Yesterday the weather betrayed my emotions. I suppose this is good. I wouldn't have made it home if the skies were grey, intensifying my sorrow. All day I denied that eventually the sun would set and I would have to say goodbye to Dylan. I went to his band practice, then watched him play football with his best friends. I sat in the mud and watched him while dogs pounced on me.
At the apartment, I clutched his shirt and sobbed for hours. I couldn't fathom that we only had an hour and then we would be separated for four months. I was a mess, covered in dog hair, mud, tears, and not having taken a shower. I wept so hard that I became ill. I couldn't leave him and I didn't want to drive back to Tennessee in an empty car. I couldn't do it. I called my father and he immediately gathered my sister and her boyfriend and drove up to Asheville to escort me home.
Honestly, leaving Dylan was the hardest part. If we had never met, I think I'd be okay now. But I can't eat for the pain. It's a deep, gaping wound to know everyone I love will be an ocean away. I'm so terrified. I just want to be settled and make friends. Then it will be okay. But this is the hardest part.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Because I Love You
I have the ability to ruin perfect moments. The other night I laid sobbing on Dylan's bed. I had a belly full of Waffle House and Absolut and when Dylan begged to know what was wrong, I shouted, "Because I love you!" The next day I hated myself. How could I have tainted such a beautiful moment? I should have waited.
But Dylan said, "You know, maybe that's how it was supposed to happen. Every moment has its little imperfections. But don't beat yourself up. We have had some pretty special nights."
And that's when I began to think about all of those perfect moments. It may not have been the first time I said, "I love you" or any other significant milestone in a relationship, but they were incredible nonetheless. These moments were as small as slow dancing in the kitchen or baking lumpy sugar cookies at midnight or waking up every morning and discovering new ways to make pancakes.
I always get wrapped up in the big moments, because society tells us they should happen a certain way. But the compilation of the small, beautiful, tender moments are all that matters, because who determines if the sun pours through the window panes at a certain angle or whether the sky is blue that day or if some sparkly classical music is playing in the background? And who cares? All I know is that he's the first boy to make me cry tears of joy and, hey, I love 'im.
But Dylan said, "You know, maybe that's how it was supposed to happen. Every moment has its little imperfections. But don't beat yourself up. We have had some pretty special nights."
And that's when I began to think about all of those perfect moments. It may not have been the first time I said, "I love you" or any other significant milestone in a relationship, but they were incredible nonetheless. These moments were as small as slow dancing in the kitchen or baking lumpy sugar cookies at midnight or waking up every morning and discovering new ways to make pancakes.
I always get wrapped up in the big moments, because society tells us they should happen a certain way. But the compilation of the small, beautiful, tender moments are all that matters, because who determines if the sun pours through the window panes at a certain angle or whether the sky is blue that day or if some sparkly classical music is playing in the background? And who cares? All I know is that he's the first boy to make me cry tears of joy and, hey, I love 'im.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Bon Voyage
Last night was the Bon Voyage party for Pete, Taylor, John, and me. The boys are leaving for England this weekend and this was one final bash to send them off.
As soon as I walked in (two shots in), John screamed, "Gabi, I missed you so much when I was in Michigan!!" and picked me up. I took my Wendy's Diet Coke and made Dylan pour Bacardi in it. The entire night I'm carried around a container of lime juice to chase the rum. I squirted it into people's mouths/drinks.
Then I approached some random guy and asked, "Hey, HEY, do you like French girls?"
"Shaven or unshaven?"
"Whatever you like. I'll UPS some to you, k?"
"...how about FedEx?"
So the rest of the night I'm offering to be everyone's wing girl. Taylor came into the party late because he was busy fucking some girl in his car.
"She's in community college." Stephanie told me with disdain. Pete said he doesn't have the heart to tell him she's not pretty.
John put his arm around me. I said I'd be his wing girl too, but he said he was happy with his French/Italian girl. Uh, sir, one arm is around you and the other is around my boyfriend. This is why relationships scare me so. I'm just too much of a flirt.
I had to get up this morning at 6 AM for an appointment with the TMJ specialist in Johnson City, so by 12:30 I knew it was time to go. However, I knew this would be the last time I saw Pete and saying goodbye was excruciating. I started weeping and told Dylan to go grab Pete because I was too drunk to walk over. Pete was slammed and falling on top of me. I yelled for someone to help as this 200 lb. boy rested his weight on my petite figure. He was slurring his speech so I couldn't understand anything he was saying. All I got was, "Gabi, I will do whatever you want."
I sobbed as I said goodbye and promised to meet up with Pete in Europe. He assured me he'd see me in about a month and told me how much he loved me. Then he grabbed me and attempted to walk down the hall, however he couldn't keep his balance and we both fell to the floor, laughing.
I cried the entire ride home and then made Dylan feed me kettle chips and pretzels. The next morning I was up and ready to go. I watched the sunrise over the mountains as I drove, and I was okay.
As soon as I walked in (two shots in), John screamed, "Gabi, I missed you so much when I was in Michigan!!" and picked me up. I took my Wendy's Diet Coke and made Dylan pour Bacardi in it. The entire night I'm carried around a container of lime juice to chase the rum. I squirted it into people's mouths/drinks.
Then I approached some random guy and asked, "Hey, HEY, do you like French girls?"
"Shaven or unshaven?"
"Whatever you like. I'll UPS some to you, k?"
"...how about FedEx?"
So the rest of the night I'm offering to be everyone's wing girl. Taylor came into the party late because he was busy fucking some girl in his car.
"She's in community college." Stephanie told me with disdain. Pete said he doesn't have the heart to tell him she's not pretty.
John put his arm around me. I said I'd be his wing girl too, but he said he was happy with his French/Italian girl. Uh, sir, one arm is around you and the other is around my boyfriend. This is why relationships scare me so. I'm just too much of a flirt.
I had to get up this morning at 6 AM for an appointment with the TMJ specialist in Johnson City, so by 12:30 I knew it was time to go. However, I knew this would be the last time I saw Pete and saying goodbye was excruciating. I started weeping and told Dylan to go grab Pete because I was too drunk to walk over. Pete was slammed and falling on top of me. I yelled for someone to help as this 200 lb. boy rested his weight on my petite figure. He was slurring his speech so I couldn't understand anything he was saying. All I got was, "Gabi, I will do whatever you want."
I sobbed as I said goodbye and promised to meet up with Pete in Europe. He assured me he'd see me in about a month and told me how much he loved me. Then he grabbed me and attempted to walk down the hall, however he couldn't keep his balance and we both fell to the floor, laughing.
I cried the entire ride home and then made Dylan feed me kettle chips and pretzels. The next morning I was up and ready to go. I watched the sunrise over the mountains as I drove, and I was okay.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Pancakes and Happiness
Last night Dylan and I made double chocolate chip banana pancakes for dinner. It was one of those marvelous days where I thought, I couldn't be happier. I had received a reply from my French host family, which consists of a schoolteacher, a father in the "trade of heifer", a 21-year-old girl who studied abroad in Scotland, and a 15-year-old boy who's studying to become a pastry chef.
When I told my mother about the family, she said, "Wait until that boy sees how gorgeous you are. God, he's going to go crazy!"
Ehh, I have an American boyfriend. And I am so happy. I honestly feel like I'm weightless. I have no responsibilities for the next month. I'm just hanging around the apartment, cooking for my boyfriend who thinks Bertolli is gourmet Italian, and enjoying my last few weeks with my roommates. Laughter, sleep, and sugar. It's all so, so good.
When I told my mother about the family, she said, "Wait until that boy sees how gorgeous you are. God, he's going to go crazy!"
Ehh, I have an American boyfriend. And I am so happy. I honestly feel like I'm weightless. I have no responsibilities for the next month. I'm just hanging around the apartment, cooking for my boyfriend who thinks Bertolli is gourmet Italian, and enjoying my last few weeks with my roommates. Laughter, sleep, and sugar. It's all so, so good.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Twenty Eleven
What a coincidence to be blogging right now. I remember my New Year's resolution for 2010 was to begin this blog and update it three times weekly. I'm feeling nostalgic so perhaps I'll rewind and read it from the beginning. It'd be neat to chart my progress (or regression) throughout 2010.
Anyways, I leave for France in thirty days. THIRTY DAYS. I'm still a little anxious about my trip. My French mother has yet to email me back saying that she'll pick me up at the train station, and my visa hasn't arrived. But right now I'm just trying to enjoy the moments I'll miss when I'm gone. You know, like baking cookies with Michelle and Dylan during exam week, ordering pizza with my roomies on snow days, and drunkenly kissing my girlfriends when I've had one too many screwdrivers.
It's all a little overwhelming, and my heart aches at the thought of going. Things in Asheville have been going so well and it seems unfair to have to leave it all behind. It's okay, I keep telling myself. I'll be back. I will. I will. I will.
Anyways, I leave for France in thirty days. THIRTY DAYS. I'm still a little anxious about my trip. My French mother has yet to email me back saying that she'll pick me up at the train station, and my visa hasn't arrived. But right now I'm just trying to enjoy the moments I'll miss when I'm gone. You know, like baking cookies with Michelle and Dylan during exam week, ordering pizza with my roomies on snow days, and drunkenly kissing my girlfriends when I've had one too many screwdrivers.
It's all a little overwhelming, and my heart aches at the thought of going. Things in Asheville have been going so well and it seems unfair to have to leave it all behind. It's okay, I keep telling myself. I'll be back. I will. I will. I will.
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