Control It!

Her slipper won’t fit. Her slipper won’t fit. THAT STUPID GLASS SHOE CANNOT FIT HER MANGY FEET. She’s locked in the attic—where she rightly belongs. Her slipper won’t fit. She won’t get out of those deadbolts. I know it. She’s with those disgusting mice. She’s locked away. She’s gone. I disposed of her raggedly hair and sooty body ever so humanely.

I have to control the narrative.

Anastasia and Drizella need everything there is in this disruptive world. They need it more than that blonde with a broom. We will be poverty-ridden without the prince. Where will we get our food? How will the farm carry on? The shoe has to fit those manly girls of mine. Either will do. Why can’t Anastasia have smaller feet? What is wrong with Drizella and her nails-on-a-chalkboard laugh? Why are they so bulky? Why is Cinderella so beautiful? I hate her delicate features. Those blue eyes! I hate her perfect waltz. She is not taking this from us. Never.

I have to control the narrative.

I got to thinking about Thank Yous. What is your “thank you” policy? Do you say it aloud? Do you call someone? Text? Do you write a thank you card? Or maybe all of the above?

I always call and/or text. And I write a thank you card. And somehow, I am in the minority. It’s so odd! Is it old school to write and mail a card? It seems to be. In fact, I am the only person my age who does that. I have never–outside of wedding gifts–received a handwritten thank you card from someone under the age of 55. Why is this? Are thank you cards a dying art? If so, this makes me sad. I think it is wonderful–and the utmost grateful–to write a thank you note, as well as receive one.

What do you think?

Hello all! I am getting married in 5 days. It’s so surreal. I think most girls think about their wedding days for years. I haven’t, at least not really, but I have been thinking about it constantly since getting engaged in March 2017. It has taken over my life. Sometimes it has not been pleasant. But the end game is what I want: to marry my soul mate. I cannot wait for us to be “official.” It’s been a long time coming. And I am ready. Mostly.

Anyone have any last minute tips for a jittery bride?

I got to thinking about yearning. Yearning for more, yearning for something different. I have this romantic notion that packing up and leaving everything would please me. I want to experience new things; I want a different life than this existence I am currently in. I tell my almost-husband all the time that we should pack up and move to Europe (Iceland, preferably). If it weren’t for visas, and you know, money, I think we would. I hope to one day do this with him. I hope to one day stop yearning for a world other than my own. I want to experience everything in this life. Is that too much to ask? I do not think so. It’s a desired life, that’s what it is. And as I write this, it is my 28th birthday. I may still be young, but I have yet to see all that I want to see. So, here I am, yearning.

What are you yearning for?

I got to thinking about progressive views. Why are these sometimes considered controversial? Why are people around us afraid to think differently? Why are people scared to see the world in another lens?

I have a lot of progressive views. One of these views is looking at veganism in a positive and moral light. One of these is not changing my name after marriage. I have others, but let’s just start there. Why am I looked at differently for thinking differently? Shouldn’t we be celebrating differences? Maybe these differences will help you change your tune? Maybe these differences can create real change.

I find that people are scared of progressive views and unwilling to change. It breaks my heart. Life isn’t about what happened years ago. Things change. Life changes. And that is okay. While we don’t have to feed into all progressive views, it doesn’t hurt to give them a chance. Think about it. Ponder it. And maybe your entire world would change for the better, open up.

And wouldn’t that be quite nice? So maybe do this… give things a chance.

I recommend Jessica Knoll’s The Favorite Sister this week! Have you read any of her books? She also wrote Luckiest Girl Alive. She is a truthful writer. Her books keep you on edge, but you’ll also relate.

I have been gone awhile. Sorry! I have been busy wedding planning! Well, my mom has been doing the bulk of the work, but I have offered lots of opinions. Maybe too many opinions? Anyway, wedding planning is a lot of work! Lots of girls have told me that it is the most exciting time in my life. Meh. I would disagree. It has been quite stressful. I think it will come together. I think it will be beautiful. That said, I am ready for the wedding. I am ready to be married to my love and go on a honeymoon. Speaking of the honeymoon… that has been a fun planning process! We’re almost done with that.

Anyone have any tips to keep us sane while wedding planning? Maybe on the little things? It’s always those little details that get you! Any advice is appreciated. Tweet me @carolineadejong

I got to thinking about having it all. Do some have it all? Do some have nothing? What about the in-between? Are there some of us who have something, but not everything? I am not sure. I think I have a lot; I am lucky. I am happy most days. But do I have it all? I don’t think so. But I have something. And maybe that’s what matters at the end of the day. We don’t have to have it all. We have something, each of us. Don’t we? Maybe that’s naive to think. But I surely hope all of us have something.

He dropped to one of crooked, screwed-up-from-basketball knees. I could hear his knee come crashing down like an elephant running away from a safari tour. He’s such a bull in a china shop. Always hitting things. His pants instantly wrinkled at the abrupt change of level. He wore those dress pants you see on sale racks at Macys. Not too nice, not too ugly. Just the right amount of blah for a CPA.

It was at that moment that I noticed how much gel was in his hair. Why would he use so much gel for hair that was so unevenly cut and starting to bald? Does he think he needs to look like Ross Geller, circa 1996? Tragic, I tell you. And why was his collar undone? What kind of person leaves their collar undone to propose? Is this really happening?

Then he pulled out a box. A velvet box. A red velvet box. Those kind of tacky boxes you see at  places like Zales and think, “Well, I hope I never get one of those.” And then you do. It’s right in front of you, piercing your thoughts and crippling your relationship like weeks-old flowers. Your under-dressed, too-gelled boyfriend looks like a lame loser with a Zales box. And this is your life.

So do you run?

He opened the box to reveal a plain diamond on a plain band. Well, just what I wanted. Blah, you know, like my CPA boyfriend. But it’s not what I want. It’s lack of interesting detail makes me sneeze. Or maybe it’s the gel. The sparkle is nonexistent. The band seems scratched, even from my distance. I have taken several steps back. The whiff of gel is too much to take. I cannot even hold his clammy hands anymore. It’s too much.

This is not my engagement ring. This is not my life. I turn my Converse sneakers around on the concrete floor. I look at the window, the drapes covering too much of the top. It needs to be fixed and not be so blah.

So do you run?

I run.

Another piece from my MFA course… 🙂

Curlers in her hair, Holly picked up the phone. And then slammed it back down. She refused to use her cell phone for this. That would waste too many of her precious, not-unlimited minutes.

Holly stood. Paced. Sat. Stood. And paced some more. Her worn boots skirted across the linoleum her husband installed just weeks ago. She wanted tile, but what could she do? He lost his job days after they ripped out the rotting wood, and she was just a store manager. They weren’t allowed luxuries. And that bugged her. If she had known what a cheapskate he was going to be, she wouldn’t have married him. Didn’t she deserve more? Didn’t she work hard, too? Didn’t she deserve some stupid tile?

Holly sat again. Her husband was the problem. He always had been. He was always more interested in creating budgets and stupid Excel spreadsheets than her. He barely even kissed her anymore. Didn’t she deserve that? But above all of that… he’s the one who brought that awful woman into her life.

Biting her fingernails down even further and chipping away at the last of the fire engine red nail polish she painted just yesterday, she scowled. This was just a full-blown, outrageous nightmare. How could she do this? How could she confront her? The woman she was supposed to love, but just couldn’t? She loathed her. She wasn’t going to change her tune.

Holly picked up the phone again. This time, she dialed. Voicemail. She frowned. This could not be resolved by voicemail. Her mother-in-law could not call her a vile name at Christmas dinner and then only be called out via voicemail. Nope. Not going to happen this way.

So Holly hung up the phone. She wouldn’t deal with this further. She was done with this mother-in-law. She was done with this marriage and especially done with this ugly, ridiculous linoleum floor.