My life so far:

I wish I could quit you, blogger. Clearly, we've been apart for far too long.

So.. what's new with my life?

I went home for Thanksgiving. I didn't even realize just how much I actually missed it. Even so, once I was there, it felt like I had never left; Every little mundane detail was comforting. It still had that same smell that was so familiar to me, like clean linen strung out on the line to dry (how my mother manages to keep the house smelling like this all year round, especially in rainy Seattle, is simply beyond me) with just a subtle hint of "Goya Adobo," a spice that my mother uses when she cooks. Mis perritos (little dogs) came to greet me at the door and, while they still seemed a little dismayed by the fact that I had been gone for so long, were more than willing to forgive and forget. There were changes, of course: my parents are having the whole interior of the house remodeled so I noticed some new and different lighting fixtures, a few new pieces of expensive china set carefully in the curio cabinet, some carpet removed and replaced with sanded and polished hardwood--but even so, the most important vestiges of my childhood remain. I immediately climbed the stairs to the second floor where my room is located to examine the door frame: my "growth chart" is still there, cataloguing my height every year from ages 3-16. Ay.. When they say "home is where the heart is," they aren't lying.

Thanksgiving dinner was good, but not great. I mean, I loved having both of my siblings there--I hardly ever see them at the same time. It was also a nice change to eat turkey; I had almost forgotten the texture and taste of meat (I enjoyed every bite, but now I'm back to being veggie). Additionally, I found myself being contented by the presence of my ex-boyfriend who, while no longer involved romantically with me, is still considered part of the family. I won't lie: I was not happy for the entire evening, but it was, overall, a pleasant experience.

The journey to get onto my flight back home was interesting, to say the very least. When we left the house, it was snowing, which was bad enough but at this point the roads are still navigable, so we were still going to give it a try. We get about three quarters of the way to the airport when traffic comes to a halt on the expressway. That's when we realize that the road has become an ice skating rink and cars are sliding out of control everywhere. Plenty of cars were just stopped by the side of the road (their operators hoping that the snow would let up soon, I suppose), some had spun completely off the expressway and laid to rest in the ditches by the side of the road, and we even counted a few jackknifed articulated buses and semi trucks.

By the time we got the airport, it was almost clear that I would not make my scheduled flight time, but we decided that we would try for it anyway. My dad, accompanied by my ex, dropped me off at the departures deck and said they would circle for a while in case I missed my plane. I dashed to queue formed in front of the ticketing counter, dropped my bags, and scooted past several serene-looking people with large, rolling luggage in tow to frantically explain my plight to one of the ticketing agents.

She sympathized with me, told me that my flight had been delayed by thirty minutes, but instructed me to fetch my luggage to have it checked so that I could move on to security where, again, there was a lengthy queue.

I thanked her profusely, did as I was instructed and then sprinted over to the TSA checkpoint. The line moved faster than was expected and, in no time, I was in the terminal heading toward my gate. I pulled my cell phone out of my handbag, slung securely over my shoulder, to check the time: 20 minutes until departure. I would make it in time.

As I approached my gate in the B concourse, I couldn't help but notice the two Seattle Police Department officers steadily gaining on me from behind. I had clearly done nothing wrong but, for whatever, reason felt like it was me they were pursuing. It wasn't long until this assumption was shattered to pieces by the sound of someone screaming: "Oh, GOD. PLEASE. FUCK!" in a squelched and, clearly, distressed tone. And then I noticed the circle of people. It was at this point that the two police officers behind me started to run.

I was worried at first; Worried that someone in medical distress, cardiac arrest perhaps? When I saw the man crouched by the side of the concourse with one other officer clinging to his arm that I realized what was going on; The guy was sloshed! I couldn't help but chuckle a little bit, even though I knew it wasn't much of a laughing matter. Soon after, the officers stood him up and walked him past the onlookers (including myself) that had gathered toward the terminal. In passing, he muttered things like "Don't I look like a terrorist?" and "I'm a terrorist threat," to any bystander he made eye contact with. This was probably the weirdest incident that I've had in an airport thus far.

Anyway, I got on the plane and we took off thirty minutes later than our scheduled departure time. Because of the veritable squall that was occurring on the ground below, about half of the passengers en route to New Jersey didn't show up and, thus, I had three seats all to myself. I made good use of said seats of course, not to mention the extra blankets and pillows. I put up the armrests and sprawled out across all three, which formed a makeshift bed. It was surprisingly comfortable and I slept through most of the flight (which is an accomplishment for me; I can NEVER sleep on planes), only occasionally rousing to request water from a passing flight attendant or to fasten my seat belt when we were experiencing turbulence.

My connection at Newark Liberty Int'l went.. interestingly. Because I've already written a short novel about my departure from Seatac, I'll be brief: I somehow managed to exit the C concourse that I arrived in, went out past security, into another concourse, only to realize that the C concourse was where I had to be to catch my connecting flight anyway. So, I had to go through security again which cut about 15 minutes off of my layover. Still, I was in good enough shape to wait in the ridiculous queue at the "Grab and Go" station to get a bottle of water so that I wouldn't be so parched on the puddle jump to Bradley airport in Hartford.

On my flight to Bradley, the plane was mostly empty but a young man was seated next to me anyway. He asked if I wanted him to move so that I could have my own row and I politely offered the decision up to him. He chose to stay. We chit-chatted for the whole flight; I noticed he would continue to look at me even after I had ended one of our short conversations to read a chapter from my book or stare out the window. When we landed and were waiting at baggage claim, he moved closer to me when he realized I was reaching for the sizable box that I had checked back at Seatac and offered to help me. I politely declined and insisted that I could do it but thanked him for the offer. Once both of my bags were off of the belt and most of the other passengers on our flight had left, he remained sitting nearby, watching me. I went to go get a baggage cart and would look over occasionally to see if he was still there. We would make eye contact and I would blush furiously, quickly averting my gaze. By this point, I was sufficiently creeped out, hoisted my box onto the baggage cart and, wheeling my two suitcases behind me, headed toward another area of the arrivals deck to await my shuttle back to the university. I only glanced behind one to find that he had gotten up and left. Weird.

When I got back to my dormitory, I was pleasantly surprised to see Lia, Liz, Caitlin, and Andie waiting for me on the front steps. As soon as I slid open the shuttle door, they were up and running toward me screaming "Raaaaaaayna!!!" and nearly tackled me with hugs. I tipped my driver and they all offered to take my bags up to my room. I have the best friends in the world--no lie.

Now to completely change the subject: I've been diagnosed with anemia. Not a huge surprise, right? For someone who is a vegetarian, has celiac disease, and is just getting over light chemotherapy, it seems like a given. However, when I was talking to my doctor back home, she mentioned that my iron levels and red blood cell count have always been low and borderline anemic.

Well, thank you very much Dr. Droege. But please, answer me this one question: why on earth was this not mentioned to me YEARS ago? I kind of figure that it would be a good idea to mention this fact, even in passing, so that your patient might actually change their diet and/or what supplements they are taking to accommodate such a condition. Ay dios mio..

Anyway, after we established this fact, she sent me across the street to the lab to have blood taken. I'm pretty much a pro at this now, considering that I go in almost every week for some sort of blood work. However, I still can't shake my fear of needles for whatever reason. When I go in for the lab draw, I'll sit down in the chair, chat jovially with the technician while she carries out her task, and then walk out like the whole thing does phase me.

It's when my foot hits the pavement outside the front door of the lab when my skin starts to crawl and I get jittery. Maybe it's because this when I allow myself to acknowledge the fact I'm needle-phobic, I don't know. What I DO know is that I probably appear as that I'm on all sorts of stimulants for about a half-hour after a lab draw.

I swear they should teach a class on "The Psychology of Rayna B." Can someone figure out what does, in fact, 'make me tick' first, though?

On a different medical-type strain: I've been prescribed antidepressants. A very low dose, just to take the edge off. I confessed to my doctor what had happened a few years back and that I never sought help (counselling) to recover from the experience. She decided that my mood swings and "extreme lows" were probably due, in part, to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is what I originally thought. Thus, she suggested that I find a "safe outlet" to vent my fears to and take the pills for a little while. I'm feeling optimistic.

Keepin' on keepin' on: I'd like to reflect on a couple of important relationships in my life at this juncture. First, my relationship with my roommate: Laurie. As it stands right now, I don't think it could be any better. For a couple of weeks there, there was quite a bit of tension between us for reasons that would take forever to even summarize. Now, all that as been resolved and we get along great. She had mentioned at one point that she wanted to move in with a different girl on our floor (because she thought I hated her) but rescinded that statement a couple of days ago and said she wanted to stay with me (awww).

Secondly, the relationship with Dylan, my ex-boyfriend has become disturbingly conspicuous again. I consider us just friends at this point but I must admit that seeing him again stirred up feelings that I didn't know I had. This was made even worse when, while, we were cruising around in his car, he admitted that he missed me and wanted me back.

And I considered it carefully. The truth is, I know he is capable of cruelty; He's shown me that before and I just don't think I'm prepared to subject myself to that again. He's a wonderful guy almost all of the time, but there will be times, few in far between, that he will take out pent-up anger out on me in a very personal and scathing manner (not physically, mind you). Still, I find myself wondering if I'm still in love with him (yes, it is possible at my age).. It's probably a good thing that there's so much distance between us.

I think it's due time that I wrap up this post because it's wholly boring and clearly hasn't been worth your time. I think I may have just written the next great American Novel, from the looks of it (don't even try to deny it; you and I both know that American classics are capable of producing boredom so acute that it could send you into a forty-year coma).

Hey, at least I actually updated. I'll probably have to do this more often that way I don't have to give the damned post chapters.