ass. I just hope he rocks my socks off with Iron Man. I'm sure he will: fabulous actor. Heath Ledger does not count anymore... this is not me making a sick joke. I respect his legacy far too much for that. So yea, left with Adam.

And before you cringe Tommy... just realize that I think you are sexier than him. He just plays in my iTouch Myself more than you do. *evil grin*

PS - I have a house, and it's mutha-fucking adorable! I didn't like it at first. But there are several factors why: I was depressed (beyond) when we saw it, I can't see my own stuff in houses, and I don't get to live there until June.

But Tom does, which is really good for him. He isn't as clingy anymore, which is weird but also really good to see. He is taking care of himself which means that I don't have to worry about doing that all for us completely. Not that I was worried... but you know, it just proves that he can stand on his own two feet and that when I need him most he will stand up and punch your lights out.

Word.

Oh yes! I am also getting married in 60 days. I still have a lot to accomplish: finishing all the small check-offs, making sure I have the favor bags done, the wedding decided, etc. etc. BUT! It's within grasp now. It goes without saying: I am ready to be married. I've been engaged for three years. Seriously: I want to be hitched. I want to be able to live with my husband. I just call him that at work now, btw. There's no reason to say otherwise: he is going to be my husband. And he is the real-deal! He is the only person that I would take such serious vows with, mostly because when he says he will not hurt me: I believe him.

He wipes away my tears, fights for me when I have no strength, reminds me that it will all end soon, makes me dinner when I feel sick, plays with my hair all the time, rubs my shoulders basically everyday because I am a walking knot, and listens to me even when I should really shut up.

If it's corny, you can shove a black dildo up your ass: I am marrying my best friend, my only friend and the only person I trust in this life. And while I am scared shitless, I couldn't be more excited.

Oh, and I am BEYOND excited for him to see my dress. Do you know how hard it is to NOT show your best friend something that pretty? DO YOU? No, you don't. Because you are not my best friend, nor do you have an amazing dress.

Although, at this point, I can tell you that he is reading this smiling, maybe crying and then will make a joke that will cause me to smack him in the head: he's just excited that he gets to take the dress off LEGALLY that night.

Yes, I know you that well... you foul-minded little minx. And trust me: if you hurt the dress, I will break your face.

On How I "Chose" You

This past holiday season has brought new issues to the surface, new situations to face off with and ultimately, new realities to light. Over the past five months, I have dealt with my first-first year of teaching. It's a year where I am floating in a mindless sea, figuring everything out along the way and hoping to not drown. And so far, I'd like to think I'm holding my own. There are times when I feel overloaded (granted, of course, I did all this while getting my Master's and having no assistants). However, I hit all my goals and achieved great ratings. Something that I fully intend on enjoying through the remainder of the break.

Sidenote: getting my Master's was a B-I-T-C-H. Well worth every cent and ounce of effort, but a bitch nonetheless. I'll get my doctorate soon enough, I need a damn break though. ASU can SUCK IT!

The past month I have suffered a huge bout of depression. This is the first time in a long time that I have felt so low, so helpless, and so out of control. I can tell you from experience that Christmas, albiet my favorite season, is also the most dangerous for my mental health. I hit the lowest of lows and can never find a way out. I hate the feeling of waking up and hating the process of breathing, I hate the feeling that my wants are out of my own capabilities, and I despises the fact that I have to continue living when I would much rather make a ball and cry myself to sleep.

I did that often this time, just balling up and crying. I had moments where I wanted to scream and run. Moments where I was in a room with a million people and felt virtually so alone that I wanted to cry for help. And while a few people noticed, there are problems so much bigger than myself to allow it for real attention. I had to fight it, again, myself. No one, myself included, understood what was wrong. No one wanted to "deal" with it at that exact moment. Which only meant that I had to push myself into a state of paranoid anxiety, a world of "can they tell?" and "why won't someone save me?" would run rampant. And the sad reality is that I always knew that they knew about my state, and that they want to save me but can't.

It hit a point where Tom snapped at me to "deal with it" and to just get "over it." He doesn't know what it feels like. He thinks he does, but he has absolutely no idea what its like to wake up and absolutely hate everything you touch. He says to "deal" with it, but how can you deal with something when you don't know what you are fighting? He pissed me off that day, enough to want to hide from him for a period of time. He isn't patient. He isn't kind when he is annoyed that he is helpless. He isn't going to be the best to help support me when I fall from a place of content.

And that leads him to the ever popular question, one I equally hate as much as Clint Eastwood or facing the reality that I'm by myself in planning a wedding that I never imagined I'd ever have: why in the world would I choose him when he has proven time and time again that he knows just how to cut and bruise me?

As far as the wedding goes, I prepared myself for this. That's why I asked for a quiet Vegas elope-style shotgun wedding. It's easy, it's fast and it has the same legality as a $100,000 wedding. He knew I wanted it small and I have asked for that sort of wedding from the beginning. But I love what we're doing with it now, I just wish he would help. I'm doing his dream wedding without any help, mostly because whenever he starts he has no idea where to begin (as if I really do?) or he's just too busy. I get the busy, I really do. But honestly, what was he doing on the nights I was in class? Or the days when I hung out with my family instead of him? He was playing video games. Not working on the wedding. All I have to show for it is an outline of something that would be. And I know it'll never happen. So that outline is something that's sweet, but his excitement has worn dry and he has tired of helping. He just wants it done. That's one thing we can both agree on.

But it sounds like I resent him, which is far from the truth. I don't resent him at all. But even when he reads this, he won't believe my words. His mind will block out the truth I say, for reasons of trust and fear. He'll think what he wants and it will lead to a fight. Something which makes my mind scream to erase my thoughts. But I'm getting to a point where I'm tired of being repressed, tired of running from my truths and am just ultimately exhausted.

I love Tom, far more than my own life. He is a living reason why I am still here, right here and now. I can't bring myself to hurt him, even when we fight. The jabs I throw at him cut me more because once free, I know that I can't take them back. I know that he didn't deserve the pain I inflicted. Yes, he makes mistakes. I do too. Yes, there are times when I think he is too clingy. I'm more guilty of that than he is, as I need him there as a constant reminder to breathe and that everything will be alright.

It's not a matter of "why" I chose him. It never has been to me. I knew he was it from the beginning, and the only reason I didn't tell him sooner is because I was afraid of being hurt again. Afraid that maybe he would see through me and see me for what I am. To me, simply having him in my life was all I needed. He always asks me why, and I always answer "because."

The truth, quite simply, is that I didn't choose him. I never looked at him as a choice. And maybe that's what I am to him, but whatever. I always took him to be that single person in the world that completes you. He has always and will always be it for me. Tom isn't a choice, and he'll never be a choice to me.

Tom was made to be that person that I put up with, that person I love and that person who I hate in the same breath. He is that person that completes me and is my match in any single shape, way or form you want to look at it by. He's the missing piece to who I am.

I say "because" to him because the answer is simple. I love him, without question or rhyme or reason. I respect him far more than my own body and my own whims. He'll never be viewed as a person I "chose" to marry. He was the person I was destined to find, to meet, and to love.

He's it. And without rhyme or reason, I trust that love blindly. Because that's what you do. You love, unconditionally, and you hope to God that the person you trusted with that faith has the same feelings and beliefs that you do.

Pain or being cast aside or lonely or whatever he thrusts upon me, I willingly accept it. Because to me, a life without him in it, is not worth the pain of living. He's not my choice, he's my absolute.

13 weeks later

And I'm still alive.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or if that's a bad thing yet.