I've Got a Secret

I came across this site that I enjoy (http://postsecret.blogspot.com/). It got me thinking about secrets and about how cleansing it must be to get rid of a secret, finally tell it (well, write it), and have it out there, anonymously, for the world to read. It must be the most freeing of all things.

Why do we keep secrets? Because as human beings we are imperfect and have done things or thought things or want things that may damage our nice, neat day-to-day world. A secret is just that because of the power it holds. Just think... What is your deepest, darkest secret? How would it affect your world if it were found out? What would you tell if you had the opportunity to say it out loud with no repercussions at all? When you read other people's secrets on postsecret, do they even seem that bad?

As humans, we relate to each other. When people bare their souls to one another, shock and disgust are not usually the immediate reaction, I would guess. It would be more empathy and sympathy. The thing is, unless that secret directly affects the person you are telling, like "I am in love with someone else and want a divorce", most people love to be let in on secrets. It's such a personal thing... "I want to tell you a secret". Oooh, we think. What could it be? Our minds start going and usually the real secret is not a good as our fantasy anyway.

I'm thinking of writing down a few of my secrets and burning them. Kind of like a Native American ritual. The smoke will carry my secret, so it is no longer mine to harbor. It will no longer weigh me down. It will be as weightless as the wind that carries it. It will be out there. What will I write? What do I feel is too private to share with even my husband or my sister or my mother? I will have to think about it, and then I will let it go. Just like the people who mail their secret to the site... once that mailbox shuts, they are free.

Crazy in Love? No, Sane in Love.

When I was single, which was most of my life, I was not good at dating. At all. In fact, I hated first dates so much, I could barely control my urge to vomit beforehand. I don't remember how these first dates came to be... Probably some guy I met in a bar called me the next day to set up a date. That is if I didn't go home with him that night. Not to sound slutty, but those were the kind of "dates" I could relate to. You see somebody out, you hit it off, you go home together and then maybe the pieces will fall into place after that. Usually not, but that kind of night was a hell of a lot more fun to me than the awkward date conversation over a drink and maybe a meal.

The worst for me was when I really, really liked a guy. I would be too nervous to even have a normal conversation with the guy during our time together. I'd be too nervous... Wanting so badly to show him who I was, how cool I could be, but too uncomfortable with my like for him to be able to do that. To compound the problem, when I really liked a guy I would envision us together, plan the wedding, decorate the apartment, all before we even knew each other's middle names.

And then, in the midst of my future visions, after the date was over, when I was hoping he would call, I would become overcome with second-guessing every move, every word spoken, wondering if he truly liked me, too. Then I would go into a frenzy... Should I call him? Why hasn't he called me? I'm a grown-up. I should be able to call him and tell him how I feel and get this thing over with if he doesn't feel the same way. No matter how many friends told me not to do it, I would convince myself that it was the right thing to do. He, naturally, would be scared off, never to call again. It was my self-fulfilling prophecy and I repeated it over and over again.

Then the despair would set in. I felt in in my bones. We were meant to be together. I really liked him. I could have loved him. I know he felt it, too. How could he not? Was I crazy? Because there is no way that these feelings weren't true. But then again, why should anything good happen to me. I need to explain to him that I was too nervous to be myself around him, that I really liked him and wanted so badly for him to like me, too. Luckily, I would rarely act on those emotions, though I do admit that an email or two has been sent expressing those exact emotions. Yes, feel sad for me. I do when I think back on it all.

Because of all of that, the whirlwind of emotions, the ups and downs of dating, the wondering and questioning and waiting for what felt like forever to see what would happen next, I am happy to be done with it. I never wanted to date. Saying that upset people, but I never felt comfortable in that environment. But without dating, without putting yourself out there, then how do you meet someone? During this time of my life, I thought the nausea, the uncertainty was a sign of something that was right. It was the extremeness of the emotions, the potential of LOVE, that made me sick to my stomach, right? But I was wrong about that, too. Because when I met my now-husband, who was at one point just my friend, I didn't feel sick. I felt comfortable. I felt like myself. And he liked me because of it.

Today is a Day Like Any Other

Again, it's Valentine's Day. Again, I don't care. I am one of those rare women who don't give a damn about celebrating V-Day. I think it's cheesy (big teddy bears and flowers with babies breath... yuck!) and a rip-off. I'd like flowers on another day. Like, say, March 14th. A day when nobody else is getting flowers. Now that would say something to me, make me feel special. Publicly displayed flowers on this day just kind of embarrass me. I don't know why.

I remember being a kid and having to write a card out for everyone in the class. I would save the best of the bunch for the boys I had crushes on and then give the ugly cards to people I didn't know or like. As we got older, it wasn't mandatory to send a card to everyone, and I so I rarely accumulated very many. And usually the ones I did get were not from the boys I wanted to get one from. I used to think that I didn't like the day because I was single and all the roses I saw being carried down the street by the lucky men who get to deliver them to very happy women made me feel badly about myself. I have nobody to send me flowers I would gloomily think.

Now I'm not single and I still don't like the day. Luckily, my husband feels the same way. Though we did write some nice sentiments (his on a paper towel, mine inside a non-valentine's day card) to each other, and he's going to cook dinner tonight. Why? Because everyone asks what are you doing for Valentine's Day. At least we have an answer that sounds sort of romantic. The real truth is that I am going to the gym while he works a little bit late and then together we're going to the grocery store because my hubby lost his wallet so has no means to buy stuff for dinner even if he wanted to. He'll cook and I'll clean up. That is the way it always goes, V-Day or not.

Ahh, Sweet Sleep is Still Mine

Thinking you might be pregnant is a very bizarre time in a woman's life. I have thought that I was a few times in my past, but never with the hubby. Until this past month. And for the first time, I was hoping that I actually was. But to this day, I can say that I have never been pregnant. Only thought I was, and sometimes that may be enough.

Firstly, I researched every last article I could hoping to find out the REAL symptoms of early pregnancy. I had been feeling nauseous and hungry as I have ever been. Bloated, check. Irritable, double check. Tired... hmm, sometimes. So, check. I bought pregnancy tests (I'm embarrassed to say, I used three!) ignoring the warnings that the pregnancy hormone cannot be detected immediately and best results would mean waiting another week. Screw that, I thought... if I'm pregnant, the test will show it. But when it didn't, I fell back on the disclaimer. "It's too early to tell," I would explain to my husband. I examined my boobs daily, looking for a sign. Slightly sore, but nothing out of the ordinary. But my waistline, the fact that nothing fit, must account for something! So, basically, I distracted myself and researched and thought about what I was feeling until I realized it was all just a bad case of PMS.

And to be honest, I really didn't care. I am not the type of person who is looking forward to the actual pregnancy part of life. I just want a kid. Preferably, a 2-year old. Infancy scares me. I don't want to get fat. I don't want to hear advice from every other woman on the face of the earth who has ever had a child. I don't want people to tell us what not to name the child, because "I knew a Melinda, and she was an alcoholic who stole my boyfriend." I don't want to be told what we need to do within this time fram, or people touching my belly without asking. I don't want to buy maternity clothes or watch my ankles swell. Gosh, I can go on and on about why I am not looking forward to being pregnant. Yet I still want children. (See how selfish I am?!). So I will suck it up and go through the 9 months of crazy changes and questions and wondering because I know the reward will outweigh the above.

I do have to say, though, this extra month of freedom from all of that is actually a small gift. But in another few months, if I'm still not pregnant, don't judge me when I have a completely different view. As a woman, it's my right to change my mind as often and whenever I want. It comes with having a uterus.

Work it Out

I'm considering re-joining a gym. I go through phases where I will work out like a crazy person during one phase, and then I will sit on the couch and watch endless hours of television when I'm in a different phase. Then there is the gray area when I exercise occasionally but not enough to see any of the effects. So I jump back into it and since it's winter now, I don't feel safe running around Brooklyn after work in the dark. So a gym it is. I have a two-week trial pass to see if I will actually go, and so far, so good. But being back also makes me remember what it is that I HATE about gyms.

1. Carrying all of my work-out gear to work: I end up bulkier and that makes it difficult to be comfortable on a crowded subway. Especially in the summer, when the back-pack makes me sweat.

2. The gym crowd: Luckily, my new job entitles me to leave the office at 5, and with the 1.5 block walk to the gym, I can be there before the crowd. But once they start rolling in, I start to feel a bit crowded and a bit pressured to get off of the cardio machines ASAP.

3. The crazy ladies in the locker room: Yesterday a woman HAD to find out if the scale in the locker room was off. According to her, she knows how much she weighs and even though she's PMSing, the scale cannot be right. She cannot weigh 2 lbs more than what she knows she weighs. "I mean, I'm not going to starve myself because of 2 lbs, but I just need to know if it's accurate!"

4. The men who think they own the weights: I like to do some low-grade weights just to tone up a bit. I hate feeling like I am being ogled out by Mr. Muscles because I am using the machines incorrectly, or cramping his space. I also hate that they hog up the mats that are designated for crunches/stretching, doing one million sit-ups. I just feel so uncomfortable being next to the work-out pros, never knowing if I am keeping my back straight enough, or doing it correctly. I can practically hear them snickering through their animal grunts.

5. The personal trainers: Their whole goal is to get you as a new client. But when they are standing around doing nothing, I feel it is okay to ask them about some of the machines and which would be best for what I want to accomplish. The guy I asked had such a cocky attitude, I just felt dumb for asking him. He showed me how to use a machine, but he was so off-putting I avoided walking by him again after that.

6. The yucky showers: They are just kind of nasty. And then the shampoo and conditioner provided doesn't smell good, either. At least the water pressure is great and the blow dryers work really well, too.

Oh, and don't get me started on the stuffy air and heat levels! But I love when I feel fit, so I will deal with all of the little nuisances so get back into my skinny jeans. At least before I end up knocked up. Which reminds me, I sure hope this gym provides babysitting services, because I will be all over getting rid of the baby fat once that does happen!

Memory Lane

I have this overwhelming desire to read over my old diaries. The problem is that they are in my college trunk, up in my grandmother's attic. Maybe when we go up to visit the next time, with our new/old car, I'll take that trunk back with me. It has everything from my years before the city. It's all the stuff from before I didn't have any room in my city apartments for nostagia. I want to read over my adolescent entries, looking at curly writing that I can't believe was mine, seeing if I've truly changed at all since then. I remember when I got older, worried that someone would find those diaries and judge me for my language, my thoughts, I took a big black magic marker and marked over all the "bad" things I wrote: "Mom is a real {BLACK MAGIC MARKER} today. Sometimes, I really think I {BLACK MAGIC MARKER} her." I wish I hadn't done that.

My mother after all was the person who told me to never write anything down that I didn't want somebody else to read. I couldn't help it. I loved to write and my diary was my sanctuary. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that when I wrote my sister a letter home from college, telling her how wasted I was and how I had hooked up with a guy that I longed for and that I don't even remember what we'd done but didn't care because I LOVED him, that my sister would leave that letter in the bathroom for my mother to find and read. Mom was right. I shouldn't have written that, for I did NOT want HER to read it. It was not until my mother asked me to go for the dreaded walk that I knew something was up. Awkward silence for about a mile until she finally exploded on me. That was her way. Hold it in until the fury replaces any reason and explode. My response naturally was "Was that letter addressed to you? No. So you shouldn't have read it at all. Ever hear of the word 'privacy'?" Because of moments like that, I vow to give my daughters privacy, should I have daughters. Sons, too, of course. I vow to never read their diaries. It won't be easy, though. I am very nosy and I like to know everything that's going on in the lives of the people I love.

Anyway, back to my trunk full of memories and all of the things that I've kept through the years. I really want to go through it all, share it with my husband. Let him see another side of the girl that he married. Explain to him why I kept certain things and show him my poetry and drawings and yearbooks. I don't know if he'd find it as much fun as I would, but he'd have to sit through it anyway. Nostalgia is the one emotion that I have a hard time dealing with. Whether it is a longing for the past, or just the general rememberance of things that have come and gone, it makes me kind of sad. Yet, I still want to look back and touch those relics that I've saved. Though it may not have been an extraordinary childhood and the things I've kept and the words I wrote may not mean much to anybody else but me, that's the point. I didn't write in those diaries for anybody else to find and read. I wrote so that I could.