"I'm not sure how to say it..." When your grandfather is sick, those seven words say it all. Those seven words spell out death. I was doing okay, I'm pretty good at making logical arguments with myself. Every time I got close to crying I told myself, "He loved Jesus. He's in Heaven." "He didn't suffer long," "The cancer would have taken months and beaten him down, this is better." All true, and all kept me sane as I drove home in Dallas traffic. But one can only repeat those things to themselves so many times before your mind starts to wonder.
     "Now they're both gone. Daddy's an orphan. At least I'll remember him. I remember so little of Dadum (Mom's dad), I was only 9. LC's only 4..." And that's when I started crying. Grandma Elaine died in 1984, years before my parents married and long before they had any grandkids. I never got the chance to meet her, something I am painfully aware of whenever I use my middle name, and anytime someone pays me the compliment of saying I am so much like her (her brother calls me his little Elaine because I remind him of her, though I'm not so little anymore). LC is in this boat as well, sharing my namesake but never getting the chance to meet her...
     ...and now "Grandpa Charlie" as she called him, is gone too. When I realized that she would probably remember very little about our grandpa, my heart broke. I loved Dadum, and I remember him, but just bits and pieces, a lot of what I know about him, his character, his personality  comes from stories I've heard over the years from my family, and things you can figure out based on pictures and the way people talk about him. LC will have that too, we'll talk about grandpa, and our fathers will tell stories about him and grandma Elaine, but her memory base is just so small, she's only 4.
     My family is stoic, that's what my Mom calls them, really they just don't talk much about their feelings. I get it, every time I even think about it I cry. And I know we have lots of men in this family, and men don't cry, at least not in front of their kids, but I needed to cry. I needed to talk to someone, and everyone here is busy taking care of things, or taking care of someone. So thanks for listening, because I'm not stoic, I'm a freaking mess.

CG61

     Today was my first day back at Camp Gladiator (CG). Last month, I got all psyched about getting in shape and made a ONE YEAR commitment...I'm not sure what I was thinking. I haven't stuck with a work out routine for that long since...I don't even know, maybe junior year of high school? I skipped work out Monday, and I felt guilty all day, that's never really happened to me before. Why now?
     I think it's because I'm moving out next month. You see, up until now, I have always been completely financially dependent on my parents. Unlike many young people, I did not get a job while in high school. Once in college, I only worked a few summers before getting a part time job as a tutor senior year. And even when I was working, that money was extra, just for fun, to pay club dues or what not. But starting next month, I'm completely responsible for me. Mom won't be putting $500 dollars in my account each month so I can pay rent, no more charging gas on my parents' credit card, no more gym membership.
     Next month, I go from feeling slightly adult-ish as I drive into downtown Dallas to being an independent adult, living free of parent control and assistance. Part of that means paying for that one year commitment to CG, $65 each month taken directly out of my account, so no backing out. That's why I felt guilty, cause it was my money. I'm not about to stop going if I have to keep paying. So from now till next October, three days a week I'll be getting up at 5 AM to run, sweat, and die each week.
     Once I do that, the hard part becomes not eating everything in sight. I swear if I don't have a six pack by the end of this, I want a refund. Especially if they're gonna tell me I can't eat ice cream.

Let the Journey Begin

     I'm a Christian. I used to think that part of being a Christian was having your crap together. I used to think it meant you knew what you were supposed to do, why you're here. I know I'm still young, but I have been through a lot, and I've figured out recently that most Christians don't have a clue. We like to think we know what we're doing, but we're just as lost as everybody else. Until, that is, we learn to listen. Not with our ears, with our souls. It's a weird concept, I know, and it's freaking hard to do; personally I'm still not sure if I'm doing it right. But I'm trying, and I think that counts for something. 

    This summer I felt the draw of acting again, something I hadn't done since high school. I prayed and prayed and asked for advice, and God opened a door. I've started a program in Dallas called Actors, Models, and Talent for Christ, and I am scared out of my mind. This program trains you and teaches you skills in your field as well as how the industry works. So far, I love it and it's all exciting and uplifting. Yes I get a little nervous or some stage fright, and the idea of failing is scary, but that's not why I'm terrified. I'm afraid that I'll succeed. 

     What if I make it? What if I become this famous actress? What if along the way I lose sight of why I'm doing this? What if I let go of God's hand and start walking down a different path? What if I'm not strong enough?