So here I am. Back in New York. Back to my old life. And I mean my OLD life. The one where I was single. Yea… you remember that, don’t you? I do. Clear as day.
Bonnaroo.
I’m in Manchester, Tennessee. Sitting on the side of some highway which number I can’t remember. 40? 76? Beats the hell out of me. There were a dozen of them. Anyway, we’re sitting on the side of the highway in the blazing sun with a few thousand other cars waiting on line to get in to the field and prepared to do so for at least four more hours. “Crack me open a beer?” I ask Bill who is barely awake in the back seat. A lot of the cars around us are unoccupied. It’s passengers are roaming in the grass, throwing footballs, shotgunning beers, and here I am… hippie at heart… picking wild flowers on the side of the highway and placing them behind my ear. We get back in the car to move it. A whopping 35 feet. That was worth the gas. At $4.Something a gallon. While still sitting in the car, I notice the two guys in the car in front of us.
“I like that one. The taller one with the light hair. He’s cute. It’s a doofy sort of way.”
“You think?” Asks Tiff (who’s driving).
“Yea. He’s alright.”
Not even two seconds later, taller guy and shorter guy are headed toward the car. I roll down my window, light up a camel non-filter and take a giant swig of Amstel Light.
We share a few minutes of small talk before it’s time to move the car again. This time, a whole 50 feet. That’s when Tiff looks over at me. “You know they only came over here because they didn’t see Bill in the back seat, right?”
“Oh yea. I know.” And we laugh.
We bullshit the whole five hours waiting on line to get into the place. We make an agreement to share a campsite, share beer, food, etc.
After spending the entire first day with Taller, Lighter haired guy and his buddy, TG (taller guy) and I decide we’re headed over to the staging area. Yea, there’s no bands we want to see the first night, but we want to check out the place too. We head back to the campsite an hour or so later and find we’re alone.
“Want to see my tent?”
Now, I’m not that easy a sale. I can promise you that. But I’m drunk. I’m single. And hadn’t gotten laid in I don’t even know how long. Alright, I do know how long. And it was too long.
So I slept with him.
Things would have been fine after that. I was totally content with just hanging all weekend and not even aknowledging the situation, but he got clingy. Sure he wanted to get laid again. Simple as that.
But we live states away.
And he’s still clingy.
So sorry I gave the kid my number.
1.) When you lie to your parents and go somewhere/do something they would not approve of, you run the risk of getting into some kind of trouble. Resulting in your getting caught or forcing you to lie some more to ensure you don’t get caught.
2.) When you break a bone, it hurts.
3.) When a doctor recommends something (casting a limb, wiring your jaw shut, prescribing medication, warning you of future risks, etc.) you should always listen. They know what they’re talking about. (Which is why they’re doctors.)
4.) Whenever you think there’s no hope left… you’re wrong. Always.
5.) People can always be understood and forgiven. But situations don’t have to be forgotten. Especially situations that turned into lessons.
6.) The only things in life that cannot be erased:
a) The past.
b) Words that were spoken.
c) Broken promises.
7.) Family is always the most important thing. If your family is not worthy of your love, create a new family, we often call them friends when they mean so much more.
8.) Don’t ever pass up an opportunity to tell a loved one just how much they mean to you.
9.) A broken heart hurts much worse than people will tell you. You’ll never understand unless you actually experience it.
10.) Everyone should experience it. At least once. You’ll appreciate the love that much more.
11.) I’m not perfect. Neither are you. Don’t get too mad at other people who just can’t help but makes mistakes. We’ve all made our share. (Some more than others.)
12.) Fall in love. Every fucking chance you get!
13.) Try to forgive people for their past. You may have done something that someone else might not approve of.
14.) Express yourself as much as you can everyday. Write, paint, read, dye your hair a funky color, dress however you want to, get a tattoo, and remember just how beautiful you are when you’re being true to yourself.
15.) Smile. Everyday. Because no matter how hard things get, someone always has it worse than you, and someone would always “kill” to be in your shoes rather than their own.
16.) Be thankful for every single thing you’ve ever done and experienced. It made you who you are. Don’t regret a thing.
17.) When you say something about someone else that you wouldn’t want them to hear; There’s a 98% chance they’re going to hear it. So be careful.
18.) When you call out sick from your job to go to your favorite bar with all of your friends, there is a very high risk of running into your boss while you’re there. (Learned that one this weekend. Whoops!)
19.) Things that always change:
a.) Fashion
b.) Music
c.) Time
d.) Weather
e.) Technology
f.) Relationships
g.) The strengthening/weakening of your heart
20.) The value of your worth is determined by you, not by status, money, power, material things, etc. If you feel that you’re worth nothing, than you are. And trust me; you’re always worth a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
21.) Don’t let anyone make you feel any less than wonderful. Because it’s not true and they don’t deserve to know just how wonderful you really are.
22.) There won’t always be a tomorrow. But try not to think about it. Today is so much more important! Because if there is a tomorrow, what you do today can make or break it.
23.) Love is so much sweeter when you’re not afraid of it.
24.) Work is just work. It should never be your life. Your family, friends, experiences, adventures, lessons, mistakes, smiles, laughs, memories, heart-aches, and failures are what make up your life. Work is just something we do to make sure we can have all those other things.
25.) Trust your gut.
26.) Don’t even be afraid to ask for help. Offer to help others every chance you get.
27.) Doing what you love is so much more important than making millions of dollars.
28.) Try as many new things as possible and meet as many new people as you can. You can never have too many friends and learning new things, trying new things, going new place is an important part of life.
29.) Don’t hold in your feelings. You’re only hurting yourself that way.
30.) Always remember:
The sun always rises in the East.
It always sets in the west.
The stars always shine.
(Even if you can’t see them.)
Time never stops.
And it doesn’t rewind.
People come and go.
Just make sure you know who to keep and who to let go.
Time doesn’t heal all things.
But it certainly can help.
It takes more energy to be angry, than it does to be happy.
Try to learn other people’s lessons.
But most importantly:
Learn from your own.
Childhood memories are lost in a maze that is the brain. A kaleidoscopic filing system where nothing is in order. Not chronologically, not alphabetically, and not prioritized. Some cabinets don’t even open. Keys have been lost for years. And I would imagine that the number for the locksmith is locked in one of those cabinets. Because that just seems to be the way it is.
Images are stretched and skewed and colors are accentuated. Even the lack of color is sometimes emphasized. Pictures are not filed like everything else, they float aimlessly, and as if without gravity, around and around in the cluttered space that I have been enslaved for too long.
*************
Not all the visions are real. Some are dreams, some memories, some thoughts, and some nightmares. Stumbling upon such a picture in my mind can often take a moment or two for the filing system to pull up archives on it. “Did that happen?” “Did I see her?” “Where was that?” A series of multiple choice questions frantically surveying database after database on a giant server of jumbled information until I can conclude when, why, how, and where that image came from. If it ever even existed at all.
A giant room filled with computers, files, paperwork, paintings, portraits, and digital images flying fast and slow in circles ‘round the room with no set course over the head of a little girl cowering in the corner. Afraid that the things she sees is all a dream, she prays that her photographic memory will not document the events and be kept with her always. Haunting her. What she does not realize; it’s not a dream. It’s her life. She will forever be trapped in what looks like an abandoned classroom. The door slightly ajar, windows broken, and a damp feeling taking over the air.
She does not dare leave. For fear that what lurks beyond that door is far more devastating that the eternity she has already been sentenced in the messy, chaotic, dark room, eternally lonely.
She curls her knees into her chest and fights with all her might to hold back tears.
The little girl deserted in solitude.
But she wasn’t always strong. She had to learn how to be strong. Because she knew no one would or could be strong enough for her. They never even offered. They didn’t even try. Just pushed her aside and left her to fend for herself. The poor little thing.
But don’t call her that. Not now. Don’t feel sorry for her! Don’t pity her or shed tears on her behalf. Because it’s too little, too late. She has been locked away in her own mind all alone. Where she was cornered and abused by monsters and demons. They tried to bring her down, make her into nothing. And keep her from moving on. And yet, she still closed herself up and stayed trapped in that crazy head of hers. And that’s the way she likes it. Because that’s all she’s ever known.
********
So when she breaks down and cries, it’s monumental. Because she doesn’t often let herself cry. Because they were not there to comfort her before, so they won’t be there now. Because while she doesn’t think other people are weak for crying, she thinks she is if she does it. Because no good can come from tears. Just dried up eyes, running noses, and wasted energy.
So when she pushes you away (if she hasn’t already, she will) it’s because she’s so scared she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. Because she knows if she doesn’t push you away she will have to open up to you otherwise. And that’s not something she likes to do. Because that means that you see it all, hear it all, know it all. The good and the bad. The logic and the chaos. And she fears that there’s more bad than good.
And pushing you away before you walk away hurts a lot less in the end.
Because walking away is sometimes the worst thing you can do to her. Because it’s all too familiar. Too familiar to that little girl inside who will secretly never get over it. Something she wishes she never experienced. But has experienced it more times than she can count. And she doesn’t know how many more times she can take of it. Before she loses it. Loses it all. And really can’t go on anymore.
Walking away from her and leaving her behind helps her justify the act of pushing people away. An art she has mastered over the years. Something she does not take pride in, will not always admit, but a crime she commits on a regular basis. Like clockwork. Yea, she’s that predictable.
Don’t feel sorry for her! She doesn’t need it. It will get her nowhere. She has made it this far without your pity and sympathy. And she will make it even further. Just to prove to them how strong she is. How much she has done, can do, and will do all on her own.
*******
Sometimes she feels comfortable in her own skin. Enough to admit this major flaw. (And other flaws. Because she has many.) Sometimes she’s sick of running and hiding from people who want to be there for her. She gets tired of pushing people away and feeling alone.
And in a certain world, a perfect one, she feels naked bearing her heart and soul on the table but not too naked where she needs to run away.
-He lived too far away. And then he moved. And now he lives even further away.
-He is older than me. By ten years. Which doesn’t bother either of us, but I know it will bother my sometimes protective brother, father, brother-in-laws, cousins, uncles, and friends.
-He’s smart, funny, spontaneous, adventurous, caring, sensitive, artistic, creative, happy, trusting, trustworthy, honest, and engaging. Basically, going back to point #1. Too good to be true.
**************************
I thought I was going to be able to come up with more than this. And I cannot. Maybe there isn’t anymore? Maybe he’s not as unrealistic as I think he is. Maybe he’s just what I need, what we both need. And maybe I shouldn’t be scared to let people in anymore. Maybe I should let him be mine, and mine his. And maybe I should stop thinking of him as Mr. Unrealistic and starting thinking of him as Mr. Perfect. Because that’s really what he is when all is said and done.
Because he makes me smile.
And he cares about me.
We can talk about anything and everything.
For hours.
He holds me whenever he has the chance.
Calls me to say hello and that he was thinking of me.
Takes pictures of himself making funny faces and sends them to me.
Just to know that I smiled that day.
Tells me jokes just to hear me laugh.
Makes me buy a Christmas tree.
And helps me decorate it.
Loves to sit on my couch and drink hot chocolate with me.
He loves the sound of my fingers typing and the faces I make when working on my book.
Because he says he can really hear me think when I do that.
And to him, it’s beautiful.
Because he will not see his family, just to spend Christmas with me.
And I won’t let him.
(Even though I want to…)
Because family is important.
And because he tells me he’s going to marry me someday.
And that he’s never felt that way about anyone before.
And he’s already told everyone that.
Even though most of them have never met me.
He says they know he means it.
Because he does.
And even if he doesn’t mean it, it still makes me smile.
And that’s enough for me.
For now.
**************************
Mr. Perfect.
Perfect.
In a discussion with a friend over the difference of “compromise” and “sacrifice” some feelings of mine surfaced. I need to get them out. I have (and know this about myself) a terrible habit of bottling all of my feelings up, pretending to be strong, and pushing forward. I don’t know any other way. I suppose I get this from my dad. He’s been doing it for thirteen years, since my mom passed away. He never let us see him hurting, even though we all know he was, and still is, and will forever.
I can never share these feelings with L for fear of hurting her. But I do need to get them out and learn to get them out regularly so as not to get to the point I am at today. I have had better days, but today I feel as though I might burst into tears if I simply drop my pen on the floor. And it didn’t occur to me that I was even sad, hurting, upset, or anything until my friend and I had a discussion. Which means that I have gotten so good at bottling it all up that I even fooled myself into thinking I was happy. How sad is that?
She makes me nervous. L. And I don’t exactly know why. She makes me anxious and stressed. I often get the shakes when she gets home from work at night. Something about the sound of her walking in the door at night makes me uneasy. I fear so many things at once and I can’t even describe them all. I wouldn’t do it any justice… But I am going to try anyway.
I fear that she is just putting on a good show. Pretending to be the person she was, the friend I knew and trusted before she left. But, theoretically, that could have been a show all along as well. The girl who left for Florida with her best friend’s boyfriend, that could be the real L. Who is who? Has she been the same L all along and just made a bad decision in the heat of the moment? In a rush of what she felt was love? For the first time? And was not was willing to give it up? Not even for a friendship she assured me that she treasured? Was she blind to it all and had he convinced her to do it? Is she as naïve as I always thought she was? Or was that all a show also? I don’t know. And I suppose there’s no real way to tell.
I fear that one day she will walk in that door and the ex will be with her. And how would they act? Would they be back together? Would they parade their love in front of me in hopes of hurting me even more? Would she leave with him again? And take Calvin with them? The baby I have grown to love more than anything. The one that I can’t imagine not being there for when he grows up. The one I have already thought about high school graduation gifts for. And ways to save for college tuition, and the day he might be married? It’s one thing to fall in love with a baby, but to fall in love with a baby that you live with, and take care of more than the biological mother does, and provide for financially, solely, it would feel impossible to give him up. I don’t know that I could give him up. I don’t ever want to give him up.
Will I come home from work one day and find all of my belongings gone with L and Calvin?
This baby means so much to me. Even if I wasn’t ready for him. And even if he is not mine. Every time I see his face, I can’t help but smile. I think of him while I’m at work and I radiate. Even the sound of him crying in the middle of the night will make me glow because I know he’s here, and he’s real, and he loves me. You can see it in his eyes. It’s like watching a miracle. He knows so much already and he’s still taking it all in. He’s always looking, always seeing, always feeling, always learning, and I am so thankful that I get to be a part of it. And I want to be a part of it forever.
I am so very close to asking L to either let me legally adopt Calvin and become sole guardian of him, or obtaining shared guardianship over him, so that if the ex does come back and things go sour with them again, I know that Calvin will legally have a place to go, and a place he can call home and feel comfortable in, and be taken care of always. Regardless of where his “parents” are in their lives and their relationship. I want him to not only be safe, I want him to feel safe.
But before I act on any of this, I must think it out some more.
I was on the subway. The dreaded F train. I don’t know what it is about the F train, I just never really want to take it. Nevertheless, I was on the F and sitting across from a couple. Now, I know it’s not polite to stare, so I didn’t, even though I love to people watch. I glanced in their direction for what felt like the shortest second known to mankind.
Later I found myself walking through Union Square alone. I was utilizing my photographic memory and recalling just how that couple looked during that moment in time on the F train.
He had thin brown hair that was well past his shoulders. It was straight but somehow messy at the same time. He wore jeans that were tight and ripped in the knees with black Converse sneakers that I haven’t seen on anyone in years. His tee shirt was old, faded, and had the Live logo in the middle. He looked like someone who would listen to Live. Without standing up, I could tell that he was most likely a foot or more taller than she.
Her hair was black. It was pulled back into a messy bun with a few strands sticking out here and there with large waves in them. I could tell that her hair was long, but not much longer than his. The only make-up she wore was on her eyes and it was very dark and very heavy. But still, her brown eyes looked big and wide and taking everything in. Her eyes were young. Not like his.
Her top was tight, but not very revealing. She wore a short, black and red skirt that showed her black lace stockings leading down to where her black platform boots started, just under the knee. Her legs were draped over his lap and she was childishly tapping her right foot while gabbing on and on about the most recent cartoons she had seen.
He appeared to be about 20-25 years older than her. You could see it in his pale skin and the way that he smiled. She talked and talked while he played with the hair on the back of her neck. She thought he was listening. I know he was undressing her with his mind. Once in a while he would interrupt her with a kiss. She never minded.
She was happy. You could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about the future. About tomorrow. About ten years from now. What THEY would be doing. And where THEY would be living. She adored him and admired him, and her soul was bare and visible in that naïve face. She would smile wide and stare at his face. She was wondering what her family would think of him. And how she couldn’t wait for her friends to meet him. Their relationship was still new, but she was so excited. She was so in love. She hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, but I knew she was in love.
He was looking at her lips. And at her neck. And at her exposed thighs. He never looked her in the eye. He grinned. It was different than a smile. His grin was mischievous and alarming. He didn’t care what she had to say, he wasn’t listening to her anyway. In fact, he wished she would stop talking and start kissing him.
But he was thinking about the future too. He was thinking about what would happen when the subway stopped and they got off. He wondered what color her underwear was. And he thought about what the rest of the night would be like. He never thought about the next day, or the next week, or the next year. Not as she has. Only his immediate future thoughts involved her.
And I felt apologetic for her. She was blind to it all.
I quit smoking yesterday. I smoked my first cigarette at the age of eleven. And was smoking regularly at the age of twelve. So I have been smoking for over ten years. Does that make anyone else sick to their stomach other than myself?
I calculated some things and I have to say the results were quite disturbing.
* I have spent approximately $32,850.00 on cigarettes in my lifetime.
* I have smoked approximately 109,500 cigarettes in my life time (not including the second hand smoke I was inhaling since birth from three daily smokers living with me.)
* If it’s true what they say (you lose 7 minutes of your life with every cigarette you smoke) that means I have lost 766,500 minutes.
* In other words I lost 12,775 Hours of my life.
* In other words I lost 532.29 Days.
* That’s the same as saying I lost 1.46 years… MINIMUM!
And I have asthma.
And I’m alergic to cigarette smoke.
And lung cancer runs in my family.
Both sides.
So does Emphysema.
And throat cancer.
And yet, I’ve been smoking for over ten years.
I’m done.
It’s a waste.
And far too risky.
Especially for someone like me.
Someone who wants to live.
And enjoy life.
And travel.
And have a family.
See my kids grow up.
And see my grandkids grow up.
Any other smokers care to join in my new Smoke-Free lifestyle? I promise you won’t regret it.
I know this. And I’m sorry!
Things have been… Well… Hectic to say the least.
Work is crazy right now. (Which is odd, because this is typically the slow time of year for us.) I got a second job. An overnight job. Restocking a retail store while they’re closed. Sounds lame, right? Well, it kind of is. And the money is shit. But you know what? It’s nice to have something to do in the middle of the night when I would normally being walking, reading, painting, writing, and driving myself mad by overthinking every single thing that happens on a day-to-day basis.
So I work Monday through Friday from 9:00am-5:00pm at my “full-time” job. And then I work 10:00pm-6:00am four nights a week at my “other job”. Interesting huh? And when I’m not working, or not working, I am babysitting my handsome nephew, or shopping with my sister for wedding gowns, brides’ maid dresses, invitations, flowers, favors, place card holders, centerpieces, bands (the musical kind, not the jewelery kind), and everything else you can imagine that a bride would need for her wedding. Which, by the way is New Year’s Eve. THIS New Year’s Eve. Talk about cutting it down to the wire.
Great Guy Friend confessed his love for me this week. Also, MySpace Man calls me almost everyday. Not to mention CC Guy is still waiting for me to “settle down” with him, and him alone.
And here’s where I’m at…
Great Guy Friend and I should just be friends. It’s safe.
MySpace Man is so intriguing and interesting and I want to know everything I can about him.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I do have a crush on CC Guy, but we would never work as a couple.
When did things get so complicated?
“You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be miserable.”
“But, I’m not miserable.”
“Fine. Well, then you don’t have to be alone.”
He is smart. The kind of smart that makes me feel stupid. The first person to ever make me feel stupid. He can talk about nuclear physics, and debate me on politics, and discuss the importance of 17th century Greek statues. And sometimes I feel like he can read my mind.
He makes me laugh. He can tickle me until I have tears in my eyes, or tell me funny stories about things he did when he visited his Grandfather in Texas. He can tell jokes and improv and put on a show. He can mimic his family members and great comedians and leave me in stitches.
He can listen to me so well that I feel like he feels what I’m saying more than he can actually hear it. When he smiles, I know he means it. When he cries I know it’s because he wishes I didn’t have to. And when he laughs, he laughs with his whole soul. And I laugh with him. I love to laugh with him.
He paints beautiful artwork so effortlessly. He says it’s what he loves, but thinks he’s no good. He can paint a sky so perfect that if it were real, I would jump up into it wishing that I were moving in slow motion. He can paint a field so beautiful, that I can smell the grass and feel the breeze. And sometimes he can paint a woman so sad and so beautifully that I feel like I know her, I know her better than myself. And I know why she’s sad. And it makes me sad too.
That woman he paints is me. And it’s only when you look closely that you can see that I am sad in this painting. Because I am a modern day Mona Lisa for him. She smiles, and no one knows why. Because she’s not fully smiling.
In this painting I am smiling like her. Like Mona Lisa. But when you look into my eyes, you can see pain. And fear. And endless amounts of sadness. And he says this is what he sees whenever he sees me. Even when I am smiling. And even when I’m laughing. And I start to cry.
But these tears are happy ones. Because he understands why I am sad and I don’t have to force myself to say it. He knows that my heart is broken, and he tells me that his heart is broken too. But his is broken because he knows mine is. And he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.
He holds my hand in his, and puts his other hand around the back of my neck. We look each other in the eye, and for the first time in a long time, I knew that he was reading my mind.
“I love you.” He whispers with his forehead now resting on mine. And then he gave me the most passionate, loving, caring, and understanding kiss I have had in my entire life.
But he is not realistic.
