Tuesday, November 6, 2012
The World Inside My Head
When you look at me, I get this...warm, gooey, chocolatey feeling....like melted caramel fudge, only deep in my chest, deep down In my heart. It literally warms my body from the inside out, it makes my fingertips vibrate and it makes me stand on my tiptoes, almost like I could fly. My heart beats so fast I'm afraid it'll beat right out of my chest. I can't help but smile. I get nervous and clumsy and awkward and I forget the words I want to say. I live for those few moments when we walk next to each other, because I can imagine taking those and so many more steps by your side. I want to be in our own little world together, just you and I. I want to know what you smell like, and what your skin, your hands, your lips feel like. I want you to wrap me up in your arms and curl your body around mine; envelop me with your warmth. I want to get lost in you. But that's a fool's fuckin' dream, so that's just what I'll do now. Nighters.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
One Finger on the Trigger
Dear friend,
I think about you a lot. I don't know why. But you're on my mind often. Sometimes I'll see something that reminds me of you, or other times something will just float to the front of my memory, like your hair or the color of your eyes or something weird like that. I wish this didn't happen.
This spot I'm in right now, I call it my little slice of heaven. It's a safe place, because I know you'd be mad if I went any further. You know what I wish? That there was a swing out here. The old-fashioned kind, with a wood plank as the seat and real rope for the rope part. The kind that gave your hand merciless blisters when you were a kid.
I think my happiest memories from when I was a child are when someone was pushing me on a swing. Or when I was swinging alone. I had a swing set that my dad built for me when I was 5. It was a wood frame swing set with monkey bars, two yellow swings and a free swinging trapeze. It also had a knotted rope to climb, and a blue wavy slide. My dad would re-stain it every summer with this reddish-brown stain that smelled good in a weird way. That was the official start of summer for me, when the swing set was put back together and ready to go. I spent countless hours of my life there. I would hang off of the trapeze bars and put the hose on the slide so it became a water slide. Sometimes I would put the slip n slide at the bottom of the slide, and it was almost like I had my own mini water park. Sometimes at night, I would climb up on top of the monkey bars so I was on the very top of the swing set and read a book, or just sit there. That's the first time I can remember that feeling of being in my own little world. But the best part was the swings.They were banana yellow, rubber curved swings that hung from nylon fiber ropes. I had blisters that wouldn't go away for months from those swings. But oh, how I loved them. I would swing for hours and hours. Sometimes I would wake up very early in the morning and go outside and swing in my pjs. You can really lose yourself in the moment swinging. It feels like you're flying. I still love to swing to this day. Maybe that's why I like playgrounds so much; I go there and swing, and I can remember a time in my life when I didn't have problems bigger than I could manage. I can close my eyes and pretend I'm flying away from the earth, leaping out of the swing and floating on towards space.
I don't have that swing set anymore. My parents sold it to a very nice couple with a little daughter when I was fourteen. They carefully wrapped the swings and rope and trapeze bar up and put them in boxes, then that nice man and his wife rented a flatbed truck and hauled the frame away. My parents planted a garden over the spot where the swing set sat, because all the grass was dead around it. I can remember standing on the porch when they were hauling it away, picking up the frame and carrying it away, out of my life forever. I've never cried so hard at the loss of one of my childhood toys. For the first time ever, I understood the meaning of the phrase “losing your innocence.”
I never knew their names, the people who bought the swing set. Their little girl had brown hair and was full of energy just like I was at that age. I hope the swing set brought her just as much joy as it did me. I wonder if she flipped upside down on the trapeze bar like I did, or if she sat on top of the monkey bars and wondered what it would be like to visit space, as I did. I wonder if she swung so high that she was afraid she'd flip right over the top, like I sometimes did. I wonder if she ever closed her eyes and just swung back and forth and back and forth, letting it lull away the world like I did everyday. And I wonder if her parents sold the swing set to another family. I wonder if they packed it up and carried it away, let another family have it like ours did for her. I wonder if she cried when the swing set left her life, or whether she just simply outgrew it. Maybe her parents tore it down and turned it into firewood when she became more interested in cars and boys and phone calls. Maybe the swings started to rot, and the slide started to crack. Maybe the stain job my dad had so lovingly kept up for ten years started to chip and fade from the sun. I hope not. I hope it went on to make another child happy. I hope it's still living, maybe in its fourth or fifth home, still making children feel like they're flying or like they're sitting on top of the world.
I want to tell that girl, and all the children who think they've outgrown childhood, to just slow down. Because one day you're going to look back and miss those simple times. When you have bills and taxes and babies and a mortgage, you're going to wish life was just as easy as taking off your pj pants and putting on shorts and running outside to play. You're going to miss that strong, sturdy swing set. You're going to know too much; you're going to be too jaded. I want to tell kids to savor those times before their hearts have been broken and they find out that all people aren't nice. It's a different experience when you sit on a swing now as an adult. You smile because you're nostalgic, and because you're sad. Sad because you know now that the world is a much different place than when you were young. Sadness for the kids who are kids in the present, because one day they will be you, an adult sitting on a swing, sad because kids don't realize how pure and innocent and wonderful they are. They have zero knowledge of the world that awaits them; they're carefree and nothing bothers them. Parents and adults really do a good job of hiding this cruel reality from children; when you finally realize what an ugly place the world can be, it's a shock.
Sometimes when I'm in bed at night, I wish I could be little again, just for one day. I could eat shitty, sugary cereal for breakfast, and a grilled cheese for lunch. I wouldn't have to worry about calories or saturated transfats or clothes not fitting right. My mom could pick out my outfit and fix my hair, and I could go play outside until the sun set and the mosquitos started to eat me alive. I could write on the driveway with colored chalk and make water balloons and drink water straight out of the hose. And after I scrubbed the dirt off of my feet in the bath at night, I would fall into bed, exhausted. No nightmares would haunt me; I would fall straight to sleep and get a full eight hours, to be ready to play all over again the next day.
But the world doesn't work that way. Everything becomes increasingly complicated. But maybe that's why we have our carefree childhoods full of imagination and play, to remind us that life is constant and ever-changing, and the every day will be a harder challenge than the one that came before it. I see that quote a lot, the one that goes "no one said it was going to be easy, but they did say it would be worth it.”
Is it? Is it ultimately worth it? People work their asses off their entire lives for such little payoff. We're told that if we work hard, do everything right, then we'll be rewarded. From a young age, we're spoon-fed this Nora Ephron, rom-com, glittery, fluffy bullshit that if we just sit around and look pretty enough, then we'll get everything we've ever wanted. Love, money, house, in short, the mythical “American dream.”
I know you don't believe in any of that. I know you don't believe in any of that shit, like karma or serendipity or destinies, none of that Hallmarky, new age, Lifetime Television for Women crap. You're sensible and practical. While I look for phrases and meanings to define what's happened to me, you simply accept your fate and move on.
I don't really know where I was going with this. Sometimes I think of things I want to say to you, but then I remember that we aren't friends like we used to be anymore and I can't just text you random things out of the blue. Sometimes I feel like you're up on a shelf looking down at me, not helping while I struggle to get up there with you. We used to be sitting on the same shelf, looking each other in the eyes.
Sometimes I look at your eyes and wonder why I never noticed how beautiful the color was before. Why I never noticed how soft the skin on your cheeks was, or why I never noticed what a good driver you are. I realized everything far too late.
I wish I could press rewind. But I know I can't. And I'm crying now, but not because I can't fix my mistakes, but because what I want more than anything in the world is for you to be sitting right here with me, right now. I want a real hug, not the forced kind you've been giving me lately. I want to press my forehead into your neck and smell you and hug you tight, and I want you to make everything go away, just for a little bit. I want you to tell me my eyes are beautiful because you're the only person who has ever told me that. I want you to tell me that my hair smells nice, and my perfume makes you think of me, just like you always used to. I'm crying these hot, awful tears because I would give absolutely anything to go back to those days.
Sometimes if I close my eyes, I can pretend, like when I was little. I close my eyes and pretend you are here. The old you. You ask if I'm cold, then tell me I need to get to bed. You would walk me all the way back up to my door. I would tell you bye, and we'll talk later. Then we'd both sleep. And I could dream.
So Goodnight, friend. Love you, friend.
Always, me
I think about you a lot. I don't know why. But you're on my mind often. Sometimes I'll see something that reminds me of you, or other times something will just float to the front of my memory, like your hair or the color of your eyes or something weird like that. I wish this didn't happen.
This spot I'm in right now, I call it my little slice of heaven. It's a safe place, because I know you'd be mad if I went any further. You know what I wish? That there was a swing out here. The old-fashioned kind, with a wood plank as the seat and real rope for the rope part. The kind that gave your hand merciless blisters when you were a kid.
I think my happiest memories from when I was a child are when someone was pushing me on a swing. Or when I was swinging alone. I had a swing set that my dad built for me when I was 5. It was a wood frame swing set with monkey bars, two yellow swings and a free swinging trapeze. It also had a knotted rope to climb, and a blue wavy slide. My dad would re-stain it every summer with this reddish-brown stain that smelled good in a weird way. That was the official start of summer for me, when the swing set was put back together and ready to go. I spent countless hours of my life there. I would hang off of the trapeze bars and put the hose on the slide so it became a water slide. Sometimes I would put the slip n slide at the bottom of the slide, and it was almost like I had my own mini water park. Sometimes at night, I would climb up on top of the monkey bars so I was on the very top of the swing set and read a book, or just sit there. That's the first time I can remember that feeling of being in my own little world. But the best part was the swings.They were banana yellow, rubber curved swings that hung from nylon fiber ropes. I had blisters that wouldn't go away for months from those swings. But oh, how I loved them. I would swing for hours and hours. Sometimes I would wake up very early in the morning and go outside and swing in my pjs. You can really lose yourself in the moment swinging. It feels like you're flying. I still love to swing to this day. Maybe that's why I like playgrounds so much; I go there and swing, and I can remember a time in my life when I didn't have problems bigger than I could manage. I can close my eyes and pretend I'm flying away from the earth, leaping out of the swing and floating on towards space.
I don't have that swing set anymore. My parents sold it to a very nice couple with a little daughter when I was fourteen. They carefully wrapped the swings and rope and trapeze bar up and put them in boxes, then that nice man and his wife rented a flatbed truck and hauled the frame away. My parents planted a garden over the spot where the swing set sat, because all the grass was dead around it. I can remember standing on the porch when they were hauling it away, picking up the frame and carrying it away, out of my life forever. I've never cried so hard at the loss of one of my childhood toys. For the first time ever, I understood the meaning of the phrase “losing your innocence.”
I never knew their names, the people who bought the swing set. Their little girl had brown hair and was full of energy just like I was at that age. I hope the swing set brought her just as much joy as it did me. I wonder if she flipped upside down on the trapeze bar like I did, or if she sat on top of the monkey bars and wondered what it would be like to visit space, as I did. I wonder if she swung so high that she was afraid she'd flip right over the top, like I sometimes did. I wonder if she ever closed her eyes and just swung back and forth and back and forth, letting it lull away the world like I did everyday. And I wonder if her parents sold the swing set to another family. I wonder if they packed it up and carried it away, let another family have it like ours did for her. I wonder if she cried when the swing set left her life, or whether she just simply outgrew it. Maybe her parents tore it down and turned it into firewood when she became more interested in cars and boys and phone calls. Maybe the swings started to rot, and the slide started to crack. Maybe the stain job my dad had so lovingly kept up for ten years started to chip and fade from the sun. I hope not. I hope it went on to make another child happy. I hope it's still living, maybe in its fourth or fifth home, still making children feel like they're flying or like they're sitting on top of the world.
I want to tell that girl, and all the children who think they've outgrown childhood, to just slow down. Because one day you're going to look back and miss those simple times. When you have bills and taxes and babies and a mortgage, you're going to wish life was just as easy as taking off your pj pants and putting on shorts and running outside to play. You're going to miss that strong, sturdy swing set. You're going to know too much; you're going to be too jaded. I want to tell kids to savor those times before their hearts have been broken and they find out that all people aren't nice. It's a different experience when you sit on a swing now as an adult. You smile because you're nostalgic, and because you're sad. Sad because you know now that the world is a much different place than when you were young. Sadness for the kids who are kids in the present, because one day they will be you, an adult sitting on a swing, sad because kids don't realize how pure and innocent and wonderful they are. They have zero knowledge of the world that awaits them; they're carefree and nothing bothers them. Parents and adults really do a good job of hiding this cruel reality from children; when you finally realize what an ugly place the world can be, it's a shock.
Sometimes when I'm in bed at night, I wish I could be little again, just for one day. I could eat shitty, sugary cereal for breakfast, and a grilled cheese for lunch. I wouldn't have to worry about calories or saturated transfats or clothes not fitting right. My mom could pick out my outfit and fix my hair, and I could go play outside until the sun set and the mosquitos started to eat me alive. I could write on the driveway with colored chalk and make water balloons and drink water straight out of the hose. And after I scrubbed the dirt off of my feet in the bath at night, I would fall into bed, exhausted. No nightmares would haunt me; I would fall straight to sleep and get a full eight hours, to be ready to play all over again the next day.
But the world doesn't work that way. Everything becomes increasingly complicated. But maybe that's why we have our carefree childhoods full of imagination and play, to remind us that life is constant and ever-changing, and the every day will be a harder challenge than the one that came before it. I see that quote a lot, the one that goes "no one said it was going to be easy, but they did say it would be worth it.”
Is it? Is it ultimately worth it? People work their asses off their entire lives for such little payoff. We're told that if we work hard, do everything right, then we'll be rewarded. From a young age, we're spoon-fed this Nora Ephron, rom-com, glittery, fluffy bullshit that if we just sit around and look pretty enough, then we'll get everything we've ever wanted. Love, money, house, in short, the mythical “American dream.”
I know you don't believe in any of that. I know you don't believe in any of that shit, like karma or serendipity or destinies, none of that Hallmarky, new age, Lifetime Television for Women crap. You're sensible and practical. While I look for phrases and meanings to define what's happened to me, you simply accept your fate and move on.
I don't really know where I was going with this. Sometimes I think of things I want to say to you, but then I remember that we aren't friends like we used to be anymore and I can't just text you random things out of the blue. Sometimes I feel like you're up on a shelf looking down at me, not helping while I struggle to get up there with you. We used to be sitting on the same shelf, looking each other in the eyes.
Sometimes I look at your eyes and wonder why I never noticed how beautiful the color was before. Why I never noticed how soft the skin on your cheeks was, or why I never noticed what a good driver you are. I realized everything far too late.
I wish I could press rewind. But I know I can't. And I'm crying now, but not because I can't fix my mistakes, but because what I want more than anything in the world is for you to be sitting right here with me, right now. I want a real hug, not the forced kind you've been giving me lately. I want to press my forehead into your neck and smell you and hug you tight, and I want you to make everything go away, just for a little bit. I want you to tell me my eyes are beautiful because you're the only person who has ever told me that. I want you to tell me that my hair smells nice, and my perfume makes you think of me, just like you always used to. I'm crying these hot, awful tears because I would give absolutely anything to go back to those days.
Sometimes if I close my eyes, I can pretend, like when I was little. I close my eyes and pretend you are here. The old you. You ask if I'm cold, then tell me I need to get to bed. You would walk me all the way back up to my door. I would tell you bye, and we'll talk later. Then we'd both sleep. And I could dream.
So Goodnight, friend. Love you, friend.
Always, me
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Heaven in the Morning
They say that the night is darkest just before the dawn.
And it's true, it is. The night is inky, fathoms deep black, then suddenly you look up, and there's just a splash of yellow on the horizon. All of the birds start chirping and with every passing minute, it gets lighter and lighter. The sky turns to a cerulean blue slowly, an the air becomes a little chillier. You can see the mist beginning to settle over the grass as the landscape comes into clearer focus. The cars passing on the street start to become a little more frequent. The globe is slowly revolving and turning into a new day, reminding us we should do the same.
I'm observing this now as we speak, watching the night morph into the morning. The sun will rise here at approximately 6:16 AM, Eastern Standard Time.
I sit up and straighten my back, listening to the gazillion bones in my spinal column crack and pop. Sometimes I sit hunched over for too long, and when I sit up and readjust, that feeling is wonderful. It reminds me that moving just a tiny bit can make all the difference.
No, I'm not going to connect the sun rising and my horrible posture to some grand metaphor about life. Well, not really. Just a mere commentary on the fact that I'm grateful to be alive, really. Every single sunset and sunrise I get to watch is something to behold. I can probably count on my two hands the number of times I've actually watched the sun rise. It's not something you put a whole lot of stock into until you're there, in the flesh, witnessing it happen with your own two eyes.
I can't really describe the feeling. It's like coming to your senses; coming out of a reverie. I'm usually just crawling into bed at this point. I love to be awake in the dead of the night. Nothing is the same as during the day. It's quiet in a different sort of way as when the sun is up. Everything is very still and peaceful. You can hear things you normally don't hear during daylight, like air conditioners running, crickets chirping, and frogs croaking. Of course you can hear those things during the day, but they're the only soundtrack at night. You can hear the sound of your own footsteps very clearly; the sounds are so much more visceral, so much brighter. I feel like I'm the only person in the world at night, when I'm alone, with only my thoughts for company.
The world is in a frenzied state, we're very hurried and hassled in today's world, we can't get from point A to B fast enough. We're constantly looking for a faster route, a more efficient this, a quicker that. We don't slow down until our exhausted, overloaded heads hit the pillow. Everyone is in such a constant state of needing more faster, that sleep is a welcome token; a reprieve from the breakneck speeds we insist on living our lives at.
Sleep is my enemy. I love the night, but the real reason behind me staying up when the rest of the world is in the Land of Nod is the nightmares. The horrible nightmares. They're quick, just a flash, but it's like a CD stuck on a certain part of the song, playing on repeat. I see it over and over and over again. I feel it with my body. I wake up, jolted, as though the car crashes I dream about have really happened. I force myself to stay awake to the point of being so tired that I instantly fall into a deep slumber, completely skipping the dreaming part. It usually works. But every once in a while, they'll slip onto my daydreams as if to remind me that they're never too far off, filed away in my dream memory bank.
I want them to stop. I wish they would go away, but they have me in an iron, vice-like grip. My body shakes constantly, terrified of the horrors my mind has in store for it. I can't keep doing this. My solution is a temporary one. Coffee staves off the sleep but I can't keep going like this. I just want to be released from these mental terrors that haunt me every day of my life.
It's 5:57 AM. My ass is frozen from the slab of concrete I'm currently perched on and I need just a small amount of sleep to get me through this long day. I need a hot shower and warm blankets. Even though I do my best to avoid the bed, I still need it every so often.
I'm heading back now. I wanted to watch the sun rise, but I can sense its my time to leave here, my little slice of heaven. Because once the sun is fully in the sky, it's not mine anymore. It's just a wall. So I leave now and I'll be back tomorrow when it's all mine again and the world is still once more.
Goodbye for now.
And it's true, it is. The night is inky, fathoms deep black, then suddenly you look up, and there's just a splash of yellow on the horizon. All of the birds start chirping and with every passing minute, it gets lighter and lighter. The sky turns to a cerulean blue slowly, an the air becomes a little chillier. You can see the mist beginning to settle over the grass as the landscape comes into clearer focus. The cars passing on the street start to become a little more frequent. The globe is slowly revolving and turning into a new day, reminding us we should do the same.
I'm observing this now as we speak, watching the night morph into the morning. The sun will rise here at approximately 6:16 AM, Eastern Standard Time.
I sit up and straighten my back, listening to the gazillion bones in my spinal column crack and pop. Sometimes I sit hunched over for too long, and when I sit up and readjust, that feeling is wonderful. It reminds me that moving just a tiny bit can make all the difference.
No, I'm not going to connect the sun rising and my horrible posture to some grand metaphor about life. Well, not really. Just a mere commentary on the fact that I'm grateful to be alive, really. Every single sunset and sunrise I get to watch is something to behold. I can probably count on my two hands the number of times I've actually watched the sun rise. It's not something you put a whole lot of stock into until you're there, in the flesh, witnessing it happen with your own two eyes.
I can't really describe the feeling. It's like coming to your senses; coming out of a reverie. I'm usually just crawling into bed at this point. I love to be awake in the dead of the night. Nothing is the same as during the day. It's quiet in a different sort of way as when the sun is up. Everything is very still and peaceful. You can hear things you normally don't hear during daylight, like air conditioners running, crickets chirping, and frogs croaking. Of course you can hear those things during the day, but they're the only soundtrack at night. You can hear the sound of your own footsteps very clearly; the sounds are so much more visceral, so much brighter. I feel like I'm the only person in the world at night, when I'm alone, with only my thoughts for company.
The world is in a frenzied state, we're very hurried and hassled in today's world, we can't get from point A to B fast enough. We're constantly looking for a faster route, a more efficient this, a quicker that. We don't slow down until our exhausted, overloaded heads hit the pillow. Everyone is in such a constant state of needing more faster, that sleep is a welcome token; a reprieve from the breakneck speeds we insist on living our lives at.
Sleep is my enemy. I love the night, but the real reason behind me staying up when the rest of the world is in the Land of Nod is the nightmares. The horrible nightmares. They're quick, just a flash, but it's like a CD stuck on a certain part of the song, playing on repeat. I see it over and over and over again. I feel it with my body. I wake up, jolted, as though the car crashes I dream about have really happened. I force myself to stay awake to the point of being so tired that I instantly fall into a deep slumber, completely skipping the dreaming part. It usually works. But every once in a while, they'll slip onto my daydreams as if to remind me that they're never too far off, filed away in my dream memory bank.
I want them to stop. I wish they would go away, but they have me in an iron, vice-like grip. My body shakes constantly, terrified of the horrors my mind has in store for it. I can't keep doing this. My solution is a temporary one. Coffee staves off the sleep but I can't keep going like this. I just want to be released from these mental terrors that haunt me every day of my life.
It's 5:57 AM. My ass is frozen from the slab of concrete I'm currently perched on and I need just a small amount of sleep to get me through this long day. I need a hot shower and warm blankets. Even though I do my best to avoid the bed, I still need it every so often.
I'm heading back now. I wanted to watch the sun rise, but I can sense its my time to leave here, my little slice of heaven. Because once the sun is fully in the sky, it's not mine anymore. It's just a wall. So I leave now and I'll be back tomorrow when it's all mine again and the world is still once more.
Goodbye for now.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
All Those Fairy Tales Are Full of Shit
You asked me to let you know how I feel, so here it goes.
I'm hurting. I'm broken. I've never felt so hurt and alone and upset in my life. I feel as though something inside of me has died, and I can't stop crying.
My heart is in too many pieces to count. I feel as though you've taken your gun and shot me, straight in the chest. I don't know when or how I will heal, but I'm just going to close my eyes and try to get through tonight.
You are my refuge. When the world stops turning, I cling to you. When my heart hurts, you make it better. When I'm scared and alone and vulnerable, you're there to protect me. When I frown, you make me smile. When I'm not sure I can go on, you're there to hold my hand and make sure I get through one more day. When my body hurts as much as my heart does, you're there with your hand on that spot on my neck rubbing away all of my hurts and aches.
I trust you above all people in this world. And now you're the one who has broken me. What do I do now? I try and turn to you but you hold me at arms' length with cold indifference.
So she beat me to the punch. I can't compete with 12 years. I can't compete with her and I don't want to. It hurts too much to not be good enough for you. I don't want to think about that.
I want to think about that first night I knew I had fallen for you. It was a long time ago. We were laying on my driveway and looking up at the stars, talking about everything under the moon. I heard a noise, and grabbed your hand in fright. You squeezed my fingers back and assured me everything was fine. I knew then that you'd always be there to protect me from whatever scared me, whether it be internal or otherwise. I knew when I was with you, nothing bad could happen. Safe and sound.
I want that back. I want to be that girl on that driveway again. I was younger, braver, less jaded. I didn't have quite so many reasons to hurt.
I'll leave you with this: I love you. I have for a very long time and I wish I would have told you sooner. I wish I would have known sooner, then maybe these tears blurring my eyes right now wouldn't be tears at all.
I'll be fine. I'll be ok. Don't worry about me.
I'm hurting. I'm broken. I've never felt so hurt and alone and upset in my life. I feel as though something inside of me has died, and I can't stop crying.
My heart is in too many pieces to count. I feel as though you've taken your gun and shot me, straight in the chest. I don't know when or how I will heal, but I'm just going to close my eyes and try to get through tonight.
You are my refuge. When the world stops turning, I cling to you. When my heart hurts, you make it better. When I'm scared and alone and vulnerable, you're there to protect me. When I frown, you make me smile. When I'm not sure I can go on, you're there to hold my hand and make sure I get through one more day. When my body hurts as much as my heart does, you're there with your hand on that spot on my neck rubbing away all of my hurts and aches.
I trust you above all people in this world. And now you're the one who has broken me. What do I do now? I try and turn to you but you hold me at arms' length with cold indifference.
So she beat me to the punch. I can't compete with 12 years. I can't compete with her and I don't want to. It hurts too much to not be good enough for you. I don't want to think about that.
I want to think about that first night I knew I had fallen for you. It was a long time ago. We were laying on my driveway and looking up at the stars, talking about everything under the moon. I heard a noise, and grabbed your hand in fright. You squeezed my fingers back and assured me everything was fine. I knew then that you'd always be there to protect me from whatever scared me, whether it be internal or otherwise. I knew when I was with you, nothing bad could happen. Safe and sound.
I want that back. I want to be that girl on that driveway again. I was younger, braver, less jaded. I didn't have quite so many reasons to hurt.
I'll leave you with this: I love you. I have for a very long time and I wish I would have told you sooner. I wish I would have known sooner, then maybe these tears blurring my eyes right now wouldn't be tears at all.
I'll be fine. I'll be ok. Don't worry about me.
Monday, May 7, 2012
If You Ask Me, I'm Ready
Things are a bit weird. School is over and I don't really know what to do with my free time. I bought a coloring book and maybe I'll get Netflix. Just kidding, just got Netflix. WOOHOO!
I'm in a bit of a weird place. This is happening, it's really happening. I don't have a name for it, or a rhyme or reason, but it's there and it exists and it's...wonderful.
I used to have a place, this place on the edge of my pillow that was my place of comfort, it was my refuge from the world. The covers pulled up around by neck, that was the place where no thing or person could harm me.
For so long now, I've been taking care of me and not letting anyone in to help me deal with my pain. It's so scary to imagine someone else being there for me to lean on. I'm so afraid that I'll need them too much and I won't be able to give them enough in return.
There was once a bed, in a room with a window that moonlight shone through. There were sheets, and our bodies were wrapped up in them as we slept. That boy that lay there with me in that bed, I wanted him so badly. I wanted him so badly I would have gone to any lengths for him. I loved him so much I forgot to love myself. But I'm better now. That boy is a million miles away. I don't even know that girl anymore, that girl who loved him so much and was willing to give up so much for him. He is gone forever and so is she.
There's a new bed now, new sheets, in a new room. And there's a new spot. There is a different pair of arms to hold me, a pair of arms that feels so impossibly good. My ankles entwine with his and I bury my head in his chest and I forget about everything. I forget about everything but that bed and this boy who is holding me, keeping me warm and safe and sound. I forget there is a world outside that room, that there are cars and people and buildings and businesses beyond those four walls. I want to live in that moment forever.
I don't want to think about who I used to be in love with, or who he's in love with, or college or kids or graduating or when this will end, or if it will, or anything. For once in my life, all I want to think about is this very moment. I don't want to think about anything else. His skin pressed up against mine, my fingers through his hair, his hands touching parts of me I didn't ever want touched. But he is the one who pulled me through the fog. His hands belong in those long forbidden places. Wonderful sensations fill every part of my body, from head to my toes, and I think, this is how it should have been. This is what the first time is supposed to feel like.
This has no ending because it's just beginning. This is only the start. But I'm ready.
I'm in a bit of a weird place. This is happening, it's really happening. I don't have a name for it, or a rhyme or reason, but it's there and it exists and it's...wonderful.
I used to have a place, this place on the edge of my pillow that was my place of comfort, it was my refuge from the world. The covers pulled up around by neck, that was the place where no thing or person could harm me.
For so long now, I've been taking care of me and not letting anyone in to help me deal with my pain. It's so scary to imagine someone else being there for me to lean on. I'm so afraid that I'll need them too much and I won't be able to give them enough in return.
There was once a bed, in a room with a window that moonlight shone through. There were sheets, and our bodies were wrapped up in them as we slept. That boy that lay there with me in that bed, I wanted him so badly. I wanted him so badly I would have gone to any lengths for him. I loved him so much I forgot to love myself. But I'm better now. That boy is a million miles away. I don't even know that girl anymore, that girl who loved him so much and was willing to give up so much for him. He is gone forever and so is she.
There's a new bed now, new sheets, in a new room. And there's a new spot. There is a different pair of arms to hold me, a pair of arms that feels so impossibly good. My ankles entwine with his and I bury my head in his chest and I forget about everything. I forget about everything but that bed and this boy who is holding me, keeping me warm and safe and sound. I forget there is a world outside that room, that there are cars and people and buildings and businesses beyond those four walls. I want to live in that moment forever.
I don't want to think about who I used to be in love with, or who he's in love with, or college or kids or graduating or when this will end, or if it will, or anything. For once in my life, all I want to think about is this very moment. I don't want to think about anything else. His skin pressed up against mine, my fingers through his hair, his hands touching parts of me I didn't ever want touched. But he is the one who pulled me through the fog. His hands belong in those long forbidden places. Wonderful sensations fill every part of my body, from head to my toes, and I think, this is how it should have been. This is what the first time is supposed to feel like.
This has no ending because it's just beginning. This is only the start. But I'm ready.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Somebody That I Used To Know
Sometimes I just sit in a chair, shell shocked. Pain paralyzes me. There are times when I think I can come out of it, but then I go to that place, the place on my pillow at the very edge, where it's cool and cradles my neck just right, and I'm safe there. I bring the covers up to my chin and shut the world out. The door to my bedroom is closed and I like it that way. No one can hurt me when there's no one in that room but me.
I haven't written in so long because I've been so tired. Just exhausted. I start but I can't finish. I'm so scared. That's why I'm so reluctant to come out from under those blankets. I don't want to have to face the horrible world that's out there, the scarred, tarred, black pit of a world that turns its' cold shoulder when you need it most. Everything is always freezing nowadays. What, I ask, have I done to be treated this way? Why have I been dealt this hand of cards?
I loved with every single bit of everything that I am. I have nothing left to give anyone anymore. I have exhausted all my resources, my heart has been broken into a million zillion tiny little pieces that no amount of anything could put back together. I don't ever want to let anyone in, ever. I have been broken and have no desire for anyone else to come along and try to fix me. Even after all of that, you're just somebody that I used to know.
But even though the world is tilted upside down and I barely have the strength to cling on anymore, I have something. I have a glimmer of hope that anchors me to the world I despise so much but know I have to stay in. I have Harry and Katniss, Peeta and Ron and Hermione. I have Haymitch and Dumbledore, Fred, George, Ginny, and Cinna. I have Hogwarts and District 12. Privet Drive and the Seam, and the Capitol. I have my books. The Hunger Games and Harry Potter.
Yeah I know it sounds stupid, but on the days when I saw no reason to get out of bed whatsoever, when I knew absolutely nothing anymore, I knew I had my books there for me. They weren't going anywhere. I could pick them up and pick up where I left off, and everything wouldn't be alright, but it would just be a little bit better. A little more normal. A little more constant, a little more bearable and tolerable. The world isn't such a harsh place when I know I have a whole other world to disappear into when the pain gets too great to bear.
I hold on to the books like stuffed animals when I sleep. They're the only thing rooting me to the earth, and they help keep the nightmares away. The endless nightmares of car crashes. Sometimes you show up, but I don't care. I don't want you there. I don't want anything to do with you. I want to push it all out of the way and forget it all happened. I want to forget the way I felt. I want to forget all of those nights, I want to forget everything that ever happened. I can't though. I can't forget it. But what I can do is put you in a place where I don't ever have to think about you anymore.
Now you're just somebody that I used to know.
I haven't written in so long because I've been so tired. Just exhausted. I start but I can't finish. I'm so scared. That's why I'm so reluctant to come out from under those blankets. I don't want to have to face the horrible world that's out there, the scarred, tarred, black pit of a world that turns its' cold shoulder when you need it most. Everything is always freezing nowadays. What, I ask, have I done to be treated this way? Why have I been dealt this hand of cards?
I loved with every single bit of everything that I am. I have nothing left to give anyone anymore. I have exhausted all my resources, my heart has been broken into a million zillion tiny little pieces that no amount of anything could put back together. I don't ever want to let anyone in, ever. I have been broken and have no desire for anyone else to come along and try to fix me. Even after all of that, you're just somebody that I used to know.
But even though the world is tilted upside down and I barely have the strength to cling on anymore, I have something. I have a glimmer of hope that anchors me to the world I despise so much but know I have to stay in. I have Harry and Katniss, Peeta and Ron and Hermione. I have Haymitch and Dumbledore, Fred, George, Ginny, and Cinna. I have Hogwarts and District 12. Privet Drive and the Seam, and the Capitol. I have my books. The Hunger Games and Harry Potter.
Yeah I know it sounds stupid, but on the days when I saw no reason to get out of bed whatsoever, when I knew absolutely nothing anymore, I knew I had my books there for me. They weren't going anywhere. I could pick them up and pick up where I left off, and everything wouldn't be alright, but it would just be a little bit better. A little more normal. A little more constant, a little more bearable and tolerable. The world isn't such a harsh place when I know I have a whole other world to disappear into when the pain gets too great to bear.
I hold on to the books like stuffed animals when I sleep. They're the only thing rooting me to the earth, and they help keep the nightmares away. The endless nightmares of car crashes. Sometimes you show up, but I don't care. I don't want you there. I don't want anything to do with you. I want to push it all out of the way and forget it all happened. I want to forget the way I felt. I want to forget all of those nights, I want to forget everything that ever happened. I can't though. I can't forget it. But what I can do is put you in a place where I don't ever have to think about you anymore.
Now you're just somebody that I used to know.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Birthday Surprises
My laptop is as busted as Kim Kardashian's reputation, so I'm typing this on my phone. It's tedious to say the least. But today is a happy day, so I want to write about my sparkly mood.
It's my birthday!!!! YAY! 23 is a big year, as you all know. It's also the birthday of the fabulous Ms. Liza Minelli (with a Z!), the 100th anniversary of the Girl Scouts (those crazy communists, feminists, and lesbians!) and the one year anniversary of the Japanese tsunami disaster. But most importantly it's the 23rd anniversary of me gracing this earth with my glorious, fabulous, glittery, pink presence.
I was born on a sunshine-y Sunday, I'm told, at precisely 11:59 AM at St. Francis Hospital in Beech Grove, Indiana. I was a little 6-pound, 4-ounce pink, wrinkly bundle of joy who's been raising hell ever since.
I've had some really great birthdays, some OK ones, and some really shitty ones. This year is going to be simply superb. I have already treated myself to the Glee Concert movie on pay-per-view and gotten a free iced coffee at Speedway. Winning! And BONUS! I'll be celebrating my birthday hibachi-style at my favorite low-rent Japanese grill, Kabuto Steakhouse.
Last year I had a mini meltdown because a certain someone didn't call/text to wish me a happy birthday. But honestly, this year I couldn't care less. It's already shaping up to be quite an outstanding day, so I needn't muss it up with such things. This is my day, why should I be devoting my thoughts to that? No reason!
I also wished that another certain person last year would wish me a special happy birthday. I can't even remember if they did, for all my fretting and moaning. Obviously it wasn't that important!
So I know it's a bit late for a New Years Resolution, therefore I will make a birthday resolution. It's my day, I make the rules. Today, this month, this year, it's about me. Just me. Not myself in the context of someone else, just Jennifer.
I'm an amazing wonderful person, so why should I resign myself to the memory of someone? I'm so much better than that. Look, I will always, always forever love him. I can't change that and I wouldn't want to because that is a huge part of me. But I read an interesting article today about letting go. It said to first "address the fear, process the grief, and ultimately take responsibility for the thoughts that are creating their anxiety and causing them to project the negativity onto themselves."
Ok. The fear: I won't ever be as deeply in love with anyone as I was with ERL. I won't feel the same way with anyone else, no one will make me feel as warm and safe and in my own little world as he did. That I'm never going to feel that instant, look across the room, that's it, nothing else matters, Meg Ryan moment ever again. I once told my best friend that I knew I'd never feel the same way about anyone because with every other guy I've been with, I've thought about other people. With him, no one else mattered. I never thought about anyone but him. I never wanted anyone else but him, sexually or otherwise. He was enough for me, but unfortunately I didn't have love big enough for the both of us.
The grief: I've mourned this for a long time. I've lamented the what-if for so long I don't even remember a time where I didn't want to be with him. I think part of my fear is losing that hope that him and I will "happen." Like his ass is suddenly gonna realize I'm The One and we'll have a John Cusack moment and live happily ever after. I think I'd honestly have better luck trying to date John Cusack himself. I poured my heart and soul and every bit of everything I had into telling him how and why I truly felt as I did. I laid it all out there and I can do nothing more. He doesn't talk to me and I guess there's a reason for that. That is a new part of the grief, but it's an oddly satisfying one. I look at it as him cutting himself off from me, cause I was never going to have it be the other way around. I always ran back to him the minute I scaled the fence I built around my own heart. It's him doing me a favor and I guess I have to be grateful. I do still have an itty bitty sliver of hope, but it won't ever go away. It's wedged inside me like war shrapnel.
So yes, I create my own prison walls, but today I'm bustin' loose. Jailhouse rock. I do not have a partner, but that's ok. I will not dance with a wooden chair, I'll just be happy. I may be a bit sad tomorrow or the next day, but from now on, the sunshine days will outweigh the cloudy days. I spent way too many days worrying about how happy I should be with someone else instead of how happy I am with just myself. So, happy birthday, to me! A good attitude is the best gift I've gotten so far :)
It's my birthday!!!! YAY! 23 is a big year, as you all know. It's also the birthday of the fabulous Ms. Liza Minelli (with a Z!), the 100th anniversary of the Girl Scouts (those crazy communists, feminists, and lesbians!) and the one year anniversary of the Japanese tsunami disaster. But most importantly it's the 23rd anniversary of me gracing this earth with my glorious, fabulous, glittery, pink presence.
I was born on a sunshine-y Sunday, I'm told, at precisely 11:59 AM at St. Francis Hospital in Beech Grove, Indiana. I was a little 6-pound, 4-ounce pink, wrinkly bundle of joy who's been raising hell ever since.
I've had some really great birthdays, some OK ones, and some really shitty ones. This year is going to be simply superb. I have already treated myself to the Glee Concert movie on pay-per-view and gotten a free iced coffee at Speedway. Winning! And BONUS! I'll be celebrating my birthday hibachi-style at my favorite low-rent Japanese grill, Kabuto Steakhouse.
Last year I had a mini meltdown because a certain someone didn't call/text to wish me a happy birthday. But honestly, this year I couldn't care less. It's already shaping up to be quite an outstanding day, so I needn't muss it up with such things. This is my day, why should I be devoting my thoughts to that? No reason!
I also wished that another certain person last year would wish me a special happy birthday. I can't even remember if they did, for all my fretting and moaning. Obviously it wasn't that important!
So I know it's a bit late for a New Years Resolution, therefore I will make a birthday resolution. It's my day, I make the rules. Today, this month, this year, it's about me. Just me. Not myself in the context of someone else, just Jennifer.
I'm an amazing wonderful person, so why should I resign myself to the memory of someone? I'm so much better than that. Look, I will always, always forever love him. I can't change that and I wouldn't want to because that is a huge part of me. But I read an interesting article today about letting go. It said to first "address the fear, process the grief, and ultimately take responsibility for the thoughts that are creating their anxiety and causing them to project the negativity onto themselves."
Ok. The fear: I won't ever be as deeply in love with anyone as I was with ERL. I won't feel the same way with anyone else, no one will make me feel as warm and safe and in my own little world as he did. That I'm never going to feel that instant, look across the room, that's it, nothing else matters, Meg Ryan moment ever again. I once told my best friend that I knew I'd never feel the same way about anyone because with every other guy I've been with, I've thought about other people. With him, no one else mattered. I never thought about anyone but him. I never wanted anyone else but him, sexually or otherwise. He was enough for me, but unfortunately I didn't have love big enough for the both of us.
The grief: I've mourned this for a long time. I've lamented the what-if for so long I don't even remember a time where I didn't want to be with him. I think part of my fear is losing that hope that him and I will "happen." Like his ass is suddenly gonna realize I'm The One and we'll have a John Cusack moment and live happily ever after. I think I'd honestly have better luck trying to date John Cusack himself. I poured my heart and soul and every bit of everything I had into telling him how and why I truly felt as I did. I laid it all out there and I can do nothing more. He doesn't talk to me and I guess there's a reason for that. That is a new part of the grief, but it's an oddly satisfying one. I look at it as him cutting himself off from me, cause I was never going to have it be the other way around. I always ran back to him the minute I scaled the fence I built around my own heart. It's him doing me a favor and I guess I have to be grateful. I do still have an itty bitty sliver of hope, but it won't ever go away. It's wedged inside me like war shrapnel.
So yes, I create my own prison walls, but today I'm bustin' loose. Jailhouse rock. I do not have a partner, but that's ok. I will not dance with a wooden chair, I'll just be happy. I may be a bit sad tomorrow or the next day, but from now on, the sunshine days will outweigh the cloudy days. I spent way too many days worrying about how happy I should be with someone else instead of how happy I am with just myself. So, happy birthday, to me! A good attitude is the best gift I've gotten so far :)
Monday, January 16, 2012
Attractive Arms, Less Pizza and Better-Fitting Pants: A Tentative Projection of the Year Ahead
Not happy. Not nice, not fun.
I'm in a terrible, awful, hateful mood. There is black tar churning in my heart; I want to punch cute puppies and slap sweet kittens. I'm full of a rage I can hardly explain. Well, yes I can. I'm just in a super jealous mood. When I get jealous, I get angry at myself for being jealous in the first place, then my anger just multiplies by twenty thousandfold.
It's just so hard. It really is. This is the part where I whine. When literally everyone around you is in a relationship/engaged/getting married/having babies and it's ALL!OVER!FACEBOOK! it's kind of an unintended slap in the face. It's like a neon Vegas-style sign that says "SINGLE" and marching band playing "The Lonesome Loser" are following you around constantly. And then, having people in your life that you have "feelings" (that's a subjective term) for doesn't help. And the turd on top of the shit cake is SOMEONE moving 4,000 miles away and not bothering to stop and say goodbye AS I WAS PROMISED.
Anyways, like I've said before, six days a week, it's NBD. I honestly don't care about being single, I can handle it. I actually prefer it, I get to set my own schedule and don't have to worry about pandering to anyone but me. But every once in awhile, it's like, "when is it going to be my turn?" "what am I doing wrong?" "what's wrong with me?" I hate that, that kind of stuff creeps into my brain, but I just can't help it sometimes. When everyone around me is picking out reception favors and doing wedding registries and planning a life with someone else, I can't even get some dude to come boink me for an hour before he takes a road trip.
I've developed this protective shell around me, this coating, borne from the years of aggravation of being let down by my own poor judgment in men. But I don't want to be that way, I really, really don't. I don't want to be that bitch who hates everything with a penis and a pulse just because a few fuck buddies in college [shockingly] didn't want a relationship after the sloppy, drunken sex was over with. It's not my fault but it kind of is. I just didn't know any better. I do now, and it's like, ok, I'm enlightened, let's move with a purpose. Let's get this show on the road. No more false starts.
Admittedly, I don't have the greatest relationship with God/religion. Or do I? I kind of phone it in. I'm not really sure if church attendance counts towards your personal salvation record, but if it does, I am fucked. Anyways, I suppose even if I am just doing the bare-minimum to scrape by, that still counts, right? I'm no Tim Tebow, but I'm not exactly Heidi Fleiss, either. But my point is that I do believe everything happens for a reason. I do believe "He" (or whatever, whomever) brings things/people into our lives purely for the purpose of teaching us a lesson sometimes. But it's just so fucking frustrating. Why dangle someone in front of me I can't have? I'd rather never have met them at all. It just hurts so much. Trick D, Aqua Eyes, and now (our newest addition) Arms. I will concede that loving/caring/crushing and never having any of them has made me a tougher person and made me realize when something is too good to be true. But right now? Honestly, fuck that. Right now, I just care about me and my feelings in the here and now. I don't care about a lesson I'm gonna learn in five years or whatever. Right now I just want to curl up in a ball in my fuzzy PJs and go to sleep and not think about all the men in my life I can't have.
It's like, first I get introduced [into my life] a guy who I trusted with all of my everything, every infinitesimal particle inside of me wholly and unequivocally 10000000% trusted him. I felt so safe with him; like he would never, ever let anything happen to me, he would protect me and keep me safe. I could be myself around him, because he knew that one deep, dark secret of mine, the terrible secret that if told, would explain so much of my behavior and life. He knew that and he didn't run away, he didn't cower away from it, judge me or make me feel like a bad person for it. Not all of the diamonds and riches and Ugg boots and Vera Bradley in the world would have been a comparable gift to that one little shred of acceptance. That would have been all I ever needed. If given the chance, I could have loved him right. I could have made him happy. He made me feel better in those five minutes in that dirty, dingy office when I was a sobbing mess than I have been in many years. But.....didn't happen.
Then, I meet someone who I had known before, but was still a new face. Someone that I was instantly attracted to, and frightened of that attraction. I hadn't felt that way about anyone in a long time (well, with the obvious exception of ERL and his god-like penis of perfection) and it terrified me. It's been a long time since I wanted to shove someone into the walk-in and rip their pants off. But it was more than just that. It was someone I actually, genuinely enjoyed being around. Someone I could talk to and engage in conversation with. Someone whom I feel, would be a great PIC to get into wacky hijinks and crazy-ass shenanigans with. But at the same time, it was someone I'm still scared would judge me if he knew my dirty little secrets. He is otherwise spoken for, so I really try and avoid any further attachment. So....not going to happen, ever.
And then there's Arms. The newest member of the clan. He's been there for a while, I've just never seen him in this way. Plus, he's had a girlfriend. And I had.....other extenuating circumstances that prevented me from seeing clearly this attraction. But my god, I think honestly he's one of the very, very, very few men who actually looks at me straight in the eye and listens (novel concept, I know) when I speak. And not just hears me, really listens. And wait for it....puts on sunglasses....*comes through on his promises*. Holy shit, it's like finding a water buffalo crossbred with a unicorn! A man who listens, comes through on his word, AND smells nice????? THERE MUST BE A CATCH!!!! Oh wait, there is. I fucked his cousin for a solid six months of my life when I used to be crazy, and he had a front row seat to the batshit insane show that was my life/relationship. OOPS! Ticket, stamped. I'll be making my exit now. And.....never gonna happen, unless Tim Tebow-levels of miracles happen and he somehow A) sees around all of that and B) is even attracted to me despite A). Factor in C) I need to lose 100 lbs and D) I somehow become less of a spaz, and we might be facing marginally poorer odds than the '80 USA Olympic hockey team faced against the USSR. It's like Serendipity [with a colossally hotter John Cusack-figure and if Kate Beckinsdale's character were to be played by Lisa Lampinelli using a Midwestern accent], only with fewer silly, romantic coincidences and even fewer leather jackets. Yep...never gonna happen. It's all over when you start making 2001 romcom/ questionable John Cusack career choice references.
But I guess my point is that bridal magazines should be illegal. You should have to show the engagement ring, like showing your ID to buy alcohol. Sale of bridal magazines to non-engaged women should be punishable by having them do community service at David's Bridal. You see, reading bridal magazines makes you see gorgeous, unaffordable dresses that inevitably cause you to go to said unaffordable dress makers' website and look at more unaffordable dresses for hours on end. Then finally when your eyeballs start to bleed sequins and duchess satin, you realize that you don't need a wedding dress because for a wedding dress, you need a fiance, and you don't even have a boyfriend, and then suddenly I realize why Pillsbury has longevity.
So, to all of the fat, single bitches like me who like to have big dreams and a bigger ass- this year is our year. No more moping about being fat and single. We're going to calmly put the Oreo down so no one gets hurt, sloooowly step onto the treadmill and everything's going to be fine. Know how I know that? Because size won't matter to the right person, but you'll want to look like a million bucks for them anyways. That's doing it for yourself.
2012, look out for some HAWT bitches in the coming months. We may still be single, but we'll feel good about ourselves and look good on the inside, as well. Looking good is feeling good. We'll not stand for fish already taken/rotten fish. We will wait for someone to catch us. And by god, we will invent a healthy Oreo. That may not be a goal accomplished in 2012, but it's on the list.
Holy shit, that was just the longest, angriest New Years' resolution to lose weight, ever.
I'm in a terrible, awful, hateful mood. There is black tar churning in my heart; I want to punch cute puppies and slap sweet kittens. I'm full of a rage I can hardly explain. Well, yes I can. I'm just in a super jealous mood. When I get jealous, I get angry at myself for being jealous in the first place, then my anger just multiplies by twenty thousandfold.
It's just so hard. It really is. This is the part where I whine. When literally everyone around you is in a relationship/engaged/getting married/having babies and it's ALL!OVER!FACEBOOK! it's kind of an unintended slap in the face. It's like a neon Vegas-style sign that says "SINGLE" and marching band playing "The Lonesome Loser" are following you around constantly. And then, having people in your life that you have "feelings" (that's a subjective term) for doesn't help. And the turd on top of the shit cake is SOMEONE moving 4,000 miles away and not bothering to stop and say goodbye AS I WAS PROMISED.
Anyways, like I've said before, six days a week, it's NBD. I honestly don't care about being single, I can handle it. I actually prefer it, I get to set my own schedule and don't have to worry about pandering to anyone but me. But every once in awhile, it's like, "when is it going to be my turn?" "what am I doing wrong?" "what's wrong with me?" I hate that, that kind of stuff creeps into my brain, but I just can't help it sometimes. When everyone around me is picking out reception favors and doing wedding registries and planning a life with someone else, I can't even get some dude to come boink me for an hour before he takes a road trip.
I've developed this protective shell around me, this coating, borne from the years of aggravation of being let down by my own poor judgment in men. But I don't want to be that way, I really, really don't. I don't want to be that bitch who hates everything with a penis and a pulse just because a few fuck buddies in college [shockingly] didn't want a relationship after the sloppy, drunken sex was over with. It's not my fault but it kind of is. I just didn't know any better. I do now, and it's like, ok, I'm enlightened, let's move with a purpose. Let's get this show on the road. No more false starts.
Admittedly, I don't have the greatest relationship with God/religion. Or do I? I kind of phone it in. I'm not really sure if church attendance counts towards your personal salvation record, but if it does, I am fucked. Anyways, I suppose even if I am just doing the bare-minimum to scrape by, that still counts, right? I'm no Tim Tebow, but I'm not exactly Heidi Fleiss, either. But my point is that I do believe everything happens for a reason. I do believe "He" (or whatever, whomever) brings things/people into our lives purely for the purpose of teaching us a lesson sometimes. But it's just so fucking frustrating. Why dangle someone in front of me I can't have? I'd rather never have met them at all. It just hurts so much. Trick D, Aqua Eyes, and now (our newest addition) Arms. I will concede that loving/caring/crushing and never having any of them has made me a tougher person and made me realize when something is too good to be true. But right now? Honestly, fuck that. Right now, I just care about me and my feelings in the here and now. I don't care about a lesson I'm gonna learn in five years or whatever. Right now I just want to curl up in a ball in my fuzzy PJs and go to sleep and not think about all the men in my life I can't have.
It's like, first I get introduced [into my life] a guy who I trusted with all of my everything, every infinitesimal particle inside of me wholly and unequivocally 10000000% trusted him. I felt so safe with him; like he would never, ever let anything happen to me, he would protect me and keep me safe. I could be myself around him, because he knew that one deep, dark secret of mine, the terrible secret that if told, would explain so much of my behavior and life. He knew that and he didn't run away, he didn't cower away from it, judge me or make me feel like a bad person for it. Not all of the diamonds and riches and Ugg boots and Vera Bradley in the world would have been a comparable gift to that one little shred of acceptance. That would have been all I ever needed. If given the chance, I could have loved him right. I could have made him happy. He made me feel better in those five minutes in that dirty, dingy office when I was a sobbing mess than I have been in many years. But.....didn't happen.
Then, I meet someone who I had known before, but was still a new face. Someone that I was instantly attracted to, and frightened of that attraction. I hadn't felt that way about anyone in a long time (well, with the obvious exception of ERL and his god-like penis of perfection) and it terrified me. It's been a long time since I wanted to shove someone into the walk-in and rip their pants off. But it was more than just that. It was someone I actually, genuinely enjoyed being around. Someone I could talk to and engage in conversation with. Someone whom I feel, would be a great PIC to get into wacky hijinks and crazy-ass shenanigans with. But at the same time, it was someone I'm still scared would judge me if he knew my dirty little secrets. He is otherwise spoken for, so I really try and avoid any further attachment. So....not going to happen, ever.
And then there's Arms. The newest member of the clan. He's been there for a while, I've just never seen him in this way. Plus, he's had a girlfriend. And I had.....other extenuating circumstances that prevented me from seeing clearly this attraction. But my god, I think honestly he's one of the very, very, very few men who actually looks at me straight in the eye and listens (novel concept, I know) when I speak. And not just hears me, really listens. And wait for it....puts on sunglasses....*comes through on his promises*. Holy shit, it's like finding a water buffalo crossbred with a unicorn! A man who listens, comes through on his word, AND smells nice????? THERE MUST BE A CATCH!!!! Oh wait, there is. I fucked his cousin for a solid six months of my life when I used to be crazy, and he had a front row seat to the batshit insane show that was my life/relationship. OOPS! Ticket, stamped. I'll be making my exit now. And.....never gonna happen, unless Tim Tebow-levels of miracles happen and he somehow A) sees around all of that and B) is even attracted to me despite A). Factor in C) I need to lose 100 lbs and D) I somehow become less of a spaz, and we might be facing marginally poorer odds than the '80 USA Olympic hockey team faced against the USSR. It's like Serendipity [with a colossally hotter John Cusack-figure and if Kate Beckinsdale's character were to be played by Lisa Lampinelli using a Midwestern accent], only with fewer silly, romantic coincidences and even fewer leather jackets. Yep...never gonna happen. It's all over when you start making 2001 romcom/ questionable John Cusack career choice references.
But I guess my point is that bridal magazines should be illegal. You should have to show the engagement ring, like showing your ID to buy alcohol. Sale of bridal magazines to non-engaged women should be punishable by having them do community service at David's Bridal. You see, reading bridal magazines makes you see gorgeous, unaffordable dresses that inevitably cause you to go to said unaffordable dress makers' website and look at more unaffordable dresses for hours on end. Then finally when your eyeballs start to bleed sequins and duchess satin, you realize that you don't need a wedding dress because for a wedding dress, you need a fiance, and you don't even have a boyfriend, and then suddenly I realize why Pillsbury has longevity.
So, to all of the fat, single bitches like me who like to have big dreams and a bigger ass- this year is our year. No more moping about being fat and single. We're going to calmly put the Oreo down so no one gets hurt, sloooowly step onto the treadmill and everything's going to be fine. Know how I know that? Because size won't matter to the right person, but you'll want to look like a million bucks for them anyways. That's doing it for yourself.
2012, look out for some HAWT bitches in the coming months. We may still be single, but we'll feel good about ourselves and look good on the inside, as well. Looking good is feeling good. We'll not stand for fish already taken/rotten fish. We will wait for someone to catch us. And by god, we will invent a healthy Oreo. That may not be a goal accomplished in 2012, but it's on the list.
Holy shit, that was just the longest, angriest New Years' resolution to lose weight, ever.
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