Day 42: The Albatross, A History Of

Matt's mum, who is possibly the nicest lady in the world, saw me crocheting... a year and a half ago. I forget what I was making then, though we can all rest assured it was never finished. There was the adorable and terrible companion cube scarf, any number of half finished and lumpy hats.. who knows? My lack of follow through didn't bother Mum, though, and she asked me to make her a blanket. Something bright, she said. And a year and five months ago, I started working on this. Red and orange, in stripes of graduating sizes. I can't say I have worked it for all this time, and for months it sat in my room, its weight heavy around my neck. Now, I am a one and a half rows from finishing the main body, and then I just need to edge it. The end.

A made a few mistakes with this. I picked a crochet needle so small (a J) the blanket is kind of flat. It's not all that fluffy or comfy. I don't even known how it make a granny square, so there is nothing astounding about it. Just.. flat stitches. A smaller stitch would have taken even longer, but made it more like a sheet.. a bigger one would have made it cuddly and fluffy. I picked the maximum amount of stitches for the least amount of reward. Terrible. So much work for not too much. I am a bit embarrassed to give it to her... But at least it will be done, and I can work on giving her something better. On the plus side, it's a strong (and cheap) acrylic, so it'll at least get washed well and hard. So. It has that going for it.

On the more amazing and pathetic side, this blanket has gone across the country, from Connecticut to Denver, to LA, to San Fran, and back home.. Oh yes, and it's still not finished. But I am close. So close.

Day 40: Projects

And then Matt came, and it was good. I spent my time in San Francisco happy and feeling human for the first time in.. months and months. I watched movies with Carter, I explored the city with my family, and when Matt came it felt like an expensive but wonderful paradise. Matt and I went to LA, where we stayed close to the bosom of Sam and Shannon. Matt melted in the heat, I gained weight, we ate like kings, we had so much fun. We'd never been on a vacation that wasn't to each other's houses, before. It was wonderful.

We came home, and he left. In the interim, I've gone to a convention and a dance, slept over friends houses, and been up and down this little slice of the east coast. I sleep a lot, panic quietly, and never feel more alive and whole and like myself when I am surrounded by people.

Of course, I'm stranded at home, and doing my best to feel productive. I am tempted to make this a project blog, which is a bit like what I always wanted it to be. Of course, I ignored it for weeks while I traveled and struggled with my visa, but like an neglectful parent, I'm back now, so you should appreciate it while you have it. :awesome:

Oh, and my netbook nomadness was fine except when Skype was a little bitch and we had to beat the stupid out of Hex. But it's fine now. I missed Carly a lot.

The current projects I am working on are:

The Albatross
This is a blanket for Matt's mom. It's red and orange--bright, she asked for--a little too long to feel like a blanket.. Aaaand it's possibly the simplest and crappiest blanket ever. Just straight single crocheted stitches. Terrible. I have been working on it for a year and a half with no real progress. It's just so huge. I'd like to have it done before to England. And then I can make her a less terrible blanket.

I need to: Finish the final orange panel. Add a border, and use the border to make the blanket a bit more.. blanket shaped. I need to wash it and never, ever look at it again, because it is terrible.

Elenor's Blanket
My advisor at school pretty much saved me from paralysing fear after graduation. She kicked my ass and made me a better person, and as a gift I started a blanket for her. It's actually awesome; a bunch of really thick huge squares of dark purple and baby blue. It's got nothing fancy, where fancy means "a granny square", but it's plush and heavy, and needs at least two more blocks and to be sewed together. I should also email her and let her know she changed my life, and I love and adore her.

Weight Loss
Vacation was great, but I gained back all the weight I had lost. I still feel fine, though, which is good.. but it's a sad thing. I am 205 now, much to my great sadness. My goal is to be 180 by my wedding day. I expect this process to be hurried somewhat by being poor and having my own kitchen. I am taking a more active roll in the food at my house. There will be more vegetable soups and lentils.. Though it's hard. My mom doesn't like vegetable soup and my father would be content being a carnivore. I am a flexitarian now, aka a bad vegetarian, and I am trying to keep my consumption of meat to once a week or less. I plan to re-read my Michael Pollan books to give me a head start. I'll report on it if anything noteworthy happens.

The Bag Of Holding
So, I bought this as a going away present to myself. it really is MASSIVE, and can fit so much.. But no less than two months after purchasing it, the front zipper broke. This past weekend, the middle/main zipper broke. That was annoying, to put it mildly, on the subway in good old NYC. I need to buy some big, bright, plastic zippers. I also need to affix two patches to it.

Leather Cuffs
I bought a bunch of leather scraps and double holed dichroic beads to make bracers and cuffs for nerding out and LARP. I have a few designs in mind, especially after hanging out The League of Steam all weekend. I'd love to make a few Fantasy LARP cuffs, and then make a steampunk set. Maybe with some lace and cogs.

The Visa
I need to.. finish as much paperwork as possible, make an appointment, collect all the papwerok I need.. And I can't do anything until Matt gets his first pay slip, and other information from work. I'm sure I'll write a MUCH MORE DETAILED and stressed out post later.

Right now, those are my projects. I think I need to start work on at least one of them. Oh, and plan some Alcohol-Based EXP Table Topping Systems. More on that, later, too.

Day 139: Changes

I think this is the longest Matt and I have gone without seeing each other. It'll be weeks now before we get the chance, but for both of us, they will be busy weeks. Matt has discovered that for his first year of school, he will be placed in Nottingham, which means not worries about moving location. it also means that instead of going to Glasgow, I get to spend my first year in England. It's good, because it'll make the wedding easier to plan, but sad, since I was enjoying the thought of living in Scotland. Oh well, I'll need to wait another year for that.

Excitement aside, it's been very tough on Matt and I. My rapidly changing life has only highlighted how alone I feel without him, and how terrifying it is to do things alone. I miss him, so much. I forget what he looks like, what he feels like.. But I keep telling myself, it's only a few weeks now, a few fun and awesome weeks with my friends and family...

That doesn't erase my growing panic, however. My room is finally and mostly packed, with the exception of my bed. The mattress is going to my land lady, but the sheets, comforter, and pillows are now. I have yet to find a box for it, but once it is packed, we are done... Well, done with my room. Then I need to clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, and more, and more. I'm a little annoyed that my land lady is being picky about the dirt in our house, because it was not clean when we moved in, and I have given her gift upon gift of thing I cannot bring with me. Hil and I, in our housemate rage, can only handle so much. I miss support. I want to be with my boyfriend.

On the plus side, I am officially a netbook nomad. This is my last night in a house before leaving the state and couch surfing, and my beloved desktop has been shipped to Connecticut, insured and waiting to be put together. Carlton, bless him, is a good boy, and I miss him and his 22" widescreen. Funny, his monitor weighs more than Hex, my netbook. To quote Carter, all real humans have access to more than one computer. I had three; Emperor Norton is going back to Connecticut, too, sick and in need of some care, a good reinstalling.

I think, when I go to Carter's, I shall crochet. I brought a blanket I have been working on for Matt's mom, and it is a MASSIVE creation, but I am hoping Jason marathons would be a good time to get it done.

Day 132: Feeling Blue

Well, it's blue. I was expecting this new dye to have more green to it, and you can kind of see the highlights, but no, it's truly blue. (The green was also readily apparent on my skin; I dyed almost all of my left arm.) It certainly matches my glasses. This is the most blue I have ever had, and it's a real teal color which came off my skin with surprising ease. All and all, not too shabby.

It still hasn't really sunk in, that I have a week to pack up and leave. I've been sorting through my stuff slowly, and now have collected three bags of clothes and sundry to donate. I'm sure, as time passes, I will only have more. I really only live in this one room of my house, and it won't take me 7 days to pack, but even still.. I keep get moving. I need to be ready. I need to.. do something. Instead, I sleep, and sleep, and watch anime, and sleep. It feels so good, though I'm tortured by very unpleasant dreams, drowning with box jellyfish, accidentally killing baby seal-whales, realizing that this while time I was leading on my other English boyfriend, Chris, who wanted to propose to me after months of barely talking on a cruise, being attacked by zombies and ghosts while trying to solve murders, and being lost, in the rain, with people I couldn't trust clutching the bloodied clothes of someone I barely knew. And this was just last night.

Friday is my going away party, such as it is. I don't really care so much who is going and who is not, thought it makes me feel all slick and nervous and shakey inside to think of leaving Denver. I really do feel isolated and alone, and doing so much by myself.. I keep thinking, soon, soon I'll be with Carter, and my family, soon the latent and growing panic will seem like a dream, and so shortly after that, after probably eating too much, gaining more weight, and watching too many Jason movies too many times, I'll be in LA, I will be with Matt, we will be engaged, and I won't be alone, not for weeks and then.. and then.. And then I'll likely freak out about the visa, get it and spend a handful of slow, painful weeks with my family, and then we'll be together forever... Right?

I keep telling myself and other people things: how I feel, what I'm doing.. but I can't shake the fact that none of it is real. I want to sleep more. I want to wake up and have answers. I mean, it's not really an escape--sleeping on an issue does clear it up for me--but I can't help feel that my normal processes of sleep-figure-outing have been replaced by nasty little terrors, instead. Maybe I will sleep again tonight, and dream of something productive, and wake up with all the answers. God, God I hope so.

Day 131: A Year to the Day

Yesterday was my last day of work. I spent most of the day crying whenever anyone said bye, talking a lot, and finishing up payroll. It was kind of a blur, but it was good. My job went in between awesome and tech support hell, but for all my complaints, I loved my co-workers. It was bittersweet. Waiting in my job was killing me, and now.. and now.. Well, it still doesn't seem real.

I woke up this morning thinking about it, and felt a bit weepy and sad, with the realization that I forgot to enter my hours yesterday. It was a hard feeling to shake, but I feel pretty whole now, if also wholly exhausted. Working at Uncommon was.. well.. Uncommon, and a different experience to anything I had done completely. The past year has been amazing for me. Tech support has taught me more patience than any human deserves to learn, and I have grown more independent and happy with myself. I have been slowly losing weight, learning to cook better, eat better, shop better. I've grown in relation to my friends and parents. I've become more of a bitch. It's been.. a good year, if stressful, and with a Matt shaped hole in my life. July 21st, 2008 to July 21st 2009. I'll miss it.

In other news, I got all my information on my blood tests back from the doctor. My blood sugar dropped 10 points, to 91. I am no longer pre-diabetic!!1 My goal for the end of the year is still 180 pounds, and to see if I can get my levels even lower. I'm so happy, and I feel awesome.

My total cholesterol also dropped 27 points, my LDL dropped 13, though I did lose a bit of my HDL, too. It turns out my HDL was so high the first time, that despite my high total cholesterol, I still had half the average risk of heart disease. A good goal to work toward would be getting all the levels within acceptable ranges, and boosting my HDL. I'm not sure how to do that, but it's secondary to everything else. This year has taught me I CAN do it, and that's something that I need repeated, especially at the edge of such a dramatic change like this.

Also, my sister recently found out she has ovarian cysts, small but frequent, on both ovaries. She was diagnosed for PCOS, but we're both Italian hairy, and she works out for three our four hours a day, every day, so it seems unlikely she'd be insulin resistant. The treatment, of course, is taking birth control and managing your weight, with drugs to help you with your blood sugar if you are becoming diabetic. I never really thought I had PCOS, though considering I'm already doing the treatment for it for other reasons, I'm not worried. I was told by my doctor I should have children by the age of 30 if I do have it, since the changes of having children afterward are much slimmer for people with PCOS. Babies in less than seven years? I.. I think maybe you should ask me in 5 years how I feel about that.

In great news, though, Matt found this, the center for fucking GETTING A SOCIOLOGY DEGREE IN THE INTERNET. HOLY. DICKS. This is what I want, and Edinburgh is only an hour from Glasgow. Th idea of going here, researching the internet.. I don't even have words for happy it makes me. In England, the PhDs are shorter since they are all research. On the one hand, that is awesome, because it'll be lovely to have a huge chunk of my life not dedicated to endless schooling. On the other hand, I LOVE endless schooling, and talking in class is one of my favorite things to do and more effective ways to learn. I'll have to TA or take other classes on the side to satisfy that thinking, social requirement.

I still have to pack, have my goobye party, pack, call my family, pack, and figure out when Matt is getting here. I'm so terrified, and excited. Also, Matt and I have a temporary wedding page set up. As the day gets closer, it'll have information, pictures, wish lists, etc etc. Right now it's only a place holder, but cute. Check it out.

Day 121: Perfect Weather

On nights like this, where it's cooling from a hot day, dropping 20 degrees Fahrenheit to a mellow cool, with the moon out, with the sky bright and blue, with stars everywhere, in the car, playing music a little too loud and shouting passionately in seat to seat.. Yeah, I get nostalgic for those old summers of high school. There's something nice about sleeping suburbia when you're awake, when it almost gets cold enough to warrant something over favorite old T-shirts, with nowhere to go.. it's perfect. There was a hint of it earlier today, on the way back from shopping with Hil. My hand was out the window and just barely lit with blue glow.. I don't know how many nights I walked around my neighborhood, threw rocks into Lake Winnemog, drove into the hills of Connecticut.

My truly favorite weather is threatening black clouds in late afternoon, windy with green grass and 80 degree weather. I have a distinct memory in Orvieto, Italy, years ago visiting family, and a sudden wind striking across the brick courtyard in front of their church, the ornate duomo, and the dark clouds, the sudden wind.. It was a perfect moment, alone in a beautiful town, and has stuck with me since. I felt like I could fly.

The mention the air in Denver, but they don't tell you that the could are close here. We're having the wettest year in decades, and the nightly thunderstorms are so close, the clouds huge and hanging like a dark ceiling. I'm going to miss that, when I'm gone. The close clouds, the constant thunder.. I'll miss the warm nights. Glasgow doesn't get warm, not really, but it's plenty wet. I'm curious, now, and nostalgic for summers I won't get a chance to have again... Not for a few years, anyway.

It doesn't matter, though. Matt and I can hear each other's thunder and rain, and I doubt I could miss the weather more than I could miss sharing it with him.

And there is your daily helping of cheese.

I bought a ticket to go to San Fransciso for July 31st. That's the day I leave Denver for good. Exciting, scary, and I have so, so much to do.

Day 113: Pre-OCCUPATIONS

Matt has a job.
Matt has a job Matt has a job Matthasajob MatthasajobMatthasajobMatthasajobMatthasajobMatthasajob MATT HAS A JOB MATT HAS A JOB!! I was shaking for an hour, unable to talk, hands slamming the keyboard. He was offered it on the spot, he said, his choice of two seperate PhD projects. I was smiling ear to ear, shivering. If he hadn't gotten this, he had warned, he would have killed himself. I would have been lost. There aren't words to explain to relieved I am.

To those who don't know, there seems little reason to be so excited. Yeah, it's a bad climate, but he has a job. You'll get some money. No big deal, right? If Matt and I lived in the same place, I would agree with you. But in order for me to move to the UK, we need to have some qualifications met.

One, we need to have met each other. This we can prove, dozens of times over.
Two, we need to get married in 6 months. This will be rushed, but possible.
Three, we need to live together. Here is where it starts to get tricky..
Four, we need to support me without any public funds. No welfare, no NHS, nothing. For this..
Five, we need to live in a place where he, and only he and provide for me, in a place he owns.

This means Matt needs his own place, and a way to pay for it. Without a job, he can't get a place, can't prove he can take care of me. A job is the first and most important step for us to be together.

And Matt. Has a job. I'm beside myself with joy. Now, I can hear your questions. Wait wait, Trina, you quit your job before you ever even know if Matt would get one? Well, yes. Of course. I had faith he would get one, and a certain knowledge I would die if I stayed in mine with no promise of freedom. It was irresponsible, maybe, but necessary, and I don't think I could date someone I didn't trust that much.

So, what next? Matt's school starts in Nottingham, and in January he moves to Glasgow for 4 years. I am.. unwilling to wait till January to be with him, so now we need to start planning. In any case, I'm leaving Denver around the first, and then going to San Francisco. I'll work my way down to LA, where (hopefully) Matt will meet me, have a great week with my friends, rocking out hardcore, and then come home, where it's proposals and visas, ending with a real life interview in NYC, with any luck, and then.. The UK, where marriage and happiness await. It's all really, really happening. I'm so excited, scared, excited, and scared. And terrified. And happy.

Day 110: Apprehensions

I have a problem. This problem is a compulsion, and it legitimately fills me with dread. Let me explain: I have a problem reading new bookies, watching new movies, starting new series, and just recently, listening to new music. I can never bring myself to start, and trying to makes me feel anxious and upset, hands shaking. A sense of dread comes over me. It's been getting worse.

I read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas to Matt a few weeks ago. I had read it a few months before, where my comfort with the movie had made picking up the book an only slightly harrowing experience. In return, he is reading aloud Join Me, a tale of an Englishman who accidentally starts a cult. It sounded wonderful, funny, and.. and for the first five minutes, I couldn't stop whimpering. I was actually crying for fear of this new book. There was genuine dread in my chest. I don't understand it. Normally, any fears can be dispelled as soon as I watch or read with someone else. This was the first time it did not.

I love to read, and I love being read to. I love watching movies. I love new series. And yet.. and yet.. This fear grabs me, and I cannot. I am a nerd, but I am a very bad one. Ender's Game has been sitting on my shelf, a gift from over a year ago, and I can barely pick it up.

Sinful.

This has been coming out in other aspects of my life as well. I can read the same book over and over, a semi-autistic soothing, and I do need it sometimes. The feeling of comfort, of being with a friend... And now, with my plans with Matt in a state of exciting and actually really truly happening flux, I find myself needing everything repeated. Over and over. My distinctive (and my all counts, annoying) "Tell me a story" has turned into a Glasgowian "Tell me about the rabbits, again". It's incredibly comforting to hear the same happy stories over and over (just as it's comforting to know my boyfriend well enough to already hear his Of Mice and Men induced tears). I need it, though. I need it over and over.

It's weird. I'm all for new experiences, new food, trips to new places... It's something with media that I just can't get over.

I will point out a few notable exceptions. Horror movies do not fill me with apprehension, I can watch them constantly and alone. Comics do not make me nervous, and I find myself buying graphic novels with delight. Cartoons of any kind are accepted without qualms. Comedy shows I have heard of before, if not seen, are welcome. If I am traveling, I seem more open, maybe because I am going to be or have just finished being social. If someone is with me, the feelings (mostly) subside. And yet.. and yet..

I can't help feeling a bit fucked up.

On the plus side, I can't help but feel it's temporary, too. In this city with little to no support network, I do lots of things that fill me with fear, and am constantly challenging myself.. Mostly alone. I feel that when I am no longer alone, when I have friends and comfort, when I am with Matt.. I won't need to project my fear on nonsensical things to deal with the crippling worry of daily tasks. I can go back to worrying about real problems, like the zombie apocalypse.

Until then, baby steps. Starting a new blog, downloading new music, and being read to despite all my fears.

Day 107: Friends

Julia once said her mom never minded had any trouble talking to old friends, even ones she hadn't talked to in years. "I can't be mad at them for not calling me. I could call them if I wanted talk. Any silence is mutual." I suspect this doesn't hold true if you try to reach a friend with no response, but the core remains the same; friends, even if you've both changed, stay your friends.

I think of my parent's generation, my grandmother. How often would they see their friends once they moved? I think of my mom's best friend who moved to Utah, and I don't think she's seen her since then, since before her wedding to a charming young Mormon missionary. My grandmother, whose childhood coal town is no longer on any maps, was nearly gone by the time she married my grandfather and moved from Pennsylvania to Connecticut. I think of those Western settlers, writing letters to their friends and family back home. Were they friends then? Were they any less dear from time and distance?

Rereading it, it's an awkward way to phrase things, but it's on my mind for a few reasons. It won't be long before I leave not only Denver, but my country. How will my friendships fair? I don't worry too much, because many of the people dear to me now are hundreds or thousands of miles away, and we've built up a good communication. But it's been more than a year too since I graduated, and I haven't talked to many of those people in a year. It does and doesn't matter. I email Laura, an online-but-made-flesh friend from high school back and forth, months apart. I feel as close to her as I ever have, with a tender trust I feel comfortable assuming is there. I talk to Jess sparingly, but I love her like fire in my chest, a protective, affectionate love like a sister. I write her letters, and think of her daily...

I've changed a lot, in the past few years. I'm more of a bitch, and less emotionally involved with queens and crazies. In part, this is because of Matt. Much of my emotional energy is directed at him, to keep our relationship going and because it's so rewarding. I have a lover, a best friend, and a very nerdy sounding board. I don't have the energy for emotional leeches when I am giving him so much of my loveblood. It's worth it, for everything I get back and, as a bonus, learning not to put up with people who would steal my affections.

And, when I was a young teen, I decided the best thing I could be was completely selfless, equal parts martyr and savior. It worked, for a while. I tried to save a boy, and gave him my everything. Everything. When to told me he preferred loners, I gave up my friends, almost without knowing it. if I could make him happy, save him from himself, it would be worth my pain. You don't realize it when it happens, but martyrs? Saviors? They die. The depression took years to get over, and it's taken me to now to reclaim my sense of self, awareness and ego in one. There's a lightness in my chest when I realize what sort of toxic things I'm missing, how much I don't miss the people I've cut out from my life. It seems silly now, after years of suffering. Really? Was it this easy to avoid drama? To avoid that ache when people hurt themselves and refuse to accept help? Was it so simple, all along, to separate myself from the people who used to be my friends? I guess so. What is the difference, to those present and once-friends, between mutual silence and my gleeful one? Part of me wants to let all the people who I merely drifted away from that they are no longer welcome in my life, but I realized that would stir up more drama, and it's my inner bitch talking. Best to let sleeping dogs die, as they almost say. I'll deal with it when it arises.

There are very few people I feel this antipathy for. For the most part, for everyone but for a small handful of people, I sit in silence. How many people are truly bad for me? Few, I think, and less, as I get older, bitchier, and more perceptive. I sit in contented what I can only hope is mutual silence for most of my friends. Maybe I should.. email some of them..

Day 101: A Super Bowl of Me

Observant readers will notice the stripe of green is on the wrong side of my head. I am truly, inspiringly :awesome:.
So, here's me. I grew up in suburban Connecticut, led an idyllic life of amusement and nerdity, spent my childhood on my cousin's farm. I got good grades, I had lots of friends, I dyed my hair, I wore weird clothes, I worked on competitive high school robotics. It was a good life. I'm sure you'll hear stories.

I went to a very liberal woman's college (Mount Holyoke (GO LYONS!)), ran the roleplaying club for a while, studied abroad, graduated with two majors, made a shitton of friends.

Let's talk about fat. I'm a big girl. I always have been, and I'm cool with that. I personally like my women with a little meat on them, and I have my occasional bought of "I'm so faaaat, how could anyone ever looove meee" and so on.

At my highest, I weighted 210 pounds. I weighed 182 right when I started college. It was a dumpy, lumpy kind fat, and I hated myself. I promised myself I'd never get so heavy again. For most of college, I remained at 170 or under. I dreaded watching that 182 creepy closer and closer, and delighted when it went lower and lower. The number became a source of triumph and stress. After I broke up with my first boyfriend in England, the subsequent depression brought me down to 160. Matt, being a good sweet boy, promptly fed me. I was 170 when I left England. I spent the summer working on a blueberry farm, and went back to college for a senior year of awesome, stress, bouffet dinners, and good company. By the time the end of senior year hit, I had hit my high mark and was still rising. I was 196 when I moved to Denver. Office work and lunch time take out, with a splash of comfort eating and my house mate's family's veggie light carb only cooking... By the time I moved to my own place, I was 205. I had no idea what to cook, what to eat, how to go about it..

In November of 2008, I had my blood drawn for a bunch of tests. Hypothyroidism runs in my family, and god, oh god, I wanted, needed for it to be the reason why I was gaining weight, feeling sluggish, feeling depressed. I understand so desperately the need to blame something, to have one catch-all cure-all for all problems and ills. There is no One Answer, no diet that'll strip your weight that won't strip your body of nutrients, no pill you can take to erase all your problems, no disease you can treat that'll boost your confidence. Some things are bigger than others, but there is no one Answer to your questions. I wanted there to be, God.

The blood tests showed I didn't have hypothyroidism, but I did have high cholesterol and was pre-diabetic, 101 fasting blood glucose. Right at the very bottom, but sad news none the less. I was sitting in the airport, phone to my ear, holding Matt's hand, my stomach full of bacon and eggs. "So, you're diagnosing me as clinically fat?" The woman laughed sadly. I did too, at 210 pounds. I cried. The shivering, the weight gain, the sadness.. All because my body was dying from over consumption and under exertion. Awesome. There is no One Answer, for me or anyone, and instead of looking for the next Answer, it was time to face facts. I'm lazy and I love food, and if I didn't change, it would kill me.

It means a lot, when the person you love loves you, wants you, needs you when you weigh your most. Matt's never not wanted me, never turned down sex or touching or kisses. It's.. important.

Weight loss was sad and slow, for the next four months. I I weighted about 205, but it was consistant enough to make me believe the 210 was a fluke, and I would never lose weight. And then I read In Defense of Food after buying it on a trip to LA. Now, I don't wanna harp on some One Answer, but it taught me how to eat better. The first five pounds dropped fast. The next ten followed after The Omnivore's Dilemma. Single-handedly, eating whole foods, becoming almost completely vegetarian, and hey, throwing in some exercise helped me go down to 195, though now I'm a bit under that. The last time I weighed myself, I was 193. The goal to beat pre-diabetes is 10%-20% of your body weight, putting my ideal back close to that blasted 180. Funny. Considering my end of the year goal was 190, though, I think I'm doing pretty good. I will have another blood test in a few weeks to check, but fuck, I never thought I would see 193 again.

It's been a work in progress. And it takes up a lot of energy. It's near and dear to my heart, not just losing weight but eating better. I could give a shit about dying animals, but moving away from meet and eating mostly and only vegetables has made me feel better than I have in months and months. AND, thanks to the wonder of birth control, I have wider and wider hips (and ever more boobs) now, and I dream of a buxom and wanton hourglass form for my wedding. But it's more important than that. I don't want to sound super fucking cheesy, but it's true. If I have 100 more years with Matt, it won't be enough. The weeks apart are killing me. I want to spend every day with him until I die, and I won't let my love of cupcakes and the internet shorten that any more than neccesary.

Expect updates on this, too. Without my own kitchen and minus a desk job, I hope to keep this up. Being 20 pounds lighter would be a nice surprise for Matt, but he always warns me not to get too skinny. Chubby chaser. Even still, we're both a long way from him picking me up. Matt isn't even 14 stone (140 pounds), and he's got the physical build of your stereotypical scrawny nerd.

A few weeks into our dating, I was helping him move out of his room at school. He and his mum struggled to carry a suitcase down the stairs, whimpering and grunting and dragging, while I held a half full bookbag. Admiring his chivalry for its intent if not its use, I traded him the bag for the suitcase, and lifted it down the stairs with no problem. His mum let out a confused little gasp, and he said, "And that is why I'm going to marry her."

Not even three weeks into us dating. Jane laughed, and I suppressed the urge to facepalm. I knew then I wanted to marry him--I'd been proposing to him since before I broke up with my ex--but it felt so weird to hear it said. It's still weird, even now. Scary. Exciting. And the truth.

There's muscles in these arms, too, and they do not go unappreciated. And it's nice, for once, having a soft, gentle, femmy thing that I don't even need to stand on tiptoe, or stairs to kiss. We're well matched.

Been 101 days and counting..

Day 100: And so it goes.

On Friday, I put my one month notice in to quit my job.

I can hear my mother's voice on the other end of them phone. "In this economy, Trina? How will you live? Where will you go? You don't even know when you'll be able to leave." Even still, she relents. She knows how important this is to me, and besides, I'll have to go home. She misses me.

Despite some of the less savory aspects, my job is actually a pretty swank gig. My co-workers are fine, the work is tolerable, I'm not micromanaged. The real problem is Matt.

See, on January 26th, 2007, I was studying abroad in the UK, at the University of York. It was the Science Fiction and Fantasy Club's winter semester convention, and I was nervous. I hadn't really made any friends yet, besides my housemates, and I was eager to find someone, anyone to play DnD with.

By now, you're wondering if I am a nerd. Observant readers will have already noticed. I am.

I walked in apprehensive. Standing awkwardly to one side was a group of boys, and recognizing fellow newbies, I joined them. They were amused to see a Yank, I was still giggling that everyone sounded funny. The funniest looking one was red-haired with far too many teeth, glasses, and shoulders so broad he looked like a cartoon. He mentioned dragons and elves, and I asked him, softly, if he LIKED dragons and elves. He hesitated, and then insisted that no, no he did not. Pleased by his answer, I hugged him. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the third hug he had received from someone outside his family, and the second from a girl. I was his first kiss.

Now we want to get married and be together forever. That's the short version.

The long version involves a couple years of dating, trips across the Atlantic, lame love letters and role playing online, meeting families and eating too much ice cream. It's the sweet and bitter tale of long distance relationships.

The long version is me and Matt, my funny looking other half, trying to find a way to be together. It turns out the easiest way, the fastest way, and the best way, is for me to leave my country, my family, and the land that is in my blood and move over to England, to marry. I never wanted to be a young bride, and I never truly wanted to leave America, but these things are trivial when compared to spending the time with the person I love.

Of course, he needs a job and an apartment first. He does not have these things. But the wait is killing me. I miss seeing him, touching him. I hate doing nothing. I work. I sleep. I eat. I have lived in Denver for almost a year now, and have few friends. Being out of the house means being away from him. It hurts. We fight more. I'm going insane. And I know when it's done, I'll be a minimum of 3,000 miles away from the vast majority of everyone else I hold dear.

So I'm quitting my job. I'm packing up my house, and I'm shipping everything to my parent's house, or to Matt. I am, as my father says, going on a "goodbye tour". I am saving up, shipping out, and visiting my friends. I am visiting this country, moving from couch to couch, until I run out of money or run into boyfriend. There will be rules. The goal will be to not go home. The blog will be to track my thoughts and adventures while I do. More about me, and the trip, later.