grapevine fires.

I'm frustrated.

In a nutshell, there's a guy. He is one of my best friends and I love him dearly. But recently we figured out we've had feelings for each other and we got together. And then we ended it. Then we got back together. Ended it. Got back together. Ended it. That's where I'm at right now. It's not anger that keeps ending it, but conflict of emotions, the idea of right and wrong, what his parents want, my leaving for college, etc. I understand all of the reasons why not. I really do. The part I'm having a hard time with is the emotional whiplash I've been going through. No joke, there is not one guy who treats me as good as he does, who says what he does, let alone means them. His concerns are genuine and I can't get mad at him for that. I just hate feeling so incredibly happy and content just to have the rug pulled out from underneath me about every two days.

Sometimes in my frustration, I feel used. Either I'm listening to him or compromising on what I want for what he wants. Then if I think about what I compromised, it's a better decision than one I would have made on my own. He is definitely more spiritual than I am. I think that's natural though, because all pre-mission guys are terrified of distractions, especially relationships, no matter if it is three months or two years away like him. The worst part is that I am the distraction. For that I feel awful. Were he older, things would be different. And how I wish they could be.

Then again, I think what I want makes me selfish.

oye...

The last couple of months, actually, the last year has been rough between my mom and I. We haven't been getting along near as much as we used to in the past. There is some kind of rift that has wedged itself between us. It's source is unknown, but several theories exist. Personally, I am going a bit crazy inside and I lash out most easily at my parents. My parents, at the same time, are going through their own stresses and therefore we are toxic to each other. Don't get the wrong idea -- I love my parents so incredibly much and have so much gratitude for everything they give me. But we have been butting heads a lot lately.

About a week and a half ago, after a bad 48 hours of constant bickering/arguing, my mom approached me and calmly reconciled our spat. She said that maybe it was time for me to get out of here and be on my own. It was then that she told me she spoke with Brooke and the idea of me moving to Florida to live with her came about. I would love that more than anything. I spoke to my dad about it a couple days later and now I have the full support of both my parents. The only thing holding me back is the question of where I will find money for school. I've applied to Santa Fe College in Gainesville, but they don't seem to have many scholarships. There's some digging that needs to be done if I'm going to make it happen. And I'm going to make it happen.

I guess when I sit down and type my guts out, I feel better. I do now, despite the fact that my mom and I, yet again, began to argue when I came home from work. I love her, I really do. But for crying out loud, we need some time apart so we can miss each other. Really.

catching up

I went to Boston last week with choir. Man, that was a blast. We performed in the Heritage Festival. It wasn't a competition against other schools so much as it was to get ranked and critiqued by judges. Amphion received, to our surprise, a silver plaque, as did Ascende. I'm pretty sure everyone in Amphion felt our performance merited gold, but eh. What can you do?

To be honest, the performing was not what made the trip for me anyways. I got to hang out in one of the most historic cities in the country, walk around, and laugh my head off with some of the funniest people I know. I took tons of photos during our four day trip, so I was a happy clam. It was a phenomenal trip, from the beautiful city to the endless inside jokes.

I decided today that I'm getting off of caffeine and soda in general. I'm not a soda fiend, but I drink it too often and not enough water. Plus, I've heard enough about the negative side affects of diet soda that I'm just like, "Hmm...maybe there's something to it." So, we'll see how it goes.

Graduation countdown -- 32 days, 23 school days.

Prom photos

Here's some photos. (:

anxiety

Prom is Saturday. I am freaking out. I'm legitimately doing the whole "prom" thing. To be honest, I only hoped, but didn't actually think, I would be when it came to this time. It's the sad truth and I am still in disbelief that all these ducks have lined up in a little row. I got my surgery and have a rockin' bod for my gorgeous dress, got asked by a great guy/friend, get to be "treated" (aka he pays), and dance/party it up with all my best friends my senior year. I am stoked.

The plan, as far as I know ('cause they're still figuring things out -- haha), is to go on a "super date" that includes mini-golfing, Jump Street, which is a huge warehouse with 16,000 square feet of trampoline lining the floor and walls, and then pictures, dinner in Scottsdale, and the dance at Falcon Fields Air Force Museum. Yeah? I think so.

You can bet that I will be posting pictures & lots of 'em. (:

What's Eating Alex Colby

The title of this post is in lieu of my fondness for the film What's Eating Gilbert Grape, which I made Cassie watch this afternoon. (:

Since we're on the subject of what's eating me, I'll just start rambling. The good and bad.

For starters, I got asked to prom!!! I was certain that I wouldn't be asked, but I was. And now I'm happy. The end. Hahah, just kidding. The guy who asked me is my good buddy, Zach. I was surprised because I was unaware he had split with his girlfriend. It was a welcome surprise, none-the-less. I found my dress (which has quite the story to go along with it) and my shoes. I'm all set. Our prom theme is Soar Above the Sky, a 1940s/WWII sort of thing. It's being held inside of an airplane hangar at an AirForce museum somewhere in Mesa. I'm excited! Finger waves! :D

Alright, something else. I don't understand why some guys just love to play games. They play "stupid", "I DGAFrick", etc. One of my last relationships didn't quite end clearly and he keeps coming in and out of the picture. Frustrates me to no end. He doesn't make the effort to talk to me, see how I'm doing, etc. unless he needs something in return. No, I don't want to be the one to initiate our convos because I am the girl and I am awesome at making myself look clingy and am, therefore, avoiding being the initiator.

My compression garment is eating me. It sucks to be strapped into all this post-op garb, but eh. I suppose I can't complain because I am happy with what I am seeing so far. I am fantastically colored with bruises from yellow to black and everything in between. Swollen, too. It's grand. Four and a half more weeks til I can take this sucker off. Hallelujah.

I'm getting sleepy now. I think I ought to go to bed.

daddy's little girl.

Late in the afternoon, I had finished watching Mr. & Mrs. Smith when I got up to use the bathroom. I discovered it was "that time". I took off my clothes and compression garment and decided to throw a load of clothes into the wash with them while I showered. Wrapped in a towel, I put all the clothes into the machine. My ears began to ring, vision became blurry, and I became lightheaded. I yelled for Brig to get me my soda and some crackers as I sat on the floor in the laundry room. This had happened a couple times the first day of surgery, so I figured it would pass as it had before.

I got up and the wooziness wouldn't go away and I became sick to my stomach. Then the cramps kicked in. I walked into my own bathroom and sat on the toilet. Nothing helped. I layed on the rug in front of my shower just waiting for it all to leave. I had grabbed my phone in case I came near to passing out.
Feeling it was close by, I called my mom and began to cry in despair as I told her what was going on. She called my dad who happened to be pulling in the driveway. I heard my dad enter my room and knock on the bathroom door, "Alex?" I called him in, still crying. "Honey, it's okay. It's okay. Shh, shh." as he covered me with more towels and propped my feet up on the toilet. I felt terribly embarassed, being 18, wrapped in a towel, shower running, lying on the floor in horrible girl pain. I covered my face with my hands and cried. He knelt next to me and ran his hand over my hair to calm me down. "It's okay. You just went into a little shock," he explained, "all the blood rushed away from your brain. Your brain couldn't get oxygen; that's why you were going to pass out. But it's okay now, you don't need to cry." My dad gently pulled my hands away from my face and wiped off my tears. "It's okay."

In all my life, I can only recall a handful of moments like this between me and my dad. As stupid and ridiculous as I felt lying on the floor with terrible cramps, near fainting, and hideously bruised from surgery, I knew my dad loved me. No matter what I do, how perfect or not, he will always love me and be there for me. Though the way in which I learned today was not at all pleasant, I would go through hell and back to know my dad would be there for me.