january 23rd. warning: long.

I have always struggled with feelings, never words, but feelings. Give me a piece of paper and a pencil and I can convey them in a paper, a story, a poem, or simply a few words. But when you ask me to say them aloud, to admit that they are present, to simply acknowledge what some people find as common as proper hygiene, it just isn't happenin' for me.

I have found this to be a significant "fault," if you will, in myself. Though, I would not call it a fault, rather, a characteristic. To any other outsider, I have the emotions and heart of a boy . . . no crying, no romance, no affection. Okay, well, some of all of those, but not to the extent of the typical 2o-something you will find walking down the street. A clever line quoted from Harry Potter by Hermione, "...it's not our fault you have the emotional range of a teaspoon..." which more than describes my personal emotional range.

Occasionally, I do find myself wishing that I could actually feel more and convey those feelings into words and visible emotion. My natural instinct is to tuck it away so that I can forget about it in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. This reaction does not seem fair whatsoever to my purpose as a human being: to feel.

So, I'm trying something different for the time being. Yes, I will be getting all mushy, gushy, lovey, dovey, for just one post, I promise. And I know that I am typing the previously stated sentence for the sole sympathy towards myself . . . it is more uncomfortable for me to type this than it is for you to read this.

You see, I have this guy. : )

(and in my opinion, there is enough emotion rolled up into that one little sentence to properly convey what I want to say share.

No. I will continue.

We seem to have one of those book-worthy stories ... you know, something Nicholas Sparks and one of those other romantic, 50-year old divorced women/18-year old lonely girls targeted, get-a-pint-of-Ben&Jerry's kind of stories. The gist of it: we met in February 2005 at a church camp retreat. Friendship turned to more than friends but separated by 100 some miles . . . and driver's permits. Friendship returned and then just occasional hello's until the summer in between freshman and sophomore year of college when low and behold, someone strolls back into my life : ) I thought for sure that whatever we had had was gone, or at least for him. Way wrong. The rest is history. We hung out every chance we got during that summer and began officially dating on July 23rd and have never looked back once.

Of course, there is plenty more to it, but the picture has been painted.

It has officially been a year and half as of January 23rd and I don't think it is physically possible to be happier than this. I still get those silly butterflies, and my heart skips a beat (ugh. mushy) every time I get a text message from him. Some would say that "first dating" feeling has been drawn out due to the 579 miles separating us. But I would argue otherwise; there is genuine appreciation and love that is never, and never will be, taken advantage of.

now if only Virginia replaced Ohio in every aspect... : )

and if only I could learn how to feel emotions like a girl, or at least, a bit more unlike a boy. : )