Eighteen Months

With my grandparents having returned from their mission this week I’ve been thinking about time. Eighteen months, to be precise. They left for the Scotland/Ireland mission in April of 2013. At the time I remember being afraid that I would have to get married without my grandma. Was I close to getting engaged at the time? No. Did I have a boyfriend at the time? No. Was there any boy that I even consistently texted at the time? Of course not, but hope springs eternal, and it's easy to imagine that Eighteen-Months-Older Rebecca will be a lot better at achieving things. 

Obviously I am not writing to you as Mrs. Whoever. I could’ve, is the funny thing. I mean, there was a dude who expressed a pretty serious interest in putting a ring on it. But our relationship ended in flames (thankfully only figurative ones), and now, as Daenerys said in A Clash of Kings, “Her only consolation was that least she’d had the great good sense not to marry him.” My grandma will be at my wedding, should I ever deign to give up my beloved cat lady label.

But what else has happened in the last eighteen months? I’ve been in two shows: Camelot and First Christmas. I’ve moved to a third house in the Murray area— my roommates and I just can’t seem to get away. I’ve shopped at the same Smiths for three years now. I drove to California and back twice, was introduced to RPGs, and bought a new car. (Goodbye, Cathy!) Taylor Swift came out with a new album, and it’s freaking brilliant.

 In the area of Netflix, which is a pretty significant area in my life, I added a lot of shows to my Watched By Rebecca queue. The most important? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I watched all seven seasons during the course of one glorious month in late 2013 on a gorgeous flat-screen television that was temporarily living at our house and fell deeply, deeply in love. My advice to you is don’t ever bring up Buffy, Spike, or Joss Whedon unless you are prepared for at least a two hour session of me obsessing over the most perfect show in existence. I met James Marsters!!!!! He touched me!!!! (I am not a person who uses multiple exclamation marks, but trust me when I say they are justified in this situation.)

I also discovered Avatar, Walking Dead, Supernatural, Switched at Birth, Lost, Better Off Ted, and The Office, in the realm of television. Lost was frustrating, Being Human (the UK version) was great, and I gave up on Downton Abbey. I’m six seasons into Supernatural, and The Office made me shed both tears of laughter and actual tears. 

I fell head over heels in love with a scrawny British late night host named John Oliver. His existence brings joy to my life. The obsession is real. He is literally my ideal man: British, feminist, bitingly funny. He has the same birthday as Shakespeare! I was destined to love him.

I switched jobs twice, first to a Brookstone in the airport and then to Western Governors University, a job at which I hope to stay for the foreseeable future. Nine to five, Monday to Friday, baby. No more 4:30 a.m. shifts for me!

I read one hundred and sixty-two books and kissed three boys. I watched a lot of Marvel movies. I’ve become deeply interested in social justice causes and become a lot more comfortable with the liberal sensitivities I’ve been struggling with since high school. I now wear the label of feminist, equal rights supporter, and pro-gun control with pride. I’ve decided that I am good enough, and although I struggle with this quite a lot some days, cool people seem to like me, and they must see some potential in me.

In some ways I feel like exactly the same girl who said goodbye to her grandparents eighteen months ago, but in others I feel like a completely different person. That’s the paradox of life, I guess: we never change, but we never stay the same.