I’ve done stuff since Nashville.

But we’ll stick to the road trip portion of the blog for now.

Where should I start?

Beach bonfire bon voyage.

It happened.  What happened is self contained in its title.

Next.

Saturday was the youngest birth child’s birthday.  We had planned to go to the newly opened water park, but it didn’t open.  So, we went bowling instead.  I spent the day with the family.  It was nice, ended up lying on the couch at the x house for far too long.  It was an attempt to avoid packing for my epic road trip.  For some reason, I do not want to commit to the decisions of what I will be wearing for the next three months.  So, I will continue to avoid it.

Sunday, I woke up at 6 am.  – for what reason, I do not know.  I may have gotten three hours sleep that night.  Which considering that I have to pack for three months, go to church, have lunch with the family, PACK FOR THREE MONTHS, take my dog to D’s so the dog and his boyfriend can live together while I’m on my trip, then pick up Joy and go to the Ted Nugent, Styx, Reo Speedwagon concert.  I might could have used a little longer lie in….

Anyway

All was good, I had a great Mother’s Day.  Styx was awesome.  Tommy Shaw pointed directly at me.  Shut UP, it’s my blog, I can say what I want here. It’s called the First Amendment, look it up.

(I am going to make an awesome President)

Anyway

I got home from Styx shortly after midnight.  I continued to avoid packing by whatever means available.  I showered.  I did all things that weren’t packing.  But it’s OK, I didn’t have to leave until 4:15 a.m. that gave me plenty of time.

OK, eventually I threw some stuff in the bags.  Pink dress, other dresses, shirts, shoes, socks, blah, blah, blah, and blah.

If I make it Florida with anything I need, I’ll be happy.

Basically, I just wanted to get my ass on the plane and to Florida.

Which I did.  I arrived.  My stuff arrived.  I’ve been here three days.  I have yet to miss anything.

High five myself for that.

I brought too much stuff.

This should come as no surprise.  I always bring too much stuff.

I was up from 6 am Sunday until afternoon on Monday.  So I napped.

I cannot be sure, but I think much of what has happened should be edited for content.

For now, I just wanted to let you know that none of my couch people have killed me.  I’m having a glorious time.  I should send you all a postcard or something.

Anyway

There is talk of food.  So, ttfn.

For several years her babies that are my babies have been referred to by us as “our babies”.

“Our babies” came to live with my x and I in the middle of the night.  They were five week old, boy girl twins, we had gotten the call a couple of hours earlier from our foster agency.  We did not normally take in babies, but they had been sitting in a CPS office for two days at that point.  It was an “emergency” placement and they would be moved to a more stable placement within two weeks.

Except that last part.  They never moved.  CPS left and that was it.  I had had the good sense to remember the moment that my daughter was placed in my arms.  I consciously said “this may be an important moment, you may want to remember it” and I do.

Mama, as she is now known, had five children, and despite being five weeks post partum, was already pregnant.  The older children were a five year old boy, a two year old boy, and a boy that had not yet turned one.  Yes, by the time the sixth child was born, she had five children under the age of three.  UNDER.

Mama did not look good on paper.

I believed the party line.

Drugs, gangs, blah blah blah, who is this woman?

Not that she really qualified as a “woman” she was not legally able to buy alcohol in a bar.

That’s right.  Pregnant with child number six at 20.

I was not a fan.  Six months later, two more of her children came to live with us.  The five year old and the then 18 month old. The five year old didn’t stay long, but I facilitated a move to an appropriate foster home, where he lived for the next five and a half years.

Every week I loaded up the three babies, and the older brother and drove to visit her and the other siblings.  I did not speak to her as CPS discouraged it.  When the twins were 15 months old, the state took away her custodial rights, but she retained her parental rights.

Translation:  The kids would never go home.  The kids were not available for adoption.  The kids would be in foster care until they were 18 or they were able to prove abuse or neglect with something other than the evidence presented at the first trial.  Which, if you never have custody of children, can you neglect or abuse them?

This pissed me off, if we’re going to be honest.  What the fuck?  I had not slept in 13 months.  I had three children under the age of 2.  I can’t adopt these children.  EVER.  I can not in good conscience put them back into “the system”.  Basically, rock on one side, hard place on the other.

and EVERY week I was driving four kids 1-3 hours each way to visit her.  Sometimes, she’d even show up.

I did not like her.  Not at all.  Even less, when on the twins second birthday, I returned to a visit to pick up the children and CPS had them stripped to the diapers and were taking pictures of their “bruises”.  Bruises that I was being accused of putting on them.

Thank God almighty, that when the children were placed with us, I insisted that the pediatrician map every single birthmark, and especially the Mongolian marks.  Mongolian marks look like bruises to the untrained eye.  My pediatrician thought I was nuts, because “everybody knows what those are” or at least should if they are CPS.  They didn’t and that one demand saved me a LOT of hassle.

But who did that bitch think she was?

Six months and twenty some visits later, the oldest boy asked me “who is that lady we have to see all the time?”

You know those moments when a three year old makes it very evident that you are an ass?  yeah, that moment.

“She is your mother.”

I, am an ass.

From that day forward, we have called her Mama.

From that day forward, despite my feelings for her, I have told the children that she is their Mama.  They were made in her tummy.

Mama loves you to the end of the world, but cannot take care of you.

Eventually, even I believed those words.  I smuggled my phone number in to a visit with the help of a three year old, and thankfully she called.  The x and I petitioned to become the legal guardians of the kids.  Meaning that we had rights, just inferior to parental rights, and that CPS could not administratively move them.  If CPS wanted those kids out of our house, they would have to prove abuse or neglect.  This legal maneuver put our biological children at risk.  If CPS moved the fosters, they would also have to remove the bio kids.  We did this, not because it was the easy decision to make, but it was the right decision to make.

It should be known that foster parents are mostly never granted legal guardianship of foster children.  In the many years since that happened, I have met no one that believed me when I told them.  Not case workers, or attorneys, or judges.  Basically, it never happens.

It took years for me to establish a decent relationship with Mama.  Eventually, it happened.  When I promised her something, I made darn sure I kept it.  Four years later she consented to assigning her parental rights to us.  We also convinced her that her other three children needed permanency as well.  All of the kids were in stable homes. She signed over the rights to 5/6 of her children allowing them to be adopted.  The sixth child, the oldest child, was in a home that was not able to adopt him.

After she had given us the parental rights, she petitioned the court to get her oldest child back.  She was finally stable, and with one 11 year old child as opposed to 6 babies, she was able to get him back.  She is parenting him.  He, and I never thought I’d say these words, is a delight.

Two weeks from now, Mama is leaving her home town three hours from here, and is moving to our town.  The other two children’s families do not maintain any type of contact with her.  She wants to be close to the children that she is able to see.  So, she is leaving her family, her life and moving here.  I think it’s completely awesome.

I talk to her regularly and she knows that the x and I got divorced.  Today, she asked me a question she admits she has been dreading asking for weeks.  “Will (the x) let me see the kids like you do?”

She is giving up her life to be near our babies.  The only reason to do it is to see our babies.  She could not handle moving and not seeing our babies.

So, Mama, this Mothers Day I will give you the gift of keeping my promise.

You can see the kids.

Without you, I wouldn’t even have these kids, I don’t have the right to keep them from you.  I have the responsibility to keep them safe, and I am not worried about their safety with you.  When I see our kids with you, I know that it is the absolute right decision.  You are amazing, strong, and brave.  Well beyond what I would be capable of.  I hope a million good things come from you believing that you deserve goodness and happiness in your life.  I love our babies to the end of the world, and to know that I can give them the gift of their mother is one of the best things I’ve ever known.  Please know that I am sorry for not believing in you sooner.  I love you with all my heart and it is my honor to share the title of “mother” with you.

Just deleted all tags that weren’t the pushup challenge.

I don’t want people to find stuff on my site.

If I were sure I wouldn’t absolutely regret having this diary of my life, I would have all posts self destruct after 48 hours.

Truth be told there is a lot of fun here, but also a lot of pain and no longer true were they ever really true truths.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to get blog hit on.  When I can watch my site meter ping in real time, I absolutely love it.  I love when random strangers approach me and ask if I’m annieology.  The glory days of thousands of hits are long past.  A price I paid for trying to blog when I should never have tried to blog.  People come here for the stories.  I must never forget that I am a story teller and not a writer.

Because if I were a writer I would know about grammar and punctuation and using my words correctly and to skip the gratuitous use of the word “fuck” unless it enhanced the story.

It never enhances the story.

But sometimes there is nothing better than a good fuck.

I’ll probably add categories and tags as I move forward.  I’ll probably come back and delete them too when they are no longer relevant.

Anyway

I left up the search bar in case there was anything you really wanted to search.  But trust me.  You want to know me now.  Not then.

I also got many cat pictures.

I am excited about both of these things equally.

Not because I am particularly fond of either of them, but that it gave me a chance to feel the love the world has for me.

So, thank you from the bottom of my stone cold heart. I love you.

I have enjoyed getting to know me and seeing myself through your eyes. I feel every bit of the love that was sent my way this year and particularly today.

Here is the unscored video of the first part of my road trip to Nashville.

It still needs tweaked a bit. Plus needs music. But wanted to get a rough cut out there as practice.

Because practice makes perfect and perfectionist that I am…

I seriously do not know where I was going with that.

Anyway….

From the moment I landed in Nashville, I knew I was in the right place.  Whether is was the rental agent calling me “adorable” or just the all out general awesomeness of the weekend.

This video covers my trip to Nashville, via Houston and thru dinner on Friday night.

Like I said.  It’s my first “real” video and am working on the rest.  Please comment.  Follow the YouTube channel, whatever it is that will feed my ego that I cannot relate properly right now.

There will be more videos. Maybe not today. Today I’m getting divorced. Then I’m eating cake. As you’ll remember marriage is “cake in, cake out” and I’m totally having cake. If you’d like to send me flowers I wouldn’t totally hate that. I will be having a re-bachelorette party in the nearish future. I was going to have it tomorrow, then well, got distracted by the shiny and forgot to register for gifts. Although if I recall, I’m pretty sure I know what you crazy kids are going to get me. I have turned into a lingerie snob though so go La Perla or get the fuck out of here.

Anyway…

ttfn

Each and every day I wake up and think of an adventure.  Unless of course I thought of one before I went to bed.  I’m like my own version of Phineas and Ferb.

What are we going to do today?

Yesterday I decided that my adventure would be a zip line course.

I was really excited about it.

I was excited driving out to the course.

I was excited signing the waivers.

I was excited putting on the harness.

I was scared to death when I hooked on to the line the first time.

Well, not death, but YIKES.  Breathe deep.  Scared.

First line, they had us climb onto a platform.  A very high platform, three to four feet off the ground.  Seems they wanted to start us off easy.  Good thing.

SCARED.

Did I mention I was scared?

Yeah, this is no longer fun.  I am about to jump off a bar stool.  Which I’ve done.  Except this time?  I wasn’t going to hit the ground.  I would be ok jumping off a bar stool and hitting the ground.  I’ve done that.  This time I would not hit the ground and go sailing off into the woods, God only knows what’s at the end of the line.  Besides the ten people who had already gone before me and if I freak out, I will totally die.

Waaah.

Except, Annie….you won’t die.  You only signed the waiver that says you “might die” because of attorneys.  No one is going to die here today.

So, jump I did.

Freak out much?

Yes, I did.

But only on the inside.  Because I’m cool like that, and well, I have to spend another 90 minutes with these people.  I don’t want to be that girl.

Got to the end of the first line. Heart racing.  Legs shaking.  Alive.

You’d think the second line would be easier.  Nope.  Freaked out. Again…only on the inside.

Line three “This our longest line, our highest line, the blah blah blah” all I heard was it’s bigger and badder than the last. Phuck! What did I get myself into?

Well, I was getting myself into a tree before I could change my mind.  Standing on the edge of a platform to the bigger badder than before line, I took a moment to feel the fear.  “you will not die” and I jumped out of the tree.  The two previous lines had gotten over so quickly, I didn’t have time to move past the freak out portion.  This longest line provided me that opportunity.

Hey, this is fun.

We moved throughout the forest.  One bigger badder line after then next.  By the time I was having a blast, the guide was informing us this was the “fastest” line and that depending on your weight you could go 40 miles per hour.

40 miles per hour?

Like, get a ticket in a school zone twice.  fast.

PHUCK

Well, having learned that standing back only prolonged the fear,  I marched up the steps.  I had to hook into the platform, it was that high.

Phuck.

You’ll be fine.  Just jump.

I did.

It was amazing.

It was scary.

Every.

Time.

My brain has been wired over the last 40 years to believe that jumping out of trees will do you harm.  I needed to rewire my brain.  Yes, normally jumping out of a tree will hurt you.  Jumping out of trees that are 40 feet off the ground might even get you dead.

Of course, my brain didn’t factor in ziplines and safety harnesses and attorneys.

I was scared.  I did it anyway.  I can’t say that I did it enough times to not be scared.  I did it anyway.

I kept doing it and it became fun.  As soon as I let go.

I was still scared.

Every.

Time.

I can’t help but wonder what fun I’ve missed out on because I wouldn’t get past the fear.  How many days did I spend on the proverbial couch because it was a lot less scary than whatever was out there?

I’m done letting scared be the reason I stop.

Letting go and seeing what’s at the end?  Not always a bad thing.

Sometimes it’s fucking awesome!

PS – I’m in a hotel and I can’t get enough bandwidth to upload a video.  I’ll do it when I get back home. Until then….enjoy this picture.  Love all of you, but I love some of you more than the rest.

xoxo

Epic road trip.

This weekend is the Country Music Marathon in Nashville.  I had planned to run it.  My hip didn’t cosign that plan.  I am going to “socialize”.  Yes, that is what we are calling it.  I love me some Nashville, and having my tweeps there is a perk.

But that doesn’t explain Houston.

Oh, I chose to fly out of Houston as opposed to Corpus because it was more expensive and required a 4 hour drive.  Both ways.

OK, confession.  I chose to fly out of Houston because it gave me a chance to come to Houston and fuck around for the day.

Mission accomplished.  High fives for everyone.

Except for that yesterday, I discovered that the blower motor for my AC in my car had blown its last…so I called Toyota and asked if it was under warranty.

True story.

Warranty expired today and Corpus did not have any service appointments.  So, good thing I was planning on coming to Houston anyway.  The kind people at the Toyota Dealership in Conroe fixed me up quite nicely and quite lovely.  I just had to spend 2 hours of my epic road trip in the service department.  NO problem.  I am so thankful I didn’t wait until I returned. Not like I’m going to have much time what with getting divorced when I get back.

Speaking of which.  Had a little panic attack about getting divorced yesterday.  It went something like this:

I’m going to die broke and alone and I will starve to death and my cats will eat me.

I DON’T EVEN HAVE CATS

So, let’s go back to hippie school lesson on fear.

Is it true?

As a whole statement, no, it is not true.  Except maybe the part where I’m broke at the end. That may be true, but I’m still holding out for a rich 93 year old oil baron.  (I just put it out into the universe, only Oprah can make it happen)

That fear isn’t true.  Time to find a new fear.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was afraid of meeting people.  Which is totally an untrue fear.  I am finding that most people don’t bite, unless you specifically ask them to.  There really isn’t anything for me to be afraid of.  Ultimately if my fear of ending up alone is real, I have a lot of people to piss off.

There are blessings and curses that come with divorce.  What I have discovered is that I get to see myself through fresh eyes. I like what I’m seeing.

I guess that pretty much catches us up.

Here are some other projects I’m working on.

Under Armour What’s Beautiful Campaign.

Health Coaching

Running for President of the United States on Twitter

Go find you some awesome today.

Are we not standing in front of a medical supply store?  Random stranger dude.

I don’t talk to strangers because

1. My mom told me not to
2. I’m a pretty girl and have you never watched Lifetime?
3. I don’t want to die in your trunk.

Is what I said in my head.

My mouth said “no” and I got into my car.

Yes, we were outside of a medical supply store.  It had closed within the last 10-20 minutes.  Unfortunate timing for that dude.  It’s too bad I don’t talk to strangers, because I have crutches in my attic.  They’ve been there for 8 years since Tech Support had foot surgery. It is kind of a random coincidence that he’s there needing crutches and I’m there having crutches and I think the universe would have me rethink my “no”.

I rolled down my window and said, “You know what? I have crutches that I’m pretty sure I can give you.”

So, I explained to him that I was “pretty sure” I could give them to him.  They were at my house, which I don’t live at, because I’m getting divorced in 11 days and I’d have to ask the ex, but it shouldn’t be a problem.  So, we discussed his getting divorced, his need for crutches being his friend got injured while kite boarding on their epic road trip just now and he had to catch a plane and get back to Canada.

You’re on an epic road trip?  I’m going on an epic road trip! It is such a small world.

It was determined that I could have the crutches.  So, random strange men from Canada, follow me to my house.  Keep in mind this is Texas, if I die they will kill you.  (Is what I said, in my head.)

He got into his silver Camry. zomg, if he kills me, he’s going to put me in the trunk of his silver Camry. They will never find my body.

sidebar

I won the silver Camry in the divorce.  If you’ve ever left your house once you will notice that every third car on the planet is a silver Camry.  It’s not that unique of a situation to find myself sitting in my silver Camry next to someone else in a silver Camry. (side side bar) Two years ago, I met a girl on the internet that would become one of my very best friends for life, she and I drove the exact same car, a red Sienna….back to the story.

He got into his silver Camry (a rental no doubt) and I got into mine. (I have to remember to take pictures of these things)

They followed me to my ex house and I delivered them a pair of crutches.

How much do we owe you? For what going three blocks out of my way and giving you junk from my attic?  A “Thank you” will suffice.

Oh, but….

“If you insist you can take me to dinner. Otherwise, I’m going to have to take a “thank you” and let you get on your way.”

We didn’t go to dinner.  But, if I’m ever in Canada, I have a raincheck for dinner.

Safe travels random stranger dudes.

Once upon a time….

From the time we are little, we dream of, or are taught….that princesses are pretty useless at doing anything other than being hated by other women, ie wicked stepmothers, and pining away for the prince that will one day save us.  Oh and being pretty.  That is, if we are even allowed to be AWAKE for our own story.

That one day, and gawd I hope you’re still pretty, a man will ride in on his horse, slay a dragon or an ogre or what have you, and you will live happily ever after.

I find it curious that most of the stories end in the first kiss, or the quickly arranged, over indulgent wedding that follows.

They never go 15 years and two to twenty kids later.

Here on earth there is a thing called reality.  Mortgages, retirement accounts, orthodontists, the trash goes to the curb on Wednesday and “we really need to redo the baseboards in the living room”.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

We’re living the fairy tale alright.  I’ve locked myself in the tower and am waiting for a prince to rescue me from my prince and he has worked up a brilliant fantasy baseball team.

Anything we can do to avoid reality and living a truly authentic life.

Welcome to my surreality.

For the past 15 years I have paid the mortgage early, contributed to the retirement, made myself sick over what fucking color we should paint the kitchen, had babies, raised orphans, volunteered my time and even gave blood.  Because this is reality and I am a grown up.  Grown ups are supposed to act this way, here in reality.

Two weeks from now, I will be divorced.  Because in actuality, none of the above matters.  Not when it comes to happily ever after.

All of the above are good and useful things for a polite society to engage in.  We do these things because we are supposed to.  Because it makes life easier, or better, or whatever. But unless it comes from a truly authentic place, it just doesn’t matter. You have to get married before you’re thirty and buy a house and have a couple of kids and zomg what the fuck happened to MY dreams?

It’s not that I regret the past 15 years, or wish they had never happened.  They were good.  We had fun.  The world is a better place because we were married and had babies and raised orphans and gave blood.  This is all true.  It just doesn’t change the fact that when we ran out of hiding places we had to face the fact that the fairy tale did not have a happily ever after and that what could be was a more palatable option than what was.

I did it “right”.

I bought a house and paid the mortgage.  I no longer have a house.  I have a equitable division of retained principle in the house, but I don’t have a house.  Why did I spend three months fretting over the color of a kitchen?  It doesn’t fucking matter because it didn’t save my marriage.

So I am plunging head first, helmet cam attached, into surreality.

“You just got divorced Annie, what are you going to do next?”

I’m going to Disney World!

I’ve never been to Disney World.

and when I return, I’m putting my stuff into storage and am gonna “Tweet.  Play.  Love” myself all over this country on an epic road trip.  Yes, I improved upon the title of a Julia Roberts movie (and so help me God, if you point out it was a book first, I will hunt you down).  And “no, I don’t know when I’ll be there mom, I am stopping along the way to make a ninja movie.” (actual conversation)

But, Annie, that isn’t reality.  You have to be a responsible member of society and generate an income and pay taxes and buy bigger and better stuff than the people you hate.

Fuck.

that.

I want to see the things I haven’t seen.  And meet the people that I haven’t met.  And just fucking live. What am I going to do?  I am going to do all of it.  I don’t want to be 80 and realize that my true love is dead and I never took her to Paradise Falls because a run down house and a career as a balloon man at the zoo kept me from doing so.

So for as long as I can find a couch to sleep on and an adventure to be had, I am going to explore.  I don’t have a solid plan.  My to do list is

I am one of those crazy people, who, had I been born several hundred years ago, would have gotten into the ship just to be there if it went over the edge of the earth.  This part of me has been too long squelched because of someone else’s reality.  I want to see what’s on the edge and yes, if I fall off you may publish the footage from the helmet cam once you retrieve the body.  If that happens, cremate me and put me in fireworks, because, how awesome would that be?

This probably scares 90% of you.  Just remember, without me and the people like me, the world would still be flat.

How will you live, where will you sleep, how will you eat?  omg Annie are you delusional?

Well, considering the fact that there are unemployed fat people in this country, it seems unlikely that I will starve to death.  When it comes to sleeping, that’s why all of you responsible members of society have couches.  But meeting people on the internet will get you dead.  No, meeting stupid people on the internet will get you dead.

Truth of the matter is, I’d rather be dead than not alive.

At the end of it all, I may realize that all I want is to crawl into bed with the same man every night and gaze into each others eyes while he strokes my hair and tells me I’m pretty, then decide to buy a house with him and generate an income to pay the mortgage and fret over the color of the kitchen.

But probably not.

On a scale from 1-10 on rightness, I was hitting about 47.  No time or energy to think about, stuff.

Of course you can’t just show up and do the Derby.  There are rules and stuff the lawyers have incorporated so people don’t get hurt and sue.  This is dealt with in the Fresh Meat Boot Camp, which I attended.

Lesson number one.

Falling.

Here’s the deal.  You are going to fall.

YOU ARE GOING TO FALL

Get that into your pretty little head right now.  You and the ground better get to  know each other because

You are going to fall

There really is no avoiding it.

YOU ARE GOING TO FALL

Much of day one was spent learning how to do it best.

How do you do it best?

First understand, it is part of the game.  In Derby, in love, in life.  If  you aren’t falling, you aren’t playing.  Simple as that. Embrace it.

Second.  Protect yourself.  After a couple of weeks of Derby, I can no longer skate without full gear. I just feel naked and vulnerable.  There is, for certain, a time and place for naked and vulnerable, but the rink is not one of them.  As I open myself up to new experiences I need to remember this.  I am historically dive in head first, hope for the best. But I’m learning.

Thirdly, (apparently that IS a word) don’t think you’re safe because you are protected.   If you are expecting a fall, anticipating the logistics, know the technique, have the right gear, when you feel it coming you can bounce right back up.  It’s a beautiful thing to see.  However, you think you’re not gonna fall, you ain’t looking over your shoulder, on on the track in front of you, something is gonna blind side you, and that is what the spectators love.  The things that hurt my marriage were not the worst things ever in life.  The damage was done by the blind side.  The “everything you’ve said is true, but that you’d frame it like that…that that is what you see in the big picture…” is what killed it.  I felt safe that I was protected from falling simply because we were married and that because he had self imposed rules as to what was right and wrong.  My marriage was killed by four words.

“I did say that.”

Multiple affairs would not have hurt the way those words hurt.  I’d have forgiven a thousand sexual sins, but that sentence, I couldn’t forgive. It’s been over a year since I heard those words, and the weight of them still crush me.

Lastly, the faster you go, the easier it is to recover.

I’m not really sure this applies to all areas of life.  It certainly is true on the rink, if you have momentum, it will carry you through most of the time.  It’s hard to move forward when you are curled up in a ball waiting for the crowd to pass.  At 5-6 laps a minute the next wave is coming, get up and get going.

Accepting that you are going to fall is not the same as being worried about falling.  If you are afraid to fall, don’t play.  If you are afraid of what is around the next corner, don’t go around the next corner.  Sit on the couch and watch the tv people have the experiences that you dream of.  Is there something around that corner?  Yeah, probably.  Is it scary?  Maybe.  Only one way to find out.  Go check it out.

Keep in mind that you are going to fall.

I am going to fall.

I accept that.  I welcome it.  Am I scared that I am going to get hurt?  A little. OK a LOT.  I am scared that I’m going to get hurt.  But I’m more scared that I won’t.  Scared that I will sit back and watch other people love and laugh and live the lives I am too scared to.  I’m going to fall down, and I’m going to fall in love, and maybe I’ll fall apart, but maybe it will be the most fun ever.