Tough Day

It’s very hard telling the man you’re in love with that you’ve met the man you’re going to marry.  Tougher still that it doesn’t bother him.

We Need to Talk

So, you. It’s time now for our yearly crisis of reality. Here’s the thing:

I’ve met someone.

Someone wonderful. He’s doing everything right and it doesn’t make me cringe when he touches me. He’s smart and charming and wholly reliable. He calls when he says he’ll call. He’s accommodating and a total gentleman.

But he doesn’t make me laugh like you do. His eyes aren’t the kind blue that yours are.  For better or worse, it’s not his face that I see when I stare into the darkness awaiting sleep. It’s yours.

But he’s going to stick around. And I’ll let him. And sooner or later, it’s going to get serious. Sooner or later, this will be the one I consider spending the rest of my life with. And that scares me to death because it means giving up on you forever.

Everything changes so fast. One minute there’s the possibility of a future with you. The next, it’s whisked away. One minute we’re drifting along, if not happily, at least content in our misadventures, the next minute I’m so stricken with guilt I can barely touch you. What if this is the end of it all?

What if I do spend the rest of my life with this man? Would you let me go? Or would you fight for me?

If I do, I will not leave him for you. Because I’ve seen no evidence that you would do the same for me. So loving him, letting him love me, and letting this happen means throwing in the towel for good. Forever. I don’t think I’m ready.

I know you won’t read this anytime soon, if at all. But if you do, know that it’s you I want, but I believe I could be satisfied with this man. There will never come a day that your face won’t be there staring back at me in the dark, your hands touching me, your voice whispering me to you. He’s a good man, and he deserves a chance. But I hope you choose to fight. I hope the possibility of losing me forever is as deplorable to you as it is to me.

Thorn Birds

I think on the future now with less of the optimism I enjoyed in my younger days, and with a moderate degree of apprehension. Five years, ten years; when did these measurements begin to seem so small? But thirty years. What if I make it another thirty years?

During a conversation today, I unwittingly uncovered a crucial component of my current state of mind. It’s anger. Anger that keeps me from fully accepting the friendship of someone I once wanted only to love. Several times I’ve given myself pause to consider it, stopped distracting myself long enough to let myself feel that anger, and it engulfed me like a tidal wave. Its power and potential to drown me are frightening and I struggle to control it.

There’s anger at him, of course, perhaps some of it appropriately placed, even. But there is a different anger, more menacing and monstrous, directed inwardly.

How much of it is my fault? Why do I feel this infuriating NEED to actually hear it from him, some sense of apology or at the very least an acknowledgment of the fact that SOMETHING has happened here? Sometimes I think that’s all it would take, then I could let go. Will that be enough? Or will I need further still to see him beaten and broken as I’ve been? For him to share my pain in understanding everything that I could not hold onto?

And what of the future? Will we cleanse ourselves of each other? Can indifference give way to hatred, then apathy, just as friendship to emotion to passion? Will there ever come a day when I’ll pass him on the street as if he were a stranger? Or not search out his eyes in a crowd? Will I check the phone every day out of infuriating habit? How many girlish indulgences will I rebuke in his name? Can I do that for five years? Ten? Or will he fade purposely into obscurity before then?

Thirty? Will he appear on my doorstep thirty years from now with silver in his hair, asking me to love him then, when everything that once rendered me capable of love has died or wilted? As surely as my hope for such a day has turned to dread, the anger it provokes swells up inside me like a beast. Now it brings also fear – that the day is fast approaching when it begins controlling me.

Things I Found in My Car

The long-awaited list:

1. A vintage bowling ball and bag
2. Three winter coats I haven’t seen since last winter
3. My favorite green raincoat that has been missing for-ev-er
4. Two pairs of emergency underwear (you gotta keep those around, you never know when you’ll need them)
5. Bucket full of Ya-Ya hat-making supplies that I remember putting in the trunk on Jennifer’s wedding day
6. The bouquet I carried in Amanda’s second wedding
7. Eight pairs of shoes, three which I have never worn
8. A flower pot and doll stand that I was supposed to drop off at Amanda’s house after Hope and Need (in September)
9. A red sweater my sister bought for me when I was a freshman in high school
10. A small saucepan
11. Nine unfinished wooden cabinet doors
12. An extra spare tire. . . seriously, I have no idea where it came from
13. A book I started reading when I was first hired at Humana
14. The lease agreement for my first apartment
15. A black vampire cape from Halloween (which Halloween, I do not know)
16. A scrapbook full of really old family photos
17. The business plan for Help The Ville
18. A computer mouse
19. Three scarves, a belt, and no fewer than ten pairs of socks
20. A mason jar containing a spare key to the car
21. A City of Louisville parking ticket from July 21, 2007;  the day Amanda and I camped out at the 4th Street Borders to get our wristbands for the new Harry Potter book (unpaid, by the way)
22. Copy of _Mere Christianity_ by C.S. Lewis. Yeah, that seemed like such a good idea at the time.
23. Copy of _I, Lucifer_ to balance out the above
24. Two half-used jugs of windshield washer fluid
25. Three ice scrapers
26. One glove

No dead bodies.

Upon Making One’s Bed

Here are several things I discovered in my bed upon waking this morning, and are still here at bedtime. Some should be here, some should not.

1. Humana-issued laptop computer
2. One fuzzy blue sock
3. One fuzzy red sock
4. Theodore E. Bear the panda/teddy bear
5. Three socks, none matching another in the group
6. One pair of green fleece pants I remember wearing to bed Wednesday night but haven’t seen since
7. One Harvard Business Review case study on Colgate-Palmolive
8. Charger for my iPhone
9. One wife-beater tank top I remember wearing to bed Friday night but haven’t seen since
10. One pair of perfectly matching white socks
11. Fluffy feline named Fancy… on MY pillow
12. Pair of reading glasses in conspicuous proximity to HBR Colgate-Palmolive case study
13. Tags from a new article of clothing
14. Plastic clothes hanger from said article of clothing
15. Of course, myself in all my glory

. . . And one mechanical pencil stuck between the mattress and box spring.

Clearly, I need to start sleeping in the middle of the bed, rather than rotating on one side of it all night long like a rotisserie chicken.

And oddly enough, I honestly did not notice all of these things in my bed. Makes me wonder what (or whom!) else may have sneaked into my bed without my knowledge. Hmmm….

Sunday Secret

I never cared about what it was doing to her.

I do now.

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2008: It Sucked

So, last year sucked, and it sucked looong and hard. A brief moment of elation in the early Spring, harrowing health-related event in July, and general suckiness throughout the year. Mostly romance related.

Grad school proved to be a mistake, but by the time 2008 was over, I was halfway through. Too late to quit now.

Fancy was sick most of the year. But seems to be better now. Lying on my belly as I type.

Things started turning around before Christmas. Since then, they’ve gone a bit more South, but overall I’m doing okay.

One thing worth mentioning – Quite some time has passed since I’ve indulged in the guiltiest of pleasures. With time, the urge and desire has waned to nothing, the motivation has disappeared, and a resigned acceptance has set in. I’ve started dating again and have met someone I may be able to tolerate in large doses. For all accounts and purposes, I’ve moved on, and there is no room for relapse.

That being said. . . I once predicted, privately, that I would become an empty, emotionless shell of a human if he weren’t a part of my life. I was right. Nothing has ever hurt as much as it has hurt to watch him gradually write me out, to go from an important person he appeared to care about to a nuisance he was completely indifferent and apathetic to. In all fairness, I haven’t made this an easy year for him either. I just wanted him to hurt as much as I was hurting after the summer and I tried to inflict that and get his attention in a million wrong ways. But to be ignored, discounted and rejected by someone I would gladly give up anything for has been the impetus for some extremely dark days and the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever lived through. If I could, I would tell him what happened, why I put him through this, and how incredibly sorry I am for it all.

But I did live through it. At a macro level, I’m really much happier as a result. There’s a certain comfort in hitting rock bottom, and a calm moderation in finally just knowing where I stand. I’m happy with the friendship we share now and look forward to the days ahead. Examining my life at a micro level, I’m unsure whether or not I’ll ever have feelings for anyone that come close to those that I had for him, but a friend once told me that we only get to feel that way once in our lives. And I’m okay with that. In the meantime, I’ll explore the way I feel about others. Maybe someday I’ll find someone who laughs like him, with the same kind blue eyes and quick wit and mature demeanor. Maybe not.

In short, having lived through 2008 gives me confidence that I can live through whatever 2009 throws my way.

I’m Still Alive

Kicking and screaming.

Someone went to see Santy Claws!!

Getting the Power Up

The scene is this: it’s the day before Thanksgiving, 2008. A Wednesday, naturally. Over the four days prior to this particularly dreadful day, my heart and mind had been trampled by a vast array of assorted traumatic events and emotions: having potentially lost one of the most important people in my life, dealing with new breeds of stress at work, trying to decide whether to stay in grad school or not, several family issues cropping up here and there. And in dealing with this, I found sleep impossible. So Tuesday night I took my standard three over-the-counter sleeping pills. Long story short, by the next night I no longer trusted myself to be alone. So a benevolent friend invited me on a short road trip the next night and my immediate mental reaction was “Of course I’ll go. That increases my chances of being hit by a large truck.” Sharp as she is, friend made me take one of her kids in the car with me. Good call.

Grateful for the change of scenery and happy to see this friend’s sister for the first time in ages, I was already feeling a tiny bit better by the time we got to Columbus. I hauled my overnight bag into the guest bedroom and friend and I collapsed across the bed while her two kids piled on top of us. The oldest (7), snuggled up next to me as I stared at the ceiling fighting back tears. He looked at me, took a deep breath and said, quite randomly:

“Hey, Leslie, you know how when you’re playing a video game the first level is really really easy? Then the next level is still easy, but not as easy as the first one? Then the next one is a little bit harder than the second one? And then the next and the nextandthenextandthenext….”

“Yes, Sean, I know…”

“Well, they do that on purpose, don’t they?  They make the first level really easy so you’re ready to do the second level, then the second level is a little harder so that you can handle the third level. So each level is just like practice for the next level. So if you can get through this level, you know you’re ready for the next one.”

Then he got up and ran into the kitchen.

I remained there for quite some time after my friend, too, departed for the kitchen, ceiling-staring and thinking about what Sean had said. Either he’s very intuitive and perceptive or totally random, or I’m reading way too much into what he said. Regardless, I stayed still, trying to imagine what level could possibly be worse than this, and the last of the tears I had for that situation fell from my cheek onto the nondescript, guest-bed comforter. Then I wiped my eyes and stood up, shook it off, and followed the crowd into the kitchen.

I beat this level, but not without sustaining some pretty major damage. But that’s okay. I’m taking time to heal, and when I’m powered up again, I’ll get back in the game. Significant health already restored, prognosis promising. And as much I hoped that week would be the hardest level I’ll have to get through before beating the game, I keep in mind now that it’s just practice for the greater challenges that lie ahead.

My Sunday Secret (On a Wednesday)

John Hodgman turns me on more than Hugh Jackman, Harrison Ford, George Clooney, and Jude Law all put together.

A New Tradition, Perhaps?

Precursor – If you’ve endured an emotionally devastating, suicide attempt-inducing breakup in the week leading up to the holiday, just go ahead and arrive at The Green Compound drunk. At least you can hope for alcohol poisoning by the end of the day.

1. Each time Dad asks a perfectly straightforward question that Mom misconstrues as a criticism or insult, take a drink.

2. Each time a family member nearly trips over a cat, take one drink.

3. Each time a family member nearly trips over a doll or other inanimate object, don’t drink anything, for the love of God, you need your kidneys!

4. Each time Mom throws out a perfectly good dish because “it just doesn’t taste right,” take a drink.

5. Each time Mom throws any object ranging in size from a wedding band (2008) to a five-pound bag of cornmeal (2004), take a drink.
5a. If it was aimed directly at you, finish your drink and go get another.

6. Each time Mom throws anything larger than a five-pound bag of cornmeal, go outside and take a drink and wait until all goes quiet before re-entering the house.

7. Each time furniture is thrown (by Dad or Mom), take all of your drinks and go home. It’s pretty much over until next year.
7a. Kyle, you’re pretty much screwed on this one.

8. Each time a parent threatens to divorce the other, touch glasses in cheers with all siblings and take a nice, long drink.
8a. If one parent actually gets in the car to leave as if to make good on this threat, take one drink     every minute until said parent returns.

9. For each broken dish, one drink.

10. For each time one of the offspring tells Mom to shut the fuck up, give Mom your drink, as she will need it to ease the shock.

11. For each time one of the offspring tells Dad to shut the fuck up, bring all alcohol in the house to that offspring to chug immediately, to mollify the pain that Dad is about to inflict on this offspring.

12. Any time a weapon is pulled (gun, baseball bat, slingshot, paring knife), put down your drink and back away slowly. They’re serious, people!

13. If the family has a nice, calm, uneventful, pleasant meal and no drama ensues, don’t even think about touching a drink until next year. You’ll want to remember this.

The End of a Day

There is so much healing in the sunset. How is it that time can heal hurt and addle anger? I don’t have the energy to keep this up.

Untitled

Tonight I feel like I could write the world’s next great novel, like there are words inside me screaming for release and if I could just get them in the correct order then my heart would heal itself. Then I would no longer need you.

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Boys Club

“I immediately wind up in the friend zone,” I half-complained as we walked back to the office, an unseasonably warm November sun bearing down on us as we crossed the street to walk in the shade of a tree-lined park. “Maybe it’s because I act too much like a guy, and maybe I act too much like a guy because I grew up with three brothers.” I shrugged and kicked my sensible heels at a random pebble on the sidewalk.

“Leslie, when you find someone – and you will,” he began, his hand slicing through the air between us for emphasis, “he’s going to really, really love you for exactly who you are.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” he explained. “There are two kinds of girls: the ones we date and/or screw, and have no other use for, and the kind we can actually talk to, who can make us laugh, and who actually have something in their heads. You’re the second type. Add to that the fact that you’re completely comfortable in your skin and you are not afraid to be yourself, and eventually a guy is going to come along who you just click with, automatically, and the rest will be history. It’s really going to be that easy.”

I regarded him for the first time since I’ve known his as a man. Not as a co-worker, not as a friend or brother or confidante, but as a man. He is, quite literally, the best man I’ve ever met. And while I’ve never – and still don’t, just to clarify – hold any romantic notions of him or any amorous feelings toward him – for a moment I hoped that the man he spoke of would be something like him when he did come along. I believed him. And I smiled at him despite myself as he took his turn kicking at the ground, obviously a bit embarrassed by this rare moment of sincerity.

My little heart felt hopeful for the future to come.

“Can I be both types, just to different people?” I asked in jest. He laughed that shoulder-shaking, eye-rolling laugh, but said nothing as he started to cross the street and I followed him. A car passed slowly before we got too far and he put his arm out in front of me to keep me behind him.

When it was safe, he looked both ways again before dropping his arm and saying “Okay, now we can go, ” and pulling me along behind him.

Definitely, I thought.

Definitely at least *something* like him.

Thrill-seeker Seeks Thrills

What the hell am I doing?

What the hell is HE doing? He’s a man of the cloth, for crying out loud.

I feel guilty about this in a way that I should have felt guilty for the past three years. I’m playing with fire here, and so is he. We’re going to get burned. But if it works out, it’ll be worth it.

My Sunday Secret(s)

1. I forgot about you today, and for the first time in a long while, didn’t pause when someone asked me if I was single.

2. I’m starting to look forward to $5 movie Tuesdays a little too much.

3. It bothers me when he talks about her.

4. I have developed an exit strategy.

Friday Five – Awesome

Awesome things that have happened recently:

5. I fell in love with salsa dancing.

4. He called me “sexy.”

3. I found out that taking my thyroid medicine really does help.

2. I put together the coolest costume ever on $10 and some ingenuity.

1. I told the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen that he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

Little Reminders

I was in an emotional state darker than normal this afternoon. I’m clinging desperately to the idea of the only person who brings any real joy into my life even though I can’t be near him, I’m trying to hold myself together for at least eight hours a day so I can maintain a job I’ve lost all enthusiasm for, and 24 hours a day, I crave sleep and solitude. I was so relieved when 5:30 came and I could hit the door and head for home, to be alone and sort things out, just *wallow* in the torment, and sleep. I was disappointed but cautiously positive when a friend called and said that she, too, was in a very dark state of mind and didn’t want to be alone. So I wound up with company.

I have one thing in particular in common with this friend that really connects us. In addition to having known each other for nearly 15 years, we both have a way of finding ourselves in rather interesting romantic situations. It’s nice to know I’m not a freak every once in a while.

She has twenty years on me, but this woman can party me under a table. She has this voodoo, Jedi mind thing that she works and you soon find yourself out at a salsa club on a weekday, your butt beginning to sweat against the faux leather sofa while she plows through a dance card a mile long.

I was miserable. I stared into space. I played with my phone. Then I began to look around.

The lead singer of the Latin band was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Flawless and talented. The dancers were uninhibited and sensual. The music was infectious. The patronage weren’t lewd or suggestive, or young college punks out to a meat market. They were dignified and respectful.

I felt my spirits lift, then soar. I got lost in awe while watching the band and the time passed quickly. During a set break, I made my way to the bar, where a tall, dark, beautiful, and utterly charming gentleman bought me a drink and we began to chat.

He seemed genuinely interested, he asked questions about my background, my family, my current pursuits and interests. I responded on autopilot, not really thinking that being a graduate student or holding a corporate job or expounding on how much I love my family were tidbits that one would find all that interesting. Then he quoted relevant (and surprisingly, accurate) statistics about my demographic and told me that I was way ahead of the curve and had a lot to be proud of. And he told me that I was “wife material.”

It silenced me.

I’ve rarely been rendered speechless.

I thought he may be right. I’ve never seen in myself the woman he saw. I still feel like a girl in a lot of ways. But not that someone has shown me that woman, and treated her with respect, I can start to pull her out more often. I’m fond of her.

I may not be out of the woods; I may still be in that cold, dark place tomorrow when I wake up. But now I have the strength to fake it until I make it.

Reflection

He said that my aura changed, just after. And i could feel it too. I was happy, distracted, content, comfortable. I wondered what my aura would have looked liked if I had actually cared about him. Turns out that sleeping with arms around me wasn’t all I had hoped it would be.

But it will do for now.

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Friends Don’t Let Friends Blog Drunk

Highlights of my day (in chronological order)

1. Slept in until 11:00 am. Sweet baby Jesus, thank you.

2. Took the world’s most amazing, relaxing, unnerving shower.

3. Met amazing, handsome, humble, and most of all, available fellow.

4. Hot glued about 1,000 strands of yarn onto and old lady pumpkin.

5. Tasty shrimp for late lunch.

6. Little bit of blackjack

7. Dean kissed a girl on Supernatural. Hormones raged.

8. Discovered tasty, tasty new brand of tequila.

9. Cuddle with precious little itty bitty kitty.

10. Sweet, sweet sleep (pending).

Things to look forward to tomorrow:

1. Sleeping in until 11:00.

2. Clean apartment and replenished supply of laundry.

3. Cuddling with itty bitty kitty.

4. Inviting amazing, handsome, humble, available fellow to. . .

5. All-you-can-eat crab leg and seafood buffet dinner at the boat.

6. Little bit of blackjack.

7. Tasty tequila, hopefully with. . .

8. Amazing, handsome, humble, available fellow.

Life ain’t always beautiful. But it has been lately.

My Sunday Secret

I hope it was you who sent in this PostSecret.

Mostly because of the usage of past tense.

Try It, Mr. Tennyson

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods;

In envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth:
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘T is better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all.

Gee, why do I feel insecure?

From an article on Yahoo.

Are You About to Be Jilted?

• His cell phone is always off. He might be spending time with someone he doesn’t want you to know about… or he just doesn’t want to make himself available.
• He’s reluctant to make plans. If he hems and haws about committing to anything — even if it’s in the semi-near future — he’s thinking about making a break for it.
• He’s meaner. The passive-aggressive breakup is a guy standby. Some men intentionally turn into whiners to make sure you break up with them.
• He’s distant. He doesn’t want to feel connected to you — or he’s getting his needs filled somewhere else.

My Sunday Secret

Last night, the only thing I wanted out of life was to fall asleep with someone’s arms around me.

This morning, the only thing I want is a clean apartment.