All the lunch-table chatter about 20SB reminded me last night – I graduated from high school in 1999. I should have had a reunion by now.

WTF?! Who didn’t invite me to my own freaking  high school reunion?

I scrounged around Facebook this morning and realized that plans had never materialized for the reunion, so the class president is going to make us oh-so-cutting-edge and have an 11 year reunion for us sometime in 2010. We are SO the wave of the future.

Then, inevitably, I got back to thinking about lunch tables.

Ten and a half years ago, I was going to a pretty good-sized high school. There were about 450 people in my graduating class, and seriously – you never ate alone unless you chose to. Everyone had a lunch table. There were groups in that school, TONS of groups because there were so many of us. Everyone couldn’t be everywhere and do everything, so our natural alignments were driven by our priorities.

I was kind of middle-of-the-road, socially. I was in band and theater and so that’s where I had most of my friends. The “popular” girls were nice to me in class but we didn’t hang out or anything. They were the ones on homecoming court, student council, cheerleading, dance team, all that. But you know – those things were their priorities. I wanted to play piano. They wanted to flip about and scream really loudly at sporting events. I wanted to write a play. They wanted to play on the state-champion softball team.

A lot of those girls were truly nice people, and they didn’t dislike me – we just had our sights set on different things. I had my friends and they had theirs. Theirs ended up on homecoming court because their priority was to get them there. My friends were elected theater club and band officers and made choices on plays and performances.

I used to really want to be the tiger mascot that hopped around with the cheerleaders. I could have done it. I was energetic and you didn’t have to do a backflip in the silly costume. I was afraid that trying out would mean I wanted to be like them – and I didn’t, I really just thought it would be fun. I was at all the games with the band anyway, so why not? But I didn’t get it – not because I lost in tryouts, but because I didn’t try out at all. I didn’t make it enough of a priority to get over my fear of rejection.

I said as much to one of the nice cheerleaders who had honors English with me senior year and she said “Oh, you should have done it! You’d have been great! The girl they picked wasn’t that good, you should have at least tried out.”

Um. Oops. *mwaah mwaah mwaaaaaaah….*

It didn’t break my heart to think I had missed out on being friends with the popular girls, but it was a lesson in getting off my ass and at least trying a little harder for things I say I want.

I never sat at their lunch table. I sat with my music and theater friends. And together with a number of the cheerleaders, the dancers, and the sports stars, I got into National Honor Society, scooped up scholarships, graduated in the top 10% of my class, and went on with life somewhere else.

With 9,000 people in a community like 20SB, we can’t all be friends with everybody. We just don’t have the time. But the ones who are most visible in the community, our dancers and cheerleaders and sports stars, may shine the brightest because their priorities are those of the 20SB community. Online presence. Great communication. Reaching out and building bonds. Striving to be better writers, vloggers, techies.

When these things become your priorities in life, you can make your way to the top in a community like this.

Me? I’m not at the top. If I realigned my priorities I probably could be. I used to put more time into my blog, I used to be more visible and active in the blogging community both online and off. But as I’ve evaluated my life, I have determined that maybe I needed to step away from the glowing screen a little more. It works for me this way. This is my balance. I have blog friends who I adore, blogs by writers I don’t know but I still read, and a little bitty stake in a 20SB and Guidespot. I could do more. And I will, if I can make it fit in the balance I need in my life.

One of the popular cheerleaders quit the squad her senior year. She could have gotten a cheer scholarship. “It wasn’t for me,” she shrugged, and went on to run track instead.

Evaluate yourself. Think about why you write what you write, and where blogging fits in the priorities in your life. Are you committed to becoming a better writer? Are you committed to spending a lot of time developing communities and planning activities with people you may have never met? If you’re not – IT’S OKAY. For some people, that kind of life works and works awesomely. For you it may not. And if that means you don’t get an award, just realize – THAT’S OKAY TOO.

Are you committed to these things, committed to getting to the top and yet still feeling overlooked? This can take awhile. You don’t learn backflips and roundoffs with a full twist overnight. You must keep on.

You still have your lunch table. People still like you for who you are. And if they vote in someone else for homecoming queen, that doesn’t mean they like you any less. It’s just that they thought that in terms of real-time committment to excellence in the blogging world, they thought that someone else deserved it more.

My class homecoming queen was smart, pretty, fun, sweet, an athlete, a class council member, and active in her church. She was a busy girl who was committed to being awesome and to my knowledge never said a mean -spirited thing to anyone who hadn’t tried to grab her boobs or ass in the hall. Because she was involved in everything, everyone knew her and everyone was aware of all of her good qualities.

When you are visible, you are nominated. When you are visible and you demonstrate awesome, you win. Period. Everyone voted for Kristen, she won, and she deserved it.

Pour yourself a glass of flat champagne, put on your bent party hat, and think about this before you get mad or defensive about an award, a nomination or a lack thereof.

Ah, Boxing Day.

I stole it from the British.

This might be my favorite holiday.

I’m sitting at my computer in my cozy new L.L. Bean cable-knit sweater, checking out digital camera reviews so I can spend my Christmas money on something fabulous. My cat is playing with crumpled wrapping paper. I hung my new ornament on my little tree. I have leftover pie and Christmas lasagna in the fridge.

I am alone and I have absolutely nowhere I have to go today.

It’s great.

I always feel a little relieved when Christmas is over. No more people giving me presents in the office and me being embarrassed because I didn’t get them anything. No more pressure to run, run, run to every store to find something perfect for everyone. No more constantly checking the bank account. No more articles about the political incorrectness of nativity scenes. No more family drama (not my family, E’s, but mine by extension) about who is going where for Christmas.

This year I was determined to go into the holiday season with no expectations. I decided I wouldn’t force myself to be merry. I wouldn’t stress over holiday parties and baking cookies for everyone in the office. I would enjoy the festivities and shun the stress from within.

I went AWOL for most of the month of December, not really blogging, not even really reading blogs that much (sorry) but really just spending a little more time with myself and focusing on staying calm. Christmas, oddly enough, sets off my depression AND my anxiety issues. I think I let those get the best of me last year, and I was a total Grinch. Looking back on last year’s Christmas Day post and the later one about Christmas presents,* I can tell I was pretty unhappy. Pressured.

All right – I was straight up whackjobby. And for what? I just re-read those posts and the Crazy Alert flashed Code Red.

So this year, in the traditional season of giving and selflessness, I got selfish with my time and my space because frankly, I think it’s what I needed.

It worked. And I had a good Christmas this year.

I wasn’t mean or anything. I just told myself that it was okay to not be a merry little elf every day, and to take those days one at a time, starting afresh each morning. Maybe I lowered the bar for myself, but I did it with my mental health in mind and I think that’s a fine enough reason.

Today I wish you a merry Boxing Day, because today I am celebrating the fact that I made it through.

And anyone who was afraid of having a lousy Christmas season – because of family issues, because of a memory or a loss, because of ANYTHING – guess what? YOU made it too! You are alive. You are present. And it’s a new day.

So open a box of something for Boxing Day and take some time, even if it’s only five minutes while you hide in a locked bathroom to get away from your nuts family, and congratulate yourself. You deserve it.

———————

* I re-covered the rocking chair that set off this rant, and it now resides happily in my new living room where I do have enough space for it. What a difference a year and three yards of fabric can make!

My badly sprained left thumb (volleyball, yet again) has made typing pretty painful last few weeks – the brace doesn’t help. Typos abound; this is pretty much the millionth draft of this post. But from here at the Rams game, at halftime, I feel like there is something I MUST say:

E, if you ever propose to me, in a stadium, under any circumstances, I will say no.

Men of the world, take note.

(But I very badly want to be on a Kiss Cam. Just once. Are those things mutually exclusive? Just wondering.)

I used to get the worst migraines AFTER finals in college. When all academics were said and one for the term, I’d come home and spend 24-36 hours pretty much dead in bed, whimpering in pain. Never before, when I was nervous and cramming facts into my head. Never during, where I was sweating and trying desperately to recall something, ANYTHING that might be right. Nope. Always AFTER the worst was over, it would hit me.

I finished NaNoWriMo at 1:12 am CST on Sunday, November 29th. Didn’t sleep till four, I was so excited. And in the morning, when all the drama  of the deadline was over, the nerve attack hit.

It suddenly occurred to me that I’d been off work for five days. What had I forgotten to do? What was coming up Monday? Did I have meetings? Deadlines? Had I remembered to put everything on my to-do list?

I started to feel a bit psycho.

Then I started thinking about my manuscript. Was it even any good? How much did I really like? If I lop out the crap – oh geeze, only 34,000 good words? What if I never finish it? What if I finish it and it sucks – AND what if I finish it and it sucks and I send it to a publisher and they send it back with a “yeah, right” note on a used cocktail napkin?

PANIC. PANIC. PANIC. PANIC.

E was off work on Sunday so I sought comfort with him. But everything he tried to do to relax me just made me more uptight. Footrub suddenly hurt. Back scratching suddenly stung. Head rub made me dizzy. Beer upset my stomach. I even turned down a chicken quesadilla Hot Pocket because I was so queasy.

“GAAAAH!” I screeched at one point. “What is WRONG with me?”

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous about everything today,” he said glumly. “It’s my day off work and I thought we – ”

“I just have so much to do at work tomorrow and I’m afraid I’ll forget something important and I really should have gone in on Wednesday and the newsletter isn’t done and I think I forgot to feed the cat and – ”

“I know how we can relax a bit,” he said, smiling impishly, reaching over to pet my leg.

I jumped. He tried to rub my shoulders and I tensed up. He kissed my neck and it tickled.

“I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back, “I don’t know why I can’t calm down, I’m just so worked up, like it’s physically affecting me and I know it doesn’t make any sense…”

“Baby, I’m just trying to help and you’re so worked up.”

“I know. And I know you’re… well… FRUSTRATED, but I’m just not in the mood to… you know.”

“I know,” he said, and looked away.

So I gave him a hand job.

Because, you know, my hands were shaking anyway. It worked out well for both of us.

Then I got my Klonopin prescription refilled on Monday, and now everyone is fine.

——————————

This is my first TMI Thursday. Not much to it, I know, but I don’t really write much about hand jobs (anymore) so this is the best I can do at present.

…so I took a picture of my desk, for posterity. Sorry it’s shaky, my hands hurt too. My everything hurts.

• Mmm, beer.
• Somewhat-outdated-but-still-useful “Unofficial Guide to London,” because that’s where the scenes are right now
• Mac and cheese
• iPod with Genius mix based on Matt Nathanson’s “Come on Get Higher”
• Stack of unpaid bills
• “Real Pork Bloggers” mousepad from BlogHer.
• Laptop on cooling stand
• And pile of messy cables connecting it to new monitor (waiting on docking station to arrive) that is displaying not OneNote, but Tweet Deck.

Also on desk but not pictured:

• Unopened Netflix DVD, arrived Nov. 3
• “Telling Lies for Fun and Profit” by Lawrence Block
• Strunk and White’s “Elements of Style”
• Blackberry (is taking this shaky picture)

I have written one hundred and forty words in this post. Can I count that toward my daily total?

UPDATED 11.29.2009, 01:12 CST

I WIN I WIN I WIN!