<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000</id><updated>2012-01-13T23:53:03.479-08:00</updated><category term='smoking'/><category term='twitter'/><category term='family'/><category term='divorce'/><category term='personal growth'/><category term='open marriage'/><category term='30 days of letters'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='relationships'/><category term='social media'/><category term='kids'/><category term='friends'/><category term='humor'/><title type='text'>Julie, Do Ya Love Me?</title><subtitle type='html'>I can only please one person at a time.  
Take a number and have a seat.  I'll be with you... eventually.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>36</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8356059168628525361</id><published>2011-09-03T10:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-03T10:42:34.541-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>2 weeks</title><content type='html'>So for two weeks now I've been on my own. &amp;nbsp;The husband is out of the house, our contact is brief and necessary. &amp;nbsp;He has not been able to come get more of his things, but he is limited on that- so I don't mind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I finally told Gabriel that his dad is now living with his Aunt and he won't be coming back home to live with us. &amp;nbsp;Ok, I told him while we were in Target getting ready to buy him some toys with the birthday money he got from his Grandmother- but it was the first time he asked, "when is Dad coming back from the hospital." &amp;nbsp;I might have told him sooner, up until this point, I let him assume Dad was still IN the hospital. &amp;nbsp;This was his first week of school and all- no need to upset him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I told him, and he was upset, but then distracted by the toys he could buy for $50. &amp;nbsp;He even bought something for his brother. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In two weeks I have yet to get this house cleaned, but I can tell you that there is already a better energy in this house. &amp;nbsp;I can't say that the husband was the one bringing in all the bad energy- I'm sure it was coming off of me in waves of anger and resentment. &amp;nbsp;I truly feel this is better for everyone. &amp;nbsp;Alex agrees that it's a lot less stressed in the house. &amp;nbsp;That I am more fun to be around. &amp;nbsp;He likes not having a 'bed time' but he still goes to bed around 10 or 10:30 every night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all excited about the prospect of finding a new place to live. &amp;nbsp;Even though we will be moving farther away, I plan to keep the kids in the same schools as part of my commuting process. &amp;nbsp;Carpool and free toll roads if you have three or more in the car. &amp;nbsp;It will be tough, but you know, spending extra time in the car with my kids every day is better than no time with them at all. &amp;nbsp;Alex will be getting his license sometime next year- he can drive home sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris has not been around as much, due to his work schedule but the kids really like having him around when he is. &amp;nbsp;Gabriel has taken to him nicely, and while he sometimes struggles with guilt, I've assured him that he's not being unloyal to his dad by liking Chris. &amp;nbsp;Even his dad likes Chris. &amp;nbsp;He's a likable guy. &amp;nbsp;Responsible, hard working, fun and handy around the house. &amp;nbsp;The decision to move in together is one we have been talking about for a while. &amp;nbsp;It was all a matter of time- when Mike moved out and such. &amp;nbsp;He's been around and around the boys for a few months now. &amp;nbsp;They are used to him and him being here. &amp;nbsp;I have asked them all- how would you feel about Chris moving into our new house (when we find it) with us. &amp;nbsp;They all agreed that it would be great. Lots of big changes, and while I am usually one to handle one change at a time, this time I think it's best to make them all closer together, so we can adapt and move on together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week while I am still looking for a house in the Inland Empire, I'm also looking into buying a new car. &amp;nbsp;Well, a used one- but new to me! &amp;nbsp;My van is on her last gasps of breath and it's time to turn the old girl out. &amp;nbsp;I can't wait to drive around in a zippy 4 door sedan with air conditioning and well aligned tired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So life is changing, and the living is good. &amp;nbsp;I'm calm and happy and so are my boys. &amp;nbsp;That's what matters right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8356059168628525361?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8356059168628525361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8356059168628525361&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8356059168628525361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8356059168628525361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/09/2-weeks.html' title='2 weeks'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-4950021748563409549</id><published>2011-08-23T10:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-23T10:28:43.447-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal growth'/><title type='text'>Nothing ventured, nothing gained.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;I have spent 12 long years in a marriage that wasn't mine. It wasn't what I signed up for. It wasn't what I was promised. It wasn't what I wanted. So many times I would wake up and think, "this is not my marriage. this is not my life! how did I get here. and how do I get out??"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;After 12 long years, last Friday I finally reached my breaking point. The line- that was 5 football fields long- had been crossed and all of a sudden it all seemed very simple and obvious to me. My answer was so simple. So very simple.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Get out, and don't ever come back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Today I have a forward motion. I have a job interview today. Tomorrow I am looking at a house to move in to. a HOUSE! Me, in a house with screen doors, a garage and nobody living above or below me. In only my secret fantasys did I ever think I would live in a house, even if it was a rental. Surely I was not worthy of such a luxury.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;This morning in talking with Chris (whom I will lovingly refer to here as "Daddy" from here on out), we were speaking about fear in relationships and how you always risk getting hurt. We can say that "Daddys don't leave" all we want to, but in reality, we know that sometimes they do. The point I made is that the journey on my way to that 'possible' end- is worth the pain of that possible end. It's worth it to risk something, in order to HAVE something.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Nothing ventured, nothing gained- Daddy said.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;And this is so true. For so long I was afraid to walk out of that marriage for fear of how it might feel. Would I be strong enough to take care of my kids, and face the scrutiny I might face for leaving a man in his chronic condition? Sure it's what I wanted, it's what I NEEDED - but the cost was high, and what's on the other side? I had no clue. A people pleaser to the core, the fear of people telling me I'm a bad person (and me believing it) was enough to keep me trapped for all these years.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;What I have found, in just a few short days- is that what is on the other side is possibility. I have no clue how this interview will go, but what if I'm offered the job and then all my hard work in school is rewarded with a fulfilling job and a fat paycheck? I have no clue if I will get this house, but what if I do an I get to wake up every morning in a house that I can afford- where my kids have a backyard and I can sit on a porch with a cup of coffee every morning. Sounds like a goddamn fairy tale to me. But who says I can't have that? Who says that I can't be the dirty princess in my own ridiculous life?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Nobody, that's who.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Nothing ventured, nothing gained.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-4950021748563409549?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/4950021748563409549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=4950021748563409549&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/4950021748563409549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/4950021748563409549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/08/nothing-ventured-nothing-gained.html' title='Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-9084479990845935675</id><published>2011-08-09T21:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-09T21:10:38.732-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='smoking'/><title type='text'>smoking or non smoking?</title><content type='html'>I started smoking when I was about 15. &amp;nbsp;I used to steal my mom's Capri's cause they were so cute and then my dad's Marlboro's. &amp;nbsp;My sister used to smoke Benson and Hedges Delux Ultra Light 100's Menthol and for many years that was my cigarette of choice. &amp;nbsp;If I am going to buy a pack now, that is usually what I will buy- except that they are about $7.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have stopped and started about 25 times in my 25 years of smoking. &amp;nbsp;I would smoke and then stop for months, or even years- maybe having a hit or two depending on who I was with and if they were smokers. &amp;nbsp;My first and second husband was and is a smoker. &amp;nbsp;My boyfriend is a smoker too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can say my first time to really stop was before my oldest was born, that was when they put that whompin tax on tax on cigarettes and they went from $2.50 to $5 bucks. &amp;nbsp;So I pretty much stopped buying them for several years until I met my current husband, and then I would smoke 3 or 4 a day. &amp;nbsp;Up to a pack a day if I am with smokers, or in New York.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I met Chris, he was smoking electronic cigarettes and cutting back on regular ones. &amp;nbsp;I tried it out, and thought it was pretty cool. &amp;nbsp;He had two of them so he let me use the other one when we were out. &amp;nbsp;Then I bought my own, a different brand and one for my husband. &amp;nbsp;At this time Chris was thinking I should not be smoking at all as it became clear that I was not just smoking when I was with him. &amp;nbsp;I was starting to smoke regular cigarettes as well. &amp;nbsp;After much arguing about that, with both Chris AND my husband, I agreed to just smoke the electronic ones. &amp;nbsp;Well the brand I bought for my husband and I, well, I didn't like it much so I hijacked Chris'- since he went back to regular cigarettes full time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I love about them is that I can smoke them anywhere. &amp;nbsp;It's not smoke so technically I can smoke it in a restaurant, in my office and other 'non smoking areas'. &amp;nbsp;It's vapor, it doesn't smell like anything . &amp;nbsp;So my clothes don't smell, and either does my breath. &amp;nbsp;They have fancy flavors like the one I'm enjoying now- coconut. &amp;nbsp;I love my e-cig and that I'm not taking in all the 'crap' that goes with regular cigarettes. &amp;nbsp;No tobacco, no tar. &amp;nbsp;Just good old nicotine. &amp;nbsp;yah!!!&amp;nbsp;Is it expensive? &amp;nbsp;not hardly. &amp;nbsp;Maybe $10 a month for new cartidges and I refill them with $10 refill that lasts for several months for both myself and my husband. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no HEALTHY electronic cigarette. &amp;nbsp;I'm not going to pretend there is. &amp;nbsp;There are some risks that I won't go into, you can google that. &amp;nbsp;The other down side, is also the upside. &amp;nbsp;I can do it anywhere. &amp;nbsp;So I do. &amp;nbsp;I admit I'm hitting that e-cig like a crackpipe. &amp;nbsp;I suspect I'm taking in more nicotine than if I was smoking regular cigarettes less often. &amp;nbsp;I can, and will start getting the refill liquid with less concentrations of nicotine, maybe down to the lowest amount of 8mg, as opposed to 36mg, which is the highest. &amp;nbsp;Maybe even eventually 0 which would just be vapor and flavor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to quit smoking, I think this can be helpful, but I admit for me- it got me smoking again- just without all the obvious negative side effects. &amp;nbsp;So I'm a smoker, but then... not really. &amp;nbsp;Well, ok- kinda.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-9084479990845935675?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/9084479990845935675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=9084479990845935675&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/9084479990845935675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/9084479990845935675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/08/smoking-or-non-smoking.html' title='smoking or non smoking?'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-3510767595054426417</id><published>2011-08-08T11:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-08T11:38:44.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Confusing Dreams</title><content type='html'>I have so much work to do, and yet all I can do is think to write. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had a dream that I was in NYC and I got into a cab, and the guy drove and drove and I ended up in Maryland. &amp;nbsp;Maryland of all places, where I've never been before. &amp;nbsp;So he says "we're here" and I knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be. &amp;nbsp;I was in Maryland, I somehow KNEW I was in Maryland, even though I have never been there before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The driver would not take me back to New York and I had to get out of the cab. &amp;nbsp;We were at some sort of liquor store, and I got out of the car and went close to the store and picked up my cell phone. &amp;nbsp;It was dead. &amp;nbsp;No battery. &amp;nbsp;I had no charger- and where would I have plugged it in anyway?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought, "Stacy lives here in Maryland" &amp;nbsp;surely she will come get me, even if it's hours away from where she is. &amp;nbsp;I grabbed my phone again, seeing a pay phone up ahead. &amp;nbsp;Of course, the phone was dead. &amp;nbsp;I couldn't even get her number off the phone. &amp;nbsp;There was a phone book so I picked it up, then remembering that Stacy's last name is like Jones or Nguyen. &amp;nbsp;A million people have a last name like that. &amp;nbsp;So I couldn't call her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It occurred to me then, that everyone thought I was in New York. &amp;nbsp;That nobody knew I had been dropped off in Maryland, and I had no way of contacting anyone. &amp;nbsp;I was stuck, alone, nobody would find me, I couldn't let anyone know where I was. &amp;nbsp;I was stranded, in Maryland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what it means. &amp;nbsp;Why Maryland, and why wouldn't the NY cabbie drive me back? &amp;nbsp;I was just lost and alone and I don't even know why I was there in the first place. &amp;nbsp;Why would I have asked to come to Maryland? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I woke up a little irritated by the whole dream, still trying to figure out what it's a metaphor for. &amp;nbsp;I don't feel lost, or alone, or abandoned. &amp;nbsp;I feel fine. &amp;nbsp;Why did I find myself lost in a strange place? &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-3510767595054426417?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/3510767595054426417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=3510767595054426417&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3510767595054426417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3510767595054426417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/08/confusing-dreams.html' title='Confusing Dreams'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-5969718948747019349</id><published>2011-06-19T12:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-19T13:43:45.999-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='open marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal growth'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Open, not over.</title><content type='html'>So this week I thought to disclose my 'relatonship status' to my family.  Come out with it to the few that don't know.  My parents, really.  Hey mom and dad, guess what I'm dating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Chances are my mother thinks I'm engaging in elicit affairs with strangers anyway- so maybe she will be somewhat relieved to know that there is actually just ONE person.  Who knows really.  I expect the worst and the only reason I am even considering coming out with it, is that he's a part of my life and around my family.  So I'd rather be the one to tell them, than have my 8 year old do it- and then have him unfairly pressed for information.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The husband and I have talked about the situation at great length.  He and the TheBoyfriend get along pretty well.  My sons like him.  The husband and I are calm about the situation as if there is nothing wrong with it, and in turn, the kids don't see anything wrong with it.  If anyone is going to have an issue, it would be the husband.  If he's ok with it, then really, I don't know that it is anyone else's place to take issue.  And really if they want to, they can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I pretty much know that there is a lot of talk about me behind my back in my family circle.  It's ok, I love them just the same.  Judge me all you want, I make a perfect target and after this many years, I'm ok with that.  The fact that they are nice to me to my face, doesn't make me love them any less.  Really, I just don't care anymore.  To be honest, I'd rather they keep their opinions of me to themselves, because I don't really have the energy to try to change their minds.  And who knows, maybe they are right.  I guess I'm ok with that too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In general, I'm not I'm a horrible person who does horrible things to people.  I might engage in some things people don't agree with- but that's my business.  I'm not hurting anyone.  My kids are not running around the streets or engaging in behavior that would make anyone think that they are 'acting out'.  Ok, so maybe I'm defending myself now, but it's my blog- I can do what I want here.  So I go out a few times a week.  I think I'm entitled to enjoy my life a little bit and it is not to any else's detriment that I do so.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So as I'm preparing myself to simply say, "Mom, Dad.... I'm dating."  I'm, of course, wondering what the backlash will be.  Will she call my sister?  Who will say, yeah- I know.  Will she call my brother?  Who will say, "Oh yeah- I heard."  Will she tell me that she is so against my adulterous lifestyle that she no longer wants to engage with me and my children?  Doubtful.  The worst that will happen is that she will no longer agree to babysit for me to do anything social- which really I don't ask her to do anyway.  I'm not looking for her approval, I just want them to have a heads up.  I'm almost 40.  It's time my parents know that I'm NOT at the movies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No, I'm a grown ass woman making grown ass decisions about my grown ass life.  I'm not ashamed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Everyone knows why my marriage is 'open' instead of 'over'.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's ok if you don't agree.  I sleep just fine, and I look myself in the mirror just fine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am living my life with as few regrets as possible and why would anyone want anything different for me or anyone else.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sVrWoT82Uso/Tf5dU7ZuX5I/AAAAAAAAByE/si5LcFVDC7Q/s1600/3-cute-kittens-with-nature-backgrounds.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620031999129313170" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sVrWoT82Uso/Tf5dU7ZuX5I/AAAAAAAAByE/si5LcFVDC7Q/s200/3-cute-kittens-with-nature-backgrounds.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 150px; width: 200px;" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-5969718948747019349?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/5969718948747019349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=5969718948747019349&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5969718948747019349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5969718948747019349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/06/open-not-over.html' title='Open, not over.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sVrWoT82Uso/Tf5dU7ZuX5I/AAAAAAAAByE/si5LcFVDC7Q/s72-c/3-cute-kittens-with-nature-backgrounds.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-29182828102731021</id><published>2011-06-11T13:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-11T13:36:53.161-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>If there is a heaven...</title><content type='html'>My Opa died last night.  He was in his 90's.  I want to say 93... but really I don't know who was keeping count anymore.  My Oma died this past December and it shook our family to its core.  We knew she was sick and it wasn't a surprise really-but shocking to my family just the same.  My grandparents have left behind a legacy of family and love.  Moving to Holland after WWII where they met in a concentration camp in Indonesia, the raised thier 4 kids and came to America in the 60's.  I remember my mom telling me how angry she was.  She was 21 I think.  She had no plans of ever leaving Holland.  She told me if they had not made her come, she probably never would have left.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So they came to America and thier kids had kids and those kids had kids.  I'm first generation American born.  I did not get the same time with my Oma and Opa as my older siblings did.  And my cousins spent more time with then because they were babysat by Oma. I don't have the same memories.  I wish I did.  I did not know them as well as some of the others- as far as stories about the past.  I have heard the stories that the rest of the cousins have told. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know my grandparents though, by the lives that they touched.  I know who they are because of my Aunt, and how she has so much patience... until the moment that she simply doesn't anymore.  I know who they are because of my mom, and how strong she is.  How stubborn and set in her ways.  However, if she can, there is no limit to what she might do to help someone.  I know who they are because my cousins are my immediate family.  I know who they are because they taught their children how to work, how to share, how to live and how to love and those children passed those lessons on to us.  I know who they are because for all of the dysfunction, as a family unit, I believe we are one of the finest.  We love each other unconditionally- and this is the greatest lesson I will ever learn.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got the call from my mom last night and I was sort of stunned.  After Oma died, Opa really didn't want to live anymore- or so my mom told me.  The last time I talked to him he said, "oh Julie... nothing is good anymore."  It's hard to argue with that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After being married for 65years to the same person, it's gotta be hard to do what you normally do without that person being there.  It's like waking up without an arm.  What happened?  It was there just yesterday?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the call today was part shock but really- we knew it was coming soon.  He need around the clock care and it was getting harder for him to move around.  He was just waiting to go.  Now many of my more religious family members will say that he is with Oma now.  With his brothers and sisters, as he was the last of his large family to go.  If I believed in that kind of thing, I think that would give me a lot of comfort.  The thought that Oma was sitting in her chair in her little heaven villa... and all of a sudden appears another chair and Opa is in it.  And they just reach out and hold each others hands.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then Oma says, "Geez Pa- it's about time you got here."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, as absurd as it is- it makes me smile.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-29182828102731021?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/29182828102731021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=29182828102731021&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/29182828102731021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/29182828102731021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/06/if-there-is-heaven.html' title='If there is a heaven...'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-1534361798548236942</id><published>2011-06-07T17:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-07T18:22:10.461-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>a mothers thoughts</title><content type='html'>After all these years, I still don't understand why my mother acted the way she did- but as a mother, I have to respect it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was younger my mother went to great lengths to keep me away from those people she deemed 'a bad influence.'  That list was long and wide and it never occurred to her that perhaps the bad influence was me.  She actually derailed the path of life as I knew it by putting me in a different junior high school, taking me away from the friends I had since pre-k.  Was she right to do that- not really.  I just found trouble elsewhere.  Different friends, different boys.  I still started smoking, I still got experimented with sex.  I still skipped school.  I understand that she did what she felt was right- not to punish me, but to protect me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My son and his girlfriend have been on and off for the past year and a half.  She is a sweet girl, a bit misguided and immature, even for 16, but a sweet girl with a good heart who seems to genuinely be smitten with my son.  Her father, however, cannot stand my son.  Something and everything he does rubs that man the wrong way.  Perhaps he sees him as a threat because she would rather be with her boyfriend than her father.  Perhaps she has a smart mouth and he assumes that my son must be the reason for it.  Perhaps he is afraid she will get sexualized before he feels she is ready.  Who knows.  They broke up over issues with her father earlier this year, but as teenage couples do they have drifted back together.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been mostly silent about it because I know the issue with her father is not going to go away.  I don't suspect that he is going to all of a sudden say, "Ok kid, I'll give you another chance with my daughter... even though you called her a slut on Facebook."  I can't say that I blame him for not being my sons biggest fan.  I am supportive of this reunion only as a way to keep lines of communication open with my son.  I know that there is a better than average chance he will simply do things behind my back.  I did it all behind my mothers back.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So they decided that they were going to tell the father that they were back together.  The result of it was a text message from my son today saying that "Mr. Y made me break up with her today.  He grounded her and is threatening to take away privledges and her phone.  I had to let her go."  He went on to further say, "I had no choice.  I could not let her choose me over her family.  What kind of man would I be if I did that." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is the first time that I ever considered what kind of man he is, or will be.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I gave him the usual platitudes.  I told him that I was sorry.  That things may change in the future.  That they can still be close and be friends.  Then I told him something that I hope means as much to him as it did for me to be able to say it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;You did a very honorable thing&lt;/i&gt;.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't really think Mr. Y is doing his daughter any favors by keeping her away from Alex.  I may be a little biased, but I am also harder on my kid than anyone else.  Yes, he can be kinda clingy and he really likes texting her all the time.  He's a teenage boy who still thinks farts are as funny as Spongebob.  I also truly believe that my son does not drink, does not do drugs, does not engage in dangerous or illegal behavior.  He has a good relationship with me and tells me MORE than I want to know.  I feel grateful that I have a relationship with him that I did not have with my mother.  That I STILL don't have with my mother.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Either way, I suspect that the girlfriend wanted to be defiant and stand up to her father.  That she wanted to hold her ground causing stress and strife to their whole family.  That she wanted to sneak around.  That's what I would have done.  Hell, that's what I DID.  What I didn't have was someone who loved me and was concerned with my overall happiness outside of the time spend with him.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;.....  ummm ok  ......&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So as I am rounding out this warm and fuzzy post, I got another text.  "She is not giving up and wants to make this work."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;sigh....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-1534361798548236942?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/1534361798548236942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=1534361798548236942&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1534361798548236942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1534361798548236942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/06/mothers-thoughts.html' title='a mothers thoughts'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-2206371439195883444</id><published>2011-05-30T09:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T10:22:32.777-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='open marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>May flowers.</title><content type='html'>As May comes to an end, I'm reminded of change.  I'm reminded of progress.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alot has changed his January.  I'm in a new relationship with a man who is MADE of awesomeness.  He is everything I need in my life, and nothing that I don't want.  You know that ridiculous line from Jerry McGuire- that... You.Complete.Me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok, I won't go there.  I can't.  but yeah, it's like that.  And here, I'll give you all the dirty details.  He's younger than me.  by about 12 years.  He's 27 years old and he absolutely fits my spaces.  I adore him and I'm the happiest I've been in a while.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So this weekend, Daddy (yes I call the younger guy, Daddy) spent the weekend at the house with me and the family.  Yes- me, the husband, the kids, and the 'boyfriend' (although he's not exactly my boyfriend).  Under the same roof at night.  And I was laying in bed, next to Daddy- hearing the husband making coffee in the kitchen and the kids rustling about- and it occurred to me how much progress I've made in my personal life.  That how being honest and true to what I need to be happy, I have actually achieved it to a level that makes me happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This month I put together two events for Stroke Awareness.  One was for work, and one was private within my lifestyle crowd.  I took a road trip to Colorado to see my daughter graduate form high school.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I completed my Masters Degree.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, change.  Progress.  Moving forward.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life is good.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.maxsmeals.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/mayflowers.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 375px;" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-2206371439195883444?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/2206371439195883444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=2206371439195883444&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2206371439195883444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2206371439195883444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/05/may-flowers.html' title='May flowers.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-2667417256243109853</id><published>2011-03-21T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-21T06:31:39.827-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='social media'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Cyberbullying</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;Last week I got a call from the Principle of my sons school saying that he said some very mean and degrading things to his ex girlfriend on Facebook.  Furious, I ignored him for a day- took away his cellphone and iTouch and then considered what I could do that would not only be punishment, but also something that he could LEARN from.  Forever a student, I came up with this idea.  Have him write an essay about his crime.  I gave him a week and exact instruction.  This is what he came up with.  I think it's great and as we have talked, he agreed that he DID learn something.  I hope this was a beneficial lesson for him as after he turned the paper in to me, he talked my ear off about it.  :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;He has to turn it in to the school principal too.  &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Why am I writing this paper?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;I am writing this paper because on Saturday, March 19&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; I had committed “cyber bullying”. I had intentionally yelled at my ex-girlfriend, and said some hurtful things to her. She had done nothing wrong yet I continued to yell at her saying that she could go to hell, she was dead to me, and that her new relationship wouldn’t last. I regret saying them as they have cause her much harm. I was angry at I pointed it at the last person I was mad at. I am sorry for saying that.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;What is cyber bullying? What are some forms?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;“Cyber bullying” is when one minor (child, preteen, teen) is made fun of or bullied over a digital device from another minor. The digital devices include phones or computer instant messaging. Usually the victim is tormented, harassed, humiliated, or threatened. Cyber bullying can only be present when there is a minor on both sides, or started by a minor towards another. Parental involvement turns it into plain cyber-harassment or cyber-stalking. The two kinds of cyber bullying are direct attacks and attacks by a proxy. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;Direct attacks are when a minor sends messages directly to the victim via text or IM. The child may send a mean or threatening message to the victim. This also includes “warning wars”. Warning wars are when children “report” or “flag” each other via a website. This can lead to getting kicked off a site for a certain period of time. A child may also create another profile on a social site and use that to attack the victim discretely. Some may also send death threats through text or IM’s using photos and videos.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;Attacks by a proxy are when the minor has someone else send the messages either with or without that other person’s knowledge or “doing their dirty work”. Most of the accomplices are used without knowing they are cyber bullying. This form of cyber bullying though, is the most dangerous kind as it often gets an adult or parent involved. Warning wars are also included in this because with enough people “flagging” the victim they will also be kicked off the site for a certain period of time. Most cyber bullies get the victim angry enough that they say hurtful things back, and when the service providers (the people receiving the flags) check to justify the report sent to them, it looks as if the victim is the problem, thus making the service provider the accomplice in this example.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Statistics&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;ul style="margin-top:0in" type="disc"&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;Over half the teens and kids are bullied online, the      other half engages in cyber bullying.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;1 in 3 minors have received a threat online.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;25% of kids and teens have been cyber bullied through      cell phones or IM.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;Over half of the victims DO NOT tell their parents      they are being cyber bullied.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;Less than 1 in 5 cyber bully incidents have been      reported to law enforcement.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;Girls are more likely than boys to be engaged in      cyber bullying.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;Boys are more likely than girls to threaten or be      threatened through cyber bullying.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt;  &lt;li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;      tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;All races are victims or cyber bullies.&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/li&gt; &lt;/ul&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;News Story&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;line-height:200%; mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;-&lt;span style="font:7.0pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;"&gt;         &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;The Megan Meier Myspace Incident&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;Megan Meier was a 13 year old girl from Missouri who had met a person on myspace whom she believed to be a nice boy in her hometown. It turns out that the “boy” was a group of kids and adults who intended to humiliate Megan because a friendship had taken a turn for the worst. After finding out that the new boy was a lie and the new friendship was over, she committed suicide. This act of cyber bullying caused state government officials to pass harsh cyber bullying laws.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-indent:-.25in;line-height:200%; mso-list:l1 level1 lfo2;tab-stops:list .5in"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;-&lt;span style="font:7.0pt &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;"&gt;         &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;The “Dog Poop” girl&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;In South Korea a college girl was on a train when her dog pooped on the train floor. When the girl refused to clean it up, a nearby passenger took a picture and posted it on the internet. It soon became viral (popular, something lots of people had seen) and the girl was open to extreme harassment. Some people learned her name and where she lived and she soon had to drop out of school and move to another part of the country.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;Cyber Bullying and the Law&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;Many states have cyber bullying laws and others don’t. Some states consider it a crime and are punishable by law to serve time in juvenile hall, or others give just a fine. In California there is a law in place that allows schools to suspend or expel students for cyber bullying.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;u&gt;How can I prevent myself from cyber bullying?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;In my essay, I have learned a lot about cyber bullying. I’ve learned about many of the dangers of it. It was wrong of me to attack like her I did, and could have had repercussions that I did not intend to happen. If it had gone any farther than it did, I could have been suspended or expelled. I will not be part of cyber bullying, and next time I will be more considerate of other people’s feelings. I will simply walk away or not talk to said person if I have nothing nice to say to them or about them.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.25in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun: yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.stopcyberbullying.org/"&gt;http://www.stopcyberbullying.org&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bullyingstatistics.org/"&gt;http://www.bullyingstatistics.org&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;a href="http://theaggie.org/"&gt;http://theaggie.org&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;a href="http://cyberbullying.us/"&gt;http://cyberbullying.us&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count:1"&gt;            &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-2667417256243109853?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/2667417256243109853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=2667417256243109853&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2667417256243109853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2667417256243109853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/03/cyberbullying.html' title='Cyberbullying'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-1633706305821584468</id><published>2011-01-29T06:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-29T06:50:51.540-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal growth'/><title type='text'>nothing more than- feelings</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: georgia; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Yesterday was a lousy day. Sometimes I have them. I woke up from a bad dream and spent the entire day feeling "afraid of, less than, and inferior to."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;My life is on the verge of change and change terrifies me, even if its good change. I am always left wondering, what if I fail? What if I can't roll with the changes? What if I'm not good enough for the big shoes I have to fill. In my career as well as my personal journey I am moving on to bigger and better things. My fear is telling me that I won't be good enough. My fear is kind of a loud mouthed bitch.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;These things happen. I have learned to roll with the bad times as they simply can't be avoided. All the anti depressants, anti anxiety meds, unfriend/ unfollow writing and meditation in the world cannot stop those days where I just feel fear and insecurity about many number of things. I have learned that I have to FEEL my feelings and they are not wrong- but they are not facts. Feelings are not facts. I do not make decisions based on fear anymore, not without facts to back them up.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Weeks back, MrX had me do a Needs vs Wants list. All day yesterday, I kept asking myself if my needs or wants are being threatened by the thing that was bothering me. The answer was no. Even as I felt my mood go through its swing, the answer was still no.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Fear that is backed up by facts is helpful and in some ways can save your life. Fear for the sake of fear... it holds you back. I have spent many many years of my life held back.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Just breathe girl... you can make it thru this day.&lt;br /&gt;I can't be told, "cheer up- life is good." I know life is good. My life is several shades of an awesome rainbow right now. Really. My life, for all it's struggles does not suck.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;So I rolled through the day. I let myself be frustrated. I cried a lot. I vented some feelings. I reminded myself that this is&lt;span class="Apple-converted-space"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;today&lt;/strong&gt;. I can get through&lt;span class="Apple-converted-space"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;today&lt;/strong&gt;. If my 12 step work taught me anything it is that you can only life one day at a time, but that today is not always an indication of tomorrow.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Before I went to bed I noticed that it was after midnight. I made it. Today I am feeling better.&lt;span class="Apple-converted-space"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: italic; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Much better.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-converted-space"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I have an exciting day ahead of me and I can't wait to see MrX and my friends tonight.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;What is that song? "What a difference a day makes."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;My 12 step sponsor once told me "&lt;em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: italic; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;'This too shall pass'&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-converted-space"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;works in both directions. Bad days will end, but so will good days." (I know, depressing isn't it??) But it reminds me of the one thing that still saves me from those bare knuckle fights that I have with fear and insecurity.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="margin: 0px 0px 1.5em; padding: 0px; border-width: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 14px; vertical-align: baseline;"&gt;Feelings are not facts.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-1633706305821584468?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/1633706305821584468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=1633706305821584468&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1633706305821584468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1633706305821584468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/01/nothing-more-than-feelings.html' title='nothing more than- feelings'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-3051059869569772456</id><published>2011-01-09T23:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-10T07:31:17.604-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='personal growth'/><title type='text'>boxes</title><content type='html'>Tonight on &lt;i&gt;Brothers and Sisters&lt;/i&gt; a woman who had lost a lot of her memory was trying to move on with her life and she ended up burning old boxes of memories she didn't really even have anymore.  It's a TV show, so I take it with a grain of 'rah rah' salt, but the look of joy on her face with the first box went into the fire- and she was able to rid herself of the things that were weighing her down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made me wonder what would be in my boxes?  Would I be able to throw them in the fire?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That box of body image issues I have been carrying around since I was 20?  19 years of body shaming and never feeling like I was sexy enough.  19 years of dieting, only to have the diet fail and me proclaim proudly that I like myself no matter what size- until I have a 'dress' to fit into.  How many fucking diets did I go on, in order to fit into a dress.  I'd like to burn all the dresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That box of "slut" that I keep just so I can take it out and prove that it's ok.  Yes I like sex, shut the fuck up about it.  I'm a PROUD slut god-damn-it and you can't shame me.  I own that- I even have a box to prove it?  And inside the box, a collection of lovers I never gave a damn about.  Partners that I used to get love or to chase love away.  Sex that I got to prove that I could.  And sex that I traded to avoid punishment, or to manipulate.  I'm proud of all that... aren't I?  Fuck it, toss it into the fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box of regret.  Oh that's a heavy box.  You know what's in there.  Everything I didn't do.  Don't even look.  Just douse some lighterfluid on that bitch and in it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box of fear.  Holy crap thats way in the back- give me second on that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box of failure.  The one that I have allowed to define me all these years.  In that box is the simple idea that I will never be better than my greatest failure.  That no matter what I do well, I will always be remembered for the the time, the thing, the situation that I fucked up.  I will never be more than the day I disappointed my mother.  I will never be smarter than then my worst grade.  I will never have a job better than the one I got fired from.  I am only as strong as my failures, and I have failed spectacularly, so don't get your hopes up kiddo.  Yeah, torch that box.  Lets put the contents thru the shredder and THEN light them on fire.  Wow, that doesn't even seem like enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box of relationships.  The ones I have held on to.  The ones that got away, the ones that left.  The mementos, the letters, the pictures.  The loves that I was so certain were the one for me. The man I wasn't good enough for.  The one that no man will ever live up to,  or maybe the love I won't allow myself to live down.  The lid is worn on this box because I keep opening it, looking in to see if there is something I missed.  I have the contents of this box memorized.  I don't need the box anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok fear, you bitch.  In to the fucking fire you go.  You are kindling for my soul and I just won't let you rent space in my mental closet if you aren't going to keep me safe.  If I'm going to be afraid of something, its not going to be the same shit I've been afraid of since my 20's.  No, I will find new fears and I certainly won't keep them in a box.  No, those new 'fear' bitches are going to kiss my fucking boots and walk behind me.  (or so I would like to think)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So once I get rid of all these boxes.  All the things that are holding me back- what do I do? &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Whatever the fuck I want, right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-3051059869569772456?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/3051059869569772456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=3051059869569772456&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3051059869569772456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3051059869569772456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/01/boxes.html' title='boxes'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-1427501815122114850</id><published>2011-01-02T07:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-02T07:00:02.696-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>the family bed</title><content type='html'>Part of me keeps thinking that I REALLY need to break Gabriel of the  habit of sleeping in my bed.  Now that it's usually just me or just  Michael in the bed, there's room for Gabriel and he knows it.  This  morning I woke on and he was curled up next to me.  He was sleeping so  soundly, and I reached over and stroked his newly hair-cutted head. I  slept in bed with my mom for many years.  I mean, I think until I moved  out at 18- I would crawl in bed with her every chance I got.  There's a  certain comfort about it- I admit.  I hate to deny Gabriel the comfort I  got.  Most days I really don't care though- I don't think there is any  harm to it.  He doesn't steal the covers anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are your thoughts??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-1427501815122114850?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/1427501815122114850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=1427501815122114850&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1427501815122114850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1427501815122114850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/01/family-bed.html' title='the family bed'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8699323952447918267</id><published>2011-01-01T17:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-01T17:42:11.979-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='open marriage'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>It's a new day, it's a new life.</title><content type='html'>Welcome to 2011. It started with a kiss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not been kissed at midnight in a long time, except on the cheek from Alex- but that hardly counts.  I enjoyed a nice kiss from MrX at a party with some friends.  Shortly thereafter, someone bumped into me, spilling my sparkling cider on my sweatshirt.  Well, that's ok. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've decided to write mildly about my relationships here- without being at all disrespectful to my family or my husband.  I came home from my New Years eve plans and drifted to sleep on the couch.  Michael came out and we talked about my evening and then he put me to bed, tucking me in and kissing me goodnight.  I am grateful for our friendship, even if sometimes it kinda sucks.  For all intents and purposes- he's my life partner, until the day it's decided that he's not.  We can co-exist together for now.  One married day at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8699323952447918267?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8699323952447918267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8699323952447918267&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8699323952447918267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8699323952447918267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2011/01/its-new-day-its-new-life.html' title='It&apos;s a new day, it&apos;s a new life.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-6933502812095802287</id><published>2010-12-29T20:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-30T22:44:46.053-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>I haz a blog and I will write.</title><content type='html'>I know right??  Oh my God- she's blogging here?  What is she going to say??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heh- to be honest I have no real clue.  I have a head full of thoughts and I'm struggling to put them into full sentences.  So here's my brain scramble, try to keep up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea how my apartment gets so fucking messy and why I am completely incapable of keeping it clean.  I mean- sometimes I think I'm the messiest girl ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I came home from work and straightened up, so that tomorrow I can clean.  I need prep cleaning before I can clean.  That's how bad it is.  However tonight I de-trash the living room and kitchen.  I did a small amount of shopping, washed my sheets, cleaned the cat box and paid the cable bill and fed the kids.  Seems pretty simple, but usually I come home from work and take a nap, I wake up when dinner is ready.  Do some homework with the kids if needed, read and then it's back to the couch for my homework- or another nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband, for all his faults, is a better domestic partner than I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know- back and forth and who the hell knows from one day to the next if I am going to be married to him, divorce him, or kill him my damn self!!  I haven't made any real decisions about that.  I'm just taking it day by day.  I know that will disappoint some people, but if you know me- well you know me and I don't have to explain my reasons.  If you don't know me, well, you wouldn't understand if I told ya!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, my new life has it's benefits.  A few weeks ago, Alex asked me how my evening was- and I told him minor details.  Michael walked into the room and asked what we were talking about and Alex answered, "Mom's date."  and the three of us had a bit of a conversation about my date.  Really it was more about traffic and the crazy parking situation in LA, but still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me and my open marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a calm conversation about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call that a win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-6933502812095802287?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/6933502812095802287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=6933502812095802287&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/6933502812095802287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/6933502812095802287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/12/i-haz-blog-and-i-will-write.html' title='I haz a blog and I will write.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-4813705796781589067</id><published>2010-11-01T17:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-11-01T18:21:53.121-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>The passage of time</title><content type='html'>It's been almost two months since I've written here.  I guess I just needed to figure out where I was- and who I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last three months have been rough.  The first half of the year, I can safely say, was good, but like many good things in my life, they are dependent on something or someone else.  When that someone left, well, everything sort of went to hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I know is that what I thought changed my life, left me feeling lost and uncertain.  You only realize how ungrounded you are when you are shaken up.  When nobody challenges you, everything seems stable.  And here I am, a whole year later, and life seems much the same as it was before.  And I just can't feel anything but sad about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure, I'm much closer to that graduate degree.  I have great friends and loved ones.  I have recently been reminded how much I love my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I loved someone, and he left.  Do I hate him.  No, but I just can't have him in my life anymore.  As much as that hurts me, and as much as I want him in my life... well, he hurt me.  It's hard when you think you know someone, and they are not who you thought they were.  Maybe I expected him to be MORE than he could possibly be.  Maybe I just expected him to be who he SAID he was.  I don't know.  But whatever he is, isn't mine.&lt;br /&gt;And that really sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I am, approaching 39.  Transitioning again.  Always changing and evolving.  Always moving away from something, when I should be moving towards something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always ruled by my heart, never really learning that it doesn't have a clue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-4813705796781589067?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/4813705796781589067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=4813705796781589067&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/4813705796781589067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/4813705796781589067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/11/passage-of-time.html' title='The passage of time'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-5583995176354852185</id><published>2010-09-08T22:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T22:40:37.635-07:00</updated><title type='text'>dreams of the ocean</title><content type='html'>I had a dream last night that I went to the beach by myself in the middle of the night.  I know... why would I ever do that right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But regardless I went to the beach and went out to the cold water.  I kept walking until I was so far out that I wasn't sure which way the shore was.  My head was just above the water and I was on my tip toes.  I remembered thinking that this was a recurring dream of mine.  I was out in the water.  I didn't know which way to go and I knew that I was going to drown out there.  It felt like the water was rising.  I was cold. My chest felt like I couldn't get air into it.  I was dying.  I knew it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought that it wasn't a dream, this was actually happening and I was just as scared as I was in my dreams.  What was I supposed to do?  Was I supposed to just pick my feet up and float under?  or was I supposed to swim?  But I couldn't swim.  I thought to myself- what am I doing here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I come out here- just to die??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I focused for a moment.  I closed my eyes.  I felt the water.  I felt the current.  I felt the wind.  I got quiet and I listened.  Which way were the waves going?  I touched my toes to the ground and bounced back up- letting the water carry me.  I did this a few more times, until I could tell that when my feet touched down, I was not as far down.  Why, in my dreams, did I never think of this before?  I kept my eyes closed tight.  Crying, but determined.  I was not going to simply give up and die- but not panic, be quiet and let the current take me every time I took my feet off the ocean floor.  I continued to do this until the water was up to my chest.  I knew I was going the right way- but I also felt the current taking me sideways.  I didn't fight the sideways motion, I just kept letting the water carry me.  I was too scared, too cold, to tired to fight the currents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just keep pushing off the ground, and trusting that it would be there when I floated back down.  It did.  The cold sandy ocean floor was under me each time I came down- that was all I could rely on.  My direction- I couldn't change.  Just keep going, I told myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was up to my waist now and my body was stronger than the currents now.  I could step.  One foot, then the other.  Still moving with the water.  Almost walking in the direction of the current.  Yes, farther and farther from where I started.  But closer to shore.  When the water was only at my knees, I fell foward and crawled.  I let the water hit me, splash up over my back.  I was so tired, I wanted to just lie down and let the water carry me- in some ways it did.  I just put hand over hand, knee in front of knee. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I reached shore- I lied down.  I let the water lap and my sides.  I was safe.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't sure exactly WHERE I was- but I was on the shore- and nothing else mattered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woke up this morning, remembering this dream.  Wondering what it means.  What is my lesson.  What is my current?  Why did I walk out there?  Did I chose to die?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And why, in my dream, was being out in the middle of the ocean a 'recurring' dream of mine.  To my knowledge, I've never dreamed of of that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what does the DREAM in itself represent?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-5583995176354852185?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/5583995176354852185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=5583995176354852185&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5583995176354852185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5583995176354852185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/09/dreams-of-ocean.html' title='dreams of the ocean'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-7235093883838380364</id><published>2010-08-22T11:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-22T11:05:21.329-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humor'/><title type='text'>To the person I wish I could be</title><content type='html'>Dear Julie of my dreams,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How does size 8 feel? &lt;br /&gt;I hope you are enjoying your career as a writer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please send my best to your husband, wife, girlfriend, and the harem of others than roam in and out of your bed.  What an amazing life you have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now get up.... cause you have laundry to do!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-7235093883838380364?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/7235093883838380364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=7235093883838380364&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7235093883838380364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7235093883838380364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/to-person-i-wish-i-could-be.html' title='To the person I wish I could be'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8144355998166293583</id><published>2010-08-22T10:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-22T11:01:55.244-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Someone from your Childhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;To PROVE that this letter writing thing is kicking something off for me, this is a portion of a REAL letter I wrote to my cousin and BFF:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Lori,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"&gt;How are you??  I know it's been about forever since I written, but I was thinking about how wonderful it was when we used to email back and forth.  Email is such a lost art for me, now with twitter, facebook, chat and text.  It's like if you can't say what you want to say in 140 characters, its not worth talking!!  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I did want to talk.  I can't believe we've only facebooked since you got pregnant.  That's ridiculous!!  How are you feeling??  Are you terribly excited?  It's a  **** right?  Have you picked out a name?  I so wish I could come up for the baby shower!!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's been a rough summer and I'm glad to see it go.  I hope the fall will bring change to my life as I see that I have options now that I didn't used to have.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[The parents] are not going to be watching the boys as much so I guess I could move out of the area, if not out of state.  I have three classes left of school- I'm so done with with it I could cry.  I'm out for 19 days and then I have 24 weeks of study left.  Honestly if I never have to write another paper again it will be too soon!!  I have no clue what I'm going to DO with this degree and considering the option of becoming a truck stop waitress with comfortable shoes and purple earrings outside of Ontario.  Seem like a pretty simple life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The break up has me pretty reeling and feeling more broken than I have in 'I can't remember when'.  It's been almost a month and I think yesterday was the first day I didn't cry.  I admit to using methods that are less than healthy to cope but none of them are life threatening.  So now I'm looking forward and a bit unsure what to do next.  I think I've spent so many years being in relationships.  Stressing out over them, trying to create one, fix one, or save one.  I just need a break- but really I'm such an addict about it.  Always looking for my next fix of attention.  I put myself on dating sites, only to be unimpressed, annoyed or simply not committed to really keeping up communications because I am just so very sad about the end of this relationship.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I keep thinking about that 'break' that you took.  I have a clear picture in my head of going to visit you at your moms, and you were sitting out on the patio- reading when I got there.  It's such a quiet peaceful picture in my mind, and I wonder if I can do that.  Just take a break, no dating, to touching, no sex.  Just me and my thoughts and the other usual suspects.  I don't know.  I realize that I have set my entire life up so that I am never REALLY alone yet I feel so alone that I'm actually uncomfortable around people.  why did the relationship end?  Well, in the end there is no cure for, "I just don't love you enough to see a future together."   There's no fault there- as much as I wanted to take one.  Taking the blame gave me an opportunity to FIX it- but he would not allow that.  He isn't a bad man.  I just wasn't the one for him, I guess.  It happens.  sigh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So now I'm just sort of searching and reaching and trying to talk less and listen more. The answers for me have to be out there.  It seems insane that I have reached THIS point in my life and I'm still such a disaster with my heart.  Seems like no matter what I do, I'm still led by my heart- and that has never brought me riches, or even happiness.  Tragic really.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway- I hope I hear back from you.  I could use the connection and I really do want to hear all about your pregnancy, your home and your life.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;love,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;julie&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8144355998166293583?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8144355998166293583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8144355998166293583&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8144355998166293583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8144355998166293583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/someone-from-your-childhood.html' title='Someone from your Childhood'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-534324509429920529</id><published>2010-08-22T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-22T10:52:58.287-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Letter to Someone not in your State or Country</title><content type='html'>Dear Hetty,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've been gone just a few weeks and I miss you and the family already.  It was so wonderful meeting you.  It didn't feel like you were family, but then very much like family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was great having someone to bond with a little, as I don't have a lot of local girlfriend that I can hang out with, and I am often not inclined to get out of the house very often.  It was so convenient to have you so close.  My kids adored you and your whole family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have thought very much about the things we talked about- taking a break for myself.  Focusing on only caring for those that are my children and letting the adults be adults and allowing them to care for themselves.  Your life and your free spirited bravery are so inspiring to me.  To be able to move around the world, with your kids and just feel confident that you will land on your two feet.  I'm always so paralyzed with fear that I have to justify purchasing a new stereo for my car- let alone anything that is life altering. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your kids are beautiful, talented and well behaved.  They are so smart and I'm so very impressed by your ability to connect with them on a level that truly shows respect and authority.  Something that I think I lack sometimes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I truly hope that you can come back to the states next year or sometimes soon after that.  You would fit wonderfully here and I would be so glad to have you close.  I miss being able to talk to you.  You made good, what would have otherwise been a pretty bleak summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-534324509429920529?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/534324509429920529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=534324509429920529&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/534324509429920529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/534324509429920529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-someone-not-in-your-state-or.html' title='Letter to Someone not in your State or Country'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-6442094222564854459</id><published>2010-08-14T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T09:15:00.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to a deceased person I wish I could talk to</title><content type='html'>Dear Christine,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss you.  Every single day.  So much more lately. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think about you whenever I have avocado on my sandwich and I remember with a smile on my face how you would shoo it away from your plate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to Disneyland with my friend this summer and I felt you there.  I saw the brick that your parents got for you.  It made me cry.  Sometimes it still seems so unreal that you're gone.  I still have not deleted you from my contacts on my phone, my email, my yahoo messenger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, it would scare the hell out of me if you ever logged on....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-6442094222564854459?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/6442094222564854459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=6442094222564854459&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/6442094222564854459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/6442094222564854459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-deceased-person-i-wish-i.html' title='Letter to a deceased person I wish I could talk to'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-3174234589291672030</id><published>2010-08-14T08:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T09:03:18.430-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='twitter'/><title type='text'>Letter to my favorite internet friend</title><content type='html'>Dear Twitter,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look maybe this is cheating... but really sometimes you are the best friend I have, anywhere. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I became friends with you about three years ago and the relationship was rocky at first.  I wasn't sure what to say- if there was any benefit to our coming together.  It took a while before it hit me- the value of our connection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have brought a lot into my life.  I've made many many friends.  I've learned a lot.  The first time I realized the sheer 'power' of twitter was when  my boss asked me how to mute on Treo.  I logged in and typed out the question.  In minutes- MINUTES- I got about 10 replies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twitter- from that point on- you became 'my people'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're not as awesome as the Google... but rarely do I ask a question to my people and not get some sort of response.  Sure, sometimes it's not a good response.  Sometimes there are the less desirables that plague my twitter stream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have given me a voice.  Sometimes, people actually enjoy reading what I have to say.  You are a place where I can vent my trouble, ("Dear Husband: Stop  being a dick")  share my joys ("Graduation Day!"), get advice ("Can I substitute cool whip for milk in my mac and cheese?) and just chat with my friends.  If people are active in my tweet stream, consider us sitting in a coffee house, chatting and enjoying a muffin.  Or you know, naked...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Twitter, you HAVE broken my heart ("Has anyone seen my pants?"). You've given me directions, traffic warning, and a way to access the outside world when other life was otherwise dark.  You have helped me make me some amazing friends that I've met in real life.  You have brought me lovers and confidants and heroes.  You are a pretty good wingman, but sometimes a serious cock blocker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have made me popular and you all know how much I want to be one of the cool kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel like we need a break.  That I need to just stay away for a while because sometimes, believe it or not- the internet is NOT big enough. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I love you Twitter.  Even if our relationship is a little wacky and even though you completely encourage my identity crisis and sometimes kill my self esteem a little.  Better or worse, I don't know that I could make it through a day without you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-3174234589291672030?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/3174234589291672030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=3174234589291672030&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3174234589291672030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3174234589291672030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-favorite-internet-friend.html' title='Letter to my favorite internet friend'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8930469247740267457</id><published>2010-08-08T00:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T01:16:19.122-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><title type='text'>Letter to my ex partner/ love/ crush</title><content type='html'>You know, I'm not doing this.  Not yet- not now.  Not here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows who he is, he knows what I want to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knows how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I love you, I hate you. &lt;br /&gt;Don't leave me, go away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I can't stay, don't go.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lather Rinse Repeat. He knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We move on to love another day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8930469247740267457?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8930469247740267457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8930469247740267457&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8930469247740267457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8930469247740267457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-ex-partner-love-crush.html' title='Letter to my ex partner/ love/ crush'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-7247918668339119759</id><published>2010-08-07T23:44:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T00:58:31.173-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><title type='text'>Letter to a stranger</title><content type='html'>Dear Stranger,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't seen you for a while.  For most of the past 5 years I see you at the end of my work day.  Sitting at the freeway onramp.  When I had money, I always gave it to you.  You were almost always there.  I always made eye contact, even when I didn't have anything to give you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year or so, the sign that you sometimes carried mentioned cancer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it makes me very sad to realize that I haven't seen you recently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope that you are ok. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-7247918668339119759?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/7247918668339119759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=7247918668339119759&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7247918668339119759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7247918668339119759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-stranger.html' title='Letter to a stranger'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-949850084811871910</id><published>2010-08-07T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T09:57:35.081-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><title type='text'>Letter to my dreams</title><content type='html'>Dear Dreams,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I really overshot the runway on that didn't I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;better luck next time,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-949850084811871910?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/949850084811871910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=949850084811871910&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/949850084811871910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/949850084811871910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-dreams.html' title='Letter to my dreams'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-1836024269544078634</id><published>2010-08-07T09:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T10:00:37.668-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>Letter to my siblings</title><content type='html'>Dear Siblings,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my greatest joys in life is having you.  It is comforting to know that there are people who may not know me- but know my heart.  It's comforting to know that you may not always agree with half of the shit that I do- you will still love me.  And you know that I still love you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I admit it's struggle being the youngest.  Being the one who can never seem to get her shit together. The one who lives closest to mom and therefore monopolizes much of her time.  It's not as easy as it looks.  It's not easy thinking that nobody REALLY takes me seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't blame you for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just grateful every day- that we grew up on a family where we may not always like each other, we may not always support the decisions, but that we are not one of those families that 'disowns'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never understood that about some families, more often American families.  Where someone will disown another member.  Cut them off completely as if they just weren't ever there.  Who teaches these things?  It's so foreign to me.  I could never imagine just forgetting I ever had siblings.  Thats like saying I never had this arm...  it doesn't calculate.  The other day I said this to a friend:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:medium;"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13;"  &gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;being a family just isn't an option for us...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; float: left; color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;I think it's sad to think that it's an option for anyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; float: left; color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;I mean, (she) can be a thorn...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; float: left; color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;but you know- my family?? the whole 'entity'...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; float: left; color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;it's who I am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; float: left; color: rgb(136, 136, 136);"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="display: block; padding-left: 6em;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;so you take the pieces as part of the whole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;Julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-1836024269544078634?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/1836024269544078634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=1836024269544078634&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1836024269544078634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/1836024269544078634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-siblings.html' title='Letter to my siblings'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8776176269181847911</id><published>2010-08-03T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-03T21:58:38.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Letter to my parents</title><content type='html'>Dear Mom,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn't an easy letter to write and I'm really not in any place to handle all the major things I need to talk about.  I wish you knew me better.  I wish I understood what you expected of me.  I wish that I ever felt like I was a decent enough daughter for you to actually say outloud that I was good enough.  That you were proud of me.  You have no idea what that would mean if you actually said it to me and not people around me but never to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I applaud you for making motherhood look easy, but I don't think that it's necessary to make me feel like I've failed at it.  Nobody is perfect. I'm certainly sure of that.  I've learned a lot about raising my kids from you.  Not by the way you raised me, but by the way you care for my kids. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's so much that I haven't told you about me.  So much that you wouldn't want to know.  So much that you would deny, not understand or flat out deny.  I wish it wasn't that way.  I wish that we had some understanding that our feelings were valid even if they didn't make sense to each other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I may never be as level headed, brave or stable as the other sibs- I am certain that I am of value in this family, even if only for comic relief.  It's not easy being the 'helpless' one- or the one who is always getting into trouble or the one who is always making mistakes or the one who married the drug addict.  Nobody ever lets me forget it, ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While maybe this letter seems a bit aggressive, if you knew anything about me- maybe you'd know why.  Maybe you'd understand that living the life I'm living is exhausting.  I'm tired.  I'm lonely and I'm very very scared.  I don't blame you or dad, or Bill or even your husband now for anything that is wrong with me.  Well, maybe Bill some... but that's something else you'll never know about because I won't ever tell you what happened there.  Ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, like so many other conversations I've started with you- I can't finish this one either.  You don't thnk know me.  You don't think you want to.  That's probably for the best. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you.  I wish I could be more like you.  Or maybe I just wish that I felt you liked me more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe both.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8776176269181847911?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8776176269181847911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8776176269181847911&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8776176269181847911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8776176269181847911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-parents.html' title='Letter to my parents'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-621631578676950807</id><published>2010-08-03T13:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-03T13:12:37.261-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Harsh book quotes to remember as I go thru my breakup</title><content type='html'>These things rip my heart right out, but there is no denying that they are true.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;He's Just Not that Into You&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;He is a man made up entirely of your excuses.  And the minute you stop making excuses for him, he will completely disappear from your life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;A man who wants to make a relationship work will move mountains to keep the woman he loves.  If he's not calling you to tell you he loves you and wants you back, it should only be because he's showing up at your new residence to do it in person ... if he's not doing any of that, he may love you, he may miss you, but ultimately he's just not that into you.  Stop taking his calls and let him know what it's like to live without you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Don't be flattered that he misses you.  He  should miss you.  You're deeply missable.  However, he's still the same person who just broke up with you.  Remember, the only reason he can miss you is because he's choosing, every day, not to be with you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;He doesn't need to be reminded that you're great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;Don't give him the chance to reject you again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt;Just remember that (he) is the same person who, not long before, looked you in your beautiful face, took full stock of you and all your qualities, and told you that he was no longer in need of your company.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;---&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#FF0099;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"    style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px; font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "&gt;I wish I could say that I was living by these thoughts... but I'm trying to remember them when I get too far down.  especially that last one.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-621631578676950807?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/621631578676950807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=621631578676950807&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/621631578676950807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/621631578676950807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/harsh-book-quotes-to-remember-as-i-go.html' title='Harsh book quotes to remember as I go thru my breakup'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8222625002531633089</id><published>2010-08-02T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T20:42:32.039-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>Letter to my partner</title><content type='html'>Dear Michael,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to focus on the bad things.  We have enough bad memories, regrets and disappoinments to last 25 years.  Instead, I'm going to focus on something in common, but good.  The kids.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alex seems to be doing ok now that his gf is on vacation.  He sleeps late and stays up late but I don't ive him too much grief about it.  I have to constantly ride him about doing his chores which makes me feel kinda bad that I always told you to get off of his case about his chores.  You were right, if I don't tell him 5 times, it doesn't get done.  Perhaps it WAS getting done because you were riding him all day about it.  I worry a little about the boys he's hanging out with.  He has alluded that M and H are into some 'stuff I wouldn't like' - but that he doesn't do stuff like that cause his gf wouldn't like it.  I suspect he's kept his nose clean, but you can never be sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabe is doing better.  Lately I am frustated with him because he won't eat.  He fusses about everything I make, but then complains that he's starving.  I'm trying to be patient and understand that he's going thru a lot, but he's just pushing back for no apparent reason.  I can't let the kid starve, but he's so stubborn, I'm tempted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Danny is just Danny.  He's in his own little world  Like I said, he hasn't asked much about you- but I see his behavior regressing.  He's watching the preschool TV shows and find himself fascinated as if he's not seem them before.  It's a bit disconcerting but somehow it isn't manifesting into any other bad behavior so I won't complain too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And me?  well, you know it isn't easy bein me these days.  It was nice to see you the other day and I admit I was a bit needy and emotional.  I'm glad that one of us is in a good place and we didn't let sad emotions get the best of us.  I want to do what's best for all of us, and I think we are on the right path to that- but I can't help but be a little sad, thinking... what if??  I can't hold out those kind of hopes anymore as it puts too much pressure on you and to be honest, I think some things are better left out to pasture- you know?  Regardless, it was good to see and hear you sounding hopeful about sobriety.  It is good to see you hopeful about anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, seeing you made me smile- the hug was much needed and I appreciated it more than you know.  It's a dreary existence some days- and it's nice to know that someone will still give me a no strings attached hug if I ask for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8222625002531633089?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8222625002531633089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8222625002531633089&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8222625002531633089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8222625002531633089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-partner.html' title='Letter to my partner'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-5563680861839373751</id><published>2010-08-01T10:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-01T12:04:01.533-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='30 days of letters'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>Letter to my best friend</title><content type='html'>Dear Carrie: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really meant it when I asked if you could come out and just take care of me for a while.  I know you would if you could.  I cant think of anything more comforting than an unjudging person sitting next to me and holding my hair back through the emotional vomit.  I know when I'm a mess, and I know when I need to come home again.  If my mothers house wasn't full of people, I'd probably camp out there until the storm is over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sometimes wonder if our lives might have been different if we lived closer together.  If you had never left California- or if I had moved to be closer to you.  I can't tell you how many times I thought about packing up and leaving.  I think the only reason I'd ever want to live in Oklahoma was because you were there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me sad that our kids don't know each other.  That they didn't grow up sort enmeshed in each others lives the way my brothers friends/ kids did.  They are all close in age, both 'sets', and I wonder how they could have been different had they been in each others lives.  How we might have been different.  Its funny how our lives have reflected each other- even from such a distance.  That we are in different careers in the same field.  It's ironic that we have spend our lives together but have spend probably less than a 1/2 percent of those years in each others physical company- but you'd never know it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I always considered myself the 'wilder' of us, I know that you were always the strong one- the strength in my corner.  Now, before I get too 'wind beneath my wings' on you- I hope you know that I have always knows that I have a home in your home.  That I have a safe haven from any storm and that no matter what, you will always accept me, my kids, and all my bullshit without question.  You've always been my safe call.  For that, I'm ever grateful.  I hope that I've been the same for you and that you have never felt taken for granted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that if I showed up with my kids and my cat, a bottle of cheap wine, some rotel and a deck of cards- I'd be home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many years ago we talked about taking an anniversary trip to celebrate 25 years together.  I think we should still do that in a few years. We should bring the kids, rent a house by the water and just celebrate, cook, drink and play cards.   I can't wait to see you again, my friend.  I know I will soon. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;love,&lt;br /&gt;julie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I'm going to be writing a letter every day for 30 days).  Check back every day- or see &lt;a href="http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/30-days-of-letters.html"&gt;this post &lt;/a&gt;to see the list of who I'm writing letters to.  If you want to play along, let me know!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-5563680861839373751?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/5563680861839373751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=5563680861839373751&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5563680861839373751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5563680861839373751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/08/letter-to-my-best-friend.html' title='Letter to my best friend'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-3818526521205257865</id><published>2010-07-31T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-31T23:21:48.615-07:00</updated><title type='text'>30 days of letters</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I’ve now seen this on both &lt;a title="Brit Is Shameless Blog" href="http://britisshameless.com/"&gt;Britni’s blog &lt;/a&gt;and &lt;a title="They Belong to Us" href="http://theybelongtous.wordpress.com/"&gt;They Belong to Us&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://essin-em.com/"&gt;Essinem&lt;/a&gt; and I’ve chosen to participate in honor of a new month and such. Basically, the gist is that you write a letter a day for 30 days. It’s part self-awareness/reflection, part writing prompt, part free therapy.  This might be good for me to have something to write about and also work out some of those there... feelings.... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm gonna do my best....    Come back and check!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 1 — Your Best Friend&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 2 — Your Crush/ Partner(s)&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 3 — Your parents&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 4 — Your sibling (or closest relative)&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 5 — Your dreams&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 6 — A stranger&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 7 — Your Ex-partner/love/crush&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 15 — The person you miss the most&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 17 — Someone from your childhood&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 23 — The last person you kissed&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 28 — Someone that changed your life&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-3818526521205257865?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/3818526521205257865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=3818526521205257865&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3818526521205257865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/3818526521205257865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/30-days-of-letters.html' title='30 days of letters'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-753109963282988641</id><published>2010-07-30T08:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T08:29:32.620-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not afraid... maybe</title><content type='html'>I'm afraid of heights.  Deathly afraid.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm thinking of taking Rock Climbing lessons.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyone wanna join me??  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8WRsdPwooo/TFLvuXgCeEI/AAAAAAAABxo/czujNaNQY78/s320/rock_climbing.jpg" style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499721674834212930" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-753109963282988641?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/753109963282988641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=753109963282988641&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/753109963282988641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/753109963282988641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/not-afraid-maybe.html' title='Not afraid... maybe'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_i8WRsdPwooo/TFLvuXgCeEI/AAAAAAAABxo/czujNaNQY78/s72-c/rock_climbing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-5347003440468298490</id><published>2010-07-29T06:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-29T07:00:22.144-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='social media'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>If you scream into cyberspace and nobody is logged on, does it make a sound?</title><content type='html'>The problem with being a blogger/ twitterer/ attention whore is that everything is public.  The internet is a perfect platform for me to BE an attention whore without having to annoy the people around me.  People can CHOSE to tune in to my blog or my twitter stream and watch the magic (ie: the trainwreck).  They can do it with interest, disdain or pure voyeristic delight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say that it's a problem though, because I feel compelled to do most things in public.  Changes in my life, in my relationships, issues with my kids, my family- it's all out there.  There are few things I consider off limits.  (usually regarding negativity towards people I love but maybe I'm annoyed with at the moment)  However when it comes to ME and my ongoings- there are some who know all I divulge, and that is usually a LOT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Besides all the drama with my husband, my current relationship is going through a moment of upheaval.  It's exhausting and sad.  So what do I do?  I blog about it.  I blog about the break up- the stress, the emotions.  I twitter my sad state of being and am comforted by the outpour of friendship and support from my 'friends'. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been warned about living my life on line.  Having relationships in public.  It makes it harder when things go wrong- but in some ways it makes me more aware of how I behave.  I refuse to slam my loved ones but I also refuse to stay quiet and hurting.  Grieving outloud is how I do it.  I don't have a local group of girlfriends who meet for lunch and or congregate on my bed for a heartfelt chat over wine.  This is NOT Sex and the City. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More like Sex and Social Media.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I grieve outloud.  I reach out for my friends who return my call with virtual hugs, text messages, IM's, DM's and naked pictures (ok, I haven't gotten any naked pictures YET...).  I put my heart out there to my world and I'm ever grateful that people are listening. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I'm not going to break down on line, why break down at all??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-5347003440468298490?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/5347003440468298490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=5347003440468298490&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5347003440468298490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5347003440468298490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/if-you-scream-into-cyberspace-and.html' title='If you scream into cyberspace and nobody is logged on, does it make a sound?'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-5957328344392919376</id><published>2010-07-28T14:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-28T14:31:38.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blow me, bitch.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You're a pain in my ass. Stop being that!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;Ahh thank you Mel.  Only rage can deliver such a clear message.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-5957328344392919376?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/5957328344392919376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=5957328344392919376&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5957328344392919376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/5957328344392919376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/blow-me-bitch.html' title='Blow me, bitch.'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-8402479538229247113</id><published>2010-07-26T15:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-26T16:17:50.481-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>mental days</title><content type='html'>I'm taking a few days off of work.  My original plan was to spend it with 'the boyfriend' who is in town but that hasn't worked out as I'd hoped.  However I see that I do need a few days of peace and quiet to get my head together and get caught up on a few things that have slipped thru the cracks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Homework:  I am currently failing my Operations Class?  Why- cause I just can't get my damn homework done and/or turned in on time?  Why?  Cause I really just feel overwhelmed and depressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Apartment: I was on a good run in starting to clean it- but I stopped doing the daily maintenance and hid in my room for several nights.  Why?  Cause I really just feel overwhelmed and depressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My Job: Ok, well it doesn't make sense that I would take time off if I need to get back on track at work, however- if I don't just take a few days to unwind, by myself without the kids screaming in my ears, my husband on the phone and the other relationship issues I'm having- well I think I'm just gonna do shitty work.  I really DO care about my job more than that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life has gotten away from me again.  Somewhere, I lost my basket.  I lost sight of what is important to me and fell into the scary trap that says, "I'm not good for anyone or anything so maybe I'll just drink and take these pills and then mope for several days on end."  My kids are seeing me fall apart.  Alex doesn't even want to BE HERE right now.  No- this is not good and I just have to get myself together.  Put on my big girl panties and pull it together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How?  I have no idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a hard enough time getting out of bed in the morning, and a harder time getting out of the house.  Yesterday I called my girlfriend, just sobbing, crying.  Mostly because of the boyfriend, but somewhat because I just felt that I couldn't move.  My chest felt like it was about to explode and I wanted to scream and kick and cry.  I was terrified and I just couldn't make a step.  I expected a nervous breakdown to be something really dramatic, like going to bed for days and days until someone shows up and throws you in a shower, clothes on.  No- this breakdown is like the end of a slow speed police chase.  I knew the cops were after me, but I figured since I was already going, I may as well go until the engine runs out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My engine has officially run out.  I give up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life is unmanageable because I simply don't know what to do with myself.  My feelings made no sense, I know they are not true.  I am NOT stupid, incapable, or unworthy.  I am NOT unstable, unlovable OR unfuckable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not disposable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I feel that I am all those things- and these are feelings that seem to burrow deep under the surface of my skin and like a thin splinter, it's just not gonna come out all that easily.  I can't stop myself from falling apart, it's already happening and it simply needs to happen.  However, I have to set parameters that are within normal limits for my kids to feel secure.  Everytime Gabriel sees me cry, he has a set back.  The circle is vicious and nobody is gonna stop it if I don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what's next?  Well I'll tell you- I'm not sure.  It looks a little like soothing my soul with comfort food.  Talking out some issues with the boyfriend in hopes for some relationship aftercare.  and who knows, maybe some laundry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-8402479538229247113?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/8402479538229247113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=8402479538229247113&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8402479538229247113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/8402479538229247113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/mental-days.html' title='mental days'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-2412184396972479446</id><published>2010-07-24T09:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-24T11:58:19.990-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>cause I'm a cowboy....</title><content type='html'>I went out for drinks and dinner with a friend of mine.  This guy is an old friend from HS that I kissed at graduation but over the years we connected on MySpace, then again on FB, and at the HS reunion.  Great guy.  Hot guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We just drank and at and laughed and threw out all sort of sexual innuendo.  It was fun.  I needed it.  Depression is hitting me hard.  The end of my marriage has me feeling a bit more out of sorts than I was expecting- and my current relationship is hitting some uncharted waters.  So life feels a bit heavy and my arms are pretty tired lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best part of the night was when my friend decided to  get up and sing Karaoke. It was a pretty dead night and the Karaoke DJ was doing his best to try to 'pump up the crowd'.  I've been to this restaurant on Karaoke night before.  Years before with my SIL and it was a really fun place.  The DJ now is kind of 'wedding singer' cheesy- I miss the days when the sexy girl with the Russian name sang for us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my friend gets up there to sing some Bon Jovi and I gotta tell ya, he's singing like a rock star- until the chorus comes up.  And he goes into it- with gusto and conviction.  but wait, whats that... I see it- just to the right.  The DJ- he's stepping up- he's raising the mic... oh nooo... don't do it...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"waaaaanted...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OMG- he's standing in as Richie Sambora!!!  He's singing backup Karaoke!!  I almost pee'd.  Partially because of the hilarity, but because the look on my friends face.  It was as if someone came up and pinched his ass as they walked by. It was a BonJovi WIN. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So DJ Sambora continued the sing backup with my friend while I eyeballed him like a slutty groupy.  It ruled. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-2412184396972479446?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/2412184396972479446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=2412184396972479446&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2412184396972479446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/2412184396972479446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/cause-im-cowboy.html' title='cause I&apos;m a cowboy....'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2534326503808905000.post-7554450275772778953</id><published>2010-07-23T02:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-23T11:46:26.377-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='kids'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='divorce'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='relationships'/><title type='text'>The Emancipation of Julie</title><content type='html'>I decided to start new cause I have to put the past in the past and decide where to go from here. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been advised of a few things recently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Start therapy. (thinking about it)&lt;br /&gt;Get on your meds. (right, where are those pills again)&lt;br /&gt;Don't date. (can my life be any more lonely? )&lt;br /&gt;Be celibate. (are you crazy?)&lt;br /&gt;Concentrate on yourself and the boys. (I never understand what this means.)&lt;br /&gt;Get a hobby. (I'm a blogger, I have a hobby)&lt;br /&gt;Get offline and buy a bike. (Why would I ever get offline?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So while all these thoughts, minus one or two might be a possibility- lets not go crazy.  Right now I just want to get from morning till night without screaming at someone.  Today on twitter I said that I go from Lucy Ricardo to Joan Crawford in about 20 seconds. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had to manage to put money under a very light sleeping childs pillow without waking him so the tooth fairy will have done her job.  $1 for an eye tooth seems reasonable doesn't it?  The kids is almost 8- when can I stop this sham??&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So part of the reason I wanted to start a NEW blog is because it's like cutting your hair after a break up.  A physical manifestation of emotional distance.  Also, I decided that I wanted to just be who I am.  So who am I?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well I'm a kinky girl living a pretty vanilla life most days of the week.  So this blog may sometimes explore topics about D/s relationships.  It might talk about how I need after care but how I don't like giving it.  It might talk about how my next male play partner will be referred to as 'bitchboy'.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or I might just talk about my kids and what happened last night on iCarly.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Or my cat.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Either way, what you get is me.  Julie- unleashed, uncensored-ish, and almost single except for the boyfriend... and the girlfriend.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh and bi. (but you may not want to mention it to my gay-unfriendly mom.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't say I didn't warn you.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Please leave lots of comments... but remember Julie's rules:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Be nice.  Mean people comments will be deleted.  I'm the only negative nancy up in this bitch!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Welcome to my life.  Leave at your own chosen speed.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2534326503808905000-7554450275772778953?l=www.juliedoyaloveme.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/feeds/7554450275772778953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2534326503808905000&amp;postID=7554450275772778953&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7554450275772778953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2534326503808905000/posts/default/7554450275772778953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.juliedoyaloveme.com/2010/07/emancipation-of-julie.html' title='The Emancipation of Julie'/><author><name>Julie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16992538724633902928</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
