Sorry, not rheumatoid arthritis. Just me.

I’ve probably disappointed you. By this time, at your estimation, I should be halfway through my doctoral chemistry program at a reputable New England university. After I spent a semester abroad, I should have graduated from college summa cum laude and earned a fabulous scholarship that now funds my groundbreaking research. I should have a healthy down payment saved up for a small, Cape Cod house because I don’t need a man to support me.

Alas, no. I up and got married at 22. I only spent five weeks abroad. I earned a mere bachelor’s degree, and a Bachelor of Arts, at that, without any fancy Latin after it. I’m not a scientist. We live in a blue house in the mid-Atlantic suburbs. I have to say “meatball sub” now. I learned to knit. I wear flat shoes.

I know, it seems lame, doesn’t it? (Do you still say “lame”?) You have such hopes for your professional, intellectual, adult self, and I have fallen short.

Maybe my life isn’t what you anticipate, but I’m rather fond of it, and for reasons I never could have expected. I didn’t think I’d get married at such a young age, but we make a good match. He can handle my neuroses, the likes of which you are developing for me. He’s a full-blown sports fan, and I’ve grown to love my college football team. I even have a jersey, oh, yes. Get this — we have a dog! And I am not afraid of him! I learned how to rock-climb during summer jobs, and all of that untapped gymnastics balance has an outlet. Our house doesn’t have dormers like I always wanted, but it does have a bright green living room with a big, comfy sofa. I’ve learned to enjoy hosting get-togethers, and I listen to a public radio station that doesn’t play classical music.

Even though things haven’t become what you picture, they still turned out well.

Don’t worry — some things haven’t changed. I still make great sour cream cookies, laugh really loudly, and prefer to use blue ink. I underline the date when I write in my journal, trip over my own feet, and struggle with my round brush.  When I was at home after my first semester of college, Mom commented that I hadn’t changed color; I only deepened.  You’ll understand.

Sometimes, life will seem really hard. And I don’t mean hard, like when you’ll have to drive all over the state to find a one-piece prom dress. I mean gut-wrenching hard, like you don’t know if you can stand it, or how others have stood it before you. It’ll be okay. You have some rough times to soldier through before things settle into something that resembles a life, but you’ll appreciate it, then.

I’ll see you when you come around.

I usually let myself process whatever has happened to me for at least eight hours before I throw it all into a box in WordPress and send it out to the world.  Sometimes, I write really reactively and end up pleased with the result, but for the most part, I prefer to let things simmer before serving.

That said, I can’t believe it has been six days since my last confession.  Now, I generally roll my eyes when people apologize for being away for so long and what-have-you because I don’t read other people’s blogs with the idea that they are obligated to keep me abreast of what is going on at regular intervals.  If I haven’t heard from someone in a while, I figure that it’s a busy time and leave it at that.

So, I am not really apologizing here.  I’d just like to explain how the last few days have not allowed much room for processing and then thoughtful writing, so I kept away.  Last week was tough, and not in a satisfying way that comes from dealing with a big obstacle.  No, it was difficult in that chipping, eroding way that wore me down slowly until I was exhausted, but for no discernible reason.  And then I was even more annoyed because I couldn’t figure out why I was so tired.

In any case, things are better now than they were a week ago for a gaggle of silly little reasons.  On Thursday, someone e-mailed me just to tell me he liked my photos from the Delaware football games.  On Friday, JG’s varsity and JV volleyball teams won their first matches of the season.  I had a particularly good night in the kitchen with a crock pot of barbecue pulled pork, a pan of peanut butter brownies, and a big batch of pumpkin dip.  On Saturday, the JV team went to their first tournament and took a win away from one of the best teams in the county.  We went to a bonfire where a friend had the brilliant idea to make a s’more out of gingersnaps, a toasted marshmallow, and pumpkin dip.  On Sunday, JG made penne vodka with chicken for dinner.

It’s not as though my life is extraordinarily different or more at ease, but those small points of light have helped to dull the wear and tear of the daily grind.

I’d like to celebrate two things today. Six years ago, JG and I started dating. One year ago, I started this job.

I wish that JG and I could go out for a fun dinner, or even just dessert, but life would not have it that way. Instead, he has a test for his class, and I’m running errands after work. We’ll both come home late, Ted will have his walk in the dark, and dinner will be classy frozen ravioli. It would be great to escape the routine for a couple of hours, but the daily grind is overwhelming us lately (or maybe just me), and there is no time, money, or energy. Celebrations take all three of those things, I think. I managed to sneak a card into JG’s schoolbag, at least.

At my old job, work anniversaries were a very big deal. For my second anniversary at that company, my supervisor solicited my co-workers for book recommendations, and I still refer back to that list whenever I’m stuck. It’s unfair to compare my current workplace to my previous one, but I don’t have that kind of camaraderie here. The day will go by without a note of fanfare, except that I know that I now qualify to apply to work from home once a week.  Maybe I’ll treat myself to a handful of gummy peach rings from the bulk candy section in the cafeteria.

The mundane has completely taken over and squeezed the pep out of me. I told JG last night that I wanted to start planning our next vacation because I needed something tangible to anticipate.  It helps me to look forward to something, and the three days off for Thanksgiving are but a dim light at the end of the tunnel.  Instead, at every turn, there’s a lunch to pack, a calendar to check, and a list to cross off. JG promised me “a fancy dinner” when the volleyball season ends, and I can’t wait for the excuse to shed my evening uniform of yoga pants and a t-shirt in favor of a dress and heels.

In the meantime, whose birthday is it? I’ll bring the cupcakes. This girl needs some celebrating.

The date was November 26, 2004. I had survived my first Thanksgiving with JG’s family, and I crammed into an SUV with the female part of the clan for some serious Black Friday shopping. I had never really been out to the malls on the day after Thanksgiving, but the call of tradition beckoned, and we ventured forth.

Outside the fitting rooms at the Gap, I saw a girl carrying a small shoebox with a picture of a turquoise moccasin on it.  Before I could stop myself, I tapped on her shoulder and asked, “Where did you find those cute shoes?”  I don’t know what came over me.  I had no need for flat, blue shoes.  The novelty must have struck me in the right way.

Over there, she gestured, but they didn’t have many blue ones left.

I dashed over to the markdown shoe wall, but the only sizes in blue were too big for me, and the only other color was black, which seemed downright dreary in comparison.  The shoes were so cute! The main body was made of turquoise suede with patent leather accents at the heel and toe.  Oh, well.

Someone tapped my shoulder in the check-out line.  It was the girl I had approached earlier, and she held out the shoes.  “These didn’t work out for me, so do you want to try?” she asked. “They’re sevens.”

Did I!  I thanked the girl and tried on the shoes quickly, right then and there. They were a little roomy — I probably could have used a 6.5 — but they were on sale, so the deal was done.  In the same way that my sister and I breathe a little prayer of thanks for a parking spot right next to a mall’s entrance, these shoes were Meant To Be.

With that purchase, I began what I call my Teal Phase, which resulted in the acquisition of many teal or turquoise items (including a corduroy jacket that very same day) in an attempt to move away from my then-signature olive green.  I saw the light of wearing flats, and I accumulated several more pairs in varying colors, even taking the leap to patterned shoes. My wardrobe of neutrals and solids was never the same again.

And to think it all started with those turquoise moccasins that I almost didn’t find.

- - - - -

Psst!  Mission: Put Together - Fall Edition kicks off tomorrow!