Life Is For The Living. So Don't Be The Douche Bag Who Doesn't...Live It.

For some reason this one saying has popped up several times over the past few days, and all by different people. It has been spoken by ones I really love and cherish who are uplifting me during this difficult time; and it was spoken by the creepy serial killer when he saw me come in to class one day with sunglasses and a fist full of aspirin soaking in my Gatorade. Like I was even asking him. (See? So creepy.) Anyway, it made me think. And it made me wonder if I was really utilizing these days in the best possible way. This is my life, after all. Even if I'm not happy with the way it is currently going. It's only up to me to make it the best it can possibly be.

I was thinking about this at 4pm while I was laying on the sofa, still in my mint green snowflake pajamas, and watching "Mad Men" while drinking Diet Coke out of a 2 liter bottle. The shades were drawn, I'm sure the apartment smelled like a truck stop, and I had just decided to cease living. It was then I realized I was being a total prat, and after a phone call with a friend, I opened my shades, put on some freakin' clothing, and went outside. I got about a block before a homeless person started screaming at me, but it felt good to be out in the open, living my life.

I passed another homeless person who was muttering to herself, so I sort of propped myself up against the same building and muttered to myself as I figured out what I wanted to do that day. It's a Friday. Everyone I know was out drinking, carousing, being social and hearty and merry and bright. And all I wanted to do was buy a personal pizza, go home, and rent a movie. I started to chastise myself. I said out loud, "Melissa, FIRST OF ALL NO ONE RENTS MOVIES ANY MORE. And, go out and DO something. Don't stay home AGAIN." But you know what? That is how I was choosing to live. That was what would lift me up and soothe my soul. And I really love pizza, damnit.

I opened an account at a run-down Blockbuster. The boy helping me had a fierce lisp and gave me a 3 page contract to sign. When I made a joke, asking him if it was the DMV he glared at me and asked to see my license. Which only made me giggle from the irony. Then I went home.

I cleaned. I made my personal pan pizza. I put on a movie that I loved, "Under The Tuscan Sun," and settled in to start living.

I had forgotten what a gorgeous movie it was. And I had almost forgotten that I had my honeymoon in Positano, where half of the movie takes place. I squealed with every epic sweep of scenery and delighted in the candy colored houses dotting the cliff sides. It brought back so many wonderful memories of Brett...and I wasn't sad.

AND THEN. The main character had the best line: "What are four walls, anyway? They are what they contain. The house protects the dreamer. Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game. It's such a surprise." It dawned on me then that my sad little apartment was starting to feel like home. These four walls held a dreamer- albeit a dreamer who spends most of her time in pajamas eating pizza and breaking things. But...it had become home. I then stood up, (in different pajamas...I changed clothes, I'm not terribly pathetic,) and I LITERALLY danced all around the living room. Whooping, laughing, crying...and then my 19 year old neighbor pounded the wall and I danced quietly. And whooped silently. (Try it, it sounds ridiculous.) I didn't feel like I was lacking tonight. I was living. And celebrating.

I also hadn't broken anything around here in the last 24 hours. And my pizza was so, sooo good.