Break Out

So it's finally here. The last day. I never thought it would get here. My day started with the phone ringing at 9 am. Far too early for anyone to be calling me. Everyone knows that I don't answer the phone before 10. So I rolled over to check the caller ID and it was work. Fuck them, I thought. Unless they're calling to give me the day off. They can leave me a message and I'll listen later. But of course they didn't. So they woke me up for nothing and I was never able to get back to sleep after that. Jerks.

Today I get to look forward to another depressing day at work when I have to pretend like I'm happy and enjoying all this to people that have way too much money for their own good and are way too cheap for my own good. Jerks. I'm just praying I'll get out of there before midnight, because no one wants to start off a new year at work. That's really really depressing.

And I get to think about last year. How I wore the Asian inspired corset and he and I walked out to a big rock on the beach and watched the sunset. And we named all the colors of the sunset we could think of. And then he made lobster and we drank champagne and sat by the fire and started the new year with the clink of glasses and a kiss. Happy New Year.

This year he wants to be alone. I get it, but I don't like it. Because I don't want to be alone. And I don't want to be around people who are paying for my presence. I want to be around someone who matters to me. I want to be somewhere that isn't glitter and party favors and the band playing Auld Lang Syne and people everywhere kissing for no other reason than because that's what you do.

I want to have hopes for next year. I haven't yet thought of what to hope for. I'm not really sure. Last year it seemed there were no boundaries, no limits. This year it seems that they are everywhere, and my only hope is to break out.

Getting Organizized

I've been thinking. Maybe it isn't a very good idea to share your thoughts and feelings with others. Because then they will know just how fucked up you are and know to steer clear of you. Maybe telling all only turns you into a blithering idiot that never knows when to shutup. Or where to stop talking about a subject. Because one will inevitably run into another.

Today I came up with wanting to be somebody, and ending up feeling like nobody. Which has little to do with him and so much to do with me and the rest of my life. The notion that I don't feel like somebody because of how he functions in my life is utterly ridiculous. Because feeling like somebody is something I have struggled with ever since I can remember. Like since age 6. (or somewhere in there)

But this is how sharing seems to work; you share one feeling that deals with the subject at hand. But then it's been said, so the next thing you say has to be something else, so you say that. And it deals with the subject at hand a little less. And then you say one more thing, and one more, and before you know it, you are saying shit that has absolutely nothing to do with what you started out talking about, and you're not making sense any more.

I've been talking for over nine months. So I'm pretty far off at this point. I've even had to circle back a couple of times to remind myself what I was talking about in the first place. And he's been so patient with me when anyone else would have said 'fuck this' and walked away. He repeats himself for my benefit. A lot of the time I end up wishing I hadn't said anything at all.

So maybe it's better to keep these things in your head more. "Organizize" more.

Almost the End

Well, it's almost the end of the year. Almost the end of a month that I never wanted to happen in the first place. I wish I could look back on the year and say, look, I did that, and that, and that. I accomplished a lot. But I can't. Because I didn't. I didn't do a damn thing. Except whine.

Last night I remembered how he picked me up at the airport last year. And how he kissed me when I saw him and I was a little embarassed because I wasn't used to kissing in public, but I figured it's the airport so it's ok. And then we spent pretty much every day together until school started.

I'll be going home next week, since I couldn't go home last week. But rest assured there will be no kisses at the airport this time. I haven't even worked up the gumption to ask for a ride. Maybe I should just take a cab. And there won't be the late night two hour phone calls like last year, or the sweet 'I miss you's and would you like to come here for New Year's. Which is yet another memory I'm going to be recalling painfully in another 24 hours. Just great.

Memory sucks. And I've started counting again. Which only makes things harder. Because they go so much slower when you're watching.

Harbor

harbor
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Get Back

Ok. I finally did something on my own. I didn't cop out at the last minute either, even though I thought about it. I went to this jazz night with a two drink minimum, and I had to keep reminding myself to drink slow. But it's hard when you're sitting there by yourself.

And it was a typical jazz night. At least as far as I can tell. There's that guy that seems to be enjoying the music so much it looks like he's having a seizure and you wonder if he can actually hear the music with all that jerking going on. And then the first date couple and the guy who knows somebody in the band and the family of the youngest guy in the band. Then there's the people dancing, but I don't know why because they all pretty much suck at it. You can tell that they learned everything in a swing dancing class and they've been dying to show off for a long time. And there's also, of course, the old lady that keeps clapping on 1 and 3. Which for some reason is more annoying than everything else. How can she actually enjoy jazz if she doesn't even know where the beat is?

Anyway, I suppose this is a big step for me. To get back to who I used to be. The trouble is, who was I? Do I really want to go back? Was I really that great before? Was I happy? Actually, I don't even remember. I remember having a roommate that was a total moron and arguing with the graduate office on a weekly basis and being annoyed at my ex-boyfriend's shameful lack of contact since I moved. I remember having strange landlords and living closer to school and staying in my room pretty much all the time. I remember playing a lot of mah-jongg on my computer. I remember wanting to redecorate my room. Working at a shitty sports bar.

Is that what I really want to get back to?

Big Fat NO

So today I failed at what I meant to do. I didn't ever make it to the movie, mostly because I don't like doing lots of stuff in one day. But I'm still going to try to make it to the jazz night. Which means I have to leave soon. I did make it to the beach today. I was hoping the clouds would clear enough to see a nice sunset. But when I got there, there was nothing except gray. The sky, the sand, the water. I thought how aptly it mirrors my insides. Because there is no color in me.

And tonight it hit me that I really miss him. Not like I didn't know before, but I felt it again without the anger that's been with it for the last few days. But now I want to call and say hey, but I'm trying not to. Plus I couldn't stand the rejection that I endured last time. That hey, it's nice to hear from you but, no we'll not be seeing one another. There's just too much risk involved now. It was bad enough before, but now even a conversation is likely to turn into a big fat NO.

So I'm trying things alone. It's not working that well.

The Day

Today is a busy day, with lots of stuff to do. I'm hoping to get through it all without big problems. Because I'm going old style-on my own. I do remember the last time I went to a movie by myself-and I ended up seeing two movies. Everyone thought I was crazy. (you saw TWO movies by yourself?!) And I'm doing the jazz club thing alone too. I used to do it all the time, but back then I knew the guys in the band so it was a little different. And I'm going to try to have a good time and not think about how I wish someone else was there with me. Because this is the way it is now.

Rain

Last night I was laying in bed while there was a terrible storm going on outside. It was all wind and rain, but for this place, that's a storm. And then I realized that I was right, the ocean does sound like a storm. Because this was the exact sound I heard every night when I used to be welcome in his bed. Minus the sound of the tree branch scraping the house. And he seemed to think it was weird that I always thought that, but it really is true.

I got to thinking more about the ocean, and wished I could be there right now to watch it. I wished I lived in one of those big houses right on the beach with the huge windows so I could watch the storm. Watch the water on earth fight with the water in the sky. Watch the sand get caught in the middle. And I couldn't wait to see the beach again to see how different it looked after being rearranged by the tide. I wondered how high the tide had gotten. How high the waves were. It almost seemed like I was pretty close to getting in the car and driving down there, but then I remembered that the car was almost out of gas, and if I drove all the way down there, I would look like a stalker psycho for sure. So I laid in bed, closed my eyes, and imagined.

But then I started thinking about my anger. (because for some reason, storms tend to do that) I wondered if I was angry at him. I thought about him, but didn't feel anger towards him. I still felt good towards him. But I was still angry. But at what? So here are some things that keep me angry.

I'm angry that I am always alone on the holidays. I'm angry that I got dumped. Again. I'm angry that I trusted someone just because he said I should. I'm angry that I didn't listen to myself in the very beginning. I'm angry that I never knew this city without him. I'm angry I didn't bother to cultivate friendships because I was with him. I'm angry I can't get over him. I'm angry I can't fix him. I'm angry that I was so quick to give my heart to someone. I'm angry he wasn't careful with it. I'm angry he acts like my ex before he acts like my friend. I'm angry that I'm not in control. I'm angry that I don't get to make my own decisions. I'm angry that I'm being judged for my weaknesses. I'm angry that I'm treated like an invalid. I'm angry that I feel so stupid. I'm angry that nothing I say or do makes a damn bit of difference. I'm angry that I'm hurting without him and the reverse isn't true. I'm angry that I have no support system. I'm angry that every time I try to improve my life, it only seems to worsen. I'm angry that I lose when I gamble. I'm angry that I'm not the kind of person that someone else wants to be with. I'm angry that I can't overcome the memory of a previous woman. I'm angry that toys don't make me happy. I'm angry that I can't figure out how to put my heart back together again. I'm angry that I feel like the ugliest woman on the face of the earth. I'm angry that I still try to look good anyway.

I just want to scream most of the time. I think if I screamed until all my anger was gone, I wouldn't have a voice left with which to scream. And people tend to not like it when you scream. So I have to hold it all in. And I don't know what to do with it. Because I want to get rid of it before it hurts someone, especially someone I don't want to hurt, as it inevitably will. Perhaps it is like the rain; Anger Anger go away, come again some other day. Or better yet, never. I am ok with being barren like the desert as long as I don't have to deal with the rain. Because it doesn't grow flowers for me, it only hits the house.

Operational Assistance

I think my anger is starting to subside. Or at least I hope it is. I'm not driving like a maniac anymore, so I guess that's a good sign. Maybe the rain is helping to calm me a little, even though the wind is starting to pick up and berate the house with stinging specks of water. Not that I'm calm, just not so inexplicably angry.

So maybe I'm just distracted. Because tomorrow I'm hoping that this new quack doctor will have all the answers to my problems with my feet and everything will be just super from now on. And then I'll see the movie he refused to see with me. And I'll sit in the theater by myself and try to laugh at least a little. And then I'll hear some jazz and have some drinks and that will be all. So it'll be my big attempt at doing things alone again. Like a trial run. See if I can manage it. But then I'll have to get my shit back together because class starts up again on Monday and I can't have any more crappy classes like last week and I have to figure out what I can show them that won't suck that they'll be willing to watch. Because I refuse to pander to their special effects/no story Matrix crapola movies. Plus I won't subject myself to the torture of watching said crapola.

But I'm not really sure if any of this actually matters. Because before you know it, I'll be back in school myself, trying not to be the ugly duckling that I'm so accustomed to being. Trying to put the square peg in the round hole by acting professional when that's about the last thing I really want to do. Trying to earn respect, but not having the artful chops to cut it. Trying to stop competing for attention and just forget the whole thing for real this time.

And there's the angry part again. Because I really didn't want to believe that the physical was purely that, but I have been informed otherwise. That first time I let it happen, I should have listened to myself when I thought; well, I could have been anybody that time. There wasn't even eye contact.

So yes, I'm angry. At everything. At him, myself, the situation. Because for once in my life I was able to merge the physical and emotional into one, and what a mistake that was. Therapy got them together; now maybe I need therapy to take them apart again. Shit. Now I'm angry again. And I'm probably hurting people too, which isn't really what I want. I just want to be able to figure all this out and be a normal person again instead of a whiny crybaby people are afraid to talk to and especially see because I might just lose it and that gets so tiresome, as we all know. I want to be normal enough that people stop treating me like I'm sick or diseased or eight and saying things like 'do you really think that's a good idea?'. It makes me feel like my own opinions, needs, wants or decisions don't even matter anymore. Because someone else will inevitably veto them. Because I'm apparently not able to operate without assistance.

The Sidewalk

It's raining. Really hard. And it's windy too. Yucky weather.

It's times like these that I wish I could be sitting by the fire with him. Drinking wine while we talk and laugh and hold each other. Those are some of my fondest memories of our time together. It was always something that I could do for hours; something that I always wanted to do.

But now it's just me, by myself on the couch in my quilt with only my laptop to keep me company. I haven't started on the wine yet, but when I do, it will be solo. Somehow the TV isn't the same as the flames. It's actually pretty depressing. And pathetic.

There's a good chance he's sitting by the fireplace though. But there's not a very good chance he's thinking about drinking wine and talking to me or laughing with me. He says he's so fucked up he's normal. But it seems more like he's so normal, I was never really there to begin with. My impact and influence was minimal. It's like trying to write your name in the sidwalk after it's already dried. And lo and behold, someone else wrote their name already. This is their sidewalk. It will never be yours. And no matter how many steps you take on the sidewalk, it's still just going to sit there and belong to someone else.

Old Memory, New Past

Today I spent a few hours buying memory. Yes, memory. And I got to thinking about what a weird purchase that is. Especially since I would really love to be able to pay somebody to get rid of my memory. Because it's not doing me any good anymore. It's more of a hindrance than a help. Something to weigh me down and slow me up. In my computer it makes things go faster. In my head it does exactly the opposite. Prevents me from starting new things. Reminds me about the total system failures I've had in the past.

Just think if I could get rid of my past. Like in the Witness Protection Program. Just leave everything behind and make new stuff up. Start over where no one knows you and everything is new and fresh. Oddly enough, it sounds like it would be pretty good right now.

The Draw of Stuff

Merry Christmas to me. And it's only three days late since I couldn't actually have one when it was supposed to happen. I couldn't get anyone to care about me or take time out of their busy schedules for me. So I took time out of my busy schedule for myself. Because no one else will. And I spent obscene amounts of money on stuff that mommy and daddy didn't want to get me for Christmas. Because I'm tired of waiting. And while money can't buy happiness, it sure can buy some fun for a while. And even a little independence.

So now I don't have to depend on the self-serving (rather than student serving) lab administration boys. I'm not so desparate for their wares now that I have my own. Hopefully it will make a difference. Hopefully it will give me something new to think about and distract myself with. Toys. So this is why people buy stuff. Why people always think they can't live without stuff. Because stuff will always be there to give you some fun. Sure, it's not going to give you a hug, but that's not part of it's draw. The draw is that it delivers what it promises. Nothing more, nothing less. People can't do that. People won't do that.

Sign

Sign
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Anger

This morning I woke up angry. I hate it when that happens. I was having this dream that I was in class with he, and he just walked out of the room to our other class without telling me or waiting for me or anything. So I go after him and say 'thanks for waiting' and he's halfway down the stairs with some other girl that I don't know. And he looks back and rolls his eyes and keeps walking. And I look down and I have his bag in my hand. So I go to our other class and everyone is there except him and I throw his bag and it lands on a record player. (yes, it's weird, but it's a dream, so it's ok) And a couple of people in the first row look at me and then I storm out to go find my cell phone. And I wake up. Angry.

Where is this coming from? I am not an angry person. I am a very accepting person of other people. My reactions to things are usually more on the sad spectrum than the angry spectrum. You broke up with me? I'm sad. Denver lost the Superbowl? I'm sad. Bush won the election? I'm sad. Parents don't call? Sad. I don't yell and scream and say mean things and hit things. It just isn't me. But obviously for the past almost 24 hours I have had this anger well up from god knows where and I don't know what to do about it.

Is it a good thing? Or is it just as destructive as everything else?

The Hiatus

So today He and I talked, but I mostly sobbed and slobbered and sounded pathetic. Which is so far removed from any version of myself than I have ever been. And I feel like a total loser. Because my problems are not entirely because of him, and I know that. And he knows that too.

I wish that he could figure out how to love me and realize that the sky really is the limit, but he is perpetually tethered to the earth by some woman I have only met one time by accident. And yes, I resent her for it.

So today I was driving to work and for some reason became really pissed off about the whole situation. I can't explain it; it just happened. I felt as if our whole relationship was invalidated by his inability to love and that the whole thing was for nothing. I felt expendable. I felt disposable. I felt cheap. Because the three months we had together 'was what was needed at the time', but obviously didn't stand the test of time. And that somehow those three months weren't the same as the previous relationship because we never lived together and it was never like it was actually real. It was just sort of a diversion to make things seem like they were ok.

So I sobbed and whined about all the pain I'm in and have been in for such a long time now, but it really doesn't matter what i think or how I feel because things are ultimately going to go however he wants anyway. Part of me feels like he welcomes the hiatus from me because that's really what he wanted in the first place; he just didn't want to be the bad guy and ask for it. So now I'm stuck with something I really just wanted to try for a little while but now that I want to see him and maybe see a movie the answer is; I don't think so. So I was never really in control of the situation in the first place. I am now that diseased person that everyone looks at with a sideways glance for fear of catching something. Be careful, that chick might give you something terrible if you get too close to her. I am that person that has no other attributes than disease. You want to go out? Oh, I don't think that would be good for you, even if you would enjoy it. We don't want you enjoying anything right now. Don't you know you are sick?

Suddenly I feel as if I am six years old again, with everyone knowing what I want or what's best for me. Everyone controlling my life and lecturing me or talking down to me as if I am the most moronic person on the face of the planet. Yes, I am in a lot of pain. Does that mean I should deny myself the things or people I enjoy most? According to them, yes. But I have never been one to bend to the whims of reason or willpower. I have always believed in making oneself happy. Because happiness is such a fleeting feeling; why deny yourself of it?

Perhaps I would be a terrible parent. Because I'm not big on the 'for your own good' crap. Maybe that's why Fate has dealt me such terrible cards that are constantly leading me down the path to heartbreak and misfortune and disappointment. Because I have no business telling anyone else how to do anything at all. Because I don't want to do anything anyone tells me to do. Because I don't deserve to have anyone love me.

Gangrene

I don't feel good. What a surprise. I am so confused right now I don't know which way to go. I'm in love with a man who maybe used to love me but then changed his mind and decided he was still in love with the ex, but it turns out that he is also my nearest and dearest friend. I suck at school; my work is constantly blown away by people who actually know what they're doing. My closest female friend strongly disapproves of my emotional weakness, and now I don't even want to talk to her about stuff because it almost feels like I'm getting a lecture from my mom or a teacher or something. And I know that essentially she is right, but emotions never seem to be just black or white.

So who do I talk to? Who do I confide in? Who do I turn to in times of despair? More importantly, how do I mend the most painful broken heart I've ever experienced? How do I get back to who I used to be?

I want to believe there is an answer somewhere that I haven't discovered yet. But it is unfathomable. I fear that I will never get back to being the kind of person I used to be. That I will be sad and lonely for the rest of my life. Because these feelings have been so persistent for such a long time. They don't abate. The wound is still as deep and raw as it was the day he made it. It's like my heart has gangrene. I wish someone could amputate it from my body. Because I don't really need it anymore anyway.

The Time

I am a terrible person. I have come to realize that. It's no wonder I am alone. However, this goes down as the worst Christmas ever. No fun stuff to look forward to, no friends, no loved ones. Only idiot sycophants saying, so how'd you get so lucky to work today? (imagine it in a very nasal tone to get the whole effect) And I just want to smack them and say, do you realize YOU are the reason I'm forced to be here today, you sorry sack of shit? And besides, if you must know, my family lives far away, and I have no friends that care to spend the day with me. Satisfied? Now shut the fuck up and eat your turkey. And don't worry about the fact that I've been here all day and had nothing to eat, so stop whining about how stuffed you are, fat ass.

Anyway...

That is not exactly why today sucks so bad. It's really just because I wish there was someone out there who loved me enough to want to be with me and there isn't. It doesn't matter where I am today. Or tomorrow. Or ever. And Christmas is the most inopportune time to know that.

Cracker

I can't stand this anymore. I'm not strong enough to stand on my own. I spent all day before work staring at the backyard in tears, wishing there was somone out there who gave a fuck about spending Christmas with me. But there isn't. I have never felt so alone and isolated in my whole life. And I thought maybe I'd feel better after work, after the distractions of life. But I started crying again as soon as I walked through my front door.

So I thought I've had enough. This is worse than I felt 130 hours ago. Right now I wish I were dead. I wish I had some pain killers or sleeping pills to OD on. Or maybe I could just drink myself to death. Go like a rock star. At least then I wouldn't be sitting here like a pathetic idiot crying my eyes out. And when sitting at home doing that sounds more appealing than hanging out with people who are normal and happy, I may as well do everyone a favor.

My family doesn't bother with me. My friends think I'm weird. Work only uses me on holidays. I'm untalented. I'm uninspired. I have stalker tendencies. I have no place that is my own. No reason to think the space I occupy can't be put to better use.

So I cracked and called him, because I'm at the end of my rope. But there was no answer. My guess is that he's with Big D. Maybe that's why he didn't want to spend the holiday with me in the first place; because he had planned on being with her all along. I should have known he wouldn't be sitting around thinking about anything that is even remotely related to me. Which only serves to validate all the things I've been thinking all day. All week. All my life.

Reason

I cannot shake the thought that he is hanging out with his go-to girl, the lady of the hour, the one whose company he prefers above all others, Big D. And I've also thought, why not, you left, dumbass. Not that you're missed. Or that your abscence makes any difference at all. This is most likely how it would have been anyway: you crying at home while they chat and laugh on the phone and then get together for no reason other than one another's company. I guess that's what really burns me, is that they get together for no reason.

Here is our situation:
Me: Let's hang out on Tuesday.
He: Why, what's going on?
Me: Nothing, I just thought it might be nice.
He: Mmm. I don't think so.

Here is theirs:
He: Let's hang out on Tuesday.
She: Whatcha wanna do, G?
He: I don't know. Whatever. We could just hang out at the house or something. Maybe you could even sleep over. Does that sound like fun?
She: Yeah sure.
He: Great. I'm looking forward to it.

That is the difference. That is part of the reason I am so resentful. Because I have to have excuses. She doesn't. Not that I don't like concerts and movies, but in all reality, he would probably be doing those things with her too if she could be quiet for the whole film. Or a whole song. We don't make plans to hang out 'just because'. There always has to be an impetus; something going on. The pleasure of my company seems secondary to the pleasure of whatever we're going to. And I want to be able to say let's hang out and have no reason. Just, why don't you come over and we'll figure something out. Maybe we'll just stay at the house and watch tv or something. Or go have beers. Or go for a walk. It doesn't matter; whatever we do is fine as long as it's with you. But that's them. Not me. With me, it does matter. Whatever we do is not fine. It has to be something that's happening.

And now my company is not missed anyway, and he can go to his happenings quite contentedly by himself. I wonder how long ago I was unnecessary and didn't know it. How long I've been telling myself things that aren't, and maybe were never, true. And now things are painfully obvious. I've been hanging around, but it turns out I lost all reason a long time ago.

No Matter

Realization of the moment: I don't matter. Nothing I do matters.

I've been spending carefully counted hours pining and whining. But I know he's fine. He's not worried. He's got those people around him who make him laugh and feel better. I have those people who remind me how weak I am. Somehow I doubt he's sitting at home thinking about something he wishes he could tell me, if I were there. He's getting out, he's diverting his attention. Something tells me he's not counting. Who again? Her? Oh yeah, the crazy one. Haven't seen her.

Last year at this time I was 1000 miles away, but I felt much closer than I do now. We talked for hours that slipped by uncounted. He wanted to know why I liked him. I was caught off guard because I hadn't really made a list. I just sort of liked him. So I came up with something lame, of course. The next day I wrote to him and listed 15 things I liked about him. It figures. Now that it doesn't make a damn bit of difference, I have a long list. And it's real things.

I love the way he walks like he's not in a hurry, even when he is. The way he makes his coffee every morning as if it were the most important beverage in the entire world. I love the Chuck Taylor's. And the white tennis shoes too. I love the way his hair curls up when it dries. I love the soft smoothness of his back. The zebra stripes. The way he tilts his head back when he sits in the sun. How he uses words like 'apogee' in regular conversations without sounding pretentious. How he doesn't envy his neighbors. How he doesn't aspire to make money. How he looks at the stars as often as I do. I love that he doesn't multitask. How he paces while he's on the phone. I love the sound of his voice, even when he snaps at me. I love that he actually listens to music. Even mine. That he loves to sit by the fire. And make hot chocolate. That he loves to try new things and overindulge. I love the way he touches me. The way he looks at me. Kisses me. How he makes his bed every morning. I love that he's a faithful writer. That he's part of his surroundings. That he loves kids and animals. I love that he listens. That he adores baseball. I love his hands. That he talks about his heart, and not in a medical way. I love his laugh. And his smile. I love how he says 'unbelievable' all the time. I love how he's a rebel. How he says the word 'fucking', with the emphasis on the 'f'. That he doesn't have to try to be romantic, he just is naturally. That he knows how to talk. I love that he doesn't act like an adult. That he thinks weird people are cool. I love how fastidious he is about television. I love how he automatically goes to the kitchen to talk, instead of the couch. (But I love Big Purple Couch too) I love his stories. The Molokai birthmark. The big red coat. I love his hugs, how they are so much more than just a greeting. I love how he wades into the ocean up to his knees, then dives into the next wave. I love that he hates shopping, crowds, and cell phones. I love that he hates parties. I love that he can wear my clothes, and would, if I wasn't already. I love how he talks about everyday life in such a literary way. How strange his handwriting is. How he types on a typewriter instead of a computer. How he isn't afraid to ask for help with computer stuff, even though he knows I probably don't know either. I love how he takes care of the curtains in the front. I love his sense of humor. I love that he is absolutely one of the smartest people I've ever known, and he's not a jerk about it by trying to show off to everyone. That he struggles between being honest with people and being nice at the same time. I love how he lets me choose the wine. How he clips articles out of the newspaper because he thinks I might be interested in reading them. That he loves jazz in a true, non-elitist way. That he loves the ballet. That he has no need to be macho. That his alarm clock is smaller than a ruler. That he lights candles. I love that he doesn't need a bunch of stuff to stay happy. That he likes to plant flowers, even if they are going to die within a week.

This list is so much better than the 15 reasons. But now it doesn't matter. Nothing does.

On My Rock

I got through another day. This one was really hard. I passed the hundredth hour today while I was at the beach, watching the sun go down. I sat quietly on my rock, not doing anything for that entire hour. This is nothing short of unbelievable. I'm slowing down. I don't have anything to get excited about. I watched the kids and their boogie boards and the people with their dogs, and wondered what happened to the guy from yesterday who built an enormous hole in the sand next to the wall. I watched the shadows fill the dips in the sand, and watched as the water changed color with every wave. This seems to be the only place where I can find solace, however temporary and fragile it may be. My mind stops for a minute and just takes it all in.

There was a couple that walked down the sand. The wandered the other way, then back, and finally sat on a sandy outcropping about fifty feet in front of me. They sat close, and he had a mug of something in his hands. So solace left for a while and reminded me of all the memories we made here. Of all the memories we never got to make here. Would never make. It's terrible to cry when you're trying to watch the sky. And then the guy ruined it all by answering his cell phone. They didn't even wait the ten mintues for the sun to actually go behind the water. But I was glad they left so I had an unobstructed view. And I wished he was there with me, sharing what would have been our third sunset together. I wished he were there, with my head on his shoulder as we watched the sky turn fiery red, then pink, then purple before bowing out to the moon and stars.

But it's just me. On my rock. As removed from other humans as possible. Counting to one hundred and one.

asheville night purple sky

asheville night purple sky
Originally uploaded by zen..

I used to live there.

Nourishment

Being alone is an emotional state, with emotional consequences. It is also a physical state, with physical consequences. My body is starving. It hasn't had nourishment in quite a while. I wonder how his is doing. If he's as starved as I am. Doubtful. He's so resourceful when it comes to being alone. I thought about sending him some vivid piece of my imagination, but then I remembered that my advances are unwanted. Which makes me feel kind of dirty and manipulative. Not to mention psycho. And ugly. There's nothing worse than being rejected like that. Which is why I don't like to start stuff. I have a hard time crawling out onto that limb. Especially since the chance of rejection is about 80%. Maybe even more. Because I haven't seen that look in his eyes in weeks. And his hands celebately stay in his pockets. The man who used to want me as often as possible no longer sees me. He sees a pitiful little pal; a puppy who still wants to play. Silly puppy, go play somewhere else.

I don't have anywhere else to play. Playing by myself is only a reminder of what I really want. I can only imagine the game with him. I don't want anyone else. Because he knows all the rules and he makes it a good game. This piece of my imagination is such a nag, reminding me how starved I've been. How big my appetite is. How scarce nourishment is. I'm starting to feel like the horses I would watch in the winter; how they would dig through the snow with their hooves just to get a little bite of what was underneath. This is my winter. How cold it has become.

Farm Road

Farm Road
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Before Blogs

I only hope to be as eloquent as Anais Nin. One of these days I'll write something that isn't drivel; something that people actually want to read. And I hope that someday I can look as cool as her too.

Strikeouts

Being alone can be comforting. It can be torturous. To be left with your thoughts can be dangerous. Because minds wander without supervision. And my vision is definitely not super. I've found myself staring at my image in the mirror; at my bad skin, my completely inadequate body and thinking no wonder I'm single. The miracle of modern science hasn't made me a 10 yet.

Still, I thought I had something to offer. But I'm the only side of the 'I miss you' repartee. The ball I bat to the other side of the court will simply bounce off into the distance. I know he's hurting, but not because of me. And I can't help but think, what's she got that I haven't got? What makes her so special? Well, for one thing, I know she blows me away in the body department. That's about all I know about her. But I still don't understand what makes her so lovable and not me. I'd like to know what her secret is. I'm sure she's not perfect, but she's definitely able to hold the rapt attention of the only man I'd like attention from, and that's something. She doesn't even have to try. He's constantly trying to figure her out or just reminiscing or something that I can't see because I can never figure out what's going on in his head. And this is no exception.

I wanted to believe that somewhere in his heart he still had those feelings for me. That he would eventually be able to find them under the wreckage she left behind. No dice. I'm just that goofy chick that talks too much and cries too much and makes all sorts of trouble for him. Because I was stupid enough to fall in love. It seems I have a knack for batting balls that will not be returned. Constant strikeouts. My contract is cancelled; I'm cut from the team; my all time batting average is a dismal zero. That's not even good enough for little league. I suck at this game.

Flop

Flop. Flop. Flop. This was the sound of class today, as I stumbled through the notes I had already read twice before class. I just wanted to say don't you all get it? They would get it if I wasn't such a stumbling mumbling mess. But I'm flipping through the pages and flopping on my face while they sit and wonder what the fuck is going on. I suck. I am the worst teacher in the world. He is so much better at this than I. Nothing I say makes sense. I only pray that they don't call me out as the phony I am. I have no business here. I am just a wannabe.

Mom sent me Christmas gifts. Interesting, since she didn't bother to send a birthday card or even call on Thanksgiving. And I'll be home in a couple of weeks anyway. It's like she's periodically motherly. Sometimes she's like my best friend, and sometimes it's like I don't even know her. Like she's ambivalent about being my mom. But then again, no one wants to be the mom of the black sheep. Plus I don't give her grandchildren. Not that I wouldn't.

And I'm still trying to stay away from the phone. Because my life is still happening somehow and I want to share it like always. Every now and then something interesting happens, something he would be interested in hearing about, but it still seems so pathetic and sad to know that only one person is able to validate the stuff you care about. Only one person is there to make sure you don't sell out. To keep it real. So it feels fake without him. It feels phony. It feels pointless.

So here are the counts:
85 hours. breakfast: none. lunch/dinner: EZ Out Burger. movies: 3. cried: 9x. presents: 3. calls: 1. postcards: 1. urges to call: too many to count. crappy class lectures: 2. beach visits: 2. bottles of wine: 3. chapters read: 1. holidays dreaded: 2 for now. persons dearly missed: 1.

Lost and Found

72 hours. 3 days. Not even half a week. It still feels like every minute stretches out interminably. The mail for the week has come and gone and I'm now counting down to next week's delivery. And it's just starting to settle in my mind. I'm alone. Alone. By myself. On my own. I took my pill this morning and wondered why I even bothered. No one wants to have sex with me. Not that I couldn't use it. Pills are for people who have people. And I got nothin'. I'm stuck with all the crap I started and don't know how to finish. Stuff that I thought I could do when I had help, but now that I don't it seems impossible.

I watched Crumb today. And all I can think is I can't show this to my class. They'll revolt. They won't be able to handle it. But I don't know what else to show. Crumb is a weirdo, but so is everyone. But no one wants to think they are. Which is why they can't handle it. But I'm feeling scared about what to do about this movie and my class and I want to call him for his support and opinions but I'm also worried about having to start over from zero when I'm so close to one hundred.

Not that it makes any difference. Because I don't feel any better. I'm starting to feel numb, like everything is getting soft and it doesn't matter what happens from one moment to the next. My nihilistic tendencies are starting to take root. It's about time. Because I don't want to care about anything. Because caring is too painful. As soon as you start caring, it's over. You're only setting yourself up for bad things.

I first wondered about how people care about each other in high school. Because I would have a crush on some boy for some unknown reason, and he would all but ignore me and ask my best friend to the Homecoming Dance. I may have been skinny, but she was popular and athletic and a boy could be seen with her. But no boy ever liked me. And I couldn't fathom why no boy liked me or how people found other people that liked them. It seemed so impossible. So I gave up on them.

And then I got to college, and there was this whole slew of boys that didn't know what a nerd I was all my life and didn't remember that time I threw up in third grade and they just saw this skinny girl. And I thought that now I could find someone I liked that liked me for sure. I hung out with a couple of boys and then I met this one and we really seemed to like each other and we made out a couple of times and then he told me he had a girlfriend back home and they were going to get married and I was crushed because I thought he liked me but I was really just a substitute.

I thought sometimes things were getting better, because I would meet someone who was interested, but it always faded after about a week. And that's been how it is for almost ten years. But then I met someone who seemed crazy about me and I thought he was the cat's meow and I thought this is it, this person really wants me and I will never get tired of him. And he kept saying, this is the real thing, I know it, and I was glad because I thought so too.

But then he started saying things like "you're clingy" and "I don't want my friends to be right" and "I feel like that couple that has a baby because they think it will fix their relationship". I was confused because I didn't know there was anything wrong with our relationship that needed fixing and I got hysterical because I thought he was going to leave me. And he promised that he never would, that he had no intention of leaving me and I calmed down.

And then we took a wonderful trip together and two days after we got back that was the end. So I found myself in the same exact place as tenth grade when the boy I thought would change my life rejected me. And I'm filled with the same confusion as back then because I still don't understand how I will ever get someone to like me back. Because this seemed like it; he even said so. But in the end it wasn't. How do people find each other? I found him. But he didn't want to be found. So now I'm lost.

Dis-ease

I still hurt. My foot feels like it's broken. I don't know what to do with it anymore.

But I got my male.

At least on paper. It's the bright spot in the middle of a bunch of dark days. This little card that was in his possession yesterday has now been transferred to me. And my package was transferrred to him. He's not going to open it untill Saturday. It's a nice gesture, but not necessary. The burden has not waned. But realization, of course, has said hello.

He doesn't miss me. Not like I miss him. His life goes on. He doesn't pick up the phone, then stare at it before putting it back down again. He doesn't look around and see my influence. And I even left the painting, even though I wanted it at the time. He doesn't think that the knock at the door, or that noise behind him is someone else. He's not thinking about 2% milk or the beach or other stupid things that get me from this moment to the next. He's not listening to music and thinking, yes, this is how I feel, or could someone else be listening to the same thing.

He can get through it. He has rituals. The things that happen every day to keep things normal. I have nothing. I never got to form rituals. My life is constantly messed up. I have the weekly writing ritual that is dependent on his. That's it. So now I'm stuck with some sort of OCD; counting everything I can think of. The number of papers I read, the number of movies I watched, what I ate, how many cars went by the house, how many minutes have passed, how many petals on the poinsettia bush, how many pairs of shoes are on the floor, how many blankets on the bed, how many bottles of wine...

It's a disease of dis-ease.

Ne me quitte pas

49 hours.
Breakfast: none
Lunch: none
Movie: Bread and Tulips
Cried: 6 times

This is officially the longest we've gone without talking. But it might as well be nothing because it's all I can think about. Everything leads back to this place. I wonder what he is doing right now. It seems hopeless. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, right? And I know that his life is progressing just as normally as before. I'm sure he occasionally stops and thinks, oh yeah, her, but then goes on drinking his coffee or reading or riding his bike or whatever he's doing. And then he calls Big D because she always makes him feel better.

Ne me quitte pas. I say it over and over and over but it's too late. It was too late months ago when Catherine Deneuve was singing it. Maybe it never really meant anything in the first place. But it doesn't stop me from hoping that at some point it will have some sort of effect. That it will make anyone listen.

The thing I look forward to today is the mail. I'm hoping my postcard is in it because it's been all I can think of for the past 2 days. It's really the only thing that's keeping me from total meltdown. Was I wrong to cut off all other forms of communication? Is this worse than the pain of always wanting more? I wish I had encouraging words to tell me everything is going to be ok. That I'm doing the right thing. That I'm not crazy and I'm not pathetic and I'm not stupid. But he was really the only one who was good at that sort of thing. So I'm screwed, because I only have myself to talk to, and I'm not very good at consolation. I only tell myself to keep it together.

Never

Just passed 34 hours. It's like extended hyperventilation. I was driving to school, walking to the library, walking to class, watching a movie, giving the lecture, driving home, and always thinking what time is it. How long has it been? It feels like eternity. It's making me tired, making my class tired. Film Noir just isn't the same when you're sleepy. But I'm sitting there watching Anna Schmidt sacrifice her own life for Harry Lime, and I get it. And she doesn't care what kind of person he is, only that she loves him. I'm already falling flat without him to encourage me. Hasn't it been two weeks yet?

So I'm back here under my quilt, trying to take care of my feet as well as I know how, wishing he were here to make everything feel better and listening to Ani because she always seems to hit all the right places. And her tickets went on sale 4 days ago and I let it pass, because now I don't have anyone to go with me. It would have been fun. Just like Palm Springs would have been fun, and Lyttle Vegas, and the Marina hotel and the Newport hotel and Hawai'i and Paris and Napa and all the other things we talked about doing all the time but will obviously never do. Because those are things you do with girlfriends. And it is painfully obvious that I don't make the grade. Never did.

I had my phone in my hand earlier today and it killed me to not call him. Because I really want to hear his voice. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. Because I don't feel better than I did a week ago. And I know I'm hurting him and that's the last thing I ever wanted to do. And I don't think these feelings will ever go away. The thought that there is someone in this world that feels perfect in every way will never be trumped by anything or anyone. Why would I sacrifice perfection for something else? Something else would only be a sorry substitute. It's better to be without. It's all or nothing at all. Half a love never appealed to me. (yes, I know I'm stealing song lyrics, but I'm heartbroken, so back off) I'm the hopeless romantic that believes in the starry eyed lovers that are a match made in heaven. I believe in storybooks. I believe in the beauty of simple love that doesn't need observers or proof or justification and it just is what it is. I realize I sound like a raving lunatic, especially because my storybook doesn't have a happy ending. But I still wish for things to turn around. I wish for him to come back and sweep me off my feet and say I can't believe I've been so stupid, what I wanted all the time was right in front of me.

But he uses words like Never way too often. We'll Never be together. I'm Never going to feel differently. Things are Never going to change. I'm Never going to be your boyfriend. I'm Never going to love anyone. Never, Never, Never.

Drama Queen

Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

she

Elbow

Elbow, originally uploaded by ocean1000.

he

Mantra

I hid in my room all morning, in The Middle with the blinds closed. I didn't know where I was when I first woke up, but then it all came rushing back to me and I wish I had some more wine to help me forget again. And the cleaning people came in and didn't know I was there, which is just fine. I got the opportunity to observe (aurally) people working in my house when they didn't know I was there. And I wish I could understand Spanish but I do know they talked a lot about bathrooms and windows since just about every sentence had ventana or bano in it. And they seemed to be there forever. But I didn't really care because listening to them banter with each other pulled me out of myself a little bit. But I kept falling back asleep and dreaming about weird things and my neck was hurting from all the crying I've done lately. But sleep is nice. It's really the only time I get to forget what I've done to myself. And I stop worrying about what's going to happen next. Because that's about all I think about when I'm awake and it really sucks. I was in the car on the way to class today and felt like I was on the verge of losing it yet again. I just want to sit on the beach and sort everything out. Today's mantra: keep it together keep it together keep it together

Counting

Breakfast: none
Lunch: leftover mac & cheese

I'm counting the hours as they pass: 2, 10, 18, 24, 26, 27, 27 1/2.

Bad tv. There's the doorbell, and a knock at the door. And not just a regular knock, but a playful one, like he always does. And there's a jump in my heart, thinking that maybe it's him and the counting is over. But it's not. It's some weird guy calling himself Jimbo and talking about god knows what. And he eventually works his way into my house and looks around saying god this is a nice house. who's pool table. man you're cool. man you have a lot of wine. got any pinot noir? it's my favorite kind. And I'm appalled at his audacity to help himself to my house but it's also a distraction from the mac n cheese and the counting. So I gave him some money and sent him on his way. And I'm counting again. Trying not to crack.

Downward Spiral

This is the feeling of complete isolation, and I have brought it upon myself. I am left only with the pain from many months ago and the pain from recent times. It's little things that seem big. Like not being invited to hang out before dinner. He and Big D had a little tea party beforehand and came to dinner together, and I was treated like all the other plebes. Like I don't matter. Like I'm no one. And he wonders why I feel replaced. Why I feel ignored.

So I had to get out. I was hurting all the time because he was being so successful at not treating me special. He was doing so well at not leading me on. Sometimes the illusion is easier. And I've been sitting here, counting minutes, hours, both past and future. When I last saw him, when I'll see him again, when everything got so fucked up. I'm desperately trying to remember all the good times, but I seem to be recalling them in the context of blindness. I couldn't see the clues that were stacking up, telling me he wanted me gone. I couldn't see the bulldozer around the corner, waiting to obliterate me.

I relive every second of the past year and I still can't fathom how someone could say they love you one day, then the next day shrug their shoulders and say 'oops, guess I was wrong'. Was I so bad? So incompatible? Annoying? Ugly? Relationships are a lot easier to let go of when there actually is something wrong. But when they seem perfect, it's inconceivable.

I feel like the castaway of an island, watching the horizon for anyone that can save me, wondering how I'm ever going to get out of this. And now I'm making little scratches on the trees to show how long I've been here, without him. It feels heavy. I've lost someone I loved as well as the only person who knows how to put me back together and my best friend. I feel lost. And I know it's only a matter of time before panic sets in. But this time I am the wretched abandoner, not the abandonee. It's only a matter of time before I fall flat on my face without his support. He may or may not know how helpless I am. His notes get me through class, his insight helps me see, and him just being who he is inspires me. It sounds so pathetic, but it's true. I think my soul has deserted me in favor of staying with him. Wish I could do the same.

All I can think of are all the things I would have told him if I wasn't such a wretch. The stories about work, about friends, about funny little things that happen to us every day. And I want to, but the pain in my chest stops me. And the pain in my neck and back and shoulders reminds me how I got here; from hours of shameless sobbing that never really stops. It only subsides for a while, like a tide. And I wonder what he's doing, how things are going. If his life is normal yet, if he's thinking about me, who he's talking to, what he's saying. What he's planning for the holiday weekend that he already planned on doing without me. It's a downward spiral that seems bottomless. All I can do is hunker down in The Middle and wait for whatever it is that's coming my way. Which is probably nothing. And the four same thoughts keep running through my head: I love him, I miss him, I hurt, and I did this to myself.

Sap

Sap
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Moon Set

Last night I saw one of the coolest things I've ever seen. I saw the moon set. I didn't even know it was possible. He and I walked down to the beach after my poorly timed meltdown on account of the night being so clear and the waves being so loud. I was surprised he wanted to go, but I wasn't complaining. It was so beautiful. It was an exact half moon, orange from the dust of the Santa Annas. And the sky was so clear it almost seemed like it wasn't even real. There were bright blue stars everywhere that I'd never seen before. The moon hovered just above the horizon for a while, then sunk into the water while we watched. And we turned around and walked back and my feet were freezing but I felt like it was worth it.

It wasn't at all how I thought my evening would go; standing next to this man, maybe for the last time, watching the moon fall out of the sky.

Resolutions

I am vehemently opposed to making New Year's Resolutions. I have ongoing resolutions. Most of them start around the time of my birthday (which is the only holiday I really observe). However, here is the list. Some of them have been on it for a while and are still far from acheivement, while others are brand new.

1. Don't buy any clothing that mentions words like "padded", "figure enhancing" or "slimming". There's no point.
2. Stop buying makeup. You don't know how to use it, so stop trying.
3. Read something. Your brain is rotting.
4. Write something. With a pen. Your hands are starting to atrophy.
5. Go outside. The sun is shining.
6. See the sunset. Make a point.
7. For chrissake, stop falling in love. He's only going to leave you, you dumb bitch.
8. Clean up. It won't kill you.
9. Light candles. Isn't that what you bought them for?
10. Disconnect sometimes. That means cell phone and laptop at the same time.
11. Take care of your feet.
12. Stop bitching.
13. Stop telling the same boring stories repeatedly. Just stop talking altogether.
14. Stop whining and crying.
15. Be nicer to your family. Yes, they can be real jerks sometimes, but so can you. It could be a lot worse.
16. Watch more movies.
17. Stop comparing yourself to Big D. You'll never get to her level.
19. Eat. And stop eating that crap from the food court.
20. Fuck. Learn how to count.
21. Stop taking Cosmo quizzes. You already know the answer, and they're depressing anyway.
22. Stop buying lingerie. You sleep in The Middle, spinster.
23. Drink more wine. Especially the good stuff.
24. Update your software. Computer geeks everywhere are sneering at you.
25. Concentrate on your work. This is what you wanted, remember?
26. Stop fidgeting. It's annoying.
27. Look at people when they talk to you. You're being rude.
28. Be independent. No one is going to help you anymore.
29. Stop checking the phone. He's not going to call.
30. Keep in touch. Yes, it's work, but they are your friends and they like you even when you're a jackass.
31. Stop criticizing. Ok, it's a hard one, but at least keep it to yourself.
32. Figure out how to laugh. It used to be fun, remember?
33. Stop worrying about people liking you. More people liked you when you weren't so paranoid.
34. Don't preach. It's annoying.
35. Know when you're not wanted. You should've been working on this a long time ago.
36. Don't overstay your welcome. See #35.
37. Stop having meltdowns. It's getting old.
38. Stop putting pressure on people. Word is, it makes them feel trapped, dumbass.
39. Control your emotions. Count to ten or something, but geez, get it tofuckinggether.
40. Take your own advice.

Brood

Brood
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Another Link

Today was a very sad day. It's another link in the chain to my current despair, and a big one at that. Our first date was one year ago today. It was so much warmer then. I remember trying on about everything in my closet, but especially every little black dress I owned. And I didn't want to get cold, but I didn't want to wear something big and bulky and non-flattering either, so I was conflicted about what to wear. And then I found a great LBD that I had forgotten about with long sleeves and a turtleneck that was made of wool. But when I put it on, I discovered a hole in one of the sleeves and was thoroughly non-plussed. So I had to go with the old standby LBD, the one that gets me out of just about every jam. I don't remember where or when I got it, or how much I paid for it, but whatever it was, it's worth every penny. So I wore it, with my sassy and strappy red velvet shoes, my black shawl, and my cool beaded purse that can hold my driver's license, some bills, a credit card, and car keys and that's about it. I can also fit lipstick if I pack it carefully.

It was the first time I had ever been to his house. And of course it was dark so I couldn't read the numbers so I had to call him and it turned out I was standing right in front of his house. I felt like such an idiot. But back then it didn't seem to matter. And we went to dinner and were waited on by a hip young guy but I just really wanted to ask him about the wine and eat something. I remember the lobster bisque in the tiny cups and it triggered my memory of the chef ex-boyfriend and his Amuse and I wondered if he was paying attention at this very moment. And then we shared a salad and I had duck, because I always have duck because I love it and I'm not sure but I think he had tuna. I'm pretty sure it was seafood. And we had a bottle of wine and ended up with a glass of port for me and a cappucino for him and at that time it was one of the most fabulous dinners I had ever had. Definitely top five (it's hard to compete with a chef). And we talked just like we did at the coffee place and just like on the phone but it was better because our everyday lives weren't there and we could just be with each other and not worry about anything else. And we went back to his house and I knew I should leave because a lady always leaves, but I was having such a good time with him and I didn't want it to stop. So we talked and I stayed and changed into sweats (always keep spare clothes in the car) and we slept and he held me just like it was something he'd been doing with me for a long time already.

And it was the start of something that I thought was unbreakable. But history and your own shortcomings catch up with you eventually, and this was no exception.

It paints a stark contrast to today. Not only did I not see him, he isn't even in the same county today. And I spent the day trying not to think about it but of course failing miserably and being glad I was at home alone feeling sick to my stomach instead of in public feeling sick to my stomach. And the same thoughts ran through my head that run through it every day, but faster and with more urgency.

So I stayed in my dark room most of the day until the Film Fest that I felt obligated to go to, since there was a chance they would be showing my work. (in my opinion, it's really bad form to not show up for your own screenings) But he called me on my way there, interrupting my thoughts of what he and I were doing at this very moment a year ago and what we were doing now. I was confused when he called, because all I could think was Why? But I was also glad. And when I got to the Fest, there were so many people there, people that I knew, but had nothing to say to. And I still felt sick. And my feet were hurting. And my heart was hurting.

I sat through it bravely to the intermission, even though one of the films included dialog trying to sound intelligent, but ending up saying "whom which" in a sentence, which thoroughly pissed me off. I wandered around aimlessly during the intermission, with no one to talk to, until I ran into the guy from class that is so nice to everyone and is really smart, too. And we got to talking and my year old date came up in conversation and this guy said he thought quirky blonde girl and my date were an item because he saw them kissing once. And because they really seemed to like each other and were together a lot. And I thought I was going to throw up or faint or lose it on the sidewalk like the mother. But I just gritted my teeth and said Oh really, you think so?, hoping he wouldn't notice. And it was nice to feel like I'm not imagining things when someone who doesn't care either way is thinking the same thing I'm thinking, but at the same time, I don't want the possibility of their togetherness to be more possible. I would rather be crazy.

So my year had been bookended with both sides of the spectrum. The first with new stuff that's fun, the last with new stuff that's not fun. At least not fun for me.

Oz

So it's finally over. The last day of the semester. The one I started with a sippy cup of wine because my nerves were getting the better of me. I should have bookended it with another, but I didn't think of Wine My Saviour until a couple of hours ago. So now I'm one step closer to being shoved into the real world, although I do plan on stretching graduate school out as long as possible. But I'm still marching towards an inevitable fate.

I've decided the people at work hate me. They only scheduled me to work one day this week, and it just happens to be the same day as their Christmas party. It's a little annoying, but in reality I'm not that upset about it. I wasn't planning on going anyway. It just would have been nice if they had wanted me to be there. By the way, I think I must have the plague this season.

Yesterday I hit another milestone of sorts. And again today. So it's really not a milestone, but more of a return to old stuff. I found myself at the same place I am every afternoon, but on the outside. Like I did in the good ol' days. Because I hate the corporate coffee joint. And some time last year I started going there, but sat just outside with my books. And he came over and joined me and it was the start. Or the end.

He eventually coaxed me inside, and I never sat outside again until yesterday. I sat there knowing he was inside, but not even daring to look because I also knew he would be too busy for me. And I knew he wanted a change of scenery. It was as close as I dared to come. And it was scary and painful and so much lonelier than it was last year. I wanted him to come and join me like he used to; to stand in front of me until I noticed his white leather tennis shoes next to me. But that's all done.

I remember the first couple of conversations we had there just outside the coffee joint, and I remember feeling like the world was opening up, turning to color from black and white like Dorothy in the land of Oz. I remember all the things we talked about, and how fascinated he was with everything I said. How much we laughed and joked at ourselves and each other. Now it is exactly opposite. The world is closing in again, turning back to black and white, but I must say, I don't want to go back to that place I came from. I want Oz. I don't want the long silences while he scans the people walking behind me. I don't want the glances at the clock. I want the staring and the laughing and the fun of when I was interesting. When there were new things to share and new stories to tell and nothing had been said yet and I couldn't possibly be boring even if I tried. I want the Emerald City and the Horse of a Different Color and the man behind the curtain and the Ruby Slippers and the Yellow Brick Road. There's no place like Oz.

The Political Quiz Show

For anyone who doesn't know if they're liberal or conservative:
The Political Quiz Show

One More Day

I think I have insomnia. Or a version of it. I have been tired and feeling yucky all day because I didn't sleep at all last night and now I'm wide awake. I don't understand it. I should be tired.

I'm also experiencing pre-stiff neck pain. I can feel my neck stiffening up for some reason and I don't know how to stop it. I wish I could make a 911 call to my chiropractor. And I've been nursing my terrible feet since I got home. I'm falling apart. In every way. Can't sleep, can't walk, can't move my head. It's the apocalypse for my body. And my mind too. But soon I get to rest. Or at least I hope I do. One more day. One more day. One more day.

Hip

Hip
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Schedules

I'm back where I started. Back in the food court by myself with a sub and a soda. Back in a place where no one knows me, and no one cares. I found myself looking around me at all the other women, trying to figure out which ones are single. And of course in my mind, they all have wonderful lovers that shower them with attention. And I know it's silly. But I can't help it. I wonder if I look like that to other women. Like someone who has someone. I can't imagine that I would.

So I'm off by myself again because he's busy and has things to do. He made sure to tell me ahead of time. I understand. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. And I don't even have any business having feelings about it. I keep telling myself just one more day, one more day, one more day. But it's not really one more day because I think my days ran out a long time ago. Or maybe they are just stringing together into a blurry mess.

I'm going through my schedule, through my days for the next week, the next month, the next semester, the next year. And I see an endless string of reminders stretching out in front of me that I used to be happy and someone used to love me. Or at least I thought so. And I see how hopeless I am because my schedule goes down in the context of him. And I try to look at it another way and I can't seem to manage it. But I am trying. It's not easy. It's not comfortable. And I don't know how to fix it.

I should have figured it out a long time ago. But I was stupid and in love and believed everything. I look back and see how and where I should have bowed out. But it's too late, and there's nothing I can do about it now. It's so ridiculous to still be hurting after almost a year. And he thought it would go away, and I actually thought it would too. But it hasn't even lessened, much less gone away. He told me his mother lost it on the sidewalk and I understood. I feel like that every day. I just hide it better. But it doesn't go away.

Scrooge

I started thinking today about what a Scrooge I am. I hate the holiday season. I don't like Christmas shopping and I don't like egg nog and I don't like Chistmas parties or secret santa exchanges or sending cards or any of that other stuff. About the only thing I like is all the shiny and furry stuff you see this time of year. It's like the whole country goes Vegas style for 2 months.

I didn't used to be this way. I used to look forward to giving gifts and seeing family and friends and yes, even shopping. I used to plan for Christmas during July. And now I'm totally in favor of abolishing the holiday(s) forever. They only bring bad things.

Like work. And holiday "cheer" that isn't real. And uptight people on the road and in the mall. And fake family togetherness. I've come to dread seeing my family during the holidays, because of all the people that should like me for who I am, they are the furthest from it. They treat me like a two-headed dog. Not normal enough.

And I'm tired of seeing all the things that remind me that I'm alone and holidays are really meant for people who have someone. I'm tired of the jewelry commercials, and the 'what to get for that special someone' ads, and the bring a date to the party crap. It's like being single is a crime this time of year. Not that it's what I want. Far from it. But I don't have a choice in the matter. So instead I have to suffer through the nauseating phoniness that pretty much everyone engages in.

I had to go shopping with a friend yesterday so he could get something for his true love and get the female perspective. While he is a dear and trusted friend with good intentions, I couldn't help but inwardly lament that no one is concerned about pleasing me with something fabulous right now. And knowing I have no one to please anyway. So I can only worry about myself. This time it's all about what I want. Because I'm not on the list of what others want this year. Or any year. Or maybe never.

So I say fuck Christmas. Fuck presents. Fuck cheer. I am going to stay in bed where I don't have to be subjected to such torture.

Finished

I finished. It took a year and one day to do it. I would like to say I'm proud of myself, and in a way I am, but sometimes it's hard to say goodbye to things that live with you, inside you, for such a long time. And now I have to let it go. It is somewhat satisfying. I don't feel like I've accomplished anything, because it feels like it was all for naught. I started out with such good intentions, high hopes, and glowing expectations of the good things it would bring to my life, and none of them have come to fruition. Almost like a bad stock tip. Because I do feel bankrupted. Or at least disrupted. Interrupted.

I have a compulsion to start over, begin again. But I'm also afraid. I've found the path to be thorny and difficult, even if it starts out well. I wrung out the last droplets of stuff from what's left of my heart onto these pages with black interspersed upon it. I can hear it when I see, and I can remember what I heard a year and one day ago, and I feel the memory of it running through me as if it were now. It was something I didn't know how to name, something I couldn't control, but something I had to put down into visual form before it ate me up. How greedy I am. I needed to hear and see because feeling wasn't enough. Or I wanted corroboration. I wanted to hear as beautifully as I felt. I thought I could make it happen.

And perhaps I did, for a while. And I didn't know how twisted I had become until I listened again. It was all there on paper, in black and white. I was out of sync, off the rhythm. I had slipped out of the key. I tried, but I couldn't make it back again. So I had to resolve without satisfaction, without completing the circle. But now I'm done. It's over. Time to put it away.

The Middle

A couple of days ago I threw all the extra crap off my bed and slept in the middle. I haven't visited that place in a very long time. I wish I could say it felt great and empowering, but it didn't. It felt desolate and vast. I reached out my arms and curled my fingers around the edges. I wondered if he does that. If he curls his fingers and sleeps in the middle. Or if he is...well, I decided to stop wondering.

It's the middle. My body doesn't want to be there. I can feel some strange force pulling it to the side. I wake up and my legs are stretched towards their usual side. The quilt is drifting to the side. The painting is in front of me. I'm wishing I had a smaller bed. Then I wouldn't be reminded of how much extra space there is. How much I can't use. Maybe I should move to the floor.

I can barely reach the phone on my dresser. Sometimes I wish I couldn't reach it at all. Because it often brings bad things. And I never know when that's going to happen. Too bad caller ID can't tell you what kind of conversation it's going to be. I feel far from stuff when I'm in the middle. It's more like swimming. I have to get up to get stuff a lot more.

I thought the middle would bring me some sort of feeling of accomplishment, of new beginning. But for the past two nights I have laid awake. Letting my eyes adjust to the dark, then picking out the light and form of my bedroom. Gauging the new distances to things; the red candle, the painting, the list of books, the mirrors. the music. It's like the physical reality of being alone. The reality that taking half of the bed out of the middle isn't going to make any difference to anyone. The reality that this is really nowhere. And I'm in the middle.

Smell of Sports

For anyone missing hockey this year, this should make you feel better. And worse.


Smell of Sports

Every Minute

I'm trying to finish this thing that's been haunting me for quite some time now. Over a year, actually. Oddly enough, it's one of the few things I never talk about. Because it's troublesome, and I have a hard time coping with it because of what it does to me, and also because it's inatimate and I shouldn't have to cope with it. It should just be what it is. But of course it's not. Every time I think I am almost done, something happens and it spins out of control again. And sometimes I just have to put it away because I can't stand to pay attention to it. I am crazy. It's true. And I want someone to blame, someone to pin it on. I know just who, too, but I can't do it. Because I am culpable too. I just wish I'd known before what I was getting myself into. I might have proceeded with more caution if I'd had all the facts. But maybe not.

I look at the life I've made so far and try to find the spots I could have fixed things. But it's really impossible. Because it's not about the things I've done. It's about who I am. Over the past 10 years (actually more) I've gone from place to place, person to person, and not done anything twice. (for anyone interested, that's the name of a really great song: 'i never do anything twice') I have lived in four different states, six different towns ranging in size from 3000 people to a million or more. I have had a string of shallow relationships, most of them lasting less than 14 days, and a few better relationships lasting less than 9 months, and been left by each lover in almost 50 different ways. But most of them just stop calling. I've had four and a half different majors and gone to five different colleges. I've been in the circus and lived in a trailer. I've had a dozen different paying jobs and I haven't lived in the same building for more than 2 years since I left my parents' house. Most places I've stayed a year or less.

So maybe everything is always my own fault. Because stability just isn't in the stars for me. I have the gypsy blood and am doomed to forever roam the earth alone. I tried to settle down and get comfortable, but he wouldn't let me. I got kicked out like the filthy beggar I am. I'm a hobo. Is this forever? Is it the "dues" that everyone says you have to pay? I'm tired. I've run out of gas. I don't want to roam anymore. I just want to come home and have someone be happy about it. Someone to take care of me when I need it. I want to sit in front of the fire and listen and be still. I want to sink into a chair and rest. I want the world to slow down. I want to lay on the beach and look up at the stars and not ever have to worry about what time it is or where I have to be next. I don't want there to be a next. I only want a now. Right this minute. Which is every minute.

Question

I have been cut off. Like a severed arm. No reading. No more. I feel strange, like I no longer have a voice or my opinion or feelings no longer matter or aren't worth talking about. And when I feel this strange segregation I get cold. Not metaphorically cold, but actually cold. I shiver and have to get under as many covers as possible and I can feel goosebumps all down my back as I sit and shiver and wonder how to make it stop. And my back gets sore and my mind won't stop the shivering.

But all I wanted to do today was ask a simple question. Always with the questions. They seem to rotate from one to the next every day. I felt like I was in high school again, waiting for the perfect time, trying to make it happen. But he stayed in work mode the whole time, and time was short. My question went unasked, and unanswered. I only needed five minutes. But the clock ran out on me.

I went to teach people who are bitter and stubborn and they bothered me and made my hands shake and my stomach turn when they challenged me because they want me to know they are not afraid of me. And it's annoying, because that stuff is supposed to end when you're fifteen.

And I went back, hoping for a second shot at questioning. And I'm still batting zero. But now I get to take a swing at the pitcher, don't I? He went right past me with a glib comment and back to the front where they could cajole and be silly together, and she could shorten every word to one letter in her hip quirky way that so escapes me. I felt avoided. Or at least forgotten. And I can see how much fun she is when I'm not around because she tightens up when she sees me. And it's not exactly jealousy, but more like sadness that I know I can't provide the things she provides, no matter how hard I try. And it makes my question moot. Because I guess I have my answer when I see them. So I'm hanging around for nothing. Or as nothing. And I want to call and make one more attempt at the question, but it seems so stupid now. I have already failed twice at getting five minutes; what makes now any different? And after three times, I'm just a pest, and then of course I have my answer again. It doesn't change.

Focus

I'm trying to stay focused. Trying to keep things straight in my head. Trying not to panic. For some reason, my sudden lack of schedule is making me confused. I know I have stuff to do, but it's not going together in my head like it's supposed to. And I'm a total phony at work and they'll know before too long. I don't know what's wrong with my brain. I can't even comprehend little stuff. And my foot is killing me.

I really just want to stay in bed and pretend nothing is going on. But I guess I can do that tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. I want to be antisocial (actually, I already am, but I want to do it right.) Because being social gets me in trouble. Lots of it.

I want to finish what I started, but it's proving to be difficult because memory is a bitch. It takes you places you don't want to go and rubs your nose in it until you want to puke. I'm trying really hard to finish things up, clean up my mess, but it's not working. I end up just dragging things out even further and making more of a mess with even more loose ends. I'm fucked up. And I'm afraid if I tie everything up I won't have anything else to hold on to. Everything really will be over. For good. Because it already feels like it's all over.

I know this isn't making any sense, but what did you expect?

Cat's Ear

Cat's Ear
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

Poof

I'm not sure how to find the words to describe what's going on inside me right now. (trust me, I'll make an attempt, however poorly) There's this cold, dead emptiness that started in my chest and has flowed down to my fingertips. My head feels empty too. I'm not happy, but I'm not sad, or angry. I'm nothing. I am a void. I don't understand it.

It's as though all the crap that's inside me went through some vacuum or emotional black hole. But I wouldn't exactly say it feels good. It doesn't. It feels like nothing. And it's kind of bothersome. What happened to my insides? Overnight I have become an emotional zombie roaming the countryside. And I don't even know how it happened. But I suddenly feel like I really am talking to no one. No one is listening, no one wants to hear. No one wants me to hear them.

I feel like a poof of smoke at a magic show. Necessary for the tricks, but instantly forgotten when the rabbit appears. And if I stuck around too long, people start to cough and rub their eyes. My mind is still working as fast as ever, but it has been disconnected from the rest of me. Am I broken, or am I better? Is it better to not be read all over? Is it better to keep things hidden?

I think that perhaps I really have lost my hope. Because somewhere in the last score of hours, I stopped thinking something magical might happen. I started realizing that this is me. This is my life. I can't get rid of it. I can't fix it. I won't ever be different. Everything kind of turned gray and cloudy, like the smoke. I see the tethers between people being severed one by one, and the last few are the easiest to cut. And the hardest.

All I would have to do is walk away. No one would fight with me or argue or try to convince me to do something different. They would just let me. And it feels strange. It feels indifferent. It feels empty. I am only here because I stubbornly refuse to leave. I planted my feet and dug in and got dragged down the street because I refused to let go. But I'm seeing how badly I've overstayed my welcome. People are starting to cough.

Giving Season

This is where I'm supposed to say I'm starting over. The time when I pull myself up by my bootstraps and say something trite like 'it's a new day' and get a whole new outlook. But it's not going to happen. I can't do it. I feel this enormous hole in my chest where my heart used to be. It's so much heavier without the heart. And I closed all the blinds so it stays dark in here. And I'm really looking forward to the days in the near future when I can lay in bed all day and no one will bother me. I can embrace my inner loser. Because she needs a hug.

It's not fucking fair. Yes, I'm upset over the same crap that I'm always upset about. But who can really blame me? I constantly oscillate between being profoundly sad, mildly angry, somwhat jilted, slightly bitter, and utterly hopeless. And it seems that it's ok for me to have feelings but not show them. No one wants to see or hear them. I get it. But that doesn't mean they aren't there. I try to control them, but that doesn't mean I always succeed.

Last night I found myself wishing I could be under the influence permanently. Because that's the only time it seems like nothing matters and I don't have to worry about anything. But then I would 'have a problem'. Is it really a problem if it's the only time you feel good? Sounds more like a solution to me.

And I don't want to feel like myself. I want to feel like nothing. That's really more my niche anyway. Sitting in the dark with no e-mails and no calls and no letters and no friends and no schedules and no thinking. That's where I belong.

Starting over isn't my thing. I've been there, done that. Being positive is so 1993. If I keep doing that I'll sound like some crazy middle aged woman who says stupid shit like 'everything happens for a reason' or 'love will happen when I least expect it' or 'I am working on loving myself'. Because no one (especially me) really believes that. Being positive is so self-destructive. It only sets you up for failure, which is inevitable. I figure things will go much smoother if I just resign myself to the fact that I am a failure, there are no anniversaries for people like me, and holidays are for working because who would ever want to spend one with you, you sorry excuse for space?

This is a long post. Sorry.

So it's Sunday. It's dark. My readership has dropped to zero because my emotions are out of control. I have a hole in my chest. I've given up. Given in. Given out.

When they said it's the season for giving, I didn't know it would mean this.

Ants

Today I woke up and found ants infesting the cookies in the kitchen. And they seemed to come out of nowhere. Ants are like doubts, they come from nowhere, multipy at staggering rates, and it is almost impossible to get rid of them. It makes me wonder if they are the real life manifestation of what's going on in my head. Because I watch them and I can almost feel the same thing going on inside me. They just run around in circles and never really seem to go anywhere.

Yes, I have doubts. Lots of them. And doubts lead to questions, which I can never ask, because they are either too stupid, too pointed, or too pointless for anyone to really take them seriously. So they stay in my head; Questions and Doubt.

About school. About work. About my family. About where I live. About why I'm here. About where I'm going. About how I got here. About who pays attention to me, who likes me, who doesn't like me, who I like, who I pay attention to, who I don't.

What if I'm getting everything wrong?

It seems like things should go better than they do. I don't get to have things easily like some people. And it makes me wonder if it's because I'm doing the wrong things in the first place. So maybe I'm choosing the wrong schools, the wrong careers, the wrong homes, and especially the wrong people to fall in love with. Because it never works out. Not even a little. I always end up dumped with a broken heart while he trots off into the sunset with some lovely on his arm, laughing together all the way. These bruises aren't supposed to be here. But I keep falling off the happy wagon and I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong. I'm completely inept at life. And I want to know how other people get it right and I don't.

I want these ants to go away. And the doubts too.

Incurable

I went to see Dr. Quack today. He needs help with x-rays. He said I have a twisted navicular bone. No wonder my foot hurts.

I once researched navicular bones in horses. I had a horse that I suspected had Navicular Disease. It's this little tiny bone just above the hoof that is in contact with a tendon that goes all the way into the hoof. Sometimes the bone shifts out of its place and puts pressure on the tendon, causing it to become inflamed. And then the horse goes lame. It's one of those things that becomes a condition, and eventually the bone starts to decay and then you're screwed. Without proper care, a horse with this condition will never be rideable and will most likely end up in the glue factory. It's awful.

And now I have it. Or at least some strange human version of it. Dr. Quack didn't have any ideas on how to fix it. He only had ways to make it hurt less. So I'm afflicted with something that has no real cause or treatment. Only a "we'll try this and see what happens" regimen. It doesn't really surprise me that much. Weird shit like this happens to me all the time. But I can't help but think about that horse I used to have.

Maybe I'm ruined too.

I should probably be led behind the barn and put out of my misery. Because I'm lame. And I'm ruined. And no one wants a lame ruined chick. There is no Chick Rescue organization out there trying to find homes for poor chicks that are unusable anymore. There is no one that is trying to find them a suitable place to live out the rest of their days happily.

I'm twisted and hurting and I just have to grin and bear it. And when I limp, people look at me funny and ask me about my shoes, which I hate. (see "I Love Shoes" post, October 2, 2004) There is no cure for what I have.

And for my horse with the big brown eyes and the white spot in between them, wherever you are: I feel your pain.

No Substitute

Another sad anniversary. They are coming fast and furiously now. December has suddenly become the most hated month of the year. And what a difference a year makes. Last night was the anniversary of the first time we hung out socially. A year ago he was eager to join me at my concert. I was still amazing then. He heard my work, saw my work, and said "I really really like you." And I blushed but he didn't see because it was dark. And before too long his hand was on my knee and my hand was on his. And it felt good to be wanted by someone. Afterwards we had a beer in a dive bar and sat in the car and talked so long the cops showed up to make sure I wasn't being held against my will. And we laughed, or at least he did, because cops make me nervous, even when I haven't done anything wrong. And in the end we shared an awkward but lovely kiss that I wish for every day, because I love the way his hairs tickle my upper lip and how soft his lips are all the time.

This year, everything was squeezed in between being here and getting to there, and I could only be promised half an hour before he ran out of gas. There was no blushing, no beers, no talking and definitely no kissing. There was a squeeze of my arm and an unceremonious "See you later."

Perhaps he was still bothered from the "incident" (his words, not mine) earlier in the day (see "The Cheese"). Why it was bothering him so much I don't know. I think there's something about it that he's not telling me, but I can only go by what he says.

Perhaps things are ending for real. Forever.

Perhaps traditions and rituals can only exist for people that....well, I don't know, but I know I don't get to have traditions. Especially if they involve other people. Because my life is never the same long enough to establish anything by myself, and no one stays in my life long enough to give a shit about making or keeping traditions. A year is a long time. I've never had the same man for more than one December. In fact, there have been few Decembers that I've had any man at all. I have holiday work parties, and I am the one with no date. And this year is no exception. I wouldn't even want to navigate the question, since I'm so terrible at asking the questions I want to ask anyway. There is no sense in trying to find someone else. Because they can't change the way you feel and they can't make you feel loved.

And there is no substitute for the one you love.

Not even after a year.

The Cheese

Sometimes you fuck up and there's nothing you can do about it. Mostly because you don't know you're fucking up until it's too late. And then you're in it and there's no turning back, no matter how many times you go back and think about what you should have done or what you could have done to prevent the fuck up. And sometimes fucking up is so easy.

All I had to do to fuck up today was walk in. I really nailed that one. I merely opened a door, and a whole can of worms came with it. I have never seen two people be so disappointed to see me. I interrupted some sort of tea party that obviously was invite only. How could I know? Suddenly I became this strange intruder, and no one sounded an alarm to let me know. Next time just call security. Or maybe come up with a secret code like "Tomatoes aren't in season" or something to let me know I'm fucking things up. I thought we were all going to be friends, but that was not the plan in this case. Maybe I should make appointments instead of dropping in to say hello. Because no one really wants to say hello to me anyway. It's been done. And it's over.

How do I manage to fuck up everything? I was trying to be social and friendly and jovial, and I ended up with not one, but two cold shoulders. It's like I'm in high school again and I'm trying to fit in with the cool crowd, and they just look at me and walk away. I want to fit in, to be one of the gang, and it's just not working. I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I seem to get myself into trouble when I don't even do anything. I can't get it right.

I guess it really is true: Three is a crowd. So today, I was the cheese. And I was standing alone.