Sometimes, I don’t think I can do it. This love thing. It’s too hard. Because, like most things in my life, if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it wholeheartedly, pun intended. I’ve never been one for half-assing anything, so – as with just about everything – I figure that if I’m going to do it, I may as well do it right.

Which is what makes it so hard.

I’ve been very lucky in my life in that I’ve not lost many loved ones. Yes, I’ve said goodbye to two grandfathers, one grandmother, a great aunt, a great uncle, and two great-grandparents, but – amazingly, given their ages – it wasn’t until college that I had to deal with the harsh reality of death. The thought of losing other people that I love – my mother, my father, my friends, even (don’t laugh) my animals – makes me almost sick to my stomach. I don’t think I can bear it.

Loving is frightening on so many levels – what if it’s unrequited? What if you get hurt? What if it ends? The scariest part of it, to me, is the latter, especially if it ends with death. The thought of giving myself so fully to other people that will inevitably leave me makes me almost want to avoid it altogether. Though death is a certainty, it seems to much for any person to bear.

And yet there’s really no other choice – we can’t cocoon ourselves, hiding away from the world out of fear. We have to appreciate the time we do have, prepare for the future, the unexpected, and open ourselves up to the possiblity of love despite the pain. It’s while knowing this that I still feel a pre-emptory sense of melancholy, already lamenting days to come, when I hear this song:

She says if I leave before you darling
Don’t you waste me in the ground
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
One of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open
Naked as we came
One will spread our
Ashes round the yard

Let’s just pretend it is.

The internet, my email, my work phone, the cell phone, and possibly even the legs of all the Fed Ex and UPS and DHL and postal workers that could POSSIBLY deliver me a token of niceness this Valentine’s Day. It’s much easier to pretend that they’re broken, instead of the likely-truth that really, this is just another day, and really, I’m just another girl.

Who is significantly lacking in Valentine’s Day wishes.

See? It’s much easier to pretend that they, that you, that it, is broken instead of me.

…comments SHOULD be working again. Try it out.

Sarah, as usual, sums it up so succinctly – “this day SUCKS ass.”

Agreed.

Not only because it’s grey outside (which it is) or rainy (that too) or by the fact that I’m honestly so exhausted from a weekend full of getting my house ready to sell, but because it’s living up to my expectations. My LOW expectations.

I’m not bitter, I’m expectantly disappointed.

That’s not to say my flowers weren’t (and aren’t!) gorgeous. They truly are, and they brightened my weekend a ton. I’m thinking more about this Valentine’s Day and ones in years past…what I did, what I didn’t do, and what I wished I had done. Again, to quote Sarah, “I love love.” And this year, I’m just not feeling it.

I seem to have the uncanny ability to date these people who are half into it, half into me. They may start off strong, wooing and wowing me with their charm, their wit, their very innate difference from a previous beau, but despite their initial romancing, it tends to wane. I don’t need bouquets, don’t need candy or jewelry. But what I DO need is for you to let me know you’re still into this, or else I’m going to assume otherwise.

And letting me know on Valentine’s Day, well, I think that’s a good a time as any.

Whoever you are, thank you. They’re beautiful.

I’ve always believed that God only gives you what you can handle in your life. Granted, it may be more than you think you can handle at any given time, but I “trust the system” (if you will) since it’s always been true in the past.

Apparently, God thinks I can handle a lot.

I’m in the middle of work craziness, new house craziness, and getting my current house ready to sell craziness. In less than a week, I have to have:

– all my work done (not a small feat)
– my house not only clean, but cleaned out (another huge feat)
– myself all packed to leave for Australia
– my errands all done such that the cats can all eat while I’m gone

…amongst about a bazillion other things that I think of during the day but can’t exactly jot down because, well, I can’t really jot. (Remember, the above have to be done one-handed these days.) Needless to say, I really should be taking a yoga class, but don’t have the time…or hand. And still, I’ve taken on a new challenge.

The other evening, while driving home from my friends’ house, I nearly hit a cat sitting in the middle of the road. He was just sitting there, stoic, somewhat disoriented. In an attempt to have him get out of the middle of the street, I honked my horn and flashed my lights – he didn’t flinch. So, I got out of my car, picked him up and put him on the curb, hopefully away from traffic. He started to walk back out into the street, but I again returned him to the curb, hoping he’d stay, and drove off.

The entire way home I felt awful, thinking about this disoriented animal. It was clearly a stray who had been in the wild for a long time, and was bone thin. I decided then to grab a towel and go back and see if he was still there. He was. I scooped him up, figuring I could keep him in the garage for the night – if nothing else, he could have a safe, warm(ish) place to stay with food and water.

It was only when I arrived home that I saw the state of the cat – he is missing his left eye, his long gray hair is matted and scraggly, and he is skin and bones. His tongue sticks out, and he may be somewhat deaf. Seeing an animal in this state breaks my heart.

Thankfully, he ate and drank, though doing so is clearly difficult for him. So last evening, I took him to Pets are People Too, this great veterinary clinic in Ansley Mall, to get him checked out. I didn’t want to think that he may have to be put to sleep; I don’t think I can handle that.

The cat, now nicknamed “Jack” (short for “One Eyed Jack”), is a trooper, not even crying when undergoing tests and bloodwork. (Though I can’t say I was that brave, since I bawled for quite a while.) In fact, I sat there in the exam room for over an hour, just petting his head and bony little back, amazed that this 6 pound creature was even still alive. Though I can’t keep him, I wanted to make sure he was ok.

Amazingly enough, he is. Jack is free of Feline Leukemia and FIV, the cat equivalent of HIV. His bloodwork returned good results, with his kidney function just a bit strained, though that was likely a result of how dehydrated he has been. It seems as though Jack was hit by a car over a year ago, making eating and drinking extremely difficult for him, especially in the woods beside Freedom Parkway. And though an older cat who has definitely had a hard life, Jack has such a sweet demeanor and I just want to see him get better.

I can’t keep Jack, though I wish I could, but I also can’t turn him over to an organization that would surely euthanize him to save space in an already-overcrosded shelter. I’ve started calling around to No-Kill Organizations around town to hopefully take him in, but he needs someone who can spend time and care for him, especially in the near future. Jack needs at least a loving foster home, and I’m committed to finding him this, despite the lofty odds. Because, after all, Jack seems to be a trooper, and has clearly beaten the odds again and again…I think he deserves a chance to live out his remaining years in a safe, loving home.

So, apparently I can handle buying a house, selling a house and finding a cat a home at the same time. Let me know if you can help me with any of these…not only do I think it will all work out in the end, I’m a believer.

I’ve never been one for laziness…even as hungover as I’ve been on a Sunday, swearing off all alcohol with a throbbing head, I am probably writing something or at least getting ready to do something. Wasting time, even when feeling my worst, just doesn’t fly for this girl. As a result, I’m often overcommitting, leaving me with two days to do a week’s worth of work. “Under Pressure” is my equivalent of status quo.

I’m currently in ‘Under Pressure Overdrive.’

Recently, I started house hunting, a process that usually takes me weeks, if not months. I had barely started to think about selling MY house…after all, I was just looking. Well, on our first trip, I found a house – THE house.

Which means I’m now selling mine.

I’ve got a fabulous realtor who will surely promote the hell out of my townhouse (after all, it’s cute as pie), but I want to sell it fast. Like NOW. So I’m again asking for your help, Internet. I’ve got myself a little website detailing the house, and if this house gets under contract in 30 days, I’m offering a GENEROUS incentive.

So, Internet, send some house-buyers my way…I’m waiting.

There are not two, but three, certainties in life: Death, Taxes, and the UNC-Duke rivalry, the latter currently being my current obsession. You see, I work with a Dookie – a very nice, Dookie, mind you, but a Dookie nevertheless. And while the rivalry is good natured, I just couldn’t allow my orthopedic surgeon to give me a DOOK Blue Cast.

GO HEELS!

For many of us in the Blogosphere (I can’t believe I just wrote that sentence and used that terminology, but alas, I did) Comment Spam is a huge issue. The brilliant Jay Allen and his work on MT Blacklist is just one of many methods to stop this annoyance. As for me, I installed a plug-in that blocks comments from Open Proxies, but I’m thinking it’s also blocking real, desired comments as well as the annoying comment spam ones, leaving me comment-free. But I don’t know – since I’ve switched to MT, my site traffic has gone way down (Google hasn’t fully indexed me yet) and perhaps y’all just don’t have anything to say. It’s definitely possible.

So in an effort to figure this out, will you be so kind to try and leave a comment? If it works, awesome. Yay. Hurrah. If it doesn’t, drop me an email and let me know.

Thanks in advance…I’ll try and not be so needy in the future.

These Southerners…bless their hearts. They hear about a risk of snow or ice, and – God Bless ’em – the city SHUTS DOWN. I mean, what’s a bit of precipitation?

I stand corrected. We’re now recovering from what the news stations were calling “Winter Watch 2005”, complete with ominous music and all-day long live updates from exciting places like Cumming, Georgia. (Can’t wait to see the webstats on that term. And I’m not talking about “Georgia.”) After a going-away party on Friday night where free beer soon got this “all I ate the whole day was a Pop-Tart” gal into Aubrey Drunk Dial Mode&#174, I stayed at my (female) friend’s house, only to awake to a city under seige…by ice.

Her car was coated with a 1/2″ glaze of ice. Power was out all over town, a result of ice-coated downed power lines. Taxis weren’t running; nor was MARTA. I was stuck.

This didn’t come as a surprise; the city was as prepared as it was going to be. Only problem – whereas Cleveland has a fleet of snow removal vehicles, I believe the city has two. There are salt trucks (who conserve the precious mineral by the inclusion of gravel) doing their best to adequately prepare the roads for travel. And yet travel stopped.

Won’t bore you with the sordid details, but I ended up getting home, had a Cleveland-bound visitor en route from Orlando arrive safely (and get to experience the rarity of actually walking to bars(!!) and, minus one little icy spill by my friend Todd, we survived relatively unscathed.

If only my furnace did.

In a Murphy’s Law-esque cruel sense of irony, the five-year old furnace decided to take a respite from working. Despite the fire we’ve had going for the past two days, the temperature INSIDE the house is currently a balmy 46 degrees Fahrenheit. I slept in a stocking cap, glove (note the singular since they don’t make gloves for big bulky dislocated-thumb casts), socks and many more layers than I even wore skiing. Even the cats are cold; Sebastian hasn’t surfaced from under the covers save for one quick trip to eat. (Actually, neither have I…)Anyway, the furnace man is expected within the next two hours, but in the meantime, I’m here, Chillin’.

Literally.