Dear Diary,
I am writing this to “dear diary” instead of my dear readers because I’m not sure if any reader will make it to the end of this post. When I was younger…way younger…I used to write to “dear diary” (or “dear journal” when I got older…because “journal” is much more mature than “diary”) all the time. Now looking back, when I wrote to said diary or journal, I usually just rambled on about the day, or the week, or whatever was going on in my life at the time and how I felt about it.
Which is what I’m about to do now.
I’ve turned into a mail stalker. Well, a stalker of my own mail…which isn’t very helpful when someone parks their car in front of your mailbox so that the mailman cannot even put the mail into the mailbox. You see, I’m waiting for my letter of acceptance, or yet, rejection, to nursing school from the university here. Last March when I became a mail stalker for the exact same reason, I ended up being let down when the rejection letter came. Rejection letter. So negative. So cruel. So accurate. So messed up. Me…the person who put in one hundred and eleven percent to make sure I had to grades to get in. Didn’t. Get. In.
Sick.
But I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up. I have already been accepted to another school for nursing. A different school. A great school. A school that is a little over an hour away from my husband’s job.
Oh. Therein-lies the problem.
But at least I have options. I’m not getting my hopes up. Or am I? I don’t know…I guess I’ll find out when the letter comes in. Okay, so I think I am getting my hopes up, but I know I shouldn’t, so I’m trying (and failing) not to.
Okay, so I even sent a text message to our renters. “Hey, it’s Ang. Will you let me know if you get some mail for me from the University of Central Missouri?” I honestly don’t know which address the letter will be sent to. “No u dont have anthng frm there,” she says, “I will let u kno if somthng come.”
It doesn’t matter if the renters get the letter first and I cannot get it right away. All I have to know is if it’s a small envelope or a large envelope. Small equals no deal. Big equals accepted.
I know, Diary, you’re thinking why does it matter. You have already been accepted to another school. A good school…a great school. I am so thankful for that school, and I have even already put some money toward that school. But…I also know that means I’ll have to be away from my husband. Not all the time. Not everyday. But sometimes.
And I already know what that feels like. Just that “sometimes.” And I already know that I don’t like it.
We lived apart for the first five years of our relationship (dating). We survived it, but I didn’t like it. When Matt proposed to me I remember that he said, “I never want to be apart from you for the rest of my life.” Well, I’ve learned that sometimes wants are different that have tos. We lived apart for a semester last year (when we were married) when we were teaching in different cities. I was sad. It was hard. I could add a lot more three word sentences to describe to crappy (earmuffs) situation. We survived it…but that doesn’t mean I liked it.
I think that some people think I’m crazy. I moved away (not that far) to be with my husband. We spend most of our time together…just the two of us. We have fun together. All the time. Just the two of us. We argue, rarely, and then we have fun together again. When people refer to him as “my other half,” why then, they are absolutely correct. He really is my other half, and without him I am not me. At least I don’t feel like me.
So yes. I can get through it. We can survive it…being apart, I mean…but wouldn’t it be nice not to have to “survive” it again?
So yeah, I guess I’m getting my hopes up.
And why, you ask, am I bringing all this up now? Well, the husband is gone for the night for a coaching conference, and I watched some Grey’s Anatomy which made me think about my marriage (because Meredith and Derek just need to get over it already and make up (Grey’s seems a lot better when watched with a glass of wine) oh geez, I have parenthesis inside parenthesis now), and because I’ve had a couple glasses of wine. All perfectly good and explainable reasons. Yes?
And sometimes I feel sad. Sad because I want to have a baby. Like now. Not in three years. The husband has always been the one wanting to wait. He had this five year plan. I thought it was completely silly. Five years. Pffsssh! I thought I’d have a baby by twenty-five.
Definitely laughable now.
We want to wait until I’m done with school…and I’m the silly one who decided to go back to school. But a few weeks ago he put his hand on my stomach and said he couldn’t wait until we were going to have a baby. It made me feel all warm and happy inside, but I’m sure I just changed the subject by accusing him of calling me fat for rubbing his hand on my belly and even thinking about pregnancy. I do that a lot…accuse him of saying I’m fat…which is the most obscure and obscene thing in the world. He would never say anything other than the fact that he thinks I’m the most beautiful thing to have ever walked the earth. It has to be true, too, since he finds most actresses non-attractice. Or at least that’s what he tells me now. I guess he has to…ever since he told me he thought Jessica Biel was pretty I’ve accused him of having a major crush on her and wanting to marry her. But I think he means it.
He’s never made me feel anything less than a princess…since I was sixteen years old.
I guess life just turns out funny sometimes. I walk down the short hallway of our two-bedroom little duplex and wonder how we ever got here. It’s better than our last-even smaller-duplex, but nonetheless, not where I imagined I’d be at twenty-six. I look at my stack of anatomy and physiology books sitting on my desk and think it’s crazy that those ever ended up on my desk. Anyone who has ever known me never would have guessed I’d be going into nursing now. Why would I? I do art. I look at my little Tia’s face and think to myself how could I love anything else any more…but that’s because she is my baby.
But yet, even though things aren’t quite how I imagined…I know I’m still one of the lucky ones. I’ve overcome obstacles. I’ve rallied. I’ve persevered. And I’ve smiled and laughed and giggled more than most get the opportunity to.
And for that I’m thankful.
And if you made it to the end of this ridiculous post…for that I’m thankful, too.
ang
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