On Grief...and Sock Waving...

So, internet, it seems odd to me that this used to be my primary outlet for all things emotional whether it be minor irritations or actual tragedies. Lately, I haven't felt much like blogging, let alone, rehashing these most difficult times, but I thought I might give it a try again, seeing as it used to be so nice to vent here.

On December 11th, my grandfather died. He had been in and out of the hospital and rehab facilities and after long bouts with pneumonia, he finally decided that he just didn't want to be relocated back and forth from the hospital to rehab to home anymore and asked for hospice to be called in. I had been spending many weekends traveling to and from Charlotte to see him and around the end of October, realized that this was the beginning of the end. I didn't mind the trips so much as I minded not knowing if this one would be the LAST one.

After he made the decision was made for hospice to be brought in, Grandpa was back at the facility where he lived, although had been moved from Independent living to, Assisted Living, where he could received more constant care. This part, I think, irritated him more than the rest. Even when he was so sick he was hallucinating, he had a sense of humor about it. He laughed about believing that his favorite gameshow host, Pat Sajack was in his room in the hospital one night. And because he could laugh, as scary as that was for everyone, we could laugh too. He lived for a week after being moved to Assisted Living. He was able to attend meals in the dining room and see his friends whom he dearly loved and he was happy.

On December 10th, I got a call on my cell while I was at work, saying that hospice was asking that everyone call him in his room to say our good-byes. I knew that the moment would come, but I had no idea how I would feel. And I still don't know how to describe it. Obviously, I completely lost my shit and had to leave work and come home and cry my face off for the rest of the day. I called my grandpa one last time and was told that he would not be able to speak. I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to just speak to him, trying to choke back the tears, all the while knowing that this was it. But I did it. And shockingly, he was able, while on the phone with me, to say the words, "I love you very much" over and over again. Everyone in his hospital room was crying and I couldn't breathe. I could hear sobs from my aunt in the background as he spoke to me. For the last time.

The next morning, my dad called to tell me that he had passed. I didn't cry, really. Spliff sat on the foot of my bed, dressed and ready for work, and waited until she was sure I would be okay, before leaving. She told me that everyone at the office was so genuinely concerned that every time she told someone about the conversation I had had with him the day before and the fact that he had passed, they cried too. (And she cried every time she told someone as well.) She kept me updated on the score via text message. "Three down..."

The hardest part was trying to deal with regular things after that. Things like, doing laundry, getting out of bed, just generally living. Before the trip, I was in a bubble. I was a machine. I went to work, ate, slept, went to work...you see my point. It was better when we were out of town, because I was able to forget everything and not think about my grandpa or, for that matter, my grandma, who died seven years ago on my birthday, Christmas Day. But when we returned, I started to feel like a zombie again, work, eat sleep, repeat. I haven't felt like being a person, let alone, SEEING other people. It has been hard to laugh and hard to cry. I am working on trying to deal with the sadness in a way that doesn't alienate me from the people that I love, but it is a struggle. It feels wrong.

The memorial was a little over a week ago. I still don't know how to react to it, because it still doesn't feel real. It feels like I watched the whole thing from someone else's eyes. I cried and I laughed with my family, but I feel empty.

Today was the first time in a long time that I felt even remotely normal. I did things that I like to do and I did them alone. I felt that being on my own would be easier than trying to brave the outside world along with other people. And I feel much better for having done so.

I am grateful, (SO GRATEFUL) for my wonderful friends who, although they have no idea what to do or how to react to me right now, have been there however they know how.

On Spoons

These have been a lovely couple of days, internet. For one, my car isn't working so I have been basically stranded for the last few days. Stuck in the apartment, spending too much time playing online poker, thinking too much...blah, blah, blah. Then, The Kid and I break up. And that is a whole different issue.

The Kid and I were together for a little over a year. We started out pretty shakily because he was, after all, a kid and I was just starting a new chapter in my life and was sort of lost and aimless. He spent a lot of time lying to me about things he'd done, things he hadn't done, all sorts of ridiculous crap that I wouldn't have given a shit about either way. I was so angry at him when he came clean about all of this stuff, that I could barely see straight. I was so embarrassed that I had fallen for any of it, that I didn't tell anyone that he had made so much up. Why did he do this? I don't know. It was like some sort of high school bullshit. Or like a really bad storyline for a sitcom. Only it wasn't funny. I am not very trusting to begin with so starting out dating someone who can't even tell you that he hadn't been on the high school football team was...interesting. (sidenote: Like I would give a flying fuck if he had played high school football! Seriously???) We almost broke up before I knew his middle name.

But he started to get to me though. I liked his little accent and the dimple in his chin (which I normally hate on people) and I liked his smile and how genuine he seemed (although, in the back of my mind, there were still those times when I couldn't believe him). Things started to fall into place for us. We found a balance between my being an older, more experienced, independent control freak and his being a mature, naive, little boy and we fit pretty well. He eventually learned that there were things that I will not tolerate and I eventually learned that sometimes, I just needed to be patient. We had really beautiful times together and then we had some really fucking terrible ones. Ones that I don't think I would have tolerated from anyone else. But his age was his "get out of jail free" card, so to speak. I could overlook some of the jealousy and the need to control things, because I knew he just didn't know better, he hadn't been here before.

Over the past few months, I have started to feel lost again. Like I don't really know what I am supposed to be doing. I haven't been writing and I haven't really been enjoying anything. I have been stuck. As far as my relationship with TK, things have been pretty rocky. Our relationship has been a roller coaster for sure. And somewhere along the line, we have been derailed. No matter how strongly I felt about him or how hard I tried to make things better, nothing was working. At my age (I am not saying I am old...), I don't feel that there is as much room for error anymore. I feel that, if you aren't happy, then you have to do something to fix it. To BE happy. And yes, I knew somewhere inside me that I wasn't going to be happy with TK and I knew that he would never be completely happy with me. I knew that we were too different. I knew that we wouldn't last. But I still tried. I pushed those doubts away and I busted my ass to work through everything with him so that we had a fighting chance. But I think both of us knew that it wouldn't work.

Now TK is angry with me because my reaction to our breakup wasn't up to his expectations. I didn't cry or get upset because I felt like...this was what had to be done. I knew that he would be okay and I knew that I would be okay. I knew that, obviously, I would miss him but I also knew that we had to do what was best. And I stand by that. I can't say that I am not relieved. I am. I am relieved that we can both look back and say that we did everything we could. We worked on things and we couldn't fix it. Breakups are always sad. They are always painful and they always hard. But I honestly believe that we did what is right. He will find someone who he can love and who will love him and who will accept him for who he is. Someone he doesn't have to try so hard to impress. He has grown up so much in the time that we have been together and I am proud to have been able to witness it and possibly play a part in it. And yes, I am sad. I am not going to crawl into a hole and die or anything...but I am definitely going to mourn this relationship. I just hope that someday he will understand why I feel that sense of relief. I hope that he can just accept it and find it in himself. He has the whole world in his hands and he will continue to grow and he will be the most amazing person.

Anyway, it is bittersweet. I am exhausted from trying. I am hurt that he may never forgive me.

On Sadness

There's something so lovely about being sad, isn't there?

It sounds silly, but it is very true. Sometimes being sad is the only thing that keeps me sane. I don't often look sad and most of the time, I couldn't even tell you what I am sad about. I can just feel this void. It has always been there. It is like an old friend. (Only it isn't as good at hugs...)

Emotionally Inept

I've been really emotional lately. I'm not sure when it started and I don't know what triggered it, but it is rearing its ugly head all over my life.

Sometimes it comes in the form of overt sarcasm which I use to mask the fact that I actually CAN feel things, sometimes it comes out while watching a Bob Marley DVD, and sometimes it comes out when I am already in a generally bad mood and someone says something that puts me on the defense.

That last thing is what happened last night. I just snap sometimes and I can go from calm to yelling to crying in, less than 30 seconds. One minute I am laughing and the next I am sitting on the bathroom floor wondering why in hell I can't stop sobbing.

My life has changed so much in the last six months. Things have done a complete 180 and I have been lost somewhere between total happiness and relaxation and total chaos. I have no one to blame and I have no real solutions as to how to deal with the side effects of my up-and-down emotional state.

This rollercoaster tends to make me a little dizzy and push me sometimes right to the edge of sanity. And that's when I need someone to be there just to make sure I don't fall off. The thing is, I don't really like to let anyone that close to me. I don't like for people to witness me at my worst...I don't like them to see weakness. In my family, you either yell or you just bottle shit up. You don't display it. You can be mean and abrasive, but you must never be weak.

I come from a long line of women who are emotionally closed off and, dare I say it, inept. We don't have that thing that binds you to the way that you feel. We can form attachments, but we tend to be the "rocks" of those relationships. We are the women who counsel our friends until 4 in the morning when their boyfriends break up with them. We are the women who seem cold and uncaring when our boyfriends break up with us. We have no attention spans and we need to be in control. We tend to be more emotional about movies than we are about our real lives and we can't explain why we will cry when Julia Roberts doesn't get the guy in "My Best Friend's Wedding" but we can't cry when someone does something hurtful to us.

But then comes that time when we let our guards done just long enough to take offense to a sarcastic comment from someone who we love and trust and then we flip out. We yell and we cry and we feel betrayed. For no reason.

That about sums it up, I am totally emotionally inept.

Stress of a New Kind

I haven't been sleeping much. Sometimes I feel like there is too much drama in my life and then I realize that just a few short months ago, I had a job that I hated, a boyfriend, and a psychotic landlord...I should be happy. Right? I have no job, no boyfriend, and a landlord that high-fived Spliff for breaking her foot while drunk and trying to slide down an inflated water slide. I know, life should be fantastic for me. But there is stress. It just isn't the same kind.

Lately, the little things have been irking me. Like, when Spliff ate all the chicken salad that I made (it was fresh and it took an hour)...or when OE started to try and have a deep conversation when I was trying to avoid deep conversation...Or when I looked in the mirror and felt like I was 250 pounds overweight. All of these things are stressors. All of these things make me hostile.

It has started to feel like nothing I do is good enough. Like nothing I say can fix what I have done and like nothing I do will erase what I have said. Then there are essays and articles and ridiculous amounts of reading...and there are irritations that would never have been irritations in the past. I feel drained. I feel like I have run a marathon...my body hurts. My brain hurts. My soul hurts. When will there be a band-aid big enough for a wounded soul?

Barely Breathing

I've always had a knack for fucking things up. Usually, I wait until things are going really well and then I drop the ball. It's something that I have become so proficient at, I could do it in my sleep.

Last night, I spoke to ZH for the first time in over a year. After I told him that I wasn't sure about the move to Seattle, he pretty much decided that I was the antichrist. I told him that it wasn't the move that really bothered me, that I was actually really excited about the idea of living somewhere new but that his utter inflexibility was what was holding me back. Of course, ZH never saw himself as inflexible. He thought that if he "took care" of me that I would get over my need to have friends of my own or to live in a place that made me feel at home (meaning, I did not want to live in the small town that he refused to move out of, I needed the excitement of the city. I desperately wanted to live in an apartment overlooking downtown Seattle.) He wanted to control every aspect of my move and of our relationship and that's just not how I roll. I know, it is a terrible thing when a girl has a mind of her own.

Speaking to him was like being stabbed in the temple and the heart at the same time. It was like running and running but never getting anywhere and in the neverending five minutes that I had him on the line, I was torn between fury and the deepest sense of loss. He blames me for not being strong enough to let him take control...or for being too strong to let him take control. I see it one way, he sees it the other. He thinks that I deliberately tossed him aside because I didn't love him enough, when the truth is that I loved him more than he will ever know.

I have this problem a lot. I seem cold and uncaring when, in actuality, the opposite is true. I care so much sometimes that it hurts to breathe. And I guess he wouldn't have seen that.

I managed to hold the tears until the phone was safely back in my purse and even then, I only allowed myself 3 or 4. They were good ones. They were big and fat and full of words that I couldn't say out loud and a sense of regret that I never thought I would have to feel. Once they were dry, I was hopping in a cab and leaving the place that I will eternally see as the ending place for another destroyed relationship.

I stayed out as long as I could, trying to make every moment last as long as possible and every drink be the strongest one yet. I didn't let my thoughts drift into the place where he resides and I didn't even blink an eye when the jukebox played that song that he sang to me on that morning in Seattle. I focused my attention to my friends and the Puerto Rican who couldn't have been more ZH's opposite.

When the night finally turned into morning, I was dropped off at the door of my dark apartment and in seconds was hurled back into the sadness I had been trying to fight off. My tears came down in streams, streaking my face and my heart felt as if it might actually cave in. I didn't want to be the one he blamed. I couldn't bear the thought of being the villain. Not with him. But there I was. Alone. Sobbing. Barely breathing. Knowing, not only, that I was the bad guy, but that someone named Melissa was taking my place. A place that I had never even been sure that I wanted.

Unrest

Over the last week, my apartment has been a place of great emotional unrest. A place of raging hormones and ridiculous outbursts. A place of complete and utter chaos.

It is completely amazing that, with the thickness of the air and the eggshells scattered all over my world, I have managed to remain (for the most part) sane. And well, everyone around me too.

My Uncle died this week. Great Uncle, actually. He had been an alcoholic and a smoker and then a cancer patient and finally the victim of a stroke just around Christmas time before telling my aunt that he just wanted to give up. Honestly, it was no surprise. He was worn out. He was tired of fighting. And he didn’t want to put the family through any more. He didn’t want to put himself through any more.

I have been so distracted by the mood that seems to be hitting people like bowling pins, that I hadn’t really even paused to remember the last time I had even seen him. Until this morning. Obviously, we weren’t close but it was different when I was little. He used to lift me up to reach the crabapples in the tree in his back yard. I used to pick them, take a bite, wince, and throw them at my cousins. More recently, he had become a shadow. A presence that you could sense when you were in the house, but you never saw him. Even on Christmas Eve, while sitting in his kitchen with the whole family, he was there…but never truly there. Invisible.

I’m saddened. But my mind races and my heart sinks. I’ve had a short fuse and an unpredictable tendency to break apart into little pieces. When I am not working on a paper or taking a test, I am looking for a job or trying to put Spliff back together. I don’t have time to think or feel or concentrate on any one thing for more than a few minutes. I don’t have time to just be.

When Spliff crawled into my bed this morning, it was the first normal moment there has been in weeks. It was almost like all the heaviness had been lifted and I could finally relax. It was like years ago when she would want to spend the day running around on the beach and couldn’t wait for me to get up so she would take matters into her own hands, burst into my room and either pull me out of bed by my ankles or stand at the edge of the bed and prepare for a dive that would leave me either laughing or cussing. Only this time it was eerie and not quite right. There were things to take care of. But for a second, we could laugh like nothing was wrong.

In a Nutshell

Tory made me this picture frame once. It has always been right in my room…where I can see it from every angle. Where I can see it always and remember that I mean something…to someone. She made it several years ago after the big falling out and before the years of her marriage and motherhood. Before she forgot about our friendship. Or disregarded it.

I told myself, after the first time, that I would never let her hurt me again. I told myself that I would walk away before I would let that kind of thing happen again. I told myself that I was strong enough to do it too. Then, a few months ago, I got this message from her on myspace and I fell right back into the whole thing. For a minute. Spliff and Rack say that I shouldn’t get involved because of the potential for disaster…and then I look at the picture frame that she made (which all but replaced the picture of her on that New Year’s Eve 87 years ago when she looked adorable at Einstein’s with that cute tiara on,
which has been hung in every apartment with the exception of this one).

Tonight, I got home and wished that I could call her. With Spliff having a crisis of her own and my life being so completely confusing, I just needed her voice. But I don’t know that she is the same. And I can’t risk being hurt again…and seeing as she uses the term “bygones” to excuse her behavior of the last two years…I can’t really justify the call.

But sometimes…I just want to feel like someone knows me.

Used Up

I'm feeling sort of used up. I feel unapproachable and angry and sad for no good reason. Well, at least not one that I can pinpoint. It could be one of many things.

1. This headache that just won't die. And by that, I mean five fucking days of being stabbed in the eye with an ice pick.
2. My job. I am really unhappy (as I am sure that you have noticed) and I just want to see some light at the end of the tunnel. And I am starting to get discouraged.
3. Then there's the obvious, I miss my grandma thing. She should be here.
4. I miss ZH. The holidays passing without his phone calls is an unbearable concept. I feel like an asshole most of the time. Having someone you care about so deeply thinking you're an asshole is the worst feeling in the world (even though I don't actually know that he thinks I am an asshole. It's just the nicest of all the things I imagine he must think of me.)
5. I don't have enough money to do nice things for everyone that I love. I hate that. I want to buy beautiful, thoughtful, perfect gifts and I a) have absolutely no motivation to shop and b) not enough money to make it happen.
6. I can't seem, no matter what I do, to get enough sleep. I want to sleep when I should be awake and I want to read when I should be sleeping.
7. I am going to be 27 in 11 days. Holy crap. I am old. That sucks ass.
8. I am going to Michigan for Christmas/27th Birthday. I want to stick my head in an oven. People from Michigan come to FLORIDA for Christmas. NOT the other way around. That's just freaking stupid. It's gloomy outside.
9. The fog was so thick this morning that no one knew whether to drive or sleep. So they did a little bit of both.
10. I watched a documentary ("Paper Clips") last night and cried my face off. And now I look like a monster.

It's been a tough week. But, I can't lie. It is looking up. Tonight, all the good shows are on and before those are on, I am meeting Spliffany and a friend for dinner at a place with really yummy food…and BEER. Tomorrow, JGJ will be here. (I really hope you don't mind cranky bitches, and sleeping.) And Saturday, because D (I had almost forgotten) is one of the most thoughtful, accommodating, lovely human beings on the planet, we will be making lefse in memory of my grandma and following that with a reunion of the Karaoke Crew variety…which I can only imagine, will be delightfully hilarious and full of…well…drunken singing. Duh. I can't wait. So…HOPEFULLY, I will snap out of this goddamned MOOD…(Isn't it about TIME?! Seriously!)

Until next time...

Morphed Mood

The woman next to me is blaring country music and trying to drown it out with Ben Harper isn’t working. Mostly because I am too considerate too turn it up too loud and irritate the rest of the office.

Country music does one of two things for me. It either makes me smile uncontrollably (“White Trash Wedding” by the Dixie Chicks or “Sold” by John Michael Montgomery, I know, I know…I am lame.) or it makes me turn into a ball of mush and cry my face off (I’m not even going to list the ones that do that, for fear that I might have to crawl under my desk and sit for the rest of the day in the fetal position). Today, it’s the latter. Almost every song that I have tried to drown out has reminded me of some person or some moment or some time in my life that I try hard not to think about.

“The Mood” hasn’t disappeared, just morphed into another strain of itself. And now I am less bitchy but more…down. I wish I hadn’t managed to destroy my relationship with ZH in such a long, fluid motion. I wish I had more time to see LBG. I wish that JGJ didn’t live so far away. I wish I enjoyed my job. I wish it were Summer and that I’d lost twenty pounds and looked fantastic in my adorable green bikini. I wish pizza didn’t have any calories. I wish I could decide what I want to do with my life. I wish I could take a vacation. I wish I’d had better parents. I wish I had a little more time with my grandmother and that my grandfather had stopped aging and would be around forever. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Mostly, I wish that I could shake “The Mood”…and maybe just that the chick next to me would just change the damn station.

Regret

A long time ago, when I was dating Jer, I was introduced to D. D thought that because I was 19 at the time, I would be ignorant and tasteless and had decided that she wouldn’t like me before I set foot in the apartment that she shared with her first husband K. K was a huge, clunky oaf who worked with Jer making no money in a crappy little sports shop. (I won’t get into detail here, because I think most of you know what I mean.) Jer and K had become fast friends despite the age difference (which was only about 7 years, but evidently when you’re 19, 26 year olds hate you and think you couldn’t possibly have anything interesting or intelligent to talk about. It’s true.) K offered me a glass of wine immediately, a suggestion at which D snarled with disapproval because of my lack of agedness. But as soon as dinner was over and D and I were deep into conversation and our second glasses of wine, we were on the floor, hunched over D’s CD collection, listening to Bing Crosby and talking about how wonderful Cyndi Lauper is. And the rest is history.

I helped D conceal her cigarette habit from K and watched as their marriage deteriorated and turned into a divorce. I hung around while she developed a relationship with her goofy but adorable best friend. And she stood by me when the only real relationship I’d ever had fell apart. We were like sisters. Until I met her brother.

G was hilarious. He was the kind of guy who would have everyone’s attention whenever he was in a room and have them all laughing to the point of tears every time. He was a pothead bartender who never held a job for very long and he was the object of D’s best friend’s affection. (We called her “The Drag Queen”.) TDQ shamelessly threw herself at G whenever she had the opportunity and when G started paying attention to me, tension started brewing. Not just tension, but hostility. And not just from TDQ, from D as well. G would get drunk and high and serenade me or throw me over his shoulder and carry me around the house. Open my car door. Kiss my hand. If I stayed the night, he would sneak into the bedroom I was sleeping in and curl up next to me. And even though he wasn’t what I wanted, it was easy to feel protected and somehow loved while listening to his breaths.

And one night, after months of drunken make out sessions that I never intended to take seriously, we slept together. I could talk about the actual sex, but I’m a lady. So, I will just say, that I regret it on levels that I didn’t even know existed. Immediately afterward, I felt like a whore. But not just that, I felt that I had lost any dignity that I had. I was no stranger to bad choices or inappropriate guys but nothing made me feel as naked or stupid as I did this time.

As it turns out, I never saw G again. Or D for that matter. I didn’t stick around to find out if it was my doing or hers but I knew that I didn’t ever want to lay eyes on G again. And I didn’t want to face D after doing something I knew she didn’t approve of because I knew if anyone could make me feel worse, it was her. I tried to play out conversations in my head for when I did see her again, but I never could get them right. I could never form any real sentences or explanations. I just knew that I was sorry.

I found D on myspace yesterday and felt hurt and angry and sad. I felt hurt because I always thought our friendship was bigger than some stupid thing that I did. And angry because she didn’t care enough to see that I was lost then. That I had felt alone and alienated and scared of everything and because of that, I did some things that I couldn’t take back. Stupid, stupid things. Things that I can’t think about without wincing. I knew I was hurting people, but I kept on. Because, even if just for one moment, I felt alive and safe.

I’m sad now because I know that her friendship was one of a kind. I know that when I screwed it up, it was on the down slope but it could have been repaired. And my attempts to fill a void were viewed as disregard. And that couldn’t be less true.

I’m older now. Happy. But much the same. And because of what I did, I can’t share that with a person who taught me so much about who I wanted to be. And even though there are things about her that I hated, there were more things about her that I loved. And I feel cheated and wronged just as much as I feel ashamed and regretful.

Looking at her picture and reading about how her life is now, I found a little peace in the fact that she is happy too. She is still with A and is still the showtune singing dork that she always was. It’s refreshing to see it, even if I can’t see it first hand. I just hope that she has forgiven me.

Burritos, anyone?

I started putting thoughts on paper today. The way I did before my head got all turned around and inside out and whatnot. And in my purging of thoughts and words, I realized that even if I ever was articulate enough to manifest some sort of sense out of them, I will never be able to say what I want to. Not the way that I want it to sound. Not the way that I want it to feel. There’s too much there.

Love and loss and sadness and guilt and happiness rolled into a flour tortilla and served with a side of rice and inadequacy. Because yes, my mind has prepared a bittersweet Mexican dish that I like to call Burritos con Miedo. The salsa is exquisite.

I am haunted by these words. Words that I can’t utter outloud. Words that I can’t even bring myself to admit. The sound would be heinous and horrible and I would be left with the bitterness from someone that I can’t accept that sort of thing from. Someone that I truly love.

Which is why these words will make it to paper before they ever make it to my lips. They will flow from my fingertips in a stream that requires no thought. But it helps to read them back. It helps to see them. And to feel them. And to know them as true.

He's Got the Look

I had a dream about J last night. I don’t remember much of the details except a comment he made about it being too hard to hang out with me, and the look on his face when he said it. We weren’t alone, but with that comment, he and his look slid out of my apartment without a glance back in my direction. And I felt it. The pang of guilt and sadness and regret. Just like I had felt the day that I saw him on the road. Just like I had felt when it all ended. And I thought of the perfect description within the dream of this feeling, said aloud, “I have to blog this”, and then woke up.

When I dream about J, I always wake up feeling sad. And regretful. And guilty. It is the same thing every time. Different scene. Same emotional tug of war.

Sometimes I wish, even if just within a dream, he would just scream at me. Just tell me how badly I caused him to feel. How horrible I was. Just so that I can have some peace of mind. I want to discard the pleasantries that we always share when faced with an awkward encounter. Maybe if he could just let me have it one good time, it would resolve all of this extra stuff that weighs me down. But then, I might not deserve that either. I am probably being punished with it. Remnants of yet another thing that I screwed up because I was not only selfish, but scared.

He’ll never give me the satisfaction of a good fight. He never would. And he may have forgotten all about us. But I know, judging from the last awkward encounter, that he hasn’t let it all go just yet. Maybe it isn’t even about him. Maybe it is about my need to explain.

Either way, I guess I shouldn’t hold my breath. It would be nice though, if he would stop polluting my dreams with that look.

It is hard to throw things away, even when you know you should. When their usefulness has worn off and their luster is gone. When they cause you more anguish than they do happiness.

There is always that last grasp. That last moment, right before its gone, that you look back on all the things it did for you. All the things it meant to you. All the things that have long since slipped away.
Sadly, more often than not, this is when you realize that all that history, all that happiness can never be replaced by clutching to something that has become obsolete to you in any way other than one in which that will cause you greater pain, a greater sense of loss. And that is when you know it is time to say good bye.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "Don't Look Back in Anger" - Oasis

Pinhead in a Haystack

Okay…So, I feel I should explain something…

Background on Pinhead:
He and I were friends in high school. We lost touch after he graduated. He dated a crazy person who was very, very serious about him not even having a conversation with another girl. They broke up. We started hanging out again. We made out twice (drunken stupidity). He lied to me about something HUGE in his life that, as his friend, I felt betrayed that he had kept a secret for over a year. Things were weird because I didn’t trust him anymore. And weird because, obviously, after all this time, he still didn’t trust me. This has all taken place over the last 10 years.

He is very closed off. And in our friendship, I never really understood it. He got weirder and weirder as time progressed and now, as I find out, he thinks the reason I am weird around him is because we made out and is completely effing wrong. I mean, are we in 7th grade?

Reasons for space:
1. He lied to me.
2. He made excuses that went like this: “I didn’t want to change your opinion of me.” (Well, buddy, YA DID, but not the way you thought.)
3. He still can’t talk about it.
4. He starts fights on the daily if I let him. (And Viola, you have the reason I don’t talk to him!)
5. He presumes to know everything about me.

He has done some great things for me in the past (helping me with moves, picking me up in the middle of the night and bringing me to friends when someone I love died, holding a cold beer on my foot when I broke it). And for my friends. But for these reasons, I feel this space that I never even sensed before. And I don’t know that I can ever trust his reasons for doing the things that he does knowing how little he seemed to trust me before. It really is a shame, because it really did hurt me when all of this happened. I really missed having him around there for a while. But…the missing him ended when I tried to make an effort and was thanked with a nice, big, stubborn comment and a bunch of sarcasm, arguments and unreturned calls.

And maybe I just can’t deal with deceit. And maybe needs to make things difficult so that he doesn’t have to let anyone in. I just like to think that you get what you give. And when you are a loyal friend to someone for upwards of 8 years and then they deliberately make you feel like you can’t be trusted, it is a slap in the face. Friends don’t do that. Pinhead did and it makes me insane. Every time I see him is a reminder of how betrayed he made me feel.

That’s my story, folks, and I’m sticking to it.

Welcome to the Cruel World

I remember when I was a kid and my dad was living in Savannah. I remember how, in the summer, my sister and I used to go and stay with him and on his days off we would sit in the parks and feed pigeons. I remember how helpless I felt when I would see homeless people. Those people who would walk by us, picking half-eaten hamburgers out of the trash cans. I would get so sad. I wanted to fix it for them. I still do.

The other day in Riverside, we were walking down the sidewalk right after nightfall and a man approached. He was deaf and had a note in his hand and tried to flag us down. Since I had fallen behind anyway and the rest of the group had sped up when they had seen him, I started to walk faster. It hurt me to not stop and read his note. It hurt me to stride past him. Even though I knew I couldn’t afford to give him anything. Even though he couldn’t speak to me. He couldn’t tell me if he was hungry, if he wanted a cup of coffee, if he just needed a cigarette. I felt guilty for not treating him with the respect that he deserved, just because he is human. He is a person just like me.

One Tuesday night, about a year or so ago, I should have been sleeping, but was out with Ricky and his crazy married friend (before I knew he was crazy) and we stopped at VI for a middle of the night breakfast. When we left, I boxed up every ounce of food at the table and left it on a bench where Paul slept. I wrote a note on the box wishing him a good morning and then drove away. I remember how CMG looked at me when I told him what I planned to do. It was combination of utter astonishment and complete confusion. But I went to bed that night feeling like a million dollars.

Inspiration in the dark

I have been in a generally bad mood today. For no reason. Just because. As a matter of fact, I was this way all weekend too. I didn't go out at all, I didn't see anyone except Tiff and D. It was quiet and nice, but I was lonely. By choice? I didn't want to see anyone, but I didn't want to be alone. I guess the alone thing, is the alone that you feel when you don't have someone, not the alone that you feel when no one is around.

I did get a chance to think about a lot of things that had been bothering me. But I really don't think that I resolved anything yet. So, I decided that, being in need of inspiration, I would lock myself in my room with my cigarettes and my computer and my Ben Harper and The Blind Boys CD and FIND me some inspiration.

So far, I have discovered that I look pretty cute when I wear a scarf on my head and only my bangs hang out. And I have discovered that when you type in the dark, it tends to hurt the eyes. And I discovered that I don't have much to say lately. If I did, I am sure that I could say it eloquently, but nothing comes out. Nothing of importance is happening in my head. I am in a strange state of mind lately. I am so surrounded by people that I feel more like an alien than I ever have. And I am so alone inside myself that I barely notice the people trying to get in. And when I do notice them, I shut them down so quickly that they don't even know what happened.

There has to be something wrong with me. Does everyone do that? Would everyone rather reside in the solitary confinements of their minds, than open up and risk sounding like an asshole every once in a while? Or is this just me?

Maybe we all just need to be saved.

Number Three

I suppose that there is an upside to all of this. I suppose that somewhere, there is a reason that this happened to him. I am not sure what it is. But maybe I am not supposed to. I just feel bad for them. Them, the family. I don’t know how this must feel. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my sister. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my mother or my father. I know that it is hard. I lost my grandmother two years ago and my life still isn’t right. This is different for me. He was different. I guess everyone has a different hold on you. I guess that everyone you know and love, affects a different part of you. It seems to me, that the more people that go away, the smaller I become. The harder it is for me to want to care about people. The more hopeless it all seems.
Tonight: the eulogy.

I don’t even know what to say anymore, really. Things just happen. They happen without explanation, without warning. Things that you don’t ever think about. Things that you would never expect in a million years. And then there you are. Just dealing. Wandering through days like a zombie. Not really thinking, not really feeling. Just dealing. And then once reality sets in, it is like someone has opened the floodgates. I don’t know which is worse. Being a zombie, or being a basketcase.

Days lately feel so empty to me. I am thinking a lot about a lot of things but either don’t have the energy to put my thoughts to words, or I just don’t know what to say. I am tired. I feel like things are slipping away so quickly all around me, and I am in the same place. I am quietly watching the whole world change. And I am left out of it.

My days are consumed with deadlines and diet coke and too many cigarettes lately, leaving me with the sour taste in my mouth of not really having time to connect with anyone. Weekends speed by. All the while, I try to squeeze in as much fun, as many friends and strong shooters as I possibly can, so that I feel like I have gotten the most of my two days of freedom. The thing is, my heart isn’t in any of this that I do anymore. I don’t know where my heart is. Half the time, I am just wondering through life, doing exactly what I did the day before. Routine. Routine is the death of creativity.

I used to write every day. Years ago. And not blog material. Beautiful stuff. And I knew it was beautiful. I could feel the beauty in it. Now, there is very little beauty in anything. Things are brown. Dull. Somber.

I need a vacation. Or Paxil.