Love, Love, Love

   My niece is 18 months old. And she is perfection.
   Watching her with my mother is captivating. In The Poisonwood Bible (by Barbara Kingsolver,I recommend it!) there's a passage that struck me so much I reread it over and over again, unable to turn the page. Leah, the protagonist, is watching her mother with her baby sister and says: "..I could see the two of them in the mirror. Mother singing soft questions and kissing her answers into the tiny, outstretched palms. Adah and I were nine then, too old to be jealous of a baby, but still I had to wonder if she had ever loved me that much."
   Babies are magical. The moments I spend with her are pure bliss.
   We lie cuddling on my sister's bed, watching The Lion King before she goes to sleep. This is one of the rare moments she is still and willing to be (mostly) quiet; She is so like my sister: constantly in motion and never, ever silent. I play with her soft, curly hair and kiss her head. "You'll always be my little baby girl," I whisper in her ear.
   These moments fill up my entire heart. Infants and toddlers redefine your capacity to love, stretch out your heart to limits you never imagined it could reach, and then double it. It's unlike any relationship with a grown person; you want to memorize every inch, every giggle, every syllable, and ingrain it all into your mind. But you lose so much of it. I'm heartbroken for every detail I've already forgotten, and every detail I will soon forget. How could I bear to part with the vividness of the present, from the mischievous giggle right before she pours her cereal on the floor to the loud, repetitive song she maintains through entire car rides, the nonsensical chorus of DOPPA DOPPA DOPPA DOPPA she never gets sick of belting out? My current favorite is the way she repeats the word wow every time I say it; so incredulously, so sincerely: WOOOWW! She is genuinely thrilled by the tiniest, most insignificant things.
   Sometimes things are so goddamn beautiful it breaks my heart a little bit.

Always Where I Need to Be

   It really seems as though things are over between Mr. Fantasy and me. And I'm... okay. I always forget that when I adjust to life without him, it's tolerable and even fun. I get so wrapped up in him and our relationship that I isolate myself in it and forget how absolutely wonderful everyone else in my life is. Plus, I've been reconnecting with a lot of girls from high school and that's been really fantastic.
   I haven't heard from Simon in about a week; I spent the better part of a week inventing excuses to break our plans, until finally leaving his texts unanswered. It appears as if he has given up. I really hope so. (Yes, I feel like a bitch about this. No, I have nothing to say for myself.)
   As I mentioned, Bobby McGee and I had a pretty emotional (read: wasted) discussion in which we resolved our disagreements and broke through the distance. Finally. My life feels back on track.
   I applied to a new school last week; in the same city as my current school, but with my new program. (This is the third time I'll be changing majors: I started college as a Journalism major, switched to English Education for about a half of a semester, and now am going for Urban and Public Policy. Third time's the charm?) This will also put me at the same school as Johnny, who has already promised to give me a tour. (Granted, he promised that after given the ultimatum: He gives me a tour or I call him three times a week mid-panic attack asking for directions. And I'm really, really, really, really bad with directions.)
   This is pushing Portland further back, but now I'm thinking I should finish school in New York state, where I get the tuition of a resident, and then go to Oregon after college, which has been my plan since high school. I'm terribly fickle though, so we'll see.
   And I have a job interview tomorrow! (Could my waste of life status be changing?! Or, at least the severity of my waste-ness could be lessening?! We'll see!) I'm interviewing to be a waitress in a coffee shop a few blocks from where I live. I'm hoping I get that, although the business also has an ice cream shop where they may place me, and I wouldn't mind that either. I'm crossing my fingers!
   Also, about that friend of Bobby McGee's I mentioned in my last post (the one I argued with)- feeling remorseful for my bad attitude, I apologized and promised him next time he's in town I'll throw a party in his honor. (I love throwing parties. It's way better than going to them, because I get to be in charge of everything AND I get to make lists, and I'm a crazy control freak with a list-writing obsession.) He then reminded me that both Esther and I had essentially abused the hell out of him the entire night (me verbally, and her physically). I had totally forgotten that until he mentioned it, and suddenly I was inundated with memories of her punching the hell out of him repeatedly in various locations over a period of several hours. I apologized for her as well, and silently thanked the universe that the conversation was taking place over the internet and not in person, where he would have been less inclined to take my apology, the sincerity of which would have been diluted by laughter at the memories of how bad ass Esther truly is.
   Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know: I'm alive. And happy :)

Fight For Your Right

   Last night I was awarded the highly prestigious award of World's Drunkest Bitch. This doesn't happen to me very often; I'm used to awards like World's Bitchiest Bitch or World's Most Uptight Bitch or World's Most Politically Correct Bitch, but Drunkest? Not my thing. (Not anymore anyway; I was a frequent winner of this award in high school, but I started counting drinks as I went by senior year and really steadied myself. I'm a pretty reliably sane drunk. Except sometimes I still lose count and that's how last night's events unfolded.) So last night, we started at Hammer Time and very quickly moved on to Drunk Bitch O'Clock.
   Needless to say, there was much foolishness. I have the unfortunate tendency of making a spectacle out of myself while inebriated (but seriously, who doesn't?)

   List of Ridiculous/Regrettable?/Awesome Decisions I Made:

- Getting into repeated arguments with some kid who goes to school with Bobby McGee

(Sample: Upon eavesdropping on mine & Esther's conversation, he laughed and interjected telling me "Communicative isn't a word." (I had been expressing my pleasure that we are becoming so "nonverbally communicative" after she had understood that when I pointed to her and then waved towards myself it had meant I wanted her to come towards me.) "Oh really?" I asked, with a level of aggression absolutely not required whatsoever. I then proceeded to text Google to ask for the definition and then wave my phone in front of his face declaring "I'm an English major, bitch! I know shit about words and shit!" I think that sentence was a shining example of my mastery of the spoken word, personally.)
- Freestyling about everything in my immediate surroundings with a heavy emphasis on derivatives of the word "motherfucker." (Sample: It's the mothafuckin' weekend and we're going to a party and we're gonna have the best time and everybody's gonna dance it up and I'm gonna fuckin' rock this shit, mothafuckin' own the dance floor...) (I apparently see no use for rhyming or rhythm after a certain number of beers. Although I couldn't tell you what number because, as I mentioned, I lost count.)
- Dancing excessively at every opportunity, at times creating opportunities for dancing that did not exist and were not appropriate.
- Convincing my 16 year old friend to meet me at the bar.
- Sitting on a couch with the girl hosting the after party and revealing highly classified and personal information about my sexual history.
- Sitting on a couch with Bobby McGee sobbing uncontrollably begging for us to be "us again."
(More on that later)
- Sitting on a bed with aforementioned 16 year old best friend crying about Mr. Fantasy
(The less I remember about that, the better)
- Rejoining the party with still-watering eyes and being told by the boy from the first example that I'm "beautiful," responding with "I know," rolling my eyes and walking away.
- Giving an a capella performance Salt-N-Pepa's hit song "None of Your Business" to everyone at the party, including numerous people I have only met one time.
- Getting into an argument with an acquaintance who used the "n" word, which basically consisted of me getting extremely offended, him not caring, me telling him he disgusts me, leaving the room and, again, bursting into tears.

   So, not only was I the Drunk Bitch, I was the Angry-Argumentative-Inappropriate-Bad Influence-Crying-Arrogant-Yelling-Crying-More Drunk Bitch.

   Despite this, it was actually a pretty enjoyable night, and that conversation with Bobby McGee was overdue and necessary. The tears? Not so much, but not the end of the world.

   I'm totally hungover and running on like 3 hours of sleep. I just wanted to share my poor life choices with you guys. Hey, that's what we're here for, right?

UPDATE: One of my favorite friends just told me over facebook that I "kept it classy" last night. Reasons I love her? 

Same Old Thing

   Why do I torture myself? I'm knee-deep in men who are better than you. But no one compares. I miss the way your ego takes up the entire room. It leaves so little room for air that it gets hard to breathe. Sometimes your absence is more of a whirlwind than your presence. I'm falling through memories so fast it makes my head spin.

Narrow Escape

   I tried to prepare for it. I hoped it would be sweeter, smoother, perhaps more gradual; somehow I feel that would be easier to take.
   The downward turn was so sharp, and the fall so brutal; I wince as I watch your pale body crashing down the precipice, hitting the bottom, being ripped apart by the jagged rocks at the bottom. You didn't even see the drop. You stepped right off the cliff with your eyes closed. And your heart open. I sit comfortably in the rubble, accustomed to the scenery. I can't look at you because I can't stand to watch my disinterest tear into your flesh. It's bad enough to pulverize you; to attentively witness it would be unendurable.
   I just always hope it will be different and it never is. And at every conclusion, I choke back misery and swear I will never let this happen again. I resolve to keep myself at bay, to lock myself away, to never break another heart. I close myself off and reinforce my boundaries. I dive back into dark, unrewarding cycles with selfish men, hoping they will punish me straight to redemption. I suffer through their anger and neglect, searching for my ever-elusive penance. Until eventually, someone new appears with that sweetly open smile and I think "maybe I will love you back." But it never happens. I always end up back here, shuddering as I try to forget that you're writhing on the ground inches from me.
   Someday someone's going to love you in such a beautiful way you'll completely forget that I didn't. But I would if I could.

I'm Bored, You're Amorous

   I knew it was coming; it's inevitable. He's perfect, but it just isn't there. Are my standards impossible? We're pretty compatible. We enjoy each others' company. I just don't feel anything. Is it wrong to want someone I get excited about?
   And I feel sick every time he looks at me. He's so open and vulnerable. I don't know how to tell him to put his heart back. I can't take it. And there's no way he can have mine; I'm not sure I even have one.
   The longer I force myself to fake it, the worst it's going to be. I'm sorry Saint Simon, I'm too sinful for you.

I Think I See the Light

   I'm ecstatic. Things have gradually been getting progressively better between Me & Bobby McGee. We're finally getting back to each other. This summer will be lovely. I can already see the long nights of aimless adventures leading inevitably to hopelessly meandering misadventures. Even our speech is slowly growing thicker with affection. The nuances are infiltrating our exchanges, familiarly settling to fill the gaps they so recently permeated.
   I've missed my best friend :)

Keep the Car Running

  I yearn for the lost maternity. My mother's mother used to appear nightly the moment I drifted from consciousness, to remind me who I am. She's gone. Or have I just lost sight of her? I've lost sight of myself. I'm beside myself. I'm outside myself. I'm out of my mind. With grief. It's mind-blowing how easily I'm blindsided by the loss of you.

   My violently atheist beliefs deteriorate under the pressure of your ghost. I know you're out there. I know you're waiting and watching and loving us still. I can't bear to believe anything else. And where would you go? You'd stick around just to spite us; just to prove me wrong. I still can't wrap my head around the idea that you didn't conquer death; it seemed so inevitable that you would bulldoze it, through the sheer strength of your wicked, awe-inspiring will. I'll never feel complete without you.

   My mother promised me when I was little: "At my funeral, I'll be there. I'll tickle your arms and pull on your hair and kiss your nose." I knew she meant it but at the same time, I knew it wasn't true. This was the first time I was ever faced with the idea that truth might be relative. 

   I thought things were absolute then: truth, love, trust, wrong, right. I was well into childhood before I realized they are concepts that are all aqueous. And amorphous. I still grapple with relativity. And definitions.

  I'm rambling now, and none of this is cohesive. I'm sorry darlings. Perhaps I'll be more focused tomorrow.


   PS: WTF Blogger? What is this baby sized font? I keep setting it to "normal" and it's all "I do what I want. And I want this blog post to be all little letters!"