Category: Thought of the Day

2018 has been one hell of a year. And I don’t mean that in a good way.

Last year has been an emotional, physical, and spiritual roller coaster for my family. Not only did my family lose two well-beloved furry family members, we had to cope with my mom’s surgery that took a more complicated turn, thus ending in a longer R&R session for her, (If you knew my mom, then you’d immediately guess she wasn’t too happy at the thought of having to stay put and do nothing,) and student loans were barring down on me harder than ever before.

Of course, it didn’t exactly help with all the political, environmental, and economical atrocities swirling all around us like an overgrown Nor’easter crashing into houses, tearing apart schools, and attempting to drown everyone and everything in sight.

On top of that, I wasn’t able to sign a contract with an agent interested enough in my book. Again.

I wasn’t exactly feeling like I was on top of the world.

As December was drawing to a close, my parents and I decided we were going to deviate from our New Year’s Eve norm and have a little party. We invited a couple of our closest friends, who happen to work at the same place Dad and I work, and ordered a butt-ton of Chinese food (a tradition in the LaBree household – the superstition is almost every year we have Chinese food on NYE, we have a good financial year. If we don’t have Chinese food, we have a crappy financial year. Like I mentioned, it’s worked almost every year. )

We also decided we would have some drinks to help ease in the new year. Not only did I bring my favorite flavored vodka (the brand is called Kinky… don’t judge,) one of the young men brought in Fireball, while the other brought in rum, whiskey, beer, and fruit punch. While Mom and Dad watched, the three young people (myself and the other two guys) got sloshed and took some uncalculated and unnecessary risks. Even more so after we watched the ball drop and the parental units went to bed.

Felt like I was back in my college days.

I don’t remember a whole lot of the night – I was trying to keep up with the other two… very bad idea – but I do remember heading downstairs after we all went to bed sometime around 5:30am, fed the cats, and proceeded to lose my dignity in the bathroom. It was most definitely not a pretty sight.

The following morning was rough. I managed to navigate down the stairs without stumbling and falling to my painful doom, shuffled into the bathroom to relieve my already dehydrated bladder, then made my way into the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were giggling and smiling ear to ear as the three of us young’uns crumpled into our respective seats, took several pain pills, and gingerly sipped on our coffees and waters.

Throughout the entire day we rested, the men went out to fish, and we watched movies all day while eating left over Chinese food.

To be honest, I am thankful for the hangover. I know, I know, that’s an awfully strange thing to say. But hear me out: in drinking too much, I let go of all the hurt and anger I was holding in my heart. Of course, there are plenty of other ways to do that, but I think this was the way for me to do it. The hangover was a consequence, and a reminder, that holding on to so much hurt, pain, and anger was doing me a disservice. I was holding myself back when I should have been pushing myself forward. And now, with the new year, I get to start over and move on. No more looking back, no more holding on to what I failed to do. Failure is only a part of learning. If I didn’t fail, then where was the learning?

So, here’s to a new year and new beginnings. I have a feeling this year is going to be a good one. I pray it’s a good one for all of you as well.

Last week, while I was working on an order for a customer, I heard the tell-tale coughs of a budding cold echo from the other side of my work cube.

It started out as a small raspy cough – something seemingly harmless and innocent enough, so long as it was caught early on – but as the day went on, that cough turned wet, coarse, and could rival that of a seasoned smoker’s struggling lungs.

Instead of staying home and preventing her cold from spreading to others like any other sensible person, my coworker sneezed over her left and right shoulders, coughed whenever she could without covering up, and did little to wipe down her station with Lysol or Clorox, of which there were plenty to pass around.

I did everything I could to keep the germs at bay: I sprayed every inch of my desk with Lysol, wiped every corner with Clorox, ate all kinds of fruits and veggies, took my vitamins, the works. I even drank enough fluids to match a race horse’s full bladder.

And yet, as I woke up on my day off, I knew it was all in vain. My nose was clogged, my throat was as dry and cracked as clay baking in the sun, and it seemed like every muscle in my body ached with pain. I had caught the dastardly cold.

I stayed in bed almost the entire day, and the entire following day. My cats took turns sleeping next to my head and sleeping on my stomach, trying to make me feel better.  I remember having fitful dreams as I rolled side to side, trying to get away from the heat and aches. For some reason, I kept dreaming about the numbers 125 and 128. Why, I couldn’t even begin to guess the reason.

Then on Saturday, one of my worst nightmares came to life: I lost my voice.

I had to spend the entire night at my other job – one that also relies heavily on my speaking with customers and helping them complete their orders, either gesturing wildly to try and convey my standard questions, or squeak at them like a mouse with its tail perpetually being stepped on.

And today, on this snowy Monday morning, still with no voice, I sit in my chair at my day job waiting for faxed orders to come trickling in, as it is the only job left that doesn’t require me to speak anymore than absolutely need be.

Should I have stayed home? Probably. Could I have actually stayed home and slept, allowing my throat to heal? Not with this wallet size.

Anyone and everyone who has come into my life knows I carry a book at all times.

I wouldn’t say it’s just like someone who carries a concealed weapon, per say, but I would say it does have a similar effect. When I have a book in my purse or my tote bag, I can feel this overwhelming sense of security and calmness sweep over me like a blanket being tucked under my chin when I used to bunker down as a child.

It doesn’t matter what sort of book it is, either; I’ve carried around memoirs, everyday fiction, fantasy, poetry, and tons of other genres I can’t seem to pinpoint at this moment.  Most of the time, I carry more than one just in case I happen to finish one and need another to keep me going.

I can’t say for certain when I’ve begun to carry books around with me. Most likely, my mom would have had a picture book in my diaper bag whenever we went out into town. So, I guess you could say I’ve never been around without a book.

But that isn’t my point right now.

My point is the reason why I carry a book or two with me at almost all intervals of the day.

Books are a way for me to escape the overbearing weight I find myself carrying every day. It isn’t that I want to run away from my problems; I would much rather attack my problems head-on and slay them while I have the chance. But there are times in my life – in everyone’s lives, if you really think about it – where I could really use a break from the annoying, back-breaking, overthinking aspects of my life. When those moments come on top of me, instead of jumping on a plane and flying to some sort of refreshing destination, like the Bahamas or to Ireland, where I could sleep for at least two weeks straight, (For the record, I’ve been to neither.) I just pluck a book from my ever growing library, hunker down on the couch with a soft fluffy blanket, a cat or two, and dive into the paper-and-ink world I carry between my hands.

For me, books are a way to salvage what little sanity I have left from this cruel world. I can go into these other worlds, fight demonic woods with trees that eat people and turn them into malformed creatures with sickly green foam bubbling from their mouths (Uprooted by Naomi Novik – she’s really good!), fall in love with the stubborn men who just want nothing more than to be appreciated for who they are, and help the main characters save the day and restore peace to their homelands.

Books are the equivalent of carrying a sword, slick and primed for battle. With a book at my side, I can do anything in this world.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Not only am I thankful everyday for the people in my life, I am grateful for all of your faith and inspired words as I move toward my goal of becoming an accomplished author.

I am thankful for my parents, who would never let me quit, even though there were times where I wanted to.

I am thankful for my teachers, who saw my talent and encouraged me to push it further.

I am thankful for my friends, who keep me laughing, even on days I wanted to cry.

I am thankful for my animals, past and present, for keeping my heart warm on nights where it wanted to turn to ice.

I am thankful for the opportunities I’ve had in my life, and hopeful for many more to come.

May your thanksgiving be plenty and bountiful today, or whenever you celebrate it!

Last weekend, one of my closest friends married the love of her life.

Granted, I’ve only met the man once or twice before the Big Day, but I can honestly say this is the real deal. I’ve seen how his eyes brighten and sparkle whenever he looks at her. I’ve watched him as he subconsciously moves this way and that when takes care of her, as if he’d been doing this his entire life. When they carry conversations, they speak with one another as if they’d been married for over 30 years and are an older couple who’d mastered the art of holy matrimony years ago.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a little jealous of them. It’s not a negative jealousy or anything (no special little feelings for anyone!) I’m jealous of the fact that my friend was lucky enough to find her other half and able to spend the rest of her life with him. She’s one of those people who deserves this more than anything. I’m jealous of anyone who is lucky enough to spend their lives with their other halves, but that’s a story for another time.

Let’s focus on the wedding; now, I don’t normally cry at weddings, but this was one where tears made their presence known. The venue was a spectacular dance hall with high vaulted ceilings with pictures of plaster cherubs carrying jugs of overflowing wine. Long slabs of polished granite stretched throughout the entire room, and elegantly delicate chandeliers hung from almost every corner. On the other side of the hall was a smaller room with tightly woven carpet, two handsome fireplaces resting on each end. and an impressive wrap-around bar standing right smack dab in the middle.What made it even more impressive were the open taps.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t know anyone other than the Bride and her Groom, and my suspicions were correct. So, in my normal awkward fashion, I focused on one person standing slightly off from the rest of the crowd and tried to make friends. It worked for a little while… until it was time to sit down at our designated tables. I knew I was going to be quiet and stare at everyone, making them uncomfortable, so I went over to the bar and asked for a Whiskey Sour, one of the few alcoholic beverages I actually like and the bar knows how to make.

On a side note, NEVER drink on an empty stomach. At first, I thought, Okay, this isn’t so bad. The alcohol isn’t hitting me yet, so maybe I’ll have another one. I was halfway through my second Whiskey Sour when it hit me. The room started to pulse with purples and blues (two of the wedding colors – the others were gold, pearl-white, and green) along with the music. I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I carefully made my way to my table in my one and a half inch black heels and sat down as gracefully as I could. Once again, I didn’t know anyone at the table. But the good part was no one knew anyone else there either.  In other words, a clean slate for all. An even better part was everyone else at the table was sipping on their wine glasses and beverages as well. It’s safe to say we were all experiencing some sort of inebriated levels of realities. As we each introduced ourselves and learned a little about the other’s lives, we laughed, joked and told stories that involved either the Bride, the Groom, or both. Our tensions and uneasiness melted away and we all acted like we hadn’t seen one another since college.

It wasn’t long until the wedding party came back into the hall after their pictures were taken. By that time, I was working on my third? Whiskey Sour, a glass of Savignon Blanc, and downed my flute of Champagne after toasts were made in honor of the newly married couple. Safe to say I was feeling rather good.

After we had our dinner and salads, (which were all so great by the way) everyone started to file onto the dance floor and have an unofficial contest of who could rock out the hardest. There was this one guy who was obviously the winner, as he was popping, locking, and grooving his way all around everyone else.

When we weren’t grooving or doing the Charleston (one of my best dance moves, fyi) I was sitting down with my table and trading names. One of the table-goers was my new friend, Milly*. she was wearing this great A-line blood-red dress with a heart shaped bodice she bought for (and you’ll never get this – Amazon of all places!) $15. I was excited for her awesome find, where she then proceeded to whip out her phone and show me how she found it.

Then, later into the night, and after a fourth glass of Whiskey Sour, one of the wedding party members, Stacey*, grabbed me by the arm and said “Leah! You have to try this!”

So of course I got excited and replied something along the lines of “Sure! What am I trying?”

One of the wedding venue servers was handing out tiny chocolate cups of Baileys to other party goers. It looked like a hollowed out Reese’s Peanut butter cups. We all toasted to the happy couple’s long marriage, then took the shot. I ate my cup to chase the alcohol.

We all danced and danced until the last song was played. I remember grabbing my shoes, sweater that I took off because I was getting overheated, an empty decanter that was used as a decoration for the table, and heading out to the designated shuttle to bring me back to the hotel. I got to have that entire shuttle to myself.

The next morning was murder. My nose was clogged up to the back of my throat, my eyes were almost sealed shut from gross crustiness, and a headache was pounding out its own special little tune. It took me at least 20 minutes to get up and make my way to the bathroom. Thankfully, I did not lose my integrity. (Code word for puking my brains out to the end of time)

A few people met down in the hotel lobby for breakfast and trying to recount everything that happened the night before. Words were mumbled, eyes were either narrowed to barely open slits or heavily lidded, and yet, we were all satisfied and our hearts filled with content. 10/10, would do that again.

My liver, on the other hand, would give it a rating of 2/10, do not drink that much for at least another 2-5 years, depending on the alcohol.

*Names were changed to protect those who may not want to be known all over the internet by someone they just met.