i realize how absolutely cliché it is to say you hate valentine’s day because it’s an evil nonholiday created by Hallmark to stimulate consumerism and what about the other days of the year you should show your sweetie you love them? blah, blah. we’ve all heard it.
and while all of it may be true, it’s completely unrelated to my disdain for this evil nonholiday, which will forever be symbolic of a nuclear bomb blowing up in my chest. for several years now, i’ve spent the day feeling like a jew on christmas, minus the chinese food and trip to the movies. but the indifference to all the gifts and seemingly sacred celebrations that are attached to some religious figure whose very existence is questionable is the same. at least we get the day off for christmas.
it started in 2004, which would have gone down as The Worst Valentine’s Day Ever had it not been for valentine’s day 2010. but let’s back up to 2003, probably my last good valentine’s day. i had a boyfriend named Pablo then, whom i was with for four years — good years during which we shared four very romantic valentine’s days that included dinner, gifts and all that schmooptie pooptie stuff you do when you’re a person who doesn’t hate valentine’s day. because back then, i was an enthusiastic advocate for the day, consumerism aside and included. the flowers, chocolates, expensive meals and great wine are enough to get anyone on board.
then came january 2004, the month Pablo cheated on me, effectively ending our relationship, annihilating me emotionally and lighting the candle of what would become my burning hatred for the day. a few weeks after the breakup, my friend Zahra dragged me to a Match.com singles mixer in Hollywood. did i mention that Zahra is a former beauty queen? no joke. (i encourage you to read more about that here.) in short, it was not a fun night, only adding to my heartache and filling me with an overwhelming desire to call Pablo and ask him to ask me for another chance. thankfully, i resisted.
after that, i spent a couple years living the single vida loca before beginning another serious relationship, the one that would come to define my life in ways no other relationship has — and i mean that in the most positive way imaginable. fast forward to valentine’s day 2006, a time when my then-boyfriend Mo and i were very much in love and living together.
in an effort to reclaim valentine’s day as something i could get behind again, i got Mo a small gift for the occasion and assumed he would reciprocate even though we had never discussed what would happen (or not happen) on that day. he, assuming i was too evolved to care about such a silly little nonholiday, didn’t see what the big deal was. an argument followed, which culminated in me attempting to destroy the gift like a total, mature adult.
after the smoke cleared and tears dried, Mo and i had a very civil discussion about our outlook for valentine’s day and mutually agreed that we would no longer observe it in any way. and, wow, what a HUGE relief. no more agonizing over gifts, trying to plan the perfect evening or piling expectations onto a day that’s too often destined for disappointment. the day had been neutralized and stayed that way for a few years with nary an acknowledgement by either of us. and the truth was that i didn’t miss it one bit.
fast forward to valentine’s day 2010, the day Mo and i broke up. yes, you read that right. because if there’s anything more cliché than hating on valentine’s day, it’s breaking up — or getting engaged — on valentine’s day. and no one does clichés better than i do. being a 35-year-old single, jewish woman who wants kids should be more evidence of my mad skillz. if i had a profile on jdate, i might win the Cliché of the Year Award!
in any case, the fact that Mo and i broke up on valentine’s day had nothing to do with the fact that it was valentine’s day. as unlikely as that statement seems, it’s 100% true. trouble had been brewing for many months and just happened to combust like a powder keg on that day. call it coincidence or irony or bad luck. the eventual end result — as Mo and i kept living together for a few months following the breakup (awful idea, by the way) — was the dissolution of our five-year relationship and the irreversible scarring of a day meant to symbolize joyful love.
now it just symbolizes the worst type of heartbreak for me — the type where you fall apart, certain you’re losing the love of your life. it’s bad enough to feel once, but feeling it twice is a special treat reserved for people who live in the third realm of hell. thankfully, the food isn’t too bad down here. a little on the spicy side.
in the weeks leading up to this day, i could feel the blues setting in, the memories racing back, the regrets bubbling up. i thought i had made peace with most of it and think i’ve done good work since my breakup with Mo, but i’m far from peace. there are still quite a few thoughts that make my blood boil or my lip tremble. you’d think the two years i spent thinking, rethinking and overthinking everything would be enough, but heartache is a scab and valentine’s day is the 7-year-old who can’t stop picking at it.
of course, i realize that i may not always feel this way and there could be a great love coming who will reverse everything once again and blah, blah. i’ve heard those clichés, too. could happen, could not, but at this point it really doesn’t matter to me. the only thing that does matter is getting through this day, so i can file away these feelings and memories for another year.
Showing posts with label breakups. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breakups. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Chakra Kadabra
needless to say, these past few months have been a bit wonky for me, with fallout that i’m still trying to process. if i’m proud of anything at all, it’s that my process as a 34-year-old is so much healthier than it was at 24 when i was more prone to self-destructive behavior. all i will say about that time is thank god this blog didn’t exist back then.
today, my process is much tamer, borderline boring even, as i meditate and do yoga through my stress. i’ve also been spending a lot of time alone, working mostly, but also sitting and thinking, with a restlessness pulling at my insides. it’s a restlessness i know all too well, nondescript but imposing, this time pulling me toward something rather than spinning in place as it has before. until about a month ago, it had been pulling at me nonstop. my choice to attend the Landmark Forum in april was likely a part of its pull, drawing me toward anything that looked like it could help me through my flux.
it’s a mixed bag for me, this self-help stuff. generally, i like some of it, up until the point that i begin to hate it, at which point i hate all of it with a passion. Landmark was a good example of this hatred, with its churchy dogma and stupid lingo of affirmations that required me to submit to them at the expense of everything i knew to be true. fuck that.
self-help books also evoke this hatred, as i cannot get through a single chapter of a self-help book without wanting to vomit. to me, they are like romantic comedies — with the same predictable formula dressed up in new packaging. uninspired and insipid. you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. fuck them, too.
i hear therapy is good, though i’ve never been despite all my closest friends telling me i should go. (what’s up with that, anyway?) but i worry that my bachelors in psychology will render me the Worst Patient Ever, one who will get up and leave the instant i hear the shrink say, “that must have been really hard for you. talk to me about how that made you feel.” yeah, fuck you, too.
i don’t do pills either. i don’t doubt that others need theirs and i don’t judge them for it. they can take their xanax, valium, prozac, lithium and oxycontin. i really don’t care. personal choices are personal. and my personal choices will have me finding joy in my dogs, my friends, fine food, good music, books and art. the meditation, yoga and time alone have also worked wonders. but still, that damn restlessness keeps pulling.
recently, its pull led me to the door of a psychic, who was really more of a healer. she came highly recommended, so i traveled to Cambria for an overnight trip with a friend to see her. i met her for about an hour and a half of conversation and a clearing of the chakras. i’ve seen my fair share of psychics before, one of them very good, but most of them bad to average.
as a psychic, Darcy wasn’t particularly extraordinary. she did see a few things about the future, none of which i care to share here and all of which she qualified with the disclaimer that she’s taking my temperature only on that day and that we could have a different reading on another day. free will and those pesky personal choices make very few things in life preordained.
we talked a little about the past, which i already know, so there’s little point in talking about it. she did see a few things, among them my father’s recent heart problem, which she said has resolved itself for now, which is good. she said my own health was also good. then she told me that one of the “guides” watching over me is a grandmother whose name has an E and N in it. (my maternal grandma’s name was Eugenia.)
then i laid down on a massage table for the chakra clearing and that’s when she really earned her wage. the seven chakras are new agey shit i can really get behind. yoga and meditation had introduced me to them already, but i never had them cleared so i didn’t know what to expect.
Darcy started at my base chakra and worked her way up to my head, her hands not really touching me, just hovering over my body. as she moved up my spine, she would stop and see things. she saw where i was in my cycle, she saw that the titanium rods in my back were near my heart chakra. she said i was too tethered to the past and needed to let it all go, and at one point “pulled out the tethers.” she saw where there were blockages (my third eye chakra) and where there were none (my throat chakra, which she said was clear because i “speak my truth”). she finished by “shooting some light into my spine” and sending positive energy through my body.
the clearing must have lasted less than half an hour. oddly, i didn’t really feel any sensation in my body during the process, not even tingles. but when she was done, wow, did i ever feel amazing. my back felt super straight, my head clear and light, my body perfectly balanced. i was relaxed but awake, calm but energized, as though i had just emerged from a spa. and that pesky restlessness had finally ceased. i took a walk in town afterwards, drank tea (which i rarely drink) and bought a moonstone ring at a local shop. everything was wonderful and illuminated. i was happy and serene.
that evening, i enjoyed a laughter-filled dinner with my friend and a night of dreamless sleep. as we drove back to LA the following day, the goodness didn’t subside, staying with me for an additional few days. then the tide turned and the bloodletting began.
apparently, chakra clearings can produce some intense side effects that include crying fits, feelings of dread and obsessive thoughts about failed relationships. of course, this disclaimer was nowhere on the warning label. but here came the sorrow, pouring out of me like a fountain of vomit and, despite my best efforts, i could not stuff that genie back in the bottle. i was a mess. so i let it pour and pour it did. for two solid weeks, there were tears, vodka drinks and the replaying of far too many sad songs. it was awesome!
actually, it sucked ass, but it also needed to happen. i knew i had been avoiding the heavy processing i needed to do — taking refuge in work, in my bravado, anything that would distract me from the restless pull that needed to pull me to the ground. of course it won out in the end, as it always has, pulling me to the door of the healer who worked her magic on me and gave me not what i wanted, but what i needed.
now, four weeks after the clearing, i am feeling loads better despite the occasional pulls into mess mode. but i don’t fight them anymore. i let the visits come and snake around me, suffocating me momentarily before releasing their grip and taking the sorrow with them when they leave. i know the visits will become less frequent with time. and i know i’ll keep pushing through them because i have to.
today, my process is much tamer, borderline boring even, as i meditate and do yoga through my stress. i’ve also been spending a lot of time alone, working mostly, but also sitting and thinking, with a restlessness pulling at my insides. it’s a restlessness i know all too well, nondescript but imposing, this time pulling me toward something rather than spinning in place as it has before. until about a month ago, it had been pulling at me nonstop. my choice to attend the Landmark Forum in april was likely a part of its pull, drawing me toward anything that looked like it could help me through my flux.
it’s a mixed bag for me, this self-help stuff. generally, i like some of it, up until the point that i begin to hate it, at which point i hate all of it with a passion. Landmark was a good example of this hatred, with its churchy dogma and stupid lingo of affirmations that required me to submit to them at the expense of everything i knew to be true. fuck that.
self-help books also evoke this hatred, as i cannot get through a single chapter of a self-help book without wanting to vomit. to me, they are like romantic comedies — with the same predictable formula dressed up in new packaging. uninspired and insipid. you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. fuck them, too.
i hear therapy is good, though i’ve never been despite all my closest friends telling me i should go. (what’s up with that, anyway?) but i worry that my bachelors in psychology will render me the Worst Patient Ever, one who will get up and leave the instant i hear the shrink say, “that must have been really hard for you. talk to me about how that made you feel.” yeah, fuck you, too.
i don’t do pills either. i don’t doubt that others need theirs and i don’t judge them for it. they can take their xanax, valium, prozac, lithium and oxycontin. i really don’t care. personal choices are personal. and my personal choices will have me finding joy in my dogs, my friends, fine food, good music, books and art. the meditation, yoga and time alone have also worked wonders. but still, that damn restlessness keeps pulling.
recently, its pull led me to the door of a psychic, who was really more of a healer. she came highly recommended, so i traveled to Cambria for an overnight trip with a friend to see her. i met her for about an hour and a half of conversation and a clearing of the chakras. i’ve seen my fair share of psychics before, one of them very good, but most of them bad to average.
as a psychic, Darcy wasn’t particularly extraordinary. she did see a few things about the future, none of which i care to share here and all of which she qualified with the disclaimer that she’s taking my temperature only on that day and that we could have a different reading on another day. free will and those pesky personal choices make very few things in life preordained.
we talked a little about the past, which i already know, so there’s little point in talking about it. she did see a few things, among them my father’s recent heart problem, which she said has resolved itself for now, which is good. she said my own health was also good. then she told me that one of the “guides” watching over me is a grandmother whose name has an E and N in it. (my maternal grandma’s name was Eugenia.)
then i laid down on a massage table for the chakra clearing and that’s when she really earned her wage. the seven chakras are new agey shit i can really get behind. yoga and meditation had introduced me to them already, but i never had them cleared so i didn’t know what to expect.
Darcy started at my base chakra and worked her way up to my head, her hands not really touching me, just hovering over my body. as she moved up my spine, she would stop and see things. she saw where i was in my cycle, she saw that the titanium rods in my back were near my heart chakra. she said i was too tethered to the past and needed to let it all go, and at one point “pulled out the tethers.” she saw where there were blockages (my third eye chakra) and where there were none (my throat chakra, which she said was clear because i “speak my truth”). she finished by “shooting some light into my spine” and sending positive energy through my body.
the clearing must have lasted less than half an hour. oddly, i didn’t really feel any sensation in my body during the process, not even tingles. but when she was done, wow, did i ever feel amazing. my back felt super straight, my head clear and light, my body perfectly balanced. i was relaxed but awake, calm but energized, as though i had just emerged from a spa. and that pesky restlessness had finally ceased. i took a walk in town afterwards, drank tea (which i rarely drink) and bought a moonstone ring at a local shop. everything was wonderful and illuminated. i was happy and serene.
that evening, i enjoyed a laughter-filled dinner with my friend and a night of dreamless sleep. as we drove back to LA the following day, the goodness didn’t subside, staying with me for an additional few days. then the tide turned and the bloodletting began.
apparently, chakra clearings can produce some intense side effects that include crying fits, feelings of dread and obsessive thoughts about failed relationships. of course, this disclaimer was nowhere on the warning label. but here came the sorrow, pouring out of me like a fountain of vomit and, despite my best efforts, i could not stuff that genie back in the bottle. i was a mess. so i let it pour and pour it did. for two solid weeks, there were tears, vodka drinks and the replaying of far too many sad songs. it was awesome!
actually, it sucked ass, but it also needed to happen. i knew i had been avoiding the heavy processing i needed to do — taking refuge in work, in my bravado, anything that would distract me from the restless pull that needed to pull me to the ground. of course it won out in the end, as it always has, pulling me to the door of the healer who worked her magic on me and gave me not what i wanted, but what i needed.
now, four weeks after the clearing, i am feeling loads better despite the occasional pulls into mess mode. but i don’t fight them anymore. i let the visits come and snake around me, suffocating me momentarily before releasing their grip and taking the sorrow with them when they leave. i know the visits will become less frequent with time. and i know i’ll keep pushing through them because i have to.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
The Elephant in the Room
i’ve been struggling with this post and too many times considered deleting it. i thought i didn’t really need it, that the people closest to me already know this stuff, and that in the interest of moving on i should just move on and never mention that whole breakup thing again.
i worried about writing something i’ll regret, recognizing that the way i feel today is not indicative of the way i’ll always feel. but i suppose the same thing could be said of everything else i’ve written here over the past seven years, so perhaps it’s moot. this is how the conversation with myself has been going — point, counterpoint.
but, ultimately, this is the place where i chronicle the events in my life. it’s as much for me as it is for any audience that cares to read it, and i would be remiss if i didn’t address the breakup of my relationship, which lasted five years and played a major role in my life.
the truth is things were rocky for a while and then got ugly at the end. this is due in large part to the fact that we kept living together after breaking up, a circumstance that made us forget all the reasons we got together in the first place, reasons i’m only starting to remember again with the help of time and distance. it’s a shame, because if this post were written four months ago, when we initially decided to split, i’m sure it would read very differently than it does today.
today, it reads more like relief than grief, more best of times than worst of times. nowadays, i’m happier than i’ve been in months. i’m sleeping better, enjoying the outdoors with my pups more and feeling optimistic about my future again. i’m not saying that to be an asshole; it’s honestly the way i feel. that’s not to say i won’t cherish the memories we shared and all the rest of that jazz, but they all seem so remote to me now, relegated to a past lifetime i no longer want to revisit.
if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know that Mo and i have played makeup-breakup a few times over the past five years and you may assume that this is just another one of those breaks. (lord knows enough of my friends have said this to me.) if there is any bright side to the ugly ending, it’s that there is no ambiguity this time. it is over. we are currently not speaking to one another, and as far as i know he has left town. so there is no longing for the past. there is some heartache, yes, but it’s more fleeting than paralyzing. on the whole, i feel pretty good.
though i admit it’s odd to find myself here: newly 34, one year from advanced maternal age, with no partner to walk into my future with. i’d like to think that it will all work out for me in the end — that i’ll find my prince and get my happy ending — but i don’t want to be naive.
i also don’t want to be a cliche, so you won’t find me on jdate among the countless other thirtysomething jewish girls, their clocks ticking, looking to land a lawyer husband. marriage is not my life’s goal. if it happens at all, it will be only once and to the right person.
motherhood, however, is a goal. thankfully, i have several years left before i reach menopause so it’s still on the table. maybe i’ll hit my scary age, visit the sperm bank and go it alone. maybe i’ll adopt with a partner later in life. it could happen in a number of ways, all of them equally valid. of course, my preference is that it happens the old-fashioned way, but i’m no longer beholden to that as the only approach.
which leads me to... dating. re-entering that world both terrifies and excites me. i dread it, but well remember the sweet possibilities it can bring. if nothing else, it should make this blog more interesting to read. though maybe not right away as i don’t intend to become anyone’s girlfriend anytime soon, but i don’t intend to sit in a dark room and cry either.
right now, my only intention is to have a fun summer. i sense myself approaching the requisite post-breakup phase of carefree days and endless socializing. and i intend to enjoy it because i know i’ll become someone’s girlfriend eventually. my heart will reconstitute itself in time and want to be given away again. there will be future blog posts filled with declarations of love and cheek-to-cheek photos.
but until then, the good-time gal is back. i am single and ready to mingle.
i worried about writing something i’ll regret, recognizing that the way i feel today is not indicative of the way i’ll always feel. but i suppose the same thing could be said of everything else i’ve written here over the past seven years, so perhaps it’s moot. this is how the conversation with myself has been going — point, counterpoint.
but, ultimately, this is the place where i chronicle the events in my life. it’s as much for me as it is for any audience that cares to read it, and i would be remiss if i didn’t address the breakup of my relationship, which lasted five years and played a major role in my life.
the truth is things were rocky for a while and then got ugly at the end. this is due in large part to the fact that we kept living together after breaking up, a circumstance that made us forget all the reasons we got together in the first place, reasons i’m only starting to remember again with the help of time and distance. it’s a shame, because if this post were written four months ago, when we initially decided to split, i’m sure it would read very differently than it does today.
today, it reads more like relief than grief, more best of times than worst of times. nowadays, i’m happier than i’ve been in months. i’m sleeping better, enjoying the outdoors with my pups more and feeling optimistic about my future again. i’m not saying that to be an asshole; it’s honestly the way i feel. that’s not to say i won’t cherish the memories we shared and all the rest of that jazz, but they all seem so remote to me now, relegated to a past lifetime i no longer want to revisit.
if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know that Mo and i have played makeup-breakup a few times over the past five years and you may assume that this is just another one of those breaks. (lord knows enough of my friends have said this to me.) if there is any bright side to the ugly ending, it’s that there is no ambiguity this time. it is over. we are currently not speaking to one another, and as far as i know he has left town. so there is no longing for the past. there is some heartache, yes, but it’s more fleeting than paralyzing. on the whole, i feel pretty good.
though i admit it’s odd to find myself here: newly 34, one year from advanced maternal age, with no partner to walk into my future with. i’d like to think that it will all work out for me in the end — that i’ll find my prince and get my happy ending — but i don’t want to be naive.
i also don’t want to be a cliche, so you won’t find me on jdate among the countless other thirtysomething jewish girls, their clocks ticking, looking to land a lawyer husband. marriage is not my life’s goal. if it happens at all, it will be only once and to the right person.
motherhood, however, is a goal. thankfully, i have several years left before i reach menopause so it’s still on the table. maybe i’ll hit my scary age, visit the sperm bank and go it alone. maybe i’ll adopt with a partner later in life. it could happen in a number of ways, all of them equally valid. of course, my preference is that it happens the old-fashioned way, but i’m no longer beholden to that as the only approach.
which leads me to... dating. re-entering that world both terrifies and excites me. i dread it, but well remember the sweet possibilities it can bring. if nothing else, it should make this blog more interesting to read. though maybe not right away as i don’t intend to become anyone’s girlfriend anytime soon, but i don’t intend to sit in a dark room and cry either.
right now, my only intention is to have a fun summer. i sense myself approaching the requisite post-breakup phase of carefree days and endless socializing. and i intend to enjoy it because i know i’ll become someone’s girlfriend eventually. my heart will reconstitute itself in time and want to be given away again. there will be future blog posts filled with declarations of love and cheek-to-cheek photos.
but until then, the good-time gal is back. i am single and ready to mingle.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Status Change
i’m single again. actually, i’ve been single for months but circumstances kept Mo and i living together until he was able to secure new accommodations and move out, which he did just a few days ago. so now i’m living alone again, which i suppose makes me officially single.
to commemorate the occasion, i made the (always dramatic) status change on Facebook, moving from In a Relationship to Single. at least i bypassed that nonsensical It’s Complicated phase, though living with an ex-boyfriend does tend to complicate one’s relationship status. i do not recommend it.
the reasons behind our split are also complicated, but ultimately involve some longstanding issues we could never seem to resolve, issues that needed to be resolved before we could move forward as a couple. what those issues are are none of your fucking business. i will say that they do not concern cheating, lying, stealing or any of that type of salacious drama.
if i’m close to you in real life, you probably already know this news anyway. if i know you and haven’t discussed this with you before, i never plan to so don’t ask. and please save your sad eyes and “time heals all wounds” clichés for someone who needs them because there are few things i hate more than being pitied. i already know i’ll be fine.
the truth is i’ve already had a few months to get accustomed to my new status as a single person and i’ve been around the block enough times to know that the world will not end because of my heartache. so truly, i am doing fine. i suppose i could say more about it and maybe should write some sappy referendum on love and life and loss, but i don’t really feel like it right now.
to commemorate the occasion, i made the (always dramatic) status change on Facebook, moving from In a Relationship to Single. at least i bypassed that nonsensical It’s Complicated phase, though living with an ex-boyfriend does tend to complicate one’s relationship status. i do not recommend it.
the reasons behind our split are also complicated, but ultimately involve some longstanding issues we could never seem to resolve, issues that needed to be resolved before we could move forward as a couple. what those issues are are none of your fucking business. i will say that they do not concern cheating, lying, stealing or any of that type of salacious drama.
if i’m close to you in real life, you probably already know this news anyway. if i know you and haven’t discussed this with you before, i never plan to so don’t ask. and please save your sad eyes and “time heals all wounds” clichés for someone who needs them because there are few things i hate more than being pitied. i already know i’ll be fine.
the truth is i’ve already had a few months to get accustomed to my new status as a single person and i’ve been around the block enough times to know that the world will not end because of my heartache. so truly, i am doing fine. i suppose i could say more about it and maybe should write some sappy referendum on love and life and loss, but i don’t really feel like it right now.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Single Life
three months ago i blogged that my two-year relationship ended and i’m again a single woman. it went something like, “we broke up. the end.” i didn’t feel like talking about it much then and i still don’t. perhaps i’ve finally learned enough to know better than to be consumed by the melodramatic sadness a breakup brings, or maybe the fact that i saw it coming this time cushioned the fall.
whatever the reason, i’ve been surprisingly at peace with singledom. i have zero desire to jump into anything serious anytime soon. it’s been liberating not to be waiting on anyone’s call or dealing with the stress that comes from entangling my personal well-being with someone else’s. i cannot remember the last time i found myself in this enviable position, where my heart is neither swelling nor aching.
and i like it. life is so calm lately, so full of the simple pleasures — the smelling of the roses, the easy like sunday morning. my emotions look like clear blue skies. and the thought of anything coming in to disrupt this rare internal equilibrium and my happy home life with the pups is repulsive to me. for now.
for now.
i know me and y’all likely also know that time and restlessness will create an itch that only a ravishing man can scratch. and given my history i’m sure he’ll be tall and dark-haired and wrong for me. and i’ll blog about it with a conclusion that will go something like, “we broke up. the end.”
there are times nowadays when i’ve felt that tug. it always arrives with the witching hour, around the twilight, after i’ve finished my work for the day, have had my dinner, read my book, cleaned my house and catered to the dogs. then will follow a moment of stillness when i look around, largely pleased with what i see: the safety and stability, abundance and comfort, and the unyielding warmth from the cuties. it'll absorb me and evoke a wide smile.
then something will bubble up, as much as i’d like to deny it, the feeling will rise up and wash over the moment — the desire to share it all, to sit on the couch with someone who’ll hold my hand while we watch TV.
for now it’s just a flash that disappears as quickly as it comes, but i know it will grow into a primal need as it has before, with the maddening loneliness that grows with it. i’m not there yet, and i sense i still have a ways to go. but when i do get there, i hope i’ll have the fortitude to bypass the hunt altogether and allow things to happen organically.
whatever the reason, i’ve been surprisingly at peace with singledom. i have zero desire to jump into anything serious anytime soon. it’s been liberating not to be waiting on anyone’s call or dealing with the stress that comes from entangling my personal well-being with someone else’s. i cannot remember the last time i found myself in this enviable position, where my heart is neither swelling nor aching.
and i like it. life is so calm lately, so full of the simple pleasures — the smelling of the roses, the easy like sunday morning. my emotions look like clear blue skies. and the thought of anything coming in to disrupt this rare internal equilibrium and my happy home life with the pups is repulsive to me. for now.
for now.
i know me and y’all likely also know that time and restlessness will create an itch that only a ravishing man can scratch. and given my history i’m sure he’ll be tall and dark-haired and wrong for me. and i’ll blog about it with a conclusion that will go something like, “we broke up. the end.”
there are times nowadays when i’ve felt that tug. it always arrives with the witching hour, around the twilight, after i’ve finished my work for the day, have had my dinner, read my book, cleaned my house and catered to the dogs. then will follow a moment of stillness when i look around, largely pleased with what i see: the safety and stability, abundance and comfort, and the unyielding warmth from the cuties. it'll absorb me and evoke a wide smile.
then something will bubble up, as much as i’d like to deny it, the feeling will rise up and wash over the moment — the desire to share it all, to sit on the couch with someone who’ll hold my hand while we watch TV.
for now it’s just a flash that disappears as quickly as it comes, but i know it will grow into a primal need as it has before, with the maddening loneliness that grows with it. i’m not there yet, and i sense i still have a ways to go. but when i do get there, i hope i’ll have the fortitude to bypass the hunt altogether and allow things to happen organically.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Whimper: Redux
so yeah, single again. blogging about it again. and again feeling compelled to say something declarative and profound about life and love, and how things work and don’t work for me. but i’d rather not get into all that this time around. it simply isn’t necessary.
what i do want to say is that i’m handling the breakup well -- perhaps uncharacteristically well. there was no big drama, no cheating or burning the house down. it was an amicable, mutual split that was many months in the making and free of any agonizing regrets. i felt prepared for it and confident that it was the right decision for both of us.
at the risk of sounding too mature, i will confess that i’ve been listening to sad music nonstop and eating copious amounts of buffalo wings with ranch dressing. but only on thursdays. and only when i’m not busy scribbling in my offline journal: Dear Diary, Why won’t anyone love me?
but really, all is well, and i’m glad we gave it a shot. we shared two fantastic years together, with a wildly romantic origin story that led into an irresistible and fiery love affair that i’m better for having. at times, even most times, it felt like Everything I Wanted, but there were deal-breakers that ultimately rendered us unworkable, despite how much i wished otherwise. still, Mo remains a permanent fixture in my life and a forever owner of my affinity. but as for being a pair, we can’t.
and now, i’m quite optimistic about the future and its assorted mysteries. i’m enjoying my alone time, with an empty house to myself and a new puppy to know. there are items to do, books to read, DVDs to watch and old friends to reconnect with. i anticipate this summer to be a strange hybrid of hibernation-motivation as i situate into a new routine that’s rooted squarely in my home, among my furry kids, sketching out the next chapter of my life.
sadly, this means no birthday bonanza extravaganza this year as the puppy is still too young to handle drunken guests walking through an always open yard door. i don’t trust her not to escape and don’t want to spend the entire evening worrying that she will. instead, i’ll turn 31 quietly among my closest friends and family. and then, i don’t know. but i’m curious to find out.
what i do want to say is that i’m handling the breakup well -- perhaps uncharacteristically well. there was no big drama, no cheating or burning the house down. it was an amicable, mutual split that was many months in the making and free of any agonizing regrets. i felt prepared for it and confident that it was the right decision for both of us.
at the risk of sounding too mature, i will confess that i’ve been listening to sad music nonstop and eating copious amounts of buffalo wings with ranch dressing. but only on thursdays. and only when i’m not busy scribbling in my offline journal: Dear Diary, Why won’t anyone love me?
but really, all is well, and i’m glad we gave it a shot. we shared two fantastic years together, with a wildly romantic origin story that led into an irresistible and fiery love affair that i’m better for having. at times, even most times, it felt like Everything I Wanted, but there were deal-breakers that ultimately rendered us unworkable, despite how much i wished otherwise. still, Mo remains a permanent fixture in my life and a forever owner of my affinity. but as for being a pair, we can’t.
and now, i’m quite optimistic about the future and its assorted mysteries. i’m enjoying my alone time, with an empty house to myself and a new puppy to know. there are items to do, books to read, DVDs to watch and old friends to reconnect with. i anticipate this summer to be a strange hybrid of hibernation-motivation as i situate into a new routine that’s rooted squarely in my home, among my furry kids, sketching out the next chapter of my life.
sadly, this means no birthday bonanza extravaganza this year as the puppy is still too young to handle drunken guests walking through an always open yard door. i don’t trust her not to escape and don’t want to spend the entire evening worrying that she will. instead, i’ll turn 31 quietly among my closest friends and family. and then, i don’t know. but i’m curious to find out.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
VD
valentine's day sucks, man. it's so commercial and contrived, full of fakery that never seems to extend to all the other days of the year. and those little, heart-shaped candies are nauseating and taste like sugary wax. flowers die and chocolates make you fat. pink is the ugliest color. it's the worst day of the year.
at least those were my sentiments when i wrote the following piece two years ago. i was enrolled in a column writing class, which i re-imagined as a seminar for writing personal essays since, you know, that's what i do here. (it's always been all about the blog.) but at that time, it was also all about wretched heartache. i had split from my boyfriend of four years rather unexpectedly, just weeks before the dreaded VD.
that produced much ado, most of which is housed in the archives: internet dating, harems, run-ins with the ex, graduation followed by poverty and eventual employment, and now a new boyfriend i'm really digging. the best of times, the worst of times. here is a sampling from the worst:
Broken Hearts Club
Valentine’s Day. I find myself suddenly single again after four years off the market. It doesn’t bother me much that I’m alone on Valentine’s Day, but it seems to bother other people, who insist I join them for the evening. I tell them I’m too busy unpacking boxes, having just moved into a new place following the sudden split, but Zahra is damn persistent.
“Girl, I got us on the list for the Match.com party in Hollywood,” she says in her Jamaican accent.
“Ah, the coveted Los Angeles list,” I remark.
“Yeah, as in we don’t have to pay $25 at the door.”
It’s Saturday. I’ve been single exactly three weeks, and she’s insisting I dive headfirst into what’s sure to be the largest and saddest meat marketing event of the year.
“Match.com, that online dating service, is throwing a party in Hollywood on Valentine’s Day? It’ll be full of losers—”
“— And us,” she quips.
So we go. It’s my first foray into L.A.’s treacherous bar scene as a solo artist, and I commemorate the event by wearing high heels, a dangerously low-cut top and a push-up bra that thrusts those puppies right below my chin. I feel like a clown, but Zahra says I look good, so it’s OK.
We enter the place, and as expected, find a sausage party in full swing. Sadness Central, we have arrived. Men idly stand around surveying the room while groups of girls huddle together, whispering and pointing.
I suddenly flash back to a junior high-school dance and look down at my feet, just as I did then, but that’s where the similarities end. Today, my feet are covered in sequined high heels, and I’m far less shy, less naïve, less optimistic than before, yet just as uncomfortable as ever.
I begin to survey the scene as well and am stunned by the sea of losers L.A. has to offer me on this lovesick night. On display are ugly guys in suits and red ties, awkward men with no fashion sense or sense of self, and the occasional decent guy who seems to disappear into the crowd as quickly as he appeared, making me wonder if he were just a mirage.
The room stinks to high hell of desperation and disappointment — a veritable lonely hearts club, of which I am now, too, a member. And I wonder if they can smell it on me as well, if I wear my sorrow like a cheap perfume that permeates the room, repelling people and making their noses wrinkle up in disgust.
Meanwhile, Zahra is getting all kinds of attention from all sorts of strangers, some of them decent. Zahra, Miss Jamaica 2001, contender for the Miss Universe crown, sporting her taut pageant body and flawless pageant face, while I stand unnoticed, Miss Siberia 1979, Soviet export unextraordinnaire, wrapped in heartache and baby fat. Note to self: Never go to a singles mixer with a former beauty queen again!
And I begin to wonder why the hell I came, why I wore this top, as goons stare at my chest, why I don’t leave right now.
I know why. It’s for that small hope buried deep within me that I’d catch the eye of a handsome stranger — hopefully one who looked like him — who would offer up a shy smile, a flash of desire registering on his face to make me feel wanted again, make me feel like a woman again after he made me feel so unwanted with his cheating. That’s all I’d need to go home satisfied.
But it won’t happen, not tonight anyway.
“I’m out of here,” I say to Zahra, who grabs my arm when I try to walk away, her eyes imploring me to save her from the goons currently asking her to dinner.
“Let’s at least go to another bar,” I offer.
So we go, and there we stay finishing off our evening and several glasses of wine while exploring the farthest reaches of girl talk before we call it a night and get into our respective cars.
As I rev up the engine for my short drive home, I feel the ghost of Valentines’ past grip me, and I flash to that first Valentine’s Day he and I spent together, just weeks after we met, sitting in my bedroom in San Francisco, eating $5 burritos from the joint down the street, giggling without shame as we fumbled over each other and our new love.
And then the following year, after he moved me into his life and home in Los Angeles, when I came from work to find a surprise candlelight dinner awaiting me. I never knew he could cook, but there on the table were two plates of lemon chicken with new potatoes and the most delicious baby carrots. The trick, he said, was adding a handful of sugar while they boiled. They were so sweet.
And I begin to wonder what he’s up to tonight, whether he has already found someone to pass the time with. Would it be wrong of me to call? Could he be with her, whom he ruined us for, though he says she was nothing? Better she were something, so I could be discarded for something more meaningful than one night with a total stranger. I probably shouldn’t care but I don’t know how to stop.
I think all this and my heart gets heavy again, as it does every time I arrive home and step into my empty apartment.
at least those were my sentiments when i wrote the following piece two years ago. i was enrolled in a column writing class, which i re-imagined as a seminar for writing personal essays since, you know, that's what i do here. (it's always been all about the blog.) but at that time, it was also all about wretched heartache. i had split from my boyfriend of four years rather unexpectedly, just weeks before the dreaded VD.
that produced much ado, most of which is housed in the archives: internet dating, harems, run-ins with the ex, graduation followed by poverty and eventual employment, and now a new boyfriend i'm really digging. the best of times, the worst of times. here is a sampling from the worst:
Broken Hearts Club
Valentine’s Day. I find myself suddenly single again after four years off the market. It doesn’t bother me much that I’m alone on Valentine’s Day, but it seems to bother other people, who insist I join them for the evening. I tell them I’m too busy unpacking boxes, having just moved into a new place following the sudden split, but Zahra is damn persistent.
“Girl, I got us on the list for the Match.com party in Hollywood,” she says in her Jamaican accent.
“Ah, the coveted Los Angeles list,” I remark.
“Yeah, as in we don’t have to pay $25 at the door.”
It’s Saturday. I’ve been single exactly three weeks, and she’s insisting I dive headfirst into what’s sure to be the largest and saddest meat marketing event of the year.
“Match.com, that online dating service, is throwing a party in Hollywood on Valentine’s Day? It’ll be full of losers—”
“— And us,” she quips.
So we go. It’s my first foray into L.A.’s treacherous bar scene as a solo artist, and I commemorate the event by wearing high heels, a dangerously low-cut top and a push-up bra that thrusts those puppies right below my chin. I feel like a clown, but Zahra says I look good, so it’s OK.
We enter the place, and as expected, find a sausage party in full swing. Sadness Central, we have arrived. Men idly stand around surveying the room while groups of girls huddle together, whispering and pointing.
I suddenly flash back to a junior high-school dance and look down at my feet, just as I did then, but that’s where the similarities end. Today, my feet are covered in sequined high heels, and I’m far less shy, less naïve, less optimistic than before, yet just as uncomfortable as ever.
I begin to survey the scene as well and am stunned by the sea of losers L.A. has to offer me on this lovesick night. On display are ugly guys in suits and red ties, awkward men with no fashion sense or sense of self, and the occasional decent guy who seems to disappear into the crowd as quickly as he appeared, making me wonder if he were just a mirage.
The room stinks to high hell of desperation and disappointment — a veritable lonely hearts club, of which I am now, too, a member. And I wonder if they can smell it on me as well, if I wear my sorrow like a cheap perfume that permeates the room, repelling people and making their noses wrinkle up in disgust.
Meanwhile, Zahra is getting all kinds of attention from all sorts of strangers, some of them decent. Zahra, Miss Jamaica 2001, contender for the Miss Universe crown, sporting her taut pageant body and flawless pageant face, while I stand unnoticed, Miss Siberia 1979, Soviet export unextraordinnaire, wrapped in heartache and baby fat. Note to self: Never go to a singles mixer with a former beauty queen again!
And I begin to wonder why the hell I came, why I wore this top, as goons stare at my chest, why I don’t leave right now.
I know why. It’s for that small hope buried deep within me that I’d catch the eye of a handsome stranger — hopefully one who looked like him — who would offer up a shy smile, a flash of desire registering on his face to make me feel wanted again, make me feel like a woman again after he made me feel so unwanted with his cheating. That’s all I’d need to go home satisfied.
But it won’t happen, not tonight anyway.
“I’m out of here,” I say to Zahra, who grabs my arm when I try to walk away, her eyes imploring me to save her from the goons currently asking her to dinner.
“Let’s at least go to another bar,” I offer.
So we go, and there we stay finishing off our evening and several glasses of wine while exploring the farthest reaches of girl talk before we call it a night and get into our respective cars.
As I rev up the engine for my short drive home, I feel the ghost of Valentines’ past grip me, and I flash to that first Valentine’s Day he and I spent together, just weeks after we met, sitting in my bedroom in San Francisco, eating $5 burritos from the joint down the street, giggling without shame as we fumbled over each other and our new love.
And then the following year, after he moved me into his life and home in Los Angeles, when I came from work to find a surprise candlelight dinner awaiting me. I never knew he could cook, but there on the table were two plates of lemon chicken with new potatoes and the most delicious baby carrots. The trick, he said, was adding a handful of sugar while they boiled. They were so sweet.
And I begin to wonder what he’s up to tonight, whether he has already found someone to pass the time with. Would it be wrong of me to call? Could he be with her, whom he ruined us for, though he says she was nothing? Better she were something, so I could be discarded for something more meaningful than one night with a total stranger. I probably shouldn’t care but I don’t know how to stop.
I think all this and my heart gets heavy again, as it does every time I arrive home and step into my empty apartment.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Out With a Whimper
it came in with such a bang. i swear i heard trumpets. the parade was underway, with all its fantasy and wonderment. but then came the stormy weather. nature doesn't relent and history tends to repeat. which is why i found myself in quite the familiar environ the other night, when i sat alone in my living room at 1 a.m. on a monday night. i had a glass of red wine in my hand. the boy i loved had left an hour earlier. we had had chinese food and he told me he couldn't be with me anymore because he could never see himself married to me, so he didn't want to invest time and effort in the relationship.
i'm calm and dry-eyed. hysterics won't do me any good. practice has taught me to make friends with my reality. and if there's one thing i know, it's breakups. i do them more often and better than anyone else. i could teach the class. i know that the quicker they are the better, and i recognize the point where conversation should cease and saying everything on your mind becomes futile, an exercise in vanity. once he closed that door behind him, i locked it from the inside, and then sat for a long time. i was sad, but moreso amused. this is how my life is. this is how things go.
why: same why as every single time before -- just not the right people for each other. there was a good while when that didn't seem to be the case. we had two months of bliss, where i would awaken to love notes on my dry-erase board and he would be greeted with fresh flowers upon my visits. we'd hold hands while we walked and spoon each other through the night. lots of phone calls, long conversations, steamy nights. and then... i don't know. the bubble burst. arguments ensued and escalated. they'd last hours at times. then would come a short reprieve where we would try to clamor our way back into the bliss, but something had died, was amiss. then the clouds returned, another storm. the romance soured, the arguments kept coming. the new love was in ruins. unsalvagable, the only option was to walk away.
so we walked calmly away with promises to continue the friendship, promises we'll likely honor, eventually. no regrets, hard feelings or messiness. two months isn't two years. it's not the end of the world and he's not the last man on earth. i will perservere as always and gain strength. no man will bury me. i know this with great certainty.
but still, the sadness comes to nest. the knowledge that i humiliated myself (again) on this blog, where our relationship originated. the thought that the more he got to know me, the less he liked me. the fear that i'll always be alone and that love for me will be one disappointing relationship after the next -- that i'll always be That Girl, the unlucky-in-love girl who could never get it right because she was too difficult, too opinionated, too much of a "pitbull," as Momo once called me.
this is pathetic. i do realize this. bear with me and mock me later when i can laugh with you. come, perspective -- don't fail me. sleep will help. hermitism. i draw tarot cards and keep drawing the ace of swords again and again -- the card of a new beginning cut from a place of truth. i listen to one of my favorite songs again and again -- "the truth" by handsome boy modeling school. the truth is that he was right that we shouldn't be together. i don't question that. the truth is that i will certainly meet more new people in the course of my life. the truth is that we tried and we failed. these things happen, to me as much as to anyone else.
i'm not big on fairytales of The One. the divorce rate makes that laughable. he might come, but shit, he might not. i can find contentment surrounding myself with dogs and my girlfriends and good food, music and books. if that's my lot in life, alright. it could certainly be worse. but i'm human and i want what we all do -- a love that's real and meaningful, one i can cherish and honor.
what i've learned: that love has to be all or nothing -- Mr. Almost Right will not substitute for Mr. Right. that love has to be unconditional and unqualified. i am not watering it down, nor will i compromise my standards or rewire myself for anyone. i'm too old and smart to waste time stuffing a round peg in a square hole.
i've learned that the best relationships are relatively self-sustaining and don't require constant work. i've learned that the flipside to intensity is drama, that reality corrodes fantasy, that love alone cannot make a relationship functional. i've learned that not all men are simple, that arguments can produce insight and that my love is worthy and my heart still beats.
i want to stay awakened and alive. this relationship flooded me with emotion, and i'm thankful for the opportunity to reconnect with my old self, even the unpleasant parts like the little masochist i thought i put to bed years ago. she's still around, lingering, languishing in the misery, letting it snake around her. i'm not sure how to handle her, but i'll work on it.
what's next: i'm glad to get off this ride, because it's been fucking exhausting. i couldn't sustain it for much longer -- having this student boyfriend with his vampire hours. it felt like college again, sitting on a guy's blue futon until midnight on a thursday, smoking out while bob marley played in the background.
i clock in at 8 am, and i am useless without adequate rest. it's still all very sad, yes, but it's a dull ache that's tempered with relief. it will dissipate with time as it has too many times before. i need to attend to my own life. i should also move to the westside because i have too many exes cluttered in hollywood. momo lives a block away from pablo who lives a mile away from yogaman. i'm sure i'll run into all of them at a starbucks eventually. it'll be neat if it were all at once and they all had new girls on their arms. i'd be wearing sweats and no makeup. that would rock.
on second thought, forget the westside. i could never live there and dating a fratty brentwood yuppie doesn't appeal to me on any level. i like hollywood boys best.
i feel myself hardening. i can't help it. my mushy center has congealed overnight. my mistrust of men deepens and i can add another carry-on to my relationship baggage, which is beginning to occupy the entire cargo area of the plane. expect no new love affairs anytime soon. the detached girl is back. i should take a vow of celibacy, as i've tried to before, but being that i have the libido of a teenage boy and a paralyzing fear of being alone, i'm sure someone will materialize sooner rather than later. and i probably won't give a shit about him. and i'll continue to carry on about it here, because i know it's amusing and i must enjoy making a spectacle of myself. masochistic exhibitionist. that's how my life is. that's how it goes.
i'm calm and dry-eyed. hysterics won't do me any good. practice has taught me to make friends with my reality. and if there's one thing i know, it's breakups. i do them more often and better than anyone else. i could teach the class. i know that the quicker they are the better, and i recognize the point where conversation should cease and saying everything on your mind becomes futile, an exercise in vanity. once he closed that door behind him, i locked it from the inside, and then sat for a long time. i was sad, but moreso amused. this is how my life is. this is how things go.
why: same why as every single time before -- just not the right people for each other. there was a good while when that didn't seem to be the case. we had two months of bliss, where i would awaken to love notes on my dry-erase board and he would be greeted with fresh flowers upon my visits. we'd hold hands while we walked and spoon each other through the night. lots of phone calls, long conversations, steamy nights. and then... i don't know. the bubble burst. arguments ensued and escalated. they'd last hours at times. then would come a short reprieve where we would try to clamor our way back into the bliss, but something had died, was amiss. then the clouds returned, another storm. the romance soured, the arguments kept coming. the new love was in ruins. unsalvagable, the only option was to walk away.
so we walked calmly away with promises to continue the friendship, promises we'll likely honor, eventually. no regrets, hard feelings or messiness. two months isn't two years. it's not the end of the world and he's not the last man on earth. i will perservere as always and gain strength. no man will bury me. i know this with great certainty.
but still, the sadness comes to nest. the knowledge that i humiliated myself (again) on this blog, where our relationship originated. the thought that the more he got to know me, the less he liked me. the fear that i'll always be alone and that love for me will be one disappointing relationship after the next -- that i'll always be That Girl, the unlucky-in-love girl who could never get it right because she was too difficult, too opinionated, too much of a "pitbull," as Momo once called me.
this is pathetic. i do realize this. bear with me and mock me later when i can laugh with you. come, perspective -- don't fail me. sleep will help. hermitism. i draw tarot cards and keep drawing the ace of swords again and again -- the card of a new beginning cut from a place of truth. i listen to one of my favorite songs again and again -- "the truth" by handsome boy modeling school. the truth is that he was right that we shouldn't be together. i don't question that. the truth is that i will certainly meet more new people in the course of my life. the truth is that we tried and we failed. these things happen, to me as much as to anyone else.
i'm not big on fairytales of The One. the divorce rate makes that laughable. he might come, but shit, he might not. i can find contentment surrounding myself with dogs and my girlfriends and good food, music and books. if that's my lot in life, alright. it could certainly be worse. but i'm human and i want what we all do -- a love that's real and meaningful, one i can cherish and honor.
what i've learned: that love has to be all or nothing -- Mr. Almost Right will not substitute for Mr. Right. that love has to be unconditional and unqualified. i am not watering it down, nor will i compromise my standards or rewire myself for anyone. i'm too old and smart to waste time stuffing a round peg in a square hole.
i've learned that the best relationships are relatively self-sustaining and don't require constant work. i've learned that the flipside to intensity is drama, that reality corrodes fantasy, that love alone cannot make a relationship functional. i've learned that not all men are simple, that arguments can produce insight and that my love is worthy and my heart still beats.
i want to stay awakened and alive. this relationship flooded me with emotion, and i'm thankful for the opportunity to reconnect with my old self, even the unpleasant parts like the little masochist i thought i put to bed years ago. she's still around, lingering, languishing in the misery, letting it snake around her. i'm not sure how to handle her, but i'll work on it.
what's next: i'm glad to get off this ride, because it's been fucking exhausting. i couldn't sustain it for much longer -- having this student boyfriend with his vampire hours. it felt like college again, sitting on a guy's blue futon until midnight on a thursday, smoking out while bob marley played in the background.
i clock in at 8 am, and i am useless without adequate rest. it's still all very sad, yes, but it's a dull ache that's tempered with relief. it will dissipate with time as it has too many times before. i need to attend to my own life. i should also move to the westside because i have too many exes cluttered in hollywood. momo lives a block away from pablo who lives a mile away from yogaman. i'm sure i'll run into all of them at a starbucks eventually. it'll be neat if it were all at once and they all had new girls on their arms. i'd be wearing sweats and no makeup. that would rock.
on second thought, forget the westside. i could never live there and dating a fratty brentwood yuppie doesn't appeal to me on any level. i like hollywood boys best.
i feel myself hardening. i can't help it. my mushy center has congealed overnight. my mistrust of men deepens and i can add another carry-on to my relationship baggage, which is beginning to occupy the entire cargo area of the plane. expect no new love affairs anytime soon. the detached girl is back. i should take a vow of celibacy, as i've tried to before, but being that i have the libido of a teenage boy and a paralyzing fear of being alone, i'm sure someone will materialize sooner rather than later. and i probably won't give a shit about him. and i'll continue to carry on about it here, because i know it's amusing and i must enjoy making a spectacle of myself. masochistic exhibitionist. that's how my life is. that's how it goes.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Suddenly Single
since when: been almost a week, i guess. things fell apart last weekend during a saturday night birthday dinner at a nice restaurant. it was just the two of us at dinner thankfully, but i'm sure the waiter and some nearby patrons heard our bickering.
why: same reason that any couple breaks up, i suppose -- just not the right people for each other. it's that simple. there was no big drama. no cheating or anything inappropriate. we just found ourselves in too many petty arguments that seemed to spotlight our differences. and when we entered yet another one that night at dinner, i took it as an opportunity to do what i had been contemplating doing for weeks. luckily for both of us, he had moved into a new apartment just days earlier (another indication that our couplehood was nearing its end), so we retracted into our respective corners without much more fanfare.
him: i'm not going to badmouth him here. he doesn't deserve it, because he's truly a magnificent person. he's full of quality and goodness, and i value the past nine months with him. i think we both entered each others' lives at an important transitional time, giving each other just what we needed right when we needed it. but it wasn't something built to last, and i knew that from the get-go. he's still someone i cherish and want to always know. we're gonna do the friends thing, and i'm confident we can. we've since called a truce, unentangled all the belongings, and have exchanged many friendly emails.
how i am doing: just fine. i saw it coming this time. it was up to me this time. and given that i had anticipated this ending from the very beginning, i made sure to stay detached throughout. i was never really deeply, dumbly in love, though i was certainly smitten. there were good times, genuine laughs and smiles indeed. but it wasn't love the way i know it to be, the way i want it to be -- where you throw yourself entirely into the relationship and dissolve into the other person (at least in the beginning). it never approached that ardor, partially because of timing, but mostly because i knew in my bones that something else was up ahead for me. (and i think he'd agree that i was upfront about that from the beginning.) so considering all this, i'm not totally crushed. and it certainly doesn't resemble my last breakup, which felt like a nuclear bomb went off in my chest. it's still sad, of course. i feel like the Breakup Queen. this state is all too familiar to me. it's quiet now. the bed is cold. i get lonesome.
what i've learned: the gut doesn't lie. i can't accept a watered-down version of what i want. i won't supplant my needs just to soothe my loneliness. and despite my newfound relationship baggage, i'm still fairly secure in who i am as a person. i'm not all that dysfunctional or co-dependent. i still feel empowered and independent, certainly wiser, definitely stronger. up on the dry-erase board now: the only constant is change.
what's next: i'm going to do something completely radical, something i've never really done before -- be comfortable being alone. this will be a test for me, but i feel like i'm finally ready to embrace it. ever since i began dating some 12 years ago, i've been a serial monogamist, with episodes of sluttiness dispersed in between. there's never been too long a stretch where it was just me. well, now's the time to take the energy that (i've let) boys consume and focus it inward, channel it outward into achieving my goals. i can't allow myself to get off track. my time is now. so no new harems anytime soon. instead, get thee to a nunnery. i know it will be tough, this celibacy. i'm like a guy that way. i schwing. i'm a sucker for a pretty face, a nice smile, broad shoulders, soccer thighs. i always do a double-take when i see a tall, dark-haired man with olive skin walk by. i get distracted by soft hands and full lips. i start to crave the electricity that only touching brings. hmmmm, soccer thighs. i mean, celibacy, yeah. i'm gonna try that. try. coy is the new cool.
so, in a nutshell, i'm ok, really. this is the best thing for me. it's the start of a new year, new season, new chapter. it's growth. it's constructive. and it's welcome.
why: same reason that any couple breaks up, i suppose -- just not the right people for each other. it's that simple. there was no big drama. no cheating or anything inappropriate. we just found ourselves in too many petty arguments that seemed to spotlight our differences. and when we entered yet another one that night at dinner, i took it as an opportunity to do what i had been contemplating doing for weeks. luckily for both of us, he had moved into a new apartment just days earlier (another indication that our couplehood was nearing its end), so we retracted into our respective corners without much more fanfare.
him: i'm not going to badmouth him here. he doesn't deserve it, because he's truly a magnificent person. he's full of quality and goodness, and i value the past nine months with him. i think we both entered each others' lives at an important transitional time, giving each other just what we needed right when we needed it. but it wasn't something built to last, and i knew that from the get-go. he's still someone i cherish and want to always know. we're gonna do the friends thing, and i'm confident we can. we've since called a truce, unentangled all the belongings, and have exchanged many friendly emails.
how i am doing: just fine. i saw it coming this time. it was up to me this time. and given that i had anticipated this ending from the very beginning, i made sure to stay detached throughout. i was never really deeply, dumbly in love, though i was certainly smitten. there were good times, genuine laughs and smiles indeed. but it wasn't love the way i know it to be, the way i want it to be -- where you throw yourself entirely into the relationship and dissolve into the other person (at least in the beginning). it never approached that ardor, partially because of timing, but mostly because i knew in my bones that something else was up ahead for me. (and i think he'd agree that i was upfront about that from the beginning.) so considering all this, i'm not totally crushed. and it certainly doesn't resemble my last breakup, which felt like a nuclear bomb went off in my chest. it's still sad, of course. i feel like the Breakup Queen. this state is all too familiar to me. it's quiet now. the bed is cold. i get lonesome.
what i've learned: the gut doesn't lie. i can't accept a watered-down version of what i want. i won't supplant my needs just to soothe my loneliness. and despite my newfound relationship baggage, i'm still fairly secure in who i am as a person. i'm not all that dysfunctional or co-dependent. i still feel empowered and independent, certainly wiser, definitely stronger. up on the dry-erase board now: the only constant is change.
what's next: i'm going to do something completely radical, something i've never really done before -- be comfortable being alone. this will be a test for me, but i feel like i'm finally ready to embrace it. ever since i began dating some 12 years ago, i've been a serial monogamist, with episodes of sluttiness dispersed in between. there's never been too long a stretch where it was just me. well, now's the time to take the energy that (i've let) boys consume and focus it inward, channel it outward into achieving my goals. i can't allow myself to get off track. my time is now. so no new harems anytime soon. instead, get thee to a nunnery. i know it will be tough, this celibacy. i'm like a guy that way. i schwing. i'm a sucker for a pretty face, a nice smile, broad shoulders, soccer thighs. i always do a double-take when i see a tall, dark-haired man with olive skin walk by. i get distracted by soft hands and full lips. i start to crave the electricity that only touching brings. hmmmm, soccer thighs. i mean, celibacy, yeah. i'm gonna try that. try. coy is the new cool.
so, in a nutshell, i'm ok, really. this is the best thing for me. it's the start of a new year, new season, new chapter. it's growth. it's constructive. and it's welcome.
Friday, July 02, 2004
When Worlds Collide
ok, thought of a story to share with y'all, one that i wasn't going to put up here initially, but what the hell? it's kind of amusing in a pathetic way.
i ran into the ex the other day at a starbucks in hollywood. yogaman and i were just hanging out, getting some midday coffee. he walks out to find a table outdoors where we can sit, sip and smoke. i'm just a few paces behind him, and i then i freeze, instantly recognizing pablo's meaty neck and bald spot. i look to his right and see his new girlfriend -- this crazy chick who lived in our old building. her dog is there, too, a huge mastiff named bella. he's with his new family and i look like hell -- wearing sweats, hair pulled back, no makeup. i stop to catch my breath. i had imagined this moment countless times before, played out various scenarios of maybe me mad-dogging her, perhaps smacking him with some biting and pithy statement.
and here it is, the golden opportunity laid before me, and all i can do is panic. it was a serious panic, as if i were in the midst of a terrorist attack. this crazy dread washes over me, making me want to both throw up and pass out. fight or flight. i feel my hand shake and grip my coffee tighter. why am i reacting so strongly? i'm at a loss, at a complete standstill just two feet away from the door, watching yogaman unknowingly get situated at the table directly in front of where my ex-boyfriend is sitting with his new girlfriend and her fucking dog.
i make my move. i dart out the door and grab yogaman's hand, pulling him onto the sidewalk and away from the starbucks. "we have to go. we can't stay," i must have said in rapidfire about three or four times while trying not to hyperventilate. i turn my head and lock eyes with pablo. he offers up an awkward smile and takes a drag off his cigarette. i don't look at her, but give her dog a once over.
the whole exchange must have lasted five seconds, but it played out in slow motion. five minutes later, yogaman and i are sitting at a coffee shop down the street. i explain what happened, probably very poorly, and then i get very, very quiet. he stares at me intently, tries to tell a story, change the subject, but i'm consumed by it for a good half hour. finally, he asks, "you still hung up on your ex?"
truthfully, i'm not hung up on him, i'm hung up on it -- the betrayal, the wasted time, the feeling that i spent four years with a stranger, deluding myself. i want out and over it, i really do. i don't want to be that girl with issues. those were the kinds of girls i would ridicule for being less self-possessed, but here i am with my very own set of hang-ups. they'll dissipate with time, won't they? i can't have them roaming around so freely in my brain, weighing me down, causing me to second-guess myself. i must purge them. i WILL purge them, damnit. i simply have no other choice.
i ran into the ex the other day at a starbucks in hollywood. yogaman and i were just hanging out, getting some midday coffee. he walks out to find a table outdoors where we can sit, sip and smoke. i'm just a few paces behind him, and i then i freeze, instantly recognizing pablo's meaty neck and bald spot. i look to his right and see his new girlfriend -- this crazy chick who lived in our old building. her dog is there, too, a huge mastiff named bella. he's with his new family and i look like hell -- wearing sweats, hair pulled back, no makeup. i stop to catch my breath. i had imagined this moment countless times before, played out various scenarios of maybe me mad-dogging her, perhaps smacking him with some biting and pithy statement.
and here it is, the golden opportunity laid before me, and all i can do is panic. it was a serious panic, as if i were in the midst of a terrorist attack. this crazy dread washes over me, making me want to both throw up and pass out. fight or flight. i feel my hand shake and grip my coffee tighter. why am i reacting so strongly? i'm at a loss, at a complete standstill just two feet away from the door, watching yogaman unknowingly get situated at the table directly in front of where my ex-boyfriend is sitting with his new girlfriend and her fucking dog.
i make my move. i dart out the door and grab yogaman's hand, pulling him onto the sidewalk and away from the starbucks. "we have to go. we can't stay," i must have said in rapidfire about three or four times while trying not to hyperventilate. i turn my head and lock eyes with pablo. he offers up an awkward smile and takes a drag off his cigarette. i don't look at her, but give her dog a once over.
the whole exchange must have lasted five seconds, but it played out in slow motion. five minutes later, yogaman and i are sitting at a coffee shop down the street. i explain what happened, probably very poorly, and then i get very, very quiet. he stares at me intently, tries to tell a story, change the subject, but i'm consumed by it for a good half hour. finally, he asks, "you still hung up on your ex?"
truthfully, i'm not hung up on him, i'm hung up on it -- the betrayal, the wasted time, the feeling that i spent four years with a stranger, deluding myself. i want out and over it, i really do. i don't want to be that girl with issues. those were the kinds of girls i would ridicule for being less self-possessed, but here i am with my very own set of hang-ups. they'll dissipate with time, won't they? i can't have them roaming around so freely in my brain, weighing me down, causing me to second-guess myself. i must purge them. i WILL purge them, damnit. i simply have no other choice.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
The Ex-Games
met the ex last night for what was supposed to be our first drinks date as friends. i suggested the idea, figuring it was time, that the four months apart provided enough distance and perspective to have an honest conversation. and as i'm steadfast about not making enemies out of ex's, i wanted to merge us onto the friendship superhighway. so we met up at the bar, exchanged CDs and began our chat, which was incredibly cordial, pleasant, with him telling me about his big trip to asia, me talking about graduation, yadda, yadda. it wasn't all that awkward and the conversation flowed. and in those first 10 minutes, i remembered everything i loved about him; i even thought of giving him a kiss (but didn't).
then something happened. alcohol happened. the honest coversation happened, and then quickly descended into an exercise in cruelty. it started with the best intentions, with us discussing when and why the cracks began to form (when i started school and had no time for him, which only worsened when he started school the following year), how we felt about being single again (both loving it, better at 30 than at 20), where we were in the getting-over-it process (healing, both far along and strong).
and then... i don't know. it got darker as we got drunker, and all the healthy honesty turned into an opportunity to shine a spotlight on all the things we couldn't stand about one another. it was brutal. he turned into a mean drunk, a belligerent ass, and i matched him insult for insult. and wow, what great insight it produced: his mother never liked me; he felt trapped and bored and wanted to end it a year earlier; i never felt the sex was satisfying and thought of cheating on him way before he cheated on me; he thought my writing was cliche; he didn't regret his own cheating and doesn't feel guilty over it; i thought his stories were boring; he thought i nagged him too much.
and trust me, it got MUCH nastier, but those details are not for public consumption. there were some low fucking blows, and i found myself frequently slamming my hand down on the bar table, which startled him, but it was the only thing i could do to keep from slamming it against his face. so i just kept staring at that handsome face of his, looking deep into his hazel eyes, trying to see behind them in hopes of recognizing that man i once fell so hard for. but i couldn't find him. all the tenderness that ever existed between us seemed to vanish, go up in the cigarette smoke we were producing. (ouch, was that a cliche?)
and i hated myself, too -- pissed that i sank into that mode of hurtful one-upmanship. we never said a single nice thing about each other. it was sadistic on both our parts, sitting there from 9pm until the bar closed at 2am, just playing this ping pong game of cruelty, talking about how wonderful our new (sex) lives are. saying all those things better left unsaid not because you'll regret them later, but because they're all true and carry the most punch.
we then spilled onto the street, by now fully wasted, and began a playful tussle. he pushed me, i punched him in the stomach, he put his hands around my throat and gave a squeeze, i just stared him dead in the eye. nothing really gets out of hand; it wasn't a violent exchange, but the intent was clear. we hated each other at that moment.
i come home, throw up and pass out. this morning, i wake up with the biggest hangover, my body dehydrated, my belly full of anger. i cuddled with juice for a bit, easily the best thing that came out of that four-year relationship. she's all i have, all i need.
i've been a mess all day, canceling my plans and just staying in, processing. it's set me back some. i IMed with pablo this morning, and we both apologized for our vitriolic behavior last night, coughing it up to the alcohol. we agreed not to speak or see one another for a long while.
but it's ok, all this bloodletting. i think it'll get me closer to the next level, where i can really let it all go. (new mantra lately has been 'detach and be free.') perhaps it was too soon to meet and try to be friends, but i thought we were ready. four months out, i really do feel strong and solid. there's no longing or desire to have him or the relationship back, hasn't been for a while. i understand the whys and hows of our split, and am very much enjoying the new life i've carved out for myself. i don't doubt all this.
yet i still need some closure. i guess it'll come with time, even though my rational mind wants it now. last night did much to diminish the sentimental love i still carried in my heart for him, but it shouldn't have happened that way. i don't want to replace that love with anger. my heart has hardened enough. i want to love without fear and live without baggage. a healthy life.
then something happened. alcohol happened. the honest coversation happened, and then quickly descended into an exercise in cruelty. it started with the best intentions, with us discussing when and why the cracks began to form (when i started school and had no time for him, which only worsened when he started school the following year), how we felt about being single again (both loving it, better at 30 than at 20), where we were in the getting-over-it process (healing, both far along and strong).
and then... i don't know. it got darker as we got drunker, and all the healthy honesty turned into an opportunity to shine a spotlight on all the things we couldn't stand about one another. it was brutal. he turned into a mean drunk, a belligerent ass, and i matched him insult for insult. and wow, what great insight it produced: his mother never liked me; he felt trapped and bored and wanted to end it a year earlier; i never felt the sex was satisfying and thought of cheating on him way before he cheated on me; he thought my writing was cliche; he didn't regret his own cheating and doesn't feel guilty over it; i thought his stories were boring; he thought i nagged him too much.
and trust me, it got MUCH nastier, but those details are not for public consumption. there were some low fucking blows, and i found myself frequently slamming my hand down on the bar table, which startled him, but it was the only thing i could do to keep from slamming it against his face. so i just kept staring at that handsome face of his, looking deep into his hazel eyes, trying to see behind them in hopes of recognizing that man i once fell so hard for. but i couldn't find him. all the tenderness that ever existed between us seemed to vanish, go up in the cigarette smoke we were producing. (ouch, was that a cliche?)
and i hated myself, too -- pissed that i sank into that mode of hurtful one-upmanship. we never said a single nice thing about each other. it was sadistic on both our parts, sitting there from 9pm until the bar closed at 2am, just playing this ping pong game of cruelty, talking about how wonderful our new (sex) lives are. saying all those things better left unsaid not because you'll regret them later, but because they're all true and carry the most punch.
we then spilled onto the street, by now fully wasted, and began a playful tussle. he pushed me, i punched him in the stomach, he put his hands around my throat and gave a squeeze, i just stared him dead in the eye. nothing really gets out of hand; it wasn't a violent exchange, but the intent was clear. we hated each other at that moment.
i come home, throw up and pass out. this morning, i wake up with the biggest hangover, my body dehydrated, my belly full of anger. i cuddled with juice for a bit, easily the best thing that came out of that four-year relationship. she's all i have, all i need.
i've been a mess all day, canceling my plans and just staying in, processing. it's set me back some. i IMed with pablo this morning, and we both apologized for our vitriolic behavior last night, coughing it up to the alcohol. we agreed not to speak or see one another for a long while.
but it's ok, all this bloodletting. i think it'll get me closer to the next level, where i can really let it all go. (new mantra lately has been 'detach and be free.') perhaps it was too soon to meet and try to be friends, but i thought we were ready. four months out, i really do feel strong and solid. there's no longing or desire to have him or the relationship back, hasn't been for a while. i understand the whys and hows of our split, and am very much enjoying the new life i've carved out for myself. i don't doubt all this.
yet i still need some closure. i guess it'll come with time, even though my rational mind wants it now. last night did much to diminish the sentimental love i still carried in my heart for him, but it shouldn't have happened that way. i don't want to replace that love with anger. my heart has hardened enough. i want to love without fear and live without baggage. a healthy life.
Monday, April 26, 2004
Aaaaagh
nothing really to report, still stressed and grumpy. but in about two weeks all should be better. i'm not very motivated with the work i have to do, everything left will be done half-assed, i'm sure. grades are the least of my worries at this point. the thought of a fruitless job hunt is starting to preoccupy me, especially as many of my classmates already have secured employment. i think i'd like to take some time off, but how the hell will my rent get paid? ideally, i'd love to spend the summer in india or something, doing yoga on the mountaintop while feeling all zen and shit. but i don't foresee that happening. i'm at least hoping for a week in new york at the end of may or perhaps another visit to hawaii with my girlfriend kiana. in any case i need to get away, if only for a little while, if only entirely on my own. need to veg and collect myself for the life that lays ahead. i've been all philosophy lately, trying to answer the big questions. it's not working, nothing is concrete -- just some fragments of half-baked ideas. i'm trying to accept the uncertainty of the situation. i'm close to being all zen and shit about it.
i've also been battling some low days lately. not sure why, but i can't seem to get out of my heartache funk. it haunts me, following me around like a cloud that rains down on just me while everyone else gets sunshine. i'm trying to wiggle free, but i can't seem to shake it off. it's an amalgamation of stressors, the culmination of the past few years. i'm full of cognitive dissonance and can't seem to reconcile my heart, body and mind. they're all in different places doing different things -- all unrelated. i need some yoga. yoga means 'union' in sanskrit.
i just want to get there already, pass through the murky existence of the current. i'm trying to imagine some goals i can work toward. they're sharpening, but the process is torture. i've lost interest in most of the people around me and am trying to focus inward, am listening intently for answers, for that moment of clarity. there's pleasure, enjoyment in some things, but they don't fill the void vacated by the other things. it's like i can't come full circle.
fuck, i don't know. i guess i'm just in a strange zone right now. feeling edgy, irritable, yet brazen. i've never felt more driven. it's a driven that borders on the self-serving, perhaps even self-indulgent. i'm making no apologies. trying to both reconnect and detach. is this making sense? it may not be right now at 1 am after three vodka tonics and 10 cigarettes. i guess i'll just go to bed and keep repeating the two mantras that have become favorites lately -- 'this, too, shall pass' and 'the only thing you have is yourself, girl.'
i've also been battling some low days lately. not sure why, but i can't seem to get out of my heartache funk. it haunts me, following me around like a cloud that rains down on just me while everyone else gets sunshine. i'm trying to wiggle free, but i can't seem to shake it off. it's an amalgamation of stressors, the culmination of the past few years. i'm full of cognitive dissonance and can't seem to reconcile my heart, body and mind. they're all in different places doing different things -- all unrelated. i need some yoga. yoga means 'union' in sanskrit.
i just want to get there already, pass through the murky existence of the current. i'm trying to imagine some goals i can work toward. they're sharpening, but the process is torture. i've lost interest in most of the people around me and am trying to focus inward, am listening intently for answers, for that moment of clarity. there's pleasure, enjoyment in some things, but they don't fill the void vacated by the other things. it's like i can't come full circle.
fuck, i don't know. i guess i'm just in a strange zone right now. feeling edgy, irritable, yet brazen. i've never felt more driven. it's a driven that borders on the self-serving, perhaps even self-indulgent. i'm making no apologies. trying to both reconnect and detach. is this making sense? it may not be right now at 1 am after three vodka tonics and 10 cigarettes. i guess i'll just go to bed and keep repeating the two mantras that have become favorites lately -- 'this, too, shall pass' and 'the only thing you have is yourself, girl.'
Friday, February 20, 2004
Better
things have improved on this end, as far as my innards go. i had a couple of loopy days there where i thought they needed to cart me off to the looney bin. i couldn't cope at first, but now i've regained my footing.
i suppose my last post was a bit vitriolic and i don't mean to shut people out. it was just fucking annoying after i first split with pablo the wave of pity that came my way. people constantly calling offering everything under the sun, inviting me out to the movies, girls at my school running up to me in the halls and suddenly trying to hug me, everyone asking "are you ok?" and then having to retell the story, decline offers politely and so forth. perhaps i'm being unfair. i'm sure it was all sincere, but it was still fucking annoying, and lately i'm feeling twice as irritable.
i'm trying to go on like normal, trying to find furnishings for my new living room, trying to focus on my assignments and trying to pull myself out of self-pity mode. give me time with the last one. i need to wallow a bit longer and i know that falling apart won't do anyone any good. but it's hard to just "snap out of it."
the bright side to everything is that i've lost 10 pounds without even trying.
i suppose my last post was a bit vitriolic and i don't mean to shut people out. it was just fucking annoying after i first split with pablo the wave of pity that came my way. people constantly calling offering everything under the sun, inviting me out to the movies, girls at my school running up to me in the halls and suddenly trying to hug me, everyone asking "are you ok?" and then having to retell the story, decline offers politely and so forth. perhaps i'm being unfair. i'm sure it was all sincere, but it was still fucking annoying, and lately i'm feeling twice as irritable.
i'm trying to go on like normal, trying to find furnishings for my new living room, trying to focus on my assignments and trying to pull myself out of self-pity mode. give me time with the last one. i need to wallow a bit longer and i know that falling apart won't do anyone any good. but it's hard to just "snap out of it."
the bright side to everything is that i've lost 10 pounds without even trying.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Bad to Worse
my best friend has cancer. i got the news late last week. it's lymphoma, non-hodgkins, i think. needless to say, this has been devastating. he's my closest friend, whom i've known for 15 years, three of which he spent as my boyfriend. we have so much between us, i couldn't even describe it. our bond runs unimaginably deep. he's a half-semester away from completing a master's degree at columbia university in new york. he works part time for UNICEF. he's an extraordinary person, one of the smartest i've ever met. and now he has cancer.
i don't know how to wrap my brain around all the new realities i've suddenly found myself facing. this is beyond difficult and i lately find myself unraveling. i'm trying to keep it together, stay strong, prepare myself for what lies ahead. but it's so fucking hard.
friends, stay the fuck away. if you see me, don't remind me or look at me with those sad eyes you gave me when i split with my boyfriend. if i want to talk to you about it, i will (though i probably won't want to). it was bad enough having to go through the phone pleasantries when everyone called offering their condolenses for the death of my relationship. i'm feeling less cordial this time around, and need even more time and space. if you must, send e-mail. don't expect a reply. sorry in advance, i'm just not feeling like myself lately. respect that.
if you want to help, find a cure for lymphoma.
i don't know how to wrap my brain around all the new realities i've suddenly found myself facing. this is beyond difficult and i lately find myself unraveling. i'm trying to keep it together, stay strong, prepare myself for what lies ahead. but it's so fucking hard.
friends, stay the fuck away. if you see me, don't remind me or look at me with those sad eyes you gave me when i split with my boyfriend. if i want to talk to you about it, i will (though i probably won't want to). it was bad enough having to go through the phone pleasantries when everyone called offering their condolenses for the death of my relationship. i'm feeling less cordial this time around, and need even more time and space. if you must, send e-mail. don't expect a reply. sorry in advance, i'm just not feeling like myself lately. respect that.
if you want to help, find a cure for lymphoma.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Moved to Move On
doing MUCH better, folks. i think the worst is behind me and i'm feeling pretty strong lately. no more tears, in or outside of class. now a healthy sense of optimism is starting to sink in, spawned in large part to my new digs, which, if i may say, are pretty fucking sweet.
yes, i moved to a great 1-bedroom guesthouse in west hollywood, washer/dryer in the unit, dishwasher, hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, recessed lighting in each room, pine cabinets in the kitchen, private YARD in the back for my dog, private entrance for me through a gorgeous french door, tile in the bathroom, new stove... so i guess i'm pretty pleased with my new residence.
yeah, i feel so mary tyler moore lately. these moments have been saturated with such sweet possibility. i'm not there yet, and i know it will take many more months of ups and downs, but i'm starting to heal.
yes, i moved to a great 1-bedroom guesthouse in west hollywood, washer/dryer in the unit, dishwasher, hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, recessed lighting in each room, pine cabinets in the kitchen, private YARD in the back for my dog, private entrance for me through a gorgeous french door, tile in the bathroom, new stove... so i guess i'm pretty pleased with my new residence.
yeah, i feel so mary tyler moore lately. these moments have been saturated with such sweet possibility. i'm not there yet, and i know it will take many more months of ups and downs, but i'm starting to heal.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Thanks, Jeremy
Invictus
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
by William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Meltdown
i shouldn't be writing right now. i promised myself i wouldn't sit down to blog until i returned to baseline, at least somewhat. but i don't believe that's going to happen anytime soon, and when i feel too much, i often feel compelled to write it down, filter it through, get it out and send it on its way.
i don't fucking know. i should be doing a million other things right now, like packing up my shit to get ready for a move i'll likely be making soon. i could do some schoolwork, dishes, anything, everything. but nope, just sitting here consumed by this.
YES, it's true, folks. it is indeed over; YES, he cheated; YES, i'm pissed -- hurt, sad, disappointed, shocked and every other sorry feeling you can think of. i'm a fucking mess, walking disaster, i even cried in class the other day. that was so dumb, but i just couldn't help it. my column writing professor had us do an in-class exercise where we just free wrote for 10 minutes nonstop. guess what i wrote about? then he had us read it aloud to the rest of the class. i squirmed and said it was too personal, but he insisted, and since i knew i wouldn't be able to get through it, a classmate kindly read it for me. here it is:
"my heart is broken. that's the bottom line. he did it, broke it, finished it. and of course i never saw it coming. (does anyone?) just feel destroyed, like a nuclear wasteland, my safety net obliterated, my home ruined. four years -- good ones -- and he leaves me with this as his parting memory of us: that he cheated. that's what it's all reduced to. i can never remember the summer spent traveling through europe, the courtship that seemed so perfect, those first few weeks with the new puppy when we became a family. nope, nixed. now only this: that he cheated, he strayed, he lied. four years reduced to this simple fact and nothing more.
but i'll go on. i must, i'm not easily broken. i'll rise, survive, and maybe one day learn to love again, without fear. 'just keep busy,' i tell myself. must GO, GO, GO. there's work to be done, tasks that need completion, papers that need to be written, dishes to be washed. i can't stop, not even for a minute. otherwise, i just fall apart, collapse onto the floor in a sobbing heap. must pull through. keep it together and for god's sake, don't cry in class!! and sometimes it works. sometimes i get so focused on what i'm doing that i forget for a moment. the pain ceases and i can exhale. that's about all i can do -- breathe in, breathe out. lord knows i can't eat or sleep. can't really smile. won't be doing anything that feels carefree for a while. just surviving -- taking it one day at a time, letting time heal all wounds, that it's his loss, and every other fucking cliche i've heard in the last few days."
so of course i cried in class when it was read aloud and now i'll always be the Tragic Girl among my classmates. i was so embarassed, didn't know how to recover, so i sat silent the rest of the class, wishing it would finally be over so i could go home and cry some more.
sorry, maybe this is too much information. i never put shit up this personal on my blog and that's always been intentional. i really am a private person, despite even having a blog. but i don't want to vanish. you'll have to bear with me as i work through it here, at least some of it.
thanks, friends who've offered their support through phone calls, emails, comments. i hear ya, appreciate it. but i need some time alone right now. i won't be coming over to ruin your day with my trauma so you can feel sorry for me while i feel sorry for myself. i best grieve in private.
and i'll pull through ultimately -- this, i don't doubt, so don't worry too much about me. yes, it'll make me stronger, my heart a little harder, my eyes a little sadder, but it won't break me. now if you'll excuse me, i have to go weep.
i don't fucking know. i should be doing a million other things right now, like packing up my shit to get ready for a move i'll likely be making soon. i could do some schoolwork, dishes, anything, everything. but nope, just sitting here consumed by this.
YES, it's true, folks. it is indeed over; YES, he cheated; YES, i'm pissed -- hurt, sad, disappointed, shocked and every other sorry feeling you can think of. i'm a fucking mess, walking disaster, i even cried in class the other day. that was so dumb, but i just couldn't help it. my column writing professor had us do an in-class exercise where we just free wrote for 10 minutes nonstop. guess what i wrote about? then he had us read it aloud to the rest of the class. i squirmed and said it was too personal, but he insisted, and since i knew i wouldn't be able to get through it, a classmate kindly read it for me. here it is:
"my heart is broken. that's the bottom line. he did it, broke it, finished it. and of course i never saw it coming. (does anyone?) just feel destroyed, like a nuclear wasteland, my safety net obliterated, my home ruined. four years -- good ones -- and he leaves me with this as his parting memory of us: that he cheated. that's what it's all reduced to. i can never remember the summer spent traveling through europe, the courtship that seemed so perfect, those first few weeks with the new puppy when we became a family. nope, nixed. now only this: that he cheated, he strayed, he lied. four years reduced to this simple fact and nothing more.
but i'll go on. i must, i'm not easily broken. i'll rise, survive, and maybe one day learn to love again, without fear. 'just keep busy,' i tell myself. must GO, GO, GO. there's work to be done, tasks that need completion, papers that need to be written, dishes to be washed. i can't stop, not even for a minute. otherwise, i just fall apart, collapse onto the floor in a sobbing heap. must pull through. keep it together and for god's sake, don't cry in class!! and sometimes it works. sometimes i get so focused on what i'm doing that i forget for a moment. the pain ceases and i can exhale. that's about all i can do -- breathe in, breathe out. lord knows i can't eat or sleep. can't really smile. won't be doing anything that feels carefree for a while. just surviving -- taking it one day at a time, letting time heal all wounds, that it's his loss, and every other fucking cliche i've heard in the last few days."
so of course i cried in class when it was read aloud and now i'll always be the Tragic Girl among my classmates. i was so embarassed, didn't know how to recover, so i sat silent the rest of the class, wishing it would finally be over so i could go home and cry some more.
sorry, maybe this is too much information. i never put shit up this personal on my blog and that's always been intentional. i really am a private person, despite even having a blog. but i don't want to vanish. you'll have to bear with me as i work through it here, at least some of it.
thanks, friends who've offered their support through phone calls, emails, comments. i hear ya, appreciate it. but i need some time alone right now. i won't be coming over to ruin your day with my trauma so you can feel sorry for me while i feel sorry for myself. i best grieve in private.
and i'll pull through ultimately -- this, i don't doubt, so don't worry too much about me. yes, it'll make me stronger, my heart a little harder, my eyes a little sadder, but it won't break me. now if you'll excuse me, i have to go weep.
Friday, January 23, 2004
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