Buckle Your Helmets

This is it guys. It's getting serious. Tomorrow officially kicks off the Thanksgiving Weekend. With lots of people getting out of school and work and heading off to see families, it is a busy time. (Except me. I only get Thursday off. But I still intent to party like its 1621 in the evenings and the actual weekend. I'll fill you in on all the festivities next week. If I'm still in functioning condition. My sleep tank has been down on E all week leading up to the holiday craziness. It could be dangerous. 

Speaking of danger, keep a weather eye out. Turkey causes sleepiness. Couple that with excessive amounts of pumpkin pie and apple cider and you're shaping up to get a food coma. So, instead of stuffing yourself fuller than the unfortunate bird that is thawing in my sink, I have a suggestion. 

Pace yourself. 

You've got five days until Monday when you are expected to rejoin the world. 

So eat. Then pause for like, ten minutes. 

Then go back.

Remember to take a break. At least five minutes between servings. 

There will always be food left. Your six foot tall cousins wont eat all of it and leave you starving. 

Just give it two minutes before going back for more. The whipped cream will stay fluffy for that long. Seriously, if you wait like thirty seconds between meals, you'll feel much better. 

Really. 

A Poem

I love writing poetry. I love how they can be so vague but so profound. When you read it and you just know there is a deep, soul filled meaning behind the words. I love the way the words flow, almost like water.
I usually write poems for Jarod. I'm not sure why. It's probably silly. My dad used to write poems for my mom when she was in college, and I do for Jare now that he's gone. He asked for one once, and he liked it, so it just became habit to send one with his letters.

I finally got around to writing him a letter the other day and I was trying to think of a poem to go with it. I have one that I tried to finish, but its a song, not a poem, and it just doesn't flow right when you're not singing it. (And I'm not about to do that)

So I drew a picture instead. I do that sometimes. It makes him laugh. It was a ridiculous one with flowers and a little lovey dovey quote. It would have made an outstanding tattoo. I could always get a job as a tattoo artist if the optician business doesn't pan out. Anyway, I drew it, and thought it was ridiculous but I liked how it turned out, so I decided to send it to him just for kicks and giggles, and then I had a thought flash through my mind of his roommate seeing it. He puts everything I send him up on his bulletin board for all the world to see. But some things he specifically shows to his roommate. And I did not want that.

And a moment of inspiration struck. A poem jumped into my head. 

It was just so profound and raw and inspiring that I had to share:

Yeah, you may be the love of my life

But show this to Austin, I'll kill you outright. 

It's Beginning

Knock on wood. I'll say its beginning and it will end immediately. Let me rephrase that. 

I think I might be starting to possibly. 

So what is it that may or may not be happening?

Writing.

I pulled out an story tablet the other day, and I sat down in the evening while watching tv, and I WROTE.

Like...maybe half a page. But I worked on it for over an hour. I had to go back and read a chunk of what I had wrote previously to try and figure out where in heck I was going with the story, and what the characters names were, and where on earth they were located at that point in time. 

It was intense. I find I dislike my writing from eight months ago when I closed the book. Inspiration to press on and finish it I suppose so I can live to edit the darn thing.

It was my Purpose story that I was working on, by the way. I find I still rather like the story. And I see so many possibilities for it. 

Have I wrote anything on it since that night?

Nope. 

Not one lonely word.

But I've packed the tablet around with me everywhere. Just in case. It's always in the back of my mind. It's growing. It's like a wisdom tooth, just below the surface. You can feel it, it's just not quite ready yet. Then, all of the sudden, it will break free. 

....That was prolific. Not. 

Story

Parts One, two,   three , four.  five.  six. and seven. and eight

We left the princess in higher moods, and soon the regular patterns resumed. 

They had tiffs and tats, and made up real fast. Tractor rides, and mechanic work, and escapades trying to cook. 

On the night of All Hallows Eve they ventured to the bowling lane for pizza with her minions. Out the door he went in shorts, t-shirt, army boots, and cowboy hat.

She laughed a bit, caught a selfie or two, and prayed to heaven they crossed no one she knew. 

Then after food they continued on, and touched base on her grandma's lawn. They knocked on the door and cried trick of treat. The look of horror on her face...I'm sorry, it was great.

The next weekend the princess set off with the girls, to spend the night with movies and frills. She nearly cried driving on, bypassing his house, they had a good laugh over how ridiculous that sounds.

He texted her late, and they snap chatted a lot. In the morning she killed time writing him a letter like a sop. 

She acquired a cold, but went to see him anyway that night. Standing out in the yard, auguring corn in the bin, he came and gave her a hug, and a perfect kiss- how long it had been. 

She rode in the truck with him for a while, then evening came and they went to the house. They watched the football game, their team won one for once. Then she must have fell asleep because he woke her up later. 

"You should head home, so you don't fall asleep. I'll keep you awake, until you get home."

Of course the hero fell asleep when she left, then woke to call her a few miles from her house. He talked for a bit, then she heard him drift off, she giggled and drove home and crawled into her bed soft. 

The next day was terrible. She felt awful and sick. Deciding to stay home or go out was a trick. He urged her to come, then pressed her to stay. So she stayed curled up on her couch, so he didn't get sick that way. 

He called her four times, the night before he left. It was a dismal weekend, but the next one they'd see each other more. They made plans for the holidays, on where they would be. There's rumors of excitement, but I guess we will see. 

Then on into the week the princess got a message. 

"I'm sick." 

Of course she felt bad, but on the other hand, she hadn't forced him to kiss her, and he'd wanted her around. 

"In sickness and in health" will be practiced and abound. 

The Aftermath

As you may have heard, I attended a sleepover last Friday.

It was quite fun. 

Quite ridiculous.

I arrived just in time to eat way too many mini tacos, following which, we made an attempt to teach our pastor's wife how to use her remote to access Netflix. 

We abandoned said attempt and I commandeered the remote to be run on my own terms. 

We watched Black or White, which was a fabulous movie if you excuse some language, and consumed ungodly amounts of pop and popcorn. Then at about 10:30 our hostess took her leave and went to bed, and somehow three out of the five of us girls decided that Thumbelina was the cartoon to watch.

That movie came out the year before I was born. I grew up loving it. I had a crush on the dang fairy prince.

So...

I of course had to sing along to every dang song in the show. (except that horrible concoction the dang swallow sings. I hate that one)

One friend hung around for all of ten seconds before she took off for saner locations. 

Come 11:30 we all started to get pretty tired. We're not hard core all nighters. 

So we stayed up just long enough to sing along to the Marry the Mole song. 

I went to bed on a sleep number bed that most definitely did not have my number. In a room full of dolls and teddy bears. And I'm sorry, I just kept thinking of Chuckie. 

Ya feel me?

I texted for awhile, then finally decided to go to bed, at which point the kids down the hall decided to start screaming. 

Not sure why.

Don't care.

I put in earplugs like a responsible adult and fell asleep.

I then woke up at five. Which is so much fun. Luckily, this trip I had acquired the WiFi password, so I blew up my poor snapchat friends with pictures of creepy dolls, and me with no makeup on. 

When it was a respectable time to get up I woke the minions and we went upstairs. We all decided to eat cereal. Then, midway through our bowls, Janice broke out the frozen waffles. And the English muffins. And the eggs. And the sausage.

....Second breakfast anyone?

The conversations were interesting. They ranged from deeply spiritual, involving purity, marriage, ministry etc. to the hierarchy of the bug world.

Here is a quote:

Me: Beetles are like the con men. Spiders are just the big dumb hit men carrying out orders. But beetles are the brains behind it all.

Minion 1. This is what happens when we stay up past ten. We start discussing but ranks. 

All in all, very fun.

I left feeling pretty good, thinking I got to sleep at one in the morning. 

One friend trumped me, claiming to have gone to her room at two.

My minions and their little elfin friend?

They took the cake.

4 am.

Slumber Party

Mmmhmmm. This is exactly what it looks like. 

I, the great 20 year old optician, have been invited to a slumber party.

It's for all the girls from church, as our pastor is going to be gone for the week. So we are loading up and invading his house and going to have a high old time with his wife. 

Technically speaking, I'm going so the other girls have a ride home, as none of them can drive.

But the deep dark truth of it is- they all want me to come. 

Jarod even wanted me to go. He overheard my minions talking about it and grinned all crooked and informed me that I better go to that. 

Then later when I said I was debating going he informed me that I need to go and spend some quality time with my sisters. 

....

It's time to partay!!

Of course, when he realized that it was this weekend, and I would in fact be gone, during the weekend, when he is home, when I would normally be with him, and that I wouldn't actually be with him, that he wouldn't be able to see me, that I wouldn't have cell service or internet...

he began to question his life choices. 

Too bad for him.

This isn't the first Pastor is Gone Sleepover I've attended. We had one last year too. That turned out rather nicely. Watched an odd combination of Maleficent and The Ghost and The Darkness. (I feel so naughty when watching movies and I am able to run the mute button with so much proficiency that onlookers who have never seen the show before wonder why it randomly goes quiet for certain instants and then comes back.) 

We ate ungodly amounts of popcorn and candy and stayed up waaaay too late. I tried to go to bed at a respectable hour, but minions think it is perfectly acceptable to sneak into my room, and steal my electronics and- get this- leave the light on when they leave and think I wont notice.

Based on last years results, I think this weekend should be fun. 

I'm a bit worried however. 

You see, I've been screaming. 

In my sleep. 

A lot.

For three nights in a row I have either screamed or yelled out random stress filled sentences. 

I don't really want to do that at a slumber party. 

I have no control over what I say when I'm asleep. 

What if my subconscious betrays me??

The horror.