Full Arrest

Well, here we are. It’s the end of 2013. It’s also been about a year since I first started this blog, and what an interesting year it has been. Just like most years, this one has been filled with its share of ups and downs, goods and bads. I’m glad that I started this blog, because it has allowed me to look back over the year I’ve had, to see the highlights and the lowlights. 

This year was filled with great music. I had the opportunity to see several bands, not only at GOTR, but elsewhere as well. I made some good music too. With the creation of my band, LoveHate, my brother and I were able to write some music together. I had a pretty awesome year with my piano students too. There were a plethora of amazing albums that came out this year, several of which I have collected on vinyl.

The year was filled with love and loss, miracles and catastrophes. Though a lot of good things happened, a couple of really crappy things happened, right here at the end. I’ve been hosting an internal debate over whether I really want share with you, and THE ENTIRE INTERNET, what exactly the recent catastrophe was. It was a pretty serious event. But at this point, I’d rather give all the details and set the record straight, than have someone Google my name and make assumptions.

Obviously, physically, I am ok. Mentally and emotionally, I am a little bit scarred, but I have and will continue to survive it. It was December 13th. Friday the 13th. I should have known to stay home that day. But I had planned to get a new, pretty kickass, tattoo. I was so excited, I even dressed up for the occasion, wearing my favorite black dress and my hair all done up. My appointment was at 2pm. I left my house at about 1:15 to go to Subway for lunch, then headed over to the tattoo shop. I was almost there, and going a little fast, as per usual. I quickly noticed that the speed limit was 40mph, then saw that I was going 55mph, and then immediately noticed a cop car going the opposite way. As soon as we passed each other, the blue lights went on and I knew it was for me. It had been over a year and a half since the last time I was pulled over, but nevertheless, I still had that sinking feeling in my stomach when you get caught doing something you know you’re not supposed to be doing. 

The officer and I did the normal routine: license, insurance, etc… But when he came back from running my information he said, “Did you know that your license had been suspended for over a year?” My stomach sank even further, and my heart was racing even faster as I said, “Uh, no…?”

Indeed friends, my license had been suspended for over a year, since October 15th, 2012. It turned out that a speeding ticket from April of 2012, which I thought I’d paid, never actually got paid. Because I had moved several times since my initial move to Albany, the address on my license was incorrect and I never received any notices that may have been sent to me, regarding my suspension. Really, it all came down to miscommunication and me not taking care of business the way I should have. But because I was driving on a suspended license, I had to be “taken in”. Yep, I was arrested. I was arrested. I was arrested. Nope, no matter how many times I say it, type it, read it, hear it, it’s still weird to think that it actually happened. But it did. 

Luckily, pretty much everyone that I dealt with through this whole process was very nice and understanding of my situation. While trying to bust me out of jail, my dad said over the phone that there’s no handbook for what to do when your child gets arrested for the first time. I was so lucky to have him, and that he had so many connections with lawyers and other important and helpful people. 

While I was in the cop car, sitting in the back seat, my hands cuffed in front of me, I cried. And once while I was in the jail, I cried. But that was it. That was all the crying I wanted to do over this whole thing. The day after, I called my bff and told her everything. I told her, all I can do now is laugh about it. I know I should be acting more upset about it, and believe me, I am. But I have to laugh about it. There’s no sense in having a pity party every time I think about how I can’t drive right now, or how I’m going to spend every last penny I have, and then some, to pay for these fines. So I just have to laugh. 

After getting over the initial shock of what happened, I had to start cleaning up my mess. First I finally made a change of address request with the post office so that I wouldn't have this kind of problem with not receiving important notices anymore. Then I went over to the Smithville City Hall, where I was supposed to pay for the original speeding ticket that caused my license suspension, and paid the fine. In the next week or so, I found out that I can’t really do anything else until my court date on January 10th. That’s when I’ll have to pay for the new speeding ticket and the driving on a suspended license ticket. Then I’ll have to pay a fee to have my driver’s license reinstated. That means that I should have my license back sometime in mid to late January, with the correct address. In the meantime, I’m being driven around town by my family members, mostly my brother, and using my passport for identification.

So that was the catastrophe. It sucked. And still sucks. But, I and my family will get through it. Please learn from my sad tale. ALWAYS make sure that if you have to deal with the law, that you double and triple check that all the paper work has been taken care of. If you move, set up the forwarding address immediately and have the address changed on your license as soon as possible. I know sometimes that kind of stuff can be a pain in the ass, but trust me, it’ll be worth it in the long run. 

Here’s to a better start to a better year. May 2014 be filled with love, friendship, excitement, music, new experiences, new adventures, and as few arrests and speeding tickets as possible. 

Meat

I feel like I’ve let you down. 

My last post was almost 2 months ago. I made that post right before leaving for the Gentlemen of the Road music festival, you know, the “Something Big” that I wrote about in February. Well, I was planning on writing an epic post that would have been an attempt to do justice to the epicness of that weekend. I started writing a post, detailing everything that happened at GOTR, but as I kept writing, it kept getting dumber and dumber, and boring, and not epic. So I stopped. Needless to say, I just wasn’t able to put into words how amazing GOTR was. If you’ve spoken to me in person since then, you’ll know how much fun it was for me and my dad and brother. If you haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with me in the past two months (you poor, poor souls), I’ll leave you with this one sentiment about GOTR, then I’m moving on: Our idols (in this sense, the people who we look up to and are inspired by) are our idols for a reason. If you ever have an opportunity and ability/means to collaborate with your idol, do it. The band fun. had to drop out of GOTR due to illness, but they were replaced by Rock & Roll Hall of Fame legend, John Fogerty (you know, the dude from Creedence Clearwater Revival). Due to the last minute circumstances of the situation, Mumford and Sons (the dudes who were running the whole thing) acted as Fogerty’s backing band. It was magical for everyone in attendance. 

John Fogerty, ladies and gents. With Marcus Mumford on drums. 

Before I get into the meat of what I want to say, I think I’m due to fill you in on recent happenings. About 3 weeks after GOTR, I won a pair of tickets to see the band Those Darlins play a show in Atlanta. Those Darlins were at GOTR. I had just seen them. And their set at GOTR was so good. But when you go to a music festival, or any show really, and the band you’re watching is not the headlining band, they’re not going to do a whole set. So seeing TD at GOTR wasn’t the same as seeing them at their own show. I saw them once before, 3 years ago in Athens. They opened for Ok Go. That’s when I started to get into them. Their show in Atlanta that I won the tickets for, was a part of their third album’s release (I HIGHLY recommend you give their new album Blur The Line a listen. 'Twill change your life). Finally going to a show where Those Darlins were the headliners was pretty great. Not to mention the fact that I was standing right in front of the lead singer. God, it was so good. Like a spiritual experience. Afterward, I spoke to the lead singer, Jessi, and told her that I was at GOTR in St. Augustine, and asked her if she got to meet John Fogerty. She said, no, but that he was a big influence on her growing up, an idol of hers. It was so cute hearing her giddily talk about someone she admires musically (cute, mostly because she’s probably not even 5 feet tall and could probably fit in my pocket). 

Jessi Darlin and yours truly.  

Going along with the earlier sentiment that I made, if you have the opportunity to do something awesome, don’t think twice, just do it. Chances are that what ever it is, is going to be a hellava lot better than sitting on your ass at home. That is something I’ve been learning recently: if an opportunity is placed in front of you, take advantage of it. I had one day’s notice before the Those Darlins show. A couple weeks later, I had two days notice before spending the weekend with my BFF. Great decision. Ok, let’s be honest, spending time with my BFF is always a great decision. 

My best friend’s name is Sarah, but almost the entire time that I’ve known her, I’ve called her Jim. It was a nickname that she earned after starring in the play Treasure Island at the beginning of our first year in college. Even some of our college professors started calling her Jim after a while. It’s in her Facebook name, and that’s how I have her listed in my phone. She is Jim. 

Hailing from Augusta, Georgia, Jim now lives in Metro Atlanta and has just started as a first time 10th grade English teacher. I’m very proud of her because I know how hard she’s worked to get where she is now. She texted me two days before hand asking me to come spend the weekend with her and celebrate Halloween by going to a haunted house with another friend of hers. We did and it was a lot of fun. I mean, you’re pretty much guaranteed a good time when vodka and ghosts, monsters, chainsaws, screaming, and laughter is involved. The only thing missing was Hocus Pocus. It’s a tradition for us to watch the movie, Hocus Pocus every year, but we didn’t this year. In the end, it was an awesome decision to have that somewhat spur of the moment BFF time.

Jim. 

And now for THE MEAT. 

Last thanksgiving, almost a year ago, I was sitting on a dock by a river in Savannah. I made a decision that day. It was a decision that I had been struggling to make for about 2 years. A decision that, once I told my parents about, gave me “golden child” status  again (for the time being, at least). I made the decision to go back to school. I struggled with this decision so much because I really hate school. It still blows my mind that my college gave me a degree, and that I double majored, AND did it in four years. I also struggled with it because I didn’t know what I wanted to do, there were so many avenues I could go down. It was overwhelming to think about. But I made that decision because, even though I loved, and still love, being a piano teacher, I didn’t want that to be my career. 

Now that I’ve had a year to try to figure some things out, I’ve officially made the next step with that decision to go back to school. I just sent in my application for Darton State College. If you know anything about Darton, you might be thinking, “Whaaa?”. When I first made the decision to go back to school, it was that I would go to grad school and get my masters. Darton doesn’t have a graduate program, it’s just now starting some bachelor programs. I am going to Darton for a certificate program. Yep. Not exactly what I was thinking of a year ago. In the past few months, I’ve made several videos for The Levee, where I work. I’ve really enjoyed making these videos, even though they’ve been a bit on the amateur side, using my iPhone to shoot video and iMovie to edit. The program I’m planning on doing is called Video Techniques and Applications. I’ll learn how to use Photoshop, Final Cut Pro, and such, and be able to turn my amateur skills into professional skills. 

In the last year, I’ve been trying to figure out what my “next step” was going to be. I mean, really, you could go back to the beginning of this blog and see how that has been a consistent theme: what’s next? what am I supposed to do/be? where do I go from here? I’m finally starting to formulate an idea. It’s not quite what I thought it was going to be, but in this media heavy age, good video/film editors are in demand. 

So this is it. This is my next step. For now. I’m surprisingly excited to get back into school. But maybe it’s just because I’m looking forward to the school supplies (and I’m not just thinking about notebooks and pencils, more like the new Mac Pro that’s coming out in December, which I’m dying to get my hands on). 

I can feel some cool things coming on the horizon. 

I’m ready for this new ride.

Let’s go. 

25

25 is a good number. In my head, it’s an even number. Although technically it’s not an even number, I’ve always thought as 5 as even number. I mean, we count money by 5s: 5, 10, 15, 20, 25…

I am just over half way through the 25^th year of my life. I have lived just about a quarter of my life. That first quarter of my life is behind me, and I have trouble remembering a good bit of it. I guess that’s what happens when you have a concussion when you’re 13, then fall off the back of a truck when you’re 21.

Looking back at how my 25^th year started, it’s been an odd one, so far. It started off with having back surgery less than 2 weeks after my birthday (which actually falls on a 25^th). And thank god for that procedure. I’m so glad that I was able to have it done. I am not particularly happy that it had to happen. But I’m glad that the issue was taken care of, and I can now live a semi-normal life (come on, there’s nothing normal about my life).

This year has been filled with some interesting romantic and/or sexual encounters. It actually started about a year ago, after getting out of a 2ish-year relationship, and sort of started out as trying to fill a void. Literally. Then it turned into having these encounters for the experience, for the story. A couple of these encounters were genuine attempts at possibly starting a new relationship. The first one of these was a guy who was almost 5 years younger than me. And as time went on, that proved to be an issue. The next dude was only 3 years younger than me. This “relationship” (if you can even call it that) lasted a little bit longer. But his mental state proved to be an issue (dude was kinda bi-polar-ish). THEN I went on a date with a guy who was two years older than me. I thought, ok cool, this should work out, he’s older. We went out to dinner, drove around, just talking and listening to music, went back to his house and met his family and hung out some more. It was a really fun night and this dude and I really clicked. I texted with him a couple more times after that, then never heard from him again. It was then that I realized that it didn’t really matter how old a guy is, they’re all pretty bad at following through (either that, or I just suck as person. I hope that’s not the case). 

Two weeks after that date was when I started dating Jared (you can read about him here). For about a month and a half, I was in relationship heaven. Even though our relationship never made it to the point where we said “I love you” to each other, I was so in love. He was my soulmate. Until he decided that the 6 year age difference was an issue. God that hurt so bad. After it ended, I was cool, or at least tried to be. It wasn’t until a couple weeks after it ended that it really hit me. I’ve just recently gotten over it. You know, maybe somewhere down the road, we’ll come back to each other, but for now, it’s completely over. It makes me sad to think about, but I can’t sit here in my bed and wallow in self-pity about it forever. So I’ve finally been able to move on, and continue to be my single, cynical self. 

I am not religious and I am not very spiritual. But I am a firm believer one thing: everything happens for a reason. Totally. I’ve had all of these experiences, I’ve lived these 25 years. Everything that has happened in my life has happened for a reason and led me to where I am right now. For example, I recently interviewed for this really awesome job which would have had me making a minimum of 30k a year, I’d have insurance, and I’d easily be able to move back out of my parent’s house. However, I found out a few days ago that I did not get the job. Had I gotten that job, of course it would have been amazing, but I also wouldn’t have the badass haircut and new color that I have right now. I would have had to leave the Levee and all of my awesome new piano students that I’ve gotten in the last month. So I’m OK with not having gotten that job. I have awesome students, awesome hair, and I’m going to continue to be a poor musician, and love it. It all happened for a reason. 

So here I am, closer to 26 than 25, and I’m fairly happy. Of course there are things that I’m still waiting on to happen. Like love, being financially stable, living on my own again. But I know that that everything happens for a reason, and these things will come and happen when they’re supposed to. 

In the past couple of years, I’ve been learning that my life is not going to turn out the same way my parents’ lives have. My parents met when they were 19, were married by the time they were 24, and had a child (me!) three years later. I thought I had to go by their timeline. I thought I was failure when I was nearing 24 and the serious relationship that I had been in (and thought was going to lead to marriage) was falling apart. But I’ve been realizing that just because that’s how my parents’ lives turned out, doesn’t mean mine has to be a carbon copy. I’m also probably not going to have a “normal” 9 to 5 job, probably ever (unless I sell out and become a “real” teacher at a “real” school). My degree is in music and theatre; music and theatre kids are not normal. And I’m perfectly fine with that. It’s just taken some time to realize that I’m fine with it and that I’m probably not getting married so soon. IT WILL BE OK. And I’m ok with that.

I am 25. I have a job, a car, and a place to live. I am happy. Nothing’s perfect, but that’s to be expected. I will keep moving forward, continuing to better myself, better my quality of life, and have fun doing it. I will color and cut my hair the way I want it, I will get tattoos and piercings that I want, and I will surround myself by the people that I want. Every choice I make is made for a reason, whether I realize it or not. And that’s the way it should be. 

In the meantime, I’m headed to St. Augustine to have one of the best weekends of my life. I’ll tell the Gentlemen you said hello. 

Melissa Meals

At the end of May, my cousin Brianna, whom I’ve referred to in a previous post, graduated from high school. Bri is my youngest first cousin from my mom’s side of the family, and she’s pretty awesome. I know that I’m pretty awesome, but she takes my awesomeness to the next level. She graduated with honors, she had a couple sets of cords that she wore with her cap and gown, she’s just all around badass. The weekend of her graduation, the WHOLE family was coming into town (Warner Robins, GA) to see her graduate and go to her graduation party held at her parent’s house.

Just before the graduation weekend, I was starting to get really into cooking. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but now that I’ve moved in with my parents and have an awesome, pretty much always fully stocked kitchen, I’ve been doing a lot more cooking. Armed with this knowledge, my grandmother asked me to help her prepare some of the food that was going to be served at the graduation party. So the afternoon that I arrived at my grandmother’s house, the day before the graduation, my grandmother immediately put me to work making huge vats of chicken salad and pasta salad. There was so much slicing and chopping going on that it’s a miracle that I still have all of my fingers. 

My aunt, Brianna’s mom, had also caught wind of my newly discovered cooking skillz and asked me to help make a caprese salad. For any of you who follow me on Instagram, you’ll know that I have an obsession with caprese salad. If you don’t know, caprese salad consists of fresh mozzarella cheese, fresh basil, tomatoes, and olive oil and balsamic vinegar. It’s pretty much one of the greatest things you’ll ever put in your mouth, especially if you use a balsamic vinegar reduction. Balsamic vinegar may not sound very appealing, mainly because it has the word “vinegar” attached to it, but once it is reduced, it’s like a tart, caramel-esque, gift from the gods. Whenever I make a caprese salad for myself, I like to cut up a fist sized ball of mozzarella into little bite sized chunks and put it in a bowl with fresh basil and cherry tomatoes and a little bit of olive oil. Then I reduce some balsamic vinegar and drizzle it over the salad. It’s soooo gooood! What is a reduction you ask? It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s when you heat a liquid to the point where the water evaporates and you’re left with a thickened liquid. In the case of a balsamic reduction, you’re basically making a caramel sauce. When I make a balsamic reduction, I like to let it reduce for a while so it gets thick and syrupy. It may sound a little weird, but balsamic reduction is life changing when you drizzle it over fresh berries. I love to pour it over either strawberries or blackberries. 

Needless to say, I was put in charge of making the caprese salad and the balsamic reduction to go with it. At like 10 o’clock the night before the graduation, I was at my aunt’s house cutting up two large logs of mozzarella and two Sam’s sized plastic crates of cherry tomatoes, and delicately layering the mozzarella and tomatoes with basil leaves in a giant trifle bowl. This was like heaven for a caprese addict like me. When I was done, it looked like Christmas in a bowl, with the bright red and green from the tomatoes and basil. 

The next day, after the graduation, was the party. All the food was prepared and being set up on the dining room table, and the only thing left to make was the balsamic reduction for the caprese salad. And since I had just recently become an expert in reductions, of course it was my job to make the redution. I had to reduce an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar. Having not reduced a whole bottle before, I wasn’t sure how long it would take. It was like 20 or 25 minutes. And apparently, while the vinegar is reducing, it makes the whole house smell like vinegar. So all of my cousin’s friends and our family were dying from vinegar fumes. BUT IT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT! Sometimes when making a reduction, it can be a hit-or-miss kind of thing, either you don’t reduce it long enough and it’s still too watery, or you reduce it too much and you end up with a thick molasses-like consistency. But luckily, I removed it from the heat at just the right time and it was the perfect consistency, nice and syrupy, like a black, tart caramel. 

As I put the final touch of the bowl of balsamic on the food table, I looked across at the spread and realized that I’d made half of the food on the table. It was a very rewarding experience to hear all the party goers ooh-ing and ahh-ing over how good all the food was. My aunts and grandmother kept telling me that I should go into catering or go to culinary school. Whaaa? The thought of me becoming a caterer or chef or anything to do with the food world had never crossed my mind. If you’ve been keeping up with my blog posts, you’ll know that in the past 6 months or so I’ve been dealing with such existential thoughts as, “who am I?”, “what am I doing with my life?”, “what am I going to do with my life?”, and I’ve made lists of all of the things I’ve thought of doing or being. “Chef” was not one of them. But since it was being suggested to me, I thought, why not add it to the list? So I did a little research and found some culinary programs that seemed interesting. My favorite was one where you would study in NYC for 10 weeks, then you would go to Italy and study for 9 weeks, then work in a kitchen in Italy for another 9 weeks. 

For now, the thought of culinary school is going to remain a thought. But since cooking has still become something I enjoy doing, I decided to start cooking for my family (I gotta earn my keep somehow). I cook two meals a week, Sunday lunch and Tuesday dinner, and I call them Melissa Meals. Sometimes I just prepare your run of the mill type meals, but a lot of times, I’ll get a little experimental and try new things. I’ve been trying out a lot of no/low-carb recipes, mainly because my mom is on a protein-heavy, no carb diet right now. Two of the no/low-carb recipes that have been amazing are no carb pizza, and no carb chile rellenos (which is my own recipe, btw. Well with some help on how to prepare the peppers from a very nice Spanish speaking lady on YouTube). The pizza is made with a cream cheese and egg “crust”, and the chile rellenos are not fried, but baked in queso. 

Another culinary creation that I have stumbled upon, which is in no way whatsoever low-carb, is Nutella milkshakes. OHMYGODNUTELLAMILKSHAKES. When I posted a picture of my first Nutella milkshake on Instagram, the caption was “Ok, I just found something that's better than balsamic reduction: Nutella milkshake. Good gawd.” It’s super easy to make, and obvi, super delicious. It’s just two cups of vanilla ice cream, half a cup of milk, and 4 tablespoons of Nutella. Then of course you mix it up in a blender, pour it in a glass, and then discover nirvana. It really is THAT good. 

Since I have no intentions to turn this blog into a food blog, I wasn’t planning on posting any of my recipes, just mouthwatering pictures of the meals (cruel, I know), but if you’re really dying to know my culinary secrets, you can just send me a message or email (my email address is on the left side bar under my picture) and I will be happy to send them to you!

My first caprese salad using the balsamic vinegar reduction.

The giant caprese salad.

The graduation party food table, featuring my three salads and balsamic reduction.

My first Melissa Meal: chicken fettuccine with a homemade alfredo sauce. 

No-carb pizza! Soooo goood!

No-carb chile rellenos!

Fully loaded with sugar and carbs, Nutella milkshake! 

Love Story

Well, I wasn't expecting this to happen. I am the happiest I've been in a long time. And it's amazing because all of this happiness was caused by one person who was able to make my life take a 180° turn. Yes folks, Melissa is in a relationship. It’s Facebook official and everything! This whole thing happened so quickly that I’m still trying to catch my breath.

Jared and I work together at the music school, I’m the piano instructor and he’s the voice instructor. I’ve been there almost three years, but he just started teaching in January. The first time I saw him was at a Christmas choir concert for the local college. My mom and several friends were in the choir, so I went. Jared was in the choir too and also sang a solo. I would like to preface the next part of this story by saying that Jared is a great musician, he has a wonderful, albeit uncommon, gift. Jared has an impressive vocal range. Like Freddy Mercury/Mariah Carey impressive. For those of you who know music, he can hit a high A sharp, like the one above the staff. For those of you who don’t know music, that’s really high. Especially for a dude. Well, when he did that solo at the concert, he sang that high. I was so taken aback by the sound that was coming from him, that I couldn’t help but to laugh. I am an awful person. But in my defense, it was nervous laughter more than anything. When I told Jared about my reaction to hearing him sing for the first time, he said he saw me laughing. But I wasn’t the first person to do so and I’m sure I won’t be the last.

Once he and I officially met and started working together, we became pretty good friends and realized that we had so much in common, even going so far as to call each other twin. We’re like the same person, we even kinda look alike. We really got to know each other while working with a student who is taking both voice lessons from Jared and piano lessons from me. While helping this student prepare for a performance, we taught a couple of joint lessons. We found that we work really well together.

We continued getting to know one another better while working on a musical at the local community theatre. Of course he was in the cast as one of the lead characters, and I was asked to run the sound board. This was a really fun show to be a part of because I had so many friends involved in it. Before the rehearsals and shows would start, Jared and I would always hang out. The show ran two weekends and on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday that we had off, we hung out. That Monday, we both had lessons, then went out to dinner together, went to the mall, and saw a movie. At the time, I didn’t think of it as a date, but that was the day that I realized that I liked him and wanted to be more than just friends. The next day, we had lessons again and I was making tacos for dinner, so I invited him over for dinner with my family. My mom had already told me that she thought Jared and I should date, that we would make a cute couple. Even though I liked that idea, I didn’t think Jared liked me that way. I was afraid that if I told him how I really felt, that it wouldn’t be mutual and then it would make our friendship über awkward, so I just kept it to myself. This whole ordeal was like a scene out of an emo Disney Channel original movie. After dinner, I introduced Jared to HBO’s Girls. He could only handle so much at once, so we only watched the first three episodes. Some how, Nutella milkshakes came up, so we made some (WHICH ARE LIFE CHANGING, BTW!) I took him home later that night and I remember thinking, “yeah, I definitely have a crush”. 

The next day, Wednesday, I went to work for a lesson, which ended up being cancelled, so I called Jared to see if he wanted to hang out, since he didn’t have any lessons. So I picked him up and we went back to my house to hang out. We did some karaoke, played the piano and just had a good time being ridiculous. Somehow we got on the subject of dating. I told him what my mom had said and that I wouldn’t mind dating, but that I was ok with just being friends too. I remember saying, “the ball is in your court”, and he said, “I’ll keep that in mind”. The next thing I remember, we were chasing each other and ended up in a dark hall. I got kind of close to him, then he leaned in and kissed me. As corny as it sounds, it was such a magical moment. I think from that moment on, I had a permanent smile on my face for about a week. The silliest thing was that Jared was being just as emo-Disney-Channel-movie as I was. He didn’t think I liked him back either!

This relationship has started out so unlike any other I’ve ever had. For starters, I did not meet him online, and that has been HUGE for me. I got on a dating website for the first time in January of 2009 via my BFF’s recommendation (she’s been with her current BF, whom she met online, for four years and they’re most likely getting engaged in the next year or so! :D). I’ve met several guys on that website and even had a serious, although destructive, relationship come from it. Since that relationship ended, up until this one started, I met 11 guys from online in person, 2 of whom were flings that lasted a couple of weeks, and a third that I had just gone on a date with two weeks before dating Jared, but who I thought had true potential. However, the point of telling you all that is that I was looking in all the wrong places for someone. Here was this guy who is my better half, my twin, my soulmate, and I was running around, giving it up to anyone who told me I was “hot”, or “sexy”, or had “nice tits”. I was oblivious to what was right in front of me. 

I realized that I liked Jared no more than a week before we started dating. He knew he liked me about a month before. A MONTH! He said he was surprised I didn’t notice him “gawking” (his word) at me when we were teaching our joint lessons. So oblivious was I. That’s been different for me too, the fact that he liked me first. It has almost always been the other way around, as far as I know. And the fact that he actually likes me for me, and not just for my body parts, is a big deal. Of course he does like my body parts too, I mean come on, he’s a guy, but that’s not what is on the forefront of his mind. It’s refreshing. 

I think the most important difference in this relationship from all the others is that we have not had sex yet. Of course we’ve made out, but it hasn’t gone any further than that. This has been a conscious decision that we’ve made together, although I was not too happy about it at first. Having only lost my virginity at age 22, three years ago, I’ve been kind of making up for lost time I suppose. That’s what the 11 guys in 8 months was about. But I’m pretty sure sex is what messed up any chance that I had with any of those guys. When Jared told me that he didn’t want to have sex for a while, and possibly not until (if) we get married, I wish he could have taken a picture of my face, because I’m sure it was quite comical. But after doing some thinking about it for a good bit, and thinking about how sex has ruined my past relationships, I realized that celibacy was probably the best decision. Being with Jared for however long I’m meant to be with him is much more important to me now than just getting my rocks off. And knowing that one day we will get to be intimate with each other makes it totally worth it. 

I am so indescribably happy. It’s amazing. And who would have ever thought that as a 25 year old young woman, I would fall for a 19 year old young man? All I can say is that it was meant to be. 

PSA: stay tuned for more posts on what I’ve been doing this summer so far, such as: Melissa Meals, Rock Camp, the Great Computer Crash of 2013, and more! But for now, enjoy these super lovey-dovey/sickeningly sweet pictures of Jared and me! 

The top picture was how we told my mom that we were dating. The bottom picture was what we sent to one of our students because she was freaking out over the news of us being "Facebook Official".

At work

We clean up rull niiice. 

There are no words. 

Rock 'n' Roll.

For the story

I feel like I owe you all an explanation as to why it’s taken me so long to write a new blog post. A lot has been going on around here, at least, it seems that way. I started on a new blog post almost a month ago, that was going to be about the “Grown-Up Spring Break” that I had with my BFF in the middle of April. But as I kept writing, I realized that I was giving way too much info that most of you probably don’t care about. So I’ve decided to step back, rethink, and try again.

Like I said, a TON of stuff has been going on lately. For organization’s sake, I am going to resort to bullet pointing allllll the things that have been going on.

• Grown-Up Spring Break in Augusta and Atlanta with my BFF
• Moving out of my friends’ house and back into my parents’ house
• Jimmy Buffett concert in Atlanta with my grandmother and aunt
• 100^th anniversary of GFBC, the church I grew up in, i.e.: “family” reunion
• I got a ukulele! 
• Life 

I have decided to start living life for the story. I got the idea from the HBO show Girls. The main character, Hannah, is a writer and you can see in the show how she makes decisions based on the experience that she will potentially have and how that experience may or may not make for a good story. Well, I’ve decided to start living that way, not just so I can write about it, but so that I can have those experiences. Although I know that it didn’t always work in Hannah’s favor, those experiences that she had were hers. I’ve been wanting more experiences in my 20-something life. I want crazy stories to be able to tell, and to know that I did those things. So, I’m trying to live for the story, live a “yes” life. I know that it’s possible that some bad things could come of this, but I also know that some really awesome things could come of it too. And that’s life, taking the good with the bad and learning from it. 

Going on my Grown-Up Spring Break, I was able to sort of test out living for the story. We drank lots of wine, tie-dyed t-shirts, got lost in Augusta, sang along to the Sweeney Todd and Rent soundtracks at the top of our lungs, went to the Mall of Georgia, met up with a friend I haven’t seen since 6^th grade, went to the World of Coke, pretended to be British, sat in LOTS of traffic, went shopping, spent way too much money, and went to the Renaissance Festival. In addition to all of those things that I did with my BFF, I also went to my first rave in downtown Atlanta with another friend, did some things that I’d rather not reveal to the entire internet (let’s just say that it was on 4/20 and I had a really good time), and definitely lived for the story that night. All in all, it was a really great week. I wish I could have weeks like that one more often. 

Grown-Up Spring Break with the bff!

Yep, pomegranate wine.

Tie Dying. Photo cred: bff

World of Coke! We pretended to be British this day. She was Elizabeth "Liz" Evans and I was Michelle Roberts.

Atlanta traffic.

Renaissance Festival!

Ravin' it up!

Almost immediately after I got back from my spring break, I had to start packing up to move out of the house that I was living in. Earlier in April, my roommates informed me that their situation was changing, and they needed the bedroom that I had been living in for over a year. I discussed it with my parents and for the time being, they’re allowing me to live in their guest bedroom until I’m able to find somewhere else to live. It’s a kind of bittersweet situation. On one hand, I feel like I’m losing some of my freedom and independence, and I miss my roommates. On the other hand, I have my own bathroom and a fully stocked kitchen, and have really enjoyed being able to cook more often. There’s a house that I’m hoping to move into, but until it’s actually happening, I’m not really allowed to talk about it. So until then, Daisy and I are residing with my parents, brother, and two dogs who are not quite sure about sharing their space with a feline. 

Phil and Daisy fighting for attention

I think Daisy's adjusting well.

The week after I moved, I went to see Jimmy Buffett in Atlanta. If you know the kind of music that I like and don’t like, you might think, “why Jimmy Buffett?” But there’s actually kind of a neat story behind it. When I was five years old, my grandparents took me on a trip to the beach, and the whole time, we listened to a Jimmy Buffett cassette tape. My grandmother promised me then that one day we would go see Jimmy Buffett in concert. Over the years we’d tried getting tickets and they’d be sold out, or my grandmother wasn’t doing well, or something was going on. But this time, it seemed like the stars aligned and it all worked out. Back in February, right before my birthday, actually, I got a call from my grandmother inviting me to go to the concert. It was a pretty cool moment for me. After twenty years, she was finally able to fulfill that promise. So April 30^th, the day of the concert, rolled around, and I headed up to Macon, made a stop at my Alma Mater, Wesleyan College, and met my grandmother and aunt and together the three of us made our way to Atlanta for dinner and the show. It was pretty cool. Not quite as awesome as some of the other concerts I’ve been to, but still fun. And oh my god, there were so many drunk people! Like people wasted beyond belief! Twas a bit ridiculous. But we were able to survive it. And now the three of us can check that off our bucket lists.

Alma Mater

No road trip is complete without an Instagram selfie.

The Man.

20 years later, we finally made it! 

The weekend after the Buffett concert, my family and I had a trip planned to go to Atlanta. That Sunday was the 100^th anniversary celebration of the First Baptist Church of Grayson, Georgia, the church that my family went to for about 17 years. I was really excited about this trip because for me, it was like a homecoming. Although I don’t claim to be a Christian anymore, that church was where I grew up, the members of it were like my family. I was at that church every time the doors were open, and even when they weren’t open (because my mom had a key). That Sunday was a really awesome day. Although it started out rainy and cold, I have only warm memories of that day because of all the old friends and “family” that I got to see and reconnect with. It was such a lovely experience and I’m so grateful that I got to go.  

For my mom, this was a prime-time shopping trip (and an opportunity to show off, vocally). The shopping down here in Albany is not the best, there’s just not a great selection of stores. But up in Atlanta, the sky’s the limit! So of course, that Saturday, we went to the Mall of Georgia, but not before first going to Guitar Center. We went to Guitar Center, not only because both my dad and brother are guitarists, but because my mom had to return some stuff for work. Now, up until that day, I had been on a serious kick to try to come into possession of an accordion. I know that sounds kind of lame, but I’m already a pianist and I think it’d be a pretty easy crossover. Plus, Nora Kirkpatrick, of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, plays the accordion, and she’s pretty awesome. So of course I had to inquire as to whether or not the dudes at GC had any accordions. They did not. And my mom went on to say, “I’d be more likely to buy you a ukulele than an accordion,” and I said, “challenge accepted”. So I casually sauntered over to the ukuleles and picked up a $99 ukulele. My dad helped me figure out a couple of chords, I showed my mom that could play a little bit, whipped out the puppy eyes and trembling bottom lip, and within five minutes, my dad was pulling out the debit card (I’m their favorite child, obviously). I’ve had my uke for a week and a half now and I’ve been playing it nonstop. I’d be playing it right now if I weren’t typing. It’s such a cool instrument! I’ve tried my hand at guitar and bass guitar, but I never got too far with it. However, I’ve been able to pick ukulele up so quickly and easily, that it’s such a joy for me to play it. Practice doesn’t feel like practice, you know? The only downside to it is that I haven’t been able to feel my three middle fingertips on my left hand since that Saturday morning, but it’s worth it. The coolest thing I’ve done with my ukulele so far, other than getting to jam with my dad and brother on their guitars, is using it while teaching piano lessons. One of my students is getting ready to play a gig next week and he’s never performed for an audience like that, much less playing with anybody else (he’s going to have a band backing him up). So I got on my uke and played along with him on Fun.’s Some Nights and the Beatles’ Hey Jude and Let it Be. It was so much fun!

Ukulele!

As you’ve seen, it’s been a pretty crazy busy month or so, and I don’t foresee it slowing down anytime soon. I imagine that I am going to have many opportunities to live for the story in the coming months. Especially as I’m dealing with what step to take next in my young adult life. I’ve been putting in applications and my résumé at Disney World and Universal Studios, just to see what would happen. I’ve also been looking at grad schools again. I feel like there are so many paths that I could take, I just don’t know which one to take and how to get started. The itch I have to just take off on a cross country road trip has come up again, yet, there are so many logistics that go into trying to plan that kind of trip, that I just about fry my brain trying to figure it all out. I know that I’ll probably never actually get my life and my future all figured and planned out like I would want. So I’m just going to live, live for the story, and live to the fullest, taking in all the experiences I have and cherishing them, knowing that they are mine. 

Something Big: Part Deux

It’s 11:30 on a Wednesday morning, I’m still lying in bed in my pajamas, listening to Mumford and Sons and Kings of Leon on my phone, and I can’t help but think about my Something Big and wonder what it’s supposed to be. My favorite Mumford and Sons song, “Hopeless Wanderer” came on, and it always gets me thinking about my Something Big. What is it going to be? What am I going to do? Who am I going to meet along the way? But the thought also occurred to me that I need to stop sitting (or in this case lying) on my ass and actually go do the Something Big. Whatever it is should just sort of come into being, right? Isn’t that how these sort of things happen? Nobody plans them, they just...happen. I never really planned on moving to South Georgia to start my piano teaching career, but things just fell into place and happened. 

I’ve always felt like there’s a big gap or disconnect between me and the rest of the world, between me and what I’m meant to do. I feel like it’s right there on the tip of my tongue, on the edge of where I’m standing, but I can’t quite grasp it. It’s pretty frustrating. Especially when I think about other people who are my age, maybe a couple years older or younger, doing amazing things with their lives. Lots of my friends are getting married and starting families, and here I am, renting a room from friends, sleeping next to my cat every night. Then I think about Marcus Mumford, of Mumford and Sons, and how he’s only a year and a month older than me and just won a Grammy for album of the year, while I taught a 15 year old how to play “Jar of Hearts” yesterday. Then there’s Lena Dunham, creator, writer, director, and star of my favorite show, “Girls”. She’s two years older than me and how many awards does she have under her belt? A good few. All I have is this blog, and you, the person reading it.

I’m sorry for doing this to you, though, making you read all my crap. I probably sound kind of whiny. But I write all of this for three reasons: first, to just get it out of my head, second, in hopes that someone may read it and be able to relate and possibly take something away from it, and third, so that maybe someone who has gone through what I’m going through can pipe up and give me some advice as to what I should be doing with my life. Anyone?

For those of you who don’t already know, I live in Albany, Georgia. This area is also known as Sowega, South West Georgia. I am so torn about this town. I love it and hate it at the same time. I love it because of the historical significance it holds for my family and me. My great-grandfather was mayor for several years and he and his sons, did a lot that helped make Albany the way it is today (in a good way, of course). He basically saved Albany and the surrounding areas from the Depression, and it was mostly because of Coca Cola. My family owned about 10 Coke bottling plants in the Sowega area. I am very proud to share the same name as my great-grandfather, and it’s a good name to have around here. I also love it because of my jobs. I work at a music school where we teach music lessons in a somewhat alternative way. It’s awesome. We always have a good time there. I also work as the stage manager for the Albany Symphony Orchestra. The work that I do with the ASO is perfect for me because it combines both my love for music and my love for the theatre into one. Both the music studio and the auditorium where the symphony plays are located downtown. They are both in great locations, and that’s the other thing I love about Albany, its downtown has the potential to be really awesome and I love the fact that I get to go down there every day. What I hate about Albany...well, it really comes down to the people. There’s so much negativity from the people who live here about living here, that it makes you hate living here too! I think many people in the area don’t realize how awesome downtown really is. They only hear about shootings and robberies and other bad things that happen just outside of downtown, and that deters them from enjoying the beautiful parts of the city. There’s not a whole lot of that bad stuff actually happening downtown. And if more people can see that, and see that downtown is fairly safe, then that will make the city that much more pleasant to be in. 

I say all of that to say this: I know that I’m probably not going to be much more than a piano teacher and stage manager staying here in Albany. I know that if I want to do Something Big, that I’ll probably have to go somewhere else to do it. I just hate the thought of leaving, of leaving my family, of leaving my jobs, of leaving the handful of good friends I’ve made here. Yet, I feel like I might soon outgrow this town. It feels bittersweet to say that, but it’s true. And to get super personal here, if I want to meet a decent guy to like date, and marry, and make babies with, I’m probably going to need to look elsewhere. So far, Albany has not proven to contain many serious prospects (look, I’m 25 and starting to have baby feels...I’m ready to get this show on the road, if you know what I mean). 

But I feel like I’m still stuck where I started, wondering what I am supposed to do with my life? What am I supposed to be, where am I supposed to go? I have all of these thoughts and ideas and dreams and then I get mad at myself for sitting on my ass just thinking about it and wondering about my life rather than getting up, going out, and doing it. Ugh. It’s frustrating and fairly exhausting. I just don’t know where to start. Any suggestions? Anyone? Hello?

Zero

I’m alive! And I feel awesome! I had my back surgery/discectomy almost two weeks ago and I feel like a completely new person. I’m not all hunched over, looking like I’m getting in character to play Shakespeare’s Richard III or Quasimodo, anymore. Some friends told me the other day that I look like I’ve lost some weight, but it’s most likely because I’m standing up straight now, so I look thinner. For me, it’s like a whole new world. A new world where I’m not in pain every moment. A new world where I don’t have to numb myself up with pain pills, just to get through the day. I’m actually very proud of myself, I haven't taken any pills since Saturday, 3/16. And it’s not because I’m out, I have several left, but I’m trying not to touch them. 

The procedure itself went very well, although, once the surgeon got in there, he found a small complication. The herniation had been there for so long that it was starting to calcify. So he had to scrape away the calcium that was forming first before he could do anything else, then he was able to remove the bad parts of my disc. I think this is why it was so painful. It was basically like bone growing up over the herniation. Can you imagine that? A new bone just cropping up in your back. It makes so much sense to me now. It’s like, of course, it had to be something crazy like that to cause me to be in so much pain like I’ve been in the past year and a half. But now I’m done. I’m done with it all. I was screaming that phrase to my parents though sobs, sitting in my car, the night before the doctor said I needed this procedure done. And now I’m really done with it. At least in this chapter of my life. Spine problems like this are genetic (thanks mom and dad), and I’m most likely going to deal with it at some point later in my life. But for now, I’m done with it. And I couldn’t be happier. 

I’m not completely through with recovery though. I can’t take a bath or do any heavy lifting or bending over for another month or so. But once that time period is over, I’ll be good to go! I’ve also still got numbness going down my left leg to my toes. It’s not really painful, just really annoying. I’ll probably still have that for a couple more weeks, but I’ll be glad once it’s gone. I just got the OK from my doctor to start doing some cardio and core workouts to strengthen the muscles around where my disc is that was operated on, to keep any other problems from happening. Last night I made a schedule of what exercises I need to do every day. I figured that if I make a schedule or list, I’ll hold myself accountable better; I’ll be able to see what I need to do and can cross it off once it’s done. 

I’m so glad to be done with this for now. I’m thankful to my doctor and everyone involved in making my surgery a success, I had a really great team taking care of me. I’m thankful to my parent’s and brother for taking care of me and allowing me to crash at their house for a few days while I was recuperating. And finally, I’m thankful to my other family members and friends who have seen me going through this and have put up with me being a cripple/pill popper. I wouldn’t be where I am right now if it weren’t for all of these people I’ve mentioned. Thanks again, and here’s to making the rest of this year awesome!

Hanging out with Phil, eating Cheezits, the night after my surgery.

Two days after my surgery, I was out and about with some new shoes, taking pictures of my brother and me and giant crosses. 

*Insert Hallelujah Chorus here*

I promise this post will be much shorter than the last one! Besides, this is really just a continuation of the last post. I thought my avid readers (all five of you) would like to know that I had another MRI done on Monday, two days ago. Today, I had an appointment which was originally supposed to be a follow-up to my epidural that I had two weeks ago, but it also doubled as an appointment to find out the results of my MRI. My parents were kind enough to come to this appointment with me, they don't always do that. Before I saw the doctor, the PA came in and asked me how I was feeling, took my blood pressure, and asked if I felt that the injection had helped any. I promptly told him, "no". I also went on to say that I was feeling OK today, but yesterday was awful that I rated it a 9 on the 0-10 scale. I very rarely give a 9. But yesterday's pain was so bad that I was at work for less than ten minutes before I had to leave. I started crying as my boss was helping me out to my car and I ended up having some kind of hyperventilating panic attack thing. I sat in my car, because it's the only seat that is comfortable to me right now, sobbing uncontrollably, with my boss holding my hand as he called my dad for back-up. My dad got there and we made the decision to take myself to my parent's house. So off we went to my parent's house, while my boss taught my lesson for me. I rested for the remainder of the afternoon and into the evening in the guest bedroom, with my family's dog, Phil, keeping me company. I was still in a good bit of pain, but it was nice to get that rest.

Phil, my little guard dog. :)

The next day, today, I got up, had lunch with my mom and brother, went home to get cleaned up, and headed to the doctor's office. Once I got back into a room, I had the aforementioned run down with the PA, and my dad arrived. Then the doctor came in and my mom arrived shortly after. This was my first time meeting this doctor. The dude I had the first two times I dealt with the back pain recently moved away and this guy was his replacement. The first thing he said to me was, "well, your herniation is impressive." Doctors always find odd things to say when they see your organs. I've been told I have ugly tonsils, beautiful ovaries, and now an "impressive" herniated disc. What he meant by that was that my herniation is really big. No kidding, dude, I probably could have told you that!

What I've always been told by my last doctor is that I'm too young to be having surgery on my back. I even cried in his office when he told me he still didn't want to do surgery. Well folks, turns out that there's a procedure that can be done, which is much less invasive than a spinal fusion (the surgery that I'm "too young" for) and that, my friends, is called a discectomy. With a discectomy, all the surgeon does is make a small incision in the back and removes the pieces of the disc that have been herniated. Like I said, the procedure is much less invasive and is actually outpatient, only takes about 45 minutes, and has a short recovery time. The doctor explained all of this to my parents and me, and when he asked whether I wanted to go ahead with the surgery, I pretty much said, "where do I sign?" So I am EXTREMELY happy to say that I will be having a discectomy this Friday, March 8th, 2013 at 11:30 am at my doctor's office, in their surgical center. The funny thing about the date is that it is exactly 3 years to the day since I had my gallbladder removed.

I am so excited about this surgery. I suppose most people are nervous about having surgery, but I'm not at all, considering how much better I'm going to feel afterward. My doctor told me that most people feel immediate relief after having this procedure done. That's probably what I'm most excited about, just not being in pain all the time anymore. Last night I told my parents that I didn't want this anymore. Now I don't have to have it any longer. And it couldn't have come at a better time. I have a gig with the Albany Symphony Orchestra next week (I'm their stage manager) and I need to be able to function to do that job. I'm also planning on having my own little Spring Break in April, where I'll be spending a week in Augusta and Atlanta with my bff. At the end of April, I'll be going to a Jimmy Buffett concert with my grandmother, aunt, and cousin, and it'd be bad if I were in worse shape than my grandmother (not that she's really in bad shape). So I'm so glad that I'll be feeling better for all of these things, not to mention you-know-what that's happening in September. ;)

To end, I suppose I'll say send prayers, or good vibes, or whatever you prefer, and just keep me in your thoughts Friday morning.

Pill Popper

Hello kids! Today, I’d like to talk to you about herniated disks. They are of the devil. (At first, I accidentally typed herniated dicks. Hehehe. I have the sense of humor of a 13 year old boy.) For those of you who might be anatomically challenged, the disks that I’m speaking of are located in the spine. They are these little jelly donut like spacers that go in between the vertebrae in your spinal column that act like shock absorbers. They’re there so that when you run or jump or do anything to put pressure on your spine, your vertebrae don’t come crashing down on each other and the nerves in your spinal cord don’t get screwed up. When one of the disks is herniated, that usually means that the disk has been squished to the point where the “jelly” in the “donut” has been squeezed out and is putting pressure on the spinal cord and all the nerves that run down your legs. That’s USUALLY what happens with a herniated disk problem, but for some reason, I gotta be different, I gotta be the unusual case. Instead of my disk being squeezed out, it’s being squished inward. Looking at my MRI images, my disk looks like a heart; it’s being pinched inward on one side, so there’s an arrow shape bulging out the other side. It’s extremely painful. 

I’ve been dealing with a herniated disk, located in my L4/L5 region (L stands for lumbar which is your lower back, L5 is the lowest vertebra), since November of 2011. From November until March 2012, I had ex-rays, the MRI, a toradol shot in my hip, a variety of medications both narcotic and non-narcotic, electronic stimulation therapy, physical therapy (lots and LOTS physical therapy), and two epidurals. I finished up my physical therapy that March and I guess you could say I went into “remission” and I felt great. For a couple of months. Then the second week of July 2012, it allllllll came back. It was really frustrating. I thought I was done with this mess. So I went back to the doctor, had another toradol shot, was put on some steroids, nerve blockers, and narcotics, eventually had another epidural and went back into physical therapy. I was able to finish up this second round of physical therapy right before Halloween. I felt awesome again. I could go shopping with my mom without having to stop and sit every five minutes. I went to Savannah for Thanksgiving with my best friend and I was so excited about actually getting to walk around the city and River Street without slowing our whole group down. I was determined that my disk problem wouldn’t come back again. 

Well, I suppose being determined to stop something from happening is different than actually preventing that something from happening. Because my back pain came back again. It was slightly different this time than the other two times. The first two times it was like BAM: PAIN. I’d just be laying bed, then when I would try to get up, something would go wrong in my back and I’d be in excruciating pain, and not be able to stand up straight. But this third time, the pain kind of creeped up on me. At first, I thought I was just achy because of the weather. It had been cold and rainy for about a week and a lot of times when the weather is like that, it can affect your joints and bones and stuff. I guess it’s a part of getting older. But as time went on, the pain kept getting worse and I started to realize that it was my back. I was pissed. So I went to the doctor, said, “yo, same shit, different day”, they gave me another toradol shot, more steroids, more nerve blockers, and my favorite, more narcotics. Aaaaaand I’ve just had my fourth epidural.

All I can think about this happening is, I’ve got to get over this before September. I am NOT going to let this stupid thing, this silly little busted jelly donut in my back, ruin this great opportunity that I have before me. I WILL get better. I HAVE to get better. Something I’ve noticed, looking back at all of my bouts with this back pain, is that there’s a pattern where the back pain would happen, I’d get all these drugs and shots, and do PT for 3 months, then I’d be better for about 3 months, then it would come back. So the pattern is that about every six months, the pain would come back. Basically, the epidurals would last for about six months and then I’d need another one. Epidurals aren’t really that big of a deal. It’s just a couple of shots in the lower back (four to be exact, two shots to numb the areas on each side of the spine, then two shots with the big daddy needle on each side of the spine). It’s not the same thing that women get when in labor. I mean, it is, just a different dosage of steroids. It doesn’t numb my whole lower body, like I’ve heard it does when giving birth. When I was getting ready for my first epidural, I kept telling myself, “you’ll be ok, you’ve gotten several piercings and two tattoos, you can handle this.” But getting an epidural is really nothing. It doesn’t even compare with getting a tattoo or piercing. Of course, this is all coming from someone who is ok with needles. So if you’re squeamish, like I know my best friend is, you might have a different experience with it. I just hope that this epidural that I’ve just gotten will last for a little longer than six months. Or at least that I’m able to strengthen the muscles in my back, so that my disk can go back into place, so that I can go to St. Augustine in September and have the time of my life, without having to worry about pain. 

In the past year and a half, I’ve done a lot of thinking about pain. I’ve had to think about what is painful, and what isn’t. What I can tolerate, and what is just completely past my level of tolerance. In my physical therapy sessions, I’ve had to describe what the pain feels like, and where it is. That’s probably the hardest thing to do. You have to figure out if it’s a shooting pain or a dull pain, whether its tingling or throbbing, whether it’s just in my thighs or going past my knees and down to my shins. You have to rank the pain on a  scale from 0 to 10. Everyone’s pain tolerance is different, so everyone’s scale is going to be different. When asked where my pain level is on that scale, I always feel like I’m exaggerating how much pain I’m feeling. But then I have to remind myself that if I undersell my pain level, I’m not going to get the care that I really need. If I am feeling a constant pain, a pain that makes me grimace, it’s nothing less than a five, but if I can stand it for a period of time, then it’s not quite a ten. So that’s why, when the physician’s assistant asked me where my pain level was the other day, I told her it was a seven. The other day, when I went to Starbucks to try to work on this post, I was getting all set up, getting my computer out, plugging in my power cord, and then when I sat down, the pain was so unbearable, I thought I was going to throw up. I wasn’t there for more than five minutes before I had to pack up all my stuff and head home. It’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Pain. Unnecessary pain. It makes me want to punch somebody in the face, just so they can feel the same thing I’m feeling. A lot of times, when I’m so frustrated, and just can’t take it any more, I’ll just scream as loud as I can. This usually takes place in my car. I did that the other day. I was driving over to my parent’s house for dinner and when I got in the car, I just couldn’t take it, so I just started screaming and crying. I live about ten or fifteen minutes from my parent’s house, so once I was about halfway there, the pain had somewhat subsided and I calmed down enough so that I didn’t look like a crazy mess when I got to my parent’s house. Not that it would have mattered what I looked like, they’ve been there with me through the whole thing. They’ve seen me on my good days and they’ve seen me on my absolute worst days. 

Someone else who saw me through my good and very bad days was my now ex-boyfriend. My first two flair ups happened while at his house, getting out of his bed. When it first happened, he was there for me. At the time, he was trying to go back to school (ironically enough) for physical therapy, after flunking out of nursing school a couple of months before he was supposed to graduate. So he knew a lot about how to help me. He was there for me when I needed to switch out my ice packs, he was there to get me fresh water when I needed to take my meds, he was there when I took a really hot bath and nearly fainted after getting out. He was my own personal nurse. And I didn’t think twice about it because I didn’t really have to ask him for help, he would just do it. But I was so self involved with my situation, that I didn’t think about how it was affecting him and affecting our relationship. Obviously, it ended up putting a huge strain on our relationship, and as I was in the middle of my first round with physical therapy, and as our one year anniversary was approaching (which just so happened to be Valentine’s day), he told me that he was tired. He was tired of having to take care of me. And rightfully so. It just never occurred to me that the whole thing was just as stressful and frustrating for him as it was for me. So we broke up for a couple days, got back together for about a week, then broke up again and made it almost two weeks and then were back together again. I was better for most of that summer. And he and I were so on-again-off-again. It wasn’t all about my back problems. There were other things affecting our relationship, whether it was my lack of experience dealing with relationship problems, or his emotional stuntedness. But my back pain was a silent factor that was always there in the shadows. He was with me for a little over a month when the pain came back for the second time. August 21, 2012, three days before my third epidural, was our final break up. It was just time. We were both headed in different directions in our lives and we were only able to keep it together for that long because we liked having sex with each other (sorry to any family members who just read that, but did you really think I was still a virgin?). For any of you who were able to read my “Baby Mama Drama/Lifestyle Changes” post before I had to take it down, you know that my post-break-up-friendship/relationship with my ex did not work AT ALL. So that kind of sucked. But I just want to say now how grateful and thankful I was, and still am, to have had him to help me through those difficult times. I know it wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t fun. But he was there regardless of how I looked or how I acted. So I just want to say thank you to him, whether he ever reads this or not. Thank you. 

Something I’ve been wanting to write about for a while, and now seems to be the perfect time to do so, is my slight addiction to pain meds. When put in a situation where you’re dealing with chronic pain, pain pill addiction is almost inevitable. When you first start out, you feel like you’re just following the doctor’s orders. If you’re in pain, you take this, then you won’t be in pain anymore. And it’s awesome. It almost feels like magic. You take it, wait about thirty minutes to an hour, depending on the last time you ate, and presto, the pain is gone. You start out just taking it at night to help you get to sleep. Then you get up the next morning and you find that it’s really painful to get out of bed, so you take some more. Then you’re sitting at work, and it hurts to sit in your chair, so you take some more. And before you know it, you have it scheduled out when you need to take it so that you go through your whole day without feeling any sort of pain. Numb to your entire surroundings. After a while, the dose you’ve been taking doesn’t do the trick anymore, so you double it. And the cycle just keeps going like that. That’s what happened to me. I didn’t want to feel any sort of pain, so I would pop a pill if I felt like there was any sign of pain. The first doctor that I saw wrote a prescription for 5mg Lortab (hydrocodone/acetaminophen 5mg/500mg), which is not a super strong dosage. I remember when I still had this prescription, I was spending the day with my ex and some of his family for Christmas, and I took 8 pills throughout that day. That’s 40 milligrams of hydrocodone and 4000 milligrams of acetaminophen (which, according to the FDA, is the maximum daily dose for adults). That’s A LOT. Mind you, I was in a lot of pain that day and had trouble walking at this point, much less doing anything else. This was when the vicious cycle started. I eventually switched to a different doctor and he started prescribing Norco (hydrocodone/acetaminophen 7.5mg/325mg) to me. The difference between Norco and Lortab, other than the brand name, is that Norco has less acetaminophen in it, so that you can take more of it and have less risk of liver damage. It’s meant for people who will be in pain for an extended period of time. The first prescription of Norco that I received was for 90 pills. I went through that bottle in two weeks. I was taking 5 to 6 pills a day, usually two at a time. I was then given a bottle of 70 pills and I made that last for about three and a half weeks before I was given another 50 pills. So in the space of about two months, I had consumed 210 7.5mg Norco. 

After I got through that first bout of back pain, I had a conversation with my dad about my dependence on Norco. I remember he commented that I seemed like a zombie for most of that January. Of course, while I was in the midst of it, I couldn't see how it was affecting me. I do remember realizing at one point that what I was doing was not good for me, that I was starting to get addicted to the pills. I had gotten so caught up in a daily schedule of when I “needed” to take the pills, that I wasn’t taking it on an as needed basis, like I was supposed to. So I had to start “listening” to my body, to really pay attention to when I was in pain, and when I wasn’t. I started slowly cutting back, trying to only take pills when I really needed it. It was really hard. And since my body had built up a resistance to it, I still had to take two at a time for it to do anything for me, I was just taking them fewer times a day, mainly just at night. At this point I had started physical therapy, and when doing therapy, the therapist is constantly asking when I do and don’t feel pain. So I couldn’t be drugged up when I would go to therapy, otherwise we wouldn’t get anything done. 

I am very lucky that I was able to pull myself away from the edge of addiction. A lot of people deal with drug addiction, even with prescription drugs, and it starts out the exact same way that it started for me. It starts out so innocently, just following doctor’s orders, but it can quickly spiral out of control. I believe it was in between my first and second bout that I saw an episode of Intervention where this chick was taking 50 Norco a day. 50 A DAY. Like whoa. I can’t even fathom that. That episode really hit home because she was taking the same thing I take. It freaked me out. So ever since seeing that episode, I’ve made sure not to let my pill popping get out of control. It’s something I’m still dealing with today, and something I’ve dealt with even in between my bouts. When I’m nearing my end of dealing with a bout of pain, I try to keep a couple of Norco for emergencies if the pain all of a sudden comes back again. But it’s very tempting, even when I’m not in pain, to take it recreationally. The moment when the pills kick in, there’s a wave of relief that washes over you and it just feels so good. However, I know that if I give into that temptation, that I could become a slave to it, and some really shitty things could happen. 

To wrap up, I want to reference one of my previous posts. In my post “The Man”, I wrote about making a lifestyle change and eating healthier. Well I tried and succeeded for like 3 or 4 days. I’m really bad at sticking with things like that. Like I mentioned in that post, getting fast food is just so much easier than actually going to the grocery store and buying healthy food to cook and eat. A big reason why I was trying to make a lifestyle change was to prevent me from having to deal with this back pain again. And the reason why the back pain keeps coming back is because I’ve been (forever) struggling with getting some weight off. Losing a substantial amount of weight will not only make me look sexier (hehe), but should also help my disk to heal. But saying is SO MUCH easier than doing. I don’t even remember not being overweight. I’ve been like this my WHOLE life. I would just resign to the fact that I’ll be this way forever, but I can’t do that. Not if I want to be able to go through life without having to deal with this shit every six months. I don’t want to be in pain, I don’t want to have to worry about whether I’m going to get addicted to pain pills, I want a normal life! And the only way I’m going to be able to do that is to make a permanent, lasting lifestyle change. 

I have a friend from college who lives with Fibromyalgia. If you don’t know what that is, you should go look it up, but it’s basically a condition in which the sufferer is in pain all the time, all over her body. I’ve seen my friend dealing with it when we were in school and I know that it sucks. I’m sure the stuff I go through with my back problem is nothing in comparison to what she deals with on a daily basis. She’s like the strongest person I know, for having to deal with this, among other things. Right now she is going through a program that is about pain management. I’ve written to her, asking about what she deals with with fibro, and how it affects her life. I know she’s busy with her program right now, but I’m really looking forward to hearing what she has to say about pain, and I’m hoping it will help me to get through my pain problems. I’ll make sure to update this post once she writes back. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this: if you need to make a lifestyle change, do it. Don’t wait around for things to get worse. I need to hear that as much as anyone else.