I write the best blog posts when I'm not near a computer

Does anyone else have that problem? You can see the photos, the layout, your eloquent words streaming from here to there, filling the world with hope, inspiration, joy... then, I sit down at my computer to "work" and nothing.

Absolutely nothing eloquent.

So I do that thing writers do where they just write to get their creative juices flowing (welcome to what you're reading now) and listen to NPR and drink my coffee all while playing on 20sb because once again, "working" leaves lots of room to do things like that.

side note of gloriousness: I opened the door right in front of my desk this morning for 15 minutes to let the fresh warm(ish) air in and I heard real birds really chirping and felt wind on my face and I remembered why I am alive. I know spring is a tease and she won't actually put out till sometime in July or August, but it's nice to remember what it's like to not feel like I'm going to freeze to the core of my being every time I have to venture outside.

I woke up late this morning. And by I woke up I mean my sister walked into my room, asked me if I knew what time it was and told me it was 8:20. I jumped out of bed, thanked her a million times, didn't put pants on, kissed my nephew fifteen times, and then threw some clothes on that slightly resembled something other people might find acceptable "business casual" (a term that is very loose in my office seeing as I wore jeans yesterday, a pink summer camp t-shirt from when I was 14 and a sweater to dress things up a bit... This morning it's a bright green tank top with a black one under it, leggings, boots, and another sweater because I think cardigans can dress up any outfit. Can someone submit me to What Not to Wear please? I love Stacy and Clinton.

I'm pretty sure that you're all dying to know what I've decided about Sir Thomas... because, well, I'm interesting (so says my therapist yesterday when I once again talked about my blog... how pathetic is that? Not only do I talk about my blog on far too regular of a basis with people in my life, see a therapist on a quasi-regular schedule (now only every other week instead of every week, and only the talky and medicine type, the just talky type and I have hit a plateau and I don't feel like she is as good at therapying me) but I talk to my therapist about my blog). Sentences should probably have more out of parenthesise words than in parenthesise ones, but I try to keep things fresh for you people, keep you on your avocado.

When you read avocado did it surprise you? Did you expect toes? I was really keeping you on your toes by saying avocado. You're welcome.

God I can write about nothing like it's my job. And, since I am technically getting paid to blog right now I will say that it is my job. Until the phone rings. Or I decide to do the work sitting on my printer waiting to be done.

Back to me and the Republican. There are so many positive things about him; physically he is really great. Tall, blue eyes, reddish hair, glasses, freckles, lovely man arms that make the cave woman in me go bonkers... As far as life plans he basically has the right idea that's almost exactly in sync with mine. He has a great work ethic, he doesn't like lazy people (my blogging at work doesn't count as lazy, I'm being productive, remember that), he knows how to cook, his cuddling skills are unparalleled, I'm comfortable with him, he makes me laugh, he thinks I'm funny, I feel safe around him, appreciated, secure. All things that are super important to me in a relationship. I need to know that I'm special enough to not only warrant your time, but that you value me, as an equal opposite member of the relationship, but also as a human being. I don't need you to validate my place or my existence, but if I am going to be willing to commit to you, I need to know that you want and cherish my efforts in doing so. I love to make people happy, it's a huge weakness of mine because people have taken advantage of it my whole life; when I'm in a relationship if I don't feel valued and appreciated and noticed, I don't feel secure. I need that feeling. I hate the vulnerability that comes from giving your heart away; I'm not willing to let anyone walk all over it again. Healing from that was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Depression makes you make stupid decisions, including letting the man you love treat you like crap because you're too afraid to face the world... and even more afraid to face the world alone.

As far as the place I would hold in Tom's and my relationship if I decided to let it become something officially official, need I say facebook official, I know I would be exactly where I should be. Who ever you're dating doesn't need the same opinions on everything in your life (that is where David and I spoiled each other, we never fought because we always agreed, on like everything. It was almost weird knowing that I would never face judgement (will never, sorry, he and I are still friends) because he just gets where I am coming from, my ideas and morals all make sense to him), but you do have to have general agreements on really important issues. I can deal with him being a republican, I just personally know I will be able to cancel out his vote every single election for the rest of my life and that sort of power makes me happy. I can deal with him thinking the system surrounding the practice of medicine is imperfect (duh, are't all systems like that imperfect? Human nature my friend, read 1984) which is I guess what he meant when we talked about anti-anxiety medicines being prescribed to a lot of people who don't need them.

Although, what a terrible way to say something that sounds nothing like what you supposedly mean...

But, I don't exactly appreciate the way he approached this argument. You see, I'm not the type of person who is proud of the way I acted those few years as depression and anxiety were slowly but surely pulling me into the darkest point in my life. I'm not proud of how i saw the world, and how I saw the people in it. I'm not proud of the days I spent being angry for no apparent reason. Or the times I fought with people just because I could... I wish I could go back and take those moments of lashing out irrationally before I had time to truly think about something and properly analyze the event in my mind logically and hit myself for being that way. But, I am glad it happened. I'm glad I got to see how horrible I was and how different I was. And I am even more glad that's it's all (hopefully) hindsight.

I can't just fight with someone in the moment anymore because I refuse to basically. I refuse to talk about things that upset me here and now because there is a huge potential I will say something I don't mean. I do not ever want that to happen again. And Tom doesn't understand this tactic of mine. What if, after thinking about something for a day or two I decided it really didn't matter and it was totally a situational annoyance? What if what I was originally upset about turns out to just be a surface symptom of an underlying issue? Why not give myself the time to come to those conclusions before I make someone upset by telling them they've pissed me off but refusing to talk about it right then. I know that's annoying, David told me every time I did it.

I hate crying.

And I hate acting on irrational thoughts.

Thus I refuse to talk about things without giving myself that time, and if Tom can't accept that, and respect me for it, then that will be the deciding factor.

I'm not ashamed of this way of thinking, I've always done it (sans the depression stages of my life) and I personally think it's ten times more effective than yelling and screaming and calling names. It works because you come to the disagreement when raw emotions can't get in the way since you've given yourself that time to figure things out. You don't have stupid fights because you are fully aware of the real problem at hand, no outside little qualms get in the way, and instead of an argument you have a productive adult discussion. I see the other way immature and time waisting. Therefor, I refuse to take part in it.

Aren't you so proud of me for being such a grown up?