Last Week #22 | Ron Swanson Officiated Our Wedding

 Last week, Nick Offerman (AKA Ron Swanson from Parks & Recreation) officiated my and Eli's wedding. Before I get into the (absolutely incredible) details, first, let me just tell you why this is significant.

1. I often jokingly call the Parks & Recreation theme song my antidepressant, because for a few dark months in early 2014, it pretty much was. I had watched the show when it first aired, but lost track of it during high school. Post-high school, however, during a very depressing winter when I had nothing else to do, I revisited it and watched three seasons in about a month. From that point on, the show was my drug of choice.

2. When Eli and I first started talking, it was via text, and we were cripplingly awkward with each other, I think because neither of us had ever been this interested in and attracted to another person before. So we started giving each other compliments in the only nerdy way we could think of to tell each other we wanted to kiss each other’s faces. We started Ann Perkins complimenting each other. If you're unfamiliar, it looks a little something like this: 

3. One night, we both took quizzes to see which Parks & Recreation characters we were. I got Leslie, and he got Ben. Then, I took another quiz. “Which Parks & Rec character would be ‘Ya Boo’?” I got Ben, and I sent it to him with the smirk emoji. That was flirting to us.

4. When we finally said I love you, Eli said it the normal way, but I said, “I love you and I like you.” Not because I wanted to be like Ben and Leslie, (even though I definitely do), but because that was how I felt. Love and like were two different things in my mind, and I felt both. Later, Eli would put it perfectly: “I like you to the point of loving you without losing any of the liking you.” 

Basically, Parks & Recreation is super freaking important to our relationship, and to us as individuals. I take waffles seriously. And on Wednesday night, Ron Swanson officiated our wedding. We went to Nick Offerman & Megan Mullally's Summer of 69 Show (no apostrophe) and were just enjoying the beautiful weirdness that was the show when they asked for a volunteer couple from the audience. The next thing I knew Eli was raising his huge arms and we were being beckoned onstage by two of our favorite actors. The rest is kind of a blur, but I shook Nick Offerman's hand and he complimented my lavender hair and I hugged Megan Mullally and Nick kept talking about Eli's man bun and we played a compatibility game where we were challenged to answer questions in precisely the same way...and we pretty much crushed it. Not to brag, but we answered all but one question the same way, all while standing in the presence of two people we routinely watch on Netflix while cuddling. Then Nick Offerman stood between us and asked us one final question... "Do you, Eli, take Fran to be your lawfully wedded wife..." He then presented us with rings and that is how I got married onstage to my absolute favorite person by Ron freakin' Swanson.

The funny thing about this whole story is, I've recently been plagued by a question that this experience completely put to rest. The question is this-- when you're happy, can you experience as much true joy in new shows and music and art and life experiences as when you are not? Is there some inherent connection that you make with culture when you're lonely and sad that you don't make when you're satisfied? I was thinking about the connection I made to Parks & Recreation when I was depressed, and worrying that I'd never find such happiness in another show or movie again, because I'd already found it in a person. And I know, any logical, rational person would say-- but Fran, this is so much better! You've made a connection with a real, tangible human who can register your love and give love in return! But you don't understand. My connection with music and stories and television shows is what makes me, me. 

The notion that somehow those connections wouldn't be as strong in light of my finding Eli is completely terrifying to me. I think these fears can honestly be linked to an experience I had a few weeks ago. On a sleepy Monday morning recently, I was watching a terrible young adult reality show on YouTube to wake myself up, as you do, and everyone was lamenting the fact that summer is almost over. And for the first time in my life, I realized that the end of summer doesn't mean everything sucks again. Everything in my life will pretty much stay the same, no matter the season. But then of course I started worrying that normalcy is bad and regularity equals stagnation, lack of inspiration, boredom and indifference.

Now I realize that's so not true. Of course not. Now, I get the privilege of experiencing new shows and extraordinary life experiences with someone who loves them and me just as much. Last week I finally realized that just because I have a big girl job that doesn't mean I or my life is anything close to boring. Because I have someone in my life who is willing to seek out the weird and extraordinary with me. 

-Fran

Last Week #18 | This Blog Post Was Always Going to Be About Harry Potter

The following is a sample of a text conversation between myself and my boyfriend.
Me, last night at midnight: "lol when your weekly vlog is 1:48 long. hahahaha." 
Eli: "Haha...that's ok, it's been a tired week." 

And a tired week it was. The week began with a screening of OVERDUE, and ended with my final day at the Minoa library. Then on Friday, on my first real day off in a long time, I started to get sick.  Coincidentally, my family left for vacation on Friday, and I was planning on joining them at some point during this week. But in a stunning turn of events, the few days I had to myself this weekend were spent sicker than I've been in a long time. I don't really get sick. I get headaches sometimes, my periods are pretty bad, but other than that I'm healthy. So to have the first fever I've had since probably 2013, on the first days of my "vacation," and be completely alone to boot, sucked. I spent a lot of time crying, a lot of time sweating, a lot of time shaking with cold, and a lot of time watching Portlandia. (I may have watched 3 seasons in two days...maybe.)

I cried for a few reasons. 1) Because Eli and I had plans to do a lot of cool things on Saturday-- like go to the local market and see new bakeries-- and I couldn't do any of it. Suffice to say I was seriously bummed. 2) Because one of the reasons I even stayed home to begin with was so I could go get the new Harry Potter book (technically it's a script book...) at midnight. But as I was sweating and dizzy from a fever, I couldn't really do that. 3) Because, and I found this out later, I was PMS-ing.

Sounds like a fun weekend, right? Just a perfect storm of misery. Anyway, even though I still don't feel 100% sitting here on Monday, yesterday I was able to drag myself out of bed for long enough to go pick up my reserved copy of The Cursed Child, go to Peaks, eat some waffles, and start reading.

In the bookstore, I found myself thinking about all of the past Frans. The 2007 Fran, at the midnight release party of what she and everyone else believed to be the last story she'd ever get from the Harry Potter universe. The 2013 Fran, sitting on the couch miserable with undiagnosed back pain, but overjoyed having just learned that that hadn't been the end-- we were getting a TRILOGY of new movies based on the companion books! I also thought about what 2007 Fran would think of her life now. Would she be happy with where she is? Reading, writing, learning, and creating more things than she ever would have imagined. Sitting in a coffee shop owned by her best friends, at which her super hot boyfriend works. (I imagine she would be.)

On the drive from the bookstore to Peaks yesterday, I cried. But I didn't cry because of the new Harry Potter book. I cried because I remembered how sad past Fran was, and how (generally) happy current Fran is. I cried because I realized that something I'd always suspected had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Through everything, Harry Potter has been there. And through everything, he always will be. I'm not going to lie, before I got my hands on this book I wasn't even that excited for it. I was afraid it wouldn't be good, and worse still, that I just didn't care about Harry Potter like I used to. In the darkest corner of my mind, I was terrified that somewhere along the line I had outgrown it. But on Sunday afternoon, after a weekend of tears and anxiety, reading this book felt like going home again. All those times when I was younger, where I picked up a Harry Potter book whenever I was sad, those weren't isolated incidents reserved for childhood. While this new book may be a tad different, it still feels the same way it always did. It feels like going home.

-Fran

Last Week #15 | Whiplash (And Not the Fun Kind With J.K. Simmons)

 This week was another difficult one. I felt extremely hopeless, helpless, and desperately sad. And the only thing worse than feeling that way is feeling that way and not knowing how to describe it, or tell loved ones about it. I was crippled by it. Sure, I got out of bed. Sure, I still went to work and did things here and there, but my heart wasn’t completely in it. And people noticed. I didn’t seem like myself, they said. I seemed defeated. I was unproductive, and unmotivated to change. But that wasn’t really necessary, because as it turns out the only solution was to wait it out. Getting through the week, as much as I hate the notion of that, was all I could do. 

Something that Eli said to me a lot this week was, "Things are getting done. Progress is being made. Steps are being taken to get things back on track." But for some reason (well, not some reason...I know the reason. It's because I'm me) I couldn't accept that. "Little steps aren't big enough for me," I said. "I'm a do-it-all-in-one-day kind of girl. I get half done in the morning and the other half done at night." But in the end, he was right. In the middle of the week, those little bits of progress, those picked up and dropped strings of hope didn't feel like enough. They felt half finished, half baked, and entirely infuriating. But now, sitting here on Monday, I'm starting to see how the strings are beginning to weave themselves back together again. It's not a pretty weaving by any means, but at least it's something.

After the switch, however, comes a different issue. How do you go from being so sad to being happy, and hopeful? Like…after these fourteen days of purgatory, I basically have no idea how to be happy again. Things are on the mend, but I don’t know how to adjust to it. After so long of being so sad, I can’t just switch on a dime. I don't have the answer to this problem right now, but rest assured that I am actively pursuing it. Trying everything in every "self care" article I read-- from putting a fresh vase of flowers in my room, to doing yoga, to watching good movies about a guy who gets trapped on Mars but somehow still remains hopeful, and allowing myself to be a ridiculous child again and play Pokemon Go (I hate myself for this). 

Nevertheless, I am, understandably so, feeling a little whiplash from things changing so fast. (And not the fun kind of whiplash with J.K. Simmons where you leave the movie feeling inspired to become a drummer.) Today I have an interview for a new, but not so different, job. Tomorrow, who knows. For the first time in my life I have no idea where I will be living or working three months from now. And that thought is absolutely paralyzing to me. I'm the kind of person who is so terrified of change that I will purposely not put myself in the way of new opportunities and possibilities because I'm afraid they will end badly. I'll be terrible at it, I won't be able to handle it, it will destroy everything. These are all excuses I've made over the years. But you know what, as much as I am terrified, I still always do it. I always sit in that terror and fear and anxiety, drown myself in it, and then go do it anyway. Because (and I'm notorious for this) I don't really listen to what others say to me. "Don't get that haircut." Pssh, did it anyway. "Don't wear that outfit." HA. For better or for worse, I haven't listened to that since the start. "Don't become a liberal arts major, do something practical with your life!" Yeah, I ignored the hell out of that one. So the question I need to ask myself is this-- why, if you don't listen to anyone else who questions your actions, do you listen to the little a**hole in your head spewing self-doubt? How is she any different from the person who criticized you for not going to college at the beginning? Answer- she's not. So ignore her. Drown her out with Leslie Knope complimenting you like you're the world's greatest human woman (because you are) and get over her. 

 -Fran

A Pep Talk

 As you may have noticed, I didn't have a blog post for you at the beginning of this week. That's because things have been difficult...like really difficult lately, and I haven't known what to say about it. I sometimes struggle with the pressure of remaining honest and authentic on this platform, while also not making myself too vulnerable. All you need to know is: these past two weeks have been strained. I felt it, Eli and I felt it. The distance between us continuously left its mark, and resulted in tension. The distance between us mirrored distance that hasn’t happened in other places, (i.e. my having never left home) and that too is causing a strain. 

 So what do you do when you have a ton of strain and a lot of sour things being handed your way? There’s really only one option. You channel Beyoncé and you make lemonade. Literally. We did that. But listen, I'm going to be real with you-- the lemonade was good, but I don't feel like my problems are solved in the slightest. I still have an incredible amount of tension and anxiety swirling around in this body of mine, and I think only time will solve it. 

 But instead of dwelling on these things that only overwhelm me, I'm going to share with you a little pep talk I just wrote myself. At the beginning of every month in my monthly calendar, there is a space dedicated to "Monthly Notes." I use this space to write myself a little motivational speech each month. So, here, for your pepping pleasure, is the pep talk I wrote for myself for the month of July.

 "Work. Make great art. Spend every second you have taking every opportunity that comes your way. Don't let anyone shame you for how hard you work. You aren't running from anything. That's bullshit. You're running toward your dreams, because you've waited long enough for them, and you're going after them. Make your life what you want it to be, because it belongs to you. As long as you're not addicted to drugs or living on the street, you aren't doing it wrong. As long as you have love in your life, you're on the right path."

-Fran

Last Week #9 | Honesty

 I'm a planner. And when I say planner, I don't just mean I like to make plans. I sure do, but that's not the extent of it. I like to make plans, and then I like to white knuckle grip the calendar in anticipation of my plan going awry. I clutch desperately to my plan, even if it's abundantly clear it's not going to work. And to be honest that has always worked for me, because I've only ever had to answer to myself, and things always got done that way. But now, something I'm learning as I progress and grow in friendships and relationships and adulthood, is that the plan isn't set in stone, and clinging to it like it is doesn't help anything. If something doesn't work, it doesn't work, and we should just do ourselves a favor and let it go. 

 This is easier said than done. Case in point-- I wrote the first paragraph of this blog post at the beginning of last week, and I meant it. I went on to talk about how "Things felt easier this week. Plans felt like they just came together, fell together. Although I did feel myself getting worked up about "the plan" at times, I tried to keep it in check, and not give in to that anxious crutch."

 I even went on to describe each day in detail, and talk about how things just fell together on each one of them, despite my not making explicit plans for them. For my grand finale I finished with, "I rolled with the punches this week, and I think it's because I did my best to channel my inner Idina and LET IT GO.  To all you planners out there, I challenge you, nay I urge you to unhand the calendar a little bit this week. Not to your detriment-- you should still use it to remember when that dreaded dentist appointment is, but remember that things will still get done even if you don't stare at it and check things off every five seconds. It's as much of an addition as technology or chocolate. Break up with your calendar this week. Or at least...take a 'break.'"

 But then, Sunday rolled around. And for some mysterious reason that I couldn't, and still can't figure out, I couldn't get out of bed. I've had depression for a good portion of my life I'd say. I've felt depressed before, I've been in the depths of it, and thought I'd seen and felt it all. But this, this not being able to get out of bed, this not being able to find a reason to get up despite the dozens of things I have to look forward to- in the immediate and long term future- this was new to me. And until about the middle of the afternoon, I couldn't cope with it. But then, I accepted some help. I allowed my boyfriend to come over, and we watched Bob's Burgers and ate Panera and randomly went to Old Navy so I could get out for a bit. It wasn't my original plan for the day, and there were parts of it that were ugly, but at the end, it was beautiful. 

 I decided early last week that I was going to start really writing on this blog. I'm not going to shy away from things anymore, I told myself. I'm going to tell the truth. The hard, ugly, blurry truth. So when it came time to finalize this blog post, I couldn't rationalize using the original draft, because it felt hypocritical to leave out the ugly bits just to prove my point. So I wanted to tell you the truth in this blog post. And the truth is, I have a lot to learn, even about things I thought I knew everything about. There are some things I'd rather not know more about, like the unexplored depths of my own depression. But even though it might not be my plan to learn more about it, even though I'd rather not go there, I have to realize that fuck-- things don't always go according to plan. I may very well see more depths, even amidst these many peaks. I'm working on coming to terms with that today, last week, and every day in the future. 

 -Fran