Very Sleepy People

My sister called me today, and she told me about this story.  She instructed me to go to CNN’s website and read it, because the first thing she thought of was me.  When she told me about the story, my first response was, “That’s illegal?”

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, I know.  I’ve received a few emails informing me of this fact and requesting that I rectify the situation immediately.  I was going to post a couple of days ago, but I wanted to wait to post until today, hoping that I’d have some happy news for y’all.  Well, I do.

As you know, I spent this summer learning to drive.  You know — driving — that thing that used to scare the heck out of me?  Well, today was my scheduled appointment for my driving test.  I had been anxious about this for the past two weeks.  What if I fail?  No, no, not fail — what if I don’t pass?  There is a difference after all.  Just because you don’t pass doesn’t necessarily mean that you failed.  It just means that you didn’t pass.  If you failed, however, you didn’t pass.  These were the sort of thoughts that kept running their way through my head as I prepared for today.  These were the sort of thoughts that allowed me to maintain optimistic about my ability as a driver even if faced with a big, fat “you shall not pass” verdict.

Only I didn’t have to deal with that, because I passed.  I got my license!

I re-read the drivers’ manual yesterday in preparation for today.  I noticed a ridiculous amount of errors in punctuation, syntax and basic grammar.  (Do you think the Indiana BMV would appreciate my bringing that to their attention?  Perhaps appreciation in the form of a monetary value?  Maybe?  Or do you think they’d thank me and then inform me that no one cares?)  The manual stated that the driving test consisted of three parts — the vision examination, the written examination & the driving examination itself.  I read the manual in preparation for the written examination.  Only, I got there and I didn’t have to do a written examination.  The manual itself said you had to.  I didn’t.  All that time & reading for nothing.  Er.  What I mean by that is that I learned a lot of valuable information that, although it did not aid me in any of my examination today, will prove useful to know later.  Yes.

The lady who gave me my test was very kind, and she helped put me at ease.  She knew I was nervous, so she did everything she could to make me feel comfortable with her.  After all, she pointed out, I was the person behind the wheel, so my peace of mind was her peace of mind.  We talked some, and she told me how much she admired me for waiting until I was ready.  She talked about how rare that is, because now it seems like both parents & children go for a driver’s license at sixteen since that’s the legal age that they first can.  She said that people viewed that as the time frame in which to get one’s license rather than realizing that it is, very simply, the youngest age safe enough to do so; it did not mean that it is the safest age to do so.  I pretty much liked her immediately.

The driving test was extremely easy.  I was building it up to be so much scarier than it was.  I did end up having to parallel park, but I did not have to parallel park between two cars.  I only had to parallel park behind a car, and she made it very clear to begin with that I did not have to get it on the first try.  I was allowed two tries to get it, and any mistake was fine so long as I didn’t go up on the curb.  I’m actually pretty decent at parallel parking between two cars — I’m even better when only parallel parking behind one!  I got it on the first try, and she was very impressed with my job.  We headed back to the license branch after that.  When I pulled in, she told me that I am a very good driver.  She said congratulations and told me that I passed.  I then (being the perfectionist that I am) asked her if there was anything that I made a mistake on or that I need to work on, and she said, “No.  You’re pretty much perfect.”  So, I take that to mean that I either didn’t get any points taken off, or if I did, I didn’t get many at all.

Then I walked back into the license branch, gave my dad the thumb’s up and proceeded to go, like so many before me, and have a horrendous picture taken for my license.

Maybe in a year or so I’ll “lose” my license and have to go get it replaced.  Darn.

WHY DID NO ONE INFORM ME THAT THE DARK KNIGHT HAD CLOWNS?  I think I had about five mini-heart attacks, which resulted in my not finishing my contraband candy, because my heart was too busy trying to pop out of my chest.  This is bad for many reasons, the two most obvious of which being the fact that my contraband went uneaten and my heart almost exploded.  I don’t know why I listed those in that order, but I did, and I’m still freaking out, so I can do what I want.  Then Lisa was worried because every time one of those THINGS showed up on the screen I was clasping both of my hands over my heart to keep the little bugger on the inside.  Also: trying not to SCREAM BLOODY MURDER.  (MINI-SPOILER: I wanted to verbally yell my approval when the clowns were offing each other at the beginning.)  (Side note: SEE?  Clowns kill.)

I should probably mention that I was aware that The Joker would be in the movie.  I should also mention that he’s a JOKER, not a CLOWN (there’s a difference), and therefore not the aforementioned THINGS.  He actually did not scare me.

The movie was good, save for the whole “ha ha, the heart attack’s on us!” part.

I’m leaving in the morning for a 2-day trip to the Hudson Valley area.  I’ve long been wanting to visit Sleepy Hollow, so Lisa & her mom are taking me.  The trip will mainly consist of visiting the stomping grounds of Irving’s brain child (I’ll also get to see his old writing desk!) and visiting Hyde Park.  I am pretty jazzed.  My camera, however, is less than ecstatic.

I rarely watch television.  The only times I have used my television at school have been for watching televised movies.  With the end of Gilmore Girls, the number of shows I watched dwindled down to one.  That show is Supernatural, and during the school year, it occurs right when RCIA ends.  There is almost always a meeting afterwards for the RCIA facilitators to discuss the night’s meeting and the small group meetings with the program director, Br. Sam.  So, I never get to see Supernatural on TV during the school year when there is an RCIA meeting.  Instead, I have to wait until the next week to watch that night’s episode online.  It’s not ideal, but it works.

So, for the most part, television (or televised movies) has been turned into a special treat for me.  When I clean my room, I turn it on.  It takes longer, but seeing as it’s an occasional indulgence, I don’t feel guilty about it.  If anything, it’s helped me to come to look forward to cleaning, because I’ve learned to associating cleaning with something fun.  I had initially done this to try to make the task at hand more bearable.  I hadn’t exactly figured on it turning the task at hand pleasurable.  All in all, it was one of my more brilliant ideas.

Other than that, though, my television watching has been confined to school breaks.  I end up watching television when I’m home (Because we now have cable, which has more crummy options than the normal 6 — but which is still weird, since I grew up without cable.  The idea of cable & home coexisting still weirds me out.) or when I’m at Steven’s family’s house.  You cannot stay at his family’s house and not watch television.  They are very much a TV watching, TV loving family.  It’s funny, because it’s so different from what I’m used to when living on my own at school.  It’s actually a welcome break, though.  As a result, I’ve gotten the chance to immerse myself into the world of Normal People.  Always a good thing.  I’ve also gotten hooked on a few shows, the first of which being Bones.  The main actress is an alum of of my university, and I am a David Boreanaz fan (which I’m sure will shock & awe all).  After having seen an episode or two, I got hooked.  Growing up, I’d always been interested in psychology, and then, specifically, in murders and forensics.  I tend to like anything related to these three things.  I like the characters in the show.  I plan on starting back at the beginning on Hulu when I get a chance.  (I am currently working on Angel and going back & rewatching the first season of Buffy.)

The second show that I’ve gotten hooked on is kind of embarrassing.  Lisa & I had seen the commercials advertising for The Secret Life of the American Teenager.  We laughed at them, we remarked on the humour of Molly Ringwald starring in yet another teen movie (Hee!) and then we both pointed out how awful it looks.  That is, we said that right before we confessed to one another that we wanted to see it.  So, we agreed, and last Tuesday night we sat down together and watched the first episode of The Secret Life of the American Teenager.  We were hooked.  Why, I can’t tell you.  I’m chalking it up to the fact that we like bad television.  We’ll be watching the second episode tonight.  We’re hoping it keeps our attention.

And, the show that this post is really about.  Jon & Kate Plus 8.  Yes, I’m completely serious.  Lisa & I stumbled upon it one night when there was absolutely nothing worth watching on.  Then we just kept watching it.  The episode ended, and another came on.  We watched it.  We are addicted to that show.  Lisa & I have admitted our addiction.  We have discussed it, and we have come to the conclusion that we cannot explain it.  We keep wondering, and we just can’t figure it out.  The show just grabs you in its sticky jam hands’ death grip and won’t let go.

And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Partners in Bad TV Addictions.  Also, we love Aaden. 

Online, at least.

Lisa: i am like the best fake emo kid ever
Lisa: slash at least that’s what i’m telling myself
Lindsay: You & Toby Maguire
Lisa: and i totally just used apostrophes just for you
Lisa: except i may not have spelled that correctly
Lindsay: I… am so incredibly proud right now.
Lisa:
Lindsay: In fact, I am going to come give you a hug.  Where are you?
Lisa: ok!
Lisa: i am downstairs still
Lisa: i want to eat a pie

It’s been a little over two weeks since Steven & I broke up.  The first week and a half after was really just a blur of emotions.  I was feeling so many different emotions, and all at once, that it was practically impossible for me to pick one out of the bunch to really focus on.  As a result, I was emotionally drained & numb.  It’s really only been in the past several days that I’ve emerged from that fog.  My mental & emotional state is still somewhat blurry, but my mind can more or less form coherent thoughts now.

Mostly, I go between feeling sad, angry and fine.  I’m still incredibly sad that it happened.  I still cry sometimes.  I miss him terribly.  I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting upon our relationship and recalling the memories we shared, both good & bad.  There were a lot of both.  The anger has definitely finally hit, though not intensely so.  I’m not so much angry at Steven as I am at his choices & his actions.  He had so much potential.  He had the capability to be really wonderful and really awful, and it seems like he frequently chose the latter towards the end of our relationship.  I feel like he not only gave up on me and our relationship, but himself as well.  A lot of disagreement between us was due in part to the way he treated me.  He thought that I was trying to change him.  That was something he never understood, and I don’t think he understands it now either.  It was never about changing him.  I loved him, and I loved who he was.  It was about changing the way he related to me.  He could still be him and just relate to me in a better way.  I’m angry, because I feel like he just made excuses to himself.  I feel like he constantly took the easy way out, because he didn’t want to put forth the effort.  I think that a lot of it ultimately comes down to him caring more about himself than he did about me, and that obviously hurts me a great deal.  He couldn’t be happy with me, because he couldn’t be happy with himself or with anything else.  He held himself back from happiness, and that was always difficult for me to stand by and watch.

Sometimes, though, I feel perfectly fine, even joyful.  I’m happy with myself and who I am, and for the most part, I’m happy with where I am in my life.  I can’t say that I’m angry with what God has done with my life.  I’m not terribly happy about everything, but it’s always been in preparation for a greater joy later.  Unto that end, I have been praying a lot for the grace of healing — with a particular stress on the intercession of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary — so that my heart will heal quickly & healthily, and so that it will grow in its capacity to love.  I figure if I pray enough, my prayers will be answered.  Harassment Persistence works.

Is anyone else getting tired of hearing about my breakup and my post-breakup emotions?  Because this is only the second post I’ve written (although, if you count IMs and emails, it’s about the 100th thing I’ve written), and even I am starting to beg myself to move on to lighter and more interesting things, like my newfound (embarrassing) television addiction.   Then again, my impatience could be due to the fact that my immune system is currently stressed.

Also, the three key on my laptop fell off.  That makes me sad.  I tried putting it back on, but it wouldn’t go.  Now I cannot less than three people.  Not that I do that.

Another post about things and how I’m doing is forthcoming, but for now, I thought I’d give us all a little break and give everyone an update on the driving lessons. I know that a couple of people had been curious as to how that’s going, and after all the encouraging comments and prayers, I felt like I should share the joy. (P.S. Thanks for those, by the way.)

Things have been going quite swimmingly. As it turns out, my fast learning also extends to driving. I honestly would not have predicted that, but it does. I learn quickly and I’ve been rather good at self-correcting when necessary. My trepidation regarding driving has waned some, though not altogether. I’ve been hesitant to move forward and try more nearly every step of the way — leaving the parking lot and trying the neighbourhood, leaving the neighbourhood and trying the open road (mostly back roads), and then leaving the back roads and trying two-lane roads that are slightly more trafficked. That’s not to say that I’ve spent a large amount of time at any particular stage — for most people, I haven’t. As I stated earlier, I just pick things up quickly, and so what I had mentally conceived as an appropriate time for each stage turned out to be much more than necessary with my current set of skills. However, when it’s been suggested (usually multiple times) that I have grasped this and I’m ready for something a little more difficult, I’ve pulled back each & every time. Even though I’m well aware that I’m doing really well, I still doubt myself. (Perhaps I should mention that Steven’s parents are the ones teaching me how to drive.) Once they gently push me into trying something more difficult, I give in. So, I am pushing myself slightly more and more each time so as to not remain stagnant.

What we’ve been doing, and what I really appreciate, is gauging my anxiety as we go. This has actually been remarkably helpful for me, because it’s forcing me to evaluate my anxiety with the situation each step of the way as I’m driving rather than doing so in hindsight. This helps me to understand what is making me anxious, how anxious it’s making me (whether it’s small enough to not distract me from the task at hand, thus allowing me to continue, or whether it’s overwhelming me to the point that we need to back up a step and try it later; I’ve been completely fine so far, save for one incident, and I handled it as I went along), and how I’m handling it. I’m actually really proud of myself. I’m finding that I can calmly navigate far more than I had expected. I honestly thought I’d be a basket case behind the wheel, but I’m actually fairly easygoing. This has understandably been a pleasant surprise. The only really bad habit that I need to break myself of is my verbal declarations that I am speeding. While Steven’s mother finds this to be adorable, I am dubious that the driving examiner will. Of course, it would stand to reason that I need to break the habit of speeding at all, and I am trying. Truth be told, that really isn’t an issue. If anything, I tend to go ever so slightly under the speed limit (I know, I know, I’m sorry), but I’m still trying to figure out the speed control thing. I think I’m doing well for a beginner. I just need practice.

If today is any indication, though, the drivers on the road think I need practice in bring cut off. They’re so nice, helping me work on my reaction time.

I’ve sat here for hours at a time for the past few days contemplating what exactly I wanted to say.  I am no more certain now than when I began, but I don’t foresee that changing in the next few days, so I am choosing to forgo quality in an effort to just get it out.

Steven & I broke up Monday night.

After much thought and prayer, I came to the heart-wrenching conclusion that it was time to end the relationship.  The decision was easily the most difficult one I have had to make.  Breaking up was the last thing I ever conceived would happen, particularly after nearly five years of friendship and almost three years of dating.  I had honestly believed — assumed, really — that the end result would be marriage.  I had my reasons for thinking that, as did I for ending the relationship.

The relationship really deteriorated during the last year.  I never wrote about it out of respect for Steven, though I periodically discussed it with people.  Ending it hadn’t been an option for me so long as we both loved each other and were committed to making it work.  Regrettably, I realised that those two conditions ceased being mutual some time ago.  I’d been too busy giving my all to try to make things better that I didn’t see, or rather, refused to see, that I was doing it alone.  I had been for a while, but dealing with the resultant hell of being with him had always been preferable to the resultant hell of being without him.  Eventually, enough was enough.

I’ve never had a particularly high self-esteem, and so the thought that I deserved to be treated well was not one that had ever really been present in my mind.  For most of you, that probably sounds ridiculous, but for me that was a fact of life.  That notion started to form in my mind the past few months, and I gradually recognised that I wasn’t being treated how I deserve, and I realised that I deserved better.

Steven had always treated me like a princess; that is, until the past year or so.  We went from talking hours each day to talking for a few minutes every few days.  By the end, we hadn’t spoke for a month — one month exactly, not since the morning after my graduation.  I had emailed Steven with a long letter complaining about the state of things.  I had messaged him online twice and called him once during that time period, and I never heard anything back from him until Monday.  He had always been so sweet, loving and respectful.  By the end, he got defensive over everything, snapped and yelled at me over every little thing and he was self-absorbed.  I made him a priority, and he, too, was focused on himself, so the result was that I came last and no one was looking out for me.

I was by no means perfect.  I tried my best, and I honestly believe that I was a really great girlfriend for the most part.  I’m obviously giving a slanted view of things, especially since Steven isn’t here to defend himself and give his side of the story, but Steven himself didn’t really refute anything when we talked.  I don’t intend to portray Steven as a bad person here; he’s not — he just made a lot of bad choices and did some not so great things.  I’m just trying to help people understand why this happened.  I’m not mad at him — a fact that, ironically enough, frustrates me to no end — although I suppose there’s still time for the anger to hit.  (I’m reserving the right to be angry later.)  I’m really just incredibly heartbroken over it all (because I still love him very much), and the split is made worse by the fact that he’s my best friend.

I guess the big question that everyone is wondering is, “How are you doing?”  The truth is, I don’t know.  It varies moment to moment.  It’s rough.  I have difficulty sleeping — getting to sleep, staying asleep and waking up (especially getting out of bed).  I’ve been feeling miserable physically.  I spent yesterday with the worst migraine I’ve had to date, lasting nearly all day.  I spent half the day with my head under a blanket, nauseous and dizzy.  Today, I felt like I had the flu, though I’m guessing it’s probably due to a surge of nonstop adrenaline pumping through my body.  Emotionally, I’m all over the place.  I still cry frequently when I’m alone.

I know God is with me through all of this, and that’s really what’s kept me going.  As difficult as it can be, I have to trust that God has a plan for me and that everything I’m going through has a purpose.  I’m not meant to know what that is right now, and I can accept that.  I don’t know why any of this happened.  I guess no one ever does.  I don’t know what changed for Steven — I don’t need to.  I think it’s probably easier to not know, at least right now.  I know that it wasn’t me, and I know that I did everything I could, so I can’t feel guilty about how things turned out.  Blindly trusting God is never easy, particularly when going through something like this, but I’ve already made it through the really hard part by taking the first step.  Surely, the rest is a piece of cake.  Though, by the looks of things, that cake is made of rusty, tetanus-carrying nails.

I haven’t declared the news to everyone yet, mostly because I’m not really ready to deal with everyone else yet.  I already have my hands full with just myself.  As it turns out, I’m not a robot, and also, apparently I have needs.  This week has brought all sorts of shocking news.  I say this because I have already been asked why I have not altered my relationship status on Facebook.  Really.  Beyond the fact that I use Facebook for little beyond playing Scrabulous and sending the occasional message, I’m just not ready to make that proclamation just yet.  It took me several days and attempts just to write this much.  I just needed to get something down in writing.

And, so, here I am, writing this at 2:30 in the morning because I can’t sleep.

I might have mentioned once or twice (or twelve times) that I have anxiety disorders.  I have found that anxiety and fear tend to run hand in hand, at least for me.  For about six years now, I have constantly been grappling with the anxiety and fear that come from the prospect of driving.  I do not have my driver’s license.  All throughout high school, I made up excuses.  I used to say that I was just too focused on school and studying, and that I simply did not have the time to learn.  Whenever someone would try to get me behind the wheel, I would say that I did not feel well; I’d tell them that we’d do it later.  Those were not lies.  They were very true.  They just weren’t the real reason holding me back.

Everyone has different fears and anxieties that plague them.  One of mine happens to be driving.  Most people find this fear to be completely preposterous, because for most people, it’s not really an issue.  Most people look forward to learning how to drive and having the freedom that comes with having your license.  I was not, nor am I now, one of those people.  Sure, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t care about being able to go wherever I want whenever I want.  I want that, certainly.  However, I don’t like the process one has to go through in order to attain that freedom.

I’ve been told by people countless times how surprised they are that someone so intelligent has a fear of driving, an activity which even the most intellectually challenged members of society partake in.  It is more than a little frustrating to have so many people reduce the matter down to that, because it doesn’t provide a full and accurate portrayal of the picture.  Intelligence has nothing whatsoever to do with my fear.  My fear is an amalgamation of factors, too many to be listed.

Growing up where I did, it was not easy being a junior or a senior in high school who didn’t have a car, much less one who didn’t have a license.  It was a fact that I was embarrassed by, and I desperately tried to hide it.  My friends knew, or at least most of them knew.  I begged rides frequently throughout my sophomore and junior year of high school.  I then became too embarrassed to do so, and I humbled and embarrassed myself further by switching to taking the bus to and from school every day.  I’d quickly walk to the bus every afternoon after school got out, and I would try to hide my face so that no one would see me, but inevitably, I would occasionally run into someone by the front office.  I always tried to pass it off as my leaving in a car that happened to be parked in the front of the school where the visitors and administrators parked.  I don’t think that anyone thought anything of it, but always in the back of my mind was the fear that they’d find out or know that I wasn’t heading to a car but to a bus.  Those that knew were constantly giving me a hard time about the fact that I didn’t have a license, including my family.  Everyone’s insensitivity was difficult for me to swallow.  No one ever seemed to understand that I wasn’t ready, and rather than realising that sixteen is an age suggestion, everyone turned it into a standard.  I honestly felt like everyone was trying to hold me to a standard that I honestly just did not fit.  Looking back, I’m glad that I didn’t get my license then, because I know that I wasn’t ready.  I just wasn’t, and I know that that is hard for a great many people to accept, especially because I’m so intelligent (a factor which I still assert has nothing to do with any of this), but it’s the truth.  I wasn’t ready.  I was afraid.  I was nervous.  Emotionally, I wasn’t ready to take that step.

Don’t take that to mean that I could not have.  I think it’s obvious that I could have if I had been forced to.  I could have learned, and I think that distinction is important.  Everyone focuses on the fact that I could have had my license when I was sixteen.  I will gladly concede that point.  However, emotionally and mentally, I wasn’t prepared for that.  I needed time.  I believe that had I gone and done what everyone else wanted me to do, it would have been disastrous.  I’m not saying that to justify waiting, but because I know myself.  I know that I’ve always been precocious, and I’ve always jumped head first into most things.  I was always ahead of the curve, but this time I wasn’t, and I think that’s what bothers people the most.  But waiting was the best thing for me.

It took me a long time to be ok with that.  Being behind the curve was difficult for me to come to grips with as well.  In fact, I think it hit me the hardest of all.  I think that’s fairly evident by the fact that I always tried to hide it–continue to try to hide it.  I don’t even hang out with friends from my town that much when I’m home because I don’t want to admit that I don’t have a license and that I need someone to pick me up.  It’s not easy to deal with the ramifications of it all, but I have at least accepted the situation.  I finally have accepted that it’s ok to have this fear and anxiety, and I’ve even accepted that they are ok reasons to hold off for a time.  I’m now ok with that.  I realise that the degree to which I feared driving and the amount of panic that it caused in me were reasons to postpone getting my license.  I didn’t realise it then, but I was smart enough to act on my instinct.  Going to school in Boston really helped with that, because I met a lot of people who do not have a license.  Not having a license doesn’t make me an outcast there, nor does it make me a freak.

Learning to drive is not something I want to do.  I have managed to delay it for six years, but with grad school around the corner and my graduation from grad school next May, I face the problem of obtaining a job and finding transportation to and from work.  Unless I live in a major city, that transportation will have to be a car.  Thus, an impetus to face my fear, however reluctantly.

I’m still afraid.  I still don’t want to do it, but I do think that I’m finally ready.  The anxiety and the fear that I feel aren’t the same kind of anxiety and fear that I used to feel.  I think that these are normal amounts of each, albeit probably slightly higher than those most people experience.  Something just feels different this time, because for once, the timing actually feels right.  And as long as the kind people teaching me are patient and understanding of my fear and can work with it, I think I’ll be just fine, or at least I hope so.  Regardless, they’re willing to take on my neuroses on top of teaching me how to drive.  That’s always a good sign.

It all starts tomorrow.  To prepare, I am going to say many prayers, followed by a tranquilliser.