Thursday, December 10, 2009

Chandler & Monica.

Yesterday marked my 50th post...
and I didn't even realize it until this morning.
Another thing I realized was that I didn't post a recipe yesterday.

I really need another planner. I am so so ADD that as soon as I think of something I have to do or buy or attend, if I don't write it down it never happens. SOMEONE make a suggestion please!!

I am so excited. I feel like I am really breaking through into the writing world this way, even if only a couple of people follow it.

I had an interesting weekend. A loving weekend. A reminescent weekend. One that I didn't quite know how to approach until the night I had last night.

[[STORYTIME]]

This past Saturday I went out with some friends for a 21st birthday party at a local club. And because I live in a smaller town, the ex was there with a group of his friends as well. Since we have maintained our friendship over the last couple months, I walked over to say hi. We talked, and then I went back to my birthday friends. And all night I went back and forth from my 20-something friends, to the group of my married friends + the ex, and it made me think. I had crazy kinds of fun with the younger friends, but I didn't really fit in. Even though I was the youngest of the whole group, I still felt like the mom.

I have spent my whole life being older than everyone in my family, and acting older than the majority of my friends. (I was born in August, so when I started school I was younger than all of my friends. In a graduating class of 555, I was one of about 20 who were still 17.) But past that, past the age, the maturity, the life experience, past everything...I have always felt older than I am. The fact that my last birthday didn't have a set of candles that started with something other than a "one" was baffling enough, but to think that I am only 20. It sounds so young, but I feel so old.

I thought I was ready for a marraige, but with a best friend who thought I believed her fake support from the get-go, and another best friend that was drifting away, all I had was him. That scared me to death. I pulled away from my family, because I knew that half of them really didn't support my decision either, and the other half lived far enough away that I made an excuse not to visit as often as I should. I let myself drowned alone, just becoming overwhelmed by all the bullshit.

But this weekend was so much fun. There was no bullshit, no drama. It was just how it was supposed to be. How we were when we got back together. Before the proposal, before the planning, before the dresses and appointments and in-laws and cakes and shows and deposits.

Before it all, we had each other. The "stuff", for lack of a better word, pushed us apart.

I let my friends influence my opinion of my life. I let a wall build in between the one guy I know deep down that I am meant to be with. I let the money and the stress come between us, all the while he was willing to do whatever I needed him to do to make me happy.

I let it all happen.

That's why I'm not getting married this weekend. That's why I'm not engaged. That's why my bridesmaids aren't bridesmaids anymore, they are just friends again. That's why I'm not a bride...just a girl.

This weekend made me see that I want to be that bride again, if we get there. It's extremely hard because of my personality and general quickness to rush into things, but we are taking it one day at a time. We are just friends for now, maybe more later. But for now, JUST FRIENDS.

We had a couple long talks this past weekend over a couple different meals, and we have come to the realization that I rush things and I am impatient. Two characteristics that aren't so bad alone, and aren't too terrible when put together. But when a bride-to-be has these characteristics, the combination can be life-threatening. We joked that if we ever got engaged again, that I would have to be the one to propose.


I've always thought we were like Ross and Rachel, with the whole back and forth.
But who knows...maybe we could be like Chandler and Monica.

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