Crazy and Love, Crazy In Love

*Shamelessly also posted on THIS IS NOT MY DAY JOB, so if you read there, skip here. For today ONLY. I'm still figuring out what fits on this blog and what fits on the other, so bear with me. :)

I just finished John Green's Looking for Alaska, and I love this excerpt:

How could the girl who told that joke three hours ago become a sobbing mess?


Still staring at me, she said, "I try not to be scared, you know. But I still ruin everything. I still fuck everything up."


"Okay." I told her. "It's okay." I didn't even know what she was talking about anymore. One vague notion after another.

"Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch."


And there was something to that, truth be told.


First, can I just say that this book is amazing, that John Green so far seems to be consistently amazing? But I love this excerpt in particular, because it reminds me of why I love MJ so much.  We're on opposite sides of the country tonight - me in Colorado Springs, him in Virginia - which always makes me a little extra bit cognizant of how much I love him. Here's a story about why.



Before I met MJ, it used to seem like I was always apologizing to boys I liked for being a disaster of some sort or another.
"I'm sorry, I'm not ready, don't touch me, but you're very sweet and I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, I'm just emotional sometimes, I don't know why I'm so crazy."
"I'm sorry, I know you said not to get attached, but I feel the way I feel."


Blah blah blah. Just typing that makes me want to go back and hug my excessively earnest adolescent self.


I don't even know what set me off, but it was early in my relationship with MJ and I ended up sobbing in his arms as we laid on his bed. "I'm sorry, I'm just crazy."


"It's okay," he said, toying with my hair. "You're not crazy."


I twisted my head on his shoulder to look at him. He appeared to be serious, and in need of a shave. "I'm not crazy?" I repeated. It was the first time anyone had said such a thing to me, in the history of many admissions of insanity.


He shook his head. "No, anyone would be upset about that. I don't think you're crazy at all - I've met crazy, imbalanced girls, and you seem pretty normal."


Ah, that makes me laugh to type. But he said it, and I knew he was a keeper - because he thought I was normal, and that made it safe to just be me. No apologies required.

There was another moment, which cemented "I must love this man" for me, and that story involves Windex. But it will keep for another day.

So then she said, "Would it kill you to wear a blazer and some lipstick?"

Since I fly about 8,000,000 miles a year for work (at least, that's how it feels), and therefore airlines occasionally value my business, I had a complimentary upgrade to first class for my flight yesterday. Nice, right? You know what's less nice?

Having the lady guarding the check-in line for First Class snag me by the arm as I walked past her and, pointing to the other, busier lines, tell me, "You have to go down there."

I looked pointedly at her hand - wondering why people touch me - but said politely, "I'm going to Colorado Springs."

"That's Line Four," she said.

"And I'm going first class."

"Oh." Suddenly I no longer required physical restraint. The clunky older guys in suits waiting behind me were relieved that we were all moving forward again.  I noted none of them were summarily redirected.

I should really start wearing something nicer when I fly. I guess my Aeropostale jeans, flip-flops and no makeup aren't cutting it.

There's Nothing Wrong, But What If There Is?

I am a worrier by nature. In fact, when I was a little girl my grandmother gave me some worry dolls from her trip to Guatemala. I'm still not sure if that was just a souveneir or a nod to my early neuroses - I worried just as much, if not more, as a child-worrier than an adult one.

(Photo is from Wikipedia; click for more on worry dolls - they worry so you don't have to!)

At certain times in my life, I've had a lot to worry about. When my father was dying and I had no money to go to college and I was trying to get a scholarship and get into college - that was a time to worry. When I was gearing up for both my wedding and an imminent deployment to Iraq - that was a time to worry.

But right now? When MJ and I are both gainfully employed, healthy and in love and the world is going well for us? Well, I still have to wake up at night and worry about something --

• Whether the cats have enough dry food (When I wake MJ up at 2am in the morning by getting up and putting on my robe to go check, he tells me that even if the cats are out of food, they can wait until morning. This is why they love me more).
• If I have an 8am meeting at work no one told me about. My job is like the law - ignorance is no excuse.
• If my locker at the gym has expired without me receiving notice and someone has thrown out my flip-flops and Philosophy bath products.
• What bill I've forgotten to pay lately. This is usually a valid worry - not because we can't pay, but because we're terrible at dealing with the mail.  Of course, it could be resolved by setting everything up to autopay, but then I would just worry about whether the payments went through properly or if our account was accidentally deducted $3500 for water and sewer instead of $35. See? The worries just replace themselves.
• Whether we are ever going to manage to buy a second car. Actually, this is a valid worry as well, as MJ and I have been "car shopping" for four months and I just can't bring myself to swap all those hours and hours and months and months of hard work for a fine foreign-made automobile.

Maybe I should go looking for those worry dolls... Isn't it funny how our personality traits can be independent of our circumstances?  People have a happiness baseline that's more or less independent of their circumstances - all other factors being equal, some people will be happier than others in the same situation.  I'm pretty happy by nature, but I'm also a compulsive worrier - and I will find something to worry about. Especially at 2 a.m.