This Broadway Girl

I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse.

2009-08-30T08:38:22Z

I'm really sad that it took losing Tango to start journaling again. God. Everytime I write that, I cry. It's funny. I'll have long periods of time where I'll feel like I'm perfectly fine, and then something small and insignificant will happen and I'll lose it and start. crying all over again. I still have his bed on the floor. I refuse to move it. I physically can't. That was his place. His security spot. I didn't even have to be back here for him to want to lay on it. Of course, the dog was more spoiled than I've ever been. I made him a bed out of soft material, then I gave him a couple of blankets to nest up, a feather pillow that he adored and that is so fat and fluffy he could just sink into, and then a normal pillow. And when the weather was cold, I'd turn on the space heater for him and set it behind his bed. He would place his little butt right in front of it before I moved his bed by it. And he use to tell me to turn it on for him. He'd come over to where I was sitting and lead me back to my room then sit in front of the heater. Once I turned it on, he'd lay down and sleep. He'd wake me up to do that too. He use to ask for pain medicine, too. He knew where we kept it and he'd lead me over to that cabinet and do his little "I'm so excited and cute that you have to give me what I want" dance. I know he was after that and not treats, because he had to bypass the pantry, where he would go if he wanted treats, and go to that cabinet. He was such a smart boy.

God I miss him so much. I'm ready for my heart to stop hurting.

Bridgeway is hiring again. If I could find out whether or not my old boss was there, I'd jump at the chance to go back. If she wasn't there that is. I don't want to start putting up with her bullshit again. But man did I love that job.

I've been sequestering myself in my room. I know it's not healthy, but I can't help it. I'm so tired all the time, and leaving the house is so HARD. It's just easier to...not go. To just lay here and not worry about getting up. I don't smile very much anymore. I don't laugh much anymore. And I hardly speak to anyone when I'm home. I haven't been like this for a long, long time. I just don't have the heart, or the energy, to bother anymore. Sometimes I miss having my dad tell me to shut up, but mostly, I just don't care. Oh, out in public I can respond and pretend everything is fine. I don't need the world getting scared of me again because of my depression. But at home, where I don't have to care...I just don't. Why bother?

A lot of people use pets as therapy for their depression and whatnot. I think unconciously, Tango and I worked that out together. He gave me a reason to move when I felt so boggeHe gwn that the idea of it made me ill. He didn't push me or come across harsh the way my parents tend to do, but he demanded my attention. He gave me something else to focus on when I really needed it. I didn't truly realize how much I relied on that dog until I lost him. He really aided in pulling me out of my slumps. He was so much more helpful that people ever are. With people, you can tell what they're up to when they talk to you. They have a false sort of forced cheerfulness to their tone, or their tone will have a light, airy quality to it. They look at you differently. I never had to worry about that with him. I could vent everything to him without worrying that smoeone would freak out and think I was going to kill myself. Most people associate depression and suicide and can't understand that not all depressed people feel the need to take that road. I really hope that one day I can recover from that stupid fuck up of a college and what they did to me. I really, really do. I don't get upset about it unless I talk/think about it. I suppose that's normal though, after what they did. You know, from sixth grade on I did not have a positive school experience. Middle school was hell, high school was slightly less hellish, but it had it's moments, and college...well...I haven't even completed an associates degree, I've had bad luck with schools.

I'm starting to realize how much he helped me with my depression, just by being there and by letting me hold him, cry on him, talk to him and by his needing me and wanting me to do things for him. It made a huge difference in my life. He gave me something that I could never give myself. And I have no idea how to make anyone understand this, since most people aren't so codependent on their pets.

After he died, I was drying his body off with a towel so we could bury him. I just sort of cradled him for a minute while he was wrapped in a towel. My mom said "Don't get weird about this". I hardly see how it was weird, but maybe, because he was "just a dog" not everyone sees it that way. How do you make people understand how crucial something like a dog can be to your life? How do you make them understand that they can provide more than therapy or medication ever can on their own? I'm not eloquent enough to ever verbally convey that. I'm a terrible speaker. My mind works faster than my tongue and it comes out all wrong. Add in the human element, and it makes for a terrible mess. I probably sound crazy to a lot of people. I can't let them into my head to feel what it feels like, or to experience the difference it can make to have something NEED you when you feel like the most needless being on the planet. It's huge to have something that needs you when the rest of the world doesn't.

But to try and say that to someone, face to face, without feeling foolish? That's a hurdle that's so hard to jump, I don't know if I ever will be able to. It's something I've just now been able to explain to myself. It was a revelation I think I've always somewhat known somewhere in the back of my mind but never fully acknowledged. It's shocking to openly realize something like that. He truly was my lifeline. I owe him far more than I'll ever be able to say.

prying_pandora @ 2009-08-27T23:35:00

2009-08-28T04:50:10Z

Boo Bear,

Today was your birthday. Today, I marked your grave. I wasn't given a chance to do anything more than set the stones before the mosquito's got to me, and for that I am sorry. I'd wanted to spend a few moments at least, but apparently, it wasn't to be.

It's thundering and lightning right now. A storm to end the day. This has been a big day in my mind for quite some time. I've had this day set as some sort of mile stone in my head, for whatever reason. It felt like such an achievement to have you reach seventeen. I was so proud of us and so proud of you. I had big plans to buy you this pair of four legged pajamas in preparation for the winter. Your poor little back end got so cold due to your arthritis and your thining hair. I guess you had other plans though.

Today was still a mile stone, though a far different mile stone than I had originally anticipated. Today was the first time I've visited your grave since I laid you in it. It wasn't easy, but it had to be done. I refused to let your birthday, the huge mile stone that I envisioned it to be, pass without some sort of significance. I was the only one that remembered it, but that doesn't matter. It was always you and me, there was no need for others.

It's still so surreal to not have you here. I'm coping as best I can. But I miss you. I probably always will. It's far too quiet, too lonely around here. But I'm getting by.

I love you, Boo Bear. You mean the world to me. Happy 17th birthday. What a day, huh?

You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart

2009-08-21T11:42:55Z

I broke down Wednesday night. My usual audition anxiety seems to have undone everything I'd done to move forward. That night, I felt hollow. It felt as though my heart had been cleaned out like a pumpkin on Halloween. And it hurt. It hurt so badly. My fingers were itching to go outside and uncover him, because I was having such a hard time believing this was my existance now. It fucking hurts. I haven't felt this sort of hurt before, and I can't stand it. It probably seems so silly; I've lost relatives before and not hurt this badly. But my relatives never really directly effected my every day life. I feel like half of me is missing without having him trailing my every step and laying at my feet. I can't stand how quiet and lonely things are right now. I can't stand it at all. It just makes his passing stand out all the more.

I keep going over this story I read in an old Chicken Soup book in hopes that it will make me feel better. A couple had to put their dog to sleep and they were so worried about how their son would take the news. Once it was done, they sat in the office and talked with the vet, wondering aloud about why pets had to have such short life spans. The little boy pipes up saying he knows the answer. He said God put everyone on Earth to learn how to love. Dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long. There's an old column by Ann Landers (I think. I could be wrong) told as a narrative. The person recalls their life with their dog, all frustrations and all the fun, because it has come time to put the poor thing out of it's misery. It ends with the dog giving the owner a look of gratitude for their care, and in their mind, the owner responds "No, thank you for taking care of me." It's funny how that works, isn't it? Everything we do for our pets seems to pale in comparison for what they do for us.

I haven't been sleeping. I'll sleep about two hours and then be done. It's not healthy, I know, but there's not much help for it. With how much this hurts, I feel like I am doing this whole grieving thing wrong. But there really is no right or wrong, is there? I've always felt that emotions like grief are far more powerful than happiness and it's ilk. The happy emotions, they do leave their mark on a person, but they are nothing compared to the scars that grief can leave. Happiness leaves bruises. When it first starts, it's vivid and colorful, but slowly that color begins to fade. Oh, you remember you felt that and what that looked like, but the mark isn't there. Grief seems to dig deep into your skin, leaving large, ugly scars. Over time, those scars become less obvious and less telling, but they are always there.

Tonight while we were watching Royal Pains on USA, there was a ship sailing in the background. I lost all focus on what was happening on the show and was drawn to the ship. The name of the ship? TANGO. I started crying. I cried, and I cried. And I'm crying now. I had a ticket to go see a few of the MST3K guys riff an old Ed Wood movie on the big screen. I've had the ticket for weeks. And I didn't go. I couldn't go. I just...didn't really care. As obsessed with them as I am, that was huge.

It's going to get better. I'm not wallowing, but I'm not bottling it up either. I've never been good at that whole containing your emotions thing. It won't hurt this bad forever, but I know I'm going to miss him always. I just hope and I pray that my parents will relent and let me get another dog. If it means I'm going to have to move out, then fine, whatever, I'll save up and move out. But I need to eventually get another dog. I know it will make this process a lot easier. I couldn't handle it right now. Just the thought makes me feel like I'm giving Tango the boot. My chest gets tight thinking about it. But in a few months, when the scar has faded a bit, I'll be ready.

This all probably seems really pathetic, doesn't it? I know there are worse things that can happen in a life. But right now, at this moment,

prying_pandora @ 2009-08-19T04:47:00

2009-08-19T10:28:34Z

Thanks, everyone, for your words and support. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

It's now been a week since he passed, and I'm doing okay. I'm still having a hard time adjusting to him not being there, but I've reached a point where I am not bawling at various times during the day. For the first week, that's about all I could do. Wouldn't you know it, everywhere I looked I saw poodles. I live 17 years rarely spotting them in media or around, and the one week I could do without it, they are everywhere. Dog food commercials would make me cry. Thinking about him would make me cry. Seeing he wasn't there would make me cry. Heh, writing this is making me cry. But, you know what? I think it's okay. That dog was my baby. He was my constant and only truly reliable friend all these years. He was part of my family. And losing part of your family, no matter how big or small that part is, is hard. So I'm okay with the fact that I'm going to cry for a while. It's part of the process of healing. And I am healing. Slowly but surely I am making progress. I've been able to talk about him, think about him and look at pictures of him without crying. It's a huge step. I picked up his water bowl and rug. I've collected his sweaters. I washed his little "Attack Poodle" shirt and put it on my teddy bear. Perhaps that's creepy to some, but to me it's a comfort.I haven't been able to pick up the little nest he has in my doorway. That was his guard post and his spot. Moving it is just too..final, I suppose.

It's still somewhat surreal to think about him not being here. My parents have been watching me closely, constantly telling me not to wallow or let myself get consumed by this. I understand why they worry, but it was somewhat irritating. They handle grief and emotion a lot differently than I do and since they don't understand my need for big emotions, they worry. They are very reserved and I am...well, I'm the opposite of reserved. For the first few days, my dad would ask me how I was and then ask me if I was still being sad. Then he'd tell me he'd been a little sad that day, too. This was while I was still randomly sobbing throughout the day, so I thought it was pretty obvious, and understandable, that I was still sad. I think I'm going to be sad for quite some time. But I'm going to be okay.

I've brought up the subject of getting another dog. I know we still have Maxwell, but Maxwell is 100% my dad's dog. He worships my dad. He follows him everywhere and he gets so damn excited when he comes home you'd think he hadn't seen him for weeks. I need my dog. I need a small little protector that I can snuggle. I am wanting to adopt an older toy poodle. I don't need a puppy right now, though I wouldn't say no to one. And I want another poodle. I can't imagine what it's like picking up your dog and having them leave hair behind. And they are just such damn good dogs. I think Tango has spoiled me.

Anyways, my dad said they'd be willing to think about the subject, but he and my mom are getting tired of taking care of things. I know they'd have to take care of it a little bit while I live here, but the big portion of the care would fall on me. And I can't NOT have a dog. I hate it too much. It's too lonely. So I'm hoping they will relent on this, especially considering it won't be a puppy.

Speaking of Maxwell, I think he's missing Tango. Yesterday, he wanted to go out at least twice an hour. He'd usually get thrown outside every time Tango went because he was a buttface who would wait until Tango came in to want to go out. But he kept going out, coming right back in and then going out again.

I painted a stone to put on his grave next week for his birthday. I put the lyric "If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less" on it, because Zevon is one of my favorite artists and that song has been a comfort source to me throughout this.

I've always loved that song. It's simple, it's sweet and it's poignant. And it is forever going to remind me of my precious little guy.

It was so cathartic, making that rock to lay on his grave. My mom think's it's too much like a head stone, but I don't care. It gave me a bit of closure,being able to do that. The night I made it I was having a REALLY hard time, sobbing like crazy. But I went down stairs, painted that simple lyric on a stone and felt a remarkable sense of peace. And that was the last night I cried. And since then, I've been able to smile about him, think about him, talk about him and acknowledge my loss without feeling the great, gaping wound of grief rip open again. I couldn't ask for a better gift.

prying_pandora @ 2009-08-10T16:59:00

2009-08-10T22:09:01Z

Tango died yesterday. One minute, he was perfectly fine, the next, he was dead. Moments before he was gone, he was trying to get my attention so I would let him go outside. A few minutes after that, mom is telling me he's gone. We found him floating in the pond. We think he had a stroke while trying to get a drink. I know his vision and balance was somewhat crappy, but he's only ever fallen into that pond once in his life. He was so indignant and embarrassed he hadn't done it since. He had his little "Attack Poodle" shirt on.

His 17th birthday was in 8 days.

Today, it's 7 days away.

I've never felt so alone in my entire life. I kept thinking I could hear him barking at me, trying to get me to open the door, only to look out there and see his grave.

I'm just grateful it was quick.

But I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know how to not have him. Every single crappy moment I had to live through, I had him by my side as a source of comfort.

I don't know how to be sad without him trying to make it better.

I keep trying to reach for him, to listen for his snorts and grunts, and he's not there. I had a hard time sleeping last night, because I didn't hear his tags jingling or him snorting as he made himself a little nest out of the mountain of pillows and blankets I had laid down there for him.

I have nothing to take care of right now. I don't know what to do with myself. I want my baby.

Black Elk Speaks: Blair Edition, Day 6

2009-05-29T21:55:38Z

Captain's Log:

Well it's been a very quiet week. Very quiet. But it's given me time to adjust and settle in, which is nice. However, I was not relocated to my permanent quarters till yesterday. It is amazing! I was finally able to unpack and put things away. Everything is organized and put where it belongs. It feels nice to be settled and to have my personal effects out.

We managed to find civilization out here. It's about 20 minutes away so that's not too bad. The town, however, is so tiny and small. Last night, we went and saw a movie in their "movie theater" if you can call it that. There are only three screens. They are very tiny screens and they made me miss digital. We saw Star Trek (squee!) as it was the last night it was showing. They had to move it out to move Up in. So they are now showing Night at the Museum 2, Terminator and Up. The tickets and concession are pretty cheap though, so there is that.

They have a siren here that they blast for so many different reasons that it has a tendency to go off multiple times a day and the locals don't even react. Yesterday it went off three times. It's like a tornado siren on crack.

We got to take a look at the theater. It broke my heart. The poor theater gets no respect. Props, costumes, trash, all thrown everywhere. Nothing is taken care of. It's just thrown down and stepped over. One of the things that broke my heart was seeing stacks and stacks of vintage Life magazines just left out and ignored. The oldest one I managed to peek at happened to be from 1943. THOSE DESERVE SO MUCH BETTER CARE!

The weather out here is beautiful. I can't wait to find the track and start walking. Once the rest of the crew gets here, we'll hopefully get access to the gym.

The door to my room. Exciting no?

The view once you come inside! Pretty bare huh? Were I actually staying here, I'd be itching to decorate this place. As it is, I am itching to decorate. I'm just not staying long enough to make it worth while.

The fridge and the sink, which I actually have used!

The living area. Right now, it's not used. Being on my own, I am pretty much hunkered down in my room.

The table that I guess we can eat at. Again, I haven't used that either.

The kitchen! Look at all the cabinets! That's only the one side, there are cabinets and drawers under the island too. I like it!

Proof that I've used said fridge!

My not fridge food. Isn't this exciting?

The hallway leading to the rooms and bathrooms. It's really dark at night. It kind of sucks.

My sink and vanity, all nice and set up.

My bathroom, with my fish bathmat and craptastic shower. It's so TINY and the water pressure is not fabulous. But it works.

My bed! It's weird sleeping in a small bed, and the mattress isn't exactly the greatest. But it could be worse.

My dresser thing/entertainment area. I was watching Wife Swap at the time these pictures were taken. High class entertainment.

My desk! It's a decent desk! And it has a nice built in desk lamp. I approve.

A close up of my bed, with my pretty pillow case that matches my sheeets and my always present bear. I never go anywhere without him. I've slept with him for 16 years, I can't sleep without him.

My shoes under my bed and one of my errant cups. I need to get that one washed and put away.

Most of my books and my keys. We were given id card things. They are used to open the main door of the building. I had the bright idea of buying a luggage tag to put it in so I can attach it to my keys. Works great. Don't even have to take it out of the protector to use it!

Two of my four roommates standing in front of three of my four Star Trek glasses. Ensign Chekov and Spock Prime stand guard in front of Spock, Kirk and Uhura. Nero was banished to my vanity to hold my toothbrush and toothpaste. I don't think it would be nice to stick them all together again, after they worked so hard to destroy one another.

My other two roommates, a tiny poodle and R2-D2. And my sunglasses. R2 can shoot a lightsaber out of his head if I let him. I won't though. I don't want to lose it!

The final picture, my reading lamp, phone and lotion. Oh yeah. Great picture no?

Black Elk Speaks: Blair Edition, Day One.

2009-05-25T00:50:00Z

Captain's Log:

I have taken to using Captain's Log before my facebook status and in my blog's to protest the fact that facebook refuses to allow me to call myself Captain Hooker. I resent this greatly and have decided that they do not take away my ability to consider myself a captain. So there. To be honest, the desire has little to do with the awesome of Star Trek and everything to do with the fact that it reminds me so much of Captain Hook in Peter Pan. But who cares about the why's, right? This is all about the action. The point remains the same. Facebook allowed me to adopt the name Basil Fawlty, taken from an obscure John Cleese character from the hilarious Fawlty Towers, yet they will not let me add the simple title of Captain. Well I thumb my nose at them!

As you can see by the title, something is going on in my life. At this very moment, I am sitting in a dorm room in Blair, Nebraska. This room is merely temporary accomidations, and that is the only reason I am willing to deal with a burned out desk light. I can survive for two days without my desk lamp. It is the Captain thing to do, is it not? I could tell you that Dr. McCoy would agree. After all, does he not say that a little suffering is good for the soul? So I will suffer in silence, rather than cause trouble.

The end of Dirty Dancing is on right now. So much nostalgia watching this. It improves my mood having that movie as my background noise.

Anyways! On to the deal at hand.

As I stated previously, I am now in Blair, Nebraska. Sitting in a dorm room. In the dark. I will be here until July 20th. Quite a long stretch of time, yes? There is good reason for this though. I have marooned myself in the small town of Blair (much dismayed to learn that there is no Walmart in the town of Blair) to be a part of this project http://www.dana.edu/about/blackelkspeaks.

Many of you will remember I was a part of this production a year ago back in my home town. Well we've taken it to the road!

(Swayze just said "Nobody puts Baby in a corner." I wish him strength for his fight with cancer.)

I will be reprising my roles as Lucy and Queen Victoria. I will also be props mistress (as far as I know at this point). I'm thrilled to be a part of this.

(It's the final dance. GUH. I use to try and copy this dance when I was wee with a Pillow Person for my partner. Always makes me wish I could dance.)

AHEM ANYWAYS BACK TO THE MATTER AT HAND (hopefully).

Left this morning at 9 am after a night of no sleeping. I was far too anxious. Arrived around 4 pm. Was informed by many road signs that shooting waterfowl from the the highway was prohibited. Had to put a halt on my vehicular version of Duck Hunt. Sadness.

(Fuck me isn't Swayze gorgeous in this movie?)

Finished two books on the way down. Started on the third in the trilogy. Love that trilogy. It's The Forbidden Game trilogy by LJ Smith. Doubtful you have read it, but if you have, you win!

Anyways, my pilot (Kenny) and I arrived a week before the rest of the hoarde, so we shall see how this week adds up. I plan to try and update daily on progress and developments, as any good captain would. Will have pictures to go along with, hopefully. But for now, we will cut this transmission short as I am far too distracted by Swayze and have many things yet to do. I was in the middle of making a pitcher of water. Should finish that. Also would love a shower. And need to sort through things I potentially will need these next few days. Obviously, tv and internet is established. Futher developments reported as time progresses.

This is Captain Hooker, signing out.

To my four pound body guard.

2009-05-11T10:59:07Z

Dear Tango,

It's 4:50 in the morning. You woke me up around 3 to be let outside. I haven't been able to fall back to sleep yet, so I thought I'd take this moment to vent about what's been plaguing me these last few weeks.

In two weeks, I'm about to embark on a seven week journey that I hope is everything I am anticipating it to be. It's going to be long, tiring, but hopefully, it will be very rewarding. I almost opted not to go on this trip though. In fact, I refrained from making a decision for a few months because of you. Leaving my parents, friends, even Maxwell doesn't bother me in the slightest. My parents and friends understand and are excited for me. Maxwell won't really care because his person will still be here. So long as dad is around, Maxwell is set.

You though, you're a different story, aren't you? You've been very adamant about being mine from the moment we met. I was 8 years old, and my dad had FINALLY relented in letting us get a dog. To say I was ecstatic was an understatement. I'd been dropping hints, checking out library books about dogs, making suggestions or plain out asking for years. Hell, the first real words I ever said were "woof woof" thanks to the NEIGHBORS dog. I remember the day we picked you up. The breeder brought out this tiny, palm sized black ball of toy poodle fluff. I, of course, was not allowed to hold the puppy because I was so young and it was so tiny. Not that I cared, I wasn't paying attention to that puppy. I was paying attention to you. You were a larger ball of black toy poodle fluff in a cage beneath the window all by yourself. Literally seconds before we walked in, your last littermate had been bought and taken home by another family, and you were obviously not impressed with this. We watched each other. You let out a few barks to let us know you were there and not happy about being alone.

So while they discussed the other puppy, I went over to you. The puppy they were looking at would not come home with us that day, we would have had to wait till the following Wednesday to pick that one up. When they asked me if that was okay, I made the best decision in my entire life. I told them I wanted you, and we left with you not long after.

From that moment on, you've been my staunchest supporter and defender. You'd bark and chase my brother if you thought he was upsetting me, you even playfully warned my mom once when you thought she was hurting me. Even though she was just tickling me, I still appreciated the support. You attacked the golden retriever that came into our yard and tried to bite me. It ended up with you getting picked up by said dog and thrown down. You were uninjured thankfully, but I can't help but wonder if this is part of the reason you have arthritis in your spine now.

You were there when I went through hell in sixth and seventh grade, and one of the only reasons I never attempted to end it all. The thoughts were there. I even went so far as to get a knife once. Fortunately that only ended with you watching me bawl my eyes out while Saturday morning cartoons played on tv. I even remember what cartoon it was, The Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. The theme song was just starting. It was a very rough period in my life. You were such a comfort to me, because you didn't care that I was taking medicine for depression. How that made it around the school and became so scandalous, I'll never know. I don't really care too, either. It doesn't matter.

We've gone through a few more since then, but I've always had you.

When I went away to college, you were mad at me for leaving you, and you made sure I knew it. When I'd come home, be it for a weekend or holiday, you would greet me like always, then promptly give me the snub in a show of temper. You refused to acknowledge I was there for a few days. Your message was quite clear.

We've grown up together, and that aging has taken more of a toll on your body than it has mine. Your kidneys have started to fail, your arthritis is more bothersome,your legs don't work as well, your vision and energy aren't what they use to be, you sleep most of the day and you can't hear a single thing. That hasn't stopped you from your guard duty though. You dutifully take up your post whenever I'm in my room, always making sure you can see the door so you can keep strangers and Maxwell, of course, out. When you smell smoke or something burning, you still make sure to lead me back to my room so you can guard the door and protect me from the evil smoke monster. You put up with my attempts at making you eat your dinner (I don't physically force him, mind you, he eats on his own. I just have to prepare it a special way once a day and we have to have a sort of stand off before he digs in because he's stubborn and would rather have people food or treats). You still have my dad completely under your tiny paw, constantly reminding him that you are supposed to have treats sometime between 8-10. You even keep up the game by pretending you have to go outside, since that's how we potty trained you. You got a treat when you came in. That is always reserved for my dad though, since you know better than to ask me, don't you? I may spoil you, but I still know how to tell you know. Because 3 am is not the time to be leading me to the kitchen to give you a treat. Waking me up to turn on the space heater you still demand be used even though it's May is one thing. It's another entirely waking me up for something like that.

All in all, you're in amazing shape for being 17. If I didn't know better, I'd never guess you were that old. But you are old, very much so, and that's why I'm so worried about this trip. Everyone constantly reminds me that we are on borrowed time, and I'm so worried about what the stress of my not being here will do to you. You know when I'm not here. You search the house trying to find me when I'm not. Heck, if we get seperated you search to find me then too. You want me in your sight always, my little shadow. On top of that, mom and dad are re-doing my room while I'm gone, meaning you will lose your sanctuary. Your bowl of water will be moved, your nest of pillows will be moved and I wouldn't be surprised if they put the space heater you so love away. The two things combined have the potential of being quite stressful for you and I worry about what that will do to your health. My parents also aren't as patient with you as I am. You frustrate them, particularly my dad. Don't worry boo bear, a lot of that is more his job than you. You just give him a scapegoat type outlet for said frustration. They also don't remember to keep you closed in my room while we are gone, resulting in you having accidents in the house and that makes my mom so angry. You don't do that when you're with me, I can read your signals better than they can. And you wouldn't dare have an accident in "your" room. You always make sure to tell me. I guess I just watch you more closely.

There's no way for me to explain to you that I am not leaving you forever, that's what makes this so hard. I can't make you understand that I'm coming back like I can with friends and family. I promise I'm coning back. I would never, ever leave you for good. Be a good boy while I'm gone. And more than anything, I pray every night that you will still be here to greet me when I come home. If something happens to you while I'm gone, I'll never forgive myself. I know that it won't be terribly long before I will have to say goodbye to you, that is inevitable. But after all you've done for me in our 17 years together, I can't let you go without being there to say goodbye to you.

This has gotten so long and I've used up a number of tissues writing this so I'll end it here. I love you boo bear, far more than I can ever say. I'm firmly convinced that my ending up with you as my boy was no accident. I think somebody out there knew I was going to need such a loyal, loving companion to help me make my way through life. I think you were meant to be mine. You're snoring away behind me, so I'll refrain from picking you up for snuggles at the moment, despite the fact that I want nothing more than a snuggle.

Love you boo bear, I promise I'm coming back to you before summer ends.

Me.

On the job front.

2009-05-02T11:06:55Z

Being jobless sucks. But the chances of me getting a job that will let me work for three weeks then be gone for about 8 is pretty slim to none. Getting a job is hard enough right now, having to ask off for an extended leave of absence after 3 weeks of employment isn't going to be something many employers are going to go nuts for. So, I just have to sit on my butt and do nothing until I leave for Nebraska. On top of it, I have so many bills to pay. I have my original student loan from when I attempted college the first time, my credit card, health insurance, Lindenwood and my Lindenwood student loans. I'm twitchy about money even when I'm employed, I'm doubly so right now. I just...try not to think about it. If I do, I get sick to my stomach and have to sit on my hands to keep from tearing at my hair.

I've been holed up in my room for the week, avoiding the world. I've needed time to myself, and I think I need a bit more. This hit me hard. For two weeks I was treated as though everything was honky dory and normal, and then BAM, I had the rug pulled out from under me with no warning. I felt secure in my position because I've been an dilligent and hard working employee who never kicked up a fuss or caused trouble. The parents loved me, the kids loved me. This was the first time my boss ever hinted at my doing something wrong. And even then, it wasn't really wrong, because there is no real protocal for calling in sick in the handbook. And besides, I always felt it was better that someone got my message about me not being there the moment the day began, rather than waiting until 3 or 4 hours later, that way things could be set up to cover and what not. And hell, after doing the same thing for 2 years, you don't expect what you're doing to become a punishable behavior. I mean seriously.

I went up there and had a talk with her face to face. As it turns out, she's floundering and the building is going under. The building needs SERIOUS work to stay open, the parking lot has to be redone and parents are losing their jobs left and right. She's kept this a secret from the entire building, which I think is unfair. I think we deserve to know what's going on as our paychecks are on the line. She told me that is the main reason I was laid off, because there just isn't the money anymore, and I wasn't going to be the only one let go. I told her that had she explained things to me like that from the beginning, perhaps I would have been a little more civil with her over the phone when she first told me. I also told her that I had been a good, hard working employee who had given up a lot for that job and was always there to cover when she needed someone, and because of that, I deserved more respect than what she'd given me. I deserved better than being strung along for two weeks, only to have to chase her down over the phone to get any answers.

She agreed with me on that. And she apologized. In the moment, that made me feel better. I kept my temper in check through the entire meeting, but I did cry. I can't help it, I cry very easily when I'm upset. No major sobbing or anything, but tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Then I had to go into the room and get my stuff and see my kids. I lost it when one of them came over to me and gave me a super tight hug and laid their head on my shoulder. I just lost it. It really hit me that that was the last time I would ever see my kids, and I would never get a chance to see their parents to say goodbye. This is why I've been avoiding the world and just keeping to myself. I miss my kids and and my families so much it hurts. I've worked with most of these people and their children for nearly 2 years. I've been with them every step of the way as their tiny 6 week old infants grew and became babies, then toddlers. I've supported them when they've been frustrated, I've cheered with them as their children reached more milestones. You develop a close relationship with the parents when you've got open and supported parents who want to communicate with you and work with you to raise their baby. Most of them I'd see every day, and every day we'd talk about the child and talk about our own lives in general. They've always been interested in my schooling and my theater activites and they'd ask questions and support me in my outside activities, and I'd do the same for them.

I won't get to see the professors second birthday, which is coming up in a few weeks. I won't get to find out if his mom is having a boy or a girl when she has the baby in June. I've been with her through the whole pregnancy and I've counseled her on what to do to help the professor adjust, consoled her when she was frustrated because of his behavoir and lent an ear when she needed to talk.

I won't get to fix the gerber babys hair anymore. She has a full head of gorgeous curls that are starting to get a bit out of control. I was the only one she'd allow to put it in pigtails. Her mom wanted a picture, because as adorable as the gerber baby is, she's a brat about having her picture taken and so far they haven't been able to get one of her and her pigtails. I never got a chance.

I won't get to see lump start moving. I'll miss her first birthday, which is coming up in a few days.

And then there's my girls from last year. I never even got a chance to say goodbye to them. My girls and I, and their parents, have always been really close. I'm going to miss their third birthdays and seeing them move up.

I'm going to miss so much, and that's what hurts the most. I love those kids as if they were my own. Probably a stupid move on my part, but when you care for a child from the age of 6 weeks till the age of 2, day in and day out for 5 days a week, how can you not form an attachment? You have to if you're doing your job right when you're with infants and toddlers, because that's a lot of what their development revolves around.

I miss my kids guys. It's gotten to the point where I've actually picked up the phone and started calling work, ready to beg to be allowed to see my babies, just for a moment, to get a real goodbye in. This isn't the first childcare job I've had, and leaving the kids is always hard, but it's never been this hard. A lot of that has to do with the fact that I didn't leave on my own terms and that I had no time to come to terms with the fact that I was leaving and that I never got a chance to say goodbye to the kids or the parents. It hurts, and I feel like I've let them down. And they'll never know that either, which sucks.

I really miss my babies. I don't know what to do with myself anymore.

prying_pandora @ 2009-04-24T07:39:00

2009-04-24T12:39:55Z

So. I've been at this job for three years. I was one of the very first people she hired. I was going to be going full time this fall. Now, because I've had bronchitis, I've been fired.Nice yes?

Lets' go through this, so I can vent and get my anger out.

I get bronchitis every year, and I always sound like I'm dying. This year is no exception, but this time I have an abominable fever to go along with it, and I can't move without coughing. This makes chasing after infants and toddlers quite impossible.

So I call in sunday night. I sleep all day monday, wake up around 2:30 am, call in and leave a message. I go to the doctor on Tuesday, get some strong antibiotics and codine laced cough syrup that I take 4 times a day. This cough syrup knocks me out and keeps me sleeping. I roll over around 7 pm and call in and leave a message.

I do this thursday as well. Friday night, I have a voice mail on my phone from my boss that apparently came in Wednesday. I listen to it, and for some reason she tells me I'm not following protocal. Okay my bad, she's never complained about it before though. But if that's the case, I'll call in earlier, no biggie. She, however, is out of town until wednesday, and so I'm not scheduled but need to call her wednesday. Wednesday comes and I call. And call, and call. Goes to voicemail every time. Freaking uot, I run up there, on codine, still feverish, and still hacking my lungs up. I'm unable to speak more than three words without hacking, but I manage to explain that I'm sorry I didn't call in like she wanted me to, but that I've been on really heavy drugs that make me sleepy, and had I know that she wanted to talk to me, I would have called in and done so. My bad, like I said.

She says don't worry about it, and to save myself another trip up there, just have my doctor fax her a note BY FRIDAY. Cool, I can do that, no prob. My doctors office closes early on thursdays and his nurses aren't there, so I call friday morning as soon as they open, and they fax it over friday afternoon. I think all is well, right?

Apparently not. I call monday morning and I ask about the schedule, and she says that she didn't get the note until friday afternoon, and the schedule was made thursday. Uh...okay? So once again, I'm not working. She says I still sound sick anyways, so just call her later in the week. Okay, fine.

I call today, 11 am. No answer, voicemail. I leave a message and wait till 1. Call again, am told she's busy, she'll call me later. 3pm rolls around, no answer. Okay. Call again, once again, I get voicemail. I leave a message, saying I'll call in a half hour. Call at 3:30, no answer. Call at 3:40, finally get an answer. Am told that everything works better without me. That now another worker wants to come back full time, another needs to be replaced by may 15, and that since I'm leaving for another job in three weeks, despite her OKAYING it when I asked her about it IN JANUARY, I now have nothing to offer her.

None of this makes any sense to me, and I don't think I've done anything to warrant being fired. At all.

prying_pandora @ 2009-03-30T02:18:00

2009-03-30T07:35:06Z

I have got to get this back under control. My depression is just going bonkers and it's driving me insane. I want it back on the level again. I need to find my balance again. It's been a long time since I've had to really, truly fight myself to find it, but now seems to be one of those times. I know I'll eventually find it, but the fighting just gets so tiring. A person shouldn't have to fight themselves to function in life.

What I find funny about it though, is that so much of the fighting is due to societal standards and acceptances. Society does not accept emotions. It's habit now to ask people how they are doing, and when you do that, you expect the standard answer of fine, even if that isn't the true case. No one wants to be honest with themselves or with anyone else and admit that they experience things that can be viewed as "weakness" or "unacceptable". I find it ridiculous.

My journal is the only person I can truly talk to when I feel bad, because emotions and unhappiness makes people uncomfortable. Even trusted friends and family have a difficult time accepting when things aren't well. People don't know how to handle or accept emotions like sadness coming from someone other than themselves because we aren't taught how to handle our own sadnesses and pains. We're taught to gloss them over and continue on, to walk it off, to let it go, to forget about it, to whatever it is. My parents, when I use to try and explain things to them, would like to tell me to just stop feeling like that. Which only made things worse in the long run, because it angered me. I couldn't make them understand, and they couldn't think of anything else to say. So I stopped telling them I was anything other than "fine". To everyone, I am "fine". To my journal, I am everything else. I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm euphoric, I'm erratic, I'm enraged, I'm melancholy, I'm reflective, I'm whatever adjective I can think of to describe my mood.

One of my biggest problems is how honest I am with my emotions. It makes people uncomfortable and it frightens them because it expands beyond their comfort zones. I will admit that some of that stems from the fact that my emotions are strong. There is very rarely a middle ground for what I feel. The gamut of my emotions takes me through extreme feelings and very rarely is it simply "okay". My emotions use adjectives with bold meanings and heavy strokes. I understand that it is hard for people to handle extremes. Hell, it took me nearly 20 years to become accepting and comfortable with it myself. I was so caught up in the norm of feeling and expressing little that I spent endless amounts of energy to mask and disguise those traitorous emotions that wanted to crop up.

Once I stopped doing that, I felt a sense of release, a sense of freedom and acceptance with myself that I'd never felt before. I'm done hiding these emotions under a wicker basket. I'm going to let it all out in the open via my journal and accepts what comes my way as a result. If it frightens people off, then so be it. But I'm done being "fine" for the benefit of society. I've busted out my thesaurus, I'm ready to be quixotic and bust out of that mold. Bring on the windmills!

Oscars 2009

2009-02-23T05:04:40Z

Musical number? Depressingly lackluster.

Montages? Beautiful.

SLUMDOG WINS?! AMAZING OMG. I was so happy all night! Seeing all the wee little kids from the movie was so great. Everyone was so happy, and Danny Boyle was just adorable.

AND FUCK YES KATE WINSLET WINNING. WELL DESERVED. She's amazing, I love her. And she's being adorable with the press right now. Man I love her!

prying_pandora @ 2009-02-20T01:30:00

2009-02-20T07:47:56Z

Isn't it funny that there are certain things a person consistantly turns to for comfort? One of my kids at work puts his fingers in his mouth. Another one has a blanket, and another has a puppy, another a monkey, so on and so forth. When I get uncomfortable, I get really quiet, and sort of look around awkwardly trying to figure out what I should do. I also have a tendency to move my feet or play with my necklace, if I'm wearing one, or touch my neck. That's all when I'm not within the familiar and safe walls of my room. When I'm in my room, I usually grab my teddy bear for a squeeze and I turn on music. But not just any music. I have a very specific band I turn to when I'm really feeling low and crying.

You all will most likely laugh, as this is one of the most hated upon bands I've ever seen. But for me, they've been my life line when things got tough. They've been a constant uplifter for...man, probably about 10 years give or take a few. I'm not even really sure what it is about them, but they help me calm down and keep me level so I can regain my footing and continue on. Hearing everyone hate on them does sort of suck, because they are so personal for me. When they fell apart I felt betrayed and hurt. It took me some time to come to terms with that. But, I've come to terms and I'm back to using them when I need support and to even out my emotions.

I'm giving up my theater major.

So I really need them right now. A night spent crying clued me in to that.

I could go on for days, but I won't. I'll just post this and know that I'll always have this music to fall back on when I feel my depression wrap it's bony thin fingers tightly around my spine while it clambers up my back in hopes of gaining a foothold in my mind. I'm not going to let it. I refuse to give in.

prying_pandora @ 2009-02-16T18:12:00

2009-02-17T00:13:36Z

Dear Lindenwood.

IHU

Times that by....lets say...190230352980765294798034679034760349680239604029865924762

repeat about...2398057249572349065790234769034693069036 times.

You are killing my theater drive.

This makes me hate you more.

No love from me.

prying_pandora @ 2009-02-12T22:11:00

2009-02-13T04:11:48Z

Valentine's Day is coming up. Do you know what that means?

THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR! WOOT! Captain Gregg has been my valentine for three years now. Hardly time to break tradition!

Best.Movie.Ever.

Sadly, it's not well known. Should be though, Rex Harrison is a fox. And the passion and feeling in this movie leaves me with goosebumps. It's extremely good work, and such a wonderful story. It's simple, but it's touching. LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!!!

prying_pandora @ 2009-01-31T03:14:00

2009-01-31T09:16:46Z

I haven't updated for a while, have I? It's weird, and I feel so odd not doing it. I don't know where my drive went. Perhaps my school misery sucked it all up. I didn't attend the first week of school because I'm that terrified I'm going to be as miserable as I was last semester. I really need to buck up and face the music.

Speaking of music, there is a song I've wanted to share with everyone for so long. It's not really well known, but it is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, and I can't ever listen to it without feeling the music and the words settle a sort of serenity over me. It's so simple yet so powerful. It's raw and truthful, and absolutely perfectly gorgeous with the simplicity. Had he done anything else, it would have been too much. But this, it's just perfect. I really do love it.

I love the Wainwrights.

Also? FUCK YOU GREY'S ANATOMY.

prying_pandora @ 2009-01-17T07:54:00

2009-01-17T13:54:50Z

Dear Self,

So, you were just going to turn on Jodhaa Akbar for background music so you could sleep eh?

YOU SAID THAT A FEW HOURS AND ONE DISC AGO! You totally lied to me. I am not impressed. You've had a rough few days, self, and you.need.SLEEP. ANd yet, here it is, 6:30 in the morning and you can't stop staring at ~~how pretty Akbar is~~ the movie. I know, you are completely in love with ~~Akbar and his shoulders of hotness~~ the gorgeousness of this movie, but still, self, this is ridiculous. YOU SHOULD SLEEP. I know, I KNOW that the set is AMAZING. I know you are so envious that your house does not look like this. I know you want to dance around in a pretty sari too, but still, self. BE REALISTIC. You are not Indian, you will not ever wear a sari without it being INSANELY insulting to someone because you are such a white girl it's not even funny, and your house will never be all awesome and full of flimsy drapes and things. Also, you cannot and I repeat, CANNOT bite Hrithik's shoulders. Yes, I know you think that are just amazing in their hotness. BUT NO. You also cannot touch his hair. I have to tell you these things, because if I didn't, we would totally be in jail or something. And that would suck, self. You would not survive jail, I know you well enough to know this for a fact.

I know you just HAD to see Maham Agna get her just desserts, I know that was very important to you. Because you are right, she is quite the bitch and we do hate her. But really, you could have seen this happen at a time that was not 6 am. I know this is partially my fault for letting you convince me that you only wanted the second disc put in, and that you would not play it. I have to remember that you are a liar sometimes. And a very good one too. Even your mother admits that. You lie through your teeth, and you do it well. And you don't over do it either, so it works for you. You should be ashamed of yourself, but I know you aren't. But shame on you anyways!

Now...GO TO BED. YOU'VE GOTTEN YOUR WISH, THE DISC IS PLAYING. GO TO BED.

Love,

Yourself.

prying_pandora @ 2009-01-11T22:06:00

2009-01-12T04:07:22Z

WOO FOR SLUMDOG! I'm so happy it did so well at the Golden Globes, like, seriously. It completely deserved it! SO MUCH LOVE FOR SLUMDOG!

prying_pandora @ 2009-01-06T01:16:00

2009-01-06T07:17:11Z

So. I've finally, completely and 100% have settled on adopting from India. Do you know how scary that was, coming to that decision? It's so...adult, so life changing. I mean, I'm not going to do it NOW, but still. Wow. I feel so grown up right now. I just hope that financially I can find a way to do this. It's something I've wanted to do for about 3 years now. But after I saw Slumdog Millionaire, my mind was completely made up.I want to give a child a chance. To make this even more official, I even told my parents my intentions. Once they know, it's pretty much a done deal. Scary.

My dog is snoring in my doorway. He is the cutest thing in the world, trufax. He thinks he's protecting me from the EVAL HALLWAY MONSTARS OF DOOM. But he's deaf as a post, so he's not much good. I still love him for trying. He's got his little sweater on and it's too cute. My dog has a wardrobe. NOT because I am one of those ridiculous people who thinks dressing up dogs is a great idea, but because he's 16, he has arthritis in his back, his hair is so thin he might as well be bald, he only weighs 4 pounds, and he gets COLD in this weather. So, yeah, he has a collection of warm fleecy things to keep him comfortable. He's my baby.

And it sucks that we had to get back into real time instead of holiday time. Bleck. Holiday time was so much more lax.

prying_pandora @ 2008-12-24T21:34:00

2008-12-25T03:37:59Z

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Click here to see the actual editorial, and a picture of the wonderful man who wrote it

Merry Christmas everyone. And remember, you're never to old to believe.

prying_pandora @ 2008-12-22T20:39:00

2008-12-23T02:52:20Z

I don't think I'll ever be completely free of my last group of babies. They are now all two, going on three, and their parents and the children still visit me. One of their moms told me tonight that every night when they say prayers and she asks her what she wants to pray for, she says my name. A lot of the time, when her mom and dad show up and are ready to take her, she'd rather hang out with me than go home. *sigh* these kids. What am I going to do with them?

I got a christmas present from another one of my former babies. She's my favorite, though don't tell them I said that. She colored a ceramic bear ornament for me. kglwrkwekrig. Why are they so cute?!

The last member of the trio clung to me like a limpet during our christmas show. Like, seriously. She was screaming and crying about being away from her grandma, so I went back to see if I could help after we had our turn, and she latched on and refused to let go. But she stopped crying. So I had two turns that night heh. When grandma came to get her, she didn't want to go with grandma. She refused to let go of my hand and go home. I had to carry her out to her grandmas car, and when I handed her over, she said "Love you!" *sigh* I love my kids. Current and former. Well...most of them anyways hehe.

So, for those of you who saw my youtube video, the one where I babbled nonsensically and cried on the poor people in it with me, you witnessed the greatest moment ever in my life. That was me meeting the former cast of Mystery Science Theater 3000, now Cinematic Titanic Titans. Like...there is nothing I fangirl harder. At all. I have MST playing CONSTANTLY. Winamp has a channel that streams episodes 24/7, and I always have that playing. If that's not playing, there's an episode on repeat in my dvd player. It's my background noise. Most people listen to the radio, I listen to the Satellite of Love gang. Their voices are almost comfort zones in a way. The show went off the air ages ago, but then they started this. And when I heard it was coming to town, I knew there was no way I could pass it up. The friends I went with said watching me flail excitedly was worth the price of admission on its own. I kept everyone entertained with my flailing. Meeting them was like a dream come true, and one I never thought I'd ever get a chance to realize. I still get flaily even thinking about it, over a month later.

I saw someone get hit by a car. Despite comedians telling you it is funny stuff, it really isn't. This kid was jay walking across a very busy street behind a big van and got clipped. He spun through the air, he almost looked like a dummy flyign through the air. It was so terrifying.

This was really just a ramble about nothing in particular. Sort of a catchup on things I've wanted to write down but haven't really found the time/energy to do so. Blah.

prying_pandora @ 2008-11-23T01:35:00

2008-11-23T07:35:45Z

A heartbeat; everyone had a heartbeat. It was something so imperative to existence, yet so minute in thought. There weren’t many people who spent their days analyzing the fact that their heart was, indeed, beating. Right now, Izzie couldn’t do anything but count the rhythmic beats of the heart that lay in the chest beneath her ear.

“It’s so strong,” she murmured quietly. It was strange to hear Denny’s heart beat like a healthy heart. In life, his heart had been so weak, so useless. It struck her as odd that only in death did Izzie get to hear Denny’s heart beat as it should. Denny turned his head and pressed his lips against her hair, staying silent as he let his fingers comb through her hair. He couldn’t say anything to reassure her right now, and so he left things the way they were. They were in a peaceful bubble, where reality and meaningless things like existence could not touch them. It wouldn’t last though; he wasn’t foolish enough to think that. Izzie wouldn’t let that peace remain; she had a problem with letting things just be. He had decided that it had a lot to do with the doctor in her. Doctors liked concrete answers, and they worked until they had those answers. Denny had learned Izzie’s process well during his time in the hospital. She would spend time in his room working on patients charts to keep him company, and while she worked, he watched her. She was very transparent when it came to emotions. It made playing Scrabble against her pretty easy as well. He knew when she had a good hand or when she didn’t, and he would work accordingly. When she had a good hand, he would do what he could to distract her. That usually resulted in him putting a bunch of dirty words on the board. And it usually worked, too.

“My alarm is going to go off soon, and I’ll open my eyes and you won’t be here,” she said, interrupting his memories. She sounded so forlorn that he couldn’t let the remark go with silence.

“I’m not going anywhere, Izzie. And your alarm isn’t going to be going off.”

Izzie lifted her head and looked up at him with an arched brow. “Why won’t my alarm be going off?”

He grinned at her. It was that impish, little boy grin he wore when he was proud of himself for being clever. She had seen that grin often during their many games of Scrabble, usually right after he was able to put a dirty word down on the board. He never got tired of doing that. She hadn’t either, frankly. The grin was adorable. And, at least when he was putting dirty words down on the Scrabble board, he was still a living, breathing man. That hollow feeling settled back into her stomach. Once again, she was reminded that he was dead. Even that adorably cheeky grin of his couldn’t distract her from that.

“I turned it off,” she heard him say, and he sounded rather pleased with himself.

“What?” Her thoughts had wandered, and she had forgotten what they had been discussing. He’d turned what off?

As though he could read her thoughts, his grin grew broader, as if he knew that grin of his was her undoing. “Your alarm. I turned your alarm off.”

Izzie blinked then glanced at the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. Sure enough, the little red light that faithfully assured her that the alarm would sound at the appropriate time was dark. She frowned slightly. She had set the alarm just that morning. She could feel him grinning behind her, so she turned her eyes back to him. “Why did you turn my alarm off?”

“I needed something to do while you were burning my sweater. I couldn’t watch you destroy it, so I busied myself in here. I still can’t believe you burned my sweater. It was a very nice sweater, you know.” Right after he said it, he knew it was a mistake. Inwardly he sighed and prepared himself. She didn’t disappoint him.

“That’s right…I burned your sweater.” She sat up abruptly, and turned to look at him with quizzical eyes. “I burned your sweater…you aren’t supposed to be here!”

He sat up with an audible sigh. “I told you not to listen to that guy.”

Izzie drew her knees up to her chest and put her fingers against her temples. “I’m going crazy, that’s the only way to explain this.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her robe.

“Izzie,” he said calmly, his hand reaching out to take hers, but she refused to be held. She hugged her arms tightly around her middle and whirled to face him, her eyes wide.

“You are dead, I know you’re dead, and that means either I am dead, or something is seriously, seriously wrong with me. Which is it, Denny?”

His shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “You’re not dead, and nothing is wrong with you, Iz.”

She shook her head, her chin jutting out at a stubborn angle. “No, that’s not true. Something is wrong with me, because you died! Dead people don’t just hang around and do what we just did. I’m imagining all of this. I am that has to be it. I’m going through some sort of post traumatic episode.” She was pacing and chewing on her finger nails.

“Then how do you explain your alarm?”

That made her stop. “What?”

He gestured towards the alarm. “How do you explain your alarm clock? You know you aren’t imagining your alarm clock. And you know you set it. I know you set it too, I saw you. You set it to six am before you left this morning.”

Her brow furrowed and the tension eased from her frame as she considered her alarm clock. It was turned off. Izzie never turned her alarm clock off. Even when she didn’t have to work, she got up at six am. It was her routine.

She bit her lip and walked towards the offending alarm clock. She picked it up and let herself sink back onto the bed. The alarm was her faithful friend. And now, when she needed it most, it failed her. She felt the bed sink as Denny moved towards her. “This is real, Izzie. I’m here for you.”

She swallowed and forced herself to look at him. He smiled gently at him, and her eyes searched the depths of his for answers. He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her face, his smile growing. She couldn’t find it in her to return it.
“What are you?”

prying_pandora @ 2008-11-16T00:08:00

2008-11-16T06:09:28Z

So, this was it. This was what going crazy felt like. Surprisingly, it was a lot less painful than she had expected it to be. The transition came so naturally, she hadn’t even realized it was happening; not until he showed up.

“Izzie…look at me,” he said quietly.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to face him. All of her chanting hadn’t worked, and indeed, he was still there. He looked very real. Far more real than a dead person should.

His calm demeanor was the only thing keeping her from going over the edge. She was breathing heavily, her heart was racing and tears were streaming over her cheeks. She clasped her hands together and held them tightly to her chest to stop the frantic motions. Her heart ached as she took him in. Whatever this insanity was, it was cruelly painful.

“Touch me,” he whispered, interrupting her racing thoughts.

She exhaled heavily and her eyes were drawn to his chest. More specifically, her eyes were drawn to where his heart should lay in his chest. Her breathing was shaky and she swallowed the heavy lump of disbelief that settled in her throat. This would be the moment of truth, if she could convince herself to go through with it.

He stood there quietly, as if he knew that if he spoke, he would spook her. She looked up into his eyes again; his amber eyes twinkled. They were full of life, patience and love. She tore her eyes away from his and she closed them, drawing in one deep, shaky breath before she finally unclasped her hands.

Everything seemed to stop as her hand reached out. She shook with tension, fear and even a bit of hope. She was sure that the closer her hand got to his chest, the more he would fade away. But she made contact. His chest was solid, warm, and very real. She released a rush of air, and the tears began to pour in earnest. His hand came up and covered hers, sealing the reality of the situation. He was touching her.

He smiled, his eyes starting to tear up. “You see…I told you I was real,” he whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Izzie laughed. This wasn’t a humorous laugh, though. She didn’t find this situation funny at all. But how else do you respond when your dead fiancé physically appears in your bedroom? Disbelieving laughter seemed the best way to go. Her eyes were glued to their hands that rested so easily on his chest. In all logic, this should not be happening. She was a doctor, a woman of medicine and science. Her mind screamed that this could not be real, but her heart said otherwise. The two warring voices within her were waging a battle. Her logical mind was in a frenzy trying to force the situation to disappear. Her emotional heart waited quietly for the logic to wear down and then it whispered to her to accept this gift that she was given.

Denny lifted his free hand and he smoothed it over her hair as acceptance washed over her. His smile dimmed slightly as she continued to laugh, and he finally bent his head and kissed her, like he had been wanting to for the last few years. It started off slow and gentle, but it didn’t take long for either of them to give up their control. Izzie gripped his shoulders tightly, holding herself as tightly to him as possible and refusing to let go. Denny cupped her elbows and held her tightly against him, more than happy to eliminate any space between them.

He had been watching her, hearing her voice, seeing her smile, feeling her presence. But never had he been able to touch her till now. It was torture to not be able to touch her or to make his presence known. But he couldn’t leave her. He needed her, and she needed him. She was that piece in his life that had been missing. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with being pulled away from her so soon after finding her. Despite what people said, the after life was not something filled with peace. At least, his wasn’t. His after life started with anger and tears. It had taken him quite a bit of time to come to terms with being separated from her. Once he had accepted that, he found he could still watch her, and occasionally, he could let her feel his presence. It never completely filled the hole in his heart, but it was better than nothing. Poor Izzie…she was left with nothing but the rare moments when he could let her feel his presence and offer his love and support.

Like he had told Meredith, he wanted her to move on. He didn’t want Izzie to spend her life frozen in her grief. But at the same time, it was painful for him to watch. And he had watched her through it all. He had watched her give herself to George, trying to find a connection she could cling to, desperate for an emotional stronghold. Sadly for her, George would never be the romantic force in her life. It hadn’t surprised him that she had tried that route. George had been her best friend, and a constant source of support and understanding. He was one man in her life that had never hurt her, cheated on her, or left her. Now, he was watching her with Alex. He wanted to be supportive of her in this, because he knew Alex cared for her. He had cared for her for a long time too. Alex had been the one to hold her while she cried over his death. Alex was trying to take care of her, and Izzie needed that in her life. Still, he couldn’t get himself to appreciate it completely.

He was jealous. Alex could hold her, touch her, and kiss her whenever he wanted to. Alex could love her for the rest of his life, Alex could make her smile and laugh and feel the joy that brought. Alex could make love to her; snuggle with her beneath the sheets and whisper into her ear as she fell asleep. Denny could only watch and wish that he had been given such a chance.

Now, he had been given that chance, and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it. He drew back slightly and slid his hands up her sides, beneath her shirt. She wasn’t going to let him dawdle and she ripped the shirt over her head, throwing it carelessly to the floor. He followed suit and then he drew her back to him. Skin to skin contact; he exhaled heavily, the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin rocked him to the core. He had missed physical contact. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and let his lips brush against her pulse. Her scent invaded his senses, and knew he had found his heaven. Heaven for him was not a place or a thing, but a person. His heaven was Izzie. He felt it in her touch, heard it in her voice and saw it in her smile. Her small hands were covering every inch of his body, and his were all over hers. They explored and learned each other’s bodies in a frantic frenzy of emotions. “Izzie,” he groaned, lowering her to the bed. There was so much they needed to say to one another, but for now words had to wait. Right now, all he wanted to do was to let her know how much he loved her, and he didn’t need words for that. His body knew how to express that emotion in a way words could not.

prying_pandora @ 2008-11-11T21:39:00

2008-11-12T03:40:13Z

I kind of want to have his babies for this. SERIOUSLY. LOVE YOU RPATZ

prying_pandora @ 2008-11-09T15:24:00

2008-11-09T21:25:37Z

Dear God, PLEASE let them stop bringing Denny back to Grey's Anatomy. I stopped watching the show after he died, and yet he keeps coming back, forcing me to watch it once more. And each time, I cry my eyes out. But I can't NOT watch him. But oh, how it hurts, seeing the tears in his eyes when he looks at Izzie. qeptjeqpitjtjeqpitj I hate TV