Too Many Boxes

Dreamboat once heard a theory about the sexes and boxes, he's a believer and I can see some truth to it. It goes something like this.

If you were to hypothetically tap into a mans brain there would be a warehouse full of boxes. There would be one guy with a forklift and a table sorting through all of the boxes. Next to the table there is a sign that says "Open One Box at a Time". That is exactly what this man is doing. He gets a box labeled food, takes care of it and goes back for the next box, T.V., and takes care of it, and puts it back on the shelf. The guy is taking his time and handling one thing at a time, not worrying about everything else, not worrying about what comes next, he's dealing with what's in his box.

If you were to tap into a women's brain it would look something like a box war zone. They would be all over the floor with contents spilled like victims of the fight. I am in no way saying that women are unorganized, this lady is most likely the calmest under fire of anyone you know. In her mind you're lucky if you only find one version of her with her hands in three different boxes. Nothing is lost, she knows where everything is and she's dealing with it all at the same time. She is handling her career, her family, girls night, the groceries, where her life is going, where she's been, does she have time to go to the gym, the theater, the cleaners, is that dress to young for her, what is her lover thinking, wouldn't Paris be nice in the fall, how many days are left till Christmas, is Rachel still happy with Ross, will she ever retire, then what, and this list will never end. Boxes will eventually be put away, some will be returned to numerous times before they find a shelf, and others may be moved after they were put there. New boxes will be opened and closed but the lady is always moving.

I was considering this theory today and where would my hypothetical box lady be up to. I started classes again this week. I need something to do while Dreamboat spends the next two years in another country. Finishing my degree seems like a great pass time, except I've switched my degree from Chemistry to English. Only a minor change. I was so nervous going back on campus, I remember being twenty, life was crazy, so many dreams and time seemed to crawl to get there. I was also easily distracted. Now I'm excited just to not be the oldest member of my class.

I feel like I've lived a lifetime in five years. Granted I've only been out for two, but four years ago I started a career that some Grad students might fight to the death for. Three years ago I made more money than most of my professors. That same year I realized it just wasn't worth it, and moved on with my life.

Today compared to the days before my lady doesn't have many boxes. I've placed old careers and aspirations on the shelf. I've sorted through some fears and filed them safely away. I've buried old boyfriends in the back, I've out grown my old grudges, changed my mind about a few and returned them to the sender. My lady is sitting in between about four, no five boxes, casually shifting through them all. There are a few more waiting to be opened, but for now the bulk of the insanity is waiting on the line. I'm kind of worried that I don't have enough boxes, but at the the same time I think I'll enjoy it and wait until it changes.

A little Piece of My Past.......

This is a excerpt from my journal from 5/17/07. I wrote it as the sun went down on my sisters balcony after a phone call from a old friend. It was a moment when I realized certain people needed to live in my past and with this inspiration I wrote this entry that I love to reread and felt like sharing.

The Man of My Dreams.

The man of my dreams wears Levi's, sometimes white t-shirts, and possibly the occasional ball cap.
He will be my fishing buddy; complete with glow in the dark bobbers, my drinking buddy; even if it's with all his boys, and my best friend so that we can talk till all hours of the morning. He'll be able to handle it if I beat him at darts, pool, poker, dice, ping-pong, tennis, air hockey, bowling, checkers, or hopscotch, but he'll give me a run for my money and win sometimes.
He won't try to fix me when I'm mad. He'll fight back because he knows it won't matter tommorrow when we'll talk about something else. He'll know that "I love you" doesn't win arguements. He may possibly cry when he hurts, but this does not include: "my daddy didn't love me enough", "you're such a bitch", or "I'm a little pansy boy with emotions".
Romance will be sitting out on the porch wrapped up in a blanket listening to the night, or out on a river bank on the tailgate of a truck with a six pack, just laying on the couch watching movies, fishing or frog giggin after dark, spending the afternoon floating in a intertube, muddin, and watching bonfires, sunsets and stars.
I don't care if he plays a instrument. I like fast cars, but boys usually drive them. Men work on old cars can afford nice Harleys, and appreciate a nice four wheel drive. I don't care if he went to college, but he dream and a job. He needs to atleast be able to support himself. It's okay if he want to take care of me, my Dad likes that, but he needs to know that I can take care of myself. I have my own dreams and ambitions and nobody tells me what I can and can't do. I'll do the same for him because I'm not looking for a pet I need a partner.
I have come to understand all boys lie. It's some type of protection mechanism. He should never have to lie about a girl or where he's been. Cheating is unforgiveable. It's something you can only do if you don't care and I need him to give a damn. with that said flirting is NOT cheating.
He must love animals and babies. That's not because I'm ready to have them I just want that door to be open for someday.
Above information is subject to variation but pretty much holds true.



Three and a half months later the above described man walked into my life and promised never to walk out.