25 Things I want to do before I’m a Quarter-of-a-Century Years Old

It hit me today that 25 is quickly approaching and I still have a lot I had hoped to do and brave by then. Sure, I’ve already done quite a bit before hitting a quarter century, but there are endlessly more things I’d like to try out before I hit that age which allows me to rent a car without paying additional fees.

So, as all list-lovers do, I compiled a list. There are a couple of rules, of course. All things must be feasible and all things must be trackable. What’s the point otherwise?

So here it is, my list of 25 things I want to do before I turn 25.

  1. Check out Mount Rushmore
  2. Go stargazing in Badlands National Park
  3. Find an exercise that I enjoy (ha)
  4. Cut out soda for a full year (like, seriously, it’s so bad for me *sips Pepsi*)
  5. Buy my first gun
  6. Apply for my CHL so I can conceal carry said gun
  7. Attend an Elevation Worship or JesusCulture concert
  8. Get dolled up and check out the Scioto Downs Race Track
  9. Host a “Book Reading” party
  10. Win NaNoWriMo (I have exactly one more shot at this before I turn 25)
  11. Try out Karaoke
  12. Eat at an upscale restaurant that requires formal dress and costs $100+ per person.
  13. Go to a drive-in movie theater (how have I still never done this??)
  14. Weekend getaway to Portland, OR to check out Powell’s Bookstore
  15. Dine out all by my lonesome
  16. Run a 5k
  17. Try zip-lining on for size (did I mention I’m terrified of heights? As in absolutely petrified?)
  18. Feed a giraffe at the zoo (or elsewhere, but I find it unlikely I’ll stumble across one in the Badlands…)
  19. Get a facial (I’m 23 and don’t even know what this is..)
  20. Play a game of paintball
  21. Watch the Sunrise and Sunset of the same day
  22. Make a piece of pottery
  23. Start a fire with steel and flint
  24. Attend a murder mystery dinner
  25. Attend a Native America Pow Wow

Now to get to it… 🙂

25 Things I want to do before I’m a Quarter-of-a-Century Years Old

Mr. MTBR

I think we can agree on this. Time apart has done us well.

Glimpses of you sporadically reveal themselves to me. And each time it is a sucker punch to see you. Happy, healthy. A good sucker punch, as much as one can be. Yes, my heart seizes and my stomach lurches and the blood rushes to my brain.. but once all of that has calmed down, there is a gentle knowingness. The truth that together we were dying, and apart we are healing.

I cannot say I’ve let go of you. I think of you often, in my wakefulness and sleep. What are you doing? How are you fairing? Who are you becoming?

I am no longer privy to this information and I fight the urge to see if I can get it through the internet.

It’s not my job to care anymore.

And to another point, I know whatever is on there won’t be real. We never revealed the truth of our thoughts and feelings and circumstance in such a public fashion.

Even as the days get easier and the aches get further apart, I still sit in shocked silence when I realize it’s only been a handful of months, a couple of seasons. Barely any time at all, and with just a glimpse of your image, I’m thrown right back to where we were.

Under the night sky, the haze of smoke, the fire of your hand on mine. The emotion of love swallowing us in the midst of the audience surrounding.

Then again, under a different night sky. Your hand tugging mine, our lips briefly touching, the moment over in an instant.

My first true kiss and I barely felt it.

You were already gone.

And I was alone.

Again.

“Why would you want to be with anyone you only fight with?”

It’s been asked of me every time you come up in conversation with the few who knew that we ever were an “us.” I usually say that the passion, even if merely anger, was my reason for lingering as you weaved in and out of my life.

But that’s not all there is to it.

And we both know that I did my own fair share of weaving.

Maybe no one will ever know the depths of what we shared, the rope we extended to each other – at first pulling upward, then tumbling down.

The reason we had to sever it.

Maybe not even we.

But no matter what it was the brought us together and tore us apart…

I hope you know all that I think and feel and hope for you is goodness and freedom and joy.

Happy Birthday, Mr. MTBR.

I pray this is your best year yet.

Mr. MTBR

I’m back, babes.

Do you ever feel…

… like a plastic bag?

I can’t tell you how often those lyrics have run through my head of late (much to my chagrin as I loathe all things Katy Perry).  They just so perfectly epitomize life sometimes, ya feel?

Anyway, long time no see. I’ve been sick lately. Like bad, mega, crummy, wish-it-weren’t-so-and-can-I-just-catch-a-break-for-the-love-of-God-fibro-sucks sick.

I’m now on the other end of what was the longest fibro flareup I’ve had to date. From late November to early February, I spent my days crying, eating, sleeping, working, crying, eating.. you get the pic. But like literally. I was in bed for the night by 6pm most nights, sleeping fitfully, hurting painfully. Not to mention the barely breathing depths of depression (because that’s pretty much where you end up when all you do is sleep and work and feel excruciating pain for absolutely no reason at all).

But one day, I just awoke and it was over. Well, the worst of it anyway. I’m back to manageable. I am feeling energy again (what is that?!) and desire (who’s a what now?!)to get my life back together. Which is good, because it’s even pitiful-ier than it was before the worst of the flareup hit and I was already feeling all failure-y. I think I’ve discovered the culprit of this horrifying couple of months (drumroll if you’re into that sorta thing):

Cymbalta.

Also known as: the meds that were supposed to be helping.

Needless to say, I’m now off them and feeling mucho better. I’ll write up a whole post on this later, ’cause peeps need to know the horrors of the drug that aren’t readily found when researching it.

Anyway.

The last couple of weeks have been catch up. I’ve picked up where I left off with the Great Purge, laundry, getting back in the routine of cooking meals instead of eating icky-for-me-and-definitely-not-enough-nutrients fast food. I’ve started going to church again (LOL – kind of an insider joke, kinda not). I was so fibro-psychically spent from work, I made it to like 1-2 services a month in December and January- which MEGA SUCKED.

OHMYGOSHDIDIMISSBEINGABLETOWORSHIPWITHMYPEEPS.

Very happily, I’ve now made it to SEVEN services in a row + a prayer meeting and a choir practice (though I was more dead than alive for the latter). Oh, and on Sunday I sang with the praise team again AND did little jumps and air punches at the stupid devil who dared come against me, which -bestillmybeatingheart- was the delight of my worship-God-craving soul. I don’t even care that it meant I slept the rest of my Sunday away because I physically “couldn’t even” after church.

Tomorrow I’m hopping on a plane and heading to New Mexico to see my bestie. Gosh darn have I been missing her since she moved there last summer. It’ll be so good to catch up. I’m thankful the flareup broke when it did, I was really worried I was going to have to cancel which would have KILLED. But I’m feeling better and I’m going and-

wowza life is good..

Seriously, y’all don’t even know how great it feels to step out from behind the thick fog-veil of a flareup. Breathing has never tasted so free. (Is that a saying, or am I still suffering fibro-fog remnants?)

Anyway, just wanted to update y’all on my existence. As in: I still have one.

I’m looking forward to blogging again. Upon my return home, I’ll be retaking inventory of my belongings and sharing the Great Purge (room-by-room as promised) results. I don’t think I’ve quite hit 50% yet, but I’ll tell you, my apartment is feeling pretty breathe-easy of late.

What’cha been up to?

 

I’m back, babes.