Good Day, Sunshine

I sat on the back porch tonight, the chill of the nearing sunset rustling up some goosebumps on my bare arms, and I breathed in deeply the smell of freshly cut grass and the mint that has proliferated so that it, too, got bruised and became fragrant after the lawnmower blades had their way with them.

I watched the dog wander around the newly trimmed yard, listened to the birds in the trees chattering and arguing, and wondered how long that large maple had been there for. I hid my eyes behind sunglasses, and wished the daylight could last longer, because it makes me so happy to see the sun.

Good things have been happening lately; I feel like something has been lifted from my shoulders, a weight, a memory, a burden, an impending something-or-other. Is it... happiness? It couldn't be.

Or could it?

When Good Things Happen to Cynical People

So, when good things happen to me, I immediately go to the opposing extreme: how is it going to fall apart?

Why is this? Why can't I just enjoy it?

It would really make things a lot easier if when I was with the person that makes me happy, I could just live in the moment, not think about the past or the future or the "if" factor, and just enjoy the present and their presence.

I'm trying... I'm trying.

Cynicism be damned, I'm just going to go for it.

It's just harder than it looks.

I Do... Maybe

This past weekend, my brother tied the knot. To be completely honest, I was dreading the wedding (ha), but my cynical expectations were dashed with near-immediacy and I actually had an awesome time. I am now willing to amend my previous rant regarding the stupidity of marriage; I would like, instead, to say that it is not marriage that is stupid, it is those who marry for the wrong reasons that are stupid. So, an apology to my wonderful, happily married friends, and congratulations... may I someday be as lucky as you.

Moving on.

Highlights from the weekend include the following:

I met a very nice boy who likes stick figures and abhors odd numbers. This may sound completely arbitrary to most, but to me it sounds lovely. I'm a happy girl.

There was an impromptu sing-along featuring Leaving on A Jet Plane which was led in no small part by a rather boisterous German man, while six or seven of us sat around the designated Cigar Smoking Table by the pool. A surreal moment indeed.

I fell down. Tumbled. Took a knee. Bit it. However you want to put it - yes. I fell down in front of the majority of my immediate family at a very nice Italian restaurant. It was due in part to a decent amount of wine and one extremely tall pair of wedges, which brings me to my next revelation, which is that this is exactly the reason that I hate wearing high heels. Keep me in flip flops, flats, or, at best, barefoot. Please. That way I remain stable. Now, I have a skinned and bruised knee.

In other news:

I'm reading, at my mother's suggestion, Malcom Gladwell's Outliers and have come to wonder that perhaps every occurrence of success or tradgedy is in fact brought about a preceding number of coincidences that, unless happening in that very same way in that very same order, would never produce the exact same result as they do. It's a hopeful and troubling thought. One that I'm beginning to think might be true.

I'm beginning to see the coincidences more clearly now... or is it just that I'm looking too closely?

B has decided to move out. She's moving in with the boyfriend. I'm not yet freaking out - I'm trying to see the coincidence factor in this (perhaps a door will open I didn't know existed previously... perhaps).

Expect freak out to commence sometime soon, however.

The Weeble Wobble

Do you remember that "Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down"? That's how I have felt since Monday.

For the entirety of this week, I've felt like I'm teetering on something. I'm neither happy nor sad; I'm neither hungry nor satiated; I'm neither bored nor busy.

I'm wobbly, but I'm not falling... yet.

Instead, I walk around weak-kneed I feel sensitive, I'm relatively dispassionate, I'm often angry, tired, stressed, complacent... you name it.

Today, on my way to work, I was at a red light and a girl drove by in a gold Chrysler; she was crying. Her face was contorted in a sob, her eyes hidden by sunglasses even though it was rainy out and she didn't need them. I couldn't help but wonder why she was crying, where she was going, and if she was going to be okay.

I wondered, then, if this is what people have been thinking about me lately as I walk around, emotionally wobbly but resistant.

Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down, and I won't either.