The world will never ever be the same, and you're to blame...

Changing your email address is a lot of work.


There cannot be a close second to you...

(Happy birthday to me.)

This blog dedication not only took the longest (obviously, my bad), but it was the hardest to write, by far. I think I just wasn't exactly sure what to say, which makes sense, I guess. There aren't very many individual words that express emotion well, I've decided. You have to just get the right combination of words together just the right way and present them to just the right person, or else they are nearly meaningless. So, this is my attempt, and I don't really expect it to make any sense. If only life came with background music. Disclaimer: Remember when I talked about how I'm bad at remembering when things happened? Yep. Still applies, even if there are dates posted. Could be totally and completely wrong.

Fall 2003
I'm burnin', and I know I'm gonna blister in these flames...
I just moved to a new town. A small, crappy one. In a drafty farmhouse that includes green striped wallpaper in the 50's kitchen, which is connected to a bathroom that is about the size of a small closet. My pregnant aunt doesn't fit in it, it's so small. What friends I thought I had were gone, and I am feeling pretty broken and alone in a weird place with weird people in a weird house. Not to mention the homeschool group full of weirdos. I'm in the homeschool musical, which is great, except for my part. Yes, I got the lead part, but honestly, what kid my age wants to play a tree? I played a tree in kindergarten, people. Still, I am bound and determined to be the best tree there, from the cheesy songs I'm forced to sing down to the tulle and vines I will be wrapped in. Turns out, I'll end up stealing more than just the show. He's a year younger and I have no idea he exists, but there he sits watching me sing, without me ever knowing.

January 28th-30th, 2005
Didn't I see you when you thought you'd never stand out...
I introduce myself to Greg Jensen at Winter Blast, the junior high winter retreat, after everyone else in my youth group is talking to him as if he is one of the gang. Everyone knows him except me, so I thought I'd go out of my way to remedy that. I immediately recognize his name, because my friends seem to talk about him as if I should know who he is. Turns out he knows me, too. "I have a friend that talks about you all the time," he tells me. "Who is that?" I ask him, even though I know exactly who he is talking about, and I know exactly why he's heard so much from him.

February 4th, 2005 (this date has been proven to be wrong, but is stated as such due to tradition.)
Everything inside you knows there's more than what you've heard...
I would like to blame this all on Greg's big mouth, and it's true that his mouth is a large reason for this day's significance, but it's not like I said he couldn't tell him, and it's not like I didn't think he would, so it is almost just as much my fault. Later I'm sure I'll realize how foolish and ridiculous this was, but right now, who cares? He likes me. Too many times I've cared about someone and they haven't cared back. But this time he likes me. And I like him, too. And later I can regret being such a twerp 8th grader, but right now it's just me and him. Oh, and Sierra sitting on the couch wondering what we're talking about over here. We really are supposed to be babysitting and not admitting our mutual affection for one another, but Sierra can take care of that on her own.

I, and I ran away, for I was afraid, afraid you'd be everything...
There's no way. It's been a year. Why would he still like me after a year? We were just kids. We're still just kids. Plus, we aren't even around each other ever, he doesn't even talk to me, and I'm not even the kind of girl he'd be interested in. He likes math, I like rock music. He's brilliant, I'm not. He's got a heart for God, I've got a heart that struggles. He plays baseball, I fail at tennis. He's plays classical piano for church, I want to be a rock star. He's a pastor's kid, I've got purple hair. He's moved on because he realized what a fool he was to choose me over everyone else he could be with. And rightfully so. So I will be all the more calloused and have even stronger walls up because I don't believe he could still care about me, and I will be stronger for it. My heart is as impenetrable as Sparta, and I like it that way. He won't come back, and it doesn't bother me. I don't need to feel cared about. Right?

December 30th, 2006 - December 30th, 2007
I've got a perfectly normal heart, bruised and broken from within, at times I don't know how to start to let you in here...
How does one go about learning to be loved? How do you go from rejecting love in an attempt to protect yourself to allowing yourself to be cared for and wanted without fear of being wrung in two all over again? How do you just accept it? That's what he does, he just believes it without question. He just knows I care about him with no questions asked, and doesn't wonder why or what my corrupt motives really are or how someone would bring themselves to care that much for him. How come I do wonder those things? How come I can't just believe it? Why can't I just have faith in the fact that he says he cares about me? But honestly, why does he want to be with me? Why does he think I'm so special? And why do I ask these stupid questions? I really do want to believe it. But is this even right? Wouldn't it be foolish to accept that? Wouldn't that just leave me vulnerable? Vulnerability is dangerous, and I know more than a lot of people what it's like to make yourself known to someone only to have them decide that you're not the sort of person they want to love after all. He says he cares about you. Believe him. Whatever this thing is that makes me feel like I should do this, be it God or just myself, I know the sort of person he is, and he is not one to make a rash and foolish statement that he doesn't really mean. He wouldn't tell me he wanted to be with me if he didn't mean it. So I believe you, Andrew. Don't ask me why, because I couldn't really say, but I believe you.

December 31st, 2007 (debatably our date-iversary)
This is the best thing that could be happening, and I think you would agree, the best thing is that it's happening to you and me...
Today was the best day ever. I wore my new pink sweater (I decided I'd better actually dress like a girl), and he came and picked me up at my house. Then we went back to his house and the whole family took me to see a movie. It was lots of fun. And he was very sweet. So, I suppose this means we are "together" or something. Whatever that means. I can still hardly believe it. I am happy though, and I think he is the sort of person who I will be happy with for a very long time.

December 28th, 2008
4:54 PM
We should get jerseys 'cause we make a good team, but yours would look better than mine, 'cause you're out of my league...
Well, here we are. Thousands of conversations, a zillion song lines, bunches of little folded up pieces of notebook paper, ten or twelve "undates," and several coffee excursions later. Hero, you are a lovely person, and that is really all there is to it. Sorry if I embarrassed you by posting this. Hahaha. I'm actually not sorry at all. So, sorry that I'm not sorry. Anyway, this is to you, because the last few years have been quite an epic. Remember the time you let me beat you at foosball in junior high? Or the time you tried to give me $15 because Mikayla stepped on the case to my Relient K CD and it cracked? Or the times we babysat for the womens' small group and threw all the toy balls at each other when we were supposed to be watching the kids? Or the time the Przby's table broke and we had to fix it? And that is just a few of the things I remember. You remember more, of course, but that is one of the many reasons why we make a good team. So yes. THE END. Hey, I actually made my deadline! *grin*