So Steve is going to Dallas over spring break.
Lockheed-Martin called him yesterday (he missed it), so he called them back today and apparently, they want to fly him out there for a plant tour/interview.

At first, I was not enthused. What a monkey wrench this would throw into my semi-"If the Stars Align"-plan! So I tried doing this thing where I don't freak out (in a bad way) until something permanent happens (i.e. he gets the job), but that didn't work so well. This weirdness was looming over my head all day because, honestly, I'm not that fond of Texas. Here's why:

• George Bush (Sr., Jr., et al)
• The sun (I'd be walking melanoma)
• The heat (who likes to sweat?)
• The lack of water (living in the middle of a desert = a bad plan, especially if the climate keeps up with its shenanigans)
• Everyone has a gun
• The death penalty
• Republicans
• Accents

You get the picture. It would take a lot to get me to go to Texas. A lot.

Well, then I looked into it. Turns out there are a few grad schools down there with decent anthropology/archaeology programs (which, I've decided, is definitely where my main interest lies.) Southwestern archaeology is really interesting, people get killed all the time down there (good for forensic science and anthro, should I change my mind...again), and...la piece de resistance...nautical archaeology.

That is effing sweet. Nautical archaeology. Hell, that alone makes me want to go to Texas!! One of the grad classes is (get this!) The History of Shipbuilding Technology!! Gah!! This makes me ridiculously excited and I have no idea why. Like, I could totally spend my time looking for wrecks. I could. I swear! It's enough science to confuse me, enough anthro to keep me sane, and just quirky enough to suit me!!

BUT! This kinda hinges on whether or not Steve gets the job. I'm easily excitable, so me getting excited is probably a bad idea because it'll get him excited and, if he doesn't get the job, make the rejection that much more heartbreaking. In the broader scope of things, however, I realized just how adaptable I am. Any school I go to is going to give me a sound education in the field of my choice. If this is nautical arch, then great. If it's forensics, that's cool too.

Alright, so this logic came to me at nine this morning. I donned my headphones, turned my iPod to shuffle, stepped out into the wind, the cold, and the snow, and all of a sudden, it hit me. I feel like it was the first time I really smiled in a week. I felt joyous. It was strange. But here's how it came about:

( How it came about... )

People keep telling me to keep my options open, that I deserve better, that I can't "train" him like I need to.

Well you know what? Melissa of last week couldn't keep her options open because she didn't believe she had options. Melissa of last week didn't think she deserved what she had. And Melissa of last week didn't think she could "train" him.

Then, Melissa of today realized what a little bitch Melissa of last week was and kicked her out of the house.

Melissa of today has a million options because she is awesome.
Melissa of today deserves to get what she wants - which will always be the best.
Melissa of today has rationale enough to realize that compromise, not strict obedience, is the best way to work out a relationship.

Melissa of today can handle whatever life throws her way, as can Melissa of tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

SO HA!

You know, I was thinking way too long term about this whole thing.

I don't need him.

I am complete on my own.

And it's not, "What's wrong with me?"
Instead, it's, "What's wrong with him?"

Whatever happens will happen, and whenever it happens will be okay.

I will be okay.

There's a philosophical question that I've never given much thought to before: Given the choice to know the time of your death, would you take that knowledge? 
I've never thought about it because it could never happen. But in fleeting, my answer is yes. Yes, tell me when I will die so that I can be adequately prepared. Tell me when I will die so that I can really live with no regrets, like I'm meant to.

Well, what if you didn't have the choice?

What if you were told the time of your death? What would you do?

As I see it, there are two options.

The first is to quit delaying the inevitable. You're going to die. It's going to suck. If you keep living, it will just make dying harder. So die now. It saves you and everyone around you grief because you become no more attached to life, no more enthralled by the beauty of it or by how good it makes you feel to live. You've had your time, so cut the cord and maintain control while you still can.

The second is to live. You know when you're going to die, so live it up in the mean time. Yes, dying will suck. Your last months will be miserable because you know that your time with the people you love is limited. But soon, you will have to leave everyone important to you and they may (or may not) mourn you. But at least you had all the time with them you could, even if there was a pall around every look, touch, and smile.


So which do I chose?

And this new thing I'm going to try is called thinking positive.

So the set-up: 
Last night, I tore myself down.
Again.
I find that I do this often when left alone without a distraction. My mind just gets to wandering and all of my issues attack, reducing me to a sobbing mess six feet in the air. 
It's not pleasant.
I don't like doing it.

Therefore, I'm going to stop.

I'm not going to think that Steve doesn't like me or doesn't want to see me. Because frankly, all of the evidence implies that he does.
I'm not going to assume that I should be more important than class or group presentations because, quite frankly, I'm not. I'm a spectator, an individual who will probably just flit through his life. I will have no lasting impression. Grades, on the other hand, do make a lasting impression. If he doesn't have the grades, he doesn't have a job. 

I am not his future.


I think I need a new way to define myself. Pre-Steve, I was "The Single Friend." That was my definition. Post-Steve, I'm not "Steve's Girl" (because I don't need a man to define me), but I'm no longer "TSF." So what am I?

This will take some thought, but I think it will help.

Ah, Prom. The day that makes the lack of a "significant other" the most acute feeling.
This feeling dominates conversations for weeks prior to the occasion. Others chat about their dress and their man whilst I sit in silence, contemplating dress and man possibilities. And yet, I stay single.
It is because of this day that I long to be beautiful.
It is because of this day that I long to have something to offer.
It is because of this day that I long to be looked upon as more than a friend.
Alas, my longings have yet to be fulfilled: I am single.

What is it about me that repels all who come near? What do I lack that guys like?
A better question: What do I have that guys like?
I can't think of one thing. That is quite disheartening.

But no, my friends. I shall not lose hope, not yet. Even though all possibilities that *ever* occurred to me up to and including this exact moment in time have been shattered, diced, ripped into infinitesimally small shards, I shall not lose hope.

And my search shall resume again, with more vigor than before and with a desperate grasp on my shred of hope.