Dear Josh,

As of this evening, we have been together eight months. That doesn’t seem like a very long time, does it? I guess it really isn’t. That’s not even enough time to have a baby (and let’s thank Bob that we haven’t done that yet). The reason I can feel it hasn’t been that long is because I can still vividly remember the details of our first date. I’m sure someday they will fade, and I’ll have to refer back to my typed memoirs to remind myself. But I won’t ever forget the day: July 26th, 2007.

This particular month has been quite an exciting - and at times, emotionally draining - one. In the last days of February, you were preparing for your first trip on a plane - out of the country and overseas, no less! You were so incredibly nervous, and I was afraid that something would go wrong and scar you for life. In retrospect, I should never have let you get on a plane for the first time, nearly 4000 miles across the globe, by yourself. You didn’t ask me to, you’d say. I know I didn’t, but that’s beside the point. You were flying across the world to Dublin to see me, and I was too selfish to stop you. I wanted you all to myself. I could’ve come back home, but we both know we would never have been alone in that situation. I could’ve stopped you, but well, I might have died before I made it to May without holding you in my arms.

As luck would have it, your first flight was a nightmare. Your first flight from Indianapolis to Chicago was late, so you missed your connection to Europe and had to spend $120 on a hotel in Chi-town. What’s worse was that, since international telecommunications are just out of my budget right now, you had no way of contacting me to tell me this. So I spent the next morning worrying, wondering where you were. When you finally arrived 24 hours later than originally planned, I still couldn’t find you. You poor thing, you were stuck at Trinity College in the freezing wind without a jacket until I finally found you two hours later. I cried a lot, because I was so relieved to have found you. You just wanted to get warm and take a nap, and that was fine by me. As long as you let me make you some toast before you slept, I was happy.

But before I could even feed you, you thrust a tiny purple box in my face. It contained a beautiful heart-shaped amethyst surrounded by tiny diamonds. Though the delivery wasn’t the most romantic, I was still breathless from its beauty. I knew it wasn’t real right away, but I hope you know that sort of thing doesn’t matter to me. It’s very beautiful, and it is the symbolism of your promise to me, and mine to you, that we will forever only be each others’. The rest of that week together was amazing, and it left me only wanting you more.

Since you left to go back to Kentucky, I’ve been a total wreck. Just a passing thought of your name can make me cry. But don’t be upset! It’s only because I love you so much and can’t be with you right now. But we’ll have this summer together, and someday soon, we won’t ever have to be apart again.

I also took my first pregnancy test(s) this month. I guess since we’re both still kind of new at this sex thing, we’re going to keep freaking out every time my period is late. But we’re careful, and my period eventually came, so there’s no drama. I don’t want a baby right now, and neither do you, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to hold out until I’m 30 like I say I want to. I’ve discovered a new appreciation for just how adorable chubby little baby legs are, thanks to all these damn mom blogs.

Last month we talked a lot about the distant future: what our wedding would be like, what we’d name our future children. A lot of this month has been spent discussing what we’ll do in the more immediate future, like after this summer, and when I graduate. I know I keep changing my mind about what I want to do after college, and I have no doubt I’ll change it a hundred times more. The one thing that’s consistent, though, is that I’m going to make sure you’re by my side no matter what I choose to do. I can’t say I’m not excited at the thought of you moving into my bedroom at the end of August, even if I won’t be there to enjoy it. There’s just something about knowing you’d be sleeping on my bed, under my blankets, and bonding with my family that makes me feel really good inside.

You want me to follow my dreams. I know that to do that, I should stay in New York after I graduate. So right now, the plan is for you to come up there with me next May. I’d love to live in our own home, and maybe that could still happen someday, instead of having to rent. I think the thought of building a house has excited you a little bit, even though you don’t like people to know when you’re excited about anything.

This month you’ve helped me realize that I can’t plan every piece of my future at once. I can only take it one day at a time. I can’t even cheat and take it one month at a time like I’d prefer, because my mind is always changing and it’s too exhausting to make so many plans that are never executed. So right now, my plan is to finish up this semester and come home to you, because that is the only thing I know for certain right now. I miss you more than I’ve ever missed another person, and I can’t thank you enough for letting me know what it feels like to be in love.

Forever and ever,

Michelle

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Yesterday I finished reading Atonement, the novel that the film of the same name was based on. I bought it the middle of last week. It was overpriced, but I was going out of my mind and I knew I needed something else I could focus my thoughts on. I like reading books and then watching the movies made of them, and I haven’t seen Atonement yet, so I figured, Why not?

It’s really well written, don’t get me wrong. And I absolutely loved the entire first part (there are three parts and an epilogue). But the second part was utterly dull for the most part, I guess because I hate any attempts in novels to incorporate war into a story. The third was alright; it provided some sense of a conclusion, I guess. But then the epilogue was what ruined it for me. I know it was supposed to explain the rest of the book and all, but I would’ve rather gone on believing what I believed by the end of the third part than know what the epilogue had to tell me.

Overall, the book is okay. Not my favorite, but I’d probably read it again for clarity. But it’s not a traditional narrative, so I’m curious as to how it was translated to the movie screen. I’ve got it at the top of my Netflix, waiting to be dispatched the day before I go home. May 3rd. It’s less than 40 days now! Like, less than lent! I can handle that! Even though I’m not Catholic!

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I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: It is truly amazing how falling in love can change your life.

I’ve come to realize that part of the reason I’m in such a shambles is because I’ve lost my sense of direction. I have yet to stop crying at every change in the wind, but that’s a different story.

Before love, my life’s plans were as such: Go to film school. Graduate with top grades and fabulous education. Work my way up the ranks to become a feature editor. Build a house wherever I wanted. Buy lots of pointless, material shit. Die after yelling “I told you so, you doubters!” at my unfaithful family members.

While it sounds good and dandy, the problem with all this is that I never considered there would be a second party. I mean, I figured I’d have a man or two at some point, but never one that mattered enough to consider his feelings on the matter. They would just be my playthings.

But Josh is much more than a plaything, and his feelings and opinions DO matter to me. I know he does not like big cities or being away from his family, both of which my original plan would require. And having a family would seriously cut into my material possessions - but I’m totally willing to give up that Volkswagen Beetle for a mommy minivan.

Josh and I have been talking tonight, and I think it might be possible to integrate the original plan with the new one. I can seriously pursue a career in film before I start a family - I wasn’t planning on kids until my late 20s anyway. Josh is willing to go wherever necessary for me to get jobs for film. The part I’m worried about is my career being successful and actually making enough money to be ABLE to start a family within 5-8 years.

With technology, if I could become a successful editor, I could easily do my job from anywhere in the world - including back home in Kentucky. So we could even have the suburb-rural lifestyle I’m currently favoring. But again, it comes down to luck, and where my career goes.

I guess part of becoming an adult is learning that you can’t plan out the next 60 years. So now, it’s a matter of which way I choose to go. I guess we’ll see, won’t we?

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I really do appreciate being on my period at this point in time. Seriously. But did I really have to bleed so much in two hours’ time that I soaked through a regular tampon and created a huge bloody spot on my sheets? Well, they hadn’t been washed since I put them on in January, so it’s probably a good thing anyway. You can only sort of see the spot on the top sheet now, with its THREE INCH DIAMETER.

Kate asked me this morning if there was any laundry detergent left. Of course there isn’t, Kate. You used all of the detergent that I brought from the states for my personal use. “Is there more?” she said. Why yes, Kate, I did buy some more. I just hid it in the back of the bottom shelf of our closet so you couldn’t, once again, take advantage of my personal items, you cheap freeloading wench.

I have spent the past five days doing nothing. I haven’t had a real class since Tuesday, because of all the Catholic holidays celebrated heavily here in Ireland, but I have done nothing productive with this abundance of free time. I’ve played a lot of Nintendogs and read two-thirds of a novel. But I haven’t gotten anything done on my music video preproduction. Nothing. Zip. It’s not entirely my fault, but the fact is, I’m lazy right now.

I’m terribly homesick. I miss Josh so much. Last night, I got into bed at 11PM, and just cried. I cried because I wanted to be home, with my family, my friends, my cat, everything familiar. When I thought about Josh specifically, I cried even harder. I just don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t like the idea of becoming an adult and having to work and I’m afraid of becoming one of those unhappy people with a job I hate and take out my resentment on Josh. I just want to go home.

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In my family, it is a tradition as old as time that the youngest of the family are the ones most abused.

I don’t mean physical abuse. I mean, the youngest are the ones put to the most use, get the least privileges, and are given the worst chocolate bar in a variety pack. That’s just how it is.

When I think about my children passing infancy and toddlerhood to becoming self-functioning, intelligent beings, I can’t help but rub my hands together and grin evilly. No more will I have to do every menial chore around the household; I will have tiny maids, little waiters to do whatever I ask of them. Clean your room. Wash the dishes. Take out the trash. Rub my feet. Go play in traffic.

And not only that, but at large family gatherings, THEY will be the ones to suffer the uncomfortable misfortune of having to sit on the floor to eat while the grownups sit on the nice comfy couches. I had to endure this particular form of punishment for being “the baby” for thirteen years. It was the way the cards were dealt; it wasn’t until that time that there were new children born into the family to be tormented with small grievances and denials of luxury.

The only upside of being the youngest in my family is that at Christmas, you get to open all of your gifts from everyone first. What the children don’t know until they’ve graduated into the “grownup” group is that this is only done so the children can be shepherded into another room to be left with their toys while the adults exchange the really interesting gifts, like double-ended dildos and hand grenades. Oh, how youth miss out on all the fun.

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