It ain't heavy, it's just insomnia.

I feel like I'm all 'Hello, I'm Atlas. Just ignore this huge, terrible, pressing, more than you are able to bear, astounding burden. Really, it's nothing.' You know the kind, right? The people who are constantly sharing and over-sharing problems and their depressing inner thoughts?

Those people are annoying.

I can say that because I'm turning into one. It gives me street cred.


Truly, I'm not depressed. I have some pretty bright things on the horizon. It's simply difficult to remember that when you haven't slept in a couple of days. Especially if you haven't slept in a couple of days and you come across a blog about a mother who has 'lost' her baby. And then I just cry and cry. But sometimes that helps me sleep.

I think the thing about your first major brush with unexpected grief is that the scarring is so much deeper and profound than you expected. I find myself sometimes running my fingers over the bumps of my grief wondering how it healed and wondering why it still hurts.

I feel odd equating my first major grief to Alycia when both my Grandfathers and my Great-Grandfather Burns, who I loved dearly, passed on before her. But in those instances I was not nearly so involved in the process and it was natural, expected that they would pass on well before I did. As a 'child' you're shielded (rightly so, I think) from being so blatantly present. There was none of that with Aly. And it's not like I hurt every day. I embrace my memories of her life, our time together and such. I just find myself seeing grief sometimes in a totally new light, in a way that makes my bones ache in empathy. All I can do then I finger my scar, cry in solidarity and selfish relief and know that sometime I'll sleep again and then I'll be able to joke about balls.

You know they really know you when...

My conversation with my Bishop as related to RaeRae:

"Bishop, sometimes I don't ask for blessings because I know I could get answers to my prayers. So when I ask I feel like I'm saying to God, 'Can we just speed this process along, please?!"

Rae replied, "Stephanie, I'm pretty sure there is going to be a special place in heaven for your Bishops. Like, I'll be trying to walk somewhere and an angel will say to me, 'I'm sorry. This section is reserved for Bishops of Stephanie Harbour."

Finally, something to say.

There are many things going on in my mind right now that are muddled, personal and inexpressible. It's the reason I've been so quiet--when I'm like this the worst thing I can do is speak too soon. Today as I was driving, however, one emotion and thought pattern became woven into words I thought I'd share.

The central focus of this blog is my life as a single, Mormon girl. Often I find that to be a lonely endeavor but more often I find it to be a path that allows serious reflection on my self and perspectives. Last week I started attending a 'Marriage and Family' class required by my Stake for all members. I found it to be wildly frustrating, alienating and it caused some bald patches from ripping my hair out. That state of mind oddly often leads me to a calm center where I ask myself, "Why do you feel that way?" And I discovered that it was because I want people to understand that singledom has, in so many ways, very close parallels to family experiences and I allowed myself to be frustrated rather than express that, sometimes, I think of myself as, say, a parent.

Odd? I don't think so. In my circle of friends we have one we jokingly call The Baby--who, as it turns out, turns 30 today. It's far less literal than that, however, because the roles rotate.

Often when I'm feeling as though I need advice I turn, first, to my BioMom and then, if nothing there is clicking, I go to the other women I respect and want to model my life after. And they usually have the answer or can lead me to it.

Beyond that, there are times that I feel things I can only equate to parental emotions. For instance, Rae's birthday. I love her so much that today I was torn up by not being able to give her a memorable, perfect day filled with everything she wanted.

This happens also when I see my friends making decisions that will harm them or impact their lives badly. I know that I can't put myself in the path, I can't do anything to stop or arrest their decisions. I can only advise from the sidelines, shouting "This way!" or "No! Not that way! Can't you see!" and then feel dread as they step wrongly or waves of blissful relief when the right decision is made.

It may seem odd to parents who read this blog. I acknowledge that I do not have a perfect understanding of raising a person from child to adulthood, knowing all their quirks. With my chosen family, however, I understand how it feels when I am in the darkest, blackest place and they know just where to shine the light. I know that the bond I share with them is one that my family can't perfectly equate. And I also know that as we mature, we are going to become closer and closer to the only family each of us have. We're at the age where parents are beginning to have fragile health and we've even lost our first one.

In those moments of loss and confusion we have always been there for each other and will continue to be. We've seen each other through things that we don't talk to others about--that only we know and only we ever will. The bonds that I'm forging with my friends, I suppose, have the benefit of mirroring whatever I'd like them to and then being stronger than I expected. After all, I'm building them to suit me. And they do. I just hope that the bonds are always strong enough to hold as each of us venture far from each other, allowing each of us to come back to those that are holding the line, shouting directions and loving each other so deeply there is no comparison other than someone born from my own body.

My last three days...

I'm pretty sure there's an evil succubus living under my brothers driveway.

I know this because my car, and no I'm not kidding, dies every time I drive it in there lately. Luckily, my brother can usually make it go again.

I just thought I'd warn all of you.

Is it possible to have slept less?

I swear, I haven't had more than five hours of sleep since I left home. And those five hours have usually been from dawn until, like, noon. I don't know what it is about being on the East Coast temporarily that so wholly screws up my circadian rhythms but ...well, just wow.

I'm now in Denver on my way home from three weeks with my parents. I'll be home for three days and then drive back to Salt Lake City to meet Amber and be together for an important anniversary for about five days. Then I'm going to go home, dig a big hole and not emerge until the end of August holding a degree and a certification.

Well, ok. That's not totally true. I'm going to camp. And I'm going to go to New Orleans for a conference (and a Sheryl Crow concert!!) and Amber's birthday (which is July 9) and then, really, I'm totally digging in. I'm not even kidding.

I'm going to get this homebody-hermit thing right if it kills me!

Not just yet.

I am scheduled to fly back to Utah on Saturday and, from there, drive home to Montana. I just don't think I'll make it. Usually when I'm away from home (read: my dog) this long I'm dying to get back and get things back to my routine. I've become such a homebody and it's almost difficult for me to be away from my house too long. That, my friends, is unnatural. On my trip to DC in January I was so ready to be 'done' by the time I flew out that I nearly cried in relief. When I heard from Mom that she needed someone with her for this surgery I didn't jump at the chance because I thought it would be similar.

It's not. There's not an overwhelming reason for me to stay in this area. I have a huge exam in a month that must be more focused on. I have school work that needs to be done. I have bulbs I need to plant and a yard that needs some serious attention. Instead, I'm going to stay here another week.

The sun is out. The sky is blue. At home they had snow in the last 48 hours.

Call me crazy but I'll opt for art in spring instead of gardening in winter.