Waking Up and Walking Out

     For the past week I've been writing an entry in my head, a sprawling ode to self-discovery and the self-awareness I've been bathing in, a hard-earned and much-needed achievement after about a year and a half of drowning in a sea of purposelessness and lack of of identity. It's still a process, but I finally feel like I'm in motion.

   19 was a bad year for me, and 20 has been better, but hasn't been spectacular, to be honest. My last semester away at school, happening when I first started this blog, was brutal. I spent sixteen weeks anxiety-ridden and desperately lonely, fearful to leave my room, refusing to eat for days at a time. Most of the time I lay in bed, deriving a sad, singular sense of power from the hunger that spread through my limbs and settled there. I spent hours in front of the mirror, analyzing every inch of my body, determining what needed to be smaller and calculated the exact caloric content of everything I put in my mouth. I felt instantly rejected by every person I encountered, despite the fact that I almost never made any attempt to interact with anyone. The happiness I had was in Bobby and Mr. Fantasy. Bobby, being 3 months younger and, due to the times of our birthdays, a school year behind me, was away at his first semester in college. He was the first person I talked to when I woke up in the morning, and we maintained contact until one or both of us went to bed, he amusing and sustaining me with anecdotes and questions, giving me a sense of purpose and security at a time when I was totally without either. Mr. Fantasy kept me occupied in the evenings, his attention supplying me with scraps of confidence that I absorbed like a sponge. Every time I left my dorm room, panic swelled so powerfully inside of me that I could barely stop myself from shaking. I felt disconnected from everything, like I could drift away into nothingness, and no one would notice. When my sister, hearing my complaints about being bored and lonely, suggested I transfer home, it was like suddenly there was possibility again. I did the paperwork, packed and fled in a manic state of grief and fear and relief and regret.

   If school was floating, home was drowning. I sank into myself, feeling the bitter weight of my failures. Mr. Fantasy disappeared, unsurprisingly breaking the promises he'd spent the past four months making. When Bobby introduced me to his friends from school, I spent the afternoon paralyzed, begrudging his freedom and happiness, resentful of these strangers he had built a life with. I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. I was nervous, uncomfortable and frenziedly defensive. His life was just beginning, and mine was ending. I was angry with myself. I wasn't able to recognize or understand this, so I instead began searching for things to hold against him. I found them, and spent the next several weeks repeatedly thrusting them at him urgently, forcing him to apologize for innocuous statements and behaviors. He did so confusedly at first, and then with resistance, and then he finally pushed back. I withdrew completely, telling myself over and over and over again that he had committed some terrible wrong, though not bothering to invent what it had been. I was afraid at how much I had depended on him the semester before, terrified at the feeling that I needed him to get through the day.

   I spent the next nine months in miserable excess. I traded my dorm room's bed for the couch in front of the television, and ate until I felt sick, trying to consume my own grief or fill the sheer emptiness inside of me, take your pick. I hid from the mirror, catching glimpses of myself only in pictures, and being overwhelmed with disgust. I felt totally powerless. Mr. Fantasy started dating someone new. I tried not to think about it. I reconnected with Bobby, and there was awkwardness as we struggled to rebuild the relationship I had decimated. Spring ended. Mr. Fantasy proposed to his girlfriend. Summer ended.

   School and work started and I was too busy to think. I replaced meals with coffee and started hating the mirror less. Fall semester wasn't fun. I went to school all day and worked long shifts. I requested a Saturday off and Bobby came home. We went out to lunch and exploring in a park. I remembered what it felt like to be happy. That was a good day. I got the nerve to demand a day off per week. I felt like I could breathe again. Fall ended.

   Winter. Two new nieces were born. Another baby is expected in May. I'm not sure where I am now. Putting the pieces together. This semester is better. I've accumulated enough credits to graduate on time, which will be a year from now, and then I can go anywhere for my Master's. I like my classes. They're challenging and interesting. They're giving me answers to questions I've had about the world for my whole life. I've been forcing myself to look ahead when I walk, rather than at the floor. I'm searching for ways to validate myself that don't involve male attention, though I'm not sure yet what they'll be. I'm dancing as I get dressed in the morning. It's the little things, right?

A Half-Assed Post Full of Pictures Because I Missed You Guys

   I've been a terrible blogger. I'm sorry. I'm hoping to be back more often. Here's what you've been missing:

Esther moved to Florida for school. 

I miss her a lot but I'm super happy and excited for her.

I had my Annual Christmas party. This is Bobby & me posing with Santa.

Everyone said it was the best one yet, but I thought it kinda sucked. For some reason I was super uptight and kept turning the music down and making everyone use coasters. I think the problem was that I stopped drinking after like a half hour, when I clearly should have done like sixteen shots and cried or something. Ew, am I growing up or something?

Me & a lady I like at a Christmas party where she's dressed like snow & I'm the Virgin Mary.

I drank way too much, came home and threw up on the living room floor. I got mad class, yo.
(Guess I don't have to worry about that "growing up" thing I referred to back there, eh?)

New Year's Eve I wore a gold sequin sheath dress and a bird mask. 

I'm here with Bobby's sister, who is the most beautiful and coolest chick of all time.

We started drinking at 2pm. By 3:30 there were costumes and dancing. Somehow I ended up with the clown, which is so fucked up and not okay at all.

Happy New Year!

A Good Man is Hard to Find

      Friday during the day I was facebook chatted by a man almost a decade older than I, whom I have met a handful of times, who has always been overtly interested in me. If you've read carefully (which I'm certain you all have, right?) you will know that I am instantly put off by that. I hate it when people awkwardly stare and smile at me for extended periods of time. It actually makes me mildly disgusted. I'm sure there's something Freudian in there, but I'm not particularly interested in the psychological underpinnings of my sexual interests. I digress.
   So, he's facebook chatted me before, and asked for my number a month or so, which I begrudgingly gave him. I don't really know how to refuse my phone number to someone who isn't a stranger. I just feel like it's rude. Anyway.
   Our facebook convo went something like this:

Man Pushing 30: So, any plans for the weekend?

Self: Drinking. To excess.

Inappropriately Older Man: Want a partner?

Self does not reply.

Elderly Guy Who Lacks Subtlety: So, can I tell you something? It will sound weird in this context, but life's about taking risks, right?

Self: Uhh... maybe. I guess.

Senior Citizen: I think ur really cute :)

Self: Oh, thank you. That's nice of you to say. 

Social Security Recipient: So uh, can I ask you the same question?

Self: I'm not sure what you mean.

Retiree: What do you think of me?

Self: Oh, I think you seem very nice. But I'm... off the market, so to speak.

   He texted me that night asking where I was, and I told him I hadn't left yet but intended to go to a bar in our town. He replied that he was at a different bar, but would meet me there. I groaned in misery.

   Esther unsympathetically insisted that I agree to meet up with him, pointing out that he would pay my tab at the end of the night. I rolled my eyes and muttered something about not needing or wanting a man to do that.

  When he arrived, he proceeded to awkwardly smile nonstop at me and never break his gaze. He basically cornered me and rambled his life away for a couple of hours, told me he was going to marry me, repeatedly asked me "how crazy was it, what I said to you today?" and otherwise just generally creeped me out. I made excuses to leave every 10 minutes or so. 

   During these breaks from torture, I would take Esther into the bathroom and explain how much I hated what was happening. She drunkenly (and rather condescendingly, I might add) informed me that I needed to "deal with it" because "he was buying me drinks" and did I know how many guys stare at her and she deals with it? She insisted that I "learn to go with it." She then proceeded to bring up a few unfortunate looking fellows in the past month she has spent the night talking to at the bar in exchange for drinks. Frustrated, I insisted that I wasn't interested in leading men on in exchange for access to their wallets, and that I wanted to get the hell out of the situation immediately.

   "He's not that bad," she insisted. "He's not ugly."

   "I don't hook up with people because they're not ugly," I interjected, hotly.

   I realized pretty quickly that these trips to the bathroom were doing little, aside from enraging me further, and miserably stepped back into the bar where he would descend on me like a piranha.

   He gradually moved in closer and closer and awkwardly began rubbing my back and legs. I moved as far away as I could, but it was pretty crowded in there.

   I eventually found Esther outside and incomprehensible. Seizing the excuse, I told him we had to leave immediately and made an unceremonious departure.

   After we left, the night improved substantially. We went back to the apartment of two guy friends where she got something to eat and we all hung around laughing for a few hours, until Bobby picked me up and took me home.

   It was the first time we'd seen each other in weeks and, thrilled, I spent the car ride home basically just grabbing and squeezing him and shrieking about how happy I was to see him. He just laughed the whole time.

   When we pulled into my driveway, I took my seatbelt on, leaned over and grabbed him in an embrace.

   "I MISSED YOU I MISSED YOU I MISSSS YOUUUU!" I squealed.

   "You're squeezing my head," he replied.

   "I KNOW! I AM! I love you! Ahhhhhhh I love you so much I can't stand it! Oh, shit, I'm squeezing your head!" I released him, and he leaned back in, grinning.

   "No, no, I like it."

Love Always Remains

These people used to define my daily life.

Birds Of a Feather

Bobby bought baby ducks!

I can't wait until they come home to meet their Mommy :)

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? 

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 :)

Flower in the Sun

    New Character!

   My best (female) friend is Esther. She's one of my favorite people in the world. She can basically make anything fun, be it weekends at Jesus Camp (which I've attended twice in my life- at a college in Ohio and shrine outside Albany  and while I haven't seen the the movie, I can still guarantee you it's just as insane in real life,) nights at our annual local regatta (a giant, 4-day event where thousands of sailing enthusiasts flood our tiny village to race boats and drink too much) or just a night on my parent's couch with a six pack, where we've spent many nights, alternating periods of serious, soul-searching introspection with gasping, lung-exploding laughter.

2006

  2010

Bright as Yellow

   It scares me; the respect you think I deserve. Have I earned it? I don't know. 
   My Little One is such a force of nature. I appreciate so much the whirlwind that is age sixteen, the naivety and confusion she brings rushing back with every syllable. I'm so grateful for her; that perspective so shaped by age, yet still unique, still hers. 
   I watched this one grow up; I spent Friday nights babysitting her, though she was too old to need me and I was too young to provide any real discipline. I remember her harshness and her honesty. I was grateful for it then, as I am now. "Is this dress a little ugly?"  "Yes."
   I get nervous every so often; I lose people. I get scared sometimes, of being on a pedestal. It's such a long fall from grace when I inevitably tumble down. I have the bad habit of climbing to perch on any pedestal provided me; it's ego. The view is intoxicating, but it's temporary; only as long as I can balance until I come crashing down. There's a lot of pressure to stay still while I keep moving. 
   But she doesn't seem to mind when I fall short; she is the first in a lifetime of audiences who hasn't stopped applauding when I lose my lines. This analogy trivializes our relationship, and I don't mean to. I just don't have a better one. She isn't an audience. 
   What I'm trying to say is; it's different. I've had a lot of fans, a lot of hungry people at my feet, absorbing my words, trusting that they meant something when I said them. I'm not sure why or how I've had this privilege; I've never felt secure in it because I've never really wrapped my head around it; though how could I? Who could? It's unexpected. People try to grab hold of things they can't define, and I've always tried to embody various indefinable characteristics; I'm rambling now. But I always had an audience; doting, listening, flattering, cajoling. Until the first disappointment, and then suddenly I'm a "False Prophet." We're witnessing the aftermath of the last audience I let down now; the cruelty is biting. Love is so quickly replaced by bitter rejection and animosity! It's like I get stale and they turn off the television, then flock to the internet to fill facebook statuses with scathing reviews; "everything about her turned out to be a lie," "so ugly on the inside," "not fooling anyone."
   She doesn't fit the stereotype though, in so many ways she defies it. And I revel in that. She doesn't hold back. I don't think I scare her. And I'll admit it; I'm kinda scary. 
   I'm ecstatic to be present in her chaos, honored to be something solid she can steady herself on. And deeply, deeply grateful to her for finding what I say meaningful or worthwhile or relevant; and sometimes all three! 
   She isn't an audience, she isn't a follower. She's profound and insightful. She makes me laugh. It's refreshing. She's understanding of and sympathetic towards my imperfections; "You wouldn't be you without him." It's surprising and so comforting.
   This girl's one of the best friends I've ever had.

We Built Another World

   I fall in love with moments instead of people, I think; because of how perfect they can be, and how terrible, often at the same time. But people can too, be both perfect and terrible at the same time! But people change and moments cannot, so they're easier to fall in love with; it's so much safer to love a frozen moment than a fickle person. You saw some with my favorite first kisses. Here are some more.

   Johnny, Kick a Hole in the Sky is someone you haven't heard about yet, but was a huge part of my life throughout high school. He & I still keep in touch and enjoy seeing each other when our schedules allow for it. The easiest way to summarize him: Jim Halpert. With a little bit of this guy. Someday Johnny will get his own entry, because he deserves it, but tonight he'll have to settle for being first on my list of favorite moments.

    We left my sixteenth birthday party to escort home a friend who badly needed it. The walk home was the first time we'd ever been alone together.

   Being the emotional disaster that I was, it was barely a minute before he said something to trigger tears, which I'm particularly bad at controlling. In the middle of a four-way intersection, in the middle of the night, Johnny pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me, tight. 

   "You are the only genuine person I've ever met," he said calmly, but firmly. "Everyone else, you just think they're nice because they pretend to be. Then you get to know them and they're assholes. You are the only person in the entire world who isn't an asshole."

   As I collected myself, I stood enclosed in his arms, feeling safe. He provided such an instant sense of security, of love, of reassurance. 

   "We should do this again sometime," I said smiling, as he left me at my front door. 

   "Yes," he said, taking me in his arms again. "I love you. Happy Birthday."

   Kid A and I were a disaster, start to calamitous finish, but I wouldn't have spent three years in it if it had been constantly terrible. There were periods, however brief, of ecstasy. (Inevitably followed by hopeless periods of agony. Sometimes I can visualize our relationship as an almost tangible manifestation of his mysterious bipolar disorder, a journey we took together, mirroring his unendurable moods with the blissful peaks and excruciating valleys.) But for every descent into disaster was another ascension grace. And while the grace was wrought by heartbreak, even the heartbreak was beautiful sometimes, in its poetry and its sheer destructive force.

   "Promise me something," I whispered quietly.

   "And what is that?" he asked.

   "I don't know," I admitted. "I  was hoping you'd have something." I forced a small laugh. "I'm sorry." (I was constantly apologizing to him.)

   "Don't be. It'll be okay," he assured me. "You'll be okay. I promise."

   My first visit home from college was Halloween weekend. I spent a total of 23 hours in the care of public transportation services for 48 hours at home, because my absentee ballot application had been mishandled and I was hell bent on voting in my first election. 

   At the end of a night with my friends, Bobby McGee and I walked out to his car. As we got inside, he paused before he started to drive. 

   "You're very important to me," he said. I smiled and returned the sentiment. "I love you very much," he continued. "We've been friends for a long time, and you're always going to be a big part of my life."
   He paused again and started driving. "You were like... my sexual awakening," he stated. 

   My eyes widened and I laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond. "What... um. What?"

   "Our first kiss," he explained. "I don't know, I'd kissed lots of other girls before, but that was different. It was like... just totally different. It woke me up."

   I continued laughing and thanked him.

   "You were like, the awakening to my whole life, actually." 

   Again, unsure of how to respond, I just smiled and looked at him inquisitively.

   "I was just this...kid, before you. Who was always following rules and never doing anything cool. Then you showed up and it was like... I started having fun. You just... you were the awakening of my life."

   I smiled, feeling a mild discomfort only because I didn't know how to react or respond. I just thanked him again and reassured him that the gratitude and love were mutual. 

   They were. They always have been. They still are.

High and Low

   I guess it was inevitable; nothing stays perfect.  We preserved it remarkably well though, and I think we deserve credit for that.
   Oh, there were obstacles and there were certainly mistakes.  We've had confrontations, disagreements that have escalated into silence.  But so short-lived, so few and far between!  And so easily left behind when finished. Practically immediate returns to our sweet, mutual bliss!
   And somehow we completely disintegrated, my Bobby McGee and I, through unfortunate twists of fate and alternating stubbornness. It's effortlessly functional when it's right because of our compatibility. We are so alike in all the right ways. Our love of adventure, of salvaging other people's refuse for our own repurposing, finding excitement in the most mundane tasks, staying up all night talking as our souls fill the air surrounding us, connecting and growing. Our respect for each other was only matched by our affection for and appreciation of one another. And there was such an easiness, a comfort in looking at you and seeing a reflection of myself. A completeness. We laid on couches together and designed our futures like the insides of houses, details draping beautifully like custom made window dressings, every so often making slight adjustments to maintain balance and symmetry. We chose songs wedding songs, planned out children's schedules. Our dreams were the same, with our hopes and fears so frequently lined up. 
   I can't believe we've stayed so off-measure for so long. We'd been in perfect tune for so long, I never saw it coming. I'm not sure how to get our song back in key. I'm not sure where to begin, or if I'm capable of it. If we both decided it was worth it, we'd have a chance. But we can't get it right.
   As similar as we are in the right ways, we are too much the same in the wrong ways. Our stubbornness, insensitivity, coldness and defensive detachment are harsh and merciless. We collide bleakly. I don't see our future anymore. I lost sight of it. I don't know if I can get it back. I don't even know if I want to. Not because I don't want us to be us anymore, because I do. I just don't know if I can handle the work required to rebuild us. And will we ever be the same, anyway?
   I have a habit of letting go the instant things turn sour. That way, when the bad taste fades, all the memories are intact, are sweet, are perfect. And every time I convince myself it's worth it and work up the courage to make an effort, you disengage. I know this is a reaction to my detachment. I'm sorry. I'm trying to overcome it. 
   I just don't really know. I don't know a thing. I do not know a goddamn thing.