Two Years Later?

 



Hey Guys,
Long time, no talk. I honestly didn't realize how long its been since I opened this site. Looking back at old posts makes me want to cringe out of my skin. I've always said I'm not a strong writer, and these posts are more than sufficient evidence of that. Not only is my grammar atrocious, my posts are all over the place. There's no structure. If my blog were a house, and the posts were the beams of support, my "house" would be a pile of  "sticks". Not only would it be a pile of sticks, it would be a pile of sticks I wouldn't recognize now. I have changed so much in the last two years. I honestly don't feel like the same person anymore.

Curtis, my boyfriend, has told me multiple times that I should start writing again. He has asked me to start writing again, be it blog posts or stories or scenarios for my favorite game Call of Cthulhu. So, as one of the only 2017 resolutions I made, I have decided to write something at the very least twice a month. I think that is manageable (I say at the end of the month). Honestly, this is the resolution I've been afraid of the most. I'm out of practice with writing. I haven't had to write properly or formally for a very long time. Writing is like any other skill you learn. If you don't use it, you lose it. I've noticed my vocabulary has diminished, That's something else I need to work on. I'm thinking of doing a "Word of the Day" blog post. Define the word, look at it's origin, use it once in a post.  It'll keep me honest about doing it.

I think that will do as a "Welcome back" to writing. Obviously a lot has happened in the last two years, but I'm not going to write a long blog post about it. Especially since I only have two people reading this, occasionally. Thank you for those of you who do read, I appreciate it.

Word of the day: sockeroo, 1940-1945; Americanism; noun. A noticeable success, something with extraordinary power and impact.

Well, this blog isn't much of a sockeroo but hopefully, it will be soon.

Talk to you later,
D

Mary Margaret Carr

This post is going to be brief. 

Not really. That's a complete lie. 

I'm writing this post (an ode if you'd like) for my best friend of more than thirteen years, Ms. Mary Margaret Carr. 

Marebear, 

If I had to pick between you and Johnny Depp (yes, I know he's forty something and wears guyliner like it's still 2007, don't judge me) as a best friend, I would only slightly hesitate before picking you. 

No one could be as patient and hilarious as you while also being so strong and determined. It only seems like yesterday we met at school and the first thing out of your mouth was "Oh DeAnne...your hair."  You never made fun of the homemade skirts and dresses, never judged the year of (God forgive me) crocs, and were the first to jump on board and come up with theories for "The Mermaid Equation". 

To call you loyal is an understatement. From tying sisters to trees, tackling kids into drum sets to protect my honor, and breaking into pools "ya know, just because", you've leapt over mountains and beyond to make me happy, no matter how uncomfortable it may have made you. You have been there for me through every problem I've ever had, and you've never questioned me about my judgement in the presence of others. You wait until we're alone to call me out on my behavior, which I appreciate and respect. 

You're so hard on yourself, Mare, and it's heartbreaking. You did everything you could. Lee knows that. She'd hit you if she knew how badly you're blaming yourself for not doing more, not being there more. She love you, Mare. And no distance will change that.

Okay. God. Sorry, tearing up.  Back to topic at hand. At some point, you stopped being a best friend and became an adopted sister.  You're family. Really, you always have been, always will be. And that is something I never have to question. Similarly to how you have always been there for me, I will always be there for you. You're the only companion I'd ever need. You're the Jon Snow to my Sam, the merkin to my HBO. 

Though you conveniently forgot to pack me when you embarked on your amazing adventure halfway around the world (which I've decide do forgive you for, you're welcome) I feel like I'm almost living them with you. You always include pictures and make sure to point stuff out to me! 

I guess what I'm trying to say, Mary Margaret, is that you are utterly fantastic. I could not ask any existing Deity for a better best friend. And as we embark on different journies and travels in our lives, leaving our teens behind and becoming women, I could not think of a better person to end my "teens" with. Thank you so much for being born and being a part of my life.

Happy Birthday Mary. I love you! 

Your Matching Radius buddy,

DeAnne 

P.S. And because you know I'm terrible with timing, your presents late. It's worth waiting for, though, promise. ;) Here's a hint: It's edible. 

Just Plain Lost

Hello Reader(s),

Short post today.

In the last two weeks, I have managed to lose my drivers license as well as my debit card.

I was supposed to get my license while Curtis is at work so we could go to my bank and apply for a new card...but there's a small hiccup.

I have no cash. 

So instead of getting things done, I'm sitting here drinking coffee and feeling kinda bummed that I'm this irresponsible. 

This whole card loss is also making me think about my life. What am I doing?

 I'm a janitor and a lunch lady. Both very respectable jobs, but that isn't what I want to do with the rest of my life. I dropped out of college. I need to get my ass in gear. Find something I love that I can stand to do.

When they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said Ariel the princess. Clearly, that isn't an option (yet). When they asked every year of my high school career, each year was something different. The first year, marine biology. Second year, CNA. Third year, I didn't say anything. My senior year, they asked multiple times.

 What do you want to be?

What do you want to do?

What are you going to college for?

What college are you going to?

You ARE going to college, right?

Midway through senior year, I told my two favorite teachers in casual conversation that I wanted to be Everything. I didn't want a set career, that went against my personality. I love change. I love adapting. I love learning how to do new things. Sticking to one career for the rest of my life sounded so boring, so closed off and in changing that it made me want to pull my hair out. 

  

And then it was February. I miscarried.

And I was hit by this wave of wanting to be surrounded by what I'd lost.

To redeem myself for not being careful. I applied for colleges to be a prenatal nurse. 

Turns out I couldn't handle it.

After a few days (months) of deliberation, I've turned in my two weeks at my housekeeping job. I'm going to a career couselor to find out information on nursing classes. I'm going to be a certified nurse.

Time to stop working at a dead end job. Time to start working towards a future. 

M Is For

On a cold mid February day in 2013, I was snowed into my moms house with my three sisters, my sister Al's  friend Cait, my nephew Jaden, my Mom and Dad, and 32 baby chicks with no power, heat or running water. 

At this point in my life, I was working in a nursing home as a CNA full time while going to school. It was my senior year and I was trying to be everywhere at once. I'd noticed I was sleeping a lot, and according to mom I was "shoveling down food", but I didn't really think about it. 

That day, I woke up feeling cramps. These weren't just cramps. This felt like I was being stabbed multiple times in the uterus. I remember at one point I actually gasped because it hurt so much.  I was so sore I could hardly walk.  My mom took pity on me and gave me half of a Vicodin. 

We were all curled up on cots reading or sleeping, trying to stay warm. It was then that I started bleeding. At first I was really confused. Yeah, I was cramping, but usually when I was on my period I didn't bleed until a day later. It wasn't until I'd gone through two pads in an hour that my mom laid me on my back and pushed on my lower stomach and very shakily asked me when my last period was. It was early December. She asked me if I was pregnant. I responded with "No. Not that I know of." 

She didn't have a reaction. She went outside to the grill (that's how we were making our food), returned with a cup of coffee and told me to stay laying down, while she got more pads and bottles of water. She looked at me sadly "Deebug...I think you're having a miscarriage."

My mind spun. No way. Not possible. I couldn't be pregnant. Not me. We're careful. We use condoms, I'm on birth control.... Oh my god, I'm on birth control. I've been taking it this whole time. This is my fault. Curtis will never forgive me. 

The bleeding eventually lessened and then stopped all together. My mom told me she'd take me to the doctor when weather wa permitting. Almost two weeks after, we went to our family doctor. She confirmed that I did in fact have a miscarriage. She estimated that I had been between seven to eight weeks pregnant. 

 

Honestly, I don't remember anything she said after that. I was in a fog. This was real. This was my fault. I didn't tell Curtis. I was so ashamed. I didn't want him to hate me- I hated me enough for the both of us.  I didn't want to tell him at all. I didn't know I was pregnant. Had I actually carried to term, I could've tried out for that reality show on TLC. I kept it to myself for a month. My mental and emotional health went downhill, and Curtis reached his breaking point. He knew something was wrong, but having a girlfriend that won't express anything is impossible to communicate with. After a few explosive fights, he told me he was done unless I explained. I broke down. I cried and cried and cried some more. He told me he loved me, he didn't blame me, it was okay. 

He will occasionally bring it up in arguments. It stings like he'd slapped me in the face. But I understand why. It was a slap for him too. I should've told him about it. 

It's been two years, and we are in the midst of a baby boom. I act excited for all of the expectant mothers around me, but I still feel a sliver of jealousy. Whether we were ready or not, we would be parents right now if I'd paid more attention and was more careful. 

 And, readers...the strangest thing happened. 

Two days after we moved into our house, I dreamt I was visiting my mom at her house. I walk into her lime green kitchen, I can smell the lavender oil she loves to smell, and on the floor, there's a little boy I've never seen before in my life. I look at my mother, "Mom, who is that?" 

 She just smiles and softly says "Baby, just talk to him." 

 Hesitantly, I walk over and sit down. This boy is small, probably still a toddler. As I sit down, I'm stricken with awe. He looks just like Curtis. Defined cheeks, light freckles, black hair and blue/green eyes. I asked "Hi there. What's your name?" "Micah. Micah Reed."

Micah Reed. "That's a nice name."

"Daddy picked it." 

At that point, I got chills. And then, the impulse to ask came...and I couldn't stop it.

"Who are you?"

 "You know who I am, Mommy."

Oh my god. It's him. It's him. It's the baby. 

"You're here. "

"I'm here. I thought it was time we talk. "

"Oh."

"It's not your fault, Mommy. I wasn't ready. You weren't ready."

"Oh my god." 

"I love you Mommy. It's time to wake up."

I woke up to my alarm, tears rolling down my face. That was my baby. He was beautiful, healthy. He was perfect. I may not be able to hold him now, but I can hold him in Heaven. My Micah Reed. 

That's about all I can handle with this entry. I honestly had to stop and restart at a later time. Thank you for reading. I'll write again soon.

Sincerely yours,

D

R Is For Rant

Reader(s),

We've established already that this blog is far from formal. The sentences are choppy, the grammar is sketchy, the content is dull and repetitive. The only person that reads these posts are my best friend abroad, Mary. (Hi Marebear!) Because this blog is so informal, I can spew a long rant and no one can judge me for it. Ready? Here we go.

I've decided after a year and a quarter, I am terminating any hopes to mend the bond between my cousin Katherine and I.

 (We're the weirdos in the middle of the back row, this picture was taken four years ago.)
Katherine is a Type A personality. She's determined. Set in her ways. She's never wrong. And she is the biggest bitch I know. I used to love all of these things about her. They made me feel safe, defended. She was the driving force that kept my limp body upright. My backbone in a lot of ways. I love all sides of her personality. This was before I had any experience with them. To give her credit, the problems started after I chose Curtis over her. Curtis became the Earth I revolved around and she was a star I saw in passing. And so, after a year of me bending over backwards to make her happy and her conveniently stepping in and aggressively out of my life to hurt me, I've decided. I'm done. I've driven myself half crazy trying to fix anything I could, and all that accomplished was nothing. No more questioning wht the fuck I did wrong, what the fuck is wrong with me. No more appeasing her and telling Curtis to stay away from family gatherings because "it makes her upset". I don't care anymore. No more.  No more "Peanut and Choppy". No more "Dee and KK". It's over. She can talk to or visit my friends and siblings as much as she likes, it's a free country. But she is nothing but a distant family member to me. I'm not investing time in a rotting corpse of a relationship. 

I'm tired. I'm very, very tired. Between my two jobs I've been putting in more than fifty hours a week. With a day off in between. I think I wouldn't mind it as much if I felt like I was actually accomplishing something. But I'm a janitor. I clean up messes all day and I come back not twelve minutes later, and it looks like I didn't do anything at all. That is so incredibly frustrating to me. Everyone says "Then just quit, quit complaining. You're still doing it so it can't be that bad. " And they're right. It isn't that bad. I am complaining. But I can't afford to quit. Not with rent, insurances, utilities, and a medical bill I'm still trying to pay off, not including my cost of living. 

I miss Mary. I'm so stressed out about the stuff going on, and she's the only person I want to talk to about it all.  We were supposed to FaceTime today but I got out of work almost twenty minutes late, and then went to Walmart with my grandma.

Being six hours behind her, knowing she's got a busy day Thursday, I didn't want to bother her when she was getting ready for bed. She's stressing out too, I know. Missing her family, dogs, and boyfriend like crazy. I'm up there too. I wear our BFF necklaces so much, the paint has worn off.

 

I'm debating on whether to send her one of her birthday presents or not. I feel like she needs a big box of "home" sent to her. Does that make sense?   

Thats my rant for the evening. Thanks for tuning in. I'll see you in the next one.

Sincerely, 

Dee

Valentines Day

Dear Reader(s),

Happy Valentines Day! I hope you all have a fabulous day and you spend it surrounded by people you love, or how I will be spending it- watching Netflix and eating pizza and then going to work.  

I talked to my best friend today, and seeing her relationship take off the way it has warms the cockles of my heart tremendously. I wish they could be together for Valentines Day, but I know they'll make up for lost time when they both get home. 

Curtis and I have been together five years , and decided that from now on we eat Valentines dinner the night before and spend the actual holiday at home snuggling and stuff away from everyone else. 

I think that kinda proves how introverted we are. People make us- or make me, at least- SUPER uncomfortable. And I still don't really know why that is. I'm just more comfortable alone in my room. 

Meh. Regardless. Have a great day! 

Sincerely,

D

T is for Tat

Dear Reader(s),

As many of you read in my last post, I lost a very dear friend of mine a day short from a month ago. I would be lying if I told you I've come to terms with it. I still wake up expecting a text or new snap from her asking what I'm up to. 

 The day after she passed, I came up with an idea for a tattoo. Having the pain tolerance of a guppy and lack of funds for such things, I'd ruled tattoos out of the question. But that night, I saw a quote that just stuck with me. It stuck itself to me like a needle to a thumb and I couldn't shake the feeling it gave me. 

It felt like the answer to the hardest question there is to answer- why do the best people die? 

A week after I saw the quote, I went to my friend Devin Warren, who has been a licensed tattoo artist for over ten years. I asked if he'd do it, put down a $20 deposit, and set the date. February 7,2015 I'd have a physical representation of Lee with me forever. 

My appointment was at eight o'clock, so naturally I got ready at five thirty. Shaved my legs, blow dried and straightened my hair, makeup. I purposefully skipped mascara. I didn't want it to run all over the place in case I started to cry. I told Curtis I wanted him with me and though he is completely against tattoos, he agreed to come along.

When we got to The Zone, Devin told us the printer they normally use for scripts was broken, so he had to write everything out by hand. I didn't mind, jut meant it had more time put into it. 

We got started at 9:00 p.m. Devin started with the lettering, which was the easiest part of the tattoo pain wise. To me, the lettering process felt like when your hand falls asleep and someone pinches you to wake it up- it tingles and is a little uncomfortable, but not awful. 

Next, Devin did the outlines for the borders. Again, it felt like a numb hand- until he hit my shin. As soon as that needle went over my shin, I had the hugest urge to jump out of my chair. The bak of my elf was nowhere near as awful as the shin. I was really uncomfortable at this point and needed a distraction, so I facetimed my little sister Alex. I would've facetimed my best friend Mary, but it was close to 3:30 a.m. her time, so that was obviously a no go. 

After letting me take a break so I could walk around, it was time for shading. 

To those of you that have tattoos, you understand. To those that don't, shading is when the tattoo artist goes in and fills all of the blank space with shadows and color. Remember earlier whenever I was talking about tingling? Shading doesn't tingle. Shading feels exactly like what it is- a series of little needles scribbling across your skin over and over and over. You body naturally starts to swell a little, and the tattoo artist has to go back over the swollen parts to fill in the blanks. The shin felt nowhere near as bad as the back of my leg.Oh my lord. At one point, I asked Devin if we could just stop. It felt that awful. 

At eleven thirty, it was done.  My quote, with three forget-me-not blooms around it with swirly borders. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I bought tattoo goo, which I apply three to four times a day to help it heal. It comes in a little circular tin, looks like green grapes and smells very strongly of lavender.

I love it. I love the swirls of the letters and the baby blue in the flowers. I love it and I loved her. 

I'll speak to you again soon guys. 

Sincerely,

D

Rambles, Rambles, Rambles!!!

Hey Reader(s),

(Writers note: this post was written but chose not to post on Feb.1,2015. This is a repost attempt. Sorry for any confusion!)
The lack of entries are a combination of sixty+ work weeks and the flu pushing me into a state of hibernation. Now that I'm somewhat alive, RAMBLES!!!!

I am getting a tattoo in memory of my friend LeeAnn Saturday, and I am super nervous.This is my first, and might be my last tattoo. I haven't decided yet. I'm having my friend Devin do it, as he's the only person I'm comfortable with doing it. I'm getting a quote with few snowdrop flowers.  The quote:
"Why do the best people die?"
'When you're in the garden, which flowers do you pick?'
"The most beautiful ones."
 The snowdrop, aside from being the birth flower for January (Lee's birthday) is symbolic for hope. The legend behind that is biblical (if you're not religious sorry), after Adam and Eve were castout of Eden, Eve began to give up hope that the harsh winter would never end. An angel appeared, and turned a few snowflakes into snowdrop flowers, to let Eve know to not lose faith. Lee was a becon of hope her entire life. Promoting awareness for her condition while answering the questions of other hospital patients around her, she had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay.  

My boyfriend Curtis turned 21 yesterday, and we didn't really get to celebrate it. Between me trying to get over the flu and work, and him working, we have had no time alone together. A quick lunch at Applebees was the only thing that felt like a celebration. Even now, I'm in our bedroom blogging, he's filling out job applications in the living room. Guess thats what happens when two introverted    people are a couple. I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Open Window

Trigger Warning: If you are triggered by loss of life, losing best friends, cutting, or by medical conditions, please don't read this. This is hard enough for me to write when I have no such triggers, I would feel terrible if someone was triggered because of something I spoke openly about. This is a true and personal account about losing a childhood friend so please be courteous and respect this article.

A bit of backstory, LeeAnn Marie Binder was the recipient of three double lung transplants throughout her life. Once shortly after she was born, another when we were ten, and one last fall. Because of the operations, she had to be on several medications that stunted her growth. She was a few inches over three feet tall. She loved rock, most of all Disturbed, Papa Roach, Cradle of Filth, System of a Down, and 3 Days Grace. She loved all animals, but loved her dogs and leopards the most. Her favorite colors were black and purple. She loved having her nails done, texting, knitting, playing Yu- Gi- Oh, and food. That girl could put down two Big Mac Meals before you could blink an eye. We jokingly called her "The Pit" in middle school because no matter how much you gave her, she always wanted more. LeeAnn never knew a stranger. She was kind to everyone, even if they annoyed the hell out of her. She lit up any room she walked into, and it was impossible not to love her. LeeAnn and I became close for a number of reasons. For instance, she didn't question my love for black and anime or Marilyn Manson. She just got it. She and I have very similar names- DeAnne Marie and LeeAnn Marie.  LeeAnn was the first person that knew when I started cutting. She never questioned why or told me to stop, she just reminded me that I had people that were willing and ready to listen whenever I was ready to talk. Ultimately it was her, Mary (another childhood best friend, our third musketeer), and Curtis that got me to stop.

On January 11, 2015 at 10:15 A.M. I recieved a text from my grandmother stating that one of my best friends since elementary had died. I was stunned. Baffled. "No. No way. She just turned twenty,that's not possible." I called my mother to tell her about the ridiculous text I'd gotten but before I could even speak, the first thing out of her mouth was "Oh, Deebug, I'm so sorry." That's how I knew. I knew then that it wasn't a joke, it wasn't false information, it was real. Lee was gone. I apparently collapsed, because I looked up and five co workers- two of them being certified nurses- were surrounding me, asking what happened and if I was okay, if I'd hit my head or tripped on something.  All I could think to do was sob. I haven't cried that hard for a very long time. My mother was still on the phone with me and said my grandmother was on her way to get me to take me wherever I needed to go. The first place that came to mind was Mary's house. I thought I was close to Lee, Mary was definitely closer. If I was a wreck, I could only imagine how she was handling the news. I told my mother I needed to go, I had to talk to Mary. She said she'd call me back in fifteen minutes.

So, sitting in front of the laundry room bawling my head off, I attempted to get to Mary's number pulled up. She was asleep. She had no idea. I will never forgive myself for waking her up to tell her over the phone while having no composure. Thats almost as bad as finding out through text, if not worse. I went to her house and stayed there for several hours. Looking back on it, I realize having someone that not only knows your heartbreak but shares it, helps ease the pain so much. Being with Mary was probably what got my pieces back together.  I know her heart hurt more than mine, she was going halfway across the world in a few days and wouldn't be able to go to the funeral. Lee's family asked her to write a eulogy so she could still be involved.

LeeAnn's funeral was Sunday. It was a Catholic service- the first Catholic service I'd ever attended. My grandma, insisting I was not to drive, took me to and from. Walking in, I saw her sisters, brother, mother, and father all lined up next to the casket, all wearing  I think seeing her made it real. She looked beautiful, like she was taking a nap. Almost half of Leeton was there, along with a few of the girls that were in our "group" at one point. As soon as they saw me, they walked up and hugged me. I hadn't seen or spoken to Beth or Caitlin in years but now they hugged me so tight I thought I was going to suffocate. It was an evening service, so when we came out of the church, the sun was setting. While driving home, I saw the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen. Purples and blues as far as the eyes could see. All I managed to say was "Oh my god, Ema...it's her." We pulled over and watched the sun go down, not leaving until it had fallen out of sight.

The reason this is called "Open Window" was because of an unofficial lesson I learned while working in a retirement home. Whenever someone dies, you're supposed to open the window so their soul can get out. I always connected it with the saying "When God closes a door, he opens a window." The door is Earth, the fleshy life you live and the window is the afterlife. I understand how superstitious and ludicrous that sounds, but it's something I've firmly believed since I heard about it three and a half years ago. Looking at this gorgeous sunset, I realized  it didn't matter if someone had opened a window or not: it was a superstition.  She was right there. All week I'd been so worried that someone hadn't opened her window, that she'd be stuck in that hospital room forever... It didn't matter. Lee was good enough to jetline straight into Heaven, and I take comfort in knowing that she is no longer bound to this cruel planet full of so much hatred and dependant on tubes and pills to live. She's free, and she knows she is loved. And that is the only thing that matters.  

I love you, Lee, and Mary and I  can't wait to see you again. 

Your friend, 

Dee

Writing Therapy and YOU GUYS!

Hey Reader(s)!
This is going to be short, sweet, and full of me blubbering like an imbecile.
You've been warned.
So, my third post entitled "Too Awkward to Function" got more than 73,000 +1s. I still refuse to believe that many people actually read the post. It seems surreal. But thank you so so so much to the people that did! I apologize again for how choppy and hard it is to understand, but that's what I'm trying to fix. I cannot vocalize my thoughts or feelings properly, in writing or in speech, because I'm out of practice. I haven't had to do it in such a long time I seriously think I've forgotten how. So, step up to the plate grammar nazis and critics galore! I fully intend to keep writing! What better way than getting critiqued by strangers? My genuine hopes for this blog is that it will help me communicate things better. Or at least get me started on the right path. So please, give all the constructive criticism you want. I will take it gratefully.

I hope to see you all in the next one. Please feel free to comment on any post anytime.
Sincerely,
D

Too Awkward To Function

Dear Reader(s),

You have probably figured out from the last two posts that I am not a natural writer. My sentences, aside from being grammatical catastrophes, have a very odd flow. My wording is too wordy and confusing, I spurt from subject to subject randomly with absolutely no transition. Heck, you might be reading a paragraph about houses and then BOOM- random sentence about beavers. If it hasn't  happened already, consider this a warning for the foreseeable future: it will.

The thing is, it's not just my writing that's choppy and hard to follow. That's how I talk.I stumble on words and occasionally the entirely wrong word will come out in place of the one I wanted. My mother has told me it's because my brain is processing faster than I can speak.I wasn't always this way. I used to talk to everyone about everything with no problem, but I've gotten older it's gotten progressively worse. In 2010, I could look into the eyes of a total stranger and we could have the greatest conversation about anything under the sun. Now if I were to bump into a stranger, not only would I go out of my way not to create any opening for conversation, it would be pain painstakingly obvious, I've reviewed old social media conversations and asked friends for their input, and the verdict is in. At eighteen, I became too awkward to function.

It would be one thing if I just stumbled now and then. Stumbling is fine. Anime has deemed stumbling adorable. But it's not just occasionally, it's almost twenty-four seven. And the more casual I try to be, the worse it gets. The more I stutter and sound like a raving lunatic. At times it's so bad, I've had people stop me mid sentence and tell me to rephrase everything. It's especially bad when I'm talking to strangers or I'm at the store. Oh, lord. It's at it's all time worst in two situations:

A) Checking out at a store.

"Ma'am, would you like paper or plastic?"

"Yes."

..."That didn't answer the question."

B) Ordering food

It's gotten so bad in restaurants, my boyfriend will get my order and tell the waitress for me because otherwise it takes me two minutes to get my order out. On top of the stuttering mumbling mess that is my speech, I'm indecisive, so after I actually manage to say what I mean, I'll change my mind. The very thought of going to Subway stresses me out. Too. Many. Options.

What do you guys do when you're feeling awkward? Do you have issues communicating with others? Join the club, we're getting jackets! :D

That last statement was a lie. I'm poor and can't afford club jackets.

Thanks for reading, lovelies! See you in the next one.

Sincerely,

D

First Blog Post Ever

    Dear Readers,
  I feel the title explains why this entry will be so poorly written- this is my very first blog post ever. Yay!!! Pop the corks on the champagne bottles (or Welch's Sparkling Grape Juice in my case, as I'm not legal yet) and prepare to read what I hope is not the blandest thing ever! Please excuse the letter format, I just feel more comfortable with it. As though I'm writing a letter to a pen pal instead of an article on the internet that tons of people could see. I don't know if it makes sense to you, but I hope it does. So, let's get started, shall we?
     My name is Dee M. Nichol, and I am nineteen years old. I started this blog in hopes of writing daily, if not weekly, about my life. I used to write in those bound composition books every day- poems, diary entries, doodles, short stories, essays- stuff like that. For some reason after I graduated high school, I just stopped. I don't know why, and after almost two years of being out of school, I'm ready to hop back on the horse and give it another go.
      I'm from Leeton, Missouri- an antique little farm town with a population of  almost seven hundred people. That may not seem like much, and believe me- it's not. Because of how small the town is, there are no secrets anywhere. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Open and for the most part, a really nice place to live. I lived there until my first year of high school, and then we moved two hours north to a larger, yet equally quaint farming town called New Franklin. Why is it "New" Franklin, you might (not) be thinking? Well, I'll tell you!
  Originally, there was Franklin, Missouri. Booming with trade and farming in the 1820's, the town was built on a river bed- low level ground right next to the Missouri River. The flood of 1827 demolished Franklin, sending it's residents packing to build on higher ground. Hence why "New " Franklin is so "New". Hahaha.
 I thought that was clever...I guess I should stop now.

Apologies that the post was so short, but thank you so much for reading to this point! I promise to do better in the future. Have a splendid day, dears!
Sincerely,
D