Guys, I am so tired.

Unfortunately this episode of exhaustion is #6 of 7 this week, probably.  We’ll see how tomorrow goes.  (An illustration of how tired I am: I just typed three r’s in tomorrow.  Did you go back and check?  It’s called spell check.  It’s my bae.)

Ok, I don’t really understand the term “bae” (and spell check doesn’t like it, ironically) so that’s probably the last time I’ll be using it.

I have worked a full time job before – and at that time I had a full time job and a part time job, so I was working 50-60 hours a week.  But I was younger then… or something like that to explain why I’m so tired presently.  I do really like my new job, now that I’m actually contributing to the alleviation of stress and deadlines and not just in training.  I anticipate everything I know and am familiar with will be changed on Monday; I know that at least two of the seven people in my room (which is called Optimus, btw, because they’re cool like that) will be moving to a different room and different project.  I will miss one of the guys.  I will not miss the other guy, but more on him later.

Every evening after work I’ve been coming home and helping can apples.

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Three of the bajillion jars of apples we’ve canned this week.  Yes, I exaggerate.  There are probably only a few million.

It’s actually enjoyable this year, as we had enough rain to make the apples good sized and for some reason sufficient rain translated into an absence of worms.  We like our apple trees, but we don’t care enough about them to spray them for worms, so usually they’re pretty wormy and cutting them up for canning means slicing through a worm an apple, on average.  These are fantastically not wormy.  And I found this cool technique for peeling them on Pinterest:

I run the drill.  It’s pretty sweet and my arm is sore from holding the drill for hours on end peeling apples because I’m not smart like the guy in the video and just lay it down on the counter.

All that equals exhaustion.

And honestly, I’m slightly struggling with a wee bit of depression, I think.

I think I’ve reached the stage in the break-up healing process where loneliness is starting to bother me again.  Like I feel enough better to stop thinking only about getting better, and starting to go back to the state I was in before Trent: lonely.

I dated a guy named Rob my last semester of college – well, we started officially dating over Thanksgiving weekend, when I went to his family’s house for Thanksgiving break.  It was not a very healthy relationship, although we did start to talk about marriage during the one summer we were together.  He broke up with me in August, just a few days after my birthday.  We dated for nine months.  Within nine months after the break up he was married.  I cried when he broke up with me, but I didn’t ask God to put us back together for the following three+ months.  I moved on with life, found ways to keep myself busy and get out and about so that I wasn’t just sitting at home.  I knew that sitting at home doing nothing would not be healthy for me or be conducive towards meeting the guy God had for me.

I did that for ten years.

Was I lonely?  You bet.  Was it hard?  You bet your sweet bippy it was hard.  But God got me through.  Until Trent.  Then I thought Trent was enough (note: that thinking was erroneous.  I still needed God).

My mentor and I had a conversation about being called to be a wife and mother over lunch this week, because I think I am called to be a wife and mother.  That led to the following conversation:

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The longings have not gone away.  I’ve repeated my request for Him to eliminate those desires.  If anything, they have intensified.

I had a dream this morning about a guy (not Trent, just an eligible acquaintance) who, in my dream, confessed he’s always liked me.  I was incredibly torn, because what about Trent?  But in my dream, it was also pretty obvious that he was just kind of lusting after me.  ‘Cause I’m all that and a bag of chips…  Anyway, in my dream (prefacing everything with that, just so you don’t forget it’s a dream) we cuddled.  He wrapped his arms around me and I laid my head on his chest and could hear his heartbeat.  Best.  Feeling.  Ever.  Just being held.  I didn’t want it to stop, even though I wasn’t even sure if I liked the guy!  I knew I didn’t like him when, in my dream, he kissed me.  I mean, he had just told me he liked me.  Trent didn’t kiss me until after he said he loved me, and after we had been officially dating a few days.  Even guys in my dreams are measured against the standard set by Trent.

I woke up thinking about how both of my serious relationships ended roughly a month after one or both of us had a pang of conscience about the physicality of our relationship.  With Rob, the entire relationship was built on lust.  This is going to get super personal right now, fyi.  I am still a virgin, technically.  But between my porn addiction and my relationship with Rob, I am no innocent.  Trent and I had a firm “no unwrapping” policy – we wanted our wedding night to be the first time we unwrapped each other and presented ourselves as a gift to each other.  We never violated that policy.  Were there times we were tempted and came close?  Oh yeah.  But always, for both of us, there was that desire for the sacredness of our wedding night that stopped us.  Was the temptation growing every time we saw each other?  Yes.  So in May we upped the policy, made it more strict, less wiggle room.  And then a month later he broke up with me.

The dream and that realization made me think this morning lying awake in bed (and this is a depressive lie seeping into my mind) that the only way to get a guy and keep him long enough to get him to the altar is to give him enough of what he wants, just not everything, before the wedding.  Although, to be fair, in my relationships it wasn’t only the guy’s fault.  Rob pushed me much farther than I was comfortable.  I wanted to, and should have, said no more than once.  But I wanted to keep him.  The abuse I experienced in my past had taught me that if you want to play with the boys, you have to let them do what they want to do to you.  So I didn’t tell Rob no.  Trent surprised me with how much of a gentleman he was – he never pushed, never tried to do anything untoward.  If anything, I pushed him more than he was comfortable with.  I never had to say “no” to Trent because he never did anything I didn’t already want him to do.

That thought I had upon waking this morning was probably reinforced by the conversation in Optimus on Friday, when the guy I will not miss was talking about his weekend plans and how many condoms he would need.  He was actually naming all the places he stashes them so he’ll always have one handy (and no, he is not currently dating anyone).  He is a guy, and only 21, so there probably isn’t much else on his mind, but it was a stark reminder of how sheltered I am.  I know there are better guys out there – I dated one, after all – but the view of the available relationship pool is pretty bleak from where I sit at the conference table in Optimus.

It’s not just the kissing and cuddling with someone over the age of 5 that I miss (my niece and nephew are great cuddlers and occasionally they’ll give me a kiss on the cheek).  It’s the companionship I long for the most.  Having someone to talk to about my day, to go places with, to care about on an intimate level.  “Hold on, Anessa, don’t you live with like, four other people?  And have an additional four people at your house all the time?  How can you be lonely?”

My family is wonderful, the best.  I am close with them to the point that Trent cited them as the reason we had to break up because as he put it “I could never ask you to leave them” (never mind that he had already asked, I had said yes when we got engaged, and I never said “no, I can’t/won’t leave them”).  But no matter how many times they ask “how was your day today?” (which is every evening) they never really want to hear all of it.  They listen politely to my summary of the day’s events, and then it’s the next person’s turn.  We care about each other, but not on that deep relational level experienced between a husband and a wife, or even a dating couple.  My sister and brother-in-law invited me to go along with them to a play last night, which was wonderful and very nice and thoughtful of them – they even paid for my ticket!  I was sitting in the car with them on the way to town listening to them talk and share about their days with each other.  They have a great relationship, and while I didn’t feel excluded in the slightest, it made me feel very lonely.  I don’t have someone like that to talk to anymore.  I want to go see the movie “First Man” sometime, not because of Ryan Gosling (never bought into the hype about him) but because I’m a closet geek who loves all things about space and may or may not spend most of my Sunday afternoons playing Minecraft and watching Star Trek: TNG.  Nobody in my family is interested in going to it.  I want to see it badly enough that I will probably go by myself, but it sure would be nice to have someone I like be willing to go to it with me.  And not grudgingly or because they feel sorry for me that if they didn’t go with me I’d have to go by myself.  I want someone to go with me because they want to go someplace and spend time with me.  Trent was like that.  I miss Trent. (Oh, if only you had a nickel for every time you’ve heard that, amiright?)

In God news, I asked Him once (ok, maybe twice.  Thrice.  Fine, a lot) “How long God?  How long do I pray this prayer You’ve given me to pray?  When will you answer it or give me a new prayer?”  He finally responded with “Anessa!” in an amusedly exasperated tone that eloquently conveyed the sentiment: “Anessa, I’m not going to tell you how long.  It’s going to take as long as it takes and you’re human.  You don’t get to know details of the future like timing.  I’m in charge of that.”  I stopped asking Him after that.  I asked my mentor at lunch the other day “How long do I pray this prayer?” and before she could even draw breath to reply, I said “I know, until God answers it or gives me a new prayer” and she burst into peals of laughter.  I don’t think I’m going to ask her that anymore either.

Alright, enough moping.  My slight depressive state could be because I’ve only exercised three times this week – the amount my doctor says is sufficient, but apparently my sagging serotonin levels beg to differ.  I’m also out of some of my essential oils, but I can’t order more quite yet because my snazzy new job won’t cough up my first fabulous paycheck for me until Friday, I think.  Could also be lack of sleep.  I’m going to remedy that now.  So I’ll actually publish this tomorrow.  Pretend you can time travel back to Saturday when you read this.  Hmm, time travel.  Makes me think of Dr. Who.  Another geeky show I used to love, before it got too scary for me to watch by myself, so I decided to wait until I had someone to hold me to keep watching it.  Matt Smith was the last doctor I watched (although I highly doubt anyone could live up to David Tennant’s Doctor).  Aaannd I think I’ve come out of the geek closet…

(hover your mouse over the pictures!)

 

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Posted by:anessamarie

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