But, I don’t know. I hate touching up my makeup, I hate having to check if my eye shadow or my liner has smudged yet and I hate that I push my husband away when he rubs my face/kisses me because I’m scared he’s messing up my makeup.

He loves me without all that crap on my face. He loves the face that he wakes up and falls asleep to. And isn’t that what everyone is searching for? Someone to love them when they’re the most exposed? So why am I so worried about looking like that when I have someone who loves me the most when I look like this? Someone who loves that I don’t spend hours trying to find the perfect thing to wear, that I’m the most adorable in a hoodie and jeans.

I have never really been happy with the way I look. I thought makeup would fix that, and it didn’t really do for me what I thought it would. I do like wearing makeup because I love colors, but it didn’t hide the things that I wanted hidden. But what is it exactly that I’m trying to hide?

No, it was never my appearance  that bothered me. It was me that bothered me. The me that only I know, the me I see when I look in the mirror. The me that I’m going to spend my whole life trying to figure out and fix. The me that only he knows, and the me that still loves despite it’s flaws and damages.

So, in 2012, I’ll try to love and accept myself, just a little bit more. Because I think I need to.

But no, I’m surfing Good Reads. And happily :)! I don’t get many days to do nothing. And when I do, I kick myself for doing nothing because my mind is always in a million different places at the same time. Like a few hours ago, I just compiled a list of “things to do before I turn 30″ and publishing a book is on that list. I think I’m insane! My husband replied with “why can’t you just enjoy life and record the good times in a journal?” that’s a good question, why can’t I? I can think of a few reasons why I’m like this and it all leads back to my mother. Of course right? When you have some crazy unexplainable obsession, it always leads back to your mother. Which makes me afraid to be a mother!

Anyway…

I was reading about Nicolas Sparks. He’s been my favorite author for years. Most people don’t like his style of writing because it’s always intensely passionate, but also extremely heartbreaking. To the point where if you pick up one his books you, you can just assume that it’s going to end in tragedy. And I love that! I love tragic love stories. Okay, maybe not. Of all his books I’ve read (and I’ve read almost all of them) there are about two that that don’t end in tragedy.

When I started reading The Notebook in 2004, I was sucked in. I was sucked in like I’ve never been sucked in by a book before. But it was weird. I was caught up in this epic love story between Ally and Noah. Wondering where they would end up, what would happen, would they find each other again? But I also remember stopping every few chapters. Because I just had to write. I had to write something. And I did. I ended up writing probably the longest blog entry I’ve ever written in my entire life. Not only was it written over a few days (which is hard for me to believe because my attention span doesn’t want to be my friend) but it was pieced together beautifully and it didn’t go off track at all and I had a good solid conclusion to it. I printed it out and gave it to my husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) for his birthday.

Because it was about him.

Over the time I read The Notebook, I wrote several entries about him. I’ve written entries about him after watching the movie and even now, years later. I still write entries about him after reading the book or reading a quote from the book or seeing the movie.

And it just amazes me. I was never able to write about anything happy prior to Martin. And shifting from writing about the sadness of life to completely happiness I couldn’t explain was new and it flowed so easily. Where the hell am I going with this lol!

I always seem to relate us to Noah and Ally. Because of our similarities, because of the financial status that set us apart. And because of a parents opinion on that financial status. I was Ally, the rich girl who got everything she wanted and had a promising future ahead of her if she wanted it. And he was Noah, who wasn’t so fortunate but enjoyed all the small and silly things life had to offer. How I felt free when I was with him, I could be as silly or as childish or as serious as I wanted to be. How we constantly joked around and made faces at each other (and we still do). How I’m impossible and picky and I have a rebound rate of 3 seconds before I’m doing the next pain in the ass thing. And how he doesn’t care, he just wants me, all of me, forever.

And how thankful I am. For him. Everyday. For loving all of me, even the parts of me I hate. For his never ending support in all that I do. For always willing to push me and encourage me in the things I don’t know about or the things that I fear. And for caring about me as much as he does.

And for always putting on the Notebook or handing me the book when it’s been too long since the last time I’ve visited the story :).