It was the smell that hit me first, the unmistakable scent of evening air infused with jasmine and something I can’t quite put my finger on. It both shocked and soothed me – this air that I got so used to during four years in college, this air that I hadn’t until now realized was quintessential North Carolina. Standing still outside the grocery store, I noticed the way a humid evening causes a sunset to be breathtaking, and even as I heard the parking lot lights crackle to indicate that evening was upon us, I sighed. This place, this land, these smells, they yield such power that can even make a grocery store parking lot seem magical.

How I’ve missed you, North Carolina.

I consider it home nearly as much as I do Ohio. Granted, you can take the girl out of Ohio but not the other way around (or so they say), and while I’m a devoted Browns & Indians fan and I know the secrets of Panini’s and their delicious sandwiches, it’s North Carolina where I consider myself growing up. No, not the “Ghost in the Graveyard”, first-kisses sort of growing; that’s your youth, your childhood. Those are the years that prepare you for the other type of growing up, the type that scares you to your very core when you realize that you no longer have a safety net, that you can make these decisions for yourself, that you’ve changed in a way that you never would have imagined. It was here, in this state where I both lost and found myself, and it didn’t hit me until tonight how much I missed it.

Standing outside Harris Teeter, wearing pj pants and a carolina blue t-shirt, I stepped back from myself and looked at where I’m at. Looked at where I’ve been and where I want to go. And as I inhaled the night air, there was not a doubt in my mind that this state, with its native beauty and intoxicating summer air, is where I will choose to spend many of my days and years to come. In the meantime, however, while I still have a house and a life and a job to attend to in Atlanta, it’s the scent that I will remember, the smells of the evening air that will keep me alive with hope that one day soon, I’ll return here, to my second home, to North Carolina.

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Sometimes, when the day is dragging along, you need to take a break. Walk outside, go get yo’self some IceDream from the formerly-handy-yet-now-since-you’re-a-vegetarian-pretty-worthless Chik-Fil-A across the street, or even just hit the mall to do a little retail therapy. Anything to break up the monotony that is reading 15,000 keywords and trying to decide whether they fall under “Ceramic Tile” or just plain “Flooring.”

I wouldn’t call this procrastination, per se, more like mental health respites, where – since you have to be at work anyway, you may as well take a few minutes off from staring at the screen (which is likely going to cause glaucoma or some other horrific disease in years to come once they determine that computer monitors give off radiation or something) and take a breather.

You can do this in many different ways – my old officemate and I would hit the mall and take a long, lazy lunch while taking smack about that asshole coworker who told you that you could be promoted in 3-5 years. It was sure to make us feel better; that is, until the jackass came in the office and did his inappropriate over-laugh about something ridiculously unfunny like why HE should be doing that report on epidemiology in sub-saharan Africa instead of you. Then it was back to the grindstone, trying to find another way to raise our spirits without actually raising any spirits (in the toasting of alcohol sense, that is.)

And yet my favorite pick-me-up came from my first job here in Atlanta. My friend and I, when things were being especially dismal, would shut the door and just laugh for what seemed like eternity on the dumbest thing. And four years later, I still find myself opening the browser and putting a little bit of sunshine into my day when all I want to really do is take a nap.

Pretty pathetic, though, that this relief comes from the automated voice on Miriam-Webster.com pronouncing the word “fart.” I really, truly think I have the sense of humor of a 3rd grade boy. But, c’mon, you can’t tell me that this isn’t pretty hilarious….

There’s days when I think I’ve got it. That I can write, that it makes sense, that people read it and are moved and feel like I’m writing just to them. Those days I have an extra spring in my step and mentally envision my life, years from now, when I’m sitting on the porch of my house, the kids playing in the sand while I find my inner muse and write something meaningful yet poetic, funny yet profound. This life I want, the freedom of freelancing, the freedom of being able to write about whatever I want, this life is what keeps me going on many a day when the last thing I want to do is write a 95-character ad on why you really should Apply Online and Receive 4 Loans Instantly!

And then there’s days like today, days like yesterday, when I have so much I want to say, but the transition from brain to keyboard just isn’t happening. When I’m still in the post-fabulous weekend aftermath and I want you all to know all of these things that I find to be important, yet don’t think you’ll get it. Like my life is some inside joke where I understand it and maybe a few others understand it, but it’s not for common knowledge. And then I’m left with the drabble of saying it outright, that I had a great weekend, that I don’t feel like being at work, that I find myself in a bizarre mood that is making me over-sensitive to stupid things and a bit lethargic and a lot cynical. And that’s not good writing – that’s not even mediocre writing. That’s a train-of-thought stupid weblog piece that I never wanted to write and yet I do write because, really, it’s Monday and you KNOW that the weekend already happened, thus making what I wrote on Friday outdated and that, my friends, is a travesty. The pressure of keeping it fresh is keeping it boring, it really is.

It shouldn’t be like this – I never intended it to be like this. And yet, I can’t deny that I do think about my audience when I write, do know that a small subset of you readers, for some flattering-yet-still-not-really-believed reason, want to know what’s going on, want to keep up with my life via the web. It’s humbling, it really is. To think that there are people out there that read my site, that check it regularly and are nice enough to comment and send me emails when I’m bitching about this or that, well – that’s endearing. But it’s not what I intended.

I have people that support me, that push & prod me into following up with editors when – after months of saying that I’d do it when I had a free minute – I’ve basically been lax and let possible opportunities slip away. Yes, I’m busy; actually, it’s more like insanely busy. And yet to be able to have a column, to know that I’m getting one step closer to what I hope to see as my future – well, there’s no excuse for putting it off.

Because the thought that this future of mine that I’m so counting on might not one day come true, that’s simply unimaginable.

I love Birthdays. I think it must be something to do with my only-child status, but I love the regalia, the anticipation, the excitement that goes along with the celebration of another year on this earth. Now, I love it when it’s MY birthday, but – in honesty – I love it even more when I get to celebrate someone else’s. Thus why this past weekend was so fabulous.

Surprises were planned. Surprises went off without a hitch. Group outings were planned. Group outings occurred – oh, how they occurred. We danced. We drank. We drank. We danced. And despite the aftermath of Jager bombs and never-ending vodka drinks that led us to be a lethargic, hungover bunch of buffoons yesterday, we had a blast.

But alas, it’s back to reality. Back to the work-week where calendars are full and days are long and mornings come much too soon. Instead of lazy lie-abouts with adorable birthday boys, I have a room that needs to be vacuumed, a closet that is still overflowing despite my best efforts of downsizing and a list of “Things to Do” that is near overwhelming. Instead of recapping the night before’s insanity while lounging about on a porch, I have a full inbox and a messy desk. And even though I don’t have a birthday dinner to plan nor gifts to buy nor the excitement & anticipation that goes along with it, I have a satisfied exhaustion that comes with a full weekend of fun and excitement.

And a huge smile on my face.

Y’all are so cute…I can’t tell you how many emails I’ve gotten about my “Insanity” post, wondering what was wrong, if I was really going off the deep end, and if you could help. Your notes alone just warmed my heart, and thankfully, things have calmed down quite a bit.

Yes, besides the still-overwhelming workload, things are fine. I have left at a semi-reasonable hour, and even took a private Pilates lesson that made every muscle in my body sore – in a good way, that is. I had a few really good meetings to counteract the really bad one I had on Monday, so I’m feeling a ton better. Oh – and it’s Friday. And payday. And fabulous “surprise the cutest boy in Atlanta for his birthday” date day, which I am anxiously looking forward to, to the extent that I’m basically showing what a dork I am by admitting that I’m counting the hours. Yes, things are looking up.

In my review yesterday, my manager (and good friend) mentioned the fact that people have recognized that I’ve been really stressed lately, which actually didn’t surprise me that much. On the whole, I take work and my workload in check, leaving when I need to, staying when I have to. There’s very little that can’t wait until tomorrow, so – for the most part – work doesn’t get me in a tizzy. So, on the rare occasions that it does, it’s noticed that my head is basically spinning around a la “Beetlejuice” style, with steam coming out of my ears and my snippy attitude wreaking havoc on the office. A stressed Aubrey is a Bitchy Aubrey, without a doubt.

But things have fallen back into the equilibrium that I like. I cleaned my house, my bathroom, and my kitchen. I undertook some baking endeavors, and I even made lists of things I needed to remember for today/this weekend so I wouldn’t find myself sans goodies, sans contact case, or sans alcohol. Yes, I’m back on track to being the Type-A gal we know and love.

And really – isn’t it much better that way?

It’s been one of those weeks.

It’s only Tuesday, and I’m already bone tired, my demeanor is dour, and my temper? Let’s just say it’s not one of my more sedate attributes these days. I had a great weekend – reconnected with friends tried and true, celebrated marriages and engagements with copious amounts of margaritas, and my Sunday? Well, it was the perfect end to a great weekend.

So, I began this week optimistically. Got a recognition award at work (which included a nice little “gratitude” stipend), have an exciting weekend ahead, and all I had to do to get there is make it through five days of work. Easy, right?

Wrong.

I had a bad meeting. Actually, a few bad meetings. My workload is beyond ridiculous, there’s no end (or help) in sight, and while I usually like – if not love – my job, I find myself short-tempered, long-houred and much-complained. I’m certainly not at my best.

Which is a shame, it really is. Things are good – great, in fact – in so many other aspects of my life, so that when things are sucking piles of ass (I can’t really think of a more delicate, yet accurate, descriptor) and my stress level is broaching upon extreme, I can’t really enjoy the happiness that comes with a clean house, a cat that’s finally lost a few pounds, a reorganized kitchen and an adorable boy who makes me laugh on a daily basis. Because that, my friends, is what I want to concentrate on.

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