I've Always Hated Math

I'm at work. Doing my job. And doing it very well. (Except for right now, when I'm not doing it at all.) If I answer the phone, I will be the most cheerful person you've ever encountered in. your. life. Making you laugh is my personal goal. And I'm 97% successful (no tax dollars were spent researching the actual percentage.)

But today, after I hang up the phone after making another grumbly contractor chuckle, I am tired.

I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of the charade. I'm tired of being the one making someone else laugh instead of being the one made to laugh. And I'm tired of freezing my buns off as I stand in front of the AC unit downstairs as I let it blow away my tears and red-tinged face without leaving behind all the little fuzzies that tissues do in their own tattle-tale way.

I'm tired of exes. I'm tired of critical eyes doubting my every move before they're even made. I'm tired of not being worth it. I'm tired of being pulled in two different directions. I'm tired of asking "why?" And even more tired of asking "why not?"

Just this last Monday, I was given a gift - my son was sick. And I accepted that gift with a fervor that most would raise an eyebrow to, at best, and report to the authorities, at worst. I stayed home with him...all...day. I got to enjoy holding his limp little body as he milked the attention for all it was worth. I got to watch TV with him. And as he started feeling better, I got to watch his imagination turn him into the greatest ninja the New World has ever known. And what do you do with a ninja of that magnitude? You take him to McDonald's for lunch. And suddenly I became the greatest mom the New World has ever known.

This day; this "sick" day; this day that my heart drank down like the chocolate milk Eric had with his happy meal...made me tired...of work. Of having to choose an 8-5 over my 6.5 year old. And I am still grieving the loss of those hours in every day.

Fourteen months ago, I met someone who I decided I wanted in my life. And our lives and identities slowly began weaving together. And I was learning new things about fishing, about camping, about plastic bags, about him.

About his fear of & hesitation about marriage.

And the cruel irony in this situation makes me...well, it makes me a lot of things, but we'll just stick with tired. I'm tired of being the one who still believes in love. I'm tired of working so hard at something that makes me work that hard in the first place. I'm tired of being convenient. I'm tired of frequently resisting the urge to use my "but look what I'VE been through" card. I'm tired of feeling like I make mistakes instead of decisions.

And I am tired of being told "I love you, but..." because in language math, Iloveyou + but = 0.

This just isn't right.

I've always hated math. This doesn't help.

There is a little girl inside me, in high heels 5 sizes too big, in a hand-me-down flower girl dress, swaying from side-to-side in front of a full-length mirror, dreaming about the day when some boy will be as excited about sweeping her off her feet as she is about being swept away.

And I made the epic mistake of "liking" a page on FB entitled "How He Asked". Oh yes, it is exactly what you think it is. In my defense, it was a by-product of my infatuation with designing wedding invitations, and you KNOW how that Google search snowballs. And now I have wedding invitations, engagement rings, and gown ads haunting my every move on the world-wide web. So. much. fun.

But, what is interesting about this site, is that often times, the groom-to-be gives his side of the story. And I don't care how many I read, I will never cease to find myself sitting, mouth agape, reading the excitement, enthusiasm, and optimism pouring out of these sweet, naive, romantic males. I hope they can hold on to that forever...their wives will never tire of it.

Heh. A perfect side-note for my entry: an area manager in one of our other offices just told MY area manager (boss) how nice it is to call our office because of ME. See? I'm good.

And tired.