Keep your feet clean, you never know when one will end up in your mouth

I feel like this blog has become like a long distance friend. At one time, we told each other everything. But now that we've become separated (by distance, circumstance, time, whatever), we feel like we have to have earthshattering news to break the silence. Anything short of an engagement announcement or kidney transplant seems so mundane in the broad outlook of our lives. And so, I have nothing particular to say today, but I'm posting anyway to remind my friend the blog that I'm alive.

I can't say no. That whole scene in 27 Dresses was like watching a documentary of my life (well, minus the drinking and being in a bar). Case in point: A few weeks ago, a guy tried to get my phone number because he wanted to go grab ice cream one night that week. I said no, I'm sorry, I'm busy. He tried again for the weekend. Again, no, sorry, I'm busy. (It was true too. I didn't have time to eat or sleep that week, let alone make small talk with a guy I don't know over calories I didn't need.) He tried one more time; I said no and got in my car. It didn't help that I thought he was this guy who just didn't remember his previous attempt. Driving away, I felt horrible. Of course, I learned a few days later that it wasn't him and really felt like an idiot. But you know what? Thinking he was the previous guy just gave me the courage to say no. Otherwise, I would have felt guilted into saying yes to something I really didn't want to do.

Guys aren't the only thing I can't say no to. I have the same problem at work, when I take on projects I don't have time for; with roommates, when they decide to paint the living room purple or buy a dog; even with friends, when I say yes to tubing trips I don't want to go on. Then I get all grouchy and snarly because I get stressed out. So I'm going to try an experiment: for the next week, I say no without feeling guilty.

Today I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame

Two weeks ago I kind of lost it. We put a sign on our office door that said, "Whatever it is, the answer is no." And we meant it. So on Wednesday, I decided to run away. I booked a room at the Sheraton in downtown San Diego, and the thought of that big comfy bed in a room all by myself got me through the rest of the week.

The hotel was almost perfect. My one complaint was that I should have had a fantastic view of downtown San Diego from my balcony, but there was a huge eucalyptus tree in the way. I fell asleep watching the Olympics in bed. I had a wonderful time hanging out with a coworker and her boyfriend at the zoo on Saturday. I slept in. But what made my weekend was spending the morning in bed reading From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. It's one of my favorite books of all time, and that's saying a lot. It's about a girl who runs away from home...to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. That's my kind of running away. Anywhos, there's this bit at the end that struck me this time:

The adventure is over. Everything gets over, and nothing is ever enough. Except the part you carry with you. It's the same as going on vacation. Some people spend all their time on vacation taking pictures so that when they get home they can show their friends evidence that they had a good time. They don't pause to let the vacation enter inside of them and take that home.

It took me until Sunday afternoon, when I was back from San Diego and sitting in church, to figure out how to get the vacation inside me. All weekend what I had really been looking for was peace, so I filled the weekend with fun activities and long, hot bubble baths in attempt to relax. But I also knew that come Monday, I would just have to deal with everything again. And then I found my peace--in a place I've been hundreds of times before. Funny how that works.

The zoo was still wonderful.