Good morning from...

...Galveston Island. Where I might be falling in love. With a location, not a person. Settle down.

This Easter weekend is turning out to be fantabulous. Yesterday, Surfside beach. Where I applied sunscreen and fried anyway, except for four perfectly white little dots on my left shoulder blade. Rock on.

From Surfside, I took the only partially reconstructed Bluewater Highway into G-town. A little Trivial Pursuit, a little live acoustic, and then I completely conked out when they started Back to the Future.

This morning, I've already planned out dinner, gone for a run, played with the puppyand showered. Now to put myself together, and I think in a bit Luke and I are grabbing lunch before he heads to Waco and the rest of the kids come back/in.

I hate running.

I hate it in the midst of it, when you're out there, not sure you can take another step, struggling, ignoring the pain in your calves, your side, brushing away the mosquitoes that try to make a feast from your flesh.

I hate it. I hate the end, feeling like I could just fall over, that the next step just might kill me, but that I have to keep pressing on.

And yet, being still never felt as good as at the end of a run. I never felt stronger than when I rock the next portion of my training regimen. Tomorrow I embark on week five of Cto5K. There is a 5K here in Lake Jackson in just about a month. I want to do it. Because I'm ready to prove to myself, once and for all, that I CAN.

God's been trying...

...to get to me lately. Every time I hear the radio I hear Him speaking, but I let it flow in one ear and out the other, like a rebellious, apathetic child.

This morning, I was running late, having spent too much time primping, and I was thinking about how fabulous I looked and how I was going to blog about it and make some silly quip about being ready for a date night with...oh, with nobody, right. And God reached out, caught me by the arm, and said, "Wait a minute, Carolyn. Just sit here and listen for a moment."

Why are you looking for love?
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough?
To where will you go child?
Tell me where will you run?
To where will you run?

I'll be by your side wherever you fall
In the dead of night whenever you call
Please don't fight these hands that are holding you
My hands are holding you

Look at these hands, at my side
They swallowed the grave, on that night
When I drank the world's sin
So I could carry you in
And give you life.

My heart's been struggling immensely the past couple of weeks, feeling distant from friends both physically and emotionally. I'm far away, and, what's more, it seems that all my best friends are either finding love (or mutual like) or taking it to a new level. They're preoccupied, and I'm further away than my distance would lead us to suspect.

I know that I've had my own chances in the past couple of years. I realize that I had two relationships in two years, both of which I somehow screwed up. It's only been a year since I dated anyone. That's not much time at all. So I have no real reason to complain.

But my heart betrays my head more often than I can explain, and I've found it reigniting old feelings I thought I'd boxed up, taped up, and put deep in the closet. I've found myself dwelling on romantic possibility with someone I barely know -- and won't get to know if I don't allow a regular friendship to build.

Through it all, God's been whispering, "Carolyn, I'm here. Carolyn, I love you. Carolyn, come to me first. Carolyn, focus your energy and your hurts and your desires on me. Carolyn, I'm waiting even when he isn't. Carolyn, spend time with me."

I just want to go to the beach with my Bible and my journal and spend the day there.

I can't. I'm at work, and posting this when I should be posting community resources to our assistance network.

Dear Michiganders: I apologize...

...for my hasty ridicule of your snowed-in situation yesterday. While I moved to Texas, where snow is rare, I should be sympathizing with your predicament, based upon my previous 23 winters in the blustery cold. To humble me, God put frost on my windshield this morning, and I had to dig around my car to find the scraper I so expediently put away upon arriving south of the Mason-Dixon line. In the future, I will hold my tongue. Please forgive me.

Love from Texas,

C-Jo



{Yesterday's gmail status: It snowed in Michigan today. Muahahahaha.}

I am officially...

...Texan. Even my car is Texan. And let me tell you, getting to that point was an adventure:

1) County Tax Office. Ouch - $170.00? Okay, fine. You made it all easy on me otherwise. Not like last week's drama, when I ran around Lake Jackson like a chicken bleeding from my headless neck chasing wild geese.

2) Driver's license office. I need my birth certificate? Really? That's the only personal document I didn't bring. I promise I was born, does that work? Okay, fine. I'll go home and get it. Thank the Lord I found it before I moved.

3) Peanut butter sandwich. If I had to come home, I might as well eat lunch.

4) Driver's license office, round 2. Oops, I left my insurance information, which I couldn't have gotten my registration (that you're holding) without, in the car. Sure, let me run out and get it. Please do answer that phone. And that question. And, okay, come back when you're ready. No problem, I have tons of time.

5) AutoZone in Angleton. Until about 2 hours ago, I was a Michigander. We don't do front license plates. Furthermore, a cavalier isn't really made for a front license plate. Yes, I agree that I'll probably have to drill through the bumper. No, I don't have the tools either. Okay, let me buy the mounting kit. I'll go to a dealership and see what they can do.

6) Chevrolet dealership in Lake Jackson. Hey, could you help me put these plates on my car. Yes, I'm from Michigan. Oh, you're from Bay City? That's special. Sure you can ride to the service area in my car, just let me clear...nevermind. No, I'm not married. No, I don't have kids. Oh, hte junk in my car? That's all mine. I'm the only kid here. You'll change the plates for free? Fantastic. I like free. Um, acutally I WOULD mind you taking me out very much (aren't you like, old? I mean, you could totally be my dad), but I'd still appreciate you putting the license plates on. Thanks. Your business card. Sure, I'll pass it along (into the trash can).

7) Texting while driving. Me: I just got asked out by a guy who's probably my dad's age. / Lauren: Haha. Was he cute? Did he get your digits? / Me: No. Ew. / Lauren: Come on, give grandpa a chance. / Me: Well, if you feel that way, I'll go back and give him your number. / Lauren: jk. Don't you dare. / Me: Fine. I'll give him Amy's number instead.

8) Texas gulf bank. I'd like to open an account. Do you have free checking? Um, if I'm paying a dollar a month is it really free? Yeah, here's my license. Well, I had a photo ID until about two hours ago. They took it away and gave me that. Sure, let me go get my passport out of the car. Oh, excuse me Mr. Husband-of-the-Banker, you're in my seat.


Now I'm home. And yes, that is a generally accurate, even if not verbatim account of my day.

I write long emails...

...when I'm responding to something (or somebody) that has frustrated, aggravated, or generally ticked me off.


Subconsciously, I think I diffuse my negative emotions through my wordiness.



{It's been that kind of day.}

Cigarette smokers are feeling "abused" by...

...the government's new tax hike.

{Warning...cynicism levels are extremely high today.}

I'm a person who values my lungs. I like them pink and fleshy, not black and tarred. Yet over and over and over again, I get stuck sucking in the remnants of their cancer sticks simply because I'm walking down the street. My least favorite place to go because of smoke? Bowling alleys. I love to bowl. I grew up next door to an alley. But I hate coming out feeling like I've spent two hours wallowing in an ash tray.

Now, I have friends who smoke. And I, occasionally, will go sit with them while they have a ciggy. In that instance, it's my choice. But even then, I chat with them from several feet away. Even more, they know I don't like it, and they'll arrange themselves so that they're not blowing it at me. It doesn't fully solve the problem, but it helps.

Here's the thing about cigarettes: They're not good. For anybody, for any reason. Even smokers know that. Sitting in a car with a smoker friend a few weeks ago, I was warned, "Carolyn, never ever start smoking." Check. Got it. Not only are they bad, they're not self-contained. The damage you do to your body is shared amongst your friends (congratulations on passing kindergarten...I kind of wish you'd skipped that lesson). So do I have sympathy when the government decides to place a higher tax on cigarettes?

Sorry, no. Much love, but no.

{On a side note, I also realized that gasoline, in many ways, is not good either, pollutes the air, and affects the whole world. I'd be happy to buy an electric or solar-powered car if they make it affordable. And I was planning to sell my car and buy a new bike if I'd moved to Boulder...but alas, that didn't happen. Anyway, this is me recognizing a counter-argument before it can be used against me. Still much love.}


In unrelated news, this is hilarious. Who gets arrested for riding a barstool drunk?? I'm 1) impressed at his ingenuity (was it thought of sober or drunk? I'm guessing drunk...) and 2) uncertain whether the DUI was justified. I mean, if that puppy goes up to 38 miles per hour, you could theoretically kill someone with it. But it was a lawn-mower-engine-powered-barstool. Cases like that make me want to go to law school and work up to being a judge, just so I can be like, "Um, what? You're a crackhead, but you made me laugh, so I'm going to reduce your fine by just a bitty bit."