The other day a very sexy married Grandpa came up to my register and was so thrilled by my red lipstick he said, Wow look at those lips! They make me want a kiss! And as he walked away he said, You take care of my lips for me!
My red lips have become my staple as of late. I adore makeup. I probably have more lipstick than the average ten women combined. But red, red is like a tall, debonair, handsome man; it never goes out of style. And red lipstick seemed to hold a power to move people in a way I couldn't explain. People I've never met have something to say about it and that always makes me chuckle. Ladies have asked me the brand and the color before. And when I reveal that it's Chanel sometimes their reaction is comical. You work at Starbucks, how can you afford Chanel? And I had this thought that many people feel that way about a lot of things.
The truth was that even at $27 for one tube of lipstick, and even if worn every day, applied with a lip brush, that $27 tube of lipstick is going to last a long time. I would calculate it exactly but like I said, I have so much makeup that if I never bought another cosmetic item again I would still never use all the makeup I had. And why would I stop buying sparkly new makeup? That's just crazy talk!
But You can't afford Chanel made me wonder what else we convince ourselves we can't have. I know many beautiful, smart, talented, capable women who seem to always end up with men who treat them like Cinderella the chimney sweep rather than the Cinderella in the ball gown. And they think that they should take what they can get. Some of them secretly believe they deserve to be treated with such contempt. And if these women who endure such mistreatment ever miraculously escape their prisons when they finally do meet someone who treats them right there is this awe and disbelief. They simply can't wrap their brains around such chivalry because they'd never known the real thing. Their relationships had always been fake Fendi's.
I think that we mistakenly replace delight with distraction. We want something and we want something now. Waiting takes patience and who has time for that? I even joked recently that I didn't want to learn from my errors and grow and mature. Can't I just fall into another relationship like so many women do? And Mother wisely pointed out that the plan for me involved a great deal more than just being another woman hopping from guy to guy without ever pausing to wonder why she'd wasted her time.
The truth was, having fewer things but of the highest quality was worth so much more than a plethora of designer impostors. Wasn't having one tube of vibrant lipstick better than having 10 cheap ones? Wasn't saving to buy the real bag more satisfying than picking up one of those fakes wrapped in plastic? Wasn't it worth the cold, lonely nights to wait for the man who would treat you like the goddess you are instead of settling for the one who just deigns to sit next to you?
Life was too short for a fake Fendi, for a fake anything.
I certainly had learned the hard way that more just turned into junk, it cluttered, it impeded my space to grow. And I wanted what was genuine, not simply what was blowing up my phone.
"I could really be with you. And you should have everything you want."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Veronica's lazy day
I have been working so much lately to have an actual twenty four hour period to myself was odd. It was literally that halting what should I do with myself feeling and I reveled in my lack of productivity. Sometimes doing nothing is the best something to be done.
I made love to a new novel (we spent so much time together in bed, we might as well have been lovers) and drank in the grey wetness of the day. When you don't have to be somewhere, when you don't have to be doing something in particular, hours just drip slowly by and I relished in it. I even delighted in looking at my calendar and noticing I didn't work before the sun tomorrow. Any more surprising delights and I might jump right out of the red lace that clothed me.
I glanced through old writings and remembered the Delilah Spell and smiled playfully over memories of illusions past. Some faded memories haunted in that icy, creepy goosebumps down your neck sort of way. But others merely lingered softly with confusing vagueness. And I was glad some things were written with disappearing ink so that chapters merely turned corners rather than slamming book covers shut. I even gathered something in my possessions that I thought should my path stumble with theirs I'd disclose the surprise.
Days continued revealing the unexpected and ever always that made me giggle at the thought of tomorrow. I hadn't had a PC or Mr. Dreamy sighting in more days than I cared to recall. But sooner or later some handsome stranger was bound to walk through those doors and this new chapter could begin its story.
I made love to a new novel (we spent so much time together in bed, we might as well have been lovers) and drank in the grey wetness of the day. When you don't have to be somewhere, when you don't have to be doing something in particular, hours just drip slowly by and I relished in it. I even delighted in looking at my calendar and noticing I didn't work before the sun tomorrow. Any more surprising delights and I might jump right out of the red lace that clothed me.
I glanced through old writings and remembered the Delilah Spell and smiled playfully over memories of illusions past. Some faded memories haunted in that icy, creepy goosebumps down your neck sort of way. But others merely lingered softly with confusing vagueness. And I was glad some things were written with disappearing ink so that chapters merely turned corners rather than slamming book covers shut. I even gathered something in my possessions that I thought should my path stumble with theirs I'd disclose the surprise.
Days continued revealing the unexpected and ever always that made me giggle at the thought of tomorrow. I hadn't had a PC or Mr. Dreamy sighting in more days than I cared to recall. But sooner or later some handsome stranger was bound to walk through those doors and this new chapter could begin its story.
My dearest friend
I was writing a letter today to a girlfriend, someone who has been going through a really rough time and I realized as I was writing that the encouragement I was offering her was just as much for myself.
Sometimes it's really easy to remind someone else how to keep a positive outlook yet look in your own mirror and second guess the reflection staring back at you.
It's harder to keep a clear head regarding yourself.
You know you so well after all and see all that so few ever do.
But take a moment to remind yourself to remember the truth and disregard the lies.
There are so many circling about sometimes they grow so loud, drowning out your hope.
I don't know if this makes you feel any better but even after the rollercoaster I was put through I spent this weekend missing him. And I thought what's wrong with me?! And I know you must be going through that too. Mother always says our relationships, our love, is an extension of ourselves, so the good we see in the bastards we love is from us. We love with the purity of our own hearts and trust that's what the men we choose to offer it to will give us in return. And then when they don't, we feel our hearts have failed us.
But have hope! You are such a vibrant, caring, beautiful, amazing woman and don't doubt for a second that there exists a man who is not such a bone head that he won't see that.
You are lovely and anyone who fails to open his eyes and see that is a fool.
And you should pity him.
Remember you can never go wrong believing the best of people.
Stay strong.
Trust in the plan He has for you.
Believe in the impossible.
Hope for the moon.
And I will too.
Sometimes it's really easy to remind someone else how to keep a positive outlook yet look in your own mirror and second guess the reflection staring back at you.
It's harder to keep a clear head regarding yourself.
You know you so well after all and see all that so few ever do.
But take a moment to remind yourself to remember the truth and disregard the lies.
There are so many circling about sometimes they grow so loud, drowning out your hope.
I don't know if this makes you feel any better but even after the rollercoaster I was put through I spent this weekend missing him. And I thought what's wrong with me?! And I know you must be going through that too. Mother always says our relationships, our love, is an extension of ourselves, so the good we see in the bastards we love is from us. We love with the purity of our own hearts and trust that's what the men we choose to offer it to will give us in return. And then when they don't, we feel our hearts have failed us.
But have hope! You are such a vibrant, caring, beautiful, amazing woman and don't doubt for a second that there exists a man who is not such a bone head that he won't see that.
You are lovely and anyone who fails to open his eyes and see that is a fool.
And you should pity him.
Remember you can never go wrong believing the best of people.
Stay strong.
Trust in the plan He has for you.
Believe in the impossible.
Hope for the moon.
And I will too.
I luff you, with two f's
I like you. Do you like me?
Or should I start liking someone else?
--Me, A la fourth grade
There's a guy at my new Starbucks who has a crush on me. It's very sweet actually. He's about as subtle as the Miraculous bra from Victoria's Secret (that's like the equivalent of what a train wreck does for the eyes; the Miraculous adds two cup sizes. Helloooo second date!)
This guy is such an eager beaver I can see the saliva form at the corners of his mouth when he's around me. His eyes light up and he finds any excuse to touch me or get me to look in his direction.
Of course, as luck would have it, I'm not interested at all. Isn't that the way the Starbucks cookie crumbles? But what fun would it be if I met a guy who was as crazy for me as I was for him? We've already written that chapter, on to more amusing things.
The best part about this new Romeo is that his name is Jared. Yes, Jared, which happens to be the name of the nemesis I left behind at my last store. One Jerad abhors me, another Jared adores me. Perhaps the inverse of letters affects their affection.
Hey, anything is possible.
But this new Jared was good for me. I think all women need a Jared in their life. A sweet, harmless, doting, everything you do is amazing to them kind of guy to remind yourself, Aw, so THIS is what interest looks like. It does not play mind games with you. It does not say one thing but do another. It doesn't grow overwhelmed by its devotion to you. It just dotes. Passionately, genuinely, with all sincerity, dotes. And even though I couldn't return the sentiment it painted my cheeks crimson in all feminine bashfulness.
Mama always said the best way to get over a lost cat was to get a new cat. And I couldn't seem to find one, which I knew was part of my whole growing-maturing-character building-strength enduring testy-majig. Good ol' Big G, doesn't give us more than we can handle but comes pretty damn close. I wasn't at a breaking point but I certainly contemplated bawling or stabbing something more often than I ought. But I blamed the water retension in my brain. And as the days ticked by, the swelling was going down. And so was my insanity level.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
So, ok, I thought, I don't get a new kitty, at least not anytime soon. But, I do get a very attentive puppy dog. It really is a shame I have zero fondness for dogs. But that's life, right? You want what you can't have and by the time you get it your desire has waned and you've moved onto something else. That's why life is one big tragi-comedy. And it always made me laugh. And as this year had already proven time and time again, there were more plot twists than there were curls on my head.
And that, that I did love.
With all that I had.
Or should I start liking someone else?
--Me, A la fourth grade
There's a guy at my new Starbucks who has a crush on me. It's very sweet actually. He's about as subtle as the Miraculous bra from Victoria's Secret (that's like the equivalent of what a train wreck does for the eyes; the Miraculous adds two cup sizes. Helloooo second date!)
This guy is such an eager beaver I can see the saliva form at the corners of his mouth when he's around me. His eyes light up and he finds any excuse to touch me or get me to look in his direction.
Of course, as luck would have it, I'm not interested at all. Isn't that the way the Starbucks cookie crumbles? But what fun would it be if I met a guy who was as crazy for me as I was for him? We've already written that chapter, on to more amusing things.
The best part about this new Romeo is that his name is Jared. Yes, Jared, which happens to be the name of the nemesis I left behind at my last store. One Jerad abhors me, another Jared adores me. Perhaps the inverse of letters affects their affection.
Hey, anything is possible.
But this new Jared was good for me. I think all women need a Jared in their life. A sweet, harmless, doting, everything you do is amazing to them kind of guy to remind yourself, Aw, so THIS is what interest looks like. It does not play mind games with you. It does not say one thing but do another. It doesn't grow overwhelmed by its devotion to you. It just dotes. Passionately, genuinely, with all sincerity, dotes. And even though I couldn't return the sentiment it painted my cheeks crimson in all feminine bashfulness.
Mama always said the best way to get over a lost cat was to get a new cat. And I couldn't seem to find one, which I knew was part of my whole growing-maturing-character building-strength enduring testy-majig. Good ol' Big G, doesn't give us more than we can handle but comes pretty damn close. I wasn't at a breaking point but I certainly contemplated bawling or stabbing something more often than I ought. But I blamed the water retension in my brain. And as the days ticked by, the swelling was going down. And so was my insanity level.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
So, ok, I thought, I don't get a new kitty, at least not anytime soon. But, I do get a very attentive puppy dog. It really is a shame I have zero fondness for dogs. But that's life, right? You want what you can't have and by the time you get it your desire has waned and you've moved onto something else. That's why life is one big tragi-comedy. And it always made me laugh. And as this year had already proven time and time again, there were more plot twists than there were curls on my head.
And that, that I did love.
With all that I had.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Gracie
Once upon a time there was a girl.
She was always looking for something.
She'd lost it so long ago she'd forgotten what it looked like.
But she knew it was missing.
And she wanted it back.
She was persistent, sometimes forcefully so.
She embodied drama.
She knew how to make things happen.
But she didn't know how to make them stay.
And that always left her rattled.
She spent a lot of time alone.
She'd discovered it was easier to search alone.
People distracted, they took and they deceived.
They poisoned truth with their seductive lies.
And she always believed them.
She couldn't lie and she couldn't distrust.
Her heart wouldn't allow it.
She always believed.
One day she was driving, it was raining.
And her lonliness was palpable.
And she felt ashamed.
She wasn't lonely because of them.
She was lonely because of her own heart.
And it made her cry.
She was running in circles and she was tired.
She hit every stop light red.
And so she just sat there.
And waited.
She missed Him and didn't understand how He'd become so far away.
But she guessed that was why she never got what she wanted.
She kept catching glimpses of all that could be but never was.
Being wrong all the time was draining.
She no longer trusted her heart.
And that frightened her.
What could she trust if she couldn't trust what was inside her?
So she walked back to her huddled corners, her safety and she remembered.
She remembered believing.
She remembered all the things she'd done that had put fear in her gut
But she'd done them anyway.
And she remembered the mountains that had leapt into the sea
And the words that had found love sifting through all the ashes from the mountains
And the medicine that had healed hope
And the heartless that had been moved to compassion
And she was very thankful for second chances.
For 2,538 chances.
Because she knew she would need them.
And she wished more than anything that for tonight He could have skin on.
Just tonight.
Because all she wanted was a hug.
Just to know it would be ok, to feel it.
But she believed.
And as she tasted the salt once again
She remembered.
She remembered what she forgot,
She remembered what she was looking for.
And she would find it.
She had to.
She was always looking for something.
She'd lost it so long ago she'd forgotten what it looked like.
But she knew it was missing.
And she wanted it back.
She was persistent, sometimes forcefully so.
She embodied drama.
She knew how to make things happen.
But she didn't know how to make them stay.
And that always left her rattled.
She spent a lot of time alone.
She'd discovered it was easier to search alone.
People distracted, they took and they deceived.
They poisoned truth with their seductive lies.
And she always believed them.
She couldn't lie and she couldn't distrust.
Her heart wouldn't allow it.
She always believed.
One day she was driving, it was raining.
And her lonliness was palpable.
And she felt ashamed.
She wasn't lonely because of them.
She was lonely because of her own heart.
And it made her cry.
She was running in circles and she was tired.
She hit every stop light red.
And so she just sat there.
And waited.
She missed Him and didn't understand how He'd become so far away.
But she guessed that was why she never got what she wanted.
She kept catching glimpses of all that could be but never was.
Being wrong all the time was draining.
She no longer trusted her heart.
And that frightened her.
What could she trust if she couldn't trust what was inside her?
So she walked back to her huddled corners, her safety and she remembered.
She remembered believing.
She remembered all the things she'd done that had put fear in her gut
But she'd done them anyway.
And she remembered the mountains that had leapt into the sea
And the words that had found love sifting through all the ashes from the mountains
And the medicine that had healed hope
And the heartless that had been moved to compassion
And she was very thankful for second chances.
For 2,538 chances.
Because she knew she would need them.
And she wished more than anything that for tonight He could have skin on.
Just tonight.
Because all she wanted was a hug.
Just to know it would be ok, to feel it.
But she believed.
And as she tasted the salt once again
She remembered.
She remembered what she forgot,
She remembered what she was looking for.
And she would find it.
She had to.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Awake is the new sleep
I'm tired of being patient and mature
I want to be spoiled and selfish and important
Just for tonight, just for right now
I'm taking this moment in all self indulgence
And declaring it as mine
If you're reading this then you know
The complexity of all that no one sees
But I can't avert my eyes
The numbness that's trying to work its way up from my toes
Has been halted
I don't want to be another drone
I see them
The mass of quiet desperation
And I offer out my hand
As they look right through me
Seeing only shadows
I want something contrary
Complex Heavy Consuming
I can't become all I ran away from
Surely then The Resa will fade
And the inevitability frightens me
That as I blink your shell will harden
And you will embody the robots I fear
Clouds of black and white washing past
Yet this grey stands alone
Waiting
And free
I want to be spoiled and selfish and important
Just for tonight, just for right now
I'm taking this moment in all self indulgence
And declaring it as mine
If you're reading this then you know
The complexity of all that no one sees
But I can't avert my eyes
The numbness that's trying to work its way up from my toes
Has been halted
I don't want to be another drone
I see them
The mass of quiet desperation
And I offer out my hand
As they look right through me
Seeing only shadows
I want something contrary
Complex Heavy Consuming
I can't become all I ran away from
Surely then The Resa will fade
And the inevitability frightens me
That as I blink your shell will harden
And you will embody the robots I fear
Clouds of black and white washing past
Yet this grey stands alone
Waiting
And free
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Tucked Away
I thought after this year that I had learned patience.
But apparently there are still a few areas that need working on.
*Ahem*
I've only ever lived alone once in my whole life. It was when I was 21 and I hated it. I hated being alone all the time. The joke of it is if I had the financial means I would choose to live alone now. I can think of very few things that aggravate me more than feeling like my space is being invaded.
My current roommate is 86 years old so if ever there was the defense being set in their ways, she definitely warranted that. But Grandma is a bit of a pistol, as am I, and she has some habits that are very reminiscent of the male at my last residence and that's making the intensity of my heart palpitations increase.
She reads through my mail. She goes through my garbage. Yes, she looks through the garbage and if she thinks I shouldn't throw something away she takes it out of the garbage. I reached for a pen that looked like one I'd thrown away and as I started writing with it there was no ink.
Grandma, I asked, is this the pen I threw away?
Yes, Grandma said, I rescued that from the trash.
I internally hit my head against the counter.
Grandma the pen doesn't work, that's why I threw it away.
I can't tell you how many different items she has removed from the trash after I've discarded them. I can't handle it anymore. It makes me feel like I'm either living with a looney tune or I am one. I've started taking my garbage to work. Seriously. I'm afraid if it's not just kleenex or dental floss she's going to start saving it and questioning me about things I want gone from my life.
It is the weirdest feeling to be living with someone who doesn't want me to get rid of anything. At my old house I was constantly enduring complaints for having way too much of everything.
Once while still at home the head of the household got annoyed that I'd left something in the downstairs bathroom and so he put it in the garbage. When I'd found it and confronted him about it, asking him why he hadn't just asked me to move the 'offensive' item he claimed he knew I'd see it in the trash. Passive Aggressive 101, ladies and gentlemen. Why communicate about an issue when you can act out on it?
By the bye, the offensive item that warranted dumpster love? A pink magic 8 ball. On the counter.
*Cough*
I know that some people don't mean their actions to come off as crazy as they do but I found myself flashing back to old feelings and falling into old habits of wanting my space, of not wanting to be at home, of hiding out in my room. I actually remember feeling similarly when I was living where I was before Grandma's. People are not respectful of space. People are needy and clingy and selfish and invasive. The more I thought about it the more I thought people should be surprised when married couples don't act out in crazy ways not the other way around. Why does it shock us when people suddenly do things that are uncharacteristic? How can anyone handle living with someone who demands so much of them all the time? And every couple has one of those. You think you're safe, you think We're different but you're not. There's the controller and the controlled, the aggressor and the passive. And they each wear their role like a forlorn badge of dishonor, too stubborn to budge, too clueless to question.
I think that's why relationships are so frightening.
I am doomed to either be the one who has no boundaries or won't respect boundaries.
Oh, I know, I know.
I'm different.
But I'm also unfortunately not ignorant so I don't have that bliss as a luxury.
I know that some people, some very rare, the few and far between are different.
I had seen this year how surprising people can be, how unorthodox relationships could feel healthier than ones I'd always known as safe.
I know things don't always have to be black and white.
But I didn't like feeling this way; feeling once again like the space I claimed as my own was not mine.
I think as I'm getting older my wants, my dreams are simplifying and I feel like that's a good thing.
There's a whole lot I don't know, specifics I'm not concerned about.
But I think all I want, all I really truly wanted, was a place that was mine, a home.
And maybe, in the most hopeful of fairytales, there would be someone there to share in it.
But apparently there are still a few areas that need working on.
*Ahem*
I've only ever lived alone once in my whole life. It was when I was 21 and I hated it. I hated being alone all the time. The joke of it is if I had the financial means I would choose to live alone now. I can think of very few things that aggravate me more than feeling like my space is being invaded.
My current roommate is 86 years old so if ever there was the defense being set in their ways, she definitely warranted that. But Grandma is a bit of a pistol, as am I, and she has some habits that are very reminiscent of the male at my last residence and that's making the intensity of my heart palpitations increase.
She reads through my mail. She goes through my garbage. Yes, she looks through the garbage and if she thinks I shouldn't throw something away she takes it out of the garbage. I reached for a pen that looked like one I'd thrown away and as I started writing with it there was no ink.
Grandma, I asked, is this the pen I threw away?
Yes, Grandma said, I rescued that from the trash.
I internally hit my head against the counter.
Grandma the pen doesn't work, that's why I threw it away.
I can't tell you how many different items she has removed from the trash after I've discarded them. I can't handle it anymore. It makes me feel like I'm either living with a looney tune or I am one. I've started taking my garbage to work. Seriously. I'm afraid if it's not just kleenex or dental floss she's going to start saving it and questioning me about things I want gone from my life.
It is the weirdest feeling to be living with someone who doesn't want me to get rid of anything. At my old house I was constantly enduring complaints for having way too much of everything.
Once while still at home the head of the household got annoyed that I'd left something in the downstairs bathroom and so he put it in the garbage. When I'd found it and confronted him about it, asking him why he hadn't just asked me to move the 'offensive' item he claimed he knew I'd see it in the trash. Passive Aggressive 101, ladies and gentlemen. Why communicate about an issue when you can act out on it?
By the bye, the offensive item that warranted dumpster love? A pink magic 8 ball. On the counter.
*Cough*
I know that some people don't mean their actions to come off as crazy as they do but I found myself flashing back to old feelings and falling into old habits of wanting my space, of not wanting to be at home, of hiding out in my room. I actually remember feeling similarly when I was living where I was before Grandma's. People are not respectful of space. People are needy and clingy and selfish and invasive. The more I thought about it the more I thought people should be surprised when married couples don't act out in crazy ways not the other way around. Why does it shock us when people suddenly do things that are uncharacteristic? How can anyone handle living with someone who demands so much of them all the time? And every couple has one of those. You think you're safe, you think We're different but you're not. There's the controller and the controlled, the aggressor and the passive. And they each wear their role like a forlorn badge of dishonor, too stubborn to budge, too clueless to question.
I think that's why relationships are so frightening.
I am doomed to either be the one who has no boundaries or won't respect boundaries.
Oh, I know, I know.
I'm different.
But I'm also unfortunately not ignorant so I don't have that bliss as a luxury.
I know that some people, some very rare, the few and far between are different.
I had seen this year how surprising people can be, how unorthodox relationships could feel healthier than ones I'd always known as safe.
I know things don't always have to be black and white.
But I didn't like feeling this way; feeling once again like the space I claimed as my own was not mine.
I think as I'm getting older my wants, my dreams are simplifying and I feel like that's a good thing.
There's a whole lot I don't know, specifics I'm not concerned about.
But I think all I want, all I really truly wanted, was a place that was mine, a home.
And maybe, in the most hopeful of fairytales, there would be someone there to share in it.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The me you'll never see
I heard from this girl I haven't seen or talked to in months.
We used to be really close. She worked at a Starbucks I was a regular at back when I wasn't working for the company. The first time I met her she said, I don't mean this to sound weird but you smell really good. I told her I was wearing Chance by Chanel and from then on out she always called me Chanel. And so did all the other girls that worked at that Starbucks. I became pretty good friends with several of the girls there. And eventually Mr. Indecisive began working there which understandably changed the entire dynamics of my relationship with those girls. Breakups never involve only two people; when you have joint custody of friends they have to choose who they're going to stick with. In an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to coexist.
But that only works when you're not dealing with a man who has the emotional maturity of a zygote.
Feeling nostalgic for that chapter of my life this girl had been a part of I opened up the journal I'd kept earlier this year concerning the rollercoaster of a love affair I'd been stuck on. I could barely read through any of it, 'twas nauseating to read how codependent I was on someone so unworthy of my affections. And the games, Lord have mercy, the ongoing inconsistency.
Do you know how many times he invited me on one of his trips and then uninvited me? FIVE times! Yet he still showed up at my work with cds he'd burned for me and followed me to a concert he'd said he didn't want to go to.
You're still the only girl I ever bought flowers for, that has to mean something.
The saddest thing I read, though, was sometime in the middle of the haze when he said I loved you and I still love you. And I want to hold onto you. I want to keep you in my life.
I can only think of one other man in my life that I shared an uglier goodbye with than him.
God, that's just sad, isn't it?
I don't know how people stay friends with their exes. I would love to be one of those people. But I just don't see how it's done. It's like you have to take all those feelings, all that intensity, all that was and never would be and channel it into this new title: friendship. And that relationship is so limiting compared to all the two of you once shared. And for some, it proves to be too difficult a transition to try and fit their overflowing heart into such a small box. Him and I couldn't do it. But you can't make someone trust you. And he never trusted me. I remember the night of my movie premiere as we were walking, I stopped and grabbed his shoulders, looking in his eyes and almost yelled at him, I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! He never believed me. He didn't understand how I could be a loving friend to him without suspecting me of wanting something from him. It was tragic, really. I'd never learned to love such a frustrating human with such forgiving patience before. I see now that God was preparing me for something else, someone else. Mr. Indecisive was like the guinea pig and I passed the test. Maybe he just didn't pass his. And part of me hoped, like the other ugly farewell that haunted my past, I would be protected from ever crossing paths with him again.
When God wants someone removed from your life, he removes them. Like Grandma joked about the disappearance of Mr. Wonderful, that regular I was smitten over at my old Starbucks. Well, didn't you pray that if he wasn't a believer he wouldn't come to your show? she'd asked me.
Yeah, Grandma, I did pray that.
Well, God must have thought it best to just remove him from your life.
And God knows best.
So if there was ever a great failed love that didn't run screaming for the mountains, that didn't send me hateful messages of contempt, if there ever existed one who remained loving with a love that distanced, merely out of a desire to stay connected, out of a love that couldn't bear never seeing me again, I don't think I'd know how to respond. I've never known a love to stay in my life after the love fermented.
It was so foreign to me, it made my stomach nervous, the thought of it.
How would that work? What would it look like? If such a man even existed would he grow to resent me for sticking around like my lost love prior had done? Would he glare at me with black eyes and spit out words that mirrored We should have stopped talking months ago I just don't know how to set boundaries. We can never have anything to do with each other ever again.
I don't know.
I don't understand a lot of things.
I especially don't understand the men who fall in love with me.
I guess loving me drives the calmest men mad.
I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
But it kind of overwhelms me,
the thought of having another Anna Karenina ending to a failed love story.
I don't know if I could bear it again.
I'd rather hide with my memories.
But maybe I'm asking for the moon.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8ACzEFtcc4&feature=related
We used to be really close. She worked at a Starbucks I was a regular at back when I wasn't working for the company. The first time I met her she said, I don't mean this to sound weird but you smell really good. I told her I was wearing Chance by Chanel and from then on out she always called me Chanel. And so did all the other girls that worked at that Starbucks. I became pretty good friends with several of the girls there. And eventually Mr. Indecisive began working there which understandably changed the entire dynamics of my relationship with those girls. Breakups never involve only two people; when you have joint custody of friends they have to choose who they're going to stick with. In an ideal world we'd all be mature enough to coexist.
But that only works when you're not dealing with a man who has the emotional maturity of a zygote.
This girl contacted me because she found out I'd transferred from my old store and wanted to know what was going on. I think I kind of laughed out loud when I read her message. It just sort of put into perspective how long it had been since she'd been a part of my life. It's strange to think about how a matter of months becomes a long time. And I started thinking about how different people know you in different ways, they know pieces of you or parts of yourself that remain frozen in certain times. I think it's a rare few who transition with you as you grow and change, as you stop being that person they first grew to love.
Feeling nostalgic for that chapter of my life this girl had been a part of I opened up the journal I'd kept earlier this year concerning the rollercoaster of a love affair I'd been stuck on. I could barely read through any of it, 'twas nauseating to read how codependent I was on someone so unworthy of my affections. And the games, Lord have mercy, the ongoing inconsistency.
Do you know how many times he invited me on one of his trips and then uninvited me? FIVE times! Yet he still showed up at my work with cds he'd burned for me and followed me to a concert he'd said he didn't want to go to.
You're still the only girl I ever bought flowers for, that has to mean something.
The saddest thing I read, though, was sometime in the middle of the haze when he said I loved you and I still love you. And I want to hold onto you. I want to keep you in my life.
I can only think of one other man in my life that I shared an uglier goodbye with than him.
God, that's just sad, isn't it?
I don't know how people stay friends with their exes. I would love to be one of those people. But I just don't see how it's done. It's like you have to take all those feelings, all that intensity, all that was and never would be and channel it into this new title: friendship. And that relationship is so limiting compared to all the two of you once shared. And for some, it proves to be too difficult a transition to try and fit their overflowing heart into such a small box. Him and I couldn't do it. But you can't make someone trust you. And he never trusted me. I remember the night of my movie premiere as we were walking, I stopped and grabbed his shoulders, looking in his eyes and almost yelled at him, I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore! He never believed me. He didn't understand how I could be a loving friend to him without suspecting me of wanting something from him. It was tragic, really. I'd never learned to love such a frustrating human with such forgiving patience before. I see now that God was preparing me for something else, someone else. Mr. Indecisive was like the guinea pig and I passed the test. Maybe he just didn't pass his. And part of me hoped, like the other ugly farewell that haunted my past, I would be protected from ever crossing paths with him again.
I hadn't seen Narcissus in two and a half years and as far I know, he still lives around here.
That was divine protection. When God wants someone removed from your life, he removes them. Like Grandma joked about the disappearance of Mr. Wonderful, that regular I was smitten over at my old Starbucks. Well, didn't you pray that if he wasn't a believer he wouldn't come to your show? she'd asked me.
Yeah, Grandma, I did pray that.
Well, God must have thought it best to just remove him from your life.
And God knows best.
So if there was ever a great failed love that didn't run screaming for the mountains, that didn't send me hateful messages of contempt, if there ever existed one who remained loving with a love that distanced, merely out of a desire to stay connected, out of a love that couldn't bear never seeing me again, I don't think I'd know how to respond. I've never known a love to stay in my life after the love fermented.
It was so foreign to me, it made my stomach nervous, the thought of it.
How would that work? What would it look like? If such a man even existed would he grow to resent me for sticking around like my lost love prior had done? Would he glare at me with black eyes and spit out words that mirrored We should have stopped talking months ago I just don't know how to set boundaries. We can never have anything to do with each other ever again.
I don't know.
I don't understand a lot of things.
I especially don't understand the men who fall in love with me.
I guess loving me drives the calmest men mad.
I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
But it kind of overwhelms me,
the thought of having another Anna Karenina ending to a failed love story.
I don't know if I could bear it again.
I'd rather hide with my memories.
Truth has a way of morphing into whatever circumstances hinder it.
And I wanted my truth untainted.
I wanted truth that was frightfully real, inconveniently true.
I wanted a truth that wouldn't lie to me.But maybe I'm asking for the moon.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8ACzEFtcc4&feature=related
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Sparkle Shopping
Countdown
Till my birthday: 33 Days
Till Christmas: 46 Days
Till a brand New Year: 52 Days
That's a whole lotta sparkles!!
I love the holidays.
I am one of those annoyingly chipper people who starts listening to Christmas music way too early and would have her lights up year round if propriety allowed it.
I am someone who is excited that there is Christmas crap everywhere when there's still Halloween crap everywhere.
I am also someone who has no problem buying myself presents while I also buy for others (See what I treated myself to above. I was very surprised with my own generosity but I definitely deserved it).
I am also one of those people who laughs loudly when standing in the Shoebox aisle at Hallmark.
I even kind of enjoy retail during the holidays.
Oh sure, sometimes it brings out the worst in people and I get to witness the mounting tension as the days go by and procrastinators run out of time and options for mandatory gifts.
What do you mean you're out of it?
Well, sir, we've had our Christmas ornaments since July.
Hallmark is definitely the epitomy of the angriest of the crazies.
People don't usually get their feathers quite as ruffled over eggnog.
Plus, you can always offer them some complimentary sugar to placate them.
Gotta love Starbucks for that.
There was this really sweet older couple that came into my store the other day and they wanted eggnog lattes but we were out of eggnog. So when they settled on peppermint mochas I joyfully declared, It's Christmas in a cup! And when I called out their drinks, Two Christmases in cups! I also added, Now all you have to do is find yourselves some mistletoe! The older gentlemen who had been genuinely disappointed over his loss of eggnog got a twinkle in his eye. Say, you're pretty good at this, aren't you? he said. I grinned back in agreement, Yes, yes I am. As he walked away the lady leaned toward me and said quietly, We have our own invisible mistletoe and that works just fine.
It was so perfect! I love it when old people are still frisky. That's how I'm going to be, frisky at every age. And telling random sales girls about me and my guys invisible mistletoe.
And how!
I wandered around the mall today taking in all the sparkly decorations and musing over the fact that cheesy Christmas stuff still makes me giddy like a little girl. I guess I've just always loved Christmas and no matter how old I get and what all I go through, I still become that hopeful little girl, delighting in the Charlie brown ornaments, gazing longingly at every sparkly piece of jewelry, giggling over the new naughty negliges I bought (well, that might be the hopeful woman, not the little girl).
But you get the picture.
It's transcendent, somehow, and I loved that.
I also loved being the rare person that actually smiles at the cashier and talks to them like a person and not a robot. I went to the post office today to mail a surprise to a friend and I cannot tell you how stressed out those employees looked. This one employee was telling someone what they needed to do for changing their address and the way she delivered her words you would have thought she was a programmed robot who uttered the same 27 words over and over again. It took everything in me to stifle my laughter. People are so ridiculously amusing if you just take a few minutes to stop and watch them. They say and do the most absurd things and get so upset over so little. It really is like one giant ongoing comedy, right before your very eyes.
I freaking loved that.
I guess I was just excited to see what would happen next.
The ends of things often made way for new beginnings.
And newness was always extra sparkly and extra exciting to unwrap.
And anticipating all that lay in store added extra giddiness to this girls already overwhelmingly hopeful excitement.
Your birthday is soon! Grandma said to me tonight. You're going to be twenty-nine! Are you so excited?
And I was.
I was beyond excited.
For something tremendous surely was in store.
Skewed Perspective
It's amazing what a little perspective can do.
I felt really foolish,
Thankful, relieved, reassured,
Humbled.
I saw a friend I hadn't seen in....a year? Neither of us even knew the last time we saw each other, it had been that long. Needless to say we had much to catch up on.
She had a little baby boy, not yet one, and she was raising him solo.
But she still had many interactions with the Father.
And hearing of him made my skin tighten in discomfort.
He was the kind of man who would use my friends food stamps.
He was the kind of man that would make her meet him to pay for baby formula because he was too cheap to pay for it himself.
He was the kind of man who wouldn't visit his son unless she let him sleep in her bed when he visited.
And then laying next to her he would play mind games of wanting her and rejecting her.
And on and on and on.
And my stomach was filled with nausea.
I'm writing this down, my friend said, reaching for a pen and pad.
I need help, he's like heroin. I can't do this on my own.
And so we started brainstorming new tactics of things she was to do to gain some control in her life once again, to stop letting him walk all over her, to be free.
To learn that she was enough.
If he wants to visit his son then he will need to make accommodations other than your place, I started.
But if I won't let him stay with me he won't see his son. He won't pay for a hotel, she countered.
Well, then I guess he won't see him, I said firmly. Men do what they want to do. You have to stop enabling him. You have to stop thinking that what you do is going to make him be what you want. You said he always makes you feel bad when he's around, right?
Right, she sighed.
Then maybe him visiting less will actually be a good thing?
You're right, she agreed. What else?
And so she talked and I listened and I talked and she listened for hours.
And it felt comforting knowing that all the wisdom I'd gained the hard way I was able to impart to her.
You will likely fail and fall back into old habits in some way at some point, I told her. We're human, we err. But you can't think, 'Well, since I messed this one thing up I might as well just give up entirely.' You will find that as you make little steps of independence you'll feel proud of yourself. And you'll want to do more. You'll think, 'Hey, I did it! What else can I do?' And you'll get to the point where you not only don't want to talk to him when he calls, you'll stop caring so much. You'll learn what it feels like to let your heart be the center of your needs.
And as I drove home I felt this wave of reality wash over my heart.
My failed Princes may have been a lot of things, they may have been narcissistic, self serving, inconsistent juvenilles but they'd never treated me with the severity of heartless contempt that mongrel violently tossed upon my dear friend.
I really couldn't see any of them trying to use my food stamps instead of letting me use them for our baby.
That was some renewed perspective.
And I hoped in some knowing secrecy, they knew I valued all they were even in spite of everything they never would be.
Some things are best left alone.
And some things reminded me what a gift it was to have time alone.
To revel in being alone.
To choose to be alone.
I felt really foolish,
Thankful, relieved, reassured,
Humbled.
I saw a friend I hadn't seen in....a year? Neither of us even knew the last time we saw each other, it had been that long. Needless to say we had much to catch up on.
She had a little baby boy, not yet one, and she was raising him solo.
But she still had many interactions with the Father.
And hearing of him made my skin tighten in discomfort.
He was the kind of man who would use my friends food stamps.
He was the kind of man that would make her meet him to pay for baby formula because he was too cheap to pay for it himself.
He was the kind of man who wouldn't visit his son unless she let him sleep in her bed when he visited.
And then laying next to her he would play mind games of wanting her and rejecting her.
And on and on and on.
And my stomach was filled with nausea.
I'm writing this down, my friend said, reaching for a pen and pad.
I need help, he's like heroin. I can't do this on my own.
And so we started brainstorming new tactics of things she was to do to gain some control in her life once again, to stop letting him walk all over her, to be free.
To learn that she was enough.
If he wants to visit his son then he will need to make accommodations other than your place, I started.
But if I won't let him stay with me he won't see his son. He won't pay for a hotel, she countered.
Well, then I guess he won't see him, I said firmly. Men do what they want to do. You have to stop enabling him. You have to stop thinking that what you do is going to make him be what you want. You said he always makes you feel bad when he's around, right?
Right, she sighed.
Then maybe him visiting less will actually be a good thing?
You're right, she agreed. What else?
And so she talked and I listened and I talked and she listened for hours.
And it felt comforting knowing that all the wisdom I'd gained the hard way I was able to impart to her.
You will likely fail and fall back into old habits in some way at some point, I told her. We're human, we err. But you can't think, 'Well, since I messed this one thing up I might as well just give up entirely.' You will find that as you make little steps of independence you'll feel proud of yourself. And you'll want to do more. You'll think, 'Hey, I did it! What else can I do?' And you'll get to the point where you not only don't want to talk to him when he calls, you'll stop caring so much. You'll learn what it feels like to let your heart be the center of your needs.
And as I drove home I felt this wave of reality wash over my heart.
My failed Princes may have been a lot of things, they may have been narcissistic, self serving, inconsistent juvenilles but they'd never treated me with the severity of heartless contempt that mongrel violently tossed upon my dear friend.
I really couldn't see any of them trying to use my food stamps instead of letting me use them for our baby.
That was some renewed perspective.
And I hoped in some knowing secrecy, they knew I valued all they were even in spite of everything they never would be.
Some things are best left alone.
And some things reminded me what a gift it was to have time alone.
To revel in being alone.
To choose to be alone.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Sometimes you feel like a nut
Love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy.
Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way for it is not self seeking.
Love is not touchy or fretful or resentful.
Love takes no account of the evil done to it, it pays no attention to a suffered wrong.
Love is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances.
Relationships are complicated. People are also crazy and those people have relationships so it stands to reason those nutty nuts are going to embark on nutty interactions. They are, after all, reflections of one another, extensions of self, of how they each view themselves. That's why, thank the Lord, there are so many different kinds of people because some relationships I'd never have the patience for. My Grandma asked me what I thought of my best friend's husband and while I said I liked him alright if I ever ended up with a man like him, Lord have mercy.
We're too alike, he'd said to me when I told him of Grandma's comment.
Yeah, I'd agreed. I'd end up singing 'He had it comin' in the slammer because you pushed me too far and one day ended up choking on some poisonous sparkles.
Well, at least I'd get creative about it.
Some people inadvertently or by choice develop codependencies. They learn to rely so heavily on one another that they are incapable of functioning alone and are frightened of the possibility of being apart. Often they check in with one another more times than they do anything else throughout their days and they're satisfied in that ongoing connection. They have nothing that separates themselves from their counterpart, no financial accounts, no email, no hidden practices of any kind. In some extreme cases they may even compose emails and text messages together.
Why reply to someone with your own candid honesty when you can have someone censor it for you? Who wants their constitutional rights of freedom of speech anyway when you can have someone else take all the pressure away? I mean, it really is exhausting having to actually deal with self, all the complex, inconsistent layers and sort through them all and deal with the reality of all you're trying to bury.
No way.
That's too much.
Best to just keep that leash on tight, I mean, it's what you deserve anyway, right?
Excuse me, it's what you prefer, I should say.
Imagine being in a relationship of respect, freeing, trusting respect.
What would that even look like?
Respect:
Love does not insist on its own rights or its own way for it is not self seeking.
Love is not touchy or fretful or resentful.
Love takes no account of the evil done to it, it pays no attention to a suffered wrong.
Love is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances.
Relationships are complicated. People are also crazy and those people have relationships so it stands to reason those nutty nuts are going to embark on nutty interactions. They are, after all, reflections of one another, extensions of self, of how they each view themselves. That's why, thank the Lord, there are so many different kinds of people because some relationships I'd never have the patience for. My Grandma asked me what I thought of my best friend's husband and while I said I liked him alright if I ever ended up with a man like him, Lord have mercy.
We're too alike, he'd said to me when I told him of Grandma's comment.
Yeah, I'd agreed. I'd end up singing 'He had it comin' in the slammer because you pushed me too far and one day ended up choking on some poisonous sparkles.
Well, at least I'd get creative about it.
Some people inadvertently or by choice develop codependencies. They learn to rely so heavily on one another that they are incapable of functioning alone and are frightened of the possibility of being apart. Often they check in with one another more times than they do anything else throughout their days and they're satisfied in that ongoing connection. They have nothing that separates themselves from their counterpart, no financial accounts, no email, no hidden practices of any kind. In some extreme cases they may even compose emails and text messages together.
Why reply to someone with your own candid honesty when you can have someone censor it for you? Who wants their constitutional rights of freedom of speech anyway when you can have someone else take all the pressure away? I mean, it really is exhausting having to actually deal with self, all the complex, inconsistent layers and sort through them all and deal with the reality of all you're trying to bury.
No way.
That's too much.
Best to just keep that leash on tight, I mean, it's what you deserve anyway, right?
Excuse me, it's what you prefer, I should say.
Imagine being in a relationship of respect, freeing, trusting respect.
What would that even look like?
Respect:
to hold in esteem or honor;
to show regard or consideration for: to respect someone's rights.
to refrain from intruding upon or interfering with: to respect a person's privacy.
The saddest thing to me is when people live their lives in cages and never keep their eyes open long enough to see the bars. Somehow, through Divine intervention, I had managed to break free from the several prisons that had tried to enslave me. And being now on the other side, I wished I could pick the lock on the doors of those desperately wanting to break free.
But you can't help those who won't admit the truth.
And sometimes even when someone has awakened from their comatose state, seeing all that is can overwhelm and they might believe they can easily fall back asleep.
But once awakened, the idea of going back to comatose is too unbearable.
People say that's normal, that's to be expected, that's how it must be, he tells me.
Ahem, I'm sorry, but people?
Normalcy is an illusion.
Wouldn't you prefer genuineness, any day?
Wouldn't you prefer what is real, truthful and frighteningly captivating?
What's normal is not craving the thing that screwed up your life up in the first place.
Normal is choosing the choice you're failing to convince yourself you want and not sending out SOS messages to someone who sees through your transparency.
Words are tired, give me action anyday.
I always judge a man by what he does, his words are hollow.
Tell me again how much you don't want a take two and I will flash you a knowing look of condescension.
You are possibly crazier than I am.
I've met my match.
And I'm cautious.
He knew what I was gonna do before I did and somehow the feeling is mutual.
Be careful, friend or you'll take me out with you.
I'm no good when it comes to my heart.
Satan knows my weakness and it ain't chocolate.
A friend told me, He turns into a different person when he talks about you.
And it made me think: which one is the real one?
And does he even know.
Words have an uncanny ability to lose themselves on the lips of those misusing them. They like to hoard their favorites and muddle them around in their mouth, letting them soak for awhile, raping them of all their meaning, until all that remains are fragments of all that never was.
Those are the ones to be wary of.
And somewhere exist those who see the truth in all real relationships; those that embody love, respect and trust. Those that are freeing.
Those that release.
Trust:
Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety of a person or thing; confidence.
The saddest thing to me is when people live their lives in cages and never keep their eyes open long enough to see the bars. Somehow, through Divine intervention, I had managed to break free from the several prisons that had tried to enslave me. And being now on the other side, I wished I could pick the lock on the doors of those desperately wanting to break free.
But you can't help those who won't admit the truth.
And sometimes even when someone has awakened from their comatose state, seeing all that is can overwhelm and they might believe they can easily fall back asleep.
But once awakened, the idea of going back to comatose is too unbearable.
People say that's normal, that's to be expected, that's how it must be, he tells me.
Ahem, I'm sorry, but people?
Normalcy is an illusion.
Wouldn't you prefer genuineness, any day?
Wouldn't you prefer what is real, truthful and frighteningly captivating?
What's normal is not craving the thing that screwed up your life up in the first place.
Normal is choosing the choice you're failing to convince yourself you want and not sending out SOS messages to someone who sees through your transparency.
Words are tired, give me action anyday.
I always judge a man by what he does, his words are hollow.
Tell me again how much you don't want a take two and I will flash you a knowing look of condescension.
You are possibly crazier than I am.
I've met my match.
And I'm cautious.
He knew what I was gonna do before I did and somehow the feeling is mutual.
Be careful, friend or you'll take me out with you.
I'm no good when it comes to my heart.
Satan knows my weakness and it ain't chocolate.
A friend told me, He turns into a different person when he talks about you.
And it made me think: which one is the real one?
And does he even know.
Words have an uncanny ability to lose themselves on the lips of those misusing them. They like to hoard their favorites and muddle them around in their mouth, letting them soak for awhile, raping them of all their meaning, until all that remains are fragments of all that never was.
Those are the ones to be wary of.
And somewhere exist those who see the truth in all real relationships; those that embody love, respect and trust. Those that are freeing.
Those that release.
Trust:
Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety of a person or thing; confidence.
Confident expectation of something; hope.
Fire Swings Part deux
Veronica had returned to her new favorite spot, the bar where swings accompanied her wine, the one Fiona had first brought her to. She was meeting another close friend, Cece, who was also an actress. Actors were many things but one thing that Veronica especially delighted in was that they always seemed extra tapped in to their emotions, to their self awareness and in Veronica's case in particular, to processessing events quickly.
Cece hadn't seen Veronica in several weeks so there was quite a bit to catch up on.
That all just sounds so exhausting! Cece declared falling back in her swing chair. My life just seems so boring compared to that!
Veronica laughed at Cece's dramatics, though saying everything aloud in a row like that did bring to light the intensity of all that had transpired.
Sometimes Veronica herself felt a little hazy about the whole thing.
But one thing they each agreed on was truly anything was possible.
People very often surprised and at the most inopportune moments.
Timing and Fate didn't always see eye to eye and with our inability to cease sticking our hands into things we often gummed up the works.
But that always made the story more interesting.
And Veronica loved stories with surprising twists.
After a few hours of wine and secret swapping a band set up to play. There were three guys and suddenly Veronica remembered months ago hearing a similar band and being unable to take her eyes off the drummer. It really wasn't that long ago and yet it felt like a life time. Back when it overwhelmed that he even delighted to see her. Time was many things not the least of which was irrelevant. She hadn't told him she was going, in fact she had said she wasn't going to make it but she showed up minutes before his band was going to play to surprise him. He was so excited to see her he'd jumped up and given her a big hug and then sought to get her a drink right away. She remembered how radiant she'd felt that night, nervous but calm. And Veronica liked that unlike many shadows in her past she was able to reflect on one with such pleasant appreciation.
Maybe its briefness was why it left room for smiles of longing, Veronica thought aloud to Cece.
Yeah, maybe, Cece agreed. It's hard for me to understand such short relationships because my guy and I have been together for four and a half years.
Veronica breathed in a sigh of contemplation.
What a long time, she thought. Love is certainly very inconsistent when it chooses its times.
But unpredictability seemed to be Veronica's speciality.
And that's why driving there and even driving home she couldn't wipe that stupid grin off her face.
Cece hadn't seen Veronica in several weeks so there was quite a bit to catch up on.
That all just sounds so exhausting! Cece declared falling back in her swing chair. My life just seems so boring compared to that!
Veronica laughed at Cece's dramatics, though saying everything aloud in a row like that did bring to light the intensity of all that had transpired.
Sometimes Veronica herself felt a little hazy about the whole thing.
But one thing they each agreed on was truly anything was possible.
People very often surprised and at the most inopportune moments.
Timing and Fate didn't always see eye to eye and with our inability to cease sticking our hands into things we often gummed up the works.
But that always made the story more interesting.
And Veronica loved stories with surprising twists.
After a few hours of wine and secret swapping a band set up to play. There were three guys and suddenly Veronica remembered months ago hearing a similar band and being unable to take her eyes off the drummer. It really wasn't that long ago and yet it felt like a life time. Back when it overwhelmed that he even delighted to see her. Time was many things not the least of which was irrelevant. She hadn't told him she was going, in fact she had said she wasn't going to make it but she showed up minutes before his band was going to play to surprise him. He was so excited to see her he'd jumped up and given her a big hug and then sought to get her a drink right away. She remembered how radiant she'd felt that night, nervous but calm. And Veronica liked that unlike many shadows in her past she was able to reflect on one with such pleasant appreciation.
Maybe its briefness was why it left room for smiles of longing, Veronica thought aloud to Cece.
Yeah, maybe, Cece agreed. It's hard for me to understand such short relationships because my guy and I have been together for four and a half years.
Veronica breathed in a sigh of contemplation.
What a long time, she thought. Love is certainly very inconsistent when it chooses its times.
But unpredictability seemed to be Veronica's speciality.
And that's why driving there and even driving home she couldn't wipe that stupid grin off her face.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Restoration Chapter
I've seen so many airplanes this week, it's kind of ridiculous.
Yesterday alone I can't even remember how many I saw.
I saw so many that I actually lost count.
That's a lot of frequent flyer miles.
That's also a lot of little nudges from the Big G.
Planes are sort of this thing between Him and I.
It's kind of a long story, but basically, it's like my own personal little rainbow.
And whenever there's a plethora over head then I know He's moving, something fierce.
Mr. Dreamy came in again today. I was on bar, donning my extra sparkles in honor of the holy day that is Sparkle Friday and he walked in through the door that's closest to the bar. He got this big grin on his face when he saw me. Good morning, Resa, he said. And I'm quite certain my grin was so large it momentarily extended beyond the parameters of my cheekbones. He remembered my name! I thought. Eeeeee!!
Do you have any idea what it feels like when you're feeling one thing internally but you have to make your face showcase something entirely different, almost conflicting? Cool, aloof, detached. No guy wants little Miss Eager Pants. They want the elusive, independent, indifferent chicks that are hard to catch. It's not a game, it's reality. It is not sexy when a guy is too available or too doting or too infatuated. We all crave balance. Well, I should say most of us do.
The thing that was so different with this new stranger was that I had no desire to make something happen. Oh, my instinct was always to be way too forward and there have already been moments where I've thought something and chosen to ignore it (being a true lady definitely takes active work). But I'm tired of getting what I want. I want to be got. I want to be sought after, chased down, hunted with the ferocity that only the most devoted, amorous ones possess.
I admitted to one of my girlfriends tonight that my impulse was to try and think of something to say that might encourage him to ask me out. But then I had this moment where I halted, literally stepped out of myself long enough to face me eye to eye and give me a loud slap across my cheek to wake up the sense buried inside of me. Men don't need help. At least not when it comes to their level of interest. They either are or they aren't. Those that are half way are bullshit. And why would I want to snuggle on the couch with bullshit? I mean, really.
I had already seen the most sane men do the most insane things this year and the amazing part of it is that some of the most romantic, loving gestures have been by men after they had cast me aside.
Figure that one out. I'd love to be enlightened.
I don't think that love, with all of its passion and fire and romance has room for logic.
It simply doesn't go with the outfit it's wearing.
Logic does for love what black does for brown; they just get in the way of one another.
They don't compliment each other, they take away from each other.
If love were sound and reason played a heavy part in it we'd all still have arranged marriages. It certainly would make more sense to marry someone within our class or even above us to benefit our family and our name, someone who could draw connections for others outside of ourselves.
But that is unromantic, that clashes with the ideals of love.
And we love love.
We believe in it.
We just foolishly forget how inconsistent and selfish it can be.
But we forgive because love always believes the best.
That's the beautiful thing about all the ugliness I'd seen over the years.
I do still believe in love.
I still believe love never dies, never fades out, never comes to an end.
And I've learned I don't need to take into consideration the actions of someone else in determining the level with which I love.
No one has that power any more.
This love thing is between me and Him and loving for Him, through Him because of Him has always given me a joyous high far superior than any vindictive thing I could ever think of to do in reaction to all the hard hearted heartless that seem to crowd my path.
My interaction with Mr. Dreamy today may have been brief, even as I went around with samples to have an excuse to be near him again. And truth be told, while the old impatient part of me was dancing around singing, Ask me out! Ask me out! Ask me out! the new trusting me enjoyed waiting, was content in not knowing, reveled in the possibility. Sometimes we're so quick to reach our goal, to see the end results that we forget to enjoy the ride while we're on it.
And I really liked this new ride.
It didn't seem to carry the hesitancy that had been plaguing my year like a raincloud hovering above my curls.
And the magic was that in a room full of people I'm the one he chose to look at.
Just me.
And those moments are the little beginnings, they are what memories draw from.
And ever always His timing is perfect.
Just as it needs to be, just as it always is.
Yesterday alone I can't even remember how many I saw.
I saw so many that I actually lost count.
That's a lot of frequent flyer miles.
That's also a lot of little nudges from the Big G.
Planes are sort of this thing between Him and I.
It's kind of a long story, but basically, it's like my own personal little rainbow.
And whenever there's a plethora over head then I know He's moving, something fierce.
Mr. Dreamy came in again today. I was on bar, donning my extra sparkles in honor of the holy day that is Sparkle Friday and he walked in through the door that's closest to the bar. He got this big grin on his face when he saw me. Good morning, Resa, he said. And I'm quite certain my grin was so large it momentarily extended beyond the parameters of my cheekbones. He remembered my name! I thought. Eeeeee!!
Do you have any idea what it feels like when you're feeling one thing internally but you have to make your face showcase something entirely different, almost conflicting? Cool, aloof, detached. No guy wants little Miss Eager Pants. They want the elusive, independent, indifferent chicks that are hard to catch. It's not a game, it's reality. It is not sexy when a guy is too available or too doting or too infatuated. We all crave balance. Well, I should say most of us do.
The thing that was so different with this new stranger was that I had no desire to make something happen. Oh, my instinct was always to be way too forward and there have already been moments where I've thought something and chosen to ignore it (being a true lady definitely takes active work). But I'm tired of getting what I want. I want to be got. I want to be sought after, chased down, hunted with the ferocity that only the most devoted, amorous ones possess.
I admitted to one of my girlfriends tonight that my impulse was to try and think of something to say that might encourage him to ask me out. But then I had this moment where I halted, literally stepped out of myself long enough to face me eye to eye and give me a loud slap across my cheek to wake up the sense buried inside of me. Men don't need help. At least not when it comes to their level of interest. They either are or they aren't. Those that are half way are bullshit. And why would I want to snuggle on the couch with bullshit? I mean, really.
I had already seen the most sane men do the most insane things this year and the amazing part of it is that some of the most romantic, loving gestures have been by men after they had cast me aside.
Figure that one out. I'd love to be enlightened.
I don't think that love, with all of its passion and fire and romance has room for logic.
It simply doesn't go with the outfit it's wearing.
Logic does for love what black does for brown; they just get in the way of one another.
They don't compliment each other, they take away from each other.
If love were sound and reason played a heavy part in it we'd all still have arranged marriages. It certainly would make more sense to marry someone within our class or even above us to benefit our family and our name, someone who could draw connections for others outside of ourselves.
But that is unromantic, that clashes with the ideals of love.
And we love love.
We believe in it.
We just foolishly forget how inconsistent and selfish it can be.
But we forgive because love always believes the best.
That's the beautiful thing about all the ugliness I'd seen over the years.
I do still believe in love.
I still believe love never dies, never fades out, never comes to an end.
And I've learned I don't need to take into consideration the actions of someone else in determining the level with which I love.
No one has that power any more.
This love thing is between me and Him and loving for Him, through Him because of Him has always given me a joyous high far superior than any vindictive thing I could ever think of to do in reaction to all the hard hearted heartless that seem to crowd my path.
My interaction with Mr. Dreamy today may have been brief, even as I went around with samples to have an excuse to be near him again. And truth be told, while the old impatient part of me was dancing around singing, Ask me out! Ask me out! Ask me out! the new trusting me enjoyed waiting, was content in not knowing, reveled in the possibility. Sometimes we're so quick to reach our goal, to see the end results that we forget to enjoy the ride while we're on it.
And I really liked this new ride.
It didn't seem to carry the hesitancy that had been plaguing my year like a raincloud hovering above my curls.
And the magic was that in a room full of people I'm the one he chose to look at.
Just me.
And those moments are the little beginnings, they are what memories draw from.
And ever always His timing is perfect.
Just as it needs to be, just as it always is.
It's Ok
Breathe.
Take a deep breath.
Now get out of your head, for just a minute.
It may not be as safe a place as you imagine.
Sometimes we let thoughts consume us.
Sometimes the culprit is reason or logic or rationale.
Sometimes it's love; irrational, inconvenient, can't live without it love.
I've always sort of had this philosophy that if I wanted something I would wait and think on it. And if I still felt the same way after a time then it must be significant enough for me to have it. Because there are those things that are fleeting, those desires and impulses that leave as quickly as they started.
And sometimes, in those rare instances, they linger.
Confusion is not something that Providence created to consume us.
Confusion buries the truth from surfacing because it argues every angle, it counters any argument, it rationally rationalizes the most irrational rationale.
It is not your friend, confusion is the antithesis of peace.
It doesn't deserve your worship.
Whatever is noble, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is lovely and admirable, think on such things. All else is mere distraction.
Step out of the shell you're hiding in.
There is someone waiting to see the moon in there.
Don't be another guy, be a MAN.
Be so consumed with passion that you must have me.
Or be so overwhelmingly good that your altruism outpours and inspires awe in those around you.
But don't just be someone who can't have me and won't let me go because then you're just like him. Then you're just another guy and you sacrifice your crown on the altar of PC's everywhere, phonies and fakes who fell short and once again a disillusioned princess stands holding onto the remains.
I am further gone than you realize, dear one.
Not only out of the rabbit hole but out of sight from the rabbit hole.
A great big hop, skip and bunny jump away.
So can't you see? If I, being female, being the emotional, irrelevant, irrational one am more than fine...what island are you alone on?
Can it be that what you so quickly dismissed has shed light on things greater than even you?
Is it possible your gut quivers once again beyond your control?
And over something so elusive, over such fantasy?
I thought everything was just fine, that things were really great.
Darling, why am I the one you speak to with such uncandid honesty?
Shouldn't you be directing such overtures elsewhere?
Are you so afraid of letting me go entirely because then you will be left alone with your choice and the weight of that reality has finally sunk in?
I told you long ago I am no sexy little side dish. Nor am I the aphrodisiac.
This foxy lady wants so much more.
And for the first time in possibly the history of time I am done settling for less than everything.
I want the moon.
I want the golden ball.
I want to be followed to the ends of the pyramids just so they can look into these eyes.
Love endures all things.
It does not block and unblock and end and unend.
It is not Mr. Indecisive's cousin.
It just IS.
Like all I believed you to be.
Real Genuine Raw Vulnerable Honest
Why are you choking on a love that releases?
Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you
it will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
Let go.
Trying to hold onto everything will make you drown. It's way too much for one man's arms.
You already told your words what to do. Why are your actions lagging behind?
Do they know something your words are masking?
You may do well to set out ALONE for a few days. Away from all that would smother the fire within your soul. Perhaps some time alone, sans phone, sans computer, sans anyone would shed light on the lies bouncing around inside of you. Such conflicting things cannot be truth. There are grey areas and then there are just muddled areas. You're like the paint when it all runs together and creates one muted reddish tan, vague, undefined.
Stop lying to yourself and uttering the mantra Everything's fine, we're all fine, it's gonna be fine.
Nothing is fine.
This is a flippin volcano you're dancing on and it's stagnance ain't gonna last for much longer.
What is really going on here?
What's behind that reflection in the mirror, what's inside that man desperately trying to break free from his glass cage?
Prisons are often self inflicted, my dear little masochist.
Ignorance is only bliss if you're actually ignorant and you're far too savvy to pretend to be such an idiot.
Get out
Go away
Make a break for it
And take no one with you
I swear,
I know you will come back with the actual truth
The entire naked ugly truth
The one you've been ignoring for years
He is waiting for you, darling.
He has the answers.
It's not me.
I love in spite of you.
I love PC, and all his flaws.
But I know who I am.
Don't you want to know too?
Take a deep breath.
Now get out of your head, for just a minute.
It may not be as safe a place as you imagine.
Sometimes we let thoughts consume us.
Sometimes the culprit is reason or logic or rationale.
Sometimes it's love; irrational, inconvenient, can't live without it love.
I've always sort of had this philosophy that if I wanted something I would wait and think on it. And if I still felt the same way after a time then it must be significant enough for me to have it. Because there are those things that are fleeting, those desires and impulses that leave as quickly as they started.
And sometimes, in those rare instances, they linger.
Confusion is not something that Providence created to consume us.
Confusion buries the truth from surfacing because it argues every angle, it counters any argument, it rationally rationalizes the most irrational rationale.
It is not your friend, confusion is the antithesis of peace.
It doesn't deserve your worship.
Whatever is noble, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is lovely and admirable, think on such things. All else is mere distraction.
Step out of the shell you're hiding in.
There is someone waiting to see the moon in there.
Don't be another guy, be a MAN.
Be so consumed with passion that you must have me.
Or be so overwhelmingly good that your altruism outpours and inspires awe in those around you.
But don't just be someone who can't have me and won't let me go because then you're just like him. Then you're just another guy and you sacrifice your crown on the altar of PC's everywhere, phonies and fakes who fell short and once again a disillusioned princess stands holding onto the remains.
I am further gone than you realize, dear one.
Not only out of the rabbit hole but out of sight from the rabbit hole.
A great big hop, skip and bunny jump away.
So can't you see? If I, being female, being the emotional, irrelevant, irrational one am more than fine...what island are you alone on?
Can it be that what you so quickly dismissed has shed light on things greater than even you?
Is it possible your gut quivers once again beyond your control?
And over something so elusive, over such fantasy?
I thought everything was just fine, that things were really great.
Darling, why am I the one you speak to with such uncandid honesty?
Shouldn't you be directing such overtures elsewhere?
Are you so afraid of letting me go entirely because then you will be left alone with your choice and the weight of that reality has finally sunk in?
I told you long ago I am no sexy little side dish. Nor am I the aphrodisiac.
This foxy lady wants so much more.
And for the first time in possibly the history of time I am done settling for less than everything.
I want the moon.
I want the golden ball.
I want to be followed to the ends of the pyramids just so they can look into these eyes.
Love endures all things.
It does not block and unblock and end and unend.
It is not Mr. Indecisive's cousin.
It just IS.
Like all I believed you to be.
Real Genuine Raw Vulnerable Honest
Why are you choking on a love that releases?
Love that will not betray you, dismay or enslave you
it will set you free.
Be more like the man you were made to be.
Let go.
Trying to hold onto everything will make you drown. It's way too much for one man's arms.
You already told your words what to do. Why are your actions lagging behind?
Do they know something your words are masking?
You may do well to set out ALONE for a few days. Away from all that would smother the fire within your soul. Perhaps some time alone, sans phone, sans computer, sans anyone would shed light on the lies bouncing around inside of you. Such conflicting things cannot be truth. There are grey areas and then there are just muddled areas. You're like the paint when it all runs together and creates one muted reddish tan, vague, undefined.
Stop lying to yourself and uttering the mantra Everything's fine, we're all fine, it's gonna be fine.
Nothing is fine.
This is a flippin volcano you're dancing on and it's stagnance ain't gonna last for much longer.
What is really going on here?
What's behind that reflection in the mirror, what's inside that man desperately trying to break free from his glass cage?
Prisons are often self inflicted, my dear little masochist.
Ignorance is only bliss if you're actually ignorant and you're far too savvy to pretend to be such an idiot.
Get out
Go away
Make a break for it
And take no one with you
I swear,
I know you will come back with the actual truth
The entire naked ugly truth
The one you've been ignoring for years
He is waiting for you, darling.
He has the answers.
It's not me.
I love in spite of you.
I love PC, and all his flaws.
But I know who I am.
Don't you want to know too?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
I can see right through you
Even though the two new Starbucks' I'm working at are both nearly a half hour away from my previous one I have run into several old customers. This one lady, someone I didn't quite recognize, didn't say anything until right as she was leaving and then she casually remarked, We miss you over at Bethany. It caught me a little off guard because I hadn't placed her but it put smiles in my stomach knowing I was missed, knowing I had been seen.
That seems to be my theme of the week.
Today this guy is standing in front of my register and I swear I've never seen him before in my life and then he says, So what are you doing at this store we usually see you at the Bethany Village Starbucks. My jaw dropped open I was so stunned. I had no idea who this guy was and here he knew exactly who I was.
You just never know who sees you.
I mean, people see you and you are unawares.
You have no clue.
It's so funny the way people resist change. They detest it. My own brother used to say he didn't want to try something if he'd never had it before. There's great meaning behind that, I'm sure. Starbucks got these new programs for cashiering and are even changing the way they make drinks and the flow of things and people that work there are FREAKING out! It's kind of hillarious. See, I've worked at Starbucks on and off for 500 years and I'm used to all the change. I also just don't really care. My identity is not being a Barista. So I really don't take personal offense when I can't do things the way I always programmed myself to. I would think people would be glad they no longer are going to be robots at work going through the monotony without ever actually engaging the recesses of their brain. But instead their panties are in a twist. I totally imagined this one very wound tight girl at my old store who must just be dying over losing her beloved control in having things set in her ways. It kind of makes me giddy with glee when I think about it.
What's really stellar is that I was supposed to work at two stores just through the holidays but the manager at my borrowed store loves me so much she wants to keep things this way. And my home store manager is such a laid back guy he just wants me to be happy. So I'm to permanently be a fixture at two different Starbucks, which means two different sets of coworkers, two clienteles, two very different kinds of stores. That is SO rad! It is gonna be a lot harder to get bored with such variety. And truthfully I am so thankful to even have a job I've been reveling in every moment, even the ones where I feel like Cinderella as I have to clean the toilet and mop the floors. It's amazing what a little perspective can do for you.
I walked around the mall the other day and saw this young guy on a bench feeding a baby a bottle and trying to talk on his cell at the same time. This pang of overwhelming emotion socked me in my gut.
I'm so freaking not ready to be a mom.
One of my coworkers is my age and has a toddler. I came home from this draining day and thought of her. And I thought, If I had kids I couldn't be laying on the couch right now, I'd be running around taking care of them. Stepping out of my reverie I asked, Grandma, how do people have kids? I seriously don't understand how it's even possible. Grandma looked me square in the eyes and said, It's hard.
Funny, that's the same thing an old coworker told me about marriage, I'm not gonna lie, Resa, it's hard.
They really don't put that on Hallmark cards, though. Can you imagine?
Congratulations on your wedding! Now you will know the delightful hell that is marriage. Don't be fooled by the initial great sex and shiny presents, you're in for the most exhausting rollercoaster of your life. And sad to say, you're really kinda stuck on this ride. And this ride only. No Teacups or Round up or Octopus for you. One rollercoaster. Over and over again. For freakin' ever. But congrats!!
Oh, come on, that would totally be a big seller with the blue haired ladies that frequent Hallmark.
Hmm.
I like change.
I like the unexpected.
I like surprises.
I like it when people make my jaw drop in disbelief.
I like it when the butterflies dance inside of me.
I like that he still delights in me. Especially after seeing what a loving bitch I truly am.
Few get to catch that in all its glory, 'tis a privilege indeed.
That seems to be my theme of the week.
Today this guy is standing in front of my register and I swear I've never seen him before in my life and then he says, So what are you doing at this store we usually see you at the Bethany Village Starbucks. My jaw dropped open I was so stunned. I had no idea who this guy was and here he knew exactly who I was.
You just never know who sees you.
I mean, people see you and you are unawares.
You have no clue.
It's so funny the way people resist change. They detest it. My own brother used to say he didn't want to try something if he'd never had it before. There's great meaning behind that, I'm sure. Starbucks got these new programs for cashiering and are even changing the way they make drinks and the flow of things and people that work there are FREAKING out! It's kind of hillarious. See, I've worked at Starbucks on and off for 500 years and I'm used to all the change. I also just don't really care. My identity is not being a Barista. So I really don't take personal offense when I can't do things the way I always programmed myself to. I would think people would be glad they no longer are going to be robots at work going through the monotony without ever actually engaging the recesses of their brain. But instead their panties are in a twist. I totally imagined this one very wound tight girl at my old store who must just be dying over losing her beloved control in having things set in her ways. It kind of makes me giddy with glee when I think about it.
What's really stellar is that I was supposed to work at two stores just through the holidays but the manager at my borrowed store loves me so much she wants to keep things this way. And my home store manager is such a laid back guy he just wants me to be happy. So I'm to permanently be a fixture at two different Starbucks, which means two different sets of coworkers, two clienteles, two very different kinds of stores. That is SO rad! It is gonna be a lot harder to get bored with such variety. And truthfully I am so thankful to even have a job I've been reveling in every moment, even the ones where I feel like Cinderella as I have to clean the toilet and mop the floors. It's amazing what a little perspective can do for you.
I walked around the mall the other day and saw this young guy on a bench feeding a baby a bottle and trying to talk on his cell at the same time. This pang of overwhelming emotion socked me in my gut.
I'm so freaking not ready to be a mom.
One of my coworkers is my age and has a toddler. I came home from this draining day and thought of her. And I thought, If I had kids I couldn't be laying on the couch right now, I'd be running around taking care of them. Stepping out of my reverie I asked, Grandma, how do people have kids? I seriously don't understand how it's even possible. Grandma looked me square in the eyes and said, It's hard.
Funny, that's the same thing an old coworker told me about marriage, I'm not gonna lie, Resa, it's hard.
They really don't put that on Hallmark cards, though. Can you imagine?
Congratulations on your wedding! Now you will know the delightful hell that is marriage. Don't be fooled by the initial great sex and shiny presents, you're in for the most exhausting rollercoaster of your life. And sad to say, you're really kinda stuck on this ride. And this ride only. No Teacups or Round up or Octopus for you. One rollercoaster. Over and over again. For freakin' ever. But congrats!!
Oh, come on, that would totally be a big seller with the blue haired ladies that frequent Hallmark.
Hmm.
I like change.
I like the unexpected.
I like surprises.
I like it when people make my jaw drop in disbelief.
I like it when the butterflies dance inside of me.
I like that he still delights in me. Especially after seeing what a loving bitch I truly am.
Few get to catch that in all its glory, 'tis a privilege indeed.
Mine, All Mine
"Someone came in and left a note for you, some guy."
What? Wait... what did he look like...
"He had glasses on and a hat and tattoos..."
Oh......my.......GOD!
No freaking way.
Once again a beautiful man has left me with that expression on my lips.
And not only was there a note left for me but it was written in this sort of secret code that only I would understand.
And I seriously loved that.
I guess there are a few people out there who do still surprise me.
He always did know how much I love surprises.
I was a little disheartened that I had worked at my other store and missed seeing him, though. It has been nearly a month since I've seen him and while in actual time that's not very long at all in Fairy Tale time it's like half a year.
Fairy Tale time is like dog years only sparklier.
But part of me also thought there was some poetry in not seeing him. I'm in a good place once again. And Princes have a way of imbalancing my equilibrium. I wasn't sure I trusted his heart entirely either. And if those chocolate eyes looked into my grey ones who knows where we might fall. Then again, maybe we'd just give each other a hug and be thankful to have seen each other and that would be enough.
But I sort of liked not knowing. I also liked the possibility that if the time was right, perhaps he would show up again sometime.
I did have a birthday coming up next month, after all.
I just couldn't believe he left me a letter.
Even Mother when I told her held a stunned silence on the phone.
I can't believe he did that.
And later she even wrote, Your life is unbelievable.
It really kind of is, isn't it?
In my simple little way, still--
Miracles a go-go.
I remember when I was picking up my bed from Mr. Indecisive's after he had already left because I foolishly volunteered myself to take care of it so he wouldn't have to. Grandma so aptly put it, If he were a real man he would have taken care of that before he left and not made you have to deal with it.
Yes, Grandma, if he were a real man a great number of things would have been different.
But in my romantic hopefulness I thought, Maybe he will have left behind a letter for me, some last overture in honor of our love, of all that had been. Or at least a thank you, a cartoon, a smiley face, anything.
No.
Nada.
He was not Prince Charming. He was just a boy. A very sweet, very confused, lost boy.
See, the good thing about dating so much is I don't take things for granted. I mean, maybe I haven't seen it all but I've certainly seen a lot and one thing I do know without a doubt is that men don't do things they don't want to do. If they want to disappear and fall off the face of the planet they will. If they dain to actually send a text, oh my, I'm significant enough for them to exert the slightest amount of effort.
But if they actually set out to do a grand romantic gesture, if they care enough to drive 30 minutes just to bring me a note because their parting words were less than loving, well look out, because that's a keeper right there. It's just sometimes the keepers are already kept.
And that, well, that just plain sucks.
Asterisk-Asterisk-Exclamation point-dollar sign-asterisk-blanketyblank-dagnaggit.
Le Sigh.
But even being without, I did get one gift so many never receive.
And that is the loving truth.
It always sets free.
And I soar with love beneath these wings.
And no one can touch that.
That is simply mine, all mine.
What? Wait... what did he look like...
"He had glasses on and a hat and tattoos..."
Oh......my.......GOD!
No freaking way.
Once again a beautiful man has left me with that expression on my lips.
And not only was there a note left for me but it was written in this sort of secret code that only I would understand.
And I seriously loved that.
I guess there are a few people out there who do still surprise me.
He always did know how much I love surprises.
I was a little disheartened that I had worked at my other store and missed seeing him, though. It has been nearly a month since I've seen him and while in actual time that's not very long at all in Fairy Tale time it's like half a year.
Fairy Tale time is like dog years only sparklier.
But part of me also thought there was some poetry in not seeing him. I'm in a good place once again. And Princes have a way of imbalancing my equilibrium. I wasn't sure I trusted his heart entirely either. And if those chocolate eyes looked into my grey ones who knows where we might fall. Then again, maybe we'd just give each other a hug and be thankful to have seen each other and that would be enough.
But I sort of liked not knowing. I also liked the possibility that if the time was right, perhaps he would show up again sometime.
I did have a birthday coming up next month, after all.
I just couldn't believe he left me a letter.
Even Mother when I told her held a stunned silence on the phone.
I can't believe he did that.
And later she even wrote, Your life is unbelievable.
It really kind of is, isn't it?
In my simple little way, still--
Miracles a go-go.
I remember when I was picking up my bed from Mr. Indecisive's after he had already left because I foolishly volunteered myself to take care of it so he wouldn't have to. Grandma so aptly put it, If he were a real man he would have taken care of that before he left and not made you have to deal with it.
Yes, Grandma, if he were a real man a great number of things would have been different.
But in my romantic hopefulness I thought, Maybe he will have left behind a letter for me, some last overture in honor of our love, of all that had been. Or at least a thank you, a cartoon, a smiley face, anything.
No.
Nada.
He was not Prince Charming. He was just a boy. A very sweet, very confused, lost boy.
See, the good thing about dating so much is I don't take things for granted. I mean, maybe I haven't seen it all but I've certainly seen a lot and one thing I do know without a doubt is that men don't do things they don't want to do. If they want to disappear and fall off the face of the planet they will. If they dain to actually send a text, oh my, I'm significant enough for them to exert the slightest amount of effort.
But if they actually set out to do a grand romantic gesture, if they care enough to drive 30 minutes just to bring me a note because their parting words were less than loving, well look out, because that's a keeper right there. It's just sometimes the keepers are already kept.
And that, well, that just plain sucks.
Asterisk-Asterisk-Exclamation point-dollar sign-asterisk-blanketyblank-dagnaggit.
Le Sigh.
But even being without, I did get one gift so many never receive.
And that is the loving truth.
It always sets free.
And I soar with love beneath these wings.
And no one can touch that.
That is simply mine, all mine.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Around the Block, One More Time
Being in a similarly changed place to where I was months ago is a bizarre coincidence.
New events have transpired. I am, in effect, many moons from where I once was, yet after all the unveiled surprises I have returned to my starting point, come full circle and yet, still, returned.
There's comedy in that.
I'm so glad to no longer be in the specific stickiness of all that consumed me. Why is it that every time I'm in a predicament time halts and all I know is what is happening in my now?
All I can say is I'm so thankful I'm so frequently WRONG.
If I had a dollar for every instance of my incorrectness I could buy myself a pretty stellar piece of jewelry. Instead of cutting off my hand when it offends I think I'll buy it something sparkly. Then maybe it will be so distracted by its own beauty it will stop getting into so much trouble.
I went for a walk after work. No more sugar comas once again, afternoon walks once again, quiet time, reading, writing, music, just as before. It occurred to me that the book I was reading while he distracted me the night he made love to my phone was A Grief Observed.
THAT is comedy.
And this grief has been observed and noted and placed on the shelf with all the other fairy tales. It will always remain a book in and of itself, however unfinished.
Love can only be romantic if it is unfulfilled.
It felt strange to think on the number of days that had already passed, the number of months, too, from the story prior. How quickly time hastens when we are distracted! Fifty nine brief days before a new year revealed itself. THAT was surprisingly incredible. One thing to be said of years, they never possess biases over years past. They are their own complete delights, predictable to no one, hindered by no man but Self.
And for possibly the first time in any of my time, I am getting out of my own way.
And oh, it feels delightful.
Mr. Dreamy didn't delight me with his presence today but 'tis no matter.
Simply knowing of his possibility is enough for now.
And besides, there is always tomorrow.
And what a surprise that always seems to be.
New events have transpired. I am, in effect, many moons from where I once was, yet after all the unveiled surprises I have returned to my starting point, come full circle and yet, still, returned.
There's comedy in that.
I'm so glad to no longer be in the specific stickiness of all that consumed me. Why is it that every time I'm in a predicament time halts and all I know is what is happening in my now?
All I can say is I'm so thankful I'm so frequently WRONG.
If I had a dollar for every instance of my incorrectness I could buy myself a pretty stellar piece of jewelry. Instead of cutting off my hand when it offends I think I'll buy it something sparkly. Then maybe it will be so distracted by its own beauty it will stop getting into so much trouble.
I went for a walk after work. No more sugar comas once again, afternoon walks once again, quiet time, reading, writing, music, just as before. It occurred to me that the book I was reading while he distracted me the night he made love to my phone was A Grief Observed.
THAT is comedy.
And this grief has been observed and noted and placed on the shelf with all the other fairy tales. It will always remain a book in and of itself, however unfinished.
Love can only be romantic if it is unfulfilled.
It felt strange to think on the number of days that had already passed, the number of months, too, from the story prior. How quickly time hastens when we are distracted! Fifty nine brief days before a new year revealed itself. THAT was surprisingly incredible. One thing to be said of years, they never possess biases over years past. They are their own complete delights, predictable to no one, hindered by no man but Self.
And for possibly the first time in any of my time, I am getting out of my own way.
And oh, it feels delightful.
Mr. Dreamy didn't delight me with his presence today but 'tis no matter.
Simply knowing of his possibility is enough for now.
And besides, there is always tomorrow.
And what a surprise that always seems to be.
Diary of a Possessed Woman
Journaling is vital.
I have kept a journal on and off since grade school.
My father read it twice.
Narcissus read it too.
It's interesting how men that love can become so invasive, possessed even, to try and understand all they believe you aren't telling them.
And this of a girl who will never embody the adage Silence is Golden.
Mostly in my twenties I've journaled about men. Let's be honest, that's how I've spent a good portion of my time. It's what I spent a lot of time analyzing, pining over, scheming, plotting, agonizing, delighting in. Men. This year, was and was not the exception. The difference was that the most recent prince I embraced, I didn't journal about at all. Quite possibly, if memory serves me, this made Prince Charming the first guy in this decade I had dated and not wrote about in a diary. Of course, I also never blogged before so you could argue that there's that. But it didn't include the details I'd usully capture.
He leaned over with his head on his hands, gazing at me longingly and told me he hadn't been able to eat, that I made his gut quiver. "We're insane," he laughed. And then he leaned over bringing my face to his and kissed me.
Sentimental crap like that. I'd capture every narcissistic nuance and mushy moment and every harsh frightening one too. I wanted to remember. It was like I secretly always knew the relationship was fleeting and was desperately trying to capture it, like I needed a tactile way to hold onto a memory I knew I'd eventually forget. Yet with PC somehow the moments were still so vibrant and alive in my mind in spite of the drifting feeling that it was all already so long ago.
Maybe that's why he was the only one I hadn't kept a journal about. I didn't have that sinking sense it was fleeting. I sensed it was different. I sensed it could have a different ending. I sensed I didn't need to write all that was because I was living it.
But there's also another reason journaling is vital.
It documents all the things you will yourself to forget.
When I write, I write honestly, every vulnerable, ugly, desperate, selfish thought. And understandably, many of those thoughts are ones I have trouble rereading.
I opened up an envelope tonight of letters I'd kept for Mr. Indecisive, convinced that one day, someday, I would give them to him.
June 25, 2010: "I don't want to just stop eating to get skinny and attract the wrong kind of men and be tempted for revenge (I don't care if you say it's over in your mind; I know it will hurt you if you found out I was with other guys). That's why I have to make sure each decision I make is from the Spirit, not my selfish flesh."
Sometimes writing can foreshadow, sometimes it can enlighten, sometimes in its distortion, it can mask.
As I stumbled upon more writings, dots were connected between actions that still seemed unreal. I revealed that our two tattered souls had twisted simultaneously, likely the same eve, from different pains but craving the same cure: change. He had recounted to me that within those days leading up to our big night he'd said, I feel like you don't even like me very much. And she, not hearing the question, reacted in anger. I, unable to hope in an illusion, wrote this, a letter that somehow shed light on all that would begin within four days of it's writing. Neither of us knew, yet somehow we were each secretly aware that we were actively hunting for something.
We merely remained unawares we'd each be waiting for one another, allowing the hunt, even willing all that would ensue.
I feel numb. I have so much rage I don't know what to do with it. I can't believe how much I like running now. Hate gives me a drive I haven't had in a long time.
I hope I never see you again. I hope you always have confusion over why I disappeared from your life. I hope your heart hurts as much as mine does. I hope you can feel in your soul how I've given up on you entirely. All that time, all those loving words I poured out to you, the prayers I uttered, the tears I shed. You never loved me. You never cared about me. You used me. You took what you wanted and left. And you said mean things about me. So now everyone connected to you thinks I'm some monster. And you are such a coward.
What a fool I was. I never want to get married. I never want to see you again. I hope someday you want me back so I can say NO. I wish I would have forwarded her email to you so you could read her venom and know she was reading your emails. But you don't care. You'd just laugh about me behind my back, 'How pathetic,' you'd say, 'She thinks I care about her.'
I went for a walk and fought back tears. I saw four airplanes today. I don't believe anymore. I sat on the curb and saw the first star in the sky and I wanted to make a wish. And I didn't know what to wish for. I realized I don't have any wishes. I started to cry. I got up and started back to my house and when I turned the corner there was a plane. And I cried harder and then another plane crossing the other direction. Six planes today. And I wasn't looking for them. I don't want to see them anymore. You don't see me. You never saw me. I want God to change my heart. I want to feel nothing toward you just as you feel nothing toward me. You're just another boy, I was wrong. I'm always wrong. I'm done being wrong. I'm tired.
November 2, 2010: Sometimes getting what you want is the most frightful thing of all.
I have kept a journal on and off since grade school.
My father read it twice.
Narcissus read it too.
It's interesting how men that love can become so invasive, possessed even, to try and understand all they believe you aren't telling them.
And this of a girl who will never embody the adage Silence is Golden.
Mostly in my twenties I've journaled about men. Let's be honest, that's how I've spent a good portion of my time. It's what I spent a lot of time analyzing, pining over, scheming, plotting, agonizing, delighting in. Men. This year, was and was not the exception. The difference was that the most recent prince I embraced, I didn't journal about at all. Quite possibly, if memory serves me, this made Prince Charming the first guy in this decade I had dated and not wrote about in a diary. Of course, I also never blogged before so you could argue that there's that. But it didn't include the details I'd usully capture.
He leaned over with his head on his hands, gazing at me longingly and told me he hadn't been able to eat, that I made his gut quiver. "We're insane," he laughed. And then he leaned over bringing my face to his and kissed me.
Sentimental crap like that. I'd capture every narcissistic nuance and mushy moment and every harsh frightening one too. I wanted to remember. It was like I secretly always knew the relationship was fleeting and was desperately trying to capture it, like I needed a tactile way to hold onto a memory I knew I'd eventually forget. Yet with PC somehow the moments were still so vibrant and alive in my mind in spite of the drifting feeling that it was all already so long ago.
Maybe that's why he was the only one I hadn't kept a journal about. I didn't have that sinking sense it was fleeting. I sensed it was different. I sensed it could have a different ending. I sensed I didn't need to write all that was because I was living it.
But there's also another reason journaling is vital.
It documents all the things you will yourself to forget.
When I write, I write honestly, every vulnerable, ugly, desperate, selfish thought. And understandably, many of those thoughts are ones I have trouble rereading.
I opened up an envelope tonight of letters I'd kept for Mr. Indecisive, convinced that one day, someday, I would give them to him.
June 25, 2010: "I don't want to just stop eating to get skinny and attract the wrong kind of men and be tempted for revenge (I don't care if you say it's over in your mind; I know it will hurt you if you found out I was with other guys). That's why I have to make sure each decision I make is from the Spirit, not my selfish flesh."
Sometimes writing can foreshadow, sometimes it can enlighten, sometimes in its distortion, it can mask.
As I stumbled upon more writings, dots were connected between actions that still seemed unreal. I revealed that our two tattered souls had twisted simultaneously, likely the same eve, from different pains but craving the same cure: change. He had recounted to me that within those days leading up to our big night he'd said, I feel like you don't even like me very much. And she, not hearing the question, reacted in anger. I, unable to hope in an illusion, wrote this, a letter that somehow shed light on all that would begin within four days of it's writing. Neither of us knew, yet somehow we were each secretly aware that we were actively hunting for something.
We merely remained unawares we'd each be waiting for one another, allowing the hunt, even willing all that would ensue.
I feel numb. I have so much rage I don't know what to do with it. I can't believe how much I like running now. Hate gives me a drive I haven't had in a long time.
I hope I never see you again. I hope you always have confusion over why I disappeared from your life. I hope your heart hurts as much as mine does. I hope you can feel in your soul how I've given up on you entirely. All that time, all those loving words I poured out to you, the prayers I uttered, the tears I shed. You never loved me. You never cared about me. You used me. You took what you wanted and left. And you said mean things about me. So now everyone connected to you thinks I'm some monster. And you are such a coward.
What a fool I was. I never want to get married. I never want to see you again. I hope someday you want me back so I can say NO. I wish I would have forwarded her email to you so you could read her venom and know she was reading your emails. But you don't care. You'd just laugh about me behind my back, 'How pathetic,' you'd say, 'She thinks I care about her.'
I went for a walk and fought back tears. I saw four airplanes today. I don't believe anymore. I sat on the curb and saw the first star in the sky and I wanted to make a wish. And I didn't know what to wish for. I realized I don't have any wishes. I started to cry. I got up and started back to my house and when I turned the corner there was a plane. And I cried harder and then another plane crossing the other direction. Six planes today. And I wasn't looking for them. I don't want to see them anymore. You don't see me. You never saw me. I want God to change my heart. I want to feel nothing toward you just as you feel nothing toward me. You're just another boy, I was wrong. I'm always wrong. I'm done being wrong. I'm tired.
November 2, 2010: Sometimes getting what you want is the most frightful thing of all.
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