I am never getting out of bed again

There is nothing I hate more than getting up in the morning. It is literally the worst part of my day. Everyday. Except the weekends (obviously; who gets up early on the weekends?).

My alarm will go off early in the morning to wake me for work, and (after hitting snooze several times first), I will spend a few moments laying there, staring up at the ceiling, perusing all the reasonable excuses I could possibly use to not have to get up.

I could call in sick and go back to sleep.

I could just quit my job all together.

I could poison myself and never have to get up early again.

After a few minutes of wracking my brain for any way to keep from having to get out of my warm, comfortable cocoon of a bed, I finally give in to the fact that nothing is going to save me from that horrible fact: it’s time to get up.

This happens every morning when that alarm goes off.

It’s probably ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to struggle so much internally with the idea of getting up early (or just getting up in general). I know everyone complains about having to get up, and some days are worse than others, but I don’t think I’ve known anyone to suggest such ridiculous options to avoid such a menial thing in the first place. I guess I’m just really. not. a. morning. person. 

If only tips like these actually worked for me.

To add to my misery on this particular morning, it was one of those dark, dreary, positively disgusting days that make you want to lay on the couch under a blanket in your sweatpants while you watch movies all day long and sleep intermittently. Totally acceptable. If only school would be cancelled on days like these so I didn’t have to go to work.

bed best

My life.

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The way black is black and blue is just blue

Over the weekend, I got to meet (and hang out for two days with) my boyfriend’s parents. For me, meeting a significant others’ parents was always kind of a big deal, especially because 1. I have had so few serious relationships, and (save for the boyfriends I had in my younger years, which don’t count, because they were still living at home and their parents were around all the time), I only really wanted to meet the parents if I felt the relationship was going somewhere long-term (which, luckily for me, they haven’t until now- hopefully; of course, now that I’ve said that, my boyfriend will probably read this, freak out and run away- or better yet, maybe he’ll propose tomorrow). And 2. parents usually live out of state, which makes meeting them more involved and take longer (although, considering his came all the way from Michigan to Florida to meet me after 4 months of dating, I must be doing something right). Reversely, I never felt like it was a big deal bringing mine around because they are so laid back and don’t make it into a big deal. Plus they live local and I have a blast hanging with them, so it’s kind of hard to avoid (my boyfriend ended up spending the day fishing with my mom, stepdad and me after only a week of dating; point proven).

It’s weird how not weird all of this has been up to this point. When I went away with my ex to meet his parents (after a year and a half of dating, no less), it felt like I had to be “on” the whole time I was there, like I could never really relax and just be myself, because I was too busy trying to impress them, and I still wasn’t even completely comfortable with him. But this just felt like I was already part of the family (which is great, because that’s kind of the whole point). It’s weird for me to feel so at ease in my relationship so early on. Like we’ve been together forever, and it just fits and is right.

It’s crazy how some people can come into your life and fit into it so effortlessly, like they were there all along. It’s foreign to me to feel like this person was always supposed to be in my life, like one of those cheesy “how did I survive without you until now” moments that are so cliched but couldn’t be more true. For someone who values their independence and alone time, it’s weird to want that one person around all the time, to just be in their presence, to miss them when they’re not there even though you just saw them.

The funny thing is, I don’t feel this overly dramatic, romantic feeling that you can only suspect happens in movies when the main character has fallen in love and declared it will last forever. This is better. It actually feels real this time. I’ve stopped trying to read into things, because I don’t feel like there’s anything to worry about anymore. I don’t feel like I need to validate my feelings to myself or anyone else because, for lack of better words, they simply just fit; I couldn’t imagine feeling any other way. And it’s actually not even overwhelming or a little scary to realize you want someone for the rest of your life. It’s just like, well duh, how could you want it any other way?

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Shark attacks obviously = a bunch of random body parts underwater

While I was laying in bed last night, I had a strange thought come to me (as they often do, honestly, I’ve since given up trying to understand how my brain works and why it thinks up the random and obscure crap that it does). I decided to share it with my boyfriend (who was just about to fall asleep next to me, and probably GREATLY appreciated me interrupting his slumber with my weird thoughts), but didn’t really get to explore it as much as I would have preferred. I wondered (aloud), when a shark attacks a person and removes a limb, what happens to the limb? Assuming it isn’t swallowed and digested.

But I know sharks don’t like the taste of human flesh, so I’d imagine they wouldn’t ingest it. Which makes me wonder what happens to it? Is the limb recovered? Because if I had a body part ripped off by a shark, and it didn’t eat it, I’d want it back if possible, y’know, in hopes of reattaching it and stuff.

This is clearly what it looks like underwater after a shark attack.

This is clearly what it looks like underwater after a shark attack.

Or if it isn’t recovered, where does it go? Does it just sink to the bottom of the ocean to be feasted upon by millions of marine organisms? I picture the ocean floor littered with various arms and legs, a graveyard of useless limbs. Eventually the “meat” would be eaten or dissolve, leaving only a broken, severed bone behind. Which then makes me wonder if scuba divers ever encounter a random human bone underwater. As a diver myself, I think it would be a little off-putting (although also a little AWESOME) to stumble across human remains underwater. I know I’m a weirdo for thinking any of this, and even less appealing as a normal person for putting it in digital form for millions to read and judge, but I don’t give a tiny rat’s ass.

Plus I had to share, how could I not? I mean really, where do all those severed shark attack pieces even go?!

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Saying goodbye to a piece of our family

My sister came over tonight and cried on my couch after just having put her cat to sleep, and even though it wasn’t my cat, Cinnamon had been apart of our family for over 17 years, so I sat on the couch and cried with her. We knew she was old and sickly, so this wasn’t a total shocker, but I honestly wasn’t prepared to come home from spin (knowing full well my sister was coming over tonight, anyway) to this news.

I feel so sad for her, and for Cinnamon, because it isn’t easy saying goodbye to a furry best friend. I always joke that with my luck, my bastard cat will never die, she’ll just keep shitting on my floors for the rest of my life. But when that day finally comes and Felix is no more, I’m not sure how I will manage. Pets may not be as important to some people as other humans are, but when they’re in your lives for that amount of time, and they become apart of your family, it isn’t easy to let them go, even if you know it’s what’s best for them. I know there are varying degrees of loss and sadness (and I’ve been quite fortunate enough to not have experienced the most extreme cases of it), but any loss in general, when it affects the heart, is enough to make adjusting to life without that person (or beloved pet) almost unbearable. It’s crazy to think how, eventually, with time, these emotional wounds do finally heal (though we may never be the same again, it does get easier) and that we’re able to continue living our lives while that other individual no longer can. Life is such a funny, fragile concept, and I’m not sure I’ll ever really understand it, but I think I can understand that gut-wrenching feeling you get when you realize you have to go on without someone (because I’ve been there, in other ways). It takes a lot of strength to accept loss and move on, and anyone who has ever experienced it, big or small, will know what I mean when I say some days you just want to cry. And that’s okay. There will eventually be other days that you can look back on that person or pet’s life and know they lived a good one, regardless of how short or long they thrived, and be happy you had them in your life in the first  place. It’s not an easy place to get to, but just know it’s possible, and never give up the fight to get there.

I realize it might be ridiculous to write a eulogy for a cat, but I think if it makes a difference to just one person (that one person being my sister), then it wasn’t ridiculous at all, it was completely worth it. So here it goes:

Cinnamon was a good and loyal cat, one who preferred time alone to sleep in the sunlight, but who (especially in her old age) also enjoyed a good snuggle and back scratch from anyone who would give her the time of day (which was everyone). She loved sleeping squished in cardboard boxes and licking the water from a dripping faucet. In her younger days, she liked to sleep on people’s heads and stay as far away from Felix the cat as she could. In her wiser days, she preferred to curl up on a soft blanket somewhere and stay as far away from Felix the cat as she could. She was a pet and a best friend, and she will be forever loved and missed.

RIP Cinnabunner

RIP Cinnabunner

 

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A lazy Sunday idea

So my boyfriend and I had the ingenious idea of buying inflatable pool floaties and just being lazy on the water all day yesterday. It was pretty much the best idea we’ve had yet, and we’ve had some good ones, so you know this one must have been awesome, but only because I’m telling you it was awesome, because you weren’t even there, so what the fuck do you know about anything?

Err..moving on.

With our styrofoam cooler floating in the water next to us- stocked with snacks and delicious adult beverages, of course (beers for him, fruity mixed drinks for me)- pretty good weather and a quiet, secluded spot in the water, we couldn’t have asked for a better setup. And even when we realized hey, we’ve drifted pretty far away from the beach and into open water, I really didn’t seem to care that we probably wouldn’t make it back alive. I had the sun, the sea and my man, what else did I need? Who really cared if we drowned, right?

Wrong. Apparently I cared if we drowned. A few storm clouds started to move in and it started to rain lightly (but even then I was still unfazed by our predicament). Once darker clouds started rolling in, though, and the water started to get choppy, and I realized I wasn’t making any headway trying to paddle myself back to shore, I started to freak out a little internally, but only because I almost washed away to sea once. Perfectly legitimate reason to be scared, right?

Now I suppose this is the part where I tell that story, huh?

One time I was on a sailboat with my dad and a few friends. And we anchored so we could swim and I jumped in and my friend jumped in and we started floating away because we couldn’t fight the current back to the boat, so my dad had to jump in with a rope and save us. And our life preserver/buoy/rafts drifted away into the abyss, never to be seen again (probably picked up by the Coast Guard). The end.

I’m not really even sure where this post was going in the first place (not like I ever really have a direction that makes sense when I’m blogging, anyway). But basically the moral of the story is that in the future, my boyfriend and I need to keep ourselves beached if we’re planning on floating aimlessly (or invest in a tiny baby anchor). Although it really doesn’t matter at the end of the day, because the water was probably only chest deep, but I’d rather drown than put my feet down in those nasty, murky, weedy, mushy waters.

And to make this post even more useless and irrelevant, because I didn’t even get a picture of either one of us doing the lazy float thing (because let’s face it, who has time for selfies when you’re busy being lazy and float-y?), here’s a picture of a dog being lazy instead:

Basically what I looked like. I'm not quite this tan though.

Basically what I looked like. I’m not quite this tan though.

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