Growing up... it's a witch.

I'm 23 years old, and here I am, terrified to be leaving home. Oddly enough, I'm not even leaving the city, my parents are, and I'm staying here to figure out what to do with my life.
Why is life so confusing? You know how in some movies they have some kind of system where the children are born and immediately assigned a position in society? It's always portrayed as wrong, that everyone should be able to choose what they want to do for themselves. I would have agreed a few years ago, but now, I see where they're coming from. I'm so confused as to what to do with my life that I'd happily volunteer to be told exactly what to do.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" I feel like that question still applies to me, when in reality people are already asking me things like "So, what are you studying to become?" What? I'm already supposed to have decided that? I don't even know what I'm eating for breakfast, though I can tell you, it's most likely going to be a string cheese and and some gold fish crackers because I can hardly get out of the house on time to get to my job a half a mile away as it is. So, yeah, when you ask me what I'm doing with my life, is it any wonder I'm overwhelmed?
There's a pile of stuff in the corner of my room. Things that I'm going to be bringing to my sister's house. I'll live there until I find an apartment of my own, or figure out if I'm even going to stay in Texas. That pile of stuff has some of my favorite things in it. Fuzzy, my bear from the Hershey's store in New York, my DVD collection, which is up to 47 movies, most of my books, my box of scarves, my unfinished quilt. Who knew looking at some of my prized possessions would be so depressing? I've been dreading this since I was just a little kid.
Little Catherine, 8 years old, sat crying at the dinner table after everyone else was done. I remember I had applesauce in front of me. I have to eat it slow. The texture can make me gag. Mom came up to me and asked what was wrong. I told her, "I don't want to move out and go to college." My mom gave me a hug and told me that it was a whole 10 years away and that by that time, I would want to be out of the house. Boy, was she wrong. She probably knew I wouldn't actually want to leave, but she knew that it was more important that an 8 year old worry about things like where her stuffed lion was than leaving home to go to college.
Growing up... it's hard. If I could have three wishes, I'm pretty sure I would use one to wish to be a kid again. I would wish to be a kid, but still know everything I know now. I would be kinder to other kids, help my mom out a whole lot more, and I would stop worrying so much. I'm a worrier, and I think it's taken many a year off my life. I would remind myself that going to elementary school is not nearly as bad as I thought, and that I should consider myself lucky to only have a half hour of homework every day. I wouldn't have quit piano lessons, and I would have tried out for a team or a play, because in the end, not one of the kids I knew back then would have remembered or even cared if I had made a fool of myself. I would have become better friends with boys I knew instead of worrying so much about whether they thought I like-liked them. I would have told my girl friends that, no, I didn't like the Backstreet Boys. I liked the Monkees, still played with Barbies and I still watched Arthur, because guess what? NOBODY CARES.
Growing up... it's a witch.
Older Catherine, 23 years old, sits crying on the couch, telling her mom she's afraid of leaving home and going into the real world. You know what her mom says?  "Everything else may change, but we will always be a family.This is going to be a happy time in your life." She may know that it's going to be really hard, but she knows that it's more important that a 23 year old worry about finding out who she is than about changes she can't control.

Lemonade...

In general, life stinks. We all know that there are hard times, but have we ever really realized how bad life is most of the time? I mean, come on, when was the last time you were completely happy and relaxed for more than two hours, or even 20 minutes? I daydream about being completely happy. You know what it's like? I'm laying on the grass in a huge field. There are no bugs, the dirt is compact and doesn't get on my clothes or skin. There are wild flowers everywhere and the sun is shining all around, but not actually out, because it hurts my eyes. Waves crash somewhere nearby, but there is no sand. I hear the occasional bird tweeting, and there is nothing I have to do, no work, no school, no errands to run and no one to look after. See how complicated that is? Complete happiness is practically impossible, so why do we even try?

I had my heart broken recently. I told him how I felt. He told me we were friends. When the guy you like has another girlfriend, or maybe just doesn't even notice you, it stinks. I know. It's happened to me before, but this was different. There's hope attached to those scenarios. This time, there is no hope. I don't just wait until he notices me, I don't wait until he breaks up with the other girl. We're friends. He knows me, and he doesn't want me. I know how heart break is supposed to feel. It's suppose to feel like someone "ripped my heart out and stomped on it." That's not how it feels. It feels like there's a giant fist holding it and squeezing it so tightly you can't even breathe, but you don't want it to let go because you know that letting it go means it's over, and when it lets go, it's going to break apart. I realized that my most recent experience was not like the times before. This time, it went deeper. It would be great to be with a guy who hugs you and kisses you and holds your hand. That's great. I get it. I want it, but that's not all anymore. I just want to be with him. I enjoy his company. I loved his laugh and smile, and his humor. I loved the way he thought about things, how he was kind to everyone and how he remembered things about me that I hardly remembered about myself.  Why do we even bother going through all of this? What happened to arranged marriages?

"When life gives you lemons..." What? What, Life? Lemons are sour and the only thing you can make from lemons is lemon juice. You can sprinkle it on fish and spinach to make the taste more tolerable, but that's it. Lemons suck. Lemonade doesn't come from lemons alone. You need sugar and water. Water is everywhere. It's abundant. It's called living, but still, that's gonna be one nasty beverage. WHERE'S MY SUGAR? 

Lately, all I seem to be getting is lemons and water. What's up with that? I don't want anymore lemons! No more lemons! No more water! I WANT SUGAR! 

So... sugar. Where does this lovely sweetener come from? I guess sugar is hope. It's the small things in life that make everyday tolerable. Sometimes your lemonade is sour because you forget to put the sugar in. You forget that good things will happen again, or you overlook the good things that are happening now. 

DON'T FORGET THE SUGAR. Staying up late on weekends and watching movies in bed. Being so hungry, and taking that first bite of your Red Robin hamburger you've been waiting a half an hour for. The previews before that movie you've been waiting 6 months to see. Getting off work on a Friday. Having the baby you nanny walk unsteadily up to you several times a day and lay her head on your shoulder to give you a hug. Pizza with sausage, olives and green peppers. Throwing an outfit together in a hurry and realizing it looks amazing. Getting a stack of books from the library. Going to a restaurant all by yourself and getting a corner booth where you can play Candy Crush and no one will bother you. Your brother giving you a hug when you're having a rough day, even though you know he's not a huggy person. The smell of laundry detergent on newly washed blankets. 

There are things like this everyday. Someday, I hope to find a guy that I can make amazing lemonade with. He'll hold my hand everywhere we go. He'll make sure I know that we are much more than friends, and when he gives me hugs, he'll squeeze me incredibly tight, but when he lets go, I won't break apart. 

So, here's to the sugar in life. Here's to the fact that without the lemons, we would have sugar water, and all be really boring. And here's to me and my friend Jaimie, who have been getting a boat-load of lemons lately, but guess what... we are gonna have a whole lot of delicious lemonade someday. 

Let's begin.

My name is Catherine. I have an alter ego. She is inside me all the time, but sometimes she slips out... Unfortunately it's been happening more and more. The cracks in my outer, perky and positive seeming exterior have been opening slowly but steadily. I believe I owe this new found openness to a few of my friends. Together, we are called "The Drunk Book Club". Thanks a lot guys.

"The Drunk Book Club", otherwise known as the "Drub Club" (not really, I just made that up), is made up of myself, Denee (Like Renee with a D), Cassandra, Jaimie and Corly. I feel like this would be a good time to tell you about them-- montage style... whatever that is. 

When I met Denee, she thought I hated her. It's not uncommon for people to think I hate them. I am extremely shy around people I don't know. She says what she is thinking, she doesn't care what people think of her, and she is a ginger. In a way, she can get away with saying anything, which, I'm sure is a result of the fact that she doesn't hold back and never has... and she's ginger. Dr. Pepper is her almost constant companion. She tried to give it up one day. A few days later, she stopped trying. 

Cassandra was a friend of Denee's, heck she's friends with everybody, but they had a class together at the University and then met again at church. I didn't really, let's say, approve of Cassandra at first. The boy I liked, I mean really liked, was going after her, and soon they had begun to date. I wanted to rip her head off-- figuratively of course. Who knew she would become one of my best friends within half a year.

I honestly don't know how we started to hang out with Jaimie. She just kind of showed up a few times, and a while later, it felt like we were an incomplete group without her. She was a missing piece we needed. If not for her and her champagne flutes, the book club wouldn't even exist, and her Disney princess quality gives whimsy to any occasion. Unfortunately she has a boyfriend now. Not that she shouldn't, it's just that it takes away important Jaimie time from the rest of us book clubbers. 

Corly showed up one week at church, her dark red hair in large loopy curls under her ears. My first thought was, "What a sweet looking girl." She also looked like Amy Pond from "Doctor Who". Soon after we invited her to come roller skating with us. Tuesday nights were discount nights. After skating a while, she mentioned her head itched and it was annoying to have the wig on. Wig? "Yeah, my hair is super short because of an incident, so I'm wearing the wig until it grows out some more." She didn't say anything more. I thought she didn't want to talk about it. A car accident, or perhaps cancer had come her way recently? I didn't press. Turns out the issue wasn't as sensitive as it seemed. Her little brother chopped off her hair in her sleep. Whoops. She is a ginger though-- one who collects wigs and small animal bones, though if you offered her a large animal bone, I'm sure she wouldn't protest. So, sweet little Corly, turned out to be sweet... in a much less typical way. She'd rather be fighting demons with her prince than let him sweep her off her feet. 

I would like to clarify a few things: we don't drink alcohol, and we don't discuss books. Occasionally a book will come up, and more than occasionally we drink sparkly cider out of Jaimie's champagne flutes, but mostly we just talk about random topics, ending with Jaimie, Denee and Corly making innuendo filled conversation to make Cassandra and I squirm. Eventually we discovered "Scribblenauts" and the squirming stopped to make room for the infinite possibilities of Maxwell and his handy objects. My favorite: Vampire Narwhal. 

Me? I'm Bitter Catherine. And this blog is about me.