So sorry I’ve dropped off the face of the earth. I haven’t had internet for the last few weeks. You see, I moved into a new place on March 1st and things haven’t really slowed down ever since. The move itself was tiring enough. It involved moving half my stuff out of storage 200 miles away and moving the other half out of my old third floor apartment. And there were three of us. And it was raining. My parents were the ones who helped me move, and I promised them that next time I would hire movers so that they won’t write me out of the will.

The new apartment is nice. It’s substantially bigger than the previous shoebox. It’s a bit depressing that I’ve owned two houses and I’m moving into an apartment, but at least I don’t have to deal with an HOA. Those people are bored and dangerous. I do, however, live beneath a family of clogging elephants. At least that’s my best guess as to who could possibly be capable of making that much noise at all hours.

Unpacking was an adventure in and of itself. Because we never completely unpacked in our last house due to all the remodeling, some of those boxes have been packed since 2006. I was surprised to find out how much crap I really do have. And I don’t even know where it all came from. There’s enough silverware for a dinner party of 50. And somehow, I have enough glassware from Pat O’Brien’s to throw my very own Mardi Gras. The funny thing is that all those glasses came from our honeymoon and we only went to Pat O’Brien’s twice.

Some boxes remain packed for now. What was I going to do with a big box of wedding pictures and a unity candle? And my Pottery Barn shadowboxes full of black and white wedding photos, hubby’s boutonniere and a handkerchief made from my grandmother’s wedding gown? Well let’s just say I may need to fill a few of those Pat O’Brien’s glasses before I go digging through that.

Anyway, last weekend I made a trip to my parents’ house to get the last of my stuff: my dogs. I was so excited to get them back and have them to come home to. I was a little worried with how they’d handle the move, but they’ve moved before. And being my dogs, they should be used to chaos by now. They aren’t used to having to be on a leash and do their business in designated areas, but they seemed to be doing OK.

Then a problem surfaced. One of them began marking everything. My bed, the couch, the TV, the ficus tree. These dogs have been housetrained for years. My mom had told me someone had been marking the beds and the couch at her house occasionally, but she thought it was because of the cat. I emailed their vet and told her the situation. She said I should rule out a UTI first. So, since I didn’t know which dog it was for sure, I decided to take them both in. Although, judging from the height of the “evidence,” my guess was Sniff.

My friends recommended a local vet and I made an appointment. The vet told me that it’s unusual for male dogs, particularly mixed breeds to get UTIs, and that it’s more likely just something about the apartment that makes him feel the need to do that. Possibly some separation anxiety. He wanted to rule both of those out, so he prescribed antibiotics and…Xanax. That’s right. My dogs are on Xanax. Everyone at my house has issues, apparently. At least I know that I can sneak a few of their pills if I need to.

The world makes divorce look easy. Even glamorous. Some people make cakes and throw parties to celebrate it. Some people act as if divorce and freedom are one in the same. I’ve never had those sorts of notions about it, but I did think I had already grieved. After all, it’s not as though things were perfect and then they suddenly weren’t. I’ve been facing this possibility for years. But I was completely unprepared for the reality of the situation to set in.

You see, when the Bible says you become one flesh with this person, it’s hardly a metaphor. You are connected on a spiritual level whether you are a spiritual person or not. Your lives are completely intertwined. And when you rip that institution apart, you aren’t left with two whole individuals. You are left with two people with jagged edges and holes missing.

It feels like a death. A death of who I was, who I thought I would be, the life I’d planned, my hopes, my dreams, my status in society. I have been married since I was 23. Nearly seven years. And I haven’t been single since I was 14. I just hopped seamlessly from one relationship to the next and met hubby when I was 19. I have no idea how to be a single adult. Not a clue. And if last night is any indication of what the future holds for me, I may move to a convent.

I don’t fit in with the twenty- and thirty-somethings in the bar scene. I don’t fit in with married couples. I don’t fit in with families with young kids. I am only 30, but I have lived through more pain, turmoil, and stress than some 50-year-olds I know. I look young and feel old. I don’t know where I fit anymore.

And some days, I can find peace and be grateful for all the good things in my life and for the opportunity to learn and grow. But other days, I am shaking my fist at God and ranting about the unfairness of it all. Every aspect of my life is changing, and I can’t do a thing about it.

I’ve been warned about the spectrum of emotions I will likely experience: anxiety, anger, fear, despair, apathy. I think I touched on all of those in the last week. Maybe the last day. And he hasn’t even filed the papers yet. I wish I could fast-forward through all this.

Tonight, I went to the DivorceCare program at my church. This is the second week, and I’ve enjoyed it so far (as much as you can enjoy a recovery program). It is comforting to know that there are other people out there feeling as pitiful as I am. In fact, there are three girls I already knew that are in there with me.

They tell you that you aren’t allowed to date other people in the program for the duration of the 13 weeks. And just to seal the deal, they make sure you look as unattractive as possible by installing unflattering overhead lighting all over the building. At one point, I went into the bathroom, took a look in the mirror and nearly scared myself. They had somehow replaced my reflection with that of a meth addict. Well done, Watermark. No one is going to want any of this action.

What’s even better is that DivorceCare is held the same night as The Porch, which is the program for single young adults. Hehe. Talk about awkward. I want to walk up to them all wild-eyed, waving my bright blue DivorceCare workbook in their face and say “Beware, children! Heed my wisdom or this shall be your future!” But they’re so cute with their Uggs and their iPhones and their hopes and dreams, so I just let them be.

I’d like to say things have turned around, but it was a lousy Monday. But at least I had a moment where I could laugh at it.

A good friend of mine lost her father this weekend (that’s not the funny part). Since I can’t be there for the funeral, I went to Hallmark after my doctor’s appointment this afternoon. The lady who worked there just radiated Hallmark. She was sweet and cheerful, she had bouncy curls, and I’m pretty sure she even smelled like a Yankee Candle. She greeted me ever so politely and asked if she could point me in the right direction. I told her I was looking for sympathy cards.

“Oh I’m so sorry to hear that. You are the fourth person today that was looking for those. Well, they are right over here, and if you don’t find anything you like, let me know. We have another section I can show you.”

I thanked her, browsed through about a million sympathy cards, made my selection, and went to the register.

“Did you find one that will work?” she asked with a little head tilt.

“Yes, thank you,”

“Well good,” she said. And as I turned to leave she called out, “Come back in a week or so for a happier occasion. Like Valentine’s Day.”

Awesome.

You ever have one of those weeks? I just did. I’d been waiting patiently for over a month to get my car back as I navigated the Metroplex in a giant bathtub. Originally, they said it would be the 22nd. Last Tuesday, they said it would be Monday. Monday, they said it’d be Wednesday. So when they still said it would be Wednesday on Tuesday afternoon, and Wednesday was the last day I could have my rental car anyway, I decided to make the 200-mile trek back to my hometown right after work on Tuesday. About halfway through my drive, I got another call.

“Ms. Plesko? This is ___ with ____ Paint & Body.”

“Hello.”

“Well, ma’am. We took it to the alignment shop and it looks like one of the airbag sensors is broken, so we’re going to have to take it to the dealership tomorrow. Depending on how fast they get it done. We’re looking at Thursday. I realize Wednesday is the last day you can have your rental before you pay out of pocket, so I am more than happy to pay for another day.”

“Well, you’re a little late. When I called at 3:30, someone told me it would be ready some time tomorrow, so I’m already making the drive down, and I’ve taken the day off from work tomorrow.”

“Oh ma’am. I so sorry about that. We’ll try our very best to get it done tomorrow.”

Spectacular. I had a feeling that was going to happen.

So I made the best of it and spent all day Wednesday seeing friends and family and hanging out with my dogs. It was odd being there in the middle of the week when everyone was at work. It was almost like living there again. Around 4:00, I decided I’d go ahead and take the rental car back before Enterprise closed, so my dad met me there and gave me a ride. We were headed to the coffee shop when the body shop called again.

“Ms. Plesko? I am so so sorry. But the dealership found another airbag sensor that is missing from the driver’s side airbag. And we don’t have it here; we have to order it from Georgetown. I can get it here first thing in the morning and it’ll only take about two hours to install and we should be getting your car back to you tomorrow afternoon.”

Soooo, I called my boss and explained the situation. I told him I could work from there on Thursday using my dad’s laptop (I didn’t have mine; thought I was going to be gone for 24 hours) or I could borrow my mom’s car and drive back. Fortunately, I have a nice boss. He let me stay there.

Again, I thought I was only going to be there one night, so I packed really light. If they pushed me back to Friday, my clothes might start to get a little ripe. Not to mention, my one-year performance review was Friday, so I was contemplating grand theft auto if they tried to pull this one more time.

I got my work done on Thursday through a combination of “borrowing” my parents’ neighbor’s wi-fi connection and using the free wi-fi at Hastings. When I still hadn’t heard from them at 3:30, I was getting annoyed. I finally called.

“Well, that part that was supposed to be in first thing this morning just now showed up. I’ve been on the phone begging and pleading with them all day to get it here. I’m going to call a shop across town to see if they can install it today. I know you’re in a bind, and I’m so sorry about this. I am going to try my very best to get it done.”

He called me back about fifteen minutes later to tell me my car was en route to the place across town and that they were going to start on it as soon as it got there and hopefully get it done today. At 4:00? Nothing like cutting it close. I think I might’ve been molting at that point. You see, I have some control issues and this was triggering them all.

Apparently, the guy they took it to must’ve worked in a pit crew at some point because when he called me back at 4:53, the car was done and on its way back to the body shop. I almost laughed out loud when he said, “Are you picking it up today?”

I got on the road back to Dallas at 6:45. I’d been hearing all day about the terrible rain Dallas had been having. I was just hoping that I wouldn’t run into it until I was almost home. Well … wish in one hand and crap in the other, I suppose. I hit the rain in Fairfield and spent hours driving through a blinding downpour with powerful gusts of wind. I was driving between 40 and 50 mph because each time I tried to accelerate much over that, I would start to hydroplane. My car had just spent more than a month in the body shop from an accident that happened on a rainy night, and I was not about to risk it. So one giant 18-wheeler after another sped past me, sending a tsunami over the top of my car. What should’ve been a three hour trip became a four hour trip. I walked into my apartment about 10:45, and I don’t think I even turned on the light. I just left a trail of clothes and luggage on my way to the bed.

So far, I’ve spent my weekend laying around being completely worthless - except for the effort I exerted getting that pedicure I had today. I hardly ever spend money on those, but this week - or rather this month - I think I’ve earned it.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve struggled with body image and eating disorders since middle school. I’ve learned what to do to help me stay healthy, but I’m still not what you’d call “cured.” I don’t think you’re ever cured; the constant battle really never goes away. And when I’m going through times in my life where I feel like everything is going to hell in a handbasket, that is when I find myself struggling the most. After all, sometimes it feels like what you allow to enter in or stay in your body is the only thing you have control over.

So a couple of months ago, I decided to write about it. It’s hard to believe it’s taken me this long, but I’m glad I finally did. Verbalizing what kind of dialogue goes through my head every day and actually seeing it on paper really struck me. First of all, it illustrated how crazy I must sound to the outside world. And I think eating disorders are often misunderstood, so hopefully it will bring some insight to those who have a loved one with this issue.

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The Lies You Tell Yourself

Remember how I mentioned that December had been a tough month? Well, one of the things that made it suck was getting into a car accident the night before Christmas Eve. I had left Dallas to head to my parents’ house, got on the road at 3:30, made good time despite bouts of nasty rain, and arrived in town around 6:30.

I had just exited the highway and was driving along the feeder. Suddenly, a big blue van in the lane next to me violently swerved into me and pushed me off the road. Was I scared? No. Was I hurt? Thankfully, no. But I was mad. I had just gotten my car back from the body shop because some drunk idiot in a parking garage backed into me (on my birthday). Not only that, the reason I even had this beautiful new car was because, just over a year ago, someone ran a red light and totaled my old one. So, yeah. I wasn’t exactly sympathetic when Mr. Big Blue Van lamented that he was still making payments on his wrecked (BUT STILL DRIVABLE) van. Meanwhile, my car’s two front wheels were facing opposite directions.

After dealing with the police and the other drivers and the rain and the tow trucks, my parents came and helped me unload my car, which was completely stuffed with Christmas presents and two weeks worth of clothes.

Of course, as it was the night before Christmas Eve, nothing was really going to move forward until at least the 28th. So we waited it out, and my parents let me borrow their cars for awhile. Finally, the Monday after Christmas, I headed to the police station to get the police report so I could find out which insurance company to contact. Imagine my delight to find that he had no insurance. I have coverage against uninsured drivers, but I get to pay a $250 co-pay. Merry Christmas to you too, Mr. Big Blue Van.

I believe it was Wednesday when I finally secured a rental car. I asked for the cheapest one because I did NOT want to have to pay for that as well. Turns out that even the cheapest one is going to cost me $1.50 a day. Happy New Year to you too, Mr. Big Blue Van.

So what is the cheapest one? I am rolling around the DF Dub in a giant white Mercury Grand Marquis. It’s what you might expect an elderly woman to be driving. It could also be mistaken for an unmarked cop car. Keep in mind that my car is a fun, speedy little Jetta Turbo. This car is about the length of a football field and has the acceleration and handling of an elephant on tranquilizers. It has been an adjustment to say the least. Each and every parking job I do now, turns out something like this.

I’ve been told that my car should be ready in the next ten days. It really can’t come soon enough. I didn’t think I could appreciate my car more, but I guess I stand corrected.

A few days ago, we didn’t just start a new year - we started a new decade. That really snuck up on me because the last decade started off with so much anticipation and fanfare and even fear. This one started off with a whimper.

So much has happened in the last ten years of my life. When 2000 rolled in, I was a 20-year-old college sophomore, had just started dating hubby and was completely head over heels. We were spending New Year’s Eve with a few of his coworkers watching “Whose Line is it Anyway?” and waiting to see if all the electronics would explode when the clock struck midnight. When 2010 rolled in, I was a 30-year-old content editor facing the reality that my longest relationship was coming to an end. I was spending New Year’s Eve curled up on the couch with my dogs at my parents’ house as we watched “What’s Up Doc?” The clock struck midnight, and I wished my dad a happy 61st birthday.

What that 20-year-old didn’t know that this 30-year-old does is that you can live your life to the best of your ability, you can do all the right things, you can pray all the right prayers - but storms are still going to come. There will always be things beyond your control. I used to think if I was good enough, God wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. But nothing could be further from the truth. And, I can honestly say I’m grateful for that.

I lived a life of candy canes and roses for a long time. But until I faced years of trials and tribulations and outright emotional exhaustion, I didn’t learn what it really means to have faith. How do you know how good the peaks are until you’ve had some serious valleys? How can you know what it’s like to be truly thankful for everything you have unless everything has been taken away from you? How can you learn how to truly love someone if there’s never any reason for you not to?

I’m not going to lie and say that these trying years haven’t given me hurt and disappointment that I’ll have to overcome. But I’m aware that it’s something I can overcome.

I am going into this new decade with the knowledge that there is little about the future that I can control, but I can control how I respond to it. And as long as I respond the way I should, I can still find joy no matter what the situation.

Hello, readers…if any of you are still out there. I’m sorry I’ve been away for awhile. December has been a hectic month. And not just hectic in the ways December often is, but hectic in the life-steps-on-your-neck-and-takes-your-lunch-money type of way as well.

Anyway, I have been meaning to write about several things, and I haven’t had time. So I will start with this - the longest post ever.

As many of you know, I ran a half marathon about a month ago. I trained five days a week for three months and thought it was going to be a cinch. I had even trained up to 12 miles when everyone had told me I only needed to train up to nine. In fact, I ran twelve miles on my thirtieth birthday, which I am pretty sure earns me some kind of bonus points. (P.S. No one told me beforehand that you actually gain weight when you train for a half, so I was lucky enough to be six to eight pounds heavier for my birthday. And no, it wasn’t all muscle. I may not have paid much attention in health class, but I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a muffin top muscle.)

The day before the race, we headed down to San Antonio where we met up with my parents. We did the obligatory picking up of the race packet, attended the pasta party, wandered the Riverwalk for a bit, and went to bed early.

When my alarm went off at 5:45 the next morning, and I looked out the window to see complete darkness, I wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into. But I peeled myself out of bed and stumbled around until I found the bathroom. I tried to stay quiet so hubby could get his extra fifteen or twenty minutes of sleep before he had to take me to the starting line.

I’d gingerly laid out everything I needed the night before: running clothes, running shoes, running socks, hair band, race number, shoe tag, nasty whole wheat English muffin with peanut butter, Gatorade, antibiotics, inhaler, sunblock…and I methodically put on or consumed each item. I finally woke up hubby just as his alarm went off, and we took off into the dark, steamy morning. The closest drop off point was still a good mile or more to the starting line, so I got a nice warm up in as the sun was coming up.

I lined up in my corral with 30,000 of my closest friends. The vibe was great. There were DJs, musicians, balloons, people in costume - a lot of excitement for 7:00 AM. One by one, they started to let each corral go. I was corral 16, so it took half an hour before we finally got to go. But when we did, what a rush! At each mile marker, there was a stage with a band. And all along the way, there were cheerleading squads cheering, people yelling encouragement from their lawnchairs, people holding signs, even high school bands playing. And they were all there to see us!

The first time I saw hubby and my parents was as I passed the Alamo, and I got another shot of adrenaline. Seeing the ones you love in the crowd cheering you on works better than carboloading. Throughout the race hubby kept appearing, taking shots of me like a paparazzi.

At mile 7.5, he even ran alongside me for a few blocks. I’d just choked down a Gu Gel at that point and washed it down with Gatorade, so I was still feeling pretty good. I was busy telling myself I was more than half way done. I could even hold a conversation with him as we ran.

As the sun got higher in the sky, it started to get hotter. But the heat wasn’t what got uncomfortable; it was the 94% humidity that started to wear on me. I was stopping at every water stop and sucking down Gu Gel to keep myself fueled. And I was still feeling pretty good…until mile 12. I hit a wall, and it seemed like that mile just wasn’t going to end. I was sure they’d made some sort of mistake. Had I missed the mile 13 marker? I kept cajoling myself in my head “15 more minutes. That’s nothing. You can do 15 more minutes.” Finally, I saw the mile 13 marker. 1.1 miles to go! But they’d definitely made a mistake measuring mile 13. It was about three miles long. And I was beginning to feel like I was going to pass out. But there was no way I was quitting at freaking mile 13. My family came all this way to see me. They’d gotten up at butt o’clock in the morning to cheer me on. I was determined to finish.

We were at the last 0.1 miles, heading into a tunnel, when we turned the corner to reveal that it was UPHILL. I’d like to take this moment to relay a message to the race course designers on behalf of all the participants of the Rock n’ Roll San Antonio Half Marathon…SCREW YOU!

I actually had to stop running at this point because, I was getting tunnel vision (ironic, huh) and lightheadedness. But I’m in a tunnel, dang it, I’m not stopping. Besides, what was at the other end of the tunnel looked an awful lot like the finish line, so I powered through and vaguely remembered grabbing my medal from someone as I crossed the yellow line.

Now, I knew that I was supposed to meet my family at a certain spot. But I was also beginning to realize that this spot was a very long walk through a sea of people, and I was not going to make it. I was looking for any place I could sit and finally found a golf cart.

The next thing I remember, I’m laying in the medic tent being packed with ice as I vomit Gu gel into my hair. “Looks like her fever’s at 106,” I hear someone say. “Ma’am? Ma’am? Can you tell us your name? Do you know where you are? Do you know what day it is? How old are you? Are you from here?” I answered those questions like a champ. Then they asked my address. Ummm….

Fortunately, the night before, I’d filled out the back of my race number with my name, address, insurance, allergies, emergency contacts, etc. You know…stuff you can’t remember when you’re packed in ice in a medic tent. I kept referring them to the back of the race number, but they seemed to want to hear the answers from me. And I was so tired.

Finally, one of them said “Ma’am, we’re taking you to the hospital.” Then a thought hit me. My family has no idea where I am. They’re going to wait in that one spot forever and ever and no one will tell them where I am. I started trying to explain to them that they needed to call my family. But they didn’t seem to understand that my family was there in San Antonio waiting for me. They seemed to think that they were in their respective towns waiting for me to return in a day or so. And I wasn’t quite with it enough to explain things.

Meanwhile, hubby is backtracking the course to see where I went. He saw me at mile 11.5, and took this picture.

So judging from the victory arms, I appeared to be doing fine. My parents had backtracked too, and eventually hubby and my parents caught up with each other at the hotel. The hospital had FINALLY called my dad (after me asking “Did you call them yet?” every five minutes.) They’d tried to call hubby’s phone too, but…well, let’s just say those Verizon commercials about AT&T’s network? Totally true. So the three of them piled in the car and hubby took everyone on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride to the hospital.

The ambulance ride over for me was…trippy. When your electrolytes are that screwed up, you kind of go a little insane. I am normally very levelheaded and don’t get panicky. But I think it’s fair to say I just went ahead and freaked right out. I kept asking the EMT if I was going to die. Then I got all existential and was wondering what the point of life was. About the time they wheeled me into the ER, I began to think that they would never call my family, they’d all leave and go back to their respective towns, and I’d be stuck in San Antonio living under a bridge forever. Then I decided they were going to be furious with me for insisting on running this half marathon and ending up in the hospital. Then I got distracted by my hands. Boy did they look weird. I couldn’t stop looking at them. The RN kept yelling at me to put my arms down because I was messing up the IV, but my hands had never been more intriguing and I couldn’t help myself.

Once the first bag of fluid was almost empty, I started feeling a little less insane - aside from the fact that there were no rooms available and I was stuck in the hallway. At least I was where the action was. They were hooking me up to the second bag of fluid when I finally saw my family. And when hubby said, “I’m proud of you,” I forgot about everything else.

About that time, one of the ER nurses laid my medal in my lap. That’s when it dawned on me. I FINISHED. Sure I passed out and overheated and ended up in the ER. But, dang it, I finished. I accomplished my goal. I ran 13.1 miles and finished in 2 hours and 22 minutes - better than the average time. Imagine if I hadn’t had to walk part of that last mile. And thanks to dad, I even have a beautiful picture to commemorate the event. Isn’t he thoughtful?

Last weekend, I went to see the movie The Blind Side, I watched My Sister’s Keeper, and I read the book Push by Sapphire. Sounds like a good time, right? Also, as I’ve mentioned before, I read the news for a living. That includes reading all of the stories about rape, kidnapping, human trafficking, infanticide, female mutilation, murder, abuse, and all of the things this world has to offer. While viewing these things is somewhat avoidable, sometimes I actually make it a point to expose myself to the ugliness in the world.

It helps me to remember that I have been extraordinarily blessed. That the things I complain about and worry about are often so incredibly insignificant. That this is a broken world and things are very different outside this bubble I live in. Most of all, it gets me outside of myself and helps me to empathize with others. Every person I encounter has a lot going on under the surface. Maybe I assume someone is just like me, yet they’re lost in a whole world of lies. Maybe I assume I have nothing in common with someone, yet we both know how it feels to ache with loneliness and despair.

And once I can see the world and the people in it in such a way, it makes it easier for me to do exactly what I am supposed to do…love people. Unfortunately, my shyness has proven to be a stumbling block towards actually showing it, so I am working on that. I’m always a work in progress.