Whistling by your ear

The other night, Mitchell said something that, like so many of the things he's said over the years, was direct and true. I'm too nice, he said. Initially I protested, and I whipped out a few tales that proved him wrong, but in a lot of ways he's right. I genuinely want to believe the best about people, to trust in the truth of their words and to find goodness in their hearts. It isn't my nature to assume the best — one of the things I first think when I see a man alone at night is, "If this guy forces himself on me, where do I run?*" — but I have a deep and desperate desire to have faith in people nonetheless.

The problem, and the part that incorporates Mitchell's comment, is that I often can't believe it when someone's being a royal shit. It just doesn't make sense to me, and because of my stupid empathy, it's easy to understand why that person is that way. It's not that I excuse horrible behavior, but I often can tell where it's coming from. So it's easier to not take it personally, though I still wind up holding residual hurt. (With great emo power comes great emo, um, emoness.)

By the way, I'm not trying to make it seem like I'm somewell-adjusted individual who never hurts anybody's feelings. My faults are numerous and my words sometimes come out as jagged daggers. The point is, I've always been particularly sensitive — to light, sound, scent, and yes, to emotion.

Anyway. I have often chosen to believe in the good because I so much wanted something glimmering and beautiful to be there, rather than noticing that that shiny thing was actually mercury. So I'm saving my "nice" for only those who deserve it. On the surface, this sounds like a bitter defeat, but it's actually a positive step. It means simultaneously smiling and staring someone down, hoping for kindness and truth but not falling for a mirage of those things. For some reason, this shift feels like the beginning of being better to the right people. It feels good, like stretching after a long car ride.

Miss her

I can tell people that my auntie died, and I can do it without crying. But it's when I say it outloud to myself that it hurts the worse. I try not to talk about it or write about it but tonight I picked up the telephone to call her and tell her that Notting Hill was on the W network. She loved that movie. It's these little unexpected reminders that make me choke up. The smallest signs of absence cut randomly, deeply.

Yesterday morning, I was talking with Sarah and I felt my eyes well up with tears. I am trying so hard, I told her, to keep everything together. For the most part, I do. I am trying to be strong and I am trying to have the whole "this too shall pass" attitude. But sometimes I can no longer muffle the voice inside me that wants to say — no, shout — that it doesn't seem fair to have so much loss, sadness and stress stuffed into such a short period of time. For the most part, I've been focusing on the positive days to come, but not tonight! Tonight I am allowing myself to have a full-blown pity party complete with "feeling sorry for self" activities. Back to stiff upper lip and rebuilding tomorrow, because I am not proud of wanting to have a pity party.

Chris has been great for someone who still only knows me so little. He's a strong shoulder.
As slight as he is. He's stronger than he looks.

Don't go numb

I am a bit of a hypochondriac. I like to think of my overanalysis of the smallest things as a charming personality quirk, because that makes me seem less loony when I do things like call mom and blurt, "I think my foot is going to fall off."

It might! I know this because my toes have been cold and a bit tingly all weekend. Google tells me that this could be a sign of acute compartment syndrome, and as we all know, the internet never lies. The more I read, the more convinced I was that I was going to have to have my foot removed — maybe even the leg!
I need to visit my doc.

Live Live Live

You know the phrase "live every day as though it were your last"? That is better advice in theory than in practice, because it's fairly likely that our last days won't offer us the chance to do as we please. Some of us will spend our last days hooked up to a respirator; others will have lost their mental faculties months or years before. A few of us will be lucky enough to be completely present in our last moments, and others will begin their mornings without knowing that they're drinking the last coffee of their lives.

I know I'm not making much sense; I'm really just rambling while ruminating. But having spent a decent amount of time among the dying lately, I can't help but think that "carpe diem" is a better credo. It's more positive, like blooming into life — whereas living like it's your last day implies that you're running from death. I keep thinking about hope and fear as motivators. Both have propelled me into action, but the decisions I have made out of fear have been the ones I've regretted. I regret the things I didn't do more than the things I did.

Three things happened this year that radically changed my perspective on the way I want to live. First, Mark and I breaking up. I'm so lucky that we did, because in doing what I wanted instead of what I thought would be safer, I wound up figuring out a lot about myself. It doesn't matter that the relationship ended. Well, it matters, but you know what I mean — I don't regret the decision. Decades from now, when spots cloud my vision and my bones are tired, I will still be glad that I took the risk. That I ended something that was destroying me.
I am lucky to still have him in my life. I always supected that we were better as friends anyway.

Number two! Breast lump. The moment I felt it wobble under my fingers, I knew that it definitely did not belong there. I was scared but somewhat calm about the whole thing. It's not like I could worry myself out of cancer if I'd had it. Because the lump is benign, the doctor said we'd monitor it rather than remove it. In a weird way, I'm glad it's still there, because it's a physical reminder to appreciate simply being healthy. I know that sounds corny, but it's true.


Finally, the third. My Auntie Ellen's death this month. Death has had the most impact of these three things, but it is the most difficult to articulate. One thing I do know is that — oh god, this is so hippie-ish, forgive me — life is brief, and death is very real, and I want to live more courageously until my time comes. I know that sounds like some new agey shit, and maybe it is, but after she died, I felt more urgency to become a better person. No more rinky-dink procrastinating, no more excuses, no more holding myself back from fear of failure. I want to share more, to love more, to write more, to be more giving. I want to have a remarkable life and to create stronger connections, or at least die trying.

I don't think I have life figured out. I don't think anybody ever does. But I think this year will stand out as a turning point. I don't want this to come off as some sort of pretentious, know-it-all "Oh, I'm going through a MAGICAL SPIRITUAL TRANSFORMATION" thing. I readily admit that if I were a Transformer, my name would be Megaflawed, and I would clumsily shift into a unicycle or something equally as lame. Still, it feels like something is happening. I feel alive, and that is a very good place to be.

The Con

I got a flu shot this week. I didn't want to, but my doctor guilt-tripped me into it by saying that even if I didn't come down with the flu, I might pass the virus to a person with a weakened immune system. All right, fine, I'll get the shot.
Fuck that. My body burned for two days afterwards.

I guess it was neccessary.

I've been hanging out with Mark a lot recently. We get on so well but I know it makes people uncomfrtable. Especially the new guy I've been seeing. He never outright vocalizes it but his eyes shift whenI mention Marks name. I understand though. He suspects the worse; that I am still in love with Mark and will run back into his arms. As the days and weeks and months pass I grasp at my memories to find one that shows me as happy with him. Four years is a long time and I have no idea if I had ever been happy with him. Yet, it was very hard to move on with my life and get over that failure. Words fail me when I try to describe how difficult the last year was...especially the months before we finally broke up. (The autumn of my discontent?)
In a surprising way, though, it all feels right. The mourning had to happen, and it hurt. I did n't want to bury the pain; I didn't want to run away from it or sneak around it. I wanted to walk straight into it to get through it. And I did.
Jesus, I did.

I wish Chris could see that I survived it and don't want to relive it. We are not at the stage yet where we know eachother let alone understand eachother. We may never reach that point. All I know is that he's a great guy and someone I'd like to get to know better. And the sex is fantastic which has never really been important to me until right now. I'm nearly thirty, I deserve some fantastic sex.

Beyond the beltway

I've decided to stop writing at my old blogger and start fresh here. Sometimes you just need to let go and begin again. I'm beginning again.

It's the first of November and soon it will be Winter. I've never been one to hate on Winter, but this year may be my first. I am dreading the cold. My bones have been cold for months now and I can't imagine getting any colder. I suppose I have my heart to thank for this freeze.
Since Mark and I ended things, I have been a little bit of an ice queen.
November marks the one year anniversary of the ending of us. November the tenth. Imagine...it's been one year already.

I had orginally decided that when I switched blogger accounts I would leave everything behind, all the bullshit and bad feelings. but I've realized that who am I if I'm not my past? So I'll embrace it and not worry about dragging along my baggage. We all have it.

Last week I picked up a novel by a local writer, Chad Pelley. It was called Away From Everywhere and it shook me. I found the writing to be stunning. I really identified with one of the main characters, actually I identified with two main characters. I found so much of myself in Hannah and in Owen. I love when you can crawl into a book and find yourself in there.

I also have been listening to Departure Lounge a lot and it suits my moods perfectly. It's just one more thing that Ive crawled inside of and found myself there.

I've been taking a lot of photos these days too. I am finding it nice to get back into the swing of things. It's hard to be broken hearted and not want to do anything at all. I've forgotten, in the lasy year, to do the things that make me happy. For so long I only did the things that made Mark happy and then I did nothing.
It's great to be back.

I will try to write more.