When Kyle left for work this morning, he gave me a kiss and said, “Okay sweetheart, I’ll see you Tuesday night.”

The fucked up part is that he wasn’t kidding.

You see, Kyle is working a rental gig at the Egg that, for the first few days at least, is working him until late.  (All this after working a full day at his real job.)  This gets him home at around midnight, at which point I will hopefully be long asleep, since I have to be up at 4 am tomorrow morning for my own gig at the Egg.  I’ll be working until about the time when Kyle is due in.  (The Egg will literally be swapping out Van Sandt’s, how messed up is that?)  Kyle will again be working until late, and I will again be going to bed stupid early and getting up stupid early.  I’ll be finishing up about the time he comes in and we’ll again swap places.  The cycle of ridiculous ends Tuesday night, when I can stay up and wait for him to get home.  (Since I have Wednesday off.)

Sounds like it’s going to suck balls, doesn’t it?

Sure, we’ll see each other for 15 minutes or so when we switch off at work.  Kyle will take me in his arms when he comes to bed at night and whisper goodnight, and before I leave in the morning I’ll give him a kiss and tell him I love him.  But we’re both notoriously hard sleepers, and I can guaran-fucking-tee that neither one of us will remember both exchanges.  So while we may see each other over these next three days, we won’t really see each other over the next three days.

Which is going to suck balls.

That means no recounting our days together while we cook dinner.  No sharing an episode of Sports Night on the couch with ice cream.  No crawling into bed together at the end of the day.  Not to mention the fact that the laundry, dish washer, cat boxes, and other general cleaning and housekeeping fall flat on my shoulders.  For the next three days, (and with our schedules, really, the next two  weeks,) I’m essentially missing my partner in life.

On the other hand, it’s not all bad.  It gives me a little alone time to do more selfish, me-centric things that I might not otherwise do if Kyle were around.  Like taking extra long runs and extra long showers.  Painting my nails.  Watching episode after episode of Intervention, Tabitha’s Salon Takeover, and any show with the word ‘hoarder’ in it.  Besides, crazy busy weeks like this that throw us off balance and introduce chaos into our live are good for us as people and a couple.  It keeps us from getting in a rut, from getting complacent.  There is no coasting along for us; we must be active participants in our lives and constantly reconsider our roles in our house and our relationship.  And most importantly, it makes us appreciate those moments that we do have together, be they a few minutes in the hall at work or a moment of consciousness when I wake and feel him next to me in our bed.  And one day, we’ll both have the day off, and we’ll spend it together, and it will be wonderful.

(But until then, it’s going to suck balls.)

Yesterday most definitely felt like the first day of spring.

Okay, so it was still a little chilly when I went out for my morning run.  I still wore my fleece, hat, and gloves.  But it felt like the world was desperately trying to force its way into spring.  The sun was bright and warm.  Birds were out and singing with a vengeance.   And downtown was buzzing with a vibrant energy as people began taking to the outdoors to enjoy what surely must be the beginning of a lovely spring.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to enjoy much of it, as I had to work.  (Bo Burnham, however, who put on a hilariously awkward show.)  But I didn’t mind too much.  After all, Monday is a day off for me.  There will be a whole day for enjoying the warmth and sunshine that was surely to come.

So when I woke up this morning, I did so with a sleepy smile on my face.  I laid in bed, thinking about all the nice things that I could do today.  There would be a long run downtown.  An after-lunch walk with Kyle, perhaps for some frozen yogurt.  And maybe we could dig the grill out of the shed and grill us up some yumminess.  It was going to be a wonderful lazy spring day.

These dreams of robins and rays were immediately smashed against the sidewalk, however, when I got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside for a peek at my perfect spring day and saw what looked like a fucking blizzard.   Think I’m kidding?  Look at this shit.

So much for my run.  So much for our walk.  So much for some motherfucking grilled chicken.  My beautiful spring day is now covered in two inches of snow, and I just wasn’t emotionally prepared for this.  Of course, it does explain the white string hanging from Mother Nature’s giant, angry vagina, because this bitch is clearly on the rag.  Someone tell her she’s skinny and give her a chocolate bar already, so we can have our springtime back.

And in the meantime, at least there’s always skiing.

Last Friday, I turned 25 years old.

I realize that this is the sort of thing I should have talked about sooner.  Like last Friday.  But it’s been a very, very long two weeks, full of too much work, too little sleep, too much emotional distress.  And stories.  The kind of stories that I’m sure would enthrall every one of you and make you laugh with delicious schadenfreude.  The kind of stories that I will eventually share once I figure out what Time in the Tragedy+Time=Comedy equation equals, but for now I will archive in the Things I’m Not Emotionally Detached Enough to Find Funny file and move on.

But somewhere in that mess I had a birthday.

It was delightful.  There was a fantastic present from Kyle, (I would tell you about it but I only vaguely understand what it is,) a lovely dinner at an unexpectedly yummy Italian restaurant, (I’m still thinking dirty thoughts about that mushroom ravioli,) and rounding it off with my reason for living: yogurt sundaes at Plum Dandy’s.  (Okay, so there may or may not have been more to the evening, but we’re not going to discuss those details here…)

It also gave me a chance to reflect.

25 feels like a milestone.  No, it doesn’t bring any new privileged or responsibilities, (the ability to rent a car doesn’t count,) but it feels important.  It feels like I’ve fully arrived into adulthood.  Which is why it seemed like the right time to take another look at my list.

The title of the list is What I Want From Life. It started as a journal entry when I was 18.  I was working at a skeevy little dance supply store in a bad part of town, and often I would go an entire day without seeing a single customer in the store.  I was sitting alone in the store, just me and my journal, waiting to go off to college and dreaming of what could be.  From there the journal entry became a Word document.  I’m not sure why, it just did.  I guess it became my bucket list of sorts.  They’re not all specific tasks I’d like to fulfill or accomplish, but…well, things I want from my life.

Some of the wishes on my list are general, things like:

I want to live to be old, but never grow up.

I want to be well read.

I want to be respected.

Some of the wishes on my list are pretty specific, things like:

I want to learn how to make a daisy chain.

I want to get in a spontaneous food fight.

I want to one day be completely out of debt.

Three years later, at 21, I revisited my list.  I added new things to my list, and crossed old ones off.  And I did it again last Friday, on my 25th birthday.

Some of the wishes I crossed off I did so because I’d accomplished them, things like:

I want to go to a Flogging Molly concert.  (February 2011)

I want a husband whose sight makes my face brighten and smile in spite of myself.  ( Kyle)

I want to visit Ellis Island and see if I can find my ancestors.  (August 2010)

Some of the wishes I crossed off for other reasons, like:

Things I no longer want.

I want to work at a Renaissance festival for a summer.  (Really?  Because that sounds miserable and degrading.  No, thank you.)

I want to work as a performer on Broadway.  (Dreams change, and that’s okay.)

Or things that realistically will never happen.

I want to know my husband so well that I can pick out clothes for him and he’ll love them.  (Kyle says this is never going to happen because picking out clothes for him is weird, and he can pick out his own damn clothes.  But the point is I could.)

I want to never go to bed mad, worried, sad, depressed, upset, or stressed.  (That’s not how life works.)

Looking over my list, it’s incredibly gratifying to see all the wishes on my list that I’ve been able to cross off.  Dreams that I had for my life at 18 are being fulfilled, and in many ways, I’m becoming the person I always wanted to be.  Sure, some of the details of my life are drastically different; I’m not the big Broadway star living in Manhattan and painting on my fire escape that I dreamed I’d be.  But the essence of that person–an independent career-driven woman–is definitely part of who I am.  I like to think that my 18 year old self would be proud.

But what is equally fascinating to are all the things that are not on the list.  Things I have accomplished, wishes I could have crossed off, had they entered into the realm of my imagination then.  Things like:

I want to spend my winters skiing and my summers hiking.  (Saratoga)

I want to put up a lighting design in New York City.  (August 2010)

I want to be able to run a 10k, and start training for a half-marathon.  (February 2011)

I love these unwished for accomplishments, because it means that not only am I becoming the person that I wanted to be, but I’m also becoming a person that I never imagined I could be.  (Which is a relief because my 18 year old self seemed to imagine myself becoming the chick from the movie Morning Glory.  How cliche.)

I have no idea when I’ll look at this list again.  I don’t like to set a date for it, nor do I actively like to check in on my list and see what activity I should be pursuing next.  I prefer to think of my list as more of a mirror than a yardstick.  But I’m sure that  a few years down the road I’ll again feel like the time is right to take another look at my list of Things I Want From Life and see how I’ve grown and changed.

I can’t wait.